Velvet Thunder

by Teresa Howard

  Thirteen

  Heath tried his dead-level best not to gape. Truly, he did. But the sight that greeted him the next morning as he opened his bedroom door all but took his breath away.

  Bending at the waist, talking to Winter and Sweetums, Stevie’s backside was framed by Heath’s open door. It was a vision to behold. She had exchanged her black leather outfit for one that was white. Apparently, she had bleached buckskin until the fabric was soft and snowy as cotton, then fashioned trousers and a vest that hugged her body like a lover’s caress. Every curve was gently outlined, on display for every randy cowhand north of the Rio Grande.

  This last thought caused Heath no little distress. When he spoke to her, his voice showed his annoyance. “I hope you don’t plan to take that damn pet of yours along.”

  Stevie jerked up and wheeled toward the angry lawman. As usual, she reacted to his nearness in a painful-pleasurable way. Her inability to control her reaction set fire to her temper as well. “Sweetums is not a pet. She’s a friend.” Instinctively, she dropped her hand and ruffled her friend’s fur. With a sickly-sweet smile, she purred, “But don’t worry, I won’t let her hurt you.”

  Heath winced. Throwing his words back into his face was not the best way to get on his good side. Any more than looking like she needed to be tossed on her pretty little backside and loved long and hard, all day and into the night. “I might’ve known you’d name a man-eating wolf Sweetums.”

  “Men aren’t fit to eat.”

  Not even wanting to pursue the intriguing possibilities, he threw her a falsely disinterested look. “I’ll meet you out front soon as I’ve had my coffee. I have an errand to run before we leave town. We can take care of it on the way out.” With that, he presented her his back and sauntered down the hall.

  Stevie had a strong urge to stick her tongue out at his retreating figure. She wondered what the mysterious errand was, then pushed the thought aside. She bent to Winter’s level. “Pilar will take care of you until I get back. . .” she began in Comanche, sifting her fingers through his shoulder-length black hair.

  When he squared his frail shoulders and jerked his chin, looking like a Comanche brave whose honor had been insulted, Stevie changed her tack. “She needs your help. With all the bad men in town, and me gone and Pa shot, she needs a brave man in her house. Will you and Sweetums take care of her while I’m gone?”

  Winter jerked a nod, looking much older than his six years. His lower lip trembled before he could still it. Men didn’t cry, he reminded himself, Indian men or white men, and neither would he. But his heart would hurt awful bad until his mother returned to him.

  Stevie would suffer likewise. She had found Winter behind the Silver Dollar Saloon when he was less than two hours old. The woman who birthed him was a soiled dove who had expelled him from her body, then thrown him out like the contents of a slop jar. The whore was a full-blood Comanche. Stevie learned that the woman died less than a year later, shot in a barroom brawl. Stevie had been the only mother Winter had known, he, she decided, the only child she would ever have.

  Like most mothers, it hurt unbearably to leave her child, if only for a few hours. But Stevie knew it would be longer than a few hours before she and Winter were reunited. She had a sixth sense, always feeling impending doom. She knew that she and Lucky would not return to Adobe Wells for some time.

  Stevie lay a trembling hand alongside her son’s jaw and smiled with love. Slowly, her fingers mapped his face, lightly skimming the telltale bruises inflicted by Bear Jacobson. Her heart ached at the thought. She would see that the man paid one day; he would die. For now she pushed the rage and hatred aside, allowing love and tenderness to fill her. “My fingers want to see your face so I can remember you while I’m gone.”

  While she would never have a husband or children of her own, God had blessed her with Winter. He eased the ache, filled the emptiness. And she loved him for it with all her heart.

  “I love you, Mother,” he whispered.

  “And I love you, my precious child.” She kissed his cheek gently, then told him one more time how much she loved him. Rising unsteadily, she smiled and whispered, “Toquet, it is well.”

  Eyes shining, he nodded bravely. “Toquet.”

  “What’s the errand?” Stevie asked as she and Heath rode away from Pilar’s.

  “I have to see Blue.”

  Stevie stiffened in the saddle. “You can say good-bye to your whore without my presence!”

  Heath reined in, throwing her a bemused glance. “If I didn’t know better, Steph, I’d swear you were jealous of Blue.”

  “Not hardly! And don’t call me Steph. It’s Stevie. Or better yet, call me Miss Johns.”

  Heath threw his head back and laughed. She was striving so hard to look intimidating and disapproving. Instead, she looked adorable. Kind of like the furry calico he had given his sister, Ann, for her seventh birthday. Perhaps with a little coaxing Miss Johns could be as affectionate as the feline had become.

  He stared at her just for the joy of taking in her beauty. The breeze blew lightly, fluttering the fringe on her vest. Movement over her right shoulder caught his eye. His brow furrowed. A hangman’s noose dangled from the tree, swaying in the breeze.

  “What kind of town leaves a noose hanging from a tree?” he asked rhetorically. Giving no prior thought to his actions, he closed the distance and cut the rope down with one swish of his knife. He looked up in time to see two men dash into the stagecoach office on the other side of the plaza as if they expected the world to come to an end within the next three seconds.

  When he returned to her side, Stevie commented, “That was a mistake.”

  He regarded her with surprise. Her face was as devoid of emotion as her voice.

  “Why?”

  “Judge Jack said it was to be left there.”

  “Maybe it’s time Judge Jack learned he can’t have everything his way.” There was something about Stevie’s carefully controlled demeanor that struck Heath as odd. He had seen her infuriated, passionate, even amused, but never like this. “There’s more to this than you’re saying.”

  She shrugged dismissively. “Last week Judge Jack hung an Indian who was accused of stealing his prized stallion. After the hanging, Jacobson rode into town, leading the horse behind him. He had taken the animal over to Fort Bascomb for a special kind of shoe job.” When she grasped her locket, Heath noticed the fine tremor in her hand. “Lame Wolf hadn’t touched the horse. When the judge learned that he had hung an innocent man, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Tough. The stinking redskin should have stayed out of town.’ ”

  Heath’s voice was low and intense. “What did you say the Indian’s name was?”

  “Lame Wolf.” Her voice was husky, sounding almost reverent.

  Heath felt as if someone had hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer. Lame Wolf was a famed hero among the plains Indians. He had heard of his daring exploits while in Red Feather’s camp. The Comanche were gifted storytellers, and Lame Wolf’s brave deeds provided them a wealth of material. For a man who was a living legend, a source of great pride to his people, to have been executed so callously was almost more than Heath could bear. Trying to regain a measure of control, he stared at the noose in his hand.

  “Don’t take it so hard, Lucky.” She paused. “He was just a breed.”

  Heath jerked his head toward her. Had he not seen the pain in her eyes, he would have taken her to task for her remark. “Let’s go, hon.”

  She rode quietly at his side, thinking that the noose looked quite like a teardrop.

  Heath slid from his saddle and tossed the reins over the hitching post in front of the Silver Dollar Saloon. Reaching up, he circled Stevie’s waist with his hands. “You’re coming with me.”

  She pushed against his shoulders. “No. I’ll wait here.” She did not want to see Heath kiss Blue again. Just as she did not want to speculate on why the mere thought caused her heart to hurt.

  For rea
sons Heath couldn’t name, it was important that Stevie understand about Blue, that his interest was not romantic but humanitarian. “Come on.” Tightening his grip, he pulled her off her horse.

  “Let me go.” Her objections died when their bodies made contact.

  Slowly, he slid her down the length of him. If she’d had any doubt about which woman stirred his blood, the physical contact with his lower body cleared it up nicely. She dropped her gaze to a conspicuous area of his person. “Do you need two women to take care of that?” Her taunt was made through tightly clenched teeth. It was apparent that Heath wasn’t the only one fighting to tamp down the raging tide of desire.

  Chuckling softly, he tapped her nose affectionately, much as he had the night before. “You and Blue would constitute one and a half women, little bit. But then, I’ve always said the best presents come in small packages.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the saloon.

  When they entered the dim interior, Heath’s nostrils twitched at the smell of oiled sawdust. The room was empty except for the Mexican woman who swirled her broom, picking up a residue of tobacco juice and other waste from the floor. Heath asked her to point out Blue’s room. Stevie was pleased that he had to ask.

  “It’s the second one on the right. Up those stairs.”

  Stevie tried to pull free of Heath’s grasp. “I’ll wait for you down here.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. I’m far too much a gentleman to leave a lady alone in a saloon.”

  “If you were a gentleman, you wouldn’t have dragged me into this den of iniquity in the first place.”

  “You may have a point there.” Despite his words, he escorted her up the stairs. Winking down into her face, he knocked on Blue’s door.

  Muffled noises came from inside. Blue cracked the door, but when she saw Heath and Stevie, she slammed it in their faces. “Please go away.”

  Heath was enraged at what he’d seen. “Blue, open this damn door before I knock it down.”

  Stevie hit his arm. “Would you hush your bellowing? You’re scaring her.”

  Heath paid her no heed. He was too busy berating himself. Last night he had been so enraptured with Stevie that he failed to protect Blue. He had put her in danger, then deserted her. Some lawman he was! “Blue, do you hear me? Open this door.”

  “Lucky, please, just go away.”

  Reading Heath’s intent, Stevie shouted, “Move back, Blue!”

  Heath kicked the door in, breaking the latch.

  “My God,” Stevie breathed at her first good look at Blue. She acted instinctively, moving to Blue’s side and taking her hands in her own. “Are you all right?”

  Blue’s face was unrecognizable. It was a mass of black and purple bruises, her nose obviously broken, her lower lip cut, her left eye swollen completely shut.

  Heath uttered an oath that surprised both women, it was so vile. “Who did this to you?” he gritted through clenched teeth.

  “No one. I fell down the stairs last night.”

  Stevie wrapped her arms around Blue’s shoulders and held her. “Tell him the truth.”

  Blue broke into sobs at Stevie’s act of kindness. She cried into her shoulder until she was too weak to cry anymore.

  Stevie smoothed Blue’s blood-matted hair, soothing her as if she were an injured child. “You might as well tell him . . .” she began gently. “He’s such a pain in the ass, he won’t leave until you do.” This elicited a small smile from Blue and an imperiously raised brow from Heath.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” a harsh voice sounded from the doorway.

  Heath turned to see Bear Jacobson standing in the doorway. His eyes were ablaze with hate and alcohol. His unkempt black hair hung down onto an oil-slicked brow. He held a wicked-looking knife in one wide hand. Blue cowered at the sight of him, leaving no doubt who had beaten her.

  “You son of a bitch,” Heath growled, rushing Bear.

  Bear swung the knife wildly back and forth.

  With the speed of a striking diamondback rattler, Heath ducked the blade and sank his doubled fist into the folds beneath Bear’s chin. Jacobson collapsed on the floor like a fallen oak, clutching his neck.

  Heath stood over him, hands fisted at his sides. “Get up, you gutless slob.”

  Coughing and sputtering, Bear got to his feet. Heath jerked his fist back and buried it in Bear’s face, crashing him through the door. The railing splintered. Bear rolled like a giant ball of butter down the stairs. When he reached the saloon below, his body spread out like a fattening hog, wallowing in the mud.

  Heath turned to Blue and noticed that she looked more frightened than before.

  “Please leave. Both of you.” Her voice trembled; her eyes teared. “When Judge Jack finds out you’ve been here, he’ll kill us all.”

  Heath and Stevie spoke in unison.

  “Let him try!” exclaimed Stevie.

  “The hell he will!” Heath shouted.

  “Please, I beg you. Leave before Bear comes back with a gun. Please!”

  She turned imploring eyes on Stevie. All the pain she was suffering would be slight compared to the guilt she would experience if Jeff’s sister were hurt because of her.

  Stevie glared at Heath. “Are you going to go after him, or shall I?” she asked him indignantly.

  Heath looked from Blue’s pitiful face to Stevie’s determined glare. He touched both women gently, his hand lingering on Stevie’s hair a moment longer. “You stay with Blue.”

  He disappeared through the door and sprinted down the stairs. Jacobson was trying to get up on his feet. When Heath reached him, he grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up, slamming him against the wall. The fat man’s eyes widened with terror.

  Heath relieved Bear of his knife and pressed the point of it into the corner of Bear’s left eye. A small trickle of blood colored his cheek; he whimpered like a child.

  “Listen, you bastard. I’m going to leave this miserable town for now. But when I come back—and I will come back—I’ll cut both your eyes out if you’ve touched Blue. You tell Judge Jack the same goes for him too.”

  Heath released Bear. Jacobson slid to the floor, lying in a pile of sawdust and sweat, vowing never to touch Blue again.

  Heath looked back up the stairs. Blue and Stevie stood at the top. Blue’s face showed a myriad of emotions: fright, gratitude, affection.

  Stevie’s lovely visage was inscrutable, as always. She was smiling down at him slightly, though she shrugged her slender shoulders as if she had expected him to do no less. They were lost in each other’s gaze for a moment. Shaking free of Heath’s spell, Stevie turned to Blue. “Get your things together. You’re coming with me,” she said in a no-nonsense fashion. She knew nothing of the prostitute, but to a woman like Stevie, who identified with the wounded creatures of the world, Blue was a woman down on her luck. That was all she needed to know.

  Blue was astonished. “What? Where?”

  Heath joined them on the landing. “What’ve you got in mind?”

  “I’m taking Blue to Pilar’s. She can help take care of Winter. And heal at the same time.” She smiled at Blue. “But let the boy think he’s taking care of you.”

  “I appreciate it . . .” Blue began uncertainly. “But I’m a . . . what I mean to say is that Miss Pilar wouldn’t want a . . .” She trailed off helplessly.

  “You’re a friend. Just as Pilar is a friend. She’ll welcome you.” And in Stevie’s mind the matter was settled.

  Jeff had teased Stevie all her life about taking in strays. Crippled birds, motherless calves, stray dogs, half-dead wolves, even abandoned Indian boys, the list went on. She had no way of knowing how much he would appreciate her kindness toward Blue.

  Leaning a muscled shoulder against the wall, Heath threw both women a smile that accelerated their heart rates accordingly. “You might as well save your breath, honey”—he addressed Blue but winked at Stevie—“there’s no use arguing with her when she gets that mulish look in her eyes.”


  Shocking, embarrassing . . . and thrilling Stevie, he pushed away from the wall and dropped a kiss on her lips. “I’ll wait downstairs, sugar.”

  Fourteen

  Santa Fe

  Judge Jack and Colonel Banes entered the Territorial Bank of New Mexico.

  A teller, Ebenezer Ribbons, greeted them cheerfully. “Welcome, gentlemen, what can I do for you this morning?”

  Judge Jack spoke first. “I’m Elias Colt Jack, district judge of Adobe Wells, and this is my associate, Colonel Willard Banes, the commanding officer of Fort Bascomb. I represent a prospective mining group from Adobe Wells. Colonel Banes has been kind enough to accompany me for security reasons. I have a bag of valuables that I would like to deposit in your vault.”

  Jack was holding a medium-size leather valise close to his right side. Banes stood next to the bag, ostensibly guarding it.

  Smiling broadly, Ribbons responded, “Gentlemen, we appreciate your trust in our bank. May I ask what your valuables consist of?”

  Jack looked questioningly at Banes.

  “I have advised Judge Jack not to disclose the contents of his bag for security reasons.” Banes sounded very official.

  “I see.” The teller eyed the bag suspiciously. “If you will take a seat, I’ll get our president, Mr. Clark.”

  Jack nodded.

  On the far side of the bank lobby a brilliantly clothed woman was seated on a blue-striped settee, acting as if she were reading a newspaper. The chandelier overhead shot flickers of light onto her bright red hair. She was just past the flower of her youth, a bit on the corpulent side, but in a provocative way. Purposefully, she turned her back to the two men.

  Shortly, Mr. Ribbons returned with a distinguished-looking gentleman who appeared to be in his early fifties. Ribbons made the introductions, emphasizing the titles of the customers.

  Clark smiled broadly at Jack and Banes, impressed with their titles and appearance. “Mr. Ribbons tells me that you have some valuables to place in our vault.”