by Jenna Kernan
“Drowning upriver. The tanner’s little girl. They’re bringing her into town now.”
Ellie gave a startled cry at this.
“Martinez?”
Bowie’s nod confirmed it. Chance knew the family. They’d lived on the river as long as he could recall.
“That’s a pity,” he said.
“Get Ellie out of here. But don’t go far. I got to talk to you,” ordered Bowie.
Chance frowned. Mostly his older brothers talked at him, not to him. Seemed nothing had changed in that regard.
Chance motioned to Ellie. She preceded him out of the room, turning toward the windows and drawing back the thick velvet draperies. He waited; they walked side by side down the empty hallway.
“Welcome home, Chance,” Ellie murmured.
He nodded, thinking about hugging her again.
“I’ve heard you’re a bounty hunter and that you’ve killed over a dozen outlaws.”
Chance said nothing to this. Did the number impress her or sicken her?
“But not one person mentioned you had a death wish.”
Chance drew up short. Ellie halted beside him, regarding him with a disconcerting fixed stare. It took him a moment to mask his surprise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you back there, Chance Cahill. Are you trying to kill yourself?”
He gave her a look that usually made grown men run, but she continued to stare, her thin brows now descending low over her eyes. This was Ellie, and she knew him or had known him back when he was another person. The little spitfire didn’t retreat. Instead, she stood toe to toe and lifted her chin in a defiant attitude. If a man looked at him like that, he’d knock him down. As it was he’d a good mind to kiss her, just to teach her a lesson.
“Why do you care?”
“Your mother would roll right over in her grave if she saw what you pulled in there. You were going to let that man shoot you.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “What do you want me to say, that sometimes I think about it? Well, I do. Now get out of my way, Ellen Louise, or I swear you’ll be sorry.”
Her jaw dropped open, though whether from the threat or what he had said before that, he wasn’t certain. He left her there, wondering what had possessed him to tell her the truth. And why was it that Ellen Jenkins was the only one who had noticed that he no longer cared if he lived or died?
Her voice followed him. “What’s happened to you?”
He kept on walking.
Ellie descended the stairs on legs that suddenly felt wobbly and found Chance Cahill already gone and her father speaking to the deputy. He left Glen Whitaker to meet her as she reached the bottom step. Oscar Jenkins had once been the best of the Confederacy’s blockade runners, and was thin and tough, with deep brown eyes now filled with concern for his daughter. Ellie threw herself into his strong arms.
She had expected her father to rescue her, and had been holding out until he could return from his morning business at the bank. But Chance had gotten there first.
“Y’all right, Buttercup?” He gathered her in.
“Yes, sir.”
“Chance all right?”
“He killed Mr. Rogers.”
Her father tucked her under his arm and headed toward his office. “I hear Mr. Rogers killed himself when he decided to draw a gun at the Royale. I owe that boy my thanks.”
“Mr. Rogers thought Mrs. Rogers was cheating on him,” said Ellie.
“Was she?”
Ellie nodded.
“You always know what’s going on here, don’t you? I’ve said before that you would have made a fine spy for the Confederacy.” Did that mean her father also thought her plain enough to blend into the background?
“You could have slipped through enemy lines with a thousand vials of morphine sewn into your petticoats and not a one of those Yankee boys would have lifted an eyebrow.”
“Or a skirt?”
Oscar chuckled. Ellie liked the sound of his laugh; it was as comforting as rain against her windowpane.
“Papa, is that just a nice way of saying I’m invisible, like mother always says?”
Oscar stopped abruptly. “No, Ellie, that’s not so. Being quiet and observant, that’s not the same as disappearing. I figure you just haven’t met anyone yet who makes you want to step into center stage.”
Her mother, Minnie, emerged like a prairie dog from her burrow.
“Is it safe?” she whispered.
Oscar nodded. “Chance Cahill disarmed him, Minnie.”
It did not escape Ellie that her father had omitted telling his wife that Chance had shot a man in her establishment. He often told this kind of half-truth, but Ellie was sure that her mother would get to the bottom of the matter right down to the last bullet hole in her new wallpaper.
Oscar left Ellie to comfort his wife.
“A shooting at our hotel. I just can’t believe it.” Her mother’s eyes welled up.
“Minnie, darling, he just rescued a woman right here in our place. Don’t you think that will be good for business?”
Ellie stepped back, silent as the furniture. Just two more steps and she’d be out of sight and mind. She had a feeling that when word got out about the shooting, they’d have many more patrons in her restaurant and she needed to rally the kitchen staff and escape her parents.
“Shooting, good for business?” cried her mother. “Honestly, Oscar, you have absolutely…” Minnie stared at Ellie.
Ellie stilled.
“What’s that on your face?”
Ellie lifted a hand and rubbed it over her cheek. When she pulled it back she found a tiny smear of crimson on her index finger. Her stomach gave a lurch. Her father took hold of her elbow and steered her toward the kitchens.
“Is that blood?” cried Minnie.
She followed them into the kitchen where Oscar offered Ellie a wet towel and the following words in a hushed voice, “Don’t you faint, now. It will frighten your mother.”
Ellie’s mouth suddenly began to fill with saliva and she knew she would not faint because she was going to be ill.
She dashed outside and made it only as far as the back porch before losing what remained of her breakfast. Her mother’s raised voice followed her. Ellie used the wet cloth to bathe her hot face and lifted her chin to the cool breeze.
“Feeling better?”
Ellie stilled. No. No. Please don’t let that be Chance Cahill out there in the yard, by the woodpile. But it was and he’d clearly witnessed her humiliation. He stepped into view and she descended the stairs to meet him, still holding the cloth to her burning cheeks.
He looked dangerous, dark and forbidding. She had to remind herself that this was Chance, a man she’d known her whole life.
“Seeing a man killed does that to a lot of folks. Surprised you lasted this long.”
“I’ll have you know I have had a stomach ailment since yesterday.”
A grin teased at the corner of his sensual mouth and his blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on a lake. “You’re a pretty fair liar, Ellie Jenkins.”
She stood gawking like the schoolgirl she no longer was. Something about Chance always made her pulse jump and the inside of her belly quiver like minnows in a bucket. Was it his clear blue eyes or that bad-boy smile? She dropped her gaze and discovered her mistake. The man wore no kerchief, perhaps because he no longer drove cattle, and so she stared at the healthy bronze skin at his throat and the crisp black hairs at the V of his shirt.
She had known Chance Cahill for many years, yet just now they felt like strangers. His name wasn’t really Chance. It was Earl, but no one called him that. He’d been named after his father. Chance was a nickname given to him by his ma after the doctor told her that this little baby boy didn’t have much of a chance of living. He’d proved that doc all wrong, growing tall and straight as a cornstalk. Too strong to die, but now he didn’t seem to want to live. It troubled her greatly. She cared about
him, even if she scarcely crossed his mind.
When she’d visited the ranch, he’d paid her as much attention as Quin and Bowie, which is to say, none at all.
But she had noticed him. It was hard to ignore eyes that blue, or a mouth that sensual. His beard now covered the cleft in his chin, but it was there; she recalled it. He moved closer and then placed a dusty boot on the woodpile, looking down at her with those crystal-clear eyes. Her stomach gave a jump and quiver that she hadn’t felt since the last time he’d stared at her years ago. Then as now, she’d fought to keep from making an utter fool of herself before him. And now he’d seen her throw up. Her cheeks burned clear up to her tingling ears. Ellie twisted the damn cloth in her hands in frustration.
“Your face is flushed,” he said.
She decided her best course was to run him off and the easiest way to do that was to pepper him with questions. That strategy had generally worked in the past on more than one occasion.
“Why are you out here?”
“Hiding from Bowie.”
“You’re not afraid of him. Are you?”
“I’m not afraid of radishes, either. Just know they give me hives every time I get near them.”
She laughed at that. He could usually make her laugh if he tried. “Might be different after all this time.”
Chance grinned. “I just killed a man. Bowie is town marshal, so I guess he feels like shooting folks is his job. Expect he’d take offense.”
“You saved our lives, back there.”
He leaned his mouth a few inches from hers. “You want to show me your gratitude?”
Chapter Two
Ellie moved closer and rested her hands on the great expanse of Chance’s broad chest. His mouth twitched in what might have been an unpracticed smile that shot straight through her like a ray of sunlight. She gave him the tight smile she saved for difficult guests, then whispered to him.
“Not if you were the last man in Texas.”
Ellie shoved him with all her might. But her act of extreme violence only served to cause her to ricochet backward. She lost her balance and would have tumbled head over heels if Chance hadn’t captured her wrist and dragged her back against him. She had, on some occasions, imagined being in Chance’s arms, but never in her fantasy had he held her merely to keep her from breaking her neck.
“Now you owe me twice.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and then stepped back. “I’ll collect the other one later.”
She didn’t like being teased and that was what his kiss had been, a prank, like a schoolboy pulling her braid. Nothing like the enveloping embrace he’d shared with her after rescuing them from the woman’s crazed husband. Ellie closed her eyes, pushing back the memories of the tenderness of his touch and the aching need to experience again the welcome of his arms. Steeling herself, she met his devilish eyes and playful grin.
She gave him a look she hoped embodied her complete disinterest, for it would not be wise to let Chance know that his proximity played havoc with her emotions.
“I don’t think so,” she said coolly.
“Ellie?”
It was her mother’s voice.
Chance disappeared behind the stacks of cordwood so fast he was as much a blur as a fast-moving train. Yes, her mother had that effect on people.
Ellie’s mother and father stepped out onto the wide back porch. Chance continued his retreat until he was certain neither of Ellie’s parents could see him. But then he stopped. Why, he was not sure, nor was he sure why he enjoyed teasing Ellie so much.
He looked back at the porch, seeing her parents. They were an odd pair. Minnie was short and curvy, but she had not grown fat as she had aged. Mrs. Jenkins had too much vanity for that. Her elaborate hairstyle was no longer in fashion and included ringlets all about the back of her head. Despite being in her forties, her hair remained a bright reddish brown that was not exactly a color found in nature. Oscar, on the other hand, was exceedingly thin, with an angular face, receding hairline, wide forehead and heavy lines that creased his brow and flanked his mouth. His hair had been the same dark brown as Ellie’s but now gray had overrun his sideburns and mustache. Chance had heard stories about Oscar being a privateer and knew his outward gentility was but a thin veneer. Jenkins was as tough and leathery as rawhide.
Chance knew he should go but he just couldn’t make himself leave Ellie. If she was going to catch hell, he’d step up to take the heat and not just because Ellie was Leanna’s best friend. Truth be told, he liked her better now than before he had left. She had sand and a new glint in her eye that made her more interesting. Lately, women were less and less of a challenge and none of them had ever tried to shove him. He chuckled at the memory. Had Ellie actually tried to knock him down?
Where was she? He craned his neck. Suddenly, something moved beside him. Ellie crouched just behind him.
“You’re a little old for this game,” he whispered.
“Hush up, they’ll hear you.”
“You just faced down a gunman, but you’re afraid of your parents?”
“I’m not,” she said with a little too much force. Chance lifted an eyebrow and motioned to the hotel, challenging her to put up or shut up.
From the porch, Minnie called her daughter again. Ellie’s chin sunk to her chest. Then she stood and walked with a slow, steady step back to the hotel, looking as reluctant as a man heading for a tooth-pulling.
“There you are. What happened up there?”
Ellie relayed a version of events in which Chance stopped the crazed husband, but she omitted that she had been standing between the shooter and his intended target. In her version, she had crouched behind the armoire, safely out of harm’s way. And Chance suspected that Mrs. Rogers had not just happened into the room Ellie occupied, either. Ellie, it seemed, was quite a competent embellisher, which surprised him greatly. What other secrets had his little brown mouse been keeping?
“That Cahill boy,” said Minnie, her voice dripping with distain.
Chance bristled, then reminded himself that he was eavesdropping. People who did that never heard good things about themselves.
He hoped Ellie would stick up for him, but it was Oscar who came to his defense.
“He’s hardly a boy, dear. Remember that Chance Cahill saved our daughter’s life. We owe him for that.”
Minnie gave a little humphing sound to this. “He also turned the Royale into a shooting gallery. This is a quality establishment, not Dodge City. Our clientele expects safe, clean and opulent surroundings. It will hurt our business. You mark me.”
“You know you’ll be able to charge double for that room starting tomorrow.”
Minnie paused to consider and then dismissed the idea. “Nonsense.” She turned to her daughter. “And what were you thinking, locking yourself in with that woman?”
“I saw him coming down the hall with the gun, so I just…” Her voice trailed off.
“When you see a man draw a gun, you go the other way. I’d think a daughter of mine would have more sense.”
“Brave thing to do,” said Oscar, resting a hand on Ellie’s shoulder.
“Foolish! We only have one daughter and I still have hopes for her, despite past failures. Quin and Bowie may be off the menu but there are the Fitzgerald boys, both single and well-to-do.”
“And running wild as young colts in a spring pasture,” added Oscar.
Chance set his jaw, galled at the realization that even Ira and Johny were placed ahead of him on Minnie’s eligibility list.
“Ellen Louise could be the settling influence they need.”
“There’s one Cahill left,” said Oscar.
Chance stilled, craning his neck so far that he almost fell clean over the woodpile. Did Oscar favor him?
Hold on a second! How has it suddenly come to this? One minute I’m riding into town after Leanna, and the next we’re talking about…marriage…to Ellie?
But for all that, Ellie had thrown down a challenge refusing
to kiss him and he did love a challenge....
But his thoughts were scattered when Ellie and Minnie spoke in unison.
“No,” said Ellie.
“Absolutely not!”
It seemed the two women had finally found something they agreed on.
“Bowie is waiting in the office to speak to you, Ellen.” Minnie dismissed Ellie as if she were a servant instead of a young woman who stood to inherit the largest hotel in town.
She went without a word, but Chance noted she paused just inside the door, looking back at him. Neither parent noticed her.
Chance would have left if he could have made it around the woodpile without notice, but he couldn’t risk being caught overhearing such a conversation. With luck he’d get clear of the hotel before Bowie tracked him down. The longer he put off that conversation, the better.
“What are we going to do with the girl?” asked Minnie, her voice laced with despair.
“Let her be. Someone will come along when the time is right.”
“Oh, Oscar!” she huffed. “The right man doesn’t just come along. You have to lure him and bewitch him. Our daughter does not understand what it takes to make a good match. Lord knows I’ve tried to get her to see it.”
“Now, Minnie.”
“And she won’t wear any of the lovely things I bought for her. She dresses like a shopkeeper, instead of one of the most eligible ladies in Cahill Crossing. She has a lovely figure, if she’d just show it off.”
“Not everyone favors pink.”
“Doesn’t have the coloring for it, you mean. I swear she’s as plain as brown paper wrapping. No wonder the shooter didn’t see her. I can’t see her even when I’m looking right at her.”
Chance watched this thoughtless comment tear into Ellie. Her head dropped so he could no longer read her face. A flare of skirts made him think she had fled at this final humiliation.
What was wrong with the woman? Ellie wasn’t flashy, like her mother, but neither was she brass and cloying. She had class—certainly more than her mother, who seemed more interested in clawing her way up the social ladder than in looking for a man who would treat Ellie with the dignity she deserved. If there was one thing Chance hated, it was a bully, and Minnie was just a tyrant in petticoats.
