“When I fight, what?”
She hummed, distracted as she wrestled with the small pearl button. “You just… It’s not you when you fight. When I’m in character, I’m still me, I’m still in control. But you…Oh!” She bit back a curse as the button slipped back into its loop.
Then suddenly, he was there beside her.
Tavie caught her breath as he took her hand, gently lifting and turning it palm-up, so the buttons gleamed in the mirror’s reflected lamp light.
He bent his head over the stubborn pearls, and she realized she was still holding her breath at his nearness. His hair was only inches from her, and her fingers—the ones not currently clasped in his—itched to stroke the blond locks. He always seemed so smooth, so elegant, but up close she could see his hair actually had a wave to it. He’d done something tonight to tame it, and when she finally allowed herself to inhale softly, she smelled beeswax, and cigar, and snow.
It wasn’t until he murmured, “There!” that she realized he was helping her. But instead of straightening, he parted the slit in the glove, the opening which would allow enough slack for her to pull her hand through, and blew gently at her warm skin.
She twitched and swore she saw a faint smile on his lips as he blew again.
Dear God in Heaven, but that felt good.
Instead of giving into temptation—instead of throwing herself into his arms and demanding he make use of that bed over there—she yanked her hand from his.…
…And shoved the other one in his face.
“Here!” she snapped. Make yourself useful, instead of arousing me.
No, that was a lie. She’d just given him an excuse to do it again, only this time she knew what was coming and his gentle breath of cool air sent a shiver through her.
It wasn’t until he cleared his throat—was it her imagination, or did it sound a bit mocking?—that she realized her eyes had somehow closed on their own, and she’d allowed her head to drop back just a bit as she sighed in pleasure.
With a flustered shake of her head, she tried to glare at him. “What were we talking about?” she snapped.
He used that lazy grin again, God help her. “You were telling me how terrible it is that I lose control when I fight.” When he leaned his lips closer to her ear and lowered his voice, she almost shuddered again. “I’m not me when I fight. That’s what you were trying to say.”
“Yes!” She yanked away from him, only to bump into the table behind her. “Yes! You do!”
If he’d been a gentleman, he would’ve backed away, now his job was done.
Apparently, he was no gentleman.
Instead, he stood at complete ease, only a few inches from her, and folded his arms across his chest. “And what’s so bad about that?”
What were they talking about?
Tavie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus her thoughts. “You…you know.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Your…demons. When they leave you, they take a bit of you each time. It’s the difference between being empty and being filled. This—this feeling, this flying…”
Why was it so hard to form her thoughts into sentences?
She opened her eyes and met his.
“The way you just said you felt, you liked that feeling, right? But you’ve never felt it before, not when you fight.” What had she said earlier? Oh yes. “You feel like you can meet any challenge, overcome anything…but you don’t feel this way.”
And then—Oh God Oh God—he unfolded his arms and, as naturally as breathing, placed his hands on her hips.
“I’ve felt that way before, Tavie,” he murmured, staring at her lips.
“Before...?” Her whisper trailed off as she licked her lower lip.
“Yeah,” he drawled. “Once before. When you kissed me.”
God help me.
It would be so easy to lean forward, to meet his lips. To put her hands on his shoulders—his trim, corded shoulders—and pull him closer.
It would be so easy to give into what she’d been longing for, what he’d been asking for.
But she couldn’t.
* * *
Good God Almighty, but he wanted to taste her again.
He wanted to remember this feeling, this fullness, forever. He’d felt it when she’d kissed him, and he’d felt it tonight, when they’d fooled King so thoroughly. And now here he was, in her bedroom, in her arms, and he damn near ached to kiss her again.
And for the first time since his return to Black Aces, for the first time since he’d started nagging her about that kiss, he could see in her eyes she was considering it.
Had he worn down her resistance? Or had she really wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted—
His hopes were dashed when she blew out a breath and leaned back, putting her hands between them just enough, so she could quickly and efficiently tug her long evening gloves off. His attention was on her hands, which is why he was surprised when she tossed the gloves up and across his shoulder.
Instincts honed by years of practice had him jerking out of the way, before his mind recognized a pair of lady’s gloves provided no danger, but by then, the damage was done. She’d pulled out of his arms, and he was left to pull the silken accessory from around his neck.
Standing there before the dressing table, Jack bowed his head over the gloves lying across his palms, and tried to breath normally.
Or at least, breathe at all.
He was lost. When he was with Tavie, everything felt right in the world. But without her…?
He squeezed his eyes shut, closed his fingers around her gloves, and resisted the urge to rub his temples.
Everything was hazy these days. As if he wasn’t completely there…at least, until he was with her. Then his life, and the world around him, came into focus. Colors were brighter, sounds were clearer, and he could feel—himself, and her and the very world around them—the way he’d been years ago.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe you’re losing part of yourself, idiot. Maybe being with her is the only thing holding you together.
Behind him, Tavie cleared her throat. “So, what did we learn?”
That you won’t kiss me.
But instead, Jack shook his head slightly and opened his eyes with a sigh. “What?”
“What did we learn tonight from King?” Her tone was no-nonsense. “He said he wouldn’t be selling you the deed, which would’ve been an easy solution. But I’m not sure if that was because he genuinely cares for it, or if he thought he had a chance with your sister-cousin and wanted to dangle it in front of her. Me.”
Remembering her slick save in the hotel foyer before dinner, Jack’s lips curled into a reluctant smile, and he met her eyes in the mirror. “You were very appealing, you know.”
Her regal nod was almost mocking. “What I think was interesting, was when he hinted at cheating your father. Pulling four kings isn’t impossible, of course, but I made him think I thought it was. He would rather us think he cheated than tell us the truth.”
Now Jack was intrigued. The gloves still dangling from his hand, he turned and propped one hip against the table as he frowned thoughtfully at her. “What if it is the truth?”
Tavie began to pace at the opposite side of the hotel room. “Then the woman I interviewed in Helena, our witness, would have to be lying. She said King lost the hand where the deed was bet.”
With her arms crossed in front of her, and her chin sunk low, she seemed deep in thought. Jack wondered if she’d been unaffected by their almost-embrace earlier, or if she was just latching on to this investigation to ignore whatever had passed between them.
Was she as jumbled inside as he was?
“The only thing that discrepancy proves, is that the story he’s been telling everyone of how he got the deed is a lie.” Jack shrugged. “Either way, he deserves to be taken down.”
She halted and cocked her head in his direction. “And you’re going to do it?” she asked quietly.
“Do what?”
/> “Take him down. As the Black Ace?”
He shrugged again. “Or as Jack Hoyle. I’m good either way.”
“Yes, you are.” But then she shook her head. “But you’ve got to do this legally. I’ve been a Pinkerton most of my adult life, Jack. I’m not anymore, but—”
He shot upright, knowing what she was going to say. “You’re not anymore, because you couldn’t be, not if you wanted to see King punished. You knew King’s legally in the right, Tavie, and the law can’t take him down.”
She didn’t say anything, but continued to frown at the ground, so he softened his tone.
“It’s why none of the businessmen in this town have been able to get legal help. It’s why Marshal Diamon can’t arrest him for being a piss-poor landlord. As long as he owns that deed, he owns this town. We can prove he came by it unethically, but it won’t make what he’s doing today illegal.”
When she slowly lifted her head and met his eyes, hers were a muted brown with flashes of gold. “And what if it turns out he murdered your father for the deed?”
It wasn’t the first time he’d considered it, but hearing her ask so quietly, so matter-of-factly, caused Jack to swallow twice.
“I…” He shook his head and took a deep breath, then shoved both hands—still holding her gloves—into his pockets. “If that bastard killed my father, then I’m even more determined to be the one who takes him down.”
She was looking at him with an expression somewhat resembling pity. Or was it worry? “Will you do it as yourself? Will you not…go wherever it is you go when you fight? You have to be the one to do this, not—not whatever demon you give control over to.”
The haziness was creeping back. Jack shook his head again and squeezed his eyes shut. He liked being with her, he liked things being so clear. Maybe she was right, and he was losing himself.
“Why is it so important to you?” he finally whispered.
She didn’t respond.
He forced his eyes open and saw she was looking away, facing the window. So she didn’t have to answer him?
Irritation scratched at the back of his throat. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re the Black Ace,” she said dully.
“No!” He stepped away from the table. “I’m Jack Hoyle. I once defeated six guards at once, using only my right hand! I can out-draw anyone I’ve met, and I’m damn accurate with a revolver. I can cross a yard blindfolded, and if you string a rope across this room, I can walk across it. On my hands.” Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he felt his blood pounding in his temples. “Do you have any idea how difficult that is?”
“Yes.” Suddenly, she twisted away from the window and stumbled toward him. “Yes, I do know! I know how amazing you are, Jack, don’t you see?”
And then he was in front of her, his arms around her. “Why don’t you trust me?” he whispered.
He saw fear and something else in her eyes, before she closed them. They were so close now, he could see the pulse in the hollow at the base of her throat.
Right up until she exhaled and rested her cheek again his shoulder.
Jack stiffened, but there was no way in hell he’d release her now. She might not have kissed him, but this—this—this whatever this was, proved she felt something for him.
She was afraid and was relying on him.
“I do trust you,” she said, in a voice so small, he barely heard it. “I trust you to protect me and your mother. I trust you to defeat King.”
And then she lifted her head and placed her palm on his cheek as she stared into his eyes. “I just don’t trust you to come back to me after.”
Come back to me.
Her words pierced his chest much like a blade, and Jack couldn’t pull in a full breath. Her words, her touch, her eyes, the sorrow in her expression…made him feel as if he couldn’t breathe at all.
So when she shifted her hands to his chest and pushed him away, he stumbled backwards, gasping for air.
Then she was at the door, holding it open. “Don’t forget to pretend to be drunk on the way out, in case King is still watching,” she said in a choked voice.
And there was nothing he could do, but obey.
* * *
Millard woke in the darkness, but that was nothing new. So many times he’d woken, or thought he’d woken, only to realize the darkness was pulling him back in.
And he was tired. Tired of fighting it, tired of the pain, tired of being tired.
He’d tried. The doctor had tried, and the doctor’s pretty daughter had tried too. They’d taken that bullet out of his gut, had filled him full of pain medicine, and had tried to keep the infection down.
But Millard Caplan had been fighting for too long, and he was done. He knew when he was beaten, and he was ready to give in and meet his Maker.
But first, there were things he had to do.
His hand scrabbled for the bedside table, wondering how much of what he remembered was true, and how much was thanks to the brain fever.
Had he told the marshal, the one who’d shot the old sheriff when he’d shot Millard, about the money? The money Millard had siphoned away from the mine and given to the young rancher Hartwell, who’d been the Black Ace for so long? The Ace had been the one to give the money to those who’d needed it, but Millard was proud of the part he played to thwart King.
At least, he thought he was. Everything was so hazy and confusing these days.
There were other things he should tell the marshal, if he was able. But first…
His hand clunked against the full glass of water, knocking it over. Somewhere in the distance, running steps told him someone was coming.
He had to tell… He had to tell her what he knew. King was an evil man, and Millard hadn’t thought he’d ever have to stand up to him directly.
But he was ready to go, and before he did, there was something Ruth needed to know.
A light appeared around the door frame, then Doc Vickers stuck his head in. “Millard? How you doing?”
The doctor. He’d be able to help. Millard wet his lips, trying to force his confused brain to form the words which needed to be said.
“Need…”
“What is it, Millard?” Doc came into the room, concern on his kind face.
“I need to…talk to Ruth Hoyle. About her husband.”
9
It would’ve been easier to just go home. But Tavie knew from experience ending a con early, removing a disguise, just because she got the information she needed, could doom a mission.
So she tucked herself into bed that night, her heart heavy with pain for Jack, and her eyes itching with unshed tears.
The next morning, she buttoned up her fine cloak and swept out of the hotel, as if she were a princess, to board the south-bound train. She got off at the next stop, took a hotel room long enough to change her dress, remove the kohl from around her eyes, and re-braid her hair, and was back in Black Aces by nightfall as Ruth’s mousy companion once more.
She’d told the older lady she’d be gone for a few days, so Ruth thought nothing of her late return. But the following day, when neither of them had seen Jack, the worries began.
They both traveled into town several times, but no one seemed to know where he was. Tavie could tell how upset the older woman was, so she had to resort to lying.
“I’m sure I heard him tell me he was taking a quick trip to Helena, Ruth. I should’ve been paying more attention.”
The plump woman smiled softly—although it didn’t quite hide her worry—and patted Tavie’s hand. “If you paid any more attention to that boy, my dear, he’d start getting hopes.”
Hopes.
Had she done that? Had she somehow let her real feelings show that night in her hotel room? He’d made it no secret he wanted to kiss her again, but what she felt for him…
Well, it went beyond just kissing.
Somewhere between that kiss in Aegiria and watching him battle his demons, and seeing him stand up
to King, and watching him coddle and protect his mother, while still being guilt-ridden at leaving her alone for so long, and teasing and laughing with him, and—and—and…
She sighed.
Well, she’d gone and fallen in love with him, hadn’t she?
And that was why she wouldn’t be kissing him any time soon, God help her. She couldn’t afford to.
She kissed men she was fooling; marks and criminals and suspects. She’d even done more than kiss a few of them, as a last resort. Kissing, to her, was just…just a tool.
Or at least, it had been, up until Aegiria.
When he’d grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, she’d been surprised—the maid she was pretending to be wouldn’t be offended. But she realized kissing him was as good a way as any of getting to know him, so she’d allowed herself to sink into the kiss.
But what she’d felt, her body’s reaction to him, had shaken her to her very core. She’d never experienced a kiss like that, and it had rattled her so much, she’d blurted out her reason for being in Aegiria in the first place.
It hadn’t been a mistake, but it’d been poorly done, and was one of the reasons she’d surrendered her badge when she’d returned.
She couldn’t trust her instincts anymore.
Because every instinct she possessed, every piece of her soul, told her Jack Hoyle was a good man, but if he continued down this path, he wouldn’t survive.
And she couldn’t afford to fall in love with him if he wasn’t going to come back to her.
“Why don’t we go into town again, dear? We could spend some of Jack’s money at the restaurant for our lunch. Would that make you feel better?”
Ruth’s question jerked Tavie’s attention from the winter landscape outside. It had snowed overnight—only a few inches—and she’d been standing there in the parlor, nice and warm, feeling maudlin and contemplating where Jack might be.
She turned and offered a small smile to the older woman. “I think anything might be better than waiting here. I was planning chicken for our evening meal—”
Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three Page 9