"My study. City fella's got to have one. Jace does," he reminded. "Anyhow, some of the men will prefer meetin' me in private. They can come for a drink here—seein' as how my wife frowns on me strollin' into saloons these days."
"You know, I wouldn't have been so upset before the wedding if you'd told me the truth before."
"Yes, you would. You smacked me upside the head. Weren't too thrilled with the news, the way I recollect that conversation goin'."
She glared at him. "That's not the part I mean. You let me think—"
"What I needed you to think. What I still need everybody else to think." His eyes were deadly serious as he held her gaze. "Senators and owners of big lumber or minin' outfits don't want outsiders knowin' their business. Let's go check out the rest of our digs. Been real anxious for you to see the place."
He led her back into the hall. "That's the parlor, of course," he gestured. "Dining room. Beyond it there's another sittin' room, and a closet or somethin'."
Sparkle fingered the heavy brocade curtains tied with braid ropes at the entrance to the parlor. "How'd you afford this big house, all the furnishings, and an office in town? I never asked about your money or savings, but—"
"Senator's pa. Took care of a problem for him three years ago. He basically said to name my fee." Now Rafe looked slightly embarrassed. "Remember when we talked about you growin' up in rags, and I promised you better? Here it is."
Sparkle's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "Aw, now don't start leakin' all over the new rugs," he taunted. "Anyhow, when I decided to buy this place, I wired him I needed furniture. He knew somebody and arranged for the decoratin'. But if there's anything you don't like, we can send it back. You just say so. You do like it, though, don't you? The house?"
"How could I help but like it? I'm just afraid to ask what sort of favor could possibly warrant all this." Her voice had gone shaky toward the end.
Rafe frowned as she sank onto a nearby bench. She was feeling lightheaded suddenly. Dizzy, mother-to-be lightheaded, she secretly told herself.
"Don't assume the worst," Rafe snapped. "Nobody got killed."
"Honestly? You earned a houseful of expensive furniture by…doing what?"
"Can't say precisely, but I'll give you some examples." He sat down beside her. "Sometimes I check the background of every man on somebody's payroll. Or I visit a bank to point out weak spots, tell how I'd rob it. Find out who's makin' threats against a politician or who's sleepin' with his wife." His eyes blazed as he caught her chin in the web of his hand. "Which, by the way, I'm particularly good at. So don't take to hankerin' after somebody else."
"There isn't an ounce of hanker left anywhere in my body that isn't already aimed at you, Raford," she purred.
He leaned closer and kissed her parted lips. Her arms slid up around his neck and he pulled away. "You're gettin' me sidetracked, Miz Conley."
He rose and slid open a pair of pocket doors. The doorway revealed an octagon-shaped room with a bank of arched windows. Dark mahogany, curved into a horseshoe shape, the desk had a large floral upholstered chair behind it and side chairs around the outside of its arch. A matching floral settee and potted palm were the only other items in the strange room. "What do you think?" Rafe asked.
"I'm not sure. What is it?"
"Your card parlor. Ain't the Barbary Coast, I'll grant you, but you don't have to split your profits. Got you a new tarot deck, too."
Sparkle stepped forward as he pulled a deck out of the desk drawer. The backs of the cards had a glittering aquamarine finish with one stylized word printed in gold across them—her first name.
"You want me to continue telling fortunes?" She glanced at him in mild surprise.
He shrugged. "Ain't got to charge folks if you don't want to. I pondered on how you slipped off to do free readin's for those folks in Wichita. You can do it here, only folks will come to you."
"You have influential men hiring you and an elegant home. You wouldn't be embarrassed for me to read tarot cards? Rafe, you're richer than Dr. Barlow, and he wouldn't have allowed it."
"If I recollect, that's part of why you're Miz Conley instead of Miz Barlow. And this ain't my elegant home," he corrected. "It's ours."
She smiled and took his hand as they ascended the staircase.
"Almost like havin' a saloon and livin' above it, though," he taunted, chuckling. "Fancy as the Bold Adventuress, but no murals." He winked, then sobered as they started along the upstairs hall.
Sparkle discovered two modest bedrooms, then went stock still when they entered a nursery, complete with a child's low bureau and lacy bassinet. Four small chairs encircled a low table in one corner beside a dormer window. In the center of the tabletop was a miniature silver tea service.
"You knew? But—"
"That you'd want kids right away? You asked how many I wanted, and you're not wearin' a pisser anymore. Odds are, it won't be long." He rubbed the tip of her nose with his index finger. "Want our first to be a pretty filly like her ma, with a cute little turned-up nose and aquamarine eyes. Can you work on that?"
She was too choked up to reply.
He drew her down the hall to a large raised-panel door. "Ready to see our room?" She nodded. When he ushered her inside, the breath left her body in a rush. Their room was immense, decorated with flocked wallpaper and crystal sconces. In the center stood a gleaming brass bed.
"It's just like the panel crib, Rafe!" Happy tears trickled down her cheeks.
He lifted her in his arms and deposited her in the center of the bed. "Yep, except there's no mirror or hidden panel. And we got our own bathroom, complete with a footed tub."
"This whole house is beautiful, Rafe."
"So are you, darlin'." She reached for the buttons of his shirt as their lips met.
"There's somethin' else I need to show you," he whispered in a husky tone. "I been wonderin' if I should do it now, or wait till after we break in this new bed. I'm mighty riled up just now." He drew her hand to his crotch to prove it. "What do you think?" he asked, nuzzling her throat.
"We should definitely christen the bed first," she murmured, feeling her over-sensitive nipples stiffening. "Then I have something to share with you, too."
An hour and several orgasms later—she lost count—Rafe was stretched out on his side next to her, still teasing her breasts with his lips and tongue. Afterplay, foreplay…it was always fantastic. Except when he used the edge of his teeth, as he was doing now. Her breasts were too sensitive these days for that.
"You're going to have to be gentler from now on," she whispered. "For the next several months, at least." His mouth froze. "And I won't be able to indulge all your fantasies when my time gets closer."
He loomed up on one elbow, peering into her eyes. "That's why you looked so peaked downstairs. You're expectin'?"
"Yes. It seems you're going to be a father before next winter's over. We'll be using the nursery sooner than you thought. I hope you don't mind I waited to tell you. I wanted to share the news after we made love the first time in our new home."
"A father?" he repeated, dark eyes widening. "You're havin' my baby?"
"That's often a result from your favorite activities," she reminded, laughing. He pulled her close and began nuzzling her throat. "It's really comin' true. All of it," he mumbled. "Damn."
"What?" His lips had been half buried.
"Get dressed. I want you to see the view from our balcony." She thought his voice sounded oddly strained. Maybe he was more shocked than she realized about the pregnancy.
They donned their clothing, Rafe settling for just pulling on his jeans. He opened the French doors and moved to the wood railing. She tiptoed out behind him, coming to stand at his side. "Rafe you are happy about the child, aren't you?"
He reached to pull her close to his side. "Yeah, darlin'. I was just contemplatin' things. Life. Findin' out I'll be a father soon…" He looked down into her eyes, and she saw the love shining in the dark depths of his. "I'm bett
er than happy." He kissed her forehead. "It's almost time for supper. Can't let you skip meals or get overtired."
Her fingertips stroked his arm. "You're going to make me crazy for the next few months. I can see that. I'm perfectly fine, Rafe. The doctor came out to see me while you were gone one afternoon last week. And I hope you're planning to put your shirt on before we go downstairs to eat," she chided. "What will your poor butler think?"
"Dan's more than a butler. He's also the best back-up man I've ever known besides Sam Parker."
"That kindly-looking man?"
"Thought by now you knew how looks are deceivin'. The outside's got nothin' to do with who a man is inside."
She blinked. "I do believe that's the first time you've ever acknowledged that. You're not upset about your scar anymore."
He jerked his shoulders. "Doesn't seem worth focusin' on. Not compared to what's in your belly or to that." He pointed at the vista of the Rockies. "They're why I don't mind livin' in this city. Don't feel so penned in with mountains so close, I can almost smell the pines. Hell of a view, ain't it?"
Sparkle smiled and followed his gaze.
"Rafe." She clutched his arm.
He moved a step closer and braced her back with his palm. He'd known all along, she realized numbly. Since the night he'd come to the Anderson's barn…these past weeks…on the train, all day…While she thought she was being clever, saving her surprise about the baby, he'd known about this.
"You never said anything. You let me apologize, thinking I'd gone too far. You knew."
"You had to see for yourself," he answered simply. "Did sort of influence my thinkin' on the card parlor for you, though."
Sparkle noticed a pair of rocking chairs a few feet away. "You always insisted you'd never grow old and gray, or sit on a porch in one of those."
"This ain't a porch, it's a balcony." He turned to face her. "You saw this. Tomorrow. Years to come. You saw it all, darlin'."
She gulped. "My mother could do it. I'd seen her…" Her words trailed off as she gazed into the distance and took in the headstones, sprinkled randomly around a grove of aspen and spruce over the foothill several miles away. An ebony carriage draped with stark white bowers waited next to a small knot of black-clad mourners and a clergyman. As Sparkle and Rafe watched, they disbanded and left the cemetery. The cemetery within view of where the couple stood—on the balcony of their big house on a hill.
Rafe reached into his jeans and withdrew his pocket watch. He flicked open the gold case. A watch and chain was something many a bride gave her groom on their wedding day, but Rafe knew this was different.
His wedding present from her was more than a simple gold watch as a token of her love. It was a tangible promise from a fortune teller. Sparkle's personal guarantee.
He held the object with reverence and cherished the gift she'd bestowed when she became his wife and saved his soul. The precious gift and a way to measure it. A watch with its golden case symbolically engraved with the word that mattered most: TIME.
AUTHOR NOTE
Dear Reader,
This is the first novel to feature Rafe Conley, his brother Travis, and best friend, Wil Bregon Several readers who read the romance told me they couldn't forget sexy gunfighter, Rafe Conley. They dreamed about him. They also wondered about his feisty younger brother and handsome best friend.
Naturally I responded by penning two more tales. What happened to Travis once Rafe settled down and stopped visiting the ranch? Funny you should ask! Read on for an excerpt of:
SWEET TALKER
By Shannah Biondine
Travis pulled sharply to a halt near the base of the drive and slid down from Rye's back. A shapely woman beneath a crown of thick dark hair yammered and gestured toward half a dozen hands gathered nearby. They listened in rapt fascination, rooted inside Crockhead's gate like trees in a windbreak. Just about as mobile and helpful.
From somewhere amid the mammoth heap of boxes and containers piled beside the drive, a crate yowled. Travis bent down to inspect it. He could tolerate just about any furry critters, except cats. Glowering from inside the dark crate were two sets of unblinking, feline eyes. Both animals hissed in unison, no happier to be visiting Travis than he was playing host to them.
A few of the men noted the arrival of their boss, who they should realize would disapprove of untended nags nibbling the grass of his front lawn. Travis planted his feet in a domineering stance. He folded his arms over his chest and eyed the masculine assembly.
"Picnic's over. I better see every one of your scrawny butts in those saddles past twilight if you expect to be paid for the day."
He tried to ignore the female and keep his gaze trained on his men, but it was nigh impossible. Not only did she edge over to stand between him and his crew, but she was exactly as Mick had described. Not a filly any virile man could overlook.
Travis saw at first glance she was indeed young, close to his own age. That was the first factor against her. Then there was that peculiar, exotic look about her. Dusky coloring and penetrating dark eyes clashed with unremarkable garments. The effect was to make her all the more compelling. As she lowered her arms, Travis gulped. He'd never seen breasts the size of hers that weren't a trick of whalebone and padding. Gals just weren't naturally endowed like that.
Yet the uncomfortable sensation inside his jeans said this gal was. His parts instinctively knew her parts were genuine, not padded. Her flesh would be firm to the touch. Jesus, did he hear what he'd just whispered in the back of his mind? Firm to the touch? There'd be none of that!
Besides the fact he couldn't make out most of what she said…besides her damned cats and four tons of luggage…besides her being in the wrong place entirely if she came as somebody's mail-order bride…Besides all that, she had to leave because every man there stared at her in reverent awe. All of them bemused. Completely at a loss. She might not be classically beautiful, but a cougar could sit down to dinner if she wasn't breathtaking.
So wrong. Definitely not what Travis had advertised for.
One of the men slapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "She cooks, Boss. Ain't that somethin'?"
"Yeah, somethin', all right." One female corralling him with matrimony on her mind was bad enough. He sure as hell didn't need one who looked like a Dodge City madam having similar notions.
"I don't know where you get the idea that anybody here's itchin' for a wife, but—"
"You are Big Crockett, yes? No? Sorry, my English has mix me wrong." She laid a hand to her bosom as if to still her beating heart. A collective sigh rose from the men. Travis saw Mick reach over to physically restrain Danbers.
"No, ma'am, I ain't Crockett. I'm Travis Conley and I own this spread." He pointed to the wooden sign hanging over the gates. "My ranch is called Crockhead. There's nobody here by the name of Crockett. I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. If you'll wait while my fellas hitch up the wagon, they'll take you back into town and—"
"No, no!" She gave an emphatic shake of her head, sending lush brown tresses swirling around her shoulders. "Today is bad day for town."
Her reaction suggested others had informed her of that, probably owing to the big picnic. He wanted to stay irritated, but he couldn't help a twinge of guilt. She was out of her element. He glanced over at the fidgety row of men behind her. The threat of lost pay still hadn't prompted anyone to mount his horse and get back to work.
"Any of you fellas know someone named Crockett in these parts?"
"Was a Tony Crockett over at the Bar M," Lawson offered. "But he left Canon City last year. Maybe one of the miners outside Cripple Creek?"
Travis moved closer to the gal, using sheer force of will to keep his gaze on her face, though he suspected she must be accustomed to men conversing with those magnificent breasts of hers.
"This fella who advertised for a bride, did he dig for gold and silver?" She looked confused. He pantomimed using a shovel. "Dig, in the ground or a mountain, to make money?"
"Uh, Mr. Conley." It was his newest man. Only the new ones called him mister. "I met a fella at the Jug who said he'd advertised for a bride. Before his luck ran out. Had a drink together, then he went to the train depot. Said he was headed south to Albuquerque or Santa Fe."
Travis inwardly groaned. The poor gal had come too late. She barely spoke English and had been abandoned. He was trying to figure out how to explain matters when she gasped out loud.
"Marone! Me misero! This can no be. He was gone? Not here, yes?"
"Yes. I mean, no. He ain't around now." Travis was beginning to wonder if he actually knew anything anymore. Had he done something to warrant all this misfortune being heaped on in a single day? First the near-miss at Sweeney's with Pearl, then riding home to find all hell breaking loose with another troublesome female. Maybe he should give up ranching and become a monk.
"They say you need kitchen," she blurted, brightening. "I kitchen, see?" She seized a covered tin from her stack of paraphernalia. "I make. You like these, yes?" She thrust the tin forward, approaching each bemused man in turn, bobbing her head as they sampled the proffered morsels. Looks of pure ecstasy stole over their faces.
She held out the tin to Travis. He glanced down. Cookies. She couldn't have had jerky or moldy biscuits in that damned tin. It would have to be cookies, a treat Sourdough wisely hadn't even attempted.
"Look ma'am," Travis huffed, disdaining her offering. "Miss…Whatever your name is, I—"
"Lucia Montessano." She smiled and stepped closer, twisting Travis' stomach into a knot. She had an incredible smile. It lit up her whole face. Which—now that he got a good look at it—wasn't as outstanding as her breasts, but wasn't anything to sneeze at. "Happy please you meet me."
"Yeah. That's great. But Lucille, what—"
"No." She frowned and reached up to mold his lips with her fingertips. "Lu-chee-ah," she repeated slowly. "Lu-chee-ah."
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