Intimate Strangers (Eclipse Heat Book 2) (15 page)

She supposed there were worse things for a woman than being desired by the man she was married to, but Ambrose Quince looked and looked and looked until she felt the sweep of her blush turn her fiery red. She tightened her hand around her reticule, glad that she had crammed her gun inside. “Stop that,” she chided him.

He didn’t even feign innocence, bending to whisper in her ear, “Remember what I told you on the trail? It’s time to dance.”

The thought of Ambrose putting those big hands of his anyplace on her person left her body flushed and wanting. She smoothed the material covering her with nervous hands.

Lucy faulted the yellow dress for all of the interest, and if she could have without hurting the feelings of her son, she would have changed into her old cotton that was now sun-dried and ready to wear.

Ambrose moved to take her arm but, suddenly shy, she linked hands with Brody on the one side and Alex on the other before indicating that they were ready to move to the dining room of the hotel.

Then her children colluded with their father. Alex, who was now taller than her, twirled her about, and Brody dropped her hand to claim Hamilton as her partner.

That left Lucy’s right arm free, and Ambrose cupped that elbow, leaving her with two male escorts, her son on the left and her husband on the right.

As soon as they left their suite of rooms Lucy realized her mistake.
I can’t do this.

The hallway, empty when they’d arrived, was now crowded with rough cowboys, some carrying saddles on their shoulders. Others had women they pulled along beside them and one couple leaned against a wall, the man openly fondling breasts that spilled from a low-cut dress.

Quincy’s voice boomed like the crack of a bullwhip, getting the attention of every man in the hall. “Boys, get out of the way and act like you know something. My family’s coming through.”

With the amorous couple in mind, Lucy whispered a warning to Brody. “Cover your eyes.”

The drovers cleared a path and Alex dropped behind Lucy. She and Ambrose led the way down the steps to the lobby. As they made their way to the dining area, Ambrose kept his arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the rough crowd. As if he could feel her terror, he murmured in her ear, “Hang on to me, Luce.”

She wanted to turn away from the roiling mass of humanity and run. Instead, she walked beside Ambrose as he pushed his way toward a set of double doors guarded by a man holding a shotgun.

Lucy winced when she saw the amount of money Ambrose paid to get the family through the doors. “I hope you know you just spent enough to stock the kitchen larder for a month,” she scolded him.

His expression relaxed into a sheepish grin. “Never been here before. Figured we’d do it together and see what money can buy in Wichita.”

Once through, another man pointed a double-barreled shotgun at them and said, “I’ll take your guns.”

Two men stationed next to the bar watched with interest, preparing to dispatch unruly guests with the billy clubs they wielded.

Lucy felt Ambrose tense, ready to argue. She nudged him with her reticule, reminding him they wouldn’t be defenseless.

Without another grumble, he and Hamilton surrendered their weapons and the Quince family let a waiter seat them at two tables since one was too small to accommodate all of them.

Lucy headed for the table with Brody and Alex, but Ambrose caught her arm and steered her to the other. “Hamilton can ride herd on the young’uns for us. He’ll celebrate later.”

Lucy studied the room’s occupants dining amid splendor. Unlike the raucous crowd in the hotel lobby, these hotel guests were clean, dressed fashionably and conversing quietly under the soft lighting of a crystal chandelier. The elegantly refined atmosphere struck a chord of memory in her and she asked Ambrose, “Are you sure we haven’t been here before?”

“Nope.” He frowned. “At least I’ve never been here.”

“If we weren’t here before my disappearance and I haven’t been here since, why does it seem familiar?” As soon as she asked the question, Lucy wanted to withdraw it.

Ambrose shrugged. “You grew up eating in places like this. Doesn’t surprise me it feels right to you. Myself, I feel like a mule among thoroughbreds.” He grimaced in disgust, turning his palms up. “Not exactly the hands of a gentleman.”

Lucy touched a rough callus, inspecting it before she answered. “Your hands are like you—strong and powerful with no frills. I like your hands, Mr. Quince.”

Suddenly it was if they were alone in the room sharing an intimate moment. His fingers closed around hers and carnal awareness pulsed between them.

Lucy could feel the blush heating her cheeks and she fidgeted, pulling her fingers from his grasp and sedately folding her hands before her. She refused to meet his gaze, knowing she would see eyes half-closed, already considering the next phase of their
dance
, as he called it.

A couple brushed past the table, interrupting the silent tableau. When Ambrose introduced Lucy to Clayton and Iris Howard, the white-haired gentleman beamed at her as though she should recognize him. Then he asked, “How is your horse project progressing?”

Although he looked at Lucy, Ambrose answered, “We’ve had a few setbacks that caused some delay, but Lucy’s equine business is still being developed.”

Mr. Howard frowned at her. “I was surprised when you canceled your order for your Morgan mares. Could you not find a satisfactory stallion with the confirmation you wanted?”

His wife, an older woman dressed in lavender and lace, fanned herself wearily as she spoke to the room in general, “I anticipate with joy the day Mr. Howard completes his business in this place so that we might return to Boston.”

Iris looked pointedly at Lucy. “Before your untimely disappearance, we had many wonderful chats in the Eclipse tea salon sharing memories of our common bond—Boston. I’ve missed our afternoon soirees and hope to resume them when we meet again, Mrs. Quince.” She took her husband’s arm and guided him away.

Since Lucy didn’t have any memories, it was an empty invitation, but still, it was an acknowledgment of her identity, and she stored it for future use. She looked mischievously at Ambrose and whispered, “You suppose we can get prissy Iris Howard into Banker Pauley’s office to identify me?”

Surprise and relief changed his frown to a smile. “Aren’t you going to ask me about your horse project?”

“I’m guessing that’s another of the things we quarreled about,” Lucy answered.

“That’s what we fought about the day you left.” Their earlier interlude was over and they faced each other across a chasm of unknown past events.

“How can I be upset about something I don’t even remember? Let’s celebrate the successful end to the trail drive.” Lucy wanted to wipe that look of worry from Quincy’s face and see him smile again.

She leaned forward and touched his arm. “Could I have a glass of wine?”

He frowned at her. “You develop a taste for liquor while you were gone?”

She grinned and blamed it on Roberta. “My partner encouraged her many admirers to bring her a bottle now and then and she introduced me to the taste.”

His eyes took on a speculative look and before he could wonder aloud she patted his hand reassuringly.

“Roberta and I had many discussions as we sipped elderberry wine.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“Roberta’s favorite subject—men, men and men,” Lucy laughed as she said it. “Since I had no memories, I was pretty well captive to Roberta’s. The wine helped me suffer through the discourse.”

He started to say something, evidently nonplussed at the idea of women sitting around drinking spirits and talking about males. Before he commented, a waiter arrived and Ambrose ordered a bottle of wine instead of the glass Lucy had requested.

The waiter delivered the bottle, filled two glasses with red spirits and left.

Lucy sipped the mellow, fruity wine and smiled. “I like this.”

Ambrose swallowed a mouthful, wrinkled his nose and said, “Good. You’ve got a bottle to drink. I’m more inclined toward whiskey when I want to unwind.”

She realized again how little she knew about this man, a perfect stranger, and yet every part of her recognized him as her mate. “Since this is a celebration, I insist you enjoy the liquor of your choice.”

Before Ambrose could act on her suggestion, there was a commotion at the dining room door when a newly arrived couple entered. Lucy stared at the woman, who was without doubt the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.

But she stiffened in amazement when the woman’s escort came into view. Sheriff Bailey guided her into the room and, upon spying them, deliberately angled his companion toward the Quince tables.

“Evening, Ambrose, Miz Quince.” Lucy hated the way he squinted down at her with beady eyes. She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to crawl closer to Ambrose, tightening her grip on the reticule in her lap instead.

“We came to stock up on supplies for the Mercantile.” The sheriff’s explanation was unnecessary and Lucy wondered why he bothered to offer it.

She sighed in relief when he moved away from their table and past Hamilton’s without stopping. The woman with him lingered behind long enough to say, “Hamilton, I hope your journey was safe.” She spoke with a Southern accent that made Lucy want to curl her toes, so it was hard to imagine the effect it had on men.

A scent of lilacs clung to her, reminding Lucy to reinvestigate all those fragrance bottles on her bedroom vanity at home.

“Who is that woman?” she asked Ambrose as soon as the incongruous pair had moved to their own table.

“That’s Comfort Bailey, the sheriff’s wife.” He didn’t elaborate and went to the bar to get his drink, leaving Lucy to wonder if it was the woman or the sheriff who had suddenly caused tension in the Quince brothers.

The Baileys were the most mismatched couple she’d ever seen. Owen Bailey was a bandy-legged, barrel-chested, red-faced man with—from what Lucy had observed at the hanging—an ugly temper. It defied belief that his marriage to the elegant woman was a love match.

The night wasn’t going like Ambrose had planned. It seemed as if every huckleberry he knew from Eclipse was now visiting Wichita. Pete Slocum, a member of the Circle Five consortium, leaned against the bar, more drunk than sober. When he saw Ambrose he said, “They tell me your herd stampeded and damn near ran the fat off comin’ to Wichita.”

“That’d be the case,” Ambrose agreed, adding, “But the army didn’t seem to mind takin’ ’em off our hands. Hamilton came ahead and got a good price. We just arrived a little sooner than expected.”

Ambrose was edging back toward the dinner area when Pete asked, “That your wife in there? I heard Lucy came home. Mind if I stop by and say welcome back? I figure she’ll want to renew acquaintances with old friends.”

Ambrose felt a tide of rage crawl up his spine. He’d felt it many times in the years before Lucy had disappeared. “Since when do you know Lucy?”

Memories of doing battle over Lucy’s honor soured the evening. Some things, apparently, never changed. He set the glass of spirits on the bar, preparing to beat the shit out of Slocum.

Pete leered meaningfully at him and sneered, “Hell, if you’ll recall, I danced with her the night before she ran off.”

Ambrose reached for Slocum and the two bouncers grabbed both of them. Pete jerked away, shambling drunkenly toward the Quince family. Ambrose caught Hamilton’s gaze and nodded toward where Lucy sat alone.

Before Hamilton could stop him, Pete tipped his hat to Lucy and said loud enough for the room to hear, “Your man told me to stop by and say hello.”

Lucy looked at Ambrose uncertainly.

Slocum laughed out loud and leaned closer to the table, muttering something to her the others couldn’t hear. Ambrose was held tight, a captive audience to the exchange. Hamilton moved toward Lucy but she handled things just fine.

Whatever Slocum said to her must have been wrong. She pulled her six-shooter out of her new yellow reticule and pointed it at Slocum’s crotch. Ambrose relaxed and grinned.
Damn, all those evenings of practice appear to have improved her aim.

Silence blanketed the hotel dining hall and Lucy’s words carried clearly when she said, “Best be movin’ on, cowboy, or my next shot will make you a steer.”

Ambrose figured Slocum wasn’t the only man in the room who felt his balls shrink as Lucy aimed her gun. Pete looked a hell of a lot more sober as he slowly backed away, hands held high enough in the air to convince her he was compliant and respectful.

The hotel’s bullyboy released Ambrose and started toward their table. Lucy was already standing and had placed her napkin on the seat of her chair. Ambrose reached the table and said, “Sit back down. We haven’t eaten yet.”

Her face was devoid of color and her eyes glittered with tears but she said calmly, “I believe I’ve lost my appetite. You’ll have to excuse me.”

The bouncer surprised Ambrose. Instead of asking her for her weapon, he smiled at both of them. “Ma’am, the hotel apologizes for any insult you might have received. I’ll ask the chef to send out the house special at no charge if you’d like to continue your meal.”