Loving the Lawmen

by Marie Patrick

  “Come on, partner.” Nat jerked Leigh up by the lapels. Then he plunged his head into the watering trough.

  Leigh came up sputtering and gasping for air.

  “Was that necessary?” Christie stared at him open mouthed, though she looked like she wanted to smile.

  “Can’t get him home unless he’s half-awake.”

  “I didn’t ask you to get him home.” She glared at him. “I’ll take him home.”

  Nat ignored her stiff rebuff, hauling Leigh to his feet. He positioned himself under Leigh’s arm, then steered him across the street.

  Christie followed, every so often slapping her cousin on the back, while he continued to choke and cough up water.

  Between them, they managed to hoist Leigh up the mercantile steps and inside.

  “Put him on the cot in the storage room.” She hurried past Nat to open the door.

  Nat would have cheerfully dropped Leigh in a barrel to be relieved of his dead weight. Not to mention the rank odor of corn whiskey, leaking out everywhere.

  “Thank you,” Christie whispered as she drew a wool blanket up to Leigh’s chin. She might have been tucking in a small child instead a grown man passed out dead cold drunk.

  Nat nodded shortly, then strode from the room. Such fussing rankled and perplexed him. Leigh didn’t deserve her tender concern. Hell! He didn’t even know he was getting it. What he needed was a swift kick in the ass.

  Christie caught up with him just as he reached the door. “The sheriff tells me you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I was wondering … I mean … I wanted to know … ” She slid her tongue along her top lip, then gushed, “If you catch Hank’s brothers, will you be bringing them here?”

  “I expect so.”

  “Oh,” she said on a trembling note.

  He had the sudden urge to take her in his arms and quell her fears. But that wasn’t a good idea. “You needn’t worry, you won’t have to testify.” He touched the edge of his hat, then strode out the door.

  She followed him out onto the wooden walkway. “But I want to testify!”

  He turned around to face her, pinning her with his gaze. “Liar.” He walked slowly toward her, forcing her to retreat until her back was pressed up against one of the posts on the veranda. “You were shaking in your boots when you came to see Hank.”

  She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. “Of course I was afraid. Who wouldn’t be? But fear shouldn’t stop anyone from doing what’s right.”

  He gave a humorless chuckle. When he braced his hand on the post above her head, he could see the pulse in her neck—feel her breath against his cheek. “Ah yes, the right thing … The trouble is there’s nobody there to thank you when you’re dead.” He’d thought to intimidate her—put some healthy fear in her. Instead, he felt his own composure slip. She smelled fresh and clean and flowery, like a sheet dried over a rosebush. All he could see was her sweetly curved lips, so pink … so smooth … so close.

  The next thing he knew, he was kissing her—the last thing he’d wanted to do. Or was it the first? From the moment he’d seen her standing beside the buffet table at the barn dance that was all he’d thought about. And he wasn’t disappointed. She tasted better than the last time. With her breasts crushed up against him and one of her soft curls tickling his cheek, he was lost. In that moment, there was only her.

  Everything vanished.

  The sound of laughter in the distance finally brought him to his senses.

  He pulled away, shocked by the raw hunger she’d unleashed—the yearning he’d felt.

  Damn!

  What the hell was wrong with him? Someone could have walked up and put a gun to his head. He would have been completely defenseless.

  He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her for making him feel so vulnerable. But the sight of her wide liquid gold eyes brought him to his senses. It wasn’t her fault. It was his. He should have kept his distance.

  “Mr. Randall!” She took a stumbling step back. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

  He smiled, in spite of his anger with himself. Had she actually mistaken his passion for a calculated assault? It may have started out like that, but it sure as hell didn’t end up that way. He couldn’t have faked such desire if his life depended on it.

  But what did it matter?

  He’d achieved what he’d set out to do.

  “No, ma’am,” he drawled, deciding to push home his advantage. “If I’d have wanted to do that, I’d have carried you to the stable and finished the job.”

  “Ohhh!” She gasped, raising her hand.

  He grabbed her by the wrist before she could do any damage. “Now why is it that every time I kiss you, you want to go and do that?”

  “Why do you keep kissing me?”

  “You and I both know the answer to that.” He captured her other wrist as she made another swing. “Face it, you’re in way over your head.”

  Her bosom rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. Little green flecks flashed like sparks in her brandy eyes. “Let go of me now or I’ll scream.”

  He grinned. “That would be hard on your reputation.”

  His threat must have sunk in because she settled down and stopped struggling after that. But her voice remained stiff with indignation. “Very well, please let me go.”

  He released her abruptly. She took two steps backward then thrust her chin up and stalked for the mercantile door. Nat couldn’t help but smile. She was so soft and pink on the outside, but inside laid a smoldering fire. He wished he could be the one to fan it to life.

  But he had no time for innocent virgins, especially headstrong willful ones who didn’t listen to reason.

  Chapter Six

  Christie brushed a vinegar soaked hand past her forehead, then stepped back on the wooden sidewalk to admire her efforts. The mercantile window sparkled. Not bad for the first glass she’d ever cleaned. Her hands were black from the newspaper she’d dried it with, but it was worth it. She could see out into the street and know who was coming before the bell clanged. More importantly, she’d know when the stage arrived with precious letters from home.

  She wasn’t the only one with her face pressed to the glass these days.

  A week had passed and Nat Randall had yet to return. The residents of Murdock were getting anxious—mostly about their money. Every customer who entered the mercantile expounded on the subject. The longer Hank Everett languished in their jail at the town’s expense, the faster their chances dwindled of recovering their savings.

  Christie’s gaze strayed down the street to the jail as it had a hundred times that week. She didn’t want to think about Nat. But she did. No matter how many times she told herself she never wanted to set eyes on him again, he kept creeping back into her mind like a thief, making her question her judgment—robbing her of sleep.

  Why, she couldn’t say. He wasn’t a gentleman—quite the opposite. He was a roughneck. It was foolish to waste time caring what he thought. He was a scoundrel of the first degree. His searing kiss the night of the barn dance had proved that.

  And to make matters worse, her traitorous body had responded. She’d behaved like a wanton. But it was too late to take it back. All she could do now was to let her humiliation serve as a reminder to prevent it from ever happening again.

  She slid her gaze away from the jail. A flash of pink down the alley by the saloon caught her eye. She squinted against the white light of the sun. A man appeared to be accosting a woman—in broad daylight.

  Good Lord!

  What next!

  Was she to be met with depravity at every turn in this town?

  Her gaze scanned the length of the dusty street, but other than a stray dog trotting down the alley behind the hotel, there was no sign of life to be found. The heat of the noon sun kept everyone indoors, to conserve their strength for the night of debauchery at the saloon to come.

  Christie let out a hu
ff of exasperation, then snatched up her skirts to march across the manure-strewn street.

  By the time she’d reached the mouth of the alley, the man had turned tail and run. As Christie neared his victim, her good sense returned and she realized the danger she might have put herself in. Little prickles dashed over her skin. She slowed her step, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of his return.

  But the sight of Flossie crumpled against the clapboards soon pushed all fears aside. Flossie’s dark curls drooped about her head in disarray. One cheek shone scarlet, apparently from a blow she’d suffered. A drop of blood oozed from her top lip.

  “Flossie!” Christie stared down at her in shock. “Are you alright?”

  “It ain’t nothing.” Flossie managed a faint smile, then winced from the effort. “I’m fine.”

  “Nothing!” Christie reached out a hand to help her to her feet. “He might have done you serious harm. He might have killed you. You need to go to the sheriff and report this at once.”

  “No!” Flossie held up a hand as she took a stumbling step back. “He didn’t mean it. He has a powerful temper, that’s all.”

  “He’s an acquaintance of yours?” A customer no doubt, but it would be inappropriate to mention that.

  “You could call it that.” Flossie gave a sidelong glance down the alley, then concentrated on dusting off her behind. “I knew him in Carson City. You might say he was a regular.”

  “And he followed you here?”

  She took a long shuddering breath. “We had feelings for each other once. He even promised to marry me when he’d saved up enough money.” Her tone turned bitter. “But whenever he got money, he drank and gambled it all away. I got tired of waiting, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry.” It was difficult to fathom how Flossie could care for a man who treated her so cruelly. Of course, it was difficult to fathom her lifestyle at all. But desire was a powerful thing—it could pick you up and spin you around like a leaf in the wind. Christie understood that. She’d felt it herself in Nat Randall’s arms.

  “I’ve got Leigh now. He takes real good care of me. But, I’m much obliged for your help.” Flossie turned to go, saying, “I best get back, or Delia will have my hide.” Christie’s heart clutched at the hopelessness in her voice. “Wait! Isn’t there something else you could do? I mean, I’m sorry, I don’t wish to pry, but if you’re so unhappy, why don’t you find some other kind of employment. Surely there are other ways you could make a living.”

  Flossie flicked her a shy smile. “I had dreams of opening my own dress shop once. I’m pretty good with a needle. But that was a long time ago, and besides, you got to have money to do that.”

  Christie nibbled on the bottom of her lip. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

  “You’re a kind lady.” Flossie reached out to squeeze her hand. “I’m much obliged for your help just now. But don’t waste your time losing sleep over me. I’ll get by. I always do. Besides, it ain’t as bad as it was in Carson. The customers ain’t as rough. At least here, I got Leigh to watch out for me.”

  Christie smiled ruefully as she watched Flossie stagger away. If Flossie was pinning her hopes on Leigh, she was due for a rude awakening. He was too busy rescuing himself most of the time to help anyone else. And judging from the fearful glances Flossie sent over her shoulder as she hurried toward the saloon, she needed a more competent protector than Leigh.

  • • •

  Christie prayed in church for Flossie’s soul, asking the good Lord to help her mend her ways. That night an epiphany struck her. If she could find Flossie a respectable job, she wouldn’t be at the mercy of opportunists. She’d be independent—free.

  The next morning, Christie paid a visit to Mrs. Poole, the dressmaker, to inquire if she might have extra work. Flossie might not have the money to open her own shop, but she could always start at the bottom and work her way up. Enterprising young women did it all the time.

  Word of her inquiries shot through Murdock like gunfire—mostly by way of the barbershop under Mr. Poole’s straight razor.

  Tuesday afternoon Leigh stormed into the mercantile.

  Christie ignored his huffing and puffing.

  Helping Flossie was the right thing to do.

  • • •

  The faint tinkle of piano music drifted in behind Billy Everett as he slid through the window. When his boots hit the floor, his spurs jingled like tiny tambourines. He pushed the white lace curtains from his face with an angry swipe. His gaze slid to the oil lamp glowing on the dresser. He smiled. Flossie must be expecting him.

  He knew she’d come round. There wasn’t a woman alive he couldn’t charm if he set his mind to it. Last time she’d acted all stubborn and uppity, but tonight he was going to change all that. A few hours of his lovin’ and she’d be eating out of the palm of his hand. Just like old times.

  He swaggered over to the brass bed to stretch out and wait.

  It wasn’t long before he heard her high-pitched laughter in the hall. He bounced up off the bed, pulling his Navy Colt from its holster. His moist finger stroked the trigger as he crept to the door. As soon as it opened, he jerked her inside.

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at the comical look of surprise her customer sported as the door slammed shut in his face.

  “Billy!”

  “Shhhh!”

  Flossie twisted free of his grasp all a twitter. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Very slowly, he slid the bolt across the door. “Just came for a little Candy.”

  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.”