by Linda Devlin
Rico stepped into the lobby and gave her a broad grin. Like Sullivan, he was dark and handsome, but beyond that they looked nothing alike. Rico wore his hair short. His build was more on the slender side, though he was far from skinny. And while Sullivan was often sullen and hard to read, Rico had an easy, friendly smile. As a matter of fact, he looked very sweet, but for the fact that he wore that very large knife.
"He will be back," Rico said, trying his best to assure her. "I am sure if he had known you were coming he would have been here to greet you."
She gave Rico a friendly smile of her own. He was an easy man to like, brotherly warnings aside. "If Jedidiah knew I was coming, he would've met me halfway and escorted me promptly back to Georgia. He seems to think me too delicate for Texas."
"You have survived thus far," Rico said with a wink. "If Jed tries to drag you back to Georgia against your will, you call on Rico. Rock Creek doesn't have nearly enough senoritas bonitas to suit me. I see no reason to forcefully remove our newest beauty." He bowed crisply to her.
Rico wasn't just friendly, he was an outrageous flirt. "You're kind to offer, but I can handle Jedidiah on my own." After all, she'd had plenty of practice.
* * *
Sullivan led his stallion to the hotel stables and handed the animal to the boy whose father kept the place running. He carried his saddlebags and the contents back to his room. Before proceeding he peeked into the lobby to make sure Eden wasn't still standing there, ready to ambush him. The coast was clear.
Now that Eden had been safely delivered to Rock Creek she was no longer his responsibility, right? He could return to Webberville tomorrow, if he was of a mind, and reclaim his hat and his Colt. He could put Eden Rourke out of his mind for good.
If only he hadn't make the mistake of kissing her.
He made it all the way to the third floor without running into anyone.
The door to the room next to his was open, and Rico sat on the edge of the bed, sharpening a small silver knife. Sullivan could slip past anyone—but Rico.
"Eden Rourke is muy bonita," Rico said without lifting his head from his task.
"Yep."
"She likes you very much, I think."
"I doubt it." His voice was just a little bit too gruff.
"If a senorita bonita looked at me the way Eden looked at you, I do not think I could make myself slip out the door while she was not looking." He held the knife up to study the sharp edge.
"The senoritas look at you plenty, Kid, and it's brought you nothing but trouble."
"Senoritas have brought me the greatest pleasures of my life," Rico said with a grin.
"Well, they've brought me nothing but grief," Sullivan snapped. "Did you get a good look at her?"
"Si, "Rico said lowly, his grin never fading.
"Do you really think..." he stumbled. "She's not the kind of woman... She's a lady for God's sake, and she's Jed's little sister."
"I never took you for a coward."
Sullivan moved one door down and almost violently tossed his saddlebags onto the bed.
* * *
Dinner in the hotel dining room was served by a cheerless woman in a dirty apron. When Eden introduced herself, the woman sullenly gave her own name as Lydia. The beef was so tough the children couldn't eat it and Eden didn't want to try. The beans were passable, but not exactly tasty, and the biscuits were burned.
Eden tried to strike up a friendly conversation with Lydia, but the woman obviously wasn't interested. She served the almost inedible meal and then disappeared into the kitchen. Well, she did look tired, and Eden told herself it was possible Lydia was a lovely young woman who was simply having a bad day. Tomorrow she would surely be friendlier.
But when Lydia stuck her head out of the kitchen to snap at Eden, "Aren't you done yet?" she had her doubts about tomorrow.
By the time she settled Teddy on a pallet in the corner of the room and tucked Millie into the bed they would share, her own bedding replacing the hotel's unsatisfactory linens, she was thoroughly dejected. The hotel was not exactly what she'd expected. Rock Creek was not what she'd expected; Jedidiah wasn't here, and Sinclair Sullivan... Sinclair Sullivan had all but vanished.
With the lamp out, she went to the window and looked through a filthy pane of glass. The street below was indistinct, with the sun gone and the clouded glass obscuring her view, but she could see well enough. The town was more lively now than it had been that afternoon; there was a great deal of traffic into and out of the saloon across the street.
For the first time, she considered that coming here might've been a mistake. Jedidiah wasn't in town, and Sullivan was right about one thing. He wouldn't be happy to see her when he did arrive.
Eden took a deep breath and fortified herself. She was here now, and it was too late to go back.
The trip had been hard, but she would make this place her home. True, Rock Creek was not what she'd expected, but perhaps things would look better tomorrow.
Yes, tomorrow.
A tall figure with a familiar head of long dark hair crossed the street from the hotel to the saloon. That long stride was unmistakable, the set of the shoulders and the thick brown hair unique.
She couldn't help but think of the way Sullivan had kissed her last night. Goodness, she'd never felt anything like it, had never imagined that a kiss could be so wonderful. If she tried hard enough she could feel his lips on hers, still. She moved closer to the window, so close her nose almost touched the glass.
Why did she have this deep, gut-wrenching feeling that Sinclair Sullivan was somehow hers? That he belonged to her? It was nonsense, really. She hadn't known him long, and he was certainly not the kind of man she expected to marry, when the time came for her to take that momentous step. He was rather rough around the edges, not at all a gentlemen. Not at all the kind of man who would make a suitable husband. She shouldn't be experiencing such feelings for any man other than the one she would marry. It just wasn't right. Was it?
Besides, maybe Sinclair Sullivan wasn't a gentlemen in the traditional sense, but he was definitely honorable and decent and good. And he kissed like an angel.
Her strong and unexpected emotions stemmed from more than just the kiss, she reasoned. She'd felt something for Sullivan the moment she'd looked into his eyes. Well, eye, actually, since only the one had been visible when she'd first seen him face-to-face. She felt like she'd known him forever, like he'd be a part of her life from here on out, no matter what.
Last night's kiss had been their first, but she didn't think it would be their last. It had been much too special to ignore. Hadn't it? Was she imagining something that didn't exist?
"Look at me, Sullivan," she whispered, her eyes on Sinclair Sullivan's form as he reached the swinging doors that would lead him to goodness knows what for an evening's entertainment.
"Sinclair," she whispered, liking the sound of his more intimate given name. "Sin," she said, so softly she could barely hear the sound of her own voice. "Look back. Just once, just for a split second." If he looked back and up, she'd know that he was thinking about her, that maybe somewhere deep inside he thought of her as his and remembered their kiss.
Just before Sin stepped inside the saloon, he glanced over his shoulder and up, his eyes landing, perhaps, on this very window from which she peered as she willed him to look her way.
And Eden went to bed with a smile on her face.
* * *
Sullivan stepped up to the bar and ordered a glass of whiskey from Yvonne, the only female bartender in these parts, hoping for a few minutes of peace before the vultures descended. No such luck.
"Well, if it isn't Papa," Cash drawled.
Sullivan turned his back to Yvonne and leaned casually against the bar. Cash was, as always, dressed in a fine suit and a fancy shirt. The diamond stickpin he'd won in a poker game a few months back was prominent in a black silk tie, and he wore the fancy shoes and flat-brimmed hat he'd ordered from a New York City catalog. His face
was downright pretty, his mustache and goatee were always neatly trimmed, and his smile was quick, but Sullivan knew a little of what went on behind those eyes. Cash was not a man you'd want to ignore or turn your back on, but he was a helluva man to have beside you in a fight.
Yvonne set his whiskey on the bar without saying a word and moved away. Damn, the war widow made a fine bartender. She knew when to smile and talk and when to disappear.
"Let's get this over with here and now," Sullivan said calmly. "Go ahead. Have your say."
"Jed's going to kill you," Cash said with a smile. "You come riding into town with his baby sister in tow, a little girl who calls you Papa, and a kid that would easily pass as yours on a quick glance. Quite the happy-looking family." The words were light, but Cash's eyes went hard.
Sullivan explained, as curtly as possible, how he'd met Eden Rourke. He told Cash about Webberville and the run-in with the Merriweather brothers.
Cash's smile died quickly; his eyes darkened, turning almost black. "Webberville, you say. What say we pay them a visit, you and me and Rico and Nate? A surprise visit. Hell, it wouldn't take more than a few minutes to set those rubes straight."
"No," Sullivan said. "I'll handle it myself."
Cash shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't care one way or another. "If you need someone to watch your back, give me a holler."
Sullivan knew if he rode into Webberville with Daniel Cash at his side, the men who'd been so quick to jump him would piss their pants and run like hell. While it was an entertaining and tempting thought, he wanted to take care of those men on his own. And he wanted his damn hat back.
"She's an attractive lady," Cash said, changing the subject. "Reminds me of the girls back home. Innocent, respectable, so sweet you just want to lick them all over and see if they taste like penny candy. They have the world at their feet and paradise between their legs and they don't even know it yet." His voice was hard, cynical. His eyes darkened.
Sullivan turned his back to Cash and took a sip of his whiskey. Daniel Cash was as fast and loose with his women and his mouth as he was with his gun, and Sullivan found he was in no mood to hear the gambler and gunslinger talk about licking Eden.
Not that he had any right to feel possessive, not that it made a damn bit of difference to him who licked Eden, when the time came. She'd taste good, though, wouldn't she? She'd smell good, too, with his nose right against her skin, with his tongue...
"You got a claim on her?" Cash asked.
"Nope," Sullivan answered without hesitation and without a hint of emotion in his voice. "If you want her, she's all yours."
A soft, harsh bark of laughter was Cash's answer. "Jesus, I wouldn't touch Jed's little sister with a ten-foot pole if you gave me a dozen saloons like this one to do it. Do you know what happens to men who trifle with women who have brothers like Jedidiah Rourke? I do," he said without waiting for an answer. "And I like my nuts."
Sullivan looked Cash in the eye.
"If you like yours," Cash added in a lowered voice, "you'll quit daydreaming about little Miss Rourke."
Nate came in, stumbling over an invisible obstacle near the swinging doors. His citified suit was rumpled; his hair was cut so short it couldn't possibly be mussed. His eyes were bloodshot and he needed a shave, as usual. He looked like he'd been drinking all day, maybe all week. The ex-preacher claimed a table in the corner and ordered a bottle.
Sullivan ordered his own bottle from Yvonne and joined him. At least Nate wouldn't preach. He'd given up that calling long ago.
Chapter 5
Breakfast in the hotel dining room had been as glum and unappetizing as dinner the night before. Lydia was just as antisocial, but Eden refused to allow herself to be dismayed. She had plans for the day. Perhaps she couldn't do anything about the condition of the hotel, but she could certainly make improvements in her room.
The children helped with the enterprise, Millie sweeping and Teddy washing the window and wiping down the walls. The door, as well as the window when Teddy didn't need it closed for washing, remained open in hopes that a bit of fresh air might carry away the sour odor that permeated the room. She didn't want to spend another night in a room that smelled like someone else's sweaty feet. They'd just been working a few minutes when a raspy voice in the doorway startled Eden.
"What the hell are you doing?"
She spun around to see a thin old man leaning against the doorjamb. His skin was so wrinkled he looked a hundred years old, his eyes were sunk into his head, and his sparse white hair looked as if it had just left the pillow; it stood out in all directions.
"C-c-cleaning," she said, her nervousness making her stutter. "Isn't that all right?"
The old man rolled his eyes. "If this room is clean, everyone will want a clean room," he mumbled, his voice weak and watery.
"Oh, you must be Mr. McClure," she said with a wavering smile. "I understand you've been ill." In truth, he looked like death warmed over. "I do hope you're feeling better today."
"No," he snapped, "I am not feeling better."
"You'd best get back to bed, then," she said firmly. "Why, whoever is looking after you will be worried if they find your bed empty."
His eyes narrowed. His already thin lips thinned a bit more. "No one's taking care of me, missy. Don't need no one. I can take care of myself."
Eden's heart went out to the old man. It was terribly sad to be old and alone, sick and without anyone to care for you, and too stubborn to admit to the need for help. She couldn't possibly allow him to continue in this way.
"My grandmother had a home remedy that was sure to cure any ailment," she said in her most sensible voice, giving Mr. McClure a warm smile. "It's just a simple tea with a few secret ingredients, and I promise you it's quite tasty. Perhaps you'd allow me to make it for you."
"I don't need any damned tea," he rumbled.
Eden's smile faded. "Please don't curse in front of the children," she said in a lowered voice. "It isn't proper."
Mr. McClure didn't argue with her; in fact, his sunken eyes filled with tears and his lips trembled slightly. "You sound just like my mama, God rest her soul."
Eden couldn't bear to see the old man make the effort to stand there any longer, so she promptly escorted him from her room, offering her arm for support and leading him down the dusty hallway to his own quarters. Impossibly, the room was in worse shape than her own, with a broken chair by the single window and an odor of illness that would probably never wash out.
He crawled into bed, and Eden opened the window. "It's a lovely day," she said. "The fresh air will make you feel better."
"I don't like fresh air," Mr. McClure grumbled.
"Well, you're going to get it anyway," she said with a smile. "When was the last time you ate?"
"I had some beef yesterday about lunchtime."
If it had been prepared by the same woman who'd prepared her own dinner and breakfast, Eden was quite sure he hadn't eaten much. And he looked so weak! "I'll make you some tea and soup."
He made a face that was, impossibly, more sour than his normal expression. "I hate Lydia's soup."
"I'll make it myself," she said.
"I don't want any damned soup," he grumbled. "Get out of my room."
Eden sighed and made her way to the kitchen. Some people, and perhaps all men, just didn't know what was best for them.
* * *
It was nearly noon when Sullivan left his room. His head pounded, a consequence of drinking too much whiskey last night, and the bruises on his body ached in a way they hadn't when he'd been on the road. He felt like everything had caught up with him at once.
He descended to the second floor slowly, each step calculated. In a couple of days the ache would be gone, and he could head back to Webberville for a short visit.
Lifting his head, he caught sight of a vision in blue, and he ached all the more. Eden Rourke, a smile on her face, her pale hair piled loosely atop her head, a slight, feminine sway in her walk, ca
me toward him with a tray in her hands. The bowl on the tray she carried steamed enticingly.
"Surely you're not just now rising?" she asked, her smile widening. "Really, Sinclair, how decadent of you."
Decadent? When he looked at her, he felt nothing but decadent. He wanted to rip that plain blue dress off of her, take down her hair, and forget all his aches and pains. He did his best to put that fantasy aside.
"I didn't get much sleep on the trail," he said.
Her smile faded as they met in the hallway and each came to a halt. "Of course you didn't," she said in a voice that was intimately soft and inviting. "You were much too busy watching over us to get much rest. How could I have forgotten that? Did I ever thank you?"
"I'm sure you did."
"Well, in case I forgot in all the excitement, thank you, Sinclair Sullivan." Her fetching blue eyes widened. "What would I have done without you?" Gentle and sweet and almost unbearably tempting, she looked up at him. And he was a goner.
"Did I ever thank you for saving my skin in Webberville?" he asked.
"I don't believe so," she said, her voice intimately low.
"Thank you, Eden Rourke," he whispered. "What would I have done without you?"
All was silent for a moment, as he looked into blue eyes and remembered the night he'd kissed her. He'd tasted her passion, felt her response to his very bones. Maybe she was a beautiful woman; maybe she was a lady; maybe she was Jed's sister. Right now none of that mattered. The ache in his ribs subsided, but was replaced by a more insistent, more demanding ache much lower.
She leaned slightly forward, her face tilted up. He leaned carefully forward and down, until their lips met somewhere above the soup.
It was a soft kiss, a thank-you. An impulsive test, perhaps. The kiss didn't last nearly long enough, but it was plenty enough to ruin what was left of Sullivan's day. How was he supposed to think of anything else when Eden was right here?
When they both pulled back, he set his eyes firmly on hers, searching for a sign. He saw warmth and a flicker of untested passion. She licked her lips.