Trouble in Disguise: 5 (Eclipse Heat)

by Gem Sivad

  He gave her the cell keys and left. She barred the door and removed the layers of clothing she wore, using the pail of water in the corner to wash up before she brushed off Calvin’s Hutchinson suit and sewed on the button Deacon had cut from the shirt.

  “There, good as new,” she told it and patted the front. Maybe she could sell the suit at a dry-goods store. It had cost too much to let it lay fallow.

  She washed the white shirt, trying not to remember why she loved it and why it was practical to sell it with the suit. By the time she’d hung up her laundry, Miri was bone tired. She’d been on strict mental alert for weeks. Her time at the Pleasure Dome had been particularly difficult since Calvin had been a new identity for her to master.

  She sighed. At least the role of Calvin had been a change. She’d studied the clerk at Osgood’s when she’d purchased her suit and copied his accent and mannerisms. It had worked and voila, she had another character in her repertoire.

  Miri’s knack for mimicking voices and such came in real handy. She admitted that she’d played Beauregard so often, had she not caught a glimpse of Deacon McCallister occasionally, the unused feminine part of her would have dried up and blown away on the Texas wind.

  Pensively Miri brushed the snarls from her hair, thinking about what she’d done with the other bounty hunter. A wry grin twisted her lips. I tricked him into having carnal relations with me, that’s what I did. Shame scorched her cheeks as she admitted that without chicanery she’d never have gotten to experience his touch.

  Well then, I’m glad I cheated, she thought grimly. Growing up half wild and on her own the way she had, she’d kept her eye out for males of interest, figuring that someday she’d find one who suited her. When she’d clapped eyes on the red-haired bounty hunter the first time she’d darn near swooned.

  Wearing the shirt she’d earlier stolen from him, Miri lay down on the cot. All day she’d focused on work, waiting for bedtime to savor her previous night’s experience. Now that she could, her mind tiptoed around the events, not sure which to explore first.

  He said my skin felt like silk. She snorted at that idea, holding her rough, calloused hand in front of her eyes as evidence of Deacon’s mistake.

  Miri closed her eyes and slid her hands under his shirt and up her ribs to cup her breasts. Her lips curved in a smile, remembering the way Deacon’s chest hair had tickled her nipples. They ached, sore from his lusty attentions.

  She’d never thought of her breasts as anything but a nuisance. Caressing them as if for the first time, Miri admitted she was almost proud of the plump mounds now that she knew Deacon like them.

  He kissed and suckled ’em somethin’ fierce. Miri caught one stiff bud between finger and thumb and squeezed the pebbled end, wincing at the pain that was both good and bad. Hastily she wet her finger before circling the taut peak with liquid heat. Remembering the feel of his mouth, her back arched and she thrust her breasts high as if reaching for his pleasure again.

  Dammit, I’m lying on the jail cot aching with want for him all over again. Miri groaned, the sound a reminder of the previous night’s grunts and moans and sighs. She’d thought having her way with Deacon once would end her silly yearnings. Instead, she curled in misery, staring at the bars on the window and knowing that she’d had her taste and it wouldn’t happen again.

  He wanted me. She knew he had from the way his manhood had stood stiff and ready. The idea excited her so much her hand clenched as if closing around his engorged erection.

  Her other hand drifted to her belly, feeling again the pressure of his hard body rubbing against hers. Need clawed in her chest, making it difficult to breathe as she pictured their naked lengths tangled together. Thinking about the night before was a mistake. Heat coiled in her womb and her nerves tightened against frustrated desire.

  She relented and tried to ease her torment. Tentatively she slid a finger down the crease separating the lips of her sex. Her feminine folds were drenched in liquid at the thought of having Deacon McCallister again. She cupped one of her breasts, pinching the nipple until a whimper of pleasure escaped her lips.

  She rotated her finger, pressing on the nubbin of nerves at her apex and sending tingles of sensation skittering up her spine. Her womb flexed, silently asking to be filled again. Her ministrations weren’t enough. She rubbed the sensitive knot the way Deacon had and squeezed her nipple even harder.

  Miri pictured her hands sliding through Deacon’s pelt as he leaned above her. She tucked her chin beneath the shirt collar, burying her nose in the fabric to add his scent to her memory, wishing she could preserve the smell forever.

  He put his hand under my rump and lifted me. Her hips came off the cot and followed the bliss her fingers offered. Her pelvis strained upward, thrusting against her own hand until her body clenched and shuddered in release. Collapsed, sweaty and sated after the experience, she felt foolish. Embarrassed at her actions, Miri fell back on a Beauregard story.

  “I ’spect that was what the nuns warned us fellers about.” She snorted at her own joke. Though remembering made her grin, she had to be her own audience since she had no one to share the memory with.

  At one of the stops on her way to Texas, she’d been playing a male when she attended a Louisiana school run by nuns. The good women had herded the schoolboys to a meeting with the priest and Miri, dressed as Beau, had been included when the nuns instituted the roundup. The priest had explained to the boys that touching their male organs for any reason but pissing was wrong.

  He’d stared at them all real hard and said if they’d been frigging themselves, when they went to confession they needed to apologize to God and not do it anymore.

  The nuns had been more direct. They’d claimed when boys touched themselves for pleasure, hair grew on their palms. Silly as Miri had thought that warning, after her current experience with carnal pleasure, she checked her hands for signs of fur.

  By the slant of the moon, she could tell it was well past midnight and she was still awake, wasting her time whining. She was hungry and she wanted coffee. There wasn’t any food to be had, but Hiram had coffee beans in a can.

  She swung to her feet and went to the bucket, washing before smoothing the wrinkles from Deacon’s shirt.

  “Damn,” she muttered, staring at the dirty water and weighed the pros and cons of going to the town well for clean.

  Might as well lock up here, drop the key to the jail off at the hotel where Hiram is staying and be on my way. But another part of her was so bone-weary she felt incapable of moving from the sheriff’s office back to the outlaw trail.

  A loud hammering on the door interrupted her indecision. Miri tucked her hair up high before pulling on her shaggy brown wig. Quickly she donned her buckskin pants and let Deacon’s shirttails hang long as she padded to the door, unbarring it and swinging it open. And there he was.

  “Deacon,” she managed to drawl without stammering. “Kinda early in the day for a visit.” Her spirits moments before had been lower than a dog’s belly, but suddenly they soared. She felt her lips curve into a playful grin that turned into a scowl when he glared at her.

  “I figured I’d find you here,” he growled.

  “I’m playing deputy for Hiram tonight. What’s it to you?” She opened the door and then, suddenly aware that she was bareheaded and revealing way too much of Beau’s features, she grabbed her hat off Hiram’s desk and clapped it on her head.

  She needn’t have worried. He wasn’t looking at her. He’d crossed to where she’d left Calvin’s butlering suit. And he was staring at the half-dry ruffled shirt hanging beside it.

  It was difficult keeping her expression innocent since the last time he’d seen the shirt, she’d been wearing it and other than that had been naked.

  “Hiram’s at the hotel,” she volunteered. “I’ll go get him.” She was still sock footed and planned to flee sans boots. She hadn’t made it through the door when Deacon stopped her.

  “Hold up there. I need to tal
k to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Any coffee makings?” He walked away from the suit and looked around hopefully.

  “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  “First off, thanks again for saving my life.” Her smile hadn’t completely formed when he added, “Second, what in hell are you doing risking your friend’s life? Twice now you’ve sent her into danger. Dammit, Beauregard, do you have any idea what could have happened to her in Pettigrew’s camp?”

  “She earned her share of the payout same as you. I don’t think my business with Miri is any business of yours. As a matter of fact, she was helping me catch another wanted when she ran into you.”

  “Ned Jackson.”

  “Yep. So how do you know about him?”

  “Suppose I could tell you where to find him again?”

  Miri felt the blood in her veins chill. Deacon’s smug expression didn’t bode well. Outrage swelled in her chest.

  “If you know where he is, then you got him out of the Fort Worth jail. Why would you do that? He’s worth fifteen hundred dollars to me.”

  “He’s worth a hell of a lot more than that if we can find the plates being used to print the fake money. I’ve talked to the government men. Jackson’s small potatoes compared to the real quarry.”

  Miri grabbed the bucket, glad to get out of the office and away from Deacon. She had to resist the temptation to hit him in the head with the pail. She took her time at the town pump, reminding herself that in spite of his arrogance and high-handed manner, he’d done her more than one favor.

  Criminy. I saved his life. That ought to count for something. Plus, he was the man who had become her lover even if he didn’t know it.

  Deacon lounged in the sheriff’s office doorway, and she could feel his gaze on her when she returned with the water. Her pulse fluttered wildly.

  Ketchum trotted up and butted her free hand so she would scratch his head. She quit what she was doing, set the bucket on the boardwalk and grabbed her wolf around the neck.

  “You mangy beast, did you check on Possum this morning?” Ketchum rumbled a mock growl before licking her chin. She rubbed her face against his fur, scratched behind his ears and then stood.

  “Better rest up for the hunt, buddy. Thanks to the no-account thieving varmint blocking the sheriff’s door, we’ll be on the trail again today.”

  Done with his morning greeting, Ketchum disappeared into the alley, leaving Miri alone in the shadow but for Deacon. He stood in the doorway watching her.

  “How old are you, kid?”

  “Old enough to recognize shenanigans when I see ’em,” she answered, warming up to her complaint. Now that Deacon was here, her distress had been replaced with a mix of anger and relief. “I left my prisoner locked up in the Fort Worth jail for the US marshal to certify. Sheriff Tully turned Ned loose. Now you claim you know where Ned is, which means you stole my catch and stashed him somewhere. Some things appear to be a mite out of kilter in this picture.”

  Miri stopped in front of him, waiting for him to move rather than squeeze by him in the narrow doorway. Aside from Hiram, he was one of the few people significantly taller than her. She knew her disguise was good from the front and back, but from the top she wasn’t so confident. Nor up close if she had to brush against him to get by.

  “You smell like that damn wolf.” He leaned close to her and sniffed.

  The female part of her was appalled. She was having a difficult time staying in character. A dormant feminine side of her nature always fluttered to life around Deacon and the fact that she was close enough for him to inhale her scent and she smelled like Ketchum upset her. She gritted her teeth and mustered her best Beau snarl.

  “Yer crowding me, McCallister. Make up yer mind if’n yer in or out, but whatever ya do, move.”

  “That’s my shirt,” he muttered and withdrew from the doorway only to catch the tail of her shirt as she scooted by. “Where did you get my shirt?”

  “It fell out of the sky and hit me on the head,” she answered and pulled free. Miri wrapped herself in Beau’s persona as she put the coffee on to perk, then turned to face Deacon, prepared to talk business.

  “Spit it out, McCallister. What’s yer angle? If you were gonna cash in on Ned, you’d already have done it. But you didn’t because he’s my catch.”

  “Nope. Harold Tully was shocked to discover you’d disregarded the Pleasure Dome’s neutrality and turned him loose. I wouldn’t go back to Fort Worth for a time if I was you.”

  “I didn’t tell Harold squat when I dropped Jackson off. Let me guess, you decided to fill in the gaps of Sheriff Tully’s knowledge.”

  “I always think it’s best for all players to know what’s going on. And I’ll ask one more time. Where did you get my shirt?”

  She couldn’t very well jerk it over her head and hand it to him because she hadn’t bound her breasts. It was a quandary. She shouldn’t have kept the shirt, she sure shouldn’t have worn it and now she was caught trying to explain it. Attack seemed the only option.

  “You are dumb as well as greedy, McCallister, if you think this is done. After I saved your miserable hide, I spent six weeks tracking him.” She didn’t really have to pretend outrage when she thought of all the time she’d spent following her quarry.

  “Don’t know why,” he drawled. “It took me less than an hour to catch him. You must be doing something wrong, Beauregard.”

  Least said soonest mended. And I need to skedaddle on out of here. She ignored the taunt, filled two mugs with coffee and handed one to Deacon. “What’s yer game?”

  He didn’t seem in any hurry to conduct business. She remained impassive, refusing to unbend and give him the satisfaction of argument.

  “Good coffee. Strong enough to grow hair on your chest,” he said. Almost casually he returned to her age with a compliment. “I’d say you’re not old enough for this business but you’ve managed to cut a chunk for yourself.” He saluted Miri in appreciation.

  “I’m old enough to spot a snake in the grass before I step.” Miri dodged his question for the second time by being surly.

  “Simmer down. I have to admit you did a fine job of tracking the counterfeiter.” Deacon pulled up a chair, straddling it as he faced her.

  Since it wasn’t like McCallister to heap praise on his competition, she viewed him with suspicion and shrugged.

  “Sit down. Let’s talk.” He tipped his hat to the back of his head before resting his arms on the chair.

  She edged farther from him, leaning her shoulders against the wall and standing nonchalantly with folded arms. He locked gazes with her in a staring contest that mocked his earlier show of civility. She noted the stern slant of his lips before he spoke.

  “I want her name and where she lives.” His words caught her off guard, since they’d been tussling over the counterfeiter.

  “Who?” She stalled for time.

  “You know who. The woman you sent to my room. Don’t lie or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. I already talked to Lydia.”

  Wash my mouth out with soap? How old does he think I am? Miri caught back the gurgle of laughter threatening to erupt and turned it into a snort.

  “I ’spect Lydia loves talkin’ to ya. Myself, I spent my time at the Pleasure Dome avoiding Lydia.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Deacon said gruffly. “When you were posing as Lydia’s butler, you sent a woman to my room. I want to know where I can find her and you want to know where the counterfeiter is staying. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

  “Why?” Miri hedged. This was a strange how do you do. She didn’t think men normally wanted to know the women they’d used in whorehouses.

  At the same time she preened, mentally fluffing her fledgling feminine feathers, she recognized the absurdity of his request. It really wasn’t feasible for Beauregard to introduce Miri to Deacon.

  But then again, why not? The humor of the situation threatened to send her into peals of
laughter. For once she definitely had the upper hand in dealing with Deacon McCallister.

  Chapter Five

  Deacon wanted to tan Beauregard’s hide. Payback was hell. The kid knew he had him over a barrel and he was deliberately stalling. And to add icing to the cake, the brat was wearing Deacon’s shirt.

  “What do you mean, why?” Deacon growled, his patience stretched thin. Beauregard blew on the hot coffee and then lounged against the far wall, sipping it.

  “Why do ya want her name now? Did ya not introduce yerself afore ya had yer way with her?”

  Heat scorched up Deacon’s neck to burn his ears. The brat sauntered to the coffee, poured himself a cup and took a sip before he answered his own question.

  “Well then, Deacon, it seems like she didn’t want ya to know her name if you asked and she didn’t say.”

  “You just point me in the right direction. I’ll change her mind.”

  “Nope. Can’t be giving out information about my friends to just any hooligan who comes along.” The kid was shaking his head before Deacon got the final words out.

  “So you admit she’s your friend?”

  “From time to time we’ve helped each other. I’ll have to see if she’s interested in meeting you again. Meanwhile, I want to question my prisoner.” Beauregard’s expression was determined.

  “Name first. Then I’ll see about an interview with Ned.”

  “Miri,” she snapped. “Now where is Ned and when can I question him?”

  “Ned’s on the MC3. I’ll arrange a visit with him after I’ve met with Miri.”

  “Not until I’ve asked her. She might not want to meet with a lowdown polecat who’s swindled a friend of hers.”

  “If Miri is such a good friend, why in hell did you steer her to the Pleasure Dome? You ought to have your ass kicked for such a thing.” Rage boiled inside him at the miscreant’s poor treatment of his friend.