The Trailrider's Fortune

by Shannah Biondine

  "So now I'm worth having around as some gunslinger's favorite?" She gave him a look of disdain.

  "Hell yes! The cowhands will think twice about raising Cain in here, thinking your friend might stroll in any moment. We've already seen how he takes it if a gent gets rough with you."

  "Remember that, Frazer," she shot back.

  But as Sparkle eased onto a bench on the saloon's wide porch, she wasn't feeling nearly as brave as the front she'd put up. Rafe Conley's brown eyes had unsettled her from the first. They were too dark, fathomless. His lean frame, the smug curl of his lips, the assured way he moved, the feel of his hard length when he'd held her close—they said more than Frazer's tales of a menacing reputation. And that kiss…she'd been kissed brazenly before. What woman in a cow town saloon hadn't? But this was different. Conley's kiss had left her shaky. Her usual composure had slipped, and she was having a tough time getting it back.

  Not to mention how she'd nearly fainted when she'd laid out his cards. She'd never before encountered anyone with so many of the same cards in the same positions as her own personal readings. The man was a mercenary, a drifter. How could his tarot reading mirror hers that way? Not that she bothered reading her own fortune often anymore. She knew where her future lay. One man held the key to her heart and a better life locked away inside him.

  But Sparkle worried about the gunslinger. He'd be back.

  The cards said he was a vagabond, a wanderer. A man trapped between yesterday and tomorrow. A lonely man who road empty trails, endlessly searching. Spurred on by violence and loss…as well as pain or turmoil from his past.

  The same elements that frequently turned up in Sparkle's readings. Uncanny.

  Sparkle's mother had taught her to read tarot at an early age. What some called a gift, Sparkle's mother had called an art. Divining the future was a skill the tarot reader practiced day after day. Her mother had also taught Sparkle about soulmates, saying every person had one somewhere. Their destinies linked, souls entwined, usually by forces beyond their control or own awareness. Not for the first time, Sparkle silently wished her mother were still alive; Eliza would know what to make of that card reading for the gunman.

  Sparkle was afraid to think about it. That dark-eyed stranger was nothing like what she wanted or needed. He was all wrong. Violent. No woman should give her heart to a man like that. He would only rend it.

  Besides, Sparkle's heart was no longer hers to give. She'd given it away years ago to the man she privately adored and knew she'd eventually marry.

  A kind and quiet man, who wasn't one bit like Rafe Conley.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sparkle pushed the wheelchair into the shade of the arbor where Jace wouldn't be in the direct sun. They'd been in the garden awhile now. Jace looked pale, but the warm days of Indian summer could give an invalid a sunstroke. Beads of perspiration shone on his brow. Some of his wheat-colored curls had dampened to amber. "I'll go get you some lemonade," she offered, smiling into his gentle blue eyes.

  "Oh, Sis, but I've missed your smile. I wish you could come home to visit more often." Before she could protest, he cut her off, waving one hand. "I know, I know. It depends on the school board. But it's a few weeks until the start of the regular session."

  Sparkle sighed. "I tutor several children outside of school, Jace, remember?" She let the back door bang shut behind her as she went for the pitcher of lemonade Majesta had put in the icebox. She was dismayed to find the nurse standing beside the open kitchen window. "We don't need an audience, Majesta."

  The nurse had the grace to blush, though the pursing of her lips told Sparkle she didn't genuinely regret eavesdropping. "You complain I don't take him outdoors more often," Majesta said. "If I took him to the park or somewhere public, how long do you think it would be before someone set him wise about his sister's tales? Your brother's the only person sufficiently naïve to believe a schoolmarm could earn enough to afford a private nurse and this house."

  "I've told you, the house is paid for. I only need to pay the taxes and Jace's medical care. Has there been any improvement?"

  "He has his good days and his bad," Majesta shrugged. "It seems he's getting a bit stronger on his right side, but he still can't manage without the chair."

  Sparkle poured two glasses of cold lemonade and went back out to sit on the garden bench near Jace. "I have to leave tomorrow, but let's not think about the time I don't get to spend here, and just enjoy what time we have."

  "You're right, Sparkle. Tell me again about Fire Thorn and Miss Leticia."

  Sparkle launched into the familiar tale of an old biddy who had the whole town of Fire Thorn in an uproar when she'd laundered risqué unmentionables and put them on the line to dry—only to have Jace pull them down and model them for three of his young friends. "You remember anything else about our childhood, Jace?" she asked when she stopped laughing about Miss Leticia.

  "I don't remember Fire Thorn or any of it, Sparkle," he admitted sadly. "I cherish everything you tell me about the past. I wish I could remember Father and our growing-up years together."

  "Well, I keep thinking sooner or later it will all come back to you." It has to, Sparkle's mind screamed. I can't tell you everything. You have to remember some of it yourself, Jace.

  He cleared his throat and Sparkle's eyes narrowed. When Jace did that, it usually meant he wanted her approval and wasn't sure he'd get it.

  "Jace LaFleur, don't you start with me about some of those bizarre new therapies you've read about. No tobacco enemas. I don't care what sort of vile things people flush through their bodies or stick in some orifice, you're not—"

  "It's not about me, Sparkle."

  "Has Majesta said or done something to upset you? I can find another nurse, Jace."

  "It's you, Sparkle! You said I look pale, but have you looked in a mirror lately? You look as though this is the first time you've seen sunshine in over a month, too."

  His guess was right on the money, but she couldn't admit it. "Had a touch of ague a few weeks back. Working around children, there's so much sniffling and coughing, it's hard not to catch something yourself. I'm fine, really."

  "I think you work too hard."

  "I think you worry too much."

  Majesta came out, starched apron immaculate, every strand of hair neatly tucked into a tight coil. Her nursing salary wasn't high, but it was constant, and then there were the other expenses of a household. Sparkle worked steadily to make sure Jace had everything he needed. Put up with crude men and their vulgarities, the spilled liquor and groping hands. The young cowherds with puppy-dog eyes. For Jace.

  "You two stop carping and come in to supper. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I'll see to him, Miss Sparkle. You go on and freshen up."

  Sparkle put on her best traveling suit for the stagecoach ride back to Wichita the next day. She usually took the train on her visits home to Kansas City, but she'd opted to take the stage back this time. She doubted anyone seeing her now would suspect her of being anything but the prim schoolteacher Jace believed she was. The elderly couple seated across from her dressed in their starched Sunday best looked inhospitable and prudish. The man said nothing. His wife offered only a thin smile and innocuous comment about the weather during the first hours of their trip.

  Sparkle didn't look like a dancehall strumpet now. Strumpet. The word made her shudder. She'd promised herself she'd never resort to earning money the way other saloon women did. She hated bawdy houses, cowhands, gambling, and strumpets. Hated the men like Benton Frazer who ran the trailhead watering holes. But all of it was necessary for survival. When Jace's mother died, Sparkle had been left with few options. She found a nurse to keep house and look after her brother, then set out to earn a living the only way she could.

  Her brother…

  Everyone, Jace included, thought that's who he was. Sparkle was the only person who knew there was no common blood between them. She was a bastard. Her mother had never spoken of the man who'd gotten her with child.
Working as a laundress, Eliza Cummings had been so dirt poor they could only afford to rent a small back room in the Flowers' farmhouse.

  Flowers had been the surname of Jace and his family before the trouble came, before Mrs. Flowers found herself and two children the only survivors of a storm of violence. The widow Flowers had changed her name and taken the children to Kansas City from Texas, passing Sparkle off as her own daughter.

  Sparkle sighed and shifted on the stagecoach plank bench. One day Jace would remember Texas and realize Sparkle was only a longtime friend. Remember the night his father died, how everything changed. When he told Sparkle about the traumatic nightmare, she would ease his pain by confessing her love for him. They'd be married. She'd give up the saloon work, let Majesta go, care for Jace herself.

  Along with the other horrific memories, Jace had buried in the back of his mind the knowledge that would be their ticket to a new way of life. Sparkle's mother had told her about the beauty of Paris, and one day Sparkle planned to see it for herself. She and Jace would go to Europe, buy a cottage in some pristine valley, and live in harmony.

  The coach took on a fresh team of horses and a new passenger at the way station—a young comer named Brooks, who sandwiched himself in beside Sparkle and began relating the story of his life. He'd just been hired as the head clerk at the Wichita drug store. Sparkle was an expert at listening to men run on about themselves. She knew when to smile, when to nod, how to affect the perfect tilt that made it appear she was actually digesting the speaker's words. The couple across from her hadn't had the same practice. The glowering husband looked patently unimpressed by the young clerk's braggadocio.

  After an appropriate length of time, Sparkle yawned discreetly into her gloved hand and let her head rest against the side of the coach. She prayed Brooks would hush if she feigned sleep, but he continued to ramble on about Washington politics and the price of coffee. He finally succeeded in boring her into a light doze. Then sly fingers on her knee snapped her back to attention.

  She brushed at Brooks' hand, but it settled right back into place on her leg. His voice changed, became silky in her ear. "What's a pretty little gal like you doing on this stage unescorted, Miss?"

  "Going to Wichita, same as you," she informed him stiffly, removing his hand again. "Unless you've made an error. In which case, you should ask the driver to let you out. Put your hand on me again, Mr. Brooks, and I'll ask him for you."

  "To the vast relief of everyone within earshot," muttered the man across the way. His jowls shook as he finally addressed the troublemaker. "I don't believe this lady's itinerary is your concern. I'd ask that you comport yourself like a proper gentleman."

  "I don't believe our discussion is any of your funeral, Fleshy," Brooks retorted, glancing at the older man's paunch.

  "Well, I never!" gasped the man's wife.

  "Imagine that's true," Brooks snorted. "I've seen plucked chickens with more meat than you, Missus. Luckily, not every female aboard suffers from the bony uglies." He winked at Sparkle.

  Time for the lie that always got men's goats. "Mr. Brooks, I'm a married woman, on my way to reunite with my husband. I hope you don't intend to make a pest of yourself. He isn't the understanding sort. He won't be pleased to learn you've made bold with me."

  "Ha, you don't look like a married gal," Brooks scoffed. "Married women don't appeal to me. I can smell the taint of a boring husband a mile off. You, on the other hand, are quite appealing, Miss…?"

  "I'm not going to introduce myself," Sparkle informed him, sidestepping the trap he'd laid for her. "As I will no longer be in your acquaintance as soon as this stage reaches town. I seldom visit the pharmacy."

  Brooks contented himself with pretending to steady her shoulders by sitting entirely too close. Sparkle was irritated by every move he made, but grateful that at least she'd found a way to keep him quiet.

  They pulled onto the main street in Wichita and Sparkle craned her neck to stare out the side window. There were always men wandering around town this time of the afternoon. She could hear Dem Golden Slippers being played badly inside the Rusty Nail as they swept past. The street offered the usual wiry cowpokes and dusty stragglers. Then she spotted a familiar profile. The answer to her prayers, just coming out of the bank.

  He glanced right at her as the coach rattled by. Sparkle again noted the rugged features and square jaw. Wavy dark hair grazed the collar of a faded denim shirt. His movements were languid, yet somehow bolder than those of the other males ambling down the sidewalk. And there was the reason: that peacemaker slung low on his right hip.

  Oh, but she was going to enjoy watching Joe Brooks run for cover when he met her "husband."

  CHAPTER 3

  The instant the coach came to a stop, Sparkle flew out of it and jerked the handle of her satchel away from the driver. Hitching up her skirts, she dashed into the swirling dust of the street, dodging a throng of riders on horseback. She dropped her bag on the wooden sidewalk and threw her arms around Rafe's neck.

  "Lord, but I missed you, Mr. Conley."

  She glanced back to verify Joe Brooks was watching. "I can't tell you how awful that stagecoach ride was! There was a codfish aristocrat seated next to me, making an absolute pest of himself. He didn't believe me when I said my husband was meeting me here."

  Rafe flashed her a wicked smile, then curled his arms around her waist and pulled her against him for a long, slow, very friendly kiss. Sparkle was mortified, but had no choice but to play the adoring wife. She allowed Rafe to explore her mouth, then peered up into his eyes with a silent plea for help.

  He followed the inclination of her head to check out the man watching them. Rafe picked up her satchel and pulled Sparkle close to his side. "Sorry you had a rough ride, Sparkle Honey. Got a friend owns a saloon here in town. Promised I'd stop by and pay a visit." He gave the stranger a frown, then grinned as the fellow scurried off to claim a faded valise. "Believe your admirer's seen the error of his ways, darlin'."

  "Thank goodness. I was beginning to despair of ever being rid of him."

  Rafe clucked his tongue in amusement. "You know, Miz Conley, seems you're always in one fix or another and needin' me to set things right. Maybe I better keep you glued to my side, just to keep you out of trouble."

  "I suppose you figure I owe you another free drink at the Scarlet Lady."

  Rafe studied the dude again before meandering up the street. "Finicky little gal, ain't you? He's sportin' a fancy waistcoat and still breathin'. For some gals in a trailhead, that would make him prospect enough. Maybe you were too hasty…Or maybe you just like throwin' yourself at me. It's getting' to be a habit."

  "Ooh! You know damned good and well I had nothing to do with—" Sparkle closed her mouth as they entered the saloon. Frazer stood squarely before them, features aglow.

  "Sparkle! Conley. Great to see you again. Come on in." The look Frazer tossed Sparkle set her teeth on edge. He hadn't missed Rafe's arm around her waist. Frazer was clearly reveling in the mistaken belief she'd done as he'd asked and cozied up to his new favorite customer. "Something to eat, Conley? I can have my cook rustle up something."

  "Could use a meal," Rafe nodded, releasing Sparkle. "I'm sure you want to change out of them travelin' clothes. Go on upstairs, darlin'. I'll just visit with the boss here and have a bite."

  "Thank you, Mr. Conley," she ground out. Ruby Ann and Brenda greeted her in the upstairs hall, but Sparkle was in no mood to discuss either her trip home or the reason for her return with the gunslinger in tow. She prayed he'd grow restless and leave the saloon before she went back down. She took a leisurely bath and dawdled as long as she could painting her lips and powdering her cleavage.

  "Damned red piece of trash." She fruitlessly tugged the hem down and jerked the fabric at her bosom higher. It didn't do any good. The boned bodice pushed her breasts up and made them look larger than they were. Seeing Rafe again brought back the battle she'd lost over this dreadful costume. The bright claret flounces
seemed all the more objectionable now, perhaps because in Kansas City she'd worn plain day dresses. Dull but proper clothes. Here she couldn't avoid the image of the harlot in the mirror.

  Fitting for a girl who'd run across the street in broad daylight to fling herself at a gun for hire. Rafe was bound to think she had some genuine hankering for him after that display. She hated to admit that in an odd way she did. She liked the thump of his spurs on the sidewalks and oak flooring. She liked the lazy drawl of his speech, his easy sense of humor. How did a mercenary find so much amusement in the world? Frazer had all but said Rafe Conley was a known cold-blooded killer. A killer who could wrap his arms around a woman and make her feel…

  No, she wasn't going to ponder the sensations Rafe Conley stirred up. She wouldn't think back on his deep soul kiss or how she'd been so brazen. The hired gun had served his purpose. There was no point in thinking about him any longer. She had to get to work.

  He was gone when she reached the gaming room, but a frequent customer was waiting for a reading. Sparkle forgot about the aggravating trip back to town as the evening routine began anew. The Scarlet Lady began to fill. Sparkle and the other girls laughed and danced with customers. Dan Small tinkered away on the piano. Frazer had hired a handsome new faro dealer, and Ruby Ann had more kohl than usual around her eyes. She lingered near the new fellow's table, Sparkle noticed with a smile.

  This promised to be a good night. Sparkle could feel it. The aura of the gaming room was happy-go-lucky. Customers were boisterous and in a spending mood. A big cattle drive had come into town; the men's high spirits were infectious. She accepted the gold coin her next patron offered, sliding it into her bodice as she began laying out the tarot cards.