Caden's Vow. Sarah McCarty
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excuse would do. Skin color was just the easiest one.
She nodded. “A girl’s got to have her standards.”
One of the other men snorted. He was wearing the same dirty, dusty brown shirt and pants as the others. The only thing that distinguished him was his blond hair. “No way in hell the men of Hell’s Eight let a pretty little thing like this slip out.”
“I heard all of them were married up anyway.”
“Not all of them and they’ve been hiring help.” She shuddered delicately, feeding their assumptions. “Not a lot of single women up there.”
“You think the married ones would let a whore in their midst, boss?”
She raised her brows at the man. “Are you calling me a liar, sir?”
She didn’t know what she’d do if he said yes. She wasn’t used to confronting people head-on. She thought of Bella and her fire and added for good measure, “Because if you are...”
“If I am, what?”
So much for Bella’s inner fire. She couldn’t copy that.
“Then I would have to tell you, you’re wrong.” She put her hand to her chest, drawing the man’s gaze back to her best assets. The feel of her cotton dress was a shock when she’d been expecting skin. It was hard to flaunt your attributes when you were covered to the chin, but Tia had insisted nice girls didn’t wear low-cut dresses. It had been useless trying to explain to Tia that she wasn’t a nice girl, and while rape was something to be avoided, it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. But Tia was Tia and she always got her way.
After Maddie’d gotten used to thinking of herself as unavailable, she’d loved her dresses. The material was cool and comfortable, and while men smiled at her, none had touched her. None had tried to corner her when their wives weren’t looking. No one treated her with anything but respect. And even better, women didn’t pull away when she came close. She’d started to form friendships. As a result, she’d begun to think of her coming to Hell’s Eight as a new beginning, a wiping clean of her past. She’d kept herself pure. Felt good about it, even. Having a choice made her feel so...strong, in a unique way she’d never had.
But it had been just another illusion like so many others. As, predicably, the men leered at her, Caden’s face flashed in her mind. She saw his frown as she smiled back, and her heart sank. He wouldn’t want her if these men touched her. The knowledge was a stab through her heart. Around the edges of her consciousness, the opportunity to escape presented itself. Worth whined. She shook her head. She couldn’t give in. Worth was Hell’s Eight. He would die for her. She was Hell’s Eight. She couldn’t abandon him. She checked to make sure Flower was still between the man and her dog. She was. “May I ask your name, sir?”
“Who I am’s not important. Who are you?”
She tossed her head again, wishing her hair was free so it could flow about her shoulders. Men loved her hair almost as much as they loved her breasts. “They call me Ginger,” she said, giving them her saloon name.
His eyes went to her hair. “Your spirit as fiery as your hair?”
She smiled the smile she knew he expected from her, the one she’d been taught to give, the one that came too easily for the proper woman she’d been training to be.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Hell’s Eight owes us, boss. We lost our last woman because of them.”
Last woman? That sounded ominous.
“True enough.” The boss stared at her a moment. “She’s got more meat on her bones than the last one.”
“I gotta say I like the idea of a sporting woman better than I do a virgin.”
The boss snapped, “The woman never said she was a virgin. Would never have brought her home had she mentioned that.”
What kind of men were these?
“I say we keep her,” the man in the back said.
She kept her eyes on the leader. The others could say all they wanted, but until this man spoke, nothing was going to be in stone. She knew it. So did they, which was why they were angling so hard.
The leader looked at her.
“You really a working girl? Because I don’t want no misunderstandings this time round.”
The answer lodged in her throat as the reality of where she was sank in around her. Once a whore, always a whore. She’d heard that so many times. She’d stopped believing it when Tracker had taken her away and the acceptance of Hell’s Eight had settled around her. But just ten hours away from Hell’s Eight, she was back to where she’d started.
“Yes.” It was hard to get the word out.
“The men’s humor would sure improve with a woman around the place.”
The guy in the faded brown hat offered, “Morale has been down. Comanche’s got everyone working double time.”
“How much do you charge?” the boss asked.
“For what?” she stalled.
“I’ve got a camp of ten men who need satisfying.”
“Around the clock?”
“You get Sundays off and from sundown to sunup. Other than that, the men come in, and you’d be available.”
“And who would I be working for?”
“Frank Culbart of the Fallen C here.” He made a token touch of his finger to his hat. She didn’t get the impression that he was being disrespectful but that he was just rather gruff.
Culbart? Dear God. These were the men who’d purchased Fei’s cousin and held her captive! “I don’t cook and clean,” she said.
“Girl, you’ll pretty much do what I want.”
She raised her chin, thinking of Tia. “I’m a working woman, sir, not a slave. I’ll expect a decent wage.”
“I yank you off that horse you’re whatever the hell I say you are, so you best take what you get before you find yourself in a position you don’t want to be in.”
She didn’t want to be here at all. She wanted to be with Caden.
One of the men rode forward and grabbed Flower’s reins, slipping them over the horse’s head, and pulled Flower forward.
“We’ll leave the dog here.”
“He won’t stay.”
He pulled his gun out. “Then I’ll shoot him.”
“No! ”
“Don’t you be telling me what I will or will not do.”
She yanked at the reins, panic gathering in her stomach. Worth snarled and charged the man holding Flower’s reins.
With a calm that she couldn’t fathom, Culbart pulled the trigger. Worth howled and fell, whimpering before lying still.
“No!”
Culbart took aim again. Kicking Flower forward, Maddie grabbed for that gun before he could fire again. Culbart swore.
“Goddamn it! Hold her, Dickens.”
She screamed when somebody’s arm went around her waist and yanked her off her mare, hating the laughter that flowed around her, mean, vicious chuckles that declared their superiority. She clawed at her captor’s hands, but her nails raked harmlessly over his gloves. Before she could get her bearings, she was thrown around. She automatically splayed her hands, but she didn’t hit the ground; instead, her stomach hit the saddle, and the slap on her ass was hard enough to arch her back.
“Calm down. The dog’s already dead,” Dickens ordered.
She