Connie Brockway

by Anything For Love

  “She ain’t no trouble. She’s the kindest, sweetest . . . she ain’t a bit high and mighty She’s giving a party for the whole darn town. She’d ordered up a trainload of supplies for it, too. Already got tents set up on the field in case it rains.”

  “Venice is throwing a party? Why? Just what the hell is she doing here?”

  “Well,” Blaine said consideringly, “folks ‘spect she’s come to see if ole Milty found any of those bones he’s always looking for and if he hasn’t, she’s gonna close down the spur line. She’s going around asking fer all the spur line ledgers and her uncle’s accounts and all sorts of stuff. Ain’t had much luck getting any of it, though.”

  “How’s that tie in with her throwing a party?”

  “Guess she just feels bad about what she might have to do with the railroad. Closing it down and all. Ain’t that nice?”

  “That’s just bloody grand.” Apparently the Leiland penchant for buying approval hadn’t stopped with Trevor.

  “Where is she?”

  “The Gold Dust.”

  Noble knew he couldn’t have heard Blaine right. The boy pursed his lips, looking around guiltily, as though he’d personally escorted her to the saloon.

  “Yup,” Blaine said in response to Noble’s silence. “The Gold Dust. See, there was this little misunderstandin’ between Miss Leiland and some of the Convivial League.”

  “Yeah?” Why didn’t this surprise him?

  “Well, they kinda mistook Miss Leiland fer the new madam in town and when Miss Leiland tumbled to the ladies’ mistake, she . . . ah, she laughed. Not that she was making fun of ‘em,” Blaine hurried to clarify

  “Let me get this straight. Venice comes to town and straight off gets mistaken for a prostitute. Instead of being offended, like a normal decent woman sure as hell would, she thinks it’s funny. Next, she decides to throw the town a party to make up for closing down the spur line.”

  “Yup, only the Convivial Ladies ain’t comin’ ‘cause Miss Leiland invited all the calico gals in town, too.”

  “Hell.”

  “Well, Noble,” Blaine said reasonably, “she is renting rooms from the owner of the Gold Dust. She couldn’t hardly do different.”

  “She’s renting rooms at a whorehouse.”

  Blaine gulped. “It’s only kinda a whorehouse. Cayuse Katie don’t run the girls. They make their own arrangements.”

  Noble was trying to stay calm. He was trying to understand, but his jaw throbbed, his body itched, his ribs ached, and he wasn’t looking forward to going to the Gold Dust.

  Going to the Gold Dust?! He didn’t want to go to the Gold Dust. But he was going to have to go there, wasn’t he?

  No.

  He wasn’t her guardian. He wasn’t her anything!

  Angrily, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a wadded paper bill, tossing it on the table.

  “Why isn’t she staying at her uncle’s?”

  “Skunk got in, stunk the place up real good. Which, Noble—I hate to mention it—but you’ve smelled a sight better yerself.”

  “I know!” thundered Noble, spinning on his heels. He stomped through the doorway Hell and damnation! Who was he fooling? He’d learned long ago there was no use fighting this . . . this compulsion to take care of Venice.

  “Where you going?”

  “I am going to find Venice Leiland and get her out of that whorehouse, out of Salvage, and out of my life!”

  “Would you please tell Miss Venice Leiland there’s someone here to see her, ma’am?” Noble asked the blonde woman on the other side of the bar.

  “Cayuse Katie,” the woman said, leaning one arm on the counter and placing a hand on her hip. She bent forward and the soft mounds of her breasts flowed against her beaded silk bodice.

  “Katie,” Noble said politely, “I gotta see Venice Leiland.”

  “Yeah, you and every other thing in pants, stud.” She leaned further forward, threatening to spill over the top of her gown. “Though you’re a sight more appealing than most of the hop toads that find their way in here.” Reaching out, she ran a finger along his jaw.

  Noble smiled and shook his head. “Tell her an old friend of the family’s here to see her.”

  Frowning, Katie straightened, tugging at the straining seams of her dress. “You? A friend of the Leilands?” She snorted. “You ain’t putting me on, are you? ‘Cause if you are, Venice is just gonna politely tell you to go to hell. She’s a lady, ya know.” Pride fought with disappointment in the declaration.

  “I’m not putting you on.”

  Katie reached under the bar and brought out a bottle of rye and a shot glass. “Well, have a drink while you wait. This ain’t no social hall.”

  She turned and strolled the length of the bar to the staircase, jet beads bouncing on every round curve.

  Unstopping the twist of cloth in the bottle neck, Noble poured himself two fingers of whiskey, staring into the huge mirror behind the bar. It reflected a sunburnt, wind-scoured man in faded denims and a grimy, patched calico shirt. A man who looked as anxious as a kid on his first day in the army. Why the hell hadn’t he gotten himself a bath before coming here?

  Behind him he heard the door to the saloon open. He squinted into the mirror to see who’d entered and promptly closed his eyes.

  A man stood just inside the threshold, leaning nonchalantly on a silver-topped cane. He was dressed in brown checked trousers and an expensive-looking tweed sporting jacket. His gleaming black hair echoed the macassar sheen of his luxuriant black mustache. Casually, he surveyed the barroom, his gaze coming to rest on Noble. His eyes widened.

  “Mick Caneaghy,” he said in a nasal Boston accent. “Why am I not surprised to find you here, amongst the squalor?” He lifted his cane and waved it around the room.

  Noble turned around, studying the murky sediment on the bottom of his shotglass for a moment. With a shrug he lifted the glass, quaffing the liquid noisily.

  “I don’t know, Thorny,” he finally said. “Maybe you was lookin’ fer me?” He settled his elbows behind him on the counter.

  “ ‘Maybe you was’? I see you’ve forgotten all your elocution lessons. What a waste of a perfectly good education. Yale’s, that is.” Cassius Thornton Reed smiled.

  Noble frowned, as though perplexed. “I don’t know ‘bout that, Thorny,” he said, his drawl exaggerated. “That Yale degree got me a job.”

  Cassius allowed himself a faint shudder. “Dear man, you needn’t have a college education to lead gentlemen’s expeditions. Indians do it all the time. Oh, that’s right. You’re supposed to have done some sort of work for the Smithsonian.”

  Noble clamped one hand to his chest, his mouth dropping open in mock awe. “Thorny, you went to all the trouble to check up on li’l ole me? I didn’t know you cared! I’m flattered right down to my toes!”

  Cassius’s lips pressed into a thin white line. “I merely heard of your employment in passing and it impressed me as any oddity might. Like you did at Yale. Irish upstart. All the professors gloating over you. But then, if you teach a dog to talk, who cares what it says?”

  The only indication of Noble’s anger was a blaze deep in his amber eyes, burning hotly, like the heart of a fire. He unhooked the heel of his left boot from the bar rail. Cassius took a step backward. Noble pushed himself off the bar counter. His lean length uncoiled in slow, pantherish strides, bringing him to within a foot of Cassius.

  He stared at Cassius, held him captive with the mesmerizing intensity of his gaze. Slowly, he leaned forward. A fine sheen of moisture dotted Cassius’s brow. A wicked curl twisted the corner of Noble’s mouth. He leaned closer still. A tremor shivered through Cassius’s stiff posture.

  “Arf,” Noble whispered.

  Cassius stumbled back and Noble laughed.

  “You are insufferable!” Cassius shouted. “A prime example of your base heritage.”

  Noble turned his back, returning to his half-finished drink at the bar.

  “Wh
ere is the proprietor of this place?” Cassius demanded. “Owner! Barkeep!”

  “Miss Jones is seeing to some of her . . . renters. She’ll be down momentarily,” a woman said.

  In the mirror, Noble’s gaze traveled past Cassius up the reflected length of the stairs. His heart stopped. Venice stood at the top of the staircase.

  She was black and white, shadow and light, against the dark velvet curtain of the unlit hallway. Her dress was made completely of cream-colored lace over dark gray silk, molding her body in a latticed sheath; her skin was nearly opalescent; her hair, a midnight cloud caught in a loose knot behind her slender throat; her eyes—God, her eyes were the same, an indescribable shade of dusk capturing light, like mercury. She had always been beautiful, delicate, a charcoal sketch of subtlety and nuance rather than a bold oil painting. The lovely little fledgling had matured into a glossy cliff swallow.

  As she started down the steps, Noble forced himself to release his stranglehold on the shotglass. He took a deep breath.

  “Why, this is a surprise. I certainly never expected to see you here . . .” Her voice was amused, sophisticated, cool. He tried to think of something to say, some way to return her greeting, something light, casual— “. . . Mr. Reed.”

  Noble’s gaze flew to the mirror. She stood on the last step, her hands held out in a welcoming gesture. Cassius, having managed to bury his anger, was claiming Venice’s gloved hands in his own.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  Noble had heard it enough times to recognize the welcoming smile in her voice. But his memories were of a piping soprano; this was a contralto, richer, deeper. A woman’s voice. His belly muscles clenched tightly at the thought and he cursed himself roundly. What was he thinking? Venice was a kid he’d played nursemaid to, a little girl he’d loved like a sister. But his body mocked his thoughts. The sensations he was feeling were anything but fraternal.

  “Doing here? Why, I am rescuing you from your inevitable ennui, dear lady.” Noble found himself paying closer attention. He’d always assumed Cassius was like any number of his breed: vicious, spiteful, but ultimately harmless. But Cassius’s quick change from anger to smooth equanimity had been too abrupt. It unsettled Noble because it suggested Cassius was deliberately hiding his true nature from Venice.

  “Mutual friends told me about your decision to come west. Didn’t surprise me, of course. If mon pere were making a bid at becoming the high muck-a-muck in New York these days, I’d want to leave, too. Crashing bore, having to kowtow to doddery old dames at those receptions.”

  “It wasn’t entirely my decision.” Venice sounded calm, but there was a subtle tightening of her voice. “Actually, I was sent away to ensure no more politically embarrassing stories were written about me. Seems I have become something of a liability.”

  “And what do you care a rap for what people think of you?” Cassius said. “Like to thumb your nose at them, I’d be willing to bet—and a deuced lovely little appendage it is, too.”

  Venice didn’t respond to Cassius’s cheek. She was perfectly tranquil. Noble wished he felt so composed. Any more of Cassius’s overfamiliarity and he might have to teach him a few manners.

  Swallowing the final drops of the whiskey in one short pull, Noble replaced the glass. He was wiping his lips with the back of his hand when he looked up. She was staring at him in the mirror. Her gray eyes were wide, her expression shocked. Their reflected gazes locked and held. She took a short step forward and stopped.

  “Well, honey, you sure look a might better than the last time I saw you,” he said to her reflection and was perversely pleased when her hands flew to her elaborate coiffure.

  “You.” It was a whisper.

  “Yup. Me.” He turned.

  “I know what you must think,” she stammered. “But really I’m not that type—”

  “I don’t really give a damn what you are or aren’t.” He was amazed to find he spoke the truth. Whatever she’d become, she’d been the one bright spot in the gray, dirty world of his youth. And he hadn’t realized she’d left an empty place in him, until she returned to fill it.

  Her face had grown pale. Drawn to her, he crossed the floor until he stood a foot away. She swayed forward, her lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

  Noble smiled. She hadn’t grown much taller in the past decade. She was still an elfin, fey creature, as easily crushed as a rose petal. She tilted her head back and he was caught in her silvery gaze.

  “Where are my manners?” he teased, taking hold of her limp hand and raising it to his lips. He brushed a kiss against the smooth, cool skin and looked directly into her smoke-colored eyes. “Hello, darlin’.” The old endearment slipped from his mouth. A faint, pink blush bloomed and died in the space of a moment on her cheeks.

  He wasn’t even aware he’d lifted his other hand until he saw his fingers hovering a scant inch above the soft, glistening tresses at her temple. He swallowed and feathered the silky mass away from the vulnerable skin. Like a half-feral kitten, she leaned tentatively into his light caress.

  “How dare you touch her?”

  Venice’s eyes widened in alarm, her horrified gaze riveted behind Noble’s shoulder. “Mr. Reed! No!”

  Noble dropped his hand, dragging his attention from Venice, and wheeled around.

  Cassius was behind him, his cane held threateningly, his mustache quivering with indignation. “Insolent mongrel.”

  Noble took a step forward. “Back off, Reed,” he rasped.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Leiland,” Cassius said, cocking the hard polished cane higher overhead. “I’ll teach this ruffian to respect a lady! After I’m done with him, he won’t dare come near you again.”

  The heavy walking stick swung toward Noble. With a growl, he caught it in mid-descent. Ripping it from Cassius’s grip, he flung it across the barroom. His arm shot back, his fist aiming for Cassius’s chin.

  Reed flinched and Noble’s eyes narrowed. The jerk wasn’t worth bruising his knuckles on. With an oath, Noble grabbed Reed’s shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him in the same direction he’d flung the fool walking stick. Cassius stumbled into a chair, falling heavily to the floor.

  His breath coming hard, Noble turned back to Venice. She was staring at him with wide eyes, an unreadable expression on her lovely face.

  “I’ve already had a peck of trouble today, darlin’,” Noble said softly “I’ve been slugged, had my hand stomped on, and now I’ve nearly been caned by this ass, all on account of you. I hope you’re worth it.”

  “I’m not. I mean, I am, but not in the way you mean. I really am not what you think I am,” Venice said.

  “Darling, you don’t have to defend yourself to me. I thought all those newspaper stories I read about you would make a difference in how I feel, but they don’t. I don’t give a damn about them or what you think you are.” Lord help him, it was the truth. “All I know is that you’re here and it seems like I’ve spent the past decade waiting for you.”

  “Lord!” she breathed. “How can you say that to me? You don’t even know me!”

  She must mean he didn’t know her anymore. She was wrong. “I know you like I know the rhythm of my heart.”

  “How?” She sounded oddly desperate as if she was hearing something she wanted to believe and yet was afraid of. “From some newspaper articles?”

  “It’s more than that, and you know it.”

  “Who are you?”

  “What?”

  “Who are you? Please.”

  A plunge in a mountain lake could not more effectively have robbed him of breath.

  “That’s the feller I told you about, the one said he was an old family friend,” Katie said from the top of the steps.

  Venice didn’t know who he was, Noble realized. It was an odd sensation. As though all of his flesh was hardening into stone, while inside he was shattering into thousands of lethal, piercing shards. He kept his eyes on the crown of her head. He couldn’t l
ook into her eyes. It was all he could do to stand before her.

  She hadn’t recognized him. But she’d allowed his touch. The touch of a sunburnt, rangy stranger.

  “Are you a friend of my uncle’s?” she asked.

  Twist your lips into a smile, boyo. “Yup. A friend of Milt’s.”

  The answer seemed to relieve her, for a smile blossomed on her rose-tinted lips. She had always had a beautiful smile. It was fair dazzling now. He couldn’t find an answering one for her. Not to save his soul.

  The smile faltered.

  “I seriously doubt that,” sneered Cassius, who’d picked himself up and was leaning against the table, holding his side, as he avidly watched the interchange. Venice probably leaned into Cassius’s touch, too, Noble thought. Fine. They deserved each other. Same class, same class of morals . . . none.

  Lord, and he had thought he knew her like the rhythm of his heart. Seemed there was still a bit of the die-hard romantic in him after all. This should purge him of the last of those tendencies.

  “Leading a bunch of pack mules up a mountain hardly qualifies one as a ‘friend,’” Cassius said. “Your uncle would never associate with common riffraff.”

  “Ain’t nuthin’ common about the type of riffraff he is,” a voice averred loyally from behind Noble.

  Christ. Just what he needed. A full-blown audience. “Go home, Blaine.”

  “Don’t got one. Don’t even got a room tonight. Evening, Miss Leiland,” Blaine said, stopping before the object of his worship. “See my pal here found you. Must a been quite a surprise—”

  “Shut up, Blaine. Now.”

  The cold imperative in Noble’s voice brought Blaine up short. “But I thought, that is—”

  “I mean it, Blaine. Not a word.”

  “I don’t doubt your uncle would hire anyone available to lead him through the back country” Cassius was saying as though Blaine hadn’t spoken. “From what I gather, he goes into some rather savage, uncharted territory. It only stands to reason he would need a ruffian to guide him.”

  “Hire?” asked Blaine, thoroughly confused.