What a magnificent specimen of a man! His naked chest was gorgeous, more than she had imagined, and she’d given the matter a lot of thought. Powerful, broad and muscular, and so tempting to touch. His strapping arms were bare too, with a silky covering of dark hair finer than what was on his chest, which was layered with a mass of coarse, touchable hair trailing down into a vee that disappeared into the top of his pants.
She took another step toward him, compelled by her own need to be near the man. Her eyes moved over his body, back up to a rugged, handsome face that needed a good, close shave. Drops of moisture clung to his damp forehead.
Alaine had never noticed that his chocolate brown hair had sandy streaks. Probably lightened by the sun.
He smelled of soap and leather.
There was no other way to describe the man except as powerfully built and devastatingly handsome. Raised on a ranch with brawny men who washed up sometimes in the horse trough, she’d seen her share of shirtless cowboys. He put them to shame.
With legs stretched out in front of him, Morgan rested his head against the wall. She considered straddling the man, in a not-so-ladylike fashion, and exploring every inch of his perfect body.
Society dictated that a lady wouldn’t entertain such wicked thoughts…but at their first meeting she had made it clear that she was no lady.
She took another step toward him and noticed, in contrast with his perfection, his assorted cuts, scrapes, scratches and bruises, some scabbing and some rather new. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch them, caress away the pain.
She knew where the two parallel scrapes on his temple had come from. One from McKenna Smith’s bullet when Morgan saved her from the bank robber. And the other, served up by that dern donkey. Morgan had taken a pretty good bang on the chin where the cow had given him an uppercut and she was fairly certain that the gashes on his arm were from barbed wire.
Her heart sank. Teg must have really put him through hell if he got tangled up in barbed wire. She smiled, thinking back to the wild cow milking. No way had he learned to rope so proficiently in one day. She added that to the list of things she planned to find out about the big man. He was no more a practicing lawyer than she was a saint.
Quickly, she gathered a wad of gauze, a bottle of witch hazel and a tin of salve. The least she could do was clean and doctor his wounds…most of them caused by the messes she had gotten him into.
Alaine squatted down, poured witch hazel on a piece of gauze and reached out to tend to his chin.
In a flash, Morgan captured her by the waist and pulled her into his arms. She was certain her heart had jumped from its usual place into her throat. His instinctive response was so powerful that it created a purely sensual thrill in her.
“I wouldn’t do that, Little Lady.” Tantalizing blue eyes stared into hers.
Pretending not to be affected by his presence, she said, “Do you always wake up grouchy?”
Morgan released her and smiled but didn’t answer.
Alaine straightened up. “I’m sorry that I scared you. I thought—”
“You’d take advantage of me in my weakened state?” A glint came to his eye, and he broke into a wide, teasing smile. He moved his hands to her shoulders, sending an involuntary chill through her.
“Absolutely not!”
He quirked a questioning eyebrow at her. “Give me that gauze. They’re nothing but scratches, and I can tend to them myself.” He took it from her hand and stepped to the highboy where he began to pat the medicine on his scrapes and bumps. “But, I appreciate the concern.”
Sweet Moses and his mama too! Morgan thought he’d died and gone to heaven when he’d opened his eyes and saw Alaine standing before him like an angel, complete with a flowing white robe. A vision of beauty like nothing he had ever experienced.
He finished tending to his injuries, and put the lid back on the tin of salve. He thanked her again, but she didn’t respond.
Morgan turned away from the dresser to find her sitting in his chair with her head leaning against the same wall that had held his up for an hour or more.
“Alaine.” He spoke softly, although he knew that a steam engine whistle couldn’t have awakened her.
Sweeping the woman up in his arms, Morgan carried her to bed. He wasn’t sure how he would manage it, but eventually he got her robe off and tucked her in.
The gentleman in him fought the rogue, and he gave her a tender good night kiss.
Morgan turned down the lamp and returned to the chair, where he tried not to think about the one wound he hadn’t been able to tend to. The soreness between his legs. The graze in his thigh from her arrow had already healed.
Damn Tegeler anyway!
Morgan shifted his weight and drifted off to sleep, dreaming about the things he might’ve done with the Little Lady if the sandman hadn’t carted her away.
Chapter 12
The following morning Alaine sipped her coffee, enjoying the peace and tranquility that a good restful sleep brought her. During the night, she woke twice and both times she stayed awake for a few minutes watching the man who slept in the chair nearby. His presence gave her comfort, sending her right back into her dreams.
A strange feeling warmed her when she thought about how Morgan didn’t seem to want to leave her side, even standing outside her door while she dressed. Then he’d rushed her downstairs to the hotel’s dining room where she now sat breakfasting alone.
Morgan had downed a cup of coffee with her before he had excused himself to take care of business.
Just as he left, he turned back to her and made it abundantly clear that she was to wait for him and under no circumstances leave the dining room before he returned.
The waiter filled her coffee cup and she idly stirred in a tad of sugar.
But the strangest part of the morning was Morgan’s last question before he kissed her on the forehead. Rather ballsy of him to do that in public. “Do you trust me?” he had asked.
After she told him she did, he only said “Good” before heading out the door.
Something was wrong; she felt it in her bones. Other than McKenna getting hurt and her mama taking him out to the ranch, there was trouble brewing, as evidenced by a passel of their cowboys having breakfast in the dining room. Completely out of character for them.
But she trusted Morgan, and if she was in danger, he would have never left.
Alaine heard Pony Boy calling her name before she saw him.
“Miss Alaine.” The young man clutched a jar in his arms, and stopped in front of her. “’Cuse me, Miss Alaine.”
He scuffed the toe of his boot on the floor as though he really didn’t want to look at her.
“Miss Alaine…”
“What is it, Pony Boy?” Immediate concern for her mama came to mind, but it was quelled with the knowledge that she’d never send bad news by anyone except Tegeler.
“My mama always told me to do the right thing no matter how much you don’t wanna. Only I sometimes don’t ’xactly know what’s right. I figure I gots to be loyal to Miz LeDoux on account of I ride for the Jacks Bluff now. But, I like Mister Morgan. He’s real nice, next to you and your mama, that is.” Embarrassed, Pony Boy ducked his head.
“Just tell me what it is that’s bothering you.” She wanted to ask him to sit down but knew he wouldn’t.
“It’s Mister Morgan…I heard he’s workin’ for the Slippery Elm and I didn’t want that you should get hurt.”
Shock shot through her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. Real sure. Mister Morgan got this wire an’ it was from them foreigners. You know, the ones that speak all stiff like they got a corncob up their…’Cuse me, ma’am.”
“That’s okay, Pony Boy. Tell me the rest.”
He stammered, shifted the jar to his other arm, but refused to look up.
“Who told you all of this?”
“Them Slippery Elm men. They were fixin’ to ride outta town to takes care of some o
f that ranchin’ stuff, I reckon. The gimped-up one mostly did the tellin’.”
“Gimpy?”
“Yes, ma’am. They said I oughta tell you on account of it’s the right thing to do.”
“Have you heard anything else?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I was told to keep my lip buttoned up.”
“Remember you’re riding our brand now, so you’re duty bound to let us know if there’s something we need to know.” She detested putting him on the spot but had no choice. “So you have to tell me everything.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He stammered. “Mister Payne got a bucket load of money deposited over to the bank this mornin’. More than the Dewey’s…” He hesitated, trying to cover his slipup. “I mean, more than anybody’s ever laid eyes on.”
She prodded him along, knowing he was uncomfortable telling what he knew. Yet he seemed to take pride in taking on his duty to be faithful to his new employer.
“Go ahead, Pony Boy. You gotta trust me.”
“Miz Dewey—oops. I mean somebody told around that Mister Smith and Mister Payne are in cahoots and wanna take over Jacks Bluff by gettin’ you two ladies all swooned up over them. But that’s just talk. Not fact. They wouldn’t do that, would they?” Pony Boy shifted uncomfortably. “Mister Payne bought hisself a ticket back east on the next train goin’ thata way.”
Her heart plummeted, torn by the emotions that raged within her. She felt as though her breath was cut off, half from apprehension and half in dread of the truth.
Holding back tears of disappointment and aching with an inner misery that was eating her alive, she took a deep breath. In her mama’s absence, she had to play the part of the mistress of Jacks Bluff to reassure Pony Boy that he’d done the right thing. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her head and tried to ignore the pain in her soul. She asked the young man if she could buy him breakfast. He eagerly agreed.
Off to the side, she saw Tuffy motion Pony Boy his way.
“Ma’am, if’n you don’t mind, I’ll go sit with Mister Thompson.”
“Certainly, but I think he’d want you to call him Tuffy.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He ducked his head.
“Your mama would be proud of you. You did the right thing, so we can protect the ranch.” She bit her lip, hoping he didn’t see she was about to cry, but curiosity got the best of her and she asked, “What are you going to do with that jar of pickles?”
“These here are for Mister Tegeler, ma’am. Gotta take good care of ’um.” He shuffled off.
How could she eat? She pushed her plate away. Her world was falling around her. Morgan had asked her to trust him and she had, now it’d all been a lie. She looked around, not sure who she should trust. Who had the charismatic dandy drawn into his conspiracy to take over the Jacks Bluff?
Alaine’s mind was filled with sour thoughts. Terrifying realization washed over her. The harder she tried to ignore the truth the more it persisted. She couldn’t close her eyes to the facts any longer. The boots. The hidden gun. His ability to rope, ride and wear pants and a shirt like no cowboy she’d ever imagined. If he worked for the Slippery Elm all along, he had deliberately played her for a fool.
The greedy British belted earls weren’t satisfied to have one of the biggest operations in Kasota Springs…they wanted control of the whole damn Panhandle!
But, for some reason that she couldn’t put her finger on, something was missing. Facts, rumor or speculation, Morgan Payne could not be involved with such a scheme. She knew it in her heart and her soul.
Daintily, she folded her napkin, placed it on the table and picked up her hat. Loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, “Pony Boy, if Mr. Payne returns, please inform him that I’m in my mama’s room. Resting.”
One of Teg’s men followed her as far as possible without trying to be noticed, but he was about as invisible as the eyes of a coyote on a pitch-black night—you knew it was there but not exactly where.
Reaching the room, she tossed her hat on the bed and went to the wardrobe where her mother’s dresses hung in an orderly fashion. The shelf above held matching trappings for each outfit.
For once in her life she was pleased that she and her mama wore the same size.
She considered the scarlet and black dress, but it brought back memories of the bank robbery and how frantic her mama was to keep her safe.
Cocking her head, she looked over the Federal blue day dress. It was nice. Although she was about to start a second War Between the States, no self-respecting southern born-and-bred lady would be caught dead in Federal blue.
Alaine selected a promenade gown that her mother had planned to wear to last night’s dance, off-the-shoulder, trimmed with puffing and bows and accented with pink ribbons in scalloped lace. She stripped off her leather skirt and jacket and changed clothes.
Swooping up her hair in ringlets that hung down her back, she added a bonnet with yards of tulle and pink roses. Slipping on lace gloves, she gathered the beaded bag and parasol, pulled the veil over her face and walked out of the room.
Stopping at the top of the stairs, she raised the parasol and prayed that bad luck wouldn’t come her way for opening the blasted thing indoors. She held her head high and proceeded down the stairs.
“Good day, Miss Tempest.” The desk clerk greeted her without looking up. She smiled to herself and strolled through the lobby.
By damn, she’d get the truth from Morgan Payne if it was the last thing she’d do, and nobody would dare follow her!
Chapter 13
Heads turned and lips flapped as Alaine lifted her veil and tromped down Main Street, but she held her head high. For once, she honestly didn’t care what people thought. In the past she acted like she didn’t, but deep inside she did and it hurt. But no more.
She recalled Morgan saying that he planned to get a shave as soon as the barber shop opened, so she headed that way.
It seemed every man in town had decided to go to the barber by the number of men sitting on benches outside, along with others standing around making bets on who would be the all-around cowboy.
Alaine excused herself as she walked between two groups of men crowding the sidewalk. They tipped their hats, no doubt wondering what in the hell had happened to little Buckaroo LeDoux, the ornery gal of Kasota Springs.
The barber hopped around like he had fire ants biting his ankles when he spied her in the mirror. “Miss LeDoux, you cain’t come in here,” he said, although her arrival didn’t stop him from sharpening his razor on a leather strap. “This here’s man’s territory. No ladies—”
“Excuse me,” she interrupted, catching sight of Morgan, who lay back in the barber chair, draped in a white cape, with frothy, white shaving cream on his face. “I see the gentleman I wish to visit with.”
Morgan must’ve heard the commotion long before she spoke, because by the time she crossed the room, he had sat straight up and came to his feet.
“What in the hell!” He grabbed a towel and wiped froth from his face, leaving a full beard reminding her of Santa Claus, except for the white on his forehead. A smudge of lather hung from one ear.
He threw the towel down and in long strides advanced toward her. Not backing down she marched on…two warriors prepared for battle.
“Little Lady—”
“Don’t call me that.” Triumph rolled through her when he winced at her words.
“Okay, Alaine! What’s happened? Is something wrong? Are you okay? Hurt?” He bombarded her with questions. She’d expect that from her mama but not from Morgan.
His words were uncompromising yet gentle, while his expression stilled and grew serious.
She saw concern on his face, panic in his eyes, as if she had frightened him. She stepped back and looked him directly in the face. The man wasn’t angry, maybe a little surprised, but definitely alarmed.
Suddenly much of her anger evaporated, leaving only confusion. Strange and disquieting thoughts raged a war in her mind. Something was terri
bly wrong.
“What’s the matter, Morgan?” To her, her voice sounded far away.
“Tell me!” He demanded before stepping forward, taking her by the arm and leading her toward the door where he stopped long enough to tear off the cap, snatch up his Stetson and plop it on his head.
“No! You tell me! You, you, Yankee scoundrel.” She didn’t like him pulling her out the door in the least.
“I might be Yankee, ma’am, but I’m sure as hell not a scoundrel.”
“You don’t deserve someone like me to love.” She stopped dead still, not sure where the words came from, but decided that wouldn’t deter her confrontation. “You told me to trust you and I did…and, and—”
A crowd quickly congregated. She jerked out of his grip and whirled toward the pack. In the best boarding house English she could manage, Alaine looked directly at Edwinna Dewey, who seemed to be hanging on every word, and said, “So you all can go about your business without missing a word, I’ll have this printed in the newspaper!”
The crowd dispersed. He partially dragged and almost pulled her into the alley…the alley where they originally met. How coincidental, she thought.
“Since you won’t confess—”
“Alaine, I don’t know what I’m confessing to.”
“That you’re not who you—not a lawyer, not anything.” Tears wet her eyes. She was damned if she’d cry. She choked them back, and considered bopping Morgan on the head with her parasol for making her bawl.
“Sit down.” He pointed to a wooden crate. “I can explain.”
“About time.” She took a seat, but didn’t move her gaze from him.
“On the outside, Alaine, I’m not who you thought I was, but I am on the inside. Deep down, I’m the same man who fell madly in love with you.” He jerked his hat off, ran his fingers through his hair and set it back on, obviously buying some time. “And I do love you.”
“Morgan, I can’t give my love to someone who has lied to me and done the things they say you’ve done. You and that McKenna Smith.”
Give Me A Texas Outlaw Bundle with Give Me A Cowboy Page 67
