Lips That Touch Mine (24 page)

She'd rather run her palms over his gorgeous
body, feel the weight of him pressing her into her mattress, kiss
him until they were both mindless with need, until they couldn't
turn back. She didn't want to return to her empty life. She wanted
to stay right here in the safe circle of his arms, feeling
passionate and alive.

Two huge dog paws plunked down on her stomach
and knocked the air from her lungs. She gasped and glanced down to
see Sailor staring up at her with an indignant canine squint.

It was as if her own mother were standing in
her kitchen wearing that scornful look. The reality of what she was
doing struck her like a branding iron across the chest. She was
sprawled across Boyd's lap, kissing him like the mistress Zeke had
accused her of being. Worse yet, Boyd was a paying boarder.

He was here on business for the sheriff no
less.

Sailor plopped his head on her thighs,
wheezing with excitement, his tail whipping behind him as he begged
for her attention. She rubbed his head and silently thanked him for
interrupting what would have been a terrible mistake.

Boyd lifted the dog's jaw and stared at him.
"You are really starting to irritate me."

Sailor wheezed and burrowed against Claire's
side. Despite the tension between them, she smiled.

Boyd smiled, too. It was a soft, sincere
smile. "I guess it's obvious that we're both fond of you."

She slipped off his lap before she could
think about kissing him senseless. "I'll take Sailor up with me,
unless you'd rather he stay in the kitchen."

"Sailor would never forgive me if I denied
him your company." Boyd got to his feet, bringing himself, and his
tempting chest within inches of her. "You know, this is the first
time I've ever been envious of a dog." He winked and stole a brief
kiss before strolling out of the kitchen. It left her heart
pounding and her brain spinning with rash, reckless thoughts of
following him upstairs to his bed.

"Look at
'em," Gus Wriensler said to the sheriff, jabbing his finger toward
Claire and the women gathered around her. "They're like a bunch of
damned wasps, swarming into my saloon, buzzing about us men like
we're all the Devil incarnate."

The sheriff frowned. "Watch your mouth,
Gus."

"A man's got a right to have a nip when he
feels the need. And I got a license to sell liquor. "

"You don't have a right to point your gun at
unarmed women. Keep it put up, or I'll take it."

"Then keep 'em out of my saloon!"

Duke turned toward the women. "Ladies, give
Mr. Wriensler some time to mull over your message."

"I ain't mulling over nothing."

The sheriff scowled at Gus. "Would you prefer
to have these ladies on your doorstep every day trying to bring you
around to their way of thinking?"

"Hell no."

"Then I'd suggest you agree to consider their
message and send them word once you've reached a decision."

"I already know what I—" Gus clamped his
mouth shut, his eyes registering the meaning behind Duke's words.
"All right, then. But you keep 'em off my doorstep while I'm making
up my mind."

Every woman there knew that the minute Gus
closed his door he would forget they'd ever been there. Claire saw
the disappointment in their faces, knew that some of the women
would lose hope and consider the battle lost. But she wasn't going
to let one rude bar owner stall her mission or the dreams of
thousands of women across America. "Sheriff Grayson?" she
called.

He had stopped to see her and Anna last
night, assuring them that Larry was locked up, and that his friends
had been warned to stay away.

The sheriff gave her a nod of greeting. "Good
afternoon, Mrs. Ashier."

"It is
not
a good afternoon when a
man points a gun at you.

"Then get off my property," Gus said.

She ignored him and spoke to the sheriff.
"It's apparent to all of us that Mr. Wriensler has no intention of
considering our message. Each of us has pledged to march for
temperance until we've stopped the sale of all intoxicating
beverages. I believe I speak for all of us when I say we will not
turn our heads simply to appease Mr. Wriensler."

The ladies' voices rose in agreement.

"I've pledged to visit everyone who is
violating our mission," she went on, looking straight at Gus
Wriensler. "No gun or vulgar threat is going to stop us from doing
what we believe is right." They couldn't allow it to stop them, or
nothing would ever change.

The ladies cheered, and Gus glared at Duke.
"Get this herd of cattle off my property," he said, his face
crimson with anger.

Gus argued, and the ladies protested until
the sheriff finally fired his pistol in the air. Everyone gaped at
him in the ringing silence.

"Thank you," he said, his voice admirably
calm. "Now, here's the way it's going to be. You ladies stay clear
of Mr. Wriensler's saloon for a while. And Gus, you keep your gun
put up or you'll spend a week as my guest." Gus's roar mingled with
the ladies' disappointed protests, but the sheriff ignored all of
them. He pushed Gus inside the bar and slammed the door, then
spread his arms and turned the women away from the saloon. "There's
plenty of other places to do your work. Start there."

Claire followed the disheartened women to the
Common. She felt helpless. She had no idea how to convince a man
like Gus Wriensler to close his bar.

Desmona lifted her hand for silence, then
addressed the ladies. "Gus Wriensler is only part of our problem.
There is speculation that some of us are becoming too friendly with
the saloon owners," she said, shooting a meaningful glance at
Claire and Anna.

Elizabeth, who was standing beside Desmona,
gasped at her mother's malicious accusation. For Elizabeth's sake
Claire refused to show any anger or embarrassment. Deciding to turn
the tables on the pushy witch, she linked her arm with Desmona's
elbow and faced the crowd of fellow marchers. "I'm the guilty
party," she said without preamble. "I'm spending time with Boyd
Grayson because I'm working on a surprise." Not a lie exactly. She
was spending time with Boyd. And she was hoping to surprise
everyone by stopping his liquor sales.

She let the ladies gather close, then raised
her voice to be heard. "We need to find the Achilles' heel of these
saloon owners," she said. "Who influences them? Who has power over
them? Who can hurt or help them? For one man it might be his
banker. For another man it might be his mother. It's our job to
find that person and recruit them to help us clean up the town. How
better to discover that information, or influence these men, than
by befriending them?"

Admiration filled Elizabeth's eyes, and she
gave Claire a small nod of support.

The ladies considered for a minute, then a
buzz of excitement rippled through the crowd. Suddenly a babble of
voices filled the Common.

Claire signaled for Anna to sneak away from
the crowd. The instant her friend was safely heading up Main
Street, Claire thrust Desmona into a group of chatting women, then
slipped through the mass of bodies and hurried home herself.

Inside her foyer, she closed the door and
leaned against it with a huge sigh of relief. Anna was waiting for
her.

"How did you get away from that witch so
quickly?"

"I dumped her in the middle of a debate over
who was more influential to Gus Wriensler, his wife or his
mother."

Anna sighed. "I feel sorry for her daughters.
It must be awful having a mother like Desmona. Elizabeth seems wary
of her."

"Elizabeth is wary of her mother learning the
truth about her marriage."

Anna shook her head in sympathy. "So tell me,
what's this big surprise you're planning?"

"I don't have clue," Claire said, feeling
slightly nauseous. "I made it up so I could get us away from her.
But I'll think of something."

Admiration filled Anna's face, and she gave
Claire a shy hug. "You are a smart and wonderful friend."

Tenderness filled Claire's heart, because she
understood what it cost Anna to give her that gesture of warm
affection.

Anna lowered her lashes as if embarrassed,
but a sharp knock on the door made them both leap back in
fright.

Dreading the possible danger lurking outside,
Claire peeked out the window. A handsome young couple stood on the
porch, the man clutching a valise, the lady holding an infant in
her arms. The man waved, and Claire ducked back in embarrassment.
What a frightened ninny she was becoming.

She opened the door and gave them her
friendliest smile.

"We saw your sign in Brown & Shepherd's
window," he said. "We're moving to the area and need to rent a room
until we can find ourselves a home."

"Come
on, Sailor."

Claire stood in the foyer in her boots and
coat, trying to get the dog away from the foot of the stairs. He'd
been standing by the newel post growling for ten minutes, staring
upstairs at the room she'd rented to Mr. and Mrs. Ormand.

The dog had been fine all afternoon while
Claire had visited with the Ormands. He had sniffed the baby's
blanket and tiny fingers, then flopped down beside Claire's rocking
chair while she rocked the baby. She'd held the precious child so
Mrs. Ormand could enjoy a cup of tea, but the instant she had given
the baby back to Mrs. Ormand, Sailor's hackles lifted.

For some unfathomable reason, he didn't like
Mrs. Ormand taking the child. He seemed protective of the baby, as
if the child belonged to Claire. In her heart, Claire wished it
did.

It was early evening, but the Ormands were
exhausted from two days of traveling and in dire need of rest. They
wouldn't get any sleep, though, if Claire didn't get Sailor out of
the house.

She nudged him outside and closed the door
behind them." What's wrong with you?"

He wheezed and planted his right paw on the
porch floor, as if making a statement.

"I had to give her back," she said, shooing
him down the steps. But she already missed the warm, welcome weight
of the baby nestled against her breast.

She waited on her porch, thinking Sailor
would run to the saloon, but he sat down in the middle of the road
and looked at her, as if waiting for her to catch up.

She waved her hand toward the saloon. "Go on.
I can't take you inside."

Sailor didn't budge.

"Oh, bother." It was bitter cold outside, and
she had to make sure Sailor was safely inside with Boyd before she
could return to her cup of tea. She descended the steps, and Sailor
bounded to his feet, and ran to the back of the saloon.

Claire tromped through the snow and found him
sitting in front of a wide door. She inched it open and peered into
what looked like a small, dimly lit storeroom filled with liquor
bottles, kegs of ale, and other supplies. She considered shooing
Sailor inside, but what if Boyd didn't discover the dog? The
thought of Sailor being trapped in the cold room all night made her
reconsider. She stepped inside.

Sailor bounded in after her, then crossed to
another door and nosed it open. The sound of the tavern spilled out
as Sailor slipped into the other room.

"Where'd you come from?" she heard a man say,
then a mixture of noise assaulted her ears.

From her position, she could see a narrow
strip of the bar area. Boyd was talking with three men who were
discussing spring planting. Two men sat at the bar sketching
something on a large paper, debating the merits of brick versus
wood to build a shelter. Despite the early hour, a man in the far
corner of the room was playing a lively song on the piano, and
several patrons surrounded the bar. She wrinkled her nose at the
cigar smoke and the smell of ale.

The crack of billiard balls riveted her
attention. She slipped her hand over the doorknob and leaned
forward to peer through the opening. Half the billiard table was
visible to her. Two men stood with long sticks in their hands,
eyeing the table with intense concentration.

So, this was what they did here.

Somehow, it didn't look as evil as she'd
imagined. Despite Jack's penchant for drinking, he'd never taken
her to a saloon. He'd held private card games in their apartments
and used her as a decoy. If he couldn't win using her as a
distraction, he would push her to the table and force her to play.
She loathed those nights. Especially if she lost.

But the view before her didn't inspire fear
or disgust. It made her curious. Much of the noise was a result of
having so many men in one place at one time with several active
conversations going on at once. The piano added another layer of
sound, as did the clacking sounds of the billiard balls. But taken
individually, none of it seemed overtly rude or intrusive as it
sounded from across the street.

No wonder Boyd couldn't understand her
complaint.

Suddenly, the knob beneath her hand turned,
and the door wrenched farther open with a violent tug. She stumbled
forward and fell against a bear of a man not much taller than
herself. He locked his fingers around her arms and yanked her
against him.

"What the hell are you doing snooping around
our storeroom?"

It was Boyd's nasty bartender, Karlton.

"Is spying a new tactic for you ladies?" He
jerked her arms, sending a spear of pain through her left elbow.
"What were you looking for?"

"N-nothing."

"Karlton!" Boyd's voice cut across the room.
"Let her go."

Karlton's vise-like fingers bruised her
flesh. "I'm fed up with these women meddling in my business."

"I said, release her."

Boyd strode across the room, but Karlton
didn't obey.

He wrenched her arm upward and pinned her
between the hard wall and his heavy body. "You'd better back off,
lady, and stop the damn marches."