by Moira Rogers
So fast. Did the world slow down for him? Did he realize how he looked to others? A blur of leather and sun-roughened skin, dealing death in the time it took her to suck in one startled breath. If she’d dropped her gun when he stepped away, he might have killed the ghoul and been back at her side to catch it before it hit the floor.
Her fear had hurt him, and that shook her the most, for it underscored the ridiculousness of the emotion. Even in the moment, she hadn’t feared him. His actions, perhaps, and her foolishness in forgetting what he was, but not Archer himself.
No matter what violence he might be capable of, the man who’d taken her to bed with lust and tenderness wouldn’t hurt her. That gave her courage to knock on his door, Cook’s tray balanced on her hip. “Archer? I have supper for you.”
The reply that came was absent. “Come in.”
She eased open the door and froze on the threshold, held captive by the sight of her terrifying bloodhound hunched over the small desk with the ink-smeared cheeks of an absentminded scholar. The hands that had crushed the life out of the ghoul had performed the same task on a dozen scraps of paper, which lay crumpled at his elbows and near the foot of his chair. As she watched, his pen scratched over a fresh sheet, then returned to stroke through the notes as a furrow formed between his eyebrows.
His writing slowed, stopped, and he looked up at her, puzzled. “What is it, honey?”
Grace wondered if she was blushing. She felt foolish enough having been caught staring like a love-struck fool. She nudged the door shut behind her and crossed to the desk. “You have a little ink,” she murmured, setting the tray down. She reached out and ghosted her thumb over the top of his cheek. “Right here.”
“Oh. Damn things always leak.” Even more ink stained his fingers, and he studied them with a grumble. “I’ve been trying to decipher Doc’s notes.”
She walked to the vanity with its sink and hot and cold taps. Twisting the left knob brought hot water quickly enough, no doubt because the kitchen’s ovens had been hard at work. She returned to him with a damp towel and only barely resisted the urge to wipe his cheek herself. “Have you had any luck?”
“No.” He flipped one ledger shut and traced the odd symbol on its cover. “I should have paid more attention when Theron was lecturing me on Babbage and Vigenère’s blasted tabula recta.”
Words that would have held no meaning at all, if she hadn’t befriended the gang’s bespectacled little accountant in her quest to find a way to hide her money. “It’s a shift cipher?”
“I hope so, because otherwise I’ll never figure it out.” He thumped the book. “If it is one, though, it has a key. I tried Diana already, but nothing doing.”
“We’ll figure it out.” She gathered the notes and stacked them on top of the book to make room for the tray—and to give her some place to look other than his face while she mustered her apology. “Archer, I’m sorry. About earlier.”
He didn’t move. “For what?”
If she spent time making sure each piece of paper lined up precisely with the edge of the book, she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “For being afraid.”
At first, he said nothing. Then he sighed. “I’m not human anymore, Grace. You’d be a fool not to be frightened of the things I can do. I don’t care about that.”
She grasped desperately at his words. “Of the things you can do,” she agreed. “Seeing it was a shock. But I don’t want you to think—” Gathering her tattered dignity, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “I wasn’t afraid you’d hurt me.”
He laid his hand over hers. “I know, and I understand.”
Her heart wanted to pound its way into her throat just from that soft touch. Oh, and what a wicked edge of danger now. Time blunted the shock of it, gave his stark violence a sort of protective beauty. She already knew that he fucked with the same intensity that he fought, utterly focused and unabashedly victorious.
If she closed her eyes, she’d remember him clutching at her hips, his dark voice rolling over her, wrapped in smug pleasure. You like that, honey? When I fuck you right—there…
She pulled away before her trembling hand could betray her, and nudged the tray in front of him. “Cook prepared this just for you. Cecil might become jealous.”
“I’m not hungry.” He pushed the chair back from the desk. “Come here.”
Two steps brought her close enough for her skirts to brush his leg. “You need to eat.”
“In a minute.” Archer patted his thigh. “Sit, honey.”
She flicked her gaze from his face to his leg and back, torn between relief and exasperation. He looked like a man bent on soothing and stroking, which was as foolish an idea as she’d ever heard. Another hard ride—that was a bad idea worth pursuing. He could bend her over the desk this time, take her with her skirts over her back and her screams muffled against her arms.
Sliding onto his leg was asking for a broken heart. Maybe not tonight or even tomorrow, but soon enough he’d decipher the code and save Crystal Springs…and then he’d ride away, and she’d be where she’d started all those years ago. Alone, all of her masks stripped away and her life in pieces.
Still, he could hardly work on deciphering while she was perched on his knee. She’d never met a man whose mind didn’t drift to carnal pursuits once a woman crawled into his lap. And if she did so quickly enough, she wouldn’t have time to consider the flimsy state of her rationalizations.
He was sprawled in the chair like a man who owned every bit of space in the room, so she stepped between his knees and slid onto his leg. “Better?”
He stroked her hair instead of answering. “I’m dangerous, Grace, but I’d never harm you.”
“I know that.” Meeting his gaze over such a short distance would be too intimate, so she smoothed out a wrinkle in his shirt. “It was never about you. I spent a lot of time around dangerous men who might well have harmed me. Some instincts are difficult to unlearn.”
“Yes, they are.” Archer stilled her hand. “You lied to me out at Doc’s place. You were scared, and you told me you were fine. You lied…and I had started to let myself believe that wasn’t something we had to do with each other. That, whatever else, we were going to be honest.”
She had to bite back a smile. “I told you I’d be fine once I caught my breath,” she corrected gently. “It wasn’t the time or place for complicated truths, and I didn’t want to hurt you with simplified ones.”
“Still.” His fingers kept combing through the tendrils of her hair that had escaped from her twist. “It made me wonder.”
“Then I owe you honesty.” Even the memory of the wrinkle had been smoothed from his shirt, so she lifted her gaze to his. “Ask me anything.”
His eyes were locked onto hers. “Why are you in Crystal Springs?”
She wished she had a good answer. A real answer, something less depressing than the truth. “This is where I happened to be when I grew weary of running. Well, in the next town over, but I heard they had need of a schoolteacher here, and I thought it might be a good place to catch my breath.”
He didn’t ask what—or who—she’d been running from, only nodded. “I joined the Guild because I thought I had no choice. No better one, anyway.”
“Because you were on the wrong side of the law?” Perhaps the Guild preyed on desperation to remake men with useful skills.
He took a deep breath. “Because I’d been on the wrong side of a dynamite explosion. I’d lost half my face, both my eyes. They told me I was dying, and I have every reason to believe it was the truth.”
His face bore scars, was rough and weathered, but whole. Grace lifted a hand and traced his cheekbone. Up, curving around his eye until his eyebrow tickled her finger, then down the crooked length of his nose. “They offered you a miracle.”
“At a price I couldn’t have possibly understood. Not at the time.”
Just the way Clyde Howland had lured her into his gang of thugs. An unbelievable reward for a small sacri
fice, and no hint that no one who joined his crew left alive. For all their noble intentions, had the Guild been any better? They’d preyed on a man’s desperation, only to trap him into a life of hardship, loss and violence.
Swallowing, she touched her fingertips to his lips. “When I was seventeen, I was turned out onto the street by my employer. I was hungry and desperate, but still not willing to sell my body. So I struck what I thought was a very clever deal with a very charming man, and was too young and stupid to realize I’d sold my soul instead.”
His eyes were deep, dark. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s enough to know you would.”
Grace closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his cheek. “I hurt so many people. The world had crushed me, so I decided to be the villain instead of the victim. I like to tell myself that I left because they found a line I wouldn’t cross, but I left to save myself. I’m a lying, cheating survivor, and if you hadn’t found me in the stable the other morning, I might have abandoned everyone here to save my own skin.”
“If that were true, it would’ve been the first time you’d gone out there to saddle your horse. The only time.”
She laughed helplessly. “Don’t forgive me. I have so many sins, and for years I’ve had no one to judge me for them. No one who even knows what they are.”
His thumbs brushed her cheeks. “I don’t want to know so I can judge you. I’m not fit for that, anyway. It ain’t fitting, that’s all. Having no one who really knows you.”
“No, perhaps it’s not.” He cradled her face as if she were something precious. Tender sweetness in the hands that had dealt such instant, vicious death, and if anyone could know her and not hate her… “The line wasn’t stealing money, or blackmail. I sweet-talked men right into their clutches. Only talk, at first, but you get numb to it. The bits of yourself you’re giving up.”
“Later, Grace.” He soothed her with a nonsensical murmur and drew her down for a kiss. Soft and slow, just warm lips against hers and his thumbs stroking her cheeks as if he could wipe away tears she’d shed in years past.
He slid his lips to her jaw, and his voice emerged in a rasp. “I’ll figure it out, the cipher. I’ll save your home.”
She didn’t want the reminder. She didn’t want to think about her own recklessness or how much it would hurt to go back to the lies and the masks. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she tilted her head back. “I want to be in your bed. Every night.”
“You will be,” he swore. “Mine—for now.”
Oh, she was getting greedy. But she’d thrown away all caution and sense, so why bother with dignity and pride? “I want you to show me the things I’ve never had. What sex is like when it’s as much about a woman’s pleasure as a man’s.”
His chest shook beneath her. “I thought I’d already done that. I really did.”
Grace laughed, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d done so with such freedom. “Yes, you’ve given me a taste for it, and now you’ll have to indulge my curiosity. It’s your own fault.”
“I’ll live.” He rested his head against her cheek and sighed again. “We’ll have to talk to Diana about these papers. There has to be some clue, something Doc Beale told her. Maybe she doesn’t even know it’s important.”
“I know.” She stared at their reflection in the window. Night had fallen, and the moon was too close to dark to cast much light. The reminder kindled nervousness in her belly as she turned to kiss his head. “It isn’t long until the new moon.”
He tensed before huffing out a nervous laugh. “No. Though if it’s the focus of a woman’s pleasure you want, there’s really no better time. Not with a bloodhound.”
The little Diana told her about the new moon painted a picture of unchecked desire. The crazed need to put her hands on a man and bring him to his knees with pleasure. “Is that what it is?” she asked, stroking her fingers over his shaggy hair. “You hear stories, but always in whispers. Rumors and wild tales.”
“That’s what it is.” Archer tilted his head back. “The wild tales are mostly true, excepting the ones that claim violence. It may be the one time in our lives when it’s not about hurting anyone.”
“If you need—” No, that would make it sound like she’d offered out of obligation. A fine way to salvage her pride if he rejected her, but not in keeping with the spirit of perfect honesty. “If you want me to,” she started again, “I would be happy to see you through the new moon.”
He blinked as he rose slowly, set her on her feet and stared down at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Sure, though more nervous than she had been, with him studying her so intently. Perhaps it had been a naive offer. Perhaps he needed a woman with more professional experience, like one of the working girls downstairs. “Is there a reason I might not be…suitable?”
He shook his head. “No. You’re perfect.”
The word made her smile. “That’s something I’ve never heard spoken honestly before.”
A frown darkened his features for a moment before smoothing, and he brushed her hair out of her eyes as he smiled. “Then I’ll say it often, how’s that?”
Grace felt as if she’d stumbled over the edge of a cliff. A frown. A touch. A smile. Three little gestures, and they’d said so much. Protectiveness. Tenderness. Hope. She was falling, the wind a sweet warmth as it rushed by, and it felt so glorious that she could almost pretend she would never hit bottom.
She was falling in love.
Chapter Six
“We’re gonna need more boards.” Archer grabbed the last one from the boy at the base of the ladder. “Is there a lean-to around that hasn’t been busted apart yet, Jake?”
“Behind the telegraph office, I think.” As hard as the kid tried to put on an adult face, he damn near vibrated with youthful energy. “You want I should go check?”
“You’d best.” Getting the saloon ready for the new moon had to take priority. He hefted the leather pouch of nails and shook out a handful. “Run along, and let me know what you find.”
The boy took off at a sprint, barely managing to sidestep Cecil when the old man limped into the street. Cecil watched Jake round the corner and laughed. “You’ve lit a fire under that one.”
“Hopefully, it’s ’cause he understands the danger.”
“I reckon he’s understood the danger a while now. He lost his pa and his older brother in one of the first attacks.” Cecil pulled off his hat and rested his weight against the side of the saloon. “You’ve given him a bit of hope back.”
The reminder hit Archer like a sucker punch to the back. It wasn’t enough that he had to somehow find a way to guard folks’ safety even while he was out of his mind with lust, but he carried the burden of their hope too. “He needs a better hero.”
“Don’t know as I agree.” The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Linwood’s certainly taken a shine to you, after all, and she’s good, decent folk.”
If only he knew the things Archer had done to the very proper Miss Linwood. “Cecil, I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Oh you do, do you?”
Archer waved the hammer. “You’re about to tell me to watch myself with Grace.”
“Maybe.” Cecil met his gaze squarely. “I don’t think as slow as I move, you know, and I see plenty. I think Grace Linwood can handle you just fine, only I’m not supposed to know that.”
Maybe the old coot wasn’t simple. “Because it’s none of our business.”
“Only thing I care is how people act, and Miss Linwood acts like decent folk. Not that there are many left to notice.” Cecil turned his hat over in his hands. “Whatever happens during your time here, Cook and I will see that no one carries tales to those who would hold such a thing against her.”
As if that was something that should concern Archer. “Let’s worry about her reputation when the town has made it through the new moon, all right? Survival, Cecil. Everything else is beside the point.”
The old man snorted. “L
ittle late, then, but you’re not wrong.” He studied Archer in silence for a few moments, almost as if weighing him on some internal scale. “Diana told me you and Grace asked her a mess of questions about Doc.”
Archer tromped down the ladder and studied him. The man’s eyes were sharp in his weathered face—and he’d already proven he was paying attention. “Wouldn’t have had to, maybe, if you’d been straight with me.”
Cecil swore under his breath. “And if I’m ready to talk now?”
“Depends. How much can you tell me about Beale?”
“Enough.” Cecil jerked his head toward the door. “Come in out of the sun while Jake tears up the town. Some things are best told where young ones can’t overhear.”
Archer followed him. Grace’s voice faintly tickled his ears from somewhere else on the floor, but the open expanse of the main hall was deserted. “What do you know?”
Cecil picked a table in the corner and seated himself with a grunt of relief. “That he used to work for the Bloodhound Guild, and that he thought everyone in this town could be in danger if the Guild ever found out.”
It was a question his tour of Doc’s cellar had already answered. “Was he always a doctor, or did he do something else for the Guild?”
“He was a doctor…and an inventor.” Cecil’s face looked tired. “I should have told you this before, maybe even told the Guild when I sent for help. But Beale made me swear an oath. Said that if the Guild found out who he was and what he’d been doing, they’d level this town and everyone in it if that was what it took to keep the secret.”
Archer’s blood chilled, and it was a struggle to draw breath. “Christ, Cecil. What was going on?”
“He said he was working for redemption. That he’d done something—created a formula. Something the Guild used to do evil things. He left before they could make him implement it, but I guess they went ahead without him.” Cecil closed his eyes. “When he told me, he was as drunk as any man I’d ever seen. I guess he’d left behind a woman, meaning to send for her, only when he got around to it, her family told him she’d died in an accident.”