EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2017 Maria Velovich
ISBN: 978-1-77339-367-4
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Karyn White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Zaly, my dearest first reader and fellow villain-lover
VILLAIN’S WOMAN
Maria Velovich
Copyright © 2017
Lucy Gardner knew that Gerald Steel was not a good man.
The whole town of Way's End knew that, as Aunt Cathy said. Aunt Cathy was no expert authority as far as Lucy was concerned, but some facts were hard to disregard. The saloon owner that went up to Steel's ranch to demand damage compensation never returned.
His nephew that ran the saloon now was a meeker sort of fellow. He had the furniture repaired and the new glass installed, and never said a word when Steel's men had another drunken fight and broke the window all over again. He had to serve their whiskey on the house as well, and never said a word to that either. He did have a lot of words to say to Uncle Will the next day, breaking down in Aunt Cathy's parlor and sobbing over Aunt Cathy's tea. Lucy loved overhearing conversations. Some words she overheard that day were not quite fit for a lady's ears.
There was also that business with the shopkeepers. Uncle Will was one, and that hit closer to home. That time it was Gerald Steel himself with some of his friends, and that time they were quite polite. They did not pay for the goods, however. As it turned out, they had not paid at Ammunitions & Firearms either, and they had not been polite there.
Then there was the matter of the preacher. The preacher left town very shortly. His wife did not. Lucy asked Aunt Cathy about what happened to her, but Aunt Cathy did not want to discuss the subject. Lucy had never liked the preacher's wife too much, as Aunt Cathy had always set her as an example to Lucy prior to that sad incident. But she did wonder about her fate with a mixture of fear and interest. She also felt a little sorry for the preacher. Her father had been one, but he was killed by Indians. She could hardly remember his face.
It was no use talking to Uncle Will and Aunt Cathy about her father. Uncle Will hated him. "That penniless good-for-nothing preacher ruined my sister's life," he used to say. When Lucy had overheard that particular conversation, she thought she started hating Uncle Will, too. Though she had lived in her uncle's house for most of her eighteen years, she’d never felt like she belonged there. She was willful and ill-mannered, Aunt Cathy said, too impudent for her own good.
However, that day when Gerald Steel and his men paid a visit to Uncle Will's general goods store, Lucy did not feel particularly impudent. Her tongue felt glued to her throat, and her hands felt damp.
"Give me that coffee, love," he said, smiling. Gerald Steel was a tall man, and not young, probably in his fifties. Yet there was nothing old about him. His body was lean, slender even, yet there was hard muscle under the white shirt he wore. His hair was slightly curling, dark going to silver-grey, same as his short beard. His eyes were dark, too, a deep brown flecked with gold. Her hands trembled as she handed him the tin with the coffee beans. His fingers brushed hers slightly.
"Thank you, Miss Gardner," he said with a grin.
She stumbled over some polite reply, lowering her eyes. There was a Colt in the holster on his studded gun belt. Looking at it made her feel faint, but not as faint as looking at his eyes.
Uncle Will was making feeble protestations as Steel's men were raiding his shelves.
"I protect your town, Will," Gerald Steel said. His voice was cold now, and his eyes were colder. He was not smiling anymore. "Me and my boys protect your town from the Indians and the outlaws and the like. You'd better be grateful."
Uncle Will mumbled something about the Sheriff.
"The Sheriff hasn't been feeling well," Steel said, and smiled again.
Lucy Gardner knew that Gerald Steel was not a good man. But since that day, his hard, handsome features haunted her dreams.
There were a lot of rumors about him. Way's End was a little town in New Mexico Territory, just where the railroad ended, hence the name. Nothing much happened here, except the occasional Comanche raid. So when Gerald Steel set up his ranch by the river a couple of years ago, people began to talk. They talked even more when the troubles in town started.
Gerald Steel was a convicted murderer living under a false name. He had been a hired assassin in New York. No, he was not an assassin; he’d saved the President from an assassination attempt. He fought in the war between the States for both sides, and that was how he got his fortune. No, he made his fortune hitting gold in California, but the mine soon ran dry. So he and his gang robbed several trains. No, it was several banks.
People in Way's End had a lot to say about Gerald Steel.
Lucy was thinking of some of it the day she and her friend Ann Mills were walking in town. It was hot and sultry, and they took shelter in Mr. Whyte's little shop. Ann was badgering Lucy again about that day when Gerald Steel and his men had come to Uncle Will's shop.
"So did he really point his gun at you? Lizzie Davidson said he did!"
"No, he didn't. Lizzie wasn't there," Lucy said, slightly irritated at her friend. They had been over it all two times before. Last time she had had to explain Steel had not demanded at gunpoint that she take off her clothes. "His men took some things, and it's true they didn't pay. He asked me for some coffee. That's all he did. He was even polite about it. Gentleman-like."
Ann giggled.
"You are so brave, Lucy. I think I'd faint right in the shop! Lizzie would, too. Especially if someone pointed a gun at her!"
Lucy sighed. Sometimes she wished she could point a gun at Lizzie Davidson. She wondered how she could get out of this conversation again, but Ann's attention had already turned to other things.
"Oh, just look here, Lucy! Mr. Whyte has a treasure hidden up here! Otto of Roses... can you imagine finding this French perfume in Way's End? By sweet God, it's a miracle!"
Lucy touched the perfume bottle. There was a red rose painted on it. It sent off a sweet flower scent, delicate yet heady and … what was the word for it? She had read it in one of her books once. Sensual. Yes, that was it. She wondered about the bottle, if it had really come all the way from France. It had come across the sea in one of those huge ocean liners. It had probably been in one of those fancy New Orleans shops, and those fancy New Orleans women had probably touched it with their gloved hands. But no one had wanted it, so it went west in the carpetbag of some trader, journeying in a train carriage through no man's land…
"Miss Gardner!" Mr. Whyte's shrill voice cut through Lucy's dreams. "I'd be very much obliged if you put the perfume bottle in its place. It is very valuable and expensive beyond your means. I tolerate your company in this shop simply because of Miss Mills being with you, and your uncle being an honorable, respectable man. To think what pain he had to endure that time, when his own niece was found stealing from my own shop!"
Lucy blushed crimson to her ears. No one would ever let her forget that incident. She put the bottle back, as if it burned her fingers. She glanced at Mr. Whyte. His whiskers were trembling with indignation. He looks ridiculous, she thought.
The shop door opened and closed behind her back. And Mr. Whyte's face sudden
ly became very white.
"What's the commotion, dear Mr. Whyte? Me and my boys were riding through town when we heard your screams. We'd thought the Comanches were scalping you."
Lucy clutched the shop's counter to steady herself on her feet. She knew that voice. Ann let out a terrified little squeak and ran out of the shop. Mr. Whyte's throat was working as he was trying to stammer out a reply.
"Good afternoon, Miss Gardner," Gerald Steel said. He touched the tip of his high black hat.
"Good afternoon, sir … Mr. Steel." Did her voice sound as fluttery as her heart felt?
Gerald Steel seemed to be in a good mood. He turned to Mr. Whyte with a smile.
"I believe the lady wanted to buy some perfume from your shop, Mr. Whyte. And I believe you were not being very polite."
"I … my friend and I were just looking," Lucy said. She managed to control her voice a little. "It was no trouble, really, Mr. Steel."
"When a man insults a lady in my town, I call it trouble enough." He touched the Colt in his holster. "Mr. Whyte, give the perfume to the lady. You can send the bill to my ranch."
"Mr. Steel, I couldn't possibly…" Lucy protested. "It's not right."
He turned to face her. That smile was playing across his lips. It made tiny wrinkles stand out in the corners of his eyes, and for some reason, Lucy could not look away.
"Miss Gardner, I hope you understand that in this town, I do as I like. And I decide what is right."
The perfume bottle felt so frail in her fingers, cool to the touch and sending that delicious scent into the heated air. It smelled almost dangerous now, like something forbidden that has suddenly come to her, pulling her to some point of no return that she couldn't resist.
Sensual. That was the word.
He held the door for her while she was going out of the shop, the rose perfume bottle hidden in her purse. He touched her shoulder as she was walking past him, just a slight momentary touch, his fingers brushing against the light fabric of her dress. But it was enough to set her nerves on fire. Her cheeks burning, she turned to face him on the porch outside the shop's entrance.
"Mr. Steel, please don't mistake yourself. I mean … if you think that buying me a perfume … I'm not the sort of woman…" Her voice trailed off. She felt so embarrassed she could not find the right words to say to him.
Gerald Steel grinned that slow, lazy half-grin he had. Arrogant. Confident. He seemed to be enjoying it immensely.
"Don't bother, Miss Gardner. I know what you mean. Nothing could be farther from my thoughts. I bought you the perfume just because I wanted you to smile. It was a heartfelt gift."
Was he mocking her? She could not tell.
"You bought me the perfume, sir?"
This time he laughed out loud. His laugh was deep and throaty.
"Sort of. By the way, what did you steal?"
"Pardon?" For an instant, she was even more confused than she had been a moment ago, and then she blushed furiously, understanding.
"Old Whyte making all that fuss about you stealing things from his shop. So, tell me, what did you steal? Unless of course you bought it." He looked ten years younger when he smiled. His teeth were very white.
"It was books," she said quietly. They were shaded from the sun by the overhang, but it was still very hot. It felt like her head was spinning from the heat. "I took some books I wanted to read, Mr. Steel."
His brows went up.
"Well, that is unexpected. I've heard of bank robberies, but this is the first I hear of a book robbery. But you look as if you'd faint any moment, Miss Gardner. The day's too hot. Sit with me on this here bench in the shade, and tell me about your book robberies. I do enjoy a good tale, and you'll have a rest. And then I'll take you to your uncle, safe and sound. Gentleman's honor."
He lowered himself unto the wooden bench and patted the seat, inviting her to sit next to him. People were looking at them, she could see. The doctor's wife watched from a window across the street, and the doctor actually came out the door to stand and stare. Lucy's pulse was racing, and she really did feel faint.
"Please sit down and rest a little, Miss Gardner. I insist."
There was none of that cold hardness in his voice now as when he had spoken to her uncle. But there was still a power, raw and compelling and undeniable. So she did as he asked. Besides, her legs felt like they would give way any moment.
"As you wish, sir. But I'm afraid I cannot stay long."
She sat down as far from him as possible, but she was still conscious of his presence next to her, the heat of his body on this very hot day an arm’s stretch away. Little drops of sweat glistened in the hollow between his collarbones, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone.
"I think I've had enough of that ‘Mr. Steel’ and ‘sir’. It's Gerald. We are friends, are we not, Miss Gardner? And as for that, may I call you Lucy?"
"Yes." Her voice was almost a whisper.
He knows my name. Of course, everyone knew everyone in Way's End. But he is not from Way's End. He is from New York, and he robbed banks and trains and traveled all over the States and saved the President's life. And he knows my name.
"So, Lucy, now that we've established our friendship, tell me about those books you like so much." Gerald Steel smiled. He was leaning back against the bench, one leg crossed over the other. He rested his arm on the back of the bench, so that his fingers almost touched Lucy's shoulder.
He was making her feel so confused.
"I … I just like reading, Mr. Steel."
"Gerald."
"I just like reading … Gerald."
"You must like reading very much indeed if you have to steal books, Lucy." He chuckled. "But I wonder what books tempted a young lady like you to break the law. You can tell me. We are friends, remember?"
"Well, nothing special, really. There were some old magazines with Mr. Poe's stories, and Aunt Cathy doesn't approve, and I don't have any money of my own, so … I took them," she confessed, blushing.
"‘Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence’," Gerald Steel said with a grin.
"Oh, so you know Mr. Poe, sir … Gerald?" For an instant, Lucy forgot all the confusion and the embarrassment she had felt in his presence. No one ever talked to her about the books she liked, the secret world of dark dreams she lived in. For an instant, she felt like she’d found a kindred spirit in a world where before she had been all alone.
"Sir Gerald. Now that has a ring to it." He flashed his smile at her. "Indeed, I do know Edgar Allan Poe, Lucy. And I also like his stories, though I can see why your aunt wouldn't. Well, some of his stories. Orangutans don't make the best murderers in my experience. But perhaps you should have told Mr. Whyte an orangutan had taken those magazines, and cleared your name. He looks just smart enough to believe it."
"He saw me take those other books." Lucy sighed. "I couldn't talk my way out of it then."
"Yes, it's a bit difficult when you are caught in the act." Gerald Steel nodded gravely. "So, what other books were those?"
"Oh, those were some English books. Very exciting," Lucy said. "There was this particular book. It was called Wuthering Heights. Written by a lady named Emily Brontë. It was sad, but I liked it. Loved it, even. You know, in the stories, there are usually all those noble heroes. But in that book, the main character was more like … a villain. He was bad and cruel, and people even called him the devil. But he loved this woman so very, very much. I ended up crying for him."
"You like the villains, don't you?" Gerald said softly. There was something in his eyes she could not quite fathom. But he clearly liked listening to her talking about books, so she told him about Heathcliff and Catherine and Wuthering Heights.
She was often shy talking to people. But when she was speaking of her favorite books, her shyness disappeared. These were her best friends, much more important ones than Ann Mills and Lizzie Davidson. They transported her to wonderful ot
her worlds and lands far beyond Way's End. Sometimes, those lands and worlds were dark. But it only made her love them more.
She was flushed now, and not with embarrassment. She no longer saw the people staring, no longer felt the suffocating heat. But she was still conscious of Gerald Steel's eyes looking at her so intently.
"Well, there was another book I took with that Wuthering Heights story. It was a book of poetry, and the words were very beautiful. Romantic. And the author was an English lord, Lord Baron or something."
"Byron," Gerald Steel prompted.
"Yes, that was the name. And there was this very long poem I really liked. It was called The Corsair. A corsair is a pirate, a sort of outlaw who sails ships on the sea."
"I know what a pirate is, Lucy." He smiled.
She smiled back at him. "Well, I liked it so much I learned some by heart."
"Could you say it for me?"
All of her awkwardness was back in a moment. She felt so self-conscious. Why did she ever tell him she had learned that poem by heart? He was sure to laugh at her.
"No one in Way's End has ever recited poetry to me. I'd really love you to do this for me, Lucy." His eyes were not mocking. They were warm and kind and intent.
"Oh, all right … Gerald. But please don't make fun of me." She looked at him imploringly.
"I promise not to." He sounded deadly serious.
"Do I … need to stand up?" Aunt Cathy had always made her stand up when reciting poetry.
"Lucy, you can be in whatever position that makes you feel comfortable." His smile was back, and there was something in his eyes she did not quite like. And liked, at the same time. Sometimes, she felt so safe with him, and sometimes, she felt in danger. She did not know what she liked better, the safe-feeling or the danger-feeling.
One thing she knew for certain was that she liked him.
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