by Jo Goodman
"Stop trying to make me into something I'm not," he told her. "There's only one reason you leaped to all those fantastic conclusions and that's because last night you were right where you wanted to be: in my bed and not alone. You were sick and tired of your virginity, curious to know a man, and you thought, 'why not?' Why not give it to the only man who's not pinching your behind when he has the chance? Lady, that doesn't make me a gentleman, only particular. The same goes for spending night after night on the floor beside your bed. I'm a robber, not a rapist. I'm not a kind man, merely a patient one. I could have waited a lot longer for you."
"You arrogant bastard."
He ignored her. "Or satisfied myself with one of the other women if you'd never come around at all. You're the one that made all the excuses. You had to have me, but you had to have me fit your idea of what's right and proper. You're attracted to me therefore I can't be a killer. You want me in bed therefore I can't be ruthless."
Ethan gave her a hard, flinty look, his eyes narrowing on her pale face. "I'm both those things. You'd do well to remember that."
Michael's knuckles were nearly as white as the sheet she was holding. "I won't forget," she said dully. Inside her there was an emptiness so deep and abiding that she ached with it.
"I'm also more honest than you, Michael," he said, his voice a whiskey whisper now. "I've thought about what you would be like in bed since the first time I laid eyes on you. I wanted what happened last night. And I don't regret it this morning. If you were braver, you wouldn't regret it either. You'd come to me again in spite of what I've told you is the truth."
"I'll sleep on the floor first."
Ethan didn't say anything immediately. After a moment he shrugged. "You'll have to. I'm not giving up my bed."
Ten minutes later, after Michael finished making the bed and dressing, she left the room carrying the stained sheets from their night of lovemaking. Ethan watched her go. He leaned back in the tub and rested his head against the high back. Somehow he didn't think she was going to bring him breakfast.
* * *
"You're looking very bright-eyed this morning."
Michael rounded on Houston. "What do you mean by that?" she snapped.
He laughed, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence and surrender. "It's just an observation, not an accusation. You were attacking those plates so energetically. Calm down. Don't throw one of them at my head."
Michael realized she was indeed treating his comment as if it were an indictment. He didn't know how she had passed the night and wee morning hours with Ethan. She forced a smile and hoped it appeared genuine. "I'm sorry. Have you had breakfast?"
"About an hour ago. I've been up since just before dawn. The Grant brothers were coming off a two day drunk and decided to shoot up the south end of town. Didn't you hear it?"
She shook her head and started in on the dishes again. "Was anyone hurt?"
"Jack took a bullet in the foot from his own gun. The Grant boys would be less dangerous if they could shoot straight. Trouble is, no one knows what they're aiming at or if they'll hit it. Seems like I'm called down that way at least once a month to put things right."
"What did you do with them?"
"Charged them with disturbing the peace for the umpteenth time and took them to jail. Relieved them of their guns. They'll sober up by afternoon but I'll make them stay at least until Tuesday. They go back to the mines then. They'll be fine until they get a few days off together."
Michael glanced at Houston, a question in her eyes. "You could be such a good sheriff."
"I am a good sheriff."
"No, I mean-"
"I know what you mean. But one doesn't have much to do with the other."
"How can you say that?"
"Is this what you and Ethan argue about?" he asked, changing the subject.
"One of the things." Michael added hot water from the stove into the sink.
Houston pushed out a chair from the table and straddled it, resting his arms across the top rail. "What about last night?"
"So you heard about that," she said with a casual-ness she didn't feel. She kept her hands busy so he wouldn't see them trembling.
"Happy told me right away. He said he thought you were making for the livery."
"I might have been going in that direction, but I wasn't going there. I don't know if I really thought of going anywhere in particular except away from Ethan."
"You had his gun."
She nodded. "But he had the bullets. Necessary self-protection on his part. I was mad enough to shoot him last night."
"You were lucky Happy didn't shoot you. Those were his orders."
"Your orders you mean."
Houston shrugged. "I won't let you compromise us."
"So I'm to be a prisoner here in Madison for the rest of my life?"
Houston wouldn't commit himself. "We'll see."
Michael really did have an urge to throw a plate at his head. She scrubbed harder.
"I see you're wearing the brooch," he said, pointing to where it fastened the collar of her shirt.
"I suspect you'll see me wear it often. I told you it meant a great deal to me."
"I notice you don't wear any other jewelry though. No earbobs. No rings."
"If I'd had anything like that on the night of the robbery you'd have taken it, too."
"And you'd probably have it back by now. So where is your wedding ring?"
"I took that off years ago, Houston. When my marriage was over." Michael decided this experience was making her an adept liar. She had never thought of herself as particularly quick when it came to deception. Now she was not only passing quick, but rather smooth as well. She bent her head a little more to hide her smile.
"What about your engagement ring?"
"Drew and I hadn't announced our engagement officially. We decided against a ring until we did."
"But you were traveling with him."
"I didn't need a ring to do that."
Houston ran his fingers through his light hair. "You're a puzzle, Michael." He watched her for several more minutes, saying nothing. When she was finished with most of the work he stood up, pushed the chair aside, and cupped her elbow. "Let me take you for a walk."
Michael hesitated. She wanted to go outside desperately but she doubted Ethan would let her. "I don't think so, Houston. Ethan wouldn't..."
"Forget about Ethan. He doesn't even have to know." He drew her away from the sink. His smile was light and boyish. "I'll get you one of Dee's coats and you won't have to go to your room for yours."
His mood was infectious. Sometimes it was difficult to remember the danger. "All right. I'd love to go out."
"Good."
Once they were on the sidewalk Houston slipped his arm through Michael's. "There are icy patches," he said when she looked at him oddly. "I don't want you to fall."
She didn't know how to protest without making a scene, so she said nothing. She didn't know that from Ethan's vantage point at the window above he could see them arm in arm as they walked away.
"New snow's beautiful, don't you think?" she said. "Everything's clean and quiet. You can look behind you and see where you've been, but when you look in front of you and there are no tracks, it's like being an explorer. Every which way is filled with possibilities. On a day like this when there's sun and snow, well, I think it's just about the most perfect thing."
They were crossing the street as she spoke. Houston stopped in his tracks and pulled her up with him. He stared at her upturned face, the dark green eyes, the rare wide smile dimpling at the corners, the skin as smooth as milk. "How the hell did he ever walk away from you?" Then Houston kissed her. In the middle of the broad, deserted street, blanketed with snow and silence, he kissed her with something akin to reverence.
Michael's hand went to her mouth. She touched her lips gently while staring at him widely. "You shouldn't have... I don't..." Belatedly she realized her hand was shaking and not from the cold. She
turned quickly and began retracing her path to the saloon.
Houston caught her elbow. "No, wait. It won't happen again. Not here at least. Please, don't go back. We'll walk. That's all. You wanted to get out, didn't you?"
"That's all I wanted."
"Just a walk," he said. "I promise."
She hesitated again and thought she should be guided by that hesitation and return to the saloon. Instead she permitted him to take her arm again and lead her away.
Their walk took them along same routes they had taken before. None of the shops were open. The few people they saw were on their way to church. Michael would have liked to join them but she didn't ask and Houston didn't offer. His questions were always casual, as if he didn't really care if she answered, but Michael sensed the opposite was true. In spite of the kiss, in spite of his gentleness, his boyish eagerness, he was determined as the grand inquisitor to trip her up in some manner. He might want her, but he didn't trust her. In that, at least, he was not so different from Ethan.
Michael was marginally successful in turning the tables. She had no idea if he answered any of her questions truthfully, but he didn't bother avoiding them. In part he seemed to be flattered by her interest. Vanity was something Michael could, and did, exploit.
She learned that he was originally from Virginia and that he still had distant relatives there. He was an only child. Neither of his parents were alive. Although he evaded directly talking about their deaths Michael gathered they had been stricken suddenly. His father had owned a large bank in Richmond, his mother gathered the most important people for her parties. They were well respected and they were proud.
"You see," he said, opening the door to the saloon for her. "We have more things in common than not."
Michael gave her skirts a little rustle to dislodge the dusting of snow that clung to the hem. "It doesn't surprise me. I tend to think I'm a lot more like other people than I am different. We simply don't travel the same roads is all."
"Sometimes our paths cross." He brushed a bit of snow from her shoulder.
"Yes, sometimes our paths cross." Michael waited for him to remove his hand then she excused herself. "I've got to return this coat to Dee and see about starting work."
Houston let her go. He watched her disappear into Dee's office, then he slipped out the front entrance.
Detra Kelly was sitting at her large mahogany desk when Michael walked in. She looked up from her ledgers at Michael, then went back to the books. "I'm surprised you had the nerve to return my coat yourself. I'd have thought you'd wheedle Houston to do it for you."
Michael thought it best to ignore Detra's digs. She was spoiling for a fight. An hour earlier Michael would have been more than happy to give her what she wanted. She slipped out of the coat and folded it over her arm. "Where would you like me to put it?"
"On the hook behind you. Be careful. It's already dripping on my carpet. You could have treated it as if it were your own."
"There are six inches of new snow outside. It was impossible to keep it dry."
"You should have thought of that before you had Houston commandeer it."
It was going to be very difficult to avoid that fight, Michael thought. She hung up the coat and spread out a newspaper on the floor to catch the water. "That should suffice," she said. "I'll see to cleaning out front now."
"Not so fast." Dee leaned back in her chair. She laid down her pen and pointed to the cabriolet chair in front of the desk. "Sit down. I want to talk to you. The saloon can wait. It's Sunday morning. Even the miners around here wait 'til afternoon before they come sauntering back in after a Saturday night." She pointed to the chair again. "Sit."
Michael sat. Without realizing it, she fingered the brooch at her neck. It had a calming effect. It also drew Detra's attention and her anger.
"What did you promise Houston to get that brooch?" she asked.
"Nothing. It was mine. He merely returned it."
"Houston doesn't merely do anything."
"I don't pretend to understand his mind. More to the point, I don't wish to. He returned the brooch and I accepted it. There was no more to it."
"He's made little effort to hide the fact that you interest him. Everyone's seen it." Dee rose from behind her desk and disappeared into her adjoining apartments. "Would you like a cup of tea?" she called back.
The offer caught Michael off guard, and she hesitated.
Dee's mouth lifted in a slow, sly smile. "So you've heard the stories about Mr. Kelly. Oh, no, don't bother denying it. All the girls hear the stories sooner or later. With you I suspect it was sooner."
"I'd like some tea, thank you."
Dee's laugh was low and husky. "Of course." She returned within minutes with a tray carrying a pot of tea and two cups. "I wanted you to see me pour. Both cups filled from the same pot, both of us drinking the same brew. You can choose either cup. It makes no difference to me."
"This isn't necessary. I don't believe the stories."
Dee paused and gave Michael a hard look, her deep blue eyes dark and searching. "You don't? That could prove unfortunate. One should always be cautious, don't you think?"
"Cautious, yes. Gullible, no." Michael took one of the cups, added a dollop of milk and a little sugar.
Closing her ledgers, Detra pushed them aside and prepared her own cup. She sat in her chair again, holding herself with the regal posture of a queen. "I don't want you alone with Houston anymore."
"I'm hardly ever alone with him."
"You were yesterday afternoon and again this morning. There were probably other times I didn't know about."
"Nothing around here escapes your notice, Dee."
The smile appeared again. It was a cool one. It did not reach Dee's eyes. "I'm not easily taken in by flattery." She sipped her tea. "Don't underestimate me, Michael. I may not have your education or your prim and proper manners, but what I want, I get, and what I get, I keep. If I were you I'd concentrate on holding onto Ethan instead of setting your cap for Houston. If you're not careful Carmen will have Ethan and you won't have anyone. Happy doesn't think much of you. Your life won't be worth a tinker's damn if Ethan leaves you again."
"I managed when he walked out the first time," Michael said, matching Dee's frosty tones. "I'll manage again. I'm not so convinced as you, Dee, that I need a man. Perhaps that's what Houston finds interesting."
"Challenging," she corrected.
Michael shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The truth is, I'm not chasing Houston. I'm not interested in him. I don't want anything from him. You can—"
"Even your freedom?"
"What?"
"Houston can give you your freedom. Doesn't that interest you?"
Michael sensed a trap. She refused to step in it. "I don't want anything from Houston," she repeated.
"That isn't what it looked like to me," Dee said. "Just above an hour ago you were kissing him in the middle of the street." She waited. Michael said nothing. "Do you deny it?"
"What would be the point? It happened. But he was kissing me. If you have a problem with that take it up with Houston." Michael took a drink of her tea then set the cup and saucer down. "If there's nothing else, Dee..."
"But there is. I want your promise that you'll stay away from Houston."
"As much as it's possible, you have it."
"You make it happen."
Michael stood up. "I'll be in the saloon if you need me," she said. She forced herself to exit slowly. Dee would be so satisfied to see her trembling.
* * *
Michael saw little of Ethan throughout the day. He didn't have to go to the mine but he did work for several hours at the widow's ranch. He was still gone at supper and his absence did not go unremarked by the others. It seemed everyone knew about the fight she and Ethan had had the evening before. Happy had been busy spreading the tale of her thwarted attempt to take Ethan's life, or at least his manhood. The story became more convoluted and more divorced from the truth each time it was repe
ated. Michael let everyone think what they would, neither denying nor confirming. Between performances that evening she sat at one of the tables with Ralph Hooper, Billy Saunders, and three more of their friends and tried to drink herself into a stupor.
Chapter 8
"Don't you think you'd better go up?" Ethan asked her, taking a seat at the table where Michael was holding court.
"Aw," Billy drawled, "Let 'er stay. Can't you see she's havin' a good time?"
"A good time," Michael repeated. She propped her chin on the back of her hand and smiled.
Ethan felt the full force of that smile. It had already enslaved every man at the table. "She can't even hold her head up."
"Sure I can." The words slid together. Michael giggled. "Sure—I—can," she enunciated clearly. She raised her head, folded her hands neatly in her lap, and straightened her shoulders. "See? I'm quite fine. Would anyone like another beer? I'll get a pitcher." Without waiting for a show of hands, Michael excused herself and wended her way to the bar.
"How long's she been drinking?" Ethan asked the men at large.
Ralph shrugged. "I suppose since the end of the first show. She hasn't had more than three beers."
"It doesn't take more than one for her."
"I saw her take a shot at the bar a while back," Billy said.
Both of Ethan's brows kicked up. "Oh, God," he groaned, rubbing his chin. "The head she's going to have."
Michael returned with the beer, poured drinks all around, and filled a new glass for Ethan. "Oh, stop looking so critical," she said. "I didn't spill a drop, did I?" She sat down. "It's your fault I'm like this anyway... your fault I'm here at all."
Ethan guessed what significance the others would put on her statement. He'd heard the story about their fight that was making the rounds. He also knew perfectly well that she wasn't referring to anything that had happened yesterday. One word about the robbery and he was going to have to do some incredibly fast talking. "Let's go on up, Michael." He reached for her hand.
Michael snatched her arm back. "I have another dance to do."