He looked behind him, two other women and a man lay sprawled on the varnished planked floor, looking up with frightened eyes, and behind the counter, he could hear another woman crying. But Jo wasn’t losing her composure. He admired her for that.
“We better hold here for a few minutes.” He dropped back down beside her.
“Agreed,” she said. “This is one of my favorite new gowns, and I don’t fancy having to patch up any bullet holes.”
He grinned. She was amazing.
“You don’t seem too flustered,” she said, her green eyes taking him in with an approving stare. “You had a quick reaction out there.”
He considered how much he wanted to tell her.
“I used to be in the security business before I took over the gambling boat.”
“A hired gun?” she mused, and he wasn’t sure if he saw distaste flutter across her stunning features. He hoped not. He hoped it was merely surprise.
He shrugged. “I guess some would call me that.”
“And did you do anything someone asked as long as they paid you?” Her tone had taken on a slightly harder note.
He had done a few things he wasn’t proud of, but he hadn’t crossed the line. “I never killed a man for money if that’s what you’re asking.”
A small smile crooked the corners of her mouth drawing his attention. He wanted to kiss her more than ever, right then. The hunger that flared and made his blood boil nearly caused him to miss her next words.
“Good. I wouldn’t like you if you had.”
He blinked. Man alive, he was glad he’d passed that test. The idea that Jo might not like him bothered him a whole hell of a lot more than he had thought it could.
“I’m sick of cowering on this floor,” he said. “How about you?”
He stood up slowly, held out his hand, which she grasped, and pulled her up to stand beside him. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
They used the back door to the alley behind the line of businesses and hurried along the narrow way. All the while, he kept ahold of her hand, as he remained alert to potential danger.
Even after they had eased inside the bank’s brick walls with the armed security guard at the front door, Jameson couldn’t help scanning their surroundings for trouble while Jo made the transfer from his account to hers and Pete’s.
“What are your plans now?” he asked Jo as he hailed a taxi, not wanting to walk back to the hotel in broad daylight along the same street.
“I’ll go see Pete. He’ll want to meet with the workmen right away. They prefer to deal with me, but then they don’t get as much work done, nor do they give me a fair price.” She said it without a trace of malice, just a wry acceptance.
“They’re idiots,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Jo, will you please be careful? That was a bizarre occurrence to be sure, but it might have been an attempt on your life.”
She didn’t go pale or appear frightened. “A jealous wife, perhaps,” she said so nonchalantly it gave him chills.
“Has that happened before?” he asked.
“Actually, no. However, I can’t imagine any other reason anyone would want to kill me. And even then, I only own The Pork. I don’t service the clients. Wouldn’t a wife go after one of my girls?”
He was caught for a moment by her words—she didn’t “service” the men who frequented her place. Relief, plain and simple, eased his mind and buoyed his spirits. But then he remembered how she’d accompanied Stoddard to his cabin, to occupy him as a decoy. She might not “work” above stairs in her own saloon, but she did sell her favors when necessary, and the thought plowed him in the gut.
He forced himself to stop the path his thoughts were taking, at least for the time being. “Maybe someone already has gone after one of your ladies. We should check,” he suggested. “
“We?” She arched one of her lovely eyebrows, so perfect that he wanted to run his finger over it.
“I don’t feel comfortable letting you out of my sight, at least for a while.” It was true. Every protective instinct he had screamed at him to take care of Josephine Holland . . . as if she were his own.
“After all,” he added, providing a more logical excuse for his sudden protectiveness, “if something happens to you, then my money is in jeopardy. I’m not sure that Pete can make the same magical success of The Pork and Swallow without you.”
Her expression turned almost luminous, making her so appealing that he would have willingly overlooked even her servicing clients. Then she smiled at him. “All right, Carter. Come with me to see Pete, and then we’ll check on my girls. I know where two are living, at any rate.”
By the time Jameson closed up the gaming rooms at midnight, his uneasiness had yet to fade. His sixth sense, honed to sharpness in his previous profession, whispered to him that the shooting earlier that day ought not to be dismissed. However, short of kidnapping Jo and locking her in his cabin, there wasn’t anything he could do to protect her, so he’d left her at her hotel after extracting a promise that she’d contact him if she needed anything.
Anything at all. Like a kiss, he mused. Holding her hand had been . . . perfect. It had made him feel caring and excited all at once.
Jesus! He was getting it bad for Miss Holland. Did he want that? Or was he simply randy as hell and in need of a woman? Without Jo’s establishment, he would simply have to find other things to hold his attention.
Happily, they’d found that her ladies were safe and sound, and one of them, Candace, had come to work for him, filling the last vacancy he had. Luckily, the first two had known where the others were staying, and none of them had felt they’d been threatened in any way.
And not one of them had stirred his interest or made him feel even a tingle the way simply holding Jo’s hand had.
Damn him if his thoughts hadn’t flown right back to Jo again.
“Mr. Carter,” a thin voice interrupted his thoughts.
Sitting in a chair in the now-silent second-level gaming room, Jameson was startled out of his brooding, surprised that he hadn’t even heard Lucille’s approach.
Wariness rippled through him. He stood up slowly, taking in her costume, the dress that all his female employees wore—a grey and white pin-striped gown trimmed with red ribbon, low-cut and off the shoulders, with plenty of leg showing at the front and white ruffles underneath, and the sweetest bustle at the back. His gals looked trim, tidy, and sexy as hell. Except for Lucille.
The low neckline didn’t so much showcase her bosom as display her lack thereof. But the hemline offered a generous view of her slender legs, about as shapely as one could hope for, clad in sheer black stockings. He thanked God for sexy stockings.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, as she approached him with her strangely unwelcoming smile.
She stood stiffly in front of him. “I took the dress in here,” she put her hands on her waist, “and here,” she ran her hands higher, “and I think it fits better now. Don’t you?”
“You look fine,” he told her. “Did you enjoy your first couple nights?”
“Yes. The other ladies have been kind, and the men are very . . . friendly. And they seem to appreciate my singing.” Her brown eyes flickered over him.
“I heard you singing,” he admitted. “You were splendid.”
She put her head down as if blushing, except she wasn’t. “They started giving me dollars when I sang,” she admitted. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I tucked them down here.” She indicated the shallow valley between her small, pert breasts.
He coughed and cleared his throat. “Good thinking.”
When she only nodded, he added, “I have some work to do.” Though clearly she could see he was doing nothing but contemplating the night sky. “Do you need something?”
She paused another instant. “No, Mr. Carter. I was just taking a stroll. Learning the layout of the boat and stretching my legs. It takes a little getting used to, living on the water
.”
“Good night,” he said, wanting her gone.
“Good night,” she returned and disappeared as quickly as she’d come. He’d had an idea she was going to tell him something more, as there was clearly a lot going on between her ears. Probably trouble.
For some other man. He had no interest whatsoever. As soon as he was alone, Jo’s perfect visage with her intelligent eyes and sensual lips floated once again into his brain. He groaned. Before he thought twice, he grabbed for a pencil and some paper from behind the bar and scribbled a quick invite:
Please come to my boat as my guest tomorrow night, Miss Holland. Good food and good company.
Sincerely,
Jameson Carter
Then he realized it would have to wait until morning, so he scratched out the words “tomorrow night” and wrote in “tonight.” He would ask Ben to get the message across the river in due time in the morning, and then he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and hoped she would come.
To his surprise—for he was half-certain that she would turn him down—Jo arrived in her spiffy carriage around suppertime. Ben, as usual, was out front in the early part of the evening, greeting guests and looking out for signs of potential trouble. Jameson watched Ben help her down from her seat, and they exchanged some polite words that he couldn’t hear. Even that innocent touch by his own friend caused a surge in his pulse, as if he were ready to fight for her.
However, he didn’t move a muscle. Jameson merely watched as she strolled across the dock and onto his boat like she owned the place. He loved that about her.
Waving down at her from his vantage point on the second-level deck, he called out with enthusiasm, “Come on up.”
Jesus, rein it in man. He sounded like an eager schoolboy. But his heart was already thudding at double time. And when she came up the outer deck steps and walked toward him, he wanted to take her in his arms. Something about her made him feel as if she belonged to him.
“What’s that smile for, Carter?” she demanded, visibly fighting back one of her own.
“Because you came,” he answered honestly. “Simple as that.”
A hint of color bloomed in her cheeks Pleasure or indignation? he wondered.
“You know I have nothing else to do,” she retorted tartly. “I was rather a safe bet. Don’t you think?”
He allowed a small snake of disappointment to slither through him. So she hadn’t eagerly responded to his invitation to be with him but had come out of sheer boredom. Ah well. Looking at her, in her gorgeous sapphire blue gown and her follow-me-lads curls cascading over one shoulder, he felt his smile grow. Any reason that brought her into his presence, he would take and gratefully so.
The color in her cheeks deepened. “If you keep looking at me like that, Carter, people will start to talk.”
He chuckled. She was so direct. Good, he would answer her directness with a little of his own. He crossed the last couple of steps between them and, even to his own amazement, took her in his arms.
Desire blazed in her eyes, but she pressed her hands against his chest, her reticule dangling from her wrist.
“Carter,” she warned, her voice purring low and a little gravelly.
“Jo,” he said, keeping his tone playful. And then he kissed her, the briefest sweep of his lips across hers. Because he had to. He had to taste her again. Then he stepped back. She had that look of a woman who might strike out and slap him, but then her affront faded and instead, she grinned.
“Not nearly as good as the last time,” she said, cocking her head to one side, “but it’ll do by way of greeting. For now.” And she turned away, entering the gaming room ahead of him, her cheeks ablaze with color.
So she had been blushing! A heady rush of power coursed through his veins. He’d made the indomitable Josephine Holland blush!
And she hadn’t told him not to kiss her again. In fact, she’d said for now, which of course gave him ideas for later.
As he drew up beside her, she was surveying the tables, already nearly full. “You have a good-sized crowd,” she said. “Should I start offering gambling at my new saloon?”
“That would make you my competition,” he reminded her.
“Are you afraid of a little competition?” she quipped.
He looked into her eyes and saw the clear challenge dancing in their verdant depths.
“Not at all,” he replied. “But I’d hate to see you spend my money to get a gaming license only to find that I have all the best high-spending customers on my side of the river.”
She laughed. She actually laughed at him. “My girls will always be prettier,” she tossed back. “They’re the icing on top of a sponge cake, the sweet treat that would bring your customers to my side of the river.”
“You may have a point.” Some of his ladies had worked for Stoddard for a number of years, and Jameson didn’t have the heart to retire them, though he had an idea a few might be nearly thirty! He sighed. There was a lot to being the boss that he liked and a few things that he most certainly didn’t.
“In your invitation, you said ‘good food’,” Jo reminded him. “What are we having? I’m not one of those silly females who eats like a bird.”
“No, I didn’t expect you were.” As a gambling man, he would have bet she had a healthy appetite, and not only for food.
Jo let him lead her to a private table in the lathes’ cabin at the rear of the boat, and they talked as if old friends while they ate. She learned about his childhood in Montana and told him about her own in Chicago. She could tell he was impressed with her ingenuity of making the jump from seamstress to saloon owner. And in truth, she was rather glad he’d left behind the extreme danger of being a hired gun to run a riverboat gambling operation. Two hours went by in the blink of an eye.
“I’m going to powder my nose,” she told him.
“Your nose is perfect, as is the rest of you.” His glance swept over her and heated her from head to her toe.
“Nonetheless.” She stood up, still warm from his compliment and went to the ladies’ washroom.
A few minutes later, Jo made her way back along the short hallway only to stop dead. In front of her was Lucille Strong, peering through the drawn curtain to the main gaming room. At first, Jo figured the girl was simply too timid to go out and handle the gamblers the way she was being paid to. But then Jo saw something in Lucille’s hand, and she felt the skin on the nape of her neck prickle. Silently, she waited and watched, just as Lucille was doing.
In another moment, the girl raised her hand, and Jo caught her breath, feeling her heart thump in her chest. Was that the barrel of a gun? Perhaps Carter was the target.
Without further hesitation, Jo rushed forward and tackled the girl. They went tumbling through the curtain and onto the soft patterned carpet of the gaming room. People gasped and screamed as the ladies rolled and knocked over a chair, before crashing into a man’s legs where they finally stopped. Jo landed on top, pinning Lucille to the floor by her shoulders.
“Christ!” Jo heard Carter exclaim, and then his hands hauled her off his hapless employee. From her place of restraint, clamped to Carter’s side, Jo watched as Ben helped Lucille to her feet. In an instant, the brunette’s face crumpled from shock to misery, and then she started crying hysterically.
“What in the hell is this about?” Carter asked. Jo looked up at his stern face.
Before she could answer, he turned to the now-hushed crowd gawking at the spectacle. “It’s all right everyone. A free beer per customer,” he added, giving a nod to his bartender across the room.
As most of the clientele either sat back down or moved toward the bar, Carter looked to the disheveled women. “Well?”
“She attacked me,” Lucille blurted out between high-pitched sobs, “like an animal.”
“Jo?” Carter asked, his voice dropping a notch with concern as he looked at her.
She smoothed down her bodice and skirt, making sure everything was in place. “Your Mi
ss Strong was loitering suspiciously behind the curtain, spying on people, and she may have a gun.”
“A gun!” Lucille exclaimed at the same time as Ben, who still stood beside her. “That’s absurd,” the girl continued, wrenching her elbow free of his grip.
“What were you doing, standing so quietly, watching people?” Jo prompted. “And what were you holding?”
Lucille looked at her employer, raising her nose in the air. “Mr. Carter, do I have to answer her?”
“Yes, you do,” he said, grim-faced.
She shot Jo a foul glare before addressing her boss. “I was waiting for the right moment when Mr. Arnold would be walking by. He’d asked for one of the special cigars, and you said not to let everyone know you had them because they would all want one.”
“Where is it?” Jo persisted.
“It went flying when you knocked into me,” Lucille proclaimed, looking like she might start crying again.
Jo narrowed her eyes at the girl for a moment, then scanned the floor around them. Ben and Carter did the same while Lucille stood with her arms folded.
“Here,” Ben said, stooping and picking up a cigar that was under the table.
Jo had been half-hoping it was a pistol though that would have spelled danger for Carter. Instead, she watched him take the cigar from Ben and then shoot her a doubtful glance.
She let out an exasperated puff of air but accepted her mistake with a shrug.
“Jesus, Jo, what were you thinking?” Carter’s annoyance was etched across his face.
She hadn’t been thinking too much at all. Just feeling—a little on edge after being shot at, a smidgen of protectiveness in case Carter was the target, and of course, a healthy dose of fear. However, she didn’t say any of that. She merely spread her hands in defeat. “Miss Strong looked suspicious.”
“I guess you owe her an apology,” Carter said, as Lucille wiped the last trace of tears from her face. Her makeup was ruined.
Jo supposed he was right, but it stuck in her craw to give it for some reason. Perhaps it was the smug expression creeping over Lucille’s face as she eyed her or the dismissive glint in the girl’s brown gaze. Jo rolled her eyes.
An Impassioned Redemption: A Defiant Hearts Novella Page 5