He held his side and stepped down off the porch. Every movement he made seemed to stretch the stitches, but he damned well wouldn’t let Hank have the satisfaction of knowing it. Standing tall, he strode past the sheriff’s wagon to the barn.
The sheriff tipped his hat when Reese entered. “Thanks for doing the dirty work, Reese. We caught the other one, too, and he spilled his guts about Hannibal Hank and the rustling. Seems he thought if you were out of the way, he could take the Comfort Palace.”
“He never had a chance to get it. These ladies deserve better.” Reese glanced at Hank lying on a pile of hay, tied in about fifty feet of rope. The twins made good and sure he wouldn’t get away.
“I washed him some,” said Titus. “I didn’t want him to die of fever before they could string him up.”
“Good call.” Reese turned to the sheriff. “Take that hunk of slime out of my barn.”
“My pleasure, but I’d sure like a cup of hot coffee before I set out to Silver City. It’s going to be a mighty cold ride.”
* * * * *
Fannie hugged Trinket, who could barely hold still with excitement—not from Hank’s arrest, Fannie knew, but from having Sheriff Tucker around.
Tucker had tipped his hat at Trinket when he’d first driven the wagon to the hitching post. She’d let out a little squeal, and Fannie could see the sparkle in both their eyes. Yes, he’d damned well better be good to her.
The ladies attention returned to the barn as the twins and Tucker hauled Hank out of the barn and threw him into the prison wagon. Reese slammed the barred door and locked it.
Hank rolled over and pulled himself to his knees. “You sorry bastard. Your daddy got just what he deserved, and I enjoyed watching him beg when I killed him.”
Chapter 18
The past few weeks kept Lucinda hopping, both with nursing Reese back to health and, at the ladies’ request, doubling up on school lessons. They’d all been busy, and added to their workload was the engagement party they insisted on hosting. Tonight was the night.
Lucinda donned her second prettiest dress—the one Trinket had made for her when she’d first arrived. She wished she could wear the one Reese had bought for her. That was a very special dress, for a very special occasion. Their wedding. Not the bonnet, though. It was truly hideous.
Just as she finished buttoning, someone rapped on the door. She opened it and sucked in her breath when she saw Reese. She wanted to give him a huge hug, but, of course it wouldn’t be at all appropriate. But then, it wasn’t appropriate for him to come to her room, either. Or was it? She grew more confused about what was proper and what was not the longer she stayed in Dickshooter. It seemed some of the ways of society that she’d never questioned were just plain ridiculous.
“Are you going to stand there, or are you going to say something?”
His handsome smile made her tingly all over. She smiled back at him. “Hello,” she answered, too flustered to think of a single intelligent thing to say.
He handed her a large box. She didn’t know how she could have missed seeing it, except that his eyes and his smile were all too captivating for comfort. “I’d like you to wear this tonight—if you think it’s proper, that is.”
The dress. He remembered! She flashed him a big smile as she took it. “Of course, I’ll wear it.”
She started to close the door, but he held it open. “One more thing…”
“Yes?”
“Are you, uh, I don’t know when a woman knows, but…” He plunged his fingers through his too long hair. She’d make sure he got a good haircut before the wedding.
“But what?”
“I just wondered if . . . if you’re with child.”
“Of course not! Don’t you think I would have told you?”
He seemed relieved—too relieved. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He brushed a quick kiss across her lips as he left, sending fire through her veins.
She wanted more, but he’d been entirely too gentlemanly. Did he not want her anymore? Maybe she didn’t satisfy him the night they spent in Silver City—after all, she had no idea how to do the things they did and she knew she wasn’t good at it. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way she did. And more than likely, he didn’t want children at all, judging by his look of emancipation when she told him she wasn’t having a baby.
But probably, he only proposed because he had some vague feeling of guilt because he’d taken her innocence. Ha! He hadn’t taken anything—she’d given it.
The more she thought about it, the more anger built inside her. How could she have been such a fool to fall in love with a brothel owner who didn’t even want children?
She decided not to wear the dress he’d brought. In fact, she’d stay in her room and let the others have the party without her. She’d never marry a man who wouldn’t love their children, or thought her love-making silly.
Yanking open the door, she schooled her shoulders to the utmost determination. She’d be calm. She’d be reasonable. And she would not cry. Her throat ached and her eyes watered, despite her attempts to fight such an immature reaction. She slammed the door and ran back in her room, grabbed a hankie and dabbed at her eyes. What a confusing man! Handsome. Strong. Caring. But he didn’t want children.
The party had started, and soon another knock sounded at the door. “Miss Sharpe, are you ready?”
It was Fannie—the one person she could never manage to fool.
“Just a minute!” Lucinda splashed cold water on her face and dried off. “I’m coming.” She didn’t know what was wrong with herself lately. One minute she’d be happy, and the next minute she’d feel low. Right now, she felt very low.
Taking three deep breaths and relaxing her constricted throat, she opened the door again. Fannie still stood there, waiting patiently. “You groom’s waiting.”
He can wait for all eternity for all I care. “I’m sure he is.” She stepped into the hallway, ready to do battle. She’d tell that man a thing or two. Suffragists could meet any challenge, and one lone man couldn't be too difficult to best. She’d behave in a ladylike manner during the party, then she’d inform him of her decision once they were alone.
She descended the stairs ahead of Fannie, dreading every step that brought her closer to shutting the door to the only man she’d ever give her heart to. But she held her head high and her shoulders back. Her courage might have been wanting, but she certainly didn’t need to display her insecurities for all to see, especially Reese.
She knew the moment he saw her. He flashed a deadly breath-taking smile and saluted her with his glass of spirits. Her shaky courage fled for a moment and she wanted to run to him and feel his strong arms wrap around her. She’d never felt so safe as when he held her, but then she’d never felt so threatened, either.
“Oh, piffle! Why do men have to be so difficult?” Spinster suffragists didn’t have to put up with their confusing ways.
“What?”
She looked at Fannie, horror welling in her chest. Had she spoken out loud? Oh, horrors!
“Never mind.”
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, everyone crowded around her, congratulating her. With every “I’m so happy for the two of you,” and pat on the back, her heart grew a little heavier. She couldn’t let this charade go on long, and hoped her broken heart didn’t reveal itself. The engagement had to be broken immediately in order not to disappoint her friends any more than necessary.
Reese seemed to be the happiest one of all, and his broad smile made his too handsome face even more attractive. He kissed her on the cheek—his very touch nearly melted all her resolve and her knees went weak. Maybe she had made a mistake and a “mood” had hit her.
Better to be plainspoken about the matter and get it over with. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “We can’t get married.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and locked her gaze with his. “What?”
She nearly reneged right then and there. If she had
n’t known better, she’d have thought by his heated glare that he was truly disturbed by her announcement. Of course, no man wanted to be rejected in public, especially this proud specimen. She wished things could be different, and she dreaded the moment he would remove his hands from her shoulders.
“I said, we can’t get married. We must call the wedding off.”
He took her by the arm and practically dragged her into the office. She grabbed up her skirts to keep from tripping. He shut the door.
Without a word, he gathered her up in his arms and kissed her—deeply. Her knees went weak again and she wrapped her arms around him and held on to keep from collapsing. She kissed him back, letting her tongue dance with his. He laid her on the desktop and kissed the rounds of her breasts.
Breathless and dazed, she wanted more.
Then he looked her right in the eye and asked, “Why in the hell are you breaking off?”
She could barely speak. “Please... don’t curse in front of a lady.”
He tugged her dress top down and teased her nipple with his tongue. A rope of pleasure tugged from her breast to her thighs. She could barely hold still. Her hips wanted to move against him. And they did.
“Do you love me?”
“Of course I love you.”
“Then what’s this crazy idea that we shouldn’t get married all about?
She could still barely breathe, but he didn’t seem nearly as affected as she. “Because you don’t want children.”
He straightened as pulled her to a sitting position. Still holding her shoulders, he kissed her once more, then stood back. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Children. If I’m going to sacrifice my dreams of fighting for women’s suffrage to be married to you, then I want to have children. And you don’t want them.”
“Woman, that’s the most harebrained idea I ever heard. First of all, I don’t know why you can’t continue your campaign for the women’s vote, and second, I do want children.”
“In fact...” He tipped her back and ran his hand up her thigh, putting fire in places she’d rather be cool right then. “Let’s make one right now.” The brush of his whisper tickled her ear. “We’ll start with a little girl, ornery as her mother.”
She pushed at his chest, but her hips sought him. “Not here! They’ll know.”
“They know.”
Mortified, she knew they did know—all the more reason to join the party. “So you’re not marrying me just because we, uh...what we did at the hotel?”
“Nope.”
His fingers rubbing the juncture of her thighs was entirely too distracting. “And you want children?”
“Lots of them—all with your eyes.”
She shoved his hand away while she was still able. Every touch left her wanting for more. She didn’t understand how this one man could affect her so. “Then we must go back to the party and make our announcement.”
Groaning, he pressed himself against her. “I’ll have to wait here.”
She glanced down at the problem. The very large problem. “Ice water?”
“There’s a better way.” He slid her forward to the edge of the desk and stripped off her bloomers. Then he bent over and touched his tongue to her nipple, sending more liquid fire through her veins.
“We have to wait,” she whispered.
She didn’t want him to stop—not really. The laughter in the other room slipped from her consciousness, and she focused on his passion darkened eyes. As she ran her hands over his chest, he pushed her hand on down to his velvety hard shaft. She grasped it and squeezed. He caught his breath, and she knew she had as much power over him as he had on her.
“I can’t...” Taking her hand away, he scooted her even closer to the edge, then, holding her bottom, he plunged inside her. She wrapped her legs around him. Taking her cue, he plowed deeper and deeper until her head swirled and the pressure mounted.
She threw her head back and he kissed her neck, never breaking the rhythm that brought her closer and closer to the black oblivion with the promise of bright lights. She clamped her legs tighter, and he plunged harder and faster. She heard a moan. Her own.
The lights burst and she felt herself clamp down on him, wanting everything he had to give. Hot and warm and wonderful. A low roar sounded from his throat and he shoved into her one last time. Beads of sweat clung to his brow, and he laid his head on her shoulder, kissing her neck.
Slowly, she remembered why they’d needed to talk in the first place. How could she ever have thought he didn’t want her or her baby? The entire notion seemed absurd, but the resolution to her dilemma had been quite delightful.
Yes, she’d marry this impossible man.
Chapter 19
Cold wind swirled around the back of Reese’s neck as he slammed the hammer on the nail, embedding it into the last bunkhouse shingle. “Lucky for me the weather’s holding.”
“Lucky for all of us. There’s no comfort in the palace until we get you two lovebirds hitched.”
Reese ignored Gus’s remark, but couldn’t disagree. “We’ve got a lot more to do before spring, what with the heifers calving, all those damned corrals to build, and the Comfort Palace to fix up.”
Unscrewing the lid from the canteen, Gus took a long draw of water, then offered the canteen to Reese. “Yup. We got to get going on that cabin of yours, too, now that you’re nailing your feet to the floor with a woman.”
“I don’t plan to have my feet on the floor much.” In fact, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again. And again. He doubted if he’d ever get enough of her. Things started stirring every time he even thought of her, which is why he tried not to.
Gus shook his head and chuckled. “Maybe we should speed the wedding up before we have more guests than expected—maybe a miniature McAdams.”
Reese grimaced at the bunkhouse. “What a sorry-ass place to bring a beautiful bride on her wedding night.” But he only had so much money, and he couldn’t have seven ladies and three men living in a ramshackle building while he built a home for himself.
“The glass you ordered for the Comfort Palace oughtta come in the next week on the freight wagon, barring a snow storm.”
“Lord, I hope so. With a little luck, it won’t be busted all to hell, either.” And he hoped the new Stetson he’d ordered would be with the glass shipment, although he might have to wait for the stage the day after. The hat he’d borrowed from Gus was too tight and too floppy. He felt like a damned fool, but a man had to wear a hat, even if it looked stupid.
“I’m paying for half the glass.”
He looked at Gus, who carefully poured Bull Durham into the paper, then expertly rolled and licked it sealed. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“I plan on buying the building. You don’t want it. Never did.”
“I thought you wanted Fannie to get out of the business.”
“She’s got to run something, or else she’ll want to run me. I’ll turn it into a hotel and let her have at it.”
“Does she know this?”
“Nope.”
“You gonna tell her?”
“Nope.”
Reese knew Gus was done talking, and picked up his own. “Let’s get back to town.” And to Lucinda.
* * * * *
The late autumn air dipped to near-freezing and Lucinda’s fingers grew numb with cold as she pinned sheets to the clothesline. Reese would be gone all day, and although happy about his project—making a home for them, even if only a bunkhouse at first—she still missed him.
“You got that look,” Felicia said, picking up the empty basket. “He’ll be back by nightfall.”
“Am I that obvious?”
She heard the clopping of a horse trotting and felt a little let down that it wasn’t Reese. Trinket burst out of the Comfort Palace to meet the rider. Sheriff Tucker. He swung down and the two of them chatted a bit before he led the horse to the hitching post. Tucker threw a couple wraps around the post an
d greeted Lucinda.
“Just who I wanted to see. Trinket’s getting us some coffee, and we can talk.”
Why he wanted to talk to her, she couldn’t even speculate, but she was happy to go back inside and sit by the hot stove. “Good morning, Sheriff.” She hurried in and took off her jacket and neck scarf. “How was your ride?”
“Colder than—um, cold, but I’m warming up.”
She could see that, since Trinket had shooed Sadie from the kitchen, fetched him coffee, and brought a warmed blanket, the one Lucinda had place by the stove for herself, to wrap around his shoulders.
“I’ll ask one of the twins to take care of your horse.”
“Trinket already did.”
“Well, then.” She poured herself some hot coffee and sat at the table across from him. “You have news for me?”
“You know anyone named Hurdall?”
“Yes, I stayed with Reverend Hurndall and his wife for a brief time after my mother passed away.”
“So you know of their two children?”
“Children? No, they were childless.” Lucky thing, too. No child should have to put up with such unbending, unloving parents.
“Miss Sharpe, I’m not sure how to put this so I’ll just say it right out. Hannibal Hank is their son.”
She sucked in her breath. Never in a million years would she have guessed that. The Hurndalls were iron-willed, but they were righteous and God-fearing. Hannibal Hank consorted with women, cheated men, and beat whoever got in his path.
“And a woman named Pansy who worked in a St. Jo brothel owned by Hank and Fast Hands Stuart was their daughter.”
“Pansy?” Her mother. Lucinda’s stomach churned and she felt lightheaded. So the wretched Hank was her uncle and the horrid Hurdalls were her grandparents? Tears welled and spilled onto her cheeks.
“Hank told me all about it, how your mother met her end. He’s due to be hanged, so he wrote out a will. You’re his only surviving heir, so he gave you all his holdings, which are considerable—eight saloons scattered from St. Joseph to Seattle, and all or half of a dozen brothels.”
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