Brandi threw down her packages on the bed and curled her hands on each hip. “Look,” she said angrily. “I’ve tramped around all hell and sundry with you and for once I’d like to have a civilized evening. Surely I deserve that.”
“It’s too dangerous. If he looks at you again like yer up fer sale, I’ll have to hit him. And that’s attention we don’t need.”
Her expression softened as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Why, Mr. Reilly,” she said with her fake accent. “I do believe you are a very jealous man.”
It was true, but he wasn’t about to admit it.
“What must I do to assure you that I am all yours?” She was tugging him, a slow waltz, to the bed. “Guess I’ll have to stroke your ego,” she whispered in her sultry tone.
Stroke what? Was this one of her fancy words? His imagination filled the gap. He liked the way she stroked certain parts, and that certain part had already stiffened in anticipation.
Her hand cupped his groin through the trousers and she grinned. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”
Devon puffed a laugh. “Yer a shameless hussy.”
“I am your shameless hussy,” she sang, running a finger over his top lip where several days’ growth of whiskers had once been.
He shrugged off his coat before falling and pinning her onto the bed. The packages scattered. “Why can’t I say no to you?” he whispered. “Yer a witch.”
She wiggled her nose. “A hussy and a witch. You truly know how to flatter a girl.”
Running his thumbs down her cheeks, he sighed. Moments like this made him forget that the world outside existed at all. Moments like this clouded his hatred, making it seem so trivial and useless. She had bewitched him and it was a magic that always culminated in total satisfaction. His body ached for the rewards of the satisfaction she offered. His heart ached even more. With her the voice of revenge was muted.
When she tipped her chin to kiss him, Devon succumbed to the madness of passion. Writhing over her he pushed a wanton tongue greedily into her mouth, clamping his arms firmly against soft sides. They were both still fully dressed, but he pulsated anyway, as though his ‘ego’ was blindly searching for the opening. He was so excited--it had washed over him suddenly--and she wasn’t going to be free from his grip until he was gratified.
He clawed her skirt, bunching the material up, expecting next to have to tear at layers of undergarments. When his hand found nothing but bare flesh he snapped open his eyes and peered down at her in total shock. “What the…?” he muttered.
Her gaze was wicked. “I’m not wearing any,” she teased.
For a split second Devon was shocked. She had been walking around without proper undergarments? How lewd could a woman act? The displeasure soon subsided into sensual liking. And he found himself shocked at himself for finding her naughty antics extremely thrilling. He had to have her and soon.
“The things you do,” he rasped, the only words he could find to verbalize his appreciation.
“Whatever I do is for you and you alone,” she said seriously. Her fingers had squeezed between their bodies. The touch threw him into an erotic convulsion.
“You make me so crazy.” His voice was heavy with lust, his heart hammered erratically. Flushed with an immense heat, Devon pushed her hand away to unfasten the buttons as quickly as his trembling fingers would allow. He couldn’t even allow the seconds it would take to undress fully. Gripping himself he gave in totally to burning desires, slowly at first. Once planted, he clamped his arms against her sides again and pushed, her gentle sigh an indication that she, too, shared his frantic exhilaration.
Her body, long and lithe beneath him, was sweet in its fullness, but the only searing thought penetrating Devon’s mind was the silken heat that enveloped him. This was the only place that could tame his violent need. He slumped his forehead on the pillow, vaguely sensing her breath on his neck.
He tried to be slow, to control the growing pulsing in his groin, but surrendered when she lurched up, coaxing him to do whatever he wanted. “Oh, Brandi,” he whispered apologetically. “I can’t…”
“Ssh,” she soothed, strumming his shoulders. She rocked with every hardening gyration, tempting him further. “I love you so much.”
Speechless now, he wanted to repeat such adoring words, but he couldn’t. All he could concentrate on was the mounting euphoria she induced. The strain grew unbearable, like a vicious pain, and with a snap the pleasure broke, streaming through him, finding its proper place deep within her body. To the wave he felt the moan vibrate through his throat. His hips shivered and he lost strength in each arm, slumping over her with a welcoming weakness. The breath on his neck tickled now. He felt a smile cross his lips.
“Yer a wicked woman, Brandi-girl,” he sighed. Mustering the last inch of strength he could manage, Devon lifted on locked elbows to gaze into her face. Her bright eyes shimmered up to him. “You make me so happy,” he said. His heart swelled to the truth of it.
A tear rolled from one lash, trailing a ribbon down her temple. He tenderly kissed it away, the salty taste exploding onto the tip of his tongue.
“Don’t be sad,” he said softly. “Don’t ever be sad.”
“I’m not,” she whispered in return. “As long as we’re always together I’ll never be sad.”
Devon closed his eyes, tipped his forehead to hers, and sighed.
He had reached a crossroad. For the first time in his life he wavered on which direction to take. Continue on the trail to avenge a wrongful death, or clasp Brandi in his arms and ride into a comfortable life as a family man. He couldn’t take both.
The uncertainty threatened him with the title of coward. He had to hold onto his hatred and he couldn’t do that by holding Brandi.
Needing time to think, he got up and straightened his clothes. Despite feeling dizzy he slipped into his coat and headed for the door.
“Devon?”
He didn’t turn to look at her, because if he did, he knew which path he’d choose. Instead he reached for the latch and left.
Chapter Two
From the window Brandi watched Devon walk down the street towards the livery stable. A breeze twirled the white lace curtain. It fluttered several times before she saw him reappear with his horse. With a graceful vault, he was on the saddle, disappearing round the corner.
She knew she had to give him space. His demons refused to let go and she’d do anything to change that. But in many ways she understood the turmoil that still raged within his heart. Her presence had complicated a once simple direction. Before she had come along, he was focused on avenging his brother’s death and now he was torn in loyalty. She prayed that once he had time to meditate he’d come back and tell her they’d start anew, that he’d abandon his old plans, let the past die, and they’d live happily ever after.
How foolish was that? It was a silly idea in the world she left behind. It was even more ludicrous in this one. Could there ever be such a thing as a happy ending? And she was living proof that sometimes the past refused to die.
Pouring water from the white china pitcher into a bowl, she washed and slipped into the undergarments that had been stuffed in one of her many packages. Then she pulled the chair to the window to watch for his return, through the curtains that danced with a summer breeze.
She had her own struggles to contend with. In Devon’s absence they began to crush into her thoughts like a relentless fist. As frightening as the realization she was actually whirled into history had been, it was nothing compared to her fear she might suddenly be whirled away again. As life bustled about outside the white curtains, Brandi knew deep in her heart it was a life she could adjust to. To be honest, and in the stillness honesty spoke with glaring clarity, there was little about the twenty-first century she’d miss. And what she would miss she’d gladly sacrifice for the love she harbored for Devon. He was the key. Without him she would surely search to return. With him, she could consider not
hing else but to stay by his side.
“I can’t go home,” she whispered. “I have to stay.”
Bold words. They came from her heart even though she couldn’t begin to understand the depth from which they came.
Be careful what you wish for.
Brandi rubbed the growing ache in her forehead. A painkiller wouldn’t go amiss. That was one thing she’d miss--the easy accessibility of convenient drugs--but there was no sense dwelling on it. If Sara were here, Brandi could dip into the carpetbag and take a couple. Sara was with Romano. Hopefully they’d all be together again soon. Hopefully Sara was as happy with Romano as she was with Devon. A drastic way to find true love.
The voices inside her skull were relentlessly nagging. Brandi decided to go for a walk. Sitting here alone, trying to sort through her thoughts, wasn’t helping her hang on to sanity. Some air might be a good idea.
A crowd in the hotel foyer prevented her passage. Trunks and boxes blocked the door. A tall man in a top hat was bellowing orders. A few of the larger boxes were being humped outside. “Be careful with that,” top hat yelled. “Your job depends on it.”
A small group of women cowered against the wall, watching and waiting.
“What’s going on?” Brandi asked, sidling up to one.
A faint smile crossed her painted lips. “We’re late. Ed is in a panic to get set up for tonight’s performance.”
“Oh, of course,” Brandi said. “You’re the show tonight.”
One of the other girls coughed into a hankie and sniffed.
“She doesn’t sound so well,” Brandi commented, seeing that the poor thing was suffering with a heavy cold.
“Doesn’t help Ed’s usual bad mood,” the showgirl continued. “She’s supposed to sing and she can barely talk.”
“Ed’s always in a bad mood,” choked the scratchy voice. “I’m in big trouble.”
“You can’t help being sick,” Brandi said. “Surely he’d understand that.” He didn’t look the understanding type, however. He continued to fume as boxes were toted away.
The showgirls threw sad glances at each other.
Suddenly Ed bolted over to the sick girl and jabbed a stubby finger at her. “Whiskey with honey. And if that doesn’t help you can look for another job as well.”
“Tyrant,” Brandi muttered under her breath. He seemed to have excellent hearing. The black goatee shivered as he glowered at her.
“You got something to say?” he snarled.
“I can sing,” Brandi announced. “Let this poor girl rest tonight and I’ll take her place.”
All eyes had turned to Brandi while a slow smile crept over Ed’s face. He gave her the once-over, rubbing his chin in thought. “Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it’s a fact.” Brandi stiffened with defiance. She was expecting a rebuff, but when a box was dropped and bounced on the floor Ed puffed up like a blowfish.
“I’m surrounded by imbeciles! One more won’t make a difference.” Then he flounced off.
“I can’t thank you enough,” whispered the suffering showgirl. Her eyes were swollen and running tears.
“Whiskey and honey is actually the best idea for you,” Brandi soothed. “Don’t worry. I won’t take any crap of that old ringmaster.”
The girls all giggled at this comment. “I’m Lila,” said Brandi’s new friend. “And if you’re serious I’ll find you a dress for the show and tell you which songs he’ll expect.”
“Let the games begin,” Brandi answered.
It hadn’t crossed her mind that Devon would be the least bit perturbed with her for going on stage. She scribbled a quick note to leave on the pillow so he wouldn’t worry about where she had gone, and then she sorted through her memory for songs she could dedicate to him. She imagined he’d be nothing but pleased, especially when she belted out her favorites after announcing to the audience how thrilled she was to be part of the production. And when Lila told her she was supposed to sing Red River Valley and The Yellow Rose of Texas, Brandi merely nodded and dismissed the request. She had her own ideas on that score, regardless of what Mr. Ed might say.
The troop knew what was packed in each box, so Brandi kept to one side of the designated changing room and watched them sort through dresses and jewelry and make up. Tired and mechanical as their movements were, they were also meticulous. Two were singing softly and one was strumming a banjo.
Lila chatted cheerfully as she scattered jars of makeup over the counter, adjusting the lanterns to get maximum lighting. “We started out from California four months ago,” she said. “The last two we spent in the cow towns in Kansas.” She shook her head, red curls falling over small shoulders. “Now that was a rowdy crowd. It’s been a piece of cake ever since. After Texas we’re headed back to California through Arizona.”
Brandi’s mind drifted. “Arizona? I expect you’ll be stopping in Tombstone, then?”
“If Ed thinks we’ll make some money there, then I expect so.” She fluffed up a long lacy dress as she pulled it from a box.
“Tombstone is famous, you know.” Brandi proceeded nonchalantly. The Earps had secured their infamy at the OK Corral only four years ago. The passage of time had made them celebrities and she had always wondered if Wyatt and Virgil and Morgan and Doc were names as familiar to the people of this era as they were to the next century’s history buffs.
“Is it?” Lila said. “With a name like Tombstone I can only begin to presume why.” Holding the dress up to Brandi she said, “I think this will fit. Try it on.”
“It’s a mining town,” Brandi offered. “Wyatt Earp and his brothers were there for a while.” She dropped the information as though it were juicy gossip. “And the gunfighter, Doc Holliday.”
No flash of recognition passed over Lila’s face. She was too interested in getting ready for the evening performance.
“I heard of him,” said one of the other girls.
Brandi’s heart skipped a beat. “Really? How’s that?”
“My brother was in Las Vegas, six years ago. He said he saw Doc Holliday shoot a fella by the name if Mike Gordon.”
Butterflies erupted in Brandi’s stomach. She had read of the incident. Mike Gordon had tried to woo a saloon girl and when she refused to leave with him he proceeded to shoot up the place. Doc Holliday felled him with one bullet. The incident filled one short paragraph of a book she had treasured about famous gunslingers. Now, indirectly, that paragraph had come to life. Brandi was dumbstruck; she stared at the girl with awe.
“We’ve seen plenty of altercations,” Lila said, noticing that Brandi had paled. “But don’t worry. If they don’t like your singing they simply cuss.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid about going on stage,” Brandi said.
“Good. You’re on after the sailor’s dance. Gives us time to change our clothes.”
“One hour till show time,” Ed bellowed from the hall outside. He rapped loudly on the door. “You hear me in there?”
“Yes, Mr. Taylor,” Lila called back. “We hear.” She sighed wearily. “I’ve got to find me a rich husband. My days as a showgirl are limited.”
Brandi allowed Lila to strap her into a corset and then she pulled on the dress, complete with bustle and itchy lace. This was the constrictive clothing she had worked so hard to avoid. One night, for the sake of a performance, was permissible. After her song she’d change again.
A gentle tap on the door revealed Devon, standing awkwardly, hat in his hand. He visibly blushed at seeing an array of half-dressed female bodies and turned away. Brandi stepped out into the hall and closed the door.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said. “What do you think?” She spun round, displaying with pride the dress she had finally managed to fasten.
Devon was not the least bit impressed. His cheeks remained flushed and anger flashed from hard blue eyes. “What do I think?” he rasped through gritted teeth. “I think yer gonna get us into trouble. I can’t turn my back fer two minutes without yer making a spec
tacle of yerself.”
“I just wanted to have some fun,” Brandi argued. “Besides, this is better than sitting with those snobby friends of yours.”
“Those men ain’t my friends.” He took hold of her wrist. “Yer the one who started this silly game. I demand you come with me.”
“Demand all you want. I promised to help out and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Err,” Devon growled. “You can be so ... so…”
“Delightfully exasperating?”
“A pain in the ass, more like.”
“Tut, tut. Such language in front of a lady. Devon, darling,” she said softening her tone while running a finger up his arm. “I’m singing a song for you. Please, humor me. What harm could a little song do?” Pursing her lips she snuck a quick peck on his cheek.
“An outlaw turned lady turned showgirl. Bad enough I might have to warn off Nick Holland. Now the whole damn town is gonna be sniffin’ round your bustle.”
“Let ‘em sniff. You’re the only one who can get under it. And I do have undergarments on this time.”
Devon laughed. “You sure do look pretty,” he said, casting a wanton gaze over her. “I’m sorry fer leaving the way I did,” he whispered, stepping closer. “Riding helps me think.” His whole body seemed taut.
Brandi clasped her fingers behind his back, snuggling one cheek into the soft vest. Wearing his fancy clothes, he looked the successful entrepreneur: confident, tough, handsome. Her cheek felt the strong, steady beat of his heart through the fine material. “Did you come to any conclusions, on this ride?” she asked.
The chest against her temple expanded with a deep breath. “Yes.” Two of the performers hustled down the hall; Devon nodded and waited till they went past. “I can’t talk to you here,” he said.
“My song is after the sailor’s dance. Then I’ll change and join you on the balcony. We can leave then if you like.”
Brandi wavered between optimism and despair. It was difficult to deduce from Devon’s constantly changing expression what decision he had come to. She suddenly wished she hadn’t offered to help. How could she wait on tenterhooks till after a song or two?
Lady Outlaws Page 18
