Velvet Thunder (10 page)

The softness of her voice when she referred to her father struck a nostalgic chord in Heath. He glanced through the window over the sink. The deep green plains stretched out until they were blocked from view by a thick stand of trees. Summer grass, blown by the lonely wind, rippled freely across the prairie. Beyond his sight, way beyond, flowed the mighty Mississippi River. And beyond that, his home, his family, his father . . . who needed him.

The memory of his father's illness made him all the more eager to solve Adobe Wells‘s—and Stevie Johns's—problems so he could head east. “I'll do what I can. I'll go see the marshal right away.” He started to rise.

She halted him with a hand to his forearm.

“Marshal Reno's a coward.” Stevie's words weren't meant to be unkind, rather a statement of fact. “He's afraid of the judge's hired guns. He has to get drunk just to walk down the streets of his own town. Besides, he's disappeared. Nobody's seen him in days.”

Heath dropped down into his seat. Pridgen had said something about Reno, but Heath had been under the influence, so it hadn't registered. Had the judge run the local law off? If so, the situation in Adobe Wells was more serious than he had first thought. He would have to find the gutless marshal and give him a stern talking-to. Deserting his town in a time of crisis, indeed!

“Then I'll see Colonel Banes. I understand he's the one who installed Jack as judge. Surely he has the power to remove him. If the judge is as bad as you say, Colonel Banes should be made aware of it.”

This set Stevie off. Rising, she vented her spleen at him with the force of a thirty-pounder cannon. “Are you doubting my word?”

“Of course not. I apologize if I offended you,” he said, trying to placate her. “I suppose I have a lot on my mind. I assure you I will be very discreet when I question the local authorities.” Actually, he didn't plan to talk with Banes. He just thought that was what Pilar and Stevie would expect him to do. Unless he missed his guess, Banes was up to his elbows in Judge Jack's nefarious scheme.

“You don't need to question the marshal and you don't need to talk to Banes,” Stevie interrupted his thoughts. “They won't help us. It's just you and me. We have to investigate it on our own. Got it?”

Heath was characteristically silent.

Pilar recognized a man who was unused to being dictated to by a woman or anyone else. “Perhaps she's right,
Sen
or
Diamond,” she soothed him. “The fewer people who know about this, the better. We wouldn't want anyone else getting hurt.”

“Which is why Miss Johns will have to leave this to me.”

Stevie jumped up, stamped her foot. “It's my family, my home, and my town the judge is threatening.” She punctuated each undeniable fact by thumping her chest with the flat of her hand. “If you think I'm going to sit idly by, then you're more simple-minded than most men of your profession.” She drew herself up, looking like an irate virgin at a cut-rate brothel.

Heath smiled coolly. So the self-righteous spitfire was looking down her pert little nose at him because he was a gambler. Well, hell would freeze before he would defend himself about anything.

“I don't need your help. Nor will I accept it.”

“Then you're fired.”

He did the worst thing he could given Stevie's volatile nature; he laughed at her. “How can you fire a person whose never been hired?” he reasoned.

Stevie was beyond reasoning. She couldn't bear for people to laugh at her. They'd been doing that her whole life. Hurt, enraged, and not wanting to make a bigger fool of herself than she already had, she ran from the room.

“Damn.” Heath grimaced. “I don't think I handled that very well.”

Pilar shook her head, dismissing his concern. “Don't worry. Stevie'll get over it. If you hadn't been young and handsome, and she hadn't been so worried about Sandy, she wouldn't have reacted so . . . explosively.”

Heath suspected that explosively was the only way Miss Johns knew to react. She probably could have persuaded him to take her on as a partner if she had exercised a bit more patience. He was glad that patience wasn't one of her virtues, for chastity wasn't one of his. And if he was around her for any length of time, particularly alone, neither of them would remain celibate. It was undeniably for the best that she had run out on him, even though he hated that she had left in a fit of pique.

And that he was even more intrigued with her now than before.

 

 

That evening, Heath was as frustrated as a mama cow without teats. Try as he might, he was unable to get the inhabitants of Adobe Wells to open up about Judge Jack. He had walked the streets that day, questioning everyone on two feet, but all to no avail. It was as if a cloak of fear had been thrown over the town.

His first day in Adobe Wells, the exploits of Judge Jack was all he heard. Now the townspeople had developed a remarkable case of lockjaw. Hoping that after a few drinks, over a hand of cards, someone would be more forthcoming, he headed toward the Golden Nugget.

The fire Stevie Johns had lit in his loins was still smoldering. But he renewed his vow to steer clear of her and the temptation she presented, no matter how damn hard it was. He groaned silently at the mental double entendre.

Perhaps an accommodating long-legged woman would be on duty at the Golden Nugget. Surprised that he couldn't manufacture more enthusiasm at the prospect of a heated toss in the hay with a hurdy-gurdy girl, he pushed through the swinging doors of the saloon.

He squinted at the heavy cloud of smoke, weaving his way through a sea of revelers. He dropped into a chair at the rear table, much as he had the night before. Instinctively cautious, he slid his chair flush against the wall.

“What will you have,
Sen
or
?” the same Mexican barkeep shouted over the familiar deafening roar.

“Whiskey,” Heath called. His hangover was forgotten, as was his vow to avoid intoxicating spirits for the rest of his life.

The barkeep filled a shot glass and placed it before him. Heath nodded absently, his gaze wandering idly about the room.

“Shall I bring two glasses?” one barkeep asked.

Heath raised his brow in question.

“My friend Blue will keep you company.”

Almost without conscious thought, Heath responded, “By all means.”

How many times had he acted out this scene? Too many to count, but he had never done it with less enthusiasm. And he refused to believe that Stevie Johns was the reason. He had done little more than kiss the girl. How could she have captivated him so?

In a short while the barkeep served him a bottle of Scotch. He grinned when he placed a second glass on the table. “Blue will be here in a few minutes. You will like her.”

“
Gracias
.”

Heath filled his glass, took a long drink, and sat back to wait. As he waited for one woman, his thoughts were of another. In his mind he replayed every encounter he'd had with Stevie Johns. He couldn't help but marvel that she had very neatly tied him into knots since the first moment they met.

Usually, he was a very logical person. He approached a problem, analyzed it, then responded appropriately. Stevie had blown that mode of operation to hell. Instead, he approached her, was mesmerized, and acted like an irresponsible, horny idiot.

But there was one overriding truth in this situation that he couldn't ignore or alter. Stevie Johns was the kind of lady—though rough around the edges—men married, not the kind men bedded for recreation. She wasn't for him.

What he needed, if and when he decided to marry, was a woman with a background similar to his. His mother would undoubtedly find him a New York socialite with an impeccable bloodline. She would be petite, blond, pale, soft-spoken, and terribly, terribly polite.

Once he decided to give up marshaling, or gallivanting in the godforsaken wilderness, as his mother characterized his present career choice, he would join his father's shipping business and his proper wife would be an excellent hostess to his wealthy business contacts. They would live in a mansion on Thirty-fourth Street, have two well-mannered, pale blond, fair-skinned children—a boy and a girl. And they would all be incredibly content.

He tried to ignore the fact that it sounded absolutely ghastly to him. Worse than ghastly, it sounded boring.

Visions of half a dozen dark-skinned, platinum blond hellions bouncing on his knee teased his mind. And their beautiful mother driving him to distraction teased his body.

No! He and Stevie Johns were not right for each other, not to mention that they were virtual strangers. And despite his hell-raising days in the Wild West, he and Stevie were from two different worlds. Because of the hardships he suffered in the war, he had been unable to step back into his life of wealth and ease. Consequently, he decided to become a U.S. marshal . . . for a time. But that time was coming to an end. He wasn't meant to live his life with a girl like Stevie. No matter how much he wanted her.

He would never be able to make her happy. She needed to settle down with a nice, dependable rancher, raise a few kids, and grow old watching her grandchildren play in the yard . . . tormenting the chickens. He chuckled at his fanciful description of Stevie's future, then groaned when he painted himself into the picture as her rancher husband.

That would never happen. What
would
happen if he didn't maintain control of the situation is that she would give him her innocence, have a passionate affair with him, then eat his dust as he rode out of town.

His gut ached at the thought.

 

 

Pilar and Sully didn't see Stevie standing in the doorway to the medical office. She had come to tell them her pa was conscious and hungry as a bear. The secretive way they were speaking made her reluctant to interrupt. Once again she found herself eavesdropping.

“Pepper said they came right after Stevie and Sandy left the ranch”—Sully continued quietly—“Judge Jack and a group of miners. He set them to work in that cave Stevie and Jeff were always playing in.”

“Stevie's hiding place?”

Sully nodded.

“What could they be looking for?” This was from Pilar.

“Damned if I know. But they're sure looking for something.”

“What about Pepper?”

“He's hiding out at the old line shack.”

Soundlessly, Stevie slipped out the front door. She went in search of Winter. He was sitting on the porch at Pilar's, rubbing Sweetums's coat, both under the watchful eyes of Itsy and Bitsy. Stevie expressed her thanks to the tittering twins, then set off with Winter in search of Lucky Diamond. It took a while for them to discover his whereabouts. When they did, she handed the child a note.

“Take this to him.
Namasi-kohtoo,
quick, quick.” She raised her eyes to the noose dangling ominously in the center of town. “And be careful.”

The soiled dove crossed the room, her movements practiced, seductive, fluid.

She looked anything but soiled. Heath guessed her age to be about twenty-five, but he couldn't be sure. The heavy cosmetics painted on her face disguised her age. He suspected they hid her beauty as well. It was almost as if she wore a mask, concealing her true self.

The mental image of Stevie, her face scrubbed until it shone, teased his mind. He pushed it aside with a well-trained sense of will and ran his appreciative gaze over the woman before him.

Blue was a voluptuous woman, dressed in bright crimson. Her form-fitting satin dress barely reached her knees, showing shapely legs encased in black net stockings. Heath smiled; he had a weakness for black net stockings.

He tore his gaze away from her legs and raised it to her waist-length hair. Framing her bare shoulders, the glistening curls were even darker than her stockings. She returned his smile, managing to look respectable.

“Good evening.”

“Ma'am.” Heath rose to his feet, pulling Blue's chair out. “Won't you sit down and have a drink with me?”

Heath thought he detected a note of sadness in her pale blue eyes. But as she settled her short skirts about her, she lowered her lashes, effectively hiding her gaze. Shrugging away the thought, he filled their glasses with amber liquid. His hand shook slightly, sloshing the whiskey as he handed Blue her drink.

She thanked him, her words lost to the ever-increasing din in the saloon. Raising the tumbler to her mouth, she allowed the whiskey to touch her lips but drank none. Finally, she leaned forward and introduced herself. “They call me Blue.”

Heath bent close to her ear. “I'm Lucky Diamond.” He felt the warmth of her bare neck against his cheek. The clean smell of lavender filling his nostrils caused his deprived body to react instinctively. His heart, however, wasn't in it.

“Do you plan to stay long in Adobe Wells, Lucky?”

“Now that I've met you, I might.” He smiled, his inherent charm practically oozing from his pores. It was no chore for Heath to seduce a woman. In fact, it would take a conscious effort to do otherwise.

Blue was suitably charmed. The handsome gambler was looking at her if she were a real person. It had been a while since anyone had looked at her like that. Most men were pigs. They didn't want conversation, just a poke. They didn't care about the women they used, not as people, just hunks of meat for their pleasure. Lucky Diamond seemed different. He was nice, neat, handsome—and clean, like Jeff.

Sadness clouded her gaze again. This time Heath recognized the expression for what it was. The girl was grieving, as if she had lost a loved one.

The thought that saloon girls had loved ones was rather novel. To his shame, he realized he had never thought much about these women after he had finished with them. They were businesswomen, and he was a paying customer. It was as simple as that. He never spent all night with them, just did his business and left.

Though he treated them well, he never really thought about their lives outside the bordellos in which they plied their trade. Most, he suspected, had no life outside the honkytonks.

Blue was different, he was convinced. She was unlike any soiled dove he'd ever encountered.

He shouldn't have been surprised. Thus far, none of the women in Adobe Wells had been what he expected. Pilar wasn't; she seemed protective of Stevie, yet approved her risky plan to investigate Judge Jack. God knows Stevie wasn't what one would expect of an innocent. And Blue—a woman who went to bed with men for a living—appeared quite the lady.

Leaning back in his chair, he studied her, intrigued. He found himself hoping that she just drank with the customers. . . then went to bed alone. He hated to think of her putting up with men groping at her night after night.

But he knew better. The barkeep had known what he was looking for and had provided Blue to meet his needs.

Heath smiled at Blue gently. He wasn't particularly surprised to discover that he didn't want to take her to bed. The prospect of spending a few quiet moments talking with this kind woman appealed to him much more than the idea of getting naked and sweaty with her.

Though he was loath to admit it, in less than twenty-four hours Stevie Johns had taken away his desire for other women. But he couldn't have Stevie, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. She was young, a lady, and he would be moving on soon.

“Where are you from?” Blue interrupted his musings.

“Back east,” he answered vaguely. “But I've been around. How about you?”

“Santa Fe.”

Heath refilled his glass and relaxed. As soon as he decided not to bed Blue, some of the tension left his body. After more companionable talk with her, he slipped a white lace handkerchief from his shirt pocket. True, it wasn't pearls and diamonds, but it was the gesture that counted. Women liked gifts. Blue's glowing eyes assured him she was no different.

He had purchased the gift several days earlier for an occasion such as this. A fellow marshal, Winn Marable, and a number of other lawmen had been with him at the time. Winn had almost laughed Heath out of town. But Heath had bought the delicate item anyway—after threatening to bust Winn's jaw if he didn't stop his guffawing. In the end—after Heath reminded Winn that women weren't exactly panting for a glimpse of his smile—Winn had also bought a handkerchief.

The store owner, taking in the group of lonely lawmen who lined up to purchase the lacy things clutched in their callused hands, claimed he would have to start ordering the fripperies by the case. Two dozen guns were drawn, cocked, and the clerk completed the transactions in silence.

The handkerchief lay on the table in front of Blue, her eyes riveted to it. Heath's hand rested on the stark white material.

“It's very beautiful.” Reverently, she fingered the delicate lace. Their hands touched and Heath jerked back as if he'd been shocked.

He was embarrassed at his action. “Take it.”

Blue smiled and held the gift to her cheek. “Why?” “Why what?” Heath pretended not to notice the sheen in Blue's eyes.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“A beautiful gift for a beautiful lady.” His eyes scanned the room. He didn't mind charming his lovely companion, but he didn't want to be overheard sounding like a fancy dude. After all, the man who killed Barnes Elder had a tough image to live up to. “Surely a lovely lady like yourself receives gifts all the time.”

When her tears overflowed her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, he covered her hand with his own.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, bowing her head.

Heath bent his head until they were eye to eye, then blessed her with the platonic smile that always charmed his sisters out of the mulligrubs. “I've been told I'm a good listener.”

“You came here for a good time. And I—” she couldn't finish.

Most men were uncomfortable with crying women, but not Heath. He found them a special challenge. He had discovered that good-natured teasing and a dose of genuine affection could cure most anything. He captured a glistening tear on the tip of his finger. “Guess it's a good thing I gave you a handkerchief, huh?”

She blessed him with a watery smile, drying her face with his precious gift. When she had regained a measure of her composure, Heath again invited her to confide her troubles in him. She remained silent.

“It has to be a man. My sister, Ann, says that the only thing that can make a woman cry is gaining weight and unfaithful men.” He leered at her comically. “Since your body is dang near perfect, it has to be a man. What did the scoundrel do?”

Never in her twenty-one years had Blue confided in a customer. She had told Jeff her darkest secrets, her brightest dreams, but then, she never considered Jeff a customer.

Actually she had a hard time thinking of the man smiling at her with such kindness as a customer either. Lucky Diamond was the sort of man a woman could call a friend. In a town like Adobe Wells a woman needed all the friends she could get. Blue didn't have any friends now that Jeff was dead.

“It is a man. I loved him. But he's gone.” She shrugged slightly, only the sadness clouding her eyes showing how very much she missed him.

“Well, he must be a fool to run out on you—” Heath began.

Blue's chin jerked defensively. “Jeff didn't run out on me,” she said heatedly. She covered her mouth with her hand; she hadn't meant to say his name.

Heath sat straighter in his seat. “That wouldn't be Jeff Johns, would it?”

Blue's eyes met Heath's. She didn't know whether to trust him or not. Something in his sapphire gaze decided the matter for her. She nodded, yes. “Did you know Jeff?”

“I didn't have the honor. But I know his sister.” And I'd like to know her a lot better, he added silently.

A sudden hush fell over the saloon. Heath glanced up to see Judge Jack standing in the doorway. He paused, then entered the saloon, followed by his gunslinging entourage. They trailed after him like a gaggle of geese.

Fear darkened Blue's eyes. “It's Judge Jack. I have to go.”

Heath's glance bounced from the frightened woman at his side to the man crossing the floor. He took both of Blue's hands in his own.

“Please stay.” He squeezed gently. “I have no business with Judge Jack. I want to talk with you about Jeff.”

“I can't.” Her voice quivered; her hands trembled in his.

Heath studied the judge closely. What was there about Elias Colt Jack that scared people so? Although he was a big fellow, he didn't look particularly threatening. Actually, at first glance he looked quite the gentleman. Of course, that black pirate's patch was somewhat ominous. And the hawkish look in his other eye made him seem menacing.

But his disreputable entourage was far worse. Now standing at the bar, they surrounded him. Fatty and the Mexican had been joined by a tall man who covered the judge's back. The newcomer was an albino. Glaring into the mirror over the bar, his pale eyes conveyed threatening messages to the men in the room.

Just then a slight Indian boy entered the saloon.

“What do you want?” the barkeep barked at the child.

“I have a message. . .” the child began.

Before he could finish his statement, Jacobson grabbed his arm and snarled into his face, “You filthy Comanche, your kind ain't welcome here.”

The boy looked up, terrified. The man addressing him was not just big, but enormous. Bear Jacobson looked like a pod of whales all by himself.

Heath could well imagine how frightened the boy must have been, confronted by a monster like Jacobson. The child was so incredibly overmatched.

Bear backhanded the youth across the face. Blood leaked through the small, dark fingers covering his mouth and nose, but the child never made a sound.

Heath growled low in his throat, so low, only Blue heard him. He felt sick as he watched the injured boy run from the Golden Nugget.

It was the child he'd seen on the Johns spread. The lad who called Stevie “Mother.” Heath was glad Stevie Johns hadn't witnessed the incident firsthand. She would have drawn on Jacobson, understandably so. But even if she had killed him, one of the judge's remaining goons would have put a bullet through her.

Just as they would shoot Heath now if he blew the man to hell, as he wanted to do more than anything on earth. He would have to wait till later to deal with the man. And deal with him he would.

Blue's gasp of pain drew his attention. He was still holding her hand. The rage he felt at the scene had caused him to squeeze too tightly.

He released her instantly. “I'm sorry.”

“That's all right.” Paling, she appeared unsure of him now.

Heath cursed soundlessly. This night was not turning out as he'd planned. Those bastards at the bar were to blame. He glared at them, catching the albino's eye in the mirror.

Walking toward Heath, his pink eyes resembled ghostly specters ringed by thin circles of blood. A wide-brimmed hat topped his snowy hair. He was a deadly wraith and his first words were for Blue. “Get upstairs, where you belong.” He barely spared her a glance.

“She's with me.” Heath gently took her hand again.

“Personally, I don't give a damn what the whore does.” The wraith glared at Blue then. “But Jacobson might not like it. He hasn't seen you yet. You want me to call him over?”

Neither Heath nor Blue answered the wraith's threat.

The wraith turned on Heath. “What the hell are you doing in town, mister?”

“Didn't I play this scene last night?” Heath muttered to himself. Aloud, he cursed, “I swear and declare. This has to be the most inhospitable town it's ever been my misfortune to stumble into. Ever since I rode in, somebody's been shooting at me or asking me to leave.”

He surged to his feet and shot toward the ceiling in one fluid motion. The room quieted; every eye turned his way. “I have an announcement to make. In case any of the rest of you are interested, my name is Lucky Diamond. I came to Adobe Wells to play a few hands of cards, sleep a coupl'a nights in a real bed, and get some hot food in my stomach.” He winked down at Blue. “This lovely lady has consented to be my good luck charm. If any of you are interested in losing some money to us, we are at your disposal.” With that, he bowed chivalrously and dropped back down into his seat. “Now, run on back to your boss, you plug-ugly phantom,” he spat out.

The wraith's hand inched toward his gun.

“Draw, please,” Heath taunted.

“Whitey.” A steel-hard voice halted the aggressive movement.