by Sabine Starr
“That means I could take any name, couldn’t I?” Tempest warmed to the idea of starting over.
“Except you’ve already been given one,” Mama Lou said. “Temperance Tempest.”
“I doubt you will live that one down any time soon,” Ludmila said.
“I guess not.” Tempest chuckled, and the others joined her. “If I can’t ask Lucky’s real name, may I ask what he does?”
“I’d go easy on that question, too,” Diana said. “In a lot of cases, you don’t want to know.”
“Or it is not safe to know.” Ludmila shrugged. “If their money is good, that is good enough for me.”
“Lucky has a reputation around town for being a treasure hunter,” Mama Lou said.
“Treasure hunter?” Tempest glanced around the group, wondering if they were pulling her leg. “Out here? What could he find?”
“Those old tales about lost Confederate gold in the mountains of Indian Territory keep folks busy,” Mama Lou said.
“But that’s not a job.” Tempest felt disappointed. No name. No employment. Maybe he was just a handsome cardsharp with a fast gun. Still, she hoped not.
“We’ve seen him drink with outlaws, but never ride with them,” Mama Lou said.
“He’s a gentleman,” Diana added, smiling. “Whatever his background, that says a lot about him.”
“I suppose so.” Tempest appreciated good manners, but they could cover a lot of problems, too. Haig was a perfect example. “Excuse me. I don’t mean to be rude. Please sit down and join me for muffins.”
“Wish we could,” Mama Lou said, “but we’ve got to get back to work. We just came by to meet you and make sure you’re okay.”
“Thank you for your generosity.” Tempest folded the nightgown, and then laid it across the back of the rocking chair. “You caught me in a time of need. I’ll repay you as soon as my situation allows it.”
“We are glad to help out,” Ludmila said. “We have all been in trouble at one time or another. A helping hand is simply a helping hand. No need to pay us back. Pass it on to someone you meet who is in need.”
“That’s a wonderful way of looking at it. But still—”
“You’re right as rain in the Bend.” Mama Lou dusted her hands together. “Let’s get together for a confab tomorrow. We want to hear your story and we’ll tell you how we ended up in Delaware Bend.”
“As kind as you are, I won’t be able to stay,” Tempest said. “I have urgent business across the Red River in Indian Territory.”
“You were going with the temperance ladies?” Diana asked.
“Yes.”
“How will you go now?” Ludmila appeared concerned.
“I don’t know. But go there, I must.”
“Not to worry.” Mama Lou patted Tempest’s arm. “We’ll help you.”
“You must be tired from your long day,” Diana said. “Saul will bring up a hot bath later. Once you’re clean and rested, everything will look better.”
“I already feel better,” Tempest said. “Your generosity and kind words have helped a great deal.”
Mama Lou gave her another hug. “Just leave everything to the Ladies Benevolent Society of Delaware Bend.”
Tempest followed them to the doorway, watched them walk down the hall, and then closed the door behind them. She positioned a chair under the doorknob for safety, and then sat down in the rocker again.
What amazing women. They were so self-assured and so independent. They even ran their own businesses. They must have seen and heard what was happening to her and leaped into action to help. Their kindness did a lot to right her world. Once she had settled with Haig, she was going to repay them with more than just money.
As for the Red River Saloon, how could she have known that she would be chopping into a work of art? And poor Lulu? She wished she could repair the damage, but that was beyond her ability.
For now she would take advantage of the local largesse. She was tired and hungry. With little effort on her part, those needs could be met. As far as a man named Lucky, she felt a lingering hunger, a desire for a deeper connection with him. Yet he wasn’t her type of man and he had already moved on with his life.
She could imagine that he left a trail of hungry women in his wake. She walked over to the table, selected a muffin, and took a big bite. Life went down a lot easier with sugar. She just wished she had her own sugar, a wonderful, delectable man she could call hers.
Chapter 7
Lucky lay in bed with his hands clasped behind his head, thinking one thought and one thought only. Tempest.
He would’ve enjoyed sharing her supper, but he’d had to attend to business in the Bend. After leaving the ladies to their hen fest, he’d returned to the Red River Saloon to watch and wait. He’d downed a few pickled eggs and tossed back a couple of whiskeys. The saloon had been abuzz with Temperance Tempest and Lulu’s bisected navel. It had also been filled with patrons wanting a look at the damage. Big Jim was going to come out ahead of the game thanks to Tempest and her hatchet. Life had a funny way of turning out the way you least expected it.
Tempest had been hell-bent-for-leather when he’d first seen her, but now she seemed contrite about the damage she’d caused to the bar. She was tough, but she was tender, too. He suspected that she was beautiful on the inside as well as the outside. She reminded him of Angel, the dime novelist he’d recently helped out of a tough spot and left in the capable hands of her loved one.
He should’ve stayed at the saloon longer, but he’d kept imagining Tempest fresh from a bath, smelling of violet water and wearing her lacy nightgown with nothing underneath except her warm, damp, bare flesh. He’d wanted to be near her, so he’d returned to his room.
Now she was on the other side of one thin wall. He could bust it open with his fist or kick it in with his boot. She’d be in bed. He intimately knew that bed with all its lumps, sags, and squeaks just like he wanted to intimately know Tempest’s body with all its curves, valleys, and hidden treasures.
But he wasn’t going to get involved with her. He didn’t care how much his body craved her. He wouldn’t comply even if she begged him. He was on a mission of too much importance, and time wasn’t on his side. He only wished his rebel body would listen to reason.
In the dim light of a lamp, he looked down at the vertical shaft rising up between his legs, long, thick, and hard. He sighed. So far, his arguments hadn’t impressed his prick, not one damn bit. He could try distraction, but he didn’t hold out much hope for that, either.
Outside, the night was still young for the Bend’s revelers, even though it’d be daylight in a few hours. He could hear tipsy warblers, drunken arguments, and horses racing up and down Main Street. He wondered if Big Jim had decided on a course of action to get Lulu returned to her pristine glory. He also wondered how many more men had poured healing libations of whiskey over her.
Lucky glanced down again. Nope. Those thoughts didn’t do the trick, either. Once aroused, his cock had amazing staying power. If he was going to get any sleep, he needed to relieve the pressure. Not that the act wouldn’t be pleasurable, but he knew it wouldn’t dull his craving for Tempest.
He wanted to introduce her to “Courtly Love,” a term popularized by Gaston Paris in an article the previous year, but long practiced in New Orleans by the French who immigrated there. Older, experienced ladies had initiated him at an early age and he’d honed his skills over time. At twenty-nine, he was in his prime. He could be a gentle and passionate lover or he could be a rough and passionate lover. He knew how to give and receive pleasure. He’d like to share his knowledge with Tempest, but for now, she could only be a fantasy.
He lowered his hands from behind his head, grabbed a towel from the washstand, and dropped it on the bed. He gave his prick a firm squeeze, and wrapped his fist around the length.
He groaned, feeling his prick get hotter and harder at the thought of teaching Tempest the fine art of coupling, for surely a young lady like her
was a virgin. He stroked up and down, imagining her squeezing him with her soft hands, her hot mouth, her inner muscles. He felt his juices gather and his cock tense. He pumped faster, wanting her, tasting her, smelling her. As he reached his crest, Tempest screamed next door.
And his fantasy converged with reality. As he imagined her crying out in ecstasy at his touch, he grabbed the towel and spurted to the sound of her voice echoing in the room.
Only in the aftermath of his release did he realize that her cry had been one of fear, not ecstasy.
“Lucky!” Tempest called, pounding on his door. “Help me.”
He tossed the towel in the washbowl, jumped off the bed, and pulled up his blue jeans. He hurried across the room and jerked open the door. She pushed past him into the room and turned back to face him.
She looked delectable, even better than his imagination. She wasn’t wearing a robe. She looked as if she’d leaped straight out of bed, long hair loose and wild, nightgown sheer and clingy. Her high-arched feet were bare. He could see the shadows of her nipples, the fullness of her breasts, and the triangle between her thighs. If he’d been hard before, now he was like a rock. At least his blue jeans kept his prick corralled or he’d be out and ready for her.
Tempest took several deep breaths and swallowed hard, obviously determined to control her fear.
“What happened?” he asked, trying to get some blood to return to his brain so he could help.
“I need you to come next door and deal with that man in my room.”
“A man? Didn’t you put a chair under the knob like I told you?”
“Yes. I don’t how he got in there. Maybe there’s a secret door or something.”
“In the Lone Star Hotel?”
“He’s trying to raise the window. I think he’s going to kill himself.” She walked back to the doorway. “Please hurry!”
“Are you sure you didn’t wake up from a bad dream?”
She glared and straightened her back. “Trust me, I know the difference.”
“Okay.”
He strapped on his gun-belt and made sure his six-shooter was snug in its holster, but he didn’t take time to put on a shirt. If a man had gotten into her room and was causing trouble, there was no time to lose. If she’d had a bad dream, she needed to be reassured and maybe persuaded to sleep in his room where he could watch over her. Either way, he came out ahead, since he was getting to see her in dishabille.
Tempest led him into the hall where a wall lamp illuminated the area. She pointed at her room. “I’ll wait out here.”
He drew his six-shooter, kicked the door all the way open, and then eased into her bedroom. He glanced around, but didn’t see anybody. He checked under the bed. Again, nothing.
He holstered his .44 and walked back to her. “Bad dream.”
“No!” She pushed past him and stopped in the doorway. She pointed. “There! He’s still trying to raise the window. He looks in terrible pain.”
Lucky felt a tingle of preternatural instinct alert him. He looked at the window again. Nothing. He glanced at her. Everything.
“Tempest,” he said gently. “I’ll deal with this.”
“You’ll save him? I’m scared to approach him. He’s armed and looks so dangerous.”
He clasped her hand. She felt cold. “Come with me.”
“If you don’t help him, I’ll find another way.”
“You still see him at the window?”
“Yes!”
“I want you to go to my room.”
“Maybe I should run downstairs and get Saul.”
“Not yet.” He squeezed her hand, hoping to transfer some warmth, and led her to his bedroom. “You’ll be safe in there.”
“What about you? He looks almost out of his mind.”
“I’m armed, too.”
He nudged her into his room and closed the door. He stood there a moment, shaking his head, but there was no time to lose. He took the stairs down two at a time, walked across the lobby, and knocked on the door to Saul’s suite. When he didn’t get a quick response, he slammed open the door and strode into the bedroom.
Saul struggled to a sitting position, looking wildly about. “Trouble?”
“Question.” Lucky loomed over the bed. “Did a man some time ago jump out of the window in Tempest’s room and kill himself?”
“Where did you hear that?” Saul leaned back against the headboard.
“Is it true?”
“I don’t much like to talk about it because it’s not good for business.”
“I won’t spread it around.”
“Whoever told you, tell him to keep quiet.”
Lucky nodded.
“Two years ago. It was right about this time of year. Sodbuster brought his wife to the Bend. She was in the family way and in a bad way. Doctor couldn’t save her or the baby. Man couldn’t stand the loss, I guess. He rented my best room and went out the window. Might’ve survived, but the way he fell, busted his neck.”
“I’m sorry for the man and his family. Life is tough out here.”
“And don’t get easier.”
“Better get some more sleep.”
“Like I can now,” Saul grumbled, punching his pillow.
Lucky walked out and closed the door behind him. He stood in the lobby a moment, thinking. After Tempest’s impact on the Bend, he should have known she was the one. It was just his damnable luck that she was everything he wanted and everything he couldn’t have.
Now he had to make plans fast. He wished the ladies hadn’t come to her rescue. He wanted her vulnerable and dependent on him. He didn’t think that was her natural state, so he needed to find a way to induce it. Everybody had their price, as in their vulnerabilities, their needs, their desires, but not everyone knew it. That was his gift, or his curse. He could understand what lay in the hearts of others.
Whatever Tempest’s price, he was willing to pay it. But she would have to give as good as she got.
Chapter 8
Tempest paced Lucky’s room, back and forth across the braided rug. She felt tired, concerned, and worried. She was used to handling her own problems, but she’d been so startled and frightened when she’d woken up to see an armed man in her bedroom that she’d instinctively run away. If Lucky hadn’t been so close, she’d have gone downstairs to Saul. Now she wished she’d found a way to solve her own problem, but bare hands were no match for a six-shooter.
Still the man hadn’t seemed interested in her. That was growing odder by the moment. Maybe he was trying to raise the window and shout at someone in the street rather than what she’d imagined while her mind was clouded by sleep. She could have misinterpreted the entire event.
But how had he gotten into her room in the first place? She’d had to move the chair to get into the hall. When she’d run out, he hadn’t followed her. It was as if he couldn’t see her.
A chill raced up her spine. Something was wrong, but she feared she was much too late to make a difference. For the man. And for herself.
She trudged over to the door and opened it. She walked back into the hall, and then into her room. She looked at the window. The man stood on the windowsill, hands braced on each side of his body. He crouched, ready to jump.
“Don’t do it,” she said, walking toward him. “There’s a better way.”
He hesitated, slowly turned his head, and looked at her.
She smiled gently, and then held out her hand. “Come here.”
“I’ve got to join my wife and baby.” Tears streaked down his sunburned face.
“Did they go on ahead of you?” She sat down in the rocking chair, so as not to alarm him.
“Yes.”
“Can’t you find them?”
“No.”
“Why not look behind you?”
“I’ve got to go ahead to catch them.”
“Perhaps you need to go back to find them.”
He appeared puzzled, eyebrows coming together.
“T
hey left first, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“If they stayed here, wouldn’t they be behind you?”
After a moment, he nodded. He slowly, carefully turned his head until he looked toward the table. He audibly caught his breath. “Louisa, is that you?”
“Go to her.” Tempest blinked back tears at the sight of the woman in a calico dress holding a small, squirming bundle. “She’s waiting for you.”
“That’s our baby?” He stepped down from the window, walked over to the woman, and stood there, arms hanging limp at his sides. “Wife, is that truly you?”
“Embrace your family,” Tempest said. “It’s time for you all to go home together.”
He put his arms around them. Soon their bodies grew misty and slowly dissipated until they were no more.
“Wherever you go, be happy.” Tempest wiped the tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath.
“You’re a Spirit Rattler, aren’t you?” Lucky said from the open doorway.
She froze, startled by his presence, not sure what he meant, and horrified that he might have witnessed what she’d done with the ghosts.
He shut the door behind him and walked into the room. “You’re good, really good.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You see ghosts. Saul just told me the story of a man’s suicide two years ago in this room. Wife and baby dead in childbirth.”
She took a deep breath to slow her racing heart. She couldn’t let him know about her affliction. Only bad things came to her when people knew. “I apologize for waking you earlier. You’re right. I had a bad dream and thought I saw a man in my room. Of course, I didn’t.”
“And you were just now talking to yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to pretend for me.” He stalked over to her. “As it happens, I’m in need of a Spirit Rattler.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Maybe you can lie to yourself and others, but you can’t lie to me. I don’t know what you call your gift, but in my world, you’re called a Spirit Rattler.”
