Devils on Horseback: Zeke, Book 3

by Beth Williamson

  Naomi had no doubt he’d do it. Zeke appeared to be just as driven as she was, even if they were on opposite sides of the fence. A small, grudging respect for him bubbled up. The thought of him sitting on her wasn’t pleasant at all—he was a big man and would likely smash her into bits.

  “Fine. Where’s the lamp?” she snapped, ready to confront whatever the sheriff was planning.

  He took her wrist and guided her hand to the cool glass of the lamp. A shiver raced up her skin at his touch, making her heart thump hard. His skin was callused and firm, the fingers long, the palm wide. Normally men had dirty, clammy hands that made her shudder in disgust, yet her reaction to Zeke was far from normal. She wasn’t going to call what she felt desire, yet, but it was damn close.

  A hiss sounded from her right as he struck a match. Her eyes watered against the bright intrusion. His face was half-hidden in the meager light, a myriad of shadows disguising the real man who existed behind the badge. The cold-eyed stranger gazed at her, and to her credit, she held his stare until he gestured to the lamp.

  “The match is gonna burn out before you lift the damn thing.”

  Naomi felt a splash of heat in her cheeks as she lifted the glass. The wick lit quickly and she let the globe slide back into place. His gaze found hers and the coolness she’d expected had been replaced by heat. The shadows of the flames danced on the wall behind him, making Zeke appear as though he stood on the verge of hell itself, calling her to join him. Her mouth went dry at the thought.

  “I know it ain’t much of a jail, but it’ll do.” He was back to being a gruff sheriff again, the visual lover he’d been disappearing in a blink.

  Naomi glanced around at the small building. It had obviously seen better days, judging by the tired appearance of the wooden walls. The cookstove in the corner appeared to be the only source of heat. Atop it sat a battered tin coffeepot. A rickety desk stood in front of her, holding the lamp as well as piles of paper stacked neatly atop. Behind it sat an even worse-looking chair.

  It was the object in the far corner that caught her attention. A cage.

  Oh, hell no.

  The bars were obviously put together by hand, uneven yet thick as her wrist. The entire thing couldn’t have been more than five feet wide by six feet long with a sorry-looking tiny cot inside it. The cage looked to be built for an animal rather than human.

  “You are not putting me in that thing.” She cursed the quiver in her voice and her gut.

  He raised one blond eyebrow. “Since you broke the law, Miss Tucker, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  She tried to pull her wrist free, but it was like tugging on the steel cage. There was no give to the man whatsoever. “I’m not a dog to be put in a cage.”

  “It wasn’t built for a dog. You’ll be safe in there for the night.” He started walking over but Naomi dug in her heels.

  “You’re going to have to knock me out because I will not let you put me in there.” Naomi wasn’t about to tell Zeke why she wouldn’t get in the cage. It certainly wasn’t his business to know she’d been kept captive by a crazy man back in Louisiana six months ago. The memory of the four days was enough to make bile crawl up her throat. Her captor had forced her into a cage likely meant for a dog. Before he could do anything besides entertain himself by making her jump, she got free. It was only through the grace of God and a piece of good luck she’d been able to escape.

  He frowned as his eyes flashed fire, the first emotion she’d seen from the cold man. “You have no choice.”

  Zeke tugged harder and Naomi leaned back, putting all her weight into staying put. Her feet started to slide on the loose dirt littering the wood-planked floor. She tried her best to resist, but he was too strong. No matter how hard she yanked, he was like an oak tree, completely unbendable.

  “Don’t make me hurt you, Miss Tucker. I’m just doing my job.” He stopped to glare at her. “I have to do my job.”

  “Your job is not to put me in a cage.” She leaned forward and tried to bite his hand, desperate like a fox caught in a trap to free herself.

  He moved so fast, quick as a blink, and she was back to chest with him as he held her captive with one big arm. The door to the cell creaked open and the sound scratched her ears until she was sure she was bleeding. Zeke got her near the damn cage so fast, there was no way she could have stopped him.

  She punched the steel bars. “Dammit, you son of a bitch. Let me go.”

  Zeke put his lips near her ear. “I’m surprised at your language.”

  Her temper flared even brighter. Much as she wanted to control her emotions, they ran wild. “Oh shut up, Sheriff. You don’t need to be so pompous.”

  Then he did the last thing she expected, he threw back his head and laughed, a hearty gut-busting one that sounded rusty from disuse.

  “I’m glad this is so funny to you.” She tried again to move. “It’s not so funny from where I’m standing.”

  Zeke got his laughter under control and with a final swipe of his eyes, he met her gaze. The merriment had transformed the sober, staid sheriff into a different man, more handsome and appealing, which surprised and unnerved her. It made him much more dangerous to her equilibrium.

  “You are a spicy one, aren’t you, little one?” He smiled then, a beautiful wide grin that knocked her for a loop.

  Naomi honestly hadn’t any idea what lurked beneath the hard shell of the man. He showed the world such a cold, distant, albeit striking exterior. She’d certainly believed that façade to be the truth of who he was, but now she saw it was the lie, and this smiling man was the truth.

  “You have no idea.” She frowned, willing him to hear what she couldn’t say. “Don’t put me in the cage.”

  “Truth is, it’s not quite ready for a prisoner, so we’ll have to make do.” He gestured to the cell door. “It’s not attached yet. The blacksmith is waiting on parts for the hinges.”

  She choked on a laugh. “Half a jail for half a sheriff?”

  “Not very nice, Miss Tucker.” Taking the rope dangling from the bars, he looped it around her wrists, and she found herself tied up instead.

  As she gaped at the rope, he acted as if nothing odd had happened. “I’m going to get us some supper. You hungry?”

  “No, I’m not. My stomach is tied up in a knot so tight I doubt I’ll be able to eat for a week.” She bared her teeth at him.

  “I know the feeling. Sit tight and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Regardless of how she felt, or how much she protested, the obnoxious sheriff just walked out of the jail and left her to rot tied to the cage.

  Rat bastard.

  Chapter Four

  As Zeke walked towards Elmer’s, he took a deep breath, then he took another. Naomi Tucker had him twisted into knots and he needed to clear his head, desperately. From her temper to her passion to her fire, the saloon girl was everything he didn’t like in a woman. He shouldn’t want her, or desire her at all. Merely thinking about being with her could put his new job in jeopardy.

  He didn’t want to believe the attraction had anything to do with her blonde hair and the resemblance to Allison. She’d been the person to remind him there was still good in the world after the war. Her death haunted his heart and his dreams. He didn’t want to believe someone as annoying as Naomi Tucker would remind him of the sweet, gentle beauty.

  Then why the hell was he fascinated by her?

  It irked him that Naomi was the one person who’d made him laugh in years, and dammit, he’d smiled for Christ’s sake! Something about her sharp tongue, her fighting spirit, called to him at a base level. Life just sparkled off her like one of those exploding fireworks on the fourth of July. Hot, bright and loud. Getting tangled up with Naomi was the last thing he needed. What he really needed was to keep this job and get hold of a purpose, namely being a lawman in Tanger.

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nbsp; His boots echoed on the fresh wood planks as he entered the restaurant. Lee raised his eyebrows from his seat at the table by the kitchen.

  “Late supper?”

  “Something like that. You got any beef stew left?” Zeke took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, dismayed to realize he was sweating because of her.

  “Nope, but I’ve got some cornbread. Damn, Margaret can cook it every day and I’d never leave.” Lee’s attitude had changed from angry all the time to angry only half the time. Within the year they’d lived in Tanger, he sometimes even seemed happy, which was a miracle in itself. Zeke hadn’t been able to bring happiness to his brother for quite some time. Since Lee had lost his arm, there had been very few of those light moments. He made a mental note to introduce Lee to Richard Newman—as wounded veterans, they might be able to help each other heal.

  “Give me some of that and something to drink. Cider, milk, water, whatever.” Zeke sat down heavily.

  “Yes, sir.” Lee stood and snapped a salute. “What put the bee up your ass?” he said as he walked towards the back.

  “A fight down at the saloon. Had to arrest the person who started it and I need to spend the night at the jail.” Zeke didn’t know why he didn’t tell Lee his prisoner was a woman. It was as if Naomi was his little secret, his hot, sexy secret with the razor-sharp tongue.

  “I didn’t think Martin had finished the cell.”

  Zeke grimaced. “He didn’t. I’m making do with rope.”

  “I thought the fights had gotten better. Didn’t Lucy hire some new girls to keep the men distracted?” Lee called from the kitchen.

  Zeke couldn’t help the tingle of awareness for exactly who Lucy had hired. He’d never expected she’d be sitting in the jail making his life difficult only days after meeting her.

  “Sometimes womenfolk mess it up worse than men.” Zeke firmly believed that. Females tended to make men all crazy and situations hazy.

  “That’s the gospel truth.” Lee came in carrying a small basket. He held it out to Zeke. “If we didn’t need them for food and babies, I don’t think we’d put up with as much as we do.”

  A soft “harrumph” sounded from behind him. Lee whipped around to find Margaret standing there, and he hadn’t even heard her enter the room. Her light brown hair was a frizzy cloud from a long day’s work in the kitchen. She glared so hard at Lee, Zeke thought perhaps she’d burn a hole in him. To her credit, Lee glanced away first, a bit of embarrassment on his face.

  Zeke hid a smile in his hand by pretending to cough. “Thanks for the vittles, Margaret.” He took the basket and saluted Lee. “Back to the jail.”

  As he walked out of the restaurant, he heard Lee tell Margaret she shouldn’t eavesdrop. When another “harrumph” sounded, Zeke closed the door and left. It was time to get back to his prisoner, like it or not.

  Naomi had acted as if she was afraid of the jail, truly afraid he would do something to her while she was his prisoner. It wasn’t unheard of during the war, and even after, for men to not treat women properly, but for God’s sake, Zeke was a lawman. As such, he would never intentionally hurt anyone he arrested and only used force when necessary, or when ducking a punch.

  It bothered him that she’d even think he’d hurt her. The war was over, and society was no longer running wild. Zeke had taken the job to not only find a purpose, but also to bring order to Tanger, not to cause disorder.

  His hand dug into the handle of the basket as he walked, his irritation with Naomi growing. She’d been nothing but trouble even when she wasn’t in his presence. Zeke might have to talk to Lucy about giving Naomi the boot.

  That saloon girl needed to get out of his life.

  Naomi leaned her forehead against the cool steel bars and forced herself to pray. It had been a long time since she’d spoken to God and doing so went against her vow never to do it. This situation called for some pride swallowing and praying. Both of which she was prepared to do.

  The weak lantern barely lit the corners of the cage. There had to be more in there than a straw mattress on a wooden cot frame. No doubt critters of the four-legged variety as well as the multiple-legged ones. A shudder ripped through her as her gorge rose. She hated spiders worse than anything.

  The thought of anything crawling on her as she slept, or pretended to sleep, forced a small whimper from her throat. When she was in the cage in Louisiana, it was situated in a root cellar, where too many insects made their presence known. Jesus, did she have any happy memories to dwell on? Why was her every thought so dark?

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “It’s nothing but a cage, not your first, likely not your last.”

  Hearing her own voice had a calming effect on her rising panic. Nothing like talking to herself in a jail cell so everyone could believe she was crazy.

  She snorted at the thought.

  “And here I thought you were unhappy in that cell.” Zeke closed the door behind him, his face a mask of cold indifference again. Gone was the laughing, smiling man and in his place, the bastard sheriff with nothing to do but throw her in a cage.

  “I am unhappy. The thought of kicking your ass made me laugh.”

  He pursed his lips together and swallowed, then glanced down so the brim of his black hat hid his face. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. The man masked his emotions really well.

  “I brought some food.” He held up a basket and the smell of cornbread wafted past her.

  Her stomach rolled. “I told you I wasn’t hungry. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to eat while I’m tied up like an animal.” She stepped back away from the bars as far as she could, two feet at most. Perhaps reining in her temper would be a good idea. Zeke didn’t strike her as the kind of man who reacted well to outbursts of anger. “P-please let me out.” It was the please that made her stutter. She didn’t want to ask anything of him, especially after the way he’d treated her.

  Damn the man. Instead of answering, he went over to the desk and picked up the chair. She watched with interest as he carried it over to the cell and set the chair down just outside the cage. When he sat and reached into the basket, Naomi should have been angry he chose her incarceration to have a picnic.

  But she wasn’t.

  She felt absurdly comforted to have another human being near her, even if he was the person who tied her up in the first place. He bit into the cornbread then pulled out a jar of what appeared to be milk. Against her will, her mouth watered at the memory of how sweet, fresh milk tasted back home. She swallowed the urge to ask him for a drink.

  Acting the gentleman, Zeke pulled his neckerchief off and set it on his leg to perch the cornbread on while he opened the milk. As he took a long gulp, she watched his throat move, fascinated with the symphony of muscles and bone in his neck. When he finished, a milk mustache remained on his strong upper lip.

  Naomi burst into laughter, she couldn’t help it. The image of Zeke Blackwood, the big, bad lawman, with milk on his lip sent howls through her. He started eating the cornbread again, observing her as she tried to control her mirth.

  A stitch stabbed at her side, finally breaking her laughter down. She leaned over and took several deep breaths, still chuckling now and again. Until she glanced up and saw the milk. After a few minutes, she was able to look at him without laughing like a hyena. The cornbread must have wiped some of it off, but each time he took a swallow, the white mustache reappeared.

  “I’m glad my supper makes you laugh.” He chewed on a bite of cornbread. “Never had that happen before.”

  She pointed at the milk. “Never saw a lawman drink milk like a kid before.”

  Zeke’s eyes widened ever so slightly when he understood what she was saying. He used his thumb to wipe off his lip, then stuck the digit in his mouth. Tingles spread through her as he licked the milk off his calloused thumb and she wanted to tell him to stop
. There was no reason for the attraction between them to happen, yet it did. Without rhyme or reason, her body seemed to take over at moments, reacting to him as she’d never done with a man before.

  Naomi looked away towards the lantern. “That wick is lousy. I can barely see my hand in front of my face.”

  She was thankful her voice didn’t shake, but various parts of her still thrummed with arousal from seeing the sheriff lick his own finger. Wasn’t she in a pickle? In jail for a saloon fight, attracted to the sheriff who put her in there, and ready to mount him because he liked milk.

  “Tanger doesn’t have a lot of money. The town almost died out last year and it’s just getting back on its feet.” He held up the last bite of cornbread. “The restaurant’s been open a month but only serving good food for a week.” He popped the bite in his mouth and thankfully wiped his hands with the neckerchief. She didn’t need to see another tongue show, thank you very much.

  “Lots of towns are dying. There ain’t much money anywhere since the war. Folks do what they can to get by. I can show you how to make better wicks.” Naomi didn’t know what possessed her to say that. What would the sheriff care about making lantern wicks?

  He tipped his hat back and regarded her. “You have skills other than serving drinks then?”

  Naomi swallowed back a sharp retort, annoyed with him for ruining her fun. “You’d be surprised how many skills I’ve had to learn, by necessity mostly.” She shrugged. “I found that most of them didn’t put food in my belly for long.”

  Zeke’s expression softened. “I know what you mean.”

  Their gazes locked and the moment hung in the air. A connection between them, a common bond, blossomed against Naomi’s will. She didn’t want to be anything like him, or to soften her opinion of the hard-nosed lawman, yet she was helpless to stop it.

  “I think you mean that.”

  He shook his head. “You sure are cynical, Miss Tucker.”

  “Pot calling the kettle black. You might just as well call me Naomi, seeing as how I’ve ridden your shoulder already.”