Connie Brockway

by Anything For Love

  She reached across the table, laying her hand over his. It seemed so ingenuous, so natural, but the electricity shooting up his arm, tingling his flesh at the merest contact with her . . . well, there wasn’t anything innocent about that!

  “We’ll just forget last night, shall we?” she suggested.

  Yeah. Sure, Noble thought. Forget the feel of you high against my chest. Of your mouth opening beneath—He withdrew his hand from her touch. Her satiny skin blanched even further.

  She thought he disliked her touch! That was a laugh. He wanted to sweep her out of the chair and carry her to his room and . . . please God, make her say something, anything to keep my thoughts from their present course.

  Her eyelids fluttered and a sad smile bowed the perfect curve of her lip.

  “What have you been doing, Noble?” she asked, trying for a bright tone.

  “This. That. Mostly exploration.”

  “Exploration.” She nodded encouragingly. “That sounds fascinating.”

  He frowned. Something wasn’t quite right about her attitude. “It has its moments.”

  “And how have you been, Noble?” she asked quietly

  “Great,” he said. “Wonderful. Couldn’t be better.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.”

  She didn’t believe him! Doubt lurked in her artificial smile, in that too-sincere tone.

  What did she think? That if a man didn’t end up like her father, playing ruler of the world from a Park Avenue mansion, he was a failure?

  “I . . . ah . . .”

  Noble stared at her in amazement. She was acting as nervous as a cat crossing a creek.

  “I wonder. Hmmm.” She furrowed her brow in mock consternation. “Noble, I have a problem.”

  He snapped to attention.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing too trying, but something you might be able to help me with. You see, it’s important that I talk to my uncle if I’m to be able to do anything for this town.”

  “Why is Salvage so important to you, Venice?”

  “I told you.”

  “And that’s all?” he asked suspiciously. “You feel responsible?”

  “The truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have plenty of money, Noble, but I don’t have the respect of the foundation’s board of trustees. It doesn’t matter to me what the popular press prints about me, but those stories have undermined my credibility. Particularly with my father—”

  “So you’re still trying to prove yourself to Trevor?” Noble interrupted, unwilling to hear any more. Each word drove home just how far apart they’d grown.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Sure, I do,” he said. “Take a two-bit town and see if you can make it measure up.” Sorta like taking a slum brat and seeing if you can teach him Greek and Latin.

  She nodded. “You can help me,” she continued. “No one in Salvage is going to let me find my uncle’s accounts, so I’ll have to find my uncle. You were just saying that you are familiar with these mountains.” She took a deep breath. “I would like to hire you to guide me to him. I will, of course, compensate you well for taking up your valuable time—”

  Noble felt his mouth start to gape. Venice held up a hand as though to stop him from interrupting. She needn’t have worried. He couldn’t have uttered a word. He felt pole-axed.

  “I will open an account for you and you can charge whatever you need to my name.” Her tone softened. “Please avail yourself of the opportunity to purchase some new shirts.”

  She was offering him charity! He glared at her. High-handed, imperious little do-gooder!

  She hurried on. “To be applied against your fee, of course.”

  He choked. No words came out. He tried again. “Is that supposed to be a balm to my pride?”

  She stared at him.

  “Listen, Venice, I don’t need your charity, your work, or your goodwill. And I sure as hell don’t have any desire to help you win your daddy’s blessing.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Well, you did! I am not some two-bit saddle tramp. ‘Exploration’ was not a euphemism for kicking around the mountains!” he shouted.

  “It wasn’t?”

  Her surprise spurred his indignation. “No!”

  “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” She didn’t sound sorry. She sounded pleased! “But you don’t have to get so upset. From the way you dress, I’d supposed that you were a bit down on your luck.”

  “I am not upset.”

  “Your pride is bruised. I understand,” she said in those same compassionate tones.

  “My pride is not bruised!”

  “Really. I know what it’s like to have people assume the worst about you.”

  “I bet you do.”

  “What did you say?” The impartiality had dropped from her tone. Good.

  “Tim says you got kicked out of New York. So you decided that while you were on vacation you might as well play savior to a two-bit stinkhole and a two-bit drifter? Is that about the size of it?”

  “I was not kicked out of New York!”

  “Ha! Why don’t you just take the next train back? You can be sitting at Delmonico’s with some fool drooling over your hand by Saturday night.”

  “Oh!” Venice said, and this time Noble could hear his own offended dignity echoed in her increasingly strident voice. “This is important to me!”

  She was shouting at him.

  He waved his hand at her, gesturing for her to keep her voice down. Every eye in the room was on them. Noble gritted his teeth, trying to make it look as though he was smiling. Brat.

  This is ridiculous, Venice thought as she glared down at the hard, determined features of her would-be guide. She was allowing this man to upset her. And, despite her memories of him as an Irish lad, Noble was now a man, just like any other man. And Venice knew quite well how to deal with them.

  She wasn’t sure she believed there was a purpose to his wanderings in these mountains, but she did know that regardless, he could still use some money. She owed Noble a debt for their friendship and she was going to repay it with or without his cooperation.

  In no more time than it took to form the thought, Venice filled her eyes with tears. They overflowed her lower lids, slipping slowly onto her lashes. Not many, just two or three wet trails. Just enough to impress upon him how very sad his pig-headed, obstinate, unwarranted behavior was making her. Just enough to make him do what she wanted.

  She willed a tremor to her lips. Reaching out her hand, she recovered Noble’s fingers. She gazed deeply into his eyes, paused a second for added impact, and then whispered in a tremulous voice, “Can’t we help each other? Please?”

  He snorted.

  There was no other word for it. A blatant snort and then a sound that might have been a choked laugh. It couldn’t be, she thought. Men had many reactions to her tears, but laughter wasn’t one of them.

  She turned her trembling lips into quivering ones. A flood of tears escaped her eyes. She took a deep, deep breath, consciously swelling her chest in a sigh. She even threw in a ladylike sob.

  “Please!” she begged.

  Noble didn’t want to laugh. He really didn’t. But his sense of the absurd, so notably absent during the past twenty-four hours, was making an unheralded and not particularly well-timed comeback.

  Venice had always been able to cry at will. Once, she’d even made money off the parlor maid’s kids, betting she could get a river flowing inside thirty seconds. She’d won.

  Practice had, indeed, made perfect. Since he hadn’t fallen flat on his face the minute she started leaking tears, offering to do anything she wanted shy of self-mutilation, she redoubled her efforts. And she didn’t look all that appealing.

  The dewy-eyed effect was ruined by the thunderous scowl she couldn’t hide. Her nose was getting red. And her lips, a moment ago so soft and tremulous, were wobbling. She was blubbering. Hell, she looked funny.

>   He laughed. Full-blown hilarity that once started, was impossible to stop. Venice looked stunned. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were almost popping from her head and—

  Someone’s hand swung him around. The wind erupted from his lungs in a painful whoosh as a fist drove into Noble’s belly. Another blow landed in his kidneys and lights of pain exploded in front of his eyes.

  “You insufferable cad!” Cassius drew back his hand for another punch.

  Still doubled up from the blow to his gut, Noble blocked it just in time.

  Hell! he thought as he struggled backward, buying time to get his lungs working again. He was getting damned tired of being hit every time he spent more than a minute with Venice Leiland.

  “What are you doing?” Venice cried, grabbing for Cassius’s arm and missing.

  “This swine made you cry. No man in my presence will cause a lady tears and have the deed go unavenged!”

  “Stop it! Stop!” Venice yelled.

  “You pompous, asinine piece of bear scat!” Noble straightened, the air finally back in his lungs. This time he wasn’t going to be fobbed off by any flinching, squinting, or shaking on Cassius’s part. He was going to beat the shit out of the bastard.

  Noble drew back his arm, cocking his wrist. Suddenly, Venice was between them, throwing a hand against each of their chests, trying to push them apart. Noble swore, pulling his punch up short, barely missing Venice’s cheek.

  He’d almost hit her.

  The muscles of his upper arms began to tremble. The eviscerating, overwhelming impotence spread rapidly through his body to his chest, his belly, his thighs.

  He’d almost hit Venice. He was going to either throw up or buckle to the floor.

  “Coward,” sneered Cassius. “Look at him shaking. And well he ought, Miss Leiland. Only a craven makes a woman cry.”

  “You hit him! You struck him with your fists!” Venice exclaimed.

  “As I shall thrash any bounder who makes a defenseless woman weep!” Cassius declared stoutly.

  “Well, he didn’t really make me . . .” Venice trailed off into incoherence.

  Thank God, she didn’t appear to realize just how close she’d come to getting hit. Noble forced the image away, concentrating instead on Cassius.

  “I didn’t what?” Noble asked Venice, silently promising Cassius a future encounter. One without Venice in attendance.

  “Miss Leiland doesn’t have to explain anything to you, you cur!”

  “That’s right!” Venice wheeled around, glaring at Cassius. She looked like an elegant Siamese cat facing off with a coyote. “And I needn’t explain to you, either. I didn’t say anything to you the other night about your audacity in following me out here all the way from New York, but now I feel I must. You don’t have the right to interfere in my life. Not yet.”

  “But I thought—”

  “I don’t care what you thought!”

  Not yet? What the hell did that mean? Noble wondered jealously. What liberties had she allowed this smirking rodent to make him so confident of their relationship? Noble’s fists clenched at his sides.

  Venice was trying to gather her composure. “I do not mean to seem like an ungrateful churl. Thank you, Mr. Reed, for your concern, misplaced though it is. Mr. McCaneaghy did not do anything untoward. Your interference was unnecessary.”

  “As you wish, Miss Leiland. But all things considered, you can’t mean to continue this mad notion and stay in this backwater hole. We could go to Paris or Lon—”

  “Yes, I do. But then, mad notions are rather a strength of mine.”

  Cassius stared at Venice for another moment before shooting a glare at Noble. “Lucky you have a champion, McCaneaghy. Some people are simply attracted to charity works.”

  If Noble could have trusted his legs, he would have beaten the living hell out of the man. Venice, however, seemed unaffected by Cassius’s taunts. Her smile was as sweet as it was dismissive.

  “Never fear, m’dear,” Cassius assured her. “I will be staying within calling distance for the duration. Regardless of your protests, I could never bring myself to leaving you to the mercy of these . . . yahoos.” Cassius jerked forward into a bow before marching through the door.

  Noble flopped down in his chair. He didn’t trust himself to any but the most elementary movements. His mouth was still dry. Venice’s eyes narrowed on him.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’. This particular yahoo is lighting out of here as soon as he can!” he said.

  She didn’t deign to answer. She just left.

  “High-handed, domineering, overbearing, misbegotten son-of—argh!” Venice stomped into the Gold Dust.

  It was dim inside. For some reason Katie had pasted cheap brown paper over the windows. The ever-present crowd of silent men was lined around the room.

  Katie breezed forth from behind the bar. “You musta been talking to McCaneaghy.”

  “And why would you assume that?” Venice demanded.

  “Jes’ a wild guess, hon.” Taking hold of Venice’s hand, Katie pulled her along.

  “Well, you’re right,” Venice said, stumbling after Katie. “I was talking to him. I was offering him a job. A means to recover his pride, help me, and earn some honest money. And you know what he said?”

  “Nah-uh. You haven’t eaten yet, have you, Venice?” Katie stopped beside a table laid with a checked cloth.

  “He refused! He all but told me to get out of town!”

  Pulling out a chair, Katie shoved Venice gently down and pushed her to the table. The last was executed a little too forcefully, the edge of the table catching Venice square in the ribs. “Ow!”

  “Sorry.” Katie snapped open a big, square napkin. “What was you sayin’, now? You offered McCaneaghy a job? Shoot, honey, he’s already got one. Works for some outfit back East. Smith’s and Son or somethin’. And what do you mean yore leaving town?” She stepped behind Venice and wrapped the napkin around her neck, tying the ends.

  “He does?” Katie must be referring to the Smithsonian. A trill of pleasure that Noble really was doing explorations underscored her indignation. She wasn’t going to be sidetracked. “I am not leaving! No one is sending me away from anywhere again!”

  Katie lit the wicks of a pair of mismatched candles.

  “But I know where I’d like to send that thick-skinned, long-haired . . .” Venice muttered darkly.

  “How’s about a nice cup of tea and maybe a cheese biscuit for your lunch?” Katie asked.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Jones, I wasn’t attending properly,” Venice said, reaching behind her neck and fumbling at the napkin’s knot. “I don’t care for any lunch, thank you.”

  Katie swatted Venice’s hands away. Venice looked up in surprise.

  “Sure, you do,” Katie insisted.

  “Really, I’m not in the least hungry and—”

  “If she ain’t gonna et, I want my two bucks back!” a masculine voice said.

  “Me, too!” another man called.

  “An’ me!”

  “Yeah, Katie, we didn’t pay two bucks to gnaw on a couple of rock-hard biscuits.”

  “Shut up a minute, there! I’m just gettin’ her settled,” Katie bellowed over Venice’s head.

  With dawning awareness, Venice turned in her chair, looking around her. She was seated in the center of the room, in an area roped off by the very twine she had helped to tie earlier. Men crowded up against the cordon. Many wore old, outdated day coats—sentimental reminders of past lives—atop dusty overalls and sweat-stained calico bib shirts. Most had knotted gaily colored kerchiefs and bow ties around their necks. Several had slicked their unwashed hair with shoe black.

  One man, buck teeth displayed in a grin that was nearly as prominent as his Adam’s apple, kindly directed Venice’s attention to a piece of cardboard suspended above her head. She read: DINE WITH MISS VENICE LEILAND! $2

  In utter mortification, she lowered her face toward the plate in front of her and whispered urgentl
y from the side of her mouth, “Miss Jones! How could you?”

  “Well,” Katie said defensively, “I was just thinking how’s it was such a waste. You being here and all these mangy skunks always hanging around, never spendin’ more’n a dime.”

  Venice made herself smile as she said through her teeth, “But to charge a fee for these men to watch me eat! It’s . . . it’s . . .”

  “It’s business,” Katie said. “And business ain’t been so good since you took up residence. A gal’s gotta eat. And I always did have a right healthy appetite.”

  She pulled out a chair, dragged it close to Venice’s, and sat down. “All these lovesick prairie dawgs is so busy tryin’ to impress you with what gentlemen they are, they ain’t orderin’ drinks. Half the gals that rent rooms from me are thinkin` about finding other lodgin’ counta the men don’t want to come, er, ‘callin’,’ with you down the hall. Darn it, Venice, this seems to me like a harmless enough sorta way to make a buck.”

  “But to put me on display!” Venice protested. “Surely, you must have known you needed only to ask and I would gladly, happily, give you any money you wanted!”

  In wonder, Venice watched Katie squirm in her seat. The blonde saloon owner fidgeted with the cutlery and made odd, gruff little clearing sounds in her throat. She refused to meet Venice’s eyes.

  “Well?” Venice prompted.

  “I know this is sorta pre-sum, er, pushy, but I ain’t never had too many friends. Ain’t never felt the need fer ‘em, leastways ones of my own gender, if you catch my meanin’.” Katie smiled. Venice smiled back, a genuine smile this time, and Katie relaxed.

  “Well, I figure you and I are ‘bout as close to bein’ girlfriends as I’m ever likely to get.” Katie waved down Venice’s would-be interjection. “Like I said, I don’t know much about bein’ a friend, but one thing I know for absolute sure is you don’t never ask friends fer money. Not ever—shut up, now, Venice, honey—no matter how rich they are. It jes’ kinda would stop bein’ friendly like then.”

  Katie considered her a friend. There had been few opportunities in Venice’s life for friendships and she very much appreciated what Katie was offering.