The Talisman - Crisscross

by Shaunna Gonzales

Chapter 30

  Quinn's emotions over his brother's murder still raged as he shoved the livery door open. The door collided with something. A feminine squeal cut short. The door stalled. He peered around the door in time to see Trish go limp, the packet she'd carried causing a tiny dust cloud to spurt around it.

  "Trish." He dropped to his knee. As gently as he could, he tried to right her limp form. He patted her cheeks with the back of his hand. She didn't rouse. Cradling her in his arms, he gathered the rag doll, stood and carried her to the softest place close at hand, a bed of loosely packed hay. Sickening guilt filled his frame, anchoring in the pit of his stomach. She, of all the women he'd known in his life, carried his interest to its peak. He wanted to know her, not just in the Biblical sense but learn what she couldn't remember or aid her in building a new life. Would it be possible for them to build a life together? He pushed the idea aside. Now was not the time. He dipped his hand into the water bucket, again patting her cheeks.

  "Come on. We cain't have two murders here in one week." A lump the size of an egg formed on her forehead. "Damn my hide. It just ain't right fer ya to pay for my orneriness."

  He considered her clothing, the red film of cloth spilling out over the neckline edges framed by the familiar violet of Zelda's saloon dress. Zelda never wore it like this. She always let it hang over one shoulder in a rather intoxicating manner for a man starved for female attention. Trish wore the sleeves over her shoulders, unlike last evening. He slid his hands over her ribcage, checking for the firm boning of a corset. He found none.

  "Guess ya don't need laces loosened. Right practical of ya. Come on, wake up." He dipped his hand in the water again, letting the water splash lightly across her face and noticed the silver chain about her neck. Curious, he lifted it, pulling it loose of her cleavage. "What've ya got here?"

  The talisman dangled from his fingers, dancing in the dim light. A wicked smirk filled his features. He considered her bosom.

  "Never expected ya to hide a trinket like this. Wonder where ya got it." The flickering of her eyes drew his attention. He watched her gain consciousness. Her eyes focused on the trinket and she reached a shaky hand for it. He let her grasp it but didn't relinquish it to her.

  "Let me have it," she whispered.

  "Pretty. Ya had it long?" Quinn couldn't let this moment get away from him. She was helpless, or had been. The smell of her had lingered even after they parted and now she was close. They were alone. They wouldn't be interrupted by a drunk this time.

  She pushed herself to a more upright position, bringing her bosom tantalizingly close to his hand. "Please. It was my grandmother's."

  "Yer granmother's? Looks like a bump on yer head has been good for you. What else do you remember?"

  "I--"

  "Anything?" He queried again.

  "Just that she had it a long time. I cherish it. Please, may I have it back?"

  He released the trinket, letting the back of his fingers graze her skin. His breathing grew irregular. He watched her lift the trinket to her full lips, kissing it gently. His gaze remained on her lips while she tucked the trinket back into the relative safety of her bosom. She wavered, seeming to lose her equilibrium. He caught her shoulders, steadying her.

  "Ya all right?" He moved a hand to cradle her head, looking into her eyes, trying to tell if she was okay. He needed her to be okay. He wanted her and his want harassed him incessantly.

  "I need to go home." Her voice sounded distracted.

  "If ya can stand, I'll help ya back to the saloon." If she preferred the comfort of a bed, it was her choice. If only he could bear to wait any longer. He made no move to stand. She gazed into his eyes.

  "No, I need to go home." She sounded more confident.

  "Ya need to rest for a few minutes. When ya can stand, I'll take ya home." She smiled and took his hand in hers, laying her cheek in the palm of his hand. His pulse raced.

  "You've been so good to me. Thank you for your help with Old Curly. I'm sorry I'm running out of time." She kissed the palm of his right hand. A tempting tingle raced up his arm. The longing to have her intensified. He traced her lips with his thumb, testing their firmness. "I'm sorry about Albert. I didn't--"

  "Shh, ya couldn't have changed it." He searched her eyes for the hard acceptance he'd seen in Zelda's. It wasn't there. Only a soft imploring met his gaze. Last night he hadn't been able to see her eyes in the darkness. The aroma of aged hay mingled with earthy scents of horses and leather. Albert's carriage horse stamped and blew. The loose locks of Trish's auburn hair became entangled with his fingers.

  "But I--"

  He pressed a gentle kiss to her full lips. Her breath smelled sweet, her lips welcomed his. He kissed her a second time, his fingers intertwining in her hair, loosening her hair pins. The curls tumbled down, hiding the strength of his hands.

  She pulled away to gaze into his eyes. Slowly she shook her head, her loose curls sliding across rough hands and her smooth skin.

  "Quinn, I can't. I have to go home."

  Her denial stole his breath. Finding the strength to recapture it, it rushed in, threatening his existence.

  "You remember somethin', don't ya?"

  "No. Yes, oh why now? I can't stay here. I want to. But I can't." She pressed her hand to his cheek. He turned his head, kissing it. Hogtying his emotions and his desire, he stood and offered her his hand.

  "I ain't the kind of man ta stand in yer way." No sooner had she gained her feet when she swayed sickeningly, her knees buckling under her. He gathered her into his arms. "Guess I ain't standin' in yer way, but carryin' ya. Come on."

  She leaned out of his arms. "My clothes--"

  Quinn turned to see the packet. "I'll get it."

  With the packet tucked into her arms, he carried her like a little child to the saloon. Unlike the previous time he carried her up the stairs, this time he cradled her up the steps and to her room. Quinn unfolded the swooning Trish onto her bed as gently as possible.

  "Damn, woman. That's twice I've carried you home. Those steps are right steep with you in my arms. Ifn' I do it again, you'll be conscious of the effort." He tugged at the bed sheet. A wad of fabric tumbled to the floor and he ignored it, instead taking the time to drape the sheet carefully about Trish. Satisfied that she was comfortable, Quinn gathered the rumpled clothing, both the packet Trish had insisted he not leave behind and the haphazard pile on the floor.

  "Ain't how I'd expect a lady…" The stiff fabric caught his attention.

 

  Chapter 31