The Trailrider's Fortune (2 page)

"These aren't
playing cards," Sparkle said. "They're tarot cards. They tell me
about the forces surrounding you and the shape of your future. Unlike most
men
,"
she added with sarcasm, "the cards don't assume people are always what
they appear to be."

Rafe chuckled.
Uppity filly still had that tough edge to her voice. She'd been heaved into the
dust at his feet, as everybody in the place knew, but by God, she was still the
queen—at least in her own mind. "Tear-oh?" he mimicked. "You a
gypsy, Sparkle Honey?"

That tripped her
up. She stopped laying out the cards in three piles and looked him straight in
the eye. "My name's LaFleur. Sparkle LaFleur. And you're Mr. Conway,
apparently with some influence over Art Thompson, our deputy."

"Rafe Conley.
Pleased to make your acquaintance. Deputy Thompson's a friend. Funny cards can
tell you all about me?"

"I think you'd
be surprised how well. Pick a stack," she ordered. He tapped the set in
the middle. She quickly sorted them into a cross formation and began turning
them over. The cards looked heathen or something. Not that Rafe had ever been
the churchgoer his ma or sister hoped he'd be. He'd always been, and still was,
a disappointment to his kin. Yet beneath it all, he was godfearin' when it came
right down to it. Enough so the peculiar cards rubbed him the wrong way. The
fortune teller was frowning.

"Don't fret if
you don't see much of a future," he remarked. "That's me, all right.
Won't end up old and gray on some front porch in a rocking chair. Someplace out
there a bullet's got my name carved on it. Sooner or later I'll make the trail
ride to meet up with it."

The girl nearly
jumped out of her seat. "Why would you say…? Oh,
that
." She
pointed to the card picturing the Grim Reaper. DEATH. "The cards aren't
meant to be taken literally. That one can mean the end of a phase in your life,
a new beginning or some major change. This," she pointed again, "is
the Ace of Pentacles. Near the Ten of Cups like that means a marriage."

Rafe cleared his
throat to disguise a snort of derision. "Don't mean to insult you,
darlin', but—"

"You're not
insulting me. I only read your fortune. I don't determine it."

Rafe figured it was
some bunkum scheme. She told customers they had all sorts of good things
waitin', teased them on a bit. Men paid her a fortune to be told they'd
eventually make one, or some other hogwash. "Well," he drawled,
"since I ain't payin' for this, don't guess it matters what you tell me,
anyhow."

"You're not a
trusting man, Mr. Conley," she observed, blinking those aquamarine eyes at
him again. For that brief second, Rafe could almost imagine falling into the
crystalline mountain pool they so reminded him of. Headfirst. He mentally shook
away the image.

"Don't pay to
be too trustin'. Reckon your hard case boss over there couldn't have tossed you
out on your ass if you hadn't trusted him. You let him walk up too close."

She stared at the
cards a long moment. "Hmm, a mistake you made once, but won't repeat if
you can avoid it. You're surrounded by almost constant threat and calamity on
every side. No one gets close to you. Perhaps that's why you see the world with
such a cynical eye. Goodness and light
can
be found, Mr. Conley. You may
have to look deep into a well or climb a mountain to find it, but happiness
does exist. You just haven't found it yet."

This act of hers
was good. Rafe had to admit she was damned slick. It was almost as if she'd
read his mind about that mountain pool. He tipped his chair back. "Seems
you're better at tellin' other folks what to do with their lives than runnin'
your own. A good day, though. You told me my fortune, and I got you back into
your boss man's good graces."

"Your
peacemaker and whatever Art Thompson said got me back in here," she
countered. "Frazer won't regret it, though. I make good money. I'll prove
my worth to him."

Rafe rocked his
chair forward now and stood up, getting a nice view of her cleavage in the
bargain. Her twin mounds weren't particularly large, but nicely rounded. She
had a funny little turned-up nose and mahogany hair, sleek and straight, down
to her shoulders. She was the prettiest card sharper he'd run across. "You're
like a pretty waiter girl," he surmised aloud. "You drink and dance
with the customers, besides tellin' fortunes?"

"Yes, but
that's all." Her tone was emphatic.

"So if I asked
you to go upstairs…?"

She gave him a
level stare. "I'd find you another girl, who'd take you to her room and
provide whatever relaxation you desire. Do you like blondes, Mr. Conley? Plump
women? Thin?"

"Just
wondered. Bit early in the day for me," he replied, not believing for a
minute he couldn't buy her if he wanted to make an issue of it. Benton Frazer
had likely tossed her out for hiding part of her take. She was playing coy now,
still the queen. Maybe by nightfall Rafe would meet her price, whatever it was,
but he had unfinished business on his mind now. "Can I ask you a couple
more questions before I head out, Miss Sparkle Honey?"

"What, Mr. Con
way
?"

He grinned. Damn,
but he liked this filly. "First, I'd like you to call me Rafe. I mean, you
got my whole life laid out in front of you, and you dusted the toe of my boot
with your bustle earlier. Seein' as how we're practically old friends now, only
seems right you call me Rafe. Were you really fixin' to take your dress off in
the middle of the street to prove a point?"

"Were you
really going to shoot a man just to make one?"

"Reckon not.
But
he
didn't know that. I've got a reputation as someone you don't want
to cross."

"I'll keep
that in mind. But watch what you do earning that reputation, Rafe. Your cards
say you're not immune to the danger you thrive on." She put her strange
deck away and offered a smile set off by a twinkle in her eyes. "Maybe
I'll see you again some time. I'll be staying on here. Frazer can't get rid of
me that easily."

Rafe glanced over
at her boss. "Could give you a leg up on impressin' him with your value.
How much do you usually charge for a readin'?"

"Two
dollars."

"And whatever
a customer wants down here from you is all right?"

Sparkle shrugged.
"Basically."

"Good."
He abruptly pulled her out of her chair and into his arms. He planned to let
his lips just brush hers, just to prove she was as cool as that mountain stream
he'd been thinking about. But her lips were warm and soft, and parted too
easily. Before Rafe knew it, his tongue was in her mouth, rubbing hers in a
sensual caress.

She pushed against
his shoulders and broke away. "Goodbye, Rafe Conley." She seemed
flustered. Good. Nice to know something rattled the cool little number. She
tried to pretend the kiss didn't matter, but gazed at Rafe in a way that made
him want to kiss her again. And do a lot more besides.

He tipped his hat
and tossed her a half eagle. "There's five dollars. See you again, Sparkle
Honey."

Frazer wasted no
time after the gunman's exit. "So, you've decided to be reasonable at
last. Conley's partial to you. If he comes in here again, you're going to take
care of him. Whatever he wants." He quirked a brow in unspoken meaning,
gazing at the ceiling.

"I told him I
don't go upstairs, Frazer. Don't get your hopes up higher than the hem of my
skirt." She glowered at him and purposely tugged down on the garment.

"Deputy said
that Conley's a known gun for hire. Damned good one. Well respected from
Nebraska to Oklahoma for bringing in outlaws and rowdies. You be nice to him, and
I'll be nicer to you. Man like that putting his brand on one of my girls would
be a real coup. I'd have to keep you on, then."

"So now I'm
worth having around as some gunslinger's favorite?" She gave him a look of
disdain.

"Hell yes! The
cowhands will think twice about raising Cain in here, thinking your friend
might stroll in any moment. We've already seen how he takes it if a gent gets
rough with you."

"Remember
that, Frazer," she shot back.

But as Sparkle
eased onto a bench on the saloon's wide porch, she wasn't feeling nearly as
brave as the front she'd put up. Rafe Conley's brown eyes had unsettled her
from the first. They were too dark, fathomless. His lean frame, the smug curl
of his lips, the assured way he moved, the feel of his hard length when he'd
held her close—they said more than Frazer's tales of a menacing reputation. And
that kiss…she'd been kissed brazenly before. What woman in a cow town saloon
hadn't? But this was different. Conley's kiss had left her shaky. Her usual
composure had slipped, and she was having a tough time getting it back.

Not to mention how
she'd nearly fainted when she'd laid out his cards. She'd never before
encountered anyone with so many of the same cards in the same positions as her
own personal readings. The man was a mercenary, a drifter. How could his tarot
reading mirror hers that way? Not that she bothered reading her own fortune
often anymore. She knew where her future lay. One man held the key to her heart
and a better life locked away inside him.

But Sparkle worried
about the gunslinger. He'd be back.

The cards said he
was a vagabond, a wanderer. A man trapped between yesterday and tomorrow. A
lonely man who road empty trails, endlessly searching. Spurred on by violence
and loss…as well as pain or turmoil from his past.

The same elements
that frequently turned up in Sparkle's readings. Uncanny.

Sparkle's mother
had taught her to read tarot at an early age. What some called a gift,
Sparkle's mother had called an art. Divining the future was a skill the tarot
reader practiced day after day. Her mother had also taught Sparkle about
soulmates, saying every person had one somewhere. Their destinies linked, souls
entwined, usually by forces beyond their control or own awareness. Not for the
first time, Sparkle silently wished her mother were still alive; Eliza would
know what to make of that card reading for the gunman.

Sparkle was afraid
to think about it. That dark-eyed stranger was nothing like what she wanted or
needed. He was all wrong.
Violent
. No woman should give her heart to a
man like that. He would only rend it.

Besides, Sparkle's
heart was no longer hers to give. She'd given it away years ago to the man she
privately adored and knew she'd eventually marry.

A kind and quiet
man, who wasn't one bit like Rafe Conley.

Sparkle pushed the
wheelchair into the shade of the arbor where Jace wouldn't be in the direct
sun. They'd been in the garden awhile now. Jace looked pale, but the warm days
of Indian summer could give an invalid a sunstroke. Beads of perspiration shone
on his brow. Some of his wheat-colored curls had dampened to amber. "I'll
go get you some lemonade," she offered, smiling into his gentle blue eyes.

"Oh, Sis, but
I've missed your smile. I wish you could come home to visit more often."
Before she could protest, he cut her off, waving one hand. "I know, I
know. It depends on the school board. But it's a few weeks until the start of
the regular session."

Sparkle sighed.
"I tutor several children outside of school, Jace, remember?" She let
the back door bang shut behind her as she went for the pitcher of lemonade
Majesta had put in the icebox. She was dismayed to find the nurse standing
beside the open kitchen window. "We don't need an audience, Majesta."

The nurse had the
grace to blush, though the pursing of her lips told Sparkle she didn't
genuinely regret eavesdropping. "You complain I don't take him outdoors
more often," Majesta said. "If I took him to the park or somewhere
public, how long do you think it would be before someone set him wise about his
sister's tales? Your brother's the only person sufficiently naïve to believe a
schoolmarm could earn enough to afford a private nurse and this house."

"I've told
you, the house is paid for. I only need to pay the taxes and Jace's medical
care. Has there been any improvement?"

"He has his
good days and his bad," Majesta shrugged. "It seems he's getting a
bit stronger on his right side, but he still can't manage without the
chair."

Sparkle poured two
glasses of cold lemonade and went back out to sit on the garden bench near
Jace. "I have to leave tomorrow, but let's not think about the time I
don't get to spend here, and just enjoy what time we have."

"You're right,
Sparkle. Tell me again about Fire Thorn and Miss Leticia."

Sparkle launched
into the familiar tale of an old biddy who had the whole town of Fire Thorn in
an uproar when she'd laundered risqué unmentionables and put them on the line
to dry—only to have Jace pull them down and model them for three of his young
friends. "You remember anything else about our childhood, Jace?" she
asked when she stopped laughing about Miss Leticia.

"I don't
remember Fire Thorn or any of it, Sparkle," he admitted sadly. "I
cherish everything you tell me about the past. I wish I
could
remember
Father and our growing-up years together."