Heath laughed. “Maybe Judge Jack realizes that I pose no threat to him. After all, I’m known for minding my own business. I’ve learned that a person lives longer that way.”
Stevie stiffened. “You’re welcome to your own opinion.” Her tone said the opposite. “But Judge Jack and his gunslingers shot my pa, they likely killed my brother, and have driven us off our ranch. He’s nothing but a penny-ante crook, and I intend to stop him.” She paused, fortifying herself for what came next. “Pilar thinks that I could maybe use some help.”
Heath bit back a chuckle at the hesitancy in Stevie’s voice. It was abundantly clear that she was unused to asking anybody for anything. His admiration for her grew several degrees. He had never known a lady like her.
Most of the women he knew had no aversion whatsoever to wheedling what they wanted out of a man. It was what women did, and they did it well. He didn’t think less of them for it. In a pragmatic way, he considered them quite clever. They were the weaker sex—physically—so they used their God-given assets to their best advantage, naturally. And that meant unleashing their sex appeal, manipulating the stronger sex into slaying their dragons for them.
Apparently, Miss Stephanie Johns wanted to slay her own dragons. Unfortunately, the heinous creatures threatening her world were too many, too powerful, and much too vicious for an untried innocent such as herself.
He knew that she wouldn’t appreciate hearing that, however. So instead, always the chivalrous gentleman—unless he was tossing a beautiful hellion on her pretty little rear into a tub of water—he decided to make it easy on her. “Perhaps I could be of assistance.” It didn’t occur to either of them that his offer of help was at odds with his just-expressed philosophy that he usually minded his own business.
Her relief was visible. “Pa and I would appreciate it.” And she hadn’t even had to offer him money. Things were definitely looking up.
The softness of her voice when she referred to her father struck a nostalgic chord in Heath. He glanced through the window over the sink. The deep green plains stretched out until they were blocked from view by a thick stand of trees. Summer grass, blown by the lonely wind, rippled freely across the prairie. Beyond his sight, way beyond, flowed the mighty Mississippi River. And beyond that, his home, his family, his father . . . who needed him.
The memory of his father’s illness made him all the more eager to solve Adobe Wells‘s—and Stevie Johns’s—problems so he could head east. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll go see the marshal right away.” He started to rise.
She halted him with a hand to his forearm.
“Marshal Reno’s a coward.” Stevie’s words weren’t meant to be unkind, rather a statement of fact. “He’s afraid of the judge’s hired guns. He has to get drunk just to walk down the streets of his own town. Besides, he’s disappeared. Nobody’s seen him in days.”
Heath dropped down into his seat. Pridgen had said something about Reno, but Heath had been under the influence, so it hadn’t registered. Had the judge run the local law off? If so, the situation in Adobe Wells was more serious than he had first thought. He would have to find the gutless marshal and give him a stern talking-to. Deserting his town in a time of crisis, indeed!
“Then I’ll see Colonel Banes. I understand he’s the one who installed Jack as judge. Surely he has the power to remove him. If the judge is as bad as you say, Colonel Banes should be made aware of it.”
This set Stevie off. Rising, she vented her spleen at him with the force of a thirty-pounder cannon. “Are you doubting my word?”
“Of course not. I apologize if I offended you,” he said, trying to placate her. “I suppose I have a lot on my mind. I assure you I will be very discreet when I question the local authorities.” Actually, he didn’t plan to talk with Banes. He just thought that was what Pilar and Stevie would expect him to do. Unless he missed his guess, Banes was up to his elbows in Judge Jack’s nefarious scheme.
“You don’t need to question the marshal and you don’t need to talk to Banes,” Stevie interrupted his thoughts. “They won’t help us. It’s just you and me. We have to investigate it on our own. Got it?”
Heath was characteristically silent.
Pilar recognized a man who was unused to being dictated to by a woman or anyone else. “Perhaps she’s right, Senor Diamond,” she soothed him. “The fewer people who know about this, the better. We wouldn’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“Which is why Miss Johns will have to leave this to me.”
Stevie jumped up, stamped her foot. “It’s my family, my home, and my town the judge is threatening.” She punctuated each undeniable fact by thumping her chest with the flat of her hand. “If you think I’m going to sit idly by, then you’re more simple-minded than most men of your profession.” She drew herself up, looking like an irate virgin at a cut-rate brothel.
Heath smiled coolly. So the self-righteous spitfire was looking down her pert little nose at him because he was a gambler. Well, hell would freeze before he would defend himself about anything.
“I don’t need your help. Nor will I accept it.”
“Then you’re fired.”
He did the worst thing he could given Stevie’s volatile nature; he laughed at her. “How can you fire a person whose never been hired?” he reasoned.
Stevie was beyond reasoning. She couldn’t bear for people to laugh at her. They’d been doing that her whole life. Hurt, enraged, and not wanting to make a bigger fool of herself than she already had, she ran from the room.
“Damn.” Heath grimaced. “I don’t think I handled that very well.”
Pilar shook her head, dismissing his concern. “Don’t worry. Stevie’ll get over it. If you hadn’t been young and handsome, and she hadn’t been so worried about Sandy, she wouldn’t have reacted so . . . explosively.”
Heath suspected that explosively was the only way Miss Johns knew to react. She probably could have persuaded him to take her on as a partner if she had exercised a bit more patience. He was glad that patience wasn’t one of her virtues, for chastity wasn’t one of his. And if he was around her for any length of time, particularly alone, neither of them would remain celibate. It was undeniably for the best that she had run out on him, even though he hated that she had left in a fit of pique.
And that he was even more intrigued with her now than before.
That evening, Heath was as frustrated as a mama cow without teats. Try as he might, he was unable to get the inhabitants of Adobe Wells to open up about Judge Jack. He had walked the streets that day, questioning everyone on two feet, but all to no avail. It was as if a cloak of fear had been thrown over the town.
His first day in Adobe Wells, the exploits of Judge Jack was all he heard. Now the townspeople had developed a remarkable case of lockjaw. Hoping that after a few drinks, over a hand of cards, someone would be more forthcoming, he headed toward the Golden Nugget.
The fire Stevie Johns had lit in his loins was still smoldering. But he renewed his vow to steer clear of her and the temptation she presented, no matter how damn hard it was. He groaned silently at the mental double entendre.
Perhaps an accommodating long-legged woman would be on duty at the Golden Nugget. Surprised that he couldn’t manufacture more enthusiasm at the prospect of a heated toss in the hay with a hurdy-gurdy girl, he pushed through the swinging doors of the saloon.
He squinted at the heavy cloud of smoke, weaving his way through a sea of revelers. He dropped into a chair at the rear table, much as he had the night before. Instinctively cautious, he slid his chair flush against the wall.
“What will you have, Senor?” the same Mexican barkeep shouted over the familiar deafening roar.
“Whiskey,” Heath called. His hangover was forgotten, as was his vow to avoid intoxicating spirits for the rest of his life.
The barkeep filled a shot glass and placed it before him. Heath nodded absently, his gaze wandering idly about the room.
“Shall I bring two
glasses?” one barkeep asked.
Heath raised his brow in question.
“My friend Blue will keep you company.”
Almost without conscious thought, Heath responded, “By all means.”
How many times had he acted out this scene? Too many to count, but he had never done it with less enthusiasm. And he refused to believe that Stevie Johns was the reason. He had done little more than kiss the girl. How could she have captivated him so?
In a short while the barkeep served him a bottle of Scotch. He grinned when he placed a second glass on the table. “Blue will be here in a few minutes. You will like her.”
“Gracias.”
Heath filled his glass, took a long drink, and sat back to wait. As he waited for one woman, his thoughts were of another. In his mind he replayed every encounter he’d had with Stevie Johns. He couldn’t help but marvel that she had very neatly tied him into knots since the first moment they met.
Usually, he was a very logical person. He approached a problem, analyzed it, then responded appropriately. Stevie had blown that mode of operation to hell. Instead, he approached her, was mesmerized, and acted like an irresponsible, horny idiot.
But there was one overriding truth in this situation that he couldn’t ignore or alter. Stevie Johns was the kind of lady—though rough around the edges—men married, not the kind men bedded for recreation. She wasn’t for him.
What he needed, if and when he decided to marry, was a woman with a background similar to his. His mother would undoubtedly find him a New York socialite with an impeccable bloodline. She would be petite, blond, pale, soft-spoken, and terribly, terribly polite.
Once he decided to give up marshaling, or gallivanting in the godforsaken wilderness, as his mother characterized his present career choice, he would join his father’s shipping business and his proper wife would be an excellent hostess to his wealthy business contacts. They would live in a mansion on Thirty-fourth Street, have two well-mannered, pale blond, fair-skinned children—a boy and a girl. And they would all be incredibly content.
He tried to ignore the fact that it sounded absolutely ghastly to him. Worse than ghastly, it sounded boring.
Visions of half a dozen dark-skinned, platinum blond hellions bouncing on his knee teased his mind. And their beautiful mother driving him to distraction teased his body.
No! He and Stevie Johns were not right for each other, not to mention that they were virtual strangers. And despite his hell-raising days in the Wild West, he and Stevie were from two different worlds. Because of the hardships he suffered in the war, he had been unable to step back into his life of wealth and ease. Consequently, he decided to become a U.S. marshal . . . for a time. But that time was coming to an end. He wasn’t meant to live his life with a girl like Stevie. No matter how much he wanted her.
He would never be able to make her happy. She needed to settle down with a nice, dependable rancher, raise a few kids, and grow old watching her grandchildren play in the yard . . . tormenting the chickens. He chuckled at his fanciful description of Stevie’s future, then groaned when he painted himself into the picture as her rancher husband.
That would never happen. What would happen if he didn’t maintain control of the situation is that she would give him her innocence, have a passionate affair with him, then eat his dust as he rode out of town.
His gut ached at the thought.
Pilar and Sully didn’t see Stevie standing in the doorway to the medical office. She had come to tell them her pa was conscious and hungry as a bear. The secretive way they were speaking made her reluctant to interrupt. Once again she found herself eavesdropping.
“Pepper said they came right after Stevie and Sandy left the ranch”—Sully continued quietly—“Judge Jack and a group of miners. He set them to work in that cave Stevie and Jeff were always playing in.”
“Stevie’s hiding place?”
Sully nodded.
“What could they be looking for?” This was from Pilar.
“Damned if I know. But they’re sure looking for something.”
“What about Pepper?”
“He’s hiding out at the old line shack.”
Soundlessly, Stevie slipped out the front door. She went in search of Winter. He was sitting on the porch at Pilar’s, rubbing Sweetums’s coat, both under the watchful eyes of Itsy and Bitsy. Stevie expressed her thanks to the tittering twins, then set off with Winter in search of Lucky Diamond. It took a while for them to discover his whereabouts. When they did, she handed the child a note.
“Take this to him. Namasi-kohtoo, quick, quick.” She raised her eyes to the noose dangling ominously in the center of town. “And be careful.”
Eleven
The soiled dove crossed the room, her movements practiced, seductive, fluid.
She looked anything but soiled. Heath guessed her age to be about twenty-five, but he couldn’t be sure. The heavy cosmetics painted on her face disguised her age. He suspected they hid her beauty as well. It was almost as if she wore a mask, concealing her true self.
The mental image of Stevie, her face scrubbed until it shone, teased his mind. He pushed it aside with a well-trained sense of will and ran his appreciative gaze over the woman before him.
Blue was a voluptuous woman, dressed in bright crimson. Her form-fitting satin dress barely reached her knees, showing shapely legs encased in black net stockings. Heath smiled; he had a weakness for black net stockings.
He tore his gaze away from her legs and raised it to her waist-length hair. Framing her bare shoulders, the glistening curls were even darker than her stockings. She returned his smile, managing to look respectable.
“Good evening.”
“Ma’am.” Heath rose to his feet, pulling Blue’s chair out. “Won’t you sit down and have a drink with me?”
Heath thought he detected a note of sadness in her pale blue eyes. But as she settled her short skirts about her, she lowered her lashes, effectively hiding her gaze. Shrugging away the thought, he filled their glasses with amber liquid. His hand shook slightly, sloshing the whiskey as he handed Blue her drink.
She thanked him, her words lost to the ever-increasing din in the saloon. Raising the tumbler to her mouth, she allowed the whiskey to touch her lips but drank none. Finally, she leaned forward and introduced herself. “They call me Blue.”
Heath bent close to her ear. “I’m Lucky Diamond.” He felt the warmth of her bare neck against his cheek. The clean smell of lavender filling his nostrils caused his deprived body to react instinctively. His heart, however, wasn’t in it.
“Do you plan to stay long in Adobe Wells, Lucky?”
“Now that I’ve met you, I might.” He smiled, his inherent charm practically oozing from his pores. It was no chore for Heath to seduce a woman. In fact, it would take a conscious effort to do otherwise.
Blue was suitably charmed. The handsome gambler was looking at her if she were a real person. It had been a while since anyone had looked at her like that. Most men were pigs. They didn’t want conversation, just a poke. They didn’t care about the women they used, not as people, just hunks of meat for their pleasure. Lucky Diamond seemed different. He was nice, neat, handsome—and clean, like Jeff.
Sadness clouded her gaze again. This time Heath recognized the expression for what it was. The girl was grieving, as if she had lost a loved one.
The thought that saloon girls had loved ones was rather novel. To his shame, he realized he had never thought much about these women after he had finished with them. They were businesswomen, and he was a paying customer. It was as simple as that. He never spent all night with them, just did his business and left.
Though he treated them well, he never really thought about their lives outside the bordellos in which they plied their trade. Most, he suspected, had no life outside the honkytonks.
Blue was different, he was convinced. She was unlike any soiled dove he’d ever encountered.
He shouldn’t have been surprised
. Thus far, none of the women in Adobe Wells had been what he expected. Pilar wasn’t; she seemed protective of Stevie, yet approved her risky plan to investigate Judge Jack. God knows Stevie wasn’t what one would expect of an innocent. And Blue—a woman who went to bed with men for a living—appeared quite the lady.
Leaning back in his chair, he studied her, intrigued. He found himself hoping that she just drank with the customers. . . then went to bed alone. He hated to think of her putting up with men groping at her night after night.
But he knew better. The barkeep had known what he was looking for and had provided Blue to meet his needs.
Heath smiled at Blue gently. He wasn’t particularly surprised to discover that he didn’t want to take her to bed. The prospect of spending a few quiet moments talking with this kind woman appealed to him much more than the idea of getting naked and sweaty with her.
Though he was loath to admit it, in less than twenty-four hours Stevie Johns had taken away his desire for other women. But he couldn’t have Stevie, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. She was young, a lady, and he would be moving on soon.
“Where are you from?” Blue interrupted his musings.
“Back east,” he answered vaguely. “But I’ve been around. How about you?”
“Santa Fe.”
Heath refilled his glass and relaxed. As soon as he decided not to bed Blue, some of the tension left his body. After more companionable talk with her, he slipped a white lace handkerchief from his shirt pocket. True, it wasn’t pearls and diamonds, but it was the gesture that counted. Women liked gifts. Blue’s glowing eyes assured him she was no different.
He had purchased the gift several days earlier for an occasion such as this. A fellow marshal, Winn Marable, and a number of other lawmen had been with him at the time. Winn had almost laughed Heath out of town. But Heath had bought the delicate item anyway—after threatening to bust Winn’s jaw if he didn’t stop his guffawing. In the end—after Heath reminded Winn that women weren’t exactly panting for a glimpse of his smile—Winn had also bought a handkerchief.
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