Yes indeed. God once smiled on that very place. Some said the Colorado valley was the prettiest stretch of land ever found this side of heaven.
As the footsteps moved closer, Victoria trembled from the inside-out. Even spots of beauty appealed to the ugly.
Victoria concentrated on the sounds behind her. There were at least two lily livers, maybe three. Victoria couldn’t stand a coward, much less a group of them determined to stick together.
“Well shit howdy, this ain’t good, is it, Lane?” a man’s voice drawled.
“No, it sure doesn’t look too promising,” someone else replied, presumably Lane.
Not much for keeping her back to a man, or two of them if that be the case, Victoria shifted and planned on turning around.
“Don’t move!” the first fellow shouted. “We ain’t got time for proper introductions, but my name is Art, and this here is Lane. That’s all you need to know other than the fact that you’d better listen to me. Put your arms straight forward and hold real still.”
Great, just what she needed—some sort of chance meeting with an outlaw who didn’t even know how to threaten the innocent. Since when did a man rob a woman and introduce himself in the process?
She gasped. Oh God, he was gonna kill her.
He was probably some young gun looking to make a name. He wanted her to know who shot her in the back before he put the first bullet there.
“Go on now. Listen to what I tell ya. Put them arms straight out,” Art told her again.
“I reckon you mean you want ’em in the air,” she corrected him, figuring if she’d already been bushwhacked, it didn’t matter what happened after the cowards secured her.
“No,” both men chimed together.
“I want them there arms straight in front of you,” Art said. His voice was unmistakable with the thick drawl from back East, probably around Virginia.
Victoria squeezed her eyelids tightly together and tried to steady her breathing. She started to follow the stranger’s request. Then, defiance made her change her mind. “I’m turning around,” she advised them.
She opened her eyes and lowered her arms. Today must’ve been her day to die, but she wasn’t going out of this world with her eyes closed when there was so much natural beauty surrounding her.
Oh no. If someone planned on shooting her, she wanted to look at nature then walk into heaven with her eyes wide open. “Gutless outlaws,” she mumbled.
“Little lady,” Art snapped again. “I advise you not to move. There’s a rattlesnake slitherin’ right behind you. Now, the best you can do is pay attention and listen right well.”
Victoria’s mouth dried. A snake? She reluctantly turned her head ever so slowly. She stared down then glanced off to the left.
Oh mother and father—whoever he was—in the clouds above, the man wasn’t lying. Why she failed to notice the damn thing or the way that rattler shimmied across the dry dirt heading in her direction was any man’s guess. The fellows behind her probably weren’t interested in her excuses.
“Now listen to me. We’re gonna get you out of this,” Art said in a throaty rasp. “When I say go, you’re gonna dive to the right and roll on down that hill without a look over your shoulder. You understand?”
“Yes, but…”
“We’ll talk about butts later,” Art quickly told her, cocking his gun. “You have a right nice one, by the way.”
“Well, I’ve never in my life heard such talk,” she said, swallowing hard. Actually, she had, but a woman had to fake some propriety, particularly if she had zilch to her credit.
“And you never will again if that snake gets a hold of a pretty little ass like yours,” Lane said.
Two guns cocked. Art said, “All right pretty lady. Get ready.”
She saw—and heard—the rattler on the end of the varmint and understood that the snake wasted no time in sliding a little closer. Hell and the fires under her, what were these men gonna do, wait until it crawled up her skirt?
“Go!”
No one had to tell her twice. The snake’s evil head darted up right before she made her escape. She propelled her arms in front of her and dove for the bushes, knowing darn well she’d end up face-down in the stream. And she did.
Gunfire resounded into the hills.
“We got him!” Art rejoiced.
Well, duh. Of course they did. At least ten bullets pelted the ground.
She splashed around in the water as the rapids—well, it was more like a few small waves, primarily the ones she made—began taking her, pulling her under and carrying her downstream.
“Help! Help! I can’t swim!” she screamed, splashing around.
The two men stood there watching her make a cotton-pickin’ show. They didn’t move. They stared at her blankly, and that was about all.
“Help! Crying shame! Help me! I said I can’t swim!”
“You can stand, can’t cha?” Lane called out. Apparently, he was the one with a little common sense.
Floating just a smidgen more, which wasn’t by choice but because of the unstoppable, and probably imagined, current, Victoria regained her balance and realized she was only thigh deep in the water. Disgusted, she marched toward the shore, her splayed fingers smacking at the water.
“I figured it wasn’t any deeper there than it had been on down yonder where you washed off a little earlier,” Art said, swinging his arm in the direction where she’d bathed.
“What are you talking about?” she fired back. “Were you watching me?”
The men stammered around all over the place. The sounds leaving their mouths ranged from an “uh-huh” to all sorts of gibberish she translated as denial.
Pursing her lips, she struggled a bit, but eventually made her way to ankle-deep waters, never realizing how heavy a woman’s dress was until she tried to raise the wet material in an effort to find the best way to safety. Both men offered a hand, and she flatly refused their assistance.
“I got myself into this mess and I’ll see my way out.”
“Suit yourself,” Lane said, squatting down. His dark blond hair hung low over his brow as he picked at long strands of grass. Sticking a blade between his teeth, he wiggled the weed back and forth.
“You sure fooled the daylights out of me for certain. I could’ve sworn I heard a woman hollering for help a few minutes ago,” Art said, removing his cowboy hat. As he dusted off the brim, Victoria admired his head full of black curls. He was downright cute with the waves of ringlets pushed away from his face.
Distracted, Victoria tripped over a rock as she stomped across the grass. Art caught her by the forearm and saved her from an embarrassing fall. She landed against his hard chest and her forehead fit right under his chin.
“Now then, this is a lot better, ain’t it?” he drawled, looking down on her with eyes as black as coffee. “I’m Art. This here’s Lane.”
“Yes, you introduced yourself already,” she reminded him. “I’m Victoria. You can let me go now.”
He held her still tighter rather than releasing her, but she didn’t make a fair enough effort to move, either. In fact, when his arm bracketed around her waist, she found it was all she could do to keep from imagining she belonged there.
A few more seconds of this and she might get way too comfortable. She backed away in haste, acting as if she were in a great big hurry to get someplace, and that’s when Art informed her, “I was trying to save you from a good blushin’, but if you ain’t got a problem showing ’em, I ain’t opposed to seeing what you got there pressing against your shirt.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts. Lane was already gawking. He even managed to stretch his neck and make a show out of the fact.
“Me either,” Lane said, still staring. “I was just sitting here thinking about the last time I saw the best part of a woman. Now, I won’t be thinking on that matter anymore.”
Chapter Two
Victoria wrapped her arms around her chest and glared back at them. If she�
��d been like her ma, she would’ve chosen a man and started groping him with her eyes, too. Instead, she rubbed her arms, trying to knock off the late afternoon chill often found at the close of a Colorado early summer day.
“How is it that you snuck up without me hearing you?” she asked, glancing from one man to the next.
“We didn’t,” Art informed her, tilting his head toward a blue spruce tree. “We’ve been over there whittling. You never looked up from whatever it was you were a-readin’, so we let you mind your business. We tended to ours.”
She peeled the wet locks of hair away from her face and avoided eye contact then. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered, but her words sounded like a strangled cry of pure embarrassment. When she lifted her gaze, she was staring straight at Lane, who looked like a man with something on his mind.
She could only imagine what.
“I was reading a letter left behind by someone I once knew. I didn’t know I had an audience and if I’d known, I wouldn’t have found cause to read the words out loud. It wasn’t meant to be heard by mixed company. It was private and the two of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves for listening.”
“Your momma wrote the letter, did she?” Art asked.
“Sounded like some interesting reading from where I sat,” Lane remarked.
“It was a letter written by someone who wanted to offer advice for young women. That’s all,” she said, kneeling down to snatch the scattered pieces she’d tossed away in the middle of her snake escape.
“Whatever it was, it sure made a man stand up and pay attention.”
“Every part of a man,” Lane added, arching a brow. He extended his forefinger and waved the digit in front of his body. “You proud of what you got again, or just forgetful of the fact you wanted to hide behind your hands?”
She folded her arms over her chest, tucking the letter beneath her breast. “If you’ve already seen me bathe, I don’t know why you’re making a fuss.”
Art rubbed his chin. “He likes seeing your pretty skin blush.”
A flush of heat washed over her. He liked seeing her blush? “Oh my,” she whispered, trying not to move from side to side as she reveled in the compliment.
Now she understood her ma a little better than maybe she had the hour before.
A tall, handsome man thought she was pretty, or so his friend said. By studying him then, she halfway believed Art.
Lane’s green eyes sparkled like the expensive jewels she’d seen one of the miners’ wives wear right after her husband struck gold. A woman could look in eyes like that and appreciate what she had in a man. Sincerity lived there, and sorrow. One thing was certain—Lane was a good man.
She cursed under her breath. How the hell would she know? She was probably buying into her ma’s theory. All her mother’s men were saints.
“Why are you in Cripple Creek?” she asked.
“Cripple Creek?” Art studied her intently. “Is that what you call this here place?”
“Yes. Just right over a couple of hills lays one of the greatest mining towns in the West. Did you come here in search of a fortune?”
“You might say we came to find out about one we’re accused of stealing,” Lane explained.
“What’s that?” she asked, tightening her arms around her chest.
“Don’t go and worry your pretty head none,” Art said. “We ain’t bandits on the run.”
“Are you wanted?” she asked, thinking about the numerous posters hanging outside the marshal’s office in town.
Art flashed a wide grin. “You tell me. Are we?”
Victoria gulped. Was this the kind of banter her momma enjoyed? She clutched the letter tighter and pinched the underside of her arm. It was rather peculiar that these two men showed up on the same day she discovered her mother’s letter. Rather odd indeed. She twisted the skin and yelped. “Ouch.”
Art frowned. “Somethin’ bite you?”
“No,” she replied, convinced the timing of the letter and the arrival of two outlaws was nothing more than a twist of fate. “I asked you a question.”
“He asked you one, too,” Lane reminded her.
“I don’t go to bed with outlaws.”
“Do you go to bed with men?” Art asked.
“What difference does it make?” she fired back.
“Just askin’ a man’s question,” Art told her. “If you got a price, let me know.”
“Well, I’ve never in my life,” she said, stomping up the first of several hills they’d have to climb. Halfway up the incline, she turned and looked down on the men she’d left standing there in all their amused glory. “I’ll have you know right this second…” She shook her finger several times and continued, “I ain’t no whore.”
“Let me guess, it’s not for the lack of trying?” Art teased her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You ain’t a whore, and that much is obvious,” Lane said. “I’ve seen one or two of them in my time.”
“That’s your problem, I reckon. I didn’t ask you to tell me your flaws.”
“No you didn’t,” Lane said, chuckling as he shook his head. “And I said I’ve seen one or two of them. I didn’t say I’d put it to one or two of them.”
Victoria gulped. There was something about Lane’s frank way of saying things in simple terms. He made her body alert to all sorts of possibilities. Her nerve endings tingled, and her mouth was dry one minute, moist the next. And God help her, she couldn’t help but notice the sizeable bulge in the man’s breeches.
“So are you wanted by the marshal or not?” she asked, deciding their answer would more or less let her know whether or not she wanted to entertain strangers.
“I reckon we are,” Art said regretfully. “Does that mean you’re gonna judge us?”
Lane stroked his two-day growth of beard. “I don’t believe she will.”
“How would you know?”
“Lucky guess. I heard the way your voice changed as you read that letter there in your hand. There was something about the way your body went rigid. Your hands shook, and I believe if you hadn’t been in the open daylight, you might have let your fingers wander, maybe you would’ve pleasured yourself, slid your hands down the front of your pantaloons and done the kind of things you ain’t yet to experience with a man.”
“That’s not so,” she said, holding her head higher. She swallowed a few times. Why was this fellow talking to her in such a manner? And why, pray tell, was she excited by what he said? Her body tingled as he spoke, and she found herself wanting to hear more rather than hoping he’d speak less.
“Really?” he asked, arching a brow. “Got as much experience as the woman who wrote that letter, do you?”
“No, but—”
“You ain’t got any experience at all, doll,” Lane told her, walking toward the horses tied to the tree she could clearly see behind after taking an elevated position.
“And what if I do?” she asked, dropping her arms to her sides and sticking her chest out.
Art’s jaw dropped. “Good God.”
Apparently, the white dress showed everything a man wanted to see.
“You don’t,” Lane called out over his shoulder. All at once, he turned around. “How old are you anyhow?”
“I just turned twenty-one on my birthday.”
“And when was that?” Art asked, his brow furrowed.
“Awhile ago,” she replied.
“How long is ‘awhile ago’ in these parts?” Lane asked, grabbing the reins of his horse and swinging a leg over the saddle.
“Three weeks ago on Sunday,” she informed them proudly.
Art laughed. “Well shit howdy, Lane. She ain’t nothin’ but a baby.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Lane grumbled.
Feeling as if she were the butt of a cruel joke, Victoria marched back down the hill and stood nose to nose with Art. “I might be a little younger than the women you like to poke, but that don’t mean I can�
��t do it.”
“You offering?” Art asked, his tongue holding in the corner of his mouth.
“No but if I decided to, you know, offer…” She paused and gave some thought to the way she wanted to say what she needed to express. Opting to borrow Lane’s phrase, she finally stammered and said, “If I decided to let you put it to me, then you should know this. I can because…I know how.”
Lane rolled his eyes and pulled the brim of his hat over his brow. “Like hell you do.”
Art shook his head and started for his horse, too. “Psht. You wouldn’t know which hole it went in.”
Lane snorted at that.
When both men were mounted, she grabbed hold of her skirts and traipsed over to them. The swish-swish sound of crinoline and lace resounded, but nary a sound fell from either of their lips as she made her way over to their horses.
“I reckon if there are two of you, I can easily figure out what to do. One of you can fit in the front and the other one can squeeze in the back. If that ain’t what you like, then I got a mouth and I’ll figure out how to use it.”
Lane stared at her lips. Art stretched his neck and said, “Turn around.”
Taking the challenge, she faced the other way. She looked up at the sky and started to say a little prayer, hoping they wouldn’t take her up on her offer. She was only feisty because her ma’s damn letter gave her courage.
“Hmm,” Art drawled. “She’s got an ass on her all right.”
She looked over her shoulder and tried to see her sitter-downer. Had she put on some weight?
The men shared a laugh. Realizing this time she was certainly the butt of their jokes, she stormed off and headed home.
* * * *
She marched up one hill and down the other. She swung her arms out to the side as she pranced through weeds and jumped over horse manure. Fresh stacks indicated the men behind her had already been this way, and that alone irritated her. She wondered if they’d stopped off at her place to snoop around.
Cursing herself and her motives every minute or two, she clutched her momma’s letter in her closed fist. The edge of the crumpled paper bit into her fingers, but she didn’t check for a cut or blood. She could bleed out for all she cared.
Acres, Natalie - Propositioned by Outlaws [Outlaws 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 2
