Burke's Rules
Pat Tracy
Jayne Stoneworthy Knew Men Only Wanted One ThingBurke Youngblood was no different, mistaking her for a "good-time gal" and insisting she follow his every command. But she had a stubborn streak wider than the Rockies - and she'd be more than happy to show it to him! Burke Youngblood swore that marriage did not create ties that bind. No, sir. They chafed!But that was before he met the "Headmistress of Morals," Jayne Stoneworthy, a feisty, independent schoolteacher - and the most unlikely woman ever to buy a brothel! Besides, if he didn't make an honest woman out of her, who would?
“Listen, you. I’m bigger, more determined and meaner than you are! (#ua6622cb2-6372-52ed-b017-39c7deb82128)Letter to Reader (#ud33c027d-f131-5252-8561-b5579e0f26ad)Title Page (#uabc517b8-8f22-5843-8c64-becbd0e0e0c4)About the Author (#u5c15c02e-fb68-5758-a647-114ae1ab9c5d)Dedication (#u8694dceb-0f7e-5e7e-bf7d-2dbac6ad88e6)Chapter One (#u7574d787-54f8-52ee-a009-2ab63a85207f)Chapter Two (#u09b97155-efd5-5a5e-a0cf-8a6b3888d5bf)Chapter Three (#u40e54225-9fd9-563c-a70e-00d7f29b3767)Chapter Four (#ueeff42ab-f9e9-5fe3-89eb-77001a0566b1)Chapter Five (#u3b223018-8580-5365-b296-71f347b40c4c)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Author Note (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Listen, you. I’m bigger, more determined and meaner than you are!
“And there is no way that I am going to let you spend another night in this place. For better or worse, you’re stuck with my involvement in your life.”
Youngblood’s statement sounded like a demented wedding vow.
“But you can’t make me—” Jayne began.
“Sure I can. I’ll just pick you up and take you where you should be.”
“There are laws—”
“A respectable lady wanting to run a fancy girls’ school can’t afford to draw the wrong kind of attention to herself. It would be the kiss of death for your name to be linked with any unsavory gossip. I guarantee going to the sheriff in a misguided attempt to make me behave myself would unleash a flurry of wild rumors.” .
“That’s coercion!”
“Highly effective coercion. Pack and be ready to go when I return.”
Jayne just stared at his broad, retreating back in disbelief.
Dear Reader,
If you’ve never read a Harlequin Historical, you’re in for a treat. We offer compelling, richly developed stories that let you escape to the past—written by some of the best writers in the field!
We are delighted with the return of Pat Tracy, who is known for her fresh and entertaining Westerns. Critics have described Pat’s books as “sparkling” and “heart-lifting.” In Burke’s Rules, book two of THE GUARDSMEN series, a perfectly mannered schoolmistress falls for the “protective” bachelor banker who helps her fund her Denver, Colorado, school. It’s great!
Be sure to look for Pride of Lions, the latest in Suzanne Barclay’s highly acclaimed SUTHERLAND SERIES. Two lovers are on opposite sides of a feud in this passionate tale set in medieval Scotland. In Judith Stacy’s new Western, The Heart of a Hero, a former bad boy enlists the help of the local schoolmarm in order to win custody of his niece and nephew.
Rounding out the month is The Knight’s Bride by rising talent Lyn Stone. This is a heartwarming and humorous medieval novel about a very true knight who puts his honorable reputation on the line when he promises to marry the beautiful widow of his best friend. Don’t miss it!
Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical
novel.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Burke’s Rules
Pat Tracy
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
PAT TRACY lives in rugged Idaho. No longer a country mouse, Pat recently moved to the city of Idaho Falls, population 49,000, where she writes, practices karate and dreams of times when rough-and-tumble heroes had their hands full dealing with independent, lofty-minded heroines. Pat loves to hear from her readers: P.O. Box 17, Ucon, Idaho 83454.
The first category romance novel I read was
Corporate Affair, a Silhouette Desire romance, written
by Stephanie James. The characters, writing style and
plot absolutely riveted me. Along with millions of other
readers, I discovered both the romance genre and
Jayne Ann Krentz, a brilliantly gifted author with
several pen names.
This book is dedicated to Jayne Ann Krentz,
Jayne Castle, Stephanie James, Amanda Quick,
Amanda Glass and Jayne Taylor. Not only have you
provided me with hours upon hours of magic, you
answered a fan letter
I wrote, asking about how one went about becoming
published. You told me about Romance Writers of
America, national and regional writing conferences,
query letters and editors.
It’s no accident that Burke’s Jayne is book-smart, earnest
and single-mindedly determined to accomplish a worthy
goal. She’s named for you, Jayne, and, I hope, represents
the kind of stong, independent woman who deserves a
“wounded wolf” with the courage to pursue a hero’s
quest. In taming the shrew and battling his inner
demons, Burke finds his mate and recovers his soul.
That’s how it goes, right?
Chapter One
It was the hump that drew Burke Youngblood’s attention to the man in a red flannel shirt and baggy coveralls, walking ahead of him on the Denver boardwalk. Burke mentally sifted through the Wanted posters tacked to his office wall, putting together names with distinctive physical characteristics. Thinking about the ugly pusses marring the black-walnut-veneered panels of his brand-new office was enough to sour his already grim mood.
He didn’t know why his bank, the Denver First National and Trust, had suddenly been singled out as the most popular place for every man with a pistol and a larcenous desire to say, “Give me all the money in your vault.” But he refused to have everything he’d sweated blood and tears to build stripped from him by men too amoral to perform an honest day’s work.
He deliberately slowed his pace, keeping three yards between himself and the bandy-legged figure. Dangling from a dusty hat, a faded gray ponytail thumped against the red fabric stretched across the clearly visible hump.
“Pappy” Pikeman...no, Pickman. Burke pulled the name from the dozens he’d committed to memory. Pappy was a notorious, if aging, bank robber, specializing in dynamiting safes. Burkes’s right hand drifted to the Colt 45 on his hip.
The man bearing a startling resemblance to Pappy paused on the corner. Across the street, where McClintock and Larimer intersected, rose the bank’s new four-story structure, completed three months earlier. Burke also stopped, moving to the inside of the boardwalk so as not to block the pedestrian traffic that flowed in both directions around him.
The humpbacked man was peering into one of the French plate-glass windows. Burke still wasn’t sure if he was trailing Pappy or someone who looked enough like the criminal to be his brother. Before the man entered the bank, Burke would know.
The anger that had been growing within him for the past few months climbed another notch. What was going on? If indeed Pappy Pickman was studying the building with robbery in mind, he would be the fourth thief in as many months to choose the First National and Trust as his target. It didn’t make sense. There were at least a dozen other financial institutions in Denver with poorer security measures than he maintained.
Burke stepped onto the boardwalk and walked past the man raptly staring into the front windows. The brief glimpse he caught of the profile shadowed beneath the hat stoked his wrath. With a certainty he didn’t question, he knew Pickman had joined the ranks of those who thought they could successfully steal from the First National.
Burke drew his .45 from its holster and shoved the barrel against Pickman’s side. “Put your hands against the window.”
He felt the shudder of shock that rocked the smaller man.
“What’s going on?” The high-pitched protest bristled with outrage.
Burke leaned close and spoke through tightly clenched teeth. “I know who you are. If you want to see tomorrow, don’t make any sudden moves.”
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! There’s been a mistake!”
“You’re right about that.” Burke cocked the Colt. “Reach into your pocket and take the gun out by its barrel.”
“I ain’t got no—”
Burke pushed the .45 deeper into his side. “Do it.”
Uttering an oath, the man plunged his hand into the pocket concealed by the baggy coveralls. What came into view made Burke suck in his breath.
“I told you I wasn’t packing a pistol.”
Burke gingerly retrieved the stick of dynamite from Pickman’s shaking fingers. “Now, we’re going for a walk. Inside.”
“Inside?” Pickman squeaked. “Ain’t you gonna take me to the sheriff?”
“I might be willing to turn you over to Sheriff Donner after you answer some questions.”
He turned pasty-colored. “I ain’t answering no questions.”
Burke spun the man around to face the doors closest to them. “Walk.”
Pickman dragged his heels but managed to stumble forward. Burke eased the stick of dynamite into his coat pocket while keeping his gun pressed discreetly, but firmly, against his prisoner’s ribs. They stepped in tandem through the glass doors.
The teller closest to the entrance looked up from the plump matron he was assisting. “Good morning, Mr. Youngblood.”
“’Morning, Jamison.” Burke nodded in the general direction of the customers standing in five short lines. If lowlifes like Pickman continued to view his establishment as their personal source of ill-gotten loot, the First National and Trust would soon be an empty shell of a building.
And, without your business, you’d be an empty shell.
The rogue thought stunned Burke. When had he started thinking of himself only as an extension of the banks he owned?
“Up the stairs,” Burke ordered gruffly.
“Okay, okay, I’m going. Don’t push.”
They went up two flights. By the time they reached the top, Pickman was sweating heavily and wheezing. “Slow down. I don’t see why you’re in such an all-fired hurry.”
Burke opened his office door and shoved his prisoner inside. “Better save what little breath you have.”
Burke was surprised to find he had a visitor. Gideon Cade lounged casually in one of the chairs that faced the mahogany desk. Gideon got to his feet, eyeing Pappy with obvious interest.
Burke forcibly guided Pickman to an empty chair. “Sit.”
“All right, all right.”
“Is this where I offer to get the rope?” his friend drawled.
“If Pappy’s feeling chatty, we won’t resort to force.”
“Knowing that your father is the president and owner of an eastern conglomerate of banks, I pictured him as being more of a dapper dresser.”
Despite his anger at being the target of another robbery attempt, Burke grinned. “Allow me to introduce Pappy Pickman—not my father, but a low-down, bank-robbing scoundrel with the mistaken notion he could walk into the First National and help himself to some easy money.”
“You can’t prove anything,” the older man grumbled.
“With a reward on your head, I don’t have to prove anything,” Burke replied. “Grab Pappy’s picture off the wall, Gideon. It’s the third one from the left in the fourth row.”
Burke gave the directions without taking his gaze from Pickman.
Gideon sauntered to the cluster of Wanted posters that covered almost one wall of Burke’s office.
“I never did care for all these ugly mugs staring at me every time I visited you, but I can see you’ve put them to good use. You’ve probably memorized the face of every outlaw within a five-state radius.”
“Just about.” Burke trained his Colt on the sweating man. “Before I turn you over to Donner, you can satisfy my curiosity.”
“Why should I? What’s in it for me?”
Burke shrugged. “Is staying alive reason enough?”
Pickman’s Adam’s apple wobbled beneath his grizzled chins. “You’re bluffing. No fancy-dressed banker is gonna shoot somebody in cold blood.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.”
Sullenness tinged by fear clouded the prisoner’s face. “I don’t know why you’re so riled. You got so much money, you wouldn’t even miss the piddling amount I might make off with. It’s not like it was personal.”
“I happen to take being robbed very personally. Tell me why you chose my bank to hit.”
Pickman’s pale eyes shifted from Burke. “No special reason.”
“I think there is,” Burke said softly. “And, before I have you hauled off to the sheriff, you’re going to tell me what it is.”
Two hours later, Gideon and Burke were alone in Burke’s office. Three security guards had transported Pickman to jail. He’d seemed eager to accompany them.
“Look on the bright side.” Gideon tore Pappy’s Wanted poster in half. You’ve got one less ferret-faced outlaw staring down at you.”
Burke picked up the letter he’d received yesterday, holding the document so the bold seal of the United States Treasury was visible. “There is no bright side as long as the government is considering revoking my federal charter to mint U.S. coins.”
“I can’t believe they would let a few robbery attempts affect something as important as that charter. Hell, you own and operate the only privately held financial institution in the country with the equipment to print money and mint coins. The government would be crazy to shut you down.”
“Representatives from another Denver bank insist their facility would better serve the needs of the federal government.”
Gideon scowled. “Let me guess, the Bank of Colorado, owned and presided over by Winslow Dilicar, has been suggested as a replacement.”
Burke laid aside the letter, pushed back his chair and stood. He went to the window that overlooked the congested street below, where buckboards, buggies and men on horseback vied for their place on the packed thoroughfare. “Dilicar hasn’t made it a secret that he wants that charter.”
“There’s an arrogance about Dilicar that sets my teeth on edge.”
Burke pictured the dandified Easterner, whose facial expression habitually bordered on disdain. “He’s not one of my favorite people.”
“Emma doesn’t care for him. He’s been blackballed from our guest list.”
Burke felt a smile overtake him. “That settles it. If someone as discriminating as your new wife doesn’t care for him, he’s snake excrement.”
Gideon chuckled. “My wife is an excellent judge of character.”
“Except for that one memorable lapse when she married you.”
His friend’s eyes sparkled with an inner light that made Burke uneasy. A smart man didn’t let himself become as enamored as Gideon was with his bride. Bitter experience had taught Burke that the world was a dangerous place. A person had to be on his guard at all times. The delusion of romantic love invited disaster. The heart was a vital organ only so far as it pumped blood through one’s system. All the rest was vain imaginings. A clear-thinking brain was the key to survival.
“You know how tenderhearted Emma is,” Gideon said, warming to what was clearly a favorite topic. “She’s always concerned about the welfare of others. If she doesn’t want Dilicar in our home, it’s as good as saying he hasn’t a redeeming quality.”
“She won’t get an argument from me.”
A pause followed. For the first time, Burke wondered what had brought Gideon to his office. “Would you care for a brandy?”
His friend shook his head. “I can’t stay much longer.”
More silence ensued. Gideon appeared restless. The man had been through a lot during the past four years. His younger brother and sister-in-law had been murdered, and he’d assumed the care of his young niece, while struggling to hold his freighting empire together. It astounded Burke that, despite the recent period of savagery, Gideon had lost his heart to his niece’s tutor and married her.
The skin at the back of Burke’s neck prickled. Until Emma Step had entered his life, Gideon Cade had been a ruthlessly logical man. But like Burke’s brother, Logan, the freighting tycoon had sacrificed his cold-blooded rationality for the fiction of romantic love. The fallibility of two otherwise sane men made Burke distinctly uncomfortable. He could accept their physical craving for the women who’d joined them at the altar. It was the men’s emotional weakness that disturbed him. As far as he was concerned, their declared love made them as vulnerable as newly hatched chicks.
Burke pushed his thoughts in a new direction. “Has Hunter had any more problems with rustlers?”
“Not that I’ve heard. It appears your bank has claimed the honor of becoming a magnet to the area’s lawless element.”
“Considering what Pappy told us, that’s not likely to change,” Burke said glumly.
“If what he said is true, you can count on every bandit within a thousand miles paying you a visit.”
In frustration, Burke shoved a hand through his hair. “In effect, someone has put a bounty, payable in advance, on the First National.”
“Offering a free horse and fifty dollars up front to known thieves if they’ll strike your bank is a powerful incentive to men with no scruples.”
“It’s not going to do much good to keep foiling robbery attempts. I’ve got to find the person paying the bribes.”
“Do you have any doubt who’s behind this?”
“Obviously Dilicar has the most to gain from the First National losing its credibility with the government. He’s formally petitioned the treasury department to award the charter to the Bank of Colorado.”
“And it’s his newspaper that keeps printing articles about the lack of safety at the First National.”
Resolve settled in Burke’s gut. “It’s going to take irrefutable proof to convict a rich, respected businessman like Dilicar of being guilty of anything illegal.”
Gideon nodded. “Sounds as if the Guardsmen have a new assignment.”
Three men had formed the organization known as the Guardsmen. Burke Youngblood, Gideon Cade and cattle baron Hunter Moran had banded together to form an organization to protect honest, hardworking people whom local lawmen seemed unable to shield from not-so-random violence.
The Guardsmen refrained from exacting their own justice at the end of a rope or smoking pistol. Instead, they turned the thieves and murderers they caught over to authorities, with the names of people who’d witnessed the crimes and would testify against the wrongdoers.
“Emma doesn’t mind that you’re still involved with the Guardsmen?”
Burke heard the edge in his voice and regretted it. He didn’t begrudge Gideon his illusion of happiness.
“When I’m on Guardsmen business, she worries, of course.”
Emma was the only outsider who knew the identities of the secret group’s members. “Has she taken to nagging you to quit? Wives do that, I’ve heard.”
Amusement flickered in his friend’s eyes. “Emma tended to nag before she became my wife.”
“You have my sympathy,” Burke said with an exaggerated shudder.
“I don’t need it. Emma’s sweet nagging is one of the many ways she shows how much she loves me.”
Burke shook his head. “You’ve got it as bad as my brother.”
“Good, ” Gideon corrected softly. “I’ve got it good. Life has never been so worth living. Until now.”
Until Emma, Burke heard him silently say.
A chill, having nothing to do with the threat against his bank, brushed Burke’s spine. It made him nervous that a onetime cynic like Gideon Cade could crumble over a woman. Burke recalled an incident Gideon had related several months ago, an abbreviated account about climbing through a second-story window of his own home during a midnight rainstorm to woo his lady. That tale alone illustrated the asinine depths to which an intelligent man could plummet, if he believed he was in love.
“Be sure and give Emma my best.”
“She’s the reason I dropped by.”
Surprised, Burke returned to his chair. “How so?”
“She has a favor to ask of you.”
The chill paid a return visit. Burke rotated his shoulders. “What kind of favor?”
“It involves her friend Jayne Stoneworthy. You might remember her. She was one of the guests at our wedding. Anyway, Miss Stoneworthy is starting a school for young ladies and...”
Burke heard the drone of Gideon’s voice as he would have heard the hum of a bee in the background. Remember Jayne Stoneworthy? He almost laughed aloud. Of course, he remembered her. Her image had hovered at the edges of his thoughts since that otherwise ordinary afternoon he’d first seen her.
Their paths had first crossed in the sanctuary of his home. Before the school had burned down, he’d been prevailed upon by the Hempshire Academy to open his private art gallery for occasional student tours. One afternoon he’d strode into his residence and encountered a flock of giggling schoolgirls about to return to their school. His housekeeper had casually introduced their intrepid leader. Jayne Stoneworthy.
It was hardly a momentous meeting. Midday, his house a-clutter with chattering girls. He’d been late for a meeting with the Guardsmen and was in a hurry to make up for lost time. Detached and impatient, he’d waited in his entry. Then he’d caught his first glance of her. His initial impression had been that of a woman virtually hidden by a dark cloak and unflattering bonnet. Buried beneath the flowing folds of her cloak, she appeared to be slight of frame and of average height.
Their gazes had caught. He’d found himself being politely investigated by a pair of intelligent green eyes that evidenced no sign of feminine timidity. Something inside his chest had tightened.
Then, amid a flurry of thank-yous, she and her charges were gone. The encounter had lasted less than ten seconds. And yet, at odd times, her image infiltrated his thoughts.
He’d seen her again at Gideon’s impromptu wedding to Emma. His gaze had tracked her through the throng of well-wishers. Evidently content to occupy the fringes of the room, Miss Stoneworthy again had pricked his interest. She certainly did nothing deliberate to draw his attention. There were no soulful glances, no fluttering eyelashes, no coquettish mannerisms to accentuate her feminine charms. Yet her quiet demeanor had made him want to draw closer.
She was hardly the kind of woman he ought to be attracted to. Oh, her dark-golden hair appeared beguilingly silky. Her green eyes, slightly tilted as they were, radiated a tempting warmth. And her delicately shaped mouth invited the brush of his own lips to investigate their improbable softness. Without the cloak, her shape was definitely female. Her modestly designed dress didn’t conceal her bosom’s petite fullness, the sleek curve of her trim waist and the gentle flare of her hips.
It was her expression, however, that of propriety wrapped in the impregnable armor of chastity-until-marriage, that should have rendered her off-limits. Hers was the kind of innocent appeal that struck terror in the hearts of confirmed bachelors. Her virtue shone as brightly as her golden hair. The price of that virtue was, of course, marriage.
“So I would appreciate you dropping by.”
Gideon’s statement fell into Burke’s thoughts with the soft splash of a stone sinking into a deep pool of water. Drop by where?
Gideon leaned forward in his chair. “Well?”
Not wanting to betray his distraction over a woman with whom he’d exchanged only the briefest greeting, Burke steepled his fingertips and frowned thoughtfully. “Could you be a little more specific?”
Gideon’s eyebrows knitted. “I thought I had been. Emma wants you to go to the Wet Beaver and check on how Miss Stoneworthy is coming along.”
Shock slammed into Burke. The Wet Beaver was a notorious Denver brothel. What the hell was going on? Pronouncing the names of the teacher and the cathouse in the same breath was akin to blasphemy.
“Coming along, how?” A cold rage built within him at the thought of Miss Stoneworthy selling herself several times a night to any man with the coin to purchase her sweet warmth.
“With her school, of course. Weren’t you listening?”
“I must have missed something. Explain what Miss Stoneworthy is doing in a whorehouse.”
“A former whorehouse,” Gideon corrected. “It closed down, and she bought the building. Like I said, she’s sunk all her money into renovating it and turning it into a school for young women.”
The tension that gripped Burke eased. “That’s crazy. No one’s going to send their daughter to a place that was once a house of prostitution.”
“I know it, and you know it. Unfortunately, Miss Stoneworthy has no idea that the Wet Beaver was anything other than a tavern. For obvious reasons, the former owner neglected to disclose the fact. Anyway, she’s running low on cash, and Emma’s concerned about her. There’s a long-lost uncle who’s supposedly sending a bank draft to help out, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Using the bank draft for such an enterprise would be throwing good money after bad.”
“I agree. So does Emma.”
Burke regarded his friend quizzically. “What precisely do you want me to do?”
“According to Emma, Miss Stoneworthy wouldn’t have bought the building if she’d known what it had been used for. She’s not stupid, just naive.”
“But now that she does know—”
“That’s just it, she doesn’t,” Gideon interjected. “Emma only found out a short while ago.”
“How did that happen?” Burke asked, fascinated by the amazing phenomenon of the prim Miss Stoneworthy owning a brothel.
“I told her, of course. Anyway, Miss Stoneworthy needs help, and Emma feels you’re the best person to provide it.”
“Remind me what you want me to do,” Burke said warily.
“Inform her that she has to move her school, find her a new building and provide enough cash to cover her expenses until she begins making money.”
Silence descended in Burke’s office. He considered Gideon Cade and Hunter Moran his two best friends. He would risk his life for either man. But all things considered, Emma and Gideon were asking a hell of a favor.
“As I said,” Gideon continued, “I’ll supply the necessary funds. Miss Stoneworthy is apparently a proud woman who won’t let Emma help any more than she already has.”
“So, what you’re asking is that I inform Miss Stoneworthy she’s bought a whorehouse and find her a new building—with you underwriting all costs?”
“Right.”
Burke shook his head. “I’ve got to ask, why me?”
“You’re a banker.”
“And?”
“You lend money. Miss Stoneworthy will accept funds from you where she wouldn’t accept a loan from a friend. Just visit her at the Wet Beaver.”
“She’s living there?”
“Emma invited her to stay with us, but Miss Stoneworthy insists on remaining, even during the remodeling.”
“So, I walk into her place and say, ‘I’m Burke Youngblood. This used to be a brothel, so you can’t have your school here, after all. I’ll help you sell this building. And, since I’m a banker, I’ll lend you money to buy another place.”’ There was no way to keep the mockery from his words.
“That’s it,” Gideon said, ignoring the sarcasm.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me to do something so crazy.”
“She’s Emma’s friend, and she needs help.”
“Which she won’t accept from you?”
“But because she’s sensible, she will accept a loan from a banker.”
“A sensible woman doesn’t buy a brothel!”
“She just needs a chance, Burke.” Gideon laughed ruefully. “I know I’m asking a big favor. Just telling her she’s bought a cathouse is bound to be ticklish, but once that’s done, she’ll be grateful for your assistance.”
It was the damnedest favor ever requested of him. The thing was, he couldn’t say no to his friend. Judging from Gideon’s slightly amused expression, he knew it
“When’s a good time for me to show up there?”
“I told Emma we could count on you.”
“Did you?”
Gideon shrugged. “You know I would do the same for you.”
What Burke knew was that his friend was so besotted with his new wife that she had him wrapped around her little finger.
“I’ll take care of it.” The skin at the back of Burke’s neck started tingling again.
Chapter Two
A powerful knock rattled the front doors of Jayne Stoneworthy’s new residence and school. She withdrew her head from the crate of books she was unpacking and sneezed twice. The workmen had left for the afternoon, and this was the first peace she’d had since they’d descended that morning with hammers pounding.
She looked toward the floral-etched glass panels installed yesterday. The shadowy figure of a man was visible. Perhaps one of the workmen had forgotten something. She weaved her way through the chaos of stacked lumber, sawhorses and sacks of nails. Two-by-fours of various lengths lay where they’d been cut. Even her upstairs bedchamber, the one area she considered habitable, had been invaded by the sawed-off portions of wood. The foreman’s prediction that within two weeks the torn-apart great room would be transformed into a parlor, business office and three classrooms seemed overly optimistic.
Having accepted there was no way to look her best while immersed in the renovation project, Jayne didn’t bother brushing the dust from her apron or tucking the tendrils of hair skimming her cheeks beneath her white kerchief.
She opened the glass-paneled door and looked up, then up some more, to fully take in the mountainous man standing before her. Roughly dressed, the gargantuan man resembled Paul Bunyan come to life. He definitely wasn’t one of the workmen.
“May I help you?”
“Oh, that you can, girly-girl.” His black mustache and beard rippled as his booming voice filled the room. “I quenched my thirst at the Plucked Turkey. Now I’m itching for some sweet female comfort.”
Though certainly the largest, this wasn’t the first man to arrive with the mistaken belief the saloon she’d recently purchased was still in business.
She craned her head to gain a better view of the jovial face revealed beneath a battered brown felt hat. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”
He walked through the doors, leaving them open behind him. She tried to hold her ground but would have had better luck trying to block a mud slide.
“I see things are in an uproar. I don’t mind a little dust.” Thick fingers closed around her waist, whisking her through the air, he plunked her onto the long bar counter carved from the trunk of a pine. “No need to apologize. So you ain’t fixed for cavorting. With that yeller hair of yours and those big green eyes, I can overlook you needing a bath.” He raised a massive arm and sniffed. “Truth be told, I’m not so fresh myself.”
“I do not have yeller hair. It’s light brown.”
“Naw, you’re wrong. Your hair’s as yeller as a shiny gold nugget.”
“No, you’re wrong,” she said briskly. “I want you to leave.”
He gazed at her with such dopey goodwill she couldn’t be angry. Even so, his interruption was putting her behind schedule. She had a dozen things to accomplish before her head could hit the pillow that night, not that she planned on getting much sleep. Since moving in, she’d learned that the street came alive after dark with boisterous men converging upon the nearby saloons.
“Listen...” She broke off. “What’s your name?”
“Newton Timothy White. Most folks call me Newt. Maybe you heard of me. I found a vein of the prettiest gold you ever did see. My mine’s The Lucky Lasso, on account of I always wanted to be a cowboy, but never could find a horse big enough to carry me, for long anyway.”
“Well, Miner Newt, pay attention.”
Grinning sappily, he leaned forward. “Sure thing, pretty filly.”
“This building is no longer a saloon. There’s not a drop of liquor on the premises and even if there were, there’s nary a ‘girly-girl’ to serve it.”
The man’s features sagged dramatically. She was put in mind of a hound dog. She doubted this affable, if somewhat inebriated miner, represented a threat to her safety.
“Ya mean this here ain’t the Wet Beaver anymore?”
She nodded. “Several weeks ago it became the Stoneworthy School of Tutoring for Young Ladies.”
The miner’s bushy eyebrows climbed to the outer reaches of his broad forehead. A vibrant red blush swept the portion of his face not carpeted by his lush mustache and beard.
He ripped the hat from his head, mangling it between gigantic hands. “I’m beggin’ your pardon, miss. I had no idea the Wet Beav—” He broke off, his blush deepening to purple. “I mean to say, I... Oh, Lordy, you’ve got to forgive me. I didn’t mean any offense, honest I didn’t.”
Jayne scooted forward and jumped down from the bar. Newt’s reaction was similar to that of others who’d visited the building in the mistaken hope of sharing a drink and some conversation with a dance hall girl. It astonished her how differently the male population of Denver treated her when under the misapprehension that she served drinks in a saloon. Even more amazing was that a few words could transform her in their eyes from a notorious sinner like Belle Starr to a respectable personage akin to Betsy Ross.
“It’s all right, Mr. White.” She wondered how long it would take him to pull himself together and depart. There was that list of chores.
“No, it ain’t,” he said morosely. “I never in my life have disgraced myself with a lady. If my sainted mother knew what I’d done, she’d turn me over her knee for a good paddling.”
Jayne doubted even his saintly mother had a knee big enough to turn him over it. She patted his arm and tried to usher him to the door. “We won’t tell her. It was an honest mistake.”
He continued to maul his hat. “I should have knowed right off by looking at you that you weren’t no good-time gal. Why, it’s as plain as the sparkle in your green eyes that you’re a lady, right down to your brown leather shoes—even if you are lookin’ a mite worse for wear.”
If she was offending the sensibilities of wild and woolly miners, it was time to pay attention to her appearance. “Mr. White, why don’t you visit another tavern? I’m sure there’s lots of...um...‘good-time gals’ who’ll help you spend your gold.”
He frowned. “You’re not supposed to know about such women.”
“Don’t be silly, how could I not be aware of them? What with their fancy clothes and big-feathered hats, they’re impossible to miss.”
“You’re supposed to pretend you don’t know about them.”
“All right, we’ll just say you’re going for a walk.” She pulled experimentally on his arm. Nothing happened. “You are going, aren’t you?”
“I don’t like the idea of you alone here. Some other feller might come along and make the same mistake I did. You could be in big trouble, Miss...” He paused, his rough-cut features solemn. “What’s your name?”
“Stoneworthy.” What on earth was she going to do with a three-hundred-pound knight who preferred plaid and denim to shining armor? “Actually, this has happened before, and I’ve been just fine.”
His expression remained disapproving. “I’ll fix that. What did you say the name of your school is?”
She obliged him by repeating the information. He headed for the doors that had remained open throughout their confrontation. It disturbed her that any passerby could have overheard the ridiculous exchange with her uninvited visitor. If she wanted to establish a successful school for young ladies, she would have to be more careful about such things.
He stepped across the threshold. “I’ll be back.”
“You will?”
He nodded gravely. “I’m going to fix it so you won’t be bothered by any more no-account, low-life drifters like me.”
“You’re not a drifter. You’re a miner with your very own gold mine.”
“I should be strung up and shot for insulting you.”
“That seems a bit harsh.” Really, he was taking this too much to heart. “Cheer up, Mr. White. You’ve got a dozen wheelbarrows of gold dust to spend.” She frowned. “Though, in good conscience I must recommend you consider your future and deposit your newfound wealth in a bank.”
He shuffled booted feet the size of watering troughs. “That’s what my mother would say. Don’t worry, I’ve already done it.”
“Well then, good day to you.” Even though he stood directly in front of her, she waved goodbye.
His palm came up, and he wriggled huge, sausage-sized fingers. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss Stoneworthy.”
The boardwalk buckled beneath his weight as he ambled away. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine how Miner Newt thought he could assist her.
She stepped through the open doors, turning to lock them. Without warning, a man moved in front of her. A. small shriek sprang from her throat. Tall, lean and grim-lipped, this new arrival projected none of Mr. White’s affability. Wearing a black dress coat, pristine white shirt and snug-fitting black trousers, the intruder radiated an aura of sophisticated hardness.
Her gaze flew to his face. Whereas the miner’s features looked as if they’d been carved by a dull ax, this man’s countenance had been chiseled with the precision of a sculptor’s hand. Angular, strongly defined cheekbones, narrow lips and deeply set brown eyes created a visage without inherent tenderness. Thick black hair, combed severely back, added to his formidable expression. Handsome was too benign a word to apply to a face of such harsh contours. Yet his features were imbued with a bold, almost savage beauty.
Recognition dawned. Standing before her was none other than Burke Youngblood, owner and president of Denver’s largest bank. They had met briefly on two previous occa sions. The indelible impression he’d left during those fleeting encounters had followed her into her dreams.
She had no idea why one of Denver’s most powerful and wealthy men stood on her doorstep. It seemed prudent to inquire. “Uh, may I help you?”
Burke took in the bedraggled appearance of the woman he’d agreed to check on. After overhearing her naive exchange with Newton White, Burke felt obligated to teach her an unforgettable lesson that would irrefutably demonstrate the danger she’d placed herself in by moving into a former whorehouse. “I’m certain you’re the perfect person to...help me.”
Mr. Youngblood’s gritty voice performed some kind of dark magic on Jayne’s inner tickings. She licked her suddenly dry lips. The banker’s expression bordered on carnivorous. “Are you sure you have the right place?”
Only as the question emerged did a horrible inkling of what might be about to transpire unravel within her. Surely not, she told herself. A man of Burke Youngblood’s wealth and reputation wouldn’t—
“I’ll be in exactly the right place when we go upstairs, find ourselves a bed.”
Like jagged bolts of hot lightning stabbing the earth, three thoughts struck Jayne. Burke Youngblood did not remember her from their previous meetings, he expected much more from a dance hall girl than friendly conversation and...and he was no gentleman!
She raised her chin. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”
Something elemental flashed in his eyes. “We won’t know that till I’m there.” His glance took in the room’s torn-up condition. “It’s a little drafty down here, but if this is where you want to do it, I’m game.”
Heat crawled to her cheeks. After being raised by her late aunt Euphemia, Jayne had a good idea what “it” was. The spinster had waxed with vigorous zeal upon the subject of men’s lusts.
Without conscious thought, Jayne’s gaze drifted to Mr. Youngblood’s lower anatomy. To her inexperienced eye, it appeared Euphemia had been on the right track, which would explain why disrobing was required to facilitate actual... er...linkage.
“The view’s likely to be more interesting without my trousers on.”
His husky observation shocked Jayne from her reflections. An even deeper blush singed her face and throat. What a time for her thoughts or gaze to wander! “You’ve made the mistake. This is no longer the Wet Beaver. I bought the building to—”
Without signaling his intent, he swept her into his arms. “You talk too much.”
Before she could react, he was striding toward the stairs. Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, she tried to twist free.
He slung her over his shoulder. Her field of vision shrank to the bobbing floor and an upside-down view of his lean backside.
With an audible whoosh the air bounced from her lungs. She looked over her shoulder and was greeted by the sight of her posterior pushed up alongside his face. One wide palm rested proprietarily upon her upthrust bottom. Incensed by his familiarity, she pounded his back with her fists. The jarring blows should have had him howling for mercy. Evidently, the banker had a high tolerance for pain. He didn’t miss a stair as he took them two at a time.
“Well, well, what have we here?” he drawled with maddening calm. “An ample-sized, unmade bed, waiting for us to get acquainted.”
He tossed her onto the disheveled bedding. Jayne bounced twice, then rolled to her side, scrambling to reach the edge of the mattress and freedom.
“Where’re you going?” Restraining hands pulled her to the center of the bed. “You must be new at this. The exercise is supposed to come between the sheets, not on top of them,”
“There’s not going to be any exercise.” She slapped his renegade hands. “The tavern went out of business. I bought this building to use as a school for young ladies. Now let me go!”
She counted the seconds before her explanation had Burke Youngblood on his knees, pleading that she accept his apology.
“You can’t expect me to believe that.” He straddled her hips and pinned her hands. “No sane person would buy a brothel and try to turn it into a school for respectable girls.”
Jayne’s thoughts reeled. Brothel? She’d bought an obscure, run-down tavern, not a house of ill repute.
When the man’s harsh face a scant inch from hers, his dark, glittering eyes promised danger.
“Am I going too fast? Do you like your customers to take it slower?”
“Mr. Youngblood—”
“So you know my name....” He brushed his mouth against her startled lips. “If that’s how you like it, I’m willing to slow down.”
“You’re not listening,” she began again, desperate to make him understand his mistake before it was too late. “I’m not what people call a...uh...‘good-time gal.’ I’m a respectable teacher and businesswoman.”
“Some men might like the fantasy of having a virgin or a Sunday school teacher in their bed, but I like my women bold. If you’re going to pretend to be someone, try Cleopatra or Delilah.”
“Cleopatra? Delilah?” she sputtered, astonished by his preferences. “They’re two of the most treacherous women who ever lived.”
“You’re not supposed to criticize your customers’ tastes,” he chided. “I know what’s the problem. You want your money in advance, don’t you?”
Burke reached into his coat pocket and extracted a roll of bills. He’d already pushed Miss Stoneworthy further than he’d intended, yet he refused to back off until he’d put the fear of doom into her. The mildly panicked look in her vivid green eyes indicated she still didn’t grasp the full significance of the danger she’d placed herself in by living in a cathouse.
“Let’s see, what’s the going rate for an hour in your bed?”
“Marriage, you insufferable clod, now get off!”
She surprised a chuckle from him. “Marriage? That’s a mite steeper than I planned.” He peeled off a bill and returned the rest of the money to his pocket. “Ten dollars should cover it.”
“Ten dollars!” she cried. “I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.”
He leaned across her and placed the bill on the nightstand. “What do you expect when you entertain customers dressed like a charwoman?”
When he’d agreed to Gideon’s request, there had been no way to anticipate events spinning out of control like this. But when Burke had overheard Miss Stoneworthy’s cavalier treatment of the rough-and-tumble miner, Newton White, he’d decided she needed to find out what happened if a man without scruples had only one thing on his mind. Who better to play such a part than himself?
“I’m dressed for work, not entertaining, you dimwit!”
“Keep insulting me, and I’ll take back the ten. You’ll have to settle for five dollars. I’ve got my standards where such things are concerned.”
Her flushed face glared up at him with enough righteous fury to send him to Hades. Why not steal a kiss? he wondered. After today’s debacle, she wouldn’t let him within a hundred feet of her. He might as well gain a little satisfaction for his troubles.
“You mule-headed dolt, I’m not in the business of selling myself. I’m a respectable woman!”
“Are you telling me I’ve made a mistake?” he asked, surprised by the peculiar tenderness her impassioned objection stirred. What possible attraction could exist between himself and a protesting virgin?
“Hallelujah! The voice of reason has finally penetrated the pea-sized organ serving as your brain. No matter what this place used to be, it’s now the Stoneworthy School of Tutoring for Young Ladies.”
“You almost had me convinced until you made that rude remark about my brain.” He tugged the white kerchief from her hair. “No school of refinement would let you within a hundred miles of its students.”
She sucked in her lower lip. Meaning to claim it for himself, he bent his head.
“I’m not usually rude,” she muttered. The moistened lip slid free.
“Neither am I.”
He wove his fingers through silken hair that lay like a river of spilled gold on the pillow, taking the kiss. Female heat, wet and beckoning, drew the tip of his tongue into the sweet cavern of her mouth. She stiffened and pushed against his shoulders.
It was ridiculous to be disappointed by her resistance. He was taking what she wasn’t offering—a moment and kiss stolen from time. He groaned with unexpected need. Mingled with sawdust, her womanly taste and scent honed a sharper edge to the hunger surging to life.
Enough... He’d trespassed further than he had any right. She shifted beneath him. New need erupted. He tried to end the kiss. His mouth refused to cooperate. His hands were getting restless. He had to stop. Now.
Struggling for control, he raised his head. “I’m sorry.”
She shifted again. “You will be.”
He wasn’t sure he heard her right. The blood thundered in his veins with the fury of a herd of stampeding cattle. Her wet lips invited more insanity. If he didn’t start breathing again, he was going to black out.
“I didn’t mean for things to go this far,” he said hoarsely.
“Save the apology.”
He felt more than saw the blur of movement. One moment he had heaven and bliss rolled into one package beneath him. The next instant, a thunderbolt of pain exploded in his skull. The beguiling woman with green eyes splintered into a whirlwind of spinning stars, then disappeared into blackness.
Chapter Three
Jayne felt Burke Youngblood stiffen and then go lax, collapsing on top of her. The cut-off two-by-four slipped from her fingers and thudded to the floor. Her face was pressed against his chest. The faintly musky masculine scent she inhaled was unfamiliar, yet oddly stirring.
Resisting a sense of light-headedness, she tried to squirm from beneath his pinning weight. It took several minutes of concentrated wriggling before she slithered to freedom. Unexpectedly, the experience left her feeling an uncanny kinship with a worm trying to create a narrow passageway through an apple. Anyone attempting to take a bite from Burke Youngblood’s dense hide, however, surely risked a broken tooth.
Her relief at gaining her freedom lasted half a second. Off balance from her exertions, she toppled to the floor. Her inelegant landing had her skirts around her ears and her bottom smarting from the jarring impact. When the world righted itself, she blew her bangs from her eyes. A broad male hand with hair-grazed knuckles dangled over the side of the bed.
Jayne scrambled to her feet. The foreign invader lay facedown upon her rumpled bedding. Though built upon leaner lines, the felled beast was nearly as tall as Newt White. Almost everything about the banker was black. His thick hair, jacket, trousers—even his hand-tooled boots. And his heart, she added silently, stalking to the foot of the bed. The brute hadn’t even possessed the courtesy to remove his boots! The high-and-mighty financier clearly had no respect for women. He’d more than deserved the blow to the head she given him.
Shouldn’t he be coming to about now?
She circled the bed. He lay perfectly still with his face pressed against her pillow. A terrible foreboding chilled her. Was he...dead?
She took an unsteady step forward. Surely, an astonishingly virile specimen of manhood such as Youngblood couldn’t be killed by a forceful whack to the side of his head.
She inched closer. Would a judge consider that an adequate defense? “I’m sorry, Your Honor. I truly thought a man built upon such rugged lines would have a stronger head. I didn’t hit him all that hard, you see....”
Gingerly, she shook his shoulder. Nothing happened. Was he breathing? Gathering her courage, she clutched the sleeve of his jacket, tugging and pushing until she gained sufficient momentum to roll him onto his back.
An cry of distress escaped her. At his left temple a bluish-colored lump swelled. From it, a tiny trickle of blood oozed down his cheek. It was foolish to feel remorse for defending herself against him, yet a pang of guilt smote her. Aunt Euphemia had always accused her of being too tenderhearted, but surely one was entitled to feelings of regret when murder was involved.
You haven’t killed him. He’s merely been rendered unconscious, the inner voice of reason suggested.
Jayne desperately wanted to believe that voice. She leaned forward, bringing her cheek close to his eerily tranquil face. His relaxed features were a jangling contradiction to the fires that moments before had ignited his gaze. The faintest whisper of breath from his slightly parted lips feathered across her sensitive skin. Thank God... He was alive.
She drew back. It wasn’t that she thought the world would be a better place with him in it. It was just that she didn’t want to be a murderer. A perfectly natural sentiment, she assured herself.
He needed to be revived. The most logical way of doing so was to throw a bucket of water in his face. Unfortunately, she had no wish to drench her bed linens and mattress. Sighing at having to forgo the sight of him sputtering to consciousness, she went to her dresser and opened a drawer. After withdrawing a handkerchief, she poured water from a pitcher into a basin and dipped the cloth into it.
Burke opened his eyes. It felt as if someone had taken a hammer to his skull. Throbbing pain radiated from the left side of his head. His gaze focused on a framed, hand-stitched bit of fabric tacked to the wall across from him. “Dumb asses and men are best driven by whips.” He squeezed his eyelids shut before opening them again. The daunting message remained.
Wincing, he turned his head. A pink embroidered pillow blocked his vision. “A smart woman calls no man master.”
He groaned. I’m dead, and this is hell.
“You’re not dead....” Open relief coated the observation.
He turned his head again. Holding a white cloth, Jayne Stoneworthy approached with hands extended.
“Not yet. Of course, whether or not that continues to be the case depends on what other acts of violence you intend to unleash.”
A look of contrition filled her green eyes. “I refuse to feel guilty about hitting you. I had every right to defend myself.”
Someone should warn her to stay away from poker tables. That she obviously did feel some remorse for knocking him unconscious was written plainly across her earnest features.
“What did you use?” He tried to sit up, then fell back against the mattress. An oath hovered behind his clenched lips. He’d wait until he was alone to set it free. “I feel as if I had a run-in with a railroad tie.”
“Actually it was a piece of wood left by one of the workmen.”
“I deserved it,” he admitted grudgingly. “I didn’t have you pegged as the kind of woman who could defend herself if backed into a corner.”
“Well, you were wrong.”
“What’s the cloth for?”
She glanced at her hands. “I was going to wipe away the blood on your forehead and place a cool compress against your wound.”
He pressed his fingertips to his head. They came away sticky and crimson-colored. “You really whacked me.”
She flushed. “You deserved it.”
“We’ve already established that.” He waved her toward him. “Proceed with your ministrations. I’m certainly in need of them.”
Wariness tinged her gaze. “Do you promise to behave yourself?”
Her question startled a laugh from him. He flinched. “Miss Stoneworthy, rest assured you’ve relieved me of the slightest urge to get on your bad side.”
She didn’t draw closer. “You know who I am?”
The answer to that question could wait. He wanted her gentle tending. “My head’s pounding so hard, I’m not sure what I know.”
His words caused her to fly into action. She was at his side, bending over him, lightly dabbing his forehead. He groaned, more from the pleasure of her touch than discomfort. His eyelids lowered. Not only would she make a bad poker player, clearly the woman diligently attending his injury had a soft heart. She would probably give her last nickel to some down-on-his-luck trail bum. Charity and generosity were attributes that might get one to heaven. They were a real liability when running a business.
The cloth grazed a sensitive spot. He grimaced. On the other hand, she did pack a wallop. Maybe there was a future for her in business, after all.
“I’m trying not to hurt you.”
“I’m tough. I can take it.”
Her soothing caress and the fabric’s damp coolness made the pain seem almost worthwhile. How long had it been since he’d shared physical contact with a woman based on receiving innocent comfort?
“You’re being surprisingly...stoic about this.”
He opened one eye. He shouldn’t have been surprised by her closeness. Finding her face within kissing distance, however, shot unwelcome shards of desire through him. The building pressure did nothing to ease the throbbing in his head. He cursed his unexplainable susceptibility to Miss Stoneworthy, wondering if the blow he’d suffered was partly responsible for his uncustomary lack of control. Considering her incendiary effect on him, “stoic” was the last word he would use to describe his reaction.
A myriad of emotions swirled in her gaze. He identified confusion, concern and that ever present look of wariness.
“Considering my behavior, I’m lucky you’re bothering to patch me. up.”
She withdrew the compress. Maybe he shouldn’t have reminded her of what had precipitated her attack. She eased herself from the bed. Only when she moved away did he realize she’d been sitting beside him. As she went to the water basin on the dresser and wrung out the cloth, her straight back, slender waist and the gentle curve of her hips held his fascinated attention.
The scent of sawdust laced with a whiff of lilac water lingered. Sawdust and lilacs... He bit back a cynical laugh. That the hardly exotic combination of fragrances should tie his stomach into knots proved he wasn’t his usual self.
She returned to the bed and sat down, reapplying the folded material to his injury. Now it was her breasts that claimed his attention. Manfully, he tried to ignore their soft presence. She was being excessively kind. He’d deserved the violence she’d wreaked upon him.
She leaned closer. The gray material of her gown outlined twin swells of bliss. He imagined them uncovered, exposed to his hands and mouth. Disgusted by his lustful contemplations, he slammed his eyelids shut and tried to think virtuous thoughts. Not a single noble idea popped into his head. How long had he been on this downward path to hell?
“How do you feel now? Is the pain easing?”
She had to be kidding.
“I’m feeling downright chipper.” Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he pushed away her hands and sat up. “I think I’ll start every day with a blow to the side of my head.”
“No doubt your surliness is a result of your injury.” She slid away from him and stood. “May I point out that, had you not acted in a most ungentlemanly manner, you would not be suffering at the moment.”
He rose to his feet. The room swayed. Ungentlemanly? He’d been an out-and-out blackguard. He allowed the shuddering waves of pain to roll over him as he adjusted to being vertical. His quick scan of her bedchamber revealed half a dozen rude sayings about the nature of men, ranging from lace-bordered wall hangings to hand-sewn pillows. The one that caught and held his attention was a green satin cushion with gold tassels that read “A prudent woman guards her private furrow, lest she awakes to find it plowed.”
“Miss Stoneworthy, no jury would convict you for hitting me with that plank of wood.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t sure you did.”
“Have I given you cause to think I’m an imbecile?”
Her damnably enchanting chin raised. “No, you’ve only given me cause to believe you’re an unprincipled... lecher.”
Laughing at her prim, disapproving expression wouldn’t help his head. Nor, inexplicably, did he wish to hurt her feelings. Obviously she felt she’d fought off the devil incarnate to preserve her virtue.
“There’s something we need to clear up. I don’t make a habit of visiting brothels, or forcing myself upon unwilling females.”
“This isn’t a brothel.”
“It was, and because of that, it’s never going to be a respectable school for young women. I dropped by this afternoon because Gideon Cade asked me to check on you as a favor to his wife. When I got here, I overheard that miner trying to buy your favors. It was obvious you didn’t understand what a dangerous situation you were in. Had he not accepted your explanation, you could have found yourself upstairs in bed with him.”
“Which is just exactly where I did find myself with you!”
“Because I wanted to show you that you can’t set up housekeeping in a brothel and not suffer the consequences.”
“Stop calling this a brothel. It was a tavern that—”
“Not a tavern,” Burke Youngblood interrupted with a cold finality that made Jayne want to hit him again. “It was a house of prostitution.”
“But it can’t have been!”
“Lady, just saying something won’t make it so.”
She wanted to hate the man towering above her. She certainly hated his calmness in the face of the horrible disaster unfolding before her. His insufferable superiority grated. He acted as if he had the answer for everything. He was arrogant, condescending and a shameless reprobate.
“Now that you’ve delivered your news, you can leave.” She wanted to be alone. She’d poured all her money, except the bank draft Uncle Clarence had promised, into remodeling this building.
Reeling from the banker’s revelation, she thought back to the day when Emma had tried to tell her something about the tavern having a bad reputation. Clearly her friend had found out about the brothel’s tawdry past but had been too much of a lady to come right out and say what the problem was.
“Do you have any brandy?”
Jayne’s thoughts came crashing back to the present. “There are no fancy women or alcoholic spirits on the premises.”
“Too bad,” he drawled, gingerly touching the bruise on his forehead. “You look as if you could use a drink.” .
“So do you,” she snapped, “but, that doesn’t alter the fact I have no alcohol.”
“No demon rum for Miss Stoneworthy, do I have that right?”
Sensing he was secretly laughing at her, she scowled. “If you want to ingest vile liquor, there are any number of saloons to accommodate you.”
“I’m not sure I can make it that far.”
Despite her intentions, reluctant sympathy surged within Jayne. “Perhaps you ought to sit down. Are you feeling dizzy?”
He shook his head, then groaned. “Maybe sitting is a good idea.”
Even though she knew she had every reason to abandon him to his misery, Jayne took his arm and escorted him to a chair. She plucked the green cushion from his downward descent and absently handed it to him.
“Perhaps a glass of water would help.”
“I wouldn’t turn one down.”
She didn’t understand why the sight of him running his lean fingers through the gold tassels on one of Aunt Euphemia’s embroidered cushions caused a tickling feeling inside her. She tugged at the pillow. “If you’re feeling faint, you should put your head between your knees.”
He eyed her balefully. “I have no intention of fainting.”
“No one intends on swooning. It just happens.” Why wouldn’t he release the cushion? The last thing she wanted was for him to read one of Euphemia’s pithy observations about the failings of men.
“Well, it’s not going to happen to me,” he virtually growled. His gaze fell to the neatly sewn letters on the pillow, and his fingers ceased their idle stroking. “I assume you’ve heeded the advice contained in this message.”
She had no intention of discussing the condition of her private furrow with Burke Youngblood. She had yet to find an easy way to explain her late aunt’s dismal opinion of the male gender. Euphemia, often absentminded and generally kind, had been rebellious of all masculine authority. She considered all pants-wearing members of the human race mentally deficient.
The older woman believed, with a passion that could foment a revolution, that males were completely inferior to females. She cheerfully expounded to anyone willing to listen that a woman was sufficiently strong and capable of living her own life without enduring the tyranny of any man.
“It’s my late aunt’s stitchery,” Jayne confined herself to answering.
He tossed aside the cushion and turned his head to take in more of Euphemia’s creations, ranging from a hand-painted p late that read “A good man is more rare than sweet-smelling elephant dung” to a plaque of varnished wood proclaiming “The hands that rock the cradle haul the water.” His roving inspection settled finally upon a painting of a scantily clad Grecian woman winning a footrace against three nude Greek runners.
Beneath the vividly colored picture, poking up from crumpled newspapers that lined an opened crate, was a twelve-inch statue of a nude female racer that Jayne hadn’t yet convinced herself to display, even in the privacy of her own bedchamber. As Mr. Youngblood reached to extract the figurine from the rumpled papers, she hoped he didn’t notice the startling resemblance she bore to both the runner in the painting and the statue. When she’d posed for the projects, she’d been fully clothed. Aunt Euphemia’s artistic eye, however, had rendered her niece otherwise.
She wished he didn’t seem so fascinated with the statue. The way his gaze caressed it greatly disturbed her. Since she’d scarcely envisioned anyone, other than herself, ever viewing the marble figure, she was unprepared for the hot wave of self-consciousness that flowed through her. Having him examine a female nude, especially one of her likeness, was excruciatingly embarrassing.
“Do you suppose you can walk downstairs unassisted?”
He returned the full force of his dark eyes to her. He looked exactly as he had moments before she’d whacked him. Maybe she ought to have kept that piece of two-by-four close by.
“I might need a shoulder to lean on.”
She doubted it, but would do virtually anything to get him out of her room and away from Aunt Euphemia’s statue. “Let’s give it a try.”
He carefully returned the statue to the crate. She braced both hands against his arm to steady him as he rose. He hadn’t taken more than two steps before he changed things so that his arm was draped around her. She suffered the familiarity and urged him forward. Slowly they made their way down the stairs he’d flown up two at a time. Though he wasn’t putting much weight on her, she was pressed tightly against his side. When they reached the jumbled confusion of the main room, she waited for him to release her.
Several moments passed with no action on his part. She frowned. Was he exhausted and about to lose consciousness again?
“I never realized before just how much I like the smell of sawdust mingled with lilac water.”
The husky observation made no sense. “I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. I suppose you’re waiting for me to let go of you.”
“Can you? I mean without falling down?”
He chuckled, then audibly sucked in his breath. “You’re probably going to insist we find out.”
“Not if you’re too woozy to stand unassisted.”
“Ah, Miss Stoneworthy, you appear to have a much more forgiving nature than your aunt”
Jayne suppressed a smile. “If you’d tried to have your way with Euphemia, she would have shot you through the heart.”
“She was an expert with pistols?”
Was it her imagination or had he just hugged her? “Actually, archery was Euphemia’s sport. It would have been an arrow that dispatched you.”
“Poison-tipped, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” Jayne muttered absently. “Is there someone I can contact to see you home?”
“I’ll make it under my own power.” The pressure of his embrace eased. “But maybe I should rest before I try.”
He swept debris and sawdust from a chair and sat down.
“I could fetch a doctor.”
“There’s no need.” Youngblood stretched his booted feet before him. Despite his travails, he appeared surprisingly sound. “I wouldn’t turn down a glass of water, though.”
She’d been so busy trying to make him disappear, she’d forgotten about getting him a drink. “I’ll be right back.”
Counting the seconds until she could see the last of him, Jayne entered the room that was being transformed into a kitchen. She primed the pump at the wet sink, blessing the fact that the previous owners had installed it.
When she returned to Youngblood, Jayne found him studying his chaotic surroundings. “Here you go.”
He accepted the glass and drank deeply. “How much is all this work costing?”
“More than I want to think about.”
“Selling it while it’s like this will limit your buyers and lower your selling price.”
She rubbed her eyes. The idea of selling the building for which she’d had so many plans made her want to pound the wall in protest. Being a quitter was more repugnant than being the fancy woman Mr. Youngblood had thought her.
“You do realize you can’t have your school here?”
“Yes.” She hated it when someone pointed out the obvious.
“Do you have enough money to manage?” he pressed, “until you find a buyer?”
The personal nature of his question irritated her. She had no intention of discussing her finances with a man who a short while ago had tried to buy his way into her bed.
“I’m expecting a bank draft that will take care of my immediate needs.”
“Before coming here, I had our bank records checked and learned you have an account with us.”
A very small one, she thought wryly. “Yes.”
“When you receive the bank draft you’re expecting, I’ll personally handle the transfer of funds to your account. Just inform the teller who you are, and he’ll show you to my office.”
She bristled. “That’s hardly necessary.”
“Gideon Cade asked me to look after you, as a favor to his wife.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you,” Jayne said curtly. “How are you feeling? Did the water help? Do you think you’re strong enough to leave?”
“I have the impression you’re trying to get rid of me.”
Perceptive man. “I have a lot to think about.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Even you?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
He inclined his head. “I make it a habit to avoid mistakes.”
Overbearing, conceited, pompous... She choked back the uncomplimentary but entirely accurate adjectives bubbling behind pursed lips. He sat in a shadowed corner so it was difficult to judge if the color had returned to his face. No matter what his condition, though, she wanted those long legs striding down the boardwalk.
She forced a conciliatory smile to her lips. “There was that itty-bitty mix-up about you thinking I was a fancy woman.”
That wasn’t what she meant to say! She’d been about to bid him a firm farewell.
“There was no error.”
“Hmm, yes, well....” It took a moment for his statement to penetrate her scattered thoughts. “What did you say?”
“There was no mistake. I remember you quite clearly from our previous encounters. I knew you weren’t a prostitute.”
He didn’t look as if he were joking.
“But you acted as if you thought... That is, you said...” She mentally reviewed his despicable behavior until the moment she’d brought him under control with the blow to his head. “You carried me upstairs, threw me on a bed and pounced on me!”
“All for a good cause. You needed to be taught a lesson.”
That he should sit composed before her after making such an outrageous statement, left her momentarily speechless.
“It was obvious from the way you handled the miner,” he went on, “that you had no idea of what a dangerous situation you were in. But we’ve already had this discussion,” he finished matter-of-factly.
Comprehension and anger grew. “But I thought you believed I was a good-time gal.”
“In that getup?” he gestured to her grimy apron. “You’re dressed for the poorhouse, not a cathouse.”
“But then....” Abruptly, she did understand. He’d known all along who she was and had deliberately made his obscene proposition in order to.... “What kind of lesson were you trying to teach me?”
After they cleared that up, she really had no choice but to hit him again. Perhaps she ought to invest in a firearm, after all. No judge would punish her for shooting Burke Youngblood. There had to be something in the law about extreme aggravation making it permissible to pepper a scallywag’s hide with buckshot. And, she was aggravated.
“This is the West. There’s a breed of man out here who acknowledges no law other than his own. He sees something he wants, and he takes it.”
“Give me back my glass of water.” She grabbed the drink and plunked it on a nearby table. Nails rattled and dust flew. Even as she battled to control her temper, the cold brutality of Youngblood’s words caused goose bumps to skitter across her skin. “I’ve proved I can take care of myself.”
“You got lucky.”
Her hands clenched into tight fists. “No, you’re the lucky one. If I’d known you had something on your mind besides a sordid interlude in my bedchamber, I would have hit you so hard you never would have wakened!”
“Calm yourself. If anyone should be offended it’s me.”
“What?”
“Do you think I’m the kind of man to buy a prostitute’s services?”
“Yes, that’s exactly the kind of man I think you are. Because, other than your money, you have nothing to recommend you.” She drew a deep breath. “And another thing, what gives you the right to take it upon yourself to teach anyone a lesson? Do you go around Denver acting out disgusting charades for the benefit of lesser mortals, or was I special? Just how feebleminded did I have to appear to warrant your interference? But then, perhaps you amuse yourself by storming into women’s bedchambers so you can issue uncouth propositions. Is that your principal means of entertainment?”
“Which question do you want me to answer first?”
As nothing else could have, his lazy drawl demonstrated his indifference to her fury. A red haze fell over her eyes. Three two-by-fours propped against a nearby wall caught her attention. Too unwieldy. She glanced to her left.
“If you’re considering violence again, I suggest you think otherwise.”
Her gaze swung back to him. “You kissed me!”
“Yeah, well, I apologize for that. Things got out of hand.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Do you want to hear it won’t happen again?”
“Of course I do!” Several seconds ticked by. She drew herself to her full height. “Well?”
“I’m thinking.”
“There’s nothing to think about. I have no intention of ever speaking to you again.” She searched for something more scathing to say. “I’m going to withdraw my money from your bank.”
“That will be a blow.”
The soft-voiced mockery had her, wishing for that gun. “Get out. ”
He slowly uncurled to his intimidating height. “You’re upset.”
She ground her teeth.
“Once you’ve cooled down, we’ll put our heads together about the best way to unload this property. Depending on what you get from its sale and the size of the bank draft you receive, I’m sure we’ll find another building that will suit you.”
“There is no we. As of this minute, we have no connection.”
“Sure we do.”
The man was a dense as an old leather boot. “I beg to differ.”
His dark eyes flashed. “Beg all you want, but the fact remains that my best friend is married to your best friend. I intend to honor his request to look after you.”
“You’re an overbearing, tyrannical, pompous blockhead.” It was as liberating as removing a corset to speak the words aloud. “I’m not a charity case to be passed about. I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”
He looked around the room with exaggerated interest. “Oh yeah, buying a brothel proves that.”
“You’ve proved you’re a mannerless cur. There’s no way you can force me to accept your assistance.”
He stepped toward her. “Watch me.”
“You don’t scare me.” She regretted keenly the trembling of her voice.
“Are you sure?”
She had the awful feeling she’d pulled the tiger’s tail and was about to be eaten alive. And there wasn’t a whip in sight. “I’ve never b-been more sure of anything in my life.”
“You interest me, Miss Stoneworthy.”
As would a pork loin? His look was definitely predatory. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Ah, now you’re being sensible.”
“S-sensible?” She’d never stuttered in her life, until now.
“I wanted to see that look of panic in your beautiful green eyes upstairs. It took you long enough to realize some men won’t dance to your tune, though a very sweet tune it is.”
“You’re not making any sense.” She stopped retreating when she felt the bar pushing against her back.
“I’m making ‘man’ sense.”
Aunt Euphemia, wherever you are, everything you ever said about men is true. They’re incomprehensible, barbaric creatures who should be living in caves, or trees, or under rocks.
She raised her palm. “If you touch me, I’ll knock you unconscious again.”
“With your bare hands?”
She raised her chin. “I’ll tell Emma on you.”
He rolled his eyes. “What kind of threat is that?”
“She’ll tell her husband, and he’ll...beat you up.”
It could happen.
“You’ve got me shaking in my boots.”
She wished she were big enough to take him on. His quivering lips betrayed his amusement at her puny arsenal of threats.
A ferocious pounding had Jayne almost jumping out of her skin.
“Damn, just when things were getting interesting,” Youngblood growled.
She pivoted and raced to the door, throwing it open in grateful anticipation of greeting her unknown rescuer. There stood her cheerful miner, bless his heart, all seven feet of him. She’d never dreamed a big galoot could look so beautiful.
“Hello, come in.” She reached for his arm. “It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”
He beamed down at her. “I’m doing mighty fine, Miss Stoneworthy. I told you I would be back, and here I am.”
“Yes, indeed, you did.” And you’re big enough to flatten a grizzly, let alone one insufferable banker.
Newt looked past her. “I see you got company. How do, Mr. Youngblood?”
“Hello, Newt.”
Drat, from the miner’s respectful tone, there probably wouldn’t be any bloodshed. She sighed. “You know Mr. Youngblood?”
“I sure do. I wouldn’t put my money in any other bank but his. The First National is as safe as if St. Peter himself were guarding it.”
“It’s been robbed three times,” she pointed out waspishly.
“Yep, but they didn’t get away with any money.”
“That’s right, your money’s safe with us.” The banker surprised Jayne by heading toward the door. Hooray, he was finally leaving.
He pointed to the plank of wood the miner carried. “What do you have there, Newt?”
The miner held up the board into which uneven letters had been burned. “I had this sign made up at the smithy’s for Miss Stoneworthy so everyone will know this ain’t a cathouse anymore, begging your pardon, miss.”
In disbelief, Jayne stared at the words branded into the wood.
“The Miz Stunworthee Skull of Tootering fer Yung Laddies,” Youngblood read aloud, pronouncing the catastrophically misspelled words correctly.
“Do you like it?” Newt asked, his voice brimming with pride.
“How thoughtful of you to make it,” Jayne answered weakly.
“Don’t mention it. I’ll grab a hammer and some nails and put it up.”
Jayne rubbed her forehead.
“It doesn’t matter.” Youngblood pitched his voice so it reached her ears alone. “The sign won’t drive off any prospective business. You’ll be out of here by nightfall.”
Her head jerked up. “No, I won’t.”
“There’s no way I’m going to let you spend another night in this place.”
“You have no say in anything I—”
“Shut up, Jayne,” he said softly.
Newt returned with the hammer. If she gave the command “attack,” would he use it on the banker?
“Won’t be but another minute, Miss Stoneworthy.”
“Thank you.”
“Pack up a few of your things,” Youngblood continued, “I’ll take you to a hotel. Tomorrow we’ll get serious about finding you a new building.”
“Listen, you—”
Energetic hammering muffled her protest. In the subsequent silence, Youngblood leaned closer.
“No, you listen. I’m bigger, more determined and meaner than you are. You might not like it, but I’ve taken an interest in you and, for better or worse, you’re stuck with my involvement.”
His statement sounded like a demented wedding vow.
“But you can’t make me—”
“Sure I can.”
“There are laws—”
“A respectable lady wanting to run a fancy girls’ school can’t afford to draw the wrong kind of attention. It would be the kiss of death for your name to be linked with any unsavory gossip. I guarantee going to the sheriff in a misguided attempt to make me behave myself would unleash a flurry of wild rumors.”
“That’s coercion!”
“Highly effective coercion. Pack and be ready when I return.”
She stared at his broad, retreating back. Good heavens, her life had just been taken from her control.
Aunt Euphemia, it’s far worse than you supposed. Some men are more primitive than any ancient beasts who ever stalked the earth.
Newt poked his shaggy head inside. “You want to make sure I got the sign straight?”
Chapter Four
Jayne went to her bedchamber’s open window and pushed aside white curtains to look at the street below. From her second-story vantage point, she saw that dusk was settling over the shops, taverns and passersby. Burke Youngblood had not returned and made good on his outrageous threat to collect her as if she were a shipment of cabbages.
Despite the coming night’s warmth, Jayne shivered. The banker’s decisive manner appeared intrinsic to his nature. It seemed foolish to hope his bold declaration had been vainly uttered. Yet hope she did, clinging to the possibility that good sense had prevailed over his rash statements, and he intended to leave her in peace.
She let the curtains slip through her fingers and turned. The sturdy dresser blocking her locked bedchamber door had required relentless pushing and prodding to budge.
Burke Youngblood had scarcely entered her life, and he’d already caused her a great deal of trouble. It was as Aunt Euphemia said. A man might appear in the guise of offering help, but he usually ended up becoming a burden.
Jayne surveyed her barricaded domain and, pronouncing it impregnable against any invasion, went to the bed and picked up an unwieldy drawer. Because she’d gone to all this work to keep him out, he probably wouldn’t come. That was one of life’s ironies. Expected calamities rarely occurred, while ones that couldn’t be foreseen arrived with bass drums.
Burke stood on the boardwalk across the street from Jayne Stoneworthy’s ill-fated school. He’d seen the curtains flutter moments ago and recognized her profile at the bedchamber window. The vagueness of her outline frustrated him. He wanted to prove that she wasn’t the elusive creature who’d been teasing the edges of his thoughts. She was real. And damned if he didn’t want to unravel the mystery of her effect upon him.
He took a slow drag on his cheroot and contemplated the second-story window. What on earth had possessed him to carry her upstairs and throw her on that bed? When he’d stepped inside the building, his purpose had been clear, to teach her that she couldn’t take up residence in a former brothel and open her door to any man who knocked.
Somewhere along the line, he’d crossed the edge of reason and pushed things beyond the bounds of decency. He wanted to blame her for the fiasco. His decision to treat her like a saloon girl had been sound. By all rights, she should have been terrified for her safety. When he’d backed off, she should have been grateful for the time and effort he’d taken to demonstrate her precarious situation and humbly thanked him. Then she should have cheerfully agreed to vacate the premises.
He hadn’t backed off....
Burke scowled. He would have, if she’d played her part correctly. As twilight deepened, so did the grimness of his mood. For better or for worse, he’d issued an ultimatum. Unless a demand was enforced, it was worthless. The question of the hour was, did he intend to back up his words?
A primitive quickening surged. He couldn’t believe how much he wanted to barge into her bedchamber and insist she follow the wise course he’d charted for her. It wasn’t his nature to act impetuously. That this woman made him want to abandon caution did more than surprise him. He was shocked by his desire to stretch out his arm and use the considerable resources at his command to bend her to his will.
No, not bend. He wanted her to admit her folly and yield to his superior wisdom, so he could rescue her and her fledgling school from ruin.
And then?
He chose not to think that far ahead. The memory of sharing a bed with her soft body twisting beneath him was too raw to permit long-range planning. He would proceed one step at a time. First, she had to be dislodged from the Wet Beaver.
Burke studied the second-story window. Beneath it, a narrow ledge spanned the building. He guessed the plank’s width to be twelve inches. The conversation he’d had with Gideon several months ago returned. At the time, Burke had thought his friend had lost his mind to engage in such hotheaded theatrics as scaling a wall during a rainstorm.
Even in his youth, Burke hadn’t been hotheaded. His thirtieth birthday was behind him. It was a little late to entertain rash thoughts about climbing buildings and traipsing across narrow ledges.
His gaze lowered to the smoldering tip of his cheroot. He definitely wasn’t hotheaded. The same couldn’t be said about the blood flowing through his veins. Imagining Jayne Stoneworthy in an old-fashioned nightgown with her incredibly kissable lips tilted toward him made him hot all over.
He flicked the thin cigar to the boardwalk and ground out the flame. Evidently the certainty that he was about to make an even more colossal fool of himself wasn’t sufficient reason to prevent him from proceeding.
He strode determinedly across the street. Some things couldn’t be stopped. He was going to find out what it was about Miss Stoneworthy that agitated his restlessness and prodded a streak of protectiveness he hadn’t known he’d possessed. He didn’t delude himself that the answer would come easily.
He did delude himself that he could navigate the skinny ledge without breaking his neck. No way was his cemetery headstone going to read “Here lies Burke Youngblood, cut down in his prime as a cathouse he did climb.”
Jayne had a passionate aversion to people who failed to keep their word. She balefully regarded the dresser wedged against the door. It had taken a lot of hard work to put it there. The least Burke could do was show up, pound futilely to gain admittance and then crawl away with his tail between his legs—fitting retribution for terrorizing her this afternoon.
A blur of movement drew her glance to the open window where a man’s booted foot suddenly appeared. Before she could react, the rest of him emerged through the opening. He uncurled to full prominence. Burke Youngblood!
As if her thoughts had delivered him to her bedchamber, he loomed tall and foreboding—scowling, dust-covered and holding a long-haired gray cat in the crook of his arm. The hardness of his expression was so at odds with the soft feline he cradled that she was struck momentarily speechless.
His gaze went to the dresser blocking the entry to her room. “That’s the first predictable thing you’ve done since I met you.”
“How dare you invade my bedchamber!”
“Save the maidenly outrage for later.”
That sounded ominous. “I don’t foresee there being a later between us.”
“Then you’re shortsighted.” He shoved the bundle of gray fur toward her. “Is this yours?”
She automatically accepted the bedraggled feline. “I don’t have any pets.” The cat, a big one, was surprisingly relaxed and limp-boned at being held by a stranger. “Did you climb all the way up here, carrying him? He must weigh ten pounds.”
Burke’s lips turned downward in obvious disgust. “I didn’t start out with him. He joined me on the way up and used my back for a ladder.”
“Uh, well, that’s interesting.” She tried to hand the animal back to him. “Since he isn’t mine, you can take him and go.”
“I’m not taking him anywhere, and when I leave it’s going to be through that door with you beside me.”
Claws dug warningly into Jayne’s’ arm. She realized she was squeezing the cat and eased her grip. “I thought that by now you would have come to your senses where I’m concerned.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Did you?”
Needing the freedom of her hands to express herself, she sat her furry burden on the rumpled bed. “If you’ll look at the situation logically, you’ll see that my problems are none of your concern. This afternoon, in heat of our debate, things got out of control. We both made some imprudent statements.”
“Did we?”
His enigmatic expression revealed nothing about what he was thinking.
“As a practical, coolheaded businessman, you must agree I’m right.”
“Which would make me...wrong?”
“Umm...” It had been her observation that men didn’t like admitting when they were wrong. “Let’s just say that you were overzealous this afternoon in seeing to my welfare.”
“All right.”
She blinked. Never in a million years would she have expected him to be so reasonable. “You agree with me?”
He shrugged. “I can see where I came on a little strong.”
A little strong? A cavalry troop charging into battle would have exhibited more restraint. “I suppose that’s all that needs to be said.”
“Since I have no intention of climbing back out the window, you won’t mind if I move that dresser?”
The sudden change of subject caught her off guard. Her gaze swung to the massive piece of furniture. “Of course not. But let me assist you. It’s extremely difficult to maneuver.”
“That’s all right. I can handle it.”
And he did. She scarcely had time to appreciate his display of muscular strength before the deed was accomplished.
He opened the door. The cat bounded down the stairs. Instead of imitating the feline’s speedy departure, Burke propped his shoulder negligently against the door frame and studied her with disturbing intensity.
“So what have you decided?” he asked.
“About this place?”
“For starters.”
She looked around regretfully. “I suppose I’ll have to sell the building and find another.”
“That could take a while.”
“July is almost gone,” she’d said unhappily. “I’d hoped to open my school for a fall session.”
“It’s going to be tough to make that deadline.”
“I know. The only bright spot on the horizon is the bank draft I’m expecting from Uncle Clarence.”
It seemed odd to share her feelings with a virtual stranger. And yet something about Burke’s implacable strength encouraged a confidence or two. Despite his shocking lack of manners, she sensed in him an astute mind capable of untangling complex problems. What would it be like to call such a man friend and benefit from his store of knowledge?
The direction of her thoughts astonished Jayne. The last thing she wanted or needed was an ally as domineering as Burke Youngblood. At the first opportunity, he would become a tyrant.
Loud male voices poured through the window. Jayne winced. She was getting used to being awakened during the night by rowdy revelers.
Burke rubbed his jaw. “After I left today, I did some checking.”
“Checking?”
“About possible sites for the kind of school you want to open.”
He had her undivided attention. “And?”
“I might have found something that will work for you.”
When he failed to elaborate, Jayne assumed he’d devised a new way to torture her. He was going to force her to pry the information from him. Pride tempted her to send him on his way without making any inquiries.
Strange, she hadn’t realized before that an overabundance of pride was a flaw with which she had to contend.
She thought she detected a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. He knew, blast his black heart, that he’d baited his hook with an irresistible lure. Her desire to maintain control over her life warred violently against the untenable situation in which she’d inadvertently placed herself. No one was going to send their daughter to a school that had formerly been a brothel.
From the street below, another spate of rude laughter filled her chamber. Postponing the moment of surrender, which was how she viewed soliciting any information from him, she walked to the window. It appeared that, even after she rid herself of Burke Youngblood’s presence, another raucous night would prevent her from getting a decent night’s sleep.
She stared down at the street. Wild and woolly men seemed to come alive after dark. While under the influence of intoxicating spirits, they weren’t reticent at whooping their nighttime jubilation at the top of their lungs.
Her gaze dropped to the narrow ledge. It was a miracle that Youngblood had reached her in one piece. She frowned. Technically speaking, she supposed the safe arrival of Burke Youngblood in her bedchamber ought not to be termed a miracle. It should be called a catastrophe.
She turned. It was time to forget pride. She would pump him for all the information she could drain, get him to vacate the premises and maintain control of her destiny.
“I’m very interested in hearing about the building you’ve found.”
She was shocked at the physical and emotional distress the moderately expressed words caused. Her skin burned, her throat tightened and her hands shook. Her discomfort sprang from more than the simple act of swallowing her pride. Something about making herself vulnerable to this man sent out a war cry that she don a full coat of armor.
Somehow, on a battlefield utterly alien to her, she and Burke Youngblood had become engaged in a compelling conflict, the scope of which was shrouded in mystery. For a panicky moment, she wanted to run. Reason intruded. Surely it was only her imagination fostering these fanciful images of swordplay, of victors and losers, of...absolute surrender.
“I’ll show you the building in the morning.”
She rubbed her forehead. It made sense to see the location by light of day, but she was uneasy about spending more time in his disturbing company. “All right.”
“Have you packed the things you’ll need to stay at a hotel?”
The blandly asked question made her head snap up. She’d assumed he’d forgotten his demand that she sleep elsewhere. This was it, the one issue upon which she wouldn’t compromise. It was one thing to accept business advice from him. She had to draw the line, however, at letting him dominate her personal life.
She drew a deep breath. “Mr. Youngblood—”
“Burke,” he corrected quietly, straightening from his casual stance at the doorway. “Since we’re going to be working together to get this school of yours established, we. might as well be on a first-name basis.”
Again she experienced the sensation that he was taking over, but calling him by his first name was no grave hardship. “Burke, I’m not staying at a hotel.”
He stepped toward her. “I know you’d rather remain here, but it’s Friday night. The saloons are brimming with miners, cowpunchers, gamblers and fancy women. Tomorrow will be even worse. This building happens to be sitting in the middle of all the excitement. You aren’t safe here, Jayne.”
“I haven’t had any trouble.” She tried to ignore the music, laughter and quarrelsome voices that kept intruding upon their conversation.
“It’s blind luck that trouble hasn’t already found you. Be sensible. Cut your losses and spend the night where you know you’ll be safe.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you explain why you’re determined to involve yourself in my life.” She hadn’t planned on demanding an explanation for his forced entry into her world, but she needed to know what was motivating his sudden concern for her and her school.
A half smile slanted his narrow lips. Her heart performed a most peculiar maneuver—something between a flip and a twist.
“I guess I have been a little high-handed,” he drawled.
High-handed? Again she was put in mind of a military confrontation. Forget the cavalry. He’d thundered into her sphere with the jarring force of barbarian hordes sweeping across ancient Europe.
Doubting he would appreciate the comparison, she searched for words that wouldn’t further inflame his domineering tendencies. “You’ve been acting as if you were the most tyrannical of fathers.”
He flinched, but the smile remained. “Believe me, I have no intention of acting like your father.”
Jayne decided he was. deliberately trying to charm her. She hardly knew how to react. No man had ever focused this form of attention upon her. It was disheartening to discover that recognizing his ploy didn’t free her from his magnetism.
“I can’t believe you take this kind of interest in all Denver’s fledgling businesses,” she pressed determinedly.
“I’d be lying if I said so,” he admitted. “Do you always know the reasons behind everything you do?”
“Of course. One can’t blunder through life.”
“Ah, so I’m dealing with a woman of logic.”
“You’re dealing with a woman who wants to know why you’re willing to invest time, effort and money on her behalf.”
“I assume the suspiciousness I’m detecting is based upon your late aunt’s dire warnings about accepting favors from men.”
“Aunt Euphemia’s philosophy about the male gender has nothing to do with this. Credit me with enough intelligence to recognize you could very well have an ulterior motive for assisting me. I have no intention of placing myself under your influence without knowing what you expect in return.”
Jayne knew she was pink-cheeked, but she needed to know what lay behind his sudden desire to help.
“I approve of your cautious attitude. A number of men might expect certain favors in exchange for their help. A wise woman pays attention to such things. I assure you, though, I have no ulterior motives.”
His eyes held an almost whimsical expression that weakened her resolve to challenge him. She was amazed by the degree of energy it took to withstand his charm. “Trust has to be earned.”
“Life’s taught me the same lesson,” he said quietly. “The reason I’m willing to put my resources at your disposal are twofold. First, I have this character quirk of rooting for underdogs.”
Even though she fit the description, she didn’t appreciate being compared to a four-legged animal. “There has to be more to it than that.”
“There are dozens of businesses I’ve supported through their uncertain beginnings. My basis for consideration is that the owner be absolutely committed to his course and willing to pour all his time and energy into his enterprise. You possess that determination, correct?”
She stared at him, trying to gauge whether his offer carried hidden strings. She was uneasy at accepting his help and just as uneasy about losing it. “There’s nothing I want more than to establish my school.”
He nodded. “I thought as much.”
“I want to make it clear, though, that ours is to be a strictly business relationship. I’ll repay all monies advanced, with interest.”
His eyes held an alarming gleam. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“About my spending the night in a hotel.” She would resist any unreasonable authority he chose to exert. “I have no intention of—”
Two gunshots fired in quick succession startled a shriek from her: Only when Burke’s arms closed around her did she realize she’d hurled herself at him. His scent, at once familiar and mysterious, teased her senses. The security of his embrace, unwelcome as it was, had her heart hammering against her ribs. No, it was the sound of gunfire that had her palpitating.
“You were saying?”
His deep voice rumbled in her ears. It became imperative to return some distance between them. She pulled free. He made no effort to restrain her.
“I was saying that I have no intention of staying more than a couple of nights at a hotel. Since I’m repaying all the money you’re advancing me against my uncle’s bank draft, I refuse to squander my limited resources.”
“Again, I applaud your wisdom.”
She looked for a sign of amusement in his gaze, but found it unreadable. “I would appreciate your waiting downstairs while I gather my things.”
“I’ve seen ladies’ unmentionables before.”
“Such comments will end our association before it begins.”
He shrugged. The casual gesture was at odds with the subtle tension he radiated. She looked into his eyes and wished she could be blessed with the ability to read his mind. Was he as he portrayed himself, a banker and businessman, interested only in helping her establish her school? Or did he hope to extract a hidden payment from her in the future?
A shiver stole down her spine. She couldn’t pretend that feeling his strong arms close around her moments before had been a loathsome experience. His rugged masculinity touched something inescapably feminine within her.
“Only time will prove whether you can trust me.” He moved to the doorway, then paused, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll wait downstairs.”
Left to her confused thoughts and the mayhem floating up from the street, Jayne resisted the impulse to call out that she’d changed her mind. Only a fool would reject Burke Youngblood’s help.
She fetched the valise she’d stored beneath her bed, deciding she felt like the sovereign of a small kingdom forced to accept aid from a more powerful principality. If she wasn’t careful, her borders would be breached and her authority to act usurped. It was a history lesson she’d taught countless times.
It didn’t take long to pack her personal things. Descending the stairs, she was struck by the unpalatable realization that Burke had gotten his way without resorting to force. He’d used logic to sway her. Logic and the sound of blasting guns.
I think I could be in a bit of trouble, Aunt Euphemia.
How did one deal with a man of power and remarkable persuasiveness who’d mastered the skills of applied charm and reason?
Very carefully, a distant voice seemed to caution.
Chapter Five
It wasn’t surrender. By linking forces with her pushy benefactor, she was exercising good sense. Jayne joined Burke at the bottom of the stairs. Burke... It unnerved her at how quickly she’d begun to think of him by his first name.
“That didn’t take long,” he observed, hardly more than a shadow in the muted light provided by a single low-burning oil lamp. He stepped forward. “I’ll take that for you.”
He reached for the valise. She was tempted to make an issue of carrying it herself. True wisdom, however, lay in knowing which battles to wage with the overbearing banker. She released the handle without comment.
His palm curved around her elbow as he guided her to the door. “Do you have the key?”
“Of course,” she replied, resenting being treated like a child.
“Wait here while I douse the lamp.”
Evidently giving orders was as natural to him as breathing.
Moments later a cloak of darkness claimed the room’s interior. Sufficient light from an outside street lamp filtered through the front windows and glass door panels. He had no difficulty making his way back to her. His unerring approach had her fumbling to get the key in the lock. She attributed her uncustomary awkwardness to his disembodied presence and the almost palpable tension he projected. Mentally, she commanded the stubborn key to turn.
There was an audible click. In the room’s subsequent stillness, her sigh of relief was clearly heard. A strong arm came around her, crowding her into a tiny pocket of space. It took a half second to comprehend that he was turning the knob and shoving open the door. In that minuscule fragment of time, her heart stopped beating, and her stomach curled into a tight ball.
She couldn’t get across the threshold quickly enough. It did nothing for her peace of mind to realize her knees had been reduced to insubstantial globs of melted butter. She wanted him to cease his disturbing behavior, but she didn’t know precisely what he was doing to annihilate her composure.
Just existing, taking up space and breathing were not things she could order him to stop doing. As much as she chafed under his unsettling effect, she intuitively understood that the problem was with her, not him. She was the one who’d temporarily lost her bearings. Therefore, it was up to her to find them. And she would. Just as soon as she put some desperately needed distance between herself and the worrisome Mr. Youngblood.
He followed her through the door. She shoved the key into his free hand, refusing to deal again with the tricky lock—anything to avoid having him pressed up behind her.
He said nothing as he saw to the task. Looking beyond his broad shoulders, she stared at the beautifully etched glass panels she’d purchased in a moment of extravagance. Leaving them for the new owner saddened her.
“This building you found, do you recall if its doors are the same size as these?”
He returned the key. Her fingers curved around the piece of metal, warmed by its contact with his flesh. She slid the key into a pocket.
“Offhand, I can’t give you the exact measurements. Do you have a preference for certain-sized doors?” he inquired blandly.
Despite his neutral tone, there was no missing the soft humor tinging his deep voice. “I just had those glass panels installed. If there’s any way to take them with me, I intend to do it.”
“You have excellent taste.”
She braced herself against the unexpected pleasure his compliment sparked. The street’s noisy hubbub penetrated the cocoon of intimacy that had embraced them. Miners and cowpunchers poured from brightly lit saloons. Harpsichord music from different establishments collided in jangling bursts of discordant clatter. Loud voices, male and female were raised in drunken laughter, song and angry tones, crafting a sinful chorus of raucous notes. It was as if she and Burke had stepped into a world of violent sounds.
“Stay beside me.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She pressed closer. He still carried her satchel. His free arm curved around her shoulders. For once, she wasn’t disposed to assert her independence. It was an alien sensation to feel in need of protection from someone bigger and stronger than herself. Yet being sheltered by him was strangely satisfying.
They surged forward, weaving their way through the tumultuous celebrants milling along the boardwalk. The summer night was ripe with raw, loosened energy that seemed to pulse between the roving clusters of drunken men.
“Hey now, watch where y’er going!”.
The slurred shout erupted from a small, roughly dressed man who stumbled into the path of several wranglers swigging drinks from earthen jugs.
“Naw, runt, it’s you who better watch what you’re about.”
“Who you calling runt, skunk face?”
“Wylie, you gonna let that dwarf get away with calling you skunk face?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh, hell.” Burke’s arm tightened around her as he placed himself between her and the brewing trouble. With her nose pressed against his side, she couldn’t see what was going on. But she heard plenty—oaths, grunts, dull thuds of fists striking and connecting, along with wheezing groans.
Jayne had never been caught in a flood, but she felt as if she and the banker had been sucked into a wild tide of churning water. Someone barreled against Burke. Still in his protective grasp, she was jostled from the tight crook of his strong arm. Her fractured field of vision was filled with a turbulent sea of men who’d abandoned reason and were bludgeoning one another. Flailing arms and pounding fists sent bodies hurtling in every direction.
The majority of combatants didn’t seem to care whom they engaged in fisticuffs. Anyone crossing their path appeared to be fair game. Someone else rammed against her and Burke. One second she was tucked by his side, and the next she sailed backward into a hostile current of battling ruffians.
“Jayne!”
She heard Burke’s hoarse shout above the surging fury and tried to get to him, but two hooligans materialized from the writhing mass of brawlers and commenced trading blows. Like an avenging warrior, Burke moved between the pugilists. He tossed them apart and charged toward her, still securely gripping her valise.
Jayne’s heart thumped against her ribs. She’d never inspired a heroic rescue before. His boldness took her breath away. He closed the distance between them. A look of fierce determination stamped his rugged features. Goodness, he looked capable of slaying a fire-breathing dragon on her behalf.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a rush of motion. The image of a wildly swinging brown jug flashed. Hot pain and exploding rainbows converged in her brain.
“Jayne, can you hear me?”
Burke’s voice penetrated the vortex of throbbing pain churning inside her skull. She tried to open her eyes. The right one refused to cooperate. The left lid flickered, then gave up the effort. Tears flowed freely. Lying very still and not moving her head seemed her most prudent course.
There was a subtle disturbance in the air current around her. Something wet and cool was gently applied to her forehead. It felt wonderfully soothing. She almost sighed her pleasure.
“Come on, open your pretty green eyes and say something rude so I’ll know you’re all right”
“It hurts too much,” she mumbled. It registered that she was lying upon a soft surface, and the sounds of riotous battle had been silenced. “What happened?”
“I messed up.”
His tone was bitter with self-reproach, which made no sense. “Are you blaming yourself for our being swept into that drunken mob?”
“Not entirely.” His voice was closer. Whatever she was lying upon dipped toward the husky sound. “If you had done as I suggested earlier, you’d have been settled in a hotel room when the fight broke out.”
“You suggested nothing,” she felt compelled to point out. “You took it upon yourself to order me to accompany you.”
“Then I should have been tougher about enforcing that order,” he said gruffly. “How does your head feel? You took a hard blow.”
This time she thought she detected a note of concern in his voice. Obviously, the jug that had plowed into her had scrambled her senses. “I feel as if one of those huge draft horses stepped on my face.”
“Damn, I’m sorry I didn’t get to you in time.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Those brawlers should be locked up so they can’t attack decent folks who are minding their own business.”
“The law expects decent folks to be safely tucked in their own beds, not walking the streets late at night.”
Tucked in their own beds... The phrase brought immediate clarity to Jayne’s resting place. A pillow that smelled like sunshine cradled her head. She ran her palms along crisp sheets. At the freedom of movement and smooth friction of her bare arms against the bedding, several alarming realities slammed into her. She wasn’t fully clothed. Surreptitiously, she investigated her state of dishabille beneath the blankets.
Her dress was gone. So was her corset and... She wriggled her toes. Her stockings remained, but her shoes had been removed. Indignation spiraled. Someone had reduced her to her chemise and pantalettes. That someone had better not be the man who she now realized was sitting beside her on the mattress.
“If the pain is too much, I can fetch a doctor, Jayne. Some laudanum would take the edge off the hurt you must be feeling.”
Hot, suffocating rage made her flesh burn. “I’m sure drugging me would suit your purposes perfectly.”
It took herculean strength to get the words past her tightened throat. Embarrassment and fury rose within her. Just when she’d relaxed her guard, the cad had shown his true colors. And they were as black as his wicked, lecherous heart.
“Do you care to explain that statement?”
Through the self-imposed darkness of her closed eyelids, she heard the barely banked anger beneath the calmly voiced question.
“Don’t bother acting offended, or innocent.” She drew the blankets to her chin. “I know exactly what’s been going on.”
“Do you?”
“I’m not some innocent young miss to have the wool pulled over my eyes.”
“Aren’t you?”
“And don’t try to intimidate me with those surly two-word questions of yours. It won’t work.”
“Won’t it?”
She ground her teeth. New pain radiated in her skull. “It’s perfectly obvious what evil designs you’ve had in mind for me all along. And if you say, ‘Is it?’ I swear I shall blacken your eye.”
“Will you, indeed?”
She knew he’d deliberately crafted the three-word question to drive her insane. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear the trip would be all that far. She felt pushed to the outer boundaries of reason. One more sarcastic remark from him would complete the journey.
“Where am I?”
“I assume you would like a more specific answer than Denver.”
Her hands curled into fists. Composure, she breathed. It was essential that she retain control of her roiling emotions. So far as she could determine the fiend hadn’t taken advantage of her unconscious state. At least, she didn’t think he had. Could a woman tell if she’d been ravished?
Surely, a barbarian the likes of Burke Youngblood would leave telltale evidence of his lovemaking. Euphemia’s graphic explanation of a how a man physically invaded a woman’s body would cause a twinge or two, wouldn’t it?
Jayne’s eyes remained sealed shut beneath the damp cloth that rode low on her forehead. She concentrated intensely, focusing on the critical juncture between her thighs. If there was any discomfort there, however, it was obliterated by the throbbing in her head.
Unable to trust the messages her body was sending, she took comfort in logic. If Burke Youngblood had had his evil way with her, would he have taken the trouble to redress her in her chemise and pantalettes? She considered the question. He was a man of complex layers. He disguised his carnal nature behind the facade of a self-controlled businessman, but he had a devious side. He might restore her clothing to lull her into a false feeling of security.
She forced herself to draw another steadying breath. Now wasn’t the time to panic. She would have an accounting of his actions, and then she would deal with the repercussions—after she killed him.
“Tell me the worst of it,” she instructed.
“The worst?”
“Yes, I need...” She swallowed. “I need to know how bad things are.”
Burke saw that Jayne was becoming more agitated with each passing moment. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. She was safe from the violence that had broken out on the boardwalk. True, she’d been struck a hard blow, but he sensed the emotions making her voice tremble had little to do with her physical aches. Her color had been normal when she’d regained consciousness, but now she was flushed.
Guilt burrowed deeply inside him at failing to shield her from the vicious mayhem that had erupted around them. The fundamental tenet of being a man was to protect those weaker than himself. He’d placed Jayne under his care, and he’d let her down.
How did a man apologize for failing to safeguard the woman under his protection? Gall burned the back his throat at having to acknowledge to her and himself he’d failed.
He decided to postpone the bitter reckoning. “Backing up to your earlier question, you’re in bed.”
“Whose?” she virtually croaked.
He’d damned well been tempted to put her in his own. But at the last minute, sanity overrode the crazy temptation, and he’d carried her into one of his guest chambers. Under the circumstances, he doubted she was in the mood to appreciate his clear thinking.
“You’re in one of the guest bedrooms of my home.”
He could almost feel the increased tension radiating from her.
Her hand went to her forehead. She pulled off the cloth. “When I open my eyes, I expect you to have removed yourself from this bed.”
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