“No, we’d know,” Holly said in her serious and quiet manner. “Men talk to us a lot and we know just about everything that goes on in town and on all the ranches around.”
Fiona laughed. “Like how Sheriff Caldwell asked you to marry him when you’d hardly been introduced.”
“You know about that?”
“We know everything,” Sadie affirmed.
They knew a lot more than she did, certainly. They might even know what kind of tastes Adam Caldwell had and if any of them ran toward the peculiar.
She could ask, but she was starting to think it might be a lot more interesting to find out for herself.
***
“So Eliza Jane…she’s a respectable sort of woman, ain’t she?” Adam asked Will as they walked down the sidewalk enjoying a rare cloudy day.
“Seein’ as how she’s my wife, I’d like to think so.”
“I can see that.”
“There are some folks who’d beg to differ, I reckon. ‘Specially those who’ve been to one of her lectures on female monthlies or—”
Adam held up a hand to stop him. “I heard all about that—in detail—from Lucy Barnes. Couldn’t get up a decent cockstand for damn near a week. But Eliza Jane, she considered herself respectable, right?”
“I reckon so.”
“So if you considered her respectable and she considered herself respectable, how’d you manage to sweet talk her into bed without marrying her?”
“Adam, are you asking for advice on how to debauch the sweet, innocent niece of one of my dearest friends?”
“That sweet, innocent woman is running around in satin and lace with her breasts on display for anyone to gawk at.”
“Her breasts are not on display—just a hint. And ain’t nobody gawking on account of fearing you’ll shoot them.”
That gave him pause. “You tell anybody else about my askin’ her to marry me?”
“Nope. Didn’t have to because it’s clear as day when you look at her. And Frank Seymour told me you saw him tip his hat to her and you actually bared your teeth and growled at him.”
“He was ogling. I won’t stand for ogling in my town.”
“You best gather your ammunition, then.”
“You gonna tell me how you courted Eliza Jane or not?”
“Nope. And considering your opinion of Becky since her change in appearance, I’m surprised you’re so hung up on respectability.”
“I know her. And I know that even though she looks like a whore, she’s a good and decent woman.”
Will’s hand slapped down between his shoulder blades hard enough to make him wince. “If you know she’s a good and decent woman—and one we already know you’ve considered marrying, I might add—then why can’t you forget about the face paint and feathers?”
Adam stopped walking and gave his best friend his darkest glare. The look alone had once made a seasoned outlaw surrender himself, and Adam had been out of bullets at the time.
Will just laughed at him. “You’re reluctant to seduce Becky because she’s a respectable woman but you can’t court her properly because she looks like a seductress when you’re looking for a respectable woman?”
“That sounds like something a woman would say, Doc. Marriage is making you soft.”
“One thing marriage to Eliza Jane doesn’t make me is soft.” He laughed. “Now I’m going to go check on Johnny Jr.’s rash and then sweet-talk my seductive, respectable wife into a bathtub. Again.”
Will left him standing there, damn near boiling over with frustration.
He hadn’t been so turned inside-out over a woman since that first widow took him in her barn and made him a man. Hell, this one was even worse because at least with that widow there hadn’t been a doubt in his mind what he wanted.
With Rebecca he was all tied in knots as to what he did want, didn’t want and should or shouldn’t want. And if she could just see her way to being the little mouse who’d stepped off the stage again and accepting his proposal, all of his troubles would be over.
Maybe she didn’t have to go as far as that ugly gray dress, though. He’d seen some light blue yard goods at the Mercantile that would make a decent dress. A nice enough color to make a woman feel pretty without making her look like she was for sale.
Totally disgusted with himself, Adam started toward his office. Maybe he’d done too well keeping the peace in Gardiner if all he had to do with his time was stand around and think about dressmaking.
He needed something to take his mind off Rebecca Hamilton. Maybe he’d take Halstead’s chestnut out to his ranch since the man hadn’t sent anybody for it yet. Or maybe he’d head over to the saloon and find himself a card game and the bottom of a bottle.
“Sheriff Caldwell!” called a voice that make Adam’s skin crawl as if he had a tarantula in his britches.
Lucy Barnes wasn’t exactly the kind of diversion he’d been looking for. As a matter of fact, she was just about the last person he wanted to see. Ever.
“I’d like a moment of your time, please.”
He couldn’t exactly say no since it was obvious his only pressing matter was wandering down the street woolgathering. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Barnes?”
“What I have to say is of a rather delicate nature, so I’d prefer to discuss the matter in your office.”
He didn’t want to be privy to any delicate natures belonging to this woman. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather talk to Doc? He’s real good with delicate things.”
“It’s not that delicate!” She didn’t bother waiting to allow Adam to open the door for her. She just marched on into his office like she owned the place.
“You need to do something about that woman,” she said the second he’d closed the door behind him. “You need to send her away.”
“Now, Lucy,” he said, using her first name as he was apt to do when highly annoyed with the woman, “we’ve been through this before with Miss Adele. You’ll tell me to run the chickens out of town. I’ll tell you they’ve got as much right to be here as you do. Then you’ll get all huffy and threaten to have my badge. I’ll smile and offer you my gun to go with it, and then you’ll get really fired up and leave.”
“Huffy? I beg your pardon?”
“We’ve had this conversation so many times I reckon we can skip right to the you walking out part.”
“It’s different this time. Adele knew her place.”
Adam’s temper started a slow simmer in his gut. “And Rebecca Hamilton doesn’t know her place?”
As usual, Lucy missed the warning tone in his voice. “No, she doesn’t. She’s impertinent and brazen and not at all the sort we want in this town.”
“From what I’ve seen, there are a fair amount of people in Gardiner who’ve taken a shine to her.”
“Yes, the men,” she practically hissed. “And don’t think I haven’t heard all about how you threw yourself at her the second she stepped down from the stagecoach.”
Well, hellfire, but that was a humiliating way to describe that day’s events. He opened his mouth to set Lucy straight, but she held up a hand to shush him.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she declared. “That was before she met Eliza Jane Martinson and started behaving in wicked ways. I don’t blame you for being taken in by that sweet, innocent act.”
The implication being, of course, that Adam only had his badge still because his sniffing around Rebecca’s skirts had taken place while those skirts were gray.
“I don’t reckon it was meeting Doc’s wife that’s making her misbehave.”
“Whatever the reason, I want her run out of town.”
“That ain’t gonna happen, Lucy. She’s got as much right to be here as you do.”
Her face turned an uncomely shade of red and her fingers tightened on her Bible as though she might whack him with it. She’d done it once, during the last town social right before her daughter ran off and eloped—thank the Lord. He didn’t think even Lucy Barn
es had the courage to hit him twice.
She satisfied herself with shaking a stubby finger at him. “Don’t you forget the town council that pays your salary can find somebody else to wear that badge—somebody with a finer moral center.”
That statement cheered Adam considerably as it was always the next to last thing she said before walking out the door. “You just tell me who to turn the star over to, Lucy, and I’ll even give him a gun for good measure.”
“I’ll be speaking to Mr. Barnes about this,” she announced, although her husband being on the town council had yet to prove beneficial to her in her quest to find a new sheriff.
The woman stomped to the door and flung it open just in time to barely avoid running right into Rebecca Hamilton.
Adam sank into his rickety wooden chair with a sigh of defeat. While he admittedly spent a fair amount of time wishing he could see a lot more of Rebecca, he’d just about had his fill of people for the day.
“Harlot,” Lucy snapped as the women pushed by one another in the doorway.
“Harpy.” Rebecca slammed the door in her face.
“I should introduce you two ladies to the Marquess of Queensbury,” Adam said.
“Who?”
“Never mind. What can I do for you today, Miss Hamilton?”
Rebecca took a seat and then a deep breath. “I would like for you to be the gentleman who relieves me of my state of chastity.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I want you to make love to me.”
A herd of thoughts stampeded through Adam’s mind, led by a resounding Yee-haw! But pulling up the rear was the idea that not too long ago she’d been that sweet, quiet mouse who’d had to work up the courage to say the word whorehouse. Didn’t she deserve to be with a man who knew which version of her was the real one?
“I’m not the right man for that job, sweetheart.”
She smiled, but it was tight and her chin went up a notch. “Fine. Then I’d like to talk to you about hiring your presence at a private event the Coop will be hosting. The chickens tell me the sale of a woman’s innocence can gather a rather large crowd which can get rowdy. I think having a lawman present will help deter the true brigands from causing trouble.”
“What in blue blazes are you talking about, woman?”
“Auctioning off my virginity to the highest bidder.”
Shock and outrage got his tongue all tangled up, but Adam knew one thing—there was no way in hell it was going to happen. And if he couldn’t threaten or scare her out of the act, he’d make damn sure his was the winning bid. He had some money saved up. He could get a loan from the bank. Hell, he’d rob the damn bank if that’s what it took.
And she just kept smiling at him while he spit and sputtered like a heap of wet gunpowder. Adam knew if he outright told her he wouldn’t stand for it, she’d likely start the sale right then and there just to be contrary.
But the thought of another man touching Rebecca soured his stomach worse than one of Eliza Jane’s pies. She deserved better than that. And if some randy cowboy coughed up a heap of wages for the privilege, that cowboy might get to thinking he could treat her however he saw fit.
“That ain’t right,” he finally said. “Your first time making love should be with a man who’ll treat you right and have a care how you’re feeling.”
“That’s why I asked you.”
While he felt mighty honored she placed that much trust in him, he wasn’t sure he was up to that kind of responsibility.
“So will you do it or will some other man pay for the privilege?”
“Like hell…”
“Need I remind you the last time you started a conversation with those words you ended it in a horse trough? I intend to rid myself of my virginity and the only way you can put an end to the plans for an auction is to attend to the matter yourself. I’ll need your answer now, of course.”
It was blatant blackmail, plain and simple, and Adam wasn’t one to be bullied. “The thing is, little mouse, I know that no matter how you doll yourself up, you ain’t a whore.”
Rebecca’s lips curved into a crimson smile that gave him the shivers. “I guess it’s up to you to stop me from making a tragic mistake.”
Damnation. How in hell had he gotten himself into this predicament? Even worse, how the hell was he supposed to get out of it? If it was anybody else, he’d be sorely tempted to shoot his way out.
“Sweetheart, you ever heard the phrase ‘makin’ a deal with the devil’?”
Chapter Seven
Becky had to concentrate on not wringing her hands in her lap. It was a bluff, of course, as she had absolutely no intention of selling herself to the highest bidder.
But the chickens, who had come up with this dastardly plan had assured her it didn’t matter. Adam Caldwell would know as well as she did that kind of auction would never take place. They said he wanted her badly and just needed a good enough excuse.
“If I truly thought you were the devil, Adam, I would have propositioned somebody else.”
His brows knit together in a fierce scowl. “Like who?”
“Hmm…Frank Seymour, perhaps? He’s a nice widower, raising that boy all alone. I’m sure he’d enjoy a…tête-à-tête.”
“Tête-like hell! Seymour’s too hairy by half, and his fingers are always ink-stained.”
His outrage soothed her frazzled nerves. Regardless of his peculiar aversion to prostitutes—and apparently women who resembled them—this man did want her. “Which brings us back to my original question, Sheriff. You or the highest bidder?”
He heaved a great sigh and tossed his hat onto a wall hook without even looking. Then he ran his hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp while he considered. “I have terms, little mouse.”
Negotiations she could handle. It was an outright refusal she’d feared. “What kind of terms?”
“You’ll come to my bed for starters.”
“Aunt Adele was overly fond of red, I admit.”
“It ain’t so much that, though all that red is like to give a man night terrors. I just don’t want your first time being with a man to take place in a whorehouse is all.”
“I’m sure your bed will suit just fine.” Actually, now that he’d brought up the subject, she was looking forward to seeing where he lived. All she knew was that he had rooms over his office.
“I want your hair up like it was when you arrived. None of that fancy face paint, and skip the damn feathers, too. Wear that gray dress.”
Becky wrinkled her nose. “That dress is hideously ugly. I planned on never wearing it again.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Wear it.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Unless, of course, you’d rather bed down with a man who doesn’t bathe, rides drag on the cattle and knows his way around a horse better than a woman.”
“I have a blue dress that’s not quite as plain, but should still suit.”
He nodded. “Blue will do.”
“Fine. Although I can’t imagine why you’d like me to come to your bed looking as unattractive as possible.”
Adam grinned and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk. “Before you fancied yourself all up, I had this idea about how sweet it would be to take a quiet, shy little mouse and kiss her and stroke her until she screamed in pleasure.”
“Oh. That sounds…” Wonderful. Exciting. Thrilling. Becky’s skin felt so warm she could barely stand the feel of fabric against it. “…pleasant.”
“It will be,” he promised in a low, husky voice.
She had to clear her throat before she could speak again. “Is Tuesday evening acceptable to you?”
He started scowling again. “Tuesday evening? Hell, why not—” right now “—tonight?”
“Eliza Jane and I studied my cycles—” Adam winced. “—and Tuesday seems a likely time to not…encounter complications, if you will.”
&nb
sp; “You talked to Doc’s wife about this?”
“Only in a general sense.”
Adam snorted. “One thing that woman ain’t is stupid. She knows, so Doc’ll know. The chickens no doubt helped you plan this cockamamie scheme. You do realize if Lucy Barnes hears about it, I’ll most likely have to shoot people.”
“From what I hear, you’ll shoot people anyway.”
“More’n likely.”
Rebecca stood and smoothed her tight-fitting skirt. “Tuesday, then?”
“Come up the back stairs and I’ll leave the door unlocked. Late, I’d say. After nine, at least.”
The civility of the exchange, as though they were arranging a furniture delivery or some such thing, almost made her laugh. Until another thought struck her.
She turned, halfway to the door, only to be startled when she found Adam right behind her, so close she put her hands up. Her palms pressed against his chest and the warm, hard muscles nearly made her forget what she wanted to ask.
He raised an eyebrow. “A man should see a lady to the door.”
“Yes, I just—” Heat flooded her face. “Would you say you have any…peculiar tastes?”
The very wicked grin he gave her had her reconsidering whether she had in fact made a deal with the devil himself. “I guess that depends on what you’d consider peculiar.”
“I have no idea. That’s the problem.”
He reached out and stroked one fingertip down the side of her face. “You will by breakfast Wednesday morning, little mouse.”
Her knees were practically knocking together as she left the sheriff’s office and made her way down the plank sidewalk toward the Coop. Until she’d met the chickens, she’d always assumed intimate relations were the unpleasant duty she’d heard them referred to as.
But somehow, she didn’t think Tuesday night was going to be unpleasant at all.
By noon on Tuesday, Adam was praying no emergencies arose requiring him to saddle up Guapo. As stiff as he’d been for the last two days, riding a horse would no doubt unman him as surely as castration.
The horse in question nickered, waiting for the lump of sugar his owner paid dearly for. Each day, before heading to the saloon for his own shot of lunch, Adam visited the livery and checked on Guapo. The gelding was ill-tempered and ugly as sin—though folks had long ago lost the nerve to tell him so—but he got downright mean if he didn’t get his sugar.
Becoming Miss Becky Page 6