His chest felt so good against her cheek. She nestled into his arms. “What else did I do, Max?”
“You turned my world upside down, Betsy. And then you righted it again and made me see that it had never really been right in the first place.”
She looked up at him and put her hands on the back of his head. Drawing his mouth to hers, she kissed him deeply, experiencing for the first time in her life total, delicious happiness. She trailed her fingers over his shoulders to the front of his shirt and began unfastening the buttons. After each button she caressed his chest and planted kisses on the corners of his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw. When she pulled the tail of his shirt from his trousers, he drew in a quick sharp breath.
He pulled her to him, fitting her soft contours against his solid ones. His mouth was hungry, demanding. His hands moved over her hair and down her back to grip her bottom and bring her even closer. His erection bulged against her stomach. When at last he pulled his mouth from hers, he breathed into her ear. "We're starting something that won’t be easy to stop, Betsy."
"Do you want to stop, Max? Because I don’t."
He lifted her and carried her to the bed. When he lay her down, he splayed his hands on each side of her body and kissed her again. Then he quickly worked at the remaining fastenings of his clothes.
Darkness had descended over the town. Only the soft glow from the lantern on the table illuminated the room, but it was enough for Elizabeth to see the magnificence of her Max. His strength, his scars, his beauty. When he stood naked beside the bed she said, “I like looking at you, Max.”
He began working on the little hooks that fastened her dress. "You do, eh?" he said teasingly. "Then my dearest one, you are truly hopelessly, blindly smitten." He leaned over and nuzzled her neck playfully while he loosened her bodice. Then he slid her sleeves over her shoulders and raised her from the pillow. The dress fell away to her waist.
He slipped the garment over her hips. His fingers, roughened by the hard labor of the last week, were calloused. His touch was sweetly punishing, like sandpaper on velvet, delicately prickling her skin, making her senses come alive. His palm caressed her calves, moved to her inner thighs. A mysterious yearning pulsed between her legs.
All that remained was her cotton chemise, and he took his time removing it. He looped his fingers over the lace covering her chest, and his knuckles rubbed her breast. When his mouth wandered up her throat to capture her lips in another provocative kiss, his hand slipped inside to cup the rounded swell that hungered for his touch. He massaged her nipple between his thumb and finger, bringing it to an aching peak.
A small whimper escaped her mouth, and he fed it with more needy kisses. Pleasure coursed through her, leaving her breathless. His hand moved to her stomach and slipped around her hip, finding the hem of her chemise. When his fingers stole inside to find the soft flesh of her bottom, her back arched up to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him down on top of her, meeting every inch of his body to every inch of hers.
He leaned up on one elbow and pulled the narrow ribbon that held the top of her undergarment. With gentle coaxing, he slipped the straps down her arms. When the last vestige of clothing was gone, he looked down on her, his eyes like blue-gray steel in the lamplight. "I kind of like looking at you, too, darlin’," he said, and took her for another wildly tantalizing kiss that moved down her throat and ended at her breasts.
A need strong and powerful clawed at her insides. A need she did not yet understand but one that she knew instinctively could not be quenched until he'd fulfilled it. His fingers reached between her legs and found the hungriest part of her.
Slowly, expertly he made her ready. And then he straddled her, his erection throbbing against her pelvis. He kissed her gently, and she sensed his effort to hold a rein on his passion. "This is going to hurt," he said. "I wish to God it wouldn't, but the first time..."
"You talk too much, Max," she mumbled, aware on some level that the intensity in her voice matched the urgency in her body.
She heard a breathy gasp and he was inside her. A quick, sharp pain burned and subsided as Max began to move. He thrust slowly at first until she felt herself surround him like hot silk. Waves of pure pleasure radiated from the warm yearning core between her legs and spread throughout her body. It brought her higher and higher until she reached the mountain top of her longing and breathed his name.
Max moaned and shuddered and clutched her to him. When at last he withdrew and looked into her eyes, he was smiling. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair hung nearly to his eyes in delicious curls that wanted cutting. He was purely, magnificently male. Through a raspy voice, he said, "My dearest Betsy, you have a rare talent for humbling a man with the most remarkable gifts."
The next morning when the sun peeked through the window curtains of the Dakota Hotel, Elizabeth awoke to the blissful haze of a woman complete. She nudged Max, who blinked groggily at her. "You're still here," she said. "I didn't dream you."
"No, you did not." He put his arm around her and brought her into the warm shelter of his body. "And after I have my way with you again, may I treat you to breakfast in the hotel restaurant?"
She lay her hand on his chest. “I’m glad you are thinking of me as much as you are your stomach.”
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her on top. "Forget my stomach. Other parts of my body are demanding attention."
Her laughter was lost in his kiss.
Forty-five minutes later, slightly disheveled and glowing with satisfaction, they descended the stairs to the hotel lobby. When her feet touched the ground floor, a gasp stole her breath, nearly choking her. She grabbed onto Max and fixed an unwavering stare at the occupant of a massive, high backed armchair across the room. He was a man of considerable girth and unquestioning presence. A tiny squeak preceded her exclamation. "Papa!"
Winston Sheridan's hands clenched the gold knob of the walking cane positioned between his legs. His lips, beneath his quivering handlebar moustache thinned to a stern line. "I see my daughter still remembers me," he said.
With Max beside her, she walked to her father with footsteps that seemed mired in mud. "How did you get here? How did you find me? How..."
He rose slowly from the chair and switched his piercing gaze to Max. "You're Cassidy from the Gazette, I presume."
Max offered his hand, and thankfully, Winston accepted it. "I am. An honor to meet you, sir."
"Is it indeed?"
Elizabeth’s gaze darted between the two men. "Papa, what are you doing here? How do you know Max?"
"One question at a time, Elizabeth. I know who Cassidy is because I make it a point to know all reporters associated with the Courier News competition. Despite what I may think of him for coming down the hotel steps arm in arm with my daughter, I happen to regard this man as a damn fine reporter. Read his stuff all the time." He lowered his chin to his chest and looked at Elizabeth through the white forest of his eyebrows. "Though I don't approve of young ladies reading the Gazette, you understand?"
"Of course, Papa," she said. "I wouldn't think of it."
"I also ran into that puffed-up Gus Kritsky a week or so ago, and he told me some things I'd have rather not heard. One of those things was that he'd sent your young lion to sniff after Ross. Until I came out here myself and was informed by my expensive Pinkerton detective that a man was in your hotel room in Central City, I had no idea Cassidy was sniffing after you as well."
Elizabeth and Max spoke at once.
"Sir, you shouldn't get the wrong impression. I have the utmost respect for Bet...Elizabeth."
"You needn't speak so crudely, Papa. Max has been a perfect gentleman," Elizabeth said.
"Hogwash," Winston said in the voice that could command a room. "It's obvious by looking at the two of you that your noble sentiments are pure fabrication."
When her father had her dead to rights, Elizabeth knew the futility of arguing with him. Besides, no doubt even the most oblivious person could
see she was besotted by Max. The best she could do was change the subject, even to an unpleasant one. "About that detective," she said with the utmost trepidation. "Did he happen to mention what exactly occurred in my room that night?"
"He mentioned that you knocked him cold with a water pitcher, nearly breaking his skull, and locked him in a wardrobe. And, oh, yes, he also said he intended to have you arrested."
"Oh, dear."
Winston waved his hand dismissively. "He's a jackass. I fired him and told him I'd find you myself. Said if he couldn't handle one hundred-pound female he wasn't worth his salt in the first place. Even threatened to report his incompetence to his superiors. I expect it'll keep him quiet."
"Oh, Papa, thank you. Then you're not angry with me?"
"I'm furious as hell with you. One thing has nothing to do with the other. You defied me young lady, and so did your brother. I am assuming however that you didn't join forces with a known Manhattan hoodlum."
"Of course not, Papa. I would never."
"Nothing your brother does surprises me, but you, my dear...by the way, where is the young prodigal I unfortunately sired?"
"You haven't heard, Papa? We found the silver mine, and the old prospector was right. There was loads of silver in it. I suspect that Ross is at the assayer's right now."
Winston's chest puffed out a few extra inches. Pride perhaps? Elizabeth could only hope.
"You don't say?" he uttered. "One of Ross's schemes actually paid off, and it's legitimate. Is that your read on this thing, Cassidy?"
"Yes, sir. It looks like your son will be a rich man."
“Fine. He can pay me back for all the money I’ve invested in keeping him out of a Manhattan jail.”
As if on cue, Ross, Ramona and Dooley came in the front entrance of the hotel. Ross was waving a sheet of paper in the air, but when he saw his welcoming committee he stopped dead in his tracks. "Father!"
Winston's gaze honed in on his son's arm which was still in a sling. "What happened to him?" he asked Elizabeth.
"He got shot."
"Who shot him?"
"The old man with him. That's Dooley Blue."
"His own partner shot him? What the hell for? Did he deserve it?"
She rocked her hand back and forth indicating that perhaps he did. "It's a long story," she said.
"I know how he can be," Winston said. "Been tempted to shoot him myself a time or two."
Ross approached slowly, but still did not come within arm's reach of his father. "What are you doing here?" he asked hesitantly.
"Getting a little tired of answering so many questions," he snapped back. "So I'll ask some. What's in your paper there? Is your ore worth its weight in silver?"
"It is," Ross declared proudly. "Sixteen thousand dollars to the ton!"
Dooley stuck his thumbs under his suspenders and strutted like a peacock. "We’re rich, we’re rich, we’re rich as a b..."
Max tapped his arm. “We got the message, Dooley.”
In the midst of all the back slapping and hand shaking, Winston sank back in his chair, momentarily speechless for the first time Elizabeth could remember. "Well, I'll be, you did it," he finally managed to say.
Then, as if to prove that for every one of life's celebratory "ups," there has to be a demoralizing "down," the door to the hotel opened once more, and Francis Hildebrand strode in. "Having a little party?" he asked sarcastically.
"I sent you packing days ago," Winston said. “Can’t you follow a simple order?”
"I'm not that easy to get rid of, Sheridan. Once I start something, I like to see it through to its satisfying conclusion, and this one, is the most satisfying of my lifetime. You Sheridans can hit me over the head, tie me up, and fire me, but it doesn't change the news." He held up a copy of the Denver Post. "Yesterday's paper, direct from Denver," he crowed, and pointed to the headline.
Sherman Silver Purchase Act Repealed. And under that, Silver barons gather at Horace Tabor's Opera House in Central City to bemoan their fate.
It was difficult to read the small print, but Elizabeth caught the gist of the story. "October 30, 1893...congress repealed the U.S. Treasury's promise to maintain inflated silver prices...plummeted to fifty cents an ounce..."
"What does it mean?" she asked.
Hildebrand cackled gleefully. "It means, Miss Heavy-hand, that the paper your brother was waving around like a windmill isn't worth the ink printed on it."
"Max?"
He looked as shocked as everyone else, but not as forlorn as Ross who had dropped into a chair and had his head in his hands. "He's right, Betsy. For months the senate has filibustered over this question. No one thought the silver bloc would be defeated. But apparently it has been."
Ross looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. His complexion matched the paper hanging limp in his hand. "My ore...it's worthless."
Hildebrand grinned like a cat in a Manhattan milk wagon. "I wouldn’t say that. You can make souvenir belt buckles with the silver and sell them on Seventh Avenue to the tourists." He dropped the newspaper at Ross's feet. "Good day to you all. Happy reading. And remember...timing is everything."
The bell on the hotel door tinkled with incongruous good cheer when Hildebrand made his exit. Winston Sheridan pounded his cane once on the floor. "I hate that officious little mole," he said. "I'm glad you leveled him, Elizabeth."
She stood a little taller. It was the most heartfelt praise she'd ever received from her father. Now, if only Ross would stop his whining and act like a man. Of course they were all disappointed, but they’d had the adventure of a lifetime.
"Worthless...it's worthless." Ross kept repeating the word.
Ramona patted his back. "It'll be all right."
"Buck up, son," Winston said. "The woman's right. I'm proud of you. You followed through on something, and to my way of thinking you were successful. Hell, you even took a bullet. The devil with that fickle congress. Never could trust them to do the right thing."
Then as though Ramona's presence suddenly dawned on him, Winston leveled his gaze on her and sat forward in his chair. "Woman, who are you anyway?" he blurted out.
"This is Ramona Redbud, Father," Ross said, his voice suddenly strong. "I met her in Central City, and, well, the truth is, I love her." When Winston didn't cut him off, he added with a touch of bravado, "She's from a noble family in England. Her father was Lord Talbot Redbud and..."
"Hogwash. She looks like a barmaid. A damn fine specimen, but a barmaid nevertheless. What'd you say your name is, woman?"
Ross squared his shoulders and approached the throne. "Father, you can't talk to her like that."
"It's okay," Ramona said. She stuck her hand out to Winston, glanced briefly at Ross, and said, "My name's Etta Sue Kunkel, sir. From Chicago. Most recently from the Silver Spike Saloon in Central City."
"Wow!" The simple word, spilled from the circle of Ross Sheridan's mouth, spoke volumes.
Elizabeth risked at peek at Max to see if an I-told-you-so look met her gaze. Even worse. He actually mouthed the words back at her.
Winston narrowed his eyes at Etta Sue. "How old are you, young lady?"
"Twen...thirty."
"You're thirty?" Ross parroted.
"Still young enough to have babies, if you hurry," Winston said. "Marry her, Ross. A woman like this will keep your wits sharp. And Miss Kunkel, once we get back to New York, you see that Ross goes to the newspaper office every day...and on time."
Etta Sue Kunkel hugged an obviously stunned but blessedly happy Ross. "I will, sir."
"Father, does this mean you'll help me when I go before the judge?"
"One last time, Ross. That's it." The matter settled, Winston turned his attention to Max. "Cassidy, did you get enough dirt on this Galbotto fella to keep him from harassing my son?"
"If two dead bodies and five eye witnesses are enough, then I guess so, sir. Besides, I have my own ways of dealing with Galbotto."
Winston gave him a quick nod of admiration.
"I'll just bet you do. And as for you, old timer," he said to Dooley.
Elizabeth had nearly forgotten about Dooley. He sat quietly in a corner with the discarded Denver Post in his hand, his eyes on the front page. "It's not like I can read the blasted thing," he said, "but it don't matter, because I choose not to believe it anyways."
"I'll pay your way back to New York," Winston said. "But no more goose chases that involve my family."
"Thank you kindly, Mr. Sheridan, but I believe I'll stick right here. I found out I’ve got a knack for leading people up the Devil's Fork. I think I'll make a living out of taking easterners to the Fair Day for a little adventure."
"But the silver's worthless, Dooley," Max said.
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