Ace's Wild. Sarah McCarty
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she got her hand on the knob.
“Not that way.”
Her first instinct was to tell him to go to hell. Her second was to swear. He was right. She couldn’t go through the saloon. She didn’t want to go down the alley, either, but she didn’t have much of a option. He took her arm as she hesitated.
“You go that way, you won’t get home before dark.”
That was the truth. This late the streets started to get wild, and schoolmarm or not, a woman alone was easy prey for the miners and cowhands who flooded the town when they got a bit of gold dust in their pocket.
“Come.”
“Does everything you say have to come out an order?”
“Yes.”
Twisting her hair back up into a bun as she skipped to keep up, she muttered, “I don’t like it.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
She didn’t think so.
He steered her down the alley to two buildings over and opened a door. It was the mercantile; she should have thought of that herself.
He said, “Go through here.”
Part of her hoped there was some gallantry trapped somewhere inside him because he didn’t leave her to find her own way home, but more of her wanted to believe he was a reprobate that she could dismiss as a mistake. Her “Thank you” came out choked. His “You’re welcome” was just as tight.
That tightness in his voice could be because the moment had affected him just as much as it had her, but she didn’t fool herself into believing it was the truth. She might be an old maid who didn’t get kissed often, but if the stories were to be believed, he was a man who spent a lot of his time in other women’s beds. And what he did there was something that was whispered about and speculated on, but she never understood why his bed sport created so many blushes and twitters among the loose women of town until now. The man was a warlock. She wasn’t going to be just another conquest to him.
“Thank you for the kiss.”
His eyebrow rose. She smiled, not giving him any option but to respond in kind.
“You’re welcome.”
It was time to go. She didn’t want to. Hugging her arms to her chest, she asked one last time, more to delay rather than because she doubted his word. Ace was many things, but she’d never heard he wasn’t a man of his word.
With her hand on the doorknob she asked, “You’ll give Brian back his money?”
She couldn’t see his eyes between the shadows of his hat and the creeping of dusk, but there was no mistaking the promise in his voice.
He tipped his hat. “I’ll handle it.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Ace ate breakfast, ignored the shocked looks from the women not used to seeing him up before 3:00 p.m., settled his hat on his head and walked out of the saloon. Before the doors stopped swinging behind him, his best friend and fellow ranger, Luke Bellen, pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him, his dark gray duster flapping around his legs. He’d clearly been waiting for him.
“Morning.”
Ace looked over. “You’re up early.”
Luke shrugged. “More like late. I haven’t been to bed yet.”
“Was she any good?”
Luke smiled. “Good enough.”
As they stepped off the walk, the wind kicked up, blowing fine brown dust on everything.
“Figures,” Luke said, looking down at the particles clinging to his shiny black boots. “I just got these cleaned.”
“They’re boots,” Ace pointed out. “They spend all day in the dirt. They’re not supposed to be pretty.”
Luke glanced at Ace’s scuffed, well-worn brown footwear and shook his head. “If you’re going to stick with this gambling thing, you need to pay more attention to your wardrobe.”
Ace shrugged. Gambling was an outlet. It gave him a rush of excitement. It kept his mind from dwelling on other things. It was a bit of competition when things got dull, a chance to beat the odds. He liked to beat the odds. “I haven’t made up my mind if I’m sticking with it.”
“Still, if you’re going to play the role, you ought to look the part.”
“I look just fine.”
“You look pissed.”
“Really?” He reached in his pocket for his makings. “What makes you say that?”
“You’ve got your hat pulled down low.”
Pausing, he shook some tobacco onto a paper. “I could be blocking the dust,” he said, licking the paper to help seal it up.
Luke held out his hand for the makings when he was done. “Or you could be pissed.”
Ace stepped up on the walk on the far side of the street. “Looks like I’m going to have to break that habit.”
Luke shrugged and shook tobacco onto a paper. “Most can’t tell. Unfortunately for you, I’ve known you since we were infants sharing a crib.”
Striking a sulfur on a boot heel, Ace shielded his smoke from the wind. Holding the cigarette in his mouth, he muttered around it, “Only reason we had to share a crib was because your mama couldn’t stand your squalling.”
“I didn’t like being alone.”
“You don’t remember.”
“I can guess.”
Ace shook out the match. Luke’s mother had been the delicate type, never standing up for herself, not even against her son. Which had led to Luke always getting what he wanted, by hook or crook. A habit he carried into adulthood.
He took a slow drag on the cigarette. The acrid smoke burned his nostrils. “So why you tagging along with me today?”
“’Cause you look like you’re heading for trouble.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The fact that you only smoke when you’re contemplating murder.”
“That’s not the only time.” He also liked a cigarette after sex.
“Well, it’s a well-known fact the teacher’s got a burr up her butt about Terrance Winter. Add that to the fact that rumor has it Miss Wayfield went into the saloon looking for you yesterday and then you come out of the alley with your lips all kiss bitten.”
“You’ve been spying on me.”
“I prefer to think of it as keeping busy.”
Luke had been keeping busy a lot lately. Ace touched his still tender lower lip, remembering that moment when Pet had lost control and bitten him. He cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Kiss bitten?”
Luke shrugged again.
Ace shook his head. “I swear the words that come out of your mouth could tarnish that killer reputation of yours.”
“It’s the poet in me.”
“Uh-huh.”
Luke didn’t tell anyone he penned dime novels to sell back East about the life of the wild men in the Wild West. It’d started out as a dare between him and one of his ladies and developed into a passion. Not one Luke flaunted, but a passion nonetheless and one that kept growing. Easterners had insatiable appetites for the excitement of the West. Hell, if most of them came here,