Ante Up (Black Aces Book 1)

by Caroline Lee

  She loved him. She loved him, and he was dying, just as she’d always feared. Her tears were pouring down her cheeks now, and she didn’t bother trying to stop them.

  Around her, the crowd was antsy. Some people were muttering, some were outright shaking their fists. A few had turned away, so they didn’t have to watch Hart’s death. But Regina didn’t pay attention to any of them. She just needed to get to him.

  It took her a moment to register the sounds in the distance.

  Hoofbeats?

  Regina didn’t have time to wonder, before a gunshot split the air.

  She screamed, not sure what had happened, and it took a moment to realize Hart was on the ground. Had he been shot? No, because he’d been held up by the rope. When he’d fallen, McNelis had as well—backwards, off the gallows.

  Someone had shot the rope!

  Around her, the mutterings turned to shouts.

  “It’s him!”

  “It’s the Black Ace! Look!”

  “He saved Hartwell!”

  Regina tore her gaze away from Hart, hacking and coughing on the floor of the gallows, and looked where everyone was pointing. Sure enough, a figure on horseback—a black gelding—stood at the end of Bluff Street.

  As if he’d been waiting until he had everyone’s attention, the figure yanked hard on the reins, causing the gelding to rear up. The man was dressed all in black—from his hat to the bandana around his face to his black duster—and as the horse reared impressively, he shook his rifle over his head, then wheeled and galloped out of town.

  “That was one hell of a shot!”

  “The Black Ace is real!”

  “I ain’t never seen him in daylight ‘fore!”

  “The Black Ace! The Black Ace!”

  Regina stood, stunned. There was absolutely no doubt about it. Whoever that had been, he was definitely the Black Ace.

  Despite the crowd’s boisterous excitement, the sound of someone cocking a revolver was unnaturally loud. Her heart leaped into her throat once more, and Regina whirled to see what new treachery King had planned. She was prepared to throw herself in front of Hart if need be, but she needn’t have worried.

  King didn’t have a weapon. Instead, he was glaring daggers at a spot in the crowd behind her. Regina slowly turned.

  Around her, the people of Black Aces backed away, clearing a path for US Marshal Diamon. As his doctor, Regina noted how his dark skin was two shades too pale from blood loss, how his lips were pressed tightly together to ward off the pain, and how he hadn’t been able to get his jacket on over his sling and the careful bandaging she’d done yesterday morning.

  But as a woman, she’d never been so damn glad to see a lawman.

  “This travesty of justice is over,” Diamon said quietly, though firmly, in a deep voice. “This man is not the Black Ace.”

  Regina got the impression of barely contained rage and knew it was directed at King and the others who’d perpetrated this farce. She began to push her way towards the gallows, listening—along with the rest of the now absolutely silent crowd—to the exchange behind her.

  “Hartwell is the Black Ace!” King shouted. “I have proof! He left his hat last night when he tried to murder you—”

  “I was alone all night,” Diamon said calmly.

  Regina knew that was a lie. She knew Finnie had sat with him, but she ignored it. Instead, she finally reached the gallows and rolled up onto the floorboards with less grace than she liked, and dragged herself towards the man still desperately trying to suck in air on the floor of the gallows, the noose still around his neck.

  The man she loved.

  Behind her, the Marshal continued. “And where is your evidence of this man’s guilt, Mr. King?”

  King sputtered through an answer about McNelis misplacing the hat, as Regina reached Hart. She pulled his head into her lap, loosening the noose as fast as she could and yanking it away from his neck. His eyes were closed, his shoulders bent awkwardly. She scrambled at the rope around his wrists, desperate to give him some comfort.

  Diamon’s voice rang out. Regina wondered if she was the only one who heard how weak he was, despite his brave tone.

  “Hartwell stood accused of being the Black Ace. Does anyone here still believe him to be that man?”

  As Regina pulled the rope away from his wrists, Hart breathed a sigh of relief and moved his arms to chafe his wrists. With his head pillowed in her lap, he opened his eyes and met hers.

  Around them, their friends and neighbors spoke up.

  “Hell, no!”

  “We just saw the Ace, mister, and that weren’t Hart!”

  “Hartwell says he ain’t the Black Ace, that’s good enough for me!”

  “Black Ace went that way, Marshal! We all seen ‘im!”

  Regina smiled down at the man in her lap. He had red burn marks from the rope around his neck, and she hoped they’d heal properly, along with whatever damage had been caused inside. But for now, no one would be able to take him from her.

  Diamon spoke again. “Well, Mr. King, it appears you have your answer. Hartwell isn’t the Ace. The Black Ace is getting away…in that direction, I believe.”

  She looked up long enough to see Diamon was pointing calmly northward, the direction the mysterious rider had disappeared. King’s face was a mask of anger, red and splotchy. Suddenly, he whirled.

  “McNelis! Get up off your rear end and form a posse! Burton! Come here!” He stormed off towards the livery, presumably to find a horse.

  Regina was smiling again when she looked down at her love. And, miracle of miracles, Hart was smiling as well, though just slightly.

  Her hand cupped his cheek. “I was so afraid,” she whispered.

  His palm flattened hers against his skin. “Me too,” he admitted, his voice rough and cracked. “I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

  There were tears in her eyes when she thought about how much worse his own terror had to have been, but she chuckled. “Promise me you’ll never do that to me again, Hart Hartwell.”

  The corners of his lips tugged upwards once more. “Promise. After all, you heard them.”

  His eyes flashed towards the crowd, already dispersing. Some headed for where McNelis was bellowing about mounting up, some headed for their homes or stores, and some just milled around. Diamon was nowhere to be seen.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Hart’s beautiful topaz eyes sparkled. “I’m not the Black Ace.”

  “No you’re not.” Not anymore. “You have a future. With me.”

  “I love you, Regina Vickers.”

  “And I love you, Hart. So, so much. I know what you meant now. I love you enough to allow myself to think of a future with you, despite whatever hardships might come our way.”

  His free hand reached up and wrapped around the back of her neck, tugging her closer.

  “Sweetest words I’ve ever heard, my queen. Wanna marry me?”

  She was giggling when their lips met. She had to bend awkwardly, as he was upside down, and the wood of the gallows was harsh underneath them. It was the most difficult, and the clumsiest kiss of their history.

  It was perfect.

  Epilogue

  In the bright December sun, Hart lifted his hand and helped his wife climb down from the sled. The snow in the yard between his home and the corral had been mostly stamped down, but the ride from town—with the sleigh laden with her trunks and baggage—had taken almost an hour.

  An hour he’d spent with his arm around her, marveling at just how lucky he was.

  That morning, despite the frigid temperatures, Hart had stood at the front of the church and watched Doc Vickers escort the most beautiful woman Black Aces had ever seen down the aisle. Half the town’s population had stood and clapped when Reverend Trapper finally declared them man and wife.

  Hart figured that was appropriate, seeing as how they’d also heard her screaming her love for him that horrible day King had almost killed him
.

  Unconsciously, his gloved hand rose to his throat, an action he’d done more than a few times over the last month. The rope burn had healed without scarring, although the bullet wound on his forehead still made his head ache some days. But the memories of that day—of dangling there helplessly, knowing he was leaving Regina behind—could leave him with nightmares for years to come.

  As if reading his mind—and hell, she probably was—Regina’s small hand slipped into his. “Can I help with the baggage?”

  Hart was ready to deny her offer, but then reconsidered. Any help would mean they’d get out of the cold quicker. He hurried around to the back of the sleigh and pulled down a small carpetbag for her to carry. Then, hoisting a trunk across his shoulders, he crossed to the front door.

  “Wait,” he said as he dropped the trunk in a snow pile and held out his hand. “I changed my mind.”

  When she frowned and handed over the carpetbag, he chuckled and swept her up in his arms. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck—his favorite position for her to be in, he had to admit—and he kicked open the door to his home.

  Then he carried his wife across the threshold.

  Inside, Pony had built up a toasty fire, and left out a simple dinner of bread and stew. Hart inhaled deeply, knowing these smells—snow, leather, burning wood, fresh bread, Regina—would always mean home to him.

  Slowly, he let her slide down until her feet were on the floor, but her body was still pressed against his.

  Wait. Correction. This was his favorite position for her to be in.

  He loved the way she looked up at him, her head tilted back and a glint of joy in her beautiful blue eyes. There’d been a few moments there when he’d thought those eyes would be the last thing he’d ever seen, but now, Hart knew the truth.

  “I love you, Regina Hartwell.”

  Her grin was impish. “And I love you. What were you thinking just then?”

  “I was thinking that, when it’s my time to go, I want your eyes to be the last thing I ever see.”

  Her eyes flooded with tears so fast she had to blink them away. “That was scary,” she said in a choked voice, and he knew she had nightmares about that day too. “I want to keep you around for as long as possible. I’m practically a doctor, you know.”

  “I do.” He twined his fingers through hers and lifted her hand to his lips. When he kissed it, he liked the way she shivered. “And I’m glad you’re going to go back into town to help your pa out. In the spring, maybe we can start building doc a little office outside of King’s influence.”

  A shadow crossed her face.

  “What’s wrong?” He flipped her hand over and kissed her palm. “I don’t want you to worry, Regina. We have a lot of years ahead of us, and we’re going to work to create happy memories, I promise. No more nightmares.”

  Her smile was a little weak, obviously intended to placate him. “It’s not that. I just…” she sighed. “We went through so much! You went through so much. You worked so hard and for so long…and King is still in control.”

  He shrugged, his heart too full of happiness to care about King today. “King’s not my problem anymore.” His other arm tightened around her. “I’ve got everything I need right here. And besides…”

  One of her elegant dark brows rose.

  He grinned. “I’m not the Black Ace.”

  Her answering grin was reluctant, but there. “You’re right. I wonder who is now?”

  In the last month Gomez had contacted the Vickerses twice about a note for medicine left behind his store. Both times, Regina had dropped off the necessary medicine and someone—presumably the new Ace—had delivered it.

  But there’d been no more public appearances by the Black Ace; at least, none that Hart nor Regina had heard of. Hart had to admit though, he had been a little preoccupied.

  “Who do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered thoughtfully. “Who do you think?”

  He pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm once more, and answered honestly. “I really don’t care.”

  Her eyes closed on a shiver. “You…don’t care?” she asked in a breathless voice.

  He hummed against her skin, and leaned in to brush his lips over the corner of her mouth. “I don’t,” he whispered. “I’ve got other things to think about.”

  She tilted her head to one side to allow his lips to graze down her jawline, to her throat and the high neck of her pale blue wedding gown. “Like what?” she managed to choke out.

  Hart didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the taste of her skin. “Oh, like having my wife to myself. On our wedding night.”

  Just like that, her eyes flew open, and she stiffened. “Pony!” she exclaimed. “Where’s your grandfather?”

  Hart straightened, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “The old man told me if I wanted to go through the trouble of getting married in a white man’s church, that was my own problem. But he did say he’d bunk down in the barn tonight to give us some privacy.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flushed. “So you think he knows…?”

  “Regina.” His grin grew. “The way you looked today? The way I’ve been panting after you for years? There’s no one in town who can’t guess what I’m thinking right now.”

  A bit of the spitfire he’d had on his lap all those weeks ago returned, as Regina lifted her chin in challenge. “Oh yes? And what’s that?”

  Calling her raise, he leaned in, his lips close to her ear, and told her exactly what he was thinking about doing.

  When he straightened, she was breathing fast and her eyes were wide, but she didn’t look cowed. No, her expression seemed to be…excited.

  “I think…” Her voice cracked. She licked her lips and tried again. “I think you should go take care of whatever you need to do, husband, and then…”

  He was too busy staring at her lips, thinking all the things he’d like to do with them. But when she trailed off, he forced his gaze to her eyes. She grinned.

  “And then you should hurry back.”

  His grin matched hers. Excited. Anticipatory. Happy. He reached out one finger and tapped the smooth skin of her neck, where he’d marked her just a moment ago. “Remember where I was, wife, alright?”

  She winked.

  And that was his undoing. He whirled and yanked the door open, hurrying out into the bright afternoon. The cold would help calm him down. As it was, he was having a hard time walking.

  Still, he probably got the sleigh and horses put away in record time. He did take the time to sit with Pony a bit, out in front of the old wood-burning stove in the barn and tell him about the wedding. Although the old man claimed to not be interested in the white man’s ceremony, he sat and rocked and whittled and asked questions long enough for Hart to start getting antsy. He’d deliberately given Regina enough time to prepare herself, but now she should be ready…

  Pony noticed. The old man’s smile was slight, but it was as familiar to Hart as his own.

  “Your woman waits for you?”

  Hart stood. “Yep.”

  “You’d be a fool to stay talking to an old man then.”

  Cocking his head to one side, Hart considered his grandfather. “Not just any old man, Pony. You mean a lot to me.”

  “Yes.” Pony stood, straight and proud as always, now that his leg had healed. “And you to me. I am proud of you, grandson.”

  Not sure what else to say, Hart stepped forward and pulled his grandfather into a hug. “Thanks, Pony. For everything.”

  When the old man patted him gently on the back, Hart knew it was his way of agreeing. But then Pony pulled away and frowned.

  “Go! Be happy with your woman. You deserve it. You have a future and are safe.”

  Hart nodded, grateful, and headed back towards the house. He did have a future. Whoever the imitation Black Ace had been, he’d helped Hart tremendously. Not just by saving his life, of course, but also by clearing his name. With King and Diamon so i
ntent on tracking down the new Ace, Hart was safe now.

  But when he pushed open the door to the cabin, he put all thoughts of the Black Ace from his mind. There, on the hook beside the door, was Regina’s coat. Her boots were placed neatly in the middle of the room. There, laid over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, was the blue gown she’d worn today.

  Hart’s pulse doubled in a matter of seconds, and he was having trouble remembering how to breathe.

  Where was she?

  Wherever she was, Regina was missing a dress…

  He moved towards the bedroom, the larger one he’d always dreamed of sharing with her…and stopped still. There, on the floor, was one discarded silk stocking. He scooped it up and reached for the door latch, only to see the other stocking dangling from it.

  He yanked open the door and met a vision.

  Regina stood in the middle of the room—her black hair down across her shoulders the way he’d never before seen—dressed only in a sheer linen chemise. He could see the pink swell of her breasts and the dark triangle between her legs. There were chill-bumps up her arms, and her bare feet stood on the braided rug he’d made last winter, but she didn’t look uncomfortable.

  No. Instead, she met his eyes bravely. Hart didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful.

  So arousing.

  He’d removed his hat and coat before he even knew what he was doing, then shrugged out of his jacket and began unbuttoning his waistcoat, the nicest suit he owned. She didn’t say anything, even when he crossed to the little chair in front of the desk and sat, pulling his boots off one after the other.

  He didn’t take his eyes off her once, and she didn’t blink. Instead, she seemed…curious. Breathless. And that made him move even faster.

  When he stood again, his suspenders dangling and his trousers resting low on his hips, he loved the way her gaze dragged over his body. Her eyes lingered on his bare chest, making him warm.

  He stalked forward, intent on touching her, and she didn’t back away. Instead, she met him head on, eyes bright, chin up. When she inhaled sharply, her nostrils flared, and her breasts rose to brush against his chest.