Anthology - BIG SKY GROOMS

by DAVIDSON, Carolyn. MALLERY, Susan. WILLIAMS, Bronwyn (in) Montana Mavericks

  Actually, she had—Will had paid for two full nights, only he hadn’t wanted her, either. “Everyone knows—at least everyone who’s ever met that wretched old man—that Cam has ways of getting his hooks into anyone who comes into the place, either to drink or to gamble or—well, whatever. One way or another, he gets a cut of any money that comes through those doors.”

  By then Cicero was crying. Great, gulping sobs that made her want to hold him and comfort him, and then knock the starch out of him. “You’ll never grow up, will you? The whole world revolves around little Cicero, same as it always has. You’re just like Papa.” Which was both the best and the worst thing she could think of to say.

  WILL FORCED HIMSELF to stay away from her—to stay away from the Folly. The men knew what they were doing; the work would proceed without his supervision. As for him, he had about as much business falling in love at this stage of his life as a six-legged jackass had entering a waltzing contest.

  And he’d been close. Too close for comfort.

  So for three days he stayed out at the ranch, getting to know his young nephew, Zeke, and his new sister-in-law, Ruth, and getting reacquainted with Caleb who it seemed, was about to become a father again. Trouble was, their obvious contentment made marriage seem like an enviable condition.

  At any other time Will might have been tempted to follow their example, find himself a suitable woman and settle down. But at this particular point in his life he had no business even thinking about marriage, especially as the only woman who interested him happened to be an ex-saloon girl. If he was hoping to put his past behind him—all the harebrained stunts he’d pulled as a young man—marrying Lizzy wouldn’t help.

  Marrying Lizzy?

  Coming home from the bank each day to a radiant smile and a pair of open arms? After a warm, wet welcoming kiss she would serve him coffee and one of her delectable sugar buns, hot from the oven….

  And later they would go upstairs together, and he would slowly undress her, and she would pull the end of his necktie, if he still happened to be wearing one, and then she would unbutton his shirt. Slowly. Her gaze never leaving his, even when her fingernails raked lightly across his nipples….

  Yeah, well. It was only a dream, after all.

  Oh, hell, this was embarrassing, especially in a man his age. Especially when the woman he was thinking about was at least a decade younger. Turning toward the fence, he hooked his boot heel on the bottom rung and pretended to study the herd, hoping Caleb wouldn’t notice his uncomfortably aroused condition.

  What he needed was space. The ranch was no longer big enough—too many people around. What he needed was solitude, just until he could get his mind back under control. He would like to think he’d learned to control his manly urges since the days when he used to sneak into the old DD to ogle ladies’ bosoms. Evidently, there were some things a man never learned.

  “You all right?” Caleb was giving him a curious look.

  “Who, me? Oh, sure, I’m fine. Just thinking. Nice beeves. They’ll finish off first-class.”

  “Yeah, I’m counting on it. By the way, I heard from Brock last week. Meant to tell you, but you’re a hard man to catch up with these days.”

  “He’s headed home, I hope. God, do you realize he wasn’t even shaving last time I saw him?”

  “Yeah, well, he might not be shaving now. Our baby brother’s got a new bug up his arse—can’t decide whether to study for the ministry in Arkansas or pan for gold in the North Carolina mountains.”

  Will swore a solemn oath and then broke out laughing. “And you thought I was trouble.”

  “I knew you were trouble. Hell, man, you’ve always been wilder than a muley deer in heel fly season. Now you’re even bigger than me. Hate to tell you, but even gussied up in your fancy city duds, you still look more like a wrangler than a banker. How’s it coming along, by the way?”

  “What, the bank?”

  “Sure, the bank. What’d you think I was talking about?”

  And so Will talked about his plans for the bank, and then he talked about the Folly and what a great investment it was, and he left the ranch a few hours later, knowing he had to go back. Hoping he could keep a cool head and not embarrass them both when he saw her again. On the ride back to town, where he intended to bathe and change into something that didn’t smell of horses, he managed to convince himself that it wasn’t need that drove him. He didn’t actually need to see her. To hear her voice, to see the way her eyes lit up when she smiled—the way her nose wrinkled ever so slightly when she laughed aloud.

  He didn’t actually need water when he was thirsty, either, or food when he’d gone three days without.

  Kincaid, you are in deep trouble.

  CAM IS NOT going to take me back, Lizzy told herself hopefully as she waited just inside the swinging doors. If she could have stayed outside while Cicero came to terms with the saloon owner, she would have, but people had started to stare. Respectable women didn’t hang around the saloons, not even in the middle of the day.

  She had made her brother drive her out to Will’s house, but the place was locked up and there was no one there. She had too much pride to go to his family’s ranch.

  “It’s all settled,” Cicero said smugly, striding toward her with a broad grin on his boyish face. “He says that upstairs stuff was just a misunderstanding. You’re to serve drinks, wash dishes and sweep out in the mornings. I know it’s no fun, Sissy, but it won’t take long. Once I pay back what I lost last night—”

  “You didn’t lose it to Cam, you lost it to those sharpsters who lured you into gambling.”

  “Yeah, well—you see, Cam is sort of like a banker. They say it wasn’t like that in the old days when another guy owned the place, but Cam—well, what he does is buy up a fellow’s IOUs. But once I pay him back what I lost, plus interest, we’re out of this town like—”

  “Interest?”

  “Well, sure. That’s the way it’s done. If I borrow money—”

  “If you lose money, you mean.”

  “Same thing. I pay something for carrying costs—um, twenty percent figured weekly,” he said quickly. “But it’s not going to take me near that long to pay it back.”

  Lizzy closed her eyes. She couldn’t afford to think about just how he intended to earn enough to pay Cam back. “That damned, dratted, awful pirate,” she swore feelingly. “No wonder he could afford to double the size of this wretched place. How much?” Miserably aware of all the curious eyes turned their way, she pressed him unmercifully because she had to know. There was no question of her going through the upstairs-downstairs routine again, because she simply wouldn’t. But if she had to work off her brother’s debts, she needed to know exactly where she stood. Maybe poor Ro couldn’t help his weakness—he was his father’s son, after all—but it was time someone in this family took charge and started acting like an adult.

  The idea had been simmering as soon as she’d known Ro was going to try to get her to work in the saloon again, but she wasn’t ready to confide in anyone yet. If Ro knew what she was planning, he’d insist on managing the whole show, and first thing she knew, he’d have gambled the rest of her life away. She loved him—he was all the family she had left, but she knew better than ever to trust him again.

  “How much?” she whispered fiercely.

  Cicero, his cheeks blazing with embarrassment, hung his head. “It’s only ninety dollars this time. I lost everything I was saving up for the ranch, but all I owe Cam is the money I lost trying to win it back, so you see, we’re not as bad off as it might seem.”

  WILL STOOD in the lobby of the hotel, reeking of sweat from helping Caleb’s wranglers break the new stock, and stared down at the folded note. She was gone. The ungrateful little witch had walked out on him. According to the night clerk, she’d been staying at Amos’s hotel right here in town with some wet-behind-the-ears dude in a fancy vest, the whole time he’d been out at the ranch.

  Well, damn. If that was all th
e gratitude she could scrape up, after everything he’d done for her, then good riddance.

  Upstairs in his room, he went over the brief note again in an effort to read some deeper meaning into the polite words. What large, lovely ranch? Where in Wyoming? And what the hell was wrong with Montana, if a man wanted to buy a ranch?

  Just who the devil was this joker, anyway? Was he really her brother, or was he her lover? No brother in his right mind would leave a sister in a place like the Double Deuce.

  Her handwriting, he noted absently, was better than his own, but then, he’d known hardened prostitutes who wrote a beautiful hand, complete with more fancy flourishes than an ostrich parade.

  She was gone, dammit. He ought to be dancing in the street—at least now he could get his mind back on track. Instead, he felt like he’d been bushwhacked. Battered, angry and disbelieving.

  AT LIZZY’S INSISTENCE, the showdown took place in the privacy of Cam’s new office in the newly completed addition, where the smell of new lumber was already tainted by the stench of cheap tobacco. Cam seated himself behind a scarred table, that and a straight chair being the room’s only furniture, and lighted up another of his stinking cigars. Lizzy and Cicero were forced to stand. If Cam thought that gave him the upper hand, he was sadly mistaken. Lizzy had learned the art of social maneuvering from her mother. It wasn’t easy holding your head up in Charleston’s finest drawing rooms when you owed practically everyone who was anyone in town.

  Ready to take the upper hand, she opened her mouth to speak when Cam blew out a stream of smoke and said gruffly, “All right now, missy, what’s this about singing?”

  Cicero said, “Singing? Did Sissy tell you about that? Why, back home in—”

  Lizzy elbowed him aside and stepped forward. Her knees might be knocking, but nothing in her attitude even hinted that she had ever been dragged through the mud, either literally or figuratively. “Sir, we both know I’m rather inept as a serving girl. I’m certain my brother told you that I’m not going to work upstairs, either. So would you mind telling me why you agreed to take me back?”

  “Now, Lizzy,” Cicero placed a hand on her arm.

  She shook it off. “And this time I’d like the truth, please. If we’re going to arrive at an agreement, I need to know exactly what’s at stake.”

  “You want plain speaking?” the older man grinned, revealing a full set of square, yellow teeth. “Truth is, little lady, I made more off’n you in two weeks than I made off the other gals in a month of Saturday nights.”

  “Now, see here, sir—!” Cicero stepped forth, lifting a pale, bony fist.

  “Hush up, Cicero, I’m conducting this interview.” She turned back to the saloon owner. “That’s not possible. I only earned upstairs money two nights.” She ignored Cicero’s gasp. “The others ladies were up and down several times a night, every one of them.”

  Cam nodded and laced his stubby fingers together over his belly. “You could call it bonus money. Might even call it ransom money. Me, I call it smart business. If a man walks in and says he wants to pay off another man’s debt, I ain’t going to refuse his money. And if the gentleman that owes the debt comes along later and insists on paying me off, too, ain’t no law says I gotta turn him down.” He glanced at Cicero, who looked as if he might lose his breakfast at any moment. “So now we’re startin’ out fresh, clean slate. Ninety dollars, plus interest. Clock started runnin’ on it last night about midnight, give or take an hour, but seein’s how you’re wantin’ to settle up, I reck’n I can afford to be generous.”

  Bracing herself, Lizzy drew on every ounce of poise she possessed and began to lay out her plan.

  WILL STOOD on the banks of the Yellowstone River and stared toward the southeast, as if he might catch a glimpse of a skinny, yellow-haired woman and a sharp-looking gambler hightailing it down the road toward Wyoming.

  The air was clear, but it wasn’t quite that clear. She could be a hundred miles away by now, or even five hundred. “Good riddance,” he muttered, not meaning it now any more than he’d meant it when he’d read her note nearly a week ago. His first impulse then was to go after her.

  Fortunately, he’d come to his senses in time.

  His second had been to head for the Double Deuce and get royally drunk, but then that would only remind him of Lizzy. Of where and how they’d met. Hell of a thing, when a man couldn’t even drop by his favorite saloon for a couple of drinks without seeing ghosts.

  Same thing with the Folly. He was half tempted to sell the place as it stood, if he could find a taker. He had ridden out there directly after he’d left the ranch, before he’d gotten the note she’d left at the hotel. Violet Gibson had been struggling to lift the dog into her wagon. “I don’t know where Miss Lizzy went to—somewheres in town, I reckon, but she’s gone, all right. Left me a note, said to look after Ruby, see that she had a good home. I’m fixin’ to take her home with me, that is, less’n you want her back.” Both her eyes and her voice had been laden with pity, which he’d pretended not to notice.

  He didn’t want pity, dammit, he wanted Lizzy.

  There, he’d said it. Not aloud, but even admitting it to himself was the first step toward recovery. On the heels of that painful admission came the anger. If he hadn’t gone into the DD with Caleb after burying the money—if he hadn’t met Lizzy in the first place—if he hadn’t been fool enough to buy that damned old ruin, his bank building would be almost finished by now, and he’d be too busy getting his business set up to be moping over a stubborn, irritating female with the haughty airs of a royal princess. She had no business being so damned irresistible. Hell, she didn’t even have a bosom!

  Caleb didn’t need him, the ranch was working as smoothly as it ever had. Smoother, without the two of them constantly butting heads. He could stay in town and stew over the ungrateful little witch, or he could move out to the Folly and stew over her there. Or he could go somewhere where he wouldn’t see reminders everywhere he looked.

  He couldn’t love her. How the hell could he love her? He’d only kissed her once!

  So he’d packed his bedroll and fishing gear and headed out to the river to fish. To watch the clouds pile up over the mountains, to watch the grass turn brown. To get his mind back on track so he could get on with the rest of his life.

  Only it wasn’t working. With whopper trout practically leaping out of the river, all he could think about was the way she’d looked that first night at the saloon, her skinny little ankles wobbling as she tried to balance in a pair of shoes three sizes too large. So determined not to trip, not to spill anything—not to call down Cam’s wrath on her skinny little shoulders. That orange hair, those big, earnest eyes—and him, reeking of the whiskey that dripped off his face, soaked through his shirt and his trousers while his nose bled and swelled up big as a bear paw. And Caleb, nearly busting a gut to keep from laughing.

  As the light gradually faded after a spectacular sunset which he’d barely noticed, Will quickly cleaned a small trout and cooked it on a spit over his rekindled fire. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would go back to town, check out of the hotel and move into the Folly. If he needed to lay a few ghosts to rest—and he did—then he might as well get started.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  YOU CAN DO this, Lizzy told herself, just as she had every night for the past week and a half. The first few nights had been the worst. She’d been certain her throat would close up. No matter how many times she had sung in the past, it had always been for friends, never for strangers. For fun, not for money.

  Dear Lord, she thought as she steeled herself to sweep open the makeshift curtains, I’m a stage performer. A professional entertainer!

  Which, she thought wryly, was several cuts above being a saloon girl.

  Inside the newly opened section of the Double Deuce Saloon, the rafters were throbbing to the wail of two fiddles and a banjo. Lizzy, wearing a long black skirt and a blue shirtwaist, with her flaxen curls subdued for the occasion, stood in a c
ircle of lamplight and waited for the din to subside. This would be her third performance. She had planned five short songs and no more than two encores. Naturally, she would refuse all proposals—decent or otherwise.

  “Sing ‘Clementine’ fer me, li’l angel!” shouted an inebriated patron.

  “Do ‘Camptown Races!’” cried another.

  Lizzy waited until the stamping and whistling subsided. There were still no seats in the new addition. Cam had had benches built and sent off for a billiard table. After her second performance, he had ordered an upright piano from Sears and Roebuck. Lizzy would like to think that by the time it was delivered she would have repaid her brother’s debt, plus the exorbitant interest, and would be well on her way to earning the money to repay Will. She was still sick with shame to think he had actually bought her.

  And on top of that, he had offered to pay her a salary.

  Closing the door on those thoughts, she lifted her head and began to sing in a full, clear voice, “‘We are tenting tonight, tenting tonight, tenting on the old campground….’”

  The poignant words spoke of hearts that were lonely, of soldiers far from their home, but they echoed the sadness of her own heart. She had wept rivers over the loss of her parents, her home, her friends—all she had once held dear. That loss could be laid at her father’s feet. She had cried nightly over the indignity of having to work as a saloon girl, and for that she blamed her brother, but her own weakness was equally at fault.