Without asking permission, she started unbuttoning his shirt. Shocked by the sensation of her delicate fingers fumbling against his skin, Gideon did nothing to stop her until she reached his waist. Abruptly, he took hold of her wrist.
“Miss Matlock, I really do think it best if I take my leave now.”
The only response he received was an arch of her dark eyebrows and a glare from her winter sky eyes.
Resigned to doing her bidding, he jerked the tails of his shirt from his trousers and finished unfastening the remaining buttons. With a frustrated sigh, he unbuttoned the cuffs and let his ruined shirt slide down his arms to the floor. Millie wadded it up and opened the kitchen door, dropping it in a garbage pail outside.
She returned inside and washed her hands at the sink, carefully drying them before she returned to stand behind him. “Lean forward, Mr. McBride. Please?”
The touch of her hand on his shoulder burned hotter than anything he experienced at the fire. From what he knew about Millie Matlock, the woman wouldn’t let him leave or give him any peace until she had her way, so he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table in front of him.
“Oh, Mr. McBride.” Her pained whisper made him wonder if he’d obtained a burn worse than he thought. Perhaps she’d noticed his old scars, not that they were easy to miss. The marks crossed his back from the middle of his shoulder blades below the waist of his pants.
“Is there a nasty burn?” he asked, hoping that was the cause for her distress. His chest hurt so badly, it left him numb toward any other injuries he might have sustained carrying the Wendell family out of the fire.
“Nothing particularly awful.” Millie poured water in a bowl and dipped in a clean cloth. She dabbed it over his back with a gentle hand. “It appears only two spots have blistered.”
“That’s good,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as she removed eggs from the icebox and broke two into a bowl, separating the whites from the yolks. She set the yolks aside and picked up a fork, whipping the whites until they were frothy. “I’m not quite ready for breakfast. Besides, I thought you said you can’t cook.”
A smile lifted the corners of her berry-ripe lips as she continued to beat the eggs. “I can’t cook, but I can put something on your burns that will take out the sting. If you leave this on for an hour or two, you should heal right up with no problem.”
From some foggy corner of his childhood memories, he vaguely recalled his mother putting egg white on a cigar burn his stepfather gave him. Gideon couldn’t remember the reason for the punishment, but the burn on the back of his thigh had hurt like the dickens.
“I didn’t realize you had medical training.” Gideon forced himself to breathe normally as Millie tenderly rubbed the egg whites over his back. “Are you a nurse pretending to be a hello girl?”
“Hardly.” Millie continued working as she spoke. “My mother served as a midwife when I was a little girl. She knew many remedies and kept a journal, which I now have. Also, I’ve spent enough time around the Nash family to pick up a few tips from Nik.”
“Nik?”
“He’s a doctor. He graduated from a medical school in New York in the autumn. Before he moves back here, he’s putting in time working in one of the most prestigious hospitals there.”
“I did hear something about that. Isn’t he planning to go into practice with Doc Reed?”
“That’s right.” Millie finished with the egg whites and rinsed her hands.
When she turned back to Gideon and lightly blew across his back, he jumped, almost spilling what was left of the glass of water on the table.
“I’m sorry did that hurt?” She leaned closer and the end of her braid brushed across his chest.
Gideon wanted, more than anything at that moment, to pull her into his arms and satisfy the growing need he felt to kiss her. Despite the lingering smell of smoke that clung to them both, he caught a whiff of her flowery-fragrance.
Forcing himself to remain unmoving, he raised his eyes to meet hers. Concern filled those pale blue orbs and warmth unlike anything he’d ever imagined. “It didn’t hurt. I just didn’t expect you to blow on it.”
“I thought it might dry faster that way.”
Fast was good. The quicker he could get out of her apartment and away from the temptation of Miss Matlock, the better off he’d be.
He continued leaning forward as he drained the remainder of his honey-laced drink. Millie stood with one hand on his shoulder, quietly watching the egg whites dry on his back.
“Mr. McBride?” she asked, her voice subdued.
“What is it?”
“I realize it’s none of my business, but do you mind if I ask how you acquired such painful-looking scars on your back?”
Although he hoped Millie’s need to be proper would keep her from asking, he should have known curiosity would get the best of her. Instead of answering, he took one last swig of tea, draining the mug and setting it on the table.
“You’re right, it isn’t any of your business.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Gideon reached up and grabbed the hand on his shoulder before she could move away, pulling on it until she stepped around him and took a seat in the chair beside him. “My stepfather felt frequent and violent punishment was the best way to bend someone to his will.”
Tears filled Millie’s eyes and she squeezed Gideon’s hand. “He sounds like a horrid man.”
“He was. My mother and I put up with him for seventeen years then he died in a drunken brawl, shot to death by one of his employees.” Millie didn’t need to know the brawl was over one of the soiled doves in Judas Seymour’s employ and the person who killed him was one of the other harlots.
Uncertain what to say to that, Millie enfolded Gideon’s hand between both of hers. “No one should be treated like that,” she said, jutting her chin in the direction of Gideon’s back.
“I agree.” Gideon lifted the hand she wasn’t holding and caressed her cheek, tracing the curve of it with his thumb then trailing it along her chin. Her skin was so soft, so perfect. Her heart-shaped face so adorable. “Might I inquire why you were running around town in the dead of night in nothing more than your nightclothes?”
Millie looked down, as though remembering her state of undress. At least the robe kept her modestly covered. “I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help after I summoned the fire department. I’m glad I went.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Wendell is, too, but please, Millie, don’t make a habit of it. The streets are barely safe during the day. Most certainly, they are no place for a lady to be at night, particularly one as pretty as you.”
A blush rode her cheeks as she stood and checked on his back. “It appears the egg whites are dry. You are free to go. If you’d rather, you could stay. I have a spare room.”
Gideon’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly met his hairline. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss Matlock.”
“For heaven’s sake, call me Millie. After tonight, I don’t see any need to continue being so formal.” She stared at him, daring him to argue.
He grinned, flashing his dimples. “Fine, Millie it is. Your offer is kind, but it wouldn’t do your reputation any good if someone caught me leaving here in the morning wearing nothing but my trousers. Something like that could cost you your job.”
Millie sighed and slumped against the counter. “You’re right. How stupid of me to even suggest it. I’m just used to the telephone girls staying here when they don’t have an escort home after the evening shift.”
Gideon chuckled. “I’m insulted you consider me ‘one of the girls.’ On that emasculating note, I bid you good night and take my leave.”
He picked up the blanket and wrapped it around his back before he moved to the kitchen door.
“You can go out the front if you like,” Millie offered, pointing her hand in the direction of her hallway.
“No, there’s less chance of me being seen in th
e back. There aren’t any lights and if I cut across the back lot, it will get me home that much faster.” Gideon bent down and kissed her cheek with a quick peck. “Thank you for taking care of me, Millie. Be a good girl and stay out of trouble.”
“We’ll see,” she said, opening the back door and watching as he hurried down the darkened steps and disappeared into the night.
Quietly closing the door, she locked it and set the dirty dishes in the sink to wash later. She went to the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water, determined to wash the smell of smoke away before she attempted to return to her bed.
As she soaped her hair, she closed her eyes and pictured Gideon’s magnificent chest, covered in coppery hair.
When she’d unbuttoned his shirt, she hadn’t given a thought to the impropriety of it until it fell away and revealed all those solid muscles. Long ago, she’d learned to project a confidence she didn’t feel to get through any situation. She’d pretended indifference to his half-naked form, but inside, her stomach quivered and her knees felt as weak as overcooked noodles.
Unable to resist the need to touch him, she’d spread the egg whites over his back and let her hand rest on the defined curve of his shoulder. His skin was so warm and much smoother than she imagined. Even now, her hand itched to touch him again.
The scars on his back, though, the hideous, deep scars made her heart ache. She knew well the cruelty it took to scar a child like that.
Even worse than the scars she could see, she wondered what scars Gideon’s stepfather had left on his soul.
Gideon McBride was impossible for her to understand. The man owned a saloon and blatantly served up the poisoned brew that destroyed families. Yet he’d risked his life to save the children of a perfect stranger.
She arrived at the conclusion she couldn’t weigh his acts of kindness against what he did for a living and find any balance.
From now on, she’d do her best to accept Gideon as he was without trying to measure him by her own faulty yardstick.
Sinking deeper into the tub of water, Millie sighed and once again envisioned what it would feel like to be held against Gideon’s chest, to run her fingers through that thick copper hair, and know the splendor of his kisses.
She giggled, recalling his comments about her thinking of him as one of the telephone girls.
With visions of his well-muscled, incredibly attractive form striding through her head, that was the furthest thing from the truth.
Chapter Eleven
More than a week after the house fire, people in town were still talking about Gideon’s heroic efforts.
Tired of being the center of attention, he couldn’t wait for some novel bit of news or excitement to come along that would make the community turn their attention elsewhere.
It was a good thing Mrs. Wendell agreed to his request to keep silent about him offering a place for her to stay. With the woman’s husband gone on a business trip to the south for another month, she and the children needed immediate housing.
Gideon owned several rental homes and one of them had recently been vacated. Although it only had three bedrooms, Mrs. Wendell seemed more than happy to move her family into it and accepted his generous offer to allow her to stay at no charge.
In exchange, she promised not to mention anything about his help to anyone and to leave the house as clean as they found it when they did decide to move on somewhere else.
Pleased he could help the family, Gideon was glad all six of the children quickly recovered from the ordeal.
It had taken days for him to cease coughing and Doc Reed came to see him twice, concerned by the ongoing rattle in his chest.
“You know how smoke bothers me, Doc. It’ll go away, eventually,” Gideon assured the man, offering him a cup of coffee and a slice of cinnamon cake.
“I do know how much it bothers you, Gideon. That’s why I’m worried. I sure wish you’d at least take it easy until your lungs clear. One of these days you’re going to kill yourself doing something crazy like running into a burning house. You don’t have a thing to prove to anyone, son.”
Gideon merely shrugged and refilled the doctor’s coffee cup.
With his health nearly restored, the Wendell family cozy and safe in his rental house, and the promise of spring fast approaching, Gideon found himself in a particularly good mood. He whistled a lively rendition of Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag as he unlocked the doors to the saloon and helped Abel serve the first customers of the evening.
“You seem unusually chipper,” Abel mused as he poured whiskey into glasses and accepted payment from one of their frequent customers.
Gideon grinned and filled a frosty glass with sarsaparilla. He took a long drink and leaned against the bar. “Business is good, the winter is almost behind us, and the new horse I bought arrived today.”
Abel gave him a sidelong glance. “Was the stallion really sired by El Rio Rey?”
A boyish smile made Gideon appear much younger than his thirty years. “He sure was. El Rio Rey was a great thoroughbred racehorse in his time. I feel very fortunate to purchase one of his offspring.”
Abel wiped a few spilled drops from the counter with a white cloth and grinned at his employer. “And what’s this new horse’s name?”
“Carbonado.”
“What kind of name is that?” Abel asked, serving another customer before returning his attention to Gideon. “Where’d you come up with it?”
“I didn’t. He was given that name at birth. It means black diamonds.” Gideon took another swig of his drink and contentedly looked over the saloon. The hum of friendly card games filled the room as men gathered to talk about their day and relax for an hour or two.
“Black diamonds?”
Gideon nodded. “You’ll have to bring Louella and the girls out to the ranch to see him, Abel. He’s quite something to behold. His mother is a thoroughbred, too. They call her Black Pearl.”
“And what, exactly, is it you hope to do with this horse? Race him?”
“Maybe I will, but I was thinking more along the lines of selling his breeding services.”
Abel chuckled. “You can think of more ways to make an honest dollar than any other man I’ve ever met. With all the pies you’ve got your fingers in, why is it you keep the saloon?”
Gideon slapped Abel on the shoulder. “Where else would you work if I didn’t keep it, old man? You’ve been here longer than I’ve owned it.”
“That’s just because no one else would work for Judas.” Abel recalled coming to work for the mean-spirited man when he was only nineteen. Five years later, Judas was dead and Gideon took over. He regretted bringing up the past when a haunted look crossed Gideon’s face. “Hey, boss, don’t think about…”
Gideon cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s fine, Abel.” He finished his drink and walked into the kitchen. “I made a shepherd’s pie if you’re interested.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Abel followed him and helped himself to the hot, filling potato and meat dish then returned to helping customers.
After eating his dinner, Gideon settled at the end of the bar with a cup of coffee and the latest issue of Field and Stream magazine.
He’d just finished reading an article that included a recipe for pan-fried trout when the temperance committee began singing outside the saloon.
Slowly spinning around on the stool, he glanced outside. His eyes scanned the coat-shrouded figures, searching for Millie.
It had been almost a month since the group had stopped outside long enough to sing and he wondered what inspired her to do so today.
Although he’d thought about paying a social call several times since the night of the fire, he’d forced himself to stay away from her. It was bad enough she haunted his dreams the few hours he slept each night, but she’d taken to boldly marching through his thoughts during the day.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the end of her silky black braid brushing against his bare
chest and the tender softness of her hand as it seared the skin of his shoulder.
Many times, he wished he’d thrown aside caution, pulled her onto his lap in her kitchen, and kissed her until they lost all their sense.
In spite of himself, Gideon grinned. He couldn’t quite picture the efficient, upright Millie Matlock ever completely losing control of herself.
“I didn’t know they’d go out without Miss Matlock leading the charge,” Abel said, polishing a glass and setting it on the counter behind him.
“You don’t see her out there either?”
“Nope. Maybe she got tied up reaming someone’s ears about the evils of drinking at their last stop.”
Gideon slid off the stool and nonchalantly strolled over to the door. He opened it and tipped his head to the women, giving them one of his most charming smiles.
Several of the women tittered and their song came to a hushed finish. “Evening, ladies. Not near so nippy out tonight, is it?”
“No, Mr. McBride,” one of the younger, cheekier women replied.
If Gideon’s memory served him correctly, she was unmarried and looking to change the situation as fast as possible.
Although she was cute, he wasn’t interested. Not in the least. He scanned the group then tossed a hasty glance up the street in the direction they’d come.
No Millie.
Curious, yet not willing to ask the group where their leader happened to be, he tipped his head to them again and smiled. “You ladies have a pleasant evening. Don’t stay out too late.”
“Humph.” Almira Raines huffed, grabbing the arm of the woman closest to her and stalking across the street to Drake’s bar.
Before all the women traipsed off, Gideon caught the eye of Lacy Hill. “Mrs. Hill? A moment, please?”
Lacy motioned for her friends to go ahead then turned to Gideon with what he could only term as a poker face. The men in town who possessed a fondness for playing cards were lucky the members of the WCTU held no interest in it because some of the temperance women could appear as expressionless as anyone he’d ever seen.
Millie (Pendleton Petticoats Book 7) Page 10
