Ace's Wild (22 page)

* * *

“I
LIKE
THIS
ONE
,” Brenda said in her high-pitched little-girl voice, blue eyes smiling, ringlets bouncing. The tree she was standing in front of would fit in the parlor if they bent it double and hacked the branches in half, something Phillip was quick to point out and Brenda didn’t appreciate. The bickering that followed was normal. Brenda and Phillip were blossoming since coming to Providence. Terrance was another story.

Petunia sighed. She didn’t know what she was going to do with that boy. He brought serious with him everywhere. While the other children were running from tree to tree, touching their hands at the base, trying to come up with a formal decision, he just stood there at the edge of the copse, hands in his pockets, expression solemn, weighing them from afar.

Arms crossed over her chest, she walked up to him. “They won’t bite, you know.”

“I know.” His shoulders seemed to hunch inside themselves.

“Then why don’t you go join the others?”

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

Terrance didn’t raise his eyes. “’Cause I already made up my mind.”

“Just like that? From here?” Petunia asked.

He nodded. “Which one is it?”

He just shrugged again.

Phillip called her over.

“I’ll be right back.”

He was standing with Hester and Brenda, pointing to another big tree. If she took out the second floor of the house, it would fit. Hester rolled her eyes.

“Now we’ll see,” Phillip said to his mother.

“See what?” Hester asked.

“It has to be a grand tree,” Brenda insisted. “This is a grand tree.”

Phillip backed her. “It is a fine tree.”

“I don’t think it will fit in the house. It’s very tall.”

“It’ll fit.” His jaw set. “It will fit just fine.”

“No, it won’t.” Terrance had followed Petunia. “It’s bigger than two houses.”

A fight was clearly brewing between the boys.

“It’s not too big!”

“It is, too, dummy,” Terrance said.

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

And all that energy that had been feeding on tree hunting all of a sudden broke down into a fistfight. It was Terrance that threw the first punch, Phillip who landed it. The scuffle turned violent so quickly that Petunia could only gasp.

“Hey, there!” Hester said. “Break it up!”

Ace set the ax down and in one smooth move grabbed each boy by the back of their coats, pulling them apart. “Cut it out.”

They kept swinging. He knocked their heads together. They stopped swinging.

Petunia could only watch in awe. “I need to learn how to do that.”

Ace dropped the boys to their feet. Hester shook her head, grabbed each boy by the collar and shoved them. “Let’s go look over there.”

Brenda went skipping along, clearly more happy with the choosing process than she was on settling on a choice.

“Don’t forget to grab some pinecones,” Petunia called after them. “We can use them for decorating.”

“You’re dead set on this?” Ace asked, picking up his ax. “You’re going to take a pine tree, living outside in the woods, happy in its own little world, already sprouting pinecones, already thriving, cut it down, get up dead pinecones from other trees, bring them all into the house, hang them on the tree and call it a holiday?”

“For a gambler you lack imagination.”

“Is that what you plan on doing?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m planning on doing.”

“Why?”

“I told you. It’s a good tradition and it’s all the rage.”

“Are you that bored?”

“No, but it occurred to me that building a tradition would make Terrance feel part of something, and maybe he wouldn’t miss his dad so much and he’d begin to think of here as home.”

Ace shook his head. “You’re not going to be
here
next year, remember?”

“I’ll leave instructions for the next teacher.”

“The next teacher isn’t going to worry about imagination. The next teacher’s going to plunk her butt in that chair and collect her paycheck between shoving some ABCs down the kids’ throats.”

Not with her students, she wouldn’t. “That would be a waste of time. There are some very bright and inquisitive minds in this town.”

“And nobody’s going to give a shit about them after you leave.”

He had to keep pounding on that sore spot. “I couldn’t make a change anymore anyway.”

“You could if you married me.”

Nor that one. “The school I plan to build in San Francisco will help a lot of people.”

“You’re already helping a lot of people.”

“I’ll help a lot more people.”

“Which matters more, the scale of the help or the scale of the need? Because I guarantee you nobody needs you more than this little town right here.”

And you,
she wanted to ask,
do you need me?
She bit her tongue, holding it back.

Hester called her over. This time the four of them were standing by a tree more suited to the size of the room. The only problem was it was a sorry little tree. It didn’t have many branches, and the ones it had grew at awkward angles. It was clearly being choked out by the bigger trees.

When she got close, Terrance stuck out his chin. The spot on his cheek where Phillip had struck him glowed red in the pale of his face. His face looked tighter and more angular, almost a little more adult, and she realized he was clenching his teeth.

“I like this one.”

“I don’t,” Phillip said.

“I don’t, either,” Brenda said.

Hester kept her opinion to herself. Ace didn’t say a word, just looked at her.

Petunia asked the only thing she could think of. “Why don’t you like it, Phillip?”

“It’s ugly.”

“I know,” Terrance said, “that’s why it’s perfect.”

With everybody watching him, Terrance got more quiet. He shoved his fists into his pockets. If a hole opened up in front of him, Petunia bet he’d jump right in it.

Ace walked up beside him and put his hand on his shoulder. The boy flinched, and then he relaxed.

“Why do you like it, son?”

“Because...” He paused then tried again, his voice a hush of sound. “Because Christmas is all about loving people no matter what, not just because they’re beautiful or perfect.”

“Still an ugly tree,” Phillip muttered.

Terrance nodded. “I know and nobody would ever want it, but I do. If we leave it here the bigger trees will just ignore it until one day it’ll lose its needles, and its branches will break off. But if we take it home and make it pretty, it will be something.”

“It will be dead,” Phillip said.

He nodded. “But it will be something before it dies.”

“We’re taking this one.” Surprisingly, it was Hester who spoke up.

“Terrance is right,” Petunia agreed, “Christmas is about charity and good feelings and doing the right thing. I think choosing this tree represents all of that.”

“Everything should be wanted,” Terrance added, touching the little pine needles on a spindly branch. “Even an ugly tree.”

There was silence, then Phillip nodded. “This is our tree.”

Hester was trying not to cry but Petunia felt a tear leaking down her own cheek. Ace glanced over.

“You’re mush,” he told her.

“So are you.”

“What makes you think that?” He hefted the ax. “I’m the one going to murder it.”

“You’re sending it to glory. That’s not the same thing.”

He swung the ax. “Tell it to the tree.”

* * *

L
ATER
THAT
DAY
, she and Ace were sitting in the kitchen sipping coffee. The tree had been set into a bucket of earth and plunked optimistically in the parlor. The children had had their hot chocolate, a special treat, indeed, and Hester had taken them upstairs claiming she was going to bed herself. Some chaperone she turned out to be.

“What were you thinking about when Terrance said everything deserved to be wanted?”

“What made you think I was thinking about anything?”

She rolled her eyes. “All of us thought of something. Terrance thought of his dad. Hester thought of her husband. Her children thought of their father. I thought of, well, it’s pretty obvious what I thought of, and it occurs to me you must have thought of something, too.”

“I’m Hell’s Eight. I belong. I’ve always belonged.”

“You live in a saloon. You date women with whom you’ll never have a future, and you’re about as far away from Hell’s Eight as you can get. You thought of something.”

He shrugged. “Some things just don’t need putting into words.”

“I disagree.”

Ace took a sip of his coffee. “Lucky for me, you don’t tell me what to do.”

“You seem to feel you can tell me what to do.”

“That’s because of who I am and who you are.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I like to give orders, and you like to follow them.”

She almost choked on her coffee. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Are you saying you don’t?”

“I’m saying I can bring you out a line of witnesses a mile long that would dispute that claim.”

“Uh-huh.” The look he cut her from beneath his lashes slid over her senses with the smooth decadence of warm melted chocolate. “Spread your legs, Pet.”

“You’re outrageous.”

“You’re aroused.” He took a sip of his coffee.

It wasn’t a question.

He was right. She didn’t know whether to be angrier that she’d responded or that he knew about it.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means a hell of a lot to me.”

She played with her coffee cup because she didn’t have anything else to do with her hands.

He sighed and placed his hand over her cup, putting an end to her fidgeting. “Didn’t your mother tell you anything about passion?”

“My mother died when I was young.”

“So did mine.”

“Mine died of pneumonia.”

He nodded. “Mine at the hands of Mexican soldiers.”

She’d heard the stories. “It’s a sad thing to have in common.”

“We got by all right.”

“
We
meaning Hell’s Eight?”

He nodded. “We were a scraggly lot back then.”

“You were young.”

“Young and mad as hell. I had this happy life, and one day there was no more happy, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.”

She knew how that felt. “It doesn’t feel good to be out of control like that.”

Or to have the ones around you so lost in grief they forgot you existed. Like her father had for a few years after her mother’s death, losing himself in work and drink while she, well, she’d found comfort where she could. In her books.

“No, it doesn’t.”

He was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but he was still sitting there, and he was still sharing with her. It was more than she’d expected.

“You like it when you’re out of control with me.”

The heat started in her toes. It took everything she had to get out, “That was a surprise.”

His brows rose on that. “What were you expecting to have with a husband?”

“Setting aside my acceptance that I wouldn’t have a husband?”

His “Yeah, setting that aside” was a bit dry.

“I assumed it’d be warm. It’d be comfortable. It’d be soothing.”

“Damn!” He shook his head and cut her another skeptical glance. “Really?”

He didn’t have to make it sound so ridiculous. “Yes. Really.”

“You’d be bored in a minute.”

“There’s a lid for every pot.”

He smiled. “You realize you’re not helping your case?”

“Just because I like what you do to me in bed—”

“And in the tub and in the alley...”

She glanced toward the door. “Hush! You have no shame.”

“It’s the truth.”

It was too much. “Then start lying!” she snapped.

He laughed outright. She couldn’t even blame him. “Ace, just because I like
that
with you,
doesn’t mean
I want everything else. You want to possess a woman, Ace. With you, a woman wouldn’t have room to breathe.”

He didn’t deny it, and the part of her that always was hopeful gave a little whimper.

He took another sip of his coffee. “Some women want to be possessed, need that totality.”

“I’m not one of them.”
Liar
, the little voice said.

Ace pushed his cup aside, his chair back and came around the table. He towered over her. Her heart gave a little lurch as he caught her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. His eyes were dark with emotion, but his voice was calm, his tone casual.

“There’s a reason you haven’t married, Pet.”

Her gaze locked on his lips, she found enough voice to ask, “What’s that?”

She watched his lips caress the words. Inhaled his intoxicating scent. Remembered how those lips had touched hers intimately, how he’d filled her mind, her senses. Inside, the flames flickered and surged. He had a fabulous mouth. “You’re not on the shelf, my Pet. You’ve simply been waiting for the one man who can make you burn.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
HE
ONE
THING
she didn’t need, Petunia decided a week later, was another place to burn, because apparently, according to the attitude of the townspeople, she was already slated to burn in hell. She shivered as the wind cut right through her cloak. Not that she’d mind a few stray flames from that pit right now. The heat spell was long gone, and winter was settling in with a vengeance. Pulling her cloak more snugly around her, she hurried down the street.

She was used to her modern ways of thinking, setting her outside of traditional expectations. But losing her good reputation in a small town where nothing much happened had left her as the only grist for a very hungry rumor mill, and it was a completely new experience. Ace’s sudden disappearance hadn’t helped, either. She didn’t know where he’d gone, just that he had left the morning after his statement about making her burn. And the pressure of the town’s censure combined with the worry over his disappearance and the reasons behind it was telling on her. She couldn’t sleep, and she was as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.

Two women approached from the mercantile. Before her unfortunate experience, as she’d come to call it, they would’ve nodded a greeting and had a nice cordial exchange. She would have even looked forward to the chats. But today, just approaching a stranger put butterflies in her stomach. She had no way of knowing if they’d nod, or if they’d pull their skirts away instead. As if what had happened to her were contagious.

She’d helped other women fight this attitude her whole life. How many times had she advised them to ignore the snubs and dirty looks and remember that they were more than what had happened to them? But she hadn’t truly understood. She’d advised without really understanding the sheer unrelenting, demeaning process of being socially snubbed. On some level, she had thought those women weak, but with the weight of social ostracization now pressing down upon her, she couldn’t believe how brave they’d really been. Or how naive and arrogant she had been in her righteous pursuit of equality. Turning, she pretended an interest in the display in the millinery window. When the women passed by, she resumed walking. She didn’t recognize this cowardly part of herself.

Luisa, Hester and Maddie were her only friends. And she’d seen how that friendship was costing all of them. No one would go in Maddie’s bakery if she was there. When she ate at Antonio and Luisa’s restaurant, patrons often left or demanded a table farther away from hers. Although Maddie and Luisa had both told her to not worry about such petty people, that she was as welcome as ever, business was business and money was money, and Petunia cared about both of them too much to take them up on that offer.

She was a social pariah. It was what it was, and her life had become what it had become, but it would go back to normal as soon as she left this town. Discreetly touching her hand to her stomach, she stepped off the walk and crossed to the other side of the street. All around her signs of Christmas abounded, fliers for church services were posted. Store windows were stocked with little trinkets and gifts, hoping to attract buyers. Maddie had put up a sample cake in case anyone might have a big party. Antonio and Luisa were serving a Christmas buffet. School was closed. And the one place that shouldn’t be doing a booming business this time of year, the saloon, was packed.

She shook her head. A line of horses waited patiently for their owners out front. The stench of manure drifted with the breeze from the area. Jenkins had hired a boy to clean up after the horses, but he hadn’t been as careful as he should’ve been around the animals, and he’d gotten kicked. The result was a broken arm and no one to clean up. She wondered, ruefully, if she’d be considered good enough for that job now. With a wistful glance at the schoolhouse, she kept on. She did miss the children, and couldn’t help worrying about them. She could petition the board to be reinstated, but since the board was comprised of the same people that were snubbing her daily, she didn’t have much hope of getting her job back. Hopefully, the fill-in new teacher was keeping on top of Buster, and spending time with Milly on her letters. That child had the worst time keeping them straight.

With a sigh and a last glance at the schoolhouse, she stepped up on the walk. Touching a hand into her stomach again, she felt a tickle of worry. It was a bold statement to say she’d go home with her baby, but while she could run away from this town and her reputation, there’d be no running away from a child, no hiding its illegitimacy. Her father’s money could provide her comfort, but it wouldn’t be able to shield her from the talk. Worse yet, it wouldn’t be able to shield her child.

No child of mine would grow up not knowing his father.

Ace wanted a child. She slid her fingers to her hip.
This
child, that might not even exist. He was willing to marry her. She bit her lip, feeling the walls closing in and her choices narrowing. Ace was not an easy man. On the surface his needs were simple, but she’d seen below the facade, and she hadn’t been speaking lightly when she said he would possess a woman totally. He would. From the inside out. With no secrets and nothing withheld. His woman would belong to him completely. And he was man enough to make her enjoy it. Part of her quivered in breathless anticipation at the thought. A sense of “at last” flowed through her.

Some women want to be possessed, need that totality.

Even not knowing what all that meant, she had a feeling she was one of them. But she didn’t want to be or maybe she was just afraid to be who she was. Before Ace, she’d seen herself as a strong, independent woman. But now she was beginning to see herself as a strong, independent woman who wanted a choice.

But was it really a choice or just a trap? Was this how all women lost themselves? Emotions turning their thoughts to need? And when they acted on that need, succumbed to the temptation of a man’s persuasion, when there was no going back, did they regret the choice? If she gave in to her inner urgings, would she end up just one more woman littering the trail of Ace’s path through life?

She bit her lip as the wind blew again. This time when a couple approached, she forced herself to keep walking with her chin up and her shoulders back. The man nodded. The woman avoided her gaze. She counted the man’s nod as a victory. And felt a bit more herself, but her mind wouldn’t quiet, because there was one thing that would tip the balance.

If she was with child, did any of her doubts even matter? She’d chosen to lie down with a man. She’d foolishly disregarded the possible consequences. Did she have a right to foist those consequences upon an innocent child? Then again, was it truly a blessing for a child to be born to parents who were unhappy with each other?

Who said they had to be unhappy?

Oh, why did these thoughts persist?

She didn’t know what to make of any of it. Her mind was chaos. Her soul was aching. And all she wanted was Ace. She hadn’t seen him since the day they’d put up the Christmas tree—the tree that was supposed to represent all that hope, yet hers had just come to a screeching halt. She wasn’t even sure who to blame for that. Ace, because she’d wanted him to pursue her despite her rejection or herself because she wanted what she shouldn’t have. The man had made his intentions clear. She’d turned him down. For anyone that would be the end of it. It was only in her mixed-up mind that it should be a beginning.

Rubbing her forehead, she only knew one thing that could help calm her nerves. She needed a cinnamon roll.

She was across the street before she saw who was coming up the walk toward her. Wonderful. Her day only needed this. Brian Winter. Instinct said
run
. Pride said
no way in heck
. No matter how unpleasant this encounter, she wasn’t running from it. As he got a little closer, she could see the smirk on his face. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.

He hated her, and she had a hefty dislike for him. He’d gotten brave since her kidnapping. Even trying to come around and see Terrance. Hester had greeted him with the shotgun. It’d dissuaded him somewhat. But he’d turned his frustration onto her. Hester told her to tell Ace, but Petunia couldn’t go running to the man every time she had a problem. She had to learn to make her own way. Which didn’t mean she was foolish. She’d accepted a gun from Hester. She kept it in her pocket next to the letter she’d written to her father asking for help but wouldn’t allow herself to send. The gun wasn’t big, but it would do the job. Patting it through the material, she forced a smile. She’d shoot the bastard if she had to.

But she wasn’t of a mind to shoot anyone today, and she really didn’t want to hear any of his venom. The mercantile stood between them. She quickened her pace, hoping to get to the door first. If she ducked inside he’d move on, and she’d be spared his comments for another day. But his legs were longer and he got there ahead of her. Leaning up against the doorjamb, he waited. For one heartbeat, she considered turning back, but his arrogant, know-it-all grin ticked her off. She’d be damned if she’d run from the likes of him.

Lifting her chin, she kept calmly walking, daring him with every step to say something. It was a mistake. Her father used to tell her
Never dare a fool
. And Brian Winter was a huge fool on his best day. Today was no different. As soon as she got close enough for her destination to be clear, he shifted his position so she wouldn’t be able to get through the mercantile door without brushing up against him indecently.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”

With no other choice, she was forced to stand there clutching her reticule. “Excuse me.”

That smirk of his broadened. “The way I hear it, there’s a whole lotta people whose pardon you should be begging.” He hitched up his pants. “Acting all high-and-mighty, like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, but you’re nothing more than a Comanche whore.”

She hadn’t expected nice, but she hadn’t expected such an open insult. In a chilling rush, the blood drained from her face, leaving her cheeks cold and her hands shaking. She’d suffered a lot of slights over the past week, but no one had dared confront her. But she had dared a fool, and there was a price to pay for that.

Counting to three, she steadied her breath and said in the calmest voice she could muster, “You really are lacking in common decency, aren’t you?”

“Why? Because I call a spade a spade?”

“Because you don’t have the sense God gave a gnat.”

He leaned in. “I’ve got enough sense to see through you.”

His breath hit her like a blow. “I wish you had the sense to brush your teeth.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “You stink of liquor.”

“And you stink of Comanche.”

“If that offends you, then maybe you’d do well to stay away.”

“Or maybe you need to spend some time with someone else.” He leered suggestively.

“I presume you mean yourself?”

He leaned a little closer. The stench of stale sweat joined the stench of liquor. “Why not?”

Because you’re an idiot. A drunk and a brute.
It wouldn’t be wise to say that, but she wanted to. Oh, dear heavens, she wanted to. Gritting her back teeth on the impulse, she made to duck under his arm. Before she could complete the move, he slammed his hand across the doorjamb, blocking her way. It was a bold move. It was a public move. It said more than anything else that he had no fear of repercussions. She should have been afraid. She slipped her hand in her pocket.

“Move your arm.”

“Give me a kiss.”

She eyed the fourth button down on his pants. If he pushed her, that’s where she was aiming her gun. She doubted it would be a lethal shot, but she bet it would be memorable. “We’re standing in the middle of the street.”

His eyebrows went up. Excitement tightened his voice. He truly was disgusting. “Are you saying you’d give me one if it were private?”

“I’m saying you’re an obnoxious boor to proposition a good woman in the middle of the street.”

His tone deepened. “But you’re not a good woman, are you? How many was it?” He was so close she could see the food particles stuck in his crooked lower teeth. “I heard tell it was upward of twenty.”

She changed her mind. She was shooting him right in his filthy mouth. She said in her best schoolmarm voice, the one that always worked before, “It wouldn’t matter if I had willingly and eagerly laid down for an entire battalion, your behavior right now is unacceptable.”

A bluff backed by years of social respect. Brian didn’t even bat an eyelash. A glance down the street showed many onlookers, but no one willing to help her. She was clearly on her own.

“As I said, you’re not one to be preaching about proper behavior.”

She couldn’t take his stench much longer without losing her breakfast.

“It makes me sick to think about my poor little boy stuck over at the house with you,” he went on. “No telling what shenanigans you get up to at night. What he’s been forced to see.” He paused and then added, “Maybe even forced to do.”

That was it. She was done. “You are a disgusting toad, and next time Ace or Luke gets a notion to shoot you, I’m going to cheer them on.”

“The hell you will.”

The hell she wouldn’t. Shoving against his arm, she tried to force her way by. He defeated her with the simple downward movement of his arm. It took everything in her to suppress a gasp. She wasn’t used to this level of disrespect. Harder still to realize no one was going to come to her aid. She took a step backward, closing her hand around the butt of the derringer. When Hester had given it to her, it’d felt like a hefty piece of weaponry, but now it felt woefully inadequate. Common sense said at this range a bullet was a bullet, but emotion wasn’t logical. And right now one of those big old buffalo guns would suit her just fine. The man wasn’t just stupid, he was dangerous in a rabid animal sort of way. One had to move carefully around a rabid animal. They couldn’t be trusted.

Reluctantly letting go of the derringer, she slowly took her hand out of her pocket. With the same deliberate concentration, she rubbed her hands together in front of her, gathering her strength. Then, before Brian knew what she was doing, she punched the heel of her hand into the inside of his elbow. His hand dropped.