Garnet's TreasureBN.html

by Jillian Hart

  What was she doing? Accepting a man's gifts, dressing with him in the same room. She felt giddy, light-hearted, strangely dizzy. She was having fun, that's what this feeling was. For the first time in more years than she could remember, since before Ma had fallen ill, she had no responsibilities, no obligations heavy on her shoulders.

  Anticipating the night yet to come, she pulled the dress over her head and settled the skirt on her hips. It felt odd without petticoats, but free, too. She busied herself buttoning the bodice. This dress ought to make even someone as plain as her pretty. Excited for Wyatt to see her, she took a shaky breath. "You can turn around."

  He did. His gaze slid from her face down the entire length of her dress. A broad grin played across his mouth and reached all the way up to his eyes. "Blue is becoming on you. You should wear it more often."

  "I think I will." Garnet felt as if a fairy's spell had changed her from a toad into a princess. "Thank you, Wyatt. It's the dress."

  "It's you." He stared at her and said nothing for a moment. "Are you feeling up to a meal? We can go back to Eleanore's place. Great food and the safest spot in town. No gun-fighting allowed."

  Garnet smiled. He was going to buy her dinner. No man had ever offered to do that before. "I would be honored to be seen in your company."

  "You just don't know my reputation around this town." He stepped closer. His eyes had changed. He no longer looked lost; there were no shadows. Only laughter and affection and a spark of something so honest she could not force her gaze away.

  "I don't care about your reputation." She lifted her face in a challenge, or perhaps in invitation. "I only care about you."

  Like the last of winter's snow at the sun's touch, Garnet's whole heart melted. Wyatt could see it in her eyes, like ice cracking on a pond. Some distant, protected part of her simply gave way, relaxed, and it occurred to him then he had never seen a more beautiful woman. Her lustrous black hair hung wet and seductive down her back, but small wisps had dried in airy curls about her face.

  He closed the distance between them. It took so little to move his hands to her upper arms. When he found her mouth with his, she met his kiss willingly. All tender heat and velvet caresses. How he wanted her. He cupped her chin with one hand just to touch her, just to hold more of her while his lips tasted hers.

  The night stood still. The bustling noise outside the window faded. Even the steady beat of his heart stopped as Garnet's mouth shifted beneath his, tentative, innocent. He tipped his head to take more of her, to run his tongue along the delicious seam of her lips, over the smooth surface of her teeth, testing the heady feel of her tongue twining with his. She lifted a small, warm hand to his jaw.

  A groan of desire started down deep in his belly and worked its way up. He wanted all of her. Here. Now. For as long as he could have her. He didn't care when or how. He only knew that he had never wanted anything more than he wanted Garnet. And he knew she felt it, too. He knew by the rough way her breath fanned his cheek and how her body leaned into his invitingly.

  Oh. The groan tore from his throat and he eased her back onto the large bed centering the room. She slipped back willingly, clinging to him, refusing to interrupt their kiss, all lips and teeth and tongue. Wyatt's whole world tilted from a rough, solitary existence to that of need. He needed her touch. He needed her body. Most of all, he needed her affection.

  As if she sensed that, Garnet slipped her hands over his chest, skimming across his skin. Without thinking, he ran his right hand over the soft cotton of her bodice to cup her perfect breasts. Soft, warm, like nothing in his life, nothing in his world. She was this magic that changed his shack into a home, his loneliness into need.

  He fumbled with tiny buttons and soon her bare breasts were filling his hands.

  "Oh, Wyatt," she breathed in a sigh, lost, dazed, as spellbound as he. He lifted his mouth from hers and trailed wet, sensuous kisses down her throat. She groaned freely just as he knew she would when his mouth closed over her budded nipple.

  "Oh, Wyatt." Her voice changed.

  She must feel it too, he thought. This tumbling rush of passion. The clench of hard need. He ran his tongue over her breast, teasing, tasting, caressing.

  "Wyatt." She planted both palms flat against his forehead and shoved hard. His head snapped away from her breast and he stared at her, panting.

  "What?" He didn't mean to sound so irritable.

  But looking into her frightened eyes, he knew what he had done. It had been too fast for her. He stood. He ran his hands through his tangled hair, and he could hardly turn to look at her for the way it made his heart hurt. Silence ticked by and she sat up on the bed, holding closed her new dress, a disheveled, attractive, amazing woman gazing up at him with tears in her eyes.

  "I'm sorry," he choked out. How had he lost control? How had he been so misguided as to think a woman this fine would want a man like him?

  "I'm not. I'm just not used to such feelings." Her chin was bowed and the little bit he could see of her face was bright red, flushing with embarrassment. No, desire.

  He held out his hand. He didn't deserve her, could never deserve her, but how he wanted her. "Let's go hunt us down some supper."

  "Even at this late hour?" Her chin trembled as she gazed up at him. Vulnerability and want shone in her eyes.

  "Even at this hour," he confirmed, for the gold town of Virginia City never slept.

  "Then I will allow you to buy me supper, Mr. Tanner." She held out her arm. "As long as you behave like a gentleman. In public."

  In public. Why, she hadn't said one word about how he should behave in private.

  * * *

  What had she done? Garnet wondered over her steak supper. She'd become thoroughly infatuated with Wyatt.

  "You haven't touched your glass of wine," he observed from across the intimate table in the corner of Madame Dumont's establishment.

  "I've never sampled spirits before."

  "A little wine never hurt anyone."

  He was teasing her. No, he was tempting her. Garnet took a bite of her baked potato. She studied the wineglass, glittering in the candlelight. "I've been adventurous so far. Why should I stop now?"

  "That's my philosophy."

  She had already panned for gold, ridden astride, and nearly stripped herself naked just for more of a man's touch. What was a little alcohol compared to that?

  She sampled the wine. Liquid sweetness tumbled across her tongue. "This is delicious. I like it."

  She was learning she liked a whole lot of things.

  A man stepped up to the table. "Tanner. The boys and I have missed you at our regular games."

  "Been busy up north." Wyatt's forehead crinkled and his jaw tensed, but he stood and shook the stranger's hand with great gusto. "It's good to see you, Reardon."

  "Who's the beautiful lady?" Reardon studied her. "Are you getting soft in your old age? None of us can remember you keeping the company of a woman."

  "There's a first time for everything."

  Garnet liked knowing Wyatt hadn't taken many women out to dinner as a regular habit in his life as a deputy.

  "Ma'am." Reardon tipped his hat. "We were hoping you would play a few hands with us. Perhaps your lady will be understanding."

  "Understanding?" Wyatt's gaze met hers. "I'll let you know. Tell the boys hello for me."

  "Will do." Reardon backed away. "Ma'am."

  "You used to spend a lot of time gambling?" Garnet asked over the rim of her wineglass.

  Wyatt curled his fingers around the knife's wooden handle. He concentrated far too hard on cutting his steak. "Saloons and gaming halls are always a good source of information for a lawman."

  "Sure. I believe that."

  "You wouldn't believe what men will let slip with enough whiskey under their belts. I've solved some of my most difficult cases that way–" He stopped. "Besides, it helps to have something to do with your nights when there's nobody at home to miss you."

  "Were you going to
play poker tonight?"

  He set down his knife. "Not without you."

  "What if I don't play poker?"

  "You didn't drink alcohol until a few minutes ago." His thumb caressed the back of her hand, soft circular strokes that made the surface of her skin heat and thrum wherever he touched her.

  "I didn't used to do a lot of things until I met you. You, Wyatt Tanner, have been a very bad influence on me."

  "I'm trying." He leaned close. "I bet you couldn't outsmart all those men and win some of their money."

  "Outsmart them?" Garnet turned to study the table. "What does that have to do with playing poker?"

  "It's a game of strategy. Of thought." He knew darn well he was tempting her, teasing her with the one thing that would spark her interest. "You probably aren't smart enough to outthink those men. They are bankers and merchants. They're pretty clever."

  She could see he was baiting her, but her intelligence was one thing she had to defend, at any cost. "Are we making a wager, Mr. Tanner?"

  "We are. I bet you can't win a single hand."

  "And I bet I can."

  "Then we'll need something to wager with. Something of great value."

  Her stomach fluttered. "What do you have in mind?"

  "The hotel only had one room left when we arrived."

  "Only one? But where–"

  "I made arrangements at the stable. I've slept in worse places." He held out his hand in a challenge, a wager of honor between two intelligent people. "I bet the bed. Whoever wins gets to sleep in it tonight."

  She knew perfectly well what was on his mind, but Garnet Jones was not a woman who backed down when she was sure to win.

  "You're on, Mr. Tanner." And they shook on it.

  Chapter Twelve

  "It's your turn," Wyatt mumbled in her ear.

  She knew. She was just trying to decide what to do. Four well-dressed men watched her carefully over the table, amused that a woman of such little skill had joined them. Oh, she knew they had agreed to this only to have Wyatt at their table.

  These men were far too confident, she decided. They did not think she could win. Garnet consulted the scrap of paper on which Wyatt had written the rudiments of the game. A flush. That's what she had. A consecutive hand of hearts from five to nine.

  Bluffing, that's what Wyatt called it. She caught him now, his own cards hidden in his palm, watching her face. Why, he was trying to beat her, too!

  "I'm not sure what to do," she lied. "I guess I might as well do what everyone else is doing."

  "If you aren't sure, you may want to sit out the hand," Reardon said from across the table, speaking as if she were an eight-year-old.

  She picked up three of the same color chips she'd seen Wyatt use and tossed them onto the growing pile in the center of the table. "I'll see you." And nervously bit her lip.

  Now the betting had gone to the man at her other elbow, who raised the ante even higher.

  Goodness. How much were those little chips worth? Wyatt hadn't said when he'd poured nearly a dozen into her hands.

  "I'll call." Reardon puffed on his cigar, eyes ambiguous.

  Wyatt laid down his cards. Pairs of tens. Reardon laid down his. A flush of clubs from four to eight.

  "You're getting rusty, Tanner." Reardon laughed as he reached for the pot.

  "You forgot about the lady." Wyatt's rum-smooth voice rumbled over her.

  "What do you have, dear?" Reardon asked, speaking as if she were too simpleminded to understand.

  But she smiled. "A good enough hand to beat you."

  When she laid down her cards, the men–all but Reardon–burst into laughter. Winston at her left patted her on the back with bold congratulations. Beeks across the table lifted his shot glass in a merry toast. But Wyatt, he just looked at her with eyes so full of pride, it made her heart stop.

  "Well done," he said, and those were the sweetest words she had ever heard. His praise, his regard meant the world. "Don't forget to take your winnings."

  "All that?" She stared at the big pile of chips. Gosh, she'd never imagined she might win money. She'd only wanted to prove to those men she wasn't easy to out-smart.

  It was Wyatt who leaned forward and scooped up the chips for her.

  "It's my deal," Beeks announced as the room grew quiet. "Seems our little lady is gathering some attention."

  It was true, Garnet realized when she looked up. Many bystanders had collected a small distance from the table to watch the game. Many of them were handsome young men. Some smiled at her. Goodness. Were they flirting with her?

  "She's just suffering from beginner's luck." Reardon tapped the ashes from his cigar. "We'll win back our money and they'll lose interest."

  Her pride prickled. When she looked at her cards, she was disappointed. It wasn't the hand she had hoped for.

  "Three cards, please," she told Beeks, who dealt her three more. That was much better. But to fool her fellow players, she tried to look really disappointed.

  "You can stop anytime you want," Wyatt whispered in her ear. "But of course everyone will think you won because you were lucky, not smart."

  She laughed. "I know what you're doing, Wyatt." He had figured out a way to be with her and play poker with his buddies. Well, she couldn't fault him for it. She was having fun.

  When everyone laid down their cards, she surprised them all again. Her pair of queens had them all beat, even Wyatt with his pair of jacks. Again, that pride gleamed in his dark eyes, and she felt happy. Truly happy.

  She sipped her sarsaparilla and knew she would do anything just to see that look in his eyes, so beautiful and true, and all for her.

  * * *

  "I can't believe I did so well," she breathed as they burst into the room. Those poker chips were heavy in her reticule, jangling and clanging as she walked.

  "I'm not surprised." Wyatt's dimpled smile took her breath away.

  "I never thought I would have so much fun!" She'd lost a few hands, but won even more, and the thrill of trying to make the best of whatever hand she'd been dealt had grown on her.

  "Now do you see why men gamble?"

  "Well, they oughtn't gamble the grocery money away if they have wives and children." She couldn't stop herself, then she laughed. "Fine. It's a fun game. Especially when you win."

  She upended her reticule and dumped out her chips onto the bed. "Let's see. Here are your chips back. Four each of the red, blue, and white."

  He tried to decline, but she wouldn't hear of it. Soon, she was looking at a small pile that represented her winnings, maybe twenty-five or so. She'd earned this by her wits and her intelligence, however little it was. "How much money did I win?"

  "Let me count it." He thumbed through the pile. "Five thousand, two hundred dollars."

  "What?" Her knees buckled. "Stop joking with me, Wyatt. That isn't funny."

  "It's no joke. You were in a high-stakes poker game tonight. No penny-ante players."

  "Five thousand dollars. I have five thousand dollars. I can't believe it."

  "You've earned enough money to go home in style. And then some."

  That wasn't what she was going to say. But she could not deny the truth in his words. The joy in her heart ebbed, like foam from a midnight shore. She ought to be happy about the money she'd won, and she was. She was just more sad at the prospect of leaving Wyatt.

  Then came his deep voice, soft as a caress. "Now that you're fairly wealthy, I hope you will still speak to a lowly prospector like me."

  She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, refusing to speak her feelings, refusing to meet his eyes.

  He touched her chin with his thumb. "Can it be? Have you been rendered speechless?"

  She blushed. "No, I just ... I want . . . Ooh." She laughed, a wonderful breezy sound that chased away the last doubts in his heart. She turned to untie her bonnet, and lamplight shimmered in the cascade of her ebony hair. She had left it down tonight, curled loose around her face.

  He ached
to wind his fingers deep into those midnight curls. How could he not remember the sweet aching brush of her kiss? Or the enticing taste of her breasts? How could he not want more of her?

  When he spoke, his voice came gruff and scratchy. "With this snowstorm, the stages will shut down. Travel across the mountains would be too risky."

  A soft blush colored her cheeks. How beautiful she looked. "I suppose I can't make any decisions until the snow stops."

  "Yes." They would have this night together. He fought the urge to draw her to his chest, tuck her against his heart, and never let her go. She wasn't his to hold onto.

  She took a breath, held it as if ready to change her mind. Then, she spoke. "I suppose we might as well stay here for tonight. Together. Since it's so cold out in that stable. I would hate for you to catch a chill."

  Somehow she was in his arms. She felt like forever. She felt like home.

  "I was betting you would invite me to stay," he whispered now, because he could not find his voice.

  She gazed up at him, her smile mysterious. "I was betting, too." Her mouth opened, but she said nothing more. She didn't have to. He could read it in her eyes. She wanted him. The same way he wanted her.

  The knowledge made him bold. He brushed her sweet mouth with his. She tipped her head back, parting her lips. Moist and open, her kisses . . . and passionate, how passionate. His body responded to her. Desire and affection mingled together in a sweet burn, hotter than whiskey, brighter than anything he had ever known before.

  "Wyatt." Her warm breath fanned his neck just above his shirt collar. Just when he expected her to tighten her hold on him, she took a step away.

  "You don't like my kisses?" he asked.

  "Yes, I–" She blushed, then covered her face with both hands. "I shouldn't be doing this, you know, sharing the night with you."

  "Then you need to be sure it's what you want. I don't want you to have any regrets, Garnet. If you would rather, we don't have to be intimate. We can just sleep." He took a breath, hoping that wasn't what she wanted.