Lasso the Moon: Book One in the Wild West Romance Series

by Beth Ciotta

  “I am. But I’ve decided to try my hand at being a musical actress.”

  “Try?” He massaged a dull throbbing due center of his forehead. “Meaning you’ve never been on stage? You have no experience?”

  “Given my background, M.B. didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Who’s M.B.?”

  “The proprietor of the opera house.”

  M.B. Opera House. Mason Burke came to mind, only Mason’s gurdy was situated several miles North of Florence at the base of the Superstitions. Besides, why the hell would his uncle hire a west coast greenhorn when Phoenix and Tucson brimmed with experienced talent? “Got a name to go with those initials?”

  “No. He just signed the telegram M.B.”

  Naturally. The throbbing progressed to full-blown headache. He’d been in Florence only seven days before, arranging Mason’s burial, meeting with Seth and the lawyer, yet he hadn’t paid attention to the town’s pleasure palaces. Near as he could remember there were two gambling halls and maybe four or five saloons. No doubt, all of them boasted entertainment. He didn’t know an M.B. Then again he didn’t spend that much time in Florence. That was Seth’s jurisdiction. “What do you mean, given your background?”

  “My mother was a musical actress.” She glanced away with a wistful sigh. “She could have been a star.”

  “You don’t say.” Now he was getting somewhere. “Where is she now?”

  “She died of pneumonia when I was nine. Just a few months after my father was killed.”

  He blinked down at the back of her bowed head. Similar to his own story only he’d been twelve and his ma had gone first. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged indifference though her voice quivered with emotion. “It was a long time ago.”

  “What happened to your pa?”

  “Shot by a stray bullet. Someone didn’t like the comedian.”

  “Pardon?”

  She met his gaze, hiked her chin a proud notch. “Papaowned a theater. I may not have practical experience, but entertainment is in my blood. M.B. understood. I don’t see why you can’t.”

  “If I tried any harder I’d bust a blood vessel.”

  “Oh.”

  “How do you know this M.B. is an upright man? How do you know his intentions are honorable?”

  “What are you implying?”

  He dragged a hand over his face.

  “Why are you so aggravated?”

  “Why are you so trusting?” Swear to God, her innocence was his undoing. “Do you know how many women travel west in hopes of making their own way only to end up girls of the line?”

  “What?”

  “Seamstresses, nurses, teachers. Women with skills.”

  She stiffened. “Are you saying writing songs, playing the piano, and singing aren’t skills?”

  “Most of them find that they can’t make a decent living,” he plowed on. “The few that aren’t lucky enough to snag husbands end up selling themselves in saloons, gambling houses, cribs.” Exasperated, he gave her a gentle shake. “Girls of the line. Soiled doves. Prostitutes. Take your pick. By any name, it’s a hard living.”

  Paris gawked at him. “Are you saying that someone wouldn’t be willing to pay me a reasonable amount of money in return for my musical abilities?”

  “For the love of—”

  A rattling sound rent the air. Buckshot danced and reared.

  Paris screamed and latched onto Josh, burying her face in his neck. Her piercing wail damn near struck him deaf. He drew his gun and shot the pesky diamondback, calming both woman and horse as he holstered his Colt. “Easy now.”

  “What was it?”

  “A rattle snake.”

  “Is it dead?”

  “Stone cold.” He smoothed a comforting hand over the woman’s trembling form expecting her to relax. Instead, she surprised him by bolting upright, attempting to slide from the saddle. “Hold up.” He caught her, but she kept squirming. “Settle down, Paris.”

  She grabbed two handfuls of his shirt, her breath coming in short, panting gasps. Her fear seeped through the fabric, singeing his skin. Perplexed, he swept off her hat, stuffed it in his saddlebag, and cupped the sides of her face. “Listen to me. It’s over. You’re safe.”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded.

  “You’re all right.” He cringed at the tears shining in her dazed eyes. She’d reacted similarly after the episode with the runaway stage. He’d thought it was because of Moe’s death. But then he remembered she’d been shaken even before he’d announced the old man’s passing.

  “Talk to me, kid.”

  “I was bucked off of a horse two days before my tenth birthday,” she said in a rush. “Broke both of my wrists. It hurt something awful. But not as bad as wanting to play the piano and not being able to. I never rode again. Never tried.”

  “Never wanted to take the chance.”

  She nodded, her hair tumbling forward in a mass of windblown tangles.

  He tucked her hair behind her ears, marveling, yet again, at the depth of her passion for the piano. “So how do you get around? Buckboard? Buggy?”

  “We live in town,” she said. “So mostly I walk. It’s not like I get around all that much anyway. I’m kind of a homebody. Or at least I was.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’re afraid to ride?”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  He glanced down at her hands still entangled in his shirt.

  She loosened her hold, but didn’t let go. “All right. I’m nervous. I’m a coward. Are you happy now?”

  He rolled his head left and then right, trying to ease the persistent twinge in his neck. “Not really.” Why hadn’t her brothers taken the time and effort to help her conquer her fear of horses? Unless they were considerably younger than Paris. He’d just assumed they were older. He didn’t even know how many brothers he wasdealing with. He’d purposely avoided in-depth conversation figuring the less he knew about her the less he’d care. Obviously there was a hole in that theory. “Put your arms around me.”

  “Why?”

  Casting a baleful look at the heavens, he spurred Buckshot into a lope, grunting with satisfaction when she locked her arms around his waist. He eased the horse into a walk then pressed her head against his shoulder, willing her to relax. “First of all, you’re not a coward. A coward wouldn’t have taken on the Riley brothers or braved her fear of horses by wrestling a runaway team. A coward generally turns his back on dangerous situations whereas you run into them head on. If you’re anything, darlin’, you’re one card shy of a deck.”

  She tensed. “Are you calling me daft?”

  “Different,” he said carefully. Sensing he’d exhausted the job subject, he veered toward another source of interest. “Let’s talk about your brothers.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “It wasn’t a request.”

  “But—”

  “And don’t bother lying. You’re not very good at it.”

  She let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she said, but he wasn’t fooled. She wouldn’t tell all, if anything. No doubt about it, she was a runaway with something to hide. Her brothers figured in and he wanted to know how.

  “I’m assuming one or all of them raised you.”

  She nodded.

  Less than specific, but he’d take it. “How many do you have?”

  “Four.”

  “What do they do?”

  She shrugged. “The usual stuff.”

  “Uh, huh. Married?”

  “No. Was. No and no.” She peered up at him. “What about you? Have you ever been married?”

  He met her gaze. “No. You?”

  She snorted. “Marriage isn’t in my past or future.”

  “Sure it is. You just haven’t met the right man.”

  “I could meet the most wonderful man on this earth and I still wouldn’t marry.”

  Odd talk for an attractive young woman, though he shouldn’t be surprised. This was, after all, Paris. S
he was … different. “Don’t you ever want to have children?”

  “I don’t need a husband for that.”

  What the hell? “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “And your brothers?”

  “Thirty-two, thirty, twenty-seven, and twenty-five.”

  Four older brothers. “Any one of them ever take the time to talk to you about how it works between a man and a woman?”

  She pushed off his chest and studied him with an arched brow. “You mean sex?”

  She was either the most naïve or the worldliest woman he’d ever met. Sex. From her mouth to his ears, that three-letter-word worked as effectively as foreplay. He marveled at his instant erection, hoping she didn’t notice, although how in the hell could she miss it? He felt as big and hard as a petrified mesquite. “I guess they also skipped the lecture on decorum.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been lectured on every subject imaginable.”

  “Then you should know better than to talk about relations in mixed company.”

  “You brought it up.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  She furrowed her brow. “We are talking about sex, right?”

  “For the love of … Stop squirming,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

  “Your gun’s poking me.”

  “That’s not my gun.”

  “Then what …?” Her eyes widened in realization. She had the nerve, Christ almighty, to grin. “Oh.”

  “Not another word,” he warned in a gruff voice. If she commented further so help him he wouldn’t be held accountable for his actions. He spied Maricopa Wells up ahead and kicked Buckshot into a gallop knowing it would distract the woman.

  A brazen, cute-as-a kitten, accident-prone virgin. How in the Sam Hill was he supposed to turn her loose on the hell-raising men of Florence?

  We’ll camp here for the night.”

  Paris surveyed the surrounding area while Josh dismounted. Sand. Rocks. Shrubs and cactus. Not a glimpse of civilization. Illuminated by a brilliant full moon, the desert terrain struck her as lonely and bleak. The eerie howl of a distant animal augmented the ghostly scenario. If she weren’t so blasted exhausted, she’d be spooked. “Are we lost?”

  “No.” He sounded amused that she would even suggest the notion.

  “We’re going to sleep out in the open?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  She wasn’t in the mood for guessing games, but she was less eager to spend another minute in the saddle. She was beyond bone tired, and weary of holding her body rigid in an effort to avoid physical contact with her companion. “So long as it involves solid earth and a blanket.”

  He smiled kindly, squeezed her thigh. “Come on down.”

  “Gladly.” Muscles screaming, she slid from the saddle. Her legs buckled like an accordion.

  Josh scooped her up before she hit the ground and deposited her on a nearby boulder. “Rub some feeling back into those legs, walk around. The longer you sit, the more they’ll cramp.” She caught a glimpse of concern in his gaze—although it could have been annoyance—before he turned his attention to hobbling his horse.

  She massaged her right thigh, focusing on their assuredly uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. Josh had been especially prickly since she’d slipped and mentioned the advertisement. Could that be the reason he’d bypassed the last station? “Why didn’t we spend the night at Maricopa Wells? Was it that important to push on? Are you that desperate to get rid of me?”

  “Were you that desperate to sleep on Leroy’s cot?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You have a point.” Though hospitable, the stationmaster looked and smelled as though he hadn’t bathed in months. No telling when he’d last washed his blankets. She had to admit the way he’d fussed over her had given her the willies. Better to brave the great outdoors than Leroy Mink. Besides, it’s not as if she’d never slept outside. When they were little, she and Boston frequently slept under the stars. It was one of her fondest memories. They’d stare up at the glittering sky and talk about their dreams. His dreams were numerous and seemed to alter weekly, but hers was always the same. She wanted to make her papa proud. Out of all of her brothers, she expected Boston would be the least irritated with her for trying to make that happen. Still, there’d be the dickens to pay when he and Rome caught up with her. At least she assumed it would be the two of them. Athens had the boys and London had the theater. They wouldn’t just up and desert their responsibilities, would they? She cringed at the thought of all four brothers storming the Desert Moon.

  Anxious, she pushed off of the boulder and tested her wobbly legs. Weak, but working. Keeping an eye out for snakes, she circled the boulder to stretch her calves and thighs. A cool breeze whispered across the rugged land, making her teeth chatter. The temperature had dropped with the sun. Grimy, chilled, and exhausted, she’d give anything for a hot bath. She’d spent the last three days making due with rainwater sponge baths compliments of the relay stations. Given Leroy’s filthy state, she wondered if he even owned a rain barrel.

  Swiping her sleeve over her dusty face, she watched as Josh tended to Buckshot, mesmerized by the man’s moonlit form. Her gaze roamed over his broad shoulders, strong back and narrow waist as he removed the bedroll and saddlebags. She smiled when he un-cinched the saddle and lowered it to the ground, giving her an admirable view of his backside. He was a striking man, head to toe, front and back.

  He turned unexpectedly and caught her staring.

  Mortified, she braced herself for an arrogant remark, but he simply massaged the back of his neck then set to gathering dried brush. She eagerly pitched in, determined to keep naughty thoughts at bay. It proved a difficult task what with their shoulders and hands brushing time and again as they reached for the same tinder. By the time they’d built the small fire she felt as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rockers.

  Kneeling beside him, she spread her hands in front of the flames. She wasn’t sure if they trembled because she was cold or nervous. She wasn’t sure of anything just now. Since meeting this man, she hadn’t been herself. Fighting mental and physical exhaustion, she glanced sideways at him, wondering about his surprise. Should she be concerned? After all they were alone, which was highly inappropriate, yet her stomach quivered with excitement rather than dread.

  The flames crackled and glowed, shedding golden light on his exquisite features. Foster’s Beautiful Dreamer blared in her ears and she nearly swooned. Why did he have to be so handsome? Why did she have to be smitten? She ached to throw her arms around his neck and to kiss him till her lips hurt, but he was dead set against kissing and she wasn’t fond of rejection. Hugging her knees to her chest, she bowed her head and hummed a verse of Turkey in the Straw. Anything to drown out Foster’s romantic ballad.

  Comforted by the fire’s warmth, her limbs grew heavy, the music in her head fading to a distant drone. She wasn’t aware that she was falling asleep until Josh gave her a gentle shake. “Not yet, kid.” He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”

  Jerked out of her dozy state, she stumbled alongside him as they picked their way through a precarious path of cactus and rocks. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He tugged her to a stop.

  Paris blinked, squinted in the direction he pointed, and blinked again. “Is it a mirage?”

  “Nope.”

  “But a lake? In the desert?”

  “Hot springs.”

  That explained the mist rolling off of the shimmering pool of water. It looked … magical. A leisurely bath in a hot spring? A chance to soak away the desert dust as well as her aches and pains? He may as well have presented her with brand new, state-of-the-art piano!

  “The springs are famous in these parts,” he said, leading her closer. “Rumor has it these waters soften the skin and soothe the nervous system. Does wonders for stiff muscles.”

  App
reciative tears stung her eyes. How could he be so infuriating one moment and so thoughtful the next? She turned to thank him, but her voice stuck in her throat.

  “This was supposed to make you happy.”

  “I am happy.” And confused. She’d survived nineteen years without ever once being seriously attracted to a man. Why now? As if pursuing her papa’s dream wasn’t challenging enough, now she had to contend with all these physical yearnings and desires? It was as if she were being tested … or punished. Was this some sort of karmic payback for defying her brothers?

  Josh caressed her cheek, cursing the queer tickle in his throat, the erratic beating of his heart, and the damned circumstances. What was it about this girl? Strong yet vulnerable. Infuriating yet intriguing. He studied her sweet face, that sassy mouth, and marveled that he’d kept himself in check all day.

  Giving in to pent-up desire, he pulled her into his arms and indulged in a lingering kiss. His pulse spiked when she wrapped her arms around his neck and melted against him.

  She’d make as good a wife as any.

  Easing back, he soaked in her moon-drenched face, his heart hammering against his chest. He knew what he had to do, had decided for certain back at Maricopa Wells after witnessing Leroy Mink’s blatant lust. He just didn’t know how to approach the subject.

  He tugged at her shirt collar. “Take off your clothes.”

  She slapped away his hand. “Excuse me?”

  Well, damn, that hadn’t come out right. “I’ll fetch your soap. Take off your clothes and get in the water.” Needing to collect his thoughts, he set off for camp. “I won’t be long.”

  He quickened his pace not wanting to leave her alone any longer than necessary. She had an uncanny knack for getting into trouble which was the main reason he’d finally succumbed to Fedderman’s phantom nagging.

  That and her opera house revelation. He’d be damned if he’d leave her at the mercy of a smarmy saloon operator and his drunken, randy patrons. As soon as they got to Florence he’d track down a bible-thumper and figure out the rest from there.