Dreams, Deceptions and Desires

by Barbara Sheridan

  “Yeah, she and Myra like to have their little hen parties.” He laughed and tacked the last piece of wood onto the wide gate they were replacing.

  “That’s the one she sits by in church?”

  “Yep. Myra and Hank Larsen. Don’t act like you haven’t met them six times over since you got here.”

  John grinned and took another swig of water before dumping the rest on his head. “What about the other woman out there? Miss Ella. She their maid, a slave they didn’t want to let loose?”

  Alton shrugged and wiped his own sweaty face with a blue bandana. “Don’t know the particulars, just figured she was their housemaid back in Virginia.”

  “I imagine so.” He rubbed the excess water from his face. “Since we’re done here, I’ll head on back.”

  Alton held out his hand. “I appreciate you taking the time from your sheriff duties to help.”

  John smiled. “Not much doing in town ‘cept on Saturday nights when the miners get paid.”

  “You want to come on back to the house for something to eat?”

  “I think I’ll head on out to that little creek and cool off.”

  A wide smile lit Alton’s deep brown face. “Sure you’re not trying to catch another look or three at Miss Vivienne?”

  John laughed as he untied his horse from the back of Alton’s buckboard. “My brain ever gets that addled, you need to whack me with that spare board you got there.”

  And yet, as the little chimney of the small farmhouse on the property that bordered the Gaines spread became a visible speck on the horizon, his thoughts settled firmly upon the haughty face of Vivienne Medina. There was something odd about her friendship with the folks that worked that little farmstead, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d asked Cody about it once over a Sunday dinner spread at the hotel but got the same speculation Alton had supplied. The Larsens were friends of Vivienne’s, who’d gotten tired of life back East. But if that was case and the black woman was their maid, why’d they all flock together at church and Sunday dinner?

  In his brief experience, Vivienne Medina was pretty particular and snooty when it came to keeping company, and she sure never treated any maids at the hotel with the comfortable friendliness she seemed to show to the Larsen’s maid.

  John reined his horse to the right and onto the small path leading to the creek. He took a last backward glance toward the homestead in the distance. “You are a pretty little mystery, Miz Medina.”

  ***

  Vivienne smiled as her mother turned around to show off her new dress. “Oh, Mama, you look beautiful. Didn’t I tell you Kate was a genius? You have to wear that to church next week.”

  “And I can wear it to that party of yours.” Ella paused. “Maybe not, what with Myra and me doing that cooking for you. I might make a mess of it.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss Ella, I’ll handle the meats and sauces. We’ll put an extra apron on you, and you’ll be fine.”

  Guilt stabbed Vivienne in the heart. She would stop this charade. Soon. As soon as those congressman came and went and the town’s future was set. She cleared her throat. “Cody’s been reminding me that we’re low on serviceberry jam at the hotel. I’ll go check on that patch and see if they’ve ripened any since the last time. Do you need me to pick extra, Mama?”

  “Myra just brought some in yesterday, and made an extra pie for you to take, remember?”

  Vivienne forced a smile. “Of course. I don’t know where my mind is. A nice long walk should clear my head.”

  Her basket brimming and becoming unwieldy, Vivienne set it down and removed her wide brimmed hat. She laid the hat atop the basket, closed her eyes, and tilted her face up to the sun just for a moment. She was so tired of this game she’d started, especially out here, and especially in this place where people like Alton Gaines had openly settled down in a mixed race marriage. Even Cody seemed to be more than a little smitten with Kate LeMaster, who was slowly warming to him even if it was by fractions.

  Water splashing in the distance drew her notice, and Vivienne brought her attention back to the thicket of bushes before her. She peered over the tangled branches to glimpse the creek below the hillock. John Avery emerged naked as the day he was born, water sliding down the muscled contours of his rich brown body. Good Lord, what was the man doing out there?

  Rather obvious, don’t you think? A tiny wry voice asked when the man in questions lay down on the grassy bank and brushed his hand lazily over his cock. The organ sprang to life, and Vivienne’s gaze was transfixed as his erection swelled and lengthened the instant he wrapped his long fingers around and gave it a long slow jerk.

  She licked her lips and tried not to notice the subtle throb deep within her core. He continued pumping himself, and she wondered what he was thinking about. Probably what that whore, Belle Porter, had done to him. Whatever skills Belle had mastered, she could do better.

  As much as Vivienne wanted to, she couldn’t deny he was a fine specimen of a man, and it galled her to hell and back to think of Belle wrapping her fat thighs around his lean hips and feeling those big strong hands of his running over her body.

  She bit her lip as her infrequent encounters with Cody Blackheart ran past her mind’s eye with John Avery taking the place of her Indian friend. The pulsing became a nuisance, and Vivienne felt the wetness between her legs when she shifted her stance. John’s leisurely strokes became quicker, and she could see the rays of afternoon sun glint off the beads of wetness he milked from the slit of his cockhead. Lord, she wanted to taste him, to feel him buried deep inside, have him ride her hard and fast.

  Finally, the sight of John Avery became too much. She loosened the tie at the back of her skirt and slipped her hand through the waistband, past the band of her petticoat, and into the draw-stringed drawers. She was dripping, hot, and swelling with need to have that man fuck her silly. She stroked her hand roughly along her wet slit, rubbed quick circles over her swollen nether lips and the swollen tingling nub nestled within.

  John was jerking himself harder and faster, and she mimicked him as best she could, her channel too empty and wanting to clamp down on his erection as the pressure built. A climax shuddered through her just after John Avery’s cum exploded from his cock to coat his hand and lower belly. Knees shaking and weak, Vivienne sank to the soft grass, her slick fingers brushing over her gently throbbing woman’s flesh and milking the last of the pleasure that simply wasn’t enough.

  ***

  From within a small stand of trees atop the rise overlooking the creek, John watched through a pair of field glasses as Vivienne Medina exited the white farmhouse. Now why would she be waving to Myra Larsen, who stood on the porch, and hugging Miss Ella, the maid who walked her to her buggy?

  He swung the glasses back to the face of Miss Ella. No doubt about his supposition. Ella wore the same wistful look his own mother had given him when he’d gone off to war and again a few months back when he’d said he was coming out West. “Well, well, well, Miz Medina, look what secrets you been hiding way out here.”

  Later that afternoon, after checking on the progress the blacksmith was making with the second jail cell door, John took the roundabout way back from the livery and passed by the rear of the hotel. The mouthwatering scents wafting from the kitchen drew him toward the open back door, and he leaned against the frame, watching the curvy temptress place dollops of fresh jam atop little round cookies.

  “Mmm. That going to be on the dinner menu tonight, Miz Medina?”

  She jerked her head around, her harsh expression losing all the impact it held previously. “No. If you must know, I’m spending the evening with the reverend and his wife. It’s polite to take a gift when one is invited to dinner.”

  John smirked and approached the table. “I sure do know all ’bout those manners, Miz Medina. My master done beat the politeness right into my ignorant, dark hide.” He kept his gaze steady, noting the quick time of the pulse beating at her throat. “Of course, you wo
uldn’t understand anything like that.”

  She turned back to her work. “No, I wouldn’t. And really, those days are finally gone. You should stop blaming the entire world for the actions of some.”

  “I never was one to blame the majority for the actions of a few wretched souls. My mama taught me that.”

  She glanced up.

  “What did your mama teach you about the world, Miz Medina?”

  “Enough.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not to you.” She finished with her cookies and took the plate to the pie safe across the way.

  John picked up the spoon and, when she turned, licked the sweet jam with lazy flicks of his tongue. Her creamy cheeks flushed just a touch. “Serviceberries. They are tasty when done right, aren’t they? I was taking a swim in the creek out past the Gaines place today. Lot of serviceberry bushes out that way. You pick them there?”

  “I didn’t pick them. I bought them from someone who did.”

  “Uh huh.” He gave the bowl of the spoon one last lick and stepped forward to hand it to Vivienne. She stared down at his hand for a telling moment but took the utensil. The scent of her making him hard all over, he leaned in to whisper, “Somebody was berry picking out that way today. Too bad it wasn’t you. You were definitely on my mind the entire time.”

  Her sharp intake of breath was all the confirmation he needed.

  He gave her a wide smile and tipped his hat. “You have a pleasant evening, now. Give my regards to the reverend and his missus.”

  ***

  Even before the sun set, Vivienne wondered if she would ever again know the meaning of the word “pleasant” in this lifetime. He knew. Damn it to hell and back, John Avery knew she’d seen him at the creek. He knew she’d watched him pleasuring himself in broad daylight.

  But he couldn’t know that she’d done the same.

  But what if he did?

  Oh Lord, what if he knew about her mother?

  A hand lightly touched hers and she jumped.

  “Are you ill, Vivienne?”

  “No, Reverend. I’m fine, just a bit distracted, what with the arrival of our Washington visitors looming in the distance.” She forced a smile and sipped the after dinner coffee that had long gone cold.

  “I stopped by Mrs. LeMaster’s shop,” the reverend’s wife said. “She’s such a nice woman, and her son is adorable. I bought the prettiest piece of lace from her….”

  Thankfully, the talk of the latest fashions and the upcoming dinner reception was enough distraction to make the remainder of the evening pass without her mind straying to places Vivienne had no desire to go.

  ***

  Kate hummed to herself while Jamie sat in the middle of the quilt in the little wooden pen Cody had made to keep him contained in the sewing room. The baby banged his rattle on the quilt almost keeping time to the sound of Cody pounding nails into the last of the shelves he was installing out front.

  Casting a glance to the large skylight in the ceiling, she said a silent prayer of thanks for helping her choose this town to settle in. She’d made wonderful friends in such a short time, and this business was sure to provide a good life for her and Jamie once the railroad connection was established in a few months. She’d already gotten a start with many of the men at the nearby mine bringing her their shirts and trousers to mend and clean.

  If only she didn’t have to deceive the people who’d befriended her.

  A delighted squeal from Jamie stopped the doubts swirling in Kate’s mind, and she glanced back to the baby’s pen in time to see him crawl to the edge and pull himself to a standing position to babble at Cody Blackheart who stood in the doorway.

  She smiled when he approached, talking to Jamie in his native tongue. She had no idea what he was saying, but she could swear Jamie did, and it thrilled him to no end.

  “He loves the attention you show him.”

  Cody looked up, those large dark eyes of his penetrating the coldness that had gripped her for so long. “And his mother?”

  Kate could only stare. Surely he didn’t mean…. But if he did, if he knew about her….

  His expression grew hard, and she turned back to the cloth she’d been cutting.

  “I just came back to tell you that I finished. Do you want to take a look at where I put that standing mirror?”

  “Of course.” She took Jamie from his pen and followed Cody through the curtained doorway.

  He gestured to the two fitting rooms he’d completed the previous day. “You sure the mirrors and such are where you want them in here?”

  “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

  He nodded and continued on to the main room of the shop. Stepping through the second curtained doorway, Kate’s heart swelled, and she bit her lower lip in an attempt to hold back the tears of happiness that wanted to flow. This was wonderful, and though smaller than her parents’ shop had been, it was no less professional in appearance. And more importantly, it was all hers. Or would be someday.

  “You sure it’s all right?”

  “It’s perfect. You’ve worked so hard these past weeks and have done so much, not only here but also upstairs in the apartment. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

  Jamie strained in her arms and reached out. Cody took him and gave him a little toss into the air, catching him safely in his strong hands. Her son squealed with joy.

  “You could let me take you to supper.”

  “I have to feed Jamie.” Kate regretted her impulsive blathering when Cody’s eyes took on that coldness once more.

  “Of course you do.” He gave the baby another playful toss. Again, laughter filled the room.

  “Would you like to stay and eat with us? I need to have you try on your suit to make sure I’ve gotten the alteration right.”

  Jamie screamed in delight with another toss, and Cody smiled at her. “I think I’d like that. Thank you.”

  He gave the baby a final extra high toss. She sucked in her breath but relaxed when Cody caught her son safely once more. “Please, call me Kate.”

  ***

  John Avery smiled to himself. The timing of his evening walk through town had brought him toward the church at the same time Vivienne Medina was leaving the reverend’s home next door. He moved to tip his hat, but pounding hoof beats caught his attention. He stiffened when the bloody man drew near.

  “You gotta help, Sheriff. They got two tents pulled ’fore we could chase ‘em off. Four dead maybe five—”

  The man slid from the saddle. John knelt beside him, finally recognizing him from the group Cody had brought in from Laramie to start building near the proposed railroad station. John tapped the man’s face, tried to rouse him. The reverend’s wife came with a basin of water, the reverend with a lantern.

  The injured man stirred.

  “Who attacked you?”

  “Indians.”

  John looked up at the sound of Vivienne’s gasp.

  “I’ll get Cody,” she said. “He might still be at Kate’s shop.”

  Chapter Six

  The lingering smells of charred wood and burnt flesh greeted John and Cody. The workmen’s camp resembled the battlefields John thought he’d left behind. Sturdy tents slashed and burned, food and clothing trampled into the dirt and mud. Scalped, riddled with arrows and bullet holes, the bodies of the slain were piled near two empty freight wagons bearing Matt Logan’s name.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Cody growled as they tethered their horses.

  “Lives close enough to have heard something—”

  Cody skewered him with a vicious look.

  Logan came out from behind one of the tents still standing. “Come to make sure they did it up right?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You dream about it, don’t you, Blackheart?”

  “Why are you here, Logan?” Cody took a step forward, but John placed his hand on his friend’s chest to hold him back.

  “One of my boys coming b
ack from town heard the commotion, hightailed it to the ranch when he realized what was happening. Red bastards was gone when we got here. Everybody dead or dying.”

  John noticed one of the troublesome cowboys he’d ridden on the stage with listening in. Logan cast the man a look, and he sauntered over. He jerked his thumb to one of the dead in the nearest wagon.

  “He was still alive when we got here. Said it was Shoshone. Two big sons of bucks leading the war party.”

  “My brother wouldn’t do this.”

  Logan smirked and adjusted his gun belt. “The same way he wasn’t running with the Sioux who massacred them soldier boys over near Laramie that time.” He whistled. “Hey Sonny, bring that lance here.”

  Logan’s son took a bloodied war lance from one of the wagons and brought it forward.

  “Tell the new sheriff where this was, son.”

  “In the foreman’s chest. Holding him to the ground.”

  Logan smirked once more. “Yeah, Blackheart, that brother of yours is so peace-loving.” He turned to John. “Well, Sheriff. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to look into it. Find the ones responsible.”

  “Uh huh.” Turning his back, Logan directed his men. “Let’s get these men to the undertaker, so we can get ‘em a proper burial.”

  Cody picked an arrow from the ground and studied it in the glow of the dying fire that had once been the workmen’s lumber stack. When John looked his way, Cody held out the arrow.

  “That lance might be Shoshone, but this was made by a left-handed man. No one in the band favors their left hand.”

  “Could have been a couple rogues passing by? Sioux, maybe Crow. Didn’t your brother raid some Crow horses?”

  Frowning, Cody twisted the arrow in his fingers. “Those stripes going around are paint. White man’s paint, not red earth or mineral dust and animal fat.” He swung his gaze onto Logan and his son, who were mounting up to lead the procession of the dead workmen back to town.