Looking over the rim of his coffee cup, Heath allowed his gaze to wander idly around the table. He wondered if Jay would believe his description of these people. Mentally, he shook his head. Not in this lifetime.
When everyone was finished eating, Pilar removed the plates and announced that there would be gooseberry pie and fresh cream for dessert. The Dough sisters could hardly contain their excitement.
Abruptly, the old man turned to Heath. His eyes narrowed, his lips slightly tense, he stated flatly, “Name’s Robert Pridgen.” He jerked his head toward the diminutive lady at his side. “My wife, Nellie.”
Heath nodded respectfully. “Ma’am.”
Pridgen’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “What the hell are you doing in Adobe Wells?”
Heath choked on his coffee. The scalding liquid slid down the wrong way, bringing tears to his eyes as he tried valiantly to meet Mr. Pridgen’s inquisitive, no-nonsense glare. He was too startled to reply immediately.
The twins gasped their horror at Mr. Pridgen’s swearing. Embarrassed, they left the table, casting a last longing glance at the gooseberry pie. Miss Smelter sniffed her disapproval and quit the room as well. Chuckling, the drummer just melted away.
“Pardon me, sir?” Heath wheezed finally.
“Are you deaf, boy? I asked what the hell you’re doing in Adobe Wells?”
Heath regained his equanimity, quelling the urge to smile. He had not been called boy since he turned fourteen years old and topped six feet.
He considered asking the man if he was kin to Stevie Johns, but thought better of it. His tone deferential, he replied, “I’m just passing through, sir.”
“Few people come here these days unless they want to see Judge Jack.” Pridgen’s accusation was apparent.
“Now, Dad, leave the young man be,” Nellie scolded.
“A man has a right to question strangers if he’s a mind to.” Pridgen’s voice was gruff, but his parchmentlike face grew soft when he looked at his beloved wife.
Astonished, Heath decided that he liked the crotchety old gentleman. He saw something in Pridgen’s eyes that he admired; a sense of pride in his home. Obviously Judge Jack was threatening the citizens of Adobe Wells and this old bird didn’t intend to take it lying down.
“Please call me Lucky, Mr. Pridgen.” He paused, a look of sincerity sculpting his features. “And I assure you I haven’t come to see Judge Jack.”
Pridgen took the gambler’s measure. Persuaded by what he found, he nodded tersely.
Heath realized he had passed muster . . . again. “I am curious about Judge Jack though. He must be rather”—he searched for a word that wouldn’t inflame Pridgen—“influential.”
Pridgen snorted, biting back a curse. “Influential isn’t the word I’d use. Ruthless would fit his pistol. Since the first day he came here, a year ago, that bastard, pardon, Pilar, Mother, has wielded absolute authority over Adobe Wells and the surrounding territory like he was Jesus H. Christ.”
“With all due respect, why did you elect him as judge?” asked Heath.
“We didn’t,” Pridgen responded heatedly. “Colonel Banes from over at Fort Bascomb brought him to us. Before you could spit, he had installed the crook as judge over the entire area.” He gestured expansively, barely missing his coffee cup in his exuberance. Puffed up like a toad, he was fair to bursting with righteous indignation.
“But he carried no written credentials from Washington, or from anywhere else. Said he didn’t need ’em. And since the son of a—the judge was backed up by a hoard of hardcases, we had no choice but to accept him.” Pridgen looked away, embarrassed. “We’ve just tucked our tails and given him a free hand. Adobe Wells is a town under siege. And there’s not one damn thing we can do about it.”
“The Johns resisted him.” There was a hint of pride in Pilar’s voice.
Mrs. Pridgen wrung her hands. “And considering what happened to Jeff, Stevie and Sandy are just courtin’ disaster.”
Heath took a sip of coffee. Sandy was obviously Stevie’s father, the old man who had been shot. He hoped his wound was as superficial as it appeared; Sandy Johns would be needed to fight another day.
But who was Jeff? Stevie’s husband? Heath remembered the Indian child who called Stevie “mother.” Was the beautiful hoyden a wife and mother? He just had to ask, “Who is Jeff?”
“Stevie’s brother. He disappeared a couple of months ago,” Pilar explained. “Didn’t I mention him earlier?”
“Judge Jack had him killed!” Pridgen interrupted with a divine pronouncement.
Ever the voice of caution, Mrs. Pridgen patted her husband’s arm. “Now, Dad, we don’t know that for sure.”
Heath stared down at the table, deep in thought. He was inclined to agree with Pridgen; Judge Jack was undoubtedly to blame for Jeff Johns’s death.
And it appeared that he had taken this town hostage. But why? What did Adobe Wells have that the judge could want? Badly enough to kill for?
Well, that’s what he was being paid to find out.
“Stevie’s hot after Jeff’s killer, but so far all she’s done is rile the judge.” Pilar penetrated Heath’s thoughts..
“And shoot at strangers coming to town.” He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table, unaccountably angry. “It’s just a matter of time before the little fool’ll get herself killed! Can’t anybody in this town control her?”
“Nobody can make Stevie do anything she doesn’t want to.” Heath narrowed his eyes. He could have sworn that Pridgen had just offered him a challenge.
Averting his eyes, Pridgen unfolded his gnarled frame, picked up his cane, and limped from the room. “If I was twenty years younger, I’d show Jack—that no good son of a—” His muttering faded away.
Excusing himself, Heath strolled outside onto the veranda for a smoke. He was so tired, his nerves throbbed, yet he was energized in a strange way as well. It was probably the challenge of the new job.
The sun dipped slowly below the western horizon like the last few notes of a lover’s concerto, casting hazy fingers of reddish purple to grip the darkened sky. A cool night breeze blew over his sun-bronzed face, infusing Heath with a false sense of peace. A cloud of blue smoke, tranquil as the atmosphere around him, hovered about his head.
Raucous noise from the saloons wafted to him, pianos, punctuated by the soft tinkle of female laughter and the rumble of rowdy men relaxing after a day’s work. It was a familiar sound to Heath, one that drew him like a magnet. Tossing his cigar away, he stepped off the porch into the dark night.
He never even saw his assailant coming.
Six
Claws bared, Stevie launched herself at Heath’s back.
“What the hell?” he yelled, hitting the ground, Stevie spread the length of him.
Gasping, he wrapped his arms around the writhing, growling termagant and rolled her onto her back. He held her tight against his chest, fighting to fill his starving lungs with air. Somehow, his sense of humor was intact. “If you wanted to finish what we started on the mesa, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”
Enraged, she drew her arm to the side and slugged him.
“Damn you,” he grunted. “Stop it. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch.”
“What is your problem, lady?”
She arched her back sharply in an attempt to dislodge him, slamming her lower body against his. The sensation was painful and pleasurable for them both.
“Oh, God.” His voice was low and husky, evincing his burgeoning desire.
Feeling his male hardness against her belly and her responding hunger rise in a heated rush, her eyes widened. She grew inert beneath him, becoming still as a corpse. “Get off me!” she yelled, her voice thick.
Instinctively, he pressed his hips to hers, striving to ease the ache rapidly uncoiling in his groin. Her body, hot and stimulating, burned his yearning flesh through their clothes. He
pressed hard against her belly. A moan of passion escaping his lips, he caressed her with his eyes.
Lord, she was exquisite; moon dust brushed her face, perfectly sculpted nose, slightly curved jaw, high, regal cheekbones, and dusky skin so smooth and soft that it might have been fashioned into shell-thin porcelain from melted caramel. Her tip-tilted black eyes were shaded by half-lowered lids. Mesmerizing. She was beauty personified, her head cushioned in a halo of platinum hair.
But it was her lips that held his gaze. Full, sensual lips, slightly parted, just begging to be kissed. Drawn like a moth to a flame, he bent his head. To his delight, she met him halfway. He kissed her lightly, then lifted his face until his mouth hovered just above hers. “I want you, precious,” he breathed, exciting them both with his confession.
Groaning, he smothered her with his kiss. It was moist, easy, practiced, his lips soft and sensitive. Then he really kissed her. She opened her mouth with a small whimper. His tongue moved inside with strong, impelling strokes, caressing the inner walls of her mouth, familiarizing himself with the honeyed sweetness of her dark, velvet recesses.
The sweet throbbing of his lips made her shift closer to him. She clung to him, wanting the kiss to go on forever.
Time and space lost all relevance. Neither Heath nor Stevie was cognizant of anything outside the circle of their arms. They were a mass of raging passion. He slipped a muscled thigh between her legs and pressed against her warm flesh.
They were not driven by passion alone. It was as if they communicated on a spiritual plane, in a way that denied all reason, defied all logic. With the same mind they knew if they didn’t become one physically, they would never be whole.
Suddenly, Stevie drew back, her startled gaze fixed, like a deer before it bolted. Acknowledging that she wanted this stranger frightened her as nothing else ever had. More than the danger Judge Jack posed, more than the prospect of losing her home. But not more than the threat of losing her father.
At the sudden thought of her father, she tensed. How could she lie beneath the man who shot Pa, her sensible self berated.
“Precious?”
She was uncertain whether he spoke or communicated the word from his mind to her own.
“Stevie?” Pilar’s shocked voice stole the last vestiges of Stevie’s smoldering passion. “Mr. Diamond, what do you think you’re doing to that girl?”
Unfortunately, nothing, Heath complained silently. Levering himself up, he pulled Stevie to her feet. He bent at the waist and brushed grass off his immaculate trousers. It took great effort to hide his profound reaction to the events of the past few moments.
Pilar stood looking down at them, hands fisted, resting on her hips. “I demand an explanation,” she continued imperiously.
It occurred to Heath that her outrage didn’t quite ring true. He distinctly heard a note of pleased amusement in her thick accent.
“I assure you, Senora Manchez . . .” he began.
Having momentarily regained her composure, Stevie wheeled toward Heath. He turned toward her at the abrupt movement. Catching him by surprise, she swung her slender arm and slapped his face soundly.
“Stevie,” Pilar gasped. “Why on earth did you do that?”
Ignoring Pilar, Stevie regarded Heath as if he were an insect under a piece of glass. “If I had my gun, I’d shoot him.”
Heath rubbed his cheek, a bemused expression on his handsome face. Damn her beautiful hide. She had wanted him as much as he wanted her. That’s probably what made her so mad, he decided. That, and unfulfilled desire.
“You sure shootin’ me’s what you want to do, darlin’?” He raked her with a suggestive glare and spoke so that she alone could hear him. “It felt like you had somethin’ a site more pleasurable in mind a minute ago.”
“Of course I want to shoot you,” she began sweetly. “But first I’d like to stab you and peel your worthless hide, inch by torturous inch. Then I’ll shoot you. Just before I hang you.”
Heath chuckled.
By then, the Pridgens had joined Pilar, followed by the Dough twins and the disapproving Miss Smelter.
Stevie threw the spectators a heated glare collectively. Providing half of Adobe Wells with a night’s entertainment was not her idea of fun.
Heath had no such qualms as he stepped closer to Stevie. “I thought you liked me?”
The twins almost fainted.
Stevie balled her hands into fists at her sides. “Like you? I loathe you. You tried to kill my pa.”
Pilar sailed off the porch.
“What’s this about Sandy?” Pridgen asked before Pilar could get the words out.
“This snake shot him,” Stevie announced, pointing at Heath. “In the head and chest.”
At that, all hell broke loose. Pilar begged Stevie for more information. Where is Sandy? How is he? Heath loudly proclaimed his innocence. He had shot no one. Stevie accused him of everything short of assassinating President Lincoln. Smelter shouted that she had known the stranger was no good from the first. The twins argued that Heath was being judged unfairly.
It took a thunderous blast to gain their attention. Standing in the front yard, Pridgen held a smoking gun. “That the peashooter he used to shoot Sandy?” He pointed to Heath’s Colt.
Gasping for breath, she jerked a nod.
“Well, young fella, maybe you best give me that hog leg.” He leveled his gun on Heath to add weight to his demand.
Cautiously, Heath made his way over to Pridgen, never taking his eyes off the gun that was trained on him, and handed his weapon over, pearl handle first.
Pridgen sniffed the barrel, then relaxed. “This gun ain’t been fired recently, Stevie. I think you owe the dude an apology.”
The Doughs beamed.
Miss Smelter threw them a glare.
Stevie jerked her chin stubbornly. She was not yet ready to admit a mistake.
“It’s not necessary,” Heath said quietly. “I’m sorry about your father, Miss Johns.” He was upset with himself for not checking Sandy more closely. For failing to notice the man’s second wound might have cost him his life. “I didn’t know he’d been shot in the chest. I wouldn’t have left you alone with him if I’d known.”
His words were so sincere, so reassuring that Stevie felt small for her earlier accusations. Still, her only response was a slight nod.
Pilar, her eyes bright with tears, put a comforting arm around Stevie’s shoulders. “Is he at Sully’s?”
“Yes.”
“Nellie, will you ask Cook to get Stevie something to eat while I check on Sandy?” Pilar tried valiantly to keep her voice steady. She patted Stevie’s cheek in a motherly gesture. “Why don’t you freshen up, then rest some after you eat, hon? You’ll want to stay in town to be close to your father. We can share my room.” Worry for Sandy sculpting her face, she turned away.
Miss Smelter pointed rudely at Stevie. “She’s staying here?” Heath felt Stevie stiffen at his side. He had never slapped a woman before, but his hands itched to wipe the supercilious smirk off Miss Smelter’s pockmarked face. Absently, he wondered what there was about Stevie that the spinster objected to.
Stevie’s cheeks flamed. She knew that the schoolteacher looked down on her because she was Indian. Well, she didn’t care what the old bitch thought, never had. But she hated to be ridiculed in front of the gambler.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Pilar asked her boarder.
“She’s an Indian,” Miss Smelter hissed as if that incontrovertible fact should end the discussion.
Stevie winced as Heath stared at her intently. He was surprised to learn that she was Indian, but she read his reaction to Smelter’s revelation differently.
“So?” Pilar broke through the tension cloaking the assemblage.
“Indians shouldn’t reside with decent people.”
“Miss Smelter, that’s not very Christian of you,” Bitsy intoned.
“Not very Christian of you at all,” Itsy agreed.
If Heath hadn’t been so enraged with the woman standing at their side, he would have kissed the portly sisters. He agreed with them wholeheartedly.
Miss Smelter drew herself up in a huff. “I will not remain in a home that houses savages.”
“Good,” retorted Pilar. “That’ll leave plenty of room for Stevie and her son. I suggest you leave immediately, Miss Smelter. And do not bother to return.”
“I’ll do just that.” When she looked like she would say something further, Heath’s glare sent her packing. Stevie’s gaze was trained on the hazy outline of the mountains in the distance, so she missed the exchange between Heath and Miss Smelter.
“Honey, I’m sorry.”
Stevie waved away Pilar’s apology. She was used to the kind of treatment she had just received. Still, she wondered if it would always hurt. “I’ll walk back to Sully’s with you.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as husky to the others as it did to her.
“Miss Johns, I’d like to have a word with you first. Then I’ll escort you over to the doc’s when you’re ready.” Heath’s request was extremely respectful.
More respectful than she deserved, after all she had done and said to him since they met, Stevie allowed. The least she could do was hear him out. “Very well.”
Her pa would be fine with Pilar. If Sandy woke up, it’s likely that he would want to see Pilar anyway. Sandy Johns was a healthy man whose needs Pilar met on a regular basis. Even though Stevie pretended ignorance, she knew that the two were in love; more to the point, her father’s two nights a week in town were spent in Pilar’s bed. She wondered what the high-and-mighty Gertrude Smelter would think of that.
Smiling, she preceded Heath into the house.
Seven
“Damn flighty female!”
Heath had been cooling his heels in Pilar’s parlor for an hour now, waiting for Miss Johns to finish freshening up and spare him a moment of her time. Surely a woman who dressed like a man could finish her toilette in less than an hour.
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