California Caress (2 page)

Luke scratched the top of his head as he contemplated his sister. “I’m not telling,” he replied peevishly, drawing circles in the dirt with the toe of his boot. “You already yelled at me once for funnin’, and I don’t wanna get yelled at again.”

“I did not yell!” she yelled. Hope's mouth snapped shut as she struggled to get a firmer grip on her emotions. When she spoke again, her voice was laced with only the barest trace of annoyance. “I didn’t yell,” she repeated calmly, “I scolded. There’s a difference.” Luke opened his mouth to inquire just what that difference was, but Hope rushed on before he could sidetrack her again. “Just tell me what you found out. And be quick about it, we don’t have all night.”

“I already told you.”

“You told me he’s in there,” she corrected, pointing a finger at his massive chest. “You didn’t tell me where.”

“Geez, Hope. I don’t know where.”

Hope nibbled her lower lip as the music inside stumbled, stalled, then the song started anew. She asked with sorely strained patience, “Did you
see
him, Luke? Where was he sitting?”

Luke scowled. “He wasn’t sitting nowhere. I just heard some fellas talking about a gunman named Frazier. They said he rented a room yesterday.”

“Did they say which room? What number?”

“No.”

She wasn’t surprised. For Luke to have gotten Drake Frazier’s room number would be better luck than she had a right to hope for.

“All right,” Hope sighed, turning on her heel and resuming the pacing that her brother’s sudden appearance had interrupted. “At least we know where he is. That’s a start. Tell me,” she said over her shoulder as she neared the front of the alley, “these men didn’t say whether or not Frazier was in his room now, did they?”

“No,” he replied, following close on his sister’s heels. “But I saw a whole bunch of guys that fit his description.”

She spared her brother a reprimanding glare. Luke bowed his head, chastised into silence. He wasn’t supposed to go into the saloon at all. That wasn’t part of the plan and he knew it. Still, considering his expression, and that he had found out which of the stone-fronted buildings this Frazier character was staying in,
had
helped their cause. She could hardly yell at him for it.

Stopping at the front of the alley, Hope peeked around the corner. The boardwalk was empty. Horrible music, coupled with the mumble of male voices, drifted out of the saloon’s swinging double doors. An occasional giggle, distinctly feminine, floated through the cool night air. It was the only evidence that the saloon’s occupants were not all male.

“The description Pa and Old Joe gave us wasn’t very good,” she said suddenly, speaking more to herself than to Luke. Tall, darkish hair, brawny build, with a gun always strapped to his thigh. That was all she had to go on and it told her next to nothing. A description so sketchy it could easily fit more than half of the money-hungry prospectors who continued to pour into Thirsty Gulch in droves.

She fixed her brother with a scowl. “How do they know what he looks like, anyway? Didn’t the guy just get into town yesterday?”

“Old Joe said he met him once,” he shrugged, digging his hands in the pocket of his baggy trousers. “I think he said in San Francisco, back when they called in Yerba Buena.”

Hope groaned and stalked back down the alley. “Good God, Luke, that was almost three years ago. What if he doesn’t hire himself out anymore?”

Like followed his sister, kicking a rock with the side of his foot. “Old Joe says guys like that never change—they just die.”

“Well this one didn’t.”

“I don’t want you to go in there, Hope,” Luke said suddenly. Reaching out a restraining hand, he wrapped his thick fingers around his sister’s arm as she tried to move past him. He wrinkled his nose as though he’d just smelled a skunk. “There’s bad men in there. Bad men. Drinking, playing cards, swearing up a storm. It ain’t no place for my sister to be.” Hope opened her mouth to argue, but Luke plunged on. “Let me go in and talk to this Frazier guy. You stay out here where it’s safe.”

Hope’s gaze scanned the alley, and it was all she could do not to laugh out loud. “Here? Luke, it isn’t any safer out here than it is in there, believe me. Besides, Pa sent me to talk to Frazier for a reason.” She hesitated, meeting her brother’s confused gaze. How could she explain the situation in terms Luke could understand? Bluntly, she decided. Eloquent, flowery speech had no place with Luke Bennett. “I was chosen because I’m a woman, Luke,” she said finally, her tone very calm and matter-of-fact. “And since I happen to be one of the few decent ones around here, Pa and Old Joe figured Mr. Frazier would be more likely to listen to a woman than to you. Do you understand that?”

“Being a girl don’t make no difference,” he argued glumly. “All you gotta do is tell me what they told you to say. I may not be as smart as you, but I got a good memory. I can remember what to say, and I can say it just as good as you can.”

“I know you could.” A soft smile tugged at her lips as she reached up and caressed her brother’s stubbly cheek. “But I promised Pa I’d talk to him, and a Bennett never goes back on his word. Now, let go of my arm so I can go inside and get this business over with.”

Luke hesitated. “I don’t know,” he sighed, shaking his head.

“Luke, I’ll be fine,” she assured him as she pulled from his slackened grasp.

“But what about the bad men, Hope? What if they hurt you?”

“I can take care of myself.” She parted the cloak and patted the side pocket of her dress, reminding her brother of the gun that was concealed there. There was no need to tell Luke about the knife she had tucked in the other pocket—just in case a backup option was needed. “No one’s going to hurt me.”

The conviction shimmering in his sister’s eyes and mirrored in her voice made Luke nod. “You’ll be careful in there?” he asked, as she stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. Hope was the only girl Luke knew who was tall enough to do that.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised. Sending him a brief, encouraging smile, she edged back down the alley. Stopping midway, she turned back to her brother, her features stern. “You’ll wait out here for me, won’t you, Luke? I don’t want you wandering off again. So help me, if I come back and find you’re carousing, I swear I’ll—”

“Take me over your knee,” he finished the familiar threat as his lips curled into an impish grin. “Yeah, I know.”

Hope shot him a look that told him he was incorrigible, then slipped stealthily down the rest of the alley and around the corner.

Luke watched her go with an uncomfortable feeling pulling at his gut. He didn’t like this at all. Hope had a way of getting herself into trouble. She needn’t court more by walking into a saloon full of drunk men and whores at this hour of the night. But there was nothing he could do. Hope trusted him to stay put, and here is where he’d stay. She hadn’t forbidden him from worrying himself sick, however, and until she got back that was exactly what he intended to do.

Hope slinked past the front of the saloon and molded her back against the wall near the swinging doors. Entering a saloon at this hour of the night went against every grain of upbringing she held dear. But there was no help for it. She had to find Drake Frazier. Luke’s life depended on it.

Wiping her sweat-dampened palms down the front of her cloak, she pushed herself away from the wall and made ready to enter the saloon—only to have the door swing open and almost smack her in the face.

Gasping, she melted back against the wall as a gaunt, drunken miner staggered onto the boardwalk. The doors squeaked loudly behind him, then banged shut. She held her breath. The man hesitated, struggling to maintain his balance while she steeled herself for a confrontation, glad that her brother was still within calling distance. To her surprise, none came. Instead, the man raised his nose to the cool night air, then smiled as though he’d just caught whiff of the most delightful aroma he’d ever smelled. The contented smile stayed plastered on his face long after he’d staggered into the street, headed toward the crude little shanties on the outskirts of town.

Hope let out a pent-up sigh, then wondered what on earth she was feeling so relieved about. She’d missed being seen by one drunk miner.
One!
There was still a whole saloonful of them yet to be faced. Relief was the
last
thing she should be feeling right now.

Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep, steadying breath, smoothed down the cloak covering her rose-colored skirt, then pushed open one of the double doors. The hinges announced her entrance as she stepped into the saloon.

Smoke was everywhere. The curling gray vapors filled the room, hanging in the air like a thick ground fog, only fog didn’t smell this bad, nor did it burn one’s eyes. Tables were scattered over the floor in no semblance of order. An oak bar stretched from the far wall clear across to the other. In front of it were a variety of stools on which only a few of the many patrons sat. None of the stools matched, and to Hope it looked as if they’d all been salvaged from the trash heap. As for the other customers, they didn’t seem to care too much what they sat on. So long as they had a bottle in front of them and a glass, dirty or not, to drink from, they were a happy lot. A deck of cards wasn’t mandatory, but it sure was appreciated.

It took her a few seconds of squinting through the haze of pipe and cigar smoke before she could make out the vague lines of the piano in the corner to her left—and it was then she realized the paunchy man who sat in front of the instrument had stopped playing. It was a blessing in disguise, for as she watched, mouth upon bearded mouth snapped shut until it seemed like the attention of every man in the room rested on her. The attention she received from the “ladies” was not nearly as appreciative.

Only the sound of her heart drumming loudly in her ears saved Hope from hearing the whispers of speculation her presence stirred. For the first time in her life, she felt like hanging her head in defeat, and slinking out the door she’d just entered. But Bennett blood ran too thick in her veins to allow such cowardly retreat. Drake Frazier was here, and it was her job to find him. With her chin tilted at a proud angle, she returned the curious stares and stepped into the saloon as though she belonged there. The sound of the doors swinging shut behind her was loud in the ensuing silence.

A hushed voice to her right made Hope glance down at a nearby table. There, two men well into the cups tipped their hats back, leaned their heads together, and whispered furiously. A bargain was quickly struck. Chuckling obscenely, the men reached into their grubby pockets, and each produced a chunk of gold, almost equal in proportion. The nuggets were placed side by side on the table before the two men shifted their attention back to Hope.

“Well, sweetie?” the toothless one said when he noticed her staring at him and his companion. “You gonna make me rich or you gonna make me happy?” Taking his hat off, he rested it over his heart and sent her a lecherously forlorn look. “Either way, I’ll surely die a happy man.”

A round of laughter exploded at the off-color remark, but Hope refused to dignify the slimy toad with a response. Instead, she turned her attention to the rest of the room, her gaze searching for any man who would fit Drake Frazier’s description. There were a few, but the smoke was so thick and the men so many that she was quickly losing hope of ever finding the gunslinger without some measure of help.

“Don’t think she likes ya too well, Hank,” the other one said to his toothless companion. The hat he plucked off his head revealed a bald, leathery scalp that glowed dull in the lamplight. “Maybe she cottons more to a man with some meat on his bones.” The slurred voice rose with a confidence born from the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. “Hey there, little filly, if Hank here don’t suit ya, why not give me a try? Old Mel here really knows how to please a gal.” His busy brows rose in lewd suggestion. “Ya won’t be disappointed—and that’s a promise.” Leaning back in his chair, the man hooked his thumbs in his belt loops as his vulgar gaze ran up and down Hope’s body.

A hush fell over the room as she slowly turned to the man in question. She fixed her gaze on the one named Mel, and there was no stopping the shimmer of distaste in her large brown eyes as her gaze traveled over the pudgy man.

The toothless one shifted restlessly in his chair as she took a step toward the table. He sent his friend a nervous glance, not at all liking the angry color on the young woman’s face. It was a belated thought, but he wondered if any relatives of hers were here to witness his friend’s crude remark. If there was a father or brother around, they were keeping their peace. That settled the small man’s nerves—a little.

Hope stopped as soon as her thigh was an inch away from the table side. She was careful not to let the folds of her cloak brush against it, so greasy did the wooden surface appear. Her gaze hardened as it shifted from one man to the other, then down to the two gold nuggets on the table. They hadn’t been to the stamp mill yet, she noted, but even a rank amateur could see that both were of fine quality, with hardly a trace of quartz running through the shimmering surfaces.

“A bet?” she drawled, eying the gold. The silence that enveloped her was so acute that even those on the far side of the room could hear the softly spoken words. She batted a thick fringe of ebony lashes and regarded the pair with mock innocence. “Over little ol’ me? Why, gentlemen, ah surely am flattered.”

The small man ran the tip of his tongue over the disgusting pucker of his lips and nodded. His gaze ran greedily over the curvaceous body, only hinted at by the loose cloak. The eyes were beady and filled with a perversely nervous sort of hunger. It was plain to see he didn’t much care what lay beneath the coarse wool. The fact that she was a bona fide, honest-to-God woman was good enough for him. And if she was ugly or disfigured beneath those billowing folds? Well, he could always close his eyes and pretend, now couldn’t he?

“Care to settle it, honey?” the bald man asked, his voice a cold, hard challenge. Unlike his friend, he was not as easily intimidated, nor was he as drunk.