by JoAnn Ross
"Well," a rich contralto voice rang from the doorway, "looks as if you've found some other way to cure what ails the girl, Wolfe."
Belle's laughing voice had the effect of a bucket of icy water thrown onto a fire. Noel could practically hear the hiss and sizzle of steam rising from her heated flesh.
Wolfe had gone absolutely rigid. She suspected, rightly, that he was struggling to rein in his own out-of-control emotions. He cursed, an earthy curse Noel knew would survive another century.
He stood up, his back as rigid as his expression. The taste of desire had soured in his mouth. "Anyone ever tell you that you've got rotten timing, Belle?"
"Not as bad as you think," the older woman countered. "Lucy wanted to bring up this tea. Think what might've happened if she'd caught you swapping spit with some other female."
"Probably take a piece of hide off my ass. Then scalp me."
"At the very least." Belle cast a glance down at Noel. "I suppose we ought to introduce ourselves. I'm Belle."
Still in a bit of a daze from that devastating kiss, Noel managed a faint, polite smile. "My name is Noel."
"Now, ain't that a pretty name. For a pretty girl. And nothing personal, honey, but if you want to give it away, I'd prefer you do it somewhere else. This here's a working house and I've got too much dough invested in that bed not to get my share. So to speak."
"I didn't mean for that to happen," Noel insisted on a shaky voice far removed from her usual calm tone. She unconsciously lifted her fingers to her still-tingling lips. "I'm usually much more circumspect."
Now that was definitely the understatement of the century. Make that both their centuries, Noel thought miserably. What on earth had gotten into her? She'd never been so shaken by a mere kiss in her life. Not even when kissing Bertran.
Especially when kissing Bertran.
"Don't worry that pretty head about it," Belle said easily. "From the look of it, you and Wolfe here had yourselves quite an adventure. A little danger always tends to get the juices flowing."
"I believe I've heard the same theory," Noel agreed. As she dragged her hands through her hair, the sheet slipped down to her waist again. She pulled it back up to her chin, ignoring Wolfe's arched, mocking eyebrow. "It's the adrenaline rush, I believe."
"Wouldn't know about that." Belle shrugged. "But I do know that things always pick up around here after a gunfight in town. Why, just last month, Doc Holliday came through Whiskey River, and—"
"You going to give her that tea while it's still hot, Belle?" Wolfe suggested dryly. "Or keep cooling it with your tongue."
"This tea isn't the only thing that needs cooling off," the madam retorted. "Ain't like you not to watch your back, Wolfe. If I'd been one of those black-hearted bounty hunters, you'd be picking buckshot out of your ass right about now."
"I appreciate your efforts to keep me alive. And speaking of which, I'd better get going."
"Seems to me I said something about that earlier," Belle agreed.
He turned toward the door, ignoring Noel as if she no longer existed. As if that hot kiss had never happened.
"Wait!" Noel's heart lurched in her chest as she realized he was about to leave the brothel. "You can't. Not yet."
He folded his arms across his chest and flicked a remote, assessing look over her. "Look, sweetheart, you're an attractive woman. And hotter than a firecracker on the Fourth of July. But you see, I've got myself in a little fix right now and I can't risk hanging around here to scratch that itch you've come so far to ease."
"Is that what you think?" Once again, a temper Noel had not known she possessed flared. "You think this is all about sex?"
"We weren't exactly discussing the state of the Union a few minutes ago."
His dry tone and mocking eyes only caused her irritation to rise higher. "My reasons for coming to Whiskey River have nothing to do with making love to you, Mr. Longwalker."
"The name's Wolfe."
"So at least you're admitting who you are."
"Not much point in denying it. Since everyone around here seems to feel free to fling it around so easily. Yeah, I'm Wolfe Longwalker. And I'm also wanted for murder."
"So, if you don't mind, lady, I'm just going to be on my way. Maybe we'll meet up again one of these days, when I've got a bit more time, and finish this. In the meantime—"
He bent his head again and gave her a rough deep kiss that sent a renewed flare of heat shimmering through her like sparklers, all the way to her toes.
With that, he was gone. Noel sat there, her fingers pressed against her lips, where she could still feel the heat of his mouth, stunned that she'd come so far, only to fail now.
"You can't let him go!"
When she tried to jump out of the rumpled bed, Belle pushed her back against the pillows with a fleshy palm against the shoulders.
"No one tells that man what he can or cannot do. If he wants to head out to Mexico or Timbuktu, the entire U.S. Cavalry ain't gonna stop him."
"I have to save his life."
Even as she heard herself saying the words, Noel knew they were true. It was why, as impossible as it seemed, she'd somehow managed to slip through an invisible curtain of time, ending up here, in Whiskey River a hundred years in the past.
Belle stood beside the bed, still holding the cup of willow bark tea, looking down at Noel.
"No offense meant, honey, but if that was your way of trying to keep the man safe, I'd say your methods leave a bit to be desired." Belle shook her head. "It's not even a little bit safe for Wolfe to be hanging around the Road to Ruin. Not now. Not with every lawman and bounty hunter in the territory looking for him."
"You don't understand. It's not safe for him to leave here without me!"
Noel was appalled when she felt the hot sting of tears burning her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd come close to crying. It was not her nature to allow her emotions the upper hand.
Belle's expression softened, giving Noel the impression that this was a woman accustomed to taking in strays. Girls, kittens and that mangy yellow dog that was standing beside the bed, looking up at Noel with what appeared to be canine adoration in its brown eyes.
"Why don't you just drink your tea," the older woman suggested. "You'll feel better."
What she needed was to get out of here. Now. So she could catch up with Wolfe. "So, he's left already?"
"He's gonna have himself a bite to eat first," Belle allowed. "But I don't think he wants company."
Your company. The madam left the words unsaid, but Noel would have had to have been deaf not to hear the qualification in the woman's tone.
She sipped the tea, considered her circumstances, and came to a conclusion. "If you don't mind," she said in a weak, fractured voice, "my head is really pounding. Do you think I might have just a touch of that laudanum, after all?"
"No problem." Belle nodded with robust satisfaction . "You'll see, honey, we'll get you feeling fit as a fiddle in no time." Her appraising gaze narrowed. "Nice ring."
Noel glanced down at the engagement ring she'd forgotten she was wearing. "Thank you."
"You got a fella to go with it?"
"I don't know," Noel answered honestly. "I'm supposed to get married, but…"
Her voice drifted off, but not before she was sure that Belle had caught the hesitation in her tone. The same hesitation she was certain Sabrina had detected. The same hesitation she'd been feeling ever since Bertran had slipped the diamond on her finger.
"I had myself a fiancé once," Belle revealed. "He was a traveling salesman. Sold notions. Needles, pins, playin' cards, tinware, everything from ladies' stockings to men's gaiters, calico to corn plasters, you got a use for it, my Fred would sell it to you."
"Bertran's a banker."
"A banker's bound to be a good provider," Belle responded with approval. "Dependable. And respectable. Bertran. Name sounds like a foreigner."
Dependable. Respectable. Both words described Bertran perfectly. "Yes, he
is."
"Like you?"
"My mother's an American. But my father is European."
"I figured that, from your accent. Sounds French."
"You have a good ear," Noel murmured, not wanting to get into the particulars of her country.
"My piano player's a Frenchie. Used to play the music halls in Paris."
"I'm sure he's very good."
"Best in the territory," Belle agreed with a brisk nod of satisfaction. "This may seem like the back of beyond to a city girl," Belle said, "but a helluva lot of people make it out to the frontier. People lookin' for excitement. Adventure. People wanting to make a new life for themselves."
She gave Noel another of those long speculative looks. "I left poor old Fred standing at the altar in Philadelphia. Because I knew that I'd just dry up and blow away if I was forced to live the life other people had planned for me."
Although at first glance, this bawdy madam from a nineteenth-century whorehouse would seem to have little in common with a modem-day European princess, at that moment, Noel knew that beneath the skin, where it truly counted, she and Belle O'Roarke were more than a little alike.
"I've always done what was expected of me," she murmured.
"Until you up and came here to Whiskey River. Looking for Wolfe Longwalker," Belle guessed.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Noel smiled. "Yes. Until I came here. For Wolfe."
A deep sigh caused the madam's bosom to rise and fall like a ship riding a swell at the pier. "He's a hard man to know. He'd be a harder man to love."
"Oh, I'm certainly not in love with him," Noel said quickly.
"Good. Because that would definitely be a road to ruin." Belle grinned at her intended pun as she patted Noel's arm. "I'll go get that laudanum. Then we'll decide what we're going to do with you."
She turned in the doorway. "By the way, I washed out your underwear in the basin after Wolfe and I cleaned you up. I've never seen the likes of it. You get those fancy drawers in France?"
The casually spoken statement about Wolfe assisting Belle in undressing her sent the color flooding into Noel's cheeks.
"Paris," she managed to say past the pulse that had begun jumping in her throat.
"I figured as much. Looks like I need to go on another shopping spree. Wouldn't want my girls not to have the latest fashions."
She winked broadly, then left the room.
The moment her emerald bustle sashayed across the threshold, Noel was out of bed like a shot, nearly tripping over the huge dog in her haste.
Ignoring the jagged pain behind her eyes, she began rummaging through the armoire in search of something to put on. Her slacks, denim jacket and blouse, still lying on the floor where they'd landed after Wolfe and Belle had undressed her, were still too wet to be wearable. Her bra and panties, freshly laundered, had been tossed over the back of a chair in front of the fire.
Unfortunately, the usual owner of this room did not share Noel's understated classical tastes. The armoire was filled with piles of frothy red-and-black lingerie and very little else. There was a maribou-trimmed robe, a royal-blue dress with a black lace petticoat with a scandalously—for the times—short skirt and a daring, beaded neckline that plunged nearly to the navel.
The only other dress in the armoire was definitely overkill— a scarlet-as-sin off-the-shoulder gown that while she feared would display a great deal of flesh would at least cover her legs. The dress was elaborately draped across the front of the skirt.
After putting on her underwear, she took the dress from its padded hanger and pulled it over her head. The material slid over her body like a silk waterfall, rustling like the wind in the trees. The deeply cut neckline displayed her pale breasts nearly to the nipples, revealing the lace at the top of her bra. Reminding herself that beggars couldn't exactly be choosers, Noel decided she had far more serious things to worry about at the moment.
Like figuring out how to save Wolfe Longwalker's neck.
She'd begun to pace, when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a gilt-framed full-length mirror across the room. Coming to an abrupt halt, she was stunned by the transformation created by a few yards of material. She actually looked voluptuous. She looked, she thought with wonder, as sexy as Chantal. Although, Noel tacked on, her older sister's style sense had always leaned more toward elegant glamour, while this dress was admittedly, wonderfully, risqué.
"So," she said, turning toward the dog, who was sitting beside her, gazing up at her with a dopey look of admiration, "what do you think?"
When the huge tail began wagging like a metronome, Noel took it as a sign of canine approval.
Heavens, if her father could only see his younger daughter now, Noel considered, he'd undoubtedly think she'd lost her mind. Of course, he wouldn't be able to see her, she reminded herself. Since she'd left him and the rest of her family and friends, along with Bertran behind—or should she say "ahead" in the twentieth century.
Her head swam a little at the idea. As impossible as all this seemed, she sensed that she was not hallucinating. Nor was this another dream. She was here in frontier Arizona Territory, wearing a prostitute's dress designed to appeal to a man's most basic instincts.
And what about Wolfe's instincts? she wondered. Would he find her irresistible in this dress? And more to the point, why did she care?
Downstairs, Wolfe dug into a bowl of beef stew. "Hanging around here is a damn mistake," he muttered darkly.
"Stopping to pick up that girl in the first place was the mistake," Belle said easily, refilling his coffee cup and placing a stack of fresh-baked bread in front of him. "You may as well stick around long enough to put some food in your belly."
"It's good stew," he grunted. Of course it was. Everything about the Road to Ruin was first-class. Which was what made the place the most popular sporting house in the territory. "Sticks to the ribs. You're a good cook, Belle. And a good woman. Generous. And warmhearted."
"What I am is a sucker for a good-lookin' man who ought to know better than to hook up with some foreign female while half the territory is on his tail."
"I told you—"
"I know. You didn't have any choice." She reached up to a shelf and took down a dark brown bottle of laudanum. "But we both know that's not the case." She looked across the room at him, then up at the ceiling, as if imagining the woman lying in Mary's bed. "I do have one question."
"What's that?" Wolfe began wiping up the dark gravy with hunks of bread.
"What am I supposed to do with her?"
He stopped for a moment, surprised by the question. He'd never stopped to consider the matter past getting her to Belle's, then continuing. "I suppose you could always put her to work."
"A girl like that'd probably draw men all the way from Prescott," Belle said. Watching the madam consider the idea, Wolfe could practically see the silver dollars piling up in Belle's coffers. "She's got a lot of class."
"For a fancy woman," Wolfe said grudgingly, irritated by the way the woman had, with a single kiss, expertly tied him up in sexual knots.
"She looks kinda like a princess from one of those fairy-tale picture books." Belle pointed out what Wolfe had already noticed on his own. She rubbed her three chins. "Maybe we can have an auction. For her first night."
He laughed at that. "If you were a man, Belle, you'd probably be running the Union Pacific."
"If I were a man, sweetie," she retorted, "I'd be running this whole damn country."
"I'd go for that." He stood up, tossing the napkin beside the empty bowl. A ten-dollar note joined it. "President Belle O'Roarke. It's got a nice ring."
"Speaking of rings, the girl's engaged to a banker."
Shutters came down over his eyes, effectively hiding his thoughts. "You were due to be hitched yourself when you came West," he reminded her. "A woman with marriage on her mind doesn't go running around the country all by herself, without the man in question. Especially not wearing those flimsy, see-through drawers."
Drawers that were designed for a male to appreciate, Wolfe tacked on silently.
"That's kinda what I figured." Belle folded her arms across her chest. "So, if she decides to stay on, how much do you think I could get away with charging?"
For some reason, the question irritated him. "Why the hell ask me what some man would pay to bed her?"
"Because you've gotten a sample of what she's offering. I thought you might want to offer an opinion. Compare her to Lucy, maybe?"
"There's no comparison." The answer was quick and blunt and out of his mouth before he could call it back. Hell, just thinking back on that ill-timed kiss made him hard. And angry.
Belle dragged her hand over her mouth, but not before Wolfe caught sight of her knowing grin. She reminded him of a fat cat who'd just laid eyes on a freshly churned pitcher of cream.
Wolfe was about to assure her that if she was thinking about him actually bidding for the sexual attentions of that warm and willing blonde he'd left wrapped in those black satin sheets upstairs, she'd better think again. But before he could remind the madam that he wouldn't be around for any auction, the kitchen door suddenly burst open and Wolfe found himself facing the ugly business end of a pair of Colt .45 Equalizers.
"Aw, hell," he said through clenched teeth.
A day that had started out on a downhill slide had just gotten a whole lot worse.
5
Upstairs, Noel examined her shoulder bag that Wolfe had fortuitously retrieved and was heartened to see that although her billfold had apparently either not made the journey across the century, or had spilled in the accident, Wolfe's reprinted stories, along with the Rogues Across Time had survived intact.
When she took the book out of the bag, she experienced that now-familiar tingling and realized that this oddly energized book was somehow responsible for her being here. In this time. She was relieved to find the gallery invitation stuck between the pages where she'd left it.
She was wondering how open-minded Wolfe Long-walker would be when she tried to explain her lifesaving mission, when there was a loud crashing sound from downstairs. The yellow dog immediately stopped trying to put its huge head beneath her hand, raised its head and began to bark.
