“You’re talkin’ about sex.” Rico winced. He certainly hadn’t meant to. Carrie pulled back to look into his eyes as she imparted her incredibly wise opinion on the subject. “Disgusting. Yuck.”
His face heated. He had known women from Georgia to Texas, Louisiana to Kansas, and not one of them had thought his touch yuck, but he certainly wasn’t telling his darling muchacha that.
“Oh, son of a bitch, they’re coming this way.”
When Carrie cursed, Rico forgot all about the new woman in town. “Watch your mouth. Your grandpapa thinks you get those words from me.”
“But I get them from him.”
“I know that, and you know that...”
“Mr. Reese knows, too.”
“I think everyone knows.”
“Then what’s the friggin’ problem?”
Rico put his hand to his head. “Carrie, you must stop cursing. Ladies do not curse.”
“I don’t want to be a lady. I want to be like you. I want to ride with the six and save folks.” She pulled an imaginary pistol from her imaginary belt, aimed, and shouted, “Pow-pow, you’re deader than the bad cougar cat.”
“Hello to you, too, cherie.”
Rico glanced up to find the woman staring at Carrie and the boy staring at him. Each wore similar expressions of wary interest. He straightened to his full height. He’d been over six feet tall since he turned fifteen.
Up close the woman was stunning, though the wrinkled, dusty black dress did not enhance the shapely figure beneath it, and the severe style of her hair did not complement the angles of her face. But Rico knew incredible when he saw it. Even without the musical voice that tumbled French endearments. Since he wanted to get that body in his bed and hear her call him cheri, Rico went to work.
“Senorita.” He swept his hat from his head and bowed. “Welcome to Rock Creek.”
Carrie snorted. Rico ignored her.
Straightening, he flashed a grin. The senorita merely raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Rico faltered. His smile usually made women swoon—or at least smile back.
“I’m looking for the saloon.”
It was Rico’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “Uh.... ah... well, I... ah... don’t think you want to go there. It is not...”
“What?”
“Fit for a lady.”
“What if she ain’t no lady?” Carrie interjected.
“Carrie,” he warned.
“I guess there ain’t gonna be any poker now that she’s here.” She huffed, put her nose in the air, and flounced off.
The woman watched her go with a slight smile, as if she thought Carrie incredibly cute. Rico liked her better with every passing moment.
“I am Rico Salvatore, at your service.”
The woman looked him up, then down. “I can imagine.”
“Excellent, senorita. Let me make your every imagination come true.”
She rolled her eyes. “Get out of my way, enfant.”
She attempted to walk around him, but Rico stepped into her path. The boy shoved himself between Rico and the woman, his lip curving into a silent snarl.
Rico laughed. “You are her watchdog. I understand. I will look, but I will not touch.” He winked. “Until she asks.”
The boy’s dark blue eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer to Rico. “Johnny, never mind him.” She tugged the boy back to her side. “He may hold his breath and die before I ask. Now, monsieur, can you point me to the saloon or no?”
“If you insist. The saloon, such as it is, stands right in front of you.” He held out his arm for hers. “This way.”
She made an annoyed sound. Planning to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm, Rico circled her wrist with his fingers. What he felt beneath the sleeve of her dress made him go still. His gaze flicked to her face. She tilted her head as if to say, Try me.
Rico dipped his chin, lifted his hands in surrender, and backed off. She strode toward the saloon with Johnny in tow.
“Ah, querida,” he murmured, knowing well the feel of a knife sheathed beneath dusty black silk. “God has made us for each other.”
* * *
Lily—she’d been thinking of herself as Lily since stepping onto the stage in New Orleans—felt Rico Salvatore staring at her as she walked away. She refused to look over her shoulder and give him the satisfaction.
She’d met a hundred men like him—though none quite so handsome and virile, but plenty who thought they were a gift to any woman who walked. She’d had enough gifts like that, thank you, and now that she’d reached Rock Creek, any further gifts of such nature would be because she said so.
Lily shoved through the swinging doors of the saloon and stopped dead. One of the doors smacked her in the back, forcing her to stumble in a few steps more. Her boots slid in dust.
A frighteningly still man sat at a table directly across from the door. In contrast to the filth of the place, he was immaculately dressed in a dark suit with a pristine white shirt and lace cuffs spilling from his sleeves. He held a pistol on her, though he looked too lazy to use it. Still, the sight of the barrel pointed at her chest made Lily catch her breath just enough so that her stays poked her in the ribs.
“Who are you?” she snapped.
Lily could have sworn the man’s perfectly trimmed mustache twitched. But since no humor tilted those compressed lips or reached his dead eyes, she must have been mistaken.
“I might ask the same of you. Women aren’t welcome here unless they’re women of a certain kind, or Yvonne, of course.” The tilt of his head indicated the woman in front of the cracked mirror behind the bar.
Lily glanced at Yvonne, who busily polished the scarred wood. She appeared to be Lily’s age, though tired and sad and worn down. Since the war, Lily had seen far too many like her.
“Are you a woman of a certain kind?”
Johnny stepped forward, and Lily put her hand on his arm. She’d been asked that question, in many variations, since she was old enough to wear a corset. She knew how to handle men like this as well as she knew how to handle men like Rico.
“I am not, monsieur. I am Lily Fortier, and this is my brother, Johnny.”
“Enchanted,” the man drawled, not sounding so at all. “Get the hell out.”
She laughed, surprising herself. She surprised him, too, because the gun drooped just a bit and his mouth did the same.
“Ah, I see.” He pocketed his pistol. “You and your brother have just escaped from the nearest lunatic asylum. I’ll have Yvonne make arrangements for your keeper to round you up and drag you back.”
“Why would you think I’m insane just because I refuse to get out?”
“Do you know who I am, madam?”
“Should I?”
“Well, I suppose my name hasn’t quite made the sewing circles and prayer meetings. I’m Daniel Cash.”
“The gunfighter?”
“The same.”
“What a surprise to find a man of your skills in little old Rock Creek.”
He frowned at her tone. “Don’t you want to run away now?”
“Why ever would I do that? I don’t think you realize who I am, Mr. Cash.”
“Calamity Jane?”
She smiled, and he obviously didn’t like what he saw in that smile, because he stood, his chair screeching across the wood floor.
Lily reached into her reticule and pulled out the deed. “I’m the new owner of this fine establishment.”
On the other side of the swinging doors, Rico cursed beneath his breath, and a trill of fear ran down Lily’s spine. She stared into the dark, haunted gaze of Daniel Cash and wondered how far he’d go to keep women like her out of this place.
She never found out, because Rico, moving quicker than any man she’d ever seen, came inside, yanked the paper from her hand, and stepped into the line of fire.
“Excusez moi?” Lily said indignantly.
He waved his hand at her as if she were a pesky fly. “It is the deed for this place, Cash.”
“Just because some prudish female walks in here with a piece of paper don’t make my place hers.”
“Actually, it does,” she said.
Cash was the picture of frustration. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. Lily had seen Johnny afflicted the same way, and she almost felt sorry for the man. Almost.
Cash ran his fingers through his perfectly combed hair, making it stand on end, then kicked the table with his shiny black boot. “I’m getting the sheriff.”
“Please do. That should settle this once and for all.”
Cash glared at her, and she understood why he was an infamous gunman. That stare alone could make a faint heart stop. Luckily for Lily, a faint heart had never been a luxury she could afford.
Cash stomped out. Yvonne polished faster. Upstairs, doors closed, and footsteps milled about, but no one came down.
Lily held out her hand for her deed. “Is your sheriff a reasonable man?”
“I’ve been riding with him for about ten years, and I’ve never considered Sullivan unreasonable.”
“The sheriff is your friend?”
“Guess you could call him that.”
“And what about Cash?”
“They’re as friendly as Cash gets.”
“Merde!” she muttered. “Fils de chienne!”
Rico’s blank stare revealed he did not understand the French curse words. Lily took a deep breath. It didn’t work. “Johnny, where’s my derringer?”
“Whoa!” Rico held up his hands. “You cannot pull a gun on the sheriff, and you especially cannot pull a gun on Cash.”
“I’m not letting any hickish lawman take my place and give it to his pal.”
“That will not happen.”
“You bet it won’t.”
Lily held out her hand, and Johnny gave her the tiny gun she’d bought just across the border. Sometimes a knife simply wasn’t enough. She tucked the pistol into the palm of the hand that did not carry a secreted knife.
“No guns, por favor.” Rico looked into her eyes beseechingly. “They will only make things worse.”
Lily hesitated. Rico seemed sincere, but most men—especially pretty ones—could get their way with the turn of an eyelash. Still, he ought to know his friends and this town. She was in the right, no matter the fame of any gunman.
With a shrug, she returned the gun to Johnny. He was better with it, anyway.
Cash returned, accompanied by a tall, dark-haired fellow who looked to be half something or other—in this state, most likely Comanche. She didn’t care who his daddy was as long as the son was honest.
“Got a problem here, kid?” he asked.
Lily glanced at Johnny, who shrugged. “My brother doesn’t speak,” she said. “Besides, I’m the one with the deed.” She waved it like a flag.
“I was talkin’ to Rico, ma’am. We’ve been together since he was a kid.”
Lily’s gaze wandered all the way up Rico’s six-foot-odd-inch frame. He didn’t resemble any kid she’d ever seen.
“Hard habit to break,” the sheriff continued. “Your boy can’t talk?”
She sent a warning look in Johnny’s direction before answering the sheriff. “My brother, and he doesn’t speak since the war.”
“Shame. Had the same problem with one of my own children, but he came out of it after being safe here for a while. Maybe that’ll happen for your brother, too.”
“Maybe. But Johnny has talents beyond speech, Sheriff, which you’ll discover when I get this place ready to open.”
“It is open,” Cash snapped.
“It’s also filthy, smelly, dark, and disgusting.”
“That’s the way we like it.”
“Then you can leave.”
“I live here!”
“Fine. Live here. But it’ll cost you.”
“I hate to interrupt,” the sheriff said. “But could I see that deed?”
Lily handed over the parchment, then cast a glance at Johnny. He nodded. The small gun in his pocket was trained on Sheriff Sullivan. The man thought he was going to torch her deed? He would have to think again—in hell.
The sheriff returned the document, expression solemn. “Looks fine to me.” He cut a gaze to Johnny. “Don’t ever hold a gun on a lawman, son, even if your sister tells you to. Next time, I’ll be obliged to take it.”
A healthy dose of respect came over Lily for this hickish sheriff. Johnny removed his hand from his pocket, empty palm visible.
“Sorry, Cash.” The sheriff dipped his head at his friend and headed for the door.
“That’s it?” Cash shouted, following him. “What kind of lawman are you? What kind of friend? What kind of brother-in-arms?”
Sullivan faced the shorter man. “If you have to ask me that, then you haven’t been paying attention for the past ten years. She’s in the right. Ain’t nothin’ to be done about it, hear?”
“That sounds like a threat, breed.”
Rico tensed, and Lily cast him a quick glance. His jaw was set as he stared intently at the two men. Did they plan to splash blood all over the wood floor? That would be a lot harder to scrub out than the dirt.
Surreptitiously, she pulled Johnny out of the line of fire, but instead of moving behind her, as she wanted, he stepped in front, and no amount of tugging would dislodge him.
“I don’t threaten, Cash. We came to this town to make things right, and I don’t aim to let you mess that up, whatever problem you have with women. You don’t want to fight me; you’re just mad at the world and always have been. One of these days you’ll have to get over it or take it to the grave.” Sullivan turned his back on Cash.
Either the sheriff trusted the man implicitly, or he was much dumber than he looked. But he left alive, and Rico released a long sigh.
Silence descended. Lily felt gracious in victory. “You can keep your room,” she said. “Either pitch in and help clean in lieu of rent, or we’ll work out a reasonable rate.” Rico choked. “What did I say?”
“Cash doesn’t do work that might make him sweat.”
“I see.” She glanced at Cash’s perfect clothes and well-maintained hands. She should have noticed the latter right off. “Fine, I can use money, too. What about you, Mr. Salvatore?”
“I have no problem with sweat, senorita.” He winked. “You can count on me.”
Somehow Lily doubted that.
* * * * * *
List of Titles
The Rock Creek Books
Reese, by Lori Handeland
Sullivan, by Linda Winstead Jones
Rico, by Lori Handeland
Jed, by Linda Winstead Jones
Nate, by Lori Handeland
Cash, by Linda Winstead Jones
The Columbyana novels, in order of publication:
The Sun Witch
The Moon Witch
The Star Witch
Prince of Magic
Prince of Fire
Prince of Swords
Untouchable
22 Nights
Bride by Command
Bride by Midnight
Firebird, a Columbyana novella
For a complete list of previous and upcoming releases check here:
www.lindawinsteadjones.com
Linda Winstead Jones
Linda’s first book, the historical romance Guardian Angel, was released in 1994, and in the years since she’s written in several romance sub-genres under several names. In order of appearance, Linda Winstead; Linda Jones; Linda Winstead Jones; Linda Devlin; and Linda Fallon. She’s a six time finalist for the RITA Award and a winner (for Shades of Midnight, writing as Linda Fallon) in the paranormal category. She’s a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of seventy books. Most recently she’s been writing as Linda Jones in a couple of joint projects with Linda Howard, and rereleasing some of her backlist in ebook format. She can be found at any one of a variety of Facebook pages and at www.lindawinsteadjones.com.
Linda lives in Huntsville, Ala
bama. She can be reached at:
[email protected]
Twitter at @LWJbooks
https://twitter.com/LWJbooks
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Linda-Winstead-Jones/103936415079
Red Door Reads
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Sullivan (The Rock Creek Six Book 2) Page 27
