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Amy J. Fetzer
living, instead of always being on the outside, waiting for the criminal. Though nothing was going to stop Chris from keeping this woman, the ready acceptance Abigale, Randel, Lucky, and the ranch hands offered her, was another stitch in the patchwork of their relationship. Each day tightened the threads, and he wanted her to know she was needed by more than just him, that regardless of what her century offered, his offered her more.
It would be difficult to complete with the advances she'd mentioned, yet as Chris absorbed the vivid current of her voice, he didn't doubt for a moment Victoria Mason was meant to be with him. If only he could convince her.
"He says, Good night all you moonlight laaa-dees, Rock-a-bye sweet baby James ..."
Victoria struggled with the lyrics, and if Chris wasn't looking at her like one of Abigale's desserts she might not embarrass herself—or him. However, when the last cord melted into the night, she wondered at the silence and her lack of talent. For they simply stared.
"Holy cow, Miss Victoria, that was somethin' else!" Whistles, hoots and soft applause scattered around her like diamonds before a princess. A lump swelled in her throat and Victoria didn't think she'd ever been appreciated more than in this moment. She ducked her head, acknowledging, and Lucky yawned hugely. Victoria thought to send him gently into sleep. She stared at the little boy, her strumming making his lids heavy, yet when she sang again it was for Chris alone.
"The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time ..." Even as the lyrics tumbled off her lips, she realized she was speaking in a way nothing else could; of how simple love could be. That no one knew how they got to this time and place, but they should enjoy it while they had the chance.
Her honeyed voice, smooth and husky-deep, wrapped around Chris with the heaviness of a sated lover's embrace. He listened with his heart. For Tori was speaking with hers. Her emotions shaped her lovely face, her eyes glistening. A little pleading.
He knew she was afraid, like her ballad said, and that she was
only here for a while.
God.
It hit him how confused and torn she must feel, not knowing whether or not she belonged. She did. The Great Spirits brought
her to him. Then she finished her song, wiped discreetly at a lone tear
and smiled at the soft applause.
Lucky was sound sleep, and she handed the guitar to Joquin, then made to carry him into his room. Chris stopped her, lifting the boy in his arms and together they headed inside to put him
to bed.
A collective sigh colored the warm night. "I believe the Double Arrow will finally have a mistress." Abigale and Randel exchanged a glance, then smiled.
In the tiny bedroom, Chris laid Lucky on the bed and Victoria busily removed his shoes and socks, loosened his clothing, then tucked him beneath the light coverlet. She couldn't help it and sat down beside him. Chris stood close, his hand on her shoulder, gently rubbing as she brushed hair from Lucky's forehead. "He needs this cut," she said absently. "Maybe you should try? Every time Abigale gets near him with a pair of shears, he runs for the hills." She laughed, light and short. "I'll bet." "1 can't get over the change in him, after one day." "I must look like his mother," she said, covering Chris's hand with hers. "He has no reason to trust me or obey me like
he does.''
"Maybe he senses you won't lose patience with him." She twisted a look up at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears.
He frowned questioningly, stroking the line of her jaw. "I miss Trisha so much sometimes." She left the bed and
went into his arms and Chris closed his eyes, offering her his
strength. God, for this woman to cry was like a knife through
his chest.
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"I'm usually a lot stronger than this," she whispered, clinging to him.
"I know."
"I don't know what's wrong with me,"
He smiled against her hair. He knew. "It's been a long day, darlin'. And a lot has happened."
She tilted her head back, gazing into his eyes. "I'll say." A devilish smile toyed with her lips and a flush crept up from his neck.
He groaned, scattering kisses over her face. "If you keep reminding me of that I'll go mad right here." She inhaled deeply, her body pressing warmly against his and Chris slid his hands lower and cupped her buttocks through the heavy fabric.
"Do you know what you've done to me, knowing all evening that you're bare beneath this."
"Yeah, I have, and so has everyone else."
Her hand slipped between them, feeling him swell for her.
"God, I want you."
He choked on his own breath, drawing her out of Lucky's
room and pulling her into an alcove near the stairs. He kissed
her as he pressed her to the wall, letting her feel how hard and
throbbing he was, She felt her skirts tug upward, his warm
hand on her thigh, smoothing up the back and enfolding her
curves. And their kiss grew hungrier, seeping with checked
desire. A whimper caught in her throat, their breathing rushing
as his fingers inched closer to her heat. Her body begged, his
kiss fueled and distantly they heard someone clearing their
throat. f
Chris cursed, removing his hands and blocking a view of her body before he spun around. Randel back-stepped, yet the butler stared blandly at his employer, his gaze direct and sparing Victoria any embarrassment.
"I beg your pardon, m'lord, a message from town. Those brothers—"
"Duke and Buddy?"
"They seemed to have found bullets and Mister Beecham requests his lordship's assistance."
"Dammit." He looked at Victoria and found her staring at him strangely. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."
She nodded and Chris kissed her briefly before moving past Randel. The butler immediately followed.
"Randel?"
He turned fully to address her. "Miss?"
"Why do you call him my lord?"
"It is his station, miss."
Her hands on her hips, she was suddenly fresh out of patience.
And he knew it.
"Mister Christopher Swift is a peer of the realm, Miss. "You mean he's titled?" she squeaked. "English titled?" Anger and amazement filled her expression and Randel, feeling he'd misstepped where he shouldn't, sought the smoothest
route. "His lordship is the only son and grandson of the House of
Claybourne."
"I thought his father was a Cheyenne Chief?"
"Quiet so, but his mother is Lady Katherine Waythorne, sole heir to the title."
"Why isn't he in England doing what lords do?'' She waved, having no idea what that entailed.
"He relinquished the title, Miss, when he was younger. A bad falling out. His denouncement was the scandal of the century."
"Oh, really?" she said as if she understood. She didn't.
"It did have one advantage though."
"You mean besides you?"
His lips curved gently. "His title gave him the opportunity to purchase land. Indians are not permitted the luxury."
"Buying their own land would be a contradiction. Heaven forbid the government look foolish, huh?"
Again, his lips moved in a smile. "Quite, Miss."
She heard the door shut and knew Chris was gone. And even though a part of her wanted to be included, she wasn't ready
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to face anyone without her disguises yet. She headed toward her room, but Randel's cultured voice stopped her.
"May I bring you some chocolate and milk to help you sleep?"
He really was awfully considerate. ' 'No, thanks. I think I'll wrestle out of this dress and hit the rack. Go to bed," she said when he frowned his confusion.
Randel nodded, t
hinking his lordship was doing a fine job of wrestling her out of it before he came upon them.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Noble smothered a grin at the sour look on Chris's face as he slid from the saddle.
"I've ridden through this entire town, Beecham, and I don't see anything so damn important you had to call me away—"
"From Miss Mason?" Noble finished with the arch of a bushy brow.
Chris's gaze narrowed, then suddenly softened. He raked his fingers through his hair and looked sheepish. ' 'Yeah. I guess that's it."
Noble inclined his head toward the office behind him, yet was staring thoughtfully at his boss.' 'Already locked up Buddy and his idiot of a brother." The man's got it bad, he thought.
"Any wounds?"
Noble shook his head, a little smile eeking out from beneath his thick moustache. "Made 'em go back to back, count off and fire.'
"A duel?"
"Neither of 'em had the guts to pull the trigger. Knew they wouldn't."
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Chris smirked, tossed the reins over Caesar's head and started down the street. Noble fell in step beside him.
Caesar followed obediently.
"You're going in?"
"I need to."
"You know I never liked that prissy ass citified—"
"I get the point, now why?"
Noble shrugged, "He's too smooth. An' when he showed up here claiming to be ambushed, I didn't believe it." Chris cast a side glance. "How'd he get all that money to play in high-stakes poker if he was ambushed?''
Chris stopped short. "He pawned the cigarette case."
"To pay the doc, and maybe a few dollars more," Noble reminded. "But he sure as hell didn't get enough for it to play against Sean Galloway and Alex Trevor with a little hunk of gold."
The two richest men in the territory—Alex flaunted it, Sean disguised it. Gates, the former owner of the Pearl was in that game, too. And all he had was his saloon to bet, for at the time, it was run down and making little money.
How had Becket come by so much money, Chris wondered as he continued walking. He was a time traveler and Victoria had shown him currency of her time. Becket would have been branded a counterfeiter if he'd showed so much as a coin. Had he killed and robbed some drifter? Chris tried to remember if Becket had disappeared for any length of time before he was in the middle of that poker game and stealing Gates blind. He couldn't and knew Velvet would have known. Sadness crept into his mood, the dark and nearly empty street enhancing it Only a few cowboys milled about, reading hand bills for a big picnic. Yet a nervousness tightened the air, and he didn't doubt that burying Velvet lent to the unease. Victoria had wanted to attend the funeral, but he wouldn't let her. A new face would stir trouble right now. She hadn't fought him long, and it made him wary. She'd already said good-bye to Vel, she'd told him. But the burial sent rumors flying, whispers of terror, though the ritual of Vel's death, the revolting set of her body in the
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cave, were still sketchy. Chris prayed for a few more days before everything erupted.
Leaving Noble to watch the street, Chris crossed the threshold of the Pearl and the noise suddenly softened. God, he hated that. It made him feel unwelcome, not that he ever spent much time in here, anyway. He didn't realize he was scowling until the murmurs came to him and he schooled his features, strolling
across the room to Sean. The rancher looked up. He's aged ten years since Kelly died,
Chris thought, studying his face.
"I never did thank you, Chris."
Chris arched a brow.
"For ending it, for finding out what happened."
"I didn't, Jake did." Chris remembered what an ass he'd been about the whole thing and wished he could tell Sean that
Jake was really Victoria.
"If you ever see him, thank him," Sean kicked out a chair for Chris and he sat, noticing that Sean wasn't drinking liquor, but milk. A huge glass of the stuff.
The bartender himself came over to take his order, but Chris waved him off before he crossed the room. The man frowned, then shrugged and went back to his duties. "You been in here much?"
"Nearly every night. The house feels so big and empty now." Sean stared at his glass, then drained half of it to coat the knot in his throat. He wondered if he'd ever feel good
again.
"Still want to kill Raif?"
Sean's gaze shot to Chris's, malevolence in his stare. "Yes. I do. I'll never stop wanting it, either. Raif's foolishness killed my wife. Not something I can forgive."
Chris fished in his pocket for a sack and papers. "Not something you choose to forgive."
Sean rolled his shoulders and sat forward, bracing his arms on the table. "Why are you in here, Chris?" Only Chris's gaze shifted from the smoke he was rolling. "In five years, I've never seen you set foot inside except to bust up a fight."
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If it was that obvious to him, was it to Becket or anyone else enough to talk? Was this a mistake of the worst kind, he wondered as he licked the paper, then slid the cigarette between his lips and struck a match to the tip. "I needed a break." "From her?"
Chris gaze shot to Sean's, his green eyes laughing for the first time in weeks. "I heard you've got a treasure hidden in your valley, Marshal."
Chris exhaled smoke in a rush. "From whom?" Sean spread his arms and shrugged. "You've got a lot of hands working for you and people talk." "And they say?"
Sean sipped his milk, swiping the back of his wrist across his mouth and enjoying Chris's squirming. "I heard she's tall, pretty, bold as brass—'' He grinned when Chris's fists clenched "—and turning you inside out." Chris's gaze thinned.
Sean's lips curved. "Rumors are right, huh?" He took a long pull, blowing a couple smoke rings before saying, "Don't believe all that you hear."
Sean leaned close, his voice low. "I also heard about Velvet. The story floating is that she was on her way to the train, attacked, robbed and left for dead." "But you think otherwise."
Sean grit his teeth, itching to throttle his friend. "D'you forget I live out that way? I might be mourning Kelly," her name caught in his throat, "but I can tell you're trying to keep a lid on trouble. Real trouble."
Besides Hunter McCracken and Noble, Sean was one of his closest friends. Chris nodded, not trusting himself to say more. Sean leaned back in the chair. "Let me know when you need help."
Chris's look showed appreciation, and Sean's curiosity niggled. He kept a discreet eye on his friend, wondering who he suspected.
Chris glanced around, searching for Becket and rinding him
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just leaving his office, all smiles and handshakes as he crossed the room. Chris checked the time. Ten thirty exactly, as Victoria had said. Becket passed before the large mirror slung over the bar and discreetly checked his appearance, smoothed his lapels, adjusted his string tie before moving on to the next customer. But his gaze strayed to the mirror again and again, the silver glass offering a full view of the saloon. He caught Chris's gaze and nodded cordially, then immediately turned his attention to Dee as she sidled up to him. Dee didn't touch, wetting her lips suggestively, yet when he shot her a lethal glance, she retreated to the bar, fawning too obviously over a young cowboy. Even as she teased the man mercilessly, her gaze slipped to Becket more than once during her seduction.
Chris shifted in his chair, blowing the tip of his cigarette and keeping Becket in his sights. The man ordered liquor in clear precise tones and drank it as if staged to be a majestic moment, then made his way toward Chris, bracing every other step on the polished oak cane.
"Marshal?"
Chris dragged on the smoke. "I see business isn't hampered."
"By Vel's passing? No."
Passing. A mild word for what you did to her, Chris thought, coming slowly to his feet. "You didn't waste time clearin
g her room, though.'' Dee resided there now, proclaiming herself the
new madame.
' 'Did you expect me to make a shrine to a whore?'' Becket
snorted, but a sinister heat glazed his eyes.
"If that's all she meant to you."
Becket's color blanched a little, but his features remained impassive. "I adored her, but she was just an employee."
"You're saying you valued her as an asset." Becket nodded confirmation. "Then why didn't you offer her an escort?"
"She refused one."
"You protect your interests," his gaze shifted meaningfully to his girls "—but not her." A flaw, Chris thought, in his demeanor. "A perfect gentleman would insist." Chris saw his
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features sharpen a fraction, almost predatory, tike Victoria's did when she was on the hunt. He'd struck a nerve. Good.
"Have you ever tried to insist anything with Vel?"
Smooth answer.
"And besides, Vel carried a gun."
Chris casually folded his arms, sounding thoughtful, almost seeking advice. "You think she wounded her killer, maybe?"
He shrugged negligently, then adjusted his coat sleeve. "I couldn't say, since I wasn't there."
Chris caught sight of the scratches on his wrist, healed and only a shiny stripe on the skin. "I was."
Becket met his gaze, a frosty blue empty of emotion.
"I found her."
Becket braced his palms on the top of the cane. "Really?" Mildly interested, his gaze shifting to inspect his crowd, his serfs.
And what Victoria was trying to point out to him—but he was too pig-headed and righteous to see—was there. Becket was evil. Beneath the well-honed surface of perfection lay a calculating madness that reached beyond unfeeling. Make me your target, Chris thought viciously. Not a mother. Not a woman just trying to raise her child the best she can. Choose someone worthy of a fair fight.
"Takes someone twisted to prey on a helpless woman, don't you think?"
He spared him a glance, his lips pulling in a flawless smile. "Unless perhaps, they deserved it." "Punishment?"
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