by Marie Piper
“Will do. I’m much obliged to you folks.”
“You’re welcome back in Cricket Bend anytime,” Luke said, “but your boys best behave like nuns and angels if they ever show their faces here again.”
Bill McKenzie brought up the rear as the exhausted cowboys rode out of town.
“This man on the big paint,” Hank asked as he linked his arm through Callie’s, “has he been seen in town?”
Braxton shook his head. “Not yet. But he’s coming. I can feel it in my bones.”
Everyone grew silent at the ominous warning.
“Well,” Hank’s grin returned, “after all that excitement, drinks are on me for anyone who wants them. Doc?”
“One won’t kill me,” Doc said, winking at Matthew.
“I’ll have one, then I’ll take a ride around the area,” Braxton answered. “Sheriff? Deputy?”
Luke and Matthew declined, and the group parted. The sheriff sat down in his rocking chair and lit a cigar. “You know, I won’t think ill of you if you go to the saloon with the others.”
“I know,” Matthew answered.
“You all right?”
Matthew looked at him, the man who’d been like his father as long as he could remember. Letting Luke in on Haven’s strange behavior would be smart, but then he’d have to explain that he knew his own behavior was the root cause of it. “Something in the air, I don’t know. Maybe Braxton’s bones are right. I feel like I shouldn’t let my guard down.”
“When that feeling hits, it’s usually right.” Luke puffed a thick cloud of smoke. “Well, before Mr. Walker graces us with his presence, maybe we’ll get a few days of peace and quiet now that those griping cowboys are gone. I do so like having my empty jail back.”
Matthew watched the clinic. Haven looked out, but when she saw him staring, she vanished. “Peace would be nice.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Haven
Every single second, minute, and hour felt as long as a year as Haven went about her daily duties. The night after Bill McKenzie came to town, she cleaned up dinner and went to bed, same as ever.
But she didn’t change into her nightgown; she got under her blankets fully dressed.
Once she heard her father’s familiar snore, she hopped out of bed and went out her window. As her skirt caught on her window frame, she fell with a thump to the ground outside.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered to herself as she got back on her feet and took stock of her options. “There’s no need to be scandalous and clumsy at the same time.” Riding Echo would be too risky. As a small woman, hiding in the shadows of town at night wouldn’t be too hard, but a horse was another matter entirely. The walk to town was only about a mile and a half, and she made it fairly quickly. With the possible threat of a madman around, she scanned the fields around her and kept her knife in her hand. She could just hear her father’s lecture about how reckless she was being.
When she got to the back of the saloon, she ducked behind a pile of crates.
Hank didn’t take long to appear, stepping out the back door and glancing around for her.
For a moment, Haven thought of staying in the shadows until he was gone and then running back home fast as she could. A smart woman would do just that. Yet there stood Hank, in his black brocade vest and a white shirt that seemed brighter against his tanned skin. A familiar surge of want rose in her as she remembered his warm kisses in the bluebonnets.
“Psst,” she whispered.
After making sure no one was around, Hank’s eyes sought her. “Come here,” he said in a low voice. He made a small gesture, and she stepped from the shadows. “You brazen little thing.”
Her stomach in knots, Haven swatted him when he tried to touch her. “Hush. I’m so scared of being seen, my knees are shaking.” With a calm manner that she found obnoxious, he threw a long jacket over her and plopped a worn leather hat on her head. “I look ridiculous.”
Hank brushed his lips briefly over hers, and she stopped arguing. “You look like half the men in my saloon. Don’t you worry, sweetness.”
The back entrance of the saloon led past a storage closet and around the side of the bar. Hank took Haven by the hand up to the bar, keeping her behind him and out of sight. Haven peeked and saw Callie sitting atop a piano in a grand pink gown, looking like a queen holding court with the men’s attention all aimed her way.
Hank nodded at her just slightly, and Callie waved a hand to the pianist. A jovial tune filled the room, and Callie and the pianist began to sing. Half the men in the saloon cheered and stood up, moving toward the music and singing along loudly. Swiftly, Hank pulled Haven through the back of the crowd and up the stairs. She kept her eyes on the ground, not daring to breathe until she was in Hank’s room, and the door was locked behind them.
“Oh my stars,” she breathed.
“Well done,” Hank replied.
“You’re good at that.”
“I told you discretion was one of my strengths.” He took the hat off her head and tossed it aside. Next, he swiftly removed her jacket and laid it on a chair. “That’s much better. It’s a shame to hide a beauty like yours, even for a few moments.”
“This is a terrible idea.” She laughed nervously. “I got in here unseen by sheer luck. There’s no way I’ll get back out unnoticed.” She couldn't stop her hands from fidgeting, from touching her dress and her hair. It hadn’t been until she’d stepped into Hank’s room that she realized the full consequences of what she was planning to do.
“Leave that all to me, sweetness. Things calm down around three. I’ll see you home then.”
“Callie knows I’m here, doesn’t she?”
“She knows I brought a woman upstairs, yes. She does not know it’s you. Her excellent techniques of distraction were required. When it comes to secrets, she is as gifted as myself. It’s an essential part of her business, after all.”
He sat on the bed and patted the mattress next to him. Haven knew it was an invitation to sit beside him, but she couldn’t rest, so she took in the room around her. In comparison to Callie’s room, Hank’s seemed bare. Nothing in the room reflected him. There was nothing except a lantern, a candle, and a few pieces of clothing. It struck her as odd that a man with such a dedication to his appearance wouldn’t have a few personal touches in his room. Of course, he hadn’t been in town that long, and she imagined taking over a business was time-consuming.
There was so much she didn’t know about him.
All the warnings came back to her. “Tell me why I’m supposed to be afraid of you.”
“Who said that?”
“Matthew. Papa. Other folks. You know how small towns are.”
“Indeed I do.” From the tone of his voice, she knew he’d encountered this sort of judgment before. All the things she didn’t know about him danced around in her mind and made her jittery. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Should I be?”
“What do you think?”
The way he looked right into her eyes seemed open and truthful. “I think if you were aiming to hurt me, you could have done it already. But why do folks say those things?”
Hank drummed his hands on his knees a little. “My younger days are filled with things I’m not terribly proud of. A man earns a reputation.”
“Everyone has regrets.”
He smiled. “Your version of regrets and mine are vastly different, I’d wager. Matthew and your father aren’t wrong, Haven. I wasn’t raised to be a good man. My folks left me with my uncle, and he was rough. I got into trouble and left school. I headed out thinking I was smarter than everyone and didn’t need anyone. I spent most of my life that way, and I was good at cards and lying to people, so it paid off. I am, by trade, a con man.”
As he spoke, she felt herself drawn toward him. She crossed the room until she stood before him. He’d always been honest with her, and she felt free to ask the question that needed asking. “Are you conning me right now?”
&n
bsp; “Do you think I could?” Hank put a warm hand on her face and brushed his thumb over her cheek. Every place on her body tingled. “I have long admired you, my sweet Miss Anderson. The first day I arrived in Cricket Bend, I saw you walking down the street. I remember you were carrying a basket. I thought, ‘My stars. That woman is too pretty for this dusty little town.’ And I figured, being a low-down good for nothing scoundrel, you’d never look my way. But you did, and now I consider myself the luckiest man in the territory because you’re here with me.”
Something in his manner brought to mind a nervous boy, instead of a man to fear. Always, she had thought of Hank as the epitome of confidence, but as he sat beside her he seemed as nervous as she was. His fingers fiddled with his vest, and any trace of the dangerous rogue was gone, along with any bit of fear she’d had of him.
He was just a man, and he was scared. Haven thought that was sweet.
Hank stood up and went to a small table where a bottle and a couple of glasses sat. He popped the cork out of the bottle and poured them each a glass of deep red wine. When he returned to her, he held one up. “I know what a risk you’ve taken, coming here. I must say I’m delighted to find out you don’t always do as you’re told,” he said as he raised his glass. “A toast. To shattering expectations.”
Haven had never tasted wine. When they toasted and drank, she found the tart liquid went down surprisingly easy. Over the top of the glasses, their gazes met. Hank’s eyes seemed to shine in the light of the lanterns. He snapped his fingers. “I nearly forgot. I have a surprise for you. It’s on loan for the evening.”
He went to his wardrobe, and Haven couldn’t imagine what he might be doing. When he turned around, the red silk dress from Callie’s room was in his hands.
“A little bird told me you admired it.”
“It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”
Hank held it toward her. “Then try it on. I can’t imagine anyone could wear it better than you.”
“I couldn’t.” Being in his room alone with him was one thing. Wearing the most scarlet dress she’d ever seen while being here was beyond anything she thought would happen. Hawthorne’s Hester Prynne came to mind, marked for life with a red letter A for the crime Haven seemed to be about to commit. “It would be so far beyond proper—”
“My dear Haven, don’t you know by now that I am the one person in town with whom you don’t have to worry about being proper?” He put the dress in her hands and stepped back. “If you want to wear it, and I know you do, then wear it, even if it’s just for a short while. At least long enough to see how well it suits you. I promise not to look while you change. I swear it on my mother’s grave.”
Haven raised an eyebrow. “How do I know your mother is dead?”
“A good question. You don’t. You’ll have to trust me.”
“Turn around before I throw my glass at you.”
When his back was turned, she clumsily unbuttoned her dress. It fell to the floor. She had another moment of doubt as she realized what a scandal there would be if they were caught together. But Hank had said it himself: discretion was a skill he possessed.
No one had seen her come to his room, and perhaps she could leave at the end of the evening just as unseen.
And oh, how she wanted to wear the dress. Even if it was just for a few moments.
The red dress felt cool and slippery as she pulled it up. The whole time one eye stayed glued to Hank. True to his word, he never tried to peek. She watched him take an occasional drink of his wine as he studied the wall. Haven’s eyes ran over him greedily, noticing the way his clothes were tailored to fit to his impressive form. Women could feel desire the same as any man could, and she felt it for Hank Porter. In truth, she wanted him to like what he saw once she was in the dress. She wanted him to want her in completely improper ways.
Once she was dressed, she fluffed her hair over her shoulders. The dress fit her like a second skin, showing her bare arms and shoulders and the top of her cleavage. The skirt of the dress revealed her bare calves and feet, and she wished she’d had the foresight to bring stockings.
Before speaking again, she took a long drink of wine and a deep breath.
“You can turn around now. I hope I don’t look foolish.”
Hank turned, and he seemed to drink in the sight of her. “Foolish would be the last word I’d use to describe you.”
“What words would you use?”
“Delicious.” As if he couldn’t keep his hands off her, he moved to be close to her again. One of his fingers ran along her bare shoulder. “You’re telling me true that no man has ever taken you to his bed? Not even your deputy?”
Haven wished he hadn’t mentioned Matthew. She thought of his proposal, the new house he’d bought them, and of their upcoming wedding.
Everything outside Hank’s room was at stake if she gave in to her silly passion.
For a moment, she could see herself. Everyone in Cricket Bend thought of her as a good girl, smart and strong and hardworking, yet she was dressed like a wanton woman in a room with a man whose intentions were openly far from honorable. A man who every part of her body, save her head, wanted.
“Astonishing,” Hank answered. “Surely many have wanted to. If you were mine, I’d have been unable to wait until our wedding to touch you.” His fingers moved down and settled just above her heaving bosom, his big palm resting over her breast. “Your heart is racing. Is this all right?”
Nothing about what she was doing was right. Everything was completely wrong, no matter how good it felt.
“Hank…”
“There’s no need to be scared,” he said.
And he kissed her.
Haven lost herself in the softness of his lips until she felt dizzy. Hank’s hand stayed on her chest, his other hand grasping the other breast, squeezing until Haven removed her mouth from his with a gasp.
He smiled, his lips moving toward her neck, grazing across the bare skin of her shoulders as his hands ran down her body to her hips. Clutching her skirt in great handfuls, he lifted it and used the fabric to keep her against him. Haven felt his fingers reach under the skirt of her dress and slide along her bottom over her bloomers.
There was no doubt in her mind that he fully intended to ravage her that very night in that very room, like she’d thought about him doing so many times. But this time, it was no daydream. She caught sight of them in his mirror. Haven marveled at how unlike herself she looked, wild-haired and scantily dressed, swept up in the arms of a man who was practically a stranger. Hank’s fingers clutched her bottom. The surprise of the touch made her arch toward him, and he took it as a sign to go further.
One jerk, and the top of her dress came down, exposing her breasts. Like a hungry man, he bent down and feasted on them, hands and mouth seemingly trying to devour her. Haven shook from overwhelming nerves and exquisite pleasure as he took one nipple in his mouth and pulled at it with his teeth. She stumbled backward a few steps, her back landing against a dresser.
“Hank,” she breathed, planning to tell him to stop. Everything he was doing felt glorious, and she could have happily lost herself in his strong arms, but she couldn’t be his lover. She just couldn’t.
Hank wasn’t Matthew.
He whirled her around, and her hands shot out to the dresser. In the mirror, she saw herself red-faced and wild-haired, and she saw the driving desire on his face. She watched as he reached down to raise her skirt up over her bottom and unhook his pants.
She looked back at her face in the mirror, but it wasn’t her own face she saw. She saw her mother, whom she resembled so strongly. Lucy Anderson would never have allowed a man to take these kinds of liberties. When she frowned at herself, her mother frowned back.
At the same moment, her eye went to the reflection of light shining off the ring on her finger.
Matthew’s ring.
Cursed, impossible, wonderful Matthew. He’d been the one who had promised her a lifetime, and
he should have been the man kissing her this way. Something held him back, but he’d wanted to. She could feel it. If she stayed another second with Hank Porter, she would never be able to find out what the something was.
Haven felt Hank’s fingers on the skin of her lower back, reaching for her bloomers. All her senses rushed back to her.
“Stop,” she whispered. As she turned to him, her skirts fell back into place.
“Sweetness,” he whispered, “you don’t need to be afraid. Trust me.”
Again he pressed his hot lips to hers and took rough hold of an exposed breast. Haven felt the pulsing between her legs that he’d awoken, but she wiggled herself free. “I…Hank…I need to go.”
When Haven looked up to try and explain herself, not knowing at all how she would do so, she saw what appeared to be hurt in Hank’s eyes. His shirt was rumpled and his pants were undone, and she tried not to think about how much of this encounter was her own fault.
“You want this, don’t you?” Hank’s handsome face looked pained.
“Yes,” she replied. “No. I don’t know. I just know that I need to go right now.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” she answered, “you have done everything exactly right.”
He reached for her, but she blocked his hands. Hank’s eyes turned cold, and he stopped approaching. She saw him swallow hard as he nodded his head toward the door. “I won’t stop you.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Hank. This isn’t about you.”
“Go,” he replied, turning his back on her.
Haven pulled the top of her dress back up and did as she was told. Hank shut the door behind her. Standing outside the door to the room, it felt like Hank was already a world away. She felt guilty and sinful and like a grand kind of fool.
“Haven!”
Hearing her name nearly made her faint, but she’d never felt happier to encounter Callie. Rushing toward her, Callie took in Haven’s loose hair and red face and dress. “What in the world?”
Haven shook her head. “I’m an idiot.”
