Rachel Donnelly

by Lady Broke

  He turned around to find her backing away. “I can’t help you. I told you. I don’t want no trouble.”

  “Now don’t tell me you haven’t missed me because I know that you have.” He edged closer, not bothering to holster his Colt. “That’s a real nice dress, but not near as pretty as the pink one I bought you.”

  She pressed up against the window, breasts heaving above the red satin bodice of her frilly gown. “What do you want?”

  “Come on, darlin’!” He stroked the side of her rouged cheek with the barrel of his pistol. “Don’t be so hard on a fella. I miss my little lollipop.”

  “I miss you too, Billy.” Her lips trembled. “But it ain’t safe. They know it was you who robbed the post office. They’re looking for you. They’re going to catch you and hang you.”

  “I’d risk anything for you, Floss, you know that.” He edged closer. “I’d ride backwards forty miles on a three-legged camel just to hear your name. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I haven’t thought of you.”

  Her pulse jumped up and down under the smooth white skin on her neck. A mixture of fear and desire shone in the depths of her dark luminous eyes. “Oh, Billy,” she breathed. “Do you mean that?”

  “Course I do.” Watching her tremble made him go hard. He ground his hips against her softness. “I’m going to lick you all over.” He buried his face between her breasts and proceeded to show her what he meant.

  “Don’t Billy,” she protested. But she moaned and pressed him closer all the same, running her hands through his hair. “Oh, Billy! You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I need you, Floss.” He sucked one nipple until it swelled in his mouth like a bullet. She arched her head back, panting in short gasps of air. He holstered his Colt.

  Dang!

  Now he was getting somewhere. A few more soft words and a good poke and she’d be his. He didn’t feel guilty about using her.

  Hell! She’d been used by every cowboy in Carson. Besides, she owed him. He’d spent a pile of money on her. Now it was time to cash in on his investment. Helping him break Hank out of jail was the least she could do.

  The delicate smell of rosewater made his palms sweat. Having all of that silk and lace up against him made him hot. Maybe she’d let him try on her stockings again. He’d forgotten how soft and white she was — how she writhed and squirmed at the slightest touch of his hands. All plans to seduce information from her fled. He pushed up her skirts.

  She wrapped her legs around him, clinging to him, crying out his name over and over. When she got too loud, he plunged his tongue into her mouth to smother the sound. Hopefully the stupid little bitch could keep her mouth shut tomorrow.

  • • •

  Christie stared out the window of the dress shop at the jail.

  It was shameful to be such a coward.

  She’d pretended to browse for half an hour, attempting to muster up the courage to speak to the sheriff. It wasn’t the sheriff who frightened her, but the thought of her own reputation. Respectable women didn’t play guardian angel to saloon girls. They pretended they didn’t exist.

  But when it came right down to it, she and Flossie weren’t really that different. They were both young women trying to make their way in a world ruled by men. She might not have made the same choices as Flossie, but she sympathized with her plight. She couldn’t allow Flossie to be brutalized by some villain. Not while there was still a breath left in her body!

  Mrs. Pike nodded as she trotted out the door of the dress shop with her parcel.

  Mrs. Poole shuffled over to join Christie by the window.

  Christie hastily switched her gaze from the jail across the street to the hats displayed on the iron stands in front of her. One would think age might diminish a person’s propensity for gossip, but time had done little to squelch Mrs. Poole’s inquisitive nature. She had the loosest lips in town.

  “I just got that one in. Came all the way from New York city.” Mrs. Poole’s blue eyes twinkled, giving her the look of a mischievous pixie under her halo of chestnut hair. “There’s more in the back. I just haven’t had time to unpack them all yet.”

  “It’s lovely.” Christie lifted the grey hat from the stand to examine it closer. The grosgrain ribbon and light grey feathers gave it an elegant appeal. It was the type she might wear, if she were actually looking for a hat. “But I should like to look at the others first. Perhaps I’ll come back and take a look when you have them unpacked.”

  Mrs. Poole gave a sidelong glance out the window. “I expect you’re as nervous as the rest of us, having a no good outlaw like Hank Everett in town.” Her hypnotic, sweet voice begged confidence, making you want to forget she was the biggest gossip in town. “It’s hard to feel safe, knowing his brothers are still out there on the loose.”

  Christie returned the hat to its place in the window. “I’m sure Sheriff Brimley has it well in hand.”

  “He can’t be that confident.” Mrs. Poole folded her arms across her thin frame. “Word is, he’s shipping Hank off to Carson City on the next stage. Of course, he’ll be going along to make sure there’s no trouble. He’s a brave man. I sure wouldn’t want to be in his place.”

  “Oh, well that’s very good news.” Christie forced a smile. “I’m sure everyone in Murdock will sleep more soundly when he’s gone.”

  “It seems a waste of time, if you ask me.” Mrs. Poole sounded disgusted. “They can’t prove Hank Everett was one of the men who held up the post office. The judge in Carson is likely to dismiss the case and let him go.”

  “I don’t think Mr. Randall will let that happen. He and his partner are out there right now searching for Hank’s brothers.”

  Mrs. Poole’s voice hushed to confidential tones. “Just between you and me, folks are getting real tired of waiting. There may be a lynching before that stage gets here tomorrow.”

  “But that’s unlawful.” Christie searched Mrs. Poole’s features for any sign of exaggeration. “It’s barbaric!”

  “If you stay here long enough and see some of the goings on, you’ll understand why folks become impatient.”

  “It isn’t about patience, it’s about justice.”

  “I agree.” Mrs. Poole sounded resigned. “Now that we have a proper lawman in town, things should be done right. But not everyone feels that way. Folks here have seen a lot of cruelty and hardship — thieving, murdering. For them, the law is simply too slow.”

  Christie’s gaze strayed to the jail. “And you believe if they do something, it’s going to be tonight.”

  Mrs. Poole gave her a long look. “The stage leaves in the morning.”

  Christie’ heart began to tap. “Have you told the sheriff?”

  “He’s got ears like the rest of us. I expect he knows.”

  Christie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They would lynch a man without a trial? She’d read of such things happening, but she never imagined she would be caught up in the middle of such savagery.

  Good God!

  What was wrong with these people?

  “I don’t mean to worry you,” Mrs. Poole said in a sly tone that said otherwise. “But with you being on friendly terms with Mr. Randall, I thought you’d want to know.”

  Christie answered carefully, knowing whatever she said would spread through the town like wildfire. “I’d hardly call it friendly terms. We’re only acquainted because of the robbery.” She glanced at the clock over the satin draped counter. “Oh dear, look at the time! I really must be going. Thank you, Mrs. Poole. I’ll be back to take a look at those hats.”

  When Christie related the news of the possible lynching to Uncle Will, he failed to raise an eyebrow.

  “Aye, every man that’s come through the door has been yammering on about it.” He continued cleaning the shotgun laid out on the counter. “They dinna think they’ll receive justice once Hank Everett leaves on that stage.”

  “But shouldn’t we do something? Inform the sheriff how serious it is?”<
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  “One man canna stop a whole town.” Uncle Will sounded unconcerned.

  “He could call a town meeting — urge them to behave like law-abiding citizens.”

  “They willna listen.” He continued to rub the barrel of the gun. “Cliff Sutton has been working them up every time he comes to town. Most of the money they took was his. He’s sweated long and hard for what he has — an honest mun, living an honest life. No quick strike and a silver doorknob for him. I canna blame him for wanting the mun’s blood.”

  How could he give up so easily, when it was all so wrong? Didn’t anyone care about justice in this town? Had everyone in the West gone mad, or was it a condition particular to Murdock?

  Christie worried and fretted all evening.

  She had to do something. But there was no sense in discussing the matter further with Uncle Will. He’d made up his mind.

  It was easy to understand why he couldn’t get involved. He had to make a living, and alienating his best customers, even if they were stubborn fools, wasn’t a good way to go about it. But something had to be done. The sheriff needed to be informed about the vigilantes, if only for his own safety. Perhaps he could secret Hank out of town.

  She hated to go against Uncle Will’s wishes.

  But in the face of ill judgment and madness, she saw no other choice.

  If no one else would inform the sheriff, she must.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sky was black as sin — no silver moon or stars to light the way, only a faint yellow glow from the hotel window, casting an eerie shadow on the deserted walkway.

  Christie’s heart thumped hard against her ribs.

  She made a beeline across the street to the jail.

  Boisterous laughter from the saloon taunted louder.

  She quickened her pace.

  Leigh hadn’t come home for supper, which meant he was still having a good run of luck at the card table. The last thing she wanted was for him to spot her and blab to Uncle Will that she’d gone to the sheriff. Leigh supported the lynching. After the Everetts took pot shots at him in the miner’s cabin, he’d like nothing better than to see Hank hang.

  She didn’t like going against Uncle Will’s wishes, but she couldn’t stand by and do nothing. A man’s life was at stake — a no-good criminal life, but a life just the same.

  While she was at it, she planned to acquaint the sheriff with the assault she’d witnessed. She couldn’t change what had happened to Flossie, but she could do her best to prevent it from happening to anyone else. Uncle Will might consider it interfering, but if everyone hid behind lace curtains with their lips tightly sewn, how would things get done?

  She wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of cigar smoke floating out of the saloon. She could only guess what other distasteful, if not sinful, activities were going on inside. The only way to improve that establishment was to burn it to the ground.

  A voice from the alley made her jump. “Kind of late for a stroll, isn’t it?”

  At first she was so startled she didn’t recognize the speaker. But, something familiar in his taunting drawl gave her pause. And despite the fact she knew she shouldn’t, she turned around.

  Nat Randall.

  What was he doing here, skulking about in the dark? He was supposed to be in Virginia City chasing after Hank’s brothers. A whisper of a breeze blew up her back, causing her to shiver. She drew her shawl closer and thrust her chin in the air. “I came to speak with Sheriff Brimley.”

  “He’s busy right now.”

  His arrogant tone grated, especially since she was there to ensure the protection of his prisoner. Not that she was doing it for him. It was purely a humanitarian gesture. “I’m afraid this can’t wait. It’s imperative I speak with him at once.”

  He took a step forward, bringing the sharp angles of his grim profile to light. He spoke slowly and distinctly as though speaking to a child. “This isn’t a good time. Come back tomorrow.”

  She gritted her teeth.

  Since when did he decide the sheriff’s appointments?

  Gad!

  He was so bold and full of self-importance, you’d think he was the law in Murdock. Well she wasn’t about to buckle under his bullying. It had taken a great deal of time to muster up the courage to come here, not to mention ripping the hem of her favorite blue muslin gown on a nail going down the back stairs. She wasn’t leaving until she’d seen the sheriff. But she kept her voice calm. “I think he’ll want to hear what I have to say.” She made to step around him.

  But before she could take three steps, he had her by the arm.

  She jerked and twisted, trying to pull away, but his unbreakable grip held her fast. Before she knew it, he’d pulled her into the dark alley and pinned her up against the clapboards. The warmth of his hands on her arms made her shiver. The smell of the wind in his hair sent a shiver rattling through her. She remembered the last time he’d been this close — how demanding the pressure of his lips had been — how the taste of him had made her go weak.

  “Let me go!” She twisted against him. “What are you doing?”

  “Listen to me,” he ground against her ear. “Because I’m only going to say this once. I want you to march your sweet little backside right back across that street before you get hurt.”

  The force of his words and his dangerous tone sent tiny prickles rushing over her scalp. Or perhaps it was his warm breath on her cheek. She didn’t know. But she couldn’t allow all that she’d gone through to be for naught. She took in a great gulp of air, attempting to calm her pounding heart. “Very well, perhaps you can give him a message.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “And,” she swallowed hard. “It’s important he doesn’t tell anyone where he got this information.”

  Randall lifted a mocking brow.

  Her voice turned impatient, despite all efforts to remain calm. “His prisoner is in danger of being lynched.”

  He relaxed his hold. “I think the sheriff is well aware of that.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” She arched away, attempting to read his features. “These men are serious. They don’t intend to allow Hank to leave on that stage.”

  “Hank’s not leaving on the stage,” Nat said flatly. “We’re moving him tonight.”

  “Oh … ” She felt deflated, but at the same time relieved. It seemed she’d rushed out in the middle of the night for nothing. He and the sheriff had the situation well in hand. She felt a nagging sense of respect for his quick action, yet at the same time, annoyed at her own wasted efforts. But then, how was she to know the crisis was over?

  Her gaze shifted upward, only to find him observing her closely. When his gaze strayed to her lips, her breath caught in her throat. Something curled in her belly — fear, anticipation. She couldn’t tell. But the yearning to feel his soft, smooth mouth against hers was so strong, it made her weak.

  He released her. “Now that you’ve done your good deed for the day, you’d better get home.”

  The condescension in his tone jerked her from her brief enchantment. Her cheeks suffused with heat. Whether from disappointment, or shame, or a mixture of both, she felt the need to lash out. “At least I’m not here for the money.”

  He went perfectly still.

  His eyes narrowed under the shadow of his grey Stetson. “It’s best not to comment on what you know nothing about.”

  She should have let it go at that, but the desire to hurt him the way he’d hurt her rose like a viper in her breast. “I know all I need to know. You’re a bounty hunter — a scavenger, functioning at the lowest level of the law, a profession that ranks right up there with whores and snake-oil salesmen.” With a deliberate disdainful smile she let her gaze travel from the brim of his hat, down his buckskin covered chest to his boots. “But I suspect even a whore exercises some discretion over the jobs she takes.”

  “Who needs a whore when there are so many little hypocrites like you eager to warm my bed.” He took a step cl
oser, snaking out one arm. And before she could stop him, he pulled her hard against him, running his hands over her back and crooning against her ear, “That’s why you’re trying to rile me up, isn’t it? So I’ll forget what a nice girl you are and teach you what you want to know?”

  “Certainly not!” She struggled against his grasp, wishing for the chance to scratch his arrogant face.

  But his hold was too firm. He brought one hand up to rove over the curve of her breast. “Oh yes it is,” he breathed against her neck. He began placing little kisses behind her ear, down the column of her throat.

  A shudder chased down her limbs. Something long and hard pressed into her belly. It wasn’t a belt buckle! Panic spiked above the delicious sensations shooting through her, clearing the way to reason. She shoved him away. “No. You’re wrong!”

  Her body trembled all over. Every spot that he’d touched tingled. But the last thing she wanted was for him to know how he affected her. She turned and strode past him without so much as a goodnight.

  His arrogant laughter floated after her, making her grind her teeth.

  Insufferable beast!

  How dare he compare her to one of his floozies, when it was him putting his hands on her! She hadn’t asked him to touch her — to kiss her.

  Gad!

  The nerve of the man!

  The sooner he left for Carson the better.

  When she reached the other side of the street, she slowed her step to a more dignified pace. It took two deep breaths to rein in her pounding heart so that she could think straight, though anger still raged in her breast as she marched down the wooden walkway for home.

  Once Hank was moved to Carson City, Nat Randall would be out of her life forever.

  And good riddance!

  The sheriff had made no further effort to pursue her as a witness. With any hope she’d be back home in Boston before Hank’s brothers were caught. And, that would be the end of it.

  She’d never have to suffer the company of Nat Randall again.

  • • •

  Nat watched Christie stalk away with a rueful smile tugging his lips. She was probably cursing him right now. But it couldn’t be helped. Insulting her had been the only way to get rid of her. Her believing him a poor bastard was a small price to pay to put her out of harm’s reach.