Dangerous Waters

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "Not like this," he whispered heavily against her lips. "As much as I want you, I can't help thinking I'd be taking advan­tage." He couldn't believe he was saying this.

  "I'm a grown woman, Chris. I can judge for myself," she threw back at him, her fingers sliding down the hard plains of his chest, her palm flattening over his stomach.

  His skin flexed at her touch and a knowing look flared in her eyes. She had an indecent amount of power over him, he thought, but a quick coupling in the woods wasn't what she needed right now. She was tired, confused, and when he took her to his bed, he wanted her to come to him without ghosts. "Tori, please don't," he groaned when her hand traveled lower. "I'm not that strong." "Me either."

  It was more statement than response. A confession. Rock hard on the outside kept her demons locked away. She hunted bounty for the daughter she couldn't save. She hunted escaped killers so they couldn't kill another woman's baby. But when would she be satisfied? She was so caught up in it now—how long before it drove her into a nothingness of pure vengeance? And when she vanishes from your life, like she's promised, a voice asked, then what will you do?

  Come apart, came an unbridled response and it scared him. He liked her, sure, but her grip on his heart made him feel as if he was losing all control. Camille taught him that.

  He started to disengage himself and she gripped him, a strange panic seizing her. "No, please. I'll behave. Just hold me." She clung, trembling, her wide eyes searching his face.

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  "It's been so long since anyone's wanted to." Her plea sapped away any thought of leaving and he unbuckled his holster, drawing it away before he settled comfortably back against the saddle. She wiggled immediately into his arms like a burrowing kitten, throwing her long leg over his and pillowing her head at the bend of his shoulder. "Thanks, Chris."

  Her breasts pressed warmly to his side with unmistakable clarity and the image of her, naked and panting, slipped into his mind like a taunting beast. How could her husband not want her? Sleek and strong and independent, she had to be the sexiest woman in the territory. And Chris tried to concentrate on anything but the natural fit of their bodies and what it would feel like to have those long legs locked around his waist as he drove into her. Hell,

  ft was going to be an unholy night if he kept thinking like that.

  Yet he was in the arms of sleep when her voice whispered to him. "Chris?" "Humm?"

  "Camille was a foof." His lips curved. "So was Kevin."

  He woke alone. Really alone. Every trace of Victoria was gone—Except Caesar. He wasn't all that surprised. Last night drained him like cheap whiskey in the hand of a drunk. But his Cheyenne father would kick his rear if he knew a woman had gotten away from him while he slept like a careless baby. He was definitely getting soft. And it stung his pride, setting him on edge as he climbed to his feet and went searching for his hat. He heard the howl of the train whistle. Moving to the edge of the ravine, he punched out the dents in his crushed hat and watched the iron horse roll to a stop, brakes screeching, and he wondered if she was down there, ready to take Becket away. He'd have to stop her, he knew, giving the Stetson a

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  four-finger pinch as he adjusted it on his head. There wasn't any evidence against the saloon keeper and no matter what he felt for Victoria, which was nothing short of absolute confusion, he had his job to do.

  He waited until the last passenger left, the last crate was off­loaded and when he saw Becket climb onto his wagon and head toward the narrow road, Chris turned back to the camp site, stowing his gear and kicking over the smoldering embers. He bent for his saddle, hesitating when he recognized the depression of her body left in the grass. Damn, why did she have to leave like that? Things needed straightening out between them after last night. Or did she even care? Hurt washed over him and he re-examined his chivalrous act of restraint. No. He'd regret it if they'd made love under the stars and he'd have likely woken to a spitting, clawing female ready to blow a few holes in select parts of his anatomy. Yet he couldn't banish the feeling there was a part of Victoria nothing could reach. Not with kisses, not with compassion. Not with him. Hell.

  She was driving him mad. No doubt about it, he thought, just as his gaze caught on something shiny. Dropping the saddle, he plucked a square of gold from the edge of the dead camp fire. It was paper, he realized instantly. Straightening, Chris tipped his hat back, frowning as he unfolded the wedge. Matches. She used them to light the fire last night. He'd never seen them like this, made of paper, and easily he tore one off, striking it against the rough strip fashioned on the edge. It flared with a hiss and he watched it burn before tossing it aside. He examined the worn package, shaped like a book with writing inside.

  Tad's Lounge. Highway 17. Jacksonville. With a series of numbers printed beneath.

  Jacksonville where?

  He turned it over. The outside was gold, lettered with the establishment's name, and Chris scratched the cover. It couldn't be leaf. It would cost a fortune. Why anyone would would go to such an extravagance on matches was beyond him. And all

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  secured with a thin metal crimp. Ingeniousiy convenient, he

  thought, making a mental note to ask Victoria about it before

  shoving the packet into his back pocket and hefting the pile of

  leather and wood.

  He dropped the saddle on Caesar's back. "What do you make of her, boy?"

  The black shook his head, his bridle jingling. "Yeah, me too. How long you figure it'll take me to recognize her this time?"

  Chris didn't doubt she'd assumed an identity, probably before she left him this morning. Damn, he thought angrily, he was tired of wading through her disguises and on his way back to Silver Rose, he'd figure a way to get her out of them.

  Permanently.

  "Jake was going to miss the train, that's why he took off," Clara said, handing the leads of the gelding over to Clancey. ' 'I met the marshal outside of town.'' She bowed her head and spoke to her feet, shyly. "Jake gave him Caesar and Marshal Swift asked if I'd bring that one back."

  Clancey nodded, commenting on how much he'd miss that youngun and she dipped a little curtsy for show, picked up her satchel and left the barn.

  Victoria moved swiftly down the street, ignoring the whispers and looks she received. Evidently, Miss Fotheringham spread gossip faster than frosting. Yet her step slowed as she remem­bered why she got fired, A man in her room. In this century, it was such a slutty thing to do. And she'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'm a shameless tart, she thought. But the man kisses like a master—a lost art, in her opinion. And Camille Me-whoever was a stupid woman. What does that make you? Lonely.

  The single word pierced like a bullet.

  Don't think about it. Your life isn't here. Chris is a nice guy.

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  He's the best thing to happen to you in Jive years, a voice needled. Maybe more.

  I know, I know, she thought, closing her eyes briefly and nearly missing a step. In that tiny place in her mind where she allowed herself to dream again, she was glad, too incredibly pleased that Abigale was his housekeeper, that he'd left her room aching as bad as she, that when she'd wanted to make love with him, he was man enough, honorable enough, to deny himself and simply hold her through the night. Jesus, what she wouldn't give to be able to stay and love that man the way he

  deserves.

  But Victoria didn't think she had enough of it left in her. Kevin, Trisha, Cole, her parents, losing them robbed her of feeling anything but anguish.

  You let death rule your life. Let it go. I'm trying. I am.

  But she couldn't think about herself, not until Becket was back in her time and in the hands of the FBI. But the waste of human tissue was always surrounded by people. She could never get close enough to take him without suspicion. Except yesterday. This bizarre adventure would have been
over within a couple hours, if Chris hadn't stopped her. Though she could just hit the dirtbag with a tazer and take him to the dry waterfall over the back of a horse, now she had to get past Chris and would be forced to tell him where she was taking the saloon owner. Somehow, Victoria didn't think the unvarnished truth would go over real well with the marshal right now. Especially after she'd split before dawn.

  But Ivy League was wanted in her century. And Victoria knew it wouldn't be long before he was in this one, too. The only way to get around this was to prove the town saloon keeper guilty. It plagued her that Chris and Becket might actually be friends. Were they close enough that Chris might question Becket and alert him?

  Her last thought turned her stomach. No, not Chris. If anything, he believed who she was, if not why she was here, and that scrap of confidence and respect

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  kept her from going to him right now and demanding his word on secrecy. I trust him.

  Then tell him the truth, all of it.

  Yeah, right. The laws of physics and the timeline of history were probably already ripped to shreds with her being here. Let's not chance a total cataclysmic meltdown. The sooner she and Ivy League were gone, the better.

  Climbing the steep back stairs, she pushed the matter aside and rapped on the door. The slow scuffle of feet came before it jerked open.

  Red Velvet Knight sagged against the frame. "Hell, honey, don't you know we do our work at night. It's still dawn."

  "My apologies, Miss Knight," Victoria said softly and stepped inside the lair of the viper.

  Vel closed the door, eyeing her from head to foot, her gaze lingering on the scar marking her face from cheekbone to chin. Poor dear.

  "I thought I'd get a head start, begin the washing, perhaps?" Vel yawned, patting her mouth, a smoldering cigarette caught

  between two fingers. Victoria itched for a drag.

  "I'll show you 'round, to your room first." Vel pushed away

  from the door, moving back down the hall. "Sorry, but it's up

  here with us."

  Victoria knew Vel was being sympathetic to her reputation. "You'll hear the rumor by this evening, Miss Knight." She drew a breath, acting out her role of shy, plump Clara Murphy. ' 'I was fired from the Excelsior Hotel for having a man in my room," she said in a rush, then stopped short when Velvet paused and cocked a surprised look over her shoulder.

  "Well, hell. Ain't that a hoot?" Hope for the little mousy thing yet, Vel thought, continuing down the hall.

  Victoria passed several closed doors, the rustle of sheets and moans of hung-over men coming through the thin wood. This ought to be an experience, she thought, suddenly excited about having some entertainment while she staked out Becket.

  Vel paused at a room long enough to take a key, then headed back the way they'd come. At the first room by the exit, she

  unlocked the door and flung it open, stepping back and allowing her to pass. "Ain't much, but—"

  "It's wonderful," Victoria said and nothing like the cheap porno movie style decor she expected. It was certainly better than she'd had since she arrived and ten times finer than the flea bag motels she'd been climbing in and out of in the past years. Even the walls were papered. A tall dresser, and whal she'd learned was a mirrored commode, with pitcher and basin, graced one wall with a window toward the street. Excellent, she thought, right over his office. A lush green carpet covered the floor, flecked with black and looking cozy enough to sink her toes in. A pair of high-back chairs upholstered in black brocade and strategically placed near a barren hearth invited relaxation, and on the far right wall, papered with green stripes on white, were two night stands flanking a large iron bed. Though the green satin comforter and ruffled everything was a bit much, it spoke of quick sex and raw passion and bouncing

  springs.

  "Get's yah all hot and bothered just looking at it, don't it?" Victoria blinked, looking bashfully at the floor to hide the fact that the mask didn't blush. She cleared her throat. "It's very," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "sexy."

  "It's the tamest room in the joint, Clara, believe me," Vel said on a secretive laugh and Victoria looked up. She was propping up the door jam, her voluptuous body draped in rich gray silks and satins, with an ample supply of bosom exposed. But there was something about this woman, a refinement beyond her brash talk, a fresh and comforting feeling sur­rounding Velvet Knight that Victoria tried to focus on and failed. Whatever it is, it attracts the men like flies.

  Victoria gave a heavy sigh and tucked her satchel under the bed, then faced Velvet.'' Point me toward the dirt, Miss Knight. I shall make it sorry it ever arrived."

  Grinning hugely, Vel tossed the gal the room key, then nodded to the hall. "Come on, honey," she said, rolling around the jam. "If it's dirt you want, we got plenty."

  Victoria trailed the madame, watching the sultry rock of her

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  hips and wishing she'd half the sex appeal of this happy harlot as Velvet laid out her schedule, her duties, stressing that she must have the rooms prepared before six in the evening. Work hours, Victoria thought, though the bar opened at three. The customers had to be gone by eight a.m., and as she spoke, Vel moved back down and forth across and down the hall, rapping on each door, a warning since it was nearly that time.

  The laundry was on the ground floor in the back, and Victoria stared wide eyed at stoves, tubs, and iron kettles so huge that Schwartznegger would have a problem moving them. Oh God. What did I get myself into? Lines, barren of wash, were stretched across the room, then again outside at the rear of the saloon. And there was a small bath house, tucked below the back stairs, and the fresh green wood told her it was new. And supplying the hot water was her job.

  "The men have to bathe before they kin touch the girls," Vel drawled and Victoria speculated on how clean the water could ever be when a dozen miners and cowboys washed in it. In some small part of her, she had to give Ivy League credit. He'd upgraded this cat house. But, then, cleanliness and absolute perfection were his obsessions.

  "You accept the position, then?" Vel asked quietly, unsure after witnessing the streak of panic on that homely face. Housekeeping for a cat house was a hell of a task, and they usually had two more girls to divide the chores.

  "Seems a bit foolish, but yes," she answered, then muttered, "God, do I miss modern plumbing," as she unbuttoned her cuffs, staring at the overflowing baskets.

  Rolling back her sleeves, she plucked a heavy apron from a hook and tied it around her padded middle, then headed for the massive pile of soiled sheets.

  "Go back to bed, Miss Knight." She waved her off. "I'll wake you at a decent hour, if you like?"

  Vel smiled at her back. "Thanks, honey."

  When Victoria knew she was alone, she dropped down onto the pile of fabric with soft plop. She was tired, last night draining

  League to return. ..f he didn't, she'd be on, of here in a heartbeat. Marshal or no marshal.

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  Chapter Sixteen

  "Quit that!" Chris hissed when Caesar nudged him again. He knew what the beast wanted—Victoria and her sugary treats and soft caresses. So do I, he thought and suppressed the urge to hunt her down, to find out what face she wore this time and ask why she ran from him. He'd stopped her from going after Becket, and he considered for a moment that she might have dismissed her personal rule of taking bounty in alive and gone after the saloon keeper. But he'd seen the man earlier, fit and pleased, unloading his liquor purchases with the energy of a man half his age.

  She was still here. A woman like Victoria didn't fight that hard to get her bounty, then decide to leave. And if he recon­ciled with one part of her, it was that with her mind set on a course, nothing he could do would change it. They would never see eye to eye on the saloon ke
eper. But before he'd allow her to take the man out of the city, she'd have to show him proof.

  He wanted to see her, unable to relinquish the memory of her kisses, her tears that felt like blood stains on his heart, or the incredible sensations simply holding her created in him.

  Yet instead, he kept his attention to the street ahead and the man beside him, relaying a report.

  "Duke and Buddy been shootin' at each other again."

  Chris cursed softly. Doc MacLaren had taken buckshot out of those two so often she charged them by the pellet, hoping to deter their flagrant use of the other as a target. How they got any mining done was a miracle, when both imagined the other was trying to steal their claims.

  "How did you handle it?"

  "Made them give me their bullets."

  Chris arched a brow in Noble's direction, and the big man shrugged.

  "I figure if they've got only one bullet each, they'll save it for a snake or an attack. 'Tween the two of them they couldn't hit a bull at ten paces, anyhow." •

  Chris nodded his approval.

  " 'Sides, I didn't want them in the jail." The marshal cast him a side glance. "Hell, Chris, they ain't taken a bath goin' on two years."

  Chris smiled at Noble's sour face. "Fragrant, were they?"

  "You could pickle eggs under their arm pits, I swear. And if it don't rain soon—"

  "Spare me," he interrupted, putting up his hand. "Don't let them into town if they don't bathe. You can do it yourself, if the stench bothers you so much."

  "Dang," Noble muttered, flipping his Arkansas toothpick in and out of its handle sheath. While Noble cursed his superior for not making bathing a !aw, Chris's gaze swept the streets. He waved to deputies perched in look out posts and walking the streets in slow purposeful rounds through quiet avenues. The main bulk of the city fanned out to residential area, most of the homes owned by either financial or mining businessmen or shop proprietors. As they strolled, the area became less dense, signifying the coming of ranches and small farms, then miles beyond, rising to mountains and the tent city of miners off in the distance as well as even a teepee or two.