by Caroline Lee
The congregation made their way out much more slowly.
While the unpleasant reminder of their conundrum was capable of marring her day, Regina was determined not to give Mr. King that kind of power over her. Especially not today, when she was feeling so… alive.
“Excuse me, Papa,” she said as she gathered her coat and prepared to slip out of the pew along with the rest of the crowd. “I see someone I need to speak with.”
Her father’s grin was entirely too knowing. “Of course, my dear. If I don’t catch up, I’ll see you at home.”
Regina barely heard her father’s words as she stood to mingle with the townspeople. Standing on her toes, she couldn’t see him.
Where was he?
Another blast of October air signaled someone leaving the warm building, so Regina hurried in that direction. Sure enough, Hart was heading towards Blake’s livery, where he must’ve stabled his horse for the service.
“Hart!” she called, totally disregarding the stares she was attracting by being so bold as to chase a man down Bluff Street. “One moment?”
When he turned, his expression was surprised, but lit into a smile. And not a polite one; a genuine smile which left her breathless as she drew to a stop before him.
Although maybe that was because she’d been near to running.
“Miss Regina,” he said in that lovely low rumble of his. “How are you this fine day?”
Miss Regina.
That’s what the Ace had called her during their midnight adventure. And his voice…
Could Hart be the Black Ace?
“Why, all the better for having a chance to chat with you.” Boldly, she reached out and slipped her arm through his. “I’ve been meaning to ask you to dinner, and this seemed a perfect opportunity. Unless you have to hurry home to your grandfather?”
He made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a hum. Frankly, he sounded as if he’d swallowed his tongue, and Regina crowed inwardly, sure that was evidence he was hiding something.
Then he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. I mean, no, Pony’s not expecting me back too soon. I had some shopping—” He shook his head as she tugged him into motion, towards her home. “But dinner with you sounds—sounds…uh, yeah. Thanks.”
He didn’t say anything else, but clapped his gloved hand over hers, where it rested on his forearm. A jolt of warmth shot through her at being so close to him.
No, no. She was just excited at the opportunity to get him alone again. To ask him about the Black Ace. Yes, that was it.
The way her heart sped up had nothing to do with him. Just the circumstances.
Right?
Just before they reached her home, Hart pulled to a stop, eyeing the roof of the boarding house next door. Old Miss Witherspoon had run it for many years, but when King began demanding rent, it slowly fell into disrepair, and she moved back to Denver to live with her niece. So many businesses in Black Aces had been boarded up or shut down as the owners moved away, and that wasn’t even counting the ones lost to mysterious fires when the owners couldn’t pay.
Her lips tugged down at the unpleasant reminder, and she was anxious to get inside. “What’s wrong?”
Hart started, shook his head, then looked down at her. His smile seemed a little forced. “Nothing. Sorry. I guess I just didn’t realize…”
“Realize what?”
He shrugged and moved towards her front porch. “Miss Witherspoon’s place sure has a high roof, huh? I just mean, two stories and an attic is pretty fancy in a town like this.” He cleared his throat.
The roof? Regina frowned over her shoulder at the building next door. What in the world did…
Oh.
Her eyes widened. Earlier that week, the Black Ace had been up on that roof, but had rolled down to land in front of the porch. All while firing on Stilton to protect her.
The intriguing notion that Hart might be the Black Ace kept her preoccupied during the initial welcome and entry into the house. She answered him distractedly, even as she gave him a tour of Papa’s office and the surgery. They ended in the kitchen, where he sat and she pulled an apron off a hook to begin the biscuits.
He looked so adorably uncomfortable, sitting there at her kitchen table with his hat on his lap, watching her. Her eyes took in the breadth of his shoulders, his shaggy dark hair falling around his ears, and tried to remember exactly what the Ace had looked like.
She couldn’t. All she remembered was what he felt like when he’d had his arms around her.
Would it be possible to convince Hart to put his arms around her? So she could be sure?
When she realized what she was considering, Regina grinned at herself and began to roll out the biscuits. Here she was, alone with a man, and she was trying to figure out a way to convince him to hug her…so she could identify a masked man! How silly. Still, she needed to find out more about him, to determine if her hunch was correct.
“Hello, Mr. Hartwell!” Papa boomed as he entered the kitchen. “What a complete surprise to find you here.”
Hart stood to acknowledge Papa’s not-quite-convincing declaration, and Regina found herself shaken out of her musings, listening to their banter. It was remarkably easy to allow their words and gossip to wash over her as she stamped out the dough, and she even occasionally called out her own thoughts.
Being in the cozy little kitchen with these two felt…right.
Papa hadn’t removed his coat. “Well, I’m off again. Terribly sorry to leave you two alone, but I have a previous engagement.”
“That’s alright, Doc,” Hart was quick to reassure him. “Miss Regina and I will get along fine.”
“I’m sure you will.” Papa shot a knowing glance towards her. “I would’ve invited you, sweetheart, but I can see you’re busy.”
She might’ve been irritated that Papa hadn’t given her warning he wouldn’t be there for dinner, but now it gave her more time to interrogate Hart. So she merely smiled. “Where are you off to?”
“Widow Hoyle has invited me for dinner, and I was delighted to accept. Mr. Burton is outside even now to ensure I don’t get lost and accidentally provide medical attention to someone on Mr. King’s bad list.” He rolled his eyes as he reached for the back door. “I’ll be home later.”
Hart was chuckling as the door closed, and Regina’s breath caught in her throat when she saw his wide, easy smile. He looked so much more relaxed now, even though they were alone once again.
His jet-black hair was just a touch too long, and he had a little gap between his front teeth. He’d obviously shaved for church, or maybe his Indian blood meant he didn’t need to. But his eyes…
His eyes were the most intriguing shade of pale brown. Topaz, really, the color of a dust storm on the horizon. But they were clear and bright and warm, and made her feel all sorts of tingly sensations in her belly.
Oh my.
He was still grinning when he prompted her, “Everything alright?”
“Your eyes,” she whispered, still enthralled.
When his dark brows went up, she realized what she’d said, and flushed. She slid the tray of biscuits off to the side to rise, and reached for the potatoes, flustered.
“I mean, you have very interesting eyes, Mr. Hartwell.”
“For an Indian, you mean?”
Her back was to him, so she felt safe telling the truth. “For a man,” she whispered.
There was movement behind her, then his quiet rumble right over her shoulder. “I liked it when you called me Hart. It’s much nicer than Mr. Hartwell, don’t you think?”
It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Every part of her was focused intently on the large, warm presence behind her. His familiarity. His rightness. Her chest struggled to rise, as if she couldn’t breathe. Staring straight ahead, she licked her lips in anticipation.
Anticipation of what?
“Regina,” he spoke again in that compelling voice, “why did you invite me here today?”
“I— Dinner.” It was all she could manage.
“Why me? You’ve never shown any interest in me before. Never shown much interest in anybody, near as I can tell. Men, I mean.”
Men?
She was plenty interested…in one man in particular anyway. She needed to know the Black Ace’s identity.
She turned and shouldn’t have been surprised to find him standing right there, but sucked in a startled breath nonetheless. After so long without oxygen, she felt herself become lightheaded, and blinked a few times at his wide chest.
Quick as a flash, his hand landed on her elbow, the way it had at his ranch. Supporting. Protecting.
But when she swayed towards his warmth, his hand slid down to her own, and she was startled to discover how good it felt to entwine her fingers through his.
“Regina?” he whispered.
“No,” she croaked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “No, I’m not interested in men.”
Only one man, but at that moment, staring up into Hart’s concerned topaz eyes, feeling his heartbeat in her palm, she couldn’t recall which one.
“Why not?”
What had they been talking about?
Oh yes, men. Interest. Romantic interest?
“Because I’m—I’m not a doctor, but near enough.”
His head jerked back, clearly surprised by her answer. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”
Anything. Everything. She took a deep breath, reminding herself to be strong. To ignore the way her stomach tingled and her skin itched in his presence.
“Do you know…” She closed her eyes briefly and inhaled through her nose. “Do you know how many of my patients die, Hart?”
She opened her eyes in time to see him bite down on his lower lip as he considered the answer…and tried to ignore the warmth such a small gesture made her feel.
Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know. Reckon not that many, because—”
“All of them.”
He frowned. “What?”
“All of my patients die, Hart. All of us die, at one point or another. My mother died before I really knew her. Your parents. My father will one day die, I know. I’ll die, you’ll die. All of my patients die.”
His brows drew in and he opened his mouth, then closed it again as he stared down at her in confusion. She waited for him to tell her she was wrong, that she was being foolish.
It wasn’t foolish. It had been her reasoning for years, since she’d gotten old enough for men to notice her. She hadn’t wanted to get involved with any of them, because she knew, eventually, they would leave her. Or she’d leave them. Just as her patients did.
So she waited for him to back away, or to try to convince her she was wrong.
Instead, he burst into laughter.
Her chin went up, and she stepped backwards, until her rear end knocked against the counter where she’d been working. But his fingers just tightened in hers, and he shook his head as he chuckled.
“Are you making fun of my reasoning?” she blurted.
“No, ma’am.” His chuckles subsided until he was left smiling hugely down at her. “I think it’s sound reasoning.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“Because I know it means you haven’t found anyone yet. I mean, you haven’t met a man you’re willing to be interested in, even if you might lose him someday.”
Her lips tugged down as she tried to make sense of that reasoning. “What…what are you talking about? Are you agreeing with me, or aren’t you?”
When he shrugged, his arm tugged on hers. “I’m just saying I’m not so afraid of losing something that I’ll give up the chance to have it.”
Her breath was becoming short again. Regina felt her chest rising and falling rapidly, and in the back of her mind, wondered if this meant she was coming down with something. Shortness of breath, accelerated pulse, warmth…was this influenza?
“It?” she questioned in a strangled whisper.
Hart was still grinning when he leaned closer, that twinkle in his topaz eyes.
“Love,” he drawled.
Definitely influenza.
But then he straightened once more, putting acceptable distance between them, and left Regina reeling in confusion. Not over his words, but because of her reaction to them. Love? River Hartwell believed in love?
“Now, how about you let me help prepare some of these vittles?”
“Wha—?”
She shook her head, and realized sometime between her heart skipping a beat and now, he’d dropped her hand. In fact, he was now reaching for the onion and the chopping knife, looking completely at ease in her kitchen.
“You want to help?”
“Sure.” He shrugged, not looking at her, but that smile was still on his lips. “You know I’m a good cook, and we can eat faster if I’m not sitting on my a— on my rear end over there watching you work.”
He had a point. Frowning thoughtfully, she turned to pull the frying pan out of the cabinet, wondering what in Heaven’s name had just happened.
Love? Fear?
She’d mentioned death, certainly, as that was her most convenient excuse. But his retort…it had made sense.
And she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it.
“You got any butter?”
“Of course.”
When she pulled it out of the ice chest and handed it to him, she couldn’t help but stare at his long, strong fingers as they competently sliced off a pat and began frying up the onions. His fingers…
She could imagine them stroking a horse, calming it.
Stroking her.
“You know, my pa used to fry up onions once a day. He said the smell kept the evil spirits at bay.”
It was such an unexpected comment Regina blinked and smiled. “Really? Is that an Indian belief?”
More at ease now, she began to chop the potatoes.
“Nope. Pony always said he was crazy. I personally just think the man liked onions. They were about all he knew how to cook.”
She chuckled and caught his answering smile. Her reaction led to him telling her about some of Pony’s traditions, and she found herself asking all sorts of questions.
Dinner preparations did fly by, with him working beside her, and soon they were seated across from one another at the table. He kept up a steady stream of conversation, answering her questions, and asking some of his own. She found that she didn’t mind at all telling him about her early years in Connecticut, or Papa’s desire to come out west when she was young. They laughed, found common ground, and she learned so many interesting things about him.
And not once did she think to ask him about the Black Ace.
Five
“What’s this I hear about you and the doctor’s daughter?” Alfina “Finnie” Pompey leaned across the bar and rested her weight on her elbows. “Rumor has it you spent all last Sunday with her.”
Hart lifted his coffee mug to hide his smile. “Not all day. She invited me for dinner after church.” He left out the part about her pa leaving the two of them alone. “It was nice.”
Nice? Ha! It was better than nice. He’d held her hand! He’d gotten to work beside her, to laugh with her, to learn about her. And while he shouldn’t have laughed over her objections to love or marriage, or even a relationship, he’d been strangely at ease with the idea.
He’d been half in love with her for years and had been half-waiting, half-dreading someone else would court her before he worked up the gumption. Now it turned out she just hadn’t met anyone she wanted to be courted by yet.
And that gave him hope.
“Nice, hmm?” His friend smirked. “Does Mr. King know about your dinner companion?”
Hart looked up so fast, he spilled his coffee. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged her too-wide shoulders and reached for a rag to wipe up the drops on her bar. Finnie wore a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up—she must’ve been washing dis
hes before Hart had walked into her saloon—and her forearms were just as strong as any man’s. Her size was the reason the High Stakes Saloon was as successful as it was; since her pa drank himself to death, this place had become hers, and no man dared cross her, or he’d risk being tossed out. Literally. By her.
But her voice was surprisingly soft. “Just mean he’d be jealous as hell, and it’s never a good idea to cross that man. Anyone with eyes can see King’s soft on Miss Regina. You spending time with her is going to piss him off something fierce.”
Hart exhaled quietly, relieved she hadn’t meant something else. For a moment, he’d thought she knew about his midnight masquerade, and was implying King would use that knowledge to hurt Regina. The idea of Regina being hurt made him want to hit something. Shoot something.
But jealousy he could handle.
Plastering on his best smile, he shrugged. “King can chew leather, all I care. I’ve had my eye on Miss Regina for a while now, and I’m just glad she can recognize how handsome and charming I am.”
“And modest,” Finnie snorted.
“Modest too.”
When Finnie grinned and shook her head, Hart’s smile turned genuine. He’d been coming into the High Stakes Saloon for years. It was his preferred watering hole, as it was usually quiet and cozy. Across town, the Three Queens was not only rowdy, but the whores working out of the upper rooms seemed garish and loud. But upstairs at the High Stakes was rented out to folks who didn’t want to stay at Black Aces’ only hotel. Finnie herself stayed in the room at the top of the stairs, and made it known she slept with a loaded shotgun beside her.
She didn’t tolerate nonsense, and that’s why Hart liked her.
Growing up as a half-breed—quarter-breed actually, but no one bothered with that difference—in Black Aces hadn’t been all that bad. Hart had learned early on that he was tolerated if he kept his head down and didn’t piss anyone off. So mostly, he kept to himself; attended church alone since Pa’s death, did his business alone, and drank alone.
Unless Finnie could spare a moment, like now. It was mid-morning, so Hart was the only one in the saloon besides her. And since it was too early for whiskey, she’d brewed them both a pot of coffee.
