“Twelve.”
He stepped out of the darkness and grabbed her.
“Oh!” She dropped her pen and diary and turned into his arms. “Chance!”
She was wearing lilac, and it hit him like a shot of whiskey straight up.
“You’re up late,” he said.
“Um…yes.”
He held on to her, and to his surprise she didn’t try to get away.
“What were you doing just now?”
“Doing?” Her breath was warm on his face as she looked up at him in the dark. “Why, nothing. Just, um…”
He ought to let her go and grab the diary. That had been his plan. He ought to, but…
She did try to get away, then, as if she’d suddenly read his thoughts, as if she knew how damned good she felt in his arms. She tried, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“Kiss me,” he said, on impulse.
Her sharp intake of breath, the immediate tension in her body were signs that should have stopped him. But he didn’t stop.
“No!” She struggled as he pulled her closer. Her hips tilted into him.
“One kiss,” he said. “You know you want to.”
“I…I don’t want to.”
“I do.” He tilted his head and kissed her.
Chapter Six
It was her first kiss.
She’d read about kissing, of course. After all, she was a schoolteacher. It was important for her to have a command of all subjects. Only she wasn’t the one in command in this particular situation.
Chance pulled her firmly against him, his hands snaking around her waist and up her back. His lips were warm, his tongue hot as it teased the tightly pressed seam of her mouth, seeking entrance.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
Instinctively she’d closed her eyes and had placed her hands against his chest. At first she’d pushed at him, working to extricate herself from his grip. She wasn’t pushing anymore. Her hands slid upward and came to rest around his neck.
The tinny piano music and men’s laughter, the pungent scents of beer and cigar smoke drifting from the saloon, all faded from her awareness. All her senses were trained on him now.
Chance deepened the kiss, and she gasped. He made a throaty sound, taking her response as acquiescence.
You know you want to.
His words burned in her mind. She had wanted to, and wanted it still. She gave herself up to the moment and dared to kiss him back. It was the singular most exciting thing she’d ever done in her life.
Heat suffused her body. And his.
He backed her against the wall, his fingers tangling in her hair, releasing her tight bun into a golden cascade that spilled nearly to her waist. Fisting a handful of it, he rolled his hips suggestively into hers. She realized with a shock that the situation had moved far beyond anything she’d ever read about in books.
“Mmm.”
“Oh!” Her eyes flew open.
His gaze flashed heat in the dim lamplight spilling from the kitchen at the end of the hall. She’d never seen him this way. So intense, so serious, so…
He abruptly broke the kiss.
She sensed a change come over him, a hesitation in the way he held her, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing or why, which was precisely how she felt.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Lily stood, hands on slim hips, silhouetted in the doorway at the opposite end of the long hall.
Chance instantly transformed his conduct. He jerked Dora tightly against him, the roguish grin that was his trademark flashing like lightning across his face. “Just having a bit of fun.”
“Fun?” Dora pulled out of his grasp, and he laughed softly.
“If it’s fun you’re wantin’, Chance honey, come on upstairs with me.” Lily crooked her finger at him.
“I thought you were already…engaged, or I would have earlier.”
“Not now I’m not, but I’d like to be—with you.”
Dora was mortified. She retrieved her diary and pen from the carpet where she’d dropped them. As she tried to move past Chance, he caught her arm.
“Join us?” he said, affecting his most devilish grin.
She felt suddenly sick to her stomach. Mustering her pride, she spun on her heel, her nose in the air, and marched back down the hallway toward the saloon. The sound of his laughter burned in her ears.
To her shock, Delilah was waiting for her at the end of the corridor. Dora wondered how long she’d been standing there and what, if anything, she’d seen and heard.
“I want you to come with me.”
“I really don’t have time right now, Delilah. I was reviewing my father’s books and I noticed that Jim’s been ordering way too much whiskey for this time of—”
The older woman grabbed her shoulders. “It’s past midnight. The books and the ordering can wait.” Delilah steered her toward the entrance to the back of the stage and into the tiny dressing room where the girls kept costumes for special occasions. After lighting the lamp, she pointed to an upholstered stool. “Now sit.”
All the fight had gone out of her. Dora did as she was told.
“I saw what went on back there.”
“Between Chance and Lily? I suppose as long as he pays like everyone else, it’s all right. But we’re running a business here, and—”
“Between Chance and you.”
Dora sucked in a breath, denials and explanations poised on her lips. Delilah arched a neatly plucked brow at her. Nothing that went on at the Royal Flush got past the woman. Dora exhaled. “Oh.”
“I’m gonna give you some advice.”
“I really don’t need you to mother me.” Her own mother would have been shocked at her behavior a minute ago. Her advice would have been to spend a day in church on her knees, praying for enlightenment and forgiveness. She didn’t think Delilah’s advice would be quite as self-condemning, but the gist of it would likely be the same.
“I think you do. And whether you want it or not, I’m giving it, so listen up.”
Dora folded her hands in her lap and gave Delilah her full attention.
“Your father thought a lot of that man.”
“Of Chance?” It was the last thing she’d expected her to say.
“Yes. And so do I. Most of the time, anyway. Not that he hasn’t pulled some harebrained stunts around here, like what he did back there.”
“You mean with me.” It was painfully clear Chance had been toying with her.
“I mean that little act with Lily.”
“Oh.” Now she was truly confused.
“But make no mistake, underneath all that charm and affectation lies a real man. A man with a heart. Even if he’s lost his good sense.”
Dora had no idea what she was talking about.
“But you watch yourself around him, you hear.”
That piece of advice she understood clearly. “I plan to.”
“Well, good. Now get yourself off to bed. I suspect you’ll have us all up early again tomorrow, prettyin’ the place up.”
Dora stood and gave her a small smile. Delilah was the one with the heart. It occurred to her that the older woman had a lot to lose with the saloon changing hands. Never once had she suggested Dora keep it. “Not too early,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”
Delilah winked at her. “That man’s kiss does things to a woman—so they say.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Dora followed her out to the dimly lit hallway. It was empty. Chance and Lily had gone upstairs. She felt a brief stab of anger, followed by jealousy and self-reproach, a volatile fusion of emotions she’d never before experienced in her twenty-five years.
“Maybe not,” Delilah said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”
Chance leaned back in the saddle and tried to rub the kink out of his neck.
Silas turned and looked at him.
“What do you know about it? You’re a gelding, remember?” He fished a carrot he’d nabbed from the
kitchen out of his pocket and handed it to the horse.
Silas munched away as Chance looked out across the range, a wash of spring color thriving under sun and sky. Melting snows fed the South Platte river, a silver ribbon in the distance, where a handful of cattle grazed. The wind felt good on his face. He needed a sobering up after last night, but not because he’d been drunk.
He’d been reckless.
Afterward, he’d gone upstairs with Lily to convince himself—and Dora—that he’d felt nothing more than animal lust when he’d kissed her, nothing beyond desire when she’d kissed him back.
But that was a damned lie.
And was the reason he now found himself riding aimlessly in circles on Silas, considering his next move. “What do you think, boy?” he said to the paint, who’d been with him since the beginning, his only confidant these past months.
Silas threw his head back and whinnied.
“Yeah, I like her, too, and that’s a problem.”
His interest in Dora Fitzpatrick was both distracting and dangerous. Distracting for him, and dangerous for her, which was why he had to nip it in the bud. He’d come too far to do otherwise.
Hoofbeats pulled him from his thoughts. He turned in the saddle, his hand jerking to his gun belt, then relaxed when he spied two familiar figures. Gus raised a gloved hand in greeting as he and Rowdy trotted past, heading in the direction of the stray cattle he’d seen by the river.
Chance didn’t know much about either of them, except that they’d worked for Wild Bill a long time, long before he’d sold off all but six thousand acres of what had once been a sizable spread, long before he’d opened the Royal Flush.
Neither of them were high on his list of suspects, but he hadn’t ruled them out. He hadn’t ruled anyone out—not yet. It was too soon, and there was too much he didn’t know.
While Silas finished his carrot, Chance pulled a hundred-dollar bank note out of his breast pocket—a counterfeit note, the same one he’d stolen from the top drawer of Dora’s bureau when he’d visited her cabin four nights ago.
A dozen times over he’d done the arithmetic in his head. There was close to fifty thousand dollars in real currency unaccounted for at the Royal Flush. The question was who knew about it and who didn’t? The answer would lead him straight to Wild Bill’s silent partner and the men he’d been hunting, men who were going to pay.
Dora followed him around like a shadow, thinking he knew something she didn’t. Smart woman. But was she stupid enough to be involved in her father’s corruption, or was she merely an innocent tossed into a deadly situation she knew nothing about? In his gut he knew the answer to that question.
Here was his dilemma, then…. He had to draw Wild Bill’s partner in, and at the same time keep Dora out of the way—for her own good. He was playing a dangerous game, and when he’d encouraged her to keep the saloon open, he hadn’t counted on her being underfoot. He also hadn’t counting on caring. He did care, but only because he didn’t want her hurt. His feelings had nothing to do with last night. He’d be damned if they did.
Letting his eyes drift closed for a moment, he remembered how good she’d felt in his arms. He could still recall the play of her tongue against his, the passion he’d unleashed in her and had barely tasted before he’d come to his senses.
Dora Fitzpatrick was a spinster schoolteacher who’d never been kissed, until he’d kissed her. For her own good and his, he had to get her out of here. But how?
Silas stirred beneath him. Chance was instantly on his guard. A wagon rumbled up the road from Last Call. Spurring the paint into action, he trotted toward it and intercepted Jim Parker with his weekly load of supplies.
“What’s the news from town?”
Jim pushed his hat back on his head and scratched his bald pate. “The marshal’s wife’s not speaking to him again. Grimmer’s trying to sell that dappled nag of his. Oh, and I saw that banker buying a new suit of clothes at the mercantile this morning. Looked mighty fine in ’em, too.”
“That so?”
He’d felt a stab of satisfaction earlier that week when Dora had postponed her luncheon with John Gardner to Friday. Today. She’d been busy ever since, turning the Royal Flush upside down, and turning him inside out. He ought to be encouraging her relationship with the banker. At least it would keep her occupied. But he hadn’t encouraged it, and the reason bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
“Room’s open at the hotel.” Jim arched a brow at him. “First one in a month.”
“Dora know that?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Don’t tell her.”
The bartender frowned.
Dilemma solved, Chance thought. Part of it, anyway. His mind was already working. He urged Silas to pick up the pace. “I know just the person to break the news.”
“I am not moving to town. I can’t possibly afford it.” Dora narrowed her eyes past Lily to the bar, then widened them again in shock. “And how on God’s green earth did that painting get back on the wall?”
She’d had the nude portrait removed days ago. She spun on her heel toward Jim, who was sweeping up some broken glass by the piano.
“Don’t look at me, Miss Dora. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Me, neither,” Tom said, as he maneuvered the piano out of the way, as she’d instructed, so Jim could get behind it with his broom.
She swept her gaze across the saloon, seeking out other likely suspects. It was midmorning, and the first customers of the day had begun to arrive.
She noticed Chance, who looked as if he’d been up for hours, leaning casually against the railing of the spiral staircase twirling his watch fob, one booted foot hitched on the step behind him.
Dora shot him a murderous look.
He shrugged.
Tom’s attention drifted from the piano and the broken glass as Susan came out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was over. The girl had obviously been baking. She had flour on her nose.
“If you lived in town,” Lily said, “the painting wouldn’t bother you.”
“We wouldn’t bother you,” Susan said.
Dora stood close enough to Tom to hear him sigh, to see the light in his eyes as he watched the petite chestnut-haired girl. Susan seemed oblivious to her effect on the smitten piano player.
“You don’t bother me,” Dora said, after recovering herself. “Don’t be silly.”
“Well, some of us don’t, I guess.” Lily downed a shot of whiskey she’d poured herself from the bar. “Then again, I suspect some of us do.”
She’d had just about enough of Lily’s attitude. She told herself her feelings about Lily had nothing to do with what had transpired last night between the two of them and Chance. She wasn’t in the least bit jealous. The thought was ludicrous.
The schoolteacher-turned-proprietress in her took over. “What bothers me is when the staff depletes the house’s supply of liquor.” She snatched the open bottle from off the bar and cast Lily a disapproving look. “Liquor meant for paying customers.”
A couple of miners who’d just come in sidled up to the bar. Dora nodded at Jim. He handed his broom to Tom and scurried past her, relieving her of the whiskey bottle before taking his place behind the bar. “What can I get you gentlemen?”
“There,” Dora said, more to herself than to anyone present. All was right with the world again. “Back to work,” she said to Lily and Susan. “You, too, Tom.” The piano player was still mooning.
Lily deliberately brushed her as she passed. “You’re worse than Delilah.” Dora took that as a compliment. She’d come to respect the older woman as a hard worker and a shrewd businesswoman.
“I think you’re wonderful,” Susan said. “And I don’t want you to move to town. Lily don’t, neither. Not really. She’s just being stuck-up.”
Lily snorted, then transformed herself in time to give Chance a seductive smile and a little pat on the shoulder as she sauntered past him and up the stairs. Chance ar
ched a devilish brow in response.
It has no effect on me, no effect at all.
Despite her inner proclamation, Dora’s blood boiled every time she thought of the two of them together. It boiled over when she thought of how Chance had deliberately led her on last night, had made a fool of her.
She’d made a fool of herself.
It would never happen again. Not if he were the last man on earth.
“Things is good here, now,” Susan continued. “Ain’t they, Tom?”
Tom’s face lit up like the state Christmas tree. “They sure are, Miss Susan. They sure are.” He swept the broken glass into a dustpan and followed her into the kitchen.
For a fleeting moment last night, she’d thought she’d read in Chance’s eyes a hint of what she’d just seen in Tom’s. Ridiculous, she told herself, and turned her back on the lot of them.
She had no idea what had possessed her in that darkened hallway. The devil, her mother would have concluded, if she’d been alive. And in this case, Dora was inclined to agree with her.
“You’re in fine form today.” Chance ambled past her and took his customary seat at one of the gaming tables. Jim set a beer down in front of him before he even had time to order.
Dora stopped the bartender with a look.
“Ma’am?”
“You allow Mr. Wellesley to run a tab, do you not?”
Jim shot Chance a quick look. “Well, uh, yes, Miss Dora. It’s customary.”
“Is it?” She looked down her nose at the gambler. He looked a bit disheveled this morning, and she recalled that he’d been out riding. “And where do you keep track of the amount Mr. Wellesley owes us?”
“Keep track?” Again, Jim looked to Chance for support. None was forthcoming. Chance merely sat there, looking smug. “Well, I pretty much keep track of it in my head. And, well…at the end of the week, Chance here pays me what’s due.”
She considered that not once since she’d arrived had she ever seen Chance Wellesley drink anything stronger than beer. Never had she seen him consume whiskey. That seemed odd to her, given his profession, but beer wasn’t free, and that was the point.
Rocky Mountain Marriage Page 8
