The wedding ring he’d slipped on her hand was just a simple gold band, the same as the ring she’d given him as she’d sworn to honor and cherish him forever, and probably not much smaller than his. She never took it off, not even when helping a mare deliver a foal. The damned thing might not even slide off now, worn down into a permanent ring in her flesh.
But it was time for new beginnings. Jeb had bought her a ring once upon a time, and Ty himself had told her Jeb would finally ask for her hand. She couldn’t be wearing her old wedding band if and when he asked.
She tried to slide the old band off, but it wouldn’t budge over her knuckle, which was always a little swollen from all the banging up she tended to do working around the ranch. She strode into the bathroom and used a little soap and water to finally work the ring off. Her skin was pale and white, dented from decades of wear. Her finger looked misshapen and deformed, like her too-skinny arm.
She took a deep breath, trying to figure out what she was feeling. Surprisingly, no guilt. Ty had already made sure she didn’t harbor any regrets. No grief, because she’d paid that price in tears and aching loneliness for years. She raised her gaze to her face in the mirror, surprised to see how bright her eyes looked. Not lined and weary with dark bags after a rough night of tossing and turning. Certainly not bloodshot after finishing off another bottle.
For the first time in a long, long time, she actually felt…
Hope. Light. Like she’d set aside an incredibly heavy burden after trudging along on the weary road for so long she’d forgotten what it felt like to walk carefree and normal.
Tears pooled in her eyes, but not from sadness. Not this time.
Returning to the bedroom, she pressed a gentle kiss to the old ring and then slipped it into the hatband of Ty’s favorite hat, right beside the cigarette. He’ll always keep it safe for me.
16
The Lady Always Gets Her Man by Chris Waters
Reduced to card tricks any circus hack could do with his eyes closed, Ransom sat at the poker table crammed with bystanders—no players—and tried not to grind his teeth to dust. He’d gone through the saloon regulars in an hour, even though he’d let them all win their modest little bets. He wasn’t here for money or the thrill of the game.
All he wanted was Victorious Raynes.
She walked into the saloon on the sheriff’s arm. She smiled and let him seat her first, chatting lightly as though she didn’t have a care in the world. To everyone else, she might look fine, but Ransom knew her too well to buy that act. She was scared. Scared real bad. And nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, pissed him off more.
He’d seen her beaten by her drunken father. Practically starving to death while her mother slaved to keep her and the baby from freezing in their falling down one-room shack. She’d grown up into an incredibly gorgeous wild young thing that had learned to fight dirty at an early age to keep greedy men from taking what wasn’t theirs. She’d gotten on a mustang that had thrown—and killed—its last rider and ridden it to a standstill. She’d stood down stagecoach robbers, lust-crazed drunks and hungry wolves without ever missing a beat.
But smiling and talking with the sheriff, she couldn’t keep her hands still. Her fingers checked her bun, no doubt making sure the small blade or long hairpin she’d stashed was still there (she’d learned that trick from him). Then she tugged on each sleeve of her gown. Long and tight with lace falling over the backs of her hands, the sleeves likely concealed a blade tucked up each forearm. She twirled the pink parasol that dangled from her wrist, though she didn’t pop it open.
However, the most glaring tell of all: she lightly touched the hollow at the base of her throat. He knew what was hidden beneath the prim neckline of her gown. A simple silver cross that had been her grandmother’s. The only thing Tori treasured and the one small possession she kept from her previous life like a talisman.
Was her scam starting to fall apart at the seams? Was she scared the sheriff was going to arrest her? What? What had happened to bring such a confident, deadly woman to such fear?
Until he stood up and headed toward her table, he didn’t know. Then her wide, dark green eyes latched on to him and he actually stumbled.
Me. She’s scared of me.
“Mr. Savage.” Sheriff Brazen didn’t miss much, even if he seemed oblivious to his lady’s unease. “Did you already clear out all those poor saps?”
“No sir,” he replied automatically, his words flat and dead. How could she even think he’d betray her? They’d sparred at the store, sure, but he’d never put her in harm’s way. Never. He’d let the sheriff haul him off to jail this very moment if that meant she’d ride away free. She had to know that. Surely she wasn’t afraid he’d come for the money she’d stolen out of his saddlebags. Money didn’t mean a damned thing to him. He could recoup his losses in a single high-stakes poker game if the need arose. “Halltown hasn’t been too lucky for me.”
“That’s a shame.” The sheriff’s wide smile belied his words. “I figured as much. High rollers don’t last long here. Much better games in St. Louis, New Orleans or San Francisco. Now that’s the place to be, so I’ve heard. Money flowing through the streets like water.”
Ransom nodded, trying not to stare at her, but he felt like a damned fool standing here helpless while she practically quaked with dread. Silently, she sipped a sherry and didn’t even look at him.
Sherry, for God’s sake. The woman could drink hard liquor better than he could. It was as crazy as seeing her sip tea with a bunch of ladies they would have sneered at and made fun of as teenagers. As crazy as the proper gown she wore that concealed her glorious body.
“Say,” Sheriff Brazen drawled out even slower than usual, as though putting a great amount of thought and effort into his words. “Since you’re still here, I was meaning to ask you something. If I saw you again.”
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“Do you know Miss Raynes from somewhere?”
She didn’t say a word, didn’t move a muscle. In fact, Ransom was pretty sure she wasn’t even breathing. “Why do you ask?” He stalled for time, trying to read her body language. Had she told a big windy about where she might have run into him? He had no idea how much of her past she’d shared with the sheriff. Surely the man realized she wasn’t completely respectable if she was willing to dine in a saloon. Certainly none of the other ladies would be caught dead in here, even if the floozies weren’t flaunting their wares.
“Curiosity.” His cold blue eyes studied him, cataloging every move, measuring and weighing his tells. “A feeling in my gut.”
Careful. This game has the highest stakes of all. “Perhaps you’d better see the doc for that.”
Sheriff Brazen smiled but his eyes didn’t change, still guarded and intent. “My gut’s rarely wrong.”
“I don’t rightly recall. Miss Raynes, did I ever make your acquaintance before today?”
“Not that I recall,” she said dully.
“There you go,” Ransom said.
“I want to hear it from you.” Brazen leaned back in his chair, his palms spread out on his thighs. Easy reach for his gun, though he’d never get the pistol pulled in time.
Holding the sheriff’s gaze, Ransom leaned forward slightly, using every ounce of will and intent to project his words with as much sincerity as possible. “I never made Miss Raynes’s acquaintance.”
The sheriff nodded slowly. “All right.”
“Is that all you wanted to know?”
“When are you leaving town?”
“I’ve already paid for the hotel’s best room this evening, so unless a game gets interesting, most likely tomorrow.”
The sheriff reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills. “Here’s a refund. Why don’t you get on that fiery horse and ride on out of my town this very night.”
“I see.” Ransom didn’t bother picking up the bills. He risked another glance at Victorious, but she still hadn’t moved other than the slow, stea
dy sipping from her crystal glass. “Is that what you want, Miss Raynes?”
“Why would you ask her if you didn’t know her?”
“Curiosity,” Ransom replied, not looking away from her. “I have a soft spot for damsels in distress. If the lady…”
She turned her head and met his gaze, her eyes flat and cold. “I’m no damsel in distress, Mr. Savage. Please don’t risk the sheriff’s wrath on my account.”
Ransom inclined his head. “As the lady wishes.”
Sheriff Brazen stood and offered him his hand. “I appreciate you being so amiable, Mr. Savage.”
This time their handshake was brief and to the point. The sheriff had already won and he knew it. “I’ve got a great respect for the law, Sheriff.”
“So where’re you headed?”
Ransom strode toward the door, fighting the urge to take one last look at Victorious all the way. “I think I’ll head on over to San Antonio. Then I can catch a ride over to New Orleans. I’ve got a mean craving for some good jambalaya.”
She didn’t even say goodbye. As the door swung shut, he tried not to give up all hope. If Victorious remembered half the things they’d learned and shared together over the years, she’d know exactly where to find him if she needed his help.
And it sure wasn’t going to be stuffing his face in New Orleans.
17
Once upon a time, Jeb had dreamed of this. Sitting in front of a fireplace all slouched down and comfortable with Virginia tucked into his side. Granted, the gas fireplace was for entertainment only and he’d never expected to be living in a modern, sterile-looking apartment, but he’d take it. He’d sit outside in the dirt if he could have her beside him.
She sat up and splashed another couple of fingers of Glenlivet into her glass, offering him a refill too.
“No thanks.” Uneasy tendrils stretched through his stomach, even though she settled back beside him easily. Something’s not right. Not right at all.
They were starting to settle into a routine. She’d spend time with her family during the day, and sometimes the evening too. He didn’t mind, especially when she called him later before bed. Every few nights, she’d ask him to come get her and she’d spend the night with him, each night as glorious as any of the others. In a matter of a few weeks, he’d probably had more sex than he’d had the last ten years.
But she never had him over when her family was home. In fact, he hadn’t stepped foot inside her home since that first day he’d eaten with her family. While the sex was fantastic, she had yet to do anything to him but give a few commands, certainly nothing like a sadist who’d lived with an eager masochist for twenty years would be capable of.
And she’d never had three glasses of Scotch before.
“Long day with Miss Belle?”
She winced and laughed wryly. “You have no idea. That woman makes drill sergeants look soft. I’ve cleaned parts of that house I haven’t seen in twenty years.”
He frowned, worried about her arm. “When do you get the cast off?”
She shrugged. “I’m supposed to go see my doctor tomorrow and look at getting a lighter cast put on for the last few weeks. Then I’ll have to figure out how I’ll get back and forth to physical therapy.”
“You know I’ll drive you anytime you need to go.”
“I know.” She tipped her head against him, giving him an affectionate rub. “I’m going to have to start driving again soon, though I guess that means I’ll have to buy a car first. My Taurus is already a cube of metal somewhere. I think I had that poor old thing nearly fifteen years. No wonder the insurance company sent such a tiny little check.”
Maybe money was a problem. Ty had never cared much for the almighty dollar. “You could always have my car.” She tipped her head so she could shoot him a don’t-you-dare look. “I use the truck for driving around the country anyway. I only bought the Caddy because I was hoping it would entice you into going for another joyride with me.”
“It worked.” She laughed softly, lifting the glass to take another sip. The whiskey darkened her voice to a rich, husky vibrato that was doing crazy things to his body, melting his will that insisted he figure out what was bothering her. “But I couldn’t possibly just take your gorgeous luxury car.”
You could if you married me. What’s mine has always been yours anyway.
Before he could embarrass himself, she changed the subject. “How’s the writing?”
She gave him the opening he’d been hoping for, but he wasn’t quite ready to broach the subject with her. Maybe he’d never be ready. He’d been up front with her for the most part, but there were certain aspects to some of his stories that she might find…
Too close to home.
Sharon never read his stories—never had any interest in them. But once she saw the latest cover with the bold Victorious title, her eyes had narrowed and she’d pulled that book down off the shelf to read the blurb on the back. And she’d known the truth, even though the woman on the cover didn’t physically resemble Virginia at all.
Well, Sharon had jumped to some logical conclusions and never gave him a chance to explain. Yes, his current heroine had originally been based on Virginia and her two men, assuming Jeb could ever count himself as one of hers. But only in the beginning. Things had morphed and changed since he’d started, but anyone who knew Virginia would see some of her traits in Victorious.
Of course, the dedication had been a dead giveaway too. A fatal assumption on his part that his wife would continue to never even pick up one of his books.
For V, the one true love of my life.
“I try not to bother you too much during the day so you can work.”
“You could never be a bother,” he replied. “It’s going well right now. In fact…” He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. “The latest book was nominated for another award.”
She twisted around and propped her cast on his chest. “Oh, Jeb, that’s wonderful!”
The smile on her face tore the ground out from beneath his feet and slung him out into the middle of the ocean. She’s actually proud. Of me.
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s kind of a Western steampunk romp. Lots of crazy fun with big guns, Wild West drama and, at the end, huge robot dinosaurs. I just went crazy with the worldbuilding.”
But that wasn’t why the book resonated with people. The worldbuilding had been fun, sure, but what made the book so important to him were the characters. He tried to think of how he’d tell her.
You see, I based Victorious on you, Ginny. Her sheriff is Ty and her bank robber is me. She loves them both and they love her, to the point where they’d risk anything to keep her safe, and in the end…
They all live happily ever after. Like you and I and Ty could never do.
“And the male character is submissive?”
Her voice drew his gaze up to her face. She set the glass aside and settled on his lap, facing him, her fingers already unbuttoning his shirt. “Yes.”
“So he likes his heroine to take control.”
“Always.” Jeb dared push a little more, trying to see if he could find her sadist side. “He likes anything she likes.”
“Bondage?”
He shuddered, imagining being completely bound and helpless for her. “Absolutely.”
“Lean forward.” He did so, helping her pull his shirt loose from his pants. But she didn’t just want his chest bared. She pulled the material over his head, bringing the shirt around to the front so she could bind his arms. It took a minute with her injured arm, but she managed to tangle him up pretty well, though he could free himself in a heartbeat if she started to fall. “Are you okay with this?”
“Absolutely,” he repeated, putting all his intent and will into that word alone. Use me any way you want, Ginny. Let me take the pain so you don’t have to.
But evidently pain wasn’t on her mind. Or it was, but she refused to show it to him.
She’d been wearing skirt
s each night she stayed with him. Miss Belle might have been tickled pink to finally see her daughter wearing girlie clothes, but Jeb knew she was only wearing things with easy access. Jeans would have been too hard for her to get off with only one arm, and she’d never liked asking for help. It’d be more likely to snow a foot every day in Dallas for a month than for Virginia to ask for assistance with something as mundane as pulling her jeans down. Even though he’d like nothing better than to go to his knees and help her slide the denim down with nothing but his teeth. She stood up just long enough to reach up under her skirts and yank her underwear down. Then she climbed back onto his lap and ground against his erection still trapped in his jeans.
The denim had to be rough on her tender skin. It made him quiver with frustration, desperately yearning to satisfy her every want and need. He didn’t want her hurting herself. He wanted to bear that pain for her. Gladly.
He tried another tactic, lifting his arms back over his head to make his body as open and available as possible. Being a submissive had its advantages, because he sure didn’t mind begging. “Please, Ginny.”
She rose up on her knees and nibbled on his lips. “What do you need?”
“Hurt me.”
Her eyes were heavy and dark, her need rising like a hidden demon she refused to show for fear it’d escape. She reached down and worked his jeans free with her good hand, a slow, lazy fumbling that had him panting and sweating before his dick finally sprang free. “Why should I hurt you?”
“I need it,” he gasped, arching his chest forward, trying to touch her without dropping his arms into the way. “I need you.”
She rubbed her open mouth against his, using her words as a caress. “You don’t need that, trust me. You don’t want to stir that beast up.”
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