by Beth Ciotta
Paris pressed her palm to her clammy brow. Would it bring down Josh too? She’d been too hurt and proud to tell him what was in her heart. Too angry to listen to his side of the story. What if he wrestled with his own personal demons? Could she soothe the beast within with song?
She knew without looking that he was out there amongst the rowdies. He was, by nature, a protector, and even though they were at odds, he wouldn’t leave her to the wolves. Though he’d kept his distance throughout dinner, he’d hovered behind the Desert Moon’s bar keeping an eye on the clientele, looking mad enough to eat the Devil with his horns on. His anger baffled her. He’d betrayed her.
“It’s not like you think, Paris.”
What was she missing?
“You’re almost on.”
“What?”
Red gestured toward the stage. “They cut to the final act. The Twelfth Night in twelve-minutes.” She snickered. “That has to be a record.”
Panic ravaged her stomach. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Nonsense. You’ve just got a case of nerves.” Red hiked her gown to her thigh, revealing a small silver flask held in place by a lacy black garter. She slapped the flask in Paris’s hand. “Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Courage.”
“I hope these roughnecks like Paris better than those poor actors,” Seth shouted over the jeers of the disgruntled audience. “I can’t believe you’re going to allow her to set foot on that stage. Just because Tucker swore Maloy’s legit—”
“I’m not going to stand in her way.” Josh’s heart shriveled with each passing minute. He’d been so sure she had no real interest in being a musical star. So sure she’d spoken in anger, and that if allowed the space and time to cool off, she’d hear him out and back down from this audition. Yet she’d remained aloof throughout the day and night. No tears. No reservations. Either he couldn’t compete with the footlights of a New York stage or she wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Both options cut to the bone. “If this is what she wants—”
“You really are an ass.” Seth started to elaborate, but someone chucked a bottle at Orsinio’s head, causing Viola to shriek and skip to a line in Act V. A boot sailed through the air and clocked Curio in the stomach.
Cursing, Josh and Seth pushed through the crowd and grabbed the offenders by the scruffs of their neck. They’d busted up two fights and tossed six drunks out on their ears in the last fifteen minutes alone. Half the county had turned out for Percival Maloy’s talent search, a small faction as sociable as an ulcerated back tooth.
Josh was almost to the door when he heard Niles’s announcement. “Welcome to the stage a diamond in the rough, a star on the rise … ” He paused for dramatic effect as the band segued into Buffalo Gals.
Josh heaved the troublemaker outside and slowly turned.
Niles nailed him with a gloating smile then swept his arm wide. “Let’s hear it for Paris!”
Shock rooted him to his spot as his wife sashayed on stage. Only she wasn’t sashaying so much as weaving. What the hell? When she reached center stage and faced front, his stomach dropped to the puncheon floor. Someone, presumably Red, had twisted her hair into a loose top knot, painted her sweet face and trussed her up in a revealing costume. His mouth went dry as his gaze slid from her cherry-red lips to the milky white breasts that nearly spilled over her plunging neckline. Then he made the mistake of glancing down at her legs. Fishnet stockings? What exactly was she auditioning for?
Hoots and whistles quickly gave way to heckles.
“This ain’t a funeral, honey, look alive!”
“Show us some knee.”
“Don’t just stand there, lady. Sing!”
The band was on their second time through Buffalo Gals, and Paris had yet to open her mouth. Looking glassy-eyed and none too steady on her feet, she cast a tremulous smile at Big Amos Rind who sat in the front row. Josh looked stage right and saw Niles sipping from a flask. He toasted Josh and laughed.
Ah, hell.
Josh caught Seth’s eye, and they both started pushing their way toward the stage from opposite ends. Unfortunately, their progress was slowed by a mob of agitated drunks.
“Get the hook,” someone shouted.
“Freak!”
She flinched at that, dammit. Josh wished he were close enough to wring the neck of the insensitive critic. Instead, he willed Paris to look at him, and when she did the fear and insecurity burning in her eyes branded his heart. Drunk or sober, she was scared to death. “Di-tty! Di-tty!” he chanted, nudging Oscar, “Di-tty! Di-tty!”who whistled at Big Amos, “Di-tty! Di-tty!” who banged his fist on the table. At least forty others followed suit causing the perplexed musicians to fall silent.
All eyes were on her, but she only had eyes for Josh. He experienced an almighty, knee-buckling rush of joy when her sweet voice rang out, the message crystal clear.
“Destiny does as destiny deems. No forsaking. No in between. Forever in love. Forever we’ll be. For destiny does as destiny deems.”
For a moment no one spoke. No one moved. Then someone yelled, “That’s it? I want my money’s worth!”
“Me too!” another man shouted. “Kick up your heels, sister!”
No danger of that, Josh thought as he pushed forward, since her feet seemed glued to the stage. At least she was smiling.
Oscar banged his fist on a table. “Leave her alone!”
“Gladly! Get off the stage, lady!”
Barky Bob stood on a chair. “Creativity is an art, you no-account skunks!”
“Art stinks, and so does she!”
Big Amos Rind stood up and cold-cocked the loudmouth.
All hell broke loose.
Seth flattened a half-dozen men before someone smashed a bottle over his head and really ticked him off.
Josh ducked a roundhouse, punched one drunk, and threw another over his shoulder. He looked up just in time to see Burgess Riley pushing through the green velvet backdrop. A sea of flying fists and chairs stood in between Josh and the stage. He jumped up and launched himself from table to table, fury giving him wings as Burgess made a grab for Paris.
She threw a punch and missed. With a roar, the hooligan snatched her up and over his shoulder.
Josh’s foot touched down on the stage just as three Herculean men stormed in from the wings, black dusters billowing at their ankles, hardware holstered for a quick draw. Stetsons pulled low, he couldn’t make out the shadowed upper-half of their faces, but he could feel the heat of their rage from eight feet away. The cleanshaven, fair-haired man kicked out, simultaneously slamming his heel into Burgess’s knee while plucking up Paris. The one sporting a moustache and a dark brown ponytail buffaloed the troublemaker from behind.
The third—a broad-shouldered, square-jawed giant boasting a week’s growth of dark whiskers—spied Josh’s badge and frowned. “Get her out of here,” he told the other two.
Josh stalked past the stern-faced man intent on getting to Paris.
“Sheriff Grant?”
“Who wants to know?”
A hand clamped down on his shoulder and whirled him around. “Your brother-in-law.”
The force of the man’s blow sent Josh flying.
“I know you’re upset.”
“You mean furious.” Rome hefted Paris higher in his arms and fought his way through the wide-eyed acting troupe, his eye on the backstage door.
“Hey, you look like … ”
“They’re shorter than I thought.”
“Can I have your autograph?”
“That dime novel business is getting out of hand,” Boston complained.
Paris choked on emotion, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Her life was as chaotic as the cast’s capsulated rendition of Twelfth Night. Desperate for a happy ending, she skipped back to Act I. “I can explain, Rome. You see there was this advertisement—”
“We know about the advertisement.”
“We also know about the
will,” Boston said.
“But how—”
“It’s what we do,” Rome snapped.
What a fool she’d been to think that she could horns waggle two of Wells Fargo’s best. She wasn’t surprised that they’d tracked her, only that they’d tracked her so fast and learned so much. Mercy, they were mad! Strike that. Furious. “Where’s Athens?” If she ever needed her even-keeled, diplomatic middle brother, it was now.
“Home with the kids.” Boston shook his head. “Lost another nanny.”
“That’s the third one in seven months!”
“Six months,” Rome grumbled.
Sensing their mounting agitation, she spit out another concern before they started lecturing. “How’s Emily?”
“Ticked we wouldn’t bring her along. I wanted to shake the stuffing out of her when she confessed her part in this.” Rome gave her a squeeze. “Do you have any idea of the hell you put us through?”
Poor Emily! Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, London and Josh crashed into the wings, obliterating the prop table. She kicked her legs and socked Rome in the shoulder. “Put me down!”
“No.”
“But London will kill him!”
“Good.”
She struggled to gain her freedom, but the highly trained agent merely tightened his hold and whisked her outside. Usually she was better at tangling with her brothers—as kids they’d wrestled like raccoons—but apparently the mind-numbing bout of stage fright had compromised her reflexes. She’d even missed that big-as-a-barn target, Burgess Riley. Her brothers, on the other hand, never missed. Worried that Josh had met his match, she cast a pleading glance over Rome’s shoulder.
“Don’t look at me, squirt.” Boston kicked shut the back door, muffling the sounds of the raging brawl. “If London doesn’t beat the hell out of the Sheriff, I will.”
On cue, the two men crashed through the door, knocking it from its hinges, plowing into the younger Wells Fargo agent.
Paris squinted in the moonlight, wincing as the three men rolled in the dirt, pummeling each other in a heated mismatch.
Boston rammed a fist into Josh’s gut. “That’s for compromising my sister.”
Josh grabbed his leg and flipped him over, planting a knee in his chest. “She wouldn’t be here at all if you’d been more sensitive to her feelings, you bastard.”
“We had her best interest at heart,” Boston wheezed. “More than I can say for you, you sonuvabitch.”
Paris cringed when London gripped Josh’s shoulder and yanked him to his feet. Maybe if they knew it was legal … “We’re married!”
“We know!” they all shouted.
Rome glanced from her bared cleavage to her fishnets, and cursed. “What kind of man allows his wife to dress like a trollop?”
She blushed and tugged up the neckline. “The gown was Red’s idea.”
“I don’t give a damn whose idea it was.” He dropped her to her feet and whipped off his duster. “Put this on.”
Josh let out a loud grunt.
She slapped away Rome’s coat and tried to dodge his hulking frame. “Two against one isn’t fair!”
“Stay out of this,” Josh yelled, clipping London’s chin with a fierce upper cut.
London retaliated, but Josh ducked, causing him to catch Boston with a roundhouse. The youngest Garrett brother landed in a water trough with a splash and a blasphemous oath.
Forcing her arms into the sleeves of his duster, Rome ordered her to stay put then turned to join the fight.
Josh was dead for sure.
Panicking, she lunged forward, snagged one of Rome’s guns and fired.
Her golden-haired brother gawked down at the nicked toe of his boot. “What the hell, Paris? You almost shot me in the foot!”
Shocked by her own behavior, she staggered back, jerking the .45 out of his reach when he made a grab. “I was aiming for the cactus.”
“Are you blind?”
“Booze blind, maybe,” Josh wheezed.
Paris looked at her husband who stood hunched over, his hands braced on his knees. Rumpled and bloodied, he looked only slightly worse than her brothers. London dabbed his sleeve to his cut, swollen lip, while Boston climbed out of the trough, shaking off like a wet hound. They all glared in her direction. Although she wasn’t fond of the sudden attention, she was thrilled that she’d waylaid the beating. “I’m as sober as a monk,” she assured them. She’d taken one sip out of Red’s flask, gagged, and reconsidered. She didn’t want false courage. She figured that if she were meant to be a musical actress, if she possessed one iota of honest desire, surely she’d overcome her nerves. She’d reached for the stars only to be paralyzed with stage fright.
Salvation had come by way of an encouraging request.
Mason wasn’t the only one with a heart as big as Mexico. Her brown-eyed savior had looked into her soul, urging her to do what came naturally.
What came naturally was loving Joshua Grant. She didn’t plan on doing it from hundreds of miles away. Even six feet was too far. Shoving past Rome and London, she closed the distance and placed her palm over his pounding heart. “I don’t want to go to New York City.”
“That’s good,” London said, coming up behind her. “Because you’re going home with us.”
Josh tucked her tousled hair behind her ears. “Over my dead body.”
“Easily arranged,” Rome said, nudging them apart.
Boston cracked his knuckles.
An acrid smell blew in on the night breeze, diverting their attention to the opposite end of town. Josh ducked his head in the Lucky Lady and shouted for help. Paris pocketed the gun and raced toward the sickening glow.
She nearly choked on the stench of dreams going up in smoke.
Josh’s blood boiled as he sprinted toward the burning veranda, three-quarters of the surrounding population on his heels. Since Burgess was incapacitated, Niles had to be at fault. He hadn’t seen the bastard since the outbreak of the bar fight. Pushing his despicable cousin out of his mind, he ordered Paris to stop throwing sand on the fire and to make way for the men.
The same rowdies who’d been busting up the Lucky Lady formed a bucket brigade in a united effort to save the Desert Moon.
Oscar, Barky Bob, Tom, and Big Amos Rind shouted at the men to move faster. London Garrett assumed control, issuing directives and achieving miraculous results in record time. Rome and Boston worked alongside Josh and Seth and no matter how many times they all ordered Paris away from the flames, she continued to show up with buckets of water.
“If you don’t stay back by the rain barrel, squirt, so help me … ” Boston shook his fist under her nose.
She slapped it away and trotted to the back of the line, tripping twice on the overly long hem of Rome’s duster.
“I swear she’s more sassy than ever.” Rome cast an accusatory glance at Josh.
“Passionate,” Josh corrected. He wouldn’t want her any other way. Though he was relieved she had no interest in New York City, he would have helped her pack her bags if becoming a star was her heart’s desire. Then he would have packed his own bags and bought a ticket east. He’d start from the beginning and court her proper like if that’s what it took to prove his love. He finally understood the extent of his pa’s despair when his own wife had left this earth. True love was all consuming, a fire that burned brighter, hotter with each passing day. How cold the world must have seemed when her light had been doused. How dark and unbearable.
He shook off the morbid notion, tossed an empty bucket to Seth, and snagged a spare ax. Hacking at the burning wood, he imagined Niles lurking in the shadows, getting his kicks by watching him destroy Mason’s dream with his own two hands. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he thought about another unscrupulous bastard. “Where’s Burgess?”
“The jailhouse. Not that he’s going anywhere.” Seth cocked a thumb at Rome. “Golden boy busted his leg.”
“He had his hands on my siste
r.” Rome slammed the back of his hand into Josh’s shoulder. “Speaking of which—”
“Burgess’s suffering gave me some leverage,” Seth interrupted. “Medical attention in return for a confession.”
“What did you learn?” Josh asked, ignoring the aggressive Garrett.
“He admitted to stealing your saddle, and harassing Paris. Personal gripe. Admitted to shooting Cobb Sprite. Lost his temper. Took a bit, but he finally admitted to stealing that will for your cousin. As I suspected, the fires were set by Niles.”
“Speaking of that will, or more to the point that stipulation … ” Rome swung his own ax into a burning slat of wood then yanked it clear of the veranda. “You tricked my sister into marriage for your own selfish gain. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you, Grant.”
“I’d have to hang you,” Seth cut in, waving away the thickening smoke.
“I’d like to see you try,” Boston said, coughing as he breathed in a lung full of ash.
“Focus!” London bellowed over the heads of several other men.
Josh focused on Paris who’d approached the opposite end of the veranda. Toting two heavy buckets, she lost her balance and teetered too close to the flames. The hem of her brother’s coat caught fire. “Goddammit.” He bolted across the grounds, stomped out the flames, hauled her up and carted her across the street. “So help me, if I have to tie you to this hitching post, I will!”
She punched him in the chest, jolting his pulse back to life. “I’m trying to help, you obstinate baboon!”
“Fine.” He nabbed an abandoned piece of twine and roped her wrists to the rail. “You can help by staying out of trouble.”
He was halfway back to the Moon when she screamed, “Wait’ll I get my hands on you, Joshua Grant!”
“Looking forward to it!” He grinned. No matter what happened to the Desert Moon, he’d still have his pain-in-the-neck wife. Mason, and fate, had made him a wealthy man.
Rome glanced over at Paris, who wiggled while biting at the twine. “You hitched my sister to a rail,” he noted in a gruff tone.
“You got a problem with that?”