by Deborah Camp
Her heart jerked and she eyed him, wondering if he chose those words on purpose. Lie abed. In a flash, she saw him lying on white bedsheets, sleepy-eyed, his chest and arms bare, and his hair in a tangled mass. Once again, her fingertips tingled as she imagined plowing them through those midnight curls.
“Lacy?” he prompted, breaking into her lascivious musings. “Is it a date?”
“Yes.” She flinched at her own quick answer, but then was glad for it when he broke into one of his beaming smiles. She couldn’t help but smile back at him as her heart did a silly flip flop. Only minutes ago, he’d declined an invitation from Caroline Filmore, but he’d found a way to make time to be with her!
“We’ll meet at the hotel stables. Six? Seven?”
“Six,” she said. “I will need to be at work no later than eight-thirty.”
He nodded and finished his meal. “What do you do here, exactly?”
She pushed aside her nearly empty soup bowl. “All the clerical work and I’m at the front desk a lot of the day, checking guests in and out, taking their requests and answering their questions. I supervise Bobbie Sue and the livery boy. I consult with the kitchen workers to order food and other supplies. I keep busy.”
Resting his arms on either side of the table, he leaned in closer and pitched his voice in a near whisper. “What’s your relationship with Pullman? How about Trey? How well do you know him?”
She studied him and the way his dark eyes sparkled with interest and intellect. Were they now getting down to the reason behind this dinner? “Did you invite me tonight to question me, Marshal Moon?”
His gaze inched down to settle on her mouth for a few moments before lifting back up to her eyes. “I invited you because I enjoy your company, Lacy, and I could look at your face until Hell freezes over and be happy about it.”
Her heart rapped against her ribcage and it was all she could do not to gasp. She had no earthly idea how to respond to him or even if she should.
“Don’t look so shocked. Why would I be different from the other bachelors in this town?”
She scoffed at that, finally finding her voice. “You are different, though.” Too late, she realized she’d said something she would have preferred to keep to herself. Covering up for it, she flapped a hand and decided to answer his earlier questions. “I don’t like Junior Pullman and he doesn’t like me. As for Trey? He’s a braggart like his father, but he’s not as black-hearted. I think he has a sliver of a conscience, although it is rarely glimpsed.”
“You’re friendly with his ranch hands?”
“I’ve been squired occasionally by Whit and Forrest. They’re your typical ranch workers. Rough around the edges and hardened by life and its foibles. I like Forrest better than Whit because Forrest is kinder. Whit tends to believe he is far more attractive than he actually is.”
“Y’all want something sweet now?” Agnes said, breaking in. She wiped her brown-speckled hands down her wrinkled apron.
Lacy shook her head. “Not for me.”
“Or me,” Dalton said, shifting onto one hip to remove folded money from his pants pocket. He handed two bills to Agnes. “There you go. Compliments to Appolonia and to you, Agnes.”
“Thank you, Marshal. I’ll tell her you liked the steak. That’ll tickle her. She finds you right handsome.” She shoved the money into her apron pocket and moved to the next table.
Lacy laughed. “Appolonia has children your age.”
“She sends biscuits and gravy to the jail nearly every morning.”
“Does she?” Lacy said, surprised. “Did you ask for that service?”
“No. I’d assumed that Otis did, but that turned out not to be the case. Otis said that the cook was pleased that I’d taken the time to seek her out in the kitchen to tell her how much I enjoyed the food.”
“I must say, you are very polite. Did your parents teach you those manners or did you learn them in a fancy school?”
His mouth tipped up at one corner. “My Uncle Hank. If I didn’t say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ around him, he applied his boot to the seat of my pants.” He pushed his chair out. “Shall we go?”
He came around to stand behind her chair while she stood and arranged her skirt. A woodsy, cedar aroma wafted off his skin and she closed her eyes for a moment to appreciate it. Too often, men smelled of grime and sweat, but Dalton didn’t. He was no stranger to hard work, but he was also no stranger to soap and water. He escorted her to the hotel lobby.
“You live here, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes.” She tipped her head to indicate the parlor where several guests sat and read newspapers and books. “On the other side of that room. I have quarters there.”
“I’ll say goodnight to you here, then.” He took her hand and brushed his thumb across the top of it, raising goosebumps. “I’m already looking forward to seeing you again.”
She found herself looking at their joined hands. His was more tanned than hers and twice as large. His thumb fanned her skin again, softly, but purposefully. His fingertips caressed her palm. She looked at him and watched desire flash in his eyes like lightning. She pulled from his grasp. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
She heard him, but had already turned and was crossing the room. She didn’t look back because she didn’t want him to see that she was blushing again. Blushing like a school girl! In her quarters, she stood before the oval mirror on the wall and pressed her palms against her hot cheeks. Her eyes were wide with wonder and her lips were slightly parted as her breath escaped in quick puffs.
She had yearnings for Dalton Moon. Strong, heart-thumping yearnings unlike any she’d known before. Things he said that were harmless coming from any other man were suggestive and carnal on his lips and to her ears.
That he desired her was obvious. He’d made it blatantly clear. What troubled her was that she desired him in an almost wanton way. She’d never imagined a man almost naked lying in bed or ached to run her hands through a man’s hair and bring his mouth flush against hers. She’d certainly never initiated a kiss as she’d done with him!
Turning away from the mirror, she paced as she unpinned her hair and let if fall to her shoulders.
“Oh, he’s dangerous,” she muttered, calling herself foolish for meeting him again in a few hours. It seemed that she liked living dangerously.
The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when Lacy slipped through the back kitchen door of the hotel. Cool air nipped at her face and she was glad she’d worn her red coat over her green plaid dress. She wore no petticoats, only a chemise and slip, not wanting to be encumbered during the ride. Her boots sank into the dewy earth as she pulled on her black gloves and crossed the yard to the stables. That’s when she saw him.
Standing with his back to her, Dalton’s muscles moved sinuously under his coat and shirt as he hammered something to the stable door.
“What’s that?” she asked as she approached.
He glanced over his shoulder and then turned fully to face her, taking her in from her wide-brimmed black hat to her black booted feet. “I like your hair like that.”
Her hand went up to the single, thick braid dangling over her shoulder and tied with a black, velvet ribbon. Leaning sideways to see past him, she gasped a little when she saw what was printed on the paper he’d nailed to the door.
Wanted! Sam Louder. Information on the whereabouts of this escaped prisoner. $100 reward. Contact Far Creek Marshal Dalton Moon.
“What good will come of that? No one’s fool enough to give you any information for any amount of money.”
He cocked a brow. “We’ll see, I guess.”
“Junior’s not going to like it.”
He dropped the hammer into a tray of tools at his feet. “I thought I’d made it clear to you that I don’t care what Pullman likes or doesn’t like.”
“Well, you should! People have a lot to lose if Pullman decides he’s had enough and lashes out.”
He
narrowed his eyes. “Like what? What do you think he’ll do?”
“He could torch the hotel and saloon! That would destroy Dutch and Britta and put everyone there, including me, out on the street. Don’t think he hasn’t made sly threats in that regard before because he has.” She sucked in a breath to steady her jangling nerves. Giving one more glance at the poster, she shook her head and decided she’d said enough. For now. “I need to saddle Cry Baby.”
“She’s saddled and ready for you. I’ve been here a spell.” He pushed his black hat off his forehead, lifting some of the shadow from his face. Ebony curls dusted his collar. “I didn’t sleep all that well.”
“Neither did I.” She walked past him into the stables. Sure enough, Cry Baby awaited her, saddled and tossing her head with impatience. “Good morning, beautiful.” Lacy ran a hand down the horse’s face and ruffled her forelock. “You ready to ride, Baby?”
“Yes, I am,” Dalton said with humor lacing through his voice. When she cast him a droll glare, he flattened a hand against the front of his double-breasted coat. “Oh, you weren’t talking to me? Beg your pardon.”
She gave him an eye roll before she checked the cinches and bridle. Satisfied, she stepped on the mounting block and lifted herself up onto the saddle, squirming a bit before finding a comfortable seat. Dalton threw a long leg over his flashy buckskin, which was also saddled and ready to hit the trail, and clucked him into a walk.
“Where are we headed?” Lacy asked, bringing up the rear as they rode along the side of the hotel toward the main street.
“I’ll let you decide. Away from town is my main destination.”
Once they were on the wider thoroughfare, she rode beside him. Every few yards, she spotted another wanted poster for Sam Louder. “You’ve been busy this morning – or late last night. Did you plaster these in bordering towns, too?” she asked.
He grinned at her, obviously finding her concern amusing. “Not yet. That’s a good idea, though. Thanks.”
Lacy tipped up her chin and faced front as she tried not to smile. She found him quite irritatingly attractive. No one stirred on the streets and the shops were all still closed. Only the hotel and bank had lanterns lit in them. As they left town, the landscape stretched into farm and ranch land. In the distance, away from the road, pale lights flickered in houses where women were up stoking stove fires and preparing breakfast for their menfolk and children. A wave of homesickness washed over Lacy, bringing an unexpected tightness to her throat and sting to her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Dalton asked, surprising her with his attentiveness to her changing moods.
“I was just thinking about growing up out here. Mama could stir up the best breakfast in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Was your mother is a good cook?”
“She used to be, but her back hurts her something fierce these days, so she leaves all the cooking to my sister.”
“You see her often?”
“No.” He shrugged. “I saw her and Pru – Prudence is my oldest sister – two Christmases ago. I write her regular, though. When did you last visit with your mother?”
“It’s been three years for me. I keep thinking I’ll take time off and travel to St. Louis, but I haven’t. Mama says that the war scattered us like dandelion seeds.”
“It did that to a lot of families and the winds of change make it hard for us to find our way back.” He pointed to an open field and a break in the fence line. “Let’s let them romp through there,” he suggested. “They need to stretch their legs and get the blood pumping to warm them up.”
“Okay.” She smiled, reined Cry Baby in that direction, and popped her heel against the mare’s side. “Get, girl, get!”
Cry Baby stretched out and laid back her ears to let the wind streak across them and to catch Lacy’s words of encouragement. Her hooves threw up bits of grass and clods of soft earth as she thundered across the field. The chilly breeze stung Lacy’s eyes and nose, making them seep. She heard the hard rumble of the approaching buckskin before she caught sight of it in the corner of her eye. Soldier drew alongside her. She glanced over and saw the glint of Dalton’s teeth before she drove the heel of her boot against Cry Baby’s side again. Leaning close to the mare’s twitching ear, she said, “Run, Baby! Run!”
The mare’s muscles bunched and then she bolted ahead of Soldier as if he were loping instead of at a full gallop. A line of fir trees stood sentry, and Lacy let Cry Baby have her head until they reached the edge of their shadows. She pulled back hard on the reins. The horse slowed, prancing prettily before planting her hooves firmly on the ground. Lacy yanked a kerchief from her coat pocket and swiped at her eyes and nose as Dalton reined Soldier with a grunt. The big horse stamped his front feet and blew vapor clouds from his flared nostrils.
“That feisty mare is as fast as a jackrabbit,” Dalton said, eying Cry Baby with respect.
“That, she is.” Lacy flicked grass and pieces of leaves off her coat, then tucked the kerchief into her pocket. She ran her fingers lovingly through Cry Baby’s long mane. “She could outrace most horses in these parts, I’d wager.”
“Soldier isn’t used to being left in the dust.” He patted his mount’s slick neck. “Isn’t that right, son? It’s humiliating to be bested by a girl called Cry Baby.”
Lacy laughed before pursing her lips in a sympathetic pout. “Poor Soldier boy. Was your ego tromped on?”
They let the horses amble in among the trees where a hardy growth of wildflowers dusted the grass and fallen leaves. Sunlight penetrated through the branches in hazy, golden spears. The tall firs creaked and sang to each other as they swayed in the wind. The horses stopped to blow leaves aside with their hot breaths and munch on autumn’s last green blades of grass.
“Do you ever ride western style?”
Lacy hitched her backside more comfortably on the sidesaddle. “Occasionally, but it draws such attention that it’s not worth it.” She pulled a face. “Ladies aren’t supposed to ride that way and all that hog slop.”
He chuckled, giving her a nod. “You sit a fine saddle, no matter how you’re situated. You really chafe at the restrictions placed on you by your gender, don’t you?”
“I do,” she affirmed. “And why shouldn’t I? Can you imagine how many times I’ve been told I can’t do something because I’m female? No, you cannot,” she answered for him. “Because men aren’t told they can’t wear certain garments, or go into a certain place, or be a member of a particular club, or espouse certain ideas.”
“That’s not entirely true. As a man, I would undoubtedly be told that I shouldn’t wear a dress or corset, that I shouldn’t step into a lady’s boudoir when she’s alone, that I can’t join the ladies’ sewing circle, or curse a blue streak in front of women.”
She furrowed her brow as he ticked off his list that contradicted hers and had to agree that he’d made his point. “But, you must agree with me that women are kept apart from many things simply because we are deemed ‘the weaker sex.’”
He ran a hand along his jaw before he answered. “I don’t view women that way. Mostly, I figure that if a man thinks that a woman who can whip up a good meal, birth and raise decent children, and keep him in check is ‘weak,’ then he doesn’t deserve her.”
Her heart thrummed happily and she smiled, thinking that this man had somehow become even more attractive. “You truly believe that?”
“You doubt me?”
She let out a little sigh of contentment. Noticing a cocklebur in Cry Baby’s mane, she removed her gloves and worked it loose from the long, white hair. “You’re an interesting man, Dalton Moon. In fact, you’re nothing like I thought you’d be.” She tossed aside the offending bur.
“What did you imagine I’d be like?” He unbuttoned his coat and leaned a forearm on his saddle horn.
“A strutting, preening, cold-hearted, trigger-happy bore.”
His brows shot up and a startled laugh erupted from his chest. “All that, huh?”
“It is your reputation,” she informed him, archly as she tucked her gloves under her coat’s belt. “You must know that. If you aren’t in the habit of drawing your gun and shooting at people, then how did you acquire it?”
“Through wagging tongues and shameless liars,” he answered in a contemptuous tone. “I am fast on the draw. I don’t deny that. But I’m not eager to pull the trigger. I will, mind you, in defense of my life or someone else’s.”
Soldier had sidled up closer to Cry Baby as they vied for the same grass. In easy reach of her now, Dalton plucked a burgundy leaf from her braid and then tugged playfully on the black ribbon. The air between them became warmer and static. Lacy felt the change in him and in herself. Her heartbeats accelerated and desire circled in her midsection, determined and seeking, like a bee in search of nectar. Without thought, she leaned in his direction, her gaze caught by the fullness of his lower lip and the dark stubble darkening his jaw and chin. His fingers curved around her nape and then his mouth was on hers. She felt her hat slip from her head and slide against her back, held on by the chinstrap. With a moan, she pushed his hat off and drove her fingers through his mass of soft curls. Oh, what sweet heaven!
This kiss was so unlike the other they’d shared. This time it was him kissing her, him positioning her head where he wanted it, sucking on her lower lip, and then slipping his tongue inside to stroke hers in a way that sent slick heat to her loins and made her stomach clinch with longing. She had been kissed many times, but never quite like this.
“Lacy, Lacy,” he whispered in her ear, and she loved the way he made her name a tortured moan. His lips trailed from there along the side of her neck and then to the hollow of her throat. “God help me, I want you.” He kissed her chin, gave it a little bite, and then settled his mouth on hers again. His tongue teased the sensitive corners of her mouth before delving inside to stoke her inner fire. His arm came around her waist and she rested her hands on his wide chest and felt the incessant beating of his heart. Kiss after kiss, he drugged her until her head swam and her body ached with surging desire. She slipped her arms around him. He was solid and muscled. She felt safe enough to be reckless in his embrace.