Connie Brockway

by Anything For Love

  “Oh, my! I assure you my appreciation for your physique is quite, quite real.”

  Physique? Appreciation? The kid must have gotten hold of a dictionary somewhere. Would probably add a couple bucks to her fee. Quite the little entrepreneur.

  “Could you . . .” Her voice lowered seductively. “Do something more now?”

  His grin broadened. “I can only try.”

  “Would you? Please?”

  “Hell, honey, I’m the one who should be saying please. And, in answer to your question, yes,” he said, surprising himself. Though he liked women as much as any man who’d spent too many years without regular feminine company, this would be the first time he ever paid for a bed companion.

  The girls in the New York tenements had taught him early the sort of desperation that drove a woman to accept money for sex. He’d just never gotten over the notion that there ought to be more between a man and a woman than a layer of sweat and a ten-dollar bill.

  But hell, he was tired and hot and, for a while, the girl on the balcony had made him forget that even though he’d nearly broken his neck getting to Salvage before the train left, the bill he’d been working to get Congress to pass might still be defeated. Maybe, if she was as pretty as her voice and as amenable as her sighs, maybe, just this once, he’d be willing to pay for the privilege of sweet, convenient oblivion.

  Grabbing his shirt, Noble dragged his arms through the sleeves. He didn’t bother buttoning it. If things went the way he expected them to, he’d be taking it off in a few minutes anyway. With a grunt, he rolled an empty rain barrel under the overhanging balcony.

  “Where’d you go?” the woman asked.

  “Never you fret, honey, I’ll be up directly,” Noble said, pitching his tone seductively low, all traces of his Irish accent buried in a slow western cadence.

  “Up?” It was a dreamy, unfocused query.

  “Yes’m. Directly.” With a catlike leap, Noble sprang on top of the upended barrel and reached up to grasp the bottom of the two balcony rails. He leaned back, testing his weight against the narrow pickets. They’d never hold. Instead he grabbed the overhanging floorboards.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, clearly surprised.

  “I’m coming up to show you the other things I can do. Like you asked.”

  “I did not ask!”

  “Sure, hon,” Noble muttered, concentrating on finding a handhold that wouldn’t fill his palms with splinters.

  “You can’t come up!”

  “Nuthin’ to it, ma’am,” Noble assured her.

  “You can’t!”

  “Sure, I can.” With a grunt, Noble hoisted himself eye level with the bottom of a soiled periwinkle blue hem. Periwinkle. He’d always been partial to that color. “See? You just go plump the pillows and I’ll just swing on up—hey!”

  He was in the act of tipping his head back to look up at her when the blue hem swished forward in a flurry of dirty lace and scruffy satin ribbons. A dull black boot shot out and, without a word of warning, stomped directly on his hand.

  Yelping, he snatched his injured fingers away, catching his weight with his other hand. For a long moment he hung suspended by one arm, swinging six feet above the ground, flailing for a handhold and cursing a blue streak. Then he felt his fingers slipping. With a final, thunderous blasphemy, he fell, crashing into the rain barrel, his head ricocheting off the hard-packed dirt before finally coming to rest.

  He lay sprawled there for a moment, flat on his back, watching the brilliant sun execute a mad fandango around the sky. Gingerly, he probed the corner of his mouth with his tongue, tasting the salty tang of blood. Overhead, a blurry figure swam. Long hair. She had long, dark hair.

  “Are you all right?” she called anxiously.

  She couldn’t be serious.

  “I just . . . I didn’t want you . . . I never thought you would . . . you shouldn’t have . . .” she sputtered.

  She didn’t want him?! He moaned and rolled over.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  No. He was sorry!

  “Say something!”

  “Lady,” Noble roared, lurching to his knees, “did you ever consider trying a simple no?!”

  Above him, the door slammed shut.

  Venice pressed her back to the door. From the lean, pantherish look of him, her hundred pounds wasn’t going to be much of a barrier should the man decide to come in. The thought kicked Venice’s already racing heart into a full gallop. She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the man bellow at her. Against all reason, she found herself hoping he’d try climbing the balcony again, if only so she could watch the play of muscle in his long arms and chest.

  She heard his voice—or rather his bellow—fade away and sighed. There. She’d done it again. Impetuously courted trouble and then been stupidly surprised when trouble climbed her balcony.

  Her shoulders drooped. Her father was right. Given her well-documented reputation for impulsiveness, any decent, intelligent man would no more seek her company than that of a rabid baboon’s. And there was no saying that the man who’d just stomped away was either decent or intelligent. And what matter if he was? He was as far removed from her world as those pine trees on top of the mountain were from New York City

  Before long, she would no doubt be married to one of the men her father had chosen, someone of her own social order, someone who would add prestige and profit to the Leiland Foundation. It was her duty to wed such a man. After all, as Trevor often reminded her, they both knew what disaster came of marrying out of one’s class.

  But she had hoped to become an asset to the foundation before she wed, so that she would have something of value to fill her life, something besides the tiresome round of teas and balls and luncheons that filled many a wealthy woman’s calendar. If she didn’t prove herself by the time she married, there would be no chance to do so afterward. Like her father, most husbands would take a dim view of her “administrative pretensions.” Unless she had already proved her worth.

  Unexpectedly, this latest “scandal” had bought her some time. Just before she left New York, Trevor had warned her that it would be months before any promising marital prospect would risk social suicide by courting her. And that meant she had months to prove her capabilities. She might have months, but she’d best begin now.

  She pressed her ear against the door, afraid to peek out the window. He was gone, probably for good. Determinedly, she tucked the experience away, vowing not to waste any more time on useless speculation. But she couldn’t help whispering, “If only . . .”

  “Geez, McCaneaghy, you look like shit,” Blaine Farley said cheerily as Noble hobbled into the Pay Dirt.

  “Shut up, Farley.” Noble said without rancor, easing himself into a chair across from the younger man. His mother’s novenas had finally been answered, he thought. Why else would a prostitute have a sudden attack of conscience after going through all the trouble of getting his, er, interest up?

  At least there’d been no witnesses to the debacle.

  “Maybe you graybeards oughta take yourself a little con-ve-les-anse and leave this territory to us younger fellers,” Blaine said. “I don’t know why you’re so damned set on making this here territory into some gigantic park. There’s plenty of them back east just waitin’ fer you and your picnic basket. The Rockies is a country made for explorers and adventurers, not bicycles. There’s gold yet to be found up here and I aim to get my share.”

  “No one’s found gold in these mountains in ten years, young fool. Gold’s been played out.” Noble tilted his chair back on two legs.

  “What you been doin’ up in the mountains this time, Noble? Geez. I thought you’d finished all that work fer the senators. Was you pressing daisies?”

  Noble snorted.

  “Come on, tell,” Blaine demanded. “I’m interested. Really.”

  “Okay. I was counting the number of species in a particular quadrant so I could document a sample population. The men sponsoring
the federal bill that’s gonna create a national park out here needed some last-minute information.”

  “Gee, that sounds like fun.”

  Noble ignored Blaine’s sarcasm. “Yeah. Until a couple bear cubs ripped into my gear and spread it all over the eastern range.”

  “I was wondering why you look like hell.” Blaine laughed. “That why you’re wearing that rattail shirt? They got all your gear?”

  “Yup.” Catching the eye of the big, buxom woman behind the counter, Noble shouted, “Bring me a cup of coffee—and make it real coffee, Sal, or I’ll fudge you the entire bill, swear to God I will—a half-dozen fried eggs, some sort of meat you don’t have to scrape the mold off, and a loaf of bread.”

  “Don’t have no baked bread, got fry bread. Got nothing but elk jerky, ain’t got no real coffee, and if’n you fleece me, I’ll break your ugly Irish neck. So don’t try sweet talkin’ me, Noble McCaneaghy”

  Blaine snickered. “You got a way with women, that’s all there is to it, Noble. It’s just an out-and-out gift.”

  “Aw, shut up, Farley” Noble’s hand shot out, cuffing the boy’s hat just hard enough to knock it from his head. Slowly, Noble leaned forward in his chair, staring at his young friend’s close-shaven head. “Judas Priest, Blaine, you’ve been scalped!”

  The boy’s face turned bright red. “Not everyone wants hair so long you can hang yerself with it. Anyway, I had to. Turned up lousy”

  Noble waggled his finger under Blaine’s nose, tsking sanctimoniously. “I warned you about bawdy houses, Blaine. I distinctly recall warning you.”

  The boy’s color deepened to a burning, raw crimson. Noble, conveniently ignoring the itch under his own arm, hooted with laughter. “Listen, son, if all you took away from that bed was a little extra company, you’re doing pretty good.”

  Sal waddled by, slammed two steaming mugs on the table without stopping, and passed on.

  “Noble.” Blaine leaned forward. “I ain’t never gonna go to one of them places again.”

  “Yeah?” Noble grimaced as the bitter brew scalded his throat. “Why? One of the girls giggle at the wrong time?” Noble had a fleeting dark thought of his unknown ladybird.

  “Uh-uh.”

  Words fairly quivered on the kid’s lips. Important words, if the way the boy’s eyes were bulging was any indication. Noble was just about to prompt him when Sal made another pass by the table, sliding a huge platter of steaming, grease-soaked eggs and fried biscuits in front of him. It had been two days since the bear cubs had demolished his camp. He hadn’t eaten since.

  Grabbing a fork, Noble began methodically shoveling the oily, toothsome mess into his mouth. He spent a full ten minutes devouring food with single-minded intent before he remembered Blaine had been about to spill his guts.

  He glanced up. Blaine was watching him in injured silence.

  “Ah, yeah,” Noble said, waving his fork encouragingly at Blaine. “You were about to tell me why you aren’t going to go to any more whore houses.”

  Blaine took a deep breath. “I’m in love.”

  Oh. Again, thought Noble, popping the last scrap of bread into his mouth and fastidiously dusting crumbs from his fingers. Craning his neck, he searched the room for Sal.

  “I really am in love.”

  Noble considered the empty plate in front of him for a few seconds. “Sal! What happened to that elk jerky?”

  “Really, deeply in love.”

  “And it’d be real swell if someone could actually refill my mug with some of that stuff you jokingly call coffee.”

  “Aw, keep yer shirt on, McCaneaghy!” Sal’s voice boomed from the back room. “I got other customers to see to.”

  “Yeah? Like who?” Noble hollered back. “There isn’t anyone in here but Farley and me and if—”

  “Noble, I said I’m in love!”

  Noble frowned in irritation. “I heard you the first time, Blaine. I’m not deaf.” He cupped his hand near his mouth and bellowed, “And a couple more eggs!” Turning his attention back to Blaine, he rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers in front of his lips, allotting Blaine his full attention. “Now, what’s her name? Trixie? Jackrabbit Sue?”

  “No, Noble, she ain’t like that. She’s a lady A real, honest-to-God lady”

  “Yeah, well, I’m happy for you, Blaine. Truly. Invite me to the nuptials and I’ll stand up for you, but soon as I’m done here I gotta get that report over to the station. Do you know what time the train’s leaving?”

  The boy was staring at him with such patent incredulity that Noble laughed. “Aw, come on, Blaine. Every time I see you, you’ve fallen in love. Senorita Bianca, Jenny Price, Lola LaRue—”

  “Ain’t like that this time,” Blaine answered sullenly.

  “Great. You can tell me all about this paragon later.” The boy gave a deep, melodramatic sigh. Noble capitulated. “Okay, Blaine, you win. What’s the little lady’s name?”

  Blaine cupped his chin and leaned forward, his gaze going all misty. “Miss Leiland. Miss Venice Leiland.”

  Noble had once been sucker-punched in the diaphragm. He’d been taken completely by surprise and, for a few awful seconds, the blow had utterly paralyzed him. His muscles had quivered but refused to obey his will. The air had rushed out of his lungs and he’d been unable to refill them. He’d felt absolutely powerless, vulnerable, and exposed . . . like he did now.

  Venice. The memories were ten years old and they still hurt.

  Chapter 4

  “Venice is here, in Salvage?” The whispered words were drawn from his throat against his will.

  “She shore is, every pretty inch of her.”

  “Where are they staying?”

  “They?” Blaine asked, clearly puzzled.

  “Venice and Trevor. Where are they?”

  “I don’t know no ‘Trevor.’ Miss Leiland—or Venice as you so overfamiliarlike calls her—come out here on her lonesome.”

  “Venice is here alone?”

  Blaine bobbed his head in the affirmative.

  Noble’s mouth screwed up in disgust. What else should he have expected? He had read all the newspaper stories, a whole decade of them. At first, he’d looked forward to any mention of the pretty, impish child he’d felt so protective of. But later, after report had been heaped upon report, story had followed story, he’d read them as a way to remind himself of the corrosive powers of too much money and idle time. Her escapades spoke for themselves; Venice Leiland had become a thrill-seeking hoyden, a jaded adventuress.

  It didn’t matter. She had been out of his life for a long time.

  Then why, when he’d heard the words ‘on her lonesome,’ had his stomach begun hurting in that vaguely familiar way?

  “Aw, hell, Blaine.”

  “You should see her, Noble,” Blaine breathed. “The fellers sits around just waiting to catch a glimpse of her. They trails after her whenever she sashays down the street—”

  “Sashays? Dammit it to hell!” There it was. The knee-jerk reaction he’d always had regarding Venice. The thought of some guy hooting at her made all the muscles in his arm tense up, as if looking for something to slug.

  “Um-hum.” Blaine had cupped his chin in his palm and was staring out the window like a moonstruck calf. “Miss Leiland moves like a piece of down floating on a still lake.”

  Noble gritted his teeth.

  “Miss Leiland has a voice like . . . like . . . well, I don’t know what like, but it puts a body in mind of angels laughing.”

  “Blaine, you get over this infatuation right now,” Noble told him. “That woman is about as close to being an angel as I am to being a saint. Boy, you couldn’t afford to buy her handkerchief. You couldn’t afford to buy the soap she has it washed in. No way. No how.”

  Blaine’s brow furrowed into a thunderous scowl. “Noble, I knowed you’re a lot stronger than me.” Trepidation tinged Blaine’s words as he stood up and stomped stiff-legged around the table. “You could lic
k me with one hand tied behind yer back.” Noble stared in disbelief at the quivering young man standing over him. “But I wouldn’t judge myself much of a man if I didn’t do this!”

  The boy’s fist shot out, glancing off Noble’s slack jaw and snapping his head back.

  Noble bolted to his feet, upending the chair behind him, his hands clenched. In one stride, he had jerked the young man up onto his toes. Blaine met his gaze hotly, righteousness and fear warring in his pale, young eyes.

  One look at Blaine’s defiant face and Noble snatched his hands from the boy’s collar and spun on his heels. Damn! Blaine thought he was some sort of knight in shining armor protecting his fair damsel.

  “If you ever, ever hit me again, Blaine Farley, I’ll bury you.”

  An audible whoosh of air proclaimed the kid’s relief. “Didn’t want to hit you, Noble,” he said gruffly, “but a man can’t have you gettin’ overfamiliar, bandying about a fine lady’s name.”

  “Bandy about? Overfamiliar?” Noble sputtered. “Blaine Farley, you shavetail ass! When I was a boy, I lived with the Leilands. My mom was their cook. I wiped Venice Leiland’s nose when she was too young to do it for herself. If I don’t have cause to be ‘familiar’ with her, I don’t know who does!”

  “You lived with Miss Leiland? God in heaven,” Blaine whispered reverently. “You really lived with Miss Leiland? What was she like? I bet she was a pretty kid.”

  “What was she like?” Noble asked, rubbing his sore jaw. “What the hell do you mean, ‘What was she like?’! How about a ‘Gee, Noble, I’m awful sorry I hit you in the face’?”

  “Yeah, well, whatever,” Blaine said dismissively. “But what was she like?”

  “Into everything. Nosy, meddlesome, little speck of a thing, always asking questions and wondering how high was high.” He couldn’t help smiling at the memory of Venice’s ten-year-old face covered with soot. She’d been trying to figure out how Saint Nick made it down the chimney. But that was then. A lifetime ago. “Forget it, Blaine. It’s enough to say she caused as much trouble then as she’s doing now.”