Four

      At sundown Fortune came alive.

      Thirsty miners hit the town’s many saloons the minute they laid down their picks and shovels. Tired and dirty, the men swarmed into the bars, eager for their first bracing shot of rotgut whiskey.

      In Fortune’s most favored saloon, the Golden Nugget, the long polished bar, faro wheels and poker tables filled up as the sun slipped fully behind the western mountain peaks. Loud piano music resounded up and down the busy streets as the shrill feminine laughter of painted women in gaudy gowns mingled with the voices of lusty miners.

      The man who single-handedly saw to it that trouble stayed away from his town was presently at the Golden Nugget.

      But he wasn’t downstairs.

      Sheriff Travis McCloud was enjoying a hot bath in a plush upstairs suite at the soft hands of Miss Valentina Knight, the Golden Nugget’s beautiful songbird owner and Travis’s favorite female companion.

      With his clothes neatly draped across a blue brocade-covered chaise longue, and his black hat hooked on the newel of a high-backed rocker, the six-foot-three-inch Travis sat in a suds-filled tub with his knees and torso sticking up out of the steaming water.

      Feeling relaxed and enjoying himself, he smoked a fine Cuban cigar and drank Kentucky bourbon from a lead crystal glass, while the prettiest woman in Fortune gently scrubbed his broad shoulders with a soft-bristled, long-handled brush.

      “Feel good, Marshal?” Valentina asked as she drew the brush back and forth over his gleaming back.

      “Mmm,” he replied lazily, his eyes half-closed, his even white teeth clamped firmly on his lit cigar.

      Valentina smiled, pleased. She loved giving this big handsome sheriff a soapy, sensuous bath. She loved even more the moment when he stepped out of the tub, allowed her to dry him off, and then spent the next hour in her soft bed while she cuddled in his strong arms.

      Those fleeting golden moments were as much of Travis McCloud as she would ever have.

      So she made the most of his visits.

      Valentina Knight was a clever woman. She knew that she couldn’t hem Travis in, so she never tried. She realized that the reason she, and she alone, was allowed to entertain the handsome marshal was because she was convenient and made no demands on him.

      Valentina Knight was a beautiful, porcelain-skinned Creole who had come out West from her New Orleans home to seek her fortune. She had wisely surmised that the goldfields of California offered an opportunity to make lots of money without ever going near a mine. There were, she had read, literally thousands of men pouring into the many mining camps springing up across the Sierra Nevadas. They were willing to part with their precious gold dust for a drink and a smile from a pretty woman.

      Valentina had guessed correctly.

      In this male-dominated world with very few women and little semblance of customary society, she had become very wealthy during the four years she had owned the Nugget.

      She was a respected citizen of Fortune who turned heads wherever she went, but it was more than her raven hair and magnolia skin that made her so desirable. Her generosity, charm and wit secured her position as the object of affection to Fortune’s many menfolk.

      When she came downstairs to sing for the miners, they immediately fell silent. They gazed worshipfully at the sweet-voiced vision in the stunning gowns that accentuated her voluptuous figure, in the diamonds that sparkled at her throat and ears.

      It was a whispered, well-known secret that in her plush upstairs suite, she drank—from fragile stemmed glasses—vintage French champagne delivered by Wells Fargo. And fresh cut flowers, that rarest of all luxuries, were delivered daily.

      The lovely Creole had a French maid, a must for the most prosperous of the frontier madams. Gigi responded to the summons of the richly brocaded bell-pulls, then prudently disappeared when her mistress was entertaining the town sheriff.

      When Valentina went out, she rode behind matched blacks in a Brewster carriage imported across the Isthmus of Panama at great expense. Sable muff, scarf and lap robe kept her warm on exhilarating winter rides. Gloves, straw hat and silk parasol protected her porcelain skin on summer jaunts.

      Valentina Knight had everything.

      Except the man she loved.

      Travis McCloud.

      The lawman’s heart would never belong to her even though hers belonged to him. Valentina never so much as batted a flirtatious eyelash at any other man, nor would she allow another to make to love to her.

      Now, as she rinsed the soap off of the most magnificent male chest she’d ever laid eyes on, Valentina shivered with sweet anticipation of the lovemaking ahead.

      “We have two whole hours before I must go downstairs to sing,” she said as Travis gently moved her hand away and rose to his feet, water sluicing down his body.

      Valentina picked up a large white towel and began blotting moisture from his clean, wet flesh. “Promise you’ll spend those two hours right here with me?”

      “You talked me into it, darlin’,” said Travis with a smile.

      He motioned for her to back away, and stepped out of the tub. Valentina rose to her feet before him. He took the towel from her and finished drying off. She stayed where she was as Travis dropped the damp towel, turned and padded across the patterned Persian carpet to the bed. He stretched out on his back atop the satin sheet and laid his dark head on an abundance of soft feather pillows resting against the ornately carved headboard.

      Valentina shivered deliciously.

      If