His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2)

by Adrienne deWolfe

  "McCoy!"

  Chance smirked. He barely had time to raise his head before two hundred pounds of muscle and menace grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him backward. Chance recovered his balance with the grace of a puma, while Michael, heedless of the younger man's sixshooter, planted himself like a grizzly bear between Chance and Eden.

  "Stay away from her," Michael growled.

  Chance feigned indignation, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Now see here, Doc. I don't know what you're getting so riled about. I paid my dollar. Paid three dollars, to be exact. The lady owes me three kisses."

  "Your money's no good here."

  "Oh, I get it," Chance said amicably. "Don't worry. Those silver dollars are the real McCoy—no pun intended. Got them straight from the sawmill for a day's worth of work."

  Michael swept up the coins and flung them at Chance's boots. "No orphan in this county is in dire enough straits to take charity from the likes of you."

  "Michael!" Eden gasped. "That is entirely uncalled for."

  "Well now." Chance arched an onyx brow. "I think my feelings are hurt. But I hear Miss Eden's cherry pie's the best medicine a man can buy. 'Specially for Cupid cramps." He gave her a naughty grin. "Which one of those picnic lunches did you say was yours again, hon?"

  "Miss Mallory"'—Michael emphasized the formality—"and her picnic lunch are spoken for. By me. Now be about your business, McCoy."

  "Is that a fact?" Chance stooped, picking his coins out of the grass. "Reckon you've got some competition then, Doc. Good thing I saved up two months' worth of wages, eh?" Pocketing the silver, he tipped his hat, giving her a furtive wink. "See ya at the auction block, Doc."

  Hooking his thumbs over his gunbelt, Chance sauntered away, nearly colliding with Sera, who'd come racing up behind her brother, Sheriff Truitt huffing in her wake. Chance exchanged a few terse words with the lawman, while Sera, turning red with guilt—or perhaps it was triumph—hurried out of Chance's path.

  Eden, meanwhile, was so furious, she was shaking. She rounded on Michael, who was glaring like a hanging judge after the younger man. "How dare you?" she sputtered. "How dare you come over here and order my customers around?"

  He turned slowly. The full force of sapphire steel clashed with her ire; she felt the vibration all the way to her toes. Still, she refused to be cowed by his ever-ready scowl.

  "You had no right to banish Chance from the booth," she said. "He paid his money, just like everyone else."

  "Eden, honey," Sera interceded anxiously, "you don't know what you're saying."

  "I most certainly do! Your brother is a common bully. What's more, he has the manners of a boor!"

  A disturbing gleam kindled in Michael's eyes. She suspected if she'd been less angry, she would have considered it a warning. Instead, she proceeded to seal her own doom.

  "I shall kiss any man I please, Michael Jones. And I shall picnic with whomever I please too! Don't you dare tell another beau I'm spoken for, least of ail by you!"

  "Are you finished?" he demanded in a low, fierce undertone.

  She hiked her chin, hating that the traitorous thing quivered. "For now."

  "Good."

  He turned on his heel and strode away.

  She gaped. Then she choked. How dare the arrogant cuss turn his back on her and walk off without so much as a grunt in apology? She stomped her foot, wishing she could satisfy her outrage in a more visceral way like punching him in the gut.

  "Eden..." Sera twisted her hands. "You shouldn't have said all those things. Michael did the right thing."

  "I can't believe you're condoning his behavior!"

  Sera fidgeted. "You just can't trust Chance," she said, although she didn't sound entirely convinced. "I know he seems nice sometimes. But you can't let that fool you. He's not safe to be around."

  "Sera, really. Is that more gossip from Bonnie and the Ladies Aid Society?"

  "No, I..." Sera shook herself. "It was—you know"—she lowered her voice—"one of the visions I told you about," she finished in a rush. "Michael says I shouldn't speak of such things."

  "Michael's not here."

  "I know, but..." She bit her lip. "Well, I could have been mistaken. I mean, the things I see don't always make sense. Still, Kit said Chance used to be married. And that his wife ran off with some fella named Hatfield. In my vision, I saw Chance ride after them and break every bone in the Virginian's body. Hatfield died from complications. Chance fled to Colorado. If the Hatfield family gets wind that Chance is back in Kentucky, they'll come gunning for him."

  Eden's gut clenched. Chance had as much as admitted he was an outlaw. She'd even thought him a tad shy of frightening. But that was before she'd glimpsed his private pain.

  "If Chance is that dangerous to be around, why is Kit keeping company with him?"

  Sera's chin raised a notch. "Well, they are first cousins. And Kit says that Collie's some distant relation of theirs. Kit figured Collie would want to know he has a family to come home to."

  Eden frowned. Sera didn't sound convinced about that part, either.

  Suddenly, a towering shadow darkened the stall. Eden glanced up in time to see Michael eclipse the sun. Striding out of the crowd with a bulging picnic hamper in his fist, he halted before her, hoisted the box, and banged it down on the counter with a challenging thud. Dishes clattered inside, so did the silverware. He didn't seem to notice, though. Nor did he seem to care that he might have broken Aunt Claudia's china. He was too busy locking stares with her.

  "Forgive the intrusion, ladies," he said, deceptively pleasant, "but there's been a slight change in Eden's plans. This afternoon, she'll be picnicking with me."

  Chapter 8

  Eden was so stunned by Michael's audacity, that for a moment, all she could do was blink. Even Sera looked aghast. She gazed up at her brother as if he had just committed some unforgivable crime.

  "Michael," she said, her usual bravado wavering, "what have you done? Put Eden's basket back. If you disqualify her, she'll be ruined in this county!"

  He didn't look the least bit disturbed. "I'm sure Eden's reputation will survive."

  "But you can't just steal her basket—"

  "I don't consider a $100-dollar investment to be a steal."

  One hundred dollars? Eden gulped a shallow breath. She hadn't thought it possible for a corset to grow so tight.

  "Can you do that?" Sera breathed.

  "I just did."

  "But the auction hasn't even started—"

  "The auctioneer," Michael interrupted dryly, "had the good sense to take my one-time offer, since he, as the president of the Raise the Roof Committee, recognized that Eden's basket was unlikely to earn as much income from any other bidder, Chance McCoy included."

  Eden's heart hammered so hard against her ribs, she feared one would break.

  "So..." Sera's eyes had grown as wide as the Ohio River. "You didn't disqualify her?"

  "Like I said. Eden's reputation is likely to survive this episode. It might even be enhanced. Coming, Eden?" He stretched out his hand. "I believe you owe me the pleasure of your company."

  Sera giggled. Eden pressed her lips together. If Michael Jones were any other man, not the fantasy she'd been longing for night after restless night, she would have told him to go choke on her picnic lunch. He was reenacting the role of her hero, but that didn't mean she had to approve of his methods.

  Hiking her skirts, she swept past his insufferable hand, taking some small satisfaction in the fact that he'd now have to haul her twenty-pound hamper of fried chicken and cherry pie to some distant spot of shade.

  To watch him fall into step beside her, though, the wicker swinging effortlessly from his arm, proved disconcerting.

  She set her jaw, trying not to appreciate the way his tailored suitcoat accentuated the broad planes of his shoulders, or the way the late morning sun struck flinty shades of blue from his hair.

  "Well, you've had your way and impressed your aut
hority once more on Sera," she said tartly as they passed the rear entrance to the orphans' tent. "Now that she's out of sight, you can return my basket to the auction block so some serious-minded beau can offer for it."

  "I'm afraid I can't do that."

  His drawl, like Kentucky's finest bourbon, was golden smooth, intoxicating. She did her best to ignore the nuance, even though it melted her nerves.

  "Why not?" she demanded.

  "Certain factions in this county would find a cure for Cupid cramps... inconvenient."

  She stumbled at his jest.

  A dimple creased his cheek, which only heightened her aggravation.

  Halting, she planted her fists on her hips. Courtesy forced him to stop and face her, even though they were now the object of speculation for several gawking bystanders and at least a dozen couples who'd slowed their strolls to listen. She decided not to care. In fact, some ornery part of her refused to play the docile female to Michael's high-handed male.

  "You are a pirate of hearts, Michael Jones. If my cherry pie did indeed have curative powers, every female in this town would be lined up for a slice."

  "And that is precisely why your cherry pie shall never see the light of day."

  She glared at him, refusing to laugh at this disarming humor. "Your diabolical plot is doomed to fail. Because while I was perfecting my recipe, I tasted plenty of cherry pie, a fact which, I assure you, has made me thoroughly immune to the charm of irksome male neighbors who prefer to mind my business instead of their own."

  He arched a coal-black brow. "Selling kisses to outlaws, in broad daylight, does not connote a sound business sense."

  "That is your opinion, sir. Contrary to your belief, I think the orphanage would be enormously grateful for any donation it receives, including one from Chance McCoy. The man can't be all bad, if he is willing to commit a charitable act."

  "Charity was the farthest thing from McCoy's mind."

  "So you're a mind reader now?"

  "Eden." He gentled his voice. "Your willingness to see goodness in the blackest of hearts is one of your most endearing qualities. But it can also be a peculiar blindness. McCoy is a danger to you, to Sera, and to anyone else who crosses his path. Men wear guns for a reason. Don't put yourself in the crossfire."

  She swallowed. The concern in his voice vibrated into her being, touching her in a dangerously romantic way. She had to remind herself he'd included Sera among the people he was trying to protect.

  "Are you trying to make me crazy?"

  She'd taken him by surprise. She could see his guard waver in those breathtakingly blue eyes.

  "I'm not sure I follow you."

  "All protestations to the contrary, you're behaving like a beau. A jealous beau."

  Amusement curved his lips. "I'm behaving like a good neighbor."

  She blew out her breath. "Fine. Call it what you like. But you are not responsible for me, Michael. Besides, Chance wasn't doing anything I didn't give him permission to do."

  "Chance, is it?"

  She rolled her eyes. "You're missing the point. Deliberately, I think."

  He shifted her basket to his other arm. "As much as I enjoy sparring with you on a public fairground," he said evenly, glancing at the eavesdropping children who huddled, bug-eyed and mouths agape, at the rear of the orphans' tent, "might I suggest we find a cooler location?"

  Eden could ignore the trickle of perspiration sliding under her whalebone to dampen her chemise. But she couldn't disregard the orphans, especially when one chubby twelve-year-old with brown, sausage-style ringlets waved to Michael.

  "Hi, Doc!" she called shyly. "Is that your new sweetheart?"

  The whole tent tittered. Michael weathered the giggles with aplomb. Mrs. Witherspoon appeared, tossed Eden an apologetic glance, and ushered the girls back into the shade for cookies. Eden suspected Michael the Pirate had stolen a couple of adolescent hearts, too.

  "Honestly, Michael." They began strolling toward the nearest stand of trees. "You might have told the children the truth."

  The glance he slid her way was veiled. "That you prefer outlaws to doctors?"

  She glared back. "Must you be so difficult? I don't have to picnic with you, you know. After removing my basket from the auction and fueling a virtual prairie fire of gossip at my expense, I think I'd be well within my rights to leave you standing in the dust."

  "Hmm. I suggest we drive, then."

  Her lips twitched at this sally, despite her staunchest resolve. "You're impossible. Did you really pay one hundred dollars to save me from Chance McCoy?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  She caught her breath, uncertain whether to be elated or deflated. He'd neatly foiled her accusations that he was jealous, and he still refused to acknowledge he was behaving like a beau. Maybe he'd planned to spend the money at one of the half-dozen auctions, anyway.

  "Well... thank you. I think."

  "You have nothing to thank me for."

  "You're not the lesser of two evils?"

  "Not necessarily."

  He caught her elbow, guiding her toward the carriages parked along the perimeter of the field. "While it's true your reputation will survive Chance McCoy," he said, "the question remains, will it survive me? That, my dear Eden, would be your dilemma—if you still had a choice."

  He gazed fully at her then, and the heat of those blue cinders melted the protest that had bubbled to her lips. She wanted to believe Michael was making light of himself, but after that night in the parlor, she wasn't so sure. She couldn't help but remember his warning, I'm nothing like the angel I was named after. Then he'd proved his devilry with his kiss.

  A thrill prickled her arms at the memory.

  "Where do you propose to take me?" she demanded as he handed her into his phaeton.

  The smile he flashed her was sinfully male.

  "Somewhere we won't be disturbed."

  As he climbed into the driver's seat, sweeping Eden's cream-colored skirt off his cushion, inhaling the delicate floral fragrance that drifted out to entrance him, Michael steeled himself against his pleasure. He'd paid one hundred dollars to keep her out of mischief, by God, and so he would: by removing her from the bad influences at this jamboree. Michael Jones he could trust—more or less. The rest of the male population was questionable.

  Besides, Eden had proven herself susceptible to wolves. It was high time someone showed her the error of her ways. With Sera in Claudia's capable, anti-McCoy care, Michael had the freedom for once to indulge in a personal whim, namely, to educate Eden about the baser instincts of men.

  A young woman couldn't go about kissing physicians or renegades without placing herself in peril. To think Eden was a tease at heart absolutely galled him. He realized he had no business being angry, that the very reason he'd ignored her shy greetings and sweet smiles since she'd become a resident of Blue Thunder six short weeks ago was to encourage her attraction to another beau.

  But not to Chance McCoy, for God's sake! Surely some town gossip must have told her about his wife. And the dead Virginian!

  As much as it nettled Michael's pride, he had to admit, he wasn't good at self-sacrifice. Watching Eden delight in another man's attention had made him greener than a poisoned apple. He'd thought he could step aside and let another beau woo her, marry her, make love to her, because in the end, she'd be better off without an invalid husband. But that was before he'd realized she took a fancy to outlaws. And that was before he'd seen, with his own eyes, some other man touching her. God help him, he would have ripped McCoy's head off if given half a chance.

  Michael scowled as he gazed over his shoulder, backing the phaeton out of the shade. He knew he had to rein in his jealousy. If Eden suspected he had an ulterior motive while he was trying to talk sense into her, she'd simply laugh.

  In the meantime, Eden was his private joy for an entire afternoon. It was a heady realization, since the part of him that had been longing for her company, for the cheerfulness that could coax him be
yond his secret misery and help him glimpse the rosy complexion of life, was dangerously close to gaining control. He was glad Eden was Eden, because she couldn't stay mad at him for long. In truth, it amused him to watch her bounce on the cushion beside him, striving so hard to be prim and aloof. She didn't know how.

  At first, she maintained a stoic silence, retreating into some polite caricature of her more amicable self if a fair-goer hailed them. But the minute they were on the road, winding through the fallow fields of wildflowers, she would gasp with the wide-eyed appreciation of a child and point to the flash of oriole wings or to the nigh-transparent masterwork of a spider that had stretched its web between two milkweed pods.

  Michael chuckled to himself. Eden found wonder in the simplest things, things that, he vaguely recalled, had fascinated him once too, when he'd roamed these hills in knickers. Funny. He couldn't remember the last time he'd reined in his horse just to count the seconds a hawk wheeled overhead, her russet wings gliding for what seemed like forever, before she finally flapped to sail the winds.

  "Michael, listen," Eden breathed, cocking her head. Her bonnet had long since spilled down her back, allowing her nose to freckle endearingly in the sun. "Do you hear it?"

  "What?"

  "The brook! There's one nearby. Oh, let's picnic by the water!"

  She was right—sort of. He'd halted the phaeton about a stone's throw from Smitty McCann's irrigation ditch, and the recent rains had helped it bubble over its banks. The physician in him smiled at her conclusion. Certainly there was nothing wrong with Eden's hearing.

  "I know a better place," he said, slapping the reins. "That is, if you don't mind a spot of shade with your wildflowers. Or sharing your crumbs with a presumptuous magpie."

  She treated him to a shy smile. "I like magpies. They remind me of Colorado—and the days when it was fun to go there."

  He waited curiously for an explanation, but she gave none other than a wistful sigh as she gazed at the clouds wreathing Blue Thunder Mountain. He wondered if she was thinking of the mob she'd mentioned in the parlor that night he'd been so intent on playing the bastard. He realized he had no one but himself to blame if she refused to let him heal her wounds. For some reason, the knowledge hurt. He worried his physician's pride wasn't the only source of that pain.