Texas Outlaw (Wild Texas Nights, Book 1)

by Adrienne deWolfe

  Even when he was drunk, Beth's memory was a powerful deterrent. It rarely let him seek comfort with a whore, much less a decent woman.

  Cord's laugh was short and hollow.

  Fancy Holleday? A decent woman? Now when had he started thinking that?

  "Cord?"

  Zack's tentative whisper nearly made Cord jump out of his skin.

  "Blazes, boy." Cord flung a guilty—if protective—leg over his bottle. "What are you sneaking around here for?"

  "I'm not sneaking."

  "When you prowl around softer than an Injun, I call that sneaking."

  "Well, if you'd gone and lit a lamp, you'd have seen me coming," Zack retorted. "Why are you sitting on the floor in the dark?"

  Cord glared up at the boy. Between the dim lighting and his bleary eyes, he could barely make out the pale oval of Zack's face high above him.

  "That's none of your business."

  "Geez, Cord. You're drinking again, aren't you?"

  Cord felt his cheeks heat at the blatant disapproval in his brother's voice. "Like I said, it's none of your business."

  He imagined the boy's thin-lipped expression.

  "It's a good thing Aunt Lally didn't find you. She'd be madder than a wet hornet."

  Cord had to agree. That's why he'd waited until his favorite, meddling relative had tucked herself in.

  "C'mon." Zack squatted and offered him a hand. "I'll put you to bed."

  "Like hell you will."

  Zack held his ground. "You know how ornery you get. And it looks like you just about finished that bottle."

  "Naw. I got half of it left."

  Zack looked skeptical, then his gaze shifted to Cord's hips. "You wearing your gun?"

  "'Course."

  "Give it here."

  Cord thought about arguing, until he remembered how he'd amused himself the last time by shooting moving shadows. He'd nearly put a bullet through the ranch foreman's head.

  Drawing his Colt rather sheepishly, he handed it over. Zack stuck it in his belt.

  "Now give me the bottle."

  Cord's chin jutted. Surrendering his rotgut was an entirely different matter. Aunt Lally had hidden the remainder of Uncle Seth's liquor cabinet, and the saloon outside of Fort Graham was a night's ride away.

  "Nope."

  "Geez, Cord. What are you drinking for, anyway?"

  "'Cause I'm thirsty."

  "It's Beth again, isn't it?"

  Cord scowled.

  "You know she wouldn't have liked you getting drunk. None of us do."

  "You're pushing your luck here, boy."

  "Well, someone's got to tell you what an ass you're making of yourself."

  Good ol' Zack. Cord smiled mirthlessly. Zack could always be counted on to see the bare-bones truth.

  Wes, on the other hand, saw only the good in the people whom he worshiped... like Fancy.

  "You've had your say, son. Now leave me in peace before I try and wallop you."

  "I'm not scared."

  "Well, you should be. I nearly got you killed." He swallowed hard and looked away. "Like I got Beth killed," he added hoarsely. "I reckon I should have listened to you, Zack. I should have taken you with me up to that ridge—"

  "Naw, you were right," Zack cut in firmly. "If I'd ridden off with you, Slade would've had time to hurt Wes worse."

  "But we could have stopped Slade."

  "Maybe—if we'd found him. But we didn't." Zack sat back on his heels. "So what's the point? Wes isn't blaming you, and neither am I. Why are you blaming yourself?"

  Cord stared gloomily at the embers in the grate. He didn't rightly know. Maybe because he was afraid he'd forget what a murdering bastard he really was.

  A troubled silence lengthened between them.

  "Cord, do you reckon Wes is... well, telling the truth about Miss Fancy?"

  "No."

  Cord figured if he said it enough times, he just might start to believe it.

  "Do you reckon Wes thinks he is?"

  "Yeah." Cord fidgeted. "I reckon."

  Zack's brow furrowed. Moonlight spilled across him from the window, and he looked ghostly pale, a painful reminder to Cord that he could easily have found his brother dead, his skull bashed in by the butt of Slade's rifle.

  "So what are you going to do, Cord? About Miss Fancy, I mean?"

  He drew a ragged breath. "Take her to Nevada. Let the courts deal with her."

  "They'll lock her up, won't they?"

  "If they find her guilty. Which they likely will."

  "Wes isn't going to stand for it, you know."

  "He'll have to."

  "He won't forgive you for a long spell, either."

  Cord hardened himself against a twinge of guilt. "I can't help that."

  "But don't you think you could—"

  "No! I was sworn to bring her in, dammit. She robbed a train. Men were killed during that robbery. What kind of lawman would I be if I let her walk away?"

  Zack swallowed. "But Miss Fancy didn't do the killing, did she?"

  Cord sighed. "No," he muttered after a moment. He raised the bottle. Before the whiskey could touch his lips, Zack's hand closed over his arm.

  "I understand you're sworn to uphold the law, but..."

  "But what?"

  "You don't have to drink to do it."

  Their eyes locked.

  "Seems like we've chewed the fat clean off of that one," Cord said.

  "Maybe. Maybe not. The truth is, you're holding on to Beth like a dog holds on to its bone. What's got you so scared of letting her go, anyway?"

  Cord blinked, incredulous. "You're calling me yellow?"

  "Reckon I am."

  "That's a helluva thing to say to a man, boy."

  "So prove me wrong."

  Cord choked back an oath. Shaking Zack off, he climbed to his feet and stood unsteadily. "If you weren't my kid brother, I'd—"

  "You'd what? Whup me or get whupped trying?"

  "Think right highly of yourself, do you?"

  Zack faced him squarely, his hands splayed on his hips. "A man isn't much of a threat when he isn't standing straight."

  "You ungrateful little cuss. I taught you that."

  "You taught me how to fight too. And I'm not afraid of knocking some sense into you, even if it does take all night. So what's it going to be? Are you going to hand over that bottle, or aren't you?"

  Cord bared his teeth in a snarl. Rounding suddenly, he flung his whiskey. The bottle crashed against the firebricks. Flames whooshed toward the flue.

  "There's your goddamned bottle. Satisfied?"

  Zack nodded, looking a little stunned by his victory. Shoving past him, Cord staggered for the stairs.

  "Where're you going?" Zack called in a low, urgent voice.

  "To bed."

  "But you can't—"

  "You're pushing me, boy. You're really pushing me."

  Stumbling, Cord loosed a barrage of oaths when he nearly sprawled across the stairs. Zack hurried after him.

  "Shh!" the youth warned, steadying Cord as he clung to the railing. "You want to wake Aunt Lally?"

  "Hell. What would I need Aunt Lally for? I've got you clucking over me." Cord shook Zack off. "Go pester your other brother for a change."

  "But Cord, you can't—"

  "You gone deaf or something?"

  Cord's hand closed over the boy's collar, and Zack's eyes widened to see a fist shaking in his face.

  "All right. All right. I'll leave you be," Zack whispered, raising his hands in defeat.

  Cord grunted and released him.

  Feeling a little more sober after his climb, Cord cleared the last step and stalked the rest of the way to his room. He was too busy fuming over the wasted whiskey and Zack's high-falooting attitude to divert more than passing attention to the key inside his lock.

  It wasn't until he flung the door wide and saw Fancy, standing in one of Aunt Lally's cotton nightdresses, that he remembered why he'd taken such pains to avoid
his bedroom.

  Chapter 11

  The door banged against the wall, and Fancy retreated a step, her legs striking the hearth. She didn't know which had unnerved her more, the sound of the door opening or the sight of Cord, steadying himself against the jamb.

  "What the hell do you want, Rawlins?"

  While he continued to gape at her, a full measure of heartbeats passed. She might have believed the surprise on his face if he hadn't ordered Zack to lock her inside his bedroom, or vaqueros to arm themselves and guard her window. She'd had no hope of escape. Now, as he loomed on the threshold, she felt her spine begin to prickle.

  "I asked you what you wanted."

  He shut the door behind him. "Keep your voice down. My kinfolk are sleeping."

  He swayed slightly as he walked toward her. Fancy's heart crawled to her throat. She couldn't help but notice how he ogled the voluminous white nightdress Lally had lent her. What a fool she had been to think Cord Rawlins was too honorable to sully his wife's cherished memory by whoring! No, the lout had probably been planning this rendezvous ever since her arrest. The only reason he'd postponed it this long was to hide his rutting from his brothers.

  "That's far enough," she said, her voice rough from the sudden dryness in her mouth.

  He obliged her, but she doubted whether he would do so for long. She'd seen that hungry, predatory look in the eyes of too many men to mistake it in Cord's.

  "Seems to me you could be a bit more civil, seeing as how you're a guest in my room."

  "Guest, my rear end," she rallied. "You've locked the door and posted guards beneath the window."

  "Saw Juan and Carlos, did you?" Cord laughed as if his sally were the greatest of jokes. "Reckon that means you've been poking your head outside, wondering whether or not to jump and break both legs."

  "I've done nothing of the kind."

  "Uh-huh."

  He flashed his dimples, and his gaze roamed once more over her nightdress. She tried not to wince. He'd clearly been drinking. Just how much was a matter for debate. He retained some semblance of wit, and he wasn't yet crawling on the floor. Even so, Fancy had learned from Diego that a lucid, walking drunk was the most dangerous kind.

  "Whatcha got there?"

  She started at the playful tone of his voice. He was staring at her bodice now, and she clutched her penny dreadful closer to her breasts.

  "A gift from Wes—not that it's any of your business. He thought I might grow bored staring at your walls."

  "So you've stayed up late reading about your heroes, eh? Jesse James, Cole Younger, and Belle Starr?" Cord looked inordinately amused. "Learn any new tricks?"

  "Do you really think I'd tell you that?"

  "Nope. Just making conversation."

  "Well, I'm not in any mood to talk to you."

  "No?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Just what are you in the mood for?"

  Her palms moistened at his husky tone. "Get out."

  "Now, now. You're forgetting this here's my room."

  He reached for her magazine, and she recoiled, tripping over her gown in her haste to sidestep his hand.

  He frowned. "Here now. You didn't go and get scared of me all of a sudden, did you?"

  God, yes. But she couldn't let him know that. She couldn't let him know how desperate and vulnerable he made her feel. Marshaling her features, she donned her haughtiest glare. "Just because I don't want you groping me, doesn't mean I'm scared."

  "Now there's a switch. For days you've done nothing but throw yourself at me every chance you got."

  "You flatter yourself."

  "I don't think so, but I'll play along. Tell you what. Why don't you put that magazine down and sashay over here?"

  "Why on earth would I want to do that?"

  "'Cause you're not in the mood for talking, and I'm not in the mood for sleeping."

  Dread burned its way to her gut. "You're drunk."

  "So?"

  "So I'd be wasting my time."

  Resentment clouded his features. "I'm not that drunk."

  She saw the challenge in his eyes, and she feared she might have pushed him too far. "Come on, Rawlins," she said, struggling to achieve a conciliatory tone. "Don't kid a kidder. Just look at you. You couldn't bed me if you tried."

  "I could, all right. And you'd like it."

  "I think not."

  "Sure you would. You've been wanting me ever since you first laid eyes on me. Remember the train? You got all riled up when I wouldn't pay you any mind. You still do, don't you, Fancy? I'm like a burr under your saddle. An itch you can't scratch."

  "If you're calling yourself a nuisance, I have to agree."

  "You never did much cotton to the truth."

  "And you overestimate your appeal."

  "Naw." He tilted his head. His eyes were so glazed that they twinkled in the firelight. "Remember our kiss? You liked that sure enough."

  "That was pretend," she said loftily.

  "Even you don't pretend that good, darlin'."

  She felt her face flame. "You're insufferable!"

  "Nope. Just honest."

  "Indeed?" She fumed, wishing she dared throw the penny dreadful at his head. "If you're so blessedly honest, you'll have to admit that you've been hot for me ever since Fort Worth."

  "Sure. Why not? I'm not ashamed."

  The fire in her cheeks quickly cooled. "God, Rawlins." She met his gaze uneasily. "You really are drunk."

  "Is that what's got you so spooked?"

  "I told you, I'm not—"

  "I know what you told me. You'd tell me damned near anything, 'cause you're ornery that way." The humor ebbed from his face. "But the fact is, you're standing over there looking whiter than sun-bleached bones. Geez, girl. Did you really think I'd force you?"

  She fidgeted. In her experience, a man—especially an intoxicated man—didn't much care whether a woman was willing or not. Still, she felt a little guilty for thinking the worst of Cord.

  "When I asked you to leave, you refused," she reminded him.

  "Aw, Fancy. That's only 'cause I was hoping to change your mind." A tiny, wistful smile played across his lips. "It's been a long time since I wanted a woman, that's all. I kind of missed it."

  His confession stunned her. Knowing Cord as she did, she couldn't believe he was lying. Yet what man would admit to such a thing? Was he trying to win her sympathy?

  "I'm... not sure that's much of an apology."

  He had the decency to blush. "I reckon you're right. Sorry 'bout that. Sorry I bothered you too. Maybe I ought to be leaving."

  "Wait!"

  He paused in midstride. She nearly lost her nerve when he faced her, this time without teetering. Dear God, what if he'd only been acting drunk? What if he hadn't guzzled enough liquor to pass out on the floor?

  "I do want something from you."

  "Oh?" He hiked an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

  She drew a steadying breath. "My freedom."

  Disbelief blanked his face. "Your freedom?" He dissolved into laughter. "Now that's the beatenest thing I ever heard."

  She stiffened. "Listen to me, Rawlins. I'll cut you a deal."

  "You don't say."

  "You get what you want, if I get what I want."

  Her words sank in, and Cord abruptly sobered. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Then he decided that the rotgut he'd guzzled had moldered his hearing.

  "Come again?"

  "You heard me right."

  "Couldn't have."

  Her expression turned grimly earnest. "Then let me speak plainly. You want a woman? I want a horse and the freedom to ride away. Let's make a deal."

  He caught his breath. Several moments passed before he released it in a low, soft whistle.

  "You're saying you'll rub navels with me if I let you run?"

  She nodded.

  "And you'll be friendly? You won't scratch my eyes out, or bite my nose off, or do whatever else your mama taught you to do in a Pecos two-step?
"

  "Your pecker will be in very good hands, I assure you."

  He laughed again, not at her joke, but at his own randy foolishness. God help him, he was actually tempted.

  "You sure you don't have a scorpion hidden under that nightgown?" he asked half-seriously. "Or maybe a gun stashed up your sleeve?"

  "This is business. A girl can't stay in business long if she goes back on her deals."

  He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Was she acting out a part or speaking from personal experience?

  "Supposing I'm not satisfied. You got some kind of guarantee? As I recall, I walked away with a bootprint on my shin after you got your fill of kissing me."

  Her eyes narrowed, betraying her. He was relieved to see the sign. She had no intention of honoring her deal. Most likely she was gambling on the whiskey, hoping it had made him an unfit lover. She'd probably used this ruse on hundreds of lawmen.

  "Tell you what, Marshal. Tonight I'll take extra-special care of your legs... and everything in between."

  Now there was a bluff worth the call.

  "But what if things change?" he taunted, unsure whether he was amused or affronted that she thought him so easy to hoodwink. "What if you like me so much you don't want to ride off? What if you get the hankering to do it all over again?"

  "Don't worry yourself. The chances of that are slim."

  "Think so, eh?"

  She looked awfully damned sure of herself standing there, with her long, sleek legs silhouetted by the fire. She couldn't have worn a stitch of clothing under that gown, and Cord didn't need much imagination to detect her private parts. He figured a wise man would cut his losses and hightail it down the hall.

  So what did that say about him?

  "Well? Are you ready to deal now?" she demanded.

  He smiled wryly. The temptation was killing him. He figured he'd be damned either way.

  "Sure I'm ready. Willing and able too, sweetheart."

  He strolled closer.

  "Not so fast, tin-star. First, your word. You have to swear you'll set me free."

  "Okay."

  "'Okay' isn't good enough. I want to hear you swear it."