“I wasn’t here when El Diablo came, but I guess those boys were somethin’ to see. Now most everyone considers them hometown fellas.”
“If everyone likes Cash so much, how come this saloon is empty?”
“I don’t think anyone likes Cash. Except those other men, and sometimes I wonder on them. Folks are afraid of him, mostly, so they steer clear of this place. Saturdays we get busy when the ranch hands come to town. But the way Cash grumbles on Saturdays, I think he prefers the saloon all to himself.”
“That’s no way to run a business.”
“He doesn’t need the money.”
“We do.”
“You tell me how to go about getting it, and I’m right behind you.”
With every passing minute, Lily liked Yvonne more and more. “First we clean; then we decorate and re-open with a splash.”
Before Yvonne could give her opinion of the plan, bare feet pattered down the stairs. From the roll of Yvonne’s eyes and the way she hightailed it behind the bar, Lily knew who had arrived before she even turned around.
“Cash says you own this place.” Laurel, of the high-pitched voice, tossed a length of brown hair over her shoulder.
At her side, a redhead with a buxom figure blinked sleepily at Lily. Must be Kate. Lily wondered whose bed the girl had been in then decided she really didn’t want to know.
“I do own it.”
“You don’t plan to horn in on our business, do ya?” Laurel asked. “There are only so many men with money in this town.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“You’re gonna take away all the customers!” Kate wailed. Her voice, even higher pitched than Laurel’s, made Lily’s ears ache.
“Not the way you think—”
Kate started to cry even louder than she talked. Laurel put her arm around the other girl and glared at Lily. Lily glanced at Yvonne, who shrugged as if to say, “Told you so,” then polished faster.
“Quiet!” Lily shouted.
Kate stopped crying as if a faucet had been turned off. Has the girl been pretending? If so, she was very good, which gave Lily an idea.
“We’re going to clean up this place. Make it more appealing. Bring in more customers.”
Laurel and Kate grinned.
“And we’re going to have entertainment.”
Laurel and Kate frowned.
“Singing? Dancing? Music? If things work out, down the road maybe even a play or two.”
“Play what?” Kate asked. Then a light dawned. “Oh, cards.”
“Those, too. But I meant play, as in theater. On the stage.”
“What stage?”
“We’ll build one.”
Laurel’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s we?”
“All of us, working together, can make this place better. That means more customers and more money.”
“More money is good. What’ll we have to do?”
Lily told them. Slowly.
“But if we’re serving drinks and you’re paying us part of the profit and things go good, then eventually we won’t need to... you know.”
They seemed to be catching on. “I know.”
Laurel looked at Kate, then Kate looked at Laurel. They both looked at Lily. “Cash isn’t going to like that.”
Chapter 4
Lily left Laurel and Kate under the direction of Yvonne, who seemed to have a knack for cleaning and a military mien. She had Laurel sweeping and Kate dusting within minutes. The lure of money did wonders for the work ethic. Still, Lily didn’t think the girls would have pitched in on a promise alone unless Yvonne had said so. They trusted the woman, which said a lot for Yvonne.
As Lily reached the stairs, Johnny appeared. He’d changed from his dusty traveling clothes and wiped his face. She could still see streaks of dust along his chin and wrists, which only made her want to lick her finger and rub the smudges away. He’d no doubt let her; the boy was starved for affection. But Lily was afraid to get too close. Johnny wasn’t her child, not really her brother, and he would most likely drift off when a better offer came along. Men did that. It was their nature.
“Were there empty rooms for us?”
He nodded.
“Mine?”
Johnny lifted one, two, three fingers, then jerked his head to the right.
“Third door on the right?”
Yes.
“And yours?”
One, two, three fingers to the left.
“Right across the hall. Perfect.” She gave in to the urge to pat his arm. “I’m glad you came with me, Johnny.” He soaked up her praise as dry dirt soaked up the rain.
“Who’s this handsome young thing?”
Johnny flinched at the volume of the voice. He had very sensitive ears, which might account for his musical ability.
“My little brother,” Lily said. “Look but don’t touch or you’re out on your ass.”
“I’m no baby thief. Is he gonna help with the dirt?”
Johnny started moving the tables aside so Yvonne could wash the floor.
“Well, ain’t he handy?”
Lily didn’t like the way Laurel eyed Johnny’s arms. For a piano player, the boy had some impressive muscles. No doubt R.W. had started him carrying crates of whiskey at ten years of age.
Lily climbed the stairs, planning to get out of her corset, as well as a few petticoats, before she pitched in. From the looks of the hallway, the upstairs would need a thorough cleaning, too. Lily hoped the rooms were habitable.
The first door at the top of the stairs was smaller and shorter than the others—a linen closet. Had Johnny meant her room was actually the third door or the third room door?
With a shrug, Lily opened the third door. The sky blue eyes of the naked man at the washbasin met hers in the mirror. Without so much as a blink, he returned his attention to shaving his head.
Lily had never seen a man shave his head. She wondered why he did it, though with those incredibly beautiful eyes and the symmetry of his face, he would be stunning once the soap was off his head. The rest of him was equally impressive. Thick shoulders, hard legs and... Lily jerked her gaze from where it did not belong.
“You must be Miz Fortier.”
Lily glanced behind her for Miss Fortier then remembered Miss Fortier was her. She tallied the men she’d met and the names she’d heard in relation to her saloon and lit on one. “You’re Nate.”
His gentle smile was at odds with his height and breadth. “You’ve heard of me. I’m flattered.”
He had the least southern accent of any of the men she’d met in Rock Creek thus far, though the twang to his voice made her think border state—maybe Kentucky, Missouri, even the southern tip of Illinois. During the war those states had seen some of the worst violence of them all.
Nate continued shaving. His serenity baffled Lily. She had known countless men. She’d been intimate with a few. Yet none of them were as easy with their nakedness as this one. She didn’t know what to say or where to look.
“Did you want something?” He began to turn.
“Wrong room.” Lily backed into the hall. “Terribly sorry. We’ll chat later.” She slammed the door and rushed to the next, stumbling inside and slamming that door, too.
Muttering in French, a habit she’d adopted when any annoyance voiced in English sparked violence from R.W., Lily unbuttoned her dress then slipped it from her shoulders. Crossing to the washbasin, she breathed a sigh of relief to find cool water. As she raised the cloth to her dusty, hot neck, her gaze touched upon the mirror.
With a shriek, she spun, palming her knife. Rico’s black eyes lowered to the weapon, then rose to her face, perusing her uncovered bodice along the way.
“You sneaky little—What are you doing in here?”
“This is my room. But perhaps you knew this.” He took two steps in her direction. She waved the knife at him, but he merely smirked, unconcerned.
“What are you blathering about?”
“You come to my room and begin to undress.” He shrugged, his lean shoulder sliding seductively beneath the black cotton shirt. “It is my dream come true.”
“Your ego is bigger than Texas.”
Strong white teeth flashed against his bronzed skin. “That is not all that is bigger than Texas.”
“You are a dreamer. I did not come in here on purpose. Johnny indicated this was my room.”
“That explains your bag on my bed. I had hopes it was a message. You did not want to make the others jealous because you desire me. I understand.”
Was he serious? She couldn’t tell. One thing she was sure of: He was the most infuriating man she’d ever met, even worse than Daniel Cash. With Cash she knew where she stood. With Rico...
What was it about the man that made her feel ungainly instead of graceful, foolish instead of clever, hot instead of cool?
“This was a mistake.” She glanced about. The room was devoid of any personal items but her own. “Obviously Johnny thought this was an empty room. I’ll move elsewhere.”
“It is not necessary, querida. I will share.”
“I will not.”
“Pity. It would save so much time.”
“I am not going to sleep with you!”
“Would you care to make a bet on that?”
“Enfer non!”
“I will take that as no. But if you are so certain my heart’s desire will not come true, then you would make easy money on such a wager.”
“Get out.”
He raised an insolent eyebrow. “This is my room.”
Lily considered sticking him. She’d used her knife before. Working in a saloon gave men the idea a woman was for sale. While many were, she was not. Not that she hadn’t taken lovers with no love involved. She’d done what she had to do, and if she had to split a little skin, she wasn’t squeamish. But she had a nagging feeling that Rico was a whole lot quicker than she was. While he was no doubt dangerous, she didn’t think he’d force her. His ego was too big for that.
“I’d like to freshen up before I move to another room. Would you step outside like a gentlemen?”
“My papa always told me I am far from a gentlemen.” Though his voice teased, the words brought a crease to his brow, making Lily wonder just who his father was and why the man had wanted his gunfighting son to be a gentlemen. But Rico’s past was no business of hers. Just as hers was no business of his.
“Fine,” she snapped, tired of the game. She could be as nonchalant as Nate about her nakedness. In years gone by, she’d danced in front of a roomful of men in much less than she wore right now.
She put down the knife and retrieved the dropped washcloth. But the sheath on her wrist prevented her from washing her arms. When she tried to unbuckle it, her fingers became all thumbs.
Suddenly, Rico’s dark hand covered her paler one. How had he come so close and she’d never heard a single footfall?
“Let me.” His breath whispered across her bare neck, making Lily shiver.
The heat of his body meandered along every inch of hers, though he touched her nowhere but at her wrist. A quick glance in the mirror revealed their reflections—their hair nearly the same shade, his black shirt, her black dress, eyes equally dark and heavily lashed. But whereas his skin was the shade of summer-warmed sand, hers was as pale as the petals of the flower she’d taken as her name.
Rico unbuckled the sheath with nimble fingers that made Lily wonder how inventive those hands could be. She’d had lovers, true, but never one of her own choosing and never one as skilled as she’d heard a true lover could be.
The leather loosened. Instead of backing away, he pressed the tips of two fingers to the pulse at her wrist at the same moment his mouth closed over the pulse at the side of her neck.
Her sharp gasp as arousing as the scrape of his teeth, the kick of her blood sent her heart thundering like a caged bird against her chest. The sheath fell to the floor as her hands went limp, and her head fell back against his shoulder.
He had a smart mouth, a clever mouth, a very busy mouth, which teased and taunted. His hands on her hips, he spun her about and worked his way along her neck and chin to her empty, seeking lips.
She thought she’d go mad. His mouth tortured hers, a gentle brush, the flick of his tongue, a touch-and-go pressure of the lips. She had never been kissed like this; she didn’t want him to stop. When he lifted his head, she tangled her fingers in his soft hair and yanked him back for some more.
No matter how deeply she kissed him, he did not lose control. He did not grab her or maul her or throw her on the bed. He did not even brush his knuckles across the bared expanse of her breasts. His thumbs stroked the sharp bones of her hips over and over again. His restraint confused her, enticed her, tempted her.
When he removed his hands, her hips moved forward of their own accord. She bumped against him and discovered his restraint did not extend everywhere. Her mouth curved against his. Usually the proof of a man’s desire bored her.
Fingers tangling with hers, he drew them from his hair, then lifted his mouth. “I want you, Lily. While I will happily share my room, I do not share my women. How much to have you all to myself?”
She came out of her soft reverie with a start, though the shock would not show on her face. She’d been kicked when she was down a hundred times before, and the only way to survive was to never let them see the bruise.
She smiled as if she meant it as she withdrew her fingers from his. Then she lifted her knee straight into that part of him that did not look anywhere near as big as Texas but was certainly as easy to find.
“Batard!”
Several moments later, when Rico regained his posture, something dangerous flickered in his eyes. Fear flowed through Lily, as deep as when she’d looked down the barrel of Cash’s pistol. She could see now why the two of them were friends. She raised her chin. If he meant to kill her, then so be it. She was no man’s whore.
“Somehow I do not think that means darling,” he murmured.
* * *
Rico paused in the hall to compose himself. Something hard hit the door behind him—perhaps a shoe—and he heard again Lily’s favorite word for him.
He’d have to find out if Mary spoke French, though having the dear, sweet wife of the man he admired most on this earth tell him the word meant... Well, he knew what it meant, and he was certain he didn’t want to hear such a thing from Mary Reese’s lips.
Rico’s body still hummed, though one part throbbed. Perhaps he had deserved that, though he did not think so. As he started down the hall, his step held a bit of a hitch. It would wear off in a week or two.
A shuffle near the stairs drew his attention. Nate and Cash lounged against the wall, smirking.
“You limping?” Cash asked.
“Twisted my ankle.”
“I don’t think it was your ankle got twisted.” Nate gasped in mock surprise. “I do believe the boy done got his attitude forcibly adjusted. Must be a first.”
“You want me to take care of her?” Cash drawled.
Rico gave them a scathing look and tried to get to the stairs. Each put a hand on his chest and shoved him back.
“Ten dollars he has her in bed before another week is out,” Cash murmured.
“A week? He’s good, but I think she might be better. I say three weeks.”
“Why don’t you make it a month so I’ll have a fair chance?” Rico snapped.
“You’re on.”
For the first time that Rico could remember, he wanted to punch his friends. “You are both a disgrace.”
Nate looked at Cash. Cash looked at Nate. Then they looked at Rico and laughed in his face.
Nate put his hand over his heart. “Kid, you wound us.”
Cash was laughing so hard, he had to brace himself against the wall. “We’re a disgrace? When did that happen?”
Rico left them both laughing their asses off as he clattered down the stairs and away.
* * *
In the mirror, she looked different, softer somehow. Was it the glass, the light, the truth? She touched her fingertip to her lower lip—warm, wet. She could taste him still.
Once, just once, she would like a lover of her own choosing. Over the years she had heard all sorts of intriguing information, and one of the tidbits she’d gathered was that some men were worth keeping a while. When those fellows came to town, the women fluttered about, begging for one single touch.
Lily wasn’t the begging type, but she had to wonder: What was so special about those men that made women who got excited about little as twittery as virgins?
Whatever it was, Rico had it. Because even though he was long gone, her hands still shook. Even though she’d sent him on his way with little doubt as to what she meant, if he came back, she might just let him kiss her again, and to hell with his insults.
The man could kiss. He knew where to touch and exactly how much or how little. He would be a memorable experience if she took him to bed. She had no doubt he knew it, too. Rico was completely self-absorbed, a charmer but a cad. Poison, no matter how good he tasted or how delectable he looked.
Once upon a time she’d hoped for a man who could see the woman she wanted to be and not the woman she’d been forced into becoming. Silly hopes. If men like that existed, they certainly wouldn’t spend time with a woman like her.
Not that she was bad, no matter what the good women said. She didn’t kick dogs or drown kittens or steal—much. She always tried to be nice to everyone and help whomever she could. Of course, most decent folks only saw her cleavage, her lip rouge, her past. They didn’t care that all she could do was sing, all she knew was music; the only person she had to depend on was herself.
Lily liked it that way. Her mother had depended on a man—make that men—over and over and over again. She’d believed in love. She’d believed that every last one of them would come back for her and make things right forever. She’d died believing it. Lily had lived by knowing the truth.
Rico (The Rock Creek Six Book 3) Page 4