by Jill Gregory
For even when she and Texas were together, Ginger plainly saw his lack of interest. Texas no longer kissed her with the fierce pleasure she’d come to expect. His caresses were absent-minded, dutiful, while his thoughts... well, his thoughts were elsewhere.
It enraged her, but she was helpless to do anything about it. Except try to reclaim his straying interest—and she would do that the only way she knew how. By making herself so seductively irresistible that his passion would be kindled anew.
That was why this dinner tonight was so important. She was going to give him the full treatment, and Ginger defied any man to resist her when she turned on her famous, well-practiced charm.
“Hurry up with that whisky, honey pie,” one of the miners yelled suddenly.
With a curse muttered under her breath, Ginger lifted the tray of drinks she’d prepared. As she did so, the swinging doors opposite the bar parted, and Jim Logan strode into the saloon, pausing briefly to appraise its occupants with a quick, cool look from under his sombrero, and then proceeding leisurely to a table in the corner, facing the door.
Relief made Ginger smile quite gaily. Carrying the tray to the drunken miners, she deposited it hurriedly on the table, then scooted over to where Texas sat. Leaning over to kiss him, she made sure her voluptuous breasts dangled almost completely free of her daring gown as she bent toward him.
“Texas, honey, I thought you were going to stand me up,” she cooed, her hand caressing his weathered cheek so that the scent of her strong perfume clearly assailed his nostrils. “Where’ve you been, sweetie?”
“Reckon that’s my business, Ginger. Bring me a drink, will you?”
She slipped onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and allowing her soft fall of coppery hair to brush his face. “A drink? Aren’t we going to have us some dinner at the hotel? You promised!”
“Well, I reckon I did. I’m not one to break a promise to a lady.” But he was glancing around the room, seemingly bored—or perhaps distracted.
Ginger’s eyes narrowed in anger. He looked undeniably handsome, with his blue-and-white checked shirt perfectly cut to accentuate his wide, powerful shoulders, then tapering to his slim waist where dark blue pants encased muscular thighs and legs. His leather boots were dusty, as if he’d been riding hard. As always, his gun holster reminded everyone who glanced his way that he was a singularly dangerous man. His dark sombrero almost completely hid his brown, wavy hair, although a few dark locks tumbled carelessly over his brow. His lean features were bronzed by the sun, bringing out even more intensely the deep, cold blue of his eyes.
Ginger took all of this in with one narrow, longing glance, and her arms tightened about his neck.
“So, honey,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his jaw. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get us some dinner.”
To her chagrin, instead of softening toward her, or even looking at her, he responded with a hint of impatience.
“Reckon we’ll get some grub when I’m finished here, Ginger. If you’re sure you want to venture outdoors. There’s a bad dust storm blowing up, and it looks like a thunderstorm is hot on its heels.” Suddenly, he pushed his sombrero back on his head and grinned at her. His arms tightened about her waist as she sat upon his lap. “It shore seems to me like a good night for staying indoors though. Know what I mean?”
Her response was to kiss him long and lingeringly, oblivious of the crowded saloon and noisy patrons clamoring for service.
“I want that, too, Texas honey,” she purred. “But you promised me a nice dinner at the hotel, and I’m sick of Meg’s beef stew! There’s plenty of time for keeping warm and dry later, isn’t there, sweetie? And I’ve been lookin’ forward to this all day!”
“All right, honey, you win. But first, bring me that drink.”
With a final, parting kiss, she grinned and jumped off his lap, heading over to the bar. There, Meg Donahue read her a few blistering words on the evils of neglecting her customers, but Ginger, secure of her position at the Silver Spur, merely tossed her head at Meg and replied in a belligerent way that she’d see to her customers when it damn well suited her.
Still, she did agree resentfully to serve refills for a rowdy group of cowboys as soon as she’d delivered Texas his drink. Shrilly shouting to the impatient customers to shut up and wait their turn, she stalked over to Logan’s table.
“Here you go, honey.” Her lips pursed as she placed the drink before him. “I’ve got to take care of those hell-raisin’ cowpokes, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He watched her hustle off, unable to suppress an amused smile as Ginger tried to hear the cowboys’ shouted orders for drinks over the banging of the piano and the noisy rumble of men’s voices in the rapidly filling, smoke-filled saloon.
To add to the confusion, Ellie Sue, a wildly uninhibited saloon girl with frizzy blonde curls and provocatively laughing brown eyes, began dancing atop the cowboys’ table, her hips swaying bawdily to the blaring piano music, her high-heeled shoes stomping the table so loudly and heavily that several glasses broke before Ginger could sweep them aside.
Logan shook his head in sympathy. Poor Ginger. She’d been trying so hard to spend time with him, to please and attract him, and here she was being obliged to wipe up the broken glass and spilled whisky, to take drink orders, to fight her way to the overflowing bar. He felt a little sorry for her, but only a little. Ginger could take care of herself.
She’d been doing it for a long time now. He knew she wondered why his interest in her had waned of late, and he also knew that whatever spark there had once been between them was now extinguished. Ginger was nothing more to him than a pretty face who knew her way around the bedroom, and for some time of late he’d found himself growing tired of her.
Logan was aware that Ginger suspected he was involved with another saloon girl—probably Lila—who’d begun flirting outrageously with him lately. Thinking of this, he grimaced and drained his whisky glass.
If only it was true, he thought bitterly. If only it was Lila or one of these other saloon women haunting his thoughts, tormenting him.
But it wasn’t. It was someone else, someone completely different. His fingers tightened around his empty glass. Frowning, he called for another drink.
Bryony Hill had been consuming his thoughts for many weeks now, ever since that afternoon when he’d cornered her in the Circle H barn. The memory of her raven-haired beauty and burning green eyes was engraved upon his mind—and whenever he thought of her soft red lips parting to welcome his kiss, or of the way her slender body had pressed up against him, he nearly went wild with frustrated desire.
Never before had any woman had such a profound impact on him. He’d always found the women who interested him more than willing to share his bed, and he’d taken what he wanted from them and afterward, his needs fulfilled, forgotten them without a second thought.
They’d been used willingly for the moment’s pleasure, and then he’d discarded them like an empty bottle of liquor.
But Bryony Hill was unlike any woman Texas had ever met.
Where the others had been experienced and knowing, she was innocent.
Where they’d been cheap and pretty and wild, she was exquisitely beautiful and spirited and well-bred.
Where they’d quickly lost their charm in their availability, she was all the more tantalizing because she was unattainable.
He’d been spending many a waking hour trying to forget her, to shake her from his mind, and every night he’d been dreaming of her. It was sheer hell.
His desire for her was driving him loco, and that was the quickest way for a gunfighter to meet his demise.
Damn it, he couldn’t afford to be distracted by some fancy little rich girl from St. Louis. To survive, all his energies had to be focused on his gun, on shooting faster and straighter than any one else—everyone else.
If he didn’t watch out, Bryony Hill would kill him yet, whether or not she was the one to pull the tr
igger.
A grim smile touched his lips. He bet she’d like that. The little wildcat would love to know that she was the cause of another man beating him to the draw.
Logan slammed his clenched fist down on the table. He’d be damned if he’d let it come to that. He’d drive that damned girl from his mind if he had to bed every whore in the territory to do it.
When Lila brought him his second drink, a warmly inviting smile lighting her painted face, he took the glass without a word. Setting it down upon the table, he pulled her down onto his lap.
“Why, Texas!” She grinned in pleasure, more than a little surprised by his sudden interest. Kicking her long, black-stockinged legs out before her, she gave a sexy little whoop and drew his head down for a kiss.
But the next moment she gave a scream of agony as her long brunette hair was ripped viciously from its ribboned coiffure by Ginger LaRue.
“Owww!” Lila screeched, leaping out of Texas’s lap to stare balefully at the saloon girl standing beside her with both hands on her hips.
“Stay away from my man!” Ginger shouted. Her face was flushed scarlet with rage and she looked ready to scratch the other woman’s eyes out. Texas tried to help her to her feet, but she pushed him away and struggled up herself, fists clenched and ready for a brawl, but he stepped between them.
“I reckon that’s about enough, ladies. Lila, I appreciate the drink, and the offer of other services, but I reckon you’d better get back to work before Meg goes on the warpath. Ginger, come over here and sit down. Let’s have another drink. I’m in no mood for tantrums.”
His steel-edged tone had the effect of throwing cold water on the two women’s burning animosity, and with nothing worse than a few angry glances exchanged, they mutually parted ways.
Lila flounced to the bar, where Meg Donahue had been watching the episode with raised eyebrows. As Lila began to loudly air her grievances, Ginger sat furiously on a chair, glaring at Texas, her eyes livid with rage.
“Why were you kissing that no-good hussy?”she demanded. Her temper was always short-fused, and at this point her patience was nearly exhausted. Just when she’d thought she was making some progress with Texas, he had the nerve to turn his attentions to that brazen brunette, who knew less than nothing about pleasing a man! She watched his face for some sign of apology or excuse, but she was not surprised to find that he appeared indifferent to her anger, his features set like granite. It was as if her feelings were of no concern at all to him. Which, she realized sinkingly, was probably true. He was bored with her, and disgusted by her jealousy.
She was losing him faster than she’d realized.
“Take it easy, Ginger,”Logan told her quietly. “You know there’s no strings between us. If you want me to escort you to the hotel for dinner, you might want to try to behave a little more like a lady.”
“Like a lady?” Her laugh was loud and high-pitched. “You mean like that fancy little daughter of Wesley Hill?” She snorted derisively. “I saw her in town one day, honey. She was all decked out in her velvet riding clothes, pretty as you please. Just like a perfect little princess. A little bitch-princess, if you ask me!” Her eyes narrowed.
“Reckon I didn’t ask you, Ginger,” he said in a low tone.
“Well, Texas, all I can say is this—I sure hope you don’t plan on getting to know that little filly any better, because for one thing she’d probably rather die than have anything to do with the man who shot her father, and for another...” She smiled as his body went taut.
“For another,” she repeated, staring directly into his eyes, “it seems your fancy little Miss Hill is getting herself hitched before long. It hardly seems fitting for the great Texas Jim Logan to be chasing after another man’s lawful wife, now does it, honey?”
He stared at her in silence and she let out a brittle laugh.
“Oh, it’s true, honey. And wouldn’t you look right silly hankering after her when she’s Mrs. Matthew Richards? Ain’t that so, Texas, honey?”
He was acutely aware of her shrewd glance upon him, as she watched for his reaction to her words. It took all of Texas’s will power to refrain from displaying the emotions that shook him as every word she spoke clamored in his head.
Only his whitened knuckles as his fingers tightened around the whisky glass betrayed his inner turmoil. His eyes, his mouth, his entire demeanor remained calm, indifferent, casual. But his knuckles went very, very white.
“I hadn’t heard they were going to be married,” he drawled, and his penetrating blue gaze made Ginger shift somewhat nervously in her chair.
“Well, not yet exactly. But I reckon it’s bound to happen soon.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Look honey, are you buying me dinner or not? I’m sick and tired of talking about that little black-haired bitch. Let’s go get us some chow before the dust storm rolls in. I’m hungry as a grizzly.”
She started to get to her feet, but Logan’s arm shot out and gripped her wrist. His eyes had a deadly glint to them as slowly he forced her back down into her seat. “Tell me what you know about this marriage business, Ginger.”
Though his voice was low, there was a hard edge to it. Ginger swallowed nervously.
“Let go of me, Texas,” she began uneasily, but when she tried to pull free, his grip became even more viselike.
“Talk, Ginger.”
“But... why do you even care—?”
“I’m asking the questions. You’re answering them. I reckon you ought to remember that.”
She hesitated, then gave a shrug. “Fine. If you need to know, Matt Richards was in here Saturday night—he stayed late. He was in a terrible rage, and drank himself right under the table. I’ve never seen him like that before—real mean and ornery—and getting drunker by the minute.”
“Go on.” Releasing her wrist, Texas leaned back in his chair, his gaze boring into her face.
Ginger watched him warily from across the table. Despite his apparent calm, she sensed his tension, and silently prayed he wouldn’t vent his anger on her. Unlike many of the men she’d known, Texas had never once struck or mistreated her. But she’d never seen him so intense about anything as he was about this saloon gossip concerning Bryony Hill.
She felt a surge of jealousy at his interest in another woman. Resentment seeped into her voice as she continued her narrative.
“Anyway, Meg tried to talk to Matt, tried real hard to calm him down, but by then he was dead drunk and in a worse temper than ever. Finally, Judge Hamilton came in and then he tried to reason with him, shooing everyone away when Richards started yelling for another bottle.”
Ginger sighed. “I don’t know exactly what the Judge said, but soon after they talked, he and Matt left together. I didn’t find out what it was all about ‘til afterwards.”
A sudden smirk broke across her face.
“Well?” Texas prodded. “C’mon, Ginger, let’s hear it.”
After tossing back some more of her drink, she shrugged. “A group of Richards’ men were in here the next day and I heard them talking. All about how the boss was fit to kill—seeing as a certain Miss Bryony Hill turned down his proposal of honorable marriage!”
Texas froze. He locked his hard gaze on Ginger’s face.
“Imagine that, honey! Bryony Hill is so high falutin’ she turned down the richest rancher in the valley. That little girl’s either just plain stupid or she’s loco. Or both! But don’t you worry none, darlin’. I reckon that little miss fancy pants likes playin’ hard to get. You watch and see—she’ll turn around and accept Matt Richards the next time around.”
Logan’s mouth tightened. A terrible feeling of foreboding rushed over him as Ginger’s words sank in. Long ago he’d developed a sixth sense for danger—it was something all men in his profession needed to stay alive. And now this extra sense was warning him once again.
He had to find Bryony.
“Well, now, Texas, are you riling up my girls?” Meg Donahue i
nquired cheerfully at his elbow.
When he glanced at her, his face was a grim mask.
Ginger jumped to her feet. “It was all that whoring Lila’s fault!” she declared defensively, but Meg only chuckled and patted her coppery head.
“Don’t rear up like a wild mustang, honey. I’m just teasing you—and Texas,” she added with a grin. “So what do you have to say for yourself, cowboy?”
For answer, he gazed at her long and hard. “What did Matt Richards say that night he was in here drunk?”
There was an urgency in his tone that Meg noticed immediately. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“Answer me, Meg. Now.”
“Why, he just babbled on and on about that Hill girl, that’s all. Seems like she turned him down—marriagewise—and every other way, I reckon.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why’re you asking, Texas? You’re not usually the nosy type when it comes to other folks’s business.”
Ginger draped herself on her chair once again. “Oh, Texas has an uncommon interest in little Miss Fancy-Pants. I figure he’s developing a taste for prissy little virgins—which cuts out all of us girls around here, doesn’t it, Meg?”
The sound of her laughter was hard, almost vicious. “Come on, Meg, do tell,” she added caustically. “What did Richards say? Everyone knows you two were real friendly years ago when he first came to Winchester, so he must have confided in you. What did he have to say about that black-haired bitch?”
Meg shrugged. “Well, it’s true, we did share a few drinks—among other things—back when he first came to town, but that was a long time ago, Ginger. He sure didn’t tell me much about what happened between him and that city girl. You know, Texas, I like a bit of juicy gossip as well as the next person, but I’ve got to tell you, Matt wasn’t talking much sense that night. Just a lot of lover’s gibberish. And I’m damned if I could make it out.”
She set herself down upon one of the vacant chairs at the table, seemingly ready to chat for hours, but Texas had heard more than enough.