Becoming Miss Becky

by Shannon Stacey

  Good heavens, she hadn’t meant to push him into the watering trough.

  Now what she’d intended as a small show of determination on her part had turned into a spectacle. Of course, simply being Miss Becky made her a spectacle unto herself, but she’d never meant to make Adam Caldwell look the fool. Especially in front of the entire town.

  Even now, as she pushed open the door to the Coop, she heard a few rumbles of laughter run through the crowd. It didn’t last long, but her stomach clenched up. What if the sheriff shot somebody in a fit of temper?

  But when the laughter died abruptly without being preceded by a gunshot, she assumed he’d just given them one of his magnificently dark looks.

  Becky ducked inside her parlor, then closed the door and leaned against it, wondering if the sheriff would come after her. Was what she’d done an arrestable offense?

  Sadie looked up from the skirt she’d been mending. ‘‘What happened? Did Lucy Barnes get after you?”

  “I just pushed Sheriff Caldwell into a horse trough.”

  The woman’s eyes got big and she pressed a hand to her belly. “In front of everybody?”

  “Yes.” It was more of a strangled squeak than a word. “Do you think I should bar the door?”

  “I…holy hell, Miss Becky, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean, he threatened to shoot Mrs. Martinson a whole heap of times when she first came to town, but he never did.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good, I suppose.”

  “Course, she never pushed him into a horse trough, neither.”

  The heavy pound of boots against the plank sidewalk gave Becky just enough notice to get out of the way before the door flew open and over six feet of sopping wet, furious male stormed in.

  “Sheriff, I—” Her words choked off in a squeal as Adam picked her up and threw her over his shoulder and started toward her bedroom.

  She was aware of Sadie screaming for Fiona, of the cold dampness seeping through her dress, and of the sheriff’s arm wrapped around her and his fingers digging into her hip to keep her from falling off his shoulder.

  Adam got her into her room without hitting her head on the doorway, then kicked the door closed behind them. Before she could protest, she was flying through the air and landing on her bed with a most undignified bounce.

  “What the hell have you done to yourself?” he demanded.

  “What business is that of yours, Sheriff? I assume you didn’t manhandle Aunt Adele in this fashion.”

  “Miss Adele was a whore.”

  “I think her clothes suit me.”

  When he lunged for her, she tried to scramble away but satin on satin proved too slippery and he hauled her off the bed and in front of the dressing table mirror. He stood behind her, one arm wrapped around her corseted waist to keep her still and one hand holding her face so she had no choice but to watch herself in the looking glass.

  “Look at yourself,” he demanded. “You look like a whore.”

  “I look beautiful.”

  “Do you know what people are going to think? They’re going to think you—”

  “I don’t care what people will think!” she shouted, and it felt so good. Until this moment she hadn’t even known she could be that loud. “Every minute of my life since my mother died has been lived according to what people thought of me. What Father thought of me. What his associates thought of me. I wore my hair as my father wished. I spoke in a quiet voice and even then only what he wished to hear. I stopped laughing, stopped dreaming. I became a shadow.”

  She leaned back against him, bringing one hand up to cover his as it splayed across her stomach. “I want to live out loud, Adam. I feel beautiful and vibrant and alive.”

  Despite their both being soaked to the skin, Becky felt feverishly warm as Adam’s hand roamed over her stomach. She wondered how it would feel for that hand to cup her breast. Would she experience the passion that played over the face of the woman in the painting?

  His hand fell away, and when he stepped back the cold seeped back in. “I don’t have associations with whores, Rebecca. I don’t aim to change that now.”

  “And I don’t intend to ever live in the shadows again just to a please a man who won’t accept me for who I am, so I suppose we’re done here.”

  He looked as though he might say more, and she waited with bated breath. But his jaw hardened and he tipped his hat. “That we are, Miss Hamilton.”

  Chapter Four

  Adam settled on a stool and glared at the barkeep until the man set a full glass in front of him. He knocked it back, savoring the burning kick to the gut, and gestured for another.

  “Tough day, Sheriff?”

  He nodded, wrapping his fingers around the glass. As a rule he only had one, but right now he was looking for oblivion.

  Six godforsaken weeks that woman had been tormenting him.

  He saw Rebecca Hamilton everywhere. On the street, at the bank, in the Mercantile. He saw her every time he closed his eyes. He even saw her in his sleep. And if he wasn’t seeing her, sure as hell somebody was talking about her. Miss Becky this. Miss Becky that.

  He pounded his fist on the bar and every man in the saloon froze.

  “You ain’t fixin’ to shoot anybody in here, are you?” the barkeep asked. “I just swept the floor last week.”

  Adam shook his head and everybody went back to their business. Since his business seemed to be dwelling on that woman, he looked to the barkeep for distraction. “Any news?”

  “Of what?”

  “Of anything, dammit. I’m makin’ conversation here.”

  “Oh. Well, Brent Barnes mentioned getting a letter from Beth Ann. Seems Brent and Lucy are going to be grandparents and Lucy—”

  Adam held up a hand. “Any news that doesn’t include a mention of Lucy Barnes.”

  Up until recently that woman had been the bane of his existence. Once she’d made up her mind Adam should marry her daughter Beth Ann, there’d been no safe place in all of Gardiner for him to hide. Hell, she’d even tried to throw marriage-preaching passages from her Bible at him.

  But it wasn’t about to happen. Even if she’d found a Scripture reading Adam Caldwell shalt burn in Hell for eternity if he shalt not wed Beth Ann Barnes, he would rather have grabbed up his axe and cut the kindling himself than be Lucy’s son-in-law until death did they part.

  Fortunately—for him anyway—Beth Ann had run off with Joey Keezer during the last town social.

  Now the woman had made it her mission to rid the town of Rebecca Hamilton, with the full weight of the Bible Brigade behind her—and with those ladies that weight wasn’t inconsiderable.

  Trouble was, Eliza Jane Martinson didn’t care for Lucy’s preaching and had rallied her own support. Tensions were running high and it came as no surprise to Adam that Rebecca, Eliza Jane and Lucy Barnes were at the center of it.

  He emptied his glass and the barkeep filled it again. “Heard they run off a bad one over to Halstead’s place.”

  “That right?” Halstead owned a big cattle outfit to the west, and he was more the type for stringing somebody up than running them off.

  “Seems a new hand tried to force himself on the cook and cut her when she didn’t like it. They were coming for him for when he took Halstead’s horse and disappeared.”

  Adam’s simmering temper heated another notch. A man deserved to die for stealing a horse, but he deserved even worse for cutting on a woman. A few well-placed bullets could make for days of agony.

  “This bad sort got a name?”

  “Johnson’s all he ever went by. Brown hair, looks like a hundred other cowpokes but for the scratches she managed to gouge into his cheeks.”

  “Any idea which way he headed?”

  “No, they lost him, but he was riding that big chestnut Halstead’s always bragging on.”

  Adam nodded. He knew the horse. “You make sure that story gets around.”

  And he reckoned if the man had a liking for hurting women, it w
as his civic duty as sheriff to make sure the chickens knew about him. A conversation with Rebecca Hamilton was in order.

  After one more drink.

  Becky had learned a few things about running a whorehouse during her first six weeks in Gardiner.

  She’d taken to the books right away, and charmed Tom Dunbarton at the Mercantile into ordering certain items in bulk to save money. She learned who in town tolerated the chickens and who—namely the Bible Brigade’s circle of influence—didn’t. She’d nearly stopped holding her breath every time somebody rode into town, fearing Lucas Kilraine had found her.

  She’d learned that by rising with the sun, she could have the house to herself until mid-morning when the girls descended from the upstairs rooms. She knew Will Martinson called on the girls once a month to see to their general health as well as making them a priority whenever they needed him.

  Eliza Jane was the best friend she’d ever had, Lucy Barnes hated her with a righteous passion, and Sadie was still putting off accepting a marriage proposal from Dan O’Brien.

  She’d even managed to stop blushing every time a chicken took a male caller by the hand and led him up the staircase.

  But one thing she hadn’t yet learned was what exactly went on in those rooms at the top of the stairs.

  The chickens, upon learning of her virginal state, had regaled her with descriptions of intimate acts that nearly curled her toes. And when she thought about those acts while perusing the provocative artwork hung throughout the Coop, she could almost imagine the goings-on between a man and a woman with hardly any gaps at all.

  But she didn’t know what it felt like and lacking that little bit of knowledge was causing her to lose sleep. And the hours she did manage to sleep were overrun with dreams of Adam Caldwell doing to her the kinds of things the chickens told her about. But the dreams were always vague and frustrating. She often woke feeling unfulfilled—like there should have been more.

  And, by God, she was going to find out what.

  Becky checked her reflection in the massive gilt mirror one final time before hurrying down the hall and out the front door before any of the chickens could spot her. Conversation wasn’t what she was looking for.

  Unfortunately, what she was looking for proved fairly difficult to find. After a walk to the sheriff’s office, Will’s office and the restaurant failed to turn up Adam, she set out for the livery stable. She knew he kept his horse there and she could at least find out if he’d had to leave town for any reason.

  She found him in a back stall, talking to an incredibly sorry-looking excuse for a horse that seemed to nod his head at the right moments.

  “Sheriff Caldwell?” She was startled when he whirled on her, hand over his gun.

  “Damnation, woman, don’t sneak up on a body like that.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation, but I’d like a moment of your time.”

  “This is Guapo,” Adam told her, and she caught a faint whiff of liquor.

  “What kind of name is that?”

  “It means handsome.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Adam scowled at her. “I don’t see anything too funny about the name. And there’s a rumor I shot the last man who called my horse ugly, so you watch yourself.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Shoot him?”

  “Yes, but he lived. And my horse ain’t ugly.”

  Clearly he’d had more to drink than he should have, but she wouldn’t let it deter her. “I didn’t seek you out to talk about your horse.”

  “I was coming to see you after I said goodnight to Guapo.”

  Her heartbeat quickened, but Becky was careful not to let her excitement show on her face. She didn’t want to seem too eager to see him, after all. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

  As they spoke, she’d been slowly inching her way forward until she was close enough to have to bend her head back to talk to him. Definitely close enough to touch. Even close enough to kiss.

  “I’m glad you were finally going to call on me,” she said a little breathlessly.

  “Not a social visit,” he said, but the heat in his gaze and the way that gaze kept dropping to her mouth let her know the battle wasn’t lost. “There’s a bad sort by the name of Johnson who might come to town. Likes to hurt women. Cut them up some. You tell those chickens if a brown-haired cowpoke with scratches on his face comes in, Fiona should welcome him with that shotgun of hers.”

  The idea of that kind of violence taking place in the Coop—in her home—cooled her blood a little, but she’d come here looking for something and she wasn’t leaving until she had it.

  “We’ll be careful,” she promised. Feeling bold, she reached up and traced the outline of his badge with the tip of one finger. “And I know you’ll protect us.”

  The shrewd look he gave her let her know that, despite the faint smell of liquor on his breath, he wasn’t in any way incapacitated with drink. “What brought you looking for me?”

  “I…I have a little problem.” She sighed deeply, which brought his attention fully to her cleavage. As planned. “Well, more of a need, really. A powerful need.”

  “I happen to have some experience with powerful needs,” Adam said, and the need she felt when his eyes met hers again sent her need from powerful to nearly overwhelming.

  He’d grabbed her by the arms and pulled her close before she was even aware of what he intended. His lips met hers, hard and fast, and then—just as she sucked in a surprised breath of understanding—the kiss was over.

  Rebecca pressed her fingertips to her mouth, but not in time to stop the tiny mewl of disappointment that escaped.

  Adam grasped her wrist, pulling her hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she whispered, offering a shaky smile of reassurance. “I’ve never been kissed before, so I was surprised. That’s all.”

  “You’ve never been kissed?”

  “No. I…my father was very strict about my not being in the company of men.”

  “Aw, shit.” He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Rebecca’s cheeks flamed when she thought of how disappointing her reaction must have been. “That ain’t no kind of kiss for a woman to remember as her first.”

  He released her wrist, ran his hands up the outside of her arms to her shoulders. Then he slid one hand over to rest high on her back while the other rose to cup the back of her neck.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “I’m going to kiss you again—the kind of kiss a woman deserves to look back on and savor.”

  “Please…” was all she got to say before his mouth claimed hers again.

  His lips were warm and, considering how very hard the rest of him was, surprisingly soft. She relaxed against his chest as his fingers curled into her hair, kneading the back of her skull.

  Their breath mingled and she arched onto the tips of her toes. Adam moaned, causing a vibration that tickled her lip and sent a shiver down her spine. He increased the pressure against her mouth and she whimpered a little when his tongue slid over hers.

  Adam broke off the kiss all too soon, leaving her panting, with a warm and needy feeling in her gut. A little shaky, Becky put her hand against a stall post to steady herself.

  If just kissing could make a woman feel like she did, more intimate pleasures between a man and a woman must be truly magnificent indeed.

  Adam took a deep breath that sounded almost as shaky as she felt and Becky’s pulse quickened. His being as strongly affected as she was boded well for future explorations.

  But then he swiped his fingertips across his mouth and scowled at the traces of crimson he saw there. Becky winced and wiped around her lips with her fingers, trying to fix any evidence of what she’d been up to in the livery barn. It was difficult without a mirror.

  “There’s something mighty powerful between us, Rebecca, but you know how I stand on—” he waved a
hand toward her outfit, “—this.”

  Disappointment washed away the warmth, leaving behind a growing chill in her veins. “By this, you mean me.”

  “Not you. This…game you’re playing.”

  “Game?” The fact savoring that amazing kiss would be forever tainted by his reversal of attitude was sorely disappointing. “Could you possibly be any more insulting?”

  “Insulting is knowing you prefer being thought a two-bit tart to being respectable.”

  “How is that insulting to you?” He pressed his lips together and she frowned. “You mean being respectable enough to be your wife.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “You think a little too highly of yourself, Sheriff Caldwell.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the barn, wishing she’d had the nerve to give him a good hard kick to the shin first.

  Never again was she going to accept any man judging her to be lacking in anything. She’d suffered enough of that in her life before escaping a lifetime sentence of it from Lucas Kilraine, and any man who tried it again could go straight to hell.

  Unfortunately, coming down the sidewalk was Lucy Barnes. Since Becky already knew neither of them would give way, they were going to pass one another. Lucy stuck her stub nose a little higher in the air and Becky put a little extra sway in her stride as they came close.

  Lucy clutched her Bible a little tighter to her chest. “Hussy.”

  Becky tossed her hair. “Harridan.”

  Then she was by and a moment later she stepped through the front door of the Coop. She needed a moment’s peace.

  What she found was Sadie and Dan O’Brien locked a passionate embrace. Not that passionate embraces were rare in the Chicken Coop, but they were supposed to take place above stairs and be of benefit to them all financially.

  She cleared her throat and the couple broke apart with a guilty start. That’s when she saw the tears on Sadie’s cheeks.

  “I accepted his proposal, Miss Becky.” Sadie gazed dreamily into her fiancé’s eyes. “I’m going to be Mrs. Daniel O’Brien.”

  Becky forced her mouth into a smile. At least somebody was happy.