Wild Card. Susan Amarillas
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knew. That was his fault, too.
Of all the things the man could be, he had to be a sheriff! Jake McConnell. Yeah, that was his name.
She rolled over again, trying to get comfortable. Useless. As for him, she wished now he was a bounty hunter. At least bounty hunters and gamblers were both on the fringes of the law. Gamblers and lawmen were natural enemies, like rabbits and wolves. She was feeling decidedly like the rabbit, and she didn’t like the feeling, not one bit.
Out of nowhere she was assailed with images of another sheriff. Him holding her down, tearing her clothes, forcing up her skirt...
No! She refused to think about that. She refused to give in to panic or fear that washed over her faster than a flash flood.
Throwing back the covers, she scrambled to her feet, her toes flexing against the chill of the bare floor. A couple of short steps and she was at the window. The sash worked easily and she leaned down to take a deep breath of fresh, sage-scented air. The rain was finer today, the drops like tiny pellets, which stung her face and dampened the front of her nightgown, making the cotton cling to her bare flesh beneath.
She forced herself to think about the rain and the cold and the wagon that was rumbling along the street below, anything but the terrifying images that continued to haunt her when she least expected it.
Enough, she told herself. She owned a saloon now. She was making a new life, She had to let go of what she couldn’t change, and move on.
No regrets. No turning back.
With a resolute determination, she shoved her sleep-tousled hair behind her shoulder. It was morning, the start of a new day, a new beginning. A day filled with possibilities and chances to be taken. What was a gambler if not a chance taker?
The creak of door hinges and boot steps on the bare wooden floor caught her attention and she turned toward the closed door to her room. She knew he was out there, on the landing, moving around. Would he knock on her door? What would she do if he did? There was a moment of uneasiness, then she remembered that he hadn’t bothered her during the night.
For that matter he could have made advances in the saloon, could have done just about anything he’d wanted—they were alone, then as now. He hadn’t.
So he’s not a lecher. So what? Are you going to invite him to tea?
Hardly. She knew quite clearly the danger she was in. Having a sheriff under the same roof was like having an open flame in a fireworks factory. There was bound to be an explosion. The only question was when.
Well, maybe she could put that flame out.
She knew a couple of things. First, he wasn’t here looking for her. Because if he was, and he’d recognized her, then he would have said or done something last night.
A smile threatened, but she knew she wasn’t in the clear yet. He was not the local law. No, she’d seen the town marshal yesterday, an older man who looked as though he ought to be someone’s grandfather. Local law, she’d convinced herself, was too remote to be aware of “things,” of people wanted in faraway places like Texas, for instance.
But a county sheriff, well, that was different. He would get the posters and such, if there were any.
In the meantime, she had an immediate problem. How to stay away from him until he left town. He was probably downstairs just waiting for her so he could ask some more of those questions he’d had such a supply of last night. Lawmen.
She listened at the door, trying to hear if he was moving around. Nothing. Silence.
She went back to the window and lifted the shade with one hand. Son of a gun, there he was crossing the street. She pulled back the shade more, wanting to get a good look. No time for mistakes.
Nope, it was him, all right. He was so tall and broad shouldered, she couldn’t miss him if she wanted to. And she did—want to miss him, that is.
But he was there, trudging across the street. headed straight for the marshal’s office. Could it be? Her stomach clenched in anticipation. He’d left. Just like that. No words. No questions. Just gone.
Her spirits soared.
“Lord, I’m sorry I doubted you.”
She saw him go into the office. Yes! This had to be it. He was leaving. He was probably going over to say goodbye. He was probably anxious to get going; there were other places he needed to see, maybe criminals he needed to take back to Rawlins.
Relief washed through her. “Yes!” she said to the empty room. All that worrying, all that losing sleep had been for nothing.
Well, this called for a celebration—coffee. She made quick work of getting dressed in a royal blue skirt and pale green shirtwaist, and ignored her corset completely. It was a celebration, after all.
She washed up in the bowl on the washstand and twisted her hair up in a serviceable knot on the top of her head. She’d change later for business, assuming the storm let up enough to have some business. In the meantime, she’d do a little of that fixing up she’d been thinking about.
Grinning like a kid with a brand-new peppermint stick, she strolled out onto the landing. The door to his room, or rather, her extra room, was open a foot or so. She would have to see about fixing it up. Maybe she could rent it to someone—not a sheriff or marshal or bounty hunter, but someone. A little extra money would help with expenses.
Using only the tips of her fingers, she pushed the door open as though she expected him to jump out at her, then chided herself for her foolishness. In a blink she noticed that his shirt, the blue one from last night, was draped around the curved-back chair, the hem dragging on the dust-covered floor.
What the devil? His shirt. His saddlebags.
That joy of hers dissolved faster than sugar in hot water, which was exactly what she was in. It didn’t take a genius to figure that if his things were here, then he’d be back.
Her temper got the best of her. She had half a mind to pack up his things and toss them right out on the sidewalk, rain or no rain, sheriff or no sheriff.
Good move. Let’s make the lawman angry. That’s a sure way to keep from calling attention to yourself.
“Damn the man.”
Breathing a little harder, she stood there glaring at the rumpled bed he’d slept in. That was her bed and her room and her saloon. The man had no right, sheriff or not.
Why, just look at the way he’d tossed that quilt off the end of the bed. It wasn’t his quilt, so what did he care? Never mind that it wasn’t hers, either, until yesterday.
She stormed in and picked it up, intent on putting it on the bed. Instantly she was assaulted with the feeling that she had invaded his privacy, which was ridiculous, but she felt it all the same.
Her eyes went immediately to the straw-filled mattress, to the shape of his lean body perfectly outlined there. She dropped that quilt faster than a stick of dynamite and took a half step back.
Her eyes were riveted on the bed. Heart racing, she was starkly aware that his bed was against the wall, the same wall that her bed was against, the same wall that was the only barrier that kept them from being intimately close.
She suddenly wondered what it would be like to open her eyes and see Jake McConnell there first thing in the morning. There was something about him that stirred her up just a bit, and... Tiny nerves in her skin fluttered to life, prickling as though skimmed by an electric charge.
Stop it right now!
On a sharp breath, Clair marched from the room. She was not going to think about dark-eyed men with the devil’s own smile. She was not!
That familiar ache was building behind her eyes and muscles were knotting along her shoulders. Coffee, she needed some coffee. She marched down the stairs with the precision of a West Point cadet.
Fortunately, Bill had a supply of coffee