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Cash (The Rock Creek Six Book 6)

Page 8

by Linda Winstead Jones


  Eden’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s the same suit you were wearing yesterday, and it’s rumpled.”

  “I had a long night,” he explained.

  “Your hair is... mussed.”

  He quickly ran a hand through the short strands. “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  Cash took a step toward Eden. Actually, coffee sounded pretty good right about now.

  “You’re limping,” she said in an accusing voice.

  Well, you try sleeping in a damned chair all night! He bit that comment back. “I’m feeling incredibly old this morning.”

  Eden was no fool. She looked him over, glanced toward the stairway, and sighed.

  “I wish I could believe you, Daniel, but you see, the door is still bolted from the inside.”

  He spun around to glance at the door. “It is not.”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “But you did bother to look. For goodness’ sake, Daniel, I told you already. Nadine Ellington is not the woman for you.”

  How well he knew that. “Who put you in charge of my love life?”

  “Obviously someone needs to take charge,” she said with a lift of her pert nose. She took his arm and they walked into the dining room. “Actually, I like her very much.”

  “So do I,” Cash muttered.

  “She’s not the kind of woman you trifle with.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  Eden walked with him to his favorite table and stood there as he lowered himself into a hard chair. “If I thought that you’d commit yourself to a fine woman and settle down, I’d do everything in my power to make it happen.”

  “I will never settle down.”

  “I know,” Eden said sadly. “So don’t break Nadine’s heart. She seems very capable; she’s a strong woman. But she’s also vulnerable. I don’t think she would admit that to anyone, but if she falls in love with you and things end badly... it would really hurt her, Daniel. You just don’t understand how a woman’s heart functions.”

  “You have never learned to mind your own damned business, have you?”

  Eden shook her head. “No.”

  “Well, don’t worry,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Nadine’s heart is perfectly safe.”

  He wondered what Eden would say if he confessed that the only heart in mortal danger was his own.

  * * *

  This was definitely not what he’d had in mind when he’d decided to become a gunfighter. JD scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the wall of Rogue’s Palace, putting everything he had into the chore. He didn’t really want to know what the stain was.

  “Hey, Teddy,” he called, glancing over his shoulder to watch his friend attack a similar stain on yet another wall. “When I’m famous, don’t you be telling nobody that I had to scrub down this ramshackle saloon.”

  Teddy might have smiled, but the curve of his lips was subtle. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  He believed, no, he knew that Teddy would keep his word. It hadn’t taken them five minutes to become friends, and already he liked the boy better than any of the kids back home. He would almost hate to leave his new friend behind when the time came.

  “Maybe you could... come with me.”

  Teddy shook his head. “I don’t think gunfighters travel in pairs, do they? I mean, Nate and Cash used to go off together a lot, but mostly Cash is on his own. Nate was never actually a gunfighter, I don’t think. Besides,” he added with a subtle note of cheer in his voice, “I’m going to work for Uncle Jed as soon as I’m old enough.”

  “Doing what?” JD returned his attention to the stubborn stain.

  “He and Aunt Hannah are going to start an investigation agency. Like Pinkerton’s, only smaller. He said when Eden gives her okay, I can go to work for him.”

  “That wouldn’t be too bad.”

  “If you wanted,” Teddy suggested, “maybe you could work for Uncle Jed, too, instead of being a gunfighter.”

  JD shook his head. His mind was made up. Nothing less than what Daniel Cash had would satisfy him. “They don’t write dime novels about detectives.”

  “Maybe they do,” Teddy said in a low voice. “And even if they don’t, maybe you could be the first.”

  JD considered the proposition for a moment, then shook off the fleeting indecision. “Nah. Sounds like a good job for you, though. At least it’ll get you out of this little town. Rock Creek is worse than Marianna!”

  Teddy scrubbed for a moment before responding. “It’s not so bad.”

  JD scoffed. Loudly.

  “Sometimes it’s an exciting place, not boring at all,” Teddy continued. “There are lots of celebrations, like the one for Fourth of July that’s coming up. The ladies around here, they do their best to make things nice.”

  “Nice isn’t exciting,” JD grumbled.

  For a second Teddy looked like he was going to argue, but he didn’t. He scrubbed some more before saying, “Things will really get exciting around here if anyone ever finds the gold.”

  JD dropped his arm and turned around slowly. “The gold?”

  Teddy didn’t lift his eyes from his chore. “Most folks don’t believe the legend, but I think it might be true.”

  JD waited for Teddy to continue, and when he didn’t, he prodded, “What legend?”

  “The old man who owned the hotel before Ma, he used to be a bandit. There was some gold that never turned up.” Teddy shrugged. “That’s all.”

  “He would’ve hidden it in the hotel,” JD speculated. “Some secret hiding place no one would ever find unless they looked really hard.”

  “Maybe,” Teddy said, uninterested.

  JD dropped his rag into a pail of water. He was damned tired of scrubbing. “We could look for it,” he suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Teddy answered, less than enthusiastic. “People have looked before. What makes you think we could find it?”

  “What makes you think we couldn’t? Just imagine it, Teddy. Your uncle would really be impressed with your detecting skills if you were the one to discover where the gold was hidden.”

  Teddy didn’t answer, but he did look interested. Very interested.

  JD grinned. A little treasure hunt would take the edge off the indignity of being turned into a housekeeper.

  Chapter 7

  It was time. The saloon had been scrubbed from top to bottom, and JD was getting restless. The kid scurried over small, grassy hills with real excitement in his step as they headed for the river and a little target practice.

  JD owned his own gun, a plain but serviceable six-shooter that had once belonged to Joseph Ellington. The kid kept it clean and well oiled, and wore it on his hip with more ease than Cash was comfortable with. A thirteen-year-old shouldn’t strap on a holster with such deftness; he shouldn’t wear a weapon with such obvious comfort. But then, JD had likely never seen what that well-oiled gun could do to a human being. There was never any blood in those pen-and-ink drawings that graced the dime novels JD loved to read.

  “Here?” JD called, spinning around as they reached the river.

  “This will do.”

  Cash handed the burlap sack he carried to JD, and told the boy to set up six of the empty whiskey bottles inside the sack on a flat rock that jutted over the water. The kid quickly did as he was told.

  With a grin on his face, JD posed a good distance away from the bottles. Long legs spread, feet planted steadily on the ground, he stared at the targets.

  “Go,” Cash said.

  JD settled the palm of his hand over the butt of his six-shooter and rotated his head as if he had a crick in his neck.

  “You’re dead,” Cash said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “What?” JD’s head snapped around.

  “I said”—Cash took a couple of slow steps toward the kid—“you’re dead. While you were getting ready to fire, preening for the crowd like a popinjay, your opponent drew and pulled the trigger and shot you dead.”

 
“They’re bottles,” JD said, disgust in his voice.

  “No, they’re your opponents. They want the same thing you do. To survive another day.” Cash drew his own six-shooter smoothly, aimed with habitual precision, and began to fire. He fired without thought, without emotion. One by one the six bottles exploded.

  “Set ‘em up again,” he ordered as he flipped open the chamber and began to reload.

  JD did as he was told, moving quickly, not smiling this time. As soon as he was back in place, before he had a chance to plant his feet or study the target, Cash yelled, “Go!”

  The kid reached for his six-shooter and found it, but not without some difficulty. His nervous fingers fumbled just a little, but he did draw fairly quickly. Cash pointed to the sky and pulled the trigger. JD jumped and spun around as Cash fired again.

  “You’re dead again,” Cash said.

  JD sighed with youthful indignation. “Why did you shoot into the air like that? Are you trying to ruin my aim?”

  Cash slipped his weapon into the holster and stalked toward JD. “Anyone can do well when they’re having a leisurely target practice, where there’s no noise, no pressure, nothing on the line. But what are you going to do when you have gunfire all around, bullets whizzing in your direction, people trying to kill you?” He glared into JD’s wide eyes. “Now!”

  The kid spun around and fired. Three of the bottles exploded. Three shots went wide.

  “Not bad,” Cash said when the echo of the explosions faded away. “But you’re still dead.”

  “I’ll do better this time.” JD headed toward the rock to set up another six bottles.

  “No, we’re done for today,” Cash said.

  “What?” JD spun around. “We just got started!”

  “Clean up all that glass,” Cash instructed with a wave of his hand. “Kids come down here to play.”

  “So?” JD muttered sullenly. “That’s not my problem.”

  Cash set his darkest glare on his son. “Clean up your own mess, and get used to it.”

  JD grumbled, but he did as he was told. Cash watched, amazed by the way the kid moved, by the way there were moments when the sunlight hit the boy’s face just so and he looked like the Nadine he remembered. When he allowed it, he saw himself there, too. Why did watching this kid do something so ordinary as pick up broken glass hurt so damned much?

  Shaking off the unexpected pain, Cash stepped to the bank to look over the river. The water flowed steadily, with purpose and inevitability and beauty. Sun sparkled on the flowing water; wildflowers grew on the bank. The pain of knowing what he’d missed faded slowly, not quite leaving him but finding a safe place in his heart and easing in.

  There was a rare peacefulness here. Peace. He hadn’t known any for so long, he was surprised he knew what it was when he found it.

  “Here,” he said.

  “Here what?” JD asked as he picked up scattered slivers of glass.

  “The wedding. Sunset... or sunrise.”

  “You’re still planning that wedding?”

  “Did we finish yesterday?” Cash snapped.

  JD grumbled but continued with his chore. “Do I have to do any more cleaning this afternoon?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t decided.”

  “I was just thinking, I might go over to the hotel and play with Teddy if we’re finished for the day.”

  Cash set steady eyes on the kid. “Gunfighters—do—not—play.”

  “Not play, really,” JD corrected himself. “Just talk, you know? About... weapons and women.”

  Cash raised his eyebrows, but the kid, who was picking up glass, didn’t see. “Women?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to be a ladies’ man, like you. Heck, nobody’s going to tie me down with a dowdy wife and a bunch of babies.”

  “So you like the ladies?”

  JD was still such a child. On the cusp of becoming a man, perhaps, but still a child.

  “Sure,” JD said, deepening his voice a bit.

  His son had a lot to learn that had nothing to do with gunfighting. And Cash knew he wouldn’t be around to do the teaching.

  * * *

  Nadine stepped cautiously into the saloon, feeling like a thief sneaking about as she glanced around the empty room.

  “What do you want?” a gruff voiced snapped, and Nadine jumped as her eyes flew to the gray-haired man entering the main room through a rear door, three bottles of whiskey balanced comfortably in two large hands.

  “I’m looking for Cash,” she said softly.

  The old man smirked as he set the bottles on the long, polished bar. “Upstairs,” he croaked. “Second door on the left.”

  Nadine gave the crude man a prim smile. “Thank you.” She walked through the saloon with her head high. It didn’t matter what the unshaven ruffian thought of her. She climbed the stairs cautiously, taking silent steps, going over the questions in her mind. She needed to talk to Cash, and she couldn’t possibly wait until the next time he decided to knock on her door. That knock might come tonight, but it might not come for days. It might not ever come again.

  Standing outside the second door on the left, she took a deep breath. Last night she had let her emotions get the best of her; she’d allowed a kiss to make her question everything she knew to be true. Cash was right. As much as she hated to admit it, JD could never know the gunslinger he admired was his father.

  She laid her hand on the doorknob and took another deep breath, for courage to face the man who had the power to turn her tidy world upside down.

  A gentle push of her hand was all she managed before the door flew open. Since she gripped the doorknob tight, she was jerked inside. She gasped as a strong hand closed over her wrist and yanked her around so hard that her head spun. The door slammed behind her; Cash cursed.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he seethed, not releasing his hold on her wrist.

  She glanced up into piercing dark eyes. Cash had discarded his jacket and vest and boots, and his dark hair was slightly mussed. The bed behind him, a bed decadent with red silk and more pillows than any one man would ever need, was wrinkled. He’d been napping.

  “We need to talk.”

  He placed his face close to hers. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that. It’s a good way to end up dead.”

  It was then that she noticed the gun in his hand. “You heard me coming,” she whispered.

  “Friends don’t skulk,” he said, releasing his grip on her at last.

  “I was not...” she began, and then she realized what her cautious steps and silent pauses might have seemed like to a man who was constantly on alert. “Well, I didn’t mean to skulk.”

  Cash walked away from her, raked a restless hand through his hair, and carefully placed his weapon on the bedside table near a silver flask, a deck of cards, and a fancy lamp. He sat on the edge of the bed, on red satin that dipped and wrinkled beneath his weight.

  “You were sleeping?” she asked needlessly.

  “Yeah. I didn’t sleep much last night, and I can’t be sure that tonight will be any better. By the way, you’ll be pleased to know that Eden caught me trying to sneak out of the hotel at dawn. Our fabrication is secure.”

  The mention of Eden gave her an opportunity to pursue a line of questioning she had been unable to broach until then. “She seems very sweet.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said sleepily.

  “And you seem to be very close to her.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Were you two ever—” She took a deep breath, searching for the right word.

  “Good Lord, no,” Cash interrupted, seeing too clearly where she was heading with her questions. “Eden is a friend’s wife and another friend’s sister. I like her, she’s as close to a little sister as I ever had, but for God’s sake... Is that why you’re here? To interrogate me about Eden?”

  “No.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  Nadine had an answer she was satisfied with, and for some reas
on breathed easier. “I saw JD at the hotel,” she said, taking a few steps around the bed so she could see Cash’s face. “He said you finally got in some shooting practice.” She shuddered. “Is that really a good idea? Should you be encouraging him?”

  Cash lifted his head and stared at her. “We do things my way, remember? Trust me.”

  She didn’t mean to, but she shook her head very slightly.

  A hand, lightning-fast and deadly accurate, snaked out and grabbed her skirt. With a tug from that capable hand she stumbled toward Cash. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down to the bed, where she landed with a squeal.

  Before she could even think of sitting up and moving away, Cash was there. Hovering over her, his body close but not actually touching hers as he pinned her to the bed. He took a deep breath she felt, licked his lips, and tilted his head as he stared at her.

  “You must trust me,” he whispered.

  He hung above her, hard and long, muscles taut. For a second Nadine didn’t know whether she wanted most to push him away or pull him down.

  “Why should I?” she argued, her heart hammering in her chest. “What have you ever done to make me trust you?”

  He realigned his body so he was lying against her, so lightly it was almost as if he weren’t touching her at all. “I’ve never lied to you, I’ve never broken a single promise...”

  “You broke every promise you ever made,” she snapped angrily. In this position, nothing else seemed important. He reached inside her so easily, stirred up emotions she’d be better off ignoring. She’d been able to ignore them for a very long time. “You promised you’d come back.”

  “I did,” he whispered.

  “When?”

  “Too late.”

  “You could’ve come to me,” she said softly.

  “And interrupt the happy bride on her wedding day?”

  Her heart lurched. “No,” she breathed. “Oh, no, tell me you weren’t there... that day.”

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly she was cold. Cold to the bone and shivering with the chill. “They said you were dead; just the day before we received a list of names—”

 

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