“Both.”
She was truly desperate at the moment.
Eager to forget the way he’d felt touching her.
The way she’d felt touching him.
The way she wanted to keep touching him.
“You know,” the waitress said as she slid the bowl in front of Riley, “I’m not supposed to tell folks this, but we do have a small vending machine in the back for the employees. It’s got mostly granola bars and crackers, but there are a few packs of peanut M&M’S if you’re that hard up.” She shrugged. “I could try sneaking you a pack.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. The ice cream will do.” At least, that’s what she told herself as she rummaged in her purse. Sugar was sugar, after all.
Pulling out a notebook, she spent the next half hour eating ice cream and working on her blog post. While she’d never been a fan of ice cream, the cool, creamy treat actually helped calm her down enough so that she could focus.
She finished not one blog post, but the entire write-up for the Catskills. It would be enough to see Andi through the rest of the week. Notebook in hand, she picked her way around the hay bales lining the main square and headed back over to City Hall. The line for the phone was shorter, since most everyone was getting ready for the hoedown. And so she was not only able to dictate a full week’s worth of posts to Andi, but also call her sister afterward. Kara’s answering machine picked up instead and, as always, Riley hung up without leaving a message.
Better safe than sorry. That’s what she told herself. It was a creed that she’d lived by for the past three years.
But there was nothing safe about the way she walked around the small western town when she should have headed straight for her room and the vibrator packed away in her suitcase.
She was simply doing her job, she reminded herself. She was a travel blogger. That meant seeing the sights and reporting back to her readers. She certainly wasn’t hoping to run into a certain sexy sheriff who’d been dominating her thoughts for the past few hours. The sudden need to sightsee was all about soaking up every moment of the experience.
She took it all in—the outlaws walking up and down the dusty streets, the half-dressed women leaning out the windows of the nearby brothel, and the blacksmith smelting a horseshoe out in front of the livery stable. It was just after nine o’clock in the evening and the town was fully alive and functioning. Laughter carried on the breeze. Lively piano music tinkled in the air. The buzz of crickets joined the mix, creating an authentic playlist that made her feel as if she’d stepped back in time.
She walked the main strip, drinking in each and every thing the town had to offer, from the man hawking old-fashioned liniments and elixirs out of the back of a wagon, to the young man shining shoes on the porch of the saloon.
Like every other guest, she was mesmerized, caught up in the historical time period. Several of the people who had been on her shuttle had changed into period costumes and were now as much a part of the scenery as the actors.
“You were cheatin’!”
Riley heard the shout a split second before the saloon doors burst open and two men barreled out into the street several feet in front of her. She watched them roll around in the dust, drawing a group of onlookers before a gunshot cracked through the night. Everyone stopped to stare at the man who strode into the mix.
Excitement rolled through her, dying a quick death when she saw the man’s short blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. He wore brown britches stuffed into matching boots and a white shirt. A badge gleamed on his chest.
A deputy’s badge.
“The name’s Clay Laramie, folks. I’m the deputy sheriff of this here town. And just so we’re clear, we don’t cotton to this kind of behavior in Tombstone.” He motioned to the two men. “You boys want to fight? Then get on over there”—he motioned to the large chalkboard set up near the refreshment table—“and sign up for the quick draw contest. You can take out your anger fair and square this Saturday at high noon. In the meantime, get those boots moving and go on about your business. Now.”
Once the brawlers had followed the deputy’s orders, he tipped his hat. “You folks carry on with your night. Welcome to Tombstone.” He turned and headed down the sidewalk toward the jailhouse.
Riley barely ignored the sudden urge to follow him.
Seriously?
She was here to see the sights, not the jail.
Or, more specifically, the sheriff who was most likely inside.
Before she could worry over the sudden thought, a handsome guy stepped onto the makeshift stage. He had sun-streaked blond hair, tanned skin, and a perfect smile. He lifted his hand. “Could I please have everyone’s attention. My name is Mayor Taggart James and I’d like to welcome everyone to Tombstone.” A round of applause erupted, and he smiled before waving another hand. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m one of the original members of the Tombstone Ten. As the founders of this small town, it’s our job to make sure that each of you has the experience of a lifetime. If there’s anything you want or need, please let someone know and we’ll do our best to take care of you.” He smiled as yet another round of applause pulsed in the air. “And for those of you hankerin’ to try your skill with a gun, be sure to sign up for our quick draw contest. We don’t fight to the death these days, but we’ll do everything we can to give you the most authentic experience possible.” He held up a cup in salute. “Now let’s eat and drink and dance!” The cry of a violin punctuated the sentence and the band launched into a lively version of Oh! Susanna.
Several couples twirled through the square and Riley watched for a few moments. She’d never been much of a dancer. She’d always been too busy looking after her sister and her father when she’d been younger. After his death and her sister’s departure for college, Riley had meant to do all of the things she’d never had the time to do, but then she’d met Phil. He’d never really liked to dance and so she’d held off, wanting to please him.
A fat lot of good that had done.
She could dance her ass off now if she wanted and no one could say anything about it. But the constant traveling didn’t allow time for dance lessons. She fought down a wave of regret. So what if she missed out on a little booty shaking? She could learn once things slowed down and she settled someplace permanently.
If she settled.
The thought whispered through her head and she forced it aside. Turning, she walked over to a nearby table and retrieved a glass of lemonade. She took a long swig and waited for the shot of cold liquid to soothe the fire that burned through her veins.
But it was going to take a lot more than one measly glass, she realized, when she caught a glimpse of the tall, dark, handsome lawman who’d dominated her thoughts all afternoon.
He moved through the crowd, his gaze scanning as if searching for someone. She had the quick hope that maybe, just maybe, he was looking for her.
But then he settled his attention on a beautiful redhead who stood near the bandstand. He leaned toward her, deep in conversation, and Riley knew that she was indulging in wishful thinking.
Ugh.
She needed an orgasm in the worst way.
That was the only reason she kept stealing glances at him, even though he’d obviously found who he was looking for. She retrieved her second glass of lemonade. The cool liquid slid down her throat, but like the first, it did nothing to ease her pounding heart or the craving in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze slid sideways again, seeking out the black duster and boots . . . There.
The view lasted all of two seconds before a passing guest moved into her line of vision. She gave herself a mental shake and forced her attention back to the band. The fast two-step ended, and a slow, sweet song wailed from the violin.
She was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to have her body pressed agai
nst the sheriff’s as they swayed to the slow, crying tune that drifted through the square.
Her nipples throbbed at the thought, and frustration made her fingers tighten.
She swallowed and glanced around. To hell with this. While her mind was completely on board with the strict no alpha policy, it had been too long since she’d had sex. She was much too worked up. Regardless of what Andi had said, a bowl of ice cream had nothing on her beloved donuts.
Otherwise, she would be fully satisfied and sane right now instead of lusting after Sheriff Boone Jarrett.
Her gaze shifted to him again and her throat tightened. She took the last sip of her cold drink and forced herself to take a nice, easy, controlled breath. It was all about control. She had it now that she’d managed to shake Phil and get her life back together, and she wasn’t giving it up.
Not to any man.
Even one as sinfully handsome as Boone Jarrett.
It was all the more reason to turn and walk away, she told herself. Particularly when his gaze found her and stalled. His mouth pulled tight, as if he wasn’t happy about seeing her either. But then something sparked and just like that, his expression faded into one of pure intent. He crossed the square and moved toward her.
A heartbeat later, he stood right in front of her, his green eyes rich and mesmerizing. He held out a hand. “Care to dance?”
“I . . .” Run! Her brain screamed.
But Riley Davenport was tired of running. She’d been doing it for three years now. Moving. Working. Keeping everyone at arm’s length. She lived out of a suitcase and she was tired of it. She wanted to unpack, to settle down, to make friends and have a normal life and—
Ugh. She was definitely punchy from lack of sugar. This wasn’t about settling down. It was simply about slowing down long enough to enjoy herself. It wasn’t as if she intended to throw caution to the wind and hop into bed with him.
It was just a dance.
She slid her hand into his. “Why not?”
BOONE JARRETT had touched his fair share of women over the past century and a half. But none had ever felt as soft or as warm as the woman standing in front of him.
The notion struck as he led her out into the square, toward the middle of the maze of couples swaying across the makeshift dance floor, and pulled her close. With one arm securely around her waist, he pulled her against him, touching from chest to thigh.
Warm.
Real.
“I don’t actually know how to dance.” Her soft voice slid into his ears, her body stiff in his arms.
“It’s not all that hard. Just feel what I’m doing and follow. The key is not to think too much.” Just let go. He sent the silent command, coaxing her to soften in his arms and let her guard down.
She wanted to.
She’d been walking the straight and celibate for so long, the need to relax and stop thinking, worrying—just this once—was nearly unbearable. He could see the truth in the brightness of her eyes, the way he could see the truth in everyone’s.
But she was different.
The window seemed wider and he stared deeper, seeing her past and her fears, learning about the controlling jackass who’d nearly ruined her life.
A rush of jealousy went through him, followed by a surge of surprise. He’d never been the possessive sort when it came to women.
There were too many of them out there to get territorial over any one in particular.
He held tight to the thought and forced his body to relax. He inhaled, letting the warm, sugary scent roll over his senses. “You smell really good.”
“You don’t smell so bad yourself.” She leaned closer and took a whiff. “Is that cologne?”
“Eau de horse,” he murmured. “I stopped by the livery stable on my way here. Oh, and there might be a little smoke and moonshine mixed in. I helped a few guests roll their own tobacco before getting hit with a flying drink over at the saloon.”
She grinned. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” She sniffed. “There’s something else. Something sweet. Fruity even.”
“That would be the drink. Our very own Grade A moonshine. Apple pie flavored.”
“You’ve got apple pie?” She looked so hopeful that he couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips.
“In liquid form. After I took the brunt of the flying shot glass, I had a few swigs at the bar. It definitely packs one hell of a punch.” His gaze found hers. “I could rustle up a glass if you want to give it a try.”
“I’m not really much of a drinker.” Drinking meant giving up her precious control and no way was she doing that.
No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.
The truth blazed in her eyes and hit him like a sucker punch to the groin. He’d meant to merely dance with her and prove to himself that she was just another woman, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure.
She felt different.
She made him feel different. She stirred up his protective instincts, making him want to wrap her in his arms and ease all her troubles.
A protector for once, instead of a predator. Damned if he didn’t like the feeling.
“So you’re the sheriff here in town?” she asked, her body following his as he swayed to and fro.
He touched a fingertip to the brim of his hat. “Boone Jarrett at your service.”
“I’m—“
“Riley Davenport.” When she looked surprised, he added, “I know all the guests. You’re with ExtremeVacations.com. A few weeks back, I read your piece on night gliding over the Grand Canyon. It sounded incredible.”
“If you don’t have an issue with heights.” She did. He could see as much in her gaze. At the same time, she wasn’t the type to go around complaining about her job when she was desperate to find any and every reason to keep at it. She stiffened, obviously not the least bit happy that she’d admitted her dislike to him. “Not that it wasn’t a total adrenaline rush,” she said, back-tracking. “So,” she said, changing the subject, “you’re a member of the infamous Tombstone Ten?”
“Once upon a time.”
She smiled, causing her nose to crinkle ever so slightly. He had the insane urge to lean down and plant a kiss on the very tip. “So what’s it like being a badass outlaw?”
“It’s a lot of work.” At least it had been when Ike had been in charge. He’d planned the jobs and forced Boone and the others to do his dirty work. They’d done so, but not willingly.
Not at first.
In the beginning, they’d fought against his control over them, against the fate he’d sentenced them to, against each other.
But then the gang had become more like family, and the jobs Boone’s purpose. He’d stopped feeling the burn of the slave band tattoos emblazoned around his biceps—proof of his servitude to the hunger, to his sire—and started to feel the power of what he’d become.
Power he’d come to like.
“Did you always want to be an outlaw?” she asked, her voice soft and curious, urging him to talk when the only thing he usually did with a woman was peel off her clothes and fuck her silly.
“I wanted to be a lawman,” he heard himself say, the words coming much too easily. “My father wanted me to be a farmer.”
“And you decided to become an outlaw because . . . ?” she prodded, going along with what she thought was a charade. He sensed that she needed to do something with her mouth that didn’t involve kissing him.
Pleased, he shrugged. “I was good at it.”
That, and he’d been determined to do something with his life rather than merely accept his lot. When he’d been forced into the gang, he’d turned even that into something more. A life of crime had not been his first choice, but standing up for what was right had been.
“Most historians don’t re
alize this, but we weren’t just a band of vicious criminals,” he told her. “We had a purpose. We stole, but only from those who made their money off the backs of others.” Men just like James Hidalgo, who’d sent Boone to the gallows that fateful day.
And while a crime was a crime, somehow the truth behind it had made it more palatable to Boone.
He’d felt some measure of justice, however small.
And he’d liked it.
He’d liked it a lot.
Enough to want more.
“Sort of like Robin Hood?”
“In a way.” Particularly since the Ten had been known to share their bounty with those less fortunate. Folks who’d been ripped off by the very ones that Boone and his gang held up. “History likes to make us out to be heartless killers, but we weren’t.”
“So you never killed anyone?”
“I didn’t say that.” His gaze caught and held hers. “But I wasn’t heartless about it. I never killed anyone during a job who didn’t have it coming.”
She held his stare and he could see the push-pull in her gaze. Common sense warred with her gut instinct to believe him.
To believe in him.
“You almost had me,” she finally murmured after a long moment, common sense winning out.
Still, for those indecisive seconds, she’d recognized the conviction in his voice. She’d felt it and she hadn’t walked away from him. She’d stayed right there in his arms, listening to what he had to say. Wanting to hear every word.
And damned if that fact didn’t make him smile.
“You’re really good, you know that?” she added. “Really good.”
“That’s what they all say, sugar.”
He meant the innuendo in his voice to effectively change the subject, but she wasn’t going to be deterred.
“No, I mean it. Acting might just be your thing.”
His gaze caught and held hers. “And what’s your thing?”
“You already know what I do.”
The Quick and the Undead: Volume 1 (Tombstone, Texas) Page 6