An Unlikely Lady (19 page)

Honesty stepped into the hall and gave the door a tug shut behind her. She'd only be gone a minute. Jesse would never have to know.

H
e heard her long before he saw her.

Riding on the rusty notes of an out-of-tune piano came a voice of such seductive familiarity that Jesse would have melted on the spot if he wasn't so furious. Only one woman had a voice of such mesmerizing power.

And only one woman would dare use it as a weapon.

At first, he couldn't believe she'd be so foolish. Then he remembered who he was dealing with.

Fists clenched at his sides, he stormed down the center of Main Street toward the gaudy gold and black building set in the middle of town. Damn her ornery hide. If he had a lick of sense, he'd get on his horse and ride in the opposite
direction as fast and as far away as the animal would take him.

Except he knew that a bunch of rowdy rail workers and gold seekers wouldn't settle for just a song from the sweet little liar's lips. As soon as she finished getting them hot and bothered with her saucy smile and sultry eyes, they'd storm her pedestal and make off with her faster than he could say “Eureka.”

The closer he got to the combination bordello–dance hall, the clearer it became that his prophecy wasn't far from coming true. Shouts and whistles drowned out the lilting velvet of her voice. Hollow thumping on puncheon boards and raucous encouragement joined the clatter.

Reaching the batwing tongue-and-groove doors, Jesse stood outside on the boardwalk and peered in. There she stood, on a table in the center of the room, tapping one high-ankled shoe and flipping the hem of a drab, faded calico gown that showed the week's worth of travel in the torn hem and sleeve. Yet her bearing suggested she wore the finest Dresden silk. From her mouth spilled bawdy lyrics inviting each and every one of the shoulder-jostling, mouth-gaping, bug-eyed swains to her “parlor.” A red haze crept through his bloodstream and blurred his vision. Pure primal reflex had Jesse reaching for his Colt, then cursing. What was he going to
do—barge in there and shoot his way to her side? That would be something straight out of one of Ned Buntline's dime novels.

Oh, what the hell.

He drew his weapon and fired into the air.

Instant silence fell over the crowd. Plaster showered down from the ceiling.

“Jesse!”

“Show's over, boys,” he announced. “Honesty, let's go.”

She stared at him in gape-mouthed wonder, making no move toward him until Jess stretched out his other hand in silent command.

Then she smiled, and the world shrank to the two of them. Jesse's mouth went dry and his chest swelled as she gracefully swung herself off the table and pushed through the throng of men. Her blind obedience had his mind spinning back to a moment in the Scarlet Rose when she'd serenaded him with a ballad wrenching enough to send a pack of wolves retreating into their cups and their tears.

The memory made unexpected longing well up inside him, and he was seized with an urge to grab this woman, tuck her under his heart, and hold on for dear life.

Two steps away from him, a railroad worker the size of a bull stepped into her path. “Whaddya think yer do—”

The barrel of Jesse's Colt pressed between
the man's eyes. “This woman sings for no one but me.”

He reached around her self-appointed henchman to grab Honesty's hand and draw her to his side.

“Thank God you came,” she whispered.

“I wouldn't be thanking God just yet.”

Before she could ponder the meaning behind that remark, he dragged her through the recovering crowd, out the front doors, and down the boardwalk, then up a back alley that sent shivers of déjà vu skittering up her spine. Any moment, she expected Robert to pop out at the end of the alley. She gasped for breath, as much from the crazy pace as from the memory, and tried to keep up with Jesse's long, strong strides.

She barely caught a glimpse of the young bellhop's startled expression as Jesse ushered her through the hotel lobby and up the stairs. It didn't occur to her to call out for help. In truth, Honesty had never felt so honored in her life as when Jesse appeared in that dance hall and demanded her hand in front of God and everyone. No man had ever looked at her with such ownership, and no man, not even Deuce, would have challenged a room full of rowdy men with such unwavering arrogance. For a moment there, Honesty knew what it felt like to belong to someone, and the experience filled her with
such profound joy that she couldn't stop grinning like a simpleton.

Until back in her room, the door shut with an ominous click.

Jesse took a forbidding stance at the door, feet spread, arms folded tightly over his chest, bringing corded muscles into stark relief. Honesty's euphoria took a sudden plunge and she found herself trapped between the hard oak wall and six feet of fierce iron will.

“Why is it,” he said in an uninflected drawl, “that the instant I turn my back, you take that as an invitation to defy me?”

“Jesse, I can explain.”

“I'm sure you'll try.”

Honesty licked her lips and wrung her hands. “I was on my way to the surveyor's office—”

“What, more gold seeking?”

“Of course not! I thought one of the clerks might have news of my brother. But as I passed by the saloon, I got stopped by a couple of men who said they'd heard me sing in Denver. I tried to tell them they were mistaken, but they wouldn't listen. The next thing I knew, they were carrying me into the place and standing me on top of the table.”

“Now tell me the truth.”

“You think I'm lying?”

“I think you're trying to. You're just not doing a very good job.”

“Why would I lie?”

“Good question. People don't usually lie unless they're hiding something.” In a conversational tone, he asked, “So what was it, Honesty? Did you have an itch that needed scratching? Did you think you'd find yourself a lover for the night?”

Her mouth fell open in shock. “You are vulgar and despicable. Good Lord, Jesse, do you think I
enjoyed
singing for those men?”

“You weren't putting up much of a fight when I saw you.”

“That shows how much you know. You have no idea what it's like to stand on display and have men slobbering all over you.”

“Seems it would beat the alternative. At least you aren't lying beneath them.”

Tears scalded the back of her eyes at the callous remark. Worse, she knew she deserved the low opinion he had of her, because she'd given him that impression to begin with. But really, did she have a choice?

Honesty quickly regrouped and took a step toward him. “Oh, but I'm in control, then.” She walked her fingers up his chest, and dropped her lashes and her voice the way she'd often seen Rose do. “You see, a woman has the power to be quick and exciting . . . or slow and torturous.”

The satisfaction that bloomed when he
tensed, wilted in the next instant when he cocked his brow and said, “But a man has just as much power. Sometimes more.” His blue-green eyes swirled with wicked promise. “You see, a man can also satisfy as well as torment.”

A chill broke out along her arms. She swallowed and defiantly lifted her chin. “I've yet to meet that man.”

“That's not what you told me back in Last Hope.”

He just wouldn't let it drop, would he? “Jesse, Jesse.” She shook her head and sighed. “Haven't you figured it out yet?” Honesty screwed her face into an expression of feigned ecstasy. “Ohhh. Mmmm. Yes, touch me there. It feels sooo good.”

He paled, and once again, guilt tried working its way into her conscience. Honesty resolutely pushed it aside. He'd deserved everything he'd gotten. More, in fact. Because unlike every other man who had fallen for the ruse, this one had the power to make her want to cast off her own rules of survival. “It's a game, Jesse. I would think that a man of your experience would have recognized that.”

His flat gaze remained fixed on her for so long that Honesty began to squirm.

Then he unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. “So you're saying that my touch does nothing for you?”

Honesty stepped back, fearing she'd pushed him too far with her taunting.

“That when I touch you here “—he placed his hand on her rib cage, just below her breast, and smoothed a deliberate path around her waist to her bottom—”you don't feel a thing?”

Against her will, her heartbeat escalated and her breathing quickened. “Not a thing,” she denied, as much to herself as to him.

“What about here?” He brought her cold hand to his mouth and pressed moist lips to her palm. “Does that not affect you either?”

The tip of his tongue against the sensitive hollow sent shivers coursing down Honesty's spine. Her mind reeled; her knees went weak. It took all the strength she could summon not to melt at his feet.

“Or when I kiss you like this?”

He slipped his free hand beneath the heavy fall of her hair and curved his fingers around the back of her neck. Even as she watched his head descend, Honesty couldn't find the will to avoid the mouth swooping down on hers in a kiss potent enough to curl her toes. She set both her palms against his chest, intending on pushing him away before she lost complete control of her senses.

Instead, she gripped the edges of his vest and pulled him closer. Their bodies came together, breast to chest, rib to rib, thigh to
thigh. Honesty found herself being sucked into a tide pool of sensation and wrapped her arms around Jesse's neck to keep from sinking.

The man was a skilled kisser, she'd give him that. Unlike other men who were either disgustingly sloppy or zealously rough, Jesse knew just where to slide his tongue within her mouth, just how much pressure to apply against her lips—and oh, heavens . . . the most glorious amount of suction on her tongue to draw a response from her.

A moan from deep in his throat penetrated the mist closing over her brain. Honesty stiffened, then broke the kiss and stared at him in breathless, wide-eyed wonder.

“Don't feel a thing, do you?” he asked, his voice an octave lower than normal.

She released her hold on him. “Damn you, Jesse.”

“Curse me till the cows come home, sweet Honesty, but your body doesn't lie: you want me; you just don't want to admit it.”

She raised her hand, consumed beyond reason to smack the smirk off his face. He caught her wrist in an unrelenting grip, and before she understood what he was doing, he'd wrapped the thong that he used to tie back his hair around her wrist. He tied the other end around his own wrist.

Honesty tried yanking herself free. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you safe. Our train won't be leaving till mid-morning, and until then, I'm not going to take a chance of you bolting again.”

“So you truss me up like a hog to slaughter? Get this thing off me!”

“Not on your life. A very dear and wise friend once told me the best way to keep a wild filly from running was to hobble her.”

Frustration made her tear at the thong.

“The more you tear at it, the tighter the knot.” With his hand around her elbow, he led her to the bed. “So you might as well get used to it.”

“What's the matter, Jesse, is this the only way you can get a woman to stay with you? By chaining her to yourself?”

He gave the thong a pull to tighten the knot around his own wrist and smiled flatly. “No, sometimes I just pay her.”

Jesse kept to himself the entire trip to Trinidad. Honesty had the window seat and spent part of it trying to engage him in conversation, and the other part staring out the window. If he wasn't so damned furious with her, he might have admired her ingenuity. He wouldn't have thought to inquire after a missing person at a surveyor's office.

Honesty had, though, and a quick visit while Honesty slept had given him a helluva lead. They'd never heard of George Mallory; they had, however, heard of Deuce McGuire.

Three or four years ago, he'd passed through town in the company of a young woman. It was the first confirmation Jesse had heard of him traveling with someone and it piqued his interest. The clerk could shed no light on her identity, but said she'd appeared to be with him of her own will. They'd spent the night at the hotel, then boarded a northbound train the next morning.

Jesse found himself dwelling on the story, unable to quell the concern that McGuire had repeated his crime. He worried that the girl might have met the same fate as the Jervais heiress.

And if McGuire struck twice, that meant he'd likely strike again.

Jesse had to find him before another child lost her life, and another family came apart at the seams.

Of course, he couldn't do a damn thing until he got Honesty safely settled in her brother's care. Why he felt so responsible for her, he couldn't say, except for that niggling worry that the Treat brothers had somehow sensed his attraction to her and made her pay the price as their revenge on him.

Then again, maybe their reason for taking her had nothing to do with him at all. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, he thought, looking at her profile, with those silky amber curls, mysterious eyes, and sensuous lips. A woman any man would want to possess. Even him. Especially him. He'd been lucky to get a wink of sleep last night, for thinking about it.

“Quit staring at me.”

He tore his gaze away from Honesty and snapped open the newspaper he'd found on the seat. Obviously she still hadn't forgiven him for last night, but that was her own fault. She'd put herself in danger. “You look tired. We've got a long trip ahead of us. You might as well get some sleep.”

“Gee, I don't think I can. Girls like me aren't used to keeping regular hours.”

The remark drew the attention of several passengers sitting nearby. “Keep your voice down.”