by Sharon Ihle
"Oh," the young waitress squealed. "Oh, my stars."
"Don't worry, dear," Jewel promised as she bent down and began cleaning the mess off the floor. "I'll take care of your station. You go change into fresh clothes."
"Oh—oh, my. Yes, I'd better run and do that. Thank you." Mary Elizabeth put her fingers to her mouth and backed self-consciously out of the dining room.
After she'd done her best to clear the floor, Jewel grabbed a fresh pot of coffee and advanced on the James brothers.
"Morning, gentlemen. More coffee, anyone?"
Jesse looked up at her and smiled, his dark reptilian eyes shining with excitement. "Hobbs? Bill? Everybody all set?" He turned back to Jewel. "Thanks, but we're all full up—with coffee, anyways."
"Maybe I can get you something else," she said, the model of efficiency. "Some pie or—"
"No, gal. The only thing you can get now is out of our way."
The James boys chuckled in unison, but Jewel didn't budge. Jesse glanced over at Frank, and then slid his hands along the sides of his hair. "Go on now, gal. Skedaddle on outta here," he repeated as he straightened his tie and stood up.
Jewel took one step back, and then stood her ground.
Jesse straightened his broad tie and addressed the roomful of diners.
"Welcome to Topeka, ladies and gents," he began, his scruffy beard the only thing out of place in his otherwise gentlemanly appearance. "Me and the boys here are a kind a welcoming committee. Ain't that right, boys?"
The rest of the men stood and bowed as they slowly turned, surveying the crowd.
Rapidly searching for a way to bring the situation under control, to arrest the outlaws without endangering the lives of the customers, Jewel remained not two feet behind Jesse.
Unaware she was still there, Jesse continued his speech, his grin easygoing and friendly. "How many of you are here for the big poker tournament?" At the overwhelming applause, he glanced at his companions and gave them a short nod. The four men split apart, each heading for a corner of the room.
"The boys and I are mighty glad to hear that. So glad, in fact, we've decided to save you the trouble of going into town. You can lose your stakes without ever leaving the depot." Jesse drew a battered Colt .45, his grin suddenly a deadly leer, and barked an order. "Now everybody pay real close attention and no one'll get hurt. Put your money and baubles on the table. Soon as you've made your donation, put your hands on top of your head."
Stepping away from the table, he glanced around the restaurant. "The boys are going to come around and collect now. Don't no one try to be a hero. Anyone makes a move for his gun gets a bellyfull of lead."
Behind him, Jewel's mind raced at top speed. She recalled each fact from his file, no matter how insignificant, and searched for the best way to approach him. She centered on his marriage of less than a year, hoping he still carried that newlywed glow and adoration of the fairer sex deep inside his black heart, then settled on a plan.
"Oh, my," she said in a breathless sigh.
Startled, Jesse spun around.
Jewel fell into his arms. Sighing again, she batted her thick auburn eyelashes. "I believe I'm going to faint."
Jesse's first instinct was to release her and let her fall to the floor. Then he made the mistake of gazing down at her alabaster skin, following the trail of freckles across her cute nose, and looking into her big green eyes as they stared up at him like those of a sleepy kitten.
"Aw, hell," he grumbled, catching her waist and pulling her snug against his hip. "Try to hang on long enough for me to—" Jesse cut off his own words as he noticed a man at the back of the restaurant duck out the side door. Guessing he'd be facing a self-appointed posse of one when he stepped outside, Jesse decided to use the waitress's misfortune to gain an advantage.
"Boys, I think it'd be best if we use this little gal as a hostage. Make a run for it. I'll be right behind you."
Resting her head against his shoulder, Jewel tried to ignore the stench of a man on the run, the foul odor of old sweat mingled with sage and stale tobacco. She concentrated on his words and her next move. Being a hostage could work to her advantage, she decided, and would certainly favor the safety of the customers in the restaurant. Once outside, away from the others, she could simply pretend to faint, then remove her gun from her left thigh and, if necessary, the stiletto from her right. The shock of her turning on him, armed and ready to kill, would surely be enough to guarantee the arrest of Jesse James, if not the others.
"Now remember," Jesse warned the diners as he seized Jewel's waist and began dragging her backwards,"we don't want to see no heroes. Put your heads down on the tables—now."
After the initial rustling and clatter as the customers followed his orders, the restaurant' became as still as a graveyard. One by one the outlaws backed out the front door until only Jewel and Jesse James were left standing in the adobe building.
"I strongly suggest," Jesse said by way of a final order, "that you all count to one thousand and don't get up off them tables before then. If I see so much as a whisker peeking outta this place, me and the boys'll be obliged to give you the shave of your life—and it'll be your last one, too." Then, viciously jerking his hostage behind him, he jumped through the doorway and headed for the waiting horses.
Using her body as a shield, he half dragged and half carried Jewel as he made for his mount. Swiveling around, looking for the man he'd noticed sneaking out of the depot, Jesse climbed astride the horse with Jewel still hanging from his hip.
She began to struggle, frantically working on a way to alter her original plan, but her thoughts and wind were knocked from her as Jesse kicked the horse in the flanks and took off after his men.
From the side door of the depot Brent crept around the corner. Hunkering down behind a load of firewood, he removed his hat and looked around for a better vantage point. Then the outlaws took off, heading right for him.
Brent drew his pearl-handled pistol and labored to steady the barrel as he peered down the sights. The gun continued to shake in his hand as the riders swept by him, unaware of his presence, and before he knew it, the final rider and Jewel were in his sights. He stood up, waving the gun in the air, and shouted, "Stop or I'll shoot."
Lowering his head so it was level with Jewel's, Jesse propped the barrel of his gun on her shoulder and fired twice as he rode past the man in the black suit.
Brent dropped back down behind the firewood, unscathed, but out of options. Struggling with an aim that he'd never been able to master, he followed the silhouette of the outlaw with the gun sight, closed his eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
A woman cried out. Jewel dropped to the ground amid flying hooves. Jesse James turned in his saddle, screaming in pain, and fired three rounds in Brent's direction. Then all was quiet save for the fading thunder of the stampeding gunmen.
The weapon in his hand shaking like a buckboard over a rock-bed creek, Brent swallowed hard and jammed the weapon back into its holster.
"Jewel?'' He choked the name out of a throat so tight he could hardly breathe. Looking through the dusty veil around her, he saw that she lay sprawled in the dirt. One sleeve of her crisp white blouse was streaked with blood. "Jewel?"
After jumping to his feet, Brent catapulted over the stack of wood and rushed to the spot where she lay. Squatting down beside her, he reached out, thinking to turn her over, but suddenly he couldn't seem to touch her. What if his lousy shooting had hurt her badly? Killed her, even?
"Jewel?" he said tentatively, still unable to assess the damage. "Hey, little lady, are you all right?''
Her face buried in the loose dirt, Jewel struggled to regain her wind. Her left arm felt as if it were on fire, and her lungs begged for oxygen. Her right ear was ringing, echoing the retort of James's Colt, the sound ricocheting off every corner of her skull. Finally the painful ache in her ribs began to diminish. Then she became aware of the gambler and the fact he was sputtering above her.
Able to bre
athe at last, she slipped her right arm beneath her body and began to push herself to a sitting position. Strong hands gripped her shoulders and helped pull her upright.
"Jewel?" Brent said, brushing the dirt from her face. "Are you all right?"
Again using her good arm, she pushed away from him and looked down at her bloodied sleeve. "Do I look as if I'm all right, you fool?"
"I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said, relieved to see she wasn't mortally wounded. "I never was much of a shot. If it makes you feel any better, I think I got the thief with the same bullet that hit you."
"That makes me feel a lot better," she spit out as she struggled to her feet.
Standing up and reaching out for her, again he apologized. "It's not as if I planned on hurting you, you know. I had to do something. I couldn't just let those guys ride off with you, could I?"
"So you decided to blow a hole in me? Good thinking, you two-bit sharpshooter. I think you broke my arm." Jewel whirled around and began to stomp off toward town, complaining loudly as she progressed down the street. "That miserable no-good gambler. He actually shot me."
Brent stayed one step behind her, still trying to apologize. "I said I'm sorry. I don't know what else you expect me to do. After all, I did save you from those hoodlums. The least you could do is thank me."
"Thank you?" Jewel planted her feet and turned on him. "Thank you?" she repeated. "I had things under control. I didn't ask you to save me from anyone, and I sure didn't ask you to shoot me. No thanks to you, Jesse James got away—again."
"Jesse James? Are you saying I shot Jesse James?"
"Yes, you great big hero," she said with a smirk, "but don't forget—you shot me, too, you sharpshooting dandy." Jewel spun around and resumed her march toward town.
"There's no need for name-calling," Brent said, still following along. "You're just a little upset, probably shaken from the fall. Let me take you into town to see the doctor."
Over her shoulder she said, "You're not taking me anywhere, you hear? Just stand right there. If you try to touch me, I'll scream."
"But—" Brent's vision picked up a glittering object near his foot. He bent over, retrieved the item, and called to Jewel, "Hey, wait up. I found your glasses."
Determined this would be the last time, Jewel wheeled on him. "Keep them. Take them home to your kids as a souvenir of the day you shot Jesse James, or—poke them up your nose. I really don't care what you do with them. Just leave me the hell alone." She began to back away, glaring at him, daring him to follow her. When she was sure he understood how serious she was, Jewel turned around and stalked off toward town.
"That idiot actually shot me. Me," she muttered to herself. "I can't believe it, I can't believe any of this. Wait till Allan finds out I had Jesse James in my grasp, and I let him get away."
She kicked at pebbles as she walked, biting her lip with each new wave of pain in her injured arm, but managed to keep up her tirade. "It's most definitely Brent Connors' fault. All his fault, and if it's the last thing I do, I'll get even with that devilish dandy. More than even."
Chapter 5
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
June 7, 1876
Harry Benton stepped out of the hydraulic elevator and onto the thick wool carpeting of the fourth floor of the Fairmount Hotel. As he reached the door to his suite, he noticed a young couple bickering in the hallway next to his room. Taking his time fitting his key to the lock, Harry eavesdropped as the auburn-haired beauty gave her companion the boot.
"...so let's leave things the way they are, Richard. Thanks for a wonderful time—the exhibition and all the parties were lots of fun."
"But, Jewel," Richard protested, "last night was just one of those things. I had a little too much to drink, I guess. I'll do better tonight if you'll just give me a chance."
Jewel stared at him, considering his proposal, wondering what her real objections to the handsome young Pinkerton agent were. Was it the wispy blond hair? The fact Richard did not have dark wavy locks? Or was his skin too smooth and baby-like, lacking so much as a stubble where a thick, lush mustache should have been?
Richard smiled just then, drawing her attention to his mouth. His lips could have been painted lines; they were incapable of curving into the crooked smile that made Brent Connors look as if he had a feather in his drawers.
Somehow, she realized with a sudden flash of insight, that feather had moved over to her own undergarments. Because of it, of him, she'd spent the last few weeks of her forced vacation trying to relieve that itch and wipe the memory of Brent Connors from her mind. Nothing had worked. Not Richard and not the marvelous excitement of the exhibition, with all its newfangled machines. Damn that miserable gambler, she thought. How had Brent managed to worm his way into her mind and her dreams so easily?
"May I come in, Jewel?" Richard asked. "I promised Mr. Pinkerton I'd keep an eye on you while you were here, and besides, I uh... I think I'm falling in love with you."
She snapped her head up and took another long look into the pale blue of his eyes, noted the puppy dog droop to his expression. Love? How had he gotten love out of a few shared meals and laughs? That notion surely couldn't stem from his awkward and drunken attempts at lovemaking last night, could it?
Love. The word alone turned her stomach and darkened her thoughts. Love, if there really was such a thing, was for idiots and the feebleminded, people who were unable or unwilling to manage on their own. Love was something that could never happen to a strong person like Jewel Flannery.
Trying to hide her irritation, she raised her voice an octave and said, "I'm sorry to hear you feel that way, Richard. I hope I didn't give you the impression that I, that we could be more than..."
Jewel hesitated, disturbed as much by the tinny sound of her voice as by his undisguised adoration. Then she suddenly realized eyes other than Richard's were gazing at her. She turned and spotted a distinguished-looking gentleman standing one door away. He looked totally intrigued by the situation between her and Richard—and completely amused.
She abruptly turned back to the Pinkerton agent and brusquely said, "As I tried to tell you, Richard, I'm sorry you feel that way, but I must say good night. Thanks again for all the fun, but I'm afraid you and I have come to the end of the road. I'm simply not interested in having anyone love me right now. Good night and good luck."
Harry laughed to himself as the young woman, hampered by a cast surrounding her broken arm, struggled with the lock, then disappeared behind her door. Sympathetic as well as tickled, he called to the frustrated man left standing in the hallway, "C'est la vie."
Then Harry waltzed into his suite, calling out as he entered, "Oh, Duchess? Where are you hiding, my dear sweet girl?"
From behind a lacquered Oriental screen came a giggle followed by a husky feminine voice. "Jack? Is that you?''
Harry stopped to think a minute, then grinned and said, "I think so."
"I'm bathing so I'll smell like springtime and roses for you—and by the way, please stop calling me 'Duchess.' Someone might hear you and we'll both be in trouble."
"Whatever you say, Carlotta my love. I'll be waiting for you—in bed."
Harry quickly checked the leftover dinner tray he'd insisted on keeping in the room, and breathed a sigh when he saw his mashed potatoes still occupied a corner of the plate. Making certain his guest was still in the tub, he cocked his head and listened. Tiny waterfalls spilled intermittently, signaling all was clear. Working fast, Harry helped himself to the house key Carlotta kept in her evening bag, and then pressed it into the center of the potatoes. After checking to make sure the impression was clear, he wiped the key clean and replaced it in its nest of black velvet.
Whistling to himself, he shoved the plate under his bed, stripped, and climbed beneath the sheets. Casually skimming the handbill he'd picked up at the saloon downstairs, he reread the information as he waited for his companion: "Sebastian Steamship Line proudly presents the debut of the Delta Dawn, the biggest, m
ost luxurious floating palace ever to grace the waters of the mighty Mississippi River. Accommodations range from the finest of luxury suites to perfectly comfortable staterooms for one. Maiden voyage to begin from St. Louis on June 18, 1876." Below was a list of gambling devices, entertainments, and specialty menus.
Harry let the paper fall from his hand and took a deep relaxing breath. Maybe a few weeks aboard a ship was just what he needed, he told himself. A tonic of sorts for his unusually low spirits. Had he finally tired of the game—lost the special thrill of the hunt? What had happened to that delicious burst of adrenaline he always felt as he plotted a way to separate the haughty bitches of the world from part of their unearned fortunes?
Harry shrugged. Maybe he'd finally managed to repay Elizabeth, queen bitch of them all. Betty, as she insisted he call her, the only woman he'd ever loved. Betty, the hard-hearted beauty who'd used him, then tossed him aside like tattered underwear. Perhaps he was finally ready to forget the hurt, the pain. Then again, he thought as he listened to Carlotta's off-key rendition of "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling"—maybe not.
Harry picked up the handbill again. Perhaps he should book passage—for one. He could use a break. A little vacation might just put the light back in his eyes and the spring in his heels. Even if he felt ready to work before the trip was over, what better place to find a new love than aboard a floating luxury palace?
"Oh, Jack?" Carlotta called out in a seductive voice. "What do you think of this?"
After glancing her way, Harry smiled and folded the handbill. "My, my," he said, whistling appreciatively. "What a naughty little girl you are."
Carlotta floated across the room wrapped only in a thin scarf of red gossamer and a cloud of rose-scented lotion. Her body still damp from the hot bath, she stood before him and pouted. "If you'd accept my offer and follow along on our trip to Southhampton, you'd see a lot more of this naughty little girl over the summer. We could be naughty together. Say yes, Jack—I'm begging you."