Way Out West

by Blanche Marriott

  Well, she didn’t have to worry about the outside world. She had no desire to contact Spider or her parents. No telling what their reaction would be after three years of silence—her fault, not theirs. Calling them at Christmas that first year had seemed like a good idea at the time, but when her mother sobbed non-stop about her nomad life, Callie had cut her short, promising to call soon. She never did and she regretted it now more than ever.

  What she regretted most was disappointing her parents. She’d quit college as a junior to support Keith, her fiancé, while he did his graduate work. But once she realized her financial support and housekeeping help were more important to him than strengthening their bond, she’d left without looking back. Her parents were mystified why she didn’t return to school and make something of herself. Months of puzzled gazes and questioning glares passed until a stubborn and stifled Callie jumped on a bus and headed West.

  Romanticized notions of living on the road, free to do as she pleased, appealed to her rebellious nature. She stopped in a dozen cities along the way, taking in the sights, exploiting her freedom. When her money ran out, she settled in L.A. excited by the prospect of becoming an actress. Like so many others before her, the call never came and waitressing became her only means of support. Along came the Spider whose own free spirit and rebellious ways added to the attraction of being his biker chick.

  But the glamour soon wore off. Callie didn’t want another relationship where she was someone else’s appendage. She wanted to stop running and go home.

  Would her parents ever forgive her? Would they accept her back? She didn’t know. All she knew was she needed to return home and try to set some priorities in her life. At twenty-five, she’d seen enough of the world to know that places and things didn’t make you happy, people did. And being with people who loved you made life a whole lot more tolerable.

  Snapping the book shut, she stood to look at herself in the mirror. Same old Callie, just in different clothes. But clothes apparently made all the difference in a place like Way Out West. Maybe here she could be somebody, somebody whose past mistakes didn’t matter.

  Becky had chosen a red satin, breath-strangling, waist-cinching, strapless dress for Callie’s debut. The hem barely brushed her knees and was pulled up on one side by a large black bow. Callie tugged at a few wisps of hair around her temples. Becky had come in with some crazy kind of curling iron heated on the great stove in the kitchen. With adept fingers, she’d curled and tugged after sweeping the bulk of Callie’s long tresses on top of her head and fastening with pins and combs. She completed the masterpiece with a feather on a satin band.

  Callie barely recognized herself. “Why such elaborate costuming?” she’d questioned teasingly.

  “It’s the fantasy of the Old West. A saloon is where rough and tumble men come in to wet their whistle and to see some pretty ladies.”

  “But didn’t some of those girls do ‘other’ things?”

  “Yes, in the real Old West, but here we follow modern day law. We’re just waitresses and entertainers. I run a respectable establishment and I expect nothing but the best behavior from my girls.”

  With that heavy warning, Becky had finished off her creation with dazzling eye makeup and slick lipstick, all modern cosmetics. “Hey, some things you can’t duplicate in the Old West,” she quipped before leaving Callie to her reading.

  A knock on the door startled Callie from her thoughts. She opened it a crack to see another young woman dressed to kill, but looking a lot more confident than Callie felt.

  “Miss Becky wants you downstairs. The tables are filling.”

  “Thanks,” Callie answered.

  “By the way, I’m Sasha.” The two women exchanged smiles and started down the stairs to the noisy saloon. “I heard you arrived with Rand. Now there’s a man.” Sasha sighed heavily.

  Callie bristled. “I guess he’s made your acquaintance, too. Is there anyone around here who hasn’t been affected by Mr. Wonderful?”

  Sasha put a finger to her cheek, pretending deep thought. “Hmmm. Nope. Everyone adores him.” She finished the last two steps with an exaggerated sway of her hips and sallied off to a table. “Chester! You’re looking right smart this evenin’.”

  Callie watched Sasha work the tables like she was feeding a bunch of hungry pigeons. Three other girls did the same, taking turns getting drinks and making small talk with the patrons as if they were all old friends.

  Ignoring the heads that turned her way, she slowly cut a path to the bar and took a seat. The bartender strolled over with a friendly smile. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Yeah. A hamburger and fries,” Callie moaned, rubbing her stomach. The sausage and baked beans she’d tried earlier just didn’t settle right. She’d left more than she’d eaten.

  He laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the food soon enough.” He shoved a bowl of peanuts her way. “If you need anything, just holler. I’m Smitty.”

  “Thanks, Smitty.” He went back to his glass washing and Callie turned in her seat to scan the room. There were slick card players, gunslingers telling tales, townsfolk having an evening out, and just plain bar scum. Everyone was having a good time doing their own thing.

  At least that’s what she thought until she noticed a barfly stumbling her way. She painstakingly avoided eye contact.

  “Evenin’ darlin’. Yer a perdy little thang, ain’t ya?” When he pressed his face close to hers, his sour breath hit her like the back end of a horse. “First time I seen you in here. Would ya like me to show ya the ropes?”

  Callie backed off a bit, hanging on to the bar so as not to fall off her stool. Her mind raced. Should she kick him in the gut with her spiked heels? Or ignore him until he went away? Becky had said to be nice, no matter what.

  “Why thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you. But I was told to wait here.”

  “Well, then, I’ll wait right here witcha and keep ya comp’ny.” He eased one leg up on the stool next to Callie, but before he could complete the action, a large hand from behind arrested his momentum.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Rand’s voice bellowed near her ear. “She’s waiting for me.”

  Callie turned to face Rand. He never took his eyes off her as he pushed the squirrelly man with the frizzy red hair to the next stool and ordered him a drink.

  “Thanks, Rand. That’s right friendly of ya.” His mouth twitching nervously, the man took his seat.

  Callie was relieved to be spared any more of the vermin’s prattle, but once she looked into Rand’s intense gaze she wondered if she’d been tossed from the pan into the fire. His dark eyes held a restlessness she hadn’t noticed before. But then, she’d mostly had her back to him in a saddle while he’d been in total command of the situation.

  Now here he was trying to take command again, leaving her to wonder if she had a sign on her forehead that read weakling, readable only by men.

  “What makes you think I was waiting for you?” she asked with a lift of her chin.

  “You weren’t, but he doesn’t know that.” Rand plunked some money on the bar for the man’s drink before leaning closer to Callie. “I know Becky ordered you to sit here and observe, but I’d feel a whole lot better if I could keep a close eye on you.”

  “Are you my self-appointed guardian?” she quipped.

  He didn’t answer. Instead his eyes inspected the transformed city girl. Her hair, face, dress, legs. Every part of her suffered the heat of his gaze, scorching her like a branding iron until it finally settled on her lips. Self-consciously, she pursed them, hoping she hadn’t smudged the fire-red lipstick. She searched for a diversion.

  “I’m surprised you recognized me. Becky was determined to make my saloon debut a real head-turner. How’d she do?”

  With the backs of his fingers he touched the feather in her hair, drawing them down her cheek while he stared once again into her eyes. “Good. Real good.” The red of her dress reflected like flames in his eyes. Or was
it the dress?

  He took her hand, raised it to his lips. Her knuckles tingled with the warmth of his breath, the wetness of his kiss, the brush of his mustache. If she’d been standing, surely her knees would’ve buckled. With one small kiss, he’d managed to defuse her objections and set her heart racing.

  Still holding her hand, he asked, “Miss Callie, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the card table?”

  She blinked, her vision blurred from the dizziness of the moment. “What? Oh, I...can’t. I’m supposed to stay here.”

  Rand drew her off the stool and pressed her closer to his broad chest than she thought appropriate in this public setting. His warm breath fanned her upturned face.

  “When asked politely, a lady should accept a gentleman’s offer. As for Miss Becky, I’m sure she won’t mind my occupying you for a time. Consider it a part of your training.”

  His hypnotic eyes and words moved her to follow him. He led her by the hand to a table where two friendly looking men sat counting chips and shuffling cards. As Rand sat down, a third man quickly slid into the only vacant chair.

  “Where do I sit?” she asked, bending to Rand’s ear. She caught the fresh spice scent of his cleanly shaven face.

  Handing money to the girl selling poker chips, he spoke softly to Callie. “You don’t, darlin’. I want you to stand behind me and bring me luck.” Then loudly for the benefit of the other players, “I’m feeling mighty lucky tonight.”

  Two of the men laughed while the newcomer grunted and passed the cards for the cut. Callie bristled. That’s all she needed, to be treated like someone’s possession again. Well, she wasn’t replaying that scene. With a rustle of her skirt Callie turned to leave but a large hand caught hers in the most tender grip she’d ever felt.

  “Please. Stay,” was all Rand said. His eyes spoke what his words didn’t say. The restlessness was gone, replaced by something softer, kinder. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was sadness.

  What could he possibly be sad about? He was here in his dream town where everyone adored him, living out his fantasy life. He’d even admitted this was where he felt most at home.

  Some home. A town in the middle of nowhere inhabited by wayward twenty-first century transients, where the main attractions were gambling, drinking, and tipping your hat. That’s what Rand whatever-his-last-name-is called home. Callie Sumner called it purgatory.

  Ah, but what did she know about his outside life? He could be hiding a life of crime. Or escaping from an unhappy marriage. Worse, he could be a very normal person who really thought the Wild West was the golden age.

  Well, none of that mattered. He was only there for a week. He had his right to privacy, as stated in the manual, and she was there to be nice to the customers. With that in mind, she let him pull her back to stand behind him before he reluctantly released his grip. Becky wanted her to observe, so that’s what she’d do. She’d stand there quietly and observe.

  Even if it happened to be Rand, the handsome gambler.

  With her hands resting on the back of his big oak chair, her fingers brushed along his smooth black coat, feeling the heat that seeped through the fabric. She absently picked a piece of lint from one shoulder and saw Rand’s head turn just a smidge in her direction. He’d noticed.

  Tilting her head to the side, she caught sight of the edge of his mustache quirking upward. Rand leaned forward to toss in his stakes. When he sat back, the brim of his hat hit her chest, tipping it down over his eyes. The grumpy man snickered, and Rand turned to look at her after adjusting his hat.

  “Sorry,” she said with a grin.

  After several hands, Callie couldn’t tell who was winning or losing, but Rand’s pile of chips had gone down. Other than a pair or three of a kind, she understood very little about poker. Maybe if she concentrated, she’d get the gist of it.

  She leaned forward, peering over Rand’s shoulder to see what he held, but she hit his hat again and tumbled it backward this time. Embarrassed by her faux pas, she bent to retrieve the hat, reaching it at the same time Rand’s hand did.

  Speaking below the table, Rand murmured, “Miss Callie, if I’m to have any luck at all tonight, I need you to be a little less distracting.”

  “Sorry, it’s this stiff dress,” she explained. “I’m...well, I’m sticking out a lot farther than I’m used to.”

  Rand started to place his hat back on his head, but thought better of it and tucked it under his chair. “I assume it will be safe under there?” He turned a questioning eye to her.

  She smiled sweetly and let him return to his game. Peering over his head, she studied the cards, but the game just didn’t hold her interest. At least nowhere near as much as the lustrous black waves of Rand’s hair now exposed right in front of her. They smelled clean and fresh, and very masculine.

  She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, picturing him combing his hair into place like in a commercial for a popular shampoo. She hummed the catchy jingle, lost in the fantasy of the two of them replacing the actors in the ad. He was so handsome, so masculine, a far cry from crude Spider.

  “Miss Callie?”

  Hearing her name, she opened her eyes. “Huh?” From the look on everyone’s faces, her humming had been louder than she thought.

  Rand reached around, took her hand and stood up. “Gentlemen, would you count me out of this round?”

  Holding her hand firmly, he led her back to the bar.

  “I’m sorry,” she begged. “I was sort of daydreaming. I didn’t mean to distract you again.” With a rustle of satin, she sat on the stool he pressed her onto.

  Leaning over her, Rand placed his hands on the bar, caging her between his big arms. With his face just inches from hers, she caught the faint scent of cigar on his mustache. He breathed rapidly, but his eyes skimmed over her slowly.

  In a low, simmering tone, he drawled, “You are probably the best distraction I’ve had in a long, long time, but I’m here to play a game of cards and you’re here to learn your job. It’s my fault for asking you to accompany me and I apologize. Now, if you will do as you are supposed to do, I will return to my table and try to salvage some of my respect along with my losses.”

  Embarrassed by her wayward thoughts, and angry that she’d let them get away from her, Callie could only answer with a blink and puffed out lip. He was right. She wasn’t here to snag a man. She was here to learn to stand on her own two feet and gain some self-respect.

  Rand put a finger to her chin. “And don’t you pout like that for anyone else.”

  * * *

  The cards in Rand’s hand blurred into one indecipherable glob. No matter what he did, he couldn’t concentrate. The woman had gotten to him. Her searching fingers on his back and shoulders, her sweet humming, had kept him from the game. He’d thought that having her stand behind him would keep his mind on the cards while assuring him she was safely within his reach.

  It hadn’t worked that way. Aside from the fact that she’d physically distracted him, she’d managed to filter into his nostrils, his brain, everywhere. He smelled her when he inhaled. He tasted her when he licked his lips. His arms ached to hold her like when they’d rode in together.

  But her lips. Ahh. The pout of her lips drew him dangerously close. He’d wanted to nibble the cherry red delights like ripened fruit.

  A hard fist slammed down on the table across from Rand. “I call,” said the grumpy stranger challenging Rand.

  Rand focused on his cards and realized he’d bet his remaining chips on a pair of jacks. He looked at the size of the pot then at the other two players who shrugged and folded their cards. He knew he was in trouble, especially since this man had glared menacingly at Rand and Callie all evening.

  The menace nodded. “Well, what have you got?”

  Mustering as much dignity as he could, Rand turned his cards. “Pair of jacks.”

  The stranger sneered. “Three nines.” He drew in his winnings. “Guess it ain’t your lucky night a
fter all.”

  Rand felt he’d missed something, but what? If he hadn’t been so preoccupied, would he have caught it? He blew out a heavy breath and sank back in his chair. His hand eased down and rested on his gun, feeling the cold metal against his warm, sweaty palm. Something didn’t sit well.

  “The night’s not over yet.”

  The stranger, stacking his chips in neat little rows, quipped, “Yeah, but you’re plum out of chips.”

  Scraping back his chair, Rand got up. “Forgive me, were we talking about cards?” While the other two men snickered, he retrieved his hat then retreated to the bar.

  Becky had joined Callie. With their heads close together, Becky pointed out familiar faces and what she knew about them.

  “Conspiring against the customers, ladies?” Rand was greeted with two smiles, but Callie’s far outshone Becky’s.

  Becky straightened up. “Oh, just giving Callie the lay of the land, so to speak.”

  “Well,” Rand said as he hiked an elbow on the bar, “maybe you can tell me a little about that stranger who was sitting across from me. What do you know about him?”

  Becky shook her head. “Nothing. He came in on the stage this afternoon. Never seen him before.” She furrowed her brow. “Why? Trouble?”

  Brushing his mustache with one long finger, Rand looked back at the table. “Don’t know. There’s just something about him that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.”

  “Hmm,” Becky murmured. “I’ll talk to Smitty, see if he knows anything. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Nodding, he glanced at Callie. “Staying out of trouble?”

  She squirmed in her seat. “I wouldn’t call knocking off your hat a couple of times trouble. You should see me when I really get going.”

  Rand let a smile split across his face. She was a charmer, without a doubt. “Thanks for the warning.” He watched her eyes dance like the flames in the oil lamps above the bar and her lips twitch as she held back her laughter.

  “Miss Becky, would you mind if I kidnapped this lovely lady for a bit. I’m in need of some fresh air and her company would be greatly appreciated.”