by Sandra Jones
In the darkness, she ran her hands along the wall of the building until her fingertips found the joint in the wooden paneling. She pried the loose panel back and grasped the metal handle within. With a hard tug, the door gave way, its hinges slightly squeaking. Once inside, she pulled the door shut and slipped around the wardrobe concealing the entrance. Sighing, she slung her cloak in the direction of her dresser, where it made a satisfying thump on the floor.
She crossed the room without any problems, stopping when her knees bumped the edge of the bed. She paused to unbutton her bodice and had four of the tiny shell buttons undone when she noted the foreign smell in the air.
Leather. Most likely saddle leather, though she couldn’t imagine where it came from. She owned nothing of the sort.
Her stomach dipped with alarm. Someone had been in her room, and that’s why the lantern was out. What if that someone was still in the room?
Wary of every sound she made, she pulled her petticoats up and up until she found her pistol. She closed her fingers over the hilt, but it was too late. The intruder’s hand covered hers on the gun as he came up behind her, his other hand flat against her stomach, drawing her against him. His body was like an iron wall behind her.
“Doesn’t that chafe?” Kit Wainwright murmured, his mouth right beside her ear.
“You! Of all the audacity.” Her heart raced as she felt his fingers examine the leather and lace holster of her tiny pistol before coming back to caress her hand. She touched the trigger. Not in her wildest imagination could she draw fast enough to stop him if he meant her harm, and he could easily overpower her. Even now, his body made a fortress around her, trapping her within the circle of his arms like a stone tower. She had only one defense at the present. “Let go of me, or I’ll scream.”
His breath feathered across her cheek. “All you have to do is ask.” His fingers strayed across her holster, gliding intimately over her inner thigh before taking hold of her hand again. His lips turned against her ear. “On second thought, I’d like to study your technique. We could take turns showing each other how we draw—”
She shuddered from the onslaught of awakened senses—fear, panic and curiosity. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you stay the night. What the hell are you doing in my room?” Dawning realization of what he might want sent heat rushing through her. She couldn’t allow him to know how his words and touch affected her. If he felt the slightest bit justified in his advances, he might take his actions further. He was a stranger and potentially dangerous…perhaps even deadly. She must remember that.
“I’ve been waiting for you, obviously.” He wrapped his hand around her wrist, urging her to release her gun. When she let go, he turned her in his arms as her skirt dropped back between him and the holstered pistol. “I let myself in your window since your door was bolted.”
He struck a lucifer and held the flame between them. The light cast an ominous glow on his features. His eyes were cold and dark beneath the black arches of his brows.
She staggered back. “How is that possible? The shrubs—”
He held out his forearm, and the match revealed a series of fresh, thin scratches along his skin beneath his rolled up sleeve. “Do you really think I’d be afraid of a few roses?”
Oh, what must he think of her. Did he believe she’d left the room through the window as well, or had he seen the secret door behind the wardrobe?
The cloak. She couldn’t let him find the evidence linking her to Velvet Grace. Steadying her voice, she asked, “Could you make yourself useful with that lucifer and light my lantern?”
His gaze flicked to her nightstand as if remembering where he’d seen it last. He cupped a hand around the flame and went to do as she’d asked.
While he was distracted with the lantern, she went to the dresser and shoved the cloak deep inside a drawer.
They were soon enveloped in the warm glow of the lamp. “Now.” She sighed, turning to face him as she leaned against the dresser. “What brought you into my locked room?”
“We weren’t done.”
“We weren’t?”
He stalked closer. “Not by a long shot. But…are you going to tell me why you snuck out?”
She scowled. “Why should I? It’s my house. There aren’t any laws in Fort McNamara against a woman going out at night.”
He blocked the light, shadowing her, and she could feel the displeasure rolling off his frame. “I’ve only been a lawman a few hours, but it seems strange to me that a lady would sneak out of her own place. Especially when there’s a sheriff under her roof.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong. I couldn’t sleep, so I climbed out my window and went for a walk in town. I didn’t want to leave the Willows’ doors unbolted where any stranger might wander in off the streets.” She glared up at him, challenging him to argue with her point.
He braced a hand against her dresser just above her shoulder and leaned closer. “These streets are dangerous—even with a gun. You know that, Cora. There are better ways to find sleep.”
“Oh, really?” She eased another step back until her bottom pressed against the cabinet.
“Really. I think maybe you couldn’t sleep because you were thinking about our kiss. Maybe we both need some time together to satisfy our cravings.” He surveyed her, tilting his head as he took in her face, her body, searching for something. He caught her hands in his and examined them, his thumbs coaxing her palms open. He then brought the heels of her hands to his lips and kissed each, his breath sweeping across her sensitive skin until she shivered with delight.
Suddenly, she felt blessed she hadn’t found Andrea’s attacker at the saloon or the hotel that night. If she’d fired her gun, Kit would’ve been able to tell. The smell of the blast would have lingered on her skin, and no one would know that scent better than the experienced gunman. It was almost as if he were looking for it. Surely to goodness he didn’t know her secret?
The stubble around his mouth scraped against her palms as he kissed her again, eliciting tingles up her arms before he moved to her wrists. He spoke quietly as he nuzzled her, “I won’t be able to sleep again until I get you out of my system.” He placed her hand against his chest and leaned in for her lips.
The light on his closed eyes and shiny black lashes made him seem less of a threat, more handsome than a man ought to be, and she craved another taste of him. She rose on her toes to meet him, returning his kiss with an eagerness that surprised even her as she braced a hand on his strong shoulder. His tongue swept hers, boldly thrusting deeper in her mouth as matching spirals of pleasure spun in her belly. He spread his hands across the small of her back, dragging her away from the uncomfortable dresser at her back and against the unyielding granite mountain that was his frame. Their hips made contact, and beneath the layers of their clothing, she felt the shocking ridge in his pants, solid against the cradle of her body. Ardent need raged within her, but her thoughts immediately pushed back.
It had been years ago, but the old ghosts returned, the memories of rough hands wrapping her throat. Then the pain and shame that followed.
Panic swelled inside, choking her, collapsing her lungs. Breaking the kiss, she pushed him back and strangled out, “I told you, I don’t sleep with anyone.”
Kit took a deep breath, his flushed face reflecting his struggle. “Not with anyone, Cora?” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Believe what you want. Look, it’s not that I don’t find you attractive enough. It’s just a matter of my professional philosophy. I’m done with men in my life and in my bed.”
He raked a hand through his hair and stared at her for a long moment. “After that kiss, I’d say you’re about as done with me as I’m done with you…and that’s not at all.”
Uncertain of her fortitude, she crossed her arms and hugged her stomach as she caught her breath.
If he took her in his embrace again, the past might return to haunt her…or she might just enjoy it. The latter was far more frightening.
He watched her for a long moment before his expression closed, and then he sighed. “All right. You win again. But—” he backed away and spoke in a raspy voice fraught with discomfort, “—I came back for another reason too, Cora. I need a favor, and you’re the only person in town I feel comfortable asking about it. Crazy, right?”
Something in his quiet admission touched her heart, reminding her of the way he’d been so forthright before. She shook her head in relief and gave him a slight smile. “That’s not crazy. We get that a lot in the Willows.”
He frowned as if considering her answer. “No, I don’t think it’s because you run a bordello. I think it’s…well, I just don’t know.” He walked backwards, heading toward the door, and she felt something in her twisting, like an invisible cord in her reeling him back. How many men would’ve pushed themselves on her, demanding more, taking it? But not the gunslinger.
Stopping at the door, he frowned, and his throat worked as if he had something hard to say. “The thing is, I could use some company tomorrow when I ride out to Dillard’s Peak. I’m not even sure where it is, and you know the territory…” His voice trailed away.
Oh, the ashes. She should say no. Spending a day in Kit’s company wasn’t wise. Hell, at any time he might realize she was the killer he was looking for. One slip of her tongue, and her life would be over.
She would eventually turn herself in as planned, but not before she’d made certain her ladies were safe. “I’m sure there are plenty of others you could ask. Your deputy for starters.”
He gave her a level look, scorn etched across his strong features. “I’d prefer to spend as little time with Jim Hazen as I have to. Am I so repellant you’d drop me in his company?”
“Of course not.” She shook her head, unable to hide her smile at his unvarnished show of outrage. “Even if I wanted to go, I can’t. I don’t own a carriage.”
He gave a sideways grin that made her heart flip-flop, and then he unlocked the bolt behind his back. “Ah. Well, good thing you’re friends with the farrier. I’m sure you could borrow a horse from the livery for the day.”
“I could, but—”
“’Course, if you don’t come, Hazen and I will have more time to look for the sheriff’s killer.” He paused in the doorway, staring dejectedly at the floor, his expression grim.
Gracious. Perhaps delaying him a day couldn’t hurt. “I suppose I could accompany you.”
His gaze returned to hers, eyes glittering with worldly delight. “Ah, glorious. That’s settled then. Now I’ll have something pleasant to look forward to tomorrow.” He surveyed her one last time in a lingering glance. “Good night, Cora.”
He then swiveled around, shutting the door on her before she could form another rebuttal.
She gritted her teeth. That man would be the death of her. She didn’t like to ride, didn’t care for horses. Tarnation, she didn’t even know the territory, as he called it, outside of the riverfront.
After bolting the door behind him and then the window, she went to collapse on her bed. Lying still, her blood continued to race from her encounter with Kit. Unbidden, her hand traced the same path across her thigh where he’d touched her bare leg and had discovered her gun.
She swallowed against a hard knot in her throat.
He’d come so close to the truth, and yet he hadn’t questioned her. Unlike the deputy, Christopher Wainwright was no buffoon. If he hadn’t figured out her secret tonight, he soon would.
The question was, what would she do when he did?
Chapter Six
Kit’s yawn was wider than half of Texas as he reached to put on his second boot. He’d been right when he’d told Cora he wouldn’t get sleep that night for thinking of her. Worry—and lust—had kept him in a sorry state, tossing and turning, unable to rest in his borrowed bed. He’d finally nodded off shortly before sunrise only to be awoken by the light streaming in through the bedroom window.
When he took over the new ranch, he would have to get used to being up this early. Living on the river, dividing his time between his uncle’s house, drinking at the brothel and gambling on the riverboats, he’d seldom gotten out of bed before noon. This change of regime would be the death of him—along with the empty bed and waking to a painful need for a woman.
Perhaps he could alter that in a way that would make Uncle Bart proud. He could send word to his lawyer, Hastings, to post an advertisement in the papers for a mail-order bride who wouldn’t mind coming west to be a rancher’s wife. After all, his friend Rory had married recently, and the match he’d made had changed the riverboat captain for the better.
Newly determined to find his own happiness, he went to the small desk and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. Once he had the message written, he folded the paper in half and scribbled Hastings’s address on the back.
Suddenly, the bedroom door at his back opened. He swiveled in his chair, half-expecting, half-hoping it would be Cora coming to say she’d changed her mind about his offer last night. At that thought, the erection he’d awoken with suddenly roared back to life.
But instead of Cora, the young prostitute Andrea stepped inside, her face downcast, not noticing him. She shut the door and headed for her dresser across the room, slumping along quietly. Her hair was combed back in a neat bun, revealing the healing, yellow bruise.
Her appearance washed away his earthly thoughts with feelings of sorrow for the girl. He cleared his throat.
“Oh!” She whirled around, her shocked eyes latching on to him.
“My apologies. It’s just me. The sheriff.” He stood, leaving the paper on the desk. “Miss Cora gave me use of your room last night.”
She backed to the door. “I-I-I’m sorry. If I’d known I would’ve knocked.”
“It’s all right.” Her expression didn’t relax a fraction, and he cursed himself silently. He held out his hands in a gesture of peace. “Please. You’ve probably come for some clothing. I’m done here. I’ll leave.”
Frowning, she nodded.
As he went toward the door, she edged away from him, wringing her hands in front of her.
Something kept him from leaving. The old Kit would’ve turned his back on the lady, wishing he hadn’t seen the injustice imposed upon her, but he wasn’t his old self anymore. What would Uncle Bart want him to do?
“Your name is Andrea, isn’t it?”
She nodded again. “Andrea Burns.”
“Well, Miss Burns, as I’m now the sheriff, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the man who attacked you the night before last. Did you know his name?”
She dropped her stare to her boots, hunching her shoulders.
He felt certain that fear, rather than professional courtesy, kept her silent. “If you tell me who he was, I promise I’ll put him behind bars. I’ll arrest him and convince the judge to keep him in prison. On my word as a Wainwright.”
Andrea glanced at the ceiling, eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears, then she met his gaze with resolve. “Name’s McGruder. He’s not from around here. He’s only passing through. Probably rode out of town today or yesterday.” Her bottom lip trembled.
“Damn. I was afraid of that. I’ll check the hotel for him anyway. If he’s there, he’s as good as caught.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.” She brightened but didn’t smile. “Why you bein’ so kind to me?”
He frowned. “That’s my job, isn’t it? Not to mention, I’m a gentleman.”
This brought a tiny grin, and she chuckled wryly. “It weren’t the last sheriff’s job. At least he didn’t think so. But Miss Cora paid him to make it so.”
The blood in his veins went icy. “Your employer gave Bill Sidlow money?”
Andrea nodded. “She didn’t h
ave no choice. He was rotten—just as bad as the thief you shot, taking our money for what he was hired to do. At least we didn’t have no troubles then. No thieves, no…” Her words drifted away as she turned her damaged cheek to her shoulder.
His neck prickled with apprehension. “You know a lot about Miss Cora. Are the two of you close friends?”
Andrea shook her head, smiling sadly. “None of us are really that close to her. Millie might come the closest, since she was raised here as a babe. But Miss Cora works on the bank ledgers and reads all the time, doesn’t talk a lot. Lately, she and I been gettin’ on really well, bein’s how she got hurt by customers in the past too.”
His chest tightened. Cora had been attacked?
“When?” he demanded.
Andrea blinked, clearly taken aback by his abrupt response. “She said it happened a couple of times some years ago. She hadn’t had a man since.” She blanched and covered her mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t have told it.”
He closed his eyes, stricken by all the loathsome things he’d said and done in Cora’s company. No wonder she’d treated him like the jackass he’d been.
Recalling he wasn’t alone, he opened his eyes and shook his head. “It’s all right. I won’t say anything.” He turned and opened the door, then paused as another concern gripped him. “Andrea, can I ask one more question? I’m trying to understand how things were in the past here at the Willows, so I might rectify them. Did the sheriff ever attack you or any of the other women?”
Her brows knit together. “No. He was a bad man, but he never demanded nothin’ but money from us.”
Bribery was a powerful motivator. He’d known men to kill over less than a handful of dollars. Although it had never caused Kit to take another life, he’d stood at the wrong end of a loaded gun over a game of cards before and had seen greed create horrible monsters.
