Ace's Wild
Sarah McCarty
When you gamble with desire, be prepared to risk everything…Unlike the rest of the Hell's Eight brotherhood, Ace Parker's home isn't on the range. This restless cowboy craves the hustle of Simple, Texas, a lawless town where he can sate his darker appetites without guilt. At least he could, until Petunia Wayfield arrived. The prickly new teacher is insisting that Ace help her rid the town of drunkenness and card playing. For that kind of miracle, Ace demands a reward the spinster schoolmarm will surely never give.But Petunia isn't backing down. Not when the intense passion Ace offers shatters her to the core. As soon as she can afford a ticket to California, she'll leave Simple behind for good. Until then, she'll match his sensual challenge with her own, daring him to give up his fiercely guarded self-control. And then real danger claims Petunia, forcing Ace to reveal the man he really is–even if it drives her away forever….
When you gamble with desire, be prepared to risk everything…
Unlike the rest of the Hell’s Eight brotherhood, Ace Parker’s home isn’t on the range. This restless cowboy craves the hustle of Simple, Texas, a lawless town where he can sate his darker appetites without guilt. At least he could, until Petunia Wayfield arrived. The prickly new teacher is insisting that Ace help her rid the town of drunkenness and card playing. For that kind of miracle, Ace demands a reward the spinster schoolmarm will surely never give.
But Petunia isn’t backing down. Not when the intense passion Ace offers shatters her to the core. As soon as she can afford a ticket to California, she’ll leave Simple behind for good. Until then, she’ll match his sensual challenge with her own, daring him to give up his fiercely guarded self-control. And then real danger claims Petunia, forcing Ace to reveal the man he really is—even if it drives her away forever….
Praise for Sarah McCarty’s men of Hell’s Eight (#ulink_1942f220-5c6b-5e0c-879d-1d36978c454d)
“McCarty is a sparse, minimalistic writer, with a great ear for dialogue. She’s a passionate observer of history, and manages to deftly and accurately weave her spicy stories through with important facts and issues of the epoch she invokes. She’s also good at capturing that intangible magnetism surrounding dangerous, rugged men…I’m hooked.”
—USATODAY.com
“If you like your historicals packed with emotion, excitement and heat, you can never go wrong with a book by Sarah McCarty.”
—Romance Junkies
“It’s so great to see that Ms. McCarty is able to truly take these eight men and give them such vastly different stories and vastly different heroines, all of whom allow us to see different aspects of what life was really like for Western Frontier women, be it good, horrific, or simply unfortunate.”
—Romance Books Forum
“Sarah McCarty’s series is an exciting blend of raw masculinity, spunky, feisty heroines and the wild living in the Old West…with spicy, hot love scenes. Ms. McCarty gave us small peeks into each member of the Hell’s Eight and I’m looking forward to reading the other men’s stories.”
—Erotica Romance Writers
“What really sets McCarty’s stories apart from simple erotica is the complexity of her characters and conflicts…definitely spicy, but a great love story, too.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Readers who enjoy erotic romance but haven’t found an author who can combine it with a historical setting may discover a new auto-buy author…I have.”
—All About Romance
Ace’s Wild
Sarah McCarty
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Mark. A man who I trust to lead me in the darkness, to hold me in the light, and who never makes me regret taking that leap of faith into his arms. May you all be blessed to find someone just like him.
Contents
Cover (#udd257d1b-bb97-57a5-88ae-159119b89cc8)
Back Cover Text (#uf1565007-1e8e-54a7-95fb-77dc94cd6249)
Praise (#u7b6d74f9-1e8f-59b1-88cf-831b255d6ce1)
Title Page (#u81f0ebed-0df9-5152-8df9-e9606c13625e)
Dedication (#ue1ab5576-4360-5994-a039-d27a5da40034)
CHAPTER ONE (#ufbd260a9-cd78-5ad8-8260-e55036eea393)
CHAPTER TWO (#u33260b45-b0c0-5517-85f4-a4964eb18c24)
CHAPTER THREE (#u82ccb5e2-6315-5869-b15c-ade5763d9c7a)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u532d8f3f-3452-5fdf-a7a4-548f32c1a78d)
CHAPTER FIVE (#uad9dee4d-e530-53c9-a09a-6d38bfb5615b)
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)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_5e2bbd9d-0515-529f-abc6-2873222d48bd)
Simple, Texas November 1860
SHE WAS GOING to hell, for sure. Petunia Wayfield stepped off the rough board walkway into the dirt street, barely missing a pile of excrement left by some animal. Dust rose in a puff around her skirts. It’d been a long spell since the last rain. If this drought kept up another month, Christmas was going to be a dusty affair. Shielding her eyes against the late-morning sun, Petunia chided her morals. Here she was, fresh out of a sermon on the seven deadly sins, and she was about to commit two of the worst: the sins of gluttony and—she paused before stepping back up onto the opposite walk—lust. And she blamed it all on Maddie Miller’s cinnamon rolls. Because if Petunia had never smelled the delicious aroma of those baked goods wafting out from beneath the pink-and-white awning that decorated the front of Maddie’s bakery, she never would have stepped through the door the very moment that Ace Parker had stepped out. Would never have smashed her face into his chest; would never have associated the temptation of cinnamon rolls with the scent of hot, masculine man. At least that’s what she told herself. Because it was what any rational, practical woman would tell herself. Even if it was a lie.
With a sigh, Petunia continued on toward the bakery. It wasn’t like she needed that cinnamon roll. At almost thirty, she didn’t need the soft, warm, delicious, yeasty bun filled with fragrant cinnamon and topped with a melted sugar glaze to add to her womanly shape, but she wanted it. She also didn’t need a six-foot-plus tall, broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, no-better-than-he-needed-to-be-maybe-worse-than-some, smart-mouthed gambler like Ace. But, she admitted resignedly as she opened the bakery door and the little bell jingled announcing her presence, Petunia wanted him, too. With the same shameless, mouthwatering, crave-it-no-matter-what lust that had her slipping out on a sermon early to satiate her need for decadence.
On some level Petunia had always felt that she was just one reckless decision from slipping into dissolution. Which was a sad thing for the only daughter of the pillar of Benton, Massachusetts, society to be admitting. Her father liked to blame her wayward tendencies on the flaw in his upbringing after her mother’s early demise. She preferred to call those tendencies progressivethinking. It was a point they’d never agreed upon and which had sent her West on her own without her father’s financial support. And the expected outcome of that venture was yet another bone of contention. He expected her to fail at establishing her business in California while she expected to succeed. She just needed her luck back.
She swore she’d never had such a run of bad luck as she’d had since leaving Benton. First, the stagecoach had broken down in Simple. Which wouldn’t have been so bad except the one-night stay at that supposed boardinghouse on the edge of town had resulted in her being robbed of all her money except the few coins she’d sewn into her petticoat... Only the love life of the local schoolmarm had saved her from ruin, or worse yet, having to send a letter home to her father asking for help. That was an absolute last resort. Petunia Wayfield was not a woman that failed.
The aroma of sweet dough and cinnamon surrounded her in a blissful hug as she pushed the door closed. Petunia closed her eyes and breathed deeply, drawing the comfort in. This was what she needed, the occasional sensual indulgence, not an ongoing challenge like Ace Parker.
Liar, the little voice inside whispered.
She took another breath, fighting the truth. For the first time in her life, she actually wanted, genuinely wanted, a man. But it couldn’t be some nice steady man of business. Oh, no. True to the contrariness of a nature her father bemoaned as misplaced in a woman, she had to lust after a man who was completely wrong for her. A man whose way of life mocked her beliefs. A man for whom, if she did succumb, she’d be nothing more than a toy. Everything inside rejected the notion. She was no man’s toy. She was a modern woman, an independent woman, a woman who intended to have the vote one day. She was not any man’s plaything.
“It does my baker’s heart good to see you step through that door and take in that first breath like you’ve just found heaven.” Maddie Miller interrupted her thoughts with her usual sweet cheerfulness.
Petunia opened her eyes and smiled at Maddie standing behind the counter, a big white apron covering her green dress, flour dusting her freckled cheek and stray curls of red hair escaping her bun. The one thing Petunia prided herself on was not being silly.
“Probably because I just did.” A board squeaked as she stepped up to the low counter. “Your cinnamon buns are my one weakness, I’m afraid.”
Again that whisper of liar.
As if she heard the silent rebuke, Maddie paused, a tray of just risen rolls in her hand.
“I don’t know why people think weaknesses are bad.”
Because only the strong survived. Petunia bit her tongue on the comment.
“If a body is never weak, how would they ever know what they needed?” Maddie asked, swapping the trays and putting the hot, unfrosted rolls on the counter beside a bowl of frosting before closing the oven door.
For that Petunia didn’t have an answer. “That’s a good point.” Darn it.
Maddie just smiled and dropped the cloth she’d been using to carry the hot pan beside it. Resting her hands on her hips she stretched her back and gave Petunia a knowing glance. “Besides, there are some weaknesses that are just plain enjoyable.”
And that fast Petunia felt laid open and vulnerable. “Not in my experience.”
“Maybe you don’t have enough experience.”
There was a time when Petunia had thought Maddie a bit, well, simplistic, but soon she’d seen the real woman. The woman who’d started her own business from nothing but scratch and need, a woman who’d won the heart of the notorious Caden Miller. A woman who’d refused her husband until he respected her independence. Looking at the petite redhead on the other side of the counter, Petunia found it hard to believe someone so soft-looking could be so determined, but it was just another reminder of how one shouldn’t judge by appearances. Maddie could be a very focused woman. And right now she was uncomfortably focused on Petunia.
“Have you seen Ace this afternoon?” Maddie asked with a nonchalance Petunia couldn’t imitate.
“No. Should I have?”
“I heard he had words with Brian Winter at the saloon last night.”
Petunia handed Maddie the bowl of frosting. “Why would that concern me?”
Maddie rolled her eyes and took it. “I have no idea. Outside of the fact you’re unhappy with Brian and the way he treats his son.”
Petunia licked the sweet glaze off her finger. Brian Winter was a brute to the helpless. But Ace Parker was far from helpless. “If Brian was at the saloon, it was to gamble. It only stands to reason any fighting that went on had to do with cards or money or both.”
“Uh-huh.”
She ignored the skepticism. “Mr. Parker is not the civic-minded sort.”
“You like to believe that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Maddie didn’t argue the point. “He can’t be all bad. He’s the region assayer.”
“For reasons of his own, I’m sure.”
Maddie looked up from the frosting she was stirring. “It’s a respectable job.”
“He probably won it in a poker game.”
The wood spoon thumped against the side of the crockery bowl. Maddie switched the subject. “How was the reverend’s sermon this morning? He sounded all riled up, even from over here.”
He had been, for sure. “He was enthusiastic and as motivating as ever.”
“About what today?”
Petunia smiled slightly. “The sin of turning the other cheek.”
“That’s a sin?” Maddie asked, pouring glaze over the fresh batch of rolls. Petunia was a bit ahead of the church crowd, but soon the shop would be packed with a line out the door.
“He had a new take on it.”
“Oh?”
Petunia felt certain the sermon was aimed at her endeavors to help the children and less fortunate of Simple and the lack of interest of the townsfolk. “It’s his opinion that people around here have gotten too used to turning a blind eye, even when they should be paying attention.”
Maddie smiled and set the glaze aside. “A theory near and dear to your heart.”
Petunia nodded. “You should have attended. He was quite animated.”
Maddie’s expression closed right up as she started moving the rolls to the display plates. As curious as Maddie always was about the reverend’s sermons, as far as Petunia could tell, the woman had never set foot inside the church.
“You should come on in one Sunday.”
Maddie became overly busy getting a roll just so on the display plate. After a few seconds she looked up, a not so engaging smile on her face.
“Well, if I did that, who would cook the cinnamon rolls for the congregation when the sermonizing is over?”
She was clearly flustered at the idea of going to church. For the life of her, Petunia didn’t know why. There was no one more kind and considerate than Maddie. It was a mystery, and mysteries were Petunia’s downfall. She poked a little more.
“I’m sure the reverend would love to see you at service more than he’d rather see a cinnamon roll.”
Maddie shook her head. “I don’t know about that. The man is particularly fond of his pastries. Missing one might just throw him off his sermon.”
Maddie’s resistance just increased Petunia’s curiosity. “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”
The pink gingham curtain behind the counter hissed slightly as it slid open. Caden Miller, Maddie’s husband, stepped from behind the cloth barrier and slipped his arm protectively around his wife’s waist. There was all the love any woman could want in that embrace, but there was steel in his blue eyes as he looked at Petunia, reminding her he was one of the legendary Hell’s Eight. Men known for their bravery and loyalty. Caden, in particular, for his unpredictable nature. The tiny shop suddenly seemed that much smaller.
“There’s no purer angel walking this earth than my Maddie, with or without church.” Dropping a kiss on the top of Maddie’s head, he challenged Petunia to continue her prodding.
Petunia was not a fool. “Good morning, Caden.”
A nod of his head acknowledged her greeting. “If you don’t believe me,” he continued, taking the cinnamon bun out of Maddie’s hand, “all you’ve got to do is taste her baked goods.” The little paper napkin beneath wrinkled as he set it on the counter and pushed it toward Petunia.
A lock of hair fell across his forehead. Maddie turned and brushed it back, her fingers lingering on his cheek. Caden’s expression softened as he turned his head and kissed her palm. Petunia felt a pang of envy and more than a little superfluous. “They are the height of my Sundays.”
Maddie turned to her and smiled in her easy, open way. “Between you and Caden my head is going to swell so much, I’ll have a hard time getting through the door.”
“No problem, Maddie mine.” Caden stole a pastry for himself. “I know where you store the hat pins. If things need popping I’ll be right on it.”
Maddie shook her head and laughed. “Thanks.”
“It’s my husbandly duty to make sure you stay—” his gaze lowered to Maddie’s ample curves “—all in proportion.”
“Caden!”
All Maddie’s protest inspired was a chuckle from her husband and an offer to share his roll. Petunia’s blush faded as Maddie laughed again and took a bite. It was good to see a man who knew how to be a man and cared about his wife. And there was one thing everyone knew about Caden. Caden loved Maddie with everything in him, which surprisingly seemed to be a whole heck of a lot. Surprising because if you asked half the town’s populace, they’d tell you stories, all of them designed to convince you that Caden Miller didn’t have a heart. But he did, and she was plump and sweet with red hair and green eyes and a talent for baking.
The scent of the cinnamon roll on the counter beckoned. There had been a time when Petunia would have said it was better than any man’s arms, but watching Maddie relax into Caden’s embrace, seeing how natural they were together, Petunia was beginning to have those doubts that said maybe the course she’d set for herself and the beliefs she held to so strongly were not all that a woman needed.
Petunia passed her money across the counter, took the roll and ignored that pang of envy that she didn’t have time for. “Thank you.”
She had an important meeting in two days, and she couldn’t afford any distractions. There were things in this town that people didn’t want to see that she insisted they would. Too many children in her school were neglected, hungry or abused while others were just left out of an education entirely simply because their mothers were forced to work above stairs in the saloon. It was unacceptable. It had to change. Every child deserved to be safe and educated and before she left this town she was determined some changes would be made, no matter how unpopular her determination made her with most, including Caden. The man was a bit overprotective. Maddie’s quiet support of her cause did not put her in danger. With a smile she made her excuses. “I’m going to scoot before the reverend gets here and lectures me about slipping out on church early.”
Caden grinned. “Are you worried about eternal damnation?”
She reached for the door, her mouth watering, impatience nibbling at her the way she wanted to nibble on the roll. “Not this week.”
Maddie chuckled. “You have a nice day, Petunia.”
Petunia glanced back, the door half-open, the little bell’s jangle just a ting of sound. Caden stood behind Maddie, his arm still around her waist. He looked like hell waiting for a place to land, all squared shoulders and contained aggression. Maddie, on the other hand, looked...at peace. The hand resting on Caden’s was relaxed. Her fingers stroked across his darker skin. Such a small gesture, but it had such a profound effect. Caden visibly relaxed. Petunia smiled. Maddie was a woman who knew her power and wielded it wisely. Yet she wouldn’t step inside a church she clearly longed to visit. It made no sense. If Petunia had more time she’d definitely be exploring that wrinkle. But time she didn’t have. As soon as she saved enough for her ticket, she’d be on her way to starting her own dream.
“Thank you, Maddie. You both have one, too.”
The “Will do” came from Caden.
Outside, she stopped and took that long-awaited, much-anticipated first bite. The pastry melted in her mouth. She closed her eyes and just appreciated the moment, letting the pleasure roll through her.
“You know, if you wore that exact same expression on your face at the next dance, you might spend more time on the floor dancing than on the side talking.”
Petunia didn’t have to open her eyes to know who was goading her. Ace Parker. The thorn in her side, her personal Achilles’ heel, Caden and Maddie’s best friend. She’d never understand how two productive people could appreciate a man of such low character. Opening her eyes, she found herself looking straight into the shadowed intensity of his. A frisson of awareness shot through her, hooking deep and drawing invisible wires tight. Damn the man. He even had beautiful eyes. She wanted to knock the black cowboy hat off his head so she could see the sky-blue irises flecked with those mesmerizing shards of icy gray. Eyes that saw too much. Eyes that made her want to... To push. Shove. Fight. His mouth quirked at the corner. She couldn’t look away.
They made her want to surrender. Damn him.
It was easy to see how Ace won so many poker games. There was an uncanny calm about the man. A subdued power that drew a person to trust where they probably shouldn’t. But she wasn’t a wrangler halfway through a bottle of cheap whiskey. She was a strong woman of intellect. Taking a slow breath, she gave him a small smile of her own, keeping it casual as if her breasts weren’t tingling and her lungs weren’t struggling to remember how to get her next breath.
“Of course a man of your predilections wouldn’t understand that it might be my preference to not carry on on the dance floor.”
“I understand, as a woman, you might be well on the shelf, but you’re not dead. You’ve got time to turn things around.”
He wasn’t the first to imply she needed to find a man, marry and devote herself to raising children. Petunia swallowed the bit of cinnamon roll and forced that smile to stay in place. It was hard. Very hard when she wanted nothing more than to touch his cheek, feel that slight stubble against her fingertips. He probably hadn’t even been to bed yet. “I’ll keep that in mind between my other endeavors.”
Ace leaned against the doorjamb, that quirk becoming a grin, but whereas hers felt tight, his looked easy. The aggravating man seemed to find humor in everything, especially in the matters close to her heart.
“Would that be the endeavor that involves taking children from the whorehouse, putting them in your house and trying to make them respectable?”
She tucked her roll into the napkin and straightened. There’d be no enjoying it while he was picking at her. “That would be the one.”
“And you think the citizens of this town are going to go along with that? Having those children of lust in their school with their properly raised and primly conceived children?”
It was probably a flaw in her defense that she did enjoy his way with words. “I don’t plan on giving them much choice.”
He sighed. “You just can’t shove reform down people’s throats.”
“When the alternative is leaving innocents neglected, uneducated and unloved, to grow up to be a bane on our society far into the future, I can force whatever I want.”
His left eyebrow crooked up. “You think you’ve got that much muscle?”
“I think with Christmas coming up, and the spirit of charity that goes with it, I have a good chance of making a start.”
“And you’re just going to take that inch?”
She nodded. “And stretch it into a mile.”
His right eyebrow joined the left. “And you don’t expect resentment?”
“Oh, I expect resentment.” She was already experiencing some. Her roll was getting cold.
“But you plan on getting past it?”
She nodded again. “I plan on getting past it.”
Ace shook his head and straightened, opening the door for Caden, who was bringing chairs out to the porch. “You know, no matter how many good deeds you do, they are never going to elect you mayor.”
She gritted her teeth. “The town already has a mayor.”
“Which you don’t think much of.”
He had to be observant to know that.
The mayor was a lazy man, and lazy men tended to stay the heck out of her way. So she was content with him in that office. “I’m hoping he’ll be supportive.”
If only by his disinterest.
Maddie spoke up from where she was wiping down the counter. “It is a good cause.”
Ace looked over at her. “It may be, but going about it this way is just going to make enemies.”
“Why?” Petunia stepped back as Caden set the chair in front of the door to hold it open. “Why should helping children make any enemies?”
Caden looked up from where he was bracing the chair. “Because those children have fathers who prefer that they stay hidden.”
“If those children have fathers,” she snapped, “then those fathers should be taking care of them.”
Ace shrugged. “They are, in their way.”
“It’s better than nothing,” Caden offered, folding his arms across his chest.
“Not by much.”
Petunia could see the first of the congregation leaving the church. If she didn’t get moving, she’d be forced to be civil to people who’d be taking veiled stabs at her. Her plan really wasn’t popular. “No living thing should suffer needlessly because others are too lazy or too worried about how it looks to help them. Society is only as strong as its weakest link.”
Ace swore. She flinched, even as every nerve ending snapped to attention. His eyes narrowed, and as if on cue her breath caught. Darn it! Why this with this man? It was so...inconvenient.
Caden looked between the two of them and just sighed. “You know if you two spent a little less time fighting and a little bit more talking, you’d probably find out you’re on the same side of most of your discussions.”
She lifted her chin. “I highly doubt I have anything in common with Mr. Parker.”
From the tug Ace gave his hat, he wasn’t any too pleased with the observation, either. “Yeah. You’d have to shove a broomstick up my ass to get me to be that uptight.”
“Ace!” Maddie reprimanded from within the store.
Petunia just raised her brow. Did he think his crudeness would shock her? “We could probably arrange that.”
“You and what posse?”
“I imagine we could assemble a few of your disgruntled companions to make it happen.”
Ace made a sound. She couldn’t tell if he was choking on outrage or laughter. Before she could ask, Caden interrupted.
“Never seen two cats fight as much as you two do. At least not without a hell of a good reason.”
Ace was entirely too quick to say, “I’ve got a reason.”
And she was entirely too curious to know what it was. Before she could open her mouth to retort, Maddie came around the counter. “Please. We like you both.”
Caden didn’t move, but the air suddenly seemed thicker. “What my wife is trying to say, Ace, is that no one cares about your reason. As my wife’s friend, Petunia is always a welcome guest in my home.” His voice lowered just a fraction. “And always under my protection.”
Ace pulled up straight. Shoulders squared as subtle tension entered his stance. His “The hell you say” was low and threatening.
Maddie stopped dead. The catch in Petunia’s breathing became permanent. Caden wasn’t even ruffled. “You heard me.”
If Caden had spoken to her in that tone, Petunia would be running. Ace didn’t even bat an eye. Caden waved his hand. Maddie went back behind the counter.
“This is none of your business, Caden.”
“So take me to court.”
“That’s not fair, Caden,” Maddie called. “You know Judge Bracen is holding a grudge against Ace.”
“Another one of your satisfied customers?” Petunia asked with a lift of her brows.
Ace shrugged. “He’s not pleased I didn’t declare that fool’s gold of his genuine.”
“Cost him a pretty penny on that land deal.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Petunia interrupted, wanting this to end before it got more combative. She might not want to like Ace, but she did like Caden and Maddie, and Maddie was sympathetic to her cause. Caden she wasn’t so sure of. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the set of Ace’s shoulders. Along her nerve endings she felt the weight of his stare, and that breathless trembling started anew. It was definitely time to go.
“Thank you for the cinnamon roll, Maddie.” She forced herself to take a nibble. The soft pastry sat like lead in her mouth. Tension skimmed along her nerves. “It’s delicious as always.” She nodded to Caden. Ace she ignored.
He naturally couldn’t let that pass. “Not even going to say goodbye?” he asked as she turned.
Nope. Not a goodbye. Not a glance. Not anything that would feed her weakness. Lifting her skirts with her free hand, she stepped off the walk, ignoring the inner prompting that wanted to know if he watched her, if he was smiling, if there was approval in his eyes. She forced herself to continue toward home and not give him the satisfaction of looking back. It was the hardest thing she’d done in a long, long time.
* * *
ACE WATCHED PETUNIA stroll down the street in that purposeful way of hers and shook his head. Seems he’d been watching Petunia since the day she’d stepped off the stage all pale blond elegance and temptation. She wasn’t the sort of woman a man like him would approach. Buttoned-up women were notoriously boring in and out of bed, but there was a reckless side to Petunia that no amount of blue serge could conceal. One that, once fed by the fire of conviction, could take her where angels feared to tread. Like right up into Simon Laramie’s face when he’d protested her effort to feed his hungry kids. Laramie outweighed her by a hundred pounds, but she’d stood there like size didn’t matter and taken him to town. A man had to admire that much gumption. Protect it. Preserve it... Nurture it. Shit. He wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to follow her, pick her up, toss her over his shoulder, swat her on that delicately rounded ass and carry her off to his bed with her gasp still ringing in his ear. He wanted her in his arms. His bed. His home. With a silent curse, Ace cut that line of thinking short. Again.
That was the dangerous side of Petunia Wayfield. She made him want things he’d long ago given up hoping for. A wife. Family. Men like him didn’t have those things. But it didn’t mean they couldn’t protect the one who fed that faintest of hopes. About a month ago, he’d accepted Petunia was that one for him. There was something within her that drew him. Fascinated him. Enthralled him to the point that lately, all he could think about was her lying bound in his bed, that sweet pale flesh wearing his mark, her femininity sweetly displayed. His blood heated even as he ground his teeth. The woman was like a bad case of poison ivy, a constant irritation.
“Why do you tease her so?” Maddie asked when Petunia was out of earshot.
For no reason fit for Sunday discussion. “The woman has too much starch in her bloomers.”
“So you irritate her just to get a reaction,” Maddie stated, coming up beside him and shaking out her cleaning cloth.
He smiled, watching Petunia step up onto the opposite walk, for a moment catching the hint of ankle beneath her layers of skirt and petticoats. His cock, semihard, threatened to become an embarrassment. He pulled his gaze away. “She does have a short fuse.”
“It seems to me the only reason you want to take the starch out of her bloomers,” Caden remarked, taking a seat in the chair he’d just settled against the door, “is because you want to be getting in them.”
Ace snorted. “The woman’s an old maid.”
Maddie huffed and put her hands on her hips. The cloth fluttered against her side. “She’s intelligent, passionate and she cares about the same things you do. You could do worse.”
Petunia couldn’t.
“The only reason that woman’s ever been in a saloon is to try and shut it down. She probably thinks it’s hell on a good day.”
Maddie snorted. “You’re always rooting for the underdog, just like her.”
“Not that anyone notices.”
Caden stretched his legs out. “That’s because you don’t want them to notice.” Ignoring Ace’s glare, Caden caught Maddie’s hand and pulled her into his side. The ease with which she relaxed into Caden’s embrace sent another pang through Ace.
“And why is that?” Maddie asked, shoving the cloth in her apron pocket.
Ace leaned over and tugged her hair, goading Caden with the casual familiarity. “Maybe because I’m not an upstanding pillar of the community.”
Caden growled under his breath and knocked his hand away.
Maddie sighed and caught Caden’s hand in hers, all the while shaking her head at Ace. “I know you, remember?”
It was Ace’s turn to shake his head. The last thing he needed was Maddie speculating on his comings and goings and ways to put an end to them. He liked his life in town. He liked the adventure. He liked the challenge. He liked the occasional fight, and he loved the card games. It alleviated the boredom of working at the assayer’s office. The job was a useful tool for sorting out bad news coming to town, but not much else. Once in a while he did stick his nose into business that wasn’t strictly his, but unlike Petunia, he didn’t make his life’s work out of it.
“This town’s got enough do-gooders,” he told Maddie. “One more isn’t needed.”
Maddie looked at him calmly. Almost expectantly. “Petunia’s going to need help.”
“You might as well get that look out of your eye, Maddie. Whatever Petunia’s got going, it’s not my problem.”
“It will be.”
He didn’t like the knowing glance or the implication behind it. The woman saw too much. “No, it won’t.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Caden interrupted. “This latest project of hers isn’t going to go over well. There are some prominent citizens in this town who’d be mighty upset to see a couple of those children brought forward into polite society.”
“Then they shouldn’t have created them,” Ace retorted.
“I don’t think that was the plan.”
“It’s still the result. Not like you can mistake who their fathers are.”
Damn, now he was sounding just like Petunia.
“It would have been better for those children if their mother had just left town with them.”
“And leave their meal ticket?” Ace shook his head. “No way in hell. As long as those kids exist, Hester has leverage.”
“But they don’t exist. They’re not allowed out of that awful house,” Maddie added. “And that little girl, she’s almost eight now...”
Maddie’s voice broke. Caden rubbed her arm. The one thing Maddie knew all about was how a little girl growing up in a whorehouse lived on the edge of trouble. It made him burn to think about the life Maddie had been forced to live before coming to Hell’s Eight. Petunia was right about one thing. No child deserved that.
Pressing her hand briefly over Caden’s, Maddie took a step back, straightened her hair and then her skirt. Ace said nothing, letting her gather her composure, regretting it as soon as she did, because she turned those soulful green eyes on him again and declared, “You need to help Hester.”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re wrong about her.”
Ace sighed. It didn’t really matter whether he was right or wrong about Hester. When it came to the kids, Petunia and Maddie were right. The situation was getting bad. Hester needed to take those kids and leave town. Or Dougall, their father, was going to have to claim them, but they couldn’t be left to be as they were living in the whorehouse. He thought of the little girl, pretty face, pretty hair, but still a little girl and tempting to some. Unprotected except by her mother and a couple of the nicer whores, but their ability to guard her was limited. And if it was decided she needed to earn her keep, then earn her keep she would.
“It’s a mess, and Petunia’s meddling is going to make it blow up before anything can be done.”
“She means well,” Caden interjected.
“She always means well.” Ace growled as the aggravation swelled within him. “She meant well when she decided every child at school should have a decent lunch.”
“She was right,” Maddie chimed in. “They should.”
“Except that those families that couldn’t afford it now live with the mockery of others, and Simon Laramie is gunning for her ass because the whole world now knows that he can’t feed his own kids.”
“It’s not her fault he chose to make a public spectacle of it.”
Simon was new to the area, and he wasn’t established, and the drought hadn’t helped. He wasn’t the only one feeling the pinch or the weather. But he was the most vocal about being made a public charity case.
“His pride was on the line.”
“His children were hungry,” Maddie countered.
“She could have gone about it differently.”
“Be fair, Ace,” Caden interjected. “You know Laramie is about as stiff-necked an ass as there is. He’d rather see those kids starve to death than admit he needed help.”
“Well, that little mess of Petunia’s took a bit to clear up.” And he’d been the one who’d had to do it. He rubbed the knuckles of his right hand, experiencing again that satisfying moment when it’d connected with Laramie’s mouth. Petunia might be a pain in the ass but she wasn’t—as Laramie put it—a bitch.
“But now he’s your enemy and not hers,” Maddie said as if that were the way it should be.
“Oh, he’s her enemy, too. Make no mistake about that.”
“But he’ll have to go through you to get to her.”
“Shit, Ace, you might as well call Petunia Hell’s Eight and get it over with.”
“That will never happen.”
The look Caden shot him was almost as pitying as Maddie’s. “Uh-huh.”
Their knowing expressions were almost as annoying as Petunia’s tendency to gather enemies in her wake. The longer Petunia stayed in town, the more her problems were going to become his, because Caden was right, he couldn’t leave her to whomever. She might be a pain in the ass, but in an odd way she’d become his pain in the ass. That being the case, she needed to get on that stagecoach. For both their sakes.
Down the street at the church, people were beginning to meander free of their socializing. Petunia disappeared into the schoolhouse. “Somebody’s got to rein that woman in.”
“I vote for you.”
It was his turn to say, “Uh-huh.”
“It’s not like she’s going to be around much longer,” Maddie argued. “Just as soon as she gets the money for a coach ticket, she’s moving on.”
“She’s been saving for that ticket for a long time,” Caden interjected.
Yeah, she had. And she still wasn’t gone. Mighty suspicious that. “You sure she’s planning on moving on?”
Maddie suddenly became all business, straightening her apron and smoothing her hair. “Looks like customers are heading this way. Time to get busy.”
The back of Ace’s neck tingled. Maddie was not the fussing type. Especially when it came to business. She was up to something. He looked at Caden. Caden shrugged and looked at his wife.
“Out with it, Maddie.”
She sighed and dropped the pretense. “It’s not that Petunia doesn’t plan on leaving—”
Ace got that sinking feeling in his gut. “But?”
Maddie shrugged. “But there were things that she felt needed doing here first.”
“Things?” Ace asked. “What things?” What the hell had Petunia gotten herself into now?
“You remember Penelope?”
“Clyde Peyton’s widow?”
“Yes. She broke her leg.”
“Yeah, I remember. Doc set it. Said it healed fine.”
“She couldn’t work while it was broken.”
“And?” There was always an “and” with Petunia.
“She couldn’t feed her kids because Michael Orvis wouldn’t extend her credit at the mercantile.”
Ace sighed. “Don’t tell me.”
“Petunia used her savings to pay off what she could of the bill, so Mr. Orvis would give Penny more credit.”
“So you’re saying, she’s nowhere near the price of her ticket.”
Ace didn’t know if he was relieved or annoyed.
“You could just buy it for her,” Caden pointed out.
“If I thought I could get her to take it, I would.” That was a lie. He had a lust/hate relationship with Petunia’s presence in town. More lust than hate. More want than was sensible.
“So what are we going to do?” Maddie asked.
“Why do we have to do anything?” Ace asked. “Can’t we just let her suffer the consequences of her actions, for once?”
Maddie looked horrified at the very thought. “She has no idea of the potential repercussions. She’s used to Eastern ways.” She turned to Caden. “Do something.”
“Don’t put me in this,” Caden said.
Maddie glanced down the street where her Sunday customers were meandering their way. “Please?”
Caden rocked back in the chair as she hurried back into the bakery. The bell above the door jangled a protest. “You heard the little woman.”
Ace bit down hard on his back molars, reaching for patience. “I’m tired of cleaning up Petunia’s messes. I’m not her father. I’m not her brother. I’m not her husband.”
“But you want her,” Caden said, putting it right out there.
“There’s nothing about the woman to want. She wears her hair scraped back so tight her eyebrows meet her ears. And if her corset were laced any tighter, she’d die of suffocation.”
Caden laughed and waved to the folk approaching. “You ought to be grateful for that. More wind means more words.”
“I don’t need more words from that woman.”
“Yes, you do, just sweeter ones.”
“You could dump a bucket of sugar on that woman, and she wouldn’t be sweet enough.”
Maddie fussed with the tray of buns and called out, “I think the right man could sweeten her up.”
“Eavesdropping isn’t an attractive trait,” Ace snapped at her.
“But a useful one.”
Ace shook his head at Caden. “She isn’t even ashamed of it.”
“Why should she be?” Caden asked with a fond look at his wife. “It gets her what she wants to know.”
“You should be setting a better example.”
Caden snorted. “Since when have any of us worried about what others thought?”
Since never.
Maddie stopped sorting the rolls and looked straight at him. “In that case, Ace Parker, you could stop saving her and just start courting her.”
For the first time in a long time, Ace flinched. “I’m a gambler and a brawler.”
“You’re a good man with a good heart, but you run too much.”
He didn’t need Maddie weaving rainbows around the impossible. “Let it go, Maddie.”
“Letting it go doesn’t change the truth. You want her.” She came back to the porch, licking frosting off her fingers. “She wants you. You have many things in common, including a passion for doing the right thing. The only difference between you is she’s open about it.”
“Gambling is not the right thing.”
Maddie huffed. “Gambling bores you.”
“The hell it does.”
Caden touched Maddie’s shoulder. “Let it go, Maddie mine.”
She slammed her hands on her hips and jerked her chin at Ace. “So he can continue doing what he doesn’t like doing? So he can continue to be unhappy?”
“A man’s got a right to be unhappy if he wants to be.”
“But it’s silly when everything he wants is just an arm’s reach away. He’s just too afraid to grab it.”
The hell he was. Frustration and anger prodded. Frustration because customers were gathering, and he couldn’t say what he wanted. Anger because Maddie didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. The last thing any woman needed was for him to give in to the needs that drove him. Especially a prim and proper woman like Petunia. Just the thought of touching her the way she needed had his blood heating dangerously.
On a tight “I’ll see you later,” Ace turned on his heel and strode down the street, absently nodding in response to greetings, his mind consumed with the thought of pinning Petunia’s wrists to the bed, of kissing her so deeply her thoughts became transparent, her body pliant, her will his... He clenched his hands into fists, fighting back the desire. “Fuck.”
Behind him he heard Caden say, “That was too much, Maddie.”
And from Maddie, an uncharacteristic “I’m not sure it was enough.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_eaf25290-763d-5d12-96a1-ccbd729abb72)
THE SMALL ONE-ROOM schoolhouse was quiet in the minutes before the day started, but soon Petunia would walk out the sturdy wooden door and ring the bell, and the excitement would start. Twenty children from the ages of five to thirteen would push through the doorway, sit at their desks and look at her with expressions ranging from boredom to anticipation. Educating growing minds was a hard job, a taxing job and one Petunia loved. But as soon as she saved the money for her ticket, she was going to hop on the stage and continue on to San Francisco to take advantage of the newly wealthy’s desire to compete socially with East Coast established society. If she were careful, she could take that desire to “do them one better” and use it to open a school that would fund her dream to truly educate all.
Just thinking about leaving brought Ace to mind. And bringing Ace to mind just revived the familiar combination of ache and anger. Just who did that man think he was to take apart her way of life as if there was something wrong with it? He, who was in the middle of every fight, every scheme, every betting game that took place in this town.
And in the middle of every type of aid, too, the little voice of fairness inside whispered.
Damn it! Petunia erased the word she’d just misspelled on the chalkboard and started over. Just once she wanted to catch Ace doing something so wrong, so evil, that this irrational attraction she had for him would die an ignoble death. But every time she’d seen him fight, he’d been defending someone, and while she didn’t approve of gambling, he didn’t do it recklessly. He did drink more than she approved of, but when he was drunk, he never harmed anyone. He just got more quiet from what she could tell, more mysterious.
She sighed as she set the chalk down and dusted off her hands. The one thing she didn’t need was for Ace to become any more mysterious. He already had too much appeal for her.
As was her habit, she went behind her desk and set up her papers in the order of what her lesson was going to be for the day. She started simply and then worked up to the more complicated for the older students. She was going to be losing Analisa soon. Unfortunately, her mother wanted her home to help with her siblings and the work around their small farm. Analisa had a bright mind and a desire to learn. She’d asked Petunia for help, to convince her parents to let her stay in school. Unfortunately, no matter how much Petunia tried, she couldn’t convince her parents of the importance of continuing their daughter’s education. As long as Analisa could read, write and count, the adults in her life seemed satisfied.
Petunia shook her head and set her math book to the side. They just couldn’t see the brand-new world out there waiting for them and the possibilities that existed. They just wanted to stay in this little town, in this little world, in this little spot and ignore it all. She shook her head. She would never understand it.
Outside the door, she could hear the students playing in the small school yard. She always gave them this time. They seemed to have so little time to just enjoy being young.
Sighing, Petunia placed the creative writing instructional on the top of the second pile. She might only have these children’s minds for the period of time it took her to earn the money for her stage ticket. But in that time, she intended to plant the seeds of curiosity and just maybe, in one of them, that seed would grow, and they would see something of the world besides this tiny town. At least that was her hope.
From the yard came the regrettably familiar sound of a singsong chant. Frowning, she went back to the window. She wasn’t surprised to see a slight boy with shaggy hair and threadbare clothing cornered by a bigger boy. Every school yard had its victims and its bullies. And here the bully was Buster, and the victim was Terrance Winter, probably because he had the look of a child whose family didn’t care, and in a town this small, neglect was like throwing a red rag in a chicken pen. They all started pecking.
Petunia opened the heavy door in time to hear, “Fatty lip, fatty lip, Terry isn’t worth a shit.”
Gritting her teeth, she reached up and rang the bell. Hard. All sound stopped. One by one, the children trickled to line up in front of the short steps. All except Terry and his tormentor.
“Buster Hayworth,” she snapped. “Line up, please.”
A murmur rippled through the line of children. Some kids ooh’d, others giggled. Buster came reluctantly around the corner, the shock of blond hair on his forehead standing up straight as it always did, the expression on his face angelic. She’d learned on the first day when he stuck a frog in her desk drawer not to fall for the false sincerity in his big blue eyes.
“You’ll be staying after class tomorrow. I’d appreciate it if you informed your parents of that.”
“But, Miss Wayfield, I was only—”
She cut off the protest with a wave of her hand. “You were only trying to make someone else’s life miserable within my earshot, in my school. You know that’s not allowed.”
He opened his mouth. She cut him off again.
“I don’t want to hear it. You will inform your parents tonight that you will be staying after school tomorrow. No excuses.”
His eyes got bigger. “My dad will blister my butt.”
Something she felt needed to be done. “Well, then, maybe the double punishment will make you think the next time before you decide to be mean-spirited to one of your own.”
Buster scowled. “He’s not one of mine.”
“He’s a student in this class. That makes him part of your school family. You should be helping him, not hurting him. The world would be a better place if everyone did that.”
He looked at her askance, hands in his pockets. “You don’t know much about the world, do you, Miss Petunia?”
She looked back at him. “I know a lot about it. I just don’t accept that what is must always be.”
He shook his head, gave her one last wheedling smile. She pointed to the line unmoved. He went.
“Now, all of you sit down and get out your slates and start practicing your alphabet until I get there. You older kids help the younger ones, and Buster—” she stopped him at the door “—I want to see your letters improve. They were very sloppy last Friday.”
After the last child wandered in, Petunia sighed and went in search of Terrance.
She found him standing by the back steps, hands still in his pockets and his head still down. He was so young to have so much life beaten out of him. Petunia approached him slowly. Reaching the steps, she tucked her skirts under her and sat down so she wouldn’t tower over him. She’d always found it was easier to do that when she was dealing with children.
He still didn’t look at her. She was afraid she knew why. Putting her finger under his chin, she lifted his face and barely suppressed a gasp. His lower lip was split open and swollen, and his eye was black-and-blue. The bruise spread down his cheek and followed his jawline to his chin. The kind of mark only a man’s fist could make.
She didn’t need to ask who’d done this. But the severity of the beating... It was a wonder Terrance’s father hadn’t killed him.
She touched his cheek delicately. Why did it have to be her student most interested in learning whose world made it so impossible for him to succeed? “What happened?”
He shrugged. “You know.”
“Pretend I don’t. Tell me.”
“Pa got into a game last night.”
Standing, she took his hand and walked toward the well. “I take it he wasn’t successful.”
He shook his head. “No, he lost everything.”
She took a clean handkerchief out of her pocket when they reached the well, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Everything?”
“Everything.”
Petunia had never seen such hopelessness in a face of any age. Dipping her handkerchief into the bucket of cool water she’d drawn earlier, she pressed it to his eye. He winced and blinked at her with the other. His hazel eyes didn’t have the artifice of Buster’s, but they had the appeal of sincerity.
“I’m sorry, Terrance.”
He nodded and swallowed hard. “I might be leaving.”
Petunia was probably the only one who understood how devastating that revelation was to a boy more suited to scholar than farmer.
“But we haven’t even finished the story of Ulysses.”
It was a stupid thing to say.
He looked at her with a bit of hope. “Maybe you can tell it to me real fast.”
“Maybe.” She dipped the cloth again and applied it to his lip. Again the wince. “Or maybe we can just do something about the situation.”
Terrance shook his head. “Nothing to be done. Dad lost the mortgage money to that gambler, Ace.”
And had come home to take out his frustration on his son. “I see.”
“Everybody knows what’s Ace Parker’s stays Ace Parker’s.”
“Do you think he cheated?”
He looked horrified. “Ace? No.”
She did not understand how the boy could idolize the man who’d just taken everything from him.
His gaze slid from hers. “My pa might have, though. He was pretty beat up when he came in.”
Gambling room justice. Petunia shook her head. Only a man could understand it. It was nothing to put a family out on the street. But let a man cheat at cards, and all damnation broke loose.
“I see,” she said again. “Well, Terrance, I’m glad you came to school today.”
“I wanted to hear Ulysses.”
She’d begun reading them Ulysses Tales, a little bit at a time, changing the language so the kids could comprehend the greater message, making it fun and entertaining.
“I’m glad you came, even though it was hard, and you must be hurting.”
“I’ve had worse.”
Yes, he had but if she had her way, there wouldn’t be any more. Terrance was a prime example of why the type of boarding school she wanted to establish needed building. “And maybe after school today we can see if something can be done about your problem.”
He shook his head and stepped back. “Pa is who he is.”
Yes, he was. “But you love him.”
A boy should love his father. But more important, a man should be worthy of that love.
Ducking his head, Terrance shrugged his shoulders. “I used to. He didn’t used to always be this mad. Just since Ma’s been gone.”
She’d never been able to find out if Terrance’s mother had left or passed on.
“Sometimes life can be hard, but tomorrow can be much better.”
He didn’t even look at her on that one. She guessed she couldn’t blame him. For a child his age, life had to seem pretty darn impossible. Wringing out the handkerchief, she came to a decision.
“I’ll tell you what, Terrance. I can’t make any promises, but after school today, I’ll go talk to Mr. Parker.”
Hope sprang into Terrance’s eyes. She felt a pang at feeding it to him. To him, the schoolteacher was all powerful. And at the end of the day, she was going to have to be. Or learn to live with the guilt.
“You will? Thank you.”
She shook her head at him. “It’s not going to be that easy. As you said, Ace Parker isn’t one for letting things go.”
“But neither are you.”
He had a point there.
“You’re right, and I’m going to do my best to see if we can come up with some compromise that will fix your problem. All right?”
He nodded.
“Now do you want to go inside and practice your letters with everybody else, or do you want to be excused for the day?”
He grabbed up his books and headed to the door. She guessed that was an answer. She followed more slowly. For an eight-year-old boy, Terrance had a serious dedication to learning that if she had her way, would not be snuffed out. Not by his father, not by life and certainly not by a gambler with a possessive streak. Ace didn’t need the strip of land Terrance’s father pretended to farm. But Terrance did. Which meant just one thing. Ace was going to have to give it up.
* * *
PETUNIA STOOD OUTSIDE the saloon and straightened the dark blue jacket of her most favorite suit, wishing the day wasn’t so unseasonably hot. Wishing she could just look the other way like so many people did. Wishing there was a way to keep her promise to Terrance without actually having to speak to Ace. Wishing she’d been able to run into him somewhere in town today rather than having to track him down in his lair. She stared at the saloon doors and bit her lip.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
The only other time she’d been in a saloon had been in the company of several suffragettes, and even that protest had been timed to occur during the hours of nonoperation. And it’d ended with her spending twenty minutes in jail before her father had fetched her out.
Truth be told, she’d been rather disappointed with the “grand adventure.” Outside of one picture featuring a scantily clad woman, the saloon had been bland and smelly and not at all the gaudily exciting place she’d expected to see. This building was probably the same. Bland and smelly and sparsely populated with the same people she saw on the street every day. So why was she standing here hesitating?
A movement down the street caught her attention. Terrance. He stood on the sidewalk watching her, hands clenched at his sides. His posture set to run. Clearly, he expected her to chicken out.
Well, he had another think coming. She was a Wayfield. The family motto, longer than most, spoke to noble attributes. But quitting wasn’t one of them. With a lift of her chin and small wave to Terrance, she stepped through the swinging doors.
Her initial thought as the gloom of the place surrounded her was this wasn’t so bad. On her first breath, she started to change her mind. The stench of stale sweat and sour beer hung thick in the still air. By the time her eyes adjusted in the dim light, she was ready to back right out. This was not her world. There was no optimism here. Just apathy reflected in the way a blonde woman dressed in a loosely tied wrapper sat at the long bar and picked at a plate of food. The thud of slamming wood made her jump.
“You lost, ma’am?”
She turned to the barkeep. She couldn’t remember his name, but she’d seen him around town. He had a rather distinctive appearance with that greased back black hair and large waxed mustache.
“No.”
“Maybe she’s looking for a job,” the woman at the bar said. “A person can’t hold body and soul together on what this town pays a schoolmarm.”
The woman was attractive in a blowsy sort of way, but not welcoming. Petunia straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch.
“I’m not looking for a job.”
The woman met her gaze squarely, and took a bite of egg. “A bit of excitement, then?”
Petunia took another step into the room. A drunk she hadn’t noticed at the table to the left eyed her from hat to boot.
“I’d take a turn on her.”
She arched her brow at him. “You would do better to lay off the drink and indulge in a bath, rather than to speculate on a fornication that I doubt you’d be able to perform anyway.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he said looking at her askance, or maybe he was just trying to focus.
The woman at the bar laughed and sat up straighter. The wrapper slipped open exposing an amazing amount of white flesh. “I think you’ve just been accused of not being able to get it up, Jimmy.”
Jimmy huffed. “Hell, there hasn’t been a day since I’ve been born that I haven’t been able to get it up. Hell, I’ll prove it.” He stood up, knocking the table back and shoved his suspenders off his shoulders. When he reached for his belt Petunia decided it was time for her to take charge before the man bared all in an effort to prove something she couldn’t care less about. But just to be safe, she stepped out of his reach.
“I do apologize for interrupting your afternoon, but I’m looking for Ace Parker.”
“Hey, Acey!” A woman leaning over the railing at the top of the stairs screeched. “You’ve got company waiting downstairs.”
The woman looked as tired and as worn as the blonde woman at the bar. But her lung capacity assured Petunia that Ace knew he had a guest. Folding her hands in front of her, she waited. Patiently. For three minutes. But the longer she stood there feeling everyone’s eyes upon her, the more she became excruciatingly aware of the tendrils of hair she tucked behind her ear trying to come loose, the tightness of her bun, the difficulty of keeping a smile on her face and the utter lack of response on Ace’s part.
The blonde at the bar waved a forkful of egg at her. “Doesn’t look like he’s coming.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Does he often ignore company?”
The bartender kept wiping glasses. The blonde popped the bite of egg into her mouth.
“Ace pretty much does what he likes, and it doesn’t look like he wants to do you.”
The edges of Petunia’s temper started to fray right along with her patience.
The drunk from the table by the door shuffled over. Thankfully, he still had his pants on. “I can keep you busy, honey.”
She put her gloved hand over her mouth and nose as he got closer. He reeked of alcohol and other things she didn’t care to identify.
“Could you please call him again?” she asked the lady at the top of the stairs.
“Ace! The lady doesn’t fancy cooling her heels waiting for you any longer.”
Still no response. The woman leaned over the rail, her breasts all but spilling free as she shrugged. “Sorry, honey, doesn’t look like it’s your lucky day.”
“No, it’s definitely not.” Sighing, she gathered up her skirts. “But sometimes you just have to make your own luck.”
When her foot landed on the first stair, the woman at the bar gasped.
“Honey, you don’t want to be doing that.”
Petunia spared her a glance. “No, I’m sure I don’t.” But she kept climbing.
“Ace, you’d better get out here,” the woman at the railing yelled when she reached the halfway point. Whether it was repetition that inspired it or that half octave increase in the woman’s pitch, this time there was a response.
“Stop your caterwauling, Bess. I’m not expecting anyone.”
Petunia reached the landing. Bess blocked her way. This close Petunia could see she was older than she’d thought, maybe in her midthirties, but still pretty in an overdone sort of way.
“Excuse me, please.” The please was a courtesy. One way or another, she was getting down that hall.
Instead of moving, Bess caught her arm. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s not worth your reputation. If you don’t leave now, no decent man will touch you.”
The genuine concern in the woman’s gaze kept Petunia from rolling her eyes. “I’m twenty-nine years old and well and clearly on the shelf. If a decent man was going to touch me, he likely would have done it sometime in the previous thirteen years.”
Bess took her measure, sighed and shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Stepping around Bess, she nodded. “Oh, I know what I’m doing.” To herself she muttered, “It’s the results that are in question.”
Bess caught her arm again, drawing her up short. “He’s had a lot to drink.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Honestly? It could go either way.”
Petunia set her shoulders. “Well, if it can go either way, then it might just as well go mine.”
The woman sighed. “It’s the third door down.”
“Thank you.”
Determination kept her feet moving. When she reached Ace’s room, the door was ajar. She knocked.
“Go the hell away, Bess.”
Petunia pushed the door open. Ace was lying on his stomach on the bed in a decadent sprawl, his muscled back, broad shoulders, and lean hips and strong legs were dark against the white sheets.
“I’m not Bess but if I were, I’d take offense at the language you just used.”
Ace went very still. His fingers tightened on the pillow. On a “What the fuck?” he rolled over, grabbing the sheet and pulling it over his lap. His front was just as mouthwatering as his back. The light sprinkling of hair across his chest made her fingers tingle to follow it down over that hard ladder of muscle across his stomach. To follow it beneath the sheet to see where it ended...
“I repeat. Language.”
“I’ll talk any way I want.” He shook the hair out of his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“You can’t be up here.”
She rather enjoyed his discomfort. “Apparently, I can.”
“Turn around.”
She did, listening as he got out of bed and yanked on his pants. “Of all the idiotic things you’ve done, Pet.”
“My name is Petunia, and to you, Miss Wayfield.”
“Since you’re standing in my room, on the upper floor of a saloon, in what technically is a brothel, I’ll call you any goddamn thing I want.”
“I’d appreciate it if you cleaned up your language.”
“I’d have appreciated it if you’d let me sleep.”
“May I turn around now?”
“Yes.”
She was disappointed to see him shrugging into his shirt.
“We have business to discuss.”
“We have business? The most we’ve ever exchanged is a few insults over a cinnamon bun. And I didn’t even buy you that.”
“Nonetheless, we do.”
He finished buttoning his shirt. “You need to get the hell out of here.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Grabbing his hat, Ace crossed the room and grabbed her elbow. Her pulse leaped. Tingles raced up her arm and over her shoulder, sending goose bumps across her chest. Beneath her jacket, her nipples tightened. What was it about this man that affected her so?
“I’ll thank you to let me go.”
He pushed her toward the door. “I’ll thank you to get the hell out of my room.”
“I did try to speak to you down in the lobby.”
“That’s not a lobby, it’s a saloon.” He shoved her through the door. “Do you know what you’ve done to your reputation?”
“You realize I don’t care?” The dryness of her tone got her a look. “I am, as you pointed out, completely on the shelf.”
“I don’t realize anything except a reputation is a hard thing to replace.”
“I have no intention of rebuilding it. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’re in a brothel.”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
“It’s a brothel!” He shoved her down the hallway. Bess was standing where Petunia had left her. Ace shot her a glare. “What the hell were you thinking, Bess? Letting her up here.”
“What did you expect me to do?” Bess snapped back.
“Trip her and knock her down, throw a punch.”
“She wasn’t looking for me.”
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Fucking women.”
Petunia wanted to shout back “Fucking men” but no matter how liberated she was, she hadn’t gotten to the point where she could say words like that.
Ace hustled her down the stairs. Her skirt caught on her heel, tripping her. He hauled her up. “Keep moving.”
“It would be easier if you slowed down.”
“I’m getting you the hell out of here before somebody sees you with me and starts thinking we need to get married.”
“I have no intention of getting married.”
He grunted. “Probably a lot of men grateful for that fact.”
She planted her feet. “Did you just insult me?”
He yanked her forward. “I haven’t begun yet.”
“Should have taken me, honey.” Jimmy lurched toward them. “Seems like he’s not in any too hurry to have you.”
Ace swore. Petunia looked over her shoulder at the drunk and smiled sweetly. “I insisted on clean sheets.”
He hauled her along to the back of the saloon. “I hope nobody saw you come in here.”
“I imagine everyone on the street watched me come in here.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I don’t know what you’re worried about. Even if they march you down the aisle with a shotgun at your back, I’ll never say I do.”
This time he was the one to jerk them to a halt. “Why the hell not?”
“Because my standards for a husband are a bit higher.”
Pushing her through the back door and into the alley, he snarled. “I bet.”
Letting go of her arm, he faced her. He was still standing too close for Petunia to catch a decent breath. And with his shirt flapping open like that, he was still too much temptation for her mind to focus the way she needed it to. She wanted to run her fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest to see if it was soft or wiry. She also had an incredible urge to bite his right pectoral. To leave her mark on him.
Clenching her fists at her sides, Petunia reached for focus. It stayed just out of reach. The circular scar just to the left of Ace’s breastbone was far more tempting. She wondered how he’d gotten it. She wondered how it’d feel. Were the edges soft or rough? Was his skin warm to the touch or cool? How would he taste?
With a growled curse, Ace yanked his shirt closed. “So what was so important that you had to come storming into my bedroom?”
“I did not storm.”
He sighed. “I’ll rephrase. What was so important you had to wake me from a good sleep and put us both in peril of a shotgun wedding?”
She wanted to stomp her foot. “Will you stop harping on a wedding?”
The muscles in his jaws bunched. His tone when he spoke was more even. “What was so damn important?”
“You were at a card game last night with the father of one of my students.”
“I was in a game last night with a lot of fathers of a lot of kids.”
“Terrance’s father is Brian Winter.”
“Ah, that one.”
“What does ah mean?”
“He drinks too much, has too many tales and bets more than he can afford.”
“That’s why I’m here. I want you to give him back what you won.”
He blinked. “You want me to do what?”
“I want you to give him back what you won.”
“Why in hell would I do that?”
“Because he lost more than he can afford to.”
“Not my problem.”
“He took out his frustration on his son. And without a home the Winters will have to leave...”
Ace’s expression didn’t change.
“Terrance is a good student with an inquisitive mind. He deserves a chance to grow up to be a man who can use that mind.”
“Nobody ever said life was fair.”
Now she wanted to growl. “Life might not be fair, but people can be.”
“And you think it’s fair to ask me to give back my winnings?”
“Yes.”
“You do realize this is how I make the majority of my living?”
“Yes, I realize you make money this way, a lot of it. Enough that you can afford to give him back his.”
Ace leaned back against the building and folded his arms across his chest. It was a position that spoke of confidence and power. Her knees went weak.
“What’s in it for me?”
“The knowledge that you bought a little boy some time.”
“You think because I give this money back, Brian won’t go back to that table again?”
“Giving the money back isn’t enough.”
“Not enough?”
She shook her head. “You can’t gamble with him anymore.”
Another of those slow blinks. “I can’t?”
“No.”
“Honey, I’m a grown man and so is he, and your nose, cute as it is, is sticking where it doesn’t belong.”
That was too much. Very calmly, very precisely she said, “This morning, Terrance, my student, came into my classroom with a black eye and a split lip asking for my help because he’s being put out of his home. That being the case, I’m here to appeal to whatever shred of decency that still exists in your body to give that horrible man back his money so that little boy will have a home tomorrow.”
Ace pushed his hat back and rubbed his forehead. In the late-afternoon light, she could see the paleness of his skin, the tightness of his expression. He was hungover.
He sighed. “That’s a hell of a lot of words to throw at a man before coffee.”
She looked at him. “I’ve got more.”
“Save them.”
“Then just say you’ll do it, and I’ll let you go get your cup of coffee.”
“That’s a fool’s mission.”
“You’re Hell’s Eight and a Texas Ranger. There has to be honor in you somewhere.”
“That’s a common myth.” Taking off his hat, he ran his hand through his hair again before asking, “He beat the boy?”
“He beats Terrance every time you take his money.”
His hands dropped to his sides. “I don’t take his money. He loses it.”
“That’s splitting hairs.”
“Not in my book.”
“Fine, I’ll rephrase. Every time he loses at your table, he takes it out on his son. His eight-year-old son,” she added for emphasis.
“Fuck.”
She really needed to learn to use that word. It conveyed so much with so little. “I’ll thank you not to use that language around me.”
This time the look she got wasn’t so sympathetic. She didn’t push, just waited. After a minute he said, “I’ll do it on one condition.”
She knew better than to say “anything.” “What’s your condition?”
“I want a kiss.”
“A kiss?”
Pushing off the wall, he took a step closer. She took one back.
“Just a kiss.”
The wall brushed her shoulder. She melted against it, her gaze hopelessly dropping to his lips. Just.
The word with all its implications lingered in her mind. Just the feel of his breath on her skin. Just the touch of his lips to hers. Just that slight pressure. That gentle parting. Just that hot claiming...
Ace reached out, and she flinched. He smiled, a devil’s smile that promised so much as his finger grazed her temple in a featherlight caress. In a rough drawl, he murmured, “Don’t.”
Such a soft, seductive order. A shiver snaked down her spine. When she would have leaned away, he shook his head and issued another. “Stay.”
She did for no other reason than he was the one who issued it. He increased the pressure ever so slightly—just enough—drawing his fingertips down her cheek and along her jaw, finding the sensitive skin of her neck. She gasped as sensation gathered. Goose bumps sprang up. His nostrils flared. She didn’t move and, for an instant, neither did he. They just stood there in the alley with the warmth of the sun heating the air between them. “What do you say, schoolmarm? Do we have a deal?”
“I think you want a lot.”
He shrugged. “You’re asking a lot.”
Placing her hand on his chest, savoring the flex of hard muscles and the soft hiss of his indrawn breath, Petunia stood on tiptoe, intending to kiss his cheek. He shook his head and smiled, and that finger, that oh, so tantalizing finger, traveled to the corner of her lip, teasing the delicate skin there, coaxing forth another airy gasp and more goose bumps.
“I want a real kiss.”
The raspy tone melted into the heat of his touch, melted into her. Her gaze dropped to the sculpted beauty of his mouth. That mouth with those full lips she’d always fantasized about sliding over hers, parting hers. Oh, yes, a real kiss... She wanted that, too.
With a subtle pressure, he tipped her face up. She didn’t resist. Why would she?
“Like you mean it,” he added.
That jerked her gaze to his, and she caught something in his expression that challenged everything feminine in her. Doubt. He didn’t think she’d do it, she realized. He probably thought she was too prim, too proper, too much on the shelf to kiss a man. He probably assumed she didn’t even know how. He probably thought he was scaring her. With a shake of her head, she leaned back and smiled.
He had another think coming. Ace Parker was one heck of an inspiration.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_91860577-b16b-51c0-b058-c339ed8e2748)
HE WAS TOO old and too experienced to shudder at the touch of a woman’s hand, any woman’s hand, but when Petunia’s settled as light as thistledown against his chest, Ace did just that. Desire started deep in his gut and climbed upward right along with her fingers, rolling like thunder through his resistance, making a mockery of the dare he’d laid before them. This wasn’t a game. This was real. And he didn’t want it. Not the desire. Not the weakness. Not her.
But it didn’t matter what he didn’t want as her skirts swished about his ankles, and her weight leaned against him in sweet enticement. He wanted her, had since the first moment he’d seen her step off the stagecoach two months ago, self-contained, graceful, elegant. A lady. The one thing he could never have.
“You’re going to have to bend down.”
The soft whisper joined the thunder, adding to the volume. Her hands slid up his chest, tucking behind his neck. Lightning flashed on the edges of his control. She tugged. He didn’t go. That wasn’t who he was, how he’d allow it to be between them.
Sliding his hand down the delicate line of her back, he demanded, “Why?”
He wanted it put into words, to hear it from her lips. She blinked up at him, confusion and desire deepening the blue of her eyes. “For that kiss you wanted.”
Who did she think she was kidding? This wasn’t about any goddamn deal. This was about the attraction that neither of them wanted. This was about them. As natural as his next breath one hand settled into the hollow of her back. The other, her shoulder. She was tall. She fit his embrace as if she were made for it. Fit his hands as if she were made for them. His voice rasped from his throat, more growl than seduction. “Ask me nicely.”
He felt the tremor that shook her head to toe, but it wasn’t fear that had her pupils dilating and her tongue sliding over her lower lip in soft pink enticement. His cock thickened painfully within the restriction of his pants.
“Please...” She cleared her throat. He adjusted his stance. “Please, lean down.”
Knives couldn’t cut more cleanly than that simple compliance. The barrier he kept between them tore free in the aftermath. His fingers slipped down her arm, chaining the delicacy of her wrist between his fingers while he urged her closer. The soft plea whispered like a siren’s song in his head, bringing forth the side of him he kept hidden. She watched him carefully as he brought her hand down between them. He liked her eyes on him. Her world narrowed to him. Her other hand naturally followed the first.
“That’s it,” he whispered as her fingers spread over his heart. “Feel me. Feel what I want.”
“A kiss.”
“Yes.” Yes, he wanted a kiss. A kiss was a beginning to so much more.
A kiss could be everything. He leaned down, but not so far she didn’t have to stretch that delectable body up the length of his. Her hands against his chest kept him from feeling the fullness of her breasts, but he could imagine how they’d feel in his hands, hard-tipped and delicate just like her. Her hand slipped down into his. Curling his fingers around hers, he pressed it to his chest, struggling with the want to press her closer, the utter need to drag her hands overhead, to pin her with his hands and body, to kiss her until the walls she’d built so well came tumbling down, and there was just him and her and the truth between them. Until she gave him what he needed.
Surrender.
Ace gritted his teeth, loosening his grip, controlling the wild impulse, forcing himself back to even breaths, to what was.
Pet was a good woman, not a whore. She was going to kiss him to pay a debt that wasn’t even hers because she thought it was the only way to save a boy. Fuck. He was a bastard. He took a step back. She went with him, following as naturally as he could desire. His good intentions took a hit. Before he could regroup, her lips touched his, and that fast, all thoughts of right or wrong drowned under a wave of lust so strong, it stole his breath. Her lips parted, catching it, linking them in a moment fraught with danger. With promise.
Why? he asked silently. Why this woman? Why now?
The answer came in her soft moan as her lips nibbled at his. Because she wanted him. And lust didn’t need any more explanation than the proximity of two compatible bodies. Or so he told himself as her lips moved gently against his, untutored but determined, always so determined, this woman. Tilting her lance against the windmills, needing to make a difference, too naive to realize that no matter what she did, nothing ever really changed. Except this. This kiss changed everything. And she didn’t even know what she was inviting.
It was a fleeting pressure, surprisingly soft, surprisingly sweet. A kiss just like he’d asked for. But not what he wanted. And damn, if this was all he was ever going to have, he was going to have it the way he wanted. Cupping Pet’s skull in his hand, Ace forestalled her escape with the slight pressure of his fingers against the back of her neck. He expected struggle, but she didn’t move, just stood there looking expectantly at him. Her eyes were heavy lidded and ripe with the question within. The perfect picture of a woman enthralled. Everything inside him perked. It was a struggle to find his voice.
“The deal was a real kiss, a kiss like you meant it.”
She blinked. “That’s how I kiss when I mean it.”
She couldn’t be that green. Not at her age with her bold manner. “No one kisses like that when they mean it.”
She blinked at him again, and he realized that maybe she really was that naive. Maybe that pressure-on-pressure kiss was, to her, boldness itself. If that was the case, it was a damn shame. Pet was a woman of passion, and no woman of passion should go through life thinking that casual contact constituted lust, certainly not any woman that kissed him. If Pet was going to walk away from him today and tell someone tomorrow that she got Ace Parker to do what she wanted by kissing him, it was going to be a goddamn kiss that both of them remembered fondly.
“I’ve seen your serious, my Pet, and that wasn’t it.”
“My name is Petunia.”
How the hell she managed to stick that aristocratic nose in the air while in his embrace, he had no idea, but she managed it. It ticked him off more than her My name is Peturnia, and to you, Miss Wayfield amused him.
“I prefer Pet.”
Licking her lips, she stepped to the side, away from the wall. “You make me sound like a dog.”
“Oh, you’re much more valuable than a dog.”
Her “Gee, thanks” made him smile. As did the little wiggle she did for freedom. He let her smooth her skirts and tug on that tight jacket that made the most of her curves before spreading his fingers across her nape and tickling the sensitive skin. She shivered. He did it again. No shiver this time, but the sharp intake of breath was even more satisfying. It said she was still aware of him.
He took a step forward, and she took a step back in a now-familiar dance. He turned slightly, angling in with his body so that the wall was behind her again. The image of her standing there, arms pinned above her head, helpless in his arms while he ravished her mouth, wouldn’t leave his mind.
Once again her hand pressed against his chest. But this time in denial. Raising an eyebrow at her, he pointed out the obvious.
“If you want me to give up my winnings to a man who doesn’t deserve it, I’m going to want more than that quick peck.”
“You’re not giving it up for a man. You’re giving it up for a boy.”
“It’s a hell of a lot of money. You’re a fool if you think I’m giving it back for a kiss my grandmother might give me.”
Her nails bit slightly through the fabric of his shirt in irritation. His cock throbbed. He wanted her.
“I’m not a fool,” she growled.
No, she wasn’t. She was just doing what she could because she didn’t think anybody else cared, and maybe they didn’t. It was easy to forget about the people that lived on the edge, he knew. He’d been forgotten about most of his life. But the one thing good about living on edges is that it made a body tough.
“Did you ever think that growing up as he is might work for Terrance as an adult?”
The shake of her head was immediate. “He’s a scholar not a fighter.”
“You said he was eight.”
“Some things you can just tell.”
Ace sighed. “And you want to save him.”
She didn’t even try to deny it. “He’s a bright child, too bright for such a future.”
A do-gooder to the core. “You can’t control everything.”
“No, but I can give him this chance.”
He backed her up another step, controlling her movement with his body and his fingers on the back of her neck. And she went, as soft and as sweet as if she knew what he needed. He tucked the information away, even though he knew he shouldn’t. This was one woman with whom he couldn’t play his games, a good woman. Too good for him, which was why he had no business taking that last step that brought her back up against the wall. But he took it anyway.
“What are you doing?”
He smiled at the question. “Taking my kiss.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. “Trust me, you don’t want to say it.”
“You don’t even know what it is!”
He liked the fire indignation put in her eyes. He liked to bring the fire out in her. Liked to know he could make her burn when others only left her cold.
Pressing his lips against her forehead, he said quietly, “I know. Now, come here.”
She did. Spreading his legs so she was trapped between them, he leaned down until his chest pressed against hers, and he could feel the tips of her breasts poking into his shirt. Those nipples could have been hard because the air was cooling, or they could be hard because she found him as attractive as he found her. Ace leaned in a little farther, testing his resolve, teasing his desire. She didn’t back up, couldn’t back up, and that only tempted him more. She was imprisoned between his body and the wall, helpless, and that little catch in her breath as he bent his head, his shadow blocking the sun from her eyes, just brought all of his lust to the fore. His cock hardened to the point of pain; his heart picked up its beat.
When his mouth was a hair’s breadth from hers, he murmured, “This time kiss me like you know what you’re doing.”
He wasn’t at all surprised with the immediate “I know how to kiss.” His Pet was a fighter. Smiling into her eyes, he gave her something to hold on to.
“Prove it.”
* * *
DEAR HEAVENS, HE wanted her to prove it. Staring up into Ace’s light blue eyes, searching for sanity, Petunia only found more temptation than an on-the-shelf woman should be forced to confront. Honest to goodness curl-her-toes and burn-her-reputation-in-perdition temptation. And it was harder to resist than any sermon preached. Because it felt so good. Surrounded by Ace’s arms, his scent, his heat, she found it amazingly easy to imagine succumbing to her baser instincts, to wallow in the sheer pleasure of his weight against her, to tempt him the way Eve had tempted Adam. Except she wanted to offer Ace so much more than an apple. And she wanted him to take it. All of it. Everything she could give. The fact that he would wasn’t the scary thing it should have been.
She was sure she wasn’t the first woman that Ace had wanted. His conquests littered the town. But he might just be the only man who’d ever truly wanted her. Not to prove a point. Not to gain access to her family’s power or money, but because she was a woman he found attractive. Her fingers curled into his chest. The immediate hitch in his breathing padded her confidence. Inside, she started smiling. He really did want her.
Prove it.
For the skip of a heartbeat, she didn’t know if she could. She was a spinster. A suffragette. A scholar. What did she know of kissing the socks off a man? As if sensing her panic—which was silly since she hadn’t given any outward sign of her distress—Ace nudged her thigh with his knee.
“Want me to bend down?”
His voice, deeper than normal, rasped like velvet over her senses. And she wanted more. Tempting Ace Parker was madness, it was foolishness, it was reckless, but she’d already given herself an excuse. She’d made a deal, and no Wayfield ever reneged on a deal. And all she had to do to hold up her end was to kiss him like she meant it, and suddenly that didn’t seem so very hard. There was so much she could imagine doing with this man. He might be a reprobate, he might be a gambler, but he was the only man in her recollection who could make her feel like a schoolgirl and forget her morally correct upbringing. He was, quite frankly, her one chance to feel what other women felt so easily. To give what other women found so easy to give. To be who she always thought she could be.
That did not mean, however, that she was ready to just roll over. When he tried to pull closer, she shook her head. She shouldn’t have found the cock of his eyebrow endearing, but she did.
“What?”
“We had a deal. This is my kiss.”
His fingers relaxed infinitesimally on her neck. Highlighting just how subtle his control had been. “So it is.”
She fitted her mouth to his, rubbing gently until she found that perfect spot that sent tingles shooting inward, wishing she knew more than she did, wanting to make this a kiss he remembered, wanting against reason to be memorable.
Again that soothing touch on her neck. His mouth opened against hers, guiding her, she realized.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Ace took her gratitude and upped it with the lightest touch of his tongue. Those tingles burst into streaks of lightning. She returned the caress, and he moaned. She did it again, and again, experimenting with going deeper, wider, turning her head so her tongue could touch his. It wasn’t enough.
“More,” he whispered, slipping his thigh between hers.
Yes, she wanted more. She’d noticed Ace the first day she’d walked into town, and he’d made sure she could never give up that infatuation, teasing and taunting her, irritating her with his very existence. And now it was her turn to tease him. His lips were full, fuller than she expected, softer than she expected but so good. Giving in to the wildness throbbing inside, she nibbled and bit at his mouth, demanding something he needed to give.
He groaned deep in his throat. She stood higher on her toes, pulling him down, dragging herself up, rubbing her breasts against his chest, trying to get closer, but she couldn’t. There was no way she could get close enough. The kiss was good, but it wasn’t good enough, and she didn’t know what to do. She dug her nails into the back of his neck in silent demand. Again she got that look that asked for the words. She blushed at the thought. But what choice did she have? This was her one chance, and she wasn’t done with it yet.
She had to struggle to find her voice and when she did, it was a breathy thread of sound that took the command out of her order. “Fix it.”
He didn’t seem to have the same trouble. His voice was deep and even and seductive in its calm. “You know our deal.”
This time it was her turn to growl but not with passion. “Not that.” Nipping his lip, she snapped, “This.”
Catching her chin in his hand, he held her still, his mouth just inches from hers. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away. God, she wanted him.
“Do you want my mouth, Pet?”
She nodded.
With a little jiggle of her chin, he snapped her gaze to his. “Not good enough. Do you want my mouth?”
Why did he have to be so demanding?
She nodded again, hoping it would suffice, not willing to give him everything, not understanding how he could resist the fire she could feel burning just beyond her reach. She could only imagine how good it would feel while he had to know.
His fingers rubbed against her nape; his thumb crept over her cheek, catching the corner of her mouth, pressing gently, forcing her lips to part naturally around it. She touched it with her tongue. His pupils dilated and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t give ground.
“If you want it, my Pet, you’re going to have to ask for it.”
“Kiss me.”
She’d thought he’d kiss her then, but though his eyes narrowed, all he did was hold her still and give another order, “Ask nicely.”
She wanted to stomp his toe. “Just kiss me.”
A tap on her cheek made her look up again. There was desire in the hard lines of his face and the softness of his mouth, but in his eyes...in his eyes was the will of a man who expected to be obeyed. A shiver she didn’t understand went down her spine. Between her legs, moisture gathered.
“Say it right,” he ordered.
He wanted her to beg. She wasn’t a begging woman, but the word slipped past her control, filling the silence between them with an import she didn’t understand. “Please.”
It was enough. With a curse that sounded like the sweetest music to her impatient ear, he stepped in, his hands sliding down her back, pulling her into his body, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, breast to chest, mouth-to-mouth. Oh, God, mouth-to-mouth. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer still. Another growl, and his mouth smoothed across hers. Against her groin, his erection pressed. Thick, hard and foreign. A shock at first followed by a soothing burst of pleasure. She had the urge to spread her thighs, to grind against him, but she couldn’t move, and even that was good. So good, and she was so hungry. The hot, wet touch of his tongue along the seam of her lips had her jumping again.
“Open.”
This order growled against her mouth didn’t annoy her at all. She opened, willingly, eagerly, joyfully, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears, it blocked out the world, and there was only him. Ace took advantage of her surrender, full, wonderful, glorious advantage, claiming her mouth in a single thrust of his tongue. She opened wider; he teased further. His breath became hers; his moan hers and hers his, she realized. It was a blending; it was a mating; it was a... She couldn’t find the word but the feeling. Oh, the feeling! It surged forward out of the most primitive part of her in an exultant burst of joy. Free at last; she was free. And just in that moment when she would have given that moment a name, Ace fisted his hand on her bun and pulled her mouth from his, leaving her aching as he stepped back.
For a second, Petunia couldn’t comprehend what had happened. The only things that kept her from tumbling were the wall at her back and his hand on her arm. She felt bereft and abandoned. Lost.
“You’ve got your deal.”
A slap to the face couldn’t have been more shocking than his withdrawal. The afternoon sun had sunk behind the buildings, and she felt the chill of the shadows sink into her bones, even as he took that second step away. For him, it had been nothing more than a kiss, probably one of thousands, but for her it had been a moment that shook her world in ways that was going to take days to figure out. She licked her lips, tasting him. Her breasts felt swollen and tender, and when she looked down, her nipples were evident through her clothes. She brought her hands up, only realizing the mistake of that when he laughed.
Jerking out of his grip, she felt her bun give and her hair fall around her shoulders. Petunia didn’t need to look into Ace’s face to know he’d only been amusing himself. He was who he was, and she was a fool.
“Bastard.”
He had the gall to smile. “I assure you, my parents were married.”
She hated that he could be so reasonable when she was fumbling just to get her tongue around words.
“Our bargain’s done?” she asked, yanking her jacket down and untangling her reticule from her wrist, pretending that her nipples weren’t still tingling, that her breath still wasn’t raspy, that her voice wasn’t a shadow of its former conviction.
Ace picked his hat up off the doorknob and settled it on his head as he nodded, studying her in a way that made her want to... She didn’t know what it made her want to do but whatever it was, it wasn’t what she was used to, and she didn’t want to explore it while he watched.
“You’ll give back the money?”
“I’ll handle it.”
She reached behind her for the door. She wanted away. He stopped her before she got her hand on the knob.
“Not that way.”
Her first instinct was to tell him to go to hell. Her second was to swear. He was right. She couldn’t go through the saloon. She didn’t want to go down the alley, either, but she didn’t have much of a option. He took her arm as she hesitated.
“You go that way, you won’t get home before dark.”
That was the truth. This late the streets started to get wild, and schoolmarm or not, a woman alone was easy prey for the miners and cowhands who flooded the town when they got a bit of gold dust in their pocket.
“Come.”
“Does everything you say have to come out an order?”
“Yes.”
Twisting her hair back up into a bun as she skipped to keep up, she muttered, “I don’t like it.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
She didn’t think so.
He steered her down the alley to two buildings over and opened a door. It was the mercantile; she should have thought of that herself.
He said, “Go through here.”
Part of her hoped there was some gallantry trapped somewhere inside him because he didn’t leave her to find her own way home, but more of her wanted to believe he was a reprobate that she could dismiss as a mistake. Her “Thank you” came out choked. His “You’re welcome” was just as tight.
That tightness in his voice could be because the moment had affected him just as much as it had her, but she didn’t fool herself into believing it was the truth. She might be an old maid who didn’t get kissed often, but if the stories were to be believed, he was a man who spent a lot of his time in other women’s beds. And what he did there was something that was whispered about and speculated on, but she never understood why his bed sport created so many blushes and twitters among the loose women of town until now. The man was a warlock. She wasn’t going to be just another conquest to him.
“Thank you for the kiss.”
His eyebrow rose. She smiled, not giving him any option but to respond in kind.
“You’re welcome.”
It was time to go. She didn’t want to. Hugging her arms to her chest, she asked one last time, more to delay rather than because she doubted his word. Ace was many things, but she’d never heard he wasn’t a man of his word.
With her hand on the doorknob she asked, “You’ll give Brian back his money?”
She couldn’t see his eyes between the shadows of his hat and the creeping of dusk, but there was no mistaking the promise in his voice.
He tipped his hat. “I’ll handle it.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_0e8b87df-eaec-5dc4-8d36-b6ec04de0e6b)
THE NEXT MORNING, Ace ate breakfast, ignored the shocked looks from the women not used to seeing him up before 3:00 p.m., settled his hat on his head and walked out of the saloon. Before the doors stopped swinging behind him, his best friend and fellow ranger, Luke Bellen, pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him, his dark gray duster flapping around his legs. He’d clearly been waiting for him.
“Morning.”
Ace looked over. “You’re up early.”
Luke shrugged. “More like late. I haven’t been to bed yet.”
“Was she any good?”
Luke smiled. “Good enough.”
As they stepped off the walk, the wind kicked up, blowing fine brown dust on everything.
“Figures,” Luke said, looking down at the particles clinging to his shiny black boots. “I just got these cleaned.”
“They’re boots,” Ace pointed out. “They spend all day in the dirt. They’re not supposed to be pretty.”
Luke glanced at Ace’s scuffed, well-worn brown footwear and shook his head. “If you’re going to stick with this gambling thing, you need to pay more attention to your wardrobe.”
Ace shrugged. Gambling was an outlet. It gave him a rush of excitement. It kept his mind from dwelling on other things. It was a bit of competition when things got dull, a chance to beat the odds. He liked to beat the odds. “I haven’t made up my mind if I’m sticking with it.”
“Still, if you’re going to play the role, you ought to look the part.”
“I look just fine.”
“You look pissed.”
“Really?” He reached in his pocket for his makings. “What makes you say that?”
“You’ve got your hat pulled down low.”
Pausing, he shook some tobacco onto a paper. “I could be blocking the dust,” he said, licking the paper to help seal it up.
Luke held out his hand for the makings when he was done. “Or you could be pissed.”
Ace stepped up on the walk on the far side of the street. “Looks like I’m going to have to break that habit.”
Luke shrugged and shook tobacco onto a paper. “Most can’t tell. Unfortunately for you, I’ve known you since we were infants sharing a crib.”
Striking a sulfur on a boot heel, Ace shielded his smoke from the wind. Holding the cigarette in his mouth, he muttered around it, “Only reason we had to share a crib was because your mama couldn’t stand your squalling.”
“I didn’t like being alone.”
“You don’t remember.”
“I can guess.”
Ace shook out the match. Luke’s mother had been the delicate type, never standing up for herself, not even against her son. Which had led to Luke always getting what he wanted, by hook or crook. A habit he carried into adulthood.
He took a slow drag on the cigarette. The acrid smoke burned his nostrils. “So why you tagging along with me today?”
“’Cause you look like you’re heading for trouble.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The fact that you only smoke when you’re contemplating murder.”
“That’s not the only time.” He also liked a cigarette after sex.
“Well, it’s a well-known fact the teacher’s got a burr up her butt about Terrance Winter. Add that to the fact that rumor has it Miss Wayfield went into the saloon looking for you yesterday and then you come out of the alley with your lips all kiss bitten.”
“You’ve been spying on me.”
“I prefer to think of it as keeping busy.”
Luke had been keeping busy a lot lately. Ace touched his still tender lower lip, remembering that moment when Pet had lost control and bitten him. He cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Kiss bitten?”
Luke shrugged again.
Ace shook his head. “I swear the words that come out of your mouth could tarnish that killer reputation of yours.”
“It’s the poet in me.”
“Uh-huh.”
Luke didn’t tell anyone he penned dime novels to sell back East about the life of the wild men in the Wild West. It’d started out as a dare between him and one of his ladies and developed into a passion. Not one Luke flaunted, but a passion nonetheless and one that kept growing. Easterners had insatiable appetites for the excitement of the West. Hell, if most of them came here, they’d shit their pants the first day out, but reading it in their parlor at night, Ace guessed it was a safe bit of adventure.
“When you going to write something more serious than those dime novels?” he asked Luke.
“When you going to settle down and be who you ought to be rather than hiding?” Luke countered.
“I’m not hiding. I’m an assayer, or haven’t you heard the latest?”
“That takes up an hour a day. The rest of the time you practice being a wastrel.”
“I’m not wasting. I make good money gambling.”
“I know there’s a cost. Isn’t that what the teacher was riding you about?”
“That woman has way too much time on her hands.”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of time. It’s a matter of passion.”
Yeah, Pet had a lot of passion.
“I’d turn it my way if she’d look at me,” Luke mused.
Ace didn’t believe the innocence in that statement for a minute. Any more than he expected Luke to believe the calm distance in his “Have you tried?”
Luke shook his head. “Nah. No point. That lady treats me like the fence post in a corral. Handy when needed but otherwise not worth the attention. Mind telling me where we’re going?”
Ace waved to the end of town. “I’m going to the livery.”
“And after that?”
“For a ride.”
“Would this ride entail a trip by the Winters’ place?”
“Might.”
Luke took a drag on his cigarette. “Going to have one of your infamous chats with him?”
“Might be.”
“You know your chat’s not going to do any good, don’t you? That man’s just soaked in gambling the way other men are soaked in gin.”
“He drinks that, too.”
“Not whiskey?”
“He drinks anything.”
“He hit the boy again?”
Ace nodded. It wasn’t the first time he and Luke had talked about that situation.
“Are you going to kill him?”
“Might.”
Luke shot him a look. “That would be murder.”
“Not if he takes a shot at me first.”
“You plan on being that provoking?”
Ace shrugged. He didn’t really know what he was going to do yet. “If the lay of the land demands it.”
They reached the livery. Ace nodded to the stable hand and went to the stall that contained his sorrel.
“Crusher is getting fat hanging around here,” Luke observed going to the next stall over, which contained his big roan.
Ace shook his head. “Not like Buddy’s wasting away.”
“I take him out every day.”
“I take out Crusher, too, but it’s not the same as riding trail.”
They were all getting soft. Ace shook his head. Respectable. Fuck that.
“No, it’s not.” Luke patted Buddy’s neck before he reached for the saddle. “Do you miss it?”
“What?”
“The old days,” Luke said, tossing the saddle on Buddy’s back, “when all we did was ride from one bad place to the next, one bad fight to the next.”
Ace shook his head and eased the saddle back on Crusher before cinching it up. “That got old.”
“Yeah, it did.” For a moment they were both silent as old memories—old battles—rose to haunt them.
Luke broke the silence first like he always did. Ace often wondered if it wasn’t being alone Luke hated as much as quiet. Holding his smoke in his mouth as he tied the rifle scabbard onto the saddle, he asked, “Can you believe Caine, Shadow, Tracker, hell, even Sam, settled down into business?” He dropped the stirrup down and patted Buddy’s flank. “They’re almost darn right respectable.”
There was that word again. Ace smiled ruefully, checked his own weapons and led Crusher out of the livery. Yeah, they were. They’d achieved something none of them ever thought they would when they’d stood side by side as boys in the aftermath of the Mexican Army’s attack, hands blistered from digging graves for their loved ones and made a promise to follow Caine Allen on the path of revenge. They’d almost starved that first year, all their promises vanishing with them, but they’d found Tia, and she’d healed them body and soul. Over time, they’d settled those debts, become Texas Rangers. And now, respectable.
Ace stubbed out his smoke on the sole of his boot once outside, shaking his head as Luke winced. “I’m making up for the rest of you.”
“Uh-huh.” Luke leaned over and ground his out in the dirt before dusting his fingers off on the saddle blanket. “So what are we planning on doing if Winter meets us at the door with a shotgun?”
“Whatever the hell we want.”
Luke smiled that easy smile he trotted out when he was contemplating mayhem. “More fodder for my next book.”
Ace shook his head at the nonsense. Luke had a penchant for nice clothes and pretty words, but there was no one else Ace would want more by his side in a fight. Luke might dress fancy, but he fought like a cornered badger, with no quit and no mercy.
“What do you think would happen if people actually knew you lived what you wrote in those damn novels?” Ace asked.
Luke shuddered. “We’d be drowning in the frills and bows of all those prim Eastern women who’d want a piece of the real thing.”
“What’s with the we? You can keep all those fancy Eastern women for yourself.”
“Oh, hell, no!”
Ace couldn’t help but smile. Luke did like his women wild.
He waved toward the fancy vest and coat Luke was never without. “You’re dressed for it.”
“Clothes don’t make the man. And under all this I’m the same no-account desperado I’ve always been.” He swung up on Buddy and picked up the reins. “No lady can handle that.”
That was the truth. Ace couldn’t imagine anything worse for Luke than being tied up with something all prim and proper.
He wheeled Crusher around to the north. “Then you best not be saying that too loud. You know fate has a sense of humor.”
Luke shuddered again and kneed Buddy into step beside him. “Even fate wouldn’t be that cruel.”
They passed Pet’s little house next to the school. There was no class on Friday. She was probably inside planning a lesson. Or sleeping. The thought of her all sleep warm and ready made him hard. Fuck.
Shaking his head he muttered, “Don’t bet on it.”
* * *
THE WINTERS’ PLACE was little more than an overgrown mud wasp’s nest, consisting of sawed sticks and logs packed together with dirt to make a home. From somewhere around back came the irregular sound of an ax hitting wood.
Luke pulled up and spat. “You’d have to take a step up to make this a hovel. No wonder Terrance is never clean.”
Ace looked around with the same disgust. “It would be hard to wash this filth off.”
And it wasn’t the filth of the surroundings that Ace was talking about. It was the utter lack of self-respect the home reflected. Brian Winter didn’t think much of himself or much of his prospects. “Might explain why he was at the gambling table every night looking for a miracle.”
“And every morning taking out his disappointment on his son. This place isn’t fit for a hog to live in,” Luke said, kicking a nail-studded board out of his way before he dismounted. “Whatever we do, we can’t be leaving the boy in this.”
“It’s not our responsibility.” The words sounded hollow when he looked around. It shouldn’t have taken Pet coming to town to bring this to his attention. He might have been walled up in that saloon too long.
Luke spat. “It’s got to be someone’s.”
“He’s almost the age we were when we were on our own.” It wasn’t the challenge Luke took it as.
“You forget we almost starved to death till Tia took us in hand?”
He didn’t forget much, least of all the hunger, the pain of knowing his parents were dead and that he had nowhere after the massacre to go except with the other boys of Hell’s Eight. Then there had been Tia. Tia, who’d taken on the role of mother, guide, disciplinarian. She’d saved their souls, shaped their anger, given them a purpose.
“We had each other.”
“He’s got no one.”
Terrance had better than one. He had Pet.
Ace made the call. “He’s got us now.”
Luke nodded. “Amen.”
They cleared around the little hovel, and they could see Terrance in the back splitting wood. The ax was bigger than the boy. Too small, too skinny. Those were the words that jumped into Ace’s head. Hell, even his shirt draping off his thin shoulders made Ace feel guilty.
“He’s going to cut off a foot,” Luke muttered.
There was something in that boy’s swing that told Ace there was more to him than the disappointment that life was handing him. “I don’t think so.”
Just then, Terrance looked up. The only word Ace could think of to describe his expression was terrified.
Luke must have seen it, too. “We’re not going to hurt you, boy.”
Terrance didn’t put the ax down. Ace turned to Luke. “Must be your sour face that he’s reacting to.”
“Ha-ha.” His gaze was locked on the bruise on Terrance’s face. It was hard to look at. Harder to believe a man would do that to his own son.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Terrance said, glancing anxiously at the house.
“Or maybe his father’s,” Luke muttered before calling out, “Miss Wayfield sent us.”
He only looked more terrified. “She didn’t say nothing about you coming here.” The kid looked at the house again. It wasn’t hard to imagine why.
“Is your father home, son?” Ace asked, trying to think how one talked to a kid. Shit. He wasn’t sure he ever had.
Terrance nodded.
Ace wanted to spit. “Is he still drunk or is he awake enough to move?”
From the fact that there weren’t any fresh bruises on the kid, Ace was guessing that his father was probably still sleeping off last night’s bottle.
Shifting the ax in his hand, Terrance gestured to the measly woodpile. “I’ve got to finish my chores.”
“That didn’t answer the man’s question,” Luke said.
“I’ve got my answer.” Ace nodded to the woodpile. “You finish your chores, and we’ll go talk with your pa.”
“If we can wake him up,” Luke muttered, disgust in his voice as he looked around again.
“It would be better if you didn’t.”
Ace dismounted and stood beside the boy. “Better if I didn’t have to come out here at all, but neither one of us is getting what we want in that.”
“Why did you come here?” the boy asked, resentment in his eyes.
“I lost a bet.”
Terrance blinked. “You never lose.”
“I know. It’s not an experience I’m enjoying.”
A shout came from the house. Terrance jumped and dropped the ax.
Ace put his hand on his shoulder. All he felt was bone. The potential of muscle too undernourished to grow pissed him off. Luke was right; they had only been a year or two older than this boy when they were set loose on the world, and they’d been heading for wreck and ruin until they found Tia, who’d stepped out of her own grief to put a rein on theirs. Who’d fed them and cared for them and made them slow down and learn. A widow dealing with her own loss who’d given them a home. They owed it to Tia to help Terrance.
“No matter what happens, you stay out here, you hear me? You don’t go in the house.”
“You won’t hurt my pa?”
Ace couldn’t promise him that. “I just need to talk to him.”
“About what?”
He squeezed the boy’s shoulder, gentling his grip immediately when he felt the fragility. He should be a sturdy kid at this age. He had the build of a boy who was going to be a big man, but he was far too thin.
“He’s got something I want.”
“What?”
“Just stay here and finish your chores.”
“I got to bring water to the house next.”
“Don’t.”
“But...”
Ace looked over to Luke. “Keep him here.”
“Will do.” Luke took off his coat and neatly draped it over his saddle, before smiling at Terrance. “I’ll help you with your chores while we wait.”
Ace headed for the house. From behind he heard Terrance say, “You’d better go with him,” followed by Luke’s “Why?”
“My pa can be mean.”
“Ace can be meaner,” Luke retorted.
Ace smiled and tugged his hat brim down just a bit. That was the truth. As Winter was about to find out.
The inside of the house wasn’t much better than the outside. No, it was worse—the stench of dirt and molding sod fermented with the reek of vomit, drunkenness and stale cigarette butts.
Ace stood just inside the door. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see Winter sprawled on the only bed in the room. To one side of the door was a pallet of blankets on the floor. Christ, he treated the kid like a dog.
“Where the fuck you been, Terrance?” the man called, before moaning, “Where’s my goddamn water?”
Winter fumbled blindly around the bed. Ace stepped forward and picked up the whiskey bottle Winter was searching for, and poured the contents over the man’s head.
“What the fuck!”
Winter came flying out of the bed, arms flailing, shirttails flapping, stumbling as he got to his feet, clearly still drunk.
“Who the hell are you?”
Ace grabbed the bucket from the floor, threw the last of the water in his face. “Sober up. We need to talk.”
Brian dragged his hands down his face, recognition dawning in his eyes. “I don’t have a goddamn thing to talk about with you.”
“You owe me money.”
“I’ll get it.”
Ace made a point of looking around as Winter sat back down on the bed and grabbed the dirty sheets and rubbed them across his face. It didn’t help. The two day’s growth of beard on his face caught the rough fabric leaving threads attached. Christ, he was a mess. How did the man sink this low?
“I told you I’d get you the money.”
“Uh-huh.” Ace took a seat at his table. The chair rocked under his weight. He caught himself before he could tip over.
“Leg’s loose,” Brian said.
“So I see.” He nodded at Brian. “If you don’t stop reaching under that mattress for that shotgun, I’m going to put a bullet in your shoulder.”
Brian froze, his eyes going to the gun still in Ace’s holster. “I heard you were fast.”
“And I heard you were stupid. You keep reaching for that gun and we’ll both know no one was lying.”
“You got no right to be in my home.”
“Nope. I don’t, but I’m here anyway.”
A cunning expression crossed his face. “You must want something.”
“I told you, we need to talk.”
Brian got up. The stench and sight of him made Ace’s stomach heave. Luke was right. They weren’t leaving the boy here.
Brian picked up the battered metal coffeepot by the well-tended fire. Terrance’s work, no doubt. He shook the empty pot. “Where the hell is that lazy boy with the water for my coffee? Terrance!” he hollered.
“Terrance isn’t coming.” It felt good saying that.
Brian turned. The sweat stains on his faded red long johns stood out even in the dim light. “What the hell do you mean he’s not coming?”
“He’s helping Luke.”
“With what?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Ace shoved the adjacent chair over with his foot. It caught on the uneven floor and fell over. “Sit your ass down.”
Brian picked up the chair, still staring at the door. “I want my coffee.”
“What you want is whiskey. You’re not getting either until we’re done, so the faster you sit, the faster you can get on with your life.”
“What the hell do you want? Spit it out.”
“Terrance.”
The truth lay between them.
Without batting an eyelid, Brian asked, “For what?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“So that’s how it is.” Again that cunning expression slid over his face. “The boy will cost you.”
With a push of his foot, Ace tipped the other man’s chair over backward. When the swearing stopped he said, “You make another insinuation like that and I’ll gut you. You hear me?”
Brian got up. Ace grazed the butt of his revolver with his fingertips.
“I hear you.” Brian grunted, righting the chair. “Still going to cost you, though.”
Ace wanted to drive his crooked teeth down his throat. “I figured.”
“What’s the boy worth to you?” Winter asked as he sat down again.
Ace just wanted this over with. “I’ll cancel your gambling debt from last night.”
A shrewd look entered Brian’s eyes. “That’s not enough.”
You won’t hurt my pa? Fuck, it never paid to be the good guy.
“What debts do you owe around town?”
Brian named a number that made Ace blink. Fortunately, most of those debts were to him or people who owed him, so it wasn’t going to take much out of pocket to even Brian’s score.
“How about I settle all your debts? Including the ones to me and in turn I take the boy?”
“All of them?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that will be a help but a man needs a stake to start over, and a man needs help to run a place like this.”
Greedy bastard. “Plus two hundred.”
Brian’s eyes widened. “You got the money?”
“You’ll get it.”
“You’re not getting the boy until I get the money.”
Oh, that wasn’t going to play. “I’m taking the boy when I leave here.”
“I’m just supposed to go on your word?”
“Either you take my word, or I take your life.”
Brian blinked. Ace waited for his booze-soaked mind to absorb that.
“Make up your mind. I don’t have much time.”
“You in a hurry for something?”
“I’m always in a hurry for something.” He just never knew what it was that he was searching for, but he always had that nagging feeling that it was coming. That something good his mom had always promised him was waiting just around the next corner, the something good that always turned into something bad. “Do we have a deal?”
He didn’t particularly care whether Brian agreed or not. When he left here Terrance was going with him, but it would be cleaner if the ties were severed.
Brian held out his hand. “It’s a deal.”
It’d be a cold day in hell before Ace shook the hand of a man who’d sell his son. Especially for the reasons Winter implied. Just thinking about how easily he’d done it pissed Ace off. Until on a “What the hell” Ace punched Winter in the face, knocking him over backward. The man went down hard. When he didn’t get up, Ace prodded his still form with his boot. He didn’t move. Winter was out cold. Leaving him lying on the floor, Ace stood and strolled out of the hovel masking his anger and disgust. Worthless bastard. Not worth one bit of the concern in Terrance’s expression.
With a slight nod of his head, he answered the question in Luke’s eyes. With Terrance he was a bit more vocal. “Your pa and I had a talk.”
Terrance nodded. His fists clenched.
“He’s not feeling good right now.”
“He isn’t?” It was a credit to the optimism children held that the boy thought his father must be sick. “He needs his water for his coffee. He doesn’t feel good until he has that.”
“I’m going to go to town and get Doc.”
“I’ll stay with him.”
Ace caught his arm. When the boy looked up, Ace bit back the harsh truth that nothing was going to help the man. He was so steeped in his greed and his booze that his morals were all off.
“You’re going to come with me.”
“Where to?”
“Miss Wayfield’s.”
“The schoolmarm?” He looked horrified.
Ace couldn’t blame him. He couldn’t think of a much worse fate for an eight-year-old boy than to be stuck with a schoolteacher. But then again, he couldn’t think of a much worse fate than for a schoolteacher to be stuck with an eight-year-old boy. He smiled to himself. “Yep, she’ll know what to do with you.”
The boy took a step backward out of his reach. “Why does she have to do anything with me?”
Luke came up behind him, stopping his retreat. “Because you’re eight, because you can’t take care of yourself, but mostly because people care about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Just saying it doesn’t make it true, son.”
“I can!”
Luke shot him a warning glance. “We know you can but remember Ace telling you he lost that bet?”
The boy nodded.
“Well, he lost it to Miss Wayfield.”
The boy blinked. “Miss Wayfield gambles?”
With every breath she takes, Ace thought. The woman had a daring side that nobody but him seemed to see.
“She worries about you, boy. She sent me out here to check on you and your dad and she said if I found things were not looking good, that your dad needed help...”
Luke rolled his eyes at the tale. Ace glared at him over the boy’s head.
“That I was to bring you back to town.”
“What am I going to do in town?”
“Well,” Luke said, “if you are as hungry as I am, have a steak dinner.”
Ace could practically see the saliva flooding the kid’s mouth, see the hunger in his eyes, but then Terrance shook his head, and his face took on a stubborn expression.
“I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t need any money. I lost the bet, remember?”
“What was the bet?”
“The bet doesn’t matter. What matters was the penalty.”
“And what was that?”
“Steak dinners all around,” Luke chimed in.
“For me, too?”
Especially for him but keeping the boy’s pride in mind, he nodded. “For you, too, kid.”
“And my dad said it’s all right?”
“Yup.”
“I don’t know if I should go.”
“He told me to take you.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.
“And you’ll send the doctor?”
Ace heard the kid’s stomach growl. He had to admire the boy’s sense of honor. As hungry as he was and as much as he wanted that steak dinner, he wasn’t leaving until he was sure his dad was all right.
“I’ll send the doctor.” The boy seemed satisfied. “Do you have anything you need to get? Anything special you need?”
The kid licked his lips, looked at Ace then at Luke then at Ace then back at Luke again. “I do have something.”
“What?”
“It’s real special.”
Ace was out of patience. “Then fetch it.”
Luke glared at Ace. “If it’s in the house, tell me where it is and I’ll get it.”
“It isn’t in the house.”
They followed Terrance over to the corner of a fallen-down shack behind the house. The boy hesitated, looking around carefully before reaching in and pulling out a box poked through with holes. Very carefully he lifted the lid. Ace expected him to pull out marbles or pretty-colored rocks, the normal boy things. Instead, he pulled out a baby rabbit.
“This is Lancelot.”
Luke choked. “Mighty big name for such a little critter.”
Terrance nodded and stroked the rabbit, which looked completely relaxed. “It’s from one of the stories Miss Wayfield told us. He didn’t have a home.”
Tucking the bunny in his shirt, he squared off against Ace and Luke. From the expression on his face, he was ready to take them both on if they made a comment. The boy held the bunny through his shirt. “He needs me.”
Ace didn’t have anything to say to that.
“He does!”
“Well, that’s that, then.” Ace wasn’t going to fight a kid over a rabbit. “Is there anything else?”
Terrance shook his head.
“Then let’s get a move on. I’ve got a game waiting.”
They headed back to the horses. The boy didn’t look at the house again, but he tensed as they passed it as if expecting his father to come out and take away that steak dinner.
Ace put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Terrance didn’t look up after the initial tensing, and he stayed tense under his hand. Ace didn’t know what Pet was going to do with the boy but whatever she did, it had to be better than this.
“It will be all right, son.”
Terrance looked at him, disbelief clearly in his gaze.
Ace resisted the urge to squeeze his shoulder again. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’ll see.”
“Nothing like a steak dinner to change a man’s perspective,” Luke added.
At the thought of dinner, the boy perked right up again. Luke mounted Buddy. Ace gave Terrance a boost up behind.
“Watch that rabbit now. You don’t want to crush him.”
Terrance nodded. Good Christ. Was this what he’d come to? Babysitting a kid and a bunny? Ace shook his head and swung up on Crusher.
“Then let’s get going.”
The sooner the kid and the bunny were Pet’s problem, the happier he’d be.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_c778d1c1-34ca-5d83-aa32-e40fe4dce352)
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS,” Petunia demanded of Ace as she watched Terrance through the window of the restaurant. He was sitting at a table looking like heaven had just been placed before him in the form of a huge steak. Beside him, Luisa hovered. From her frequent hand gestures, Petunia assumed she was encouraging him to eat. Luisa was the quintessential mother, though she had no children of her own. From her come-get-a-hug manner to her soft brown eyes shining from a plump face touched with wrinkles from a lifetime of smiles, she made a body feel welcome. From the relaxed set of his shoulders, Terrance was not exempt from her charm.
“You said take care of it. It’s taken care of,” Ace said with aggravating calm.
“I can’t take care of a child!”
Ace, damn him, just looked at her that way he had that made her feel transparent and vulnerable, like one too many buttons had slipped loose on her blouse.
“You take care of several all day.”
“As a means to an end! You know I’m just saving up for a ticket out of here.”
That got her a smile that made her palm itch to smack it off his face.
“It’d be a shame if everyone else knew that.”
Somewhere in their heads they had to know this, but traditional beliefs held that women loved children, and the townsfolk of Simple were assuming that Petunia had found her place here. That being the case, they seemed happy to pretend she hadn’t ever declared this job was only temporary. She curled her fingers into a fist, suppressing the impulse to smack him. “You know they’ll advertise for someone else if they know for sure I’m leaving.”
“Yes, I do.”
“They’ll fire me if they find someone.”
“Yes.”
He had her over a barrel. She needed a different approach. Playing a long shot, she met his gaze and said softly, “It would hurt me.”
Nothing in his expression changed. “What makes you think I give a shit about that?”
She didn’t, but she was gambling. The only thing she knew about gambling was if she was going to do it, she had to be all in. So she bluffed.
“Because you’re not a cruel man.”
Something flickered across his face. “You don’t know me at all.”
No, she didn’t, beyond the fact that he drove her senses crazy, and she always wanted to touch him or nibble on him or do all kinds of things she couldn’t even put a name to when she was in his company. She knew very little about him except that he had one respectable job, one unrespectable one and lived a dissolute life.
“You’re not going to say anything to them?”
“No, I’m not.”
She didn’t like the way he said that. “Because you’re a good man under all that bluster?”
“Hell, no!”
“Then why not?”
His smile held all the confidence she was faking. “Because you’re not going to make me.”
“I can’t take care of that child.”
“Someone has to.”
She tried again. “What is he going to do when I leave?”
“He needs a place to stay tonight.”
In other words, one step at a time.
“We don’t have the boarding school set up yet. Terrance can’t stay there.”
He shrugged. “That’s not my problem. You told me to handle it. I did.”
“I asked you to give Brian Winter his money back!”
“Giving him his money back wouldn’t have been the end, and I would have to go back there tomorrow doing the same thing. You’ve harped on my lazy nature enough over the past couple months to know doing the same thing over and over isn’t my cup of tea.”
“You don’t even drink tea.”
He smiled that cat-and-mouse smile that made her pulse jump and her palm itch. “Actually, I do...sometimes.”
She could feel the walls closing in and her dream slipping away again.
“It’s almost Christmas,” he added as if she needed another stab to the heart. “You want the boy to live to see it?”
“Now, that’s not fair.”
“You didn’t see what I saw at the Winters’ place.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“The boy is lucky his situation caught your eye.” A grimace and a shake of his head. “And the rest of us need to be shamed it didn’t catch ours.”
She blinked. “Why, Mr. Parker, are you saying there’s a place for a busybody do-gooder in this world?”
There was a pause and a nod and then, “I’m saying you’ve earned yours.”
The quirk of his lips, neither smile nor frown, was irritating in all it didn’t say. Almost as irritating as the way he leaned against the porch rail, arms folded across his chest, as if he owned that space. And the way he looked at her, as if he owned her, too, just made her bristle. She wasn’t just any man’s plaything.
“So what are you going to do, Pet? Are you going to take the boy or am I going to have to add tattletale to my list of sins?”
Pfft. Who, except her, would even notice that sin on his long list?
“I’m thinking.”
“Not much to think about.”
No, there wasn’t. Tattling about her plans to leave wouldn’t hurt Ace’s reputation but for her, his tattling would be catastrophic. She was a month away from having enough money for her ticket. Taking in the boy could very well cost that money and some time—it would be too dangerous to travel come winter—but on the other hand, she’d have longer to save and the end result would be more money in her pocket come spring. But if Ace spread his tale, she’d lose her job. She had no doubt Ace would take care of her and arrange it so she’d still be able to take care of Terrance and anyone else who needed it, but she wouldn’t have an independent income. She wouldn’t make it to California.
Which meant a slight change in her plans. She needed to open the school. She felt the twinge of guilt for the kids she’d be leaving behind, especially Terrance, but he’d have a safe place to live, and if she could find somebody to run it with a good heart, then it would make a difference. There was a whole lot she needed to do in the next month, but she was a woman that worked well under pressure, and it wasn’t the first time she’d faced these kinds of deadlines.
“I have yet to secure the Haylens’ old place for the school.” The Haylens’ house was on the edge of town. It was a bit ramshackled, but it was huge with six bedrooms and a good-size yard. With elbow grease and determination, it would be perfect.
“I’ll take care of that.”
“You think you can sway Tyson to sell?” She’d been trying for a month to no avail. Every time she approached the irritating man, the price went up. And it hadn’t exactly started at reasonable.
He just looked at her. “I said I’d handle it.”
And that was that as far as he was concerned. So be it. Petunia folded her own arms across her chest. “Fine. Then under the condition you get the Haylen place for us tomorrow, Terrance can sleep on my sofa tonight.”
“I’m sure he’s slept on worse.”
Which just brought them back to the questions that had been plaguing her since Ace and Luke had ridden back into town with Terrance in tow.
“Did Brian really just let you walk in and take his son?” She knew Brian was a wastrel, but she didn’t believe he was that much of a wastrel. If nothing else, Terrance had value as a worker that made his father’s life easier.
“Not exactly, but in the end we came to an agreement.”
Petunia dropped her gaze to Ace’s hands, the ones he had tucked under his arms. She didn’t know what possessed her. It was against all propriety, but she reached out and caught his right pinky in her fingers. His hand was warm, but the palm surprisingly calloused for a man who gambled. He hadn’t always been a gambler or an assayer, she reminded herself. According to legend, Hell’s Eight was a lot of things. A group of almost mythical warriors. Fierce. Relentless.
She tugged. The only thing that moved was his left eyebrow.
“You wanting something?”
“I want to see your hand.”
“Why, going to slip a ring on it?”
She huffed. “I’m not that kind of woman, and you’re not that kind of man.”
The smile he gave her was genuine. “You’ve got that half right.”
She tugged again. This time he let her win. She was surprised to see the knuckles unscarred.
“Satisfied?” he asked, tucking his hand back under his arm and shifting his position.
“Hardly.”
She noticed the butt of the revolver on his left hip had a little less shine. It was then she remembered he was left-handed.
“Can I see the other hand?”
“Why?”
“I’m contrary that way.”
“I’ll give you that. You’re contrary.”
He didn’t make any move to show her his hand. She didn’t push it.
Rubbing her fingertips on her thigh she said, “I’m going to take it from that that those knuckles are bruised.”
“Assume all you want.”
“Did you hurt him?”
That got his attention. “Worried about his sorry ass?”
“No, I’m more hoping you beat him into the ground. He’s a brute and a bully, and it’s about time somebody gave him what he really deserved.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s nursing a headache for sure.”
It soothed a bit of her anger to know that. “Is he going to come after Terrance?”
“At some point I imagine he will remember he’s a father, but I don’t think it’ll be in the near future.”
“How does Terrance feel about that?”
“I don’t think he feels anything. He seems to live for the right now.”
For some reason she felt the need to defend Terrance. “He’s a boy.”
“Uh-huh”
The wind blew a hair across her face. She brushed it out of her eyes. It fell back down, tickling her temple. “You don’t like children?”
“I don’t have anything against them. I don’t have anything for them beyond I don’t intend to have any ever.”
“Why not?”
“Do you really think I’d make a good father?”
Surprisingly, she did. He might have a wastrel profession but he also had a reputation for fighting for the underdog. He’d be a strong and protective father. And while breath filled his lungs, his children would never want.
Half turning, he pushed the hair that was tickling off her temple. “That hard an answer to come up with?”
“I was actually thinking you’d make a very good father. But heaven help your daughters.”
His brow snapped down, and that hand that had just touched her so tenderly curled into a fist. She had the oddest impression that he was hurt. “You think I’d hurt my girls?”
One would think she’d have the sense to be afraid, but she wasn’t. “I think they’d grow up in danger of becoming old maids waiting for a suitor brave enough to come courting.”
“Damn straight.” His expression traveled from wary to speculative in the space of a breath. “Have you been spending a lot of time thinking on me?”
She didn’t like to admit the truth. She also refused to lie. “Some. There’s not much to do in this town besides look at the local color, and you are colorful.”
“Do you always give a direct answer?”
“I try to be honest.”
“When it suits you?”
She sighed. Life would be so much easier if she could lie. “Even when it doesn’t.”
“Why? Lying’s easier.”
It was her turn to shrug. “People taking the easy way all the time is one of the reasons children like Terrance don’t get a chance, why women get black eyes from the men they love and why men sometimes have to be what they don’t want to be just to survive.”
“The last doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does. Not every man’s temperament is suited to a warrior’s life.”
Ace huffed. “Any man worth his salt knows how to fight.”
“I know, and it’s easier to say that rather than to accept differences.”
Ace stared at her for the longest time. “You are one strange woman, Petunia Wayfield.”
She kept her wince internal. “So I’ve been told.”
“By people that don’t appreciate it, I bet.”
“Nope,” she agreed, “no more than you do.”
“Oh?” His fingers skimmed the side of her cheek. “I appreciate this.”
This? This, her face? This, her position? Or this, the all of her?
“It’s just not for me.”
It just came tripping right off her tongue. “Why not?”
And his response came easily off his. “Because under all that spit and fire you’re a sweet, gentle woman who needs a man to hold her place.” Cupping her chin, he tipped her gaze to his. “It just can’t be me.”
With that he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her sputtering for a comeback.
He was halfway to the saloon before, finally, she found her voice again. “What makes you think I’d want you?”
There was no way he could have heard that muttered utterance. No way at all, but his laugh when it drifted back, still flicked her nerves. The man was impossible. Fine looking, but impossible. Taking a moment to admire the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips and, Lord help her, the space in between, she watched until he stepped inside the saloon. The faint sound of greeting followed by a lilt of feminine laughter drifted in his wake. Anger pricked her pride before it dug a wedge deeper. She hated the thought of another woman touching Ace. She hated the thought that he thought she was good and sweet and treated both qualities as if they were something bad.
Rubbing her forehead, she sighed. She’d been hating a lot of things lately. More than usual the past few years. The way Ace saw her was just one more item tacked on to a long list. Truth was, she was frustrated and tired. If she could just get out to California where the rules were so much more liberal, where money made the person, not the gender, it would all be well.
More feminine laughter drifted out along with the faint murmur of Ace’s voice. Petunia would give anything to know what he was saying. She’d give anything to have the courage to march into that saloon and demand that he explain himself. Oh, hell, she rubbed her hands up and down her arm. Who was she kidding? She wanted an opportunity to prove him wrong about her, that she was more than enough woman for him and that being good didn’t make you useless, and being sweet didn’t mean you weren’t passionate. She was so tired of that silliness. She’d seen it so often, it’d smothered her for so long, it just made her teeth grind when somebody applied it to her. Anybody could be sweet when the moment called for it. Anybody could be kind. Anybody could be good. No one thing was the sum total of a person.
Slowly and deliberately she turned her back on the saloon. Through the restaurant window she saw Terrance was almost done with his dinner. Flicking her skirt straight and smoothing her hair, Petunia headed across the street to Luisa’s. Putting off the inevitable wasn’t going to make it go away. There was only one other patron in the restaurant, and he didn’t even give her the time of day when she stepped through the door. He was just shoveling his food into his mouth as fast as he could, some of it catching on his beard. No doubt he was eager to get over to the saloon for some cards and women.
She shuddered. She wouldn’t want to be the one receiving his attentions tonight. Honestly, she didn’t know how those women above stairs did it. Which just went to prove how much society needed to change. Women shouldn’t have to sell their bodies to survive. They ought to be able to make a living wage. They ought to be able to have some recourse to get out of a bad marriage and not be penniless and shunned. They ought to be able to keep their children. They ought to be able to vote, and they truly, truly ought to be able to have some standing under the law.
The anger in her thoughts must have showed on her face because as soon as she stopped beside the table, Terrance looked up at her, and his eyes went wide and he swallowed hard, his fork frozen halfway between the plate and his mouth. Luisa, seated beside Terrance, looked at her curiously. Petunia took a breath and forced a smile.
“Hello, Terrance.”
He nodded. Luisa handed him his napkin. He took it and wiped his mouth and his hands. Someone at some time had taught him basic manners. And he was trotting them out for her, the only thanks he could offer. Wrapped in a red velvet ribbon of hope.
“Hello, Miss Wayfield.”
In many ways they were alike. Struggling to be who they were in a world that wanted to call them something else. She could help him with that. Her smile began to feel more natural. “That sure looks like a delicious supper.”
“The best ever.”
Luisa smiled and ruffled his hair at the compliment. “He has the honey tongue, this one.”
His steak was half-eaten. Petunia would have been hard-pressed to eat a quarter of it. Looking at the thinness of his arms and the bones poking out his shoulders against his shirt, she figured he would probably eat that plate and more if his stomach would hold it. Terrance had the appearance of boy long starved for many things.
A part of her wished she could stay in Simple and fix everything, but she couldn’t. She knew that. It wasn’t practical. Neither the laws nor the community would back her. No, she had to keep her focus. Her future was in California. In California she was going to own her own business, own her own life and she was going to make a difference. But she could get things started for Terrance. It might delay her departure a little bit... She glanced at his bruised eye. He was her student. She owed him that. Forcing a smile, she said brightly, “My goodness, Terrance. That’s a man’s appetite you have there!”
“It’s good.” Luisa smiled at Terrance. “He has a good appetite. He will eat that steak all gone and then dessert.”
“You’re going to have dessert, too?” Where was he going to put it all?
Terrance nodded enthusiastically. “Apple pie,” he said as though they were talking about the best of nirvana which, to a boy without a mother to bake for him, she supposed apple pie might qualify.
“I make a good apple pie,” Luisa said proudly.
“That she does,” Petunia agreed. “I’ve had it a time or two myself.”
She couldn’t help but run her hands over her hips. She had to stop going to Maddie’s bakery and coming here to Luisa’s restaurant, but the truth was if left to her own devices, eating was minimal because she didn’t like to cook, and her efforts were marginally edible at best, but she loved to eat, and part of her salary as a teacher was two free meals a day at any of the town’s three restaurants. So basically, she paid for coffee in the morning because she didn’t care for breakfast, and then ate well the rest of the day.
Terrance took another bite of potato, chewed, swallowed and then frowned. “Mr. Parker says I’m going to be staying with you tonight.”
“That’s right.”
A little of the fear left his face. “And then I’ll go home tomorrow?”
Her smile came more naturally. If Ace was going to put the pressure on her, she’d throw some back on him.
“Mr. Parker said your father had to work on some... Had some things to deal with...some business to handle before...” Oh, gosh, she wasn’t good at lying.
The expression on Terrance’s face said he knew what she was trying to say, but she forced herself through to the finish because, well, because he was a little boy, and the truth that his father was a wastrel wasn’t something a woman threw in a little boy’s face. Not if she could leave him some illusions.
Clearing her throat, she started over. “Your father has some things to work on before you can go home, but tonight you’re going to stay with me at my house and then tomorrow we found this special place where you’ll stay. It’s sort of like a hotel for children.”
His eyes lit up. “I’ve never stayed at a hotel. Pa says they’re real fancy.”
“Well, this hotel might not be that fancy but...”
“Does it have a bed?”
She blinked. The question took her aback. “A very nice bed with clean sheets and a blanket and a soft pillow.”
Luisa blinked rapidly and patted his back. “And a nice quilt.”
Petunia looked at her. She didn’t know if they had quilts.
“I’m going to give you one that belonged to my son. A welcome present.”
Luisa’s son had died in his teens.
“It is a good quilt. Many happy memories inside, many happy dreams.”
“A quilt with happy dreams?” Terrance asked skeptically.
Luisa tilted her head back and looked down her nose sternly. It was a very effective look. “You doubt my word?”
“No.” He cut into his steak before asking, “Where’s your son now?”
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