by Heidi Betts
"It certainly looks like hell,” she muttered with distaste, unable to fathom the idea of someone actually living in the dilapidated buildings.
At that, David did turn his head to take in the ample-bosomed women leaning over the saloon balustrade, and Hannah began untying the ribbon of her hat.
She might not be a woman of low morals, and her appearance might not be particularly eye-catching at the moment, but she'd be a speckle-winged titmouse before she'd let the only man currently in her company accept the offer of a hurdy-gurdy girl. Or worse yet, many of them.
"It does possess a personality all its own,” he agreed.
Then he turned his attention straight ahead, so she didn't actually need to whack him. It had been tempting, though.
"But this hole-in-the-wall town is actually named Hell,” he went on, speaking over his shoulder in low, moderate tones. “It's an outlaw hideout of sorts. Men come here when they don't want to be found, and the law rarely comes calling because they know they'll be outnumbered about three to one."
"Lovely.” A town made up entirely of robbers, murderers, and . . . she cast a sidelong glance toward the saloon once again . . . prostitutes. With no one to maintain order or keep them from killing each other. If what she was seeing now was an example of Hell on a sunny Sunday afternoon, she hated to think how these ruffians behaved on a Friday or Saturday night.
"Why did you bring us here?” Hell wasn't an appropriate place for her to be, let alone a small child. Although Little Bear had barely spared a glance for the scantily clad women hanging from the second story balcony and didn't seem the least bit bothered by the noises wafting out of the Devil's Den saloon.
"I need a place for you two to stay. Somewhere no one will ask questions or come looking."
He stopped in front of one of the shacks, close to the edge of what David called a town. If she wasn't mistaken, this particular building looked even more run-down than some of the others. The door, hanging crooked on its hinges, stood open, and Hannah was almost afraid to see what was inside.
"Here?” She gulped. “You want us to stay here?"
David dropped the reins and came around to her side. “You have a problem with dirt, Hannah?” He wrapped two fingers around the hem of her skirt, shooting her a cocky half-smile. “Doesn't look that way from where I'm standing."
She shifted slightly on the saddle, trying to avoid the long, fringed leather pouch that held his rifle, and fell unceremoniously to the ground, not even caring if the whole world got a scandalous glimpse of her petticoats as she did so.
Her legs felt like jelly, but she locked her knees and managed to stay on her feet, looking David squarely in the eye. “It's not dirt I have an aversion to,” she informed him. “It's snakes and spiders and mice. And if you make me sleep with any one of them, David, I promise you'll be sorry."
For a moment, he said nothing. And then his half-smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “I'm never sorry when you're around, notsa?ka?."
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean, that word you just used?"
He shrugged one loose shoulder beneath his doeskin shirt. “It's Comanche for . . . Hannah."
Somehow she didn't believe him, but before she could question him further, he turned and ushered Little Bear into the shack, then placed a hand at the small of her back and let her go ahead of him.
"Don't worry,” he told her. “I promise to kill anything that tries to crawl into the blankets with you."
She tilted her head at a coy angle and cast a pointed look back at him, brow lifted. “Good idea. I think I'll do the same."
Her meaning couldn't have been more clear if she'd written it in the sand. But David's only response was to throw his head back and laugh, so loudly he drowned out the noises from the saloon.
One thing about Hannah, she sure knew what to say to a man to get his blood pumping. Granted, she could do that just by standing still, but he hadn't been able to stop thinking about crawling under the blankets with her since she'd all but threatened to clobber him if he so much as tried.
If Little Bear hadn't been with them, he'd have probably given it a shot, just to see what she would do.
He took a sip of the dark brown, nearly flat ale sitting in front of him and pondered the possibilities. Most of them amused him. A few made him hard.
Not good, Walker. It was not good to start thinking things, feeling things about Hannah. He'd always had a soft spot for her, sure. But having a soft spot and lusting were two entirely different things. Especially when Hannah was light-skinned, light-haired, and blue-eyed . . . and he was her opposite in every way. A mixed breed who, standing next to angelic little Hannah, stuck out like a man with two noses.
And that was something that was never going to change.
"Can I get you another beer?"
Still scowling, Walker lifted his head to look at the ox of a man standing before him. The bartender's long handlebar mustache twitched as he waited for Walker's response.
Walker shook his head. “No. Thanks. I'll just finish off this one.” He swirled what was left of the warming amber liquid at the bottom of the glass. “You could tell me where I can find a few changes of clothes, though. Women's clothes. You don't seem to have a mercantile around here."
The man's entire body jiggled as he laughed, from the jowls that hung around his chin to the belly that hung over his belt. “Nope, you're right on that count. Fella tried to open one a few months back, but folks around here generally steal what they want, so stores don't tend to be too successful."
That was nice to hear. Walker shifted uncomfortably, lowering one boot from the foot rail of the bar and lifting the other to take its place. He hoped Hannah and Little Bear were all right by themselves in the cabin where he'd left them, and decided not to waste too much more time on his errand before getting back to them.
"You can buy or trade for most of what you need around here, though,” the man behind the bar continued. “And if you're lookin’ for ladies’ duds, your best bet would be talking to Cora.” He hitched his almost bald head toward the other side of the room, and Walker turned to follow the movement. “She's the gal in red, holding court with all them drooling idiots over by the pi-ana."
"I can see why they're drooling,” Walker returned, zeroing in on the woman in question.
She was tall and shapely, with sleek black hair pulled into a tight twist at the nape of her neck and crowned by a large red flower that perfectly matched her dress. She smiled broadly and laughed often, making each of the patrons surrounding her feel like he was the only man in the room. And that was really saying something, considering the type of people who frequented the Devil's Den—all outlaws avoiding capture or rowdy sorts who didn't fit in well with regular society.
Hell was a town where a man could remain nameless and blend into the background. No one asked questions and no one looked too closely at faces.
Even so, there were unwritten rules that governed the town, a certain honor among thieves. Minor arguments and the occasional knife fight broke out but were ended quickly if both parties wished to remain in Hell. And men didn't turn other men in to the law, no matter how high the bounty might be. If they did, they could easily find themselves bleeding to death in an alley with a bullet in their backs, or waking up with their throats slit.
It was the ideal place for Walker to hide because no one would ask questions about his presence and, even better, no one would care.
But as nice as all that might sound, Hell was no Garden of Eden. That was why the name Heaven had been reserved for the more pleasant, God-fearing town located on the other side of Purgatory.
And regardless of the honor-among-thieves aspect that made Hell appealing to Walker, he didn't find it reassuring enough to leave Hannah alone here for long.
With that in mind, he made his way across the crowded saloon to Cora's side. The loud, boisterous conversation taking place within the circle of her admirers came to a screeching halt as soon as Walker stepped past the m
en and stopped directly in front of Cora.
The woman, waving a lacy black fan in front of her exposed and heaving bosom, gave him an appraising look, running her gaze from the top of his head to the toes of his boots and up again.
"Is there something I can help you with, handsome?” she all but purred.
Walker gave a silent nod. “I was hoping I might have a moment of your time, ma'am."
When he heard a snarl from somewhere behind him—he swore he did—he turned and smiled reassuringly at Cora's admirers. “Nothing too personal, fellas, I swear. I'll have her back to you in two shakes."
He heard definite teeth-grinding and saw a few fists clench, but no one tried to pound his face in. A fact Walker much appreciated.
"Over here, sugar,” Cora drawled, wrapping her long-fingered hand with its painted nails around his elbow. When they were several feet away from the potential lynch mob, she said, “Now what can I do you for?"
Wanting to make it out of tire Devil's Den in one piece, he got right to the point. “The man behind the bar told me you might be able to help me find some women's clothes. For a lady friend of mine."
"What kind of clothes are we talking about, honey?” The black fan snapped closed and she tapped it gently against the palm of her other hand.
"Trousers, mainly. She needs something easier than a dress and petticoats to travel in, and I'd like her to pass as a man, if at all possible."
"And I trust you know this lady friend's size?"
Oh, yeah, he knew Hannah's size. Right down to how much of her breasts he could cover with his hands and how well her bottom would fit into the vee of his thighs. He'd had ten long years to measure every inch of her incredible figure in his mind.
Instead of letting Cora in on his wayward thoughts, he merely nodded.
"Ml cost you,” she warned.
"I've got money."
"All right, then. Come with me. I'll be right back, boys,” she called over his shoulder, and Walker cast a cautious glance in the same direction to make sure a knife wasn't hurtling at his head.
Cora led him around the bar to a back room, and Walker's eyes widened when she opened the door. The room looked to be used for storage, but not for the usual things he'd expect to find in a bar. He didn't see any bottles of whiskey or barrels of ale. No glasses or even extra chairs and tables.
Instead, it was filled from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with what Walker could only think to describe as pirate's booty. Silver candelabra and assorted gold figurines filled the shelves. Brass-framed cheval glasses reflected his and Cora's likenesses. And battered leather trunks that looked as if they might have spent a few years at sea littered the floor.
"I don't get much call for putting my girls in pants, but we do a lot of trading with folks around here for all kinds of things.” She lifted the rounded lid of one of the chests that sat in a corner. “And you never know what you might be able to use down the road."
Pushing aside a layer of what appeared to be shifts or camisoles or some other type of ladies’ unmentionables, she came up with a pair of thickly woven, dark brown trousers. They were a bit worn around the cuffs and at the seat, and might be a little big for small-boned Hannah, but they would do.
Handing them over her shoulder, Cora asked, “That what you're looking for, honey?"
"Those'll work just fine,” he told her, stuffing the folded pants under one arm as he dug in the tiny leather pouch at his waist for payment. “Got any shirts to go with them, and maybe a hat?"
"Does a cowpoke pine for his herd?” she retorted, and flipped him a blur of red plaid that looked almost new, followed by a battered black hat.
"Thank you. How much do I owe you?"
"Normally I'd ask you to give up something in exchange, but it don't look like you have much to part with, handsome. And since my clientele is mostly menfolk, it wouldn't do me much good to ask for a few hours of your time. So let's say . . . three dollars."
He handed her five.
She lifted a brow and gave him a smile, small lines forming like half-circles at the corners of her mouth. “Now that deserves a little something extra, sugar. Here.” She pulled one last item from the trunk before letting the lid fall shut, then thrust it into his open arms. “Give your lady friend this . . . and tell her to come by with it on if she's looking for work."
Walker gave Cora a nod and backed slowly out of the room. Sure, he'd pass along the message to Hannah. The next time he was looking to lose a couple of teeth.
Chapter Seven
A few minutes later, Walker left the Devil's Den and headed back to the cabin with a pillowcase full of garments for Hannah. His stride was long and purposeful, eager to return and see that she and Little Bear were all right.
He pulled the crooked door open on its rusty hinges, letting a shaft of sunlight into the dim room. Dust floated in the yellowed air.
He'd expected to find any number of things upon his return . . . Hannah and Little Bear huddled in a corner, being accosted by some drunken stranger, or—God forbid—missing. What he didn't expect was to find Hannah cleaning, with Little Bear recruited to help.
She had the soiled linens off the tick mattress, part of them balled up in her hand to dust every surface in the room. On his hands and knees, and looking none too happy about it, Little Bear used the other sheet to sweep the loose debris covering the dirt floor into manageable piles.
With a grin, Walker slung the sack of clothing over one shoulder and leaned his full weight against the doorjamb, hoping the creaky wood would hold him. “I should have known you wouldn't waste any time getting this place in order."
She straightened from dusting a small square table in one corner that wobbled on a short leg whenever she touched it. “If we have to stay in this . . . hovel—” She shot him a disparaging glance. “Then it's going to be clean. Or as clean as I can get it,” she qualified, her nose wrinkling.
"And you're going to help. I need you to flip the mattress and decide which side is less disgusting, then find us some new sheets and blankets. These were positively revolting,” she said, indicating the dirt-covered fabric in her hand. “I debated about even using them this much, for fear they'd get the floor dirty."
He chuckled. “I'll be happy to turn over the whole bed for you, if you want, but first I have a surprise for you."
He reached into the pillowcase and pulled out the trousers.
"What are these?"
"Pants,” he said as she fingered the rough material. “For you. You stand out too much in that pretty pink dress, and it's not a good idea to stick out in a place like this. I'd feel more comfortable if you were dressed like a man.” He gave her the plaid shirt and felt hat to go with the trousers. “At least then we might have a chance of making people think you are one. If they don't look too close."
She raised one eyebrow and studied him carefully. “You want me to dress like a man."
She said it as though he'd asked her to drop her drawers and dance on the tabletop. Not that he should be surprised. Hannah wasn't the trousers-wearing type.
But in this case, she needed to be. It was for her own good.
"I know it will feel really strange at first, but it really is necessary, Hannah. There are too many reprobates in Hell to believe you'd be safe if someone found out an innocent woman was here practically alone. If you're dressed like a man, and no one looks too closely, then they'll be more apt not even to come near you.” His voice lowered and he fixed her with a solemn expression. “Please, Hannah."
She sighed. “Fine, I'll wear the pants. But you have to finish sweeping the floor. And find us something to sleep on so we don't have to spend the night on the bare ground. Heaven only knows what crawls around this place when it's dark."
"Fair enough,” Walker agreed.
Leaving the pillowcase just inside the door, he stepped forward to start on her growing list of tasks. He wanted to see Hannah and Little Bear settled and safe before he took off after Bright Eyes, anyway.
Might as well see them settled to Hannah's specifications.
He crouched down, helping Little Bear transfer the small piles of litter he'd accumulated onto one of the sheets to be taken out and shaken.
"What's this?"
Still resting on the balls of his feet, he raised his head in Hannah's direction. She'd moved near the door and was rifling around in the pillowcase he'd used as a sack.
Uh-oh. She'd found the dress.
"What's what?” he asked, playing dumb.
It didn't work. She quirked a brow and pulled out a fistful of the purple, ruffly, just-this-side-of-sinful creation.
"Oh. That."
"Yes. This."
She smiled, but the expression reminded him more of the look on a rattlesnake's face right before it strikes than of a beautiful woman pleased by the gift of a new dress.
Of course, considering the dress. . .
"Would this be for me?” she asked sweetly.
Walker got that rattler feeling again, skittering right down his spine. He'd planned to simply tell her about the gown. How Cora had slipped it in as an extra, free of charge. That he'd only bought the shirt and trousers with the intention of asking her to wear them, not the gaudy saloon girl getup.
But with her standing there, all puffed up and indignant, waiting for an explanation, he suddenly didn't want to give her one. Suddenly, he wanted to yank her chain, see how she would react if she thought he'd brought the dress specifically for her . . . and expected her to wear it.
Schooling his features, he continued with the business of scooping up the grit from the floor and depositing it in the center of the sheet Little Bear held. The boy did his job well, standing at the ready in case Walker needed him. But the boy's eyes were riveted on the bright purple material, edged in black lace, sticking out of the white sack.
"It is for you,” Walker said smoothly. “Do you like it?"
"It's. . ."
"Pretty,” he supplied for her. “Don't you think it's pretty? Go ahead, pull it out so you can see the whole thing."
Her eyes narrowed and she seemed no more eager to see the entire dress than to dance with a grizzly bear. Still, she dragged the garment out, letting the pillowcase fall to the earthen floor as she shook open the folds of the dress and held it up in front of her.