California Caress

California Caress

by

Rebecca Sinclair

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ISBN: 978-1-61417-076-1

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright 1989, 2011 Rebecca Sinclair

Cover by Kim Killion

eBook design by eBook Prep
www.ebookprep.com

Thank You
.

Thirsty Gulch, California, 1851.

“And this time
keep
out!”

The gritty voice and loud squeak of hinges startled Hope Benett from her anxious pacing. Quietly, she stole to the end of the narrow alley. Peeking around the corner, she was just in time to see the body of a man thrown head first into the dirt.

The swinging doors banged shut as the drunk slurred a curse and staggered to his feet. Brushing the dirt from stained, threadbare trousers, he lurched forward, wobbling down the street with a lopsided gait. By mere inches, he missed falling into one of the holes an overly eager prospector had dug in the center of the street.

Hope checked the man’s build against the sketchy description firmly embedded in her memory, then immediately dismissed him to resume her pacing. Her booted feet crunched over the gravel as she stalked to the end of the alley, sandwiched between the Brass Button Tavern and the general store. At the back of the alley, she turned to retrace her path. Barely two steps had been taken when she felt the weight of a hand settle on her shoulder. Another wrapped around her mouth as she opened it to scream.

Air whooshed from her lungs as she was brought up hard against a firm male chest. Without a second thought Hope closed her teeth on the fleshy palm. The taste of dirt and leather was strong on her tongue as a grunt of pain whistled in her ear. It was a small victory she took no time to savor as she raised her foot and slammed the sharp edge of her heel into her attacker’s shin.

Hope staggered at the suddenness of her release, but recovered fast. In one lithe motion, she regained her balance and slipped her hand inside the pocket of her dress, her trembling fingers searching for the ivory-handled revolver. The loose folds of her cloak billowed around her ankles as she withdrew the weapon and whirled on her attacker. Her thumb twitched over the cold metal hammer and she squinted into the shadows, receiving her first good look at her assailant.

“Luke!” she gasped, her voice a confused mixture of fear, anger and relief. She lowered the gun to her side, glowering at the pouting countenance of her brother. He was eying her cautiously as he sucked the blood from his palm. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her husky voice thick with a southern drawl that refused to fade. “You near scared me half to death.”

The full lower lip trembled as he turned his attention to rubbing his aching shin. His forehead was baby-smooth, his dark brows raised high with surprise. Like a young boy, no hint of menace marred his sulking expression. Of course, there wouldn’t be. While his body dwelled well into the realm of maturity, Luke’s mind was no more advanced than that of a child of eight. “I wanted to surprise you,” he said finally, his lower lip still thrust in a pout. Though his voice was deep and masculine, his tone was sweetly innocent.

“Well, you succeeded.” Slowly, she raised the gun, the Colt dangling from her index finger for Luke to see. His brown eyes widened in fright, as though Hope had just waved one of the water snakes he feared so much under his nose. “You succeeded just fine. Don’t you see what almost happened?” Her cheeks reddened with anger at the thought. “You snuck up behind me and I didn’t even know it was you. How was I supposed to know you weren’t a murderer, a robber, or—” she gulped, thrusting back the thought, “or worse?” Her jaw hardened at her brother’s look of confusion. “Don’t you see? I could have hurt you, Luke. I could have shot you dead.”

Luke frowned, his wounded gaze wavering between the gun and his sister. “You woulda killed me dead?” he asked, his eyes shimmering with the threat of tears. “Why, Hope? I thought you loved me. You said you love me.”

Inside the saloon, a piano began pounding out a pitifully off-key version of “Hometown Girls.” The squeaky notes grated on Hope’s already frazzled nerves as she glowered at her brother.
“I do love you, you big lug.” Her brother’s look of wounded indignation quickly melted into one of delight. The sight frustrated Hope. Luke’s boyish mind refused to let him grasp the magnitude of the trick he had just played. Somehow, she had to make him understand. Tucking a stray wisp of chestnut hair beneath the hood of her cloak, she hardened her features and slipped the gun back in her pocket. “Lucas William Bennett, you’re my brother and I love you dearly,” she continued, her voice harsh and scolding as she watched his grin broaden, “but you can’t go around sneaking up on people like that. It just isn’t right. Now I want you to promise me you won’t ever do anything like that again. Luke?” She sighed impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her toe. “
Luuu-uuke!
”

“All right.” The pout was back, but the familiar shimmer of mischief had returned to his eyes. His big feet shuffled in the dirt as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I promise,” he agreed with grudging obedience.

“Good,” she said, ignoring the hint of a grin that still tugged at her brother’s lips. “Now, tell me what you found out. Is he in the saloon or not?”

Luke nodded eagerly, the shaggy ends of his hair brushing the collar of his chambray shirt. The dark strands, lighter than his sister’s, glistened in the pale glow of moonlight. “Yup. He’s in there all right. But I don’t think you wanna find him.”

“And why not?” she snapped, still vexed. “That
is
what I came here for, isn’t it?” At her brother’s wounded look, Hope softened her tone of her voice. “I’m sorry, Luke, I didn’t mean to yell. Just tell me, did you see him? Is he playing cards? What table is he at?” Slowly, her gaze narrowed on her brother. “Lucas William, is that whisky I’m smelling on your breath? And cheap perfume clinging to your shirt?
Luu-uuke?
”