Some of it he managed to pocket before the table hit the floor. Some of it he had to scrounge from underneath the chairs, dodging the boots scuffling all around him. While the chaos ensued, he counted the silver that was owed him, tossing a coin back into the fray when he’d accidentally taken a dollar too much.
Once he collected his allotted winnings, he nodded over the crowd to Miss Hattie, who was standing in the corner, shaking her head at the insanity.
He mouthed “Cat?” to her.
She arched her brow and pointedly held out her hand for payment.
Drew picked his way through the battlefield, stepping over fallen foes, steering clear of flying fists, nudging quarrelers aside, and ducking hurled projectiles.
Miss Hattie gave him a peeved glare when he dropped twenty dollars in coin into her palm.
“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” he asked.
“You gonna pay for the damages?”
“Me? Why? This wasn’t my fault.”
“The hell it wasn’t. If you’d listened to me and done right by Catalina, you wouldn’t have had to gamble so’s you could meet her price. And if you hadn’t have had to gamble, you wouldn’t have had to cheat.”
“What?” he burst out, dizzied by her logic, offended by her accusation. “I didn’t cheat.”
She gave him a dubious smirk.
He frowned, injured. “I’m just good at readin’ people’s tells is all.”
“Is that so? Then can you tell what I’m thinkin’ right now?”
He could. By the furrow in her brow, her tight jaw, and the tiny tic at the corner of her eye, he could tell she was furious with him. She probably wanted him out of her sight.
He couldn’t blame her, even if she was wrong about him cheating. But he didn’t want to stand here and argue about it. He wanted to head upstairs to be with his…
He glanced up to find Cat, gripping the banister with pale knuckles and staring at the melée with much the same expression that Miss Hattie wore.
Hell. He was in trouble.
“Go on,” Miss Hattie urged, jerking her head toward Cat. “Git.”
He was gone and up the stairs before she could finish clucking her tongue.
When Catalina saw the great brawl taking place downstairs, her first reaction was terror.
What was happening? Why were the men fighting? Was Drew hurt?
Only when she saw him wading through the mayhem, unharmed and unruffled, did she breathe a sigh of relief. And once she saw he was safe, then she could afford the luxury of anger.
The men were making a mess out of the salon. The wreckage was all over the floor—broken glass, splintered wood, whiskey, blood, and quite possibly a few teeth. There were gaping rips in the upholstery and the wallpaper. Worse, it didn’t look like the fight was going to end any time soon.
And she was going to have to clean it all up.
The fresh bouquets she’d spent an hour arranging were trampled. The carpet she’d just slaved over was ruined. The wood floors would have to be swept and mopped all over again.
Then she saw Miss Hattie taking Drew to task for starting the fight.
Drew was responsible for this?
Her blood began to boil.
When he headed up the stairs as if nothing was wrong, it was fuel for her rage. She had half a mind to push him back down the stairs after the destruction he’d caused.
Her anger must have shown in her eyes, because he slowed his ascent.
Misunderstanding her ire, he explained, “Aww, don’t worry about them, Cat. They’re just lettin’ off steam.”
She folded her arms across her breasts. “And are they going to clean up the mess when they’re finished letting off the steam?”
He stopped on the step. Clearly, he hadn’t thought of that.
She told him, “Because if I have to clean up this mess, I won’t be going to bed tonight.”
“What?”
Drew might be handsome and irresistible, but at the moment, his charm was no match for her anger. She dared him with an arched brow.
“Aww, Cat,” he reasoned, coming up the last few steps, “can’t you leave it till the mornin’? The fightin’ could go on for an hour or more.”
She sincerely hoped not. At this rate, in an hour, there would be nothing left of The Parlor.
As if to prove her point, someone knocked the shelf behind the bar off the wall, and bottles shattered on the floor with a loud crash.
Drew grimaced and rubbed his chin. “Tell you what. If you leave it till the mornin’, I’ll help you clean up.”
“And how do I know you will not sneak away before I am awake?” she said, adding pointedly, “Like you did this morning?”
“Sneak a-? Shoot, I was only tryin’ to spare your feelin’s.”
She raised her chin in challenge. “Maybe I do not have any feelings for you.”
“The hell you don’t.”
“Besides, how do I know you will not try to ‘spare my feelings’ again?”
“I guess you’ll have to take my word on that.”
She thinned her lips. She didn’t know whether to trust him. But what choice did she have?
There was no point in tidying up until the men were done with their childish horseplay. And she didn’t really want to be cleaning the house all night. Drew had paid Miss Hattie for Catalina’s company again, and Catalina would be a fool to turn down such easy money. Besides, if he kept his word to help her in the morning, she’d be done in half the time.
“Come on, Cat, what do you say? Shall we get off the balcony before we get hit with a flyin’ chair?”
She wasn’t happy about this—any of it. In Italy, brawling was done in the streets, where there was nothing to damage. These American men were like animals, destroying the salon. Maybe this was why they called it the “wild” west.
Once they were behind the closed door of her room, the sounds of fighting were muffled, punctuated only occasionally by the thud of a body hitting the wall downstairs and the tinkle of breaking glass.
She wheeled to confront him. “What did you do to start such a fight?”
“Me? Why does everyone keep blamin’ me?” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “All I did was win the game and…and stake my claim.”
“What means this—stake my claim?”
He cleared his throat. “I just demanded what was…what was rightly mine.”
“Your winnings?”
“That’s right, my winnin’s and…” He turned around to unfasten his gun belt and mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear.
“What?”
He mumbled it again.
This time she understood him. “What do you mean—’my woman’?” Her heart was beating in an unruly fashion.
He worked his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of the right words. Then he wrapped up his gun belt and placed it on the stand beside the bed.
An awkward silence passed. Catalina wasn’t sure if she should be thrilled or appalled that Drew had called her his woman. Then, remembering how he didn’t want to make anything permanent between them, she decided she was appalled.
“I am not your woman,” she insisted. “You have said so yourself. You are a tumbling rock, remember?”
He gave her a quizzical frown. “You mean a rollin’ stone?”
“That is what I said.”
He smirked and sat on the bed to pull off his boots. “I know you’re not really my woman, Cat. But I just couldn’t let one o’ those beef-headed no-counts have you. The notion that one o’ them might be sleepin’ next to you tonight…” He shook his head. “They’re just not good enough for a lady like you.”
“And you are?” Catalina resisted adding that Drew was certainly possessive for a man who claimed he didn’t want to be tied down.
Chapter 17
Drew knew he wasn’t making any sense.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
He f
elt the way he felt. Something about innocent Catalina brought out the hero in him. He wanted to come to her rescue and keep her out of the villains’ clutches.
And yet he couldn’t imagine riding into the sunset with her. He was a free spirit, a lone wolf. He’d always been that way.
“Look, I know I’m no prize,” he admitted as he pulled off his other boot. “You prob’ly deserve better than me. But at least I’m respectful. I’d never make you do anythin’ you didn’t want to do. You can’t say the same for those men downstairs.”
She lowered her eyes and picked a thread from her skirt. He was right, and she knew it
“But tomorrow you will leave, yes?” she said.
He frowned. That was the trouble. That was the part that made no sense. “Maybe. Prob’ly.”
She didn’t need to put the pieces of the puzzle together for him. It was obvious that after tonight, if he left, he’d have no say whatsoever over who crawled into bed with her. The thought of it made him ill.
The only way he could be sure no one else put their grubby hands on Catalina was if he stuck around. But the lady was damned expensive. He couldn’t afford to keep paying her twenty dollars a day. Shit, the gambling men of Paradise couldn’t afford to lose that much either.
Frankly, it would be easier—and cheaper—to just marry the lady.
He watched as Cat went to the mirror and began taking the pins out of her hair.
Would it be so bad to be saddled with a wife? He certainly couldn’t wish for a prettier one. She was smart and handy, a hard worker. She had a wicked sense of humor and a captivating laugh. And she had a body that made his mouth water.
“Where will you go?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. She casually ruffled her hair with her fingers to shake loose the seductive black curls.
“When I leave Paradise?”
“Si, yes.”
“I’m not sure exactly. Where the wind takes me, I guess.”
“It is a lonely life, no?”
He shrugged. He never thought of it that way. If he got desperate, towns always had a couple of saloon girls to keep a stranger company. Of course, saloon girls were like tumbleweeds too, wandering across a desert full of men until they found one they could stick to.
Catalina lifted her foot, resting it on the chair in front of the dresser to unlace her boot. Damn, she wasn’t even trying to look tempting, and still she managed to make his heart do a flip in his chest.
He’d like to undress her himself. He’d rest her heel on his thigh, slowly pull loose the laces of her boot, and slide his fingers up her silky calf to slip off the soft leather. Her flimsy stocking would come off next, followed by…
The sound of her boot heel hitting the floor as she dropped it startled him from his daydreaming. She switched legs to remove the other boot.
“I do not think I would like your life,” she said. “To have no friends…”
He frowned. “I have friends.”
That wasn’t precisely true. He had friends he never saw. The people he did see were not really his friends. They were card players and bartenders and saloon girls who pretended to be his friends.
He’d never really thought about it before. And now that he did, the truth made him uncomfortable.
“What about you?” he challenged. “You left all your friends and family in Italy.”
She dropped the second boot on the floor and straightened. Then she began taking off her clothes.
“My friends I miss. But I will stay in Paradise and make new friends.”
“What about your family?” He tried to keep his voice steady, which wasn’t easy while she was casually unbuttoning her dress.
She shrugged. “The brothers who throw rocks at rabbits? I do not miss them. They are not nice boys.”
Drew wasn’t really listening. He was distracted by the way the lace of her camisole was peeking out as she continued unbuttoning her bodice. But when her words finally sunk in, he was hit by a surge of inexplicable protectiveness.
“Your brothers, they never hurt you, did they?” he demanded, ready to take on the whole Italian army in her defense.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. They would not dare. My father would beat them.”
He forced his fists to relax. He knew he was overreacting. But he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hurting Catalina.
“What about your folks?” he asked. “Don’t you miss ’em?”
“My mother is dead. My father is…” She wrinkled her forehead. “Prepotente. I do not know the English word.”
“Sick?” he guessed.
“No.”
“Missin’?”
“No.”
“Meaner than a skilletful o’ rattlesnakes?”
She burst into delightful laughter. “No, no, no. He is only very serious. He tries to tell me what I can and cannot do.”
“He’s bossy.”
“Bossy?”
“He gives you orders, and you have to do what he says.”
“Si, exactly. He is bossy.”
As Catalina shimmied out of her dress, Drew figured it was a good thing her bossy father lived half a world away. He doubted the man would approve of his daughter working in a whorehouse.
She draped her dress over the chair and began to untie her petticoat. He couldn’t help but smile at how used to him she’d become in just a few days. Drew, on the other hand, didn’t think he’d ever get used to Catalina’s irresistible beauty. She was only half undressed, and already he could feel lust rousing in his trousers.
He sighed, wondering how many nights of unrequited hankering a man could endure.
As Catalina slipped the petticoat from her hips, she could feel Drew’s gaze on her, almost like a caress. It warmed her blood and filled her with a curious longing.
It also filled her with dangerous thoughts…thoughts of defying her father and everything she’d been taught…thoughts of throwing caution to the wind and following her heart…thoughts of listening to Miss Hattie’s advice about allowing Drew to be her first lover.
After all, she reasoned, this was the wild West. The rules were different here. That was one of the reasons she’d come to California. Here a penniless immigrant could start her own business. The state was full of spinsters and widows, women who managed ranches, ran brothels, forged their own fortunes…and slept with whomever they chose.
She glanced up at the reflection in the mirror. Behind her, Drew was taking off his shirt. His undershirt did little to hide what was beneath. His shoulders were broad, and his chest was thick with muscle. Her knees grew weak as she imagined running her hands over his smoothly-sculpted contours.
She lowered herself onto the chair and fumbled for her hairbrush, watching him hang his shirt on the bedpost. She gulped and began brushing her hair as he worked on the buttons of his trousers.
When he shoved his trousers down, exposing his drawers, she could plainly see the evidence of his arousal. Rattled, she lost the grip on her brush, and it clattered to the floor.
He looked up sharply, and she ducked her head, feeling the rush of blood to her face.
He snickered and took his trousers off the rest of the way.
“You know, if you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he warned, “I’m gonna have to start chargin’ you.”
Mortified, she retrieved her brush.
He hitched his trousers onto the bedpost and threw back the covers, preparing to climb into bed.
Clutching the brush tightly before her, she blurted, “How much?”
He stopped. “Pardon me?”
She swallowed and met his gaze in the mirror. “How much would you charge?”
He paused for a moment and then shook his head with a rueful laugh. “Oh, no, you’re not gonna play that game.”
She whipped around to look at him over the back of the chair. “What game?”
“Cat and mouse.”
“Cat and mouse?”
�
�Yeah, where the cat teases the mouse and leads him on a merry chase, and then the mouse winds up sorry he didn’t just mind his own business?”
She furrowed her brow. “I do not know this game.”
“Maybe not, but you learn awful fast.” With that, he resumed climbing into bed and pulled the covers up over his tempting body. “Good night, Cat.”
Now she was peeved. How dared he dismiss her like that?
She slammed the brush down on top of the dresser. He lifted his head in a questioning glare.
“Now you are turning me down?” she demanded.
He opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are we talkin’ about here?”
“We are talking about…” She averted her eyes. “Making the sex.”
He let out a forceful breath. “Oh, no, you don’t. Not now.” He raised a hand as if to ward her off. “We already agreed there was gonna be no touchin’.”
“What?” She stormed to her feet. “But you are the one who wanted to make the sex, yes?”
“Well, sure, that first night.”
“And now you do not?”
He gave her a sarcastic smirk. “Oh, I don’t know. What do you think?”
He threw back the covers, just in case she hadn’t gotten a good enough look the first time. Glancing at his imposing size, she had a moment of misgiving. But she’d come too far to turn back now.
“I think we should definitely make the sex,” she decided.
“Well, I don’t.” He dragged the covers back over his body.
She stomped her foot. “Why?” she demanded.
“Did you just stomp your foot?”
“I’m angry. I do not see why you will not make the sex with me.”
“Q’ut!” He threw up his hands in frustration. “You’re a virgin.”
“I cannot help that.” She lowered her eyes and murmured, “Besides, Miss Hattie said I would be lucky to have you for my first.”
“Miss Hattie?” He shook his head in disbelief. “And how does Miss Hattie know that?”
“She said she can tell.”
Drew exhaled and tried to rub the frown from his brow. “The truth is I’m not the kind o’ man who goes around plowin’ other farmers’ fields.”
Native Hawk (California Legends Book 3) Page 12
