Devil in Texas (Lady Law & The Gunslinger Series, Book 1)

by Adrienne deWolfe

  Cass was pretty sure he ground his teeth hard enough to crack one.

  Baron also noticed the couple. He hiked a bushy eyebrow as Sterne bowed formally, kissing Sadie's knuckles. She laughed at something the ex-Ranger said before she finally—and much too slowly, in Cass's opinion—withdrew her hand from his fist. Patting his craggy cheek, she raised her skirts above velvet shoes and sauntered behind the scarlet curtains of the stage.

  Some tenderfoot in swallowtails approached Sterne, slapped his back, and raised his champagne toward Sadie's ass.

  By that time, Cass was ready to shoot something.

  "Easy, son." Baron handed him a glass. "No need to rush things." An unpleasant little smile curved the senator's lips. "There are plenty of ways to skin a cat."

  * * *

  Behind the curtains of the stage, Sadie paced like a caged tiger in the early evening shadows, waiting for her musical cue. Beyond the Grecian columns from which the velvet had been strung, she could see the evening star rising against the backdrop of purple-blue dusk.

  Unfortunately, no breeze found its way between the columns. The dust of a parched, Texas landscape had invaded everything, including her sinuses. Despite the cooling plunge of her gown's back, her skin glistened with perspiration.

  Or maybe it was the charade of being Rex's lover that had her sweating out this performance. Even the thought of Wilma and Jazi in the audience, cheering her on for moral support, couldn't ground the butterflies in Sadie's stomach.

  Her breath hitched as a stringed quartet began playing the first, yearning strains of her introduction. The tender sighing of the cello haunted her. Cellos were considered the instrument most like the human voice, and Destiny was a lament. The lyrics had been inspired four years ago by her estrangement from Cass. Sadie had never intended to sing Destiny for an audience. However, she had suffered a sentimental bout of lunacy last night, and she'd dragged out the sheet music, reviewing it over a shot of tequila.

  All right, over four shots of tequila.

  Maybe that was why the song had somehow found its way into her music folder. She'd been none the wiser until dress rehearsal that afternoon, when she'd handed her folder to her accompanist. Curious about the title, the pianist had tugged Destiny from her stack of compositions. The next thing she'd known, Maestro Lundgren had directed her to "sing the love song."

  "But it still needs work," she'd protested in rising panic. She'd been planning to sing Habanera, which, in part, compared love to a gypsy child, who had never known the law. Sadie had always related to that message. "I prepared a selection from Carmen. Habanera is better suited—"

  "I shall decide which music is suitable for tonight's event," the Yankee had interrupted in his testy tenor. "Bizet is passé. Every mezzo-soprano in every two-bit musicale screeches Habanera. Fresh. That's what's needed if a singer of your caliber is expected to pull off a gala performance."

  Sadie supposed she should be flattered that a conductor from New York's vaunted Academy of Music had arranged her simple tune for stringed accompaniment.

  But Destiny had been torn from her heart, a catharsis for an old flame that was dying. She quailed to think of parading her pain before dozens of snooty matrons and their bored husbands, who would sit in judgment, sneering up at her through the footlights as she struggled to sing through tears.

  "You will sing tonight," Wilma had counseled her firmly, "because your love is for music. You will take the stage, because that is your mission. The performance will cost three minutes of your life. That is a small price, chere, for ending the career of a monster."

  The cellist began bowing her musical cue. Sadie squeezed her eyes closed, seeking comfort by reaching for Daddy's button. But of course, the familiar warmth of that battered brass wasn't resting over her heart.

  That's another payback I owe you, Cass.

  She gulped a fortifying breath. She couldn't remember the last time her stomach had churned before a performance. Hell, she'd jumped out of a burning building, hadn't she? Stage fright should be nothing compared with that.

  It's now or never.

  She muttered a prayer and forced her feet forward. Pasting on a luscious smile, she sauntered into the blinding haze of gaslights at the front of the stage. The crowd hushed. She dragged her gaze from Cass, sitting arms akimbo at Baron's side in the front row. Rex was standing in the aisle, stage right, as they'd planned. She let her smile drip honey and begged God with all her heart that the vocal seduction she was about to perform wouldn't destroy her friendship with Rex—or worse, get him killed.

  Taking the conductor's cue, she began to sing:

  "Leave your cares, far from sight.

  Heat the chill; burn the night.

  Hold me close, let love start;

  Touch my soul, free my heart.

  "Deep in dreams, every night,

  Yearn for you; feels so right.

  Don't you know? Can't you see?

  Why you're mine, destined be?

  "Suns may rise, stars may fail.

  Worlds collide; love prevails.

  Through all time, you and me,

  Heart to heart, destiny.

  "Never doubt, you're my man,

  Through God's vast, Master Plan.

  Always yours, I shall be.

  Born for you, destiny."

  Cass could scarcely breathe as the last, haunting strains of Sadie's song faded beneath the stars. Wildflowers started sailing over the footlights. Tear-streaked matrons and whiskered Old Farts surged to their feet. In tribute to Sadie's performance, hotel promoters were hurling yellow-rose bouquets onto the impressive little garden growing at her ankles.

  But the only roses Sadie deigned to catch were the dozen blood-red blossoms thrown by Sterne.

  The applause was deafening.

  "Cass?" Poppy was watching him speculatively from Baron's other side. "Are you all right?"

  Cass barely heard her as he watched Sadie blow kisses to the grinning Sterne. A crushing weight had settled over his heart. Her lyrics kept reverberating in his skull: "Never doubt you're my man, through God's vast master plan..."

  No! Sadie wrote those lyrics about me, by God. She always writes her love songs about me!

  Poppy sidled closer, linking her arm through his. "There now, Cass. Everything's going to be all right. What's this Miss O'Leary to you?"

  "Trouble," Collie said harshly.

  Baron chuckled at the worried expression on the boy's face. "Redheads. They're the ones you have to watch out for. Right, Collie?"

  "You're not helping," Poppy snapped at her husband. Her tone softened as she patted Cass's arm. "Come, Cass. Walk with me. You need a change of scenery."

  "You might as well go, son," Baron said with an expansive wave of his champagne glass. "Mother won't quit whining till you do. Me and Collie can hold down the fort. We'll find out what Chantelle finds so jo-fired fascinating about Sterne."

  "Chantelle?" Poppy repeated suspiciously.

  "That's her name, ain't it?" Baron boomed jovially. "Collie, go on over and introduce yourself to Miss O'Leary. Tell her I have a request."

  "It had better be a singing request," Poppy sniped.

  Baron rolled his eyes. "Of course it's a singing request," he lied.

  "I'll go," Cass insisted hoarsely, some vague plan forming in his mind that he would drag Sadie off the stage and remind her why he was called the Rebel Rutter.

  But Collie had grown more cussid than usual. He shoved Cass back with a force that put the spurs to his already straining temper.

  "Your name ain't Collie," the boy snapped.

  Cass clenched his fists.

  Vandy growled.

  "Something wrong with your hearing, boy?" Baron grabbed Cass's closest gun arm in restraint. "My wife asked you to walk with her. Start walking, lest I have to cool that hot head of yours by busting it open."

  By that point, Cass was ready to punch out Baron.

  Seething like a firestorm, he stalked away from his boss, t
he festive paper lanterns, the sparkling champagne, and the tinkling laughter. His mood was as dark as the path that kept twisting somewhere into the night. He had no real memory of jewel-colored evening gowns, scattering before him, or black swallowtails, stepping hastily out of his way. He'd even forgotten Poppy—probably because he'd turned a deaf ear to the sound of spiky little heels trying to keep pace.

  "Ow! For heaven's sake, Cass, stop! I-I think I've twisted my ankle."

  He halted, his chest heaving, his mind spinning with shadows and shades. He'd gone so deep into his own, personal darkness, that for a moment, he couldn't remember where he was.

  He forced his vision to focus on the green-eyed redhead, whose freckled face bobbed near his shoulder.

  "Help me," Poppy whimpered.

  He scowled, not liking how that single phrase could exhume nobility from the dark side of his soul. Apparently, his demons couldn't stave off an attack of conscience where a damsel-in-distress was concerned.

  Reaching unceremoniously for Poppy's waist, he swung her around and propped her spine against a tree.

  "Y-you're so strong," she gasped.

  He grunted. He could be described as a lot of things. But strong? After he'd let Sadie under his skin again?

  He started to turn away.

  As if on cue, Poppy teetered and flailed, throwing her arms around his neck. "Don't leave me!"

  He scowled.

  Cass knew women. Most of the time, he liked them—especially redheads. What he didn't like was being played for a fool. Clearly, that's what Poppy was trying to do with all the flailing and the limping.

  He glared a warning into the misty green eyes of his boss's wife. But Poppy didn't wise up and take the hint. He wondered if that made her fair game. Panting, trembling, she looked like a wild doe caught in his sights. Her breasts reeked of violets as they heaved, grazing his chest. Her lips trembled open, moist, plump and ripe. Musky heat rolled off her hips.

  The predator inside him smelled sex.

  "T-Thank you. I'm so grateful you caught me," she murmured. "You're always so gallant and kind. Such a good friend. And you need a good friend, too, don't you? To take away your pain... "

  She stroked his chest. The fruity scent of champagne lingered on her breath. His nostrils flared. Her eyelashes fanned lower.

  "Let me be that friend, Cass..." Barely audible, the words hovered between them, more invitation than plea.

  He was tempted.

  The part of him that wanted to punish Sadie for her treachery was darkly, dangerously tempted. Steamy little waves of femininity brazed the buttons of his crotch. The brass grew warmer. Tighter.

  Poppy swayed, swoonlike, and their chests collided in earnest.

  Oh, he could have had his boss's wife, all right. She'd been making that evident for days: her coy touches. Her kittenish mews. Her ridiculous eyelash-flapping. She thought herself so worldly; she lorded her sophistication over women who weren't as privileged to be a senator's wife. But in bedroom matters, Poppy was clearly a schoolgirl.

  Cass decided a crude dose of reality was needed to put an end to Poppy's infatuation.

  "You need to mount a horse, Mrs. Westerfield?"

  She shrank back at his clipped tone. "I-I'm not sure... "

  "Then maybe you should think on it a spell."

  Confusion vied with the indignation on her face. Apparently, she couldn't decide if he'd meant "horse" in the conventional sense.

  "Are you angry with me?"

  Her bottom lip quivered, and a spark of humanity bloomed in his chest. It reminded him his quarrel wasn't with Poppy. Sadie was the redhead he wanted to punish.

  "No," he said gruffly, tugging off his bandanna and shoving it into her hand. "Wipe your eyes. The second half of the program will start soon."

  She dabbed her tears as instructed, but she refused to put a respectable distance between their loins.

  "My poor, sweet Cass," she crooned. "Always so thoughtful. Always so sensitive to my needs. But you're hurting too, aren't you? First the news about Tito. Then the proof that faithless woman spurned you."

  Cass reined in his demons. Poppy was too naïve to know how he spared her. A conventional, missionary romp wouldn't have satisfied a man of his appetites. In truth, he'd already grown bored with Poppy's adolescent wiles and tentative groping. Baron was the man who needed to be instructing his bride in the art of pleasure-giving.

  "Let me help you, Cass." She sidled closer, dropping a fluttery hand to his thigh. "Let me take away your pain."

  He caught her wrist in an uncompromising fist. "I have a better idea. I'll take you back to your husband."

  She blinked. She looked like an owl caught in the light of a hunter's lantern. "But you like me. I can see the proof in your pants."

  "I like a lot of women," he said harshly.

  "But we could make such beautiful babies together!"

  "No doubt Senator Westerfield will be thrilled to know you're feeling affectionate for a change."

  Her cheeks mottled. "How dare you!"

  "Blame it on my upbringing, ma'am. You're a fine lady, and I'm... well, just a trashy kind of horse."

  At last, his strategy worked. She recoiled in outrage, her chest heaving, her fists clenched.

  "Insufferable baboon! You'll regret your conceit! Someday, you'll rue the way you mocked me. And on that day, your guns will be cold company!"

  Shoving past him with surprising strength, she marched into the night on spiky little heels that didn't wobble or limp.

  Well, lookie there. The lady's ankle made a miraculous recovery.

  Cass snorted to have his suspicions confirmed.

  Pushing Poppy from his mind, he headed in the opposite direction, away from the lights and the milling crowd. He had a score to settle with the Devil's Red-haired Daughter. He figured the best way to do that was to surprise the hellcat in her lair.

  * * *

  The musicians were filing from their chairs for intermission. Sadie stood at the top of the stage steps. Like a queen, she cuddled Rex's roses and daintily offered her hand to her other admirers.

  She hoped all this posturing made her appear in her glory after her "triumphant love song," as the stagehands were crowing about it. God knew, she didn't feel triumphant. When she'd blown a kiss to Rex, accusation had rolled off Cass in waves. She'd cringed, her insides shriveling before the blast of heat in Lucifire's glare.

  Throughout her performance, Rex had staunchly played the doting beau. He'd stood in the aisle, just beyond the orchestra's seats, so every gossip in the crowd could watch their ruse. Although Wilma had orchestrated tonight's charade, Rex had improvised. He'd surprised Sadie by throwing that big, flashy bouquet of roses. Who would have guessed Rex possessed a theatrical bone in his body?

  Now he stood watching her possessively, his arms crossed over his crisp white vest and linen shirt. He looked every inch the dashing Alpha Wolf, with his slicked back hair, immaculate swallowtails, and gleaming Justin boots. (Even Wilma hadn't been able to coax Rex into wearing opera pumps.) At the appropriate moment, one of Rex's campaign staff was supposed to appear with an urgent message to lure him away, leaving Sadie an unguarded little lamb, ripe for Baron to slaughter, so to speak.

  Apparently, that moment was now. A plump clerk waddled over to his boss. Rex made a credible show of looking grave and bowing his head toward the shorter man. The campaign manager gestured urgently—melodramatically might have been a better description. Rex tossed her a look of disappointment that would have been flattering if he hadn't been acting out a role. Then he turned, and his commanding presence parted the mob of sycophants as cleanly as Moses had parted the Red Sea.

  Baron continued to ogle her, but his expression was openly calculating. Sadie tried to be glad Wilma's plan was working. She forced herself to ramp up her flirtations. She was so close to luring the weasel from his lair! But pretending was hard—damned hard—when she had to lavish loins-stirring smiles on balding, pot-bellied admirers with
tobacco-stained teeth. The only man whom she could have possibly wanted in that crowd had stalked out of the garden with his boss's wife on his arm.

  "Outta the way," growled a male with a rough, Kentucky accent.

  A roly-poly ripple of silver—equipped with flashing fangs—bounded up the stairs, causing her suitors to stumble backwards and mutter oaths. However, none of her erstwhile beaux dared to openly challenge the double threat of a 50-pound raccoon and the Colt .45 that was strapped under Collie's buckskin coat. The older men scattered to a resentful distance.

  Cass's rangy sidekick halted two steps below her, a tactic that still allowed the crown of the 17-year-old's Stetson to tower over her by an inch. Sadie found herself staring into a sun-blackened face and flint-colored eyes, which were uncommonly hard for a youth. She imagined she was staring into iced steel.

  Finally, Collie's lips interrupted their sneer long enough to speak.

  "Baron wants to meet for a screw. Name your terms."

  Sadie winced. In her whoring days, she'd been accustomed to uncouth propositions from drunken cowboys, buffalo hunters, and wolfers. But for some reason, Collie's lack of sentimentality made her stomach clench.

  And then she understood why. Hatred burned in the black centers of the boy's eyes.

  "Baron?" she repeated hoarsely. Her mouth had gone dryer than Death Valley. "Are you referring to Senator Westerfield?"

  Somehow, she forced the lump from her throat. She pasted on a coy smile.

  Collie snorted at her attempt at flirtation. "Save it, woman. I'm not Cass. That means I'm not gonna put up with your games. You in or out?"

  Sadie drew a shuddering breath. She didn't dare glance at Baron. She suspected Collie was deliberately sabotaging the senator's proposition.

  "You're loyal to Cass." She kept her voice low and even. "He's lucky to have a friend like you. You're not the kind to give trust easily."

  "Don't change the subject." The boy's voice had a razor's edge. "This ain't about me."

  "If you're really Cass's friend," she insisted in that same urgent undertone, "you'll get him the hell out of Baron's organization. Before it's too late. Before Cass gets himself hanged."