York, the Renegade

by Iris Johansen

  “This transaction has a few fringe benefits I couldn’t resist.” Burke gestured impatiently with his hand. “Drop it, Rafe. I’m not that tired, and that’s not why we’re here. It’s York who has the problem.” He turned in his seat as York started the Jeep. “So let’s get your difficulty out on the table and find a solution for it. What is it? Labor? Or has that damn import policy been hamstringing you?”

  “Neither one.” York shifted uneasily in his seat and pressed his foot down with unconscious force on the accelerator. “It’s personal, not business.”

  “Personal?” Rafe stiffened and stared with concern at York. “Is the grass beginning to look greener somewhere else? You’re probably just bored. Come down to my place next week and”—he hesitated before finishing lamely—“well, on second thought maybe you’d better wait a week or so. There’s a horse I may have to go take a look at fairly soon, and I wouldn’t be able to devote any time to you until—”

  “Rafe,” York interrupted, “if you’ll stop trying to save me from myself, I’ll tell you what the problem is.” The glance he gave Rafe over his shoulder held both exasperation as well as affection. “You needn’t rearrange your schedule or find the time to brainwash me on the glories of the settled and sedate life. Not that you’ve ever been a prime example of either of those qualities.”

  Rafe’s gypsy dark eyes were suddenly dancing. “I had to keep up with you, and Burke, didn’t I? The youngest always carries that psychological burden.”

  “If I remember, I was the one who always came in last,” York said with a faint touch of irony.

  Burke’s smile was surprisingly gentle in his rough-hewn face. “That’s not true. Just the fact that you entered the race at all assured you of first place.”

  “So you always told me,” York said. “I never believed you, but it made me feel better at the time.” His tension was beginning to ebb marginally as Rafe and Burke’s presence worked their usual magic. When the three men were together, he had always felt stronger, surer, and more capable of handling anything—even the phantom that had dogged his childhood. “In a way I’m still running a race against time. I was hoping you could help me.”

  “Name it,” Burke said.

  “We’ll work it out.” Rafe’s smile was reassuring.

  York took a deep breath. “It’s a woman.”

  Burke’s usually impassive face showed a flicker of surprise. “My problem?”

  “A bogus paternity suit?” York shook his head. “No way.”

  Rafe was chuckling. “A woman. You have to be kidding. There hasn’t been a woman you couldn’t lure into your bed since you were thirteen.”

  “I don’t want to lure her into my bed,” York said from between clenched teeth. “I’m trying to keep her out of it. And it’s not funny, Rafe.”

  Rafe’s smile instantly disappeared. “So tell us about it.”

  York did just that, as clearly and unemotionally as possible.

  By the time he had finished, Rafe was laughing again. As York gave him a far-from-pleasant glance his younger brother held up his hand in protest. “I’m not laughing at you. I swear it on old Shamus’s grave. I was just thinking it never rains but it pours.” He suddenly looked thoughtfully at Burke. “And I was wondering if that maxim would apply to your little merger.”

  “Stop being cryptic, Rafe,” Burke said. “Suppose we address York’s problem?”

  Rafe grinned. “Whatever you say, big brother.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on the back of Burke’s seat. “I’ll be delighted to lend my invaluable insight as soon as York tells us what he wants us to do.”

  “I want one of you to take her home with you tomorrow when you leave,” York said, not looking at either of them. “She won’t be any trouble; she’s an appealing scamp. You’ll like her.”

  Neither Rafe nor Burke answered.

  York’s hands tightened on the wheel. “For Pete’s sake, I’m not asking you to adopt her. I just want you to take her in for a few months until she’s well again.”

  “Let’s clarify this a little, shall we?” Burke said frowning. “You’re not just asking for a home and keep for the girl. You’d want us to actually take her under our wing and keep an eye on her personally?”

  York nodded. “She needs looking after, and you’re the only people I’d trust to do it right.”

  Burke swore beneath his breath. “It’s the wrong time, York. Why couldn’t you have asked this a month ago?”

  “Because I’d never heard of Sierra Smith a month ago,” York said. “Your merger is that urgent?”

  Burke grimaced. “More urgent every day.”

  York half turned. “Rafe?”

  Rafe slowly shook his head. “Not if there’s any other way. Your Sierra sounds as if she’s going to require more attention than I can give her right now. I think you’re going to have to work this one out for yourself, York.”

  “I told you how it would end up if I didn’t get her out of Hell’s Bluff. She’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met. She feels more intensely. She’d be—” York stopped abruptly. He had sounded almost desperate. It wasn’t Rafe’s or Burke’s fault he had chosen an awkward time for both of them. How would he have felt if someone had tried to thrust a strange woman on him? Yet if he had met Sierra and realized how sweet and strong and brave she was, he would have taken her. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself, no matter how it disrupted his life-style. Perhaps Sierra would have the same effect on Burke and Rafe once they got to know her. She’d certainly managed to wrap Deuce around her finger in the short time she’d been at Hell’s Bluff. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said as he braked on the rock driveway beside the house. “Meet Sierra first.”

  “I can’t wait to do just that,” Rafe drawled as he jumped lithely from the Jeep. “I trust you didn’t take in the python too? That would have been really fascinating.”

  “No python,” York said with a grin. He stepped out of the Jeep, then waited until Burke and Rafe joined him on the brick walkway leading around to the front porch. “I would have had to get rid of Deuce if I’d brought Bathsheba home.”

  “How is Deuce?” Burke paused. He reached the front porch and a frown creased his brow. “There’s something different …” His gaze flicked to York. “Where are the infamous red lights? I almost didn’t recognize your front porch.”

  York shrugged. “I decided it was too predictable a touch, so I got rid of them.”

  “Interesting,” Rafe murmured.

  Burke made no comment, but there was a curiously thoughtful expression on his face as he followed York into the house.

  “Take off your coats and go into the library,” York said as he strode toward the kitchen. “I’ll hunt up Deuce, and we’ll have a drink before dinner.”

  He appeared in the library a few minutes later. “I can’t find him,” he said, puzzled. “He wouldn’t have gone out. I told him to stick around and take care of Sierra.”

  “That appears to be your injunction to everyone these days,” Burke said dryly. “There’s a note on the mantel over there.” He nodded to the fireplace across the room. “Deuce?”

  York’s frown faded as he recognized Deuce’s beautifully scrolled handwriting on the envelope. “Deuce,” he confirmed as he pulled out the single sheet of paper. “I wonder what the hell he’s up—Dammit” His hand tightened on the note until his knuckles showed white. He felt as if his insides had blown apart.

  “York?” Rafe was instantly beside him, his voice filled with concern. “What is it?”

  “What do you think it is?” York’s own voice was suddenly savage as he crushed the paper. “It’s Sierra. Who else is turning my life inside out? She decided not to wait for me to dispose of her to suit myself. I should have known she wouldn’t, dammit. Sierra’s always the one to take the initiative.”

  “Calm down, York,” Burke said quietly. “Tell us what’s happened. What do you mean, she’s taken the initiative?”

  York dropp
ed the ball of paper on the floor and turned toward the door. “She packed up and slipped out of the house. Deuce took off after her as soon as he read the note she left in her room. Apparently it was a very polite note, saying thank you and telling us where she was going so we wouldn’t worry.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Worry! My Lord, why shouldn’t we worry?”

  “Where has she gone?” Rafe asked as he picked up his coat and started after York. “I gather we’re going in pursuit?”

  “You’re damn right we are,” York said grimly. “Sierra went out and got herself a job this afternoon. She’s now working for Melanie Dolan at the Soiled Dove.”

  Six

  Melanie Dolan’s usually serene expression was marred by a frown. “I’m not at all sure I’m not being an idiot to even try this,” she said to Sierra. “It’s not a good idea to confuse the customers. A house is either one thing or the other.”

  “I’ll be very clear about making sure the men know I’m just a waitress and not one of your girls,” Sierra said earnestly. “I’ve been a waitress before and I’m very good at it. You won’t be disappointed, Melanie.”

  “It’s not my disappointment I’m worried about. Some of my customers aren’t gentlemen enough to take a flat no without an argument.” She shrugged. “Well, I promised you a trial night and I’ll stick to it.” She pushed back the gray leather executive chair and rose gracefully to her feet.

  Melanie Dolan was a wildly improbable anomaly in the cool businesslike atmosphere of the room, Sierra thought. There was an IBM computer on her desk and steel file cabinets across the room, sleekly decorated in blue and gray. In contrast Melanie herself was all warmth and provocative, lush sensuality. Her shoulder-length auburn hair had been cut by a master hand to frame her classic features and the vibrant color flamed above the ice-blue lamé gown lovingly hugging her curvaceous figure. She looked alluring, sexy, and totally in control. However, her quiet assurance did nothing to diminish the warmth of her smile or the humor flickering in those velvet brown eyes.

  Melanie stepped around the desk and paused before Sierra. “Come along downstairs and I’ll introduce you to the bartender. It sounds as if things are beginning to liven up.” She smoothed back one of the dark silky wisps of hair that framed Sierra’s face and shook her head. “It’s a mistake. Why the hell am I doing this?”

  Sierra smiled brightly. “Because you’re a very nice person and a good businesswoman. And because you know I’ll give good value for my wages.”

  Melanie arched a brow. “Oh, is that my motivation? I’m glad you explained. I’ve been wondering ever since I let you talk me into this.” She opened the door to her office and gestured for Sierra to precede her. “Let’s just see how good a businesswoman I am. Welcome to the Dove, Sierra.”

  Sierra drew a deep breath and kept a confident smile fixed firmly on her face as she sailed through the door. As she walked, her full taffeta skirts rustled with a slight sensual hiss. The short emerald-green gown itself was sensual, which hadn’t occurred to her when Melanie had given it to her to alter this afternoon. Though the gown’s cut was simple, the color was eye-catching and gave her pale matte complexion a glow. The off-the-shoulder neckline and tight waist and bodice reminded her of a dance-hall girl’s costume in an old John Wayne movie. Oh, well, why was she worrying? After all, she did try to learn something new every day; maybe this would be a good opportunity. And, besides, sensuous gown or not, she couldn’t hold a candle to red-haired Melanie or her girls when it came to sexiness. No one would look twice at her with all those exotic birds of paradise floating around the barroom.

  Birds of paradise. She wished she hadn’t thought of that comparison. The simile reminded her of that afternoon in the kitchen when York … No, she mustn’t think of York or anything but the job she had to do.

  The noise, the smoke, and the odor of beer struck her as soon as she left the office. From where she stood on the second floor she could look down on the barroom itself. Again she was reminded of a Wild West movie.

  Melanie Dolan had done a superb job of creating an atmosphere to fit in with the town. The hallway on the second floor formed a U-shaped balcony that surrounded the bar on three sides. Private rooms opened off the hall. A staircase, carpeted in the same plum shade as the hall, led down to the first floor. The barroom was dominated by an enormous, magnificent bar. Over it hung an equally enormous painting of a plump reclining nude with several white doves fluttering around her.

  “Gloriously tacky, huh?” Melanie said, following Sierra’s gaze to the painting. “But York wanted authenticity, and it certainly is that. How do you like Bertha and Charlie?”

  “Bertha and Charlie?”

  Melanie gestured to the other side of the room, where a giant swing was suspended from the ceiling by two braided silver cords. Two white plaster of Paris doves at least three feet high were nestling coyly on the bar of the swing.

  “My doves,” Melanie said. “I figured after the nauseating tackiness of the painting, there was no place to go but up. I really wanted a red velvet swing à la the Floradora Girls, but I knew, sure as shooting, one of the customers would find a way of getting one of my girls up there on the swing.” She made a face. “So I settled for Bertha and Charlie and the bird swing.”

  Frankly Sierra thought the swing was even tackier than the painting, but tried to be diplomatic. “It’s very … interesting. It reminds me of a trapeze at a circus.”

  “Don’t say that too loudly. When these miners get a little high, they’re as wild as coyotes. One of them might decide to take a little swing with Bertha and Charlie there.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Sierra grinned as she followed Melanie around a curve in the hallway, toward the stairs. The smell of beer and smoke hung so heavily in the air, the ornate ceiling fans served only to stir, not dispel it. The tinkling of the upright player piano across the room could barely be heard above the laughter and voices of the men at the tables. “Is there anything else I should know?” Sierra asked.

  “Not really. On the whole we have a pretty good clientele.” Melanie frowned as she nodded at a huge man in a red flannel shirt seated at a table near the bar. “Try to stay away from Sam Beattie. Let the bartender Monty Jackson wait on his table. Beattie’s a troublemaker and poison-mean when he’s drunk.”

  Sierra shivered. “He looks as if he could be. He reminds me of Brutus in those Popeye cartoons.”

  “Well, you won’t find anything funny about Sam. The only reason we let him in here is that he usually causes more trouble when we try to keep him out.” Melanie gave her arm a quick, comforting squeeze. “There’s not many like him, and you won’t have any problem with the girls or Monty. You’ll like Monty.”

  In the next hour Sierra found she was right. She did like big, cheerful Monty and found most of the customers equally good-natured and helpful. Many were occupied with the various card games being offered at the tables, and those who weren’t were just as involved with one of Melanie’s luscious “doves.” However, when any one of them became too involved, he was whisked upstairs by his “dove” or Melanie with speed and discretion.

  Sierra was at the bar loading her tray for the umpteenth time and congratulating herself on her smooth entry into the scene when a familiar clipped voice spoke at her elbow. “You could have mentioned the precise nature of your intended occupation in your note.”

  “Deuce.” She turned with a smile. It was good to see a familiar face among all these strangers. “Didn’t I tell you that? I guess I was in such a hurry that I forgot. But you can see, I’m getting along fine, and there’s really nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m sure you’re hardly capable of judging how well you’re ‘getting along’ after only an hour,” Deuce said caustically. “Just because you haven’t been involved in an outright orgy doesn’t mean your situation around here couldn’t become a bit dicey.”

  She shook her head. “No one’s going to pay any attention to me with all those gorgeous girls in the same r
oom. And everyone is being very polite.”

  “How jolly.” Deuce’s expression was remarkably lacking in enthusiasm. “However, I don’t think you’ll find York equally polite when he shows up here. I recommend you come home now and avoid the inevitable explosion.”

  She met his eyes. “But it’s not home to me,” she said softly. “I have no place there. You’ve both been very kind to me, but I can’t stay anywhere that I can’t pull my weight. York wouldn’t listen to me, so I had to take matters into my own hands.” She forced a tremulous smile. “I’m sure York will be glad that I’m out of his hair, once he finds out I’m perfectly all right. He admitted he wished I’d never come to Hell’s Bluff.”

  “Did he indeed?” Deuce’s lips tightened to a thin line. “Well, then he has no right to complain, has he?” He rested his left foot on the brass rail of the bar. “And I’ll take great pleasure in sticking around to tell him so.” He gestured to the bartender. “Give me a brandy, Monty. Carry on, Sierra. I think I’ll just have a drink and keep you company for a bit.”

  She had no need of company for the next fifteen minutes as she flew from bar to tables and back again. She was too breathless to exchange more than a smile with Deuce, but it gave her a warm, comfortable feeling to know he was there. As much as she had denied having a home here, Deuce seemed like family.

  She was loading her tray for another venture into the thickening crowd when Deuce’s murmur in her ear caused her to nearly drop the glass she was holding. “Don’t look now, but I believe the cavalry’s arrived.” His gaze was on the wooden swinging doors at the front of the saloon. “The full cavalry. You’ve never met the other two Delaneys, have you?”

  “No.” Her eyes widened in surprise as she twisted around to try to peer through the crowd. “What are they doing in Hell’s Bluff?”