* * *
Rafe hadn't planned on roving back into the Scarlet Lady, but hell, it was a nice place. A notch or two better than the Rusty Nail or the other bawdy houses along Wichita's main street. The fact a certain fetchin' gal worked in this one didn't hurt, either. Not that he'd been fooled by her little act earlier. She'd used him to get ride of a problem. Didn't everybody? Wealthy cattlemen, bankers, politicians, the railroads, even lawmen…They all used freelancers like Raford Conley to get ride of problems.
He eased into a vacant seat at one of the poker tables. His eyes were instantly drawn to the small table where Sparkle sat reading fortunes. She'd changed her clothes, all right. He hadn't seen her fully primped for the evening herds before. She sure as hell did look pretty—all powdered and fresh, hair piled up, lips painted nice and rosy. He grinned as she adjusted a shoulder strap on the hated red dress. If she new the way it made a man feel to see her fine body wrapped up in it, she would've thanked Frazer instead of cussin' at him.
The saloon was getting noisy and a bit too crowded, though. Rafe was tempted to get up and leave. He'd always been a loner, didn't care for a lot of other men so close. He'd tolerate rubbing elbows for a spell. Sooner or later the little fortune teller had to take a break. Maybe he'd convince her to step outside for a chat…or another kiss.
"Your bride's quite a woman." It took a second for Rafe to realize the comment had been directed at him. He glanced up to find the chair beside him was now occupied by the dandy from the stagecoach. "What's she dealing over there, monte?"
"Tarot. She reads fortunes." Instead of the caustic laugh he expected, Rafe found the man beside him watching Sparkle all the more intently. Not good. The fella suffered from a serious lack of judgment.
"Fortune teller, eh? Believe she's the first I've ever met. She any good?"
The look in the man's eyes implied he wasn't asking about card reading. "You in or out?" Rafe asked with a deliberate edge of annoyance, motioning toward their own card table.
"Quite an unconventional occupation, particularly for an alluring young gal," the idiot remarked as he tossed a few more chips into the pot. "Don't believe I'd allow a wife of mine to work here, dressed in a revealing costume and fraternizing with strangers. Of course, she's paid to, isn't she?"
Rafe threw down his cards. "Getting' mighty sick of your mouth, friend."
"Name's Brooks, Joe Brooks. Don't misunderstand. It's only that when I spoke to your wife earlier, she seemed quite a proper woman. Not at all the typical soiled dove. A gent might be misled, though—"
"She don't take customers upstairs, Brooks. And it ain't healthy for you to be meddling in her business. I catch you moonin' over my wife, Sparkle—"
"What's this?" Frazer had come up behind Rafe, drawn by the edgy behavior at the table. Several other men sensed Rafe's mounting irritation and looked nervous. A few patrons had begun creeping toward the doors.
"Your wife?" Frazer echoed. "If that don't beat all! She never said a word. So that's why she wanted the time off. I knew you were partial to her, but never figured you two for tyin' the knot. Newlyweds, huh?"
Rafe immediately regretted his words, but he couldn't retract them without giving Brooks an opening to pursue the girl. "Yeah. Couple days back."
"Man alive! If I'd known that…Hell, Conley." Frazer slapped Rafe on the back.
Rafe fought the sudden urge to pistol-whip the saloonkeeper. "She didn't want to make a big deal of it," he coughed, noting Brooks was eavesdropping with more than passing interest. Tough figurin' which of these two's the bigger asshole, Rafe silently told himself.
"I planned to have her work late tonight, since she's been away," Frazer announced with a speculative glance at Rafe's stacks of chips. "But it would hardly be decent to ask a new bride to keep her husband waiting. We need to have a private chat, Conley."
Rafe rose from the table, leaving half his chips behind. "For the house."
Frazer smiled and stuck out his right hand. "Believe we're going to become very good friends. Come on back to my office. Got some whiskey there."
By the time Frazer was done bleeding him, Rafe had paid Sparkle's room and board a month in advance so she could finish her shift at midnight. Rafe was at the long bar, nursing a bourbon and trying to figure out how he'd explain the mess when Frazer hurried over and whispered something in her ear.
Rafe could guess what. He felt himself flush as her eyes speared him. He'd had men gaze at him with every dark emotion possible. Wanted men. Powerful and connected men. Fearless men.
It was still tough facing the fury in Sparkle LaFleur's aquamarine eyes.
She slammed her drawer shut and got to her feet, giving Rafe a beckoning look. A look that promised almost certain death if he dared to follow her up the stairs. No doubt about the murderous intentions in those glittering blue-green eyes. She wanted to kill him. But there was nothing he could do except face her.
Sparkle unlocked her door and lit the lamp before perching on the edge of her bed. "I'm sure you think this is hilarious. You're probably patting yourself on the back for whatever ridiculous story you fed to Frazer. He says you paid my rent for the month and then some, just so I can have the night off to be with you. Thoughtful, husband dear. But as I told you, I don't have customers in my bed."
Rafe locked the door and moved to the window, checking the street through a crack in the curtains. Nervous habit.
"I didn't set out to lie, but your fella from the stagecoach is downstairs. He started askin' questions. Frazer overheard me say we're hitched. What was I supposed to do then, take it back? If I did, Brooks would be up here now. He'd pay Frazer for a roll in your sheets. You can bet on that. Whatever you did to that fool, he's randy as hell to get at you."
"I didn't do anything." She sighed and shook her head. "But you're right, you couldn't very well take it back. Neither of us can now. Frazer would throw me out once and for all."
"So you got yourself a visitor for the night. It's no big deal."
"What? I can't let you stay here. You've got to crawl out the window or something, Rafe."
"Don't reckon so, darlin'. Paid a lot down there to get you off work early. How would it look? The fella who's supposed to be your husband goes creepin' out like some busted cowpoke tryin' to get out of payin' for his fun?"
"I told you, I don't sell myself. I'll pay back what you gave Frazer. How much?" she demanded.
"Sparkle, I'd pay for a room in a hotel or saloon somewhere tonight, anyhow. Promise I'll keep my hands to myself. We'd only be sharin' the bed this one night. I'll be out of your hair in the mornin'. Then you can get on like usual."
"You sell snake oil, too?"
"Christ Almighty, woman! I'm only askin' for a place to sleep for the night." Rafe forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. She had a right to be ticked. "Think on this a minute. With your boss and the others believin' I'm your husband, isn't this my room, too? You'd have an advantage. Folks thinkin' you're mine should keep strangers from pawin' you. I ain't around Wichita often, but my reputation stays on."
She went as red as her dress. "It might help for now in that sense, but someday I plan to actually have a husband, and…well…"
Rafe unbuckled his gunbelt and laid it over an upholstered chair, noting the room was small, with faded curtains and a bed not much wider than his bunk at the ranch. She was either on the short end of the horn, or truly didn't entertain customers. The notion still seemed unlikely. No matter what she claimed. A fine filly like her, men like Brooks lining up…Innocent? Like hell.
His own voice was touched with sarcasm. "Darlin', you work in a saloon."
"Because reading tarot's all I know how to do, and I can't get a job doing that in a bank or tailor's shop. I haven't found a minister willing to pay me to tell fortunes on the steps of his church. Just where else am I supposed to work?"
"You're truly savin' yourself for marriage?" he snorted. "A virgin in a bagnio?"
Sparkle hadn't expected a si
mple pretense on the street to escalate into this wholesale disaster. And who the heck was this gunslinger to cast shadows on anyone else's morality?
"Are you saying it's impossible I could be?" she challenged.
Rafe shrugged. "Folks are fond of swearin' that anything's possible. Doesn't matter, since I already said I'd keep my hands to myself. I'm used to payin' for gals, but I never forced one who wasn't of a mind to oblige. I'll leave my jeans on."
"You actually think I'm going to let you share my bed?" She'd made her stand very clear. She wasn't going to relent. "You can have the chair."
"That horse's ass you work for ain't about to keep his nose out of this," Rafe countered. "These rooms and you gals in red get-ups are his gravy. He'll come snoopin' to make sure we newlyweds are gettin' along. Won't fix his flint till he's seen for himself. Husband sleepin' in the chair or on the floor while you're alone in the bed? Won't cut it."
"This is ridiculous. You don't listen. I've never had a man in my room, Rafe!"
Her hissed statement was punctuated by a sharp knock at the door. Frazer called out to Rafe. "Wife's not decent, Frazer," Rafe announced. "Give us a second." He jerked off his boots and turned his back, gesturing for Sparkle to undress.
She struggled out of her costume and pulled on her robe. Rafe unlocked the door and Frazer boldly entered, leaving the door ajar. "I came to see if you two needed anything. I couldn't help but overhear…She's telling the truth. Never had a customer up here, Conley. I couldn't convince her it pays better than fortunes."
"What you heard's between me and my woman," Rafe bit off. "Thanks for the concern. Ain't in town much, Frazer," Rafe stated with his dark eyes narrowed to a squint. "When I am, I'll be stayin' here. If I hear anybody else comes a-visitin' while I'm away, both you and the stranger could wake up minus your peckers."
"Whoa, there! There's no need to take on so. I'll keep a close watch on Sparkle. You've got my word."
"Good." Rafe pushed the burly man back out the open door.
"Uh, Sparkle—" Frazer called from the hallway, "Congratulations again, and take as long as you need in the morning. I'll see to it that Ruby and the others don't come rousing you early."
"You do that," Rafe growled as he locked the door again. He turned to face Sparkle. "I'll keep my back turned until you're in bed. Then I'll put out the lamp and join you. This," he announced as he pulled the Colt from his holster, "stays on the table next to me."
"You make one move to touch me, Rafe Conley, and I'll use it." Sparkle peeled off her stockings and garters, then put on a sleeping gown.
He unbuttoned his shirt and eased out of it, laying it over the empty holster. The unnatural way he moved seemed to suggest he was leery of offending Sparkle by showing her his bare chest. "Though I don't entertain in here, I've seen men without their shirts before," she advised, crawling under the bedclothes. "I'm ready."
He didn't move or turn.
Honestly! He had to be testing her now, probably thinking if she was truly pure, the mere sight of a man's unclad torso would send her into a swoon. Men. Their notions that women were either brazen sluts or complete ninnies made Sparkle want to scream. She put on her haughtiest tone.
"Mr. Conley, though I'm sure you've driven many a woman senseless merely by revealing your hairy chest, I promise I'll control myself. You can turn around." Forgetting she was clad only in a thin nightgown, she got out of bed and moved toward the hurricane lamp.
"I said I'd get that," he barked, but Sparkle had already stepped in front of him. She glanced in his direction at his harsh words. Her thoughts went cold.
"What in the name of God happened to you?"
CHAPTER 4
Rafe sighed and closed his eyes. He'd wanted to avoid this conversation. It was never pleasant. The inevitable question and its answer only evoked pity or revulsion, and he didn't want to see pity or loathing in Sparkle LaFleur's pretty eyes. Neither of those things showed in them yet. Only shock. That always came first.
"I was eighteen and still pretty green. Snagged me a man with a huge reward on his head. Didn't realize he had a Bowie hidden in the back of his overcoat. Guess he figured another murder was better than swingin' from the gallows for his previous crimes. Sliced me open, just like carvin' a turkey."
Sparkle sank to her knees. Rafe thought she might pass out. He took a step toward her. She instantly dropped her gaze, her cheeks stained a deep crimson.
He knew that reaction, too. "Don't feel bad for gawkin' or what you said before. You're embarrassed, but hell, you didn't know. I should have a hairy chest like other men, instead of just a big ugly scar. Let's both be honest."
She gave him a questioning look.
"You ain't the sort of gal who can lie with any success, or I wouldn't be up here." He kept his voice soft. "I look like a stick of dynamite went off in the middle of me. I'm hard on a gal's eyes. I know it."
Sparkle recovered enough to blow out the lamp. She crept back under the covers. There was an awkward silence before she finally spoke. "You're lucky to be alive."
Rafe's soft drawl told her he was still where she'd last seen him. The image of the horrible weal of angry scar tissue hovered in her mind's eye. "Yeah, plumb lucky," he replied. "That's what the doc said when he patched me back together. Course, it ain't him walkin' around like a freak of nature."
Sparkle sat up and forced herself to take a deep breath. "Your recovery must have been terribly painful and lengthy. My brother was badly injured years ago, and he's never been the same. He's in a wheelchair. People stare at him, too. I don't think they intend to be cruel. They're just curious. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."
Rafe's throat went dry. He stuck with saloons and women he could pay for sex. Even so, he'd met with reluctance. There were plenty of men in cow towns. A whore could always find another customer—one who was normal.
But instead of making him feel self-conscious, this woman was calmly talking about the pain of being different. Sparkle, the proud and pretty little queen, understood how it felt to be shunned. She understood.
Holy Jesus. Could she also be telling the truth about being a virgin? He eased onto the mattress, stretching out on top of the covers. He tried to take up as little of the bed as possible.
"It gets pretty cold in here," she whispered. "I don't have an extra blanket. You're either going to need your shirt back on, or you'll have to get under the covers."
"Hey…were you gummin' me? Am I really the first man who's been in a bed with you?" There was a long silence. "I mean, I understand you don't want me to touch you, especially now that you've seen the scar."
"It's not that." Her voice sounded funny. Strained. "Rafe, I'm eighteen and greener than you ever were. Naturally, I've heard the other girls talk. That's all I know about intimate things. From some of what they say, I'm not sure I want to ever do them." She practically shuddered on those last words.
Rafe had heard too many lies not to recognize bald truth. He'd heard lies from whores who pretended he was the best. Lies from wanted men who swore they'd been framed. "Well, I'm sorry the first man in your bed has to be an ugly cuss with a deformity."
Now she laughed, but there was no rancor in it. The sound was light and actually warmed him in the cool room. "It's not as though you've got three heads growing out of your neck. It's just a scar, Rafe. Everyone has them. I've got one on my left ankle from skinning it on a fence when I was a little girl."
"Just a scar? Bring one of the other gals in to take a gander and ask what she'd charge me. It's just a scar, but anytime I let a gal see it—"
"Rafe, I've just seen it."
He groaned and rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. Yeah, she'd just seen it. And she wasn't upset. Typical of his luck. The only woman who hadn't made him feel ashamed of his nakedness in years, and she had to be a virgin.
Now he was ashamed that she might discover the stiff brandin' iron in his jeans. She had him tied in a knot. He'd thought she was amazing from the second he laid eyes
on her. Her shiny hair, her fierce pride, those damned gorgeous eyes…
Talking with her, smelling the clean, flowery scent of her room and her body, he wanted her more than ever. He was about to burst from it, and there was no way she'd understand. She'd just hate him for it.
He silently cursed. What kind of jackass promises a saloon gal he won't lay a hand on her? Rafe fervently wished he'd kept his big trap shut. Wished he could just hold her, feel her softness close beside him and be able to tell himself that one pretty woman—a woman he hadn't paid to do it—had seen him shirtless and hadn't turned away from the horror.
Sparkle misunderstood his groan. "If any of the girls here would shun you because of your scar, I'd tell then outright that's more shameful than anything they've ever done. No one has the right to make you feel bad over something that was a horrible ordeal."
"Sparkle," he said in a rough voice, "do me a big favor. Stop tryin' to be nice. Ain't comfortable talkin' about this."
They lay in the darkness for what seemed like an hour, neither speaking, neither asleep. Every nerve on fire, each far too aware the other was still awake. Finally Rafe released a long exhale. "This ain't workin' out, is it?"
"Because you're angry. You probably think I should have thanked you for staying here and keeping up the lie. Instead, I insulted you. I barely know you. I should have realized you wouldn't want to talk about something so personal."
"You didn't insult me. You're the first gal in a long time who hasn't."
"So why are you angry?"
"I ain't. Well, maybe a little. Hell, I don't know. Why can't you just go to sleep like you would if I wasn't here?"
"Because you are!" she snapped. "And you're tense, and I can feel it, even though I don't know why if you're not angry."
A deep chuckle filled the room. "If you don't know why a man lyin' in a bed beside a pretty gal would be tense, you must be one pure virgin."
Sparkle's cheeks instantly flamed. "Sorry. That was stupid, wasn't it? I don't know anything clever to say. I've never been one of those flirty sorts who charms men. I don't know how to act alone with one. I mean, if I'm not telling his fortune."
The Trailrider's Fortune Page 3
