Warmth crept up my neck. “What?”
“Girls that look like what you appear to be, they can cause a lot of trouble in a town.”
“What do you mean?”
“Honey, think about it. When a woman gives a man what he wants,” Carly paused and looked at me with steady eyes, “some men begin to believe they own that woman. Own that woman enough to shoot any other man who has . . . relations . . . with his woman.”
“Shoot?” I squeaked.
Carly nodded, “As in shoot dead. To the sheriff you might be trouble wrapped up in a red dress.”
One hand still pressed Carly’s bag against my chest. I smoothed the other down my skirt, felt the reassuring presence of the derringer strapped to my thigh. I could handle trouble coming my way, at least for the short term. But I prayed to the Lord Almighty that Uncle Rob had received the telegraph I’d sent in a panic from Chicago, hoped he’d be at the station when I arrived, hoped he would recognize the niece in the saloon girl’s dress. Trouble packaged in red – that just wasn’t me.
On the other hand, the thought that the look of me might stir some unease caused an odd sense of pleasure deep in my gut and a hint of a smile turned up the corners of my mouth. I’d never, as a woman, rippled the waters. As a female medical student yes. But that was a status quo stir that my father had apparently squashed and not what I meant. When my sisters entered society, their sparkling blondness enhanced by their beautiful gowns set tongues wagging and men scrambling to their sides.
I’d willingly watched from the sidelines as my siblings commanded the attention of the most eligible bachelors.
They’d glowed from their success, but now I wondered if the glow had merely been an illumination of their sense of power. I’d felt that today – pure feminine power – as I walked down the train’s aisle. Yes it had been of the negative kind but it had been power and I began to understand my sisters and their clamouring to attend social events.
Power was heady stuff.
The slowing train interrupted my reverie.
“Damn!” The sheriff jumped to his feet, reached for his gun in one fluid motion.
“Sit down, Sheriff.” A deep voice ordered from the front of the car. “Sit down or I may have to hurt this pretty little thing.” The man’s six gun was pointed at a whimpering young girl.
“Leave the girl be, Boyd.” The sheriff didn’t sit but he didn’t move either.
“Hettie?” called out the man whose body matched the size of his voice.
It was the woman with the long braid, man’s shirt and dungarees. Gun pointed at the Sheriff’s chest, she moved out of her seat to the back of the car. Her voice was rich, velvety but her words were anything but. “Sit down, Sheriff. That is, sit if you want to stay alive.”
At the front Boyd laughed. “This woman,” he glanced at the mother of the terrified child, “is going to go through the car and collect your valuables in this leather bag.”
The train chugged slower.
“Boyd, you won’t get away with this.”
The sheriff’s voice didn’t boom but its steely edge sent a shiver through me. Of the two men, I didn’t know who frightened me more.
“Isn’t just me, Sheriff. The rest of the gang is spread out on the train. We’re breaking open the safe, taking the money.”
I swallowed hard past the sudden lump in my throat.
The weeping mother stumbled through the car. When she got to us, Carly gave her a few coins.
I’d taken a few coins out of my grandmother’s reticule a few moments before. I slipped those in the leather bag, gave the mother’s arm a squeeze and tucked my treasured purse further into the folds of my red skirt.
Hettie chuckled, motioned towards me with her free hand. “Hey you, green eyes, put that pretty little green purse in the bag. It caught my eye right off back at the station.”
“I will not! My grandmother gave me this.”
The passengers were stunned into silence.
So was I. If this was my personal power emerging it could do with a bit of common sense.
To my shocked surprise Hettie laughed. “Boyd, I think I may have to shoot this one.”
“Go ahead dear.”
Hettie shifted her gun, pointed it towards my chest. My mind blanked. My limbs froze. God help me but I screeched like a ninny. “Sheriff!”
He raised his brows and gave me the down and up look. With much less appreciation then he had at the station.
God help me but that dismissive look twisted something tight and red in me. I ordered, “Stop her!”
“Don’t know that I will. One less girl coming into town? I might consider that a favour.” His slow and easy words wound that something in me to the sticking point.
I sputtered. “What?”
“Your purse or your life, honey,” Hettie chuckled.
The morning had been the most trying of my life. I felt I’d held myself together quite well - but Hettie’s chuckle tipped my tolerance scales into the red and my Irish temper erupted. “I’ll give you neither! You’re nothing but a bully!”
The sheriff groaned. Carly gasped.
Hettie’s smiled shifted into a dark, grim line. She cocked her gun, aimed it at the center of my forehead.
The click of the gun’s hammer echoed a death knell in my brain.
Carly grabbed my reticule, stuffed it in the bag.
Hettie nodded to Carly, “You’re smarter than your friend.” Hettie grabbed the bag, backed out of the car, and jumped off as the train rolled to a stop.
My relief morphed into irritation. I snapped at Carly, “Why did you do that?”
“She would have killed you.”
“She was bluffing.”
“Hettie Larange would have killed you like that.” Carly snapped her fingers.
I snorted my disbelief.
Boyd called out to the group but kept his gun pointed at the little girl. “Everyone stay in their seats.”
I felt the car shudder as an explosion blasted somewhere else on the train.
Boyd backed towards the entry of the car, added, “Just a few more minutes now and we’ll leave you folks be.”
Carly nudged me in the ribs, pointed out the window.
Two men on horseback waited a short distance from the train. Each of them held the reins to three more horses and held a gun in their free hand, pointed at the train.
I looked from Boyd to the horses to the sheriff. Boyd no longer held the gun pointed at the child. He held it aloft pointed towards the back of the train but at no one in particular.
Boyd was in the open. This was the only chance to stop him. Why didn’t the sheriff shoot him?
I whispered across the aisle, “Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“Like what?”
I continued despite the hard glint in his eyes, “Stop them.”
The glint sharpened to daggers. “Losing odds. Not a good plan.”
Oh for the love of God, someone needed to do something! I dropped Carly’s bag in her lap, hiked up my skirt, and yanked my derringer out of its holder. To the sheriff I said, “Odds just improved. I’ll cover Boyd. You deal with the rest.”
Adrenaline pumped through me. I could do this. I stepped into the aisle, raised my gun, and aimed for Boyd’s leg. I didn’t want to kill him just stop him. A second later my elbows, then my entire body thunked against the floor. “Ouch!”
“Sheriff?” It was Boyd’s amused voice.
“I’ve got her.”
Got me? He was squishing me! The sheriff’s long hard body was sprawled from head to toe on my back. His star dug five razor sharp points into my bare shoulder blade, slivers from the rough wooden floor imbedded themselves in my chest, and his hips! His hips were inappropriately pressed against my buttocks!
“Get off me!”
His breath was warm, his cheek rough with new stubble against my skin as he whispered in my ear. “You’re a damn fool. Quit trying to get yourself killed. Now be a good girl a
nd stay put.”
I don’t know why the good girl irked me but it did. And I don’t know why I tightened my grip on the derringer’s handle but I did.
The sheriff’s rough, strong hand snared mine like a tight noose, squeezed until he choked loose my hold on my gun.
“Ouch! That hurts!” I yelped as he yanked my other arm above my head, held both wrists there with one hand.
“That is one stupid whore, Sheriff.” Boyd laughed. “But I might be happy to trade places with you. Get a chance to rub myself all over that lush body.”
I gasped.
“Keep your mouth shut.” The sheriff’s voice was hard as nails in my ear. He shifted to the side, leaned on his free arm, lifted his upper body and said to Boyd, “Get off this train.”
Another laugh rolled from Boyd before he responded, “Be happy to oblige.”
I heard Boyd stomp off, heard him yell to Hettie and others.
And still the sheriff held me down.
“Get off me!”
“Nope. Staying right here.”
I tried to buck him off, thrust my behind up against his hips but he was too heavy. At best all I succeeded in doing was an agitated rub. Unfortunately I realized my mistake when I felt something else besides his hips press against my buttocks. Fortunately my red face was pressed to the floor. I knew exactly what that something else was and what it looked like. Well, at least I knew what it looked like in my medical books. I’d just never been in such intimate acquaintance with one before.
As a result my voice came out in a mix of panicked and breathy. “Boyd’s gone. Get off me.”
“You’re staying put until they’ve ridden off. Carly?”
“Loading money bags on their horses.”
This time when the sheriff growled in my ear, my breath hitched and tiny shivers ran down the side of my neck.
“You could have gotten someone killed! Pointing that toy gun at Boyd was pure stupidity.”
“I’m not stupid. I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor. Right. I might have believed that back at the station when you looked like a proper lady. But honey, the way you worked those hips walking down the aisle of this car . . . that wasn’t the walk of a lady.”
Could his tone be any more sarcastic? I ground my teeth together. I refused to get caught up in an argument about my vocation.
“Honey, if you want to play the doctor role . . .” A single fingertip traced the sensitive area from my hair bun down the nape of my neck, tickled along my spine, followed the lace trim of my dress under my arm to my bodice ending with a whisper of a caress just short of the side of my breast. “. . . I’m more than willing to be your patient.”
His murmur was as soft and plush as the brush of velvet on naked skin.
To my horror tiny electrical shocks erupted under his touch, arrowed down to my belly . . . and to my breasts where my nipples stiffened into hard nubs.
Anxiety colored the anger in my voice as I hissed, “How dare you! Get off me or I’ll scream.”
Carly called out, “Boyd and his gang are gone now.”
He rolled off me then, leapt to his feet with the ease of a cat. But I swear, he hesitated before I felt air between our bodies.
“Folks, we’re not far from Bandit Creek. I’ll be going after Boyd. If any of you are willing, I could use a few extra men.”
“You,” he turned and leaned an inch away from my face, “need to go back where you came from. Bandit Creek has enough trouble with train robbers and the girls already at the saloons.”
Gone was the velvet soft voice. In its place was one full of hard, cracked leather.
I plunked back down in my seat, yanked my skirt up to replace my derringer, slapped Carly’s bag back against my chest and stared out the window for the remainder of the trip. I didn’t know who I was more angry with – him or me.
By the time we reached our destination I had a crook in my neck and a headache the size of the mountains. The only salve for my pain was that the sheriff chose to ride on the platform at the end of the car, outside, rather than return to his seat.
In a bitter sort of way I prayed for the rush of air to blow him off the train.
Chapter Four
“He told you to get out of town?” Robert Delaney was a younger looking version of my father but with a softer heart and a warmer demeanor. He worked for people rather than having people work for him. We were standing in the parlor of his house/office discussing my eventful trip.
I swirled the skirt of the respectable green gingham I wore. The brush of cotton against my legs felt normal, decent and like I’d donned Dr. Mackenzie Delaney’s skin once again. Poor Uncle Rob, his eyes had nearly popped out of his head when I’d stepped off the train. After hiding me in his home, he’d rushed to Riley’s General Store and Mercantile and purchased me a couple of ready-made dresses. I shook out the second dress, a periwinkle blue, and held it up against me. “You have an excellent eye for size and color, Uncle.” Carefully I folded it and put it on the table, returned to Uncle’s question.
“He told me to leave, I was stupid and Bandit Creek didn’t need any more girls causing trouble.”
“The Sheriff’s a good, reasonable man but can’t say that I blame him for the latter. That red dress was a bit of an eyeful.” Then he added as an afterthought. “And the girls, especially Loreilei’s girls, have stirred up lots of trouble around here.”
“He didn’t believe I was a doctor.” Try as I might I couldn’t keep the indignant tone out of my voice.
Uncle barked out a laugh. “Not many will, Mackenzie. You’ll have to prove yourself. It won’t be easy.” He hooked a hip on the edge of the table, studied me.
His unblinking Delaney look was as lethal as Daddy’s. “What?” I exploded.
“Quite the conversation you and the Sheriff had.”
Uncle didn’t know the half of it – the taunt, the touching, the terrible heat.
“He’s single.”
“I’m engaged!”
“Uh-huh.”
He drew those two syllables out like they held an entire conversation between them. It was another Delaney tactic to get the victim to squirm, to confess each and every one of their sins. I clamped my mouth shut, propped my hands on my hips. I would not reveal the up close and personal details of my encounter with the Sheriff.
I knew I’d won the round when Uncle said, “Now tell me about this man you’re marrying.”
I settled on the dainty sofa and Uncle on the matching floral chair. The furniture was a beautiful set but Uncle felt wrong in here, looked wrong in here. He sat stiffly, limbs rigid like he was afraid of harming something. I cocked my head to the side and studied him. He was neat and clean. Neither his clothes nor his hands would soil the fabric. But I saw it then – the tension around his eyes. He was more uneasy than worried about marring the furniture. I asked, “What’s wrong?”
He scooted off the chair, stood and leaned against the wall. Immediately his facial muscles relaxed. “I don’t use this room much.”
I tilted my head to the side as I considered Uncle. And was reminded of myself, ill-at-ease, in the elegant drawing rooms in Chicago.
“Your man?” he prompted me.
Strength, steel, allure – the words flashed through my mind along with an image of the man that embodied them.
It wasn’t Tom.
Rattled, I summed up Tom in two sentences. Then realized I had nothing else to tell.
Which left me troubled, tense.
And begged the question - where did I truly belong?
I steered our conversation into family, my education and Chicago and then back around to the current situation. Uncle was an easy man to talk to. He listened well, asked questions and reserved judgment. It had been five years since we’d last seen each other. Five years since his wife Anne passed on and Uncle had come to Chicago to seek solace with his brother and family. I had liked him then and I liked him more now.
I mentioned the five years
and Uncle narrowed his eyes, considered my height and build.
“You’re much the same size as Anne. Her clothes – skirts and things – are in a trunk in my room. Don’t know why I still have them.” He shrugged and paused for a minute. I wondered if he still mourned his Anne. “Anyways, you could use them if you like.” Then a flush crept across his cheekbones. “Of course, you’ll want to buy some underthings. Let’s walk into town; You can get what you need at Riley’s and I’ll introduce you around.”
Riley’s was only two buildings away. Uncle’s house/office was at the south east end of Bandit Creek, the closest building to the train station. In between Riley’s and Uncle’s was the Bank and Gold repository. Uncle pointed out the Sheriff’s office and jail right across the street from the Bank and said, “The Sheriff bunks there if he has a prisoner.”
The Sheriff. When I stepped off the train that man was already gathering a posse to go after the Boyd gang. It suited me just fine that he was leaving town. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with him.
But I’d searched through the group of men until I picked out the Sheriff. As he reined in his prancing horse, he yelled orders to the group.
He looked back.
Through the dust, the horses and the crowd our eyes locked – and his dark censure settled over me once again.
With an exaggerated flick of my bare shoulders, I shrugged it off, tipped my chin high and challenged his gaze.
I swear I saw him grin before a flicker of something quick and warm and heady flashed from him to me.
And then he was gone.
I fanned my overheated face.
My reaction didn’t suit me just fine.
Uncle paid for my goods, introduced me to Mr. Riley and declared if I needed anything, absolutely anything, that Mr. Riley should just put it on Uncle’s account. My eyebrows rose at that statement and as we exited the store I said, “Uncle, I don’t want to be a financial burden to you. I have enough clothes for a month. Besides, if it hadn’t been for that darn Hettie, I could have bought my own things.”
My Heart Burns (Bandit Creek Book 24) Page 3
