Belle Gone Bad (13 page)

M
ercy felt proud as he walked into the open dogtrot with Belle on his arm. Last time he'd been here, he'd barely escaped the burning tent and rioting outlaws. If not for help from Temperance Tempest and Lucky the gunslinger, he'd have been in big trouble. They'd sent him to the Bend and Diana for help. Now he was back, a whole and healthy man. Maybe Slim and Red Dog wouldn't even recognize him.

He glanced in the open door to the right and saw narrow cots lined up along two walls, leaving a path down the middle. Two washstands with bowls, pitchers, and towels stood against the far end. The room looked neat and clean, but it wouldn't stay that way for long, not once it was put to frequent use.

“Looks like the perfect place to get a little shut-eye,” Belle said.

“What do you think?”

“Just try to keep me out of one of those beds.”

She chuckled as she turned toward the other open door. “They built the place back fast.”

“Probably had help from a lot of desperate men.”

He waited while she took the three wooden steps up to the saloon. He glanced around, but everything remained calm and quiet. He turned his back on the outside and followed her up the stairs.

He stepped into the saloon right behind her. Sunlight through glass windows brightened the area. Slim, a tall, cantankerous man, and Red Dog, a plump, good-natured one, stood talking to two tall men dressed in the latest fashion who looked like they belonged back East.

Other than that oddity, the saloon was filled with the usual rough-hewn tables and chairs. The plank floors were strewn with clean sawdust. Shiny, bright brass spittoons dotted the floor here and there. He could smell the tantalizing aroma of beans and beef simmering in a pot over an open fire in a river rock fireplace against the far wall.

“I'll tell you again that a stage in Burnt Boggy would be a waste of good space,” Slim said, crossing his arms over his blue denim shirt.

Red Dog pulled on his red suspenders and scratched his bushy dark beard. “When it wasn't in use, we could set a couple of tables on it.”

“Exactly!” one of the tall men said.

“Burt and Bob!” Belle cried. “What are you two ornery cusses doing out here?”

Both men turned as one, and wide smiles split their faces. They were just shy of giant size and looked enough alike to be twins. They had short black hair and neat mustaches. Their broad shoulders strained their plaid suits and bright white shirts.

“Come here, Lil Tex,” one said, opening wide his arms.

To Mercy's astonishment, Belle ran into the stranger's embrace. He lifted her up, twirled her around, and set her back on her feet. The other one did the same, leaving her obviously breathless.

Mercy took a new dislike to the two but did his best to keep his blood from boiling over in jealousy.

Belle glanced over her shoulder and beckoned him. “I brought Mercy with me.”

“Mercy!” Red Dog jerked around and grinned. “As I live and breathe, can that be you?”

“You clean up real good,” Slim said. “Thought next time I saw you it'd be in a pine box.”

“He was headed there,” Belle said, “but he cheated Boot Hill out of one more resident.”

“Glad to see you two again.” Mercy shook the hands of Red Dog and Slim.

“Mercy, I'd like you to meet Burt and Bob Hayes, old friends from around Delaware Bend,” Belle said.

“Pleased to meet you. I'm Bob.” He stuck out his hand.

Mercy shook it, noticing it was big enough to be a bear's paw but smooth like he didn't do much physical work.

“I'm Burt. We represent Hayes Brothers Entertainment Enterprises.”

Mercy shook his hand, too. “Entertainment?”

“Perhaps you can be so kind as to help persuade Slim and Red Dog that entertainment would be an added incentive for folks to gather at Burnt Boggy.”

“What type?” Mercy's mind raced down several avenues, but all of them led to soiled doves.

“Ballad singers. Jugglers. Poetry readers,” Burt said.

“Poetry!” Mercy started to laugh but realized they were serious.

“There's this b'hoy named Shakespeare who wrote some stuff that's savagerous,” Bob said.

“It's for the stage,” Burt added, “but there are actors good enough to read it by their lonesome.”

“In the Burnt Boggy Saloon?” Mercy almost choked on the idea.

“You mean some b'hoy is gonna read a book to us?” Slim looked disgusted. “He won't get far. Most likely his book'll be used for target practice.”

“It's not a book,” Burt said.

Belle chuckled. “It'd sure be funny listening to him read around the holes.”

Mercy felt as if he'd fallen down a hole and ended up on the other side of the world. When did men out West start wanting something besides the three W's. Whiskey. Women. Wagers. He didn't remember hearing anybody beg for poetry or William Shakespeare. It was ludicrous.

“What if we guaranteed Lady Gone Bad would sing her famous ballads here?” Burt asked.

“I'd pound a few nails in a board or two and make her a stage,” Red Dog said.

“I don't know about that.” Slim shook his head. “Isn't she the first lady who burnt down Boggy?”

“It was afore we took over,” Red Dog said, “so it don't count.”

“Sure it counts.”

“No, it don't.”

“Gentlemen,” Burt interrupted, “do we have a deal or not?”

“No,” Slim said.

“Yes,” Red Dog said.

“We're at an impasse.” Burt sighed. “We need another vote to break the tie.”

“There ain't no other vote,” Slim growled.

“Mercy, you're a likely looking gentleman,” Burt said. “What say you to entertainment at the Burnt Boggy?”

He took a deep breath, not about to be drawn into this kind of trouble. “I'm just an artist. My opinion's not worth much.”

“Artist?” Burt leaned forward. “What kind?”

“Didn't we say?” Red Dog exclaimed. “Mercy is the Red River Saloon's bar sculptor.”

“Hornswoggle!” Bob's eyebrows shot up.

Burt grabbed Mercy's hand and pumped it several times before he quickly dropped it. “Excuse me. I didn't squeeze too hard, did I? With hands as valuable as yours, maybe you shouldn't shake at all.”

Mercy blinked in wonder.

“Sure does beat all,” Bob said, “running into you here. You being such a big bug and all.”

“Not only that, but you could be the icing on our cake.” Burt glanced at Belle. “Not that you aren't, too, but we'll tell you what we've got in mind for you in a minute.”

“That's right,” Bob agreed. “Think Annie Oakley.”

“Who?” Belle asked.

“Don't spill the beans.” Burt focused on Mercy again. “In case you haven't heard, we are creating a Wild West show for the stage. Such famous big bugs as the legendary singer, Lady Gone Bad, the popular dime novelist, Angelique, and outlaws, Indians, and gunslingers will all be represented to our audiences across the nation.”

“I hadn't heard.” Mercy kept his face straight, but it wasn't easy.

“Manny is our stock handler. Mama Lou is our cook. Ludmila is in charge of procuring supplies,” Bob said.

“But we need an artist to create astounding, colorful posters to draw audiences.” Burt pointed at Mercy. “And you're our man.”

Belle clapped her hands together. “Mercy, just think, you'll have a nationwide audience for your wonderful art.”

“And we'll pay top dollar or a percentage of profits,” Burt added. “Everybody's getting on board, so don't be left behind.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Mercy said, “but—”

“Don't make a decision now,” Burt interrupted. “Give it some thought.”

“First, we want to make Belle an offer,” Bob said.

“To do what?” Belle asked as she looked from one to the other.

“Champion shooter! Feats of marksmanship!” Burt grinned. “Annie Oakley is a sensation. She and Frank Butler just signed with the Sells Brothers Circus for a forty-week engagement. They're going to one hundred eighty-seven towns in thirteen states. Annie is billed as the “Champion Rifle Dead-Shot of the World.”

“But I'm a bounty hunter.”

“That'll work, too,” Burt said. “Bounty Hunter Champion Rifle Dead-Shot of the World.”

Mercy finally chuckled, shaking his head. “If nothing else, you two have more ideas than a herd of cattle.”

“That's what it takes,” Burt said. “We're in a competitive business. We represent singers, authors, and all manner of entertainers.”

“It might be fun,” Belle said, winking.

“Fun?”

“That's right,” Burt agreed. “We'll have fun, make money, and tour the United States.”

“Well, what about us?” Red Dog put his hands on his hips, looking mad. “Surely you're not going to leave us out.”

“Concessions,” Bob said. “Folks'll be thirsty and hungry.”

“That's right,” Burt agreed. “What do you think about that stage now?”

“Hornswoggle,” Slim said. “Might as well put it up and see what happens.”

“One thing's for sure,” Red Dog said, “it'll add class to Burnt Boggy.”

“That it will.” Burt put his hat on his head and looked at Belle. “Lil Tex, you need anything, you let us know.”

“Thanks. I will.” She smiled. “And let me know how the show progresses.”

“If you don't hear from us, ask Manny.”

Bob put on his hat and looked at Mercy. “Now take good care of our darlin'.”

“We'll be in touch.” Burt touched the brim of his hat and left the saloon with Bob by his side.

“They're like a whirlwind.” Mercy took a deep breath. “Is anything they said real?”

“I wouldn't bet against them,” Red Dog said.

“Nope,” Slim agreed. “They're the beatingest.”

“You mean, we may all actually be offered those jobs?” Mercy asked in amazement.

“Looks like it.” Belle grinned. “I could be a sure shot on stage just as well as in a forest.”

Red Dog set a bottle of whiskey on top of the bar. “Now tell us what brings you to Burnt Boggy.”

H
our s later, Belle awoke with a start. She clutched the six-shooter that she had under her pillow in case of danger. When she didn't hear any sounds beyond birdsong, she opened her eyes and looked around. All was safe in Burnt Boggy Saloon's bunkhouse. She eased her grip and relaxed against the bed. Mercy snored lightly in the next cot, so he was fine, too.

She took a deep breath and calculated the time by the angle of light coming through the open windows. Late afternoon. By the time they'd eaten and talked with Slim and Red Dog, the morning had been half gone. Afterward, she'd set Juniper out to graze with Kirby, then fallen into bed and been out like a light.

Unfortunately, they hadn't learned anything to help find Diana. Slim and Red Dog hadn't seen anybody riding a pacer. They hadn't been visited by a strawberry blonde beauty. And they hadn't heard any gossip that might lead to Tex's bushwhacker. Yet she hadn't given up hope. Tonight, outlaws, cowboys, and others would gather at the saloon. She counted on discovering something useful. If not, she'd pick up the trail again.

For now, Burnt Boggy was a sanctuary that she planned to enjoy. She felt dirty and dusty. She eyed the clean towels and soap. Red Dog had explained that he'd dug a deep pool in the Boggy River behind a cluster of thick blackberry bushes. They used it for a bath with cold but plentiful fresh water. She couldn't think of anything better except a hot bath with lavender soap.

She didn't want to disturb Mercy's sleep, so she quietly picked up her Colt .44, gun-belt, two towels, washcloth, and a bar of soap, and tiptoed from the room. She stepped down to the dogtrot and heard Slim and Red Dog talking in the saloon. She checked out front but saw no new horses. It was a quiet, sleepy afternoon.

She made her way to the back of Burnt Boggy and followed a narrow trail that sloped down toward the river. She rounded blackberry bushes and came to an idyllic setting under a canopy of old oak trees. Across the river, more thick growth camouflaged the area. She stepped onto a soft, sandy bank with plenty of room for a cozy picnic or a place to relax after a bath.

She slid her six-gun into its holster and set it down within easy reach. She dropped the towels and soap onto the sand, then plopped down beside it all. She sat still a moment to watch sunlight play across the sparkling water. A dust devil skidded across the sand, bringing the scent of cedar and dry grass. For the moment, she felt at peace.

Yet she knew that she couldn't allow that feeling to last for long because too much was at risk. Diana was out there somewhere in great danger. Tex and Hackett's bushwhacker appeared to have targeted her. And she feared Victoria would not so easily give up.

She took a deep breath, shucked off her boots, and dropped them on the sand. She jerked off her socks and wiggled her toes, enjoying the cool air and freedom. It felt so good that she quickly peeled off her clothes until she stood completely naked. She stretched her arms above her head and stepped into the water. It felt so cold that she stepped right back out. She couldn't imagine plunging into it. Maybe she could get used to it a little bit at a time.

She sat down on the bank, put her feet into the pool, and waited for the shock to pass. She grew impatient and scooted into the water so that she sat with the liquid lapping around her waist. She shivered so hard that her teeth chattered, but gradually she began to feel warmer.

She plucked the washcloth and soap from the bank, worked up lather, and quickly washed from neck to toes. In order to rinse, she tossed the soap and cloth back on the bank and plunged into the water. She shivered as she rinsed soap from her body and then quickly stood up, feeling grateful for the slight warmth of sunlight coming from the west behind her.

She turned around. And gasped.

Mercy stood with her towels in his hands. “You're my perfect painting.” He gestured toward her. “Water Nymph Rising.”

“Water Nymph Freezing!” She sloshed toward him, holding one hand at the apex of her thighs and the other over her breasts. “Give me those towels. And stop looking at me.”

He chuckled and backed up, keeping the towels out of reach. “You wouldn't deny me a little pleasure, would you?”

“Pleasure!” She shivered hard, teeth rattling. “I'm desperate to get warm.”

He grinned, eyes gleaming silver. “That's easily remedied.” He tossed her towels onto the blackberry vines.

“What are you doing?” She took a step back into the water.

“I'm doing what you want me to do.”

“I just want my towels.”

“They won't make you warm.” He gave her a smoldering look.“I will.” He shucked out of his vest and shirt.

She licked her lower lip, almost tasting his salty skin. He was right. Only he didn't need to touch her to do it. One look at the hard, sculpted muscles of his arms, chest, and shoulders sent a deep, hot ache spreading outward from her center.

“Are you feeling warmer?”

She nodded, believing she should look away but unable to do it. She tossed propriety to the winds and stared for all she was worth.

He jerked off his boots and socks. Now he stood in nothing but trousers and a sly smile. He put his hands on the first button.

She bit her lower lip in anticipation.

He undid the button.

She inhaled sharply as she felt moisture gather between her thighs.

He unbuttoned the second button. And stopped.

“Not now.” She glanced up at his face.

“If you're going to see all of me, I want to see all of you.”

“You are!” She felt prickly with heat and growing irritation.

“Raise your hands.”

She glanced down. She'd forgotten she'd done her best to cover her body. She looked back at him. “Another button?”

“Your breasts first.”

She slowly lowered her arm to her side and was satisfied to hear his sharp intake of breath.

“You are truly lovely. I want to feast on you.”

“Button?”

He slowly slipped another button free to reveal dark hair that tapered downward.

She felt like a loose lady of the night when she removed her hand so that he could see her complete nudity. Once more she was rewarded by his passionate response. Still, she felt exposed and a little embarrassed that she allowed him so much familiarity.

“Did Hackett ever see you this way?”

She blushed. “Why bring him up now?”

“I want to know.”

“Never in daylight. It's indecent.”

“No. It's decent.” And he undid the last button, dropped his trouser to his ankles, and kicked them away. He spread his legs and stood naked before her with his hard, dark shaft at the ready.

She caught her breath at his beauty. Heat enveloped her, driving out any thoughts of cold. Or impropriety.

“You feel up to bathing me?”

“Bathe?” She tried to focus on the word, but all she could think about was the burning, aching core of her. She wanted nothing more than to satisfy her desire for him.

“I can't reach my back.” He picked up the soap and washcloth.

But she wasn't thinking of his back. She was thinking of washing the long, hard length of his shaft, soaping and stroking and teasing him into making her so hot that the water around them boiled with their passion.

He walked toward her, splashing into the water, sending it spraying in all directions. “This is cold, isn't it?”

“Come here. I know just how to warm you.”