Beauty and the Beasts [Bride Train 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (31 page)

“What’s really most important to you, Luke? Your past, or the chance of a future?”

Joe Sheldrake squinted at the early-evening sun. He stepped off the boardwalk and stumbled when his bad leg gave out. He barely managed to catch himself before falling on his face. He whipped his head around but no one had seen. He curled the fingers of his left hand tight. He could no longer curl his right.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he crossed the street to Baldy’s Saloon, counting the steps to a new bottle of whiskey. Nothing else would ease the pounding in his head and ache in his leg and hand. The headache would fade with whiskey, but nothing would fix the rest. If he ever saw the goddamn bastards who jumped him, he’d put them in Boot Hill so fast they wouldn’t have time to scream!

Eight of them, just because he punched a shave-tail punk for smiling at a whore without gold to back it up. It was his job to keep things hopping at the Silver Dollar Saloon, so he’d tossed the kid. Why have him take up a chair when a man with money could sit there? How the hell could he know the kid’s pa owned half the railroads west of the Missouri? He had half a mind to take some dynamite to a few of those railroad bridges, just to show him!

Something gave way under his foot, something slippery. He lifted it and swore. His boot was covered in cow shit to the ankle. He stomped to get most of it off, then kept on going. There was already blood, shit, spit, and everything else on the floor at Baldy’s. His boot would dry by the time he next shucked them. He grinned to himself. Might even be worth it to stomp into Emslow’s boardinghouse with it fresh, just to get her riled. The damn woman woke him with the sun, thumping on the walls with her broom and slamming stove lids. Since he had to get up for a piss, he reminded her that Rivers owned her, and her business. If she didn’t toe the line, he’d haul her to camp for a visit. She’d hauled ass, saying how sorry she was as she backed out of the room.

Damn, he wished he could see his ma act that way in front of him, all scared and eager to please. Twelve years of beatings with her damn broom was enough before he lit out. No woman would ever think she was better’n him again. He kept them in line with his fists.

Emslow was way too old and ugly for the boss, but if she acted up he’d give her to his men for a few nights. That’d smarten her up. The boys were stuck so far from town they’d screw anything they could catch. As long as she lived and had no bruises to show above her dress when she was brought back to town, they could do whatever they wanted to the old bat.

His lips curled back in his version of a smile. With her so scared, she wouldn’t dare say a thing if he brought a whore or two back to his bed. It was Friday, and Baldy said he’d have some fresh ones in. His cock struggled to rise. Damn, he needed a drink!

He shoved between the hip-shot horses tied to the hitching post outside Baldy’s and stormed in. He turned right, toward the bar, and took three steps. There on the bar was a bottle and two full shot glasses. He grabbed them, two-fisting, and threw them down, right then left. Fire trailed behind the rotgut as it hit his stomach. He shuddered, shook it off, and looked up. Instead of Baldy, an old coot with long white hair and beard stood behind the bar.

“Who the hell are you?”

“You need glasses, or is it a brain yer missin’?”

The whiskey had worked its way into him far enough that his head no longer felt like he’d just been kicked by a mule. He blinked and took another look. Old Walt stared back, as grumpy as always. The bastard had stood up to him and helped that blonde bitch marry Trace Elliott the other year. He wanted to punch him out, but Rivers had ordered the old man to be left alone.

“Baldy said you had a tab that needs payin’,” said Walt. He kept his hands loose, under the bar.

Joe hadn’t been this close to the man before, and realized Walt wasn’t as old as he’d thought. He grabbed the whiskey to hide the shaking in his hands. It would go away after the first bottle or two.

“When I see Baldy, he kin tell me hisself.” Joe filled a shot glass, threw it down, and refilled it. He looked around the packed room as it settled in his gut. “Where’s Baldy and them new whores?”

“He said he had to make sure they knew what they was doing,” said Walt. He tilted his head to the empty hat on the bar. “Put yer name in the hat. Baldy said he’d draw names fer who gits ’em first. After he’s finished with ’em, of course.”

Sour rage boiled up from Joe’s belly. “I git them whores first,” he bellowed. He turned to face the suddenly silent room. “If’n I want ’em all at once, the rest’ve you’re gonna wait!”

“That isn’t fair!” A young man jumped to his feet. His friends tried to pull him back into his chair. “We’ve been waiting for hours, and you just got here.” He pointed toward the bar. “Your name isn’t even in the hat!”

Six months ago Joe would have jumped for his throat, knowing he could easily take him, and his friends. Things were different now, but no one could know that. So he started out easy-like, pretending to give the kid a chance. He tried to make a fist with his right hand but the sharp pain reminded him it was still broke. He opened his hand and looked at it as if he was decided whether to punch him out or not.

“Maybe a greenhorn like you don’t know me, but yer gonna find yerself in some real bad difficulty if’n ye don’t hobble yer lip.”

The kid’s friends hauled him into his chair and whispered to him. Joe heard his name and the kid’s eyes opened wide. His face turned red and he looked away. He huddled down in his chair and reached for his glass.

Joe turned his back and lifted his own. That’s the way things oughta be. Just his name scared them off. His hand was halfway to his mouth when the man beside him spoke.

“’Fraid you won’t be visiting any ladies this evening, Sheldrake. Leastways, not until we finish our business.” The fellow cracked his knuckles as if he meant business.

There was no mirror behind the smooth wood of the bar, but Joe saw Walt’s eyes flick to the right and left. He didn’t look worried, which made sweat pop out at the back of Joe’s neck. The room, which had filled with rumbles after he turned his back, went silent again. He continued the motion, downing the drink as if he hadn’t heard. Most of his life all he’d had to do was look tough and everyone knew to back away. He had to act like nothing had changed.

He exhaled, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked to his left. He didn’t know the big man, but he looked mean. His face was cut and bruised, so he’d been in a fight. Joe turned to his right. This one was just as tall, but the scar cutting across his face made it easy to figure out who he was. Someone had given him a facer. He remembered something about a fight.

The one with the scar was that bastard Luke Frost, who said he’d be marrying Sarah. The ones breathing hard at his left and behind must be the other two from the Circle C. They didn’t look easy to push around. His stomach tightened, as did his chest. He swallowed hard, breathing through his mouth. He had to attack first. He took a step back from the bar to give himself space to move. He turned to face them. Yeah, the short one in front of him had red hair. Oz Cutler. Joe held himself loose, ready to move.

“Who the hell are you?”

Scarface took a step closer. They were eye to eye.

“We are the Circle C. We protect what’s ours. And that includes our lady.”

Joe grunted as if he didn’t care, but he felt a drop of sweat slide past his ear to his jaw. The fucking bitch must’ve talked. He should have hurt her more, made sure she knew she was to keep her mouth shut. He licked his lips and sneered.

“So?” He looked around the room as if he didn’t give a damn. “I’ll be spendin’ my time with a couple of whores. Don’t want no prissy lady.”

“Good. Because that’s what we’re going to talk about.”

“Outside,” roared Walt. “Nobody’s bustin’ up this saloon. You got that sort of bizness, you take it outside.”

Joe opened his mouth but something hard, like the barrel of a gun, poked into his back. He stiffened. Because he was a stranger, the damn sheriff took his gun and locked it up as soon as he got into town. Of course he had a belly gun up his sleeve and a couple in his saddlebags, but they weren’t close at hand. All he had was his fists, and three against one wasn’t his idea of a good time. Not anymore.

“Follow Luke out that door and to the right,” said the one with the gun in his ribs.

Joe sniffed and spat on the floor, just missing the boot of the redhead, who glared. He hitched up his pants and, waiting for Luke to get fully out the door, followed as if it was his idea to get some fresh air.

The damn sun still hadn’t set, and turning right it hit him right in the eyes. He cursed and ducked his head but the damage was done. He was damn near blind for the few steps it took to get between the saloon and the butcher shop. Hands grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. He glared down at the redhead. From what he remembered, the bastard had only one good eye. The break in his right eyebrow and scar on his cheek meant that one was no good. He’d make sure to hit the good one with his best shot.

“As you know, I’m Luke Frost,” said the one with the scar. He nodded to the big one. “My partner, Gabe Downey, is finding it very difficult to hold himself back from rippling your arms off.”

“Nah, let’s start with his balls,” growled Cutler.

“Now, now, Oz, we have to behave like gentlemen,” said Luke. “For now.”

His scar and bruises made his ugly face even worse. But it meant that the man knew pain. He could take a punch and keep going. Joe was used to fighting soft men. They took one in the gut and folded.

“Mr. Sheldrake,” continued Luke, “you may not be aware that Miss Unsworth is to be my wife.”

Joe stared back, not bothering to reply. He knew they wanted the woman. They could have her when he was finished with her. After a couple nights she’d be well broke to harness. All he wanted was a couple of nights with her, and all the gold. They could have whatever he left behind.

“Ah, so you knew she belonged to the Circle C, Yet you still accosted her on the street?”

“Is that what you flannel-mouths call talkin’?” He snorted at the fancy words. “I jist told her how to keep her shop.”

Luke gritted his teeth. Joe liked that he could poke him without touching him. Luke growled a curse that Joe wished he’d heard. It sounded like something he could use to insult men like Jennet who thought they were so much better. Them fancy words never stopped a bullet.

“For some reason you seem to think there’s gold in Miss Unsworth’s bakery.” Luke stepped right in front of Joe. His partners crowded in on either side. “Why do you think Jennet didn’t take it out long ago?”

The bitch told them about the gold? If he got his hands on her, he’d bust her up so bad they’d think it was Isaac who done it.

“Jennet didn’t take the gold because it’s mine.” He stared back just as hard. “He knows I’ll kill him if he touches it.” He curled his lip. “I told him I’d leave him in gulch, gutshot. Take him days to die.”

“I don’t doubt you would,” replied Luke.

“I can’t figure out where a heap of gold could be hidden,” said Downey. “It’s got square timber walls, so I can’t see hiding anything there, unless you stick coins in the chinking. The floor’s solid, far as I can tell.” He tilted his head a bit to scratch his chin. The glint in his eyes was hard. “The second floor, now, that’s something else. The ceiling over the shop is okay, but somebody ripped off the second story’s floorboard.” He leaned closer. “Looked like somebody was looking for something.” He grinned. “But now that Sheriff Barstow and his family moved in, the place will be safe.”

The whiskey in his gut tried to come back and visit. His throat burned even worse as it went down the second time. He’d put the gold between the two layers of the second level. That bastard Jennet must have heard about him getting stomped during the winter and figured he’d gone and died. No wonder he sold the damn thing for a bakery!

“You look a mite peaked,” said Luke. He raised his eyebrows. His eyes burned black like a snake. “You hide something up there a while back? Something that’s not there anymore?”

“Guess you got no reason to stay in town now,” said Oz. He bounced on his toes, grinning like he couldn’t wait to get the first punch in. “We’ll bring your horse right here so you kin ride out. Nobody’ll see you go.”

Joe wanted to hit the bastard right in the nose and take a couple of teeth along. But his hand didn’t heal right after getting stomped by a couple pairs of boots. That dynamite was looking real good. But first, he wanted to hammer a whore with his cock until she screamed, just like Sarah did when he watched her through that peek hole.

He told Nettie he was too drunk when his cock wouldn’t get hard. Both times. She laughed and said she’d tell. He gagged her so no one would hear her scream and showed her who was boss. Seeing her beg made his cock hard enough to show her he was a man. But he still wanted those whores to prove to himself he could perform.

“I got reasons to stay,” he growled.

“Forget about them whores,” said Oz, still grinning.

“Baldy said you won’t be touching his girls until everybody else gets a turn,” said Gabe. “He says he loses business while they heal from your fists. He figures it’ll be a week before he lets you near them.”

“So you might as well get out of town right now,” added Luke.

He was not going to say good-bye to all that damn gold! Not without a fight. But if he did something to Jennet now, all fingers would point right at him. If he waited a bit, maybe catch him and his bitch of a wife on the way to Helena, he could blame it on vigilantes or road agents. Hell, he was paid in gold to lead them to certain men who were in the way of business opportunities. It would be nothing to make it look like they’d gone after the banker.

It’d be a damn shame, but he could wait to get what he wanted. He met Luke’s eyes and glared while he adjusted his hat just so. There were other women. Rivers had paid him well for a couple of jobs, and it was time to have some fun. He laughed in their faces, shoved past, and headed back to Emslow’s, walking as if he didn’t give a damn. The practiced laugh of a whore came through the open door at Baldy’s. Pity about that, but he’d find something more in line with his mood.