by Jenna Kernan
Why had he kissed her again?
“Evening, you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” He winked. “That should leave a wide-open field.”
Ellie gasped and Lewis set his jaw. Chance turned his back and did what he did best—walked away.
Chance had wanted to spend most of the evening at Leanna’s Place, watching the comings and goings, but since he was supposed to be at odds with his sister, he’d had to skulk in the shadows. Still, he didn’t return to the Château Royale until late. He’d managed to make it through the night without shooting anyone. Bowie would be so proud. He had one foot on the steps when a male voice stopped him.
“Chance? I’d like a word.”
He turned to see Oscar Jenkins looking at him with the same hazel eyes as his daughter, intent and intelligent. But unlike Ellie’s, Oscar’s eyes were unreadable.
He wouldn’t blame Oscar for running him off. That’s what he’d do if a man like him came sniffing around his daughter. What a thought, him with a daughter.
“Yes, sir.”
Oscar motioned to his office. Chance preceded him, grateful for the wide leather armchair that enveloped him. Only after he’d sunk into the soft folds did he recall that Oscar had not asked him to sit. His host said nothing about his lack of manners as he leaned on the arm of the opposite chair and folded his arms across his chest.
“You sober?”
Chance narrowed his eyes, making no attempt to hide his feelings at Jenkins’s assumption. He was many things, but drunk was not one of them.
Jenkins cocked his head. At last he nodded. “Why’d you come back to town, son?”
Chance hesitated and then lied. “To sell my share of the 4C.”
“That’s what I’m hearing. Why now?”
He shrugged.
“You need money that bad, Chance, that you’d ignore your papa’s wishes to keep the ranch intact?”
Chance hesitated, wondering if he could trust this man.
“What’s on your mind, son?”
Oscar was an unlikely hotel owner. He looked more like what he was said to be, a privateer.
“You really run guns for the Confederacy?” asked Chance.
Oscar’s mouth twitched upward. “Oh, more than guns.”
“That give you the money for this place?”
He nodded. “I did all right.”
“Your wife’s from a wealthy family, too?”
“They were, before the war took it all. Why do you think she settled for an old salt like me? I’m ten years her senior and I wasn’t handsome, even then.”
They were silent again.
“That about it, son?”
Chance wanted to ask him if he could make a shot from seven hundred and fifty yards out. Instead, he nodded.
“Then let me speak my mind. I like you, Chance. Always have. I’d even favor you as a suitor for my daughter if you’d set your mind on it. But if your intentions are not honorable, then you best not trifle with her. Is that understood?”
Chance didn’t know what shocked him more, the threat or that Oscar would actually consider him as a suitor.
Chance’s kiss had kept Ellie up most of the night. She’d half expected him to come to collect his wager. Silly idea, as he’d certainly forgotten all about her the minute he’d turned her over to Dr. Lewis.
She patted the pocket of her dress, feeling the large one-dollar coin there within the folds. Despite her stern admonition to herself, she found her gaze wandering to the stairs, watching for Chance.
He appeared before nine, which was a wonder because she knew from her father that he had not returned until after three in the morning. He grinned at her and her insides jumped and sizzled like butter on a hot griddle.
“Got a minute?” He didn’t wait for a reply but grasped her elbow and guided her again to the back porch, now awash with morning sunlight and the comings and goings of staff. He drew her to the far end, where the wood was stacked in neat rows. Here they were blocked from view from the guests leaving and arriving at the depot by the wall dividing the service entrance from the second guest entrance. Once tucked from sight, he released her and leaned back against the rail.
“Lewis get you in all right?” he asked.
“He did.”
“He kiss you?”
“That’s none of your business, Chance Cahill.”
Oh, he didn’t like that answer, judging from the glint in his narrowing blue eyes. Well, fine. Chance had kissed her twice and then pushed her into the arms of another man. What did he expect?
“You regret it?” he asked.
“What?”
The corners of his mouth turned up and he regarded her through sleepy eyes as he stared at her mouth, sending her heart knocking against her ribs. Still, she held herself with a gratifying outward calm that was only skin-deep.
“I don’t seem the worse for wear.”
He took a step in her direction but this time she moved to evade.
“You can’t kiss me again, Chance.”
His expression turned speculative and then devilish, as if taking up the challenge. “Can’t I?”
“You told me last night that Clancy was the wiser choice.”
He returned to his resting place and folded his arms over his broad chest, his eyes narrowing on her. Did he think he could just kiss her whenever and wherever he liked?
“So he is. I got nothing to recommend me, except that I’m a good kisser.”
She could not hold her veneer of detachment while looking into those eyes. Ellie turned to look out at the tracks.
“We’re alone, Chance. What is it you wanted to say?” She cast a look back over her shoulder at him.
His playfulness dissolved and his face turned sober. “I trust you, Ellie, and so does Annie. But I’m worried. I don’t want you harmed for helping us.”
She dropped all bravado and gently touched his forearm earnestly for a moment.
“I will do all I can to help, Chance. I’ll take the risk.”
His eyes looked troubled as he proceeded in very short order to turn her world upside down, describing the murder of his parents, the telegram from his brother and all that Bowie and Leanna had told him since his return, including their suspicion that Tobias Hobbs had been hired by the same man who killed their father. Ellie felt ill.
She’d thought Quin had been shot by rustlers. She had not even been aware of all Merritt had endured. She shivered as Chance told her that Bowie’s fiancée had been held as a living shield, preventing Bowie from firing, but not the unknown gunman who did not care if he killed her in order to get to Hobbs. She sagged against the rail trying to understand how anyone could do such a thing.
“But they were such good people,” she said at last, bewildered and still feeling quite ill.
Chance lay a hand on her forearm, bringing her back to the here and now. “Ellie, aren’t you related to Van Slyck?”
“You don’t think he had anything to do with it.”
He didn’t answer. He did.
“Preston was my second cousin. My mother and Willem are first cousins on her mother’s side. Papa gave him the venture capital to start his bank. He owes everything to my father. He did something, didn’t he?”
Chance’s expression remained guarded.
She met his steady gaze, chewing on her bottom lip, torn between the need to tell Chance all she knew and the fear of betraying Leanna.
“What else, Ellie? Spit it out.”
“Talk in town is that Preston was Cabe’s father.” Ellie braced for the explosion, but Chance only nodded.
“That makes sense. But he’s not. I know that much.”
Ellie let her relief out in a long breath. “But why then did he threaten the baby?”
“Because Annie was poking around in his father’s business and interfering with the whores. Preston wanted her to stop.”
Ellie absorbed this. She felt frightened now, more so than before. She wasn’t afraid for herself, but for he
r mother. What if her cousin was behind this? Her mother hated scandals and something like this would devastate her. She held her hands over her throat now, afraid to ask her next question. “Why was she poking around?”
Chance hesitated only a moment. “Because one of the gunmen mentioned Van Slyck before he died.”
Ellie gasped, feeling physically ill. “Which one?”
“We don’t know, but one of them is involved. What else do you know about the family?”
Ellie searched her mind. “Willem’s wife left him after his store failed back in Virginia. Just dropped off his son and disappeared. My mother said he should have known better than to marry a girl from South Carolina. Mother also says they were poor as church mice, nearly starved after the war. They sent a desperate letter to her and she sent the funds to bring him and his son to Texas. That’s all I know, really.”
“He’s not poor now.”
“Papa says it’s hard for folks who have lost everything. They’re always afraid another storm will take it all.” Ellie looked away. She’d always felt that her mother’s fixation on Ellie marrying wealth seemed grounded in her troubled past. The bright, expensive clothing and the grand surroundings seemed like a defense against the world she no longer trusted. “My father indulges my mother greatly, because he understands how it is with her.”
“Are they close, your mother and her cousin?”
“I heard her say recently that now that her cousin can do without her help, he has forgotten what she did for him.”
He turned sideways, straddling the rail as if it were a horse and leaning forward on his hands, making the muscles of his arms bulge against the blue cotton of his shirt.
“Is your father a good shot?”
Ellie stilled at this question and was about to spring to her father’s defense. She felt her ears tingle as she stared at Chance. Was he really asking her to betray her parents?
“No. He says he prefers cannons to guns. He doesn’t even carry a sidearm.”
He nodded. “Sorry to ask.”
She inclined her head, accepting this.
“Anyone else?”
“Not specifically. But I did tell everyone who’d listen that I’m back to force Quin to sell the 4C.”
Ellie pursed her lips and scowled. “That was not what your father wanted.”
Chance smiled at her. “I’m not selling, Ellie. Just stirring the pot.”
Her relief was instantaneous. “Oh. I’m glad to hear it.”
Chance swung his long leg over the rail and stood. “Thanks for listening, Ellie.”
“I’ll do more than that. I’ll tell you everything I hear. Annie and I used to pretend to be spies. We were very good. We spied on you and your brothers.”
He quirked one brow. “This isn’t a game, Ellie. It’s serious, deadly serious. So you promise me that you will only listen. Just tell me what you overhear, but don’t ask any questions.”
Ellie thought of Quin, Merritt and Leanna and nodded. “No questions.”
Chapter Fourteen
Chance spent a late night in the red-light district watching the two sons of Don Fitzgerald from the street. His work chasing bounties had taught him patience and he stuck with them until they headed home at dawn, sure they hadn’t ever seen him.
He was on his way to his own bed when he found the ferryman, Muddy, lying precariously between the tracks. He scooped him off before the noon train ended his days. Chance helped up the old drunk and kept him from falling.
“That you, Chance?”
Muddy stared up at him with bloodshot eyes, his cheeks and nose a river of threadlike purple veins and burst blood vessels. Chance wondered why a man would drink that hard for that long. Maybe for the same reason he hunted outlaws.
Chance detoured to the river, seeing Muddy to his ferry before leaving him to sleep it off. He’d already turned to go when Muddy called to him.
“You know that wagon accident? The one that took your folks?”
He stilled and took a step back. Something in Muddy’s voice, the strain, brought Chance to alert. “Yeah?”
“They was…” He looked at Chance and then shook himself. He glanced around, as if searching for his parents’ ghosts. Now his words were rushed as if he had to hurry to get them out. “They was real good people, Chance. And I miss them.”
Chance swallowed the lump rising in his throat and nodded. Not trusting his words.
“You look like him, like your dad. Anyone tell you that?”
“See you around, Newt,” said Chance, and left him behind, needing to get away, feeling the darkness closing in again, just as it had every time he recalled that day.
By the time he reached his bed the sun was well up. He drew the curtains and collapsed facedown on the mattress. It seemed only a moment later that some woodpecker came rapping on his door.
He lifted his head from his pillow, wishing he had worn his guns to bed so he could shoot whoever was knocking.
“It’s open!”
The door creaked and Ellie stood in the gap, pretty as a songbird. Chance flipped over and dragged himself to sit on the edge of the mattress, happy he’d left on his drawers.
Her eyes rounded at the sight of him tangled up in the sheets. She stared at his chest, a long, direct stare that made Chance’s skin tingle and his muscles bunch. If she knew what was good for her, she’d clear out. But she didn’t. By slow degrees, her eyes shifted to meet his. By then her face was flushed and his mouth had gone dry. Chance grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on. It didn’t help. Tension crackled between them like heat lightning.
“Did I wake you?” Her voice quavered.
“Just from a sound sleep.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect to find you still in bed.”
“Up late. What time is it?”
“Nearly five in the afternoon.” She glanced down the hall.
He took the opportunity to tug on his trousers and then came out to meet her in the hall as he worked on the buttons on his shirt.
Ellie turned back to face him. “Oh. There you are. Well, I learned something that might prove valuable. I discovered that your father was not the only one who courted your mom.”
Chance leaned against the frame. “Didn’t know that.”
“Yes, but then your father showed up and shortly afterward they were engaged. I understand the other suitor did not take the news well. Both my parents recall it distinctly.”
“Who, Ellie?”
“Don Fitzgerald.”
Chance retraced his steps, finished dressing and splashed some water on his face.
“Bowie needs to hear that.” He reached for his hat. On his way out the door, he paused, drew her in and kissed her hard and quick. “Thanks.”
Ellie blinked up at him as he set on his hat. “You’re welcome.”
He headed for the jail but on reaching his destination he found Bowie’s lazy deputy making use of one of the chairs on the porch as he read the newspaper.
“Oh, Bowie is at dinner over at Miz Dixon’s place,” said Whitaker.
The thought of going to see Merritt after what he’d pulled left him cold. So he had a choice—wait at the jail or go find Leanna.
“Tell Bowie I’m at Leanna’s Place and I need to speak to him.”
“You want me to tell him what it’s about?”
“No.”
He found Leanna at her gambling hall and told her what Ellie had found out.
“Oh, Chance, if anything happens to her, I swear I will never speak to you again.”
“She came to me.”
“Of course she did. She’s my dearest friend. She’ll do whatever she can to help us. But you shouldn’t have accepted.”
“The gal’s a bloodhound and I’m glad she is on our side.” He thought of Ellie standing in the hall staring at him and licked his bottom lip. When he glanced at Leanna it was to find her brows dipping dangerously over her clear blue eyes.
“I know that look and don’t you
dare. She’s my friend.”
“I didn’t. I just…” His words trailed off. If he told Leanna how Ellie made him feel, she’d use that little pistol he bought on him.
“Just what? Are you planning on courting her?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Then stay away from her.”
Her father had said much the same. They were both right and that aggravated him to no end.
“You sound just like Quin now.”
She sat back at the insult. They had both been lorded over by their elder brother for years and she did not cotton on to his implication.
“If you pursue her without honorable intentions, then you’re just like Preston Van Slyck.”
That blow stung, for he knew that Preston’s favorite sport had been luring innocent girls from good families into a liaison, making false promises and then taking particular delight at their pain as they lost everything.
They glared at each other over the table. He’d counted on Leanna more times than he could remember and he’d gotten her out of more than one scrape, defended her from bullies and boys who she wanted chased off. But where Ellie was concerned, Leanna was no longer in his corner.
Bowie stomped in at that moment, sweeping the room with his cool gaze. From the depth of his brother’s glower Chance speculated that his addled deputy had not waited for his brother to return from supper but had taken the initiative to drag him from it. Bowie found Leanna first and she indicated Chance’s location with an inclination of her head. Her expression said, You deal with him.
Chance was now bruising for a fight. He stood to meet Bowie as he stomped across the saloon.
“This had better be good,” Bowie said.
Why could he and Bowie never get along? Too close in age or was it that Bowie thought those few years gave him the right to boss Chance? That had always resulted in Chance telling Bowie where to go, but still they kept coming to the same old dance.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Bowie.
Chance’s face felt hot and his fists were bunched at his sides. Before he could ask Bowie to sit, Bowie was at him again.
