by Amy Faye
"I don't know," he answered finally. His shoulders sagged and he leaned against the wall heavily. "That's what I've been worrying about for the past four hours."
Marie stood up. "I'm sorry I was irritable."
He shook his head. "Naw, I get it."
She stepped closer and the tone of the room shifted as she got closer still, now clearly in his space. "I don't have any way to pay you back, and now this is twice you've been looking out for me."
He looked hard at her, his eyes boring right through. "Don't do this, girl. I don't have the energy to tell you no."
She leaned in until she could smell him, gently masculine, and then closer still, until she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"Good," she whispered. "Then don't."
Twenty-Six
The over-eager way that she pressed her lips against his, hungry for something just around the corner, told Chris everything he needed to know about the experience the woman in front of him had before this. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm, though, her soft body pressed into his from the roundness of her hips to the swell of her breasts.
Her fingers dug into his waist, trying to pull him closer. She was on the tips of her toes and even still, Chris had to lean down to let her reach. He wrapped one arm around her chest and lifted her up. Her legs immediately moved to try to set some of her weight on his hips.
It had the side-effect of pressing her womanhood against him. He was so hard that it ached, more than just distracting. He ground his hips up into her and was rewarded with a mewling whimper. She didn't stop him, though, nor did she slow her kiss.
Marie's tongue probed at his lips and he parted them to allow her in, his tongue dancing with hers. She was moving fast, wasn't she?
He pulled away. "Last chance to change your mind," he breathed. It took a real force of effort to stop as long as he had.
She answered by rocking her hips forward. "Shut up and kiss me."
He intended to do a great deal more than that, though. He turned, her weight still suspended in his arms, and dropped her on the sofa. She bounced a little ways back up, and by the time she was settled he was beside her, working the buttons on her dress as quick as his thick fingers would allow.
Her skirt came off easily. How many layers did these proper ladies wear, he cursed. Then a wicked idea struck him, and his hand started to trace a line up between her thighs. There was one sure way to avoid too much trouble.
Marie was gasping for air, now, her breath coming in ragged spurts that had a little more voice to them than might have been absolutely necessary. His cock strained against his jeans, desperate to get out and join the game.
He found her already moist. His fingers barely grazed across her lips and she jolted in surprise, her hand darting down to stop him. She stopped it as he did it again, his fingers darting between the outer lips and finding the hardened nub at the top of her womanhood.
Her legs parted for him and he couldn't stop a smile from spreading on his face.
"Oh, you liked that?"
"Shut up," she said again. There was something erotic about hearing her using that kind of language.
"I'll shut up when I please," he growled. His fingers dipped lower and promptly thrust inside.
She didn't respond with heavy breathing or soft mewls, this time. She let out a full-throated groan of pleasure. His fingers explored the inside of her, her walls gripping him, pulling him in with the vain hope that he'll be inside long enough to complete some evolutionary need.
She let out a soft whimper when he withdrew his hands from her skirt. She needed something more, something that she hadn't gotten yet. Chris knew exactly what that thing was, even if she didn't. And he had every intention of giving it to her.
He worked his belt loose and opened the fly on his jeans. He settled into the place between her thighs, enjoying the way that they gripped around his hips, and lined himself up with her entrance.
Marie's breath came hard and heavy, her eyes halfway-closed with arousal. Then he started to press in, and they shot open. He pushed the rest of the way in and held himself there for a long moment, his lips pressing against the soft skin of her neck, enjoying the feeling of her body so close to his.
"Are you alright?"
She didn't answer right away. She was caught somewhere, he could hear, between wanting to take shallow breaths and taking them too fast, too deep.
"I'm alright," she said. He smiled.
"Ready?"
She nodded. Chris didn't need her to say it twice. His hips moved back and slammed forward again, thrusting himself as deep into her as their cramped position would allow. Her arms reached around his neck and pulled tight, but he didn't stop himself.
His movements were quick and powerful. Whatever concern for her well-being he might have had was gone, now, taking whatever he could get in order to sate his animal lust. Her voice in his ear drove him harder, faster, sending him onto the edge of madness as they fucked.
Her legs locked around his hips, helping with each thrust to push him in deeper, to add just a bit more sharpness to the movement. He could feel his rhythm starting to slip, could feel the threat of orgasm on the horizon.
Her body started to shake below him, her control starting to slip again as her voice got louder. It only drove him harder, only made him need her more. He could feel her clamping down on him again, sucking him in deeper and fighting every time he tried to pull away, only to welcome him in every time he pushed back inside.
He closed his eyes and moved roughly, his mind almost completely gone, forcing himself into her all the way to the hilt as his own orgasm exploded through him, filling her to the brim. As the haze of need started to clear he could hear her heavy breathing below him, the way that her breasts, under her blouse, rose and fell as she gasped for air.
His lips pressed against hers. Chris Broadmoor's entire life, it seemed, had been mistakes up to this point. This time, he'd made the right decision.
It was Marie who had made the mistake. His kissed her again. He wasn't going to tell her that, though. Not if he could help it.
Twenty-Seven
Marie's night was a blur, or a haze. She hadn't figured out which, yet, but overlayed over the top of it was the night that she'd had before, the memory of all the things she'd done, what she'd said, and–
She resigned herself to the fact that she had sinned. That was the first step. She knew better, and she knew that she was going to pay for what she'd done. If she could at least confess, that would be something, but she couldn't.
Which meant that the only thing she could do was show contrition to the Lord and deal with the consequences of her actions. After all, she might have been tired, and she was certainly out of her right mind, but she was in control of her faculties, and she'd let her lust get the better of her.
It wouldn't happen again, though. She wasn't going to let it, no matter how tempting that might be. No matter how much she might think about it. It was off-limits, she knew better, and she wasn't going to slip up twice.
Naturally, she'd already spent the morning imagining what sort of other fresh, delicious hells she could have herself sent to if she found herself alone with him again. And she'd already told herself that it wasn't going to happen, but she'd had her fingers crossed.
She awoke Sunday morning feeling as refreshed as she could feel, sleeping on a sofa. One broken spring sat uncomfortably under her hip. When she moved, she found that it lay under the only comfortable two inches for her hip to lie.
Perhaps it was time for a trip to Mr. Maxim's restaurant, to see how much longer they expected her repairs to take. Which was why, even though it was raining and she ought to have been waiting for Jamie to wake up, she was trudging under eaves and down boardwalks to find her way across town.
She crossed the road and kept her head down, until a voice called out to her. One she recognized.
"Howdy, stranger."
Marie's eyes rose to m
eet Ruby's. She had a wicked smile on her face. Apparently church had done little to curb whatever impish mood she was in.
"Ruby, hey."
"Long time, no see."
"I've been busy," Marie said, making an apologetic expression. Ruby waved it off.
"That's exactly what I hear–about you and Mr. Broadmoor, no less."
Marie's face flushed before she could deny it, and by the time that she had control of herself, whatever opportunity she might have had to refuse the claim was gone. So she stayed silent and hoped that Ruby wouldn't press her.
"Well, you'll want to know, then. Folks said they seen that bartender of yours acting mighty funny, the past few days."
"They seem to think he 'acts funny' as a matter of course."
Ruby shrugged. It wasn't exactly an argument she'd fight. "Weirder than usual, though. Spooked."
"And what, pray tell, spooked him? Me?"
"So the story is, he got into words with some fella from out of town. He rode into town, was seen playing some cards, spoke to the man behind the counter–that's Chris–and left."
"So you don't know anything about it at all?"
"Now when did I say that?"
"Okay, then. Spill it." She smiled and gave a little wink, as if to say that they were just talking. Which, to be fair, they were, for now. She would be just talking until she talked to Chris about it, later.
"Well, this is where things get funny, right? So take this with a grain of salt. But some folks said that he was a Marshall, going to take the boy in for some murder he did, down in Texas."
Marie raised an eyebrow. "A murder. In Texas. A ranger."
"Hey, I'm just telling you what was told to me. You know, you really ought to come to church. Then you wouldn't need me tellin' you all this juicy stuff."
"Yeah, I'm thinking that maybe they wouldn't altogether approve of me."
"What, old man Bradbury? Aw, he'd get over it. Ain't nothing but idle talk."
"Anything else real good?"
Ruby shook her head. "Not unless you got something to tell me about Mr. Broadmoor, that is." Her face split into a grin. "Go on, spill it."
Marie couldn't stop her face twisting into a grin, but there was something she could do. "I got to get going. Got to meet some folks."
"Some folks, you're sayin?" The look on Ruby's face said that she had some specific guesses about which folks Marie was going to see.
"I'm going now, Ruby. Say hey to your dad for me, and don't get caught slacking off."
Ruby's face twisted into a pout. "I'm never slacking off, Miss Bainbridge. I'm just working inside my head, don't you know?"
She let out a laugh and shifted the broom from one hand to the other. Marie started off and waved back as she walked away. Her eyes unconsciously shifted across the road, where the saloon sat on the opposite corner, the other side of the street from Owen's.
It wouldn't be that big a detour, would it? And she needed to have some questions answered. There were mistakes, and there were mistakes. She was a grown woman, and she could own up to what she'd done, but the one thing she couldn't have was talk about Chris having murdered someone. He couldn't have, she thought. She suspected. But there was something underneath the surface with him, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. And she was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what.
Twenty-Eight
There was a spot on the bar where Jim, in his infinite capability, decided to remind Chris why he wasn't a bartender by leaving spilled alcohol that stained the finish on the wood, and he'd been spending an hour rubbing the discoloration out by the time that the door opened to let in the first customer.
He didn't look up right away. After all, it was too early for the stage, and regulars would know they were coming in early anyways. The doors, strictly speaking, shouldn't even be open yet, but open they were, in spite of his better judgment.
They would probably settle down at the card table, or go looking for Sarah to hire one of the girls for an after-church round. Which meant, effectively, Chris could ignore them completely. When the footsteps sounded like they were approaching directly, though, he finally looked up, admitting to himself that there wasn't much chance of avoiding the conversation by looking sufficiently busy.
"Can I help you?" He spoke the words before bothering to rise from his place behind the counter, and once he'd said it, he immediately regretted it. Marie was as pretty as ever, he thought. The fact that she was soaked practically to her skin didn't do anything to change that.
He shot a glare over at Jim, who shrugged.
"Can we talk?"
He blinked. "I guess so."
She frowned and looked over at the big man in the corner. "It's private, I think."
"A'right," he said. "Jim, get on out of here a minute."
Jim didn't waste any time, taking the back door out and closing it behind him. Like he'd had some place to go, or something. Chris watched him go with a mix of boredom and mild curiosity where the man had to be in such a rush. He'd never struck Chris as having much going on in the first place.
"Is this about last night?"
He leaned against the back wall and tried to keep his face neutral. Whatever she said, it didn't much effect him, and he had to make sure to keep thinking of it that way, regardless of what he might actually think.
"No," she said. He shouldn't have been as relieved as he was. "That was–"
Her face went crimson red and he couldn't stop himself from breaking just a little bit of a smile.
"What's up, then, that's so private?"
"Well, I just heard some talk, and I wanted to know your thoughts."
He raised an eyebrow. "Gossip is for private conversations, now?"
"Well, it's about you."
"Most gossip is, these days, one way or another."
Her lips pressed together.
"I just–you have to promise not to get mad, okay? I didn't believe a word of it, but I wanted to see what you had to say."
Chris smiled curiously. "You're making me nervous, here. What is it? You hear I worship the devil or something?"
"Who was that man who came to see you?"
His smile dropped. He shouldn't have expected that it would stay quiet. It was a crowded bar, and he hadn't exactly had the presence of mind to keep the conversation light. Anyone who looked over would probably have seen that Chris was about ready to bust his brother's jaw.
"What's the talk?"
"Well, they say–they say you did something bad, and he's a law-man come to get you."
Chris closed his eyes and let out a little chuckle. "Not quite right."
Marie looked at him with an expression that he didn't like one bit. "Then what? What happened?"
"You ever hear me ask you about your past?"
"No," she said, reluctant.
"You ever hear me ask about anyone's?"
"Not really, but I suppose you could have done it when I wasn't around."
"Well, I don't. Because I don't talk about my past, so I don't expect other people to do it neither. That's fair, don't you think?"
"I don't understand what the secret is."
"No secret," Chris said. He kept his face cool. "Everyone's got a story, and every story's got the bad parts. I don't like talkin' about it, and so I don't. If something's important, I'll tell you. Until then, don't push me. Please."
She squirmed the whole time he was talking, until he said 'please,' and then she squirmed twice as much. "I didn't mean to offend you," she offered, looking down at the floor.
"Hey. Look at me." He waited for her gaze to rise a little way. "You didn't offend me, Marie. I just don't want to talk about it."
Her expression twisted up. "But why?"
"Just things I don't like to think about any more. Things that happened, that aren't good memories for me."
She bit her lip, and Chris could tell she had something to say. Part of him wanted to tell her to say it; part of him wanted him not to say it
at all.
"You mean like how you got to know so much about orphans?"
He blinked to keep the expression from showing on his face, but Chris was pretty sure he managed to keep his emotion from showing.
"Yeah, like that."
She seemed to realize what she'd said after the words were out of her mouth.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to– I ought to just go."
"Don't worry about me, Miss Bainbridge. I'll get over it."
"But I shouldn't have been poking around where it's none of my business."
"I forgive you."
She didn't seem to have much of a reaction to that at all, like he hadn't said it.
"I ought to go."
"Sure," he said. His voice low. She turned and walked out the front. The sound of the rain punctuated her leaving. Jim caught the door from her as she stepped out.
"Everything alright?"
Chris shrugged. "Yeah, man. It's fine."
"Anything good?"
Chris stepped back up to the counter and peered at an angle to see if he could make out where the stain had been. It was mostly out, now, but you never notice until it's too late, just taking a cursory glance.
"You know what I like about you, Jim?" Chris didn't wait for him to answer. "You never talk too much. Never sticking your nose into other folks' business."
The bouncer got the hint and settled back into his seat with his book, and Chris went back to rubbing out a stain that shouldn't even have been there in the first place.
Now if only the rest of his mistakes were so easy to get rid of.
Twenty-Nine
Marie was trapped. She didn't like being trapped, and she liked feeling trapped even less. Better to be it and not feel it, if you have the choice. That way, she could at least fool herself. Father had learned that lesson, and eventually even Marie had forgotten that there had been a time when she knew, consciously and at all times, that everything was going all wrong.