“Lee? Who is that?”
“Chang Li, my houseman, right hand and friend. He gets—”
“Why do you call him by his last name?”
“It’s the custom of the Chinese to use their family name first.” Impatient with himself for bothering to take the time to explain to her, Kell added, “Li gets a room of his own despite his being Chinese.” His voice and gaze were laced with the warning that he wouldn’t tolerate a protest.
Annie merely nodded, not really accepting that this was happening to her, but understanding his quick defense of his Chinese friend. She felt the same about Fawn, the mute Kiowa girl she had bought from a miner—it was the only way she could get the young girl away from the man’s abusive hands. A reluctant admiration formed, but Annie refused to comment. She didn’t want to like Mr. Kellian York, and she certainly didn’t want to find anything redeeming about him.
“Now we settled everyone but me. I’ll want a room of my own.” Kell began a slow perusal around the spacious corner room with speculation bright in his eyes. He dismissed her sharp little cry, letting her think that he was considering taking her room for himself. It was small compensation for all the aggravation she had caused. He had yet to decide if he believed her about not setting the fire.
His muddy boots had marked the faded and worn flowered rug which covered most of the floor. Lace curtains, snow white and starched like the woman who had hung them, covered both sets of windows. Sunlight filtered through, streaking across the four-poster bed. Kell stared at the muted shades of the mussed quilt, his body instantly tightening and reminding him of how Annie had felt beneath him. He couldn’t dismiss this feeling as easily as he had her cry.
Annoyed with such an unruly response to a prim, prissy spinster, he forced himself to continue evaluating her room.
Elbow grease and oil had resulted in the gleaming finish on the wooden chest, wardrobe, and dressing table. There wasn’t a crack to be seen on the plain white china washbowl or its matching pitcher. Natural linen towels, nearly stacked on the washstand’s shelf, were embroidered with small flowers.
Kell rubbed the back of his neck and thought about some of the places he had roomed in over fifteen years of drifting. He prized his comfort and cleanliness. While he had stayed at some of the best hotels the western territories had to offer when he was on a winning streak, he’d also bedded down in places where even the bedbugs had fleas.
Ignoring Annie’s wary stare, he strolled to her dressing table and picked up first her silver-backed brush, then its matching comb and hand mirror. His back was toward her so she couldn’t see him curling one long red hair around his finger, until he caught himself and stopped. Opening the glass bottle of perfume, he lifted the stopper to his nose, and inhaled the faint scent of flowers and lemon.
Still holding the stopper, he turned to her. “Nice, real nice. I like a woman who smells as good as she looks.”
There was a hushed, delicate intimacy implied in his voice that Annie couldn’t help but react to. She stepped back, chastising herself for showing him a weakness, sensing that he would use it if it served to his advantage. His wicked grin caused her to wonder how many women had fallen all over themselves to please him. Annie! she warned herself. You don’t even like this man. You certainly don’t like what he does, or what he is.
Despite the warning, her temperature seemed to be rising. Tension formed a knot inside her, and his gaze appeared lit with unholy glee, as if he knew what was happening to her.
Kell inhaled her scent one more time, smiling all the while he put the stopper back in place. Using one finger, he pushed around the pins in the small dish-shaped china receiver. A froth of white cloth caught his eye and drew him to the upholstered lady’s slipper chair in the corner.
“That’s not—” Annie’s protest died. He was lifting her beribboned, lace-trimmed chemise by its wide shoulder strap.
Kell glanced from the garment he held to Annie, then back again. The ribboned lacing was spread open, and he couldn’t stop the image of Annie wearing it from coming to mind.
“So,” he remarked, “you can wear the trappings of a woman, but just can’t get the behavior part right. We’ll need to work on your education, darlin’. Perhaps in the evenings when you’re free?”
Annie wouldn’t dignify his taunting grin or his repeated “nice” with any comment. She folded her arms across her chest, but nothing could stop the deeper flags of color from flaming across her cheeks when he dropped the chemise and held up her drawers.
“Lord, give me patience and save me,” she muttered. Annie rapidly calculated how much money the rent he would pay in addition to the extras for meals and laundry would bring her. The sum was more than she could afford to refuse. Truth was, she needed the money. But she still had a difficult time shushing her conscience and compromising her moral values by allowing him and his sinful entourage residence in her boardinghouse.
Kell noticed her distracted air, and that annoyed him too. He wasn’t used to women dismissing him. Even the good ones like Muldoon. Not that he had anything to do with that sort. Women like Muldoon only wanted to get a man’s ring on their finger to control him and his money. He’d never get caught in that trap even if the bait was so temptingly packaged. He revised his opinion of Annie Muldoon, for everything he observed was soft, feminine, and at odds with the rigid, prim, unappealing appearance she presented outside this room. A most perplexing female … and one he had no intention of getting involved with. Kyle had saddled him with enough for any man’s lifetime.
Loud voices rose from outside, and Kell reached the window first. There was a confrontation between the men who had followed him to the boardinghouse and a group of women brandishing signs and a few brooms.
The moment Annie tried to push him aside and see for herself what was going on, Kell blocked her way by simply facing her and raising his arms as if he would restrain her physically if need be.
Annie didn’t want him to touch her again. Once, she believed, was enough for any woman. Or maybe it was just her unfathomable reaction to him.
“The natives are getting restless, Muldoon. Decision time.”
Annie didn’t answer him. Think, Annie, you could finally make a sizeable contribution to the church building fund and maybe have enough left to place an advertisement for a real minister.
It was her dream to have a real church, not her front parlor, to hold Sunday service.
But Annie, another voice whispered, he’s blackmailing you. Make no mistake, Kellian York will do it again, and again, if it serves his unholy purposes.
You could fix the leaks in the roof.
He’d be underfoot all the time. You’d have to see that wicked grin and those sage-green eyes that seem to pierce right through cloth.
Even if you didn’t have anything to do with the fire, can you call yourself a Christian, charitable woman and still refuse?
The money, Annie. Think of the money.
What would the legion say? They’d all be mortified and maybe not speak to her. They might even ask her to resign as chairwoman. Now that by itself was a tempting thought.
“Muldoon,” Kell warned, crossing the room to stand in front of her. She had been backing away all this time, and he had to snap his fingers close to her nose to get her attention. “Your answer,” he demanded when she came to with a start.
“Yes. All right. I’ll do it.” Annie drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Now will you leave my room so that I may attire myself properly?”
Kell couldn’t stop himself. He caught her rounded chin between his fingers to hold her still. “Let’s begin on your education, sweet thing. When a man’s in your room, you don’t talk about getting dressed. You’ve got it all mixed up, blue eyes.” He didn’t know why the tremor he felt from her pleased him. But he did understand that his body was ready to find out what other reactions he could bring about with his touch.
Annie had had enough. She jer
ked her head back and shoved his hand aside. “I decline your offer, Mr. York. There is nothing you could teach me that I would find a worthy contribution to my education. Now, leave.”
“My pleasure.” Kell started for the door, then turned. “Last thing, Muldoon. Put the cost of repairing the doorframe and lock on my bill. I don’t want any man wandering in here by mistake.”
“Get out. Just get out! And never fear, Mr. York, I intended to bill you for damages.”
“Sure, honey, you do that.” But as Kell left the room and made sure the door stayed closed behind him, he wondered if there were some damages that couldn’t be paid for. Like the flash of passionate anger in Muldoon’s eyes that set his blood to warming again. He looked back once on his way down to disperse the crowd. Shall I become a saint or make her a sinner?
Minutes after he left her, Annie sagged down on her bed. Tension seeped out of her and she buried her face in her hands. “What have I done? Just what have I done?”
By late morning the countryside was buzzing with the news that Annie Muldoon had offered rooms at the Cozy Rest to Kellian York and his doves.
Mrs. Herman Lockwood, by virtue of her husband’s owning the only mercantile in town, was the recipient and bearer of every juicy detail. She was also a staunch supporter of Annie’s decision. And she told her dearest friend, Abigail Duffner, so.
“Let Annie be a lesson for us all. She believes in giving Christian charity. Annie is no fool, Abigail. She’s well aware that the example she sets for those women may very well be their salvation. We all owe Annie our understanding and our support during this trying time for her. But I have faith in Annie. Girl has strong moral fiber and will allow no devil’s pastimes beneath her roof.”
“All good and well, Lucinda. But she has invited the devil and his cohorts to dine, and you know what they say about supping with the devil.”
Abigail’s smug tone irritated Lucinda. She straightened her considerable girth and tilted her spectacles down her long nose. “I know what’s said. You forget that Annie is the one who’s always telling us that he who sups with the devil will pay the devil his due.”
With a quick, birdlike thrust of her head, Abigail leaned close. “Do you ever wonder just what a man like Kellian York would consider his due?”
“Abigail Duffner!”
“Oh, pooh! Admit it, Lucinda. You have so wondered. And it’s ‘cause the devil has come handsomely wrapped.”
“I can’t—I just can’t believe you said that. I can’t even believe you have such thoughts.”
Abigail toyed with the cord on her drawstring purse. “I knew his brother was a fine figure of a man. But I swear, when Kellian first smiled at me, I could feel my heart beat faster.”
Giving her friend a sharp-eyed glare usually reserved for those daring to request credit on an overextended account, Lucinda backed away until the shelf behind the counter stopped her.
“Are you meanin’ to tell me that you’re sympathizin’ with our common enemy?”
“Don’t be a goose, Lucinda. I’m just telling you that the man’s good-looking. Not an ounce of fat on him.” She heaved a wishful sigh. “Abner, Lord love him, eats too much of my cooking. So even if Kellian York’s ways are sinful, he’s a handsome devil. You can look at me like I’ve lost sense, dear, but he isn’t cheap about spending his money.”
“You took money from him?”
“Indeed, I did. Just like you and Herman did. He marched those women of his into my shop—”
“Abigail, you didn’t—”
“I did. He said they could have two new ready-made gowns each when Emmaline refused to sew for them. Paid me up front, too,” she snapped, settling her hands on ample hips. ‘That’s more than I can say about some that shop.”
“Ladies, ladies,” came a softer voice that instantly drew their attention to the wide aisle. Velma Grant rushed as quickly as her high-buttoned, pointy-toed shoes could take her to where Abigail stood near the counter. She accepted their curt nods of greeting with one of her own.
“I came as soon as I heard. My word, what are we going to do about this? Your boy, Abigail, rode out to the house and told me what’s gone on.” Spreading one gloved hand over her heart, Velma whispered, “Is it true? Did our Annie really take him in?”
Before they could answer, another woman rushed to join them. Ruth McQuary’s husband owned the barbershop and sold patent medicines, along with making a few of his own.
“Lower your voice, ladies,” she admonished them. “I could hear you shouting while I was walking down the street. This is not a time for us to be fighting among ourselves. We need to make plans.”
But her arrival seemed to have drawn other women into the store, and finally Lucinda had to shout for quiet. Each woman wanted to voice her opinion about what Annie had done.
No one noticed the lone figure listening avidly from behind a rough wood table piled high with blankets. Then the figure slipped out without approaching them or making a purchase.
Nor did anyone on the street pay attention to the muttering that was going on in the full glare of morning sunlight.
The fire destroyed that place! They were supposed to leave town. All of them. Damn Annie Muldoon’s interfering hide!
Chapter 4
“I’m not hiding from them, Aunt Hortense! And they are guests. Paying guests!” Annie shouted for the third time. She despaired that today, of all days, her elderly aunt was refusing to use her ear trumpet. She generally wouldn’t use the hearing aid unless it suited her to do so on the principle of vanity.
“Well, I don’t like the looks of them, Annie Charlotte. Not a bit. Not one little bit.”
Annie murmured soothing sounds and patted her aunt’s shawl-clad shoulder with one hand. The other she used to rub her own pounding temples. In the two hours since she had agreed to—no, been blackmailed into—allowing Kellian York and his people to stay here, she had become more exhausted than a whole week’s worth of work could make her.
She and Fawn had heated and lugged buckets of hot water upstairs, more than was used in a month of Sundays. That had been accomplished only after an extensive effort to coax the mute Indian girl out of hiding. Poor Fawn, she didn’t know what to make of the strange men and women prowling the hall upstairs.
One thing Annie knew was that Mr. York had told the truth when he claimed that Chang Li not only could but would help her. The man had been everywhere at once, or so Annie thought, meeting demands for more towels, more food, more coffee, and more of that infernal hot water. Annie had no idea how he had managed to calm Fawn into accepting his presence, but the girl wasn’t cringing in the comer any longer.
Annie owed Li, as he asked her to call him, her thanks, and she would see to giving it to him just as soon as she recovered. Much as it annoyed her to admit it to herself, not one of these people had been offensive.
No one, that is, but Kellian York.
He needed an extra pillow; two weren’t enough. He had to have his shaving water reheated because it had grown cool while he bathed. He needed his curtains drawn to keep the sunlight out of his room so he could sleep. Get him another quilt in case he got chilled. Mend his shirt after it was washed. Wash his pants and clean his boots.
And when she had so innocently—and so foolishly—commented on the absence of a union suit among the items to be laundered, she should have been warned by his wicked smile. Her ears still felt blistered, not by his honey-sweet, thick-as-syrup-on-a-cold-winter’s-morning voice, no, not that, but his words.
“Poor darlin’, you do need some educatin’. I don’t wear one. Gets in the way. It’s just me an’ my skin under the pants.”
Coward! She was and didn’t argue it. Inwardly she cringed to think of how she had fled down the hallway. Despite her denial to her aunt, Annie was hiding in the big front parlor reserved for female guests. If she had to hear that amoral man’s husky, seductive, insinuating voice one more time yelling her name
for something, she would … would…
Annie didn’t know what she would or could do, but there had to be a way to silence him. Something as wicked as his unholy grin or the gleam in his eyes as soon as he spotted her. She would use it too, just as quick as she found out what it was.
She was grateful that the crowd was gone. It was unsettling to see how fast Kellian York had ended the disturbance. Whatever he said to the men ready to hang her, and to the women who rushed to her defense, they left minutes later.
It was another quiet, late morning on a summer day in Loving.
“Annie Charlotte, if you pat my shoulder any harder, you’ll be pulverizing my pore old bones.”
“Oh, Aunt, I’m so sorry.” Annie whipped her hand behind her and twisted the long ties of her apron.
“Come ’round where I can see you. Swear my eyesight’s failing by the day. You’ll be needin’ to ask Doc Duff for more of his Headache Syrup. I’ve near finished the last bottle.”
“Aunt Hortense,” Annie said very slowly, leaning close to the old woman’s ear, “Abner Duffner is not a real doctor. You shouldn’t be taking any remedies—”
“He’s all we’ve got.”
“True. But I don’t believe that mixing his syrup of powdered charcoal and molasses in half a glass of whiskey several times a day does your headaches any good. Maybe you need stronger glasses.”
“Fiddles! That’s what you know. His syrup settles my head just fine. Now come ’round, girl.”
Ingrained obedience to her elders made Annie do just what Hortense ordered. She didn’t bother to correct her aunt that she was no longer considered a girl and hadn’t been for a long time. Aunt Hortense would truly turn a deaf ear to any protest she made. She had come here to hide and recover from her emotional battering at Kellian York’s hands. Annie was exhausted from lack of sleep, but there was no one to pamper her. By the way her aunt’s raisin-dark eyes were studying her, Annie knew she was in for it.
Darling Annie Page 3