by Jill Gregory
“Well, honey, you told me last night that the reason you got here so late was because that prissy little eastern bitch got herself kidnapped off the stage. And you had to volunteer to find her and bring her back to town! Now, really, Texas! I don’t see why you didn’t leave well enough alone. Who wants her here in Winchester? If you ask my opinion, she deserved whatever she got. And I’d think you’d feel the same. Why you should go out of your way to help her is beyond me, let me tell you. Have you forgotten about Daisy? Have you?”
Texas tensed, a frown darkening his face.
“Now, honey, don’t narrow your eyes at me that way. I know you haven’t. But if that’s how you feel, why bother to help Wesley Hill’s spoiled little brat? She’s probably no better than her old man, and I know how you felt about him!”
Texas gazed at her steadily. “Even you, Ginger, can’t hold the girl responsible for her father’s sins. That’s going a bit far, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t! Like father, like daughter, that’s what I think!” she snapped, tossing the hairbrush down on the night stand with a clatter. She lay back in the bed, stretching seductively on the pink satin sheets, as Texas watched her with narrowed eyes.
“Tell me something, honey,” she urged, slowly inching the red negligee upward across her thigh. “Is she pretty, this Bryony Hill? Is she prettier than me?”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Ginger. I never imagined you’d have so little confidence in your own charms.”
“No, I’m not jealous honey. I know for a fact there’s not another woman in town who can please you the way I do, and you know it, too. I’m not worried—just curious, that’s all. Daisy once saw a picture of Wesley Hill’s daughter and she said she was a real looker. I just wondered if it was true.”
“You’ll have to see for yourself,” he replied carelessly.
But he advanced slowly across the room and grinned at her.
She’d removed the filmy red negligee and was now lying nude before him, her eyes shining with desire as she gazed at him. Reaching out one long, hard-muscled arm, he yanked her up against him, crushing her soft flesh against his body, his hands expertly caressing her breasts and hips and buttocks while he kissed her with rough passion. She responded delightedly, wriggling against him like a snake.
After a moment, Texas lifted his head and smiled down into her face. “I want you tonight, Ginger. All night. We’ll spend the whole evening together.”
“Oh, sugar, I wish we could, but...” She looked crestfallen. “I can’t. I have to work in the Silver Spur tonight. Lettie’s sick and Meg won’t let me off.” She slanted him a seductive smile. “Why not come back to bed now and stay awhile? Please, honey?” With a low laugh, she tried to draw him down onto the bed with her once more, but he wrapped his arms firmly around her.
“Sorry, I’ve got some place I have to be. But later we’ll have the entire night alone together. Square it with Meg.”
“I’ll do my best, but...”
“Your best is sure good enough for me.” Grinning, he kissed her once more, and headed out the door.
He was looking forward to the evening—and to having Ginger all to himself. She was wickedly pretty, and deliciously wanton in bed—she knew more ways to please a man with her lips and tongue than any other whore he’d ever met.
He didn’t mind the fact that despite her youthful twenty-four years, her eyes and mouth had the harshness of a much older woman. Or that her voluptuous body had been used by a multitude of other men. He understood the rigors of her position. She worked as a dance-hall girl and waitress in the Silver Spur, and prostituted herself on the side, giving a cut to Meg Donahue, the saloon’s proprietor, in exchange for the use of the tawdry little bedroom upstairs.
Ginger was alone in the world, like most of the other girls who worked in the Silver Spur, and she made her living the only way she knew how. He thought no less of her because she was a prostitute; in fact, he admired the way she’d made a success of herself.
Ginger was the most sought-after woman in the saloon, probably because her reputation of expertise at lovemaking was widely known. From his own considerable experience with women of her ilk, he knew that she was one of the best, and that was why he chose to spend the night with her whenever possible.
The only thing that annoyed him was her possessiveness. And it had been getting progressively worse lately.
The way she’d behaved this morning was a perfect example—clinging to him, trying to seduce him every moment, wanting him to stay with her for longer and longer periods of time.
He wasn’t about to give up his freedom for any woman. And he was growing weary of her constant demand for his attention—it had been creeping in more and more. Her jealousy was equally irritating.
She’d actually sounded jealous of Bryony Hill, a naive little schoolgirl from the east! Even worse, she’d nearly thrown tantrums lately whenever he spoke with one of the other dance-hall girls in the saloon. Like that Lila—the attractive brunette with the long, slinky legs, who always wore black-netted stockings. Ginger had been furious a few nights earlier when he’d merely slipped his arm around the woman’s waist after she brought him his drink.
Texas sighed as he approached the main room of the Silver Spur.
Possessiveness was one quality he wouldn’t tolerate. He wasn’t about to be owned by any woman, and Ginger had better face up to that fast.
He liked the life he’d chosen for himself and had grown accustomed to facing danger whenever it arose, to seizing pleasure whenever he felt so inclined, to doing precisely what he liked without having to answer to any man.
Or any woman.
And he had no intention of changing his ways.
It had been a long time since he’d lived any other kind of life, and it was too late now to pick up the old ties—or to begin new ones.
He thought of the letter he’d received last week and had stuffed into the pocket of his saddlebag—along with a half-dozen others he’d received from Danny in the past months. Sometimes, when he was alone in the mountains or the desert, he’d stare into his campfire and imagine what it would be like to go back.
But he knew he never would. He had too much guilt, too much pride, too much stubbornness. Besides, he told himself, he was much better off like this, free to live—or to die—as he chose.
Texas resolved to teach Ginger not to interfere in his personal life, for he intended to sleep with that long-legged Lila before his stay in Winchester ended and he rode on to another town. She was the only one of the girls in the Silver Spur he hadn’t yet taken to bed—except of course, for Daisy...
At the memory of that small, frightened face framed by yellow curls and dominated by huge, cornflower blue eyes and a pink bow of a mouth, he jerked his thoughts harshly back to the present and to the business at hand.
He had a job to finish here, and he wasn’t going anywhere until it was done. Enough thinking about Ginger LaRue and her problems.
It was time to attend to important matters.
Upon entering the main room of the saloon, he instinctively noted its other occupants. It was barely noon, so the room was relatively empty, with only a handful of men lounging at one of the card tables, smoking and talking aimlessly between gulps of whisky.
It would look vastly different tonight, when it was crowded with boisterous cowboys and shrilly laughing dance-hall girls, when the smells of whisky and tobacco and cheap perfume would mingle freely, and the piano player would bang out his bawdy tunes while the girls danced on tables and sang atop the piano, hiking their colorful skirts up tantalizingly to reveal colorful fishnet stockings and spiked high heels.
The enormous crystal chandeliers would sway dangerously, casting bright, reeling light off the vivid red and gold wallpaper that adorned the walls and the high, arched ceiling.
But that would be tonight, when the Silver Spur would be rowdy and festive, alive with noisy merriment and drunken gambling.
At the
moment it was only a large quiet room with a dozen or so gambling tables, a handful of customers, and the long, curving bar with its assortment of glasses and bottles. Texas seated himself upon one of the black leather bar stools, then ordered coffee from Luke, the broad-shouldered bartender, who grunted a greeting and turned away to pour him a cup of the steaming liquid.
Texas half-turned on his stool so he could have a view of the swinging double doors leading into the saloon from the street, and of the group of men at the card table. He knew them—they were local ranch hands—probably in town to buy supplies. But despite their apparent harmlessness, he thought it wise not to turn his back to them.
He’d learned that the only man he could ever trust was himself, and he made a practice of taking every precaution in every situation.
So he lounged on his seat, drinking his coffee, hat pulled low over his eyes, to all appearances relaxed and careless, while inwardly his reflexes were needle-sharp, his mind alert and keen for any hint of trouble.
A woman entered from a back room and approached him, her flaming red hair artfully arranged in an elaborate coiffure upon her head, crowned by a huge aqua blue hat adorned by tall blue feathers and trimmed in blue sequins. Her long satin gown matched her hat, its sequins glittering gaudily as the blue satin flowed over her tall, statuesque form. The bodice of the gown scarcely covered her breasts and the fabric clung to every curve in her body.
Meg Donahue was a big, handsome woman, with large blue eyes that sparkled almost as brightly as the sequins on her dress. Enormous rhinestone earrings decorated her ears, flashing with each movement of her head. About her clung the strong, heady scent of jasmine and lilac, an almost overpowering fragrance that seemed to fill the saloon. As she seated herself on the stool next to Texas, she gave him a saucy, sidelong smile.
“Well now, Texas, honey, don’t you look fine and ready for trouble this morning! Just like always!” She laughed heartily.
“Mornin’, Meg.”
“Where’s Ginger?” Meg downed the gin the bartender brought her in one gulp. “Don’t tell me she’s still in bed at this hour. I swear to you, Texas, I don’t know what you do to tire that girl out so! She’s never this late coming downstairs to work after being with any of these other hombres in town!”
There was a hint of exasperation mingled with the playfulness in the saloon owner’s tone, and Texas raised one eyebrow, but said nothing.
Meg studied his impassive face a moment, then burst into raucous laughter, her dangling rhinestone earrings flashing as she shook her head.
“You’re sure a cool one, Texas, aren’t you? Well, any time you get tired of Ginger, you can always come back to my bed. We sure had some good times when you first came to town, didn’t we?”
Texas grinned at her, a wave of affection washing over him. Meg Donahue was as good-natured as she was handsome. She’d lived in Winchester for the past fifteen years, coming with her husband as a twenty-year old bride to the town that was barely more than a cluster of wood-shingled buildings and horse manure. She’d worked side by side with him in the Silver Spur saloon, serving the rough, violent men who frequented this wild part of the country. Six years ago, her husband had been shot accidentally by a stray bullet during a saloon brawl, and she had worn widow’s black for a full six months before returning to the bright, gaudy, glittering world she loved.
In the five and a half years since she’d come out of mourning, she’d made up for her previous faithfulness to her husband by choosing many lovers, contenting herself with the use of their strong, tough bodies, but never giving them a second thought outside of the bedroom. Her heart had been sealed off when her husband’s coffin had been lowered into the grave, but her flesh was still very much alive and sought satisfaction from any man with a strong body and handsome face. In Texas she had found both, and for the first few weeks after he’d ridden into Winchester, they had both enjoyed themselves immensely.
But she’d seemed to understand from the start that Texas was a roving man, not to be satisfied by any one woman, and when he’d moved on to some of the other girls in the saloon for his nighttime pleasures, she’d shrugged, slapped him on the back, and wished him well.
Meg was aware that he’d been enjoying Ginger’s abundant charms almost exclusively of late, but couldn’t help wondering when he would tire of the copper-haired girl and move on to new quarry—perhaps Lila, who had made her interest in him quite obvious, and who felt rather slighted that she was the only girl in the saloon he hadn’t yet bedded.
Except for Daisy, Meg reflected. Texas had never once slept with Daisy...
“I’d appreciate you doing me a favor, Meg.”
She glanced at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. “And what might that be, cowboy?”
“Give Ginger the night off. I want her all to myself tonight—all night. I told her to square it with you.”
“The hell you did! Damn, what do you think this is, mister, a brothel? This is a saloon! Now if those girls want to make a little extra loot on the side, I don’t want to stop ‘em. But first things first, and that means I expect them to put in a full work week, serving drinks and dancing with the customers and sitting on the piano swinging their legs.” She glared at him. “There’s no way on this earth Ginger can have tonight off! I don’t have anyone to replace her. It’s just her and Stella working, and I’m expecting a big crowd. So forget it, Texas. I just won’t allow it!”
Meg fumed on in this fashion for several moments, her eyes flashing, her face flushed angrily beneath her flaming red hair and that outrageous blue-plumed hat.
Texas watched her impassively, until she at last fell silent, her chest heaving with indignation.
“You finished?” he inquired lazily.
“You’re damn right I am! And the answer is no. No, no, no!” She glared at him, then banged her fist on the bar for emphasis.
Texas took her fist in his large hand and gently unbent her long fingers. Into her opened palm he placed a considerable wad of green bills. Meg’s eyes widened as she saw them, and she quickly raised her eyes to his face which, as usual, was set in a careless, inscrutable expression.
“You’re willing to pay all this—for Ginger?”
“That’s right. Take it or leave it.”
Meg hesitated only an instant before a wide smile brightened her heavily rouged face. She stuffed the wad of money inside the bodice of her dress, then winked at him.
“I’ll take it, honey, damned if I don’t.” She chuckled. “I’ll let Lila or Gracie know that one of them will have to take over tonight for Ginger. No problem.”
She patted the spot between her breasts where the wad of money rested.
“Anything to make you happy, Texas.”
He nodded and turned back to the bar to order more coffee, but her next words drew his attention back in spades.
“I hear there’s going to be some trouble, honey,” Meg confided in a suddenly lowered voice, her gaze fixed cautiously on the three range cowboys still at the card table. They’d taken out a deck of cards and begun a round of stud poker, seemingly oblivious of her and her conversation with Texas.
Encouraged by this, and by the suddenly interested look on Texas’s face, Meg leaned toward him and spoke softly. “Word is that Zeke Murdock is after your scalp,” she whispered. “And he’s not the only one. A whole pack of hombres are riled with you for some reason. What the hell did you do to stir ‘em up so?”
Texas shrugged. “Beats me, Meg,” he drawled. “You know me—I’m just a peace-loving cowboy who’ll cross the street to avoid a fight. I can’t imagine why those boys are gunning for me.”
“That so?” She chortled so loudly that the range hands glanced up from their game. But before she could say anything further, the swinging doors leading into the saloon burst open and a man stormed into the room.
He was short and wiry, with bright, hard little eyes and dark hair that looked as if it hadn’t been washed or combed in a week. His flat pug no
se flared in anger as his gaze fell upon the man he’d come to town to kill.
The card players stared, open-mouthed, as he stalked swiftly over to Texas.
“I’ve been huntin’ fer you!” Ned Casper rasped, his dark, leering face stubby with unshaved beard, his eyes like dirty pebbles fastened on Texas’s impassive face.
“That so?” Texas drawled. He might have been passing the time of day with a kindly old lady instead of facing an obviously enraged outlaw whose reputation was known in every corner of the west.
Ned Casper was wanted for bank robbery and murder in California, and like many desperadoes on the run, he was hiding out in the vast untamed wilderness of the Arizona territory. He was known to be as quick with his gun as he was with his temper—and a man who made a potently dangerous enemy.
But as Texas coolly studied him, he didn’t seem in the least affected by his knowledge of the outlaw’s fierce reputation. Texas looked merely bored and slightly disdainful.
“You! You cheated us!” Casper’s dirty fists clenched at his sides and his breath came hard and fast. “You stole that city girl right out from under our noses and if you think you kin git away with it, you’re dead wrong. You hear me?” His eyes narrowed into vicious slits.
“Why’d you do it?” he yelled as Texas merely stared at him calmly. “You had first go at her—why in hell didn’t you use it and pay up? Instead of runnin’ out with her and leavin’ the rest of us high and dry—without the girl and without the two hundred and fifty bucks you owed us?”
Texas’s jaw tightened at the man’s audacity—coming brazenly into town to discuss his crime of the previous day. He concluded that Ned Casper, for all his threatening reputation, was a stupid swine of a man without the brains necessary to make him a truly perilous foe.
Now Zeke Murdock, he was another story. Zeke was the one who’d lost the most from yesterday’s events. He’d not only lost the money, but the girl as well, and whoever had hired him to grab her wouldn’t like that one damn bit.
