Velvet Thunder

by Teresa Howard

  The store owner, taking in the group of lonely lawmen who lined up to purchase the lacy things clutched in their callused hands, claimed he would have to start ordering the fripperies by the case. Two dozen guns were drawn, cocked, and the clerk completed the transactions in silence.

  The handkerchief lay on the table in front of Blue, her eyes riveted to it. Heath’s hand rested on the stark white material.

  “It’s very beautiful.” Reverently, she fingered the delicate lace. Their hands touched and Heath jerked back as if he’d been shocked.

  He was embarrassed at his action. “Take it.”

  Blue smiled and held the gift to her cheek. “Why?” “Why what?” Heath pretended not to notice the sheen in Blue’s eyes.

  “Why are you giving me this?”

  “A beautiful gift for a beautiful lady.” His eyes scanned the room. He didn’t mind charming his lovely companion, but he didn’t want to be overheard sounding like a fancy dude. After all, the man who killed Barnes Elder had a tough image to live up to. “Surely a lovely lady like yourself receives gifts all the time.”

  When her tears overflowed her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, he covered her hand with his own.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, bowing her head.

  Heath bent his head until they were eye to eye, then blessed her with the platonic smile that always charmed his sisters out of the mulligrubs. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

  “You came here for a good time. And I—” she couldn’t finish.

  Most men were uncomfortable with crying women, but not Heath. He found them a special challenge. He had discovered that good-natured teasing and a dose of genuine affection could cure most anything. He captured a glistening tear on the tip of his finger. “Guess it’s a good thing I gave you a handkerchief, huh?”

  She blessed him with a watery smile, drying her face with his precious gift. When she had regained a measure of her composure, Heath again invited her to confide her troubles in him. She remained silent.

  “It has to be a man. My sister, Ann, says that the only thing that can make a woman cry is gaining weight and unfaithful men.” He leered at her comically. “Since your body is dang near perfect, it has to be a man. What did the scoundrel do?”

  Never in her twenty-one years had Blue confided in a customer. She had told Jeff her darkest secrets, her brightest dreams, but then, she never considered Jeff a customer.

  Actually she had a hard time thinking of the man smiling at her with such kindness as a customer either. Lucky Diamond was the sort of man a woman could call a friend. In a town like Adobe Wells a woman needed all the friends she could get. Blue didn’t have any friends now that Jeff was dead.

  “It is a man. I loved him. But he’s gone.” She shrugged slightly, only the sadness clouding her eyes showing how very much she missed him.

  “Well, he must be a fool to run out on you—” Heath began.

  Blue’s chin jerked defensively. “Jeff didn’t run out on me,” she said heatedly. She covered her mouth with her hand; she hadn’t meant to say his name.

  Heath sat straighter in his seat. “That wouldn’t be Jeff Johns, would it?”

  Blue’s eyes met Heath’s. She didn’t know whether to trust him or not. Something in his sapphire gaze decided the matter for her. She nodded, yes. “Did you know Jeff?”

  “I didn’t have the honor. But I know his sister.” And I’d like to know her a lot better, he added silently.

  A sudden hush fell over the saloon. Heath glanced up to see Judge Jack standing in the doorway. He paused, then entered the saloon, followed by his gunslinging entourage. They trailed after him like a gaggle of geese.

  Fear darkened Blue’s eyes. “It’s Judge Jack. I have to go.”

  Heath’s glance bounced from the frightened woman at his side to the man crossing the floor. He took both of Blue’s hands in his own.

  “Please stay.” He squeezed gently. “I have no business with Judge Jack. I want to talk with you about Jeff.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice quivered; her hands trembled in his.

  Heath studied the judge closely. What was there about Elias Colt Jack that scared people so? Although he was a big fellow, he didn’t look particularly threatening. Actually, at first glance he looked quite the gentleman. Of course, that black pirate’s patch was somewhat ominous. And the hawkish look in his other eye made him seem menacing.

  But his disreputable entourage was far worse. Now standing at the bar, they surrounded him. Fatty and the Mexican had been joined by a tall man who covered the judge’s back. The newcomer was an albino. Glaring into the mirror over the bar, his pale eyes conveyed threatening messages to the men in the room.

  Just then a slight Indian boy entered the saloon.

  “What do you want?” the barkeep barked at the child.

  “I have a message. . .” the child began.

  Before he could finish his statement, Jacobson grabbed his arm and snarled into his face, “You filthy Comanche, your kind ain’t welcome here.”

  The boy looked up, terrified. The man addressing him was not just big, but enormous. Bear Jacobson looked like a pod of whales all by himself.

  Heath could well imagine how frightened the boy must have been, confronted by a monster like Jacobson. The child was so incredibly overmatched.

  Bear backhanded the youth across the face. Blood leaked through the small, dark fingers covering his mouth and nose, but the child never made a sound.

  Heath growled low in his throat, so low, only Blue heard him. He felt sick as he watched the injured boy run from the Golden Nugget.

  It was the child he’d seen on the Johns spread. The lad who called Stevie “Mother.” Heath was glad Stevie Johns hadn’t witnessed the incident firsthand. She would have drawn on Jacobson, understandably so. But even if she had killed him, one of the judge’s remaining goons would have put a bullet through her.

  Just as they would shoot Heath now if he blew the man to hell, as he wanted to do more than anything on earth. He would have to wait till later to deal with the man. And deal with him he would.

  Blue’s gasp of pain drew his attention. He was still holding her hand. The rage he felt at the scene had caused him to squeeze too tightly.

  He released her instantly. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right.” Paling, she appeared unsure of him now.

  Heath cursed soundlessly. This night was not turning out as he’d planned. Those bastards at the bar were to blame. He glared at them, catching the albino’s eye in the mirror.

  Walking toward Heath, his pink eyes resembled ghostly specters ringed by thin circles of blood. A wide-brimmed hat topped his snowy hair. He was a deadly wraith and his first words were for Blue. “Get upstairs, where you belong.” He barely spared her a glance.

  “She’s with me.” Heath gently took her hand again.

  “Personally, I don’t give a damn what the whore does.” The wraith glared at Blue then. “But Jacobson might not like it. He hasn’t seen you yet. You want me to call him over?”

  Neither Heath nor Blue answered the wraith’s threat.

  The wraith turned on Heath. “What the hell are you doing in town, mister?”

  “Didn’t I play this scene last night?” Heath muttered to himself. Aloud, he cursed, “I swear and declare. This has to be the most inhospitable town it’s ever been my misfortune to stumble into. Ever since I rode in, somebody’s been shooting at me or asking me to leave.”

  He surged to his feet and shot toward the ceiling in one fluid motion. The room quieted; every eye turned his way. “I have an announcement to make. In case any of the rest of you are interested, my name is Lucky Diamond. I came to Adobe Wells to play a few hands of cards, sleep a coupl’a nights in a real bed, and get some hot food in my stomach.” He winked down at Blue. “This lovely lady has consented to be my good luck charm. If any of you are interested in losing some money to us, we are at your disposal.” With that, he bowed chivalro
usly and dropped back down into his seat. “Now, run on back to your boss, you plug-ugly phantom,” he spat out.

  The wraith’s hand inched toward his gun.

  “Draw, please,” Heath taunted.

  “Whitey.” A steel-hard voice halted the aggressive movement.

  Heath smiled, his cool blue eyes frigid as a glacier. “Damn! He’s got you trained better than a lapdog,” he exclaimed softly. The look in Whitey’s eyes told him he had just made a deadly enemy. What the hell? One more didn’t matter.

  The judge, ringed by Sims, Carlos Garcia, and Bear Jacobson, stood at the bar. They occupied their usual positions, with their feet firmly planted; Bear on the right of the judge—glar—ing at Blue—Garcia on the left, just like last night. It was almost as if they had those particular spots reserved. Heath wondered if Jack slept sandwiched between those two thick slices of garbage.

  Slowly, Jack ran his fingers across one end of his mustache, then the other. Heath supposed that his deliberate movements were designed to intimidate. One would think after last night he would be reluctant to challenge Heath so soon, but some men never learned.

  Tension thrummed in the air. With a jerk of his head the judge summoned Whitey. Before leaving the saloon with his entourage in tow, Jack shot Bear Jacobson a glance.

  Bear remained behind, glaring at Blue through the deep folds of flesh surrounding his eyes. He approached Heath’s table, never taking his hostile gaze from the frightened woman.

  “Hadn’t you better run along, Jacobson?” Heath derided Bear.

  “She’s mine,” Bear hissed.

  Heath winked at Blue. “Now, that’s a revolting thought, isn’t it, sugar?”

  Heath appeared relaxed, good-natured, almost cordial. In truth, he found Jacobson nauseating. He could hear every breath the slob drew. It was a liquid sound, squeezing upward through mounds of flesh. His ponderous gut hung over his belt, completely covering the buckle. He bore a remarkable resemblance to a hippopotamus Heath had seen at a circus in Europe, though Jacobson wasn’t as clean or sweet-smelling as the animal.

  But most of all Heath didn’t like what he saw in the man’s eyes as he stared at Blue. And he didn’t like the fact that the girl was trembling with fear. “Do you mean to accept my invitation, Mr. Jacobson?”

  “I’ll play.” Bear dropped heavily into a groaning chair and pulled a wad of bills from his vest pocket.

  “Oh, we’re not playing for money, my fat friend.” Heath’s deadly soft words halted the brigand’s progress.

  “What’re we playin’ for?”

  “Blue.”

  Twelve

  “Name your game. Poker, whist, or brag?” Heath asked.

  “Huh?”

  Heath bit back a grin. “What game do you fancy? Poker, whist, or brag?” Bear didn’t strike Heath as an intellectual giant. He suspected the man would be taxing his brain to get through a good hand of blackjack. But he couldn’t resist taunting him.

  Jacobson regarded Heath with a blank stare. “Poker,” he grunted finally.

  “Very good.” Lucky, the gentleman gambler, nodded his head politely. “Five-card stud.”

  Expertly, Heath shuffled the deck of cards that were a constant companion of Lucky Diamond’s. He handled them as if they were an extension of his fingers, moving smoothly, faster than the eye could see.

  It would be easy for a man with Heath’s talent to cheat at cards, but he didn’t. He was so good, he didn’t have to. The man sitting across from him was another matter; he would need watching. Men like Bear would sell their own mothers for a profit. If men like Jacobson had mothers. . .

  The game and the challenge were over almost as soon as they began. Heath drew four aces, Bear, a pair of threes.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” Bear leaned across the table and growled at Blue.

  Lucky surged to his feet. He grabbed Jacobson’s shirt, cutting off his breath. “If you so much as harm one hair on Blue’s head, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

  Frightened, Bear nodded. When Heath shoved him back in his chair, he lugged his tonnage to his feet and lumbered across the room. Pridgen was wrong: Jacobson wasn’t fast. But Heath suspected that he was ruthless.

  Without saying a word, Blue and Heath followed Bear to the door. Heath expected to find him preparing an ambush reminiscent of the night before. Instead, Jacobson entered the saloon across the way, without a backward glance.

  Two things happened next . . . simultaneously. Blue threw her arms around Heath’s heck and planted a grateful kiss on his mouth. While his back was turned, Stevie Johns surged through the door, the note she had sent him earlier—stained with Winter’s blood—clutched in her hand.

  Her sharp gasp drew both Heath and Blue’s attention. The look on Stevie’s face was one of pure outrage. Reckoning it was due to jealousy, Heath grinned infuriatingly.

  “My dear Miss Johns.” He bowed chivalrously, unmindful that his arm was still around Blue’s crimson-encased waist. “I’m honored that you would seek me out two nights in a row.”

  Stevie wanted to slap the supercilious smirk off Heath’s face, but she’d be danged if she’d allow him to make a fool of her again. Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady. “You rotten, no good.” She gritted her teeth. “You’re nothing but a . . . a man!”

  He released Blue and stepped closer to Stevie. “I’m glad you noticed.”

  Blue smiled when she noticed the pink glow on Stevie’s cheeks at Lucky’s nearness. She had seen Jeff’s sister only at a distance until then. Stevie was as pretty as Jeff said she was. And as feisty, if the venomous look she was giving Lucky was an indication.

  In the dark of night, when Blue lay alone in her bed upstairs after the hoards of rutting, filthy, profane men left the saloon, and she had scrubbed as much of the shame from her body as she could, she dreamed of being a decent woman, of having a best friend like Stevie Johns. It was a dream that would never come true now that Jeff was dead.

  “Answer me one question if you will.” Stevie’s tone was caustic enough to strip paint from the barn wall. “Were you cavorting with that woman while my son was being beaten up?” She shook the bloodstained note in front of his face.

  Blue didn’t take offense. She recognized a smitten woman when she saw one. If she had found Jeff kissing another woman, she would have said far worse.

  The question of how someone as young as Stevie could have a child Winter’s age, especially without benefit of a husband, flickered through his mind. It was immediately burnt away in the face of righteous indignation on Blue’s behalf. “You leave Blue out of this. She hasn’t done anything to you.” He glanced at the note and grew even angrier. “So, you’re the fool who sent that child in here.”

  Stevie was more than embarrassed; she was ashamed of herself. He was right on both accounts. Blue had never done anything to her. And she never should have sent Winter into the saloon. She had been a fool . . . about many things.

  “I apologize, miss,” Stevie said sincerely to Blue, then left as quickly as she’d come.

  “Well, don’t just stand there like a simpleton. Go after her,” Blue ordered Heath with more life than she’d shown in a long time.

  Heath kissed her cheek. “Sounds like good advice to me. You sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I hardly think Bear Jacobson will bother me tonight after the warning you gave him.” More than a little hero-worship lit her eyes.

  Heath was oblivious of it. All he could think of was Stevie. “Okay. I’ll check on you in the morning.” With a smile as big as the state of Texas on his face, he hurried from the saloon.

  He almost tripped over Stevie where she sat on Pilar’s stoop in the darkness, her hands fisted together, pressed between her updrawn knees.

  “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

  She remained silent.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  She scooted over to make room for his large frame. The note she had sent to the saloon fluttered to the ground
.

  Heath retrieved the missive. “May I?”

  “It’s for you.”

  He was intrigued. “Me?” Striking a match on his boot heel, he held it up to the paper and read: “Mr. Diamond, I’m going out to the ranch tomorrow to look around. You can tag along if you want. Stevie Johns.”

  Heath hid a smile. Short and sweet, just like the woman who’d written it. He had certainly received more eloquent pleas for help. But it was exactly what he would expect from a woman like the one beside him—the one who was trying to act as if she couldn’t care less about his reaction to her note. He carefully folded the paper and placed it into his waistcoat pocket. “Why the change of heart?”

  “I’ve learned that some of the judge’s men have moved out to our land and are digging around in my hiding place.”

  “Your hiding place?”

  Stevie had not meant to refer to the cave in that way. Not wanting to explain the significance of her terminology, she hurried on. “I’m good with a gun, Mr. Diamond, but I’m no match for a dozen or more hired guns.”

  He blessed her with a devastating smile. “It’s always important to recognize your limitations.”

  “This may be a joke to you.”

  “I’m sorry . . .” he began.

  “But my home and family are being threatened. Frankly, I have a hard time laughing about that. Now, are you going to ride with me or not? If not, I have to try to find someone else. Considering the stranglehold the judge has on this town and the fact that I’m part Indian, that might be a bit difficult.”

  Not to mention that you’re a woman, Heath added silently. He heard the bitterness in her voice and regretted that one so lovely and so young had so much to be bitter about. Pushing aside the sympathy it evoked—which he was sure she didn’t want—he tapped her nose lightly. “When you put it so graciously, sugar, how could I refuse?”

  Her heart was banging against her ribs long after he excused himself and took the warmth of the night inside with him.