“You’re a silver-tongued devil.”
“Just speaking the truth.”
“Hey, do you mind if we get this card-playing done so I can turn to better pursuits.” Curtis gave them a black scowl.
“You’re in a mighty big hurry to lose your money, Curtis. You’ll be glad to know I’ve chosen One-Eyed Jacks for tonight.”
Doc and the others groaned, burying their heads.
“One-Eyed Jacks?” McKenna crooked an eyebrow. “Never heard tell of it and I thought I knew every form of the game.”
“Tempest made it up, that’s why,” explained Doc.
“I did not,” Tempest protested. “My granddaddy taught me how to play. It’s easy; you’ll get the hang of it real fast.”
Seated at a card table minutes later, surrounded by so many damn roses it would put a funeral parlor to shame, McKenna had second thoughts. And it had nothing to do with the indoor garden.
He recognized a professional at work in the way she shuffled the deck, expertly bridging and then fanning them out. If he were a betting man, he’d say she’d spent some time in a large gambling house—maybe in New Orleans from the mellow accent wrapping certain words.
The thronelike chair she perched on made her look downright queenly.
“I do declare, I forgot to offer you fine gentlemen some refreshment.” She laid down the cards. “Bourbon anyone?”
“Might dull the ache when I go home broke,” said Doc.
McKenna rose. “I’ll help you.”
“No, thank you. Absolutely not. You’re my guest.”
Sipping smooth bourbon whiskey from cut crystal wasn’t anything he’d planned. Neither was losing every round of cards to the lovely widow.
Maybe it was the heady fragrance circling his head.
Or the flashing dimples and the amber glints sparkling in her gaze when she favored him with a brilliant smile.
And maybe it was the way her curls cascaded onto her bare shoulder from the high upswept hairdo that made him think of more pleasurable activities that could scratch that itch.
Tempest LeDoux had taken a damn quick course in charm school. The results astounded him.
A desire to get close…intimately, indecently close to her silenced the old warnings that had always kept him from wading onto a patch of quicksand.
The complicated game was hard to follow and it soon became apparent that no one was going to win except her.
The minute he latched onto a good grasp of the game she changed the rules, insisting that was what she said to begin with. The urge to strangle her pretty throat grew stronger with every passing second.
Suddenly, his vision blurred and a dizzy whirl made it hard to keep from falling out of the chair.
Whatever the cause he knew it was something more than her wishy-washy rules and fine bourbon.
He was probably beat from twenty-four hours without sleep.
A few minutes passed and McKenna seemed unable to gather his wits. He couldn’t be drunk. He’d only had what amounted to two jiggers of bourbon. Funny thing though. She’d always taken his glass to the sideboard to fill, where with the others, she brought the bottle to the table.
Four hands later, Doc Mitchell and his two friends laid down their cards and jumped up, clearly relieved. “You’ve wiped us clean again. Reckon we’ll mosey back to town.”
“Better luck next time, boys.” Tempest seemed pretty jovial. “Watch out for the coyotes.”
McKenna tried to stand and leave with them, but his legs wobbled, buckling beneath him. He sank back into the smooth, imported leather. He’d rest awhile and try it again.
“Another bourbon, McKenna?”
He quickly covered the top of the glass. “I’ve had enough. Any more and I’ll be laid out on your floor.”
“Now that would be a pity.” Her grin belied the words.
“The shame would be in not using my free room at the Springs Hotel after everyone went to so much trouble. It’d slight their feelings.” Damn this dizziness—there were two of everything he looked at.
“I daresay they’d live over it. They have before.”
“You’re full of devilish contention, my dear lady.”
“Perhaps.” Tempest shuffled the cards. “Anyway, looks like it’s just us.”
McKenna shook his head. “Count me out. You helped yourself to all my money. Don’t have a cent left, so reckon I’m done too. I’d better head back to town. My bed’ll look mighty welcome.”
He tried to force some stiffness into legs that insisted on folding. They were a little better but not well enough to make it to the door and mount a horse.
“Are you feeling puny? You look a little white around the gills.”
“I’m fine. Maybe I’ll just sit another minute though.”
“Then while you’re resting, how about some Slippery Sam?”
Anything was better than One-Eyed Jacks. At least he’d played Slippery Sam. Considered himself an expert at it.
“There’s still the matter of nothing to ante up with.”
“Want to make it interesting?”
“Isn’t it already?”
“Let’s say that whoever loses a hand has to remove one article of clothing.” Her fingers drifted down her slender throat, stopping just before they reached the rose winking from her low neckline. “Either my bodice or your britches.”
McKenna was already imagining her breasts, lush and bare. “That’s quite a proposition.”
She dealt them each three cards and laid the remainder in the center of the table. He had to draw a card from the top of the undealt stack that would be higher or the same suit as one of the cards he held in his hand.
Since he had a two of hearts, four of diamonds and the queen of clubs he already counted it a win. He glanced at the wisp of fabric between him and pure heaven.
A spiraling shaft of heat curled through his body.
He pulled himself from her dark gaze and drew. “The ace of spades; I win, Tempest.”
“Hold on there. The ace is low in this game.”
“Not where I came from, lady. Stop changing the rules.”
“You lost. Quit stalling and shed those britches, McKenna.”
Damn those dimples and the sugary smile!
“My dear Lady Tempest, you cheat at cards. But a deal is a deal.” Many people spent half their lives in hesitation and the other half in regret. At the moment, McKenna was doing both and wondering how she always wound up with the upper hand. He slowly unbuckled his gunbelt and hung it on the back of the chair. With considerable effort, he tugged off his boots. Then he slid from the leather britches, thankful for the faded red drawers that hid his modesty somewhat.
“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of cheating.”
“You oughta be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of an unarmed man who hasn’t slept in two days,” he growled, testing his legs while he was up. They held his weight this time and his head was clearing.
But he had his pride to avenge first. He wouldn’t sit back down though and he damn sure wouldn’t have another thing to drink.
“Go ahead and draw your card,” he said. “If you win again, I’ll know you’re up to no good.”
Tempest drew a three of hearts and lost as well.
Odd that she didn’t seem all that heartbroken.
“My, my, I hate to see you hafta strip off that pretty bodice.” The corner of his mouth lifted.
“Anyone tell you that you’re an eager man, Mr. Smith?”
“A few.”
She pushed herself from the throne-chair, removed the rose and laid it aside. Those long fingers enticed him as they dallied with each button and untied lace fastenings. Finally, when he thought his lungs would burst from the wanting, the scrap of satin slipped from her arms.
The spit in his mouth dried.
All he had to do was reach out and pull her against him.
Her chemise was thin and lacy and left nothing to his imagination. Exactly something
he would’ve guessed she wore. Nothing but the most expensive for the runty woman who still tried to prove she was the biggest of the litter.
One good tug on the flimsy chemise and she’d be exposed.
Both of them now stood.
Yearning crackled the air in the inches separating them. She was so close he could hear her heart racing to match the rapid pulse in the hollow of her throat.
“My daughter won’t be home for another hour.”
“Darlin’, what I want to do with you requires nothing short of an entire night. Not going to start something I can’t properly finish.”
Chapter 8
“It must be lonely up there on that mountain all by yourself.” Tempest’s forefinger etched a silken trail down the dark shadow of McKenna’s jaw.
Maybe she could get him upstairs if she put her mind to it.
This was a man who whispered a dream in her ear and gave her hope. He made her think she could have a life of promise and fulfillment. She wanted to believe it. She really did.
“I’ve grown accustomed to the inconvenience.”
A wry smile flitted across his face before it vanished. Had she blinked, she would’ve missed it.
“Surely you’ve wanted more. Ever think of putting down roots, owning a home and a piece of land, and having someone to share the good times and the bad?”
“I’m not in the habit of wanting things I can’t have.”
“But you can have them. Nothing’s stopping you.”
“When you get my age it’s too late for castles in the sky.”
“What happened to drain all the happiness from you?” It was more than simple curiosity, she truly wanted to know.
McKenna ran a hand across his eyes and sighed. Light from the kerosene lamps created an interesting mural on the pressed tin ceiling and deepened the lines around his mouth.
She sensed he was about to reveal something sadly profound.
“I’m a man with regret as a bedfellow. The things that nag at me the most are the ones where I had a choice, the ones when I knew I could’ve stopped myself. And the ones when I stare in the mirror, look deep inside, and know I shouldn’t do something and do it anyway. I’ve had a thousand such moments where I chose the wrong path and paid the consequences. I’ve used up all my chances for anything normal.”
“Maybe. But you’re not dead yet.” She tilted back her head to look up at him. “McKenna Smith, would you grant one request?”
“Depends.”
She stared into the golden twin windows, into the tortured soul beyond their depts. Her breath hitched.
“Would you please kiss me? Nothing else, just a kiss.”
Without replying, he tenderly cupped her face between his large hands and stared for a few seconds shy of an eternity. Then his head lowered. Tempest closed her eyes to savor the moment.
As gentle as the first spring rain, he touched his full lips to hers.
She’d expected the scorching heat because she couldn’t imagine anything less between them. When the kiss deepened into a wickedly thorough one, she wouldn’t have felt it if someone had poured kerosene under her and lit her with a match.
Sweet mercy!
McKenna pulled her to him with a fierce need, a wild storm soaking arid Panhandle land with life-giving moisture. A groan rose from somewhere deep inside him. She clutched his shirt, never wanting to let go, and silently begged him to fill the nagging emptiness that hollowed out her insides.
She’d give anything for someone to give a damn.
Someone who could lift her bad luck curse.
And someone to desire her as a woman.
Through the thin chemise, her swollen breasts met the hardness of his chest. Friction against the rough texture of his shirt created a bonfire inside her. Maybe someone had lit a puddle of kerosene under her.
“Oh, McKenna, I do love a man who knows his way around a woman’s heart. Ever think of marrying up with someone?”
Abruptly, McKenna set her aside as though she had something contagious. It was over, all the magic, all the sexual longing that created a sheen of moisture on her bare skin.
“I need to get going.” He snatched up his britches.
Panic and fear pulled tight inside her. “What did I do? Tell me and I’ll fix it.” She couldn’t keep the tremble from her voice.
“I can’t give you what you want.” He stuck his long legs into the pants and buttoned the waist. “I’m sorry.”
“But—”
McKenna plunged first one foot and then the other into his tall boots and tugged them on.
“If we could just talk, I’m sure we can—”
With the britches back inside his boots, he stood. His raw anger whipped the air. “People always kill the ones they profess to love. Love destroys.”
“Are you saying…”
McKenna had strapped on his gunbelt and was tying the leather strip around his thigh. He froze as cold as a rocky mountaintop. “No, I’m not saying that.”
“Help me understand what happened. Who kill the ones they vow to love?”
“A ghost. You wouldn’t understand.” He jammed his hat on. “This is one of those times I spoke about where I have to make a choice. I’m trying to do the right thing for once. Let it be.”
She jerked up her bodice and swept toward the wide staircase.
“I’ve been kissed by a lot of men in my time. I can tell a dutiful kiss that men don’t really mean when they’re trying to coddle you. But that one came from someplace deep inside and it was real. You can deny it until Gabriel blows his horn, but all your naysaying doesn’t hold water.”
She wouldn’t look at him or she’d wilt just like a weed that thought she was getting a drink of water only to find it’d been a figment of her imagination.
In the Slats and Fats Saloon the next day, McKenna replayed the events of the poker game over a cool mug of beer.
The reason for the dizzy, weak spell last evening puzzled him. Nothing made sense. Tempest almost certainly put something in his bourbon. She had to. There seemed no other explanation. But if she had why? To mess with his mind? To lure him into her bed? To get him to kiss her?
Put the saddle on the right horse, he told himself.
He kissed her because he’d wanted to in the worst way and not because of anything Tempest LeDoux had said.
Ah, those perfect breasts and lips that tasted of sweet passion as old as time itself. He’d almost taken her up those stairs and quieted the longing that wound him tighter than an eight-day clock.
Until old memories left bitter gall in his mouth…
Lacy Lorena had tossed him away like a meaningless scrap of paper and merrily traipsed off. His dear mother.
He turned to hard bedrock. People did kill the ones they professed to love. He was proof. No package deal for him.
If a woman wanted a romp in the hay, he’d rush to oblige.
But love and marriage? She’d best go paddle that canoe up a high waterfall.
A young cowpoke squeezed up to the long bar, jostling McKenna’s arm. Seemed the population had tripled overnight with folks arriving for the start of the rodeo. The carnival-like atmosphere outside had burst into the saloon and Angus Murdoch was furiously taking bets.
“I got two bits for Dally Angelo,” yelled one fellow.
“That cowboy ain’t gonna stand a chance,” said another. “My money’s going on Bone Buster. That mankiller ain’t ever been rode and he ain’t ever fixin’ to be.”
“Just because Bone Buster killed Dally’s pa don’t mean Dally cain’t tame that bull. Angelo’s tough,” came the reply.
“Well, he’s got guts, that’s for sure. Too bad he’s gonna get those guts stomped to a pulp.”
Angus caught McKenna’s eye. “Mr. Smith, you gonna wager?”
“Nope.”
“Gonna be interesting. Follow the crowd this evening to the pasture near the chutes at the railhead.” Angus whirled. “Hey, Carlos, I know you’re a gambler. Wher
e’s your dinero?”
McKenna took his beer to a table apart from the frenzy.
Watching, he reaffirmed his conclusion—the town was hell-bent on betting and did so with zeal unequaled anywhere.
The batwing doors of the Slats and Fats Saloon suddenly swung almost off their hinges. “Crazy Mrs. LeDoux’s coming and she’s wearing her wedding hat. Run!”
Tempest LeDoux in a wedding hat? Seemed an odd thing to rile people over, but it seemed to spell some sort of doom.
An amazement to behold, the bug-eyed man’s cry busted up the gambling venture. Men tripped over their feet in a mad dash for the back door. Those who remained had ridden in for the rodeo, but despite staying seated, they seemed awfully jittery.
“What’s going on?” McKenna asked the bartender named Slats.
He thought of checking his pistol to see if it was loaded.
“Miz LeDoux seems to be shopping for a new husband again and they know what’s good for ’em.” The tall, thin man, nicknamed because he resembled a bed slat McKenna was told, showed all his teeth and continued to polish the glasses. “I’ll distract her if you like while you escape, Mr. Smith.”
“How do they know she’s looking for a husband?”
“She always wears the same…trappings…when she’s out beating the bushes—a fancy white wedding hat she’s worn to all five of the occasions and the frilly parasol she carries, I assume to beat the poor bastard into submission.” Slats shrugged his bony shoulders.
“Why aren’t you and the rest of these men hiding?”
“We’re hitched. You might better hightail it outta here before she walks through those doors or you’re a goner.”
“She wouldn’t come in here, would she?” But he knew she would. The woman had busted into the men’s bathhouse hadn’t she? There seemed no end to her daring. She lived life as if it was a .45 with a full cylinder and she had to shoot all the bullets out in rapid succession.
Sure enough, she calmly strolled in as though she owned the joint and they catered specifically to female clientele.
McKenna’s tongue got caught in the roof of his mouth when Tempest waltzed over and plopped down beside him.
Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy Page 55
