My Darling Gunslinger (3 page)

Mr. Chang let loose a rumbling laugh, prompting Ethel to smack his silk-covered arm.

Mrs. Grand looked up at Ethel as if only just noticing the woman.

Ethel stared down her long, rather sharp nose at the other woman, her pale blue eyes glinting in the weak light from the tarnished chandelier overhead.

Ethel Chang, nee Johansen, was a formidable woman, tall and big-boned with long-fingered hands and broad shoulders. She stood more than a head taller than her husband. In truth, Mr. Chang’s eyes conveniently reached just at level with his wife’s small, and always discreetly covered, bosom. A fact about which he often teased his wife.

Ethel’s flaxen hair was cut short, framing a face that might have been carved from marble, with high Nordic cheekbones and a prominent chin.

At present, her thin lips were pulled back in what only an idiot would mistake for a smile, her even, white teeth glinting. “Keep your overblown—”

“We’d like two rooms for the night,” Charlotte hastened to interject, her voice purposely loud and haughty in an effort to cover Ethel’s words before her friend managed to offend the proprietress of the town’s only hotel.

Mrs. Grand turned to Charlotte, her blue eyes blinking comically in her round face.

“Two of your finest rooms, lassie,” Magnus added with a wink as a shadow rose above the group standing in the lobby.

Akeem Faharazad came up behind Magnus, the fingertips of one caramel-skinned hand resting on Sebastian’s blond curls. His turbaned head blocked the struggling light from the chandelier, his immense shoulders blocked the light from the sconces on the wall, casting them all into his giant shadow.

Mrs. Grand’s gaze shot up, and up, and up. She met Akeem’s golden eyes and swallowed, the loose skin of her neck bobbing above the pink flesh of her exposed bosom.

“If it please the lovely lady,” Akeem whispered, his voice sweet and melodious and entirely incongruous with his hulking appearance.

As usual, Akeem was dressed simply in a flowing white robe tightly belted around his trim waist, the lapels overlapping and covering his broad chest, leaving only his long, muscular neck exposed. His white Turkish trousers, little more than thick cotton hose, wrapped his strong calves below the robe. On his long, thin feet he wore braided leather sandals no matter the season or the weather.

His bald head was hidden beneath yards of soft white muslin wrapped around and around and held securely by a large, silver broach in the shape of a cat’s head.

The cat was Akeem’s familiar, and he rarely travelled without one, as evidenced by the creature sitting between his feet.

Serendipity was an elegant feline, tall and sleek with long white whiskers and delicate pointed ears. She’d been born with one blue eye and one green, little more than a nub of a tail, and no hair.

Her hide was a mottled brown and gray, her skin so thin and taut that when she rolled onto her back and stretched as she did now, one could count every rib on her chest, every fragile bone in her legs, every tendon in her neck and every muscle in her entire body.

“Good God,” Mrs. Grand whispered as her eyes landed on the feline rolling languidly on the carpet, her odd eyes pinning the proprietress, as if daring her to continue whatever thought had popped into her head.

“Two rooms for the night, if it please the lovely lady,” Akeem repeated softly.

“Only two?” she squeaked as her eyes darted from the Changs, to Magnus, to Charlotte and Sebastian, who had shuffled silently over to stand beside his mother, his warm hand tucked into hers, and back up to Akeem.

“Two,” Akeem replied, gifting Mrs. Grand with a gentle smile.

Charlotte had seen it a hundred times, yet never failed to wonder at the effect of that smile, so sweet and tender, gracing the large Arab’s smooth, dark face. Old or young, pretty or plain, rich or poor, women simply melted when Akeem smiled.

Mrs. Grand was no exception, if one judged by the speed in which she rounded up two men to help with the travelers’ trunks and cases. In less than five minutes, Charlotte found herself in a spacious—if rather gaudy—room overlooking an open vista of snowy plains and green and gold hills. The sun was setting behind the mountains far off in the distance, washing the landscape in soft shades of pink and lavender.

“It’s lovely,” she whispered to Sebastian, who stood beside her at the window.

“You say that every time,” he answered with a smile.

“And every time it is true.” Akeem’s words were muffled behind the stack of silk and velvet blankets he carried across the room.

Charlotte watched him make up a bed on the floor between the two tall windows.

She pulled Sebastian’s head against her hip, her bare fingers sifting through his curls, and looked out over the view.

She never failed to be overcome by the first sight of the setting sun over a new landscape. She’d watched the sun set over the Parthenon, over the banks of the River Ganges, behind the Great Wall of China, beyond the tall buildings of New York, and in dozens of other faraway places. No matter where she travelled, she found beauty and comfort in the wash of color heralding the end of a day. She felt the thrum of anticipation for the day to follow, hoping beyond hope that finally, finally she had found a safe haven for Sebastian.

“This time,” she whispered.

“By the grace of Allah.” Akeem’s musical voice drifted over her.

“This time,” Sebastian repeated, tucking his face into her skirts and wrapping his arms around her.

All women are whores. It’s only a question of what a woman wants that she would willingly trade her body to possess.

Molly Morgan

Tyler Morgan watched the pretty whore weave her way between the card tables in a smoky saloon, in a town whose name he couldn’t remember, somewhere east of the Bitterroot Mountains.

She reminded him of Lady Blue. She wasn’t nearly as pretty, but she carried herself with the same elegance, tilting her head to peer down at a middle-aged man at the next table—a farmer in his best Sunday suit hoping to win enough at the table to afford an hour above stairs with one of the whores.

Her hair was more brown than blonde and piled high atop her head, exposing a long, pale neck. She wore a garish gown of deep green satin and lace, her small breasts pushed high so that her rouged areolas peeked over the top with each breath she took.

It was her eyes that brought to mind Lady Blue, as Ty had taken to calling the lady at the train station when he thought of her—which was damn near all the time. It had been more than a year since he’d seen her for those few minutes. But she’d been his constant companion as he’d rode hard day after day, fighting other men’s battles and collecting his bounties. He saw her eyes in the vast Montana sky, saw her golden hair in the wheat fields of Kansas. He imagined her voice, soft and sweet, in his ear as he drifted to sleep on the hard Texas ground. And when he took himself in hand, when he groaned out his pleasure in the dark of night, it was her soft skin he imagined.

He looked down at his cards and back up again as the old man across the table shifted on his chair. Jasper Heimlich had a good hand. Tyler could see it in the sparkle of his blue eyes and hear it in the rasp of his breathing.

Ty studied the elderly Prussian fellow. He was mostly bald with only thin wisps of gray hair combed up and over his head, as if somehow those few measly strands would hide his shiny pate.

He was thin as a reed, his wrists beneath the fraying cuffs of his dusty, gray coat bony and frail. His hands were spotted with age, his fingers long and knobby-knuckled. Ty suspected his joints ached on nights like this when the rain fell from the dark sky in sheets so thick, a man couldn’t see beyond the brim of his hat.

Heimlich was a cheerful fellow, quick to smile and not afraid to laugh out loud at some private joke muttered in the language of his birth. He’d been doing a lot of that, murmuring foreign words to himself before looking up to catch Ty’s gaze and throwing back his head to let his laughter mingle with the smoke drifting over the card table.

The man to Ty’s left, a dapper Easterner with sharp eyes and a fancy suit of clothes, was fast becoming irritated by Jasper Heimlich’s muttering. Likely the Easterner wouldn’t have been near as annoyed by the old man if he weren’t losing five out of six hands. Ty suspected the man found his steady silence damn near as maddening as the old coot’s jabbering and chuckling.

“Kindly wager or fold your cards, Mr. Heimlich,” Eastern Boy barked, an odd inflection underlying his words. “We haven’t all night to wait for you to make up your mind.” He shot Ty a look as if inviting him to agree.

Ty tipped back his hat and met the man’s irritated gaze. He said nothing, only fixed his eyes on the other man’s face until his thin lips beneath a sorry excuse for a mustache trembled and his eyes dropped to his cards.

“Vell now, gentlemen, here’s zee sing—,” Jasper began, his accent thick, another telltale sign he thought he held a winning hand.

“I don’t care what
zee sing
is,” Eastern Boy interrupted.

“Let the man talk.” Ty’s voice was low and gravelly from a combination of disuse and too many cheroots.

“Yes, yes,” Jasper agreed. “Let zee man talk. I’ve a grand hand, gents. Zee sing is I’m low on zee ready money.”

Most of Jasper’s money had found its way to Ty. This would likely be the last hand for the old man unless he could beat the three aces and pair of fours Ty was holding. Eastern Boy didn’t have squat in his hand; he was only hoping to bluff long enough to win back a fraction of what he’d lost.

“Fold, old man,” the younger man growled.

“But I have somezing better zan cash.” Jasper reached into his breast pocket, his coat sleeve falling back to reveal a bony, hairless forearm, the skin thin and loose. It struck Ty that this man was truly old, perhaps eighty or ninety.

Jasper Heimlich brought forth a folded piece of paper. Ty watched as his gnarled fingers spread the paper flat on the table and turned it so that he could read it across the space of the scarred wood.

Land Deed
it said in fancy, scrolled writing across the top.

“Ten sousand acres of prime Montana hill country.” Jasper spoke into the silence at the card table.

“Where is this bit of scrub land of yours?” Eastern Boy asked, and again Ty was struck by his speech, by the odd way he pronounced his words.

“Cattle, sheep, horses,” Jasper continued, ignoring the question. “Zere’s a fine house two stories tall viz a vide wraparound porch.”

Ty fought to keep his features even, to hold his cards steady in his hand.

Jasper Heimlich held Ty’s future in his trembling hands. A place of his own, a reason and a means to end more than twenty years of wandering, of killing.

“Six experienced cowhands and an assortment of other able-bodied persons vorking zee land and tending zee animals. Zere’s even a pretty, little housekeeper who makes zee best mutton stew zis side of Scotland.”

Ty had never eaten mutton stew but imagined he could taste it upon his tongue, rich and meaty with just the right touch of salt.

“Zere’s just one catch.”

Ty’s eyes shot from the land deed to the old man’s face to find him staring hard across the table, his blue eyes fierce in his pale, wrinkled face.

“There always is,” Ty muttered.

“You can’t seriously be thinking to allow the old kike to wager a piece of worthless land and a few mangy cows against our cold, hard coin.”

Ty and Jasper ignored the dandy Easterner. This had nothing to do with him. His cold, hard coin was disappearing, the pile before him dwindled to a few wrinkled notes and stacked coins. He could either fold and take what remained or bluff and lose it all.

“I’ve a partner, goes by zee name of Charlie Green,” Jasper said with a grin. “I gave Charlie a quarter interest in the ranch. I thought to leave the Zeppelin Ranch to Charlie when I go, but, hell, what Charlie knows about running a ranch would fit on the head of a pin.”

Ty made no reply. He didn’t give a shit about Jasper’s partner or his quarter interest in the ranch. He’d have the other three quarters, the majority.

“Charlie’s family crossed the ocean to keep an old man company in his dotage,” Jasper continued, and Ty realized his Prussian accent had fallen away entirely. He sounded just like any other Montana man.

Before Ty could decide what it meant, the old man was speaking again.

“I’d want your word Charlie and the family would always have a place at The Zeppelin.”

Ty would have promised to allow a band of blood-thirsty Indians to sleep across the hall from him if it meant he might win the Zeppelin Ranch for himself.

Ty gave a sharp nod and pulled his hat low over his forehead lest the old man see the yearning in his eyes.

Jasper waited until Ty realized he’d have to speak the words, his gesture of assent would not do.

“You’ve my word.” His voice sounded breathless to his ears. Desperate.

“Now, see here, old man, you can’t bet your ranch, not against a cardsharp!” Eastern Boy jumped to his feet, his chair flying out behind him and clattering across the rough wood floors.

Ty pinned him with his eyes, his right hand caressing the butt of his gun.

The man’s gaze followed the movement and he sucked in a stuttering breath, his pale eyes filling with fear.

“You want to be careful what you call a man.” Ty’s words were a rough whisper. “Now sit down and play or fold your cards and walk away.”

Eastern Boy fumbled behind him and brought his chair forward. He fell into it with a grunt, his eyes flitting about the room.

The pretty whore had been watching the exchange. Now she started across the room, her hips gently swaying in a way that ensured all eyes were upon her. She weaved around the next table when she could have come straight at them. Her movement placed her directly over Jasper’s shoulder.

If Ty had blinked he would have missed the way her eyes dropped unerringly to the old man’s cards held loosely above the scarred table. She turned the look into a flirtatious flutter of her lashes as she peered up and met Ty’s gaze.

Drifting one slim hand over Jasper’s shoulder, she sidled around the table. Her hip nudged the empty chair to Ty’s right as she continued her lazy meander toward him.

Her tongue came out to lick her bottom lip in a gesture so blatant he almost smiled.

As she rounded the table she trailed one long, slender finger along the edge of her low bodice. Ty hated to disappoint her, so he allowed his gaze to drop, to follow the provocative movement of her finger coasting over the tattered lace and dipping down to swirl around her nipple.

“Seems you gentlemen have the hottest game going tonight,” she purred between ruby-red lips.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, honey,” Eastern Boy replied with a leer. “I’d wager you are the hottest game going tonight.”

The smile she tossed across the table at the man didn’t reach her eyes. “It looks to me like you could use a bit of help, handsome.”

When she moved to step behind Ty, he laid his cards face down on the table and reached out to grasp the woman’s wrist. He spun her around, pulling her between his legs until she fell onto his hard thigh with a squeal of surprise.

Her eyes shot up to his.

Ty met her gaze, forced his stiff lips up into what he hoped passed for a smile. “Might be I could use your help.” Wrapping his arm around her back, his hand landing hard on her hip, he held her in place when she attempted to rise. “Sit awhile.”

The whore recognized the command for what it was and settled onto his thigh, one long arm winding around his neck, the side of her breast pressing against his shoulder. She eyed the gun on his hip before raising her gaze to study his profile.

Ty ignored her.

Slowly, careful not to brush his coat sleeve against his cards, he pushed the entire pile of money before him into the kitty, his eyes never leaving Jasper Heimlich’s face.

“Now just one minute,” Eastern Boy squeaked.

“If you don’t want the land, bet against my cold, hard coin,” Ty growled, out of patience with the man.

“I haven’t that much… Not on me at any rate,” he stuttered. “Would you accept my marker?”

Ty arched one dark brow before realizing the man couldn’t see beyond the shadow of his hat.

Eastern Boy fumbled through his pockets, producing two more coins and a key. “I’ve a suite at the Alabaster Hotel paid up through the week.”

Ty could only imagine what a suite at the fancy hotel might entail. A soft, feather mattress. A fire hot enough to keep him warm if he chose to sleep bare-ass naked between silk sheets. A bath in a tub big enough to stretch out in, to submerge his cold bones and aching muscles in steaming-hot water.

“What else you got?” Ty asked, as if the suite at the Alabaster Hotel held no interest.

“Her.”

Three masculine gazes swung to the whore on Ty’s knee. Her pale blue eyes—eyes that up close bore little resemblance to Lady Blue’s—met Ty’s as she slowly licked her lips.

“Betty’s been paid up for the week, too.”

“Now what in blazes would I do with her for a week?” Jasper asked with a cackling laugh. “She’d likely kill me after an hour.”

Ty felt his facial muscles relax into the first genuine smile to grace his lips in days. Hell, likely weeks or months.

“Toss in the key,” Jasper muttered before nodding to the woman on Ty’s lap. “You we’ll have to imagine in the pot.”

When three hands of cards were face-up on the table, Ty wasn’t surprised by the pair of sevens Eastern Boy had been holding.

Ty was beyond surprised to see a pair of tens and a pair of eights spread out before Jasper Heimlich.

Shit, the old man had bet his ranch on two pairs!