Pistols and Petticoats (A Historical Western Romance Anthology)

by Barbara Ankrum

  "'Cause you never do."

  Her eyebrows knitted. When had that ever stopped him? Cass always yakked her ears off. He told her that her eyes were like golden starshine, that her lips were like velvet roses, and that her hair was like a sunset over the Chisos Mountains. She usually had to lock lips with the man just so she could wrangle a kiss from him.

  "And that's your only reason?" she pressed.

  "I reckon."

  He sounded... sad.

  Wriggling to face him, she was disconcerted when he wouldn't meet her eyes.

  Tentatively, she touched the steady thrumming of his heart.

  "Billy?"

  "That's not my name any more."

  "I... I'm sorry."

  He lapsed into another silence.

  She glided her fingers lower, splaying them over his flattened abdomen. But he wrapped his fist around her wrist. His grip didn't hurt her, but his message was clear. He didn't want her to pet him.

  The knowledge rocked her world.

  "Those things you said at the Harvey House," he finally whispered, his rumble so deep and quiet that she had to strain to make out each word, "they really hurt."

  She tried to look him in the eye, but he wouldn't raise his gaze from her chin.

  "Cass, I didn't—"

  "Why Sterne?" he bit out. "It's 'cause he's a Ranger, isn't it? Womenfolk like Rangers. That's why I always wanted to be one."

  Her heart ached to know he thought such a thing. "Cass, I never—"

  "Don't, Sadie. Don't lie about Sterne any more."

  She swallowed hard. So that was it? No matter what she said, he would never believe the truth?

  "I'm sorry I hurt you." She cursed her constricting throat. It made the apology sound so hoarse and lame.

  His lips carved out a bitter smile.

  "Lynx said that Sterne has been hanging around the Long Branch. Mostly waiting for me. Is that true?"

  Something cold and hard settled in the pit of her stomach. She thought it must have been her heart.

  "I haven't talked to Sterne," she said uneasily. "I don't know what his plan is. Cass, you have to believe me—"

  "Did you tell him about Ainsworth?"

  She strangled on a breath. Things were bad, really bad, if he thought her capable of such a betrayal.

  "No." The word sounded like shattered glass to her ears. "If you believe nothing else, believe that."

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. "That's what Lynx said."

  Lynx had defended her? Her mind was officially boggled.

  'Why would you believe Lynx, and not me?' she wanted to shout.

  But she didn't dare. Arguing with Cass wasn't going to get her what she wanted. And right now, all she wanted was for things to go back to the way they'd been—before he'd stopped trusting her.

  She watched him breathe, as she had so many nights before. They'd been closer then—or at least, it seemed that way now. How could she lie six inches from a man and feel like he was out of reach?

  "Lynx and me," he said in a carefully modulated tone, "we're planning to leave town. Before morning."

  She bit her lip.

  "If I asked you to come with me... would you?"

  She blinked at his question. She didn't know whether to be stunned, or just sick. Sick that she couldn't give him the answer they both wanted.

  A woman in her profession was merchandise. If she broke her contract with Chalkey, he'd send Sheriff Bat Masterson after her. Maybe even Sterne. Cass would have another bounty on his head, this time for theft. And that was assuming he didn't get shot dead before he got arrested.

  "Cass," she pleaded, hoping against hope that he wouldn't make her choose between his trust and Chalkey's contract, "you once told me you wanted to be a Ranger. To make Texas safe for little kiddies. Remember? There are plenty of places in the world that need to be safe! The Mastersons like you. Charlie Bassett seems to. Maybe you could—"

  "Stay in Dodge? Take protection money to screw you?"

  She winced. So he knew about the arrangement between the tin-stars and the brothel owners?

  "I just thought, since you always wanted to be a lawman—"

  "They're not lawmen." His voice dripped acid. "They don't defend the meek and the weak. They're thugs. Don't go confusing the two, Sadie."

  She loosed a slow, shaky breath to hear him speak so openly of the racketeering that no one—not even Dodge City's mayor—dared to acknowledge.

  "I'm still waiting," he added more quietly, "for an answer."

  Her heart ached.

  "I can't leave Dodge."

  "So you've chosen Sterne," he said bitterly.

  "That is not true!"

  His eyes finally locked with hers.

  "Cass, I..." Her hand fluttered helplessly between them. "Please understand. There are complications. I could never live with myself if you got gunned down because of me—especially because I was too cowardly to honor my agreements. I signed a business deal. I signed it with my eyes wide open."

  He scowled.

  "Cass, you're 21 years old—"

  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "And restless. And hotter than a branding iron. With a face like Apollo the Sun God's. Only a woman with scrambled eggs for brains would dare to believe she could keep you roped to her bedpost for life. My brains aren't scrambled."

  His white-gold eyebrows knitted.

  "Are you saying... I couldn't be faithful?"

  She laughed weakly. "I'm sure you'd try. But women throw themselves at you. Don't you think I see it? When you're off on the trail, or rounding up renegades, or doing whatever it is you plan to do with your life, women will chase you. Everywhere. Only a eunuch would be able to withstand so much..."

  He didn't look amused. She blew out her breath.

  "Cass, be honest. Can you really bear to settle down? To be saddled with a wife and a passel of rugrats? Exclusive bedroom privileges for the rest of your life? Starting now? Lasting forever? With me and only me?"

  He fidgeted, averting his eyes.

  "It's okay," she said gently. "I understand. You're still sowing your wild oats."

  "But Sadie, I want—"

  "To protect me. I know."

  His eyes misted over with remorse.

  "But don't you want to be married? I mean... to a man who could be faithful. And help you raise those rugrats."

  "Maybe. If I loved him. But I can't fall in love," she added hastily, cursing herself when hope flared again in that midnight-blue gaze. "I swore never to love. Loving hurts too much. And so I just... I just won't. Cass, stop looking at me like that!"

  A tiny, amused smile had started flirting with his lips. "How am I looking at you?"

  "Like the cat that ate the canary!"

  A full dimple peeked at that.

  "What's so funny?" she demanded in wounded tones.

  "You," he whispered huskily, shimmying closer beneath the quilt. "Sadie Michelson, someday, I'm going to teach you how to love."

  "You are, huh?"

  "That's right."

  "And then what?"

  "And then you're going to like it."

  His utter confidence made her heart tremble. In that moment, with his eyes shining like sapphire stars, she was tempted to believe him. She was tempted to think that if there was one man in this world who could perform the Herculean task of razing the fortress of her heart, that man was Cass Cassidy.

  Wistfully, she ran a finger over the golden stubble of his chin. "Show me," she murmured.

  "Only if you promise never to forget this night. Ever."

  The threat of tears made him shimmer in a kaleidoscope of rainbows. She nodded, and a drop spilled past her lashes. He caught it on his thumb, rubbing it gently into her bottom lip, teasing her mouth open with infinite tenderness.

  And then he kissed her.

  She clutched him closer, buffeted by a whirlwind of feeling. She chided herself for her weakness. So he was leaving? She'd always known he wo
uld. She was a cool-headed business woman. She didn't need love promises from Cass Cassidy—or any other man. In fact, she didn't want them. Why become the possession of one man when she could enjoy the seduction of a thousand?

  But oh, how sweetly Cass possessed her!

  His lips wooed her, gentled her, made her yearn to be so much closer. When he pushed her shoulders down to the mattress, burying his hands in her hair, she reveled in the way he courted her kisses, making her feel as if they—and they alone—were the sole object of his desire.

  A dreamy languor washed over her. His fingertips glided as lightly as feathers over her cheeks, her jaw, her ears. She could have kissed Cass Cassidy for the rest of her life and died wholly sated. His sweet, tender touching made her feel honored. Cherished. They were heady feelings—and dangerous ones. She could let herself remember tonight, but only if she didn't get befuddled by sentiment. Otherwise...

  Otherwise, she might not have the courage to face each tawdry, jaded night without him.

  With cagey determination, she plied her art, pinching his nipples, squeezing his buttocks. She circled her hips in sinuous, seductive patterns. She hooked a heel over his rear and deftly slipped a hand between his thighs.

  He was stubborn, though. She might have been his first teacher, but he was an artistic, young Casanova, and he'd had plenty of practice to perfect his seductions, especially over the last three days. When he grabbed her foot, kneading it with a merciless hand, she nearly shot out of her skin.

  "Hey! You know the rules: No tickling, no toe-sucking, no—"

  He chuckled, silencing her throttled screech with his kiss, even as his middle finger's nail scraped her sole again and again, making her thighs spasm with electrical currents until her core oozed a milky libation.

  "Nice," he taunted, admiring his sticky handiwork.

  "Bastard," she gasped between shuddering breaths.

  "We need new rules," he drawled, gripping both of her ankles and pushing her knees all the way back to her shoulders. "Like, whenever you talk dirty to me, you get—"

  She half cursed, half shrieked when his head lowered with predatory intent, and his teeth started nipping her tender places.

  He deepened his feast, and she arched helplessly, her breaths ripping. The pleasure was exquisite. She lambasted him with every swear word she knew, and he grinned gamely against her flesh, "punishing" her with a heavenly kind of hell. With wicked finesse, his tongue flicked and re-flicked over her throbbing bud. He added his lips to the assault, suckling with just the right pressure, just the right speed, until he had her writhing, a slave to her need for release.

  "Cass, please," she whimpered.

  "Say you're mine," he growled.

  "I hate you!"

  He chuckled wolfishly, his next insidious siege nearly robbing her of sanity.

  "All right, all right," she wheezed, stars spinning inside her brain and lightning dancing over her flesh. But in the volcano down below, he'd let nothing—nothing—explode the way it was aching to. "I'm yours," she conceded desperately. "For tonight. Now kindly—"

  "For always," he corrected her silkily.

  "Since when did blackmail become love?" she snapped.

  He thrust deep and fast, sheathing his princely shaft inside her core. She knew a momentary relief—until his hips grew utterly, maddeningly still.

  "How would you know the difference, Love Scrooge?" he taunted softly, his lips curving in that sweet, boyish smile that never failed to make her heart melt.

  She blinked back rainbows. His fingers combed the tangled, auburn tendrils of her hair. His thumbs brushed trails of dampness from her cheeks. She knew a shy, girlish wonder as she gazed into those shining, sapphire stars.

  In that moment, she yearned for an entirely different kind of release: her heart was threatening to burst its restraints.

  "H-Have you ever been in love?" she asked timidly.

  "Can't you tell?"

  His mouth lowered, nuzzling hers. His hips moved in the sweetest, seductive rhythm. This time, she didn't want the pleasure to end. She held on and on, letting him drug her with kisses, whispers, and feather-light, sensory persuasions.

  The deep, satisfying shudders occurred just about the time she heard a shout in the street. Something orange, bright, and ominous flared in her window panes. Cass was sprawled across her breasts and panting in her ear. She couldn't hear much else. For the moment, she was too winded to be curious about the commotion.

  Then a fist like a sledge hammer rattled her bedroom door.

  "Sadie! It's Holliday! Where the hell is Cass? If he's in there, send him out with his guns. Quaid is about to get lynched!"

  Chapter 11

  WILDCAT

  Sadie had never seen a tanned man turn so white. Cursing promises that were blood-curdling in their intent, Cass flew off the bed, throwing on shirt, pants, belt, and boots with lightning speed. When he plunked his Stetson on his head and threw open the door, Doc was still loading the last cylinder of his revolver and spinning its wheel.

  "Let's go," Cass barked at the older man, who stepped courteously aside so Cass's bullish charge wouldn't bowl him down the stairs.

  Doc winked lasciviously at Sadie.

  "Where the hell are Bassett and his deputies?" she snapped, not caring that the skimpy, lace wrapper she'd grabbed left little to the dentist's imagination.

  Doc shrugged his slender shoulders. Tall and emaciated in his black, poorly fitting suit, the lunger looked like the skeleton of an undertaker. "Some rowdies were shooting up the water tower. Some others were baiting coons inside the city. Just your typical Tuesday night," he added dryly, tugging his forelock in farewell. "Respects."

  "Luke!" she heard Doc bellow as he trotted along the second-story gallery after Cass. "Throw down your pasteboards and grab your gun. You ain't got nuthin' but a lousy pair of queens, anyway. I can see them from up here."

  Three vigilantes against a blood-thirsty mob?

  Sadie quailed at the thought.

  Running to her daddy's battered traveling trunk, she heaved and grunted until she'd pushed the linen-stuffed box off the loose board underneath. Hauling out a sharp-shooter's canvas bag, she stripped the wrapping from Daddy's ancient—but perfectly functioning—Henry repeater rifle, which she practiced with regularly, so it stayed in working order.

  Ethnic taunts, ribald jeers, and a female's frightened sobbing were echoing in the street as Sadie grimly pumped cartridges into the rifle. She knocked her window shutters wider.

  About 20 pistol-packing cowards, complete with torches, nooses, and gunnysacks for masks, were stalking closer to Jesse, cutting off his escape to the livery. One Klansman had wrenched Liliana's head back, tangling his fist in her hair and forcing her to her knees. The threat of his Bowie knife, pressed against the arching column of her throat, kept her wimpering at his feet.

  But this Klansman didn't appear to be the leader.

  The man in charge was the pot-bellied smartass with the booming, Appalachian accent who demanded that Jesse surrender his guns if he didn't want his "Injun whore to get scalped."

  Jesse didn't have a choice. Not for Liliana's sake. He tossed his gun belt aside.

  Enraged by the bullies and their cowardice, Sadie's lip curled back from her teeth. Pumping the rifle's lever, she growled low in her throat and fired. Her first cartridge struck Lil's captor in the shoulder. He shrieked, jolting backward, and dropped his knife.

  She aimed next for the leg of the pot-bellied hick. This time, she wasn't quite as successful: her cartridge only creased the bastard's thigh. But her shot had another desired effect; it struck fear into the rest of the gunnysackers. Confused and leaderless, the bleating sheep scattered.

  "Who's firing?" one Klansman yelled, ducking behind a watering trough.

  "That redheaded whore!" a second sheep shouted, dragging his revolver from its holster.

  Cass, Luke, and Doc finally arrived on the scene, letting bullets fly. She wasn't sure who was who, sinc
e two guns were firing from Rath's alley and two more were spitting from Hoover's.

  In the midst of all this chaos, Liliana had curled into a fetal position in a rut, sobbing as bullets whizzed over her shuddering length. Jesse pounced on his holster, somersaulted, and landed on his feet in a catlike crouch about a foot from her head. With deadly calm, he shot out the elbow of the Rebel-Yelling Klansman, who'd been trying to blast Sadie to kingdom come.

  "Sadie!" Cass bellowed.

  Apparently, the guns blazing in Hoover's alley were his.

  "Get back!" he shouted as Jesse dragged a wilting Liliana inside the livery.

  Cass's vigilantes were hopelessly outnumbered by the Klansmen. When the gunnysackers realized they had the advantage, the cowards started taking cover. They started firing back.

  With splinters of glass and wood spraying all around her, Sadie muttered an oath and dropped beneath the windowsill, cutting her hands and knees as she crawled for the safety of the hall.

  Tying her wrapper as best she could, she bolted on bare, bloodied feet down the stairs, shrieking Chalkey's name at the top of her lungs. The saloon owner emerged from his private Poker room with Sterne.

  She locked stares with the tin-star.

  "Help Cass," she begged.

  A lethal glint entered those steely-gray eyes as Sterne's gaze raked over the glass in her hair, the cuts on her knees, the blood on her feet. By the time Chalkey wrestled his Winchester down from the mirror behind the bar, Sterne had already shoved past the oohing, awing saloon patrons who'd crowded around the swinging doors to watch the firestorm in the street.

  The skirmish didn't last much longer. Someone must have gotten word to the Mastersons and the Earps. The Kansas lawmen galloped down Front Street without the use of their reins, firing Winchesters with the deadly precision of veteran cavalryman. City Marshal Bassett was the fifth dead-eye riding in the posse, driving snipers off of porch roofs, rain barrels, and wagonbeds.

  When the smoke finally cleared, no corpses littered the street—which was a downright miracle—but a few gunnysacks had been discarded near puddles of blood. Sadie knew a grudging satisfaction to think that any man who would seek a doctor's aid this night would be identified as one of the law-breakers.