The other woman—Amos assumed her younger sister Delilah based on her fresh-faced enthusiasm—patted her hip. “Charles, we can handle ourselves. We have protection.”
“Not including the shotgun back here. I am tempted to use it on your hide,” Tamar said pointedly at Charles.
Without a knock, he tied a bandana over his lower face came into the office. The bell over the door tinkled, and Tamar, her sister and co-publisher, and the man she called Charles swiveled around to see him stroll into the office. He expected the man to recognize him, but the scarf and his hat hid most of his features. “And I am sure she knows how to use it,” Amos said. “Miss Freeman, it’s a pleasure to see you.” He omitted the “again” he wanted to use because of the company in the room. “I hope we aren’t intruding.”
“We?” Tamar asked, surprised to see two other masked men appear behind him.
“Me and a few pals had business to handle. This is the last stop I needed to make.”
Her eyebrows rose at the statement, a smile creasing her face. She was as tiny as he remembered, barely reaching his shoulder. She had a jawline that could cut glass and a determined glance that should shred the average man to the thinnest ribbon one could find. But here she looked sweet and innocent. The caution and causticness she gave out all day disappeared.
“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to see you in the flesh.” She touched his hand to shake it, and a flash of lightning, a spark of something wild jolted through him.
Tamar jerked away as if she touched fire. Amos knew then that she felt it too. He smiled as he tipped his hat to her. “The flesh is better than the myth. Did you receive the opinion?”
She nodded. “I will run it. You have a great gift with the pen. It is a pity that you chose what you do. The pen is mightier than the sword.”
Amos laughed. “But it doesn’t pay that well.”
“How much do you make as an outlaw?”
“Not very much for the chances I take,” he said.
“Why are you here?” Charles interjected himself into the conversation.
“It’s good to have a friend. It’s better to see a friend.”
“I’m hardly a friend to every gallant outlaw who comes into town.” Tamar dropped her head so he could not see the joy on her face, but he knew it was there. She was a proud woman who had never had a man treat her to sincere compliments.
“I hope your friendship with an outlaw is just reserved for me.”
Charles thumped his hand on the counter and growled at the men. “See what I am talking about? Criminals ride through town with little impunity.”
“I’m not the typical criminal,” said Amos, his gaze turning cold. “You speak as though you know me.” He was a gentleman criminal. The rest of the gang he was riding with, he could not say the same about. They were jaded, crusty men who stole for pleasure and with impunity.
Charles released a garbled laugh. “All criminals are the same.”
“I am assuming that you are—”
“I am Charles Henderson, owner of the Lincoln Barber Shops. An honest businessman. Nothing you would know about.”
Amos nodded. The man had a lock on the city with his fine establishment. He wondered if Charles knew how many of the upstanding men he serviced had their hands, elbows, and entire arms sunk into the criminal element. He turned to Tamar who rolled her eyes. “What is he to you?”
Under her breath, she gave her answer. “A tick that can’t be removed.”
He tsked under his breath. “No need for name calling, Miss Tamar.”
The familiarity of him using her Christian name shocked the room. Delilah gasped, and Charles charged toward him, shouting. “How dare you call her by her God-given name!”
Amos nodded, and the other men in black wrestled with Charles and then flipped him over so he was dangling.
“If you want him killed, we can oblige,” Luke whispered. “I will bring his head to you—”
Tamar’s eyes widened, and she raised her hands. “No, not necessary. He’s actually a good man. I believe his head is an important part to my sister Priscilla.” She looked from the black-clad men holding Charles to Amos. “Please have them stop. My sister would kill us.”
The men’s eyes swung to the other woman in the room. Luke eyed her and then Charles. “This man is yours?”
“Not me!” shrieked Delilah. “Our middle sister, Priscilla. And I think she would prefer a whole man to a half-dead man.”
Luke pulled his bandana off his face and grinned with devilish delight. “So you are not spoken for.”
“She’s off-limits, cowboy,” Tamar said.
“You scoundrels should not talk with her like this,” Charles shouted.
“Take him outside.” Amos ticked his head to the side, and the men hustled the still topsy-turvy Charles outside. They shook him until the contents of his pockets dropped and rolled onto the sidewalk.
“I will go and make sure he is okay.” Delilah eyed the masked man warily. “Will you be okay?”
Tamar tapped her finger against the desk. “I will be fine. I have nothing to fear from Mr.—”
He interrupted before she slipped and called him by his real name. “My last name’s not necessary. And I would not harm a hair on her head.”
“It’s not her hair or head that I am worried about,” Delilah muttered before sprinting to the door. “She’s off-limits too, cowboy.”
Chapter Nine
Tamar gathered her skirts and swished into the back room. Amos followed, closing the door behind them. “We don’t have long,” she said, and he knew it was true. Too many prying eyes could see into her office.
She yawned, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. She had to finish before her bedtime.
“Good evening, Tamar.”
“Amos.” She reached out to enfold her arms around him, and he backed away.
“Don’t touch me. I’m dirty.” He knew what he looked like: dirty denims, grubby hands, wild and bushy hair covering his face and head.
“I don’t like being told what to do,” Tamar said, pulling him into her embrace. The crush of her breasts and hips against him undid him. Almost.
A second longer and he would have knocked his careful plans out of the loop. She loosened her grip and stepped away, reaching out to touch his cheek. He leaned into the cradling palm of her hand. Soft, just like he remembered and imagined. The outlaw sighed. “I missed you, Tamar Ruth.” He kissed her hand that she promptly snatched away.
“Tell me the truth. Are you here to cause trouble?”
“I’m an outlaw. That’s part of my job.”
“Did you use my paper to do that?”
That little rat-faced bastard had told her the truth. Amos exhaled slowly, counting backwards to give him time to gather his thoughts and create a new lie. “I used your paper to communicate with a friend. That’s all. I promise. And you said your brother-in-law hates what you do.”
“He puts doubts into my head. I never listen to them, but he said—” Amos pulled her tighter and laid his lips over hers. “When I come to see you at night, wear your hair down for me. Please.” He toyed with the pins holding her hair up in a tight bun.
“I will let you take it down for me one night.”
He groaned. He wanted her tonight, but he had other obligations and duties to his job and his men. “Not tonight.”
“You cannot tease me like this.”
“I will be back. Sooner rather than later.”
“Promises, promises. Tell me anything.”
“The harlot and the virtuous woman. You’re a contradiction.”
“You remember your Bible.”
“I’m a robber, not a heathen.”
“Odd since you are breaking the fourth commandment.”
“Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy?”
“You’re breaking the one about stealing.”
“Number seven or eight, depending on the translation. I have broken that one. Bu
t I only take from those who deserve having things taken from them.”
“It’s still stealing,” Tamar said with a playful slap to his chest. “You don’t have to check on me.”
“I don’t have to, but I want to.”
“Your responsibility is misplaced.”
“You are a friend.” Amos absently stroked his chin.
Tamar fumbled with the right words. “This is new to me. I’ve never had a male friend before. Colleagues, yes. But I doubt any of them would have taken control the other night when—” She shivered. “Thank you for everything. And running my papers.”
“You’re welcome.” She saw her chance and stole a kiss from him. “I’m sorry if I was forward. But I’ve wanted to give you that all day.”
“That was a surprise, Tamar.”
“I know. I’ve never been kissed so I’m not sure if—”
“Let’s resolve that now.” Amos bent over and brushed his lips against hers. “First kiss. Are you ready for your second?”
She nodded. “Second and third … ” She angled her head and stretched up to meet his lips. This time the kiss wasn’t quick, over in a second. They teased each other with pecks and the feeling of their mingled breaths until she sighed, parting her lips slightly and then he took full advantage.
When he stopped, he whispered, “I won’t apologize for my boldness. A man soon realizes that he can’t live with regret.”
“A woman can’t live with regret either. I will accept your offer.”
“My offer?” Amos raised a dark eyebrow. “I made several offers.”
Tamar felt the heat prickling all over her body. “Your offer to bed me. You have wooed me and charmed me with your words. What follows next in the course of seduction?”
“You’re too methodical. You have the mind of a West Point strategist. The lovers must meet again.”
“We are doing that now. The next stage is … ”
He whisked her into his arms, and the hug, their closeness, was enough to tide him over for a while.
“I still owe you for that last lonely hearts ad.”
“Your payment was enough. I hope Ada took the break-up well.”
Amos nodded. “Maybe I can pay you back with a wedding gift for your sister. Perhaps that will smooth things over with your brother-in-law.”
“No, thank you. I will decline any gift.”
“You don’t have to worry that I absconded with someone’s tokens. I have scruples and my own money, Miss Freeman.” Amos leaned onto the table and pulled her between his legs. He crossed his long legs at the ankles, locking her in place while slowing raking her over with his heated gaze. “Close your eyes. What is the first thing that springs to mind from the Montgomery Ward catalog?”
“What I want isn’t in a catalog.”
He groaned. “You are making this difficult.”
She laughed heartily. “Your kind words are enough. I am doing my job.”
He stroked her hair and pressed his nose into the tangle of hair atop her head. “I want Delilah to know that everything is in working order.”
“And none of the hairs on my head have been touched,” she said, her head resting on his chest. “I know how to protect myself even if you tried anything.”
“Even against your mayor? Your last piece didn’t take too kindly to him.”
“I can handle him blindfolded and struck dumb.”
“I haven’t been any place where a lady doesn’t like receiving gifts.”
“I am certain you keep a sweetheart in every county. And you may charm them with this, but try harder with me.”
“So there will be other opportunities?”
“I would be unworthy of you if I did not tell you the whole truth. Yes, of course.”
“I believe you have something for me.”
Tamar passed the copy of the paper to him. “Are you far from here?”
“What good would … ”
“I won’t reveal where you are.”
“Of course you won’t because I’m not going to tell you. For your own good.”
“You can trust me, Amos.” Tamar covered her mouth once his name crossed her lips. “Can I say it?”
He nodded. A woman hadn’t said his real name in years. He had so many names he wasn’t sure what his rightful name was until she sighed it into the night air. Amos. The name his mother gave him for her father, a preacher. A sinner named after a preacher. His arms reluctantly released her, and he stepped away. “Good night, Miss Freeman. Until we meet again.”
“Provided you can keep your neck out of the lawman’s noose, there might be a next time.”
“That may be sooner rather than later.”
Chapter Ten
“I understand you had a visitor last night.”
Tamar barely acknowledged her sister Priscilla as she worked on a paper jam in the printer. “Good morning, dear middle sister. To what do we owe the privilege?
Snatching the gloves off her hands, Priscilla repeated herself. “I understand you had a visitor last night.”
Tamar whistled and tossed the wrench on the floor. Where was a good repairman when she needed him? If only Amos was here … She smiled at the thought of him and then quickly wiped it off her face when she found her sister dissecting her appearance. “Both you and your husband have a knack for repetition.”
Her glamorous sister stood in the middle of the room and rocked on her toes. “Actually, you had enchanting visitors of the dark outlaw variety.”
Tamar looked up from the press. “I heard you the first time.” Priscilla was everything she was not: short, voluptuously shaped like a double bass, a beauty that captured the hearts of men across the territory and at Oberlin College, where she studied classical languages. Men fainted over her, fawned over her, and became enraptured with her. Even if she was just a woman with the same parts that everyone else had, Priscilla possessed something. Tamar loved her dear sister, but a tinge of envy flooded through her when she saw those gazes.
Today Priscilla was wearing an emerald green dress made of the finest silk and lace from the latest boutique and seamstress in Paris. Nothing was too good for her sister who had just come back from a honeymoon tour in Europe, a gift courtesy of Charles. Tamar glanced at her own outfit, a plain navy dress that was dark enough to hide ink smudges and paper dust. Even if she fully concentrated on every action, she could never get away with a dress like that. Her sister earned her name “Prissy” by wearing clothes that no working woman ever could manage.
Tamar ran the back of her hand over her hair, waiting for her middle sister to comment about its state and asking to put one of those new Annie Malone hair concoctions through it to make it manageable. “Who told you?”
Priscilla unfolded a sheet and spread it atop the sole chair in the office before sitting down. “You didn’t answer, and you know I hate being ignored.” She scanned the space that tripled as an office, print room, and packing center. “Delilah told me. Speaking of which, where is she?”
Tamar snagged the awry piece of paper and waved it victoriously. She won against the ornery machine. She threaded the sheet through the printer again and restarted the press. “Delilah is covering at the school until the new crop of teachers arrive from Howard and Oberlin. And my visitors are my business.”
“Dear sister, this paper is the family business, so I have a thirty-three percent stake in whatever happens here.”
Tamar rolled her eyes so hard she was surprised when they didn’t stick in that position. “Charles was pillow talking, I assume. Then you know who visited me.”
“Charles is huffing and puffing. He believed that we should have taken them to the authorities.”
“I am sure he did.” Tamar stopped, recalling what her sister said. “We?” she asked, swiveling around the press so she could see her sister face-to-face.
“Charles is the man of the family now.”
“Correction, dear sister. He is the head of your household, not mine.”
/> “Since you are unwed—”
“I was taking care of the family’s affairs ever since we came here after the war to live with our grandfather. We didn’t need a man then.”
“You may not need a man, sister. But I do,” said Priscilla, leaning on the armchair and watching Tamar. “I like having Charles around. He’s only looking out for you.”
Tamar sighed. “I appreciate his efforts, but I can work a shotgun, press, and balance sheet better than he can.”
“I won’t tell him that,” Priscilla said, chuckling. Truth was all the Freeman girls could do most things better than men. That’s what happened when you were raised as boys. “So the gang is back in town.”
Tamar lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I believe they are.”
“You know every move Deadwood Dick makes. If I didn’t know better, I would assume you are in cahoots with him.”
Tamar laughed. “Could I pull off capers wearing this?”
“How do you know him?”
“I don’t know him.” She hated lying to her sister, but some pieces of her life she kept only for her eyes. “We know each other through letters to the paper.” And how she loved getting those letters from him. The scrawl was familiar masculine handwriting she knew and loved.
“Be careful, sister.”
Her state of mind had been wrapped up in other concerns and issues. “I will. I’m used to taking care of myself.”
“You should consider Mr. Marshall as a life partner.”
Tamar rolled her eyes at the mention of the old banker who had been keen on her for years. “Not that again. I’m not marrying him or anyone else.”
Priscilla wagged her finger. “He’s a good man,” she countered.
A good and ancient man, Tamar thought. The man in question was closer in age to Methuselah than to her. He was old when she first met him, and he had not visited the Fountain of Youth since that time. “I have no argument about his goodness. But a marriage cannot be sustained with just goodness.”
“You should have passion.”
Loving the Lawmen Page 64