California Caress (10 page)

The shade of the granite boulder two feet away was a welcome respite from the heat. Hope took no time to enjoy it. She swept a few chestnut wisps back from her brow and glared at him angrily. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded when they stopped short, out of the crowd’s hearing distance.

Although the hand was no longer pulling her, it was still painfully attached to her arm. She tried to shake it off, but like a pesky fly, it refused to leave.

“I’m upping the ante,” Drake replied with a wry twist of his lips. His eyes shimmering in the rays of the late morning sun.

“Upping the—? What!? You can’t do that!”

He chuckled sarcastically, running a roughened palm over his stubbled jaw. “Why not?” he shrugged. “I thought your offer over and realized that what you’re offering is
not
worth risking my neck over. Now, either you make swallowing a few teeth worth my while, or your brother can do the fighting himself.” He grinned wickedly, knowing damn well she wasn’t in a position to refuse him. “Which will it be, sunshine?”

Hope’s eyes narrowed and her stomach felt as though it had been tied in a strong, hard knot. What, exactly, did he want more of? “Isn’t it a little late for this, Frazier?” she asked, her cheeks draining of color. “I told you before, one hundred dollars is all we have. Less now. What else is there?”

“What I want,” he replied, his words slowed to prolong her agony, “is a cut of the take. If I win, I want part of the mine.”

“Part of—but that’s ridic—!” She snapped her mouth shut and took a few quick breaths to calm her temper. It didn’t work. “What if you lose?” she asked tersely, as he dropped his hand from her arm. “What then?”

“I never lose.” Drake caught and held her gaze, his smile outrageously confident.

Hope tore her attention away, sparing a glance at the tall, robust, blond men. Which one would fight? It would have been tough to decide which of the four was the largest, the most foreboding. They all looked like they could easily tear the large boulder beside her out of the ground with their bare hands.

Frazier’s gaze followed her own, but Hope noticed that it was entirely lacking in fear. Instead, every fiber of his body seemed rigidly self assured. The man’s ego was truly amazing.

“Let’s suppose you
do
lose,” she continued tightly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Whether you want to admit it or not, there
is
that chance. If we’re going to make a deal here, I want to know exactly what I get out of it.”

“Spoken like a true southern brat,” he quipped sarcastically. “If I lose, Miss Bennett, you’ll hardly win.”

“As it stands right now,
Mr. Frazier
, if you lose, we move our camp. Obviously, no one will profit if that happens.”

He smiled dryly. “Obviously. Any suggestions?”

“Yes, actually. On the off chance you do lose, I want all debts to be considered null and void.” She averted her gaze to a pebble near her foot. “I think that’s fair.”

“Fair? It’s fair only if you aren’t the one bleeding in the dirt.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, his gaze focusing on the Swedes, then shook his head. “No. It was a good try, sunshine, but my original price stands. Even if I lose, I get the hundred dollars,” he paused for the length of a heartbeat, “and the pleasure of your company for one night. If I win I get the same, plus a healthy cut of what comes out of your claim.”

“But you won’t work it,” she sneered. “What’s the matter, gunslinger? Afraid a little good, honest work might get your hands dirty? Or is it your reputation you’re worried about?”

“The only thing I’m worried about right now is whether or not I can trust you,” he growled.

His answer, shockingly honest, took Hope by surprise. She blushed fiercely when she realized his mistrust was well-founded.

“Of course I can be trusted,” she lied, thrusting her chin up proudly as their gazes clashed. “No reason to think I can’t be.”

“Oh no? Look over there,” he said, nodding to a point past her shoulder. “I can’t believe all those men would let a woman—a supposedly decent one, mind you, not the ones at The Brass Button Tavern—roam the countryside unattached. Not when there are so many men and so few skirts. Logic says there’s got to be a reason for that.”

There was a reason, a good one. But Hope would be damned if she’d share it with the likes of this conniving rat! “Let’s leave my personal life out of this, gunslinger. What I do, and who I do it with, is none of your goddamn business.”

“It is if you’ll be carrying anything contagious to my bed, lady.” His attention returned to the men. “Miners aren’t the cleanest of men. And they aren’t known for being very particular about their women.”

Hope contained the urge to slap the arrogant smirk from his face by balling up her hands into tight fists. The tips of her fingernails dug painful crescents into the fleshy part of her palms. She was blushing, she could feel it, and she hated the instinctive reaction. “I am no man’s ‘woman,’ “ she hissed indignantly, flexing her fingers and willing them to refrain from doing what they itched most to do.

Frazier’s lazy smile made Hope’s urge to whack him all the stronger. Containing her anger wasn’t easy, but by using a healthy dose of Bennett determination, she managed.

Looking away for a diversion, she noticed the group behind her. The men shuffled restlessly, mumbling amongst themselves. Her father had stepped into what was now a circle of men, and was talking to one of the Swedes. The wild gestures of the burly blond suggested that whatever Bart Bennett was saying, it wasn’t welcome news.

Her palms went suddenly moist and a surge of fear rushed through her veins. “It’s time. Are you going to fight?”

“Depends. Do we have a deal?”

Hope sighed. There was no way out. He’d cornered her someplace between saving her pride and saving Luke’s life. The latter easily won out. She forced the air from her lungs and drew in another ragged breath. “Yeah,” she said weakly, “we have a deal. I—I’ll talk to my father and see what can be done about the mine.”

“And tonight?” His voice was soft, husky whisper as the tip of a calloused finger traced the smooth line of her jaw. “Don’t tell me you forgot about tonight, sunshine?”

She swatted his hands away. “As if you’d let me!”

Frazier’s deep, rumbling laughter was her only answer as he cupped her cheek, then dropped his hands to his side. His voice was still thick with humor as he said, “You know, I once read in a book—yes, I
can
read, don’t look so surprised—that in medieval times, a lady fair would give her lover a token to take into battle. It was supposed to bring the fighter luck.” All laughter was suddenly gone as his voice lowered to a throaty pitch. “Are you going to give me a token, Hope?”

“This isn’t the Middle Ages,” she replied tightly, hiding her surprise that a man like Drake Frazier would even know about such things. “And I am definitely
not
your lover.”

“Yet,” he dared to remind her. The single word coiled around Hope’s spine. “A technicality that
will
be remedied. But I’d still like a token.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense,” she scoffed, gasping when he reached down and pulled a glistening, curved blade bowie knife from the top of his boot.

Before Hope could stop him, the sun-bronzed hands had reached out and sliced free a thick chestnut curl. His other hand returned the knife to its hidden sheath.

“A token,” he stated, much too lightly for Hope’s liking as her fingers automatically groped the place where the curl had been. She gasped, her mouth open wide in silent protest, as Frazier wound the thick lock of hair around his hand.

“Ready?” he asked, as he slipped the chestnut strand from his knuckles and tucked in into his pants pocket.

He didn’t wait for an answer as he strode by her, leaving nothing for Hope to do but follow in his wake. Not a pleasant prospect, that, she soon realized as she forced herself to face that broad back and the swaggering stride of his lean hips.

Bart Bennett’s gaze drifted from the brooding Swede to his daughter. Hope nodded tightly and took her place between Luke and Old Joe. Frazier stood a small distance from Luke. Although his gaze seemed to be drifting lazily about his surroundings, Hope doubted the sea-green eyes missed a thing.

“What’s going on?” she asked Old Joe when her father and the Swede launched into another angry bout of conversation.

“Garth’s madder’n a polecat in heat cuz Luke won’t be fightin’.” Coughing in the back of his throat, he turned his head and spit in the dirt near his feet.

Luke puffed his chest proudly. “He’s gonna be even madder when he finds out who’s taking my place.”

Watching Bart and Garth split apart, Hope had a feeling the Swede had just found out. Garth glared over his shoulder as Bart rejoined his group.

“Well?” Old Joe asked. “What’d he say?”

“What
could
he say?" Bart shrugged. “It wasn’t in the rules that we couldn’t get outside help. Nobody said outright that you were fighting, they just assumed it. Isn’t our fault they jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“A conclusion we goaded them into,” Hope chirped in.

“Maybe.” Bart shrugged. “Maybe not. The point is, Luke’s not fighting.” He turned his attention to Drake, although his words were aimed at his daughter. “Your friend here is.”

A flicker of unease washed over her as she watched the Swede Frazier would be fighting approach the other side of the circle.

Of course, Oren Larzdon turned out to be the biggest, brawniest of the lot. His snowy blond head easily towered over the other men around him. His shoulders were wide, his arms muscular. There was a hardness in the bony face, and a flash of shrewdness in the pale blue eyes. Gut instinct told Hope that this man had no intention of fighting fair.

While her first impulse was to warn the gunslinger, the memory of his bowie knife was still fresh enough to stop her. Unlike Luke, Drake Frazier was prepared for any surprises. Her tension ebbed, but only slightly. She wouldn’t feel completely at ease until the fight was over, no matter what the outcome.

“Ready?” Bart asked Drake, who nodded curtly. “Well then, let’s get this over with. I got work to do.”

Bart strode toward the circle’s empty center. Garth and Oren approached from the other side. Frazier, however, did not fall into step behind her father. Instead, he took a sharp detour to the right, until he was standing barely a handsbreadth away from a startled Hope.

His eyes were intent as his gaze caressed her face. Was he trying to memorize her features, or, more likely, to remind her of their deal? She wondered, as she returned his gaze measure for measure.

Wordlessly, Drake’s arm snaked out. It wrapped around her waist and back as he pulled her supple body roughly against him.

Hope was too stunned to protest as his lips crashed down on hers. His mouth was hard and demanding, yet at the same time sweetly draining, as it extracted from her a response she fought hard not to give.

In a heartbeat the kiss was over. Hope stumbled back a step when there was no longer a strong arm to support her trembling weight. Her fingers fluttered to her lips, her mouth still hot from the passionate kiss. Her eyes widened, confusion sparkling in their dark brown depths.

“Incentive.” It was all the explanation Frazier offered before spinning on his heel and joining her father.

Her surprised gaze followed the arrogant strides. She tried hard to ignore the shocked stares of those around her. Had she looked, she would have seen the spark of realization twinkling in Old Joe’s eyes.

Garth and Bart exchanged words. When they were through, Garth stepped over to the two contestants. Gripping the wrists of both men, he raised their hands in the air and turned his attention to the crowd. A murmur of approval echoed around Hope.

“Are yew ready?” he asked each man, his voice deep, penetrating, and thick with an odd European accent.

Both men nodded in turn. Garth dropped their hands, then stepped back. Bart had already retraced his steps to take a place at Old Joe’s right.

The fight had begun.

The crowd grew quiet as the two opponents came face to face for the first time. Although both were tall, the Swede was taller. To the observant eye, both displayed equal amounts of strength and cunning.

Each combatant judged the other carefully, measuring up his strengths and weaknesses with a cold, calculating glance. The final outcome would rely heavily on these first, fleeting impressions.

The two men circled each other. Both crouched low, waiting for the other’s attack. They had come almost full circle when Larzdon’s meaty fist swung out in a direct path for Frazier’s jaw.

Frazier ducked. The fist collided with empty air, missing his head by mere inches. Using the momentum of regaining his stance, he sank his fist deep in the Swede’s stomach.

Oren grunted as the air rushed from his lungs. His body instinctively doubled at the waist. Drake sent the other fist crashing into his opponent’s jaw before he’d completely pulled back from the first. The weight of the collision sent the Swede tumbling backward in the dirt. He landed with a thud and a cloud of dust, like a giant cedar being felled.

Although he’d gained the initiative, Frazier didn’t launch another attack. Still crouched, he backed far enough away for Larzdon to regain his footing. He stayed close enough to imply the threat of danger.

Shaking his head, the Swede stumbled to his feet. Judging from the look on his face, he was as surprised as the rest of the men by Frazier’s tactics.

“Come on, Frazier,” a loud voice called out from the eerily silent crowd.

Larzdon balled his fists and brandished them in front of his wide chest. Unlike Frazier, who never stayed in the same spot for long, the Swede’s feet were firmly rooted. He was going to make his opponent come to him.

“Got a bet on you,” another yelled, never stating exactly
who
the bet was on.

Impatient to get on with it, Larzdon gave a feral growl and rushed. The thick muscle of his shoulder drove hard into Frazier’s stomach. Both men were propelled backward. They landed in the dirt, the Swede on top, straddling Frazier’s stomach as the other landed on his side. A fist drew back, and Hope flinched as it smashed into Drake’s cheek. Hope felt the wave of pain as though it were her own.