Much Ado About Madams (34 page)

She placed a dry cloth in his hand. “Titus said your bullet wound is just a graze, but that we shouldn’t get bath water on it, so hold this over it while I wash your hair.”

He wondered what else Titus had told her.

She washed the mud, hay, and stickers out of his hair. “Oh, dear, the wound on your scalp opened up. Titus said he’d have to sew you up if that happened.” She tossed the soap and the cloth onto his belly. “I’ll go get him.”

Reese grabbed her arm. “No, not yet.” He pulled her to him. “I’m in serious need of a healing kiss.”

Her lips brushed his. “I don’t want to hurt your nose.” She broke his grasp and stood.

Damn, his nose was the least of his worries right then. He didn’t want Titus waltzing in when his pecker was near to burst.

Lucinda must have seen his problem, because she handed the slate to him. “Here, use this.”

The moment she left, Reese struggled to get out of the tub and dry himself off. Determined to be in bed, fully covered, by the time she returned with Titus, he covered the pillow with several more clean rags, then willed his bruised body into bed. The exertion had deflated his lower extremity—a blessing, no less.

As soon as he’d pulled the covers up to his chin, he heard a stampede heading for the office. It hadn’t taken long for Titus to spread the news, apparently. He only hoped the ladies would take it well.

Fannie bounced in first with a smile the whole width of her face. “You finally come to your senses!”

The others crowded into the room—all the ladies, Titus, and Gus—grinning like wolves slobbering over a three-day-old carcass. Lucinda smiled in her own sweet way, with her hands clasped demurely at her waist—but he couldn’t think about her waist right then or he’d embarrass himself all over again.

“
I never lost my senses,” he told Fannie, not admitting that just looking at Lucinda practically knocked him loco.

* * * * *

“
Midas is back!”

Reese had been lying on his bed, half awake, thinking of the previous day’s battle, when Chrissy’s voice brought him to the present. He attempted to sit up, but could barely get himself out of bed. His head ached, the stitches on his gunshot wound itched, his side felt hot enough to roast a slab of meat on, and his stiff fingers made his skinned knuckles hurt that much more.

Still, he pushed back the covers and struggled to his feet. At least Hannibal Hank and his friend probably felt even worse. They’d spent the night in the barn with Titus and Gus taking turns standing guard.

He’d heard Midas ride up, and Tucker would be with him to arrest Hannibal Hank Turrell. Reese wasn’t about to miss it. That slimy bastard ought to die a slow and painful death.

Getting to his feet was one thing, but dressing proved to be even more difficult. He tugged a shirt over his tender black and blue chest. Pulling up his britches caused a hitch in his bullet wound that made him grunt with pain. He hoped no one could hear, especially Lucinda. She needed a strong man, and right then, he was more like a second-teat kitten.

Boots were another matter altogether, and he knew he’d never be able to pull them on without tearing his stitches open. Titus entered without knocking.

“
Good damned thing I got my britches on before you left the door standing open,” Reese grumbled.

“
Good damned thing you’re even kicking today.” Titus grabbed Reese’s boots. “Sit down and I’ll screw these stinking things on your feet.”

“
They don’t stink,” he muttered as he pushed his right foot into the boot Titus held for him.

“
Yeah, I s’pose your shit don’t stink, either.”

“
That reminds me—we got to get some lime down the hole in the outhouse. I damned near passed out yesterday when I took cover behind it.”

Titus held out the other boot and chuckled. “It didn’t seem to hinder your fighting spirit much. You sure whipped that son-of-a-bitch.”

“
Felt good, too, till afterwards.” He flexed his sore fingers and studied his torn knuckles.

“
You’re bound to tear up your fists a bit, ridding another man of his teeth. Hank ain’t in as good of shape as you are, if that makes you feel any better.”

It did. Reese stood slowly and stretched to get a little flexibility. The night’s rest had done him good. Once his nose and wound healed, he’d be good as new. “Let’s go.”

He made his way through the line of Comfort Palace ladies who stood on the porch, waiting to see Sheriff Tucker officially take Hannibal Hank into custody.

“
Where’s Lucinda?” he asked Fannie.

“
In her room. Said she didn’t ever want to see the monster again.”

Reese grimaced and felt like beating the crap out of Hank all over again. “Good, I’ll see her at breakfast. You ladies stay right here until we get the bastard locked into the prisoner wagon.”

He held his side and stepped down off the porch. Every movement he made seemed to stretch the stitches, but he damned well wouldn’t let Hank have the satisfaction of knowing it. Standing tall, he strode past the sheriff’s wagon to the barn.

The sheriff tipped his hat when Reese entered. “Thanks for doing the dirty work, Reese. We caught the other one, too, and he spilled his guts about Hannibal Hank and the rustling. Seems he thought if you were out of the way, he could take the Comfort Palace.”

“
He never had a chance to get it. These ladies deserve better.” Reese glanced at Hank lying on a pile of hay, tied in about fifty feet of rope. The twins made good and sure he wouldn’t get away.

“
I washed him some,” said Titus. “I didn’t want him to die of fever before they could string him up.”

“
Good call.” Reese turned to the sheriff. “Take that hunk of slime out of my barn.”

“
My pleasure, but I’d sure like a cup of hot coffee before I set out to Silver City. It’s going to be a mighty cold ride.”

* * * * *

Fannie hugged Trinket, who could barely hold still with excitement—not from Hank’s arrest, Fannie knew, but from having Sheriff Tucker around.

Tucker had tipped his hat at Trinket when he’d first driven the wagon to the hitching post. She’d let out a little squeal, and Fannie could see the sparkle in both their eyes. Yes, he’d damned well better be good to her.

The ladies attention returned to the barn as the twins and Tucker hauled Hank out of the barn and threw him into the prison wagon. Reese slammed the barred door and locked it.

Hank rolled over and pulled himself to his knees. “You sorry bastard. Your daddy got just what he deserved, and I enjoyed watching him beg when I killed him.”

Chapter 18

The past few weeks kept Lucinda hopping, both with nursing Reese back to health and, at the ladies’ request, doubling up on school lessons. They’d all been busy, and added to their workload was the engagement party they insisted on hosting. Tonight was the night.

Lucinda donned her second prettiest dress—the one Trinket had made for her when she’d first arrived. She wished she could wear the one Reese had bought for her. That was a very special dress, for a very special occasion. Their wedding. Not the bonnet, though. It was truly hideous.

Just as she finished buttoning, someone rapped on the door. She opened it and sucked in her breath when she saw Reese. She wanted to give him a huge hug, but, of course it wouldn’t be at all appropriate. But then, it wasn’t appropriate for him to come to her room, either. Or was it? She grew more confused about what was proper and what was not the longer she stayed in Dickshooter. It seemed some of the ways of society that she’d never questioned were just plain ridiculous.

“
Are you going to stand there, or are you going to say something?”

His handsome smile made her tingly all over. She smiled back at him. “Hello,” she answered, too flustered to think of a single intelligent thing to say.

He handed her a large box. She didn’t know how she could have missed seeing it, except that his eyes and his smile were all too captivating for comfort. “I’d like you to wear this tonight—if you think it’s proper, that is.”

The dress. He remembered! She flashed him a big smile as she took it. “Of course, I’ll wear it.”

She started to close the door, but he held it open. “One more thing…”

“
Yes?”

“
Are you, uh, I don’t know when a woman knows, but…” He plunged his fingers through his too long hair. She’d make sure he got a good haircut before the wedding.

“
But what?”

“
I just wondered if . . . if you’re with child.”

“
Of course not! Don’t you think I would have told you?”

He seemed relieved—too relieved. “I’ll see you downstairs.” He brushed a quick kiss across her lips as he left, sending fire through her veins.

She wanted more, but he’d been entirely too gentlemanly. Did he not want her anymore? Maybe she didn’t satisfy him the night they spent in Silver City—after all, she had no idea how to do the things they did and she knew she wasn’t good at it. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way she did. And more than likely, he didn’t want children at all, judging by his look of emancipation when she told him she wasn’t having a baby.

But probably, he only proposed because he had some vague feeling of guilt because he’d taken her innocence. Ha! He hadn’t taken anything—she’d given it.

The more she thought about it, the more anger built inside her. How could she have been such a fool to fall in love with a brothel owner who didn’t even want children?

She decided not to wear the dress he’d brought. In fact, she’d stay in her room and let the others have the party without her. She’d never marry a man who wouldn’t love their children, or thought her love-making silly.

Yanking open the door, she schooled her shoulders to the utmost determination. She’d be calm. She’d be reasonable. And she would
not
cry. Her throat ached and her eyes watered, despite her attempts to fight such an immature reaction. She slammed the door and ran back in her room, grabbed a hankie and dabbed at her eyes. What a confusing man! Handsome. Strong. Caring. But he didn’t want children.

The party had started, and soon another knock sounded at the door. “Miss Sharpe, are you ready?”

It was Fannie—the one person she could never manage to fool.

“
Just a minute!” Lucinda splashed cold water on her face and dried off. “I’m coming.” She didn’t know what was wrong with herself lately. One minute she’d be happy, and the next minute she’d feel low. Right now, she felt very low.

Taking three deep breaths and relaxing her constricted throat, she opened the door again. Fannie still stood there, waiting patiently. “You groom’s waiting.”

He can wait for all eternity for all I care
. “I’m sure he is.” She stepped into the hallway, ready to do battle. She’d tell that man a thing or two. Suffragists could meet any challenge, and one lone man couldn't be too difficult to best. She’d behave in a ladylike manner during the party, then she’d inform him of her decision once they were alone.

She descended the stairs ahead of Fannie, dreading every step that brought her closer to shutting the door to the only man she’d ever give her heart to. But she held her head high and her shoulders back. Her courage might have been wanting, but she certainly didn’t need to display her insecurities for all to see, especially Reese.

She knew the moment he saw her. He flashed a deadly breath-taking smile and saluted her with his glass of spirits. Her shaky courage fled for a moment and she wanted to run to him and feel his strong arms wrap around her. She’d never felt so safe as when he held her, but then she’d never felt so threatened, either.

“
Oh, piffle! Why do men have to be so difficult?” Spinster suffragists didn’t have to put up with their confusing ways.

“
What?”

She looked at Fannie, horror welling in her chest. Had she spoken out loud? Oh, horrors!

“
Never mind.”

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, everyone crowded around her, congratulating her. With every “I’m so happy for the two of you,” and pat on the back, her heart grew a little heavier. She couldn’t let this charade go on long, and hoped her broken heart didn’t reveal itself. The engagement had to be broken immediately in order not to disappoint her friends any more than necessary.

Reese seemed to be the happiest one of all, and his broad smile made his too handsome face even more attractive. He kissed her on the cheek—his very touch nearly melted all her resolve and her knees went weak. Maybe she had made a mistake and a “mood” had hit her.

Better to be plainspoken about the matter and get it over with. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “We can’t get married.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and locked her gaze with his. “What?”

She nearly reneged right then and there. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought by his heated glare that he was truly disturbed by her announcement. Of course, no man wanted to be rejected in public, especially this proud specimen. She wished things could be different, and she dreaded the moment he would remove his hands from her shoulders.

“
I said, we can’t get married. We must call the wedding off.”