Deborah Camp (25 page)

Her fingers encountered something foreign, but they seemed instinctively to know what to do. Wrapping around the length of hot flesh and hard muscle, her fingers caressed him and moved up and down. He moaned, a sound of pain and pleasure and delirium.

“Dellie, Dellie,” he chanted her name.

Adele felt him grow and pulse, and knew he was teetering on the brink of a cataclysm. She stilled her movements, giving him a few moments to recover. She kissed his shoulders and stroked his smooth, muscled back. He kissed her breasts and teased the pouting peaks with his tongue.

And then he was inside her in a swift, shuddering,
sizzling thrust. Adele bent her knees and locked her legs around his hips as he moved in and out of her like a relentless tide. She watched emotions flicker in his eyes and muscles tense in his face. The sight of his pleasure doubled hers. Clinging to him, she bit him lightly on the shoulder while the waves of her own passion climbed higher and higher until she was utterly consumed.

She cried out his name, and he answered with low animal sounds as his body jerked in rapid-fire release.

Drifting back to earth, she realized she was wrapped in his arms and his body was slick and hot and his breathing was ragged and warm against the side of her face. Adele combed his hair with her fingers and closed her eyes against her tears.

She loved him so much it hurt.

As promised, Adele returned to the restaurant in the afternoon. The day had been busy, and Mrs. McDonald was flying around the kitchen, preparing the evening menu, while Colleen and Helen mopped the floor and wiped off the counters. Sally rose regally from her perch on a stool near the cash drawer and untied her apron.

“It’s about time you showed up,” she said, smoothing her hands over her hair. “We’ve walked our legs off today. I’ve never seen so many people getting off those trains in all my life.”

“Yeah, and just about everybody in town came in for the noon meal,” Helen added, pausing to rinse out her wash rag in a shallow pan of hot water. “We ran out of beans and cornbread about one o’clock, and Mrs. McDonald had to throw together a pot of
chicken and rice soup. People ate it up, didn’t they, Colleen?”

“Sure did. That Mrs. McDonald is the best cook I’ve ever seen. She can make leather taste good.”

Sally made a face. “I’m leaving now. I’m already running late.” She tied her pocket purse to her narrow belt. “I suppose you’ll change your tune now about Taylor and his saloon.”

Adele furrowed her brow, confused. “Why would I do that?”

“Because of your husband, of course.” Sally sniffed with contempt. “And he calls
me
a hypocrite.” Then she sashayed out the door.

Adele couldn’t make any sense of what Sally had said. Turning toward the other two women, she noticed that they were absorbed in their cleaning. Too absorbed.

“What did Sally mean by that?”

Colleen glanced up from the mop she was wringing out. “She’s always talking.”

“Yes, but what did she mean?”

Helen shrugged. “Most of the time I don’t know what she’s yammering about.”

Adele rolled her eyes, knowing full well that both women were avoiding the truth. “Why would she think I had changed my mind?”

Mrs. McDonald pushed open the kitchen door. Red-faced and perspiring, she offered up a broad smile. “Whew! I can’t believe this place has finally emptied out. How much longer do you reckon it’ll be before the next train puffs in?”

Adele checked the clock on the wall. “The next one
is the General Star at six-forty-five, so you’ve got a little more than an hour.”

“That’s good. My bread will be ready by then. I got my liver and onions and stewed potatoes done and I just took four apple pies out of the oven.” She fanned the door. “Can’t you smell ’em?”

“Yes, I sure can,” Adele said, breathing in the mouth-watering aroma. “We were just talking about how—”

“Let me guess. I bet you were talking about what every other person has been talking about today.” Mrs. McDonald’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “About your mister managing the new saloon across the street from the Black Knight.” She chuckled and slapped her thigh. “Don’t you know that Taylor is busting a gut?”

Adele plopped down on one of the stools at the high counter and shook her head. “Reno is managing
what
?”

Colleen stopped mopping. “You mean he didn’t tell you yet?”

“Tell me what?”

“About him and the saloon.”

“What’s it called?” she asked Helen.

“The sign that went up today says Lucky Strike.” Helen swept a hand in front of her in a grand gesture. “They say it will open up by the end of the week. There’s a crew in there now hammering and sawing away. Whoever owns it is throwing some money into the place.”

Sitting in stunned silence, Adele could do nothing in the next minutes except listen and inwardly deny it all.

“Yeah, and it’s supposed to be even bigger than the Black Knight. It’ll have gaming tables and a dance floor and a stage. I guess they’re planning on bringing in some acting troupes or something,” Colleen added.

“There are saloons in Arizona that do that,” Mrs. McDonald said. “I worked in one that staged one-act plays and even had some singers and jugglers.”

“Excuse me,” Adele said, finding her voice. “But what has this got to do with Reno?”

“Like we said, he’s the manager,” Colleen repeated. “He’s going to run the place right under Terrapin’s nose!”

Adele might have fainted if Reno hadn’t chosen that moment to make an appearance. Grinning cockily, his gaze met hers. In a split second he saw he was in trouble, but before he could do anything about it, Adele’s temper struck like lightning. She closed her hand on a tin salt shaker and hurled it at him. He ducked and the shaker bounced off the wall behind him.

“Now what?” he asked, his own anger sparking in his eyes.

“What
else
?” Adele charged, standing to face him. “You, you lying, smooth-talking … saloon keeper!”

The wind seemed to leave him in a gush. He slumped and ran a hand down his face. “Aw, hell, I was just coming in to tell you about that. How did you find out?”

“It makes no difference, because you aren’t going to be managing that saloon or
any
saloon.”

“Says who?”

She looked down the bridge of her nose at him. “Me. Your wife and your boss.”

He glanced at the others and shook his head. “We’re not having this discussion in front of an audience, Dellie.” He opened the door to her quarters, kicked aside the salt shaker, and gestured for her to go inside. “You ladies will excuse us,” he told Colleen and Helen.

“I am the boss here,” Adele reminded him, but dropped that quibble. She had bigger fish to fry.

“I wanted to tell you about my business venture before it got around town,” Reno began. “Who spilled the beans?”

“The sign is up and the gossip is rife,” Adele informed him. “It’s called the Lucky Strike.”

“That’s right.” He grinned. “Catchy, huh?”

Adele suddenly felt weepy. The beauty of what they shared had shattered with the news, leaving her to grieve. Sitting on the parlor sofa, she sniffed and held back her tears. “How could you, Reno? This is so humiliating.”

“I can’t win for losing with you. First you’re telling me that I don’t have any gumption, any business sense, but when I prove you wrong by opening up a business in town, you say you’re humiliated. I wish you’d make up your mind.”

“Don’t act stupid around me, Reno Gold. You know very well that I would never approve of any husband of mine running a saloon. If you do this, you’re no better than Taylor Terrapin.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m going to run a respectable saloon.”

“There is no such thing.”

“Are you an expert on saloons, Dellie?”

“I know that they sell women in them.”

“Not in mine,” he assured her. “There will be gambling, some stage shows, liquor, of course, but no rooms for rent upstairs.”

“One thing this town does
not
need is another saloon.” She flattened her hands against her thighs. “No, I can’t have it, Reno. You’ll have to tell the owner that you won’t work there.” She tipped her head to one side, struck by a question. “Who is the owner?”

“A man named Fields from back east, and I’m not sliding out of this deal.” He sat beside her on the sofa, noticing the sheen of tears in her eyes. His heart kicked painfully and his conscience told him to tell her the truth about his owning the saloon and not just managing it. “I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d be tickled that I’d found myself some work that would bring in some money.”

“You should have asked me before taking on another job,” she said, her feelings still stinging. “You work here for me. I’m the boss and you—”

“No, you’re not my boss, Dellie,” he cut in, his anger spiking again. “You’re my wife.”

“Only because I put an advertisement in the newspaper and you answered it,” she reminded him, even while a calm voice inside her head told her to curb her tongue. “It was clear when we went into this … this situation that I expected certain things of you.”

“And I expect certain things of you,” he rejoined. “Respect, for one.”

“How can I respect someone who makes money in a saloon?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “And you sit there and tell me you won’t hire women to work in that place?”

“I didn’t say that. Of course, I’ll hire some ladies.”

“You see? Another lie.” She sat straight, her back so stiff that she thought it might snap. “I can’t trust you.”

Stung by her supercilious attitude, Reno rose from the sofa. “I thought you’d changed, but you’re still lording it over me, aren’t you? What makes you think you have the right to boss me, Dellie?”

“I’m your employer and your wife.”

“I never agreed to work for you, just to marry you.” He paced, trying to outdistance his anger. “You lecture others who lord it over their spouses and treat them unfairly, but you try the same thing with me. Now you say you can’t trust me. Why? Because I’ve shown some grit? Because I’m my own man and don’t need your permission to work for a living?”

She stared at him, trying to reconcile the angry young man pacing in front of her with the tender lover she’d been in bed with less than an hour ago.

“I’m going to beat Terrapin at his own game,” he said, pacing, pacing, his movements jerky. “I’ll hire ladies, but they will sell drinks, not themselves. I’ll have a couple of men built like bulls on hand to keep all the troublemakers out. They can trade at Terrapin’s. My place will be the respectable one in this town.”

Adele gave him a stern look. “I won’t have you running a saloon, Reno. It’s a despicable business. I won’t hear of it.”

Reno stopped in his tracks and glared at her. The last time he’d been spoken to in such a fashion was by his mother. Damned if he’d let Dellie get away with it.

“You won’t hear of it?” he repeated, his anger flaring.

“That’s correct,” she said, as prim as a schoolteacher.

Reno leaned close until his nose almost touched hers. “Then cover your ears, sugar.” He marched out of her quarters, her look of amazement and disappointment stamped on his mind and heart. Females! God save him from them.

Damn her. Did she have to defy him at every turn?

Adele stared after him and forbade herself to cry. He would come to his senses, she told herself. He wouldn’t want to cause war between them, not when love was so close at hand. Once he thought it out, he would see that she was right and he’d tell that East Coast moneyman he could not be a party to the saloon business.

Yes, he’d come around to her way of thinking. Despair crept into her mind unbidden, and tears blurred her vision. She wished she hadn’t said some of those things to him. She hadn’t been entirely truthful. She did feel she could trust him. If only he weren’t so stubborn, so set in his ways, so … so … male!

Damn him. Did he have to defy her at every turn?

“W
on’t you even come look at the place, Dellie?” Reno asked after Adele had placed a cup of coffee and a piece of Mrs. McDonald’s elderberry pie in front of him.

“I’m not interested in frequenting a saloon.”

“One visit isn’t frequenting. It’s natural you’d want to cast an eye on your husband’s business venture.”

“I want nothing to do with it,” she insisted, moving away to wait on customers.

The woman was a puzzle, Reno thought as he tucked into the pie. In the week that had ensued after she’d learned of the Lucky Strike Saloon, Adele hadn’t budged an inch. She hated the idea and hated him for having anything to do with it. Of course, their bodies betrayed their convictions. Nightly they made heated love. Daily they exchanged cool glances.

Reno had thought Adele would thaw out and finally accept his work in the saloon. Then he’d tell her that he wasn’t merely managing the place, he was the owner. But she had not fulfilled his expectations. She remained staunchly opposed to his plan to give Terrapin a run for his money.

From the corner of his eye he observed Adele interacting with her customers. She charmed them with her lovely smile and emerald eyes and she enchanted them with her grace and modulated voice. But they were seeing only the surface of her considerable assets. He had discovered the deep pockets of her soul, the well of her passion, and the magnitude of her character. And there were still volumes for him to discover in her.

Through her he had also unearthed nuggets of himself. She had swum through his blood, had shown him the complexity of his heart, and had proved to him that he had never loved, never even really lived, before she’d happened in his life.

Everyone who had come before and after her paled. Every woman he had been with faded. Each time he made her shudder in his arms with the intensity of their passion, he felt reborn.

And yet he couldn’t be sure Adele shared his newfound faith in them as a couple. He sensed that she didn’t trust him and therefore could not trust her feelings for him. She was too damned smart. Like her mother, she could spot a fake a mile away. He should tell her the unvarnished truth, he argued with himself, but his pesky pride blustered and persisted. Her unbending presumptions of right and wrong and her firm belief that he would fail rankled, souring his good intentions.