Adam started walking again, eager to get back to his office. He could lock the door and peruse the most recent batch of wanted posters. Lethal and lawbreaking men made a sight more sense to him than dimpled, dark-eyed women, that was for damn sure.
“What are you going to do if she decides to take you up on your offer?” Will asked.
“Put a ring on her finger and pray she can cook, I reckon.” A couple of gossiping old biddies across the street caught Adam’s attention, causing him to give his friend a stern look. “Don’t go telling anybody I proposed to the woman. Since only you and her know, if word gets out, I’ll know who to shoot.”
“I don’t think you can shoot a woman you’ve proposed marriage to.”
“Reckon not. I’ll just have to shoot you twice.”
He and Will parted ways at the Mercantile, the doc heading in with a mile-long list from that wife of his. Adam continued on to his office, where he flung his hat on his desk and pondered whether he’d left his brains in his other boots that morning.
What the hell was he thinking, offering to be tied until the day he died to a woman he didn’t even know? Dimples or no, that was just plum crazy. And now that he was thinking of crazy, that damn old woman popped into his head.
Back when he was a boy, a group of families with strange accents and painted wagons had rolled into town. He supposed now they were Gypsies or the like, but at the time he’d just thought they were the most exciting thing to happen since his older brother got caught ripping the women’s foundations page out of the Sears, Roebucks & Co. catalog. He’d begged and pleaded for five cents to get his fortune told until his pa gave in just to shut him up.
The old woman, who reeked of tobacco and liquor, perused his little hands for a good long time. “You are going to grow into a fine, strong man. Many will fear you.”
As the youngest of four boys, the idea of being strong and feared had lit a fire in his belly.
Then the woman had shaken her head and clucked her tongue. “Yes, you will stand tall among men. But a painted lady will be your downfall.”
Well, his ma had lit right into that fortuneteller for mentioning painted ladies around her sweet little boys, and those fancy wagons rolled on out of town the next day. Even as young as he was, Adam knew what painted ladies were—they had one right in town who’d let the boys see her bare nipples for two nickels—but he didn’t see how one could be the downfall of a strong and fear-inspiring man.
Nevertheless, that old woman’s warning had taken root and Adam had never done any business of an intimate nature with a whore. He’d been shown the pleasures of the flesh for the first time by a lonely widow, and widows had suited him just fine ever since.
But being the new owner of the Chicken Coop didn’t make Rebecca Hamilton a painted lady by his reckoning. Hell, she was a virgin, even.
Adam grabbed the sheaf of wanted papers and propped his feet up on his desk, feeling a sight better. Though Miss Hamilton might have gotten his brain addled and his cock riled, she wasn’t the painted lady who would be his downfall.
Becoming Miss Becky – Book 2
Taming Eliza Jane (Gardiner, Texas Book 1) Page 17