Lone Star Lover Page 7

  The other two men each nodded at Kitty as she set their beer and whiskeys in front of them. She purposely gave Corbin his beer last, and he slid her an evil look letting her know she’d pissed him off.

  She didn’t give a shit. Sure, she had a couple more lines around her eyes and her bosom wasn’t as firm as it once was, but Wade still visited her more than he did the other girls. They had a history, her and Wade, that went clear back to San Antonio. He told her things he wouldn’t tell another living soul. Mostly because he understood she knew how to keep her mouth shut. Could be he even knew that in spite of everything that was going on around Diablo Flats, she still loved him.

  “It ain’t right him staying upstairs with the whore.” Corbin picked up his mug of beer and chugged half of it down. “Bad for business. How can she make us any money?”

  Kitty picked up the tray. “Jake isn’t well enough to travel or fend for himself.”

  “You think I give a shit about that?” Corbin glared at her with such hatred she got a bit weak in the knees. “Get me more whiskey. And bring the goddamn bottle this time.”

  His voice boomed off the walls. A couple of heads turned, and then the men went back to staring at their beer. Like every Saturday night, the saloon was crowded with cowpunchers who worked at the nearby ranches. Normally the boys tended to get rowdy, but tonight everyone wore long faces and talked quietly amongst themselves. So far, only Lola had snared a customer, one of the drifters who was headed south to the border and had remarked on the place looking like a funeral parlor.

  Kitty figured the downcast mood was on account of what happened to Otis last night. Folks admired him because he was an honorable man, generous with the boys that worked for him and with neighbors who needed a helping hand. Then, too, everyone likely was worried about who might get strung up next.

  Trixie and Ruby were watching the card players, and when Kitty glanced over at them, Ruby took her meaning and went to the bar to get a bottle.

  “There’s no room at Doc’s for Jake,” Kitty said casually. “Otis is laid up there.”

  Bart and Moses gave each other quick looks under the rims of their hats, and finished their shots.

  Glaring at her, Corbin spit in a spittoon three feet away, not caring that he’d missed.

  “Too bad about what happened to him.” Kitty ignored the vulgar man and planted a hand on her hip, easy like, showing him he didn’t rile her none. Letting him smell weakness would be bad. “Makes a body wonder who these vigilantes are. Everyone from around here knows Otis is no rustler.”

  “I told you to get me my damn whiskey.” Corbin leaned close, spit flying from his mouth. “I ain’t gonna tell—”

  Ruby set the bottle in front of him.

  He grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she whimpered. “I didn’t ask you, now did I?”

  Kitty picked up the bottle, ready to smash it across his head. “Let her go.”

  Corbin stared at her with a look of disbelief, that inched into a feral smile.

  “Come on now, Kitty, ain’t no need for this.” Bart touched her arm. “Corbin, let go of Ruby.”

  Corbin locked gazes with Kitty for another few seconds, and then flung Ruby toward the next table. She caught the back of a chair, saving herself from ending up on the hard plank floor. Sending the back of Corbin’s head a resentful look, she fixed her bodice and then scurried to the bar.

  Kitty reluctantly set the bottle back on the table. “You know Wade don’t take to you hurting the girls.”

  “Shut up, Kitty,” Bart said in a hushed voice, his normally ruddy face dark with warning.

  She heeded his counsel. Bart wasn’t one to interfere unless there was big trouble on the horizon. Could be Corbin had been drinking more than Kitty realized.

  Behind her, she heard the door to the saloon open and then Wade’s voice, and allowed herself a small victorious smile. Corbin wouldn’t bother her with Wade here.

  “Ain’t you the lucky lazy-ass whore,” Corbin mumbled as he uncapped the bottle.

  She adjusted her skirt and touched her hair, before turning around. Wade had stopped at the bar, but now he strode toward her, his duster flapping against his long legs as he walked. His black hair, graying at the temples, was damp from his bath, and swept away from his lean clean-shaven face. Funny how he could still make her heart flutter after all these years.

  “Don’t you look pretty tonight, Kitty.” He winked and kissed her cheek, before pulling out a chair.

  She smiled, mostly because he said the same thing every night he was in town. Which was happening less and less lately. Sometimes he was gone for days. Patrolling the border and hunting rustlers, or so he claimed. Kitty had her doubts. Not that she would ever voice them.

  He removed his hat and sat down. “You boys eat yet?”

  Bart and Moses nodded. Corbin didn’t answer.

  She touched Wade’s shoulder. “I’ll get you a glass, honey.”

  He caught her hand as it started to trail away. “Lloyd’s telling Cook to fry me up a steak, and then he’s bringing me a beer.” He glanced at Bart and Moses, but then set his sights on Corbin. “You boys take it easy on the whiskey. We ride before sunup.”

  Bart shifted uncomfortably.

  Moses snorted with disgust. “But Boss, me and the boys are tired. We’ve been out for five nights straight and—”

  Wade slammed his hand on the table, making the glasses rattle. He pierced Moses with a steely-eyed warning. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” he said in a calm voice. He had a powerful enough temper, although it didn’t show much. At six-four and as fast as he was with a gun, he generally didn’t have to ask for anything twice.

  Moses looked pissed, but he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. He finished his drink and then scraped back from the table. “Then I best get some sleep.”

  “Sit down, honey,” Wade said to Kitty, and kicked out the chair Moses had left empty. “Have a glass of whiskey with us.”

  Kitty sat and reached for the bottle. Though she’d much rather have Wade to herself, she normally didn’t mind sitting with him and the boys for a spell. But not tonight. The murderous way Corbin was staring at her put her on edge. Naturally he’d never let Wade catch him, but she knew there was something no good going on in that small wicked brain of his.

  “Glad you’re here, Kitty,” Corbin said. “Time to let Wade know what’s going on up there with that squaw whore.”

  Wade leaned forward, his hand shooting out to grab Corbin’s wrist. Whiskey sloshed out of his glass onto the table. Keeping his voice low, Wade said, “Keep your fucking mouth shut. No one talks about where we got her. Who’s gonna pay for pussy that’s been had by an Indian?”

  Corbin yanked his arm away. “She ain’t spread her legs for no one yet.” He glared at Kitty. “You keep sending her over to Doc’s instead of keeping her upstairs where she can make us some money.”

  Wade frowned, his gaze narrowing on Kitty. “That true?”

  Kitty deliberately shrugged one shoulder, slowly, coyly, leaning toward Wade, and drawing his attention to the deep V of her purple dress. “Doc’s been busy and needed someone. All the other girls have their regulars. You always tell me to keep Doc happy so he’ll stick around to patch y’all up when you need it.”

  Corbin swore viciously. “But that ain’t the worse part. Now she’s got some pretty boy staying up there with her.”

  Wade’s face darkened. “What?”

  Kitty smiled prettily. “It’s not what you think. Doc has Otis in his sickroom, and no bed for another patient. And this Jake fella is still sick, with his head and side hurt.”

  “So?”

  “Isabella has no room at the boardinghouse, the hotel is gonna be full up with the railroad people, and Doc still needs to look in on him from time to time.”

  “Shit.” Wade looked at her as if she’d gone loco. “I don’t care.”

  “Look, honey, I was thinking of you when I promised Doc we’d look after him h
ere.” She ignored Corbin’s gloating stare and ran her hand suggestively up Wade’s thigh. “Jake didn’t have a gun or horse when Slow Jim found him. No money neither. He can’t recall what happened. But he’s big and strong and smart, and I figured with you being down a man since Lefty got himself killed, you might need another gun.”

  “This is bullshit, Boss.” Corbin looked nervous. “If he’s hurt, he ain’t gonna do us no good.”

  “He’s healing real fast,” Kitty said quickly. “And he’s good with a gun. I saw him grab Doc’s Colt so fast when he got spooked that it damn near made my head spin.” God help her, she hoped she wasn’t lying about him being good with a gun.

  “Hmm.” Wade thoughtfully pursed his lips. “And he said he wanted work?”

  She shrugged. “Claims he’d be willing to do anything.”

  Corbin snorted. “How do we know we can trust him?”

  “We don’t.” Wade took a considering sip of beer. “We’ll have to be real careful, is all. Until we know that we can.”

  Kitty breathed with relief, glad that Lloyd showed up with Wade’s steak and potatoes at that moment. The bartender set the plate down and asked if anyone needed anything else. Kitty shook her head, kept her eyes on him and then Wade, anywhere but on Corbin. She’d won. He’d lost. He was going to be out for blood.

  She hadn’t meant to push him. It would do her no good to have Corbin watching her every move. At least not until Jake Malone was back on his feet and could get the hell out of here. He seemed a decent enough fella, and she hoped her gut feeling wasn’t wrong about him. Though he wasn’t her chief concern. It was Rebecca she cared about. The poor girl would die here if she didn’t get out soon.

  Oh, how much she reminded Kitty of herself when she’d been young and naïve and still full of hope. But it was much too late for her to crawl out of this snake pit. Not so for Rebecca. In some crazy way, if Kitty could help liberate her, she felt a small piece of herself would be free, as well.

  7

  THE CRICK in Jake’s neck jarred him awake. He opened his eyes and gingerly turned his head, squinting when his face fell into the path of the sun streaming in through the part in the curtains. For a second he forgot where he was, that he was no longer convalescing in the doctor’s sickroom, as Kitty and Rebecca called it.

  Rebecca. This was her room.

  He patted the empty bed beside him, caught a peripheral view of his shirt hanging on the door hook. Ignoring the pain in his neck, he forced his head to turn some more. Then he saw her, or at least he saw a mass of blond loopy curls spread over a blue-and-yellow patchwork quilt covering the floor.

  “Rebecca?” He sat up, flexing his neck and shoulders.

  She stirred, her small form curling into an even tighter ball.

  Damn, had she slept on the hard floor all night? He couldn’t remember the exact time they’d gone to sleep last night. They’d eaten a small dinner of beans and cornbread, and then she’d disappeared to wash some clothes while he lay on the bed, nursing his side, listening to the tinny strains of a badly played piano coming from the saloon below. She’d been gone awhile, long enough for him to start worrying that she’d ditched him.

  Not that he would’ve blamed her. He hadn’t had any business kissing her. No matter how brief and nonthreatening the kiss. He didn’t want her to think that he felt her profession gave him permission to take what he wanted. She had to run into enough scummy men like that. How vulnerable she had to feel. The thought sickened him. For Rebecca, and for any woman with no family or husband in these times.

  He’d been about to pull on his boots and go looking for her when she’d returned to the room with damp hair and smelling like roses. Made him crave a long hot shower. He’d settled for a rough cloth, horrible-smelling soap and a basin full of cool water.

  He swung his feet to the floor, careful not to stomp on her. “Rebecca?”

  She moved, stretched out an arm, and then slowly rolled over to blink blearily at him. Her eyes widened for a second, almost as if she’d forgotten he was there, and then she smiled shyly and yawned. She quickly covered her mouth and got up on her knees.

  “I don’t remember falling asleep,” he said, feeling like crap. She didn’t even have a pillow. “I didn’t mean to hog the bed. Did you sleep down there all night?”

  “I like sleeping on the floor.”

  “Right.”

  “I do.” She gave him an indignant look, her gaze haltingly sliding to his bare chest. “Even at Doc Davis’s I sleep on the floor. I haven’t slept in a bed for—” She shoved the hair away from her face, and turned away, shuttering her eyes, while she straightened her dress, but too late to hide the faint rosiness seeping into her complexion.

  “Look, tonight, if I’m still here, I’m sleeping on the floor.”

  She abruptly turned back to him with genuine concern. “Where else would you be?”

  “I’m feeling pretty good, and I’ll have to strike out on my own sooner or later. Can’t stay here forever.”

  She bit her lip, gathered her hair in one hand, and then pulled it back into a loose braid. “Where will you go?” she asked, keeping her eyes averted.

  “I’m not sure.”

  He’d thought about that for a good part of the evening as he’d watched her work by the light of a lantern, quietly letting out the cuffs of a shirt for him. He hadn’t asked her where she’d found the brown shirt, and she hadn’t volunteered. Bottom line was, he couldn’t afford to be choosy. The bloodstains on his own blue chambray shirt weren’t going to come out, and he didn’t need calling unnecessary attention to himself. He did wish he knew what had happened to his watch and cell phone, though. His bomber jacket, too. Damn, it was his favorite one.

  Rebecca had gotten to her feet and was folding the quilt, sending him curious sidelong glances.

  He rose to help her fold the bulky comforter. “This guy Slow Jim who found me, is he back yet?”

  “I don’t know.” Her fingers accidentally brushed his, and she quickly withdrew, yanking the quilt from him.

  Great. He’d scared her with the damn kiss. Should he bring it up? Apologize? Promise he wouldn’t do it again? Explain that it had meant nothing, that all he’d wanted was to…He sighed, scrubbed at his face, scratched his chest. No, he’d better not explain what he’d wanted. His overture hadn’t started out sexual in nature, but as soon as their lips touched, as soon as he’d scented her warm sweet skin, his body had reacted, all right. Good to know that the important parts still worked just fine.

  He finished rubbing his eyes and looked at her. She was staring at his chest. And not because she seemed offended by his partial nudity. Her look was one of pure feminine appreciation. That got his parts moving again.

  Hell, not good.

  He bent over and pretended to look for his boots. The sudden movement was a mistake. His head was still tender, and it didn’t take much to restart the throbbing. Or maybe this was the after-effects of the whiskey from last night. He’d only drunk two shots because the stuff tasted like crap. Surprisingly potent, though. Maybe that’s what had made him sleep so soundly. God, he couldn’t believe he’d let her sleep on the floor.

  “This is why you can’t leave. Sit down,” she said gruffly. “Is it bleeding again?”

  He realized that he’d automatically put a hand to his temple when it started to throb. The dull pain was still there, but her sudden bossiness made him smile. She narrowed her stern gaze on him, and he did as she’d ordered.

  It wasn’t bleeding, he was pretty sure. The bullet had only grazed him, and while she was gone last night he’d used a hand mirror to check out the injury. Considering the doctor’s place was as sterile as a back alley, the wound was healing well. He suspected that the sporadic headaches and throbbing had more to do with the banging around that went with the truck rolling.

  He didn’t even need a bandage anymore, but he said nothing as she stood over him, peeling away the gauze and checking the gash. Her nearness was go
od enough medicine. He inhaled her flowery feminine scent, his gaze lingering on the creamy skin just above the neckline of her dress. She’d gone to sleep in the same green dress she’d been wearing after returning from her bath. Like the blue one, it was too big on her, with a tendency to slip down her shoulder.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra, or a corset, or whatever it was that women wore under their dresses in the 1800s. Not that he could tell, anyway. She was fairly small-chested, slight in every way, except her arms were strong and toned, and she wasn’t soft-looking like Kitty or the other woman, Lola, at whom he’d gotten a fairly good look yesterday.

  Come to think of it, Rebecca tended to have a modern woman’s body, like someone who did yoga or light weight training. He noticed too that the backs of her hands were tan, as was her face, at odds with the paleness of the skin around her neckline. Odd, because it was too cold for much outdoor activity. But she’d told him she’d only been here two weeks. Maybe she’d been traveling. Probably by covered wagon. The thought boggled his mind.

  She turned away for a second to grab a small pouch off the stool, giving him a good view of her backside. For being so slender, her rear was nice and round, and he was pretty sure there wasn’t any type of undergarment giving that illusion. When she faced him again, he instantly lifted his gaze, surprised to see his guilt reflected in her eyes.

  Which made him suspicious of the small buckskin pouch. He’d be damned if he’d drink or take anything again. “What’s in there?”

  She let out a huffing breath of air that seemed so uncharacteristic of her it took him aback. “It’s medicine. Good medicine.”

  “Nothing is going in this mouth. You got it?”

  Her lips twitched, and then she lifted her chin. “It is not supposed to go into your mouth.”

  “Good.” He eyed the pouch. “What’s in there?”

  “Medicine.”

  “You said that. Be more specific.”

  She frowned. “It’s to help you heal.”