by Alison Kent
“Sam, we should talk.”
“I reckon you want me to go back to the Golden Slipper,” he said, studying the fit of the glove.
She stopped, totally dumbstruck that she’d barely given a thought to what should be done about getting home. Yet that’s exactly what she should have been doing since she opened her eyes this morning—figuring a way to get into the Golden Slipper undetected. If Margaret was a Winslow, as revolting as the idea was, the answer undoubtedly had to be there in the brothel.
“I need to go to the Golden Slipper.”
Sam’s face darkened. “No.”
“I have no choice.”
He angrily pulled on his other glove. “Reckon I can’t stop you, but if the sheriff catches you, I can’t help you, either.”
She bit her lower lip. The problem was, he’d try. She knew it even if he claimed otherwise, and that could get him hurt. “What else can I do?”
“You could stay,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.
And then she briefly doubted her own ears when he strolled to the corner under the loft steps where he kept his tools, and picked up a shovel and a bucket.
“That’s not possible,” she replied.
“You can work with Doc. He’ll tell the sheriff the same story I did about you being an old friend of his.”
“What about Margaret?” Reese clasped her hands tightly together and pressed them against her midsection. The question was obviously moot, but that he’d even considered the possibility of her staying inspired an inexplicable longing inside her.
Without looking at her, he shrugged a shoulder. “Reckon she’d give up after a spell. Might be that the next stage will bring the whore she’d been expecting.”
Reese frowned. She’d never get used to the casual use of the term whore. Not if she stayed for the next fifty years. The fleeting thought made her a little queasy. It meant nothing, but even if she’d be stupid enough to want to stay, she had too many responsibilities back home. She couldn’t have a brighter future ahead of her if she’d designed it herself.
Only twenty-nine and she was already considered part of the medical elite. She’d studied and worked with leading physicians in every field. A month ago, after finishing her residency, she’d been asked to…
Holy crap.
She swallowed convulsively. The names of several prominent doctors swam through her head, two of whom had actually mentored her. Learned physicians so brilliant that they’d earned their places in medical textbooks for eternity. She’d voraciously studied their practices. She’d worshiped at their altar. They’d discovered cures, published a myriad of breakthrough findings and made it possible for students like herself to carry the torch into the next frontier of medicine.
If she proved worthy.
The words vibrated in her head.
What had she proved so far? That she was attractive, thanks to luck and good genes, but to no credit of her own. That she was well-spoken and polished, thanks to the pricey prep schools she’d attended. Sure, her grades and recommendations had been impeccable, yet she’d tied for second in her class. Other med school graduates were equally qualified, if not more.
How had she forgotten basic humility? How had she gotten so full of herself that she assumed she deserved a spot beside those remarkable men and women who’d put years in and gained experience in medicine? Because she was the famous Brad and Linea Winslow’s daughter?
The idea sickened her. Shame burrowed deep into her heart and soul. She could barely keep her head up.
“Reese?” Sam had come to stand in front of her, his work-roughened palms running down her arms, worry drawing his brows together. “Are you all right?”
She hadn’t seen or heard him move. “I’m fine.”
With a gentle hand, he lifted her chin and looked deeply into her eyes. “You’re pale.”
The concern she saw in his gaze touched her. No one ever worried about her. Why would they? Everyone thought she had it all. Other than Ellie, who had ever wanted to slay dragons for her?
She forced a smile, and shrugged. Sam thought she was this great doctor who performed small miracles. She couldn’t tell him she was a fraud. “I guess I miss home.”
For a second, regret flickered in his eyes, and then his expression went flat. He lowered his hand, nodded. And resumed his work.
SAM FINISHED REPAIRING the wagon, satisfied that it was in good enough condition that he could start renting it out again. Occasionally, men brought their womenfolk on the stage, and when they did, Sam got a decent price for the one buggy and wagon he kept in the back. Good thing no one had come asking for them. He should’ve had the wagon finished three days ago. But since Reese had shown up, most of his chores had gone to hell.
He pulled off his gloves, got a cup of coffee and stood at the entrance of the livery, gazing toward Doc’s office. She’d been gone all afternoon, which was helpful for him getting his work done. As far as Sam knew, Doc had stayed sober, and that alone was as good as a body could hope for. Though damned if Sam hadn’t missed her.
The boom of distant thunder made him look up at the blue sky. It was still clear in town, but dark gray clouds bunched over the mountains. They needed the rain. Everybody but the miners would welcome a drenching. Sam just hoped his roof held up. He’d been meaning to get up there and fix it, but it seemed there was always something else that needed doing.
And if he was to be completely truthful, deep down, he was beginning to wonder if his time in Deadwood might be coming to an end. One way or the other a conclusion was drawing near, whether at the end of a noose or on a trail back down to New Mexico or Texas.
The steady increase in travelers that came through town had been making him uneasy. Doc and the success of the livery had kept him rooted this long. Maybe too long. Sam was getting soft. Letting his thinking run crazy. He hadn’t wanted to hear talk of Reese leaving. As if he had anything to offer her.
Hell.
He drained his coffee, and cast another glance toward Doc’s place. The sun would be down in two hours and he hadn’t given a thought to making supper. That was another bad thing about having a woman around; he couldn’t just eat beans out of a can when he wanted. Tomorrow he’d see if she could find her way around a stove.
“Howdy, Sam.”
He jerked, caught off guard by the deputy’s voice, his hand instinctively going for a gun he never wore anymore. He relaxed his arm and shifted position to face the short, slim man. It angered him to no end that he hadn’t heard the deputy coming. More proof he was getting too damn soft.
“Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya.” Lester grinned, his small black eyes glinting with meanness before he turned and spit.
“What are you doing down this way?” Sam asked the question, though he already knew that the sheriff must have sent him to poke around. Ames didn’t like Sam, despite the fact he had never given the lawman reason.
Lester used his shirtsleeve to wipe his mouth. Most days he was too lazy to mount a horse, much less walk this far on his own accord, which made a person wonder how the man had ended up so bowlegged. He liked to stick near the saloons, especially the Silver Nugget, and when there was trouble, Lester took on the men too drunk to aim. Everybody in town knew the coward was a back-shooter, but the story was that he and the sheriff had been friends since they were boys, so no one said a word against him.
“Still looking for that runaway whore.” Lester strolled past him to have a glimpse inside the livery. His steely gaze swept the row of stalls. “I heard a woman’s been fixing up some of the boys from the mines.”
Sam shot a glance toward Doc’s office. He hoped she had the good sense to look out before she crossed the street. But if Lester walked too far into the livery, she might not see him till it was too late. “What does she have to do with Margaret’s whore?”
Lester stopped at the last stall, where Sam kept his horse. “Heard she was a looker. You wouldn’t be hiding her, keeping her for yourself, would
you, Sam?” He snorted at his own joke, the irritating sound spooking Diablo. The horse tossed his head and pushed his powerful body against the stall door. Lester jumped.
Sam smiled. “The whore or the lady doctor?”
The deputy gave him a sour look before jerking his head toward the back room. “What’s in there?”
Sam slowly walked toward the stove, every muscle in his body tensed. Martha’s clothes were stacked in the box, but was the box tucked away? And what about his bedroll. “It’s where I sleep. You want coffee?”
“Got anything stronger?”
“Nope.” He picked up the kettle, poured more brew into his cup and then lifted the kettle in Lester’s direction.
“Nah.” The deputy moved away from the room and closer to Sam. “Doc’s lady friend still here?”
Sam shrugged.
“The sheriff said you told him she left, but the stage driver don’t recall taking on a single lady passenger. Fact is, he don’t recall bringing one, neither.”
Sam calmly sipped his coffee. He should be standing at the entrance and keeping Lester out in the open, to warn Reese. If she showed up there’d be hard questions, and then the sheriff would eventually come calling. Sam hadn’t used his gun in a while, but good thing he kept it oiled and clean. “You been to Doc’s yet?”
“I don’t like going there. All those tonics he keeps…” Lester tried to hide a shudder with a loud cough that startled the horses. “It smells bad in that office,” he muttered, moving quickly toward the street.
Sam followed him, annoyed when Lester stopped at the entrance, loitering as if he was in no hurry to leave. “You and the sheriff’s got plenty to do. Doesn’t make any sense you’re worried about one whore.”
“Might as well be barkin’ at a knot, you ask me.” Lester shook his head. “It’s Margaret…she’s still yappin’ about that one, and you know how Sheriff Ames feels about—” The deputy stopped shooting his mouth off and scowled at Sam. “You see a strange woman, you come tell me or the sheriff.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.”
Lester lifted his hat off his head and slapped it against his thigh while giving a final look around. “Yep, keep hearin’ what a pretty thing she is. If we find her, I have a mind to take a poke at her myself.”
Sam clenched his left hand, itching to hammer it into the man’s slimy face. His other hand nearly crushed the tin cup he was holding. It took all his might to stay where he was, to keep his mouth shut, to let the deputy amble toward town. The notion of Reese lying with any other man filled him with a powerful fury that shocked him down to his boots. He’d never felt that deep burning jealousy over a woman. He didn’t like it.
Even when Lester disappeared into the crowd in front of the Silver Nugget, Sam still didn’t move. His jaw ached from being clenched and his temper hung by a shred. If Reese talked about sneaking into the Golden Slipper again, he’d surely throttle her. He thought about her smooth golden skin and her pretty pink nipples. About the surprising ripple of muscle along her thighs as she’d wrapped them around his waist.
Something wet dampened the front of his Levi’s. He looked down and saw the stream of coffee coming from the tilted cup, which he hastily righted.
Hell.
Even when the woman wasn’t around she strained his patience. He glared at Doc’s office door as if Reese herself was standing there. Right as rain, she’d end up bringing trouble, but God help him, he wanted her to stay.
He wanted her.
“I THOUGHT IT WAS GOING to rain today. Did you hear the thunder?” Reese asked over dinner, frustrated by Sam’s stubborn silence since she’d returned from Doc’s a couple of hours ago.
“Yep.”
“Think it still might?”
“Yep.”
“Too late for snow though, right?”
He nodded.
She groaned, and he looked blankly at her. “Is there a problem?” she asked.
His brows drew together. “Nope.”
That did it. No more trying to start a conversation. She was tired, anyway. Doc had had only one patient, a young boy with a nasty cut from a wire fence, which had required a few stitches. But that was all. Mostly they’d spent the day rehashing their previous night’s discussion of sterilization techniques, CPR and difficult births. He’d had dozens of questions and did a lot of writing in his black notebook, but he’d said nothing of Sam or Martha, and Reese hadn’t asked.
The whole afternoon he’d had only two glasses of whiskey. His eyes had stayed relatively clear, although without the whiskey his hands had been shaky. But he hadn’t needed help stitching the boy. In all, she’d been pleased, and had enjoyed the time they spent together.
While Sam checked the water he’d been heating, Reese gathered their dirty dinner dishes and the pot he’d used to make a stew. She’d surprised herself by eating two helpings of the savory beef and carrots, along with two biscuits. If she didn’t get some exercise soon, she was going to balloon up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving parade float.
Her gaze strayed to the seat of Sam’s worn jeans, and her pulse quickened as she thought of the kind of exercise she’d be getting in the next few hours. Oh, he might be giving her the silent treatment for whatever reason, but she’d seen the heated looks he’d sent her when he hadn’t thought she would notice. Even if he did try to resist a repeat of last night, it wouldn’t take much to make him see things her way.
She smiled at the thought and hummed while she scraped the plates and then measured out some soap flakes. Eyeing her with curiosity, he silently filled the small washbasin with water for the dishes, and then went back to heating more. She was about to ask what he was doing when he picked up the trough he used as a tub and carried it to the back room.
That was enough to send her pulse skittering, and she couldn’t seem to wash the dishes fast enough. She dried and put them away and then threw another log on the fire, while he made several trips with metal buckets of heated water. Using a rag so she wouldn’t burn her hand, she grabbed a remaining bucket, struggling not to spill any water because it was so much heavier than it looked, and joined him in the back room.
His bedroll had disappeared and disappointment churned in her stomach, but she reminded herself that room was needed for the tub. Still, she scanned the corners and behind the cot, hoping he’d stowed the bedroll nearby. He’d been acting oddly all evening and she couldn’t help but wonder if he really did regret last night.
He easily lifted the bucket from her hands and dumped the contents into the trough. The water level rose to the midpoint, still low enough for them to both get in and not overflow. The fit would be tight, probably not very comfortable at all, but she was willing to try.
She looked at Sam and found him staring at her.
He quickly picked up two empty buckets.
“Sam.” She touched his arm, stopping him halfway to the door. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” He sighed. “I better put more water on the fire.”
“That’s enough,” she said, casting a glance at the tub, mostly to avoid his eyes when she added, “With any more water and the both of us in there, it might overflow.”
“Reese.” He briefly closed his eyes, his anguished expression a complete mystery.
She withdrew her hand. “I don’t understand. I thought you—I’m sorry.”
He dropped the buckets and gripped her upper arms, his fingers digging into her flesh. “I’m not the man you think I am. Do you understand that?” When all she did was gaze back into his stormy eyes, he loosened his grip and his thumbs moved in a caress. “But I am a man,” he said his eyes going to her mouth. “Not unmoved by temptation.”
That’s all she needed to hear.
15
REESE REACHED FOR HIS belt buckle, but Sam pushed her hands aside. She jerked her head up, her heart leaping to her throat. He cupped her face and kissed her gently on the mouth, and then kissed each closed eyelid, the tip of her nose and finally her
chin. She stood frozen, instantly turned on as he went for the spot behind her ear, lingering there, before taking her earlobe between his teeth. It took a few moments for her to realize that he was unbuttoning her blouse.
He pushed the front of it open, exposing her bare breasts. Her nipples had already tightened to buds and he slowly circled them with his palms. She drew in a shaky breath and hooked her fingers into his waistband. He didn’t stop her this time when she toyed with the buckle. Or even when she freed his belt. He was too busy learning the shape of her breasts.
She wasn’t complaining. The way he wrapped his possessive hands around her flesh sent a shiver of anticipation racing down her spine. She couldn’t seem to unbutton his Levi’s fast enough, and he took the hint and pulled off his shirt. He worked on the hooks at the waistband of her skirt while she shrugged out of the blouse. In her enthusiasm to rid him of his trousers she’d forgotten about his boots, and chuckling, he sank back onto the cot before they both ended up on the hard ground.
Caught by surprise, she stared at him. “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh before.”
He pulled off one boot, his mouth twisting wryly.
Upset that she may have ruined the mood, she crouched down and helped pull off his other one. “I like the sound. I like it when you smile, too.”
His unsnapped Levi’s rode low on his lean hips and her gaze followed the arrow of hair that disappeared behind his partially open fly. She moistened her lips, her breath quickening, and he reached for her, drawing her to her feet and settling her between his thighs.
As she stood before him, he reached around and ran his hand down her bare back to the curve of her bottom, then touched the tip of his tongue to her nipple. She clutched his shoulders for balance as he laved and swirled his tongue over the crown before drawing her hotly into his mouth. Her skirt hung loosely on her hips, and with one tug he sent the billowing fabric to a pool at her feet.
Hugging her closer, he groaned and buried his face in her breasts. She combed her fingers through his silky dark hair, arching against him and then stiffening when he lowered his mouth to the underside of her breast. She sucked in a breath when he trailed kisses lower, down the edge of her ribs, stopping to nibble the skin near her navel.
