Deborah Camp (22 page)

The banker groaned. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.” Reno leaned forward and lowered his voice, although there was no one to overhear. “Let’s keep this between you and me for awhile. I want the town to be buzzing about the saloon being sold and all, but I don’t want anyone to know who bought it until the grand opening.”

“You can’t keep a secret like that for long.”

“Let’s keep it for as long as possible. The anticipation will breed gossip, and the gossip will be better than the truth. Terrapin will be running in circles trying
to figure out who’s aiming to be his competition.”

“He’s not stupid. He’ll probably figure it’s you.”

“Then you start the first rumor, Paul. You tell Terrapin that the money for the saloon was wired in from the East from a man named Fields.”

“You don’t want your name mentioned. That’s smart.”

“No, you can tell Terrapin I’m going to run the place.” Reno laughed. “Just don’t tell him I’m the owner. I want to keep that to myself for awhile.”

“Why?”

Reno sobered. He didn’t want to tell the banker that he had been keeping a naughty little secret from Adele concerning his wealth. Adele deserved to know the truth before anyone else was told.

“Like I said, let the flames of gossip be fanned,” Reno said. “Terrapin will find out soon enough that it’s my money taking his.”

“You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you?” Paul asked, leaning back in his office chair to give Reno a thorough once-over.

“Well enough.”

“In the goldfields?”

“I hit it lucky,” Reno allowed. “But I also worked hard to keep what I had and to add to it. I even ran into Terrapin up there in the golden hills.”

“You did?”

“I heard about him before I saw him. It was in Deadwood. Terrapin killed a man—cut his throat during the night—and stole the old boy’s money and other belongings. Like most cowards, he winnowed out the weak ones and went in for the kill. He never challenged anybody he wasn’t sure he could whip,
rape, or kill. Now he’s got enough money to hire his dirty work done for him.”

“I hope Buck Wilhite doesn’t kill you for Terrapin.”

“Don’t worry about me, Paul. I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”

“I’m surprised you’re up and about today after what happened last night. I heard you got hit in the head.”

“Yes, but my head is hard. Hadn’t you noticed?”

Paul chuckled. “I reckon I have, at that.”

“I’m okay. My head was spinning like a water-wheel for a few hours, but that passed. Of course, I didn’t let on that I was feeling fine, because I enjoyed Dellie buzzing around me.” He shared a lascivious smile with the banker. “Guess I’ll be getting back home for some more of her sweet medicine, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I know,” Paul assured him. “There’s nothing better than a woman treating a man like a conquering hero.”

“I’m her hero all right.” Reno stood up and shook Paul’s hand. “I appreciate you helping me out with this business deal, Paul. Remember, I’m just running the place for a rich man named Fields.”

“I’ll remember. And you remember to watch your back.”

Reno slipped out the rear door of the bank and walked to the depot. He hummed happily to himself, caught up in his plans to refurbish the saloon and entice Terrapin’s customers over to his side of the street.

Nearing the train depot, he saw lights on in Dellie’s quarters. She’d be wondering where he’d gone. He’d
tell her he’d been out for a walk, stretching his legs and clearing his aching head. He’d stumble and lurch a little, and she’d help him to her bed. Ah, yes. Her sweet-smelling bed.

The restaurant door opened, letting out a square of yellow light. Adele stepped outside, her slim figure casting a spire of shadow.

“Hey there,” Reno called out, giving a wave so that she was sure to see him. “I’m home, darlin’.”

He squinted, wondering what she held in her hands. It was long and cumbersome. She lifted it slowly and aimed it right at him.

Reno had only a moment to shout and jump before the shotgun coughed, and dust and clods of earth erupted no more than a foot in front of him.

“What the hell are you doing, Dellie!” he yelled, angry and edgy. There was nothing more dangerous than a woman with a firearm.

“We’ve had trouble around here, and I’m shooting any weasel that comes crawling around after dark.”

“It’s me, damn it all, woman! It’s your husband.”

“My husband?” She lowered the weapon a few inches. “My husband is in bed, where I left him. He’s too weak to be out at this time of night. He knows I would be worried sick if he ventured out of his bed.”

Reno heaved a weary sigh, recognizing her game. “I’m sorry, sugar. I had business in town.”

“Who did you beat up this time?”

He went still, realizing she knew more than he’d thought. “You can’t be mad at me for teaching Yancy Stummer to choose his friends more carefully. He deserved what he got and you know it.”

“All I know is that you have a knot on your head and should be in bed.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.” He started forward, but she fired off another round, stopping him in his tracks. This time she missed the toes of his boots by inches. “Dellie, this isn’t funny. I’m getting mad now. Put down that shotgun before you hurt someone.”

Mrs. McDonald came rushing out, her hair and nightgown flowing behind her. “What’s going on? Who’s shooting?”

“I’m shooting,” Adele told her calmly. “We’re closed for the night, Mr. Gold,” Adele called to him. “I put your cot out in that shed you’ve almost completed. Good night. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Dellie, damn it all!” He started forward again, but stopped when she lifted the weapon and placed him in its sights.

“And don’t try to break down any of these doors or I’ll aim true and pick off some of your toes. My aunt taught me how to use this shotgun, and if you’ll recall, she won a blue ribbon for target shooting every year at the Kansas county fair.”

Reno stood his ground as Adele pivoted sharply and ushered Mrs. McDonald inside ahead of her. He didn’t move toward the shed until the lights went off in the building. He did remember about her aunt being a crack shot and he was partial to his toes.

S
tanding at the restaurant door, Adele said goodbye to each of her new students, all seventeen of them.

Seventeen! She had expected to see Little Nugget and a couple of her friends at the first class and had been surprised when women kept arriving, shy and hesitant, but eager to learn to read and write.

“You look downright bewildered,” Little Nugget said, the last one to leave that Sunday afternoon.

“I didn’t expect … that is, I thought these women knew their letters and numbers. I’ve seen them around town, shopping and making purchases.”

“When you’re ignorant, you get real clever at hiding it,” Little Nugget said, looking demure and sweet in a pretty, cream-colored dress with a straw bonnet and tan gloves. Adele suspected she was something of a clothes horse.

“None of you is ignorant,” Adele asserted. “You weren’t provided with lives in which school was important, but you are rectifying that now. That’s what is important.”

“And we have you to thank.” Little Nugget gave Adele’s arm a quick squeeze. “Thanks. See you next week, and don’t be surprised if several others show up. Word will get around about this, and women will be coming out of the walls!” Laughing, she glided out of the door and walked briskly toward the heart of town as if she had not a care in the world. But Adele knew different.

Watching her, Adele felt sad and angry and helpless. If only she could provide an escape for those women working in Terrapin’s saloon. Though she’d tried to hide it, Little Nugget had been beaten again. No visible bruises or cuts this time, but Adele had noticed the stiffness in her, how she’d sat down and stood up so gingerly, one hand pressed to her ribs, her expression carefully composed so as not to show discomfort. It made Adele’s blood boil.

To calm herself and work off her anger, Adele straightened up the restaurant, moving tables and chairs back to their proper places, then went outside into the afternoon sunlight. The sound of sawing drew her to the back of the property, where she knew she’d find Reno working on the shed. Since the night she’d shot at him, four days ago, he had spent his evenings in the shed and his days busy with chores and putting finishing touches to his new home. He was mad at her, punishing her for putting him out of her quarters.

She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she missed him. In fact, she was more jumpy and nervous without him nearby. Now that the windows had been shot out, she feared another retaliation, and having Reno a few steps away had been a comfort.

There was more to her missing him, she knew. She craved his attentions, his sexy teasing, his special glances and lingering looks. Her pulse began to thrum, and she tried to stem the tide of her constant yearning, frightened that she might be swept away and do something crazy.

’
Fraidy cat
, she called herself.
Afraid of your own thoughts, your own feelings. What’s so scary? Maybe that you care deeply for him, perhaps even want him to make love to you
. She slammed the door on that possibility, finding it too powerful, like him.

Reno came into view, carrying a load of two-by-fours as if they weighed less than nothing. He didn’t see her. She stood statue-still, so as not to draw his notice, affording herself a chance to admire him, shirtless and sweating, his torso gleaming and rippling, the dusting of hair on his chest slick and swirled. Her palms grew moist and her breath hitched in her throat. Good Lord, he was gorgeous!

In profile his chest and arms bulged with muscle. Work pants and work boots were his only clothing, leaving his lean, hard body exposed to her inspection. Rivulets of perspiration glimmered on his tanned skin like tiny streams struck by sunlight. His trousers fitted tightly across his backside and intimately cupped his manhood. Adele tried not to stare there, but her gaze kept coming back to that particular bulge, and her imagination flourished.

Lovemaking. What would that be like? Not just spooning, courting and deep kissing. She’d done those things. But never full, intimate, free-as-a-bird lovemaking. Never that. She hadn’t even discussed it with her women friends. Her mother had talked to
her about the actual act, at first making it sound strictly biological, then admitting that it was more than that.

“Oh, you feel all sorts of things if you have the right man in bed with you,” Victoria Bishop had told her only child. “None of which I can aptly describe. Words aren’t enough, Adele. One must feel certain things. I hope—oh, I
sincerely
hope—that you do feel those things. Those wondrous, heaven-sent emotions …” Her voice had faded away and her eyes had softened with dreamlike visions.

Instinct assured Adele that Reno was the right man to summon those indescribable sensations in her. As he bent to sort through the lumber, his sinewy muscles undulated beneath his skin. A knot formed in Adele’s throat. Reno straightened and ran both hands through his sweat-dampened hair, exposing tufts of coal-black hair in his armpits. Then he ran a hand down his chest—his chest, with its whorls of curling hair on deeply tanned skin, the nipples small and diamond-hard. Turning his back to her, he moved with easy grace to a bucket. Lifting it high, he tipped the vessel, and a stream of water sluiced over his face and down his chest. He set the bucket down and shook his head, flinging water droplets off his wet hair.

Adele’s heart beat wildly, sending blood rushing to her extremities and making her light-headed. She feared she might pass out, so she started to retreat. That’s when he spotted her.

“Hey there,” he called out to her. “You want something?”

Oh, yes. She wanted something. Adele forced herself to face him again. He wore a scowl, his expression
of choice for her this week. When she didn’t speak up, he splayed his long-fingered hands on his hips and tipped his head to one side.

“What’s wrong now?” He cupped a hand to his ear. “Speak up, lady.”

“I … nothing.” Adele shook her head, hating the breathlessness in her voice.

He strode forward. “Through with your hen party? What are you doing, plotting to castrate the men in town?”

She flinched at his venom. My, my, he was on a tear! “I was not having a hen party. I was conducting a class.”

“A class, huh? What are you teaching them? How to place an advertisement and get yourself a human mule?”

Adele withstood his growling tirade. “I was teaching them to read and write,” she answered calmly. “I offered the instruction to Little Nugget, and we struck on the idea of seeing if any other women would like to learn. Today was our first class.” She hitched up her skirts a fraction and spun about, intent on leaving him and his scowling and growling.

“Hold up there.”

He moved so quickly that Adele let out a gasp of surprise when his hand closed on her arm and stopped her. His palm was calloused and hot to the touch. Her gaze flew to him and charged the air between them.

“Did you say you were teaching them how to read and write?”

“Yes.” She found she could not look away from him, entranced as she was by the strong planes of his
face, the streaks of sweat and water, the glisten of water drops on the tips of his hair, the musky smell of him.

“You’re teaching whores how to read and write,” he repeated.

“Not just …
Any
woman who missed out on her formal education. I thought it might lead to Little Nugget breaking away from Terrapin and that life.”

To her astonishment Reno smiled. “Well, well, if it isn’t Victoria Bishop’s feisty, crusading daughter. Where have you been hiding, Dellie?” He dipped his head until his eyes were even with hers. “Your mother would be proud, sugar. Hell,
I’m
proud of you.”

She nearly preened in front of him. Sweeping her lashes down, she felt her skin grow warm with embarrassment. He took her hands in his and held them lightly.

“Oh, Dellie,” he said in a singsong tone, “what do you think about the shed?”