She raised a challenging eyebrow. “Any more questions?”
He swallowed. “Plenty now.” His eyes fell wide in shock. “Where did you learn to handle a whip like that?”
She snorted and peered sideways at him. “I’ve wrestled bigger beeves than you, Valentine Kelly.”
His eyebrows inched toward one another as his forehead fell into deep creases. She leaped onto a nearby boulder and worked her way back to the bank. Once she made it to the trees, she turned to offer a crisp curtsey before returning to Achilles.
Chapter 5
One full week back in Gold Hill and the improvement was vast. If he had known how much good it would do him to be out from under Lila’s pampering wing, he would have abandoned Morgan’s ranch months ago. Working full shifts beside Sandy for two days had begun to wilt the nagging fear whispering he would never be strong or able again.
Yet for all of his returning strength, he still wasn’t ready to abandon the cane. He could last a full day in the mine, but the walk back to the boarding house was brutal. Still, there was a peace about his pain since he’d spoken to Dr. Cameron. Knowing his boundaries were as far as his tolerance, he was ready to push himself to the edge, taking comfort in the massaging hands of Juliet and the soothing properties of the hot springs.
He chuckled as he walked up the road to Virginia City, recalling his encounter with Collette at the spring. She was still a viper, but he had forgotten how entertaining it was to annoy her. Her temper was so easily pricked he couldn’t help doing it over and over again. He enjoyed seeing those little bits of flavor flare in her personality as opposed to the stiff gait and pouty point of her lips.
She was a walking maelstrom of spitfire, that one. One second, she was batting her long eyelashes over those beautiful violet eyes, and the next she was shooting daggers from them. And her list of talents was growing. He wetted his lips with his tongue, remembering how she’d used the whip on his cigar. That was a skill he knew took years to master.
She admitted to spending her childhood in the desert, not in the beloved France she claimed to hail from, and he could easily believe that, given her atrocious butchering of the French language. When they’d met last year, she had been surprised to learn he spoke French, and he watched that surprise turn to worry in her eyes when she realized he spoke it better than she. Those tidbits, along with her abilities with pistol and a whip used in cattle rearing, didn’t speak of the upper class French upbringing she was trying to impose. But nothing was more convincing than those brief, angry moments when her accent abandoned her altogether.
He stroked the stubble along his jaw as he passed her shop and contemplated all of the inconsistencies of Miss Collette Barbier, if that was even her name. What was she was trying to hide from the world? There was little time to ponder any more as he strode to Juliet’s and was greeted warmly at the door.
Collette hummed an old nursery rhyme as she worked the needle and thread in and out of a skirt seam with a vengeance. The song was one she used to sing to Helene years ago as a toddler. It always worked to calm her, except on this night it failed miserably. Her eyes felt heavy and sore, in need of a good, long sleep, but she would not yield. Helene retired hours before, leaving Collette to work the night away and brood over her afternoon encounter with Val.
What Helene said before was true. She didn’t flirt with Val. Their meeting at the spring had certainly proven that. The truth was she couldn’t flirt with him because he returned the gesture, and that was the beginning of a game she wouldn’t allow into her life, no matter how attractive or charming the man happened to be.
When they’d met last summer at Ellie’s boarding house, she was in need of help hauling fabric and sewing supplies out to the carriage. So, she’d done what she always did with men when she needed help; she batted her lashes, flashed her smile and cooed for assistance, which he gave. But then he did the thing that sent her heart leaping into her throat with anxiety. He flirted back.
Men didn’t usually respond that way because she only flirted with gentlemen, and mostly ones who were spoken for. They were safe, which meant she was safe. She knew better than to tempt the wrong sort of man, which was one reason why she had avoided David at all costs, but Val threw her sensors off the mark, which unsettled her. He didn’t allow propriety to dictate his behavior in all areas, particularly where it concerned women, yet she wasn’t wholly convinced he was a deviant cad.
She’d seen the way he loved his brother, his willingness to sacrifice his life for him, not to mention how wonderful he was with Ellie and Lila, and even her sister. There was goodness in him, but the last thing she wanted was the sincere attention of a man. Any man. So, she’d done her best to repel him, pricking his ego and temper at every turn. Even that plan failed when he responded in kind. He poked and prodded for pure entertainment, and she was powerless to contain the flare of her ire, as evidenced by her crack of the whip that afternoon.
She shook her head and chuckled. Perhaps she had been able to remove the amusement from their exchanges and he now had an idea what a harpy he provoked. Her father always said she had the worst temper, and she’d spent years learning to harness it. Sometimes, especially in the last three years, it took more than her will to calm her down and she called upon a glass of whisky.
Val was a direct threat to her sense of control. His waggishness set her off in one way. His shimmering amber eyes set her off in another, boring through her clothes as if he could see every inch of her bare flesh. A warm shiver ran up her spine and she stretched to rid the effects of it.
Desire was something she remembered all too well, and it was something she couldn’t afford to give into again. Which was why it was best if she kept away from Valentine Kelly. The man was skilled with women. Too skilled, and Collette knew she was no more immune, or significant to him, than the next woman to cross his path.
She sighed and turned her attention back to her sewing. There was a long bit of slack on the thread and she pulled it tight, working the needle up the column before tying a few knots and cutting it free. Standing to appraise the skirt’s length, she was satisfied, and draped it over the quilt stand before filling herself a tumbler of whisky. The clock on the mantle read two o’clock in the morning, but she wouldn’t have guessed it from the amount of noise outside. Laughter, shouting, piano and clopping horse hooves all grated on her nerves, reminding her of quieter days and places. Would she ever develop a tolerance for the city?
She cradled her drink as she surveyed the tiny room. The furnishings came with the space when she rented it, but it suited her rustic tastes. The sofa was made of dark wood and had clawed feet, its cushions a pale green. Their kitchen table was solid wood, round, and only allowed four diners. There was a sideboard, a hat rack and two bookshelves flanking the hearth, all full of books she never took the time to read. The only items in the room belonging to them were the two trunks that had housed their clothes, toiletries and sewing supplies when they arrived in town. Now, they held blankets and extra fabric.
Her favorite piece of furniture, and Helene’s, was the soft arm chair near the lamp and window, with well-worn cushions and a high back. She spent many a night sinking into the plush, mauve padding, cradling an evening libation before bed. She turned the lamplight down and lowered herself into the seat.
Her flannel nightgown warded off the cold enough that she didn’t light a fire, and with her hair down it added an extra layer of warmth. Her lips closed around the rim of the glass and sucked the amber liquid. It rolled over her tongue, igniting tiny fires from its tip all the way into the back of her throat. She felt the calming effects instantly, and her eyes drifted shut until a solid slamming at her window brought her upright.
She nearly dropped the glass. A long moment of silence followed as she waited. When she heard nothing more, she settled back down into her seat, dismissing it as some drunkard’s stumble. Another bang sounded and she came to her feet, dousing the lantern at once.
Her hea
rt hammered against her ribs while she stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She crossed the room in three strides and exchanged her glass for a loaded pistol, spinning the barrels to be sure they were primed and ready. Clutching the ivory handle solidly in her palms, she stood beside the window and listened, waiting for an intruder to come crashing through the panes. Seconds seemed like hours until she finally heard a long, low scraping sound move along the side wall, accompanied by a succession of tiny bumps.
Her brow furrowed. What in the world is going on out there? A fit of male laughter broke through the wall and she huffed as she stomped her foot. “Idiots.”
More pounding and laughter came. Soon, they would wake Helene. “That is enough.”
She pulled her long leather duster over her nightgown and robe and grabbed a red scarf, wrapping it several times around her neck until it covered the bottom of her chin. The noise carried on outside as she stomped toward the door. She left the room, went through the dressing room, out into the shop and finally made her way through the front door. Without preamble, she stalked to the side road and found the source of her irritation.
Two bodies tangled in the dark, groping and kissing like they belonged in the brothel down the way. Collette cleared her throat but received no response. She did it again, much more loudly. Nothing. Finally, she raised the pistol and cocked it.
All movement stopped.
“Whoa, now!” the man said drunkenly, holding his empty palms up. “Easy, easy. There’s no need to spoil a man’s good fun with a bullet.”
She knew that voice. “Valentine?”
He relaxed against the wall. “Oh, good. You recognize me.” Clumsily, he rolled toward her and placed a hand over his heart. “I promise, she was never as good as you, baby.”
The woman in his arms laughed. “Shut up, Val. She’s not one of us.”
Collette narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the woman’s features, but it was too dark. She reached up to the streetlamp and ripped it off its bracket to bring it closer to the couple. Val squinted and shriveled away from the light, but the blond supporting him smiled in familiarity. Collette recognized the woman as one of Juliet’s newest acquisitions, and therefore a recent customer. She smiled back, if tightly.
“I see you have met Juliet’s new girl, Valentine.” she gritted. “Caroline, I voodn’t have thought zat you vood repay my kindness by disturbing my seester and I at such a late hour.”
“I’m so sorry,” Caroline implored. “We tried to get him to stay the night, but he insisted on returning to the boarding house. I thought we would be able to get him a carriage on Main Street, but we’ve been waiting here for half an hour with no luck. It’s colder than sin out here. We were really just trying to stay warm. Didn’t mean to disturb you, Collette.”
“Collette?” Val’s consciousness seemed to have broken through his drunken stupor. “What the hell are you doing out here at this hour, Frenchie?”
“Taking care of za riff-raff, Monsieur Kelly,” she snapped. “Your inconsiderate conduct has kept me and my seester awake!”
He peered up at the building, tilting his head so much she feared he would tumble over backwards. “You live in here? In your shop?”
“I believe I have made zat quite clear, Monsieur,” she said as she returned the streetlamp to its rightful place. “As clear as za fact zat you are disturbing za peace.”
He pushed off the wall. “I vill leave you in peez, then!” he mocked with a wide swish of his hand, followed by a courtly bow. He straightened his jacket and took one giant step, striking his cane out to bear his weight but it went too far and he stumbled into Collette. She and Caroline grasped his arms.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Val!” Collette grumbled as she struggled to keep him upright. “You are a lost cause. Caroline, help me bring him into my shop.”
The woman’s eyes bulged. “Into your shop?”
“That’s vut I said, isn’t it? I don’t vant to freeze out here, waiting for zees imbecile to sober up. He can sleep on my couch and be on his way in za morning.”
Caroline helped Collette lead Val through the shop into the backrooms. Once he was deposited on the couch in front of the hearth, the woman stood and smoothed her hair behind her ears as Collette relit the lamp.
“Oh, my,” Caroline breathed. “I had no idea you lived in such a small space. Where is Helene?”
“Zer is another room through zat door,” she pointed. “And a kitchen through zat door. Now, I’m sure Juliet is anxious for your return. Let me see you out.”
When she returned to the room, Val was curled into a fetal position. She studied him for a long moment during which he shivered several times. She grabbed a blanket from the trunk behind the sofa and softly laid it over him. He snuggled into it and sighed, and she couldn’t hold back the small smile tugging at her lips.
Her eyes traced his jawline up to his mouth. His lips looked soft and warm, as they had earlier in the day when he’d held her in the spring and she was merely inches from them. She slid her tongue out over her lips, wondering what they would feel like against his. What kind of kisser was Valentine Kelly? His eyes fluttered open, drunkenly, and she spun around before he could read her thoughts.
Once she shed her duster, she knelt before the hearth and piled bits of kindling beneath a tent of thicker logs and lit a fire. When its flames were fully stoked, she turned to find Val sitting up again, his hooded gaze traveling her body.
“Hot damn, Collette. I had no idea what a fine figure you cut beneath your gowns.”
“If you vant to see how vell I cut,” she held the fire poker aloft, “carry on speaking to me like zat.”
He chuckled and laid his head back against the cushion. “You feisty little Frenchie. That’s what I call you, you know?”
“I have noticed, Monsieur.”
He said nothing, but studied the flare of her hips accentuated by the robe, and though she knew he could see nothing of her skin, she felt the singe of her flesh just the same. She crossed her arms over her chest, and he chuckled again, reaching out to pat the empty cushion.
“Why don’t you come here beside me? You’re starting to tempt me and my mobility is somewhat limited.”
She snorted. “In your present state, I’m sure you’d find a pig tempting.”
He raised his eyebrows in thought, then nodded. “Perhaps. But you’re a close second.”
A thin breath scraped through her lips and into her lungs. “If I’m close to anything, it’s to hitting you on the head and ridding me of the nuisance.”
He smiled, suddenly looking far more sober than he had a few moments earlier. “I promise to go to bed like a good boy…if you kiss me goodnight.”
Collette looked at the ceiling and massaged the bridge of her nose. “As romantic as it is to kiss a man whose tongue has just scraped the insides of another woman’s throat, I believe I will pass on the offer.” She stood, ignoring the slight curl of his lips and the knowing look in his eyes. “If you need another blanket, there are some in the trunk.”
Without a backward glance, she entered her room and climbed into bed with Helene.
Chapter 6
She was an angel, a vision of pure white. Her pale hair was thick and straight, gleaming before a backdrop of white fire. Her eyes were purplish-blue, a combination that drew him in like an enchantress weaving her spell. Flared hips. Narrow waist. Full bosom. And then…bulky, red scarf wound around her neck. It seemed out of place, but Val was vaguely aware of the fact he was dreaming and pushed the detail aside. Soft, full lips…
A wave of cold water covered him with a splash and he leapt to his feet, gulping and gasping for air. His eyes focused on the world around him as he wiped the water from them. A low fire burned, mingling with the soft, pearl light of dawn overtaking the room. A fully dressed blond woman in a frilly blue hat and chin strap stood with a water pitcher under her arm and an icy glare in her eyes. He barely had time to shake the water out of his s
leeves before she made his head ache with the shrill sound of her voice.
“Good. You are avake. Now, remove yourself from my shop before my neighbors see you.”
“What is wrong with you?” he called as he twisted his shirttails to wring the water from them. He took a few deep breaths, adjusting to the difference in temperature. The room was a lot colder with his top half soaked.
“Not nearly as much as vut is wrong vith you, Monsieur.”
“Why not simply shake me awake? Why the bath?”
She held her hands out wide, and her voice took on a defensive edge. “If you could have been shaken avake, you would have been. You sleep like za dead.”
He shook his head, feeling his thoughts tumble around like marbles. So much for my dream. His brain was foggy, leaving him to assess whether he’d woken up sober. Strange, since he didn’t remember drinking that much. He had only two shots with Caroline and then remembered nothing until meeting Collette outside her shop.
“Where did you put my cane?” he asked.
“You mean, where did you put your cane? I have no idea.”
He found it on the floor across the way, but as he took a step toward it there was a rippling bolt of pain that shot through his left leg and lower back. He cried out and fell to the couch clutching his back near the wound. He could feel the sweat pooling on the surface of his skin and the acceleration of his heart rate.
“Oh, God,” Collette breathed before she set the pitcher down and rushed to the couch beside him. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to aggravate your wound.”
Val massaged the area around his scar, feeling the painful tremors retreating as quickly as they’d come. He took a deep breath and continued to knead his flesh. It was painful, but he knew it would help in the long run. Still, he couldn’t help but wince.
Desert Sunrise (Love in the Sierras Book 2) Page 4
