Jack of Spades
Despite a persistent feeling of squalor¾evident in everything from a neglected livery stable to a rough-hewn trading post, complete with willow sticks, mud and manure as chinking between the logs¾Scott opted to spend the night. A hot bath, slow-cooked meal and enough ale to wash the dust from his throat, was all the incentive he needed to leave his horse in the care of a grubby-faced stable hand. There was no hotel in Whiskey Gulch¾just a handful of rooms above the local saloon, intended for travelers or less scrupulous callers who desired the company of a female companion for the night.
Pausing outside, Scott swatted excess trail dust from his thigh-length buckskin jacket and brown pants. Removing his hat, he rifled dirt-stained fingers through his unkempt hair, then settled the hat more comfortably on his head. Stepping through the cantina doors, he was greeted by the overpowering stench of pipe tobacco, greasy food and stale sweat. At the edge of his senses, weaker but still detectable, lingered the stomach-curdling reek of vomit and urine.
Ignoring the offensive combination, Scott stepped to the bar and inquired after a room. The proprietor/barkeeper was a thickset man, lumpishly built, with a grizzled beard and frog-like features. He eyed Scott openly, pausing to consider the other’s well-tailored clothing before pointing him up the stairs. Desiring nothing so much as washing four days of filth from his body, Scott turned toward the steps, saddlebag and rifle slung over his shoulder. Immediately, two of the saloon girls latched onto his arms, smiling suggestively and offering to accompany him above.
“Ladies¾” Effecting his most charming smile, Scott attempted to disentangle himself. “I really just want a bath and a meal.”
“All alone?” A dark-eyed brunette batted her eyes, coiling a possessive hand around his upper arm. Leaning into his side, she raised her lips to whisper huskily in his ear. “I’ll help you with the bath, cowboy. Afterwards you won’t want a meal. I ain’t never left a man unsatisfied.”
“No doubt,” Scott muttered, slightly flustered by the attention. While he’d routinely plied his own charms on women in the east, including those who’d frequented bordellos, he wasn’t accustomed to blatant physical confrontation. On his right side a pixie-faced blonde, barely past sixteen slipped her hand beneath his jacket, boldly cupping the curve of his buttocks. “Okay, that’s it!” His voice jumped an octave at the intimate touch. Smiling tightly, Scott deliberately set both women aside. “Ladies.”
Enjoying the pointed dismissal, as well as the slight flush of color on his cheeks, both girls giggled.
Shaking his head, Scott started up the steps. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a third girl, her arm draped over the shoulder of a long-limbed wrangler. Seated at a table in the rear, the wrangler was busy devouring a plate of fried pork and onions, while the girl replenished his shot-glass with rye. Halfway up the steps the girl’s eyes met his, and Scott had a momentary impression of red-gold hair, beguiling green eyes, and fawn-colored skin tinted with rose. The fleeting hint of a smile lifted the girl’s full mouth, but just as quickly the moment was past and her attention shifted back to the wrangler.
Barely pausing, Scott frowned. Saloon girls and prostitutes were part of every grimy border town in existence, just as eastern cities catered to high-priced bordellos. Though he’d frequented enough in his day, it bothered him to see an attractive woman reduced to selling herself in a rat-infested hole like Whiskey Gulch’s squalid cantina. Worse was the thought of the young blonde who’d openly fondled him. Barely more than a child, she was already adept at her trade.
Disturbed, Scott deposited his gear in the room, stopping only long enough to gather clean clothing from his saddlebags. Exiting the rear of the building, he walked two doors down to the communal bathhouse. Despite the late hour, he was able to rouse an attendant who grudgingly prepared a large wooden tub with heated water. As the man wandered away, mumbling despite an excessive tip, Scott stripped and climbed into the tub. Sinking beneath the water, he luxuriated in the indulgent sensation of heated warmth closing over his head. Emerging seconds later, he swept dripping hair from his eyes, content to settle against the rear of the tub, arms stretched on the wooden rim. Wet, his dark blonde hair appeared more brown than fair. Water trickled from the ends, weaving spidery trails of moisture over his back and chest. Eventually, when the water began to cool and hunger nipped at his belly, Scott made a concentrated effort of scrubbing caked grime from his skin and hair.
Later, dressed in clean clothes, he returned to his room. Still slightly gritty, he took the time to shave before venturing downstairs for an evening meal. Attired in a garnet-red shirt and gray pants, his hair damp from the recent bath, he guessed himself cleaner then the utensils supplied with his meal. Dinner choices were minimal: fried pork and onions, or stew. Scott opted for the latter, selecting a table by the stairs, where he could view both front and rear exits¾a strangely disturbing habit he’d picked up from traveling with Johnny.
Both saloon girls¾blonde and brunette¾attempted to entice him again, extra attentive now that he’d emerged looking more presentable then most customers they’d seen in recent months. The cut of his clothing marked him as wealthy¾an added bonus for any courtesan who could entice him to her bedroom, where practiced skills might earn more than a handful of coins. The younger girl was particularly forward, intimately brushing against him as if by happenstance, though clearly by design. Scott maintained a polite demeanor as long as possible but resorted to bluntness in the end. Sulking, the girl retreated with her companion, seeking an easier target among a rowdy group of drunken cowhands.
The stew was barely tolerable, laden with clumps of gristle-marbled beef, overcooked potatoes, and soggy greens. Too hungry to complain, Scott swallowed most of it, camouflaging the taste beneath overly warm ale and coarse, black bread. When the meal was finished, he reclined in the chair, stretching long, booted legs beneath the table.
The activity in the saloon while boisterous, centered around four cowhands engaged in a game of cards. Two others¾a prospector and a scout, sat at separate tables to the rear. Three men lingered at the bar, guzzling beer and tequila, entertained by the sultry smile of the brunette saloon girl. The blonde hovered near the card game, one arm draped over the shoulders of the nearest man. The red-haired woman Scott had seen earlier was also present, perched in the lap of a gruff-looking wrangler. Unlike her companion, who seemed to enjoy the ribald humor and crude manners of the group, this girl looked slightly uncomfortable.
Again, Scott was struck by her appearance. Though her eyes were lined with kohl and her full mouth reddened with lip rouge, she didn’t have the hard edge the other two girls possessed. As Scott watched, she leaned forward, whispering something in the wrangler’s ear, while slowly slipping her hand inside his shirt. Uncomfortable, Scott swallowed a mouthful of ale. It slid down his throat, bitter and sickeningly warm. In another time and place, he’d relish that distinctly feminine hand touching him with the same intimate slowness.
It’s been too long since you’ve had a woman, Lancer. Stay any longer and that conniving little blonde won’t seem like such a bad idea.
Pushing back his chair, Scott stood, intending to depart before latent desire got the better of him. A woman’s gasp drew his attention back to the card game. The wrangler had snared the red-haired girl about the wrist, holding her fast as she struggled to leave. Laughing at her insistence that he let her go, he propelled her to the floor.
Before he had time to consider the consequences, Scott lunged across the room. Grappling the startled man by the collar, he hauled the wrangler from the chair. Stoop-shouldered and portly, the shorter man crumbled like a sack of potatoes when Scott struck him.
“Miss, are you all right?” Even as Scott turned to assist the barmaid to her feet, he heard chairs scrape the floorboards behind him. Whirling, he drew his pistol in a maneuver that would have earned passing admiration from Johnny. Though he’d never have his brother’s quicksilver reflexes, Scott had learned the importance of a fast draw since first arriving at Lancer. Gun poised, he considered three potential adversaries. The fourth¾the humiliated wrangler¾angrily pulled himself upright. “Is there a problem gentlemen?” Scott asked neutrally. Behind him, he felt the barmaid hover uncertainly at his shoulder.
“As sure as a rat’s hog-fodder,” the wrangler spat. “That two-bit whore is gonna see me upstairs, sure as I’m willin’ to pay. She ain’t got no right gittin’ high ‘n mighty, changin’ her mind, after she done started the game.”
Scott’s expression soured. The girl touched him lightly on the elbow as if mutely seeking protection. “Maybe she doesn’t like the company.”
“Ain’t got no choice,” one of the other card players inserted. “When Daws is done, I’ll keep her abed and busy for a spell.” A toothy grin followed.
“He’s right, Mister.”
Scott’s attention shifted to the bar, where the chunky proprietor held a sawed-off shotgun leveled in his direction. “These girls ain’t here for no tea social. You want that one, you pay¾by the hour or night, it don’t make no difference. Otherwise you keep clean of it.”
Hesitating, Scott looked from the four cowhands to the grim-faced proprietor. Forcing the issue would likely lead to gunplay and he was dreadfully outnumbered. On the other hand, a glance at the girl told him he couldn’t leave her to fend for herself, no matter the circumstance she’d created. Frowning, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of bills. Catching the girl by the wrist, he crossed to the bar, deliberately dropping the wad of paper money beneath the proprietor’s nose. “For the night,” he said pointedly. The amount far exceeded any he was expected to pay, evident by the blatant flash of avarice in the saloon owner’s eyes.
Tugging the girl behind him, Scott confiscated a bottle of rye and two glasses then led his companion up the stairs, into his room.
**********
The room was cramped and dark, prompting Scott to move to the far corner in search of a lantern. Setting aside the glasses and whiskey, he located the lamp by feel. As he struck a match to the wick, he heard rustling movement behind him. Amber light spilled from the lantern, trickling outward in a semi-circle, dispersing slumbering shadows like vapor to the air. “What’s your name?” he asked the girl.
As Scott turned, he realized she’d unpinned her hair, leaving a luxurious cascade of red-gold silk splayed over her bare shoulders. Head bent, she worked at unlacing a gaudy, sleeveless corset. Alarmed, Scott realized the soft swell of her breasts was partially revealed by the gaping material. “Don’t do that,” he said quickly, averting his eyes.
Surprised, she raised her head. “You paid for the night.”
“Just . . . lace your dress.” With effort, Scott crossed to the other side of the room, keeping his back turned. Sensing her bewilderment, he struggled for control. “I didn’t mean for you to . . . that is, I didn’t want you to . . .” Frustrated, he cleared his throat. He was rarely tongue-tied with the opposite sex. The situation was simply more awkward then any he’d encountered previously. “I just wanted to get you away from those other men. You don’t have to, um . . .”
The girl behind him chuckled softly. “That’s very sweet of you, but you paid a lot of money for nothing.” Stepping in front of him she laid a hand on his arm. Though she’d laced her dress as requested, the invitation remained in her eyes. “I don’t mind earning my keep.” Wetting her lips, she ghosted her fingertips up his sleeve. “Not with a gentleman like you.”
Regaining his control, Scott spared an arch glance. “How do you know I’m a gentleman?”
The girl smiled. Up close her eyes were leaf-green, slivered with flecks of midnight blue and gold. “I saw how you acted with Erin and Trudy. If you weren’t a gentleman, you’d have taken advantage of one or both. Even rubes who can’t pay, know how to grope for free.”
Scowling at the distasteful image, Scott retreated to the corner. Uncorking the bottle of whiskey he poured an ample amount into each glass. “What’s your name?” he asked again.
This time there was no hesitation. “Jane. Jane Hall.”
“I’m Scott Lancer.” Turning, he passed her a glass, then raised his own in an off-hand toast. “Might as well get comfortable Miss Hall, because you’re here for the night.”
Her gaze over the top of the glass was oddly cryptic. “Mrs.”
“Pardon me?”
“Mrs. Hall,” she clarified. Sipping on the whiskey, she settled on the edge of the bed. “I suppose I should thank you, Mr. Lancer, for what you did downstairs. Since you’re not inclined to undress, maybe you’d appreciate some conversation?”
Frowning openly at her candor, Scott perched on the edge of the only chair in the room. Bracing his legs apart, he rested his forearms against his thighs, holding the glass cradled in his hands. It wasn’t just her frankness that disturbed him, but the unusually articulate flow of her speech. While he’d known higher-priced courtesans to be well spoken, he’d yet to encounter a border-town prostitute who was eloquent. Though it was difficult to judge with the heavy make-up she wore, he guessed she was about Johnny’s age. “What happened to your husband?” he asked.
Shaking the fiery cascade of curls from her shoulders, Jane smiled sadly. “He died of diphtheria in ’68.”
“I’m sorry,” Scott said quickly.
“Don’t be. It was a marriage of convenience. Stanley was nearly three times my age.” Pausing, she studied the topaz liquid in her glass. Head bowed, kohl-blackened lashes drawn against her cheeks, she looked tired and world-weary. “I was a fourteen-year-old girl who’d lost both parents as a child, and who’d been raised in a Catholic Mission. I read and write better than most landowners, which is what attracted my husband¾he needed someone to manage his accounts, limited as they were. He wanted a wife, and I wanted an alternative to the Mission.” Laughing softly, she raised her head. “You really don’t want to hear this, Mr. Lancer.”
“I think I’m the best judge of that.”
Shrugging, she downed the remainder of the whiskey. “Aren’t you just a little above socializing with someone like me? Look at you¾all fine and proper. I bet you’re from San Francisco or some place uppity like that.”
“Boston,” Scott corrected.
A perfectly arched brow inched higher on her forehead. “An eastern gentleman? What are you doing in a rat-hole like Whiskey Gulch?”
“Passing through.” Rising, Scott snagged the bottle from the table. Crossing to the bed, he sat beside her, draining his own drink before refilling both glasses. The gauzy material of her short, yellow dress lay draped over his knee¾a stark contrast of vibrant color against his soot-gray pants. “What did your husband do?” he asked, attempting to refocus the conversation.
“Farmer. Not very good at it, and certainly not very loving.” A sour smile tugged her lips. “But he provided for as long as he could. After he died, I had to give up the farm. I drifted for awhile trying to do the proper thing, then met a man who was far worse than Stanley. It took me a year to leave him, and when I did, I ended up here¾doing the only thing I could make a living at. I’ve learned to adapt by necessity.” Titling her head, she studied him critically. “You’re frowning, Mr. Lancer. Don’t you believe me? The only living a woman can make in Whiskey Gulch is one she earns flat on her back.”
Irked by her flippancy, Scott tossed down his drink and poured another. “You could have went elsewhere.”
“My money didn’t run out ‘elsewhere,’ it ran out here,” Jane retorted sharply. “I don’t need some well-to-do cowpoke with back-east puritanical values judging me.”
“I’m not judging you,” Scott snapped. Tipping the bottle to his glass, he poured another drink. He couldn’t determine if he was flustered or annoyed, and decided to let the alcohol sort it out. Despite her tawdry outfit and heavy make-up, he was attracted to her. It’s the whiskey. “What happened downstairs?”
“I changed my mind.” Leaning forward, she reached past him, setting her glass on the bedside table. He tensed unexpectedly as her leg brushed his and her hair tumbled over his arm. Withdrawing, she met his gaze. “That wrangler was drunk and obnoxious. I knew what I was supposed to do¾what I’m paid to do¾but when it came down to it, I couldn’t go through with it. I guess he didn’t like my change of heart.”
She was sitting just a little too near now, and Scott had the distinct impression she enjoyed the upper hand. There was something intensely tantalizing about her presence¾ a provocative sensation that left him feeling off-kilter. A buried part of his mind wished he wasn’t so ethical, while his reasoning capability countered any involvement with a courtesan would be a fatal mistake. Still¾he couldn’t ignore her dilemma. “My father and brother and I, own a ranch just a few days south in Morro Coyo. If you really want to leave Whiskey Gulch, I’ll take you with me. I think I could find you legitimate work in town, where you wouldn’t have to . . . uh . . .”
Smiling, Jane studied him openly. “I think I like it when you’re flustered, Mr. Lancer.”
“Scott,” he inserted. Through the fabric of his pants he was acutely aware of her thigh nestled against his.
“Scott,” she agreed. Dipping her head, she hesitated before looking at him again. “Why would you help me like that?”
Scott grinned crookedly. “Let’s just say I have a habit of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.” The smile died slowly as he beheld the uneasy scrutiny in her long-lashed eyes. Belatedly he thought of her husband, and the man she’d described as “worse.” “There’s no ulterior motive involved if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he tried to assure her. Uncomfortable, he downed his whiskey, averting his gaze to contemplate the half-empty bottle.
Jane shifted beside him. Uncertainly she raised a hand to finger the damp threads of his hair. “I wish there were,” she said quietly.
Surprised, Scott faced her. In the soft, jeweled glow of lantern-light, her make-up didn’t appear so garish, her dress so cheap. Her gaze was steady and expectant, void of pretension. Raising one hand, Scott cupped her cheek, slowly tracing his thumb over a crest of petal-smooth skin. Before he had time to reconsider, he leaned forward, pressing his mouth to hers, parting her lips beneath the heated warmth of his kiss. She responded willingly, locking both arms around his neck, slipping work-roughened fingers into his hair. Scott gathered her closer, forgetting for one heady moment, whom she was and what he was doing. There was only the sheer bliss of holding her body next to his, the shared honeyed-whiskey of the kiss, the press of soft, supple flesh beneath his hands.
Coming abruptly to his senses, Scott withdrew. “I’m sorry, I¾” Disconcerted, he paced to the window, nervously sweeping aside the burlap covering to let air into the room. “¾I shouldn’t have, um . . .”
“You sound agitated, Mr. Lancer.”
“I’m not agitated, and I told you¾it’s Scott.”
“No.” Discouraged, Jane adjusted her dress, smoothing the cheap silk over her thighs. “I think in all likelihood it’s ‘Mr. Lancer’ after all.” Standing, she hugged her arms to her chest as though to ward off a chill. Long hair spilled over her shoulders in a tumbled veil, more concealing then her plunging neckline. “Were you sincere about taking me with you?”
Scott’s mouth was dry. “In the morning.”
“I’ll repay you. Eventually.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “In cash¾since you’re obviously not interested in anything else.” Half-heartedly she glanced about the room, noting the dismal surroundings, narrow, rope-backed bed, and one uncomfortable looking chair.
Guessing where her mind was headed, Scott cleared his throat. If she left the room to return to her own, she’d be open to advances again. Retrieving his saddle roll, he nodded to the bed. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.” Slipping free the tie-downs securing the blanket, he dropped it beneath the window. A draft of sticky night air scattered the bangs on his brow. Kneeling, he patted the blanket smooth then rolled on his side, his back to Jane.
Behind him, he heard her shuffling around¾hesitantly at first¾then more at ease as she settled on the bed. Without turning, Scott reached for the lantern, pulling it down to eye-level so he could extinguish the wick. The room plunged into darkness¾close, black and velvety¾affording welcome concealment.
Replacing the lantern, Scott rolled on his back, crossing his arms behind his head to stare at the ceiling. A few feet away he was acutely aware of Jane’s presence, every nerve tuned to the soft flutter of her breath. The memory of her kiss lingered¾forbidden nectar, as intoxicating as it was taboo. It wasn’t her past that bothered him so much as impulsive behavior on his part. He was tired and on-edge after a lengthy trek to Fulton Gorge, delivering a prized stallion to Murdoch’s friend, Aaron Muir. His attraction to the red-haired woman was an impetuous reaction, prompted no doubt, by her unfortunate circumstance, and his inherent need to offer assistance. Whiskey and a woman in trouble went a long way in crafting an attraction.
Tomorrow, when his head wasn’t so muddled and he could think clearly, he’d realize he only wanted to help her¾nothing more. Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes, but even in the gray haze preceding sleep, the memory of her kiss remained.
**********
Jane was gone when he awoke. Alarmed, Scott dumped water in the wash basin, scrubbed away morning grit as best he could, then hastily gathered his gear. As he turned toward the door, it creaked inward, admitting a slightly different Jane Hall. Gone were the tawdry dress, tight corset and heavy make-up. This girl was fresh-faced, her own dewy glow offsetting the lush glimmer of green eyes and gold-laced hair. Dressed in a faded floor-length skirt, and blue-print cotton blouse, she looked younger than Scott had originally guessed. In the light of day, her red hair drawn back in a loose ponytail, she barely looked eighteen.
Swallowing hard, he thought unexpectedly of Teresa. This girl was not much older, yet she’d seen, and been subjected to, all manner of vile occurrence. Last night he’d even entertained the notion of¾
The thought broke off, leaving him nauseated when he considered her age. “You look . . . different.”
Ignoring the comment, Jane deposited a small bundle on the bed. Opening the top, she withdrew a frayed handkerchief. Nestled within was a handful of hard crackers, chunks of pilot bread and bits of cooked bacon. “I thought you might like some breakfast,” she said conversationally. “There’s not much to eat until Lodus gets the stove going, but I swiped this from the back.”
Holding up a hand, Scott shook his head. “I’ve got food in my saddlebags¾we can eat on the trail.” Drawing a breath to quicken his resolve, he nodded toward the door. “Ready?”
Jane smiled¾a delightfully engaging turn of her lips. The sight sent Scott’s blood racing, his heart triple-beating against his ribs. How could anyone who appeared so young and virginally innocent, be so well versed in the ways of the flesh? “Ready,” she confirmed, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him. Apparently she’d already dismissed their brief encounter last night.
Deciding it was for the best, Scott waited while she gathered her pack, then led her down the stairs, toward the stable, and away from Whiskey Gulch.
**********
Jane Hall shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to complain. They’d been riding for hours now¾traversing ground that was rocky and uneven, pocketed with coarse landbridges and washout areas. Sun, wind, and time had long ago dried trickling streams to weathered troughs, where loose pebbles and shale skittered over depressions of rock.
Tightening her arms around Scott’s waist, Jane pressed her cheek to his back. He flinched unexpectedly as though bothered by the intimacy. Pleased by the reaction, she smiled. Though the journey was arduous, there were definitely finer points involved, including riding double with Scott Lancer. Aside from escaping the squalor of Whiskey Gulch, the journey also gave her the opportunity to nestle against a man she found infinitely attractive. That allure wasn’t just physical, though there was no question Scott Lancer was strikingly handsome. Tall and lean with silver-blue eyes and dark-blonde hair, her benefactor was a man who’d easily turn heads. His features were refined, near classical. But beyond his physical attractiveness, she sensed a man intent on honor and decency. A chivalrous protector, akin to the valorous knights she’d read about as a child, when first discovering legends of Arthur, Lancelot and Tristan.
Throughout most of her life, Jane had been subject to one kind of abuse or another¾whether neglect by a husband who didn’t love her; possessiveness by the sadistic man who’d followed; or humiliation at the hands of drunken cowboys, her life had been a series of setbacks and defeats. Though she’d managed to develop a hard exterior and an attitude that made her appear older than she was, inwardly she’d grown tired and despondent. She’d almost convinced herself life would end in Whiskey Gulch in a manner befitting most prostitutes¾murdered or dead of addiction¾when Scott Lancer had offered her freedom.
“Janie, do you need to stop?”
The low murmur of Scott’s voice¾seductive without even trying¾brought her back to the present. Somewhere over the course of the morning he’d taken to calling her “Janie,” perhaps because he’d realized how young she was, or simply from growing intimacy. During the course of their travel he’d told her about his past in Boston and how he’d come to Morro Coyo, meeting a brother and father he’d never known before.
She envied him that new life¾the chance to start over, free of past entanglements. Straightening, she raised her head, drawing back slightly while maintaining a hold on his hips. “I’m fine,” she lied. The breeze shifted and she caught his scent¾musky, distinctly male¾a blend of soap, perspiration and sun-heated leather. Lowering her eyes, she considered her fingers resting on the edge of his gunbelt. An absurd desire prickled her senses¾the over-whelming need to let her hand drift lower on his thigh, where sinew and bone pulled the fabric of his pants taut. Gathering her wits, she sat straighter.
“We’ll stop,” Scott said, apparently deciding she wasn’t being completely truthful. Turning in the saddle, he offered his arm, holding tightly as she slid to the ground.
Jane stepped back from the horse, watching quietly as Scott dismounted. The respite was brief, but welcome after lengthy hours in the saddle. Unaccustomed to riding for extended periods of time, Jane found her back and shoulders ached from the jostling movement, her legs stiffer still.
“We’ll try something different,” Scott said, fifteen minutes later when he remounted. Bending at the waist, he extended his arm. “Step into the stirrup.”
Complying, Jane did as instructed. As she pushed upward, he caught her beneath the arms, pulling her forward into his lap. She landed unexpectedly, shifting sideways, legs dangling to Scott’s left. Unprepared when the horse started forward, she hooked an arm around his neck, bracing herself against his chest.
Supporting her back, Scott gathered the reins. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea,” he murmured.
She felt him tense; delighted in the fact she could easily curl against his chest. Instead she smiled enticingly, her eyes ablaze with jeweled depth as she beheld his gaze. “I like it just fine.”
Though the flicker of a smile touched his lips, he refrained from comment. Jane settled against him, content to watch the landscape until he relaxed enough to make conversation. Over the next few hours he talked about Boston, about Lancer, and his family. Jane spoke briefly of her past, but the recollections were fleeting for she had no pleasant memories to share. She preferred to listen to the sound of his voice, feel the rise and fall of his chest. Loosing her arm, she turned slightly, settling her back more comfortably against his chest. Late morning passed into early afternoon and eventually later day.
Though they stopped twice more for brief respites, it wasn’t until sunset, that they camped for the night. Scott saw to his horse while Jane tended the fire and started preparations for dinner. The meal was small¾fruit and biscuits, with dried beef and sugared coffee. Afterwards, with the sun sinking into the smoked-purple cradle of the horizon, Scott prepared his bedroll for Jane.
“Where will you sleep?” she asked neutrally, watching as he situated his upturned saddle for a pillow.
“I’ve got another blanket,” Scott replied without turning. She liked the care he took in positioning her bedding for the night. She’d never had anyone cater to her needs before, and found the experience wantonly pleasant. When he was through with saddle and blanket, he located a separate spread, dropping it unceremoniously by the fire. Guessing it was where he intended to sleep, she realized he was acting as a gentleman, despite any less than noble thoughts he might secretly entertain.
Squatting by the fire, Scott poked a stick at the coals, stirring displaced ash to life. Ruby flames jumped erratically, audibly hissing in the stillness. With a glance for the deepening sky, Jane dusted her hands against her arms. As night descended the air grew cooler, blowing across the ragged terrain with moist, crisp edges. “I suppose you’ll want to get an early start in the morning.”
Scott nodded, sparing a glance over his shoulder. Frowning at the way she sat huddled, he stood and removed his jacket. “With any luck we’ll reach Lancer by late afternoon.” Walking to her side, he crouched next to her, encircling her shoulders with the heavy buckskin. His touch lingered as he adjusted the fit of the garment to her slighter form. Lifting her head she looked into his eyes, expecting to see detached concern and nothing more. A heated flicker of desire surprised her, as startling for its unexpectedness, as her dry-mouthed reaction.
Raising his hand, Scott brushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes. “You should get some sleep.” His voice was soft, his touch nearly insubstantial, as he lowered his hand to trace the curve of her cheek.
Riveted by the contact, Jane met his gaze. Part of her longed to return his touch ¾to press the sensitive pads of her fingertips against his lips; to dip her hand into the open “v” of his shirt, luxuriating in the sheer warmth certain to follow. Though it certainly wasn’t “lady like” to entertain such desire, she’d been ousted from proper society long ago.
“You’re very considerate,” she whispered, a sad smile hovering on her lips. Surely a man as upstanding as Scott Lancer appeared to be, had no use for a near-waif with a sordid past. From the small amount he’d shared of his background, Jane knew he was Boston-bred and college educated. Accustomed to the finer things in life, he was a man who moved in genteel society, squiring debutantes to elegant balls and high-profile nights at the theater. If there was any longing in his eyes, it was the base desire of a healthy man for a backwater strumpet, nothing more.
Disturbed by the thought, she lowered her eyes. “Thank you for your concern,” she mumbled. Tightening her fingers on the jacket, she drew it closer.
Sensing a change in her, Scott nodded crisply and withdrew. Stopping by the fire, he bent and added a few spindly sticks to the flames. The resultant play of flickering light across his face ignited the depths of his eyes with pure silver, and riddled his hair with amber thread. One corner of his mouth twitched in a scowl, etching a smattering of fine lines around his lips. A moment later he stood and retreated to the edge of the campsite, his back turned as he studied the horizon.
Jane retreated to the bedroll he’d prepared and wrapped herself in the blankets. Somewhat selfishly, she kept his jacket around her, comforted by his familiar scent. She never heard Scott return almost an hour later and settle beside her. Fatigued by the long journey, and the painful tug of her seesawing emotions, she dropped into an exhausted sleep, and did not waken until dawn.
**********
Scott stirred, sluggishly waking to a gray world. Cracking an eyelid, he focused half-heartedly on the bleak haze proceeding dawn. The air had grown brisk with the night, laced with the shivery chill of impending rain. Beneath his bedroll, the ground was damp, saturated with dew. A singular pocket of warmth nestled against him, creating an indulgent cocoon of heat he was loath to disturb. With a start, Scott realized Jane Hall lay snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, a slender arm draped across his waist. Sometime during the night, she’d unconsciously sought the warmth of his body, cuddling close to mute the biting chill.
For a time he lay motionless, staring at the whitewashed sky overhead, it’s eastern edges betraying only the barest tincture of color, as a bloody sun struggled to climb above the horizon. The air was moist and cool against his face, prompting him to turn his head marginally. Jane shifted in his arms, and he reacted impulsively, lightly brushing his lips against her hair. She murmured in her sleep¾a purely innocent sound that was somehow brazenly seductive for it’s drowsy appeal. Dislodged by her movement, her hand dropped from his waist, resting dangerously low on his belt-line. Scott tensed, sucking down a ragged breath as molten desire lanced through him. Groaning inwardly, he buried his face against her hair. “Janie.”
She’s only eighteen.
Every instinct told him to withdraw; that he was perched on the precipice of a fatal mistake. But his body reacted differently, burying rational thought beneath a heated deluge of white-hot desire. He’d spent yesterday riding double with her, the soft curves of her body intimately nestled against his. Even his dreams had been filled with snippets of their day together¾snatches of candid conversation; the vibrant flash of her eyes; the alluring curve of her smile; the tilt of her head when amused or challenged. Like it or not, struggle as he might to deny it, Scott knew he was smitten.
From the moment he’d first spied her in Whiskey Gulch’s filth-riddled cantina, he’d become hopelessly enamored, despite the knowledge of how she’d earned a living. The ethical voice of his conscience tried to rationalize his involvement, insisting he only wanted to help. A more stringent voice maintained it was improper for a twenty-six year old man to entertain romantic notions about an eighteen-year old girl¾a girl nearly as young as his adopted sister. Though it was true many women bore children by the time they were Jane’s age, most wed from necessity or hardship. In Boston, young women were sheltered and pampered by overly-protective fathers, who routinely scrutinized prospective suitors, curtly dismissing those deemed improper or too old.
Scott considered himself both.
Jane shifted again. This time her hand grazed below his belt, brushing the overly sensitized area between his legs before settling on his thigh. Scott stifled a groan. Mornings frequently induced a prominent reaction in any healthy man, but Jane’s innocent stirring left him fighting a sudden, uncomfortable tightness in his pants. It took every ounce of control he had to temper mounting desire.
He had no right to take advantage of her. No right to force his affection, when she’d been burdened with unwanted and painful relationships most of her life. He’d agreed to help her. An honorable man wouldn’t muddy the water with desire, no matter how strong the attraction.
Disentangling himself, Scott rolled away from her. Climbing to his feet, he turned his back, straightening his pants before she could witness the effect she had on him. As she stirred groggily awake, he squatted and folded his bedroll. “ ‘Morning,” he said shortly.
Focusing belatedly, Jane pushed to a sitting position, using one arm to brace herself. “Good morning,” she returned, clearly still half asleep. His jacket hung off her shoulders, and her unpinned hair lay rumpled in tangled waves over her back. The top three buttons of her blouse had come undone during the night, providing an alluring view of creamy flesh where her breasts swelled against the material. Though he normally would have averted his eyes, Scott stared entranced. Flushing, Jane drew his jacket closer, prompting a sting of color in his own cheeks.
Uncomfortable, she stood. “I’ll get breakfast ready,” she mumbled, clearly self-conscious.
As she moved away, Scott swore softly. Sometimes he was far too adept at creating difficulty.
**********
Rain halted their progress three hours into their trek. As they neared Lancer the ground grew greener, rolling in peaks and valleys, and gently undulating hillsides. Leafy trees sprouted in lush groves, creating momentary shelter from the drizzling mist, only to prove insignificant in any downpour to follow. Tugging his horse to a halt, Scott paused beneath the ponderous branches of a massive ash tree. Using the back of one hand, he flecked moisture from his face, sweeping aside rain-dampened bangs. Behind him, Jane eased her grip on his waist.
“There’s a line shack just a mile over that ridge,” he explained with a nod for the horizon. “It’s on the northern edge of Lancer, and should be fairly well stocked this time of year.” Frowning, Scott considered the sky. Billowing clouds massed overhead, their underbellies distended and black with caged rain. Sensing the impending storm, his horse shied nervously. “We’ll stay at the shack until the storm passes,” Scott told Jane, mostly because he needed the distraction. For hours now, he’d been acutely aware of the intimate press of her body against his back and hips. With effort, he focused and nudged his restless mount from beneath the shelter.
Jane tightened her grip on his waist, prompting his mouth to go dry. They’d spoken little that morning, each painfully aware of the unsettled air between them. Forcing the pace of his horse, Scott tried to outdistance the storm. Rain broke when they were still a mile from the line shack, bursting from bloated clouds in a cold deluge. By the time they found the shack, tucked among green hills and a small copse of trees, they were soaked through and shivering.
Scott drew his leg over his horse’s neck to dismount, then helped Jane to the ground. While he’d had his heavy buckskin jacket as protection against the rain, she’d had only her blouse. Saturated by the downpour, the material clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every flawless curve of her body. “Get inside,” he instructed, stopping to free her cloth-bound bundle and his saddlebag from the horse.
Jane sprinted onto the small covered porch, but waited until he joined her. Crackling to life on the green-black rim of the sky, lightning hung momentarily suspended then faded¾a ghost-like impression hovering in its wake. Cold sheets of rain battered the roof, chased by earsplitting tails of thunder. Catching Jane by the arm, Scott pulled her inside the shack.
The cabin was fairly clean, having seen recent use. Shelves were well stocked with sundry items, including can goods, sacks of cornmeal and flour, and an unused oil lantern. A small hearth, rope-backed bed, square table and chairs, and a wooden workbench comprised the room. Firewood rested in a wooden box by the hearth, kindling and logs, neatly sized and stacked. The front window, bare of adornment, permitted an infusion of gray, watery light which eagerly curled into the four corners of the room.
“I’ll get a fire started,” Scott said quickly, noting how Jane stood with her hands huddled over her arms. Dropping his hat and their bags on the table, he squatted before the kindling box. Within moments of stacking the hearth, he had a small blaze going. The acrid reek of smoke and ash tangled with the mustier scent of rain and the stale air of the cabin. Standing, Scott removed his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. Between the garment and his hat, he was mostly dry, his shirt spattered with a few wet patches, his pants already drying where the material had gotten wet.
Jane however was fairly soaked, blouse and skirt plastered to her arms and legs. Though the front of her blouse was dry where she’d pressed against him, runoff from her dripping hair saturated the cotton fabric even now. Standing inside the door, arms huddled to her chest, a puddle of water slowly spreading at her feet, she looked like some bedraggled creature from a Dickens novel.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes.” With a glance for her belongings in the cloth bundle, Scott scowled. Water puddled beneath the makeshift pack, oozing across the coarse wooden boards where it rested on the table. Anything carried within was likely unserviceable. Opening his leather saddlebags Scott retrieved a shirt, then crossed to the bed and snagged the blanket. “This will do.” Turning, he offered the items to Jane.
Frowning, she eyed him skeptically. “If you wait outside. On the porch?”
There was something ironic about her modesty. She’d shed her clothes often enough in the past to become suddenly demure now. Cringing, Scott berated himself for the cruel thought. In one respect he’d been treating her like Teresa¾a fragile innocent. In the next, he entertained notions of her previous profession, expecting her to react accordingly. Confused by his own muddled feelings, he nodded curtly. Passing her the blanket and shirt, he stepped from the shack onto the porch. A blast of cool, rain-moist air struck him in the face.
Frustrated, he propped a shoulder against a support post and raked a hand through his damp hair. When he thought of her inside, stripping off her wet clothes, it grew difficult to breathe. He couldn’t decide if he was acting like an idiot or a man. A tight smile crossed his lips when he considered most women would claim them one in the same.
He didn’t know if it was his own rigid upbringing beneath Harlan Garrett’s overly correct eye, or an inherent desire to protect those less fortunate, but most of his life he’d been attracted to the wrong kind of woman. His dalliances in Boston had been mostly inconsequential with a few exceptions. He’d courted the blue-blooded daughters of prominent Boston families, but he’d also squired women deemed less-than-respectable by society’s standards. In venturing west he’d hoped to break the pattern, but since arriving at Lancer, he’d fallen into a similar vein. In the last year alone he’d dallied with Zee, Glory, Julie Barrett and even Moira McGloins¾all slightly less than reputable, all tarnished in one respect or another. He could easily see himself repeating the same errors with Jane. To make matters worse, she was appalling young, even if life had burdened her with a mature edge.
The best thing to do was get her to Lancer as quickly as possible, where he’d have the distraction of other people. If he remembered correctly, Murdoch had planned a party for the ranch hands two days hence to celebrate the successful conclusion of a recent cattle drive. It was one of the reasons he’d left Fulton’s Gorge when he had, so he’d arrive in plenty of time for the festivities. Parties were not to be missed. Though a western social couldn’t compete with a Boston soiree, Scott had never quite outgrown his taste for entertainment, lavish or otherwise.
The door creaked behind him, drawing his attention.
“You can come in now,” Jane announced, looking around the corner. She stepped away from the door when he entered, moving self-consciously to a chair by the fireplace. She’d dried her hair as best she could, then scattered her clothes on the backs of chairs placed before the fireplace. More lay strewn over the tabletop. Uncomfortable at the sight of her undergarments, Scott swallowed dryly. Though she held the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, it didn’t quite reach the floor. He could see her bare calves and feet, bronzed with golden light from the hearth. The collar of his own royal blue shirt peeked from the edge of the blanket at her throat.
Awkward and uncertain how to pass the time, Scott rifled through his saddlebag. “Are you hungry?”
Jane shook her head.
Feeling trapped in the small confines of the room, Scott paced to the window. Water streaked the grimy glass, leaving a dirt-stained impression of the landscape beyond. Trees distorted and bled through the prismatic effect of rippling rain on glass. Biting down on his lip, Scott paced to the door and tugged it open. Raising his hand above his head, he gripped the edge, holding it in place. “Lancer isn’t much further,” he announced without turning.
“I wish I understood why you’re helping me.”
Though the drumming effect of rain on the roof nearly drowned Jane’s voice, the quiet utterance drew Scott. Surprised, he turned, closing the door to mute the sound of the downpour. “Do I have to have a reason?”
“Most men do.”
“I’m not most men.” As soon as the words were past his lips, he grimaced, realizing how arrogant they sounded. Striding to the hearth, he rested one hand against the heated bricks and stood looking down at her. “Do you regret leaving Whiskey Gulch?”
A tart smile crossed Jane’s lips. “What I regret has nothing to do with Whiskey Gulch, and more to do with the ups and downs of your actions. This morning¾”
“Forget this morning,” he said quickly, recalling how he’d been unable to mask the desire in his eyes. That brief moment when she’d awakened and he’d stared, openly entranced, had hovered over them ever since.
“I told you I’d pay you. I’ve lain with men for a lot less than saving my life. If that’s what you want, all you have to do is tell me.”
“Damn it, Jane.” Irrational anger twisted his face. Part of him wanted to grab her and rattle sense into her for deeming herself chattel for barter. The other wanted to wrap her in his arms and show her how pure attraction could be, when both parties were on equal terms.
She shrugged. “I don’t understand you, Scott.”
“No,” he muttered, more frustrated then angry. “Maybe it’s better we keep it that way.” He started past her, but she caught his arm, lightly holding onto his wrist. Her touch, somehow uncertain, was riveting for its hesitancy. Looking down on her¾on her upturned face, her eyes green and searching; her skin, still damp from the rain, an intoxicating blend of cameo cream and golden honey¾he felt his resolve wither like a sun-scorched root. Barely daring to breathe, he traced his fingertips over her cheek, then her lips, marveling at the smooth texture of satiny flesh. Her mouth parted beneath the touch, inviting him to continue. Trapped on the threshold of desire, Scott struggled to reassert control.
Raising her hands, Jane pushed the blanket from her shoulders. It crumbled behind her on the seat of the chair, leaving her clad only in his blue shirt. The sight of her bare legs and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, pushed him over the edge of reason. Gripping her beneath the upper arm, Scott pulled her to her feet. He slipped one arm behind her waist, used his other hand to cup her chin and tilt her face up to his. Her lips were chill with the lingering touch of rain, but they heated rapidly when he covered her mouth with his own.
Jane melted into his embrace, desiring the contact every bit as much as he did. The lines and planes of his body were deliciously taut, from chest to hip to thigh, and she reveled in the feel of that exquisite firmness, pressed to her softer flesh. He kissed her hungrily, not forcefully as most men did, with the desire to pleasure as much as take. A warm spiral of heat spread outward from her belly, gently cascading through her limbs. Scott slipped his hand into her wet hair, tugging her head back, then bending to trail open-mouthed kisses across her throat.
She trembled in his embrace, undone by the contact, by the sheer strength of his presence. His hand slid from her waist, dipped lower to catch the edge of her shirt and push it above her hip. As he claimed her lips yet again, probing deeply with his tongue, he cupped her bare bottom with one hand, pressing against her. The hard buckle of his gunbelt caught her in the stomach, the unmistakable swell of his arousal lower still. The breath caught in her throat, and she thought of the bed in the corner¾of how much she wanted him, of how unlike her previous experiences with men, he proved to be.
She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, slipping her hand inside the soft material, delighting in the hard, smooth plane of his chest. He kissed her yet again, moving his mouth over hers, teasing now, never quite making contact, hovering just shy as his tongue flicked the edges of her lips. Moaning, she locked both hands behind his neck, trying to pull his head down to seal the kiss. In a distracted part of her mind, she abruptly realized he was quite adept at the game of love, and had probably entertained more women than was considered respectable. In the past, it had been difficult surrendering control. Though the men in her life had always held the upper hand, she’d never completely yielded to their manipulations, particularly in bed. This time was different. This time she wanted to lose herself in the heady passion of Scott’s skilled lovemaking.
She felt the warm whisper of his breath against her ear; the heat of lips against her cheek, her temple; the sheer ecstasy of his hand cupping her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple to a rigid peak. “Janie, do you have any idea how much I want you?” he whispered huskily against her ear.
An anticipatory shiver rippled through her body. “I told you¾” she murmured against his lips, seeking his kiss. “¾all you had to do was ask.”
As though doused by a bucket of cold water, Scott drew back sharply. Gripping her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length, his expression a disconcerted snarl of bitterness and confusion.
“Scott?”
Shuttering all emotion from his face, he shook his head. “I was wrong. This was a mistake.”
Bewildered, she stared. The beautiful ecstasy of what they’d shared a moment ago crumbled worthlessly at her feet. A cold knife sliced through her, shredding fragile feelings that had only now begun to bloom . “How can you say that?”
“Because I’m more cynical than I seem,” Scott shot back without thought. “Get dressed. The storm’s letting up.” Releasing her, he glanced aside. “You can keep the shirt since it’s dry.”
Jane’s temper flared. How dare he treat her like a . . . a . . . an object of desire and then condescend to offer his shirt. “I wouldn’t keep your damn shirt if it was the last article of clothing from here to Christmas, and I had to ride naked all the way to Lancer.”
Scott’s mouth tightened into a white line. “Fine. If you want to proclaim your profession to the rest of the world, who am I to stop you?”
“You bastard.” Incensed by the slur, she struck him across the face. The stinging crack of her hand echoed loudly in the small cabin, but the blow barely fazed him. His expression didn’t alter.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Get out!” Jane shrieked, jabbing a finger in the direction of the door. “You might think you can put your hands all over me, but you’re not going to stand there and watch me get dressed.”
“If I paid, would it make a difference?”
The blood drained from Jane’s face. Something ugly had transpired. Something to turn her chivalrous knight into an arrogant, overbearing demon. Words failed her at the cruel insult, leaving her white-faced and trembling. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes and blinked rapidly to keep from breaking down like some foolish girl-child. “Please leave, Mr. Lancer,” she said in a rigidly controlled voice. Her face remained unyielding, her gaze as implacable as stone.
When he turned gruffly and stalked outside, slamming the door behind him, she collapsed into the chair. Still uncertain what had transpired to turn his loving attention into cruel dismissal, she pressed one hand against her lips. Her fingertips trembled. The breath came harsh and rapid through her lungs, dispelled in lurching gulps of air. Burying her face in her hands, she let the tears come, powerless to stop them.
Against her better judgment, she’d fallen in love with him. Even as the anguish of that knowledge tore at her heart, she knew he considered her nothing more than a strumpet, to be used and discarded at whim. Straightening, wiping tears from her eyes, she drew a calming breath.
It didn’t matter. She’d survived before. Once she got to Morro Coyo, she’d make it on her own¾without Scott Lancer.
**********
Scott sat rigidly on his horse, intensely aware of Jane’s presence behind him. Unlike before, she didn’t nestle against him, but kept space between them, her hold on his waist almost insubstantial. When she’d come from the cabin, dressed in her own wet clothing, he’d made a half-hearted attempt at an apology, but the effort had gone unaccepted.
She’d thrust his shirt at him as though it were a cast-off snakeskin, then waited¾arms crossed over her chest, eyes turned resolutely into the distance¾while he’d gone back inside to gather his gear.
With the passing of intervening hours, Scott felt increasingly guilty for his callous remarks. He was still angry over what had transpired between them, even hurt, but his verbal attack had been unjustified. He might have fallen in love with her, but her comment “all he had to do was ask” made it clear she’d simply been rendering payment for his assistance. He’d never wanted her to feel obligated, but had hoped her desire for him was as great as his need for her. Yet it was clear from her behavior at the cabin, she perceived him as a paying customer, and only wanted to satisfy the debt and be done with him.
The truth stung. As much as he wanted her, he wouldn’t lay with a woman who saw him as an obligation.
When they stopped a short time later for a brief noon meal, Jane remained distant and uncommunicative. The air between them grew strained, bristling with unspoken tension. Agitated and moody, Scott kept to himself, hunched over a cup of distastefully bitter coffee. A short distance away, a small fire snapped and crackled, the only sound in the pudding-thick stillness. Though the ground remained wet and muddy, a hazy sun gradually burned moisture from the air.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell your family what I did in Whiskey Gulch,” Jane announced suddenly, breaking the silence. Seated a few feet away on the trunk of a fallen cypress, she looked at him bleakly. Her glance was unexpressive, the spark of animation missing from her pine-colored eyes. “I’d like to start over in Morro Coyo, and I won’t find work in a respectable establishment if my past becomes common gossip.”
Scott nodded. He’d already thought ahead, intending to tell anyone who asked that she was a widow come on hard luck, when she’d lost her farm. It wasn’t an entire lie, just not the complete truth. Standing, Scott tossed his coffee away. “I think that’s best.” Hesitating, he turned the tin cup over in his hands, looking at the small indentations in the worn metal. “I’ve got a connection or two in Morro Coyo with people who might be able to help you. Mrs. Claiborne at the dress shop, and the Kaufmanns, who run the local eatery.” Scott looked at her uncertainly. “If you still want my help.”
Folding her hands in her lap, Jane gave a barely perceptible nod. “That would be most kind, Mr. Lancer.”
Mr. Lancer.
Damn, he hated when she called him that. It erected bridges and barriers and unbroachable walls. Dismissing the matter, he snagged the coffeepot, then dumped its contents over the flames. As the wood hissed, he kicked the drenched embers with his foot, extinguishing all trace of the fire. “Let’s go,” he said crisply. “I want to reach Lancer before nightfall.”
Wordlessly, Jane followed him to the horse. Scott didn’t stop again until the white walls of Lancer rose before him, gilded with the butter-gold light of late-day sun. It seemed like he’d been gone an eternity. The prospect of his own bed, fresh clothes, and a home-cooked meal, marginally lifted his spirits, despite the staid woman at his back. When Johnny strode onto the veranda, Scott succumbed to an irrepressible grin. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Same goes for you, horse soldier. Get down off that gangly beast.” Grinning, Johnny strode from the porch, halting abruptly when he caught sight of Jane. “Uh . . .Brother . . . did you know there’s a gal attached to your waist?”
Burdened with the strained, uncomfortable air of the last few hours, Scott was doubly appreciative of his brother’s casual banter. “Johnny, this is Jane Hall.” Reaching behind him, Scott caught Jane’s arm, easing her to the ground. As he did, Johnny sprang to her assistance, catching her about the waist and helping her step lightly from the horse. His hands lingered longer than necessary, his smile a trifle too charming.
Frowning at his attention, Scott cleared his throat. “Jane¾my younger brother, Johnny.”
“How very charming,” Jane responded, even as Johnny released her and stepped backward.
Scott swung down from the saddle, clapping a hand to Johnny’s shoulder in greeting. “Good to see you’re still in one piece. Where’s Murdoch and Teresa?”
Johnny cocked his head toward the house. “Inside.” Curiously his eyes drifted back to Jane. “We didn’t expect company.”
“Come inside and I’ll tell you about it,” Scott suggested. Turning, he made to offer his arm to Jane, but Johnny beat him to it. Smiling appreciatively, the red-haired girl wrapped her hand around Johnny’s arm, murmuring a silky “thank you.” Grinning over the top of her head, Johnny cocked an eyebrow at Scott, enjoying the game of one-upmanship. Scowling, the fair-haired man followed his troublesome brother and their guest inside.
Scott introduced Jane to Teresa and Murdoch, providing the explanation he’d decided on earlier. Her stay at Lancer was to be temporary, until she settled in town, but Murdoch and Teresa both agreed there was no rush for her to go anywhere. Delighted by the prospect of having another female in the house, Teresa ushered her upstairs, chattering the entire time about clothes they could share and hair adornments she’d only recently acquired.
When the two females had left, Johnny looked pointedly at his brother. “A widow at her age?”
Uncomfortable, Scott shrugged. The memory of the cabin was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want any conversation that might betray his feelings for her. “Her life’s been on the difficult side.”
“Not to mention passing attractive.” Johnny’s mouth quirked in a grin. “The fact that she’s so pretty wouldn’t have anything to do with your helping her, would it, big brother?”
“Johnny.” Murdoch’s glower was reprimanding, but the younger man waved him off.
“Come on, Murdoch. We both know Scott’s got a weakness for a pretty face.”
“Well in this case you’re wrong,” Scott returned tightly. Was he truly that shallow when it came to women, that even his brother saw through his motives? Deliberately shifting the conversation, he focused on Murdoch. “Aaron was satisfied with the stallion and said to tell you he’ll offer us the first foal. He sent a bonus payment for early delivery.”
“Good work, Son.” With an easy grin, Murdoch rested a companionable hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Beneath his grip, he felt unexpected tension in Scott.
As though sensing his scrutiny, Scott withdrew. “I’d like to change and wash up.” A staged smile eased the strain on his face. “See you both at dinner?”
Murdoch nodded thoughtfully. Johnny merely grunted and dropped into a chair, plopping his booted feet on the coffee table. Later, when Scott had washed and changed clothes, he joined the others for dinner. Jane looked exceptionally striking in a rose-colored dress provided by Teresa, her auburn hair pinned in loose waves to the back of her head. She conducted herself with ease at the table, unusual maturity showing, despite her lack of years. From the way Johnny watched her, easily entranced, Scott knew his brother found her charming. Even Murdoch favored her with indulgent smiles and extravagant attention.
Perturbed without understanding why, Scott grew sulky and moody. He eventually retired on the pretext of needing rest after so many days on the trail. The warm laughter and animated conversation of the others followed him upstairs, haunting him even after he’d closed the door to block the sound.
The following morning he woke before the others, ate a solitary breakfast and headed into Morro Coyo. The air was pleasant, mildly warm, riddled with a frolicking breeze. It slithered beneath his hat, rifling the edges of his sun-bronzed hair, tugging more insistently at the collar of his beige shirt. Birds trilled from the upper branches of leafy trees, calling to one another in sing-song cadence. Rolling earth combined with sapphire sky, creating continuity and harmony from horizon peak to horizon peak.
Within Morro Coyo itself, the streets were dusty and dry. Early risers mingled with late-night saloon goers, who’d yet to retire for a few hours of bleary-eyed, drunken sleep. Scott stopped at the mercantile, checking on Murdoch’s latest order of supplies, then visited the Kauffmann’s eatery where he had another cup of coffee and a thick slice of bread slathered with apple butter. Though they were sympathetic, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Kauffmann had any use for another hand. Disappointed, but appreciative of their time, Scott thanked both, then walked across the street to visit Mrs. Claiborne’s dress shop.
Finding it closed he ventured next door to the stage depot, where he was told by the attendant Mrs. Claiborne had left earlier in the week. A sister had taken ill in the neighboring town of Archglow, and she’d gone to lend a hand with the family. Once again Scott expressed his gratitude for the news. Exiting the building, he collided with a man on the street. “Sorry,” Scott said, reaching out a hand to steady the other. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Not a problem.” The stranger was lean, with shoulder-length black hair and a thin mustache. Though Scott had never seen him before, there was something oddly familiar about him. Belatedly he realized it was the man’s stance, casually exuding confidence and subtle arrogance. It was the natural stance of a gunslinger¾poise Scott had often seen reflected in Johnny’s posture.
Resting a hand on his low-hipped gunbelt, the black-haired man smiled benignly. “Be careful, friend. You wouldn’t want to have an accident.” With a tip of his hat, he strolled down the boardwalk, softly whistling an unrecognizable melody.
Frowning, Scott shrugged off the encounter. Collecting his horse, he returned to Lancer where he spent the remainder of the day working cattle with Johnny. He was mostly silent through dinner, mulling over his news about the Kaufmanns and Mrs. Claiborne. When the meal was finished, he drew Jane aside to tell her both opportunities had come up lacking.
“Should I leave?” she asked. Haloed by a faint glow of lantern light, her expression was unreadable. They stood in the foyer, quietly conversing, while the rest of the family lingered in the Great Room. Snatches of conversation drifted through the open doorway as Teresa, Johnny and Murdoch reviewed preparations for the planned ranch party to take place the following evening.
“Mrs. Claiborne will probably be back in a week or so,” Scott returned stiffly, still stung by their earlier encounter. Though he tried to mask his emotions, bitterness bled into in his voice. “There’s no need for you to go anywhere.”
Jane looked unconvinced. “I don’t wish to be an unwelcome guest.”
“Teresa, Johnny and Murdoch are glad to have you.”
“And what about you?” Her expression soured. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since we arrived. Do you really think I can’t sense your hostility, Scott?”
Biting back a tart reply, Scott looked at her piercingly. With little prompting he could almost imagine disappointment in her eyes¾veiled sadness for something that might have been. Attired in a blue dress borrowed from Teresa, she looked particularly fetching. The material was snug, seductively hugging the curves and swells of her body, accentuating her comely form. Loose auburn curls cascaded against her slender neck, pinned and held in place by pearl-encrusted combs. Scott’s mouth went dry, as he realized how desperately he wanted her.
“Forget about me,” he bit off shortly. Then with a clipped inclination of his head, “Good-night Mrs. Hall.” Turning, he pushed out the front door, feeling idiotic for his upper crust attitude and formal address. As he stepped outside heat flamed on his cheeks. He couldn’t decide if he was enraged by her aloofness or annoyed at his stubborn defensiveness.
Either way, he hoped to banish all thought of her for the night.
**********
“Something wrong, Jane?”
Jane Hall jumped at the soft inquiry, her thoughts scattering like frightened rabbits. Clasping a hand to her throat, she turned at the intrusion, smiling almost guiltily when she saw Johnny standing in the threshold. “No, nothing. Well . . . not entirely.” A jittery smile stretched her lips. She knew he found her attractive, but thus far he’d made no advances, probably uncertain if his brother had designs on her. In one respect it bothered her to be auctioned off between them, in another, it was extraordinary to think one man would retreat in favor of the other.
Johnny was the kind of man who normally attracted her¾darkly handsome with an unmistakable aura of danger clinging to his heels. There was power in every move he made; unmistakable magnetism in everything he did. From the seductive curve of his lips, to his low-hipped stance and quiet, husky voice, he positively oozed sensuality. Yet for all Johnny’s appeal, Jane couldn’t see past Scott with his blighted sense of chivalry, ramrod composure, and antiquated sense of right and wrong. He didn’t have Johnny’s dark, dangerous edge, but possessed a deeper sensuality that left her weak in the knees every time he so much as glanced in her direction. Why had she fallen in love with such a complex, difficult man?
Stepping into the foyer, Johnny cocked his head. “Problems?”
“Not really.” Frustrated, Jane wrung her hands together. “It’s just your brother. Is he always so . . . so¾”
“Irritating?” Johnny’s lips curled in a crooked smile. “I’ve come close to wringing his neck a time or two. What’d he do now?”
Thinking better of her scattered emotions, Jane shook her head. Involving Johnny in her problems with Scott would likely only make the situation worse. “It doesn’t matter.” Quickly, she dismissed the matter, hoping to deter further inquiries. “I promised to help Teresa with the party preparations. Excuse me.”
Before Johnny could object she brushed past him, leaving him slightly bewildered for the odd conversation. Though she’d been pleasant and forthcoming since arriving at Lancer, Johnny knew she’d also been exceptionally closed-mouthed concerning Scott. It didn’t take a genius to realize she had feelings for his brother, even if she went out of her way to keep Scott at a distance. Shaking his head, deciding women were best consigned to a realm he couldn’t fathom, Johnny stepped onto the porch. As he moved outside, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy form propped against the wall.
“Scott?” Stepping nearer, Johnny narrowed his eyes on his brother. “What are you doing out here?”
Scott grunted something in reply¾a rankled sound, clearly conveying his sour mood. Remembering that his brother had been particularly quiet, even morose during dinner, Johnny approached casually. Agitating a man intent on denying his feelings for a woman, was like sparring with a rattler. Johnny, however, liked to play dangerously. “Thought maybe you’d want to chime in your two cents about the party tomorrow night,” he announced neutrally. “Teresa’s already got Murdoch rethinking the whole event."
When no reply or acknowledgement was forthcoming, Johnny stuffed his hands in his pockets, and offered a breezy smile. “Course Teresa’s got Mrs. Hall to keep her busy now. I think she’s already plottin’ to introduce Jane to Virgil Nichols. And I heard her mention something about Ethan Green and Martin Fishburn. Sounds like she’s got a real social calendar planned for your girlfriend.”
Scott glanced at him acidly, his expression one step shy of murderous. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Brother. She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Johnny pursed his lips theatrically. He kicked a loose pebble across the courtyard.
Ignoring him, Scott continued, barely pausing for breath. “I don’t know what Teresa’s thinking anyway.” The words rolled from his tongue with sudden belligerence. “Nichols can barely string two words together when he meets a woman, Green spends most of his time in the saloon, and Fishburn’s more likely to primp in front of a mirror then pay compliments.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Hearing the bristling tang of buried jealousy in his brother’s voice, Johnny made a valiant effort not to smile. “You gotta admit Fishburn’s a real ladies’ man¾tall and dark, with that European accent. Jane will probably fall all over him.”
“He sounds like someone shoved a cricket up his nose.”
Biting down on his bottom lip, Johnny shook his head in clear amusement. Ever since Scott had returned with Jane Hall riding behind him, Johnny had been aware of the crackling attraction between his brother and the red-haired woman. Even Murdoch had commented on it the previous night. Though neither Scott nor Jane appeared anything but courteous with the other¾indeed, they went out of their way to be rigidly aloof¾it was clear to the remainder of the family heated emotions simmered beneath the surface. It was so unlike his brother¾known for his easy charm and skilled manner with women¾to be strung along by a girl, barely more than a child, that Johnny couldn’t resist a needling poke at Scott’s bluff demeanor.
“Look, Brother, if you’re that taken with the woman¾”
“Taken?” Slate blue eyes narrowed dangerously on Johnny. “I wouldn’t care if Teresa lined up every eligible bachelor in Morro Coyo to court Jane Hall. She’s barely older than Teresa is. You’re crazy if you think I’m interested.”
“Is that so?” Sly challenge crept into Johnny’s eyes. “Then you won’t mind if I court her myself?”
Scott’s mouth tightened in a rigid line. “Do what you want,” he answered flatly. Turning, he stalked back into the house, every taut muscle in his body effecting black denial.
Chuckling softly, Johnny strolled to the stable, his spirits soaring high as a bird. There was something blatantly satisfying in seeing his overly correct brother, normally so composed and precise, reduced to an irritable fool over a woman’s hand.
Tomorrow night’s celebration was starting to look like the most promising party of the year.
**********
A lively spray of fiddle and harmonica music filled the night air, reverberating throughout the open courtyard. Johnny stepped easily among the dancers and partygoers, barely pausing on his way to the punch table. Brightly colored lanterns strung from the rafters and walls, cast a warm, idyllic glow on the outdoor setting. A square platform assembled from plank boards created a flat surface, just a foot off the ground for dancers. Cowpokes, wranglers, and ranch hands, all attired in their finest clothes, twirled ladies in sweeping skirts to the melodic rise and fall of sprightly reels and slower waltzes. A full moon and clear sky, brightened by an ice-white prism of stars, instilled a near-tangible aura of romance.
Johnny grinned, shaking his head as he neared the punchbowl. Behind him on the dance platform, he’d left Ethan Green and Virgil Nichols arguing over who had the privilege of the next dance with Jane. Though the evening was only a few hours old, almost every available young man in Morro Coyo had attended the comely widow on the dance floor. Johnny had taken his turn, twirling her through a waltz, before moving on to fawn over some of the other women. Though many seemed to resent Jane’s presence, Teresa clearly relished her role of matchmaker, introducing one possible suitor after another. Amused by the fuss Jane was causing, Johnny poured a glass of punch, content to simply watch for the moment.
He enjoyed outdoor parties more than those confined to limited space within four walls. Teresa, Jane, and a few others had taken great care in setting up tables and chairs in the courtyard, crafting an ambiance effortlessly in tune with the nighttime backdrop. Platters of pastries, fruits, cheeses and breads enticed guests to linger in cordial conversation, while the string of beckoning lanterns invited leisurely strolls amid flower-lined pathways.
Setting his glass aside, Johnny casually noted Teresa, Jane, Murdoch, and Jelly among the gathered crowd. Jelly appeared in animated conversation with a pretty brunette, while Murdoch talked more quietly with a neighboring rancher. Realizing that Scott was nowhere in sight, Johnny scanned the crowd. He’d been cornered earlier by a few women looking for Scott. Though he’d never quite figured out the polished, sophisticated edge of Scott’s charm, he knew it reduced most women to simpering fools.
A sharp smile stretched his lips. Apparently that devastating Boston charm had gotten Scott nowhere with Jane Hall, even if she did secretly harbor feelings for him. It was almost comical realizing the position his brother was in. He might not be as widely traveled as Scott, but he knew a lovesick fool when he saw one. His brother’s recent, uncharacteristic behavior was clear indication the eastern philanderer had met his match.
The smooth motion of the veranda door sweeping open, drew Johnny’s attention. Scott stepped to the edge of the roof overhang, his expression sour. Briefly, his eyes flitted to the dance floor. Several young men¾none older than twenty or twenty-two¾flocked around Jane Hall, fussing over her every move. Johnny followed his brother’s eyes, noting how comely the woman looked in a form fitting, off the shoulder emerald dress. Tight across the bust and fashioned with a low neckline, the garment was cinched at the waist with a black sash. Shoulders and throat bare, Jane wore a simple cameo suspended on a black ribbon, her fiery red-gold hair loose about her shoulders.
Scowling, Scott turned and strode to the right¾away from the music and festivities, into the shadow-draped seclusion of a smaller courtyard. Deciding it was time to intervene, Johnny hurried after him.
“Hey, Scott¾wait up!”
The fair-haired man jerked as though caught unaware. Halting, he cast a perturbed glance over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be begging some naïve girl for a dance or something?”
Johnny chuckled. “Or something.” Stepping ligh