The Trailrider's Fortune (9 page)

Ruby produced an
indescribable bit of something too disgusting to contemplate after just waking.
Sparkle wasn't sure she'd ever be awake enough to want to look at it. Bad
enough having the slimy object in her palm. "Finest sheepgut," Ruby
asserted proudly.

"Sheepgut."
Sparkle decided it was best to pretend she had full knowledge of what men and
women did with animal parts in the bedroom. "Gee, uh, thanks. I'm still
sort of tired. Maybe we can visit later."

She pushed Ruby out
and locked the door before burying the indelicate offering in the back of a
drawer. She took up her hairbrush and ran it through her hair, surprised to
find Rafe sitting up, watching her.

"Sparkle,
would you tell me somethin'?"

"Not about
what I just tucked away. It's personal." Her cheeks burned, but Rafe didn't
smirk. He seemed troubled or in pain. Before she could ask, he spoke again.

"Why'd you get
upset over a bullet gougin' a little piece out of my arm, when this doesn't
bother you?" He glanced down at his bare torso.

"I didn't know
you then. I'm sure I would have been…" Out of her mind with grief and
terror. "Don't try to tell me I'm stupid for being upset," she
snapped. "A few inches over, that bullet could have killed you."

Rafe snorted.
"Bowlegs Barker couldn't hit a bull's ass with a handful of banjos. He was
aimin' for my heart, hit my arm instead."

"Damn you,
Rafe, the point is, he
did
hit you!"

"Lucky wild
shot."

"Next time you
might not be alive to say that. Are you really so impressed by your own
reputation that you don't realize sooner or later one of these men you go up
against will be more ruthless or faster than you are?" She sat next to him
on the mattress, legs tented under her nightgown.

"Naw, I know.
Hope to be standin' in my own saloon by the time I meet up with that
fella."

"You're
risking your life to buy a saloon?"

Rafe heard the
sharp disapproval in her tone. "Is that lunch over there?" He eyed
the tray, hoping to shift the topic. Sparkle brought it over and placed it
between them, tucking her legs back under. Rafe was reminded of Miranda. He and
his big sister had shared tea parties until he'd wised up that it wasn't
considered manly to drink from little toy cups.

"Yeah, I want
to buy a saloon," he admitted, stuffing cold turkey into his mouth.
"Or build one."

"Your
brother's got a ranch. Why don't you work with him?"

"Now you sound
like Travis. Cattle ranchin' ain't for me. Dust, cows. No thanks. Even when I
can't see the barbed wire, I know it's there. Don't like bein' fenced in or
starin' at the same plot of land day after day. This room's hard, now I see how
small it is in the daylight."

"You don't
like being confined," Sparkle nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "Well,
there must be other things you could do. Some profession where you'd still be
able to go outdoors or move around from place to place. Maybe become a sales
agent."

"I like what I
do now. Like saloons and gamblin', wanderin' from town to town when I feel like
it. If I didn't, we wouldn't be havin' this conversation,
Miz
Conley."

"You're
hinting I don't have the right to nag you."

"Amen."

"Well, as I'm
not really your wife, maybe I don't have the right to nag—but I'm the closest
thing you've got to anyone who gives a hoot. Other than your brother."

"Got a big
sister, too. She's never liked my way of life, either. She and Travis can't
understand that I ain't like them. Bein' tied down to a place and their
routines makes them happy. Same thing would make me miserable. But what about
you?" he asked, studying her closely. "You don't belong in a saloon.
You could take up with some banker or dandy fella, have a nice home and a
passel of kids. You're after money, same as me. So what are you savin'
for?"

"To see
Paris."

Rafe nearly spit
out the wad of food in his mouth. "Should have guessed it would be
somethin' ridiculous like that. You women! What, you got relations there, your
ma a Frenchie?"

"No, she just
spent time in Europe when she was young and visited France. That's where she
learned to read tarot."

"And met your
pa. LaFleur. He was the Frenchie."

"I want to see
the river Seine and watch the boats go by. I want to eat lunch like this out in
the countryside. Have bread and cheese spread on a cloth in the grass. See the
fabulous
chateaux
—those are big fancy country estates—and hear people
speak the Language of Love. That's what some Americans call French."

What was it about
gals, that they liked giddy talk? Rafe wondered. Never known one yet who didn't
go mush-headed over fancy words. Like words ever settled any hash. He made a
mental note to try flowery talk next time he came up against a Bowlegs Barker
and see if that knocked him on his butt.

"After you see
France, then what?"

"Settle down
somewhere and never set foot in another saloon again."

Rafe eased back
against the pillow, his face blanching. The pain was getting worse in his arm.
"If you wouldn't mind fetchin' another bottle from downstairs, I'd truly
appreciate it."

"You'd rather
be drunk than take laudanum?"

"I can handle
whiskey. Don't like laudanum. Never took more'n nine or ten swallows of it
durin' all the months after the stabbin'. Just need some rotgut. Knowin' your
boss, the cheapest watered-down bourbon is all I'll get." He realized she
might not care for the sight or smell of a passed-out gunslinger in her bed.
"I hope you don't mind me stayin' a spell. Arm's pretty sore, but I should
be out of your way by tomorrow."

"Rafe, I told
you, you're not in the way."

"You're still
wearin' that ring," he said without looking to see if it was so.
"Whore was talkin' like I was your man."

Sparkle's face
instantly went pink. "You were listening?" She jumped up, fidgety all
of a sudden. "I have to get cleaned up and dress for work. I'll get your
bottle and whatever else you need before I go down for the evening." She
paused to press her fingers to his forehead.

Rafe stared up into
her eyes. "Damned nice to see you again. Glad you don't make me feel funny
when I'm not wearin' a shirt. Be tough doin' that right now."

She shrugged
noncommittally. "Get some rest. You don't feel warm, and so far your eyes
look normal. If you start feeling hot or dizzy, make sure you let someone know
so we can send for the doctor."

The whiskey bottle
was nearly empty and Rafe was out cold when Sparkle came up to bed late that
night. She undressed in the darkness and hesitated, nude, keenly aware there
was a man just a few feet away. How would it feel to undress if he were awake?
To truly have a husband and let him see her unclothed, see him the same way?

She donned her
nightdress and struck a match, and reached to turn back the covers. She was
ashamed for peeking, but sensed she might never get another chance to appease
her curiosity. She'd never seen Jace naked. She'd worked in saloons for years,
but hadn't seen a grown man without his drawers or pants.

Rafe was on his
back without a stitch on. Male nudity was startling. Men certainly didn't look
a thing like women. They were hairier and…well,
peculiar
. She didn't
find his appendage frightening or offensive, just alien. He was well
proportioned. Not too thin, but not at all fat. If not for the scar, Rafe
probably would have been considered a fine example of masculinity, she decided.
His hips were narrow and—

Gasping as the
match burned her fingertips, Sparkle clambered into bed. Rafe rolled onto his
side, curling himself around her. Her bottom was now pressed directly against
the area she'd just been perusing. She tried to slide over, but he tightened
his arm around her middle. "Don't," came a low mumble. "Please.
I just need to hold you, darlin'."

She relaxed and
heard a deep sigh. He probably didn't even realize he'd been talking in his
sleep. She prayed he hadn't been aware of her bold scrutiny. Heavens, now she
was in a most unladylike position. Only the thin fabric of her nightgown kept
their embrace from being absolutely scandalous. Not that it felt at all unpleasant
or wicked. Quite the contrary, it was comforting. She was feeling cozy in the
gunslinger's arms. So cozy she yawned and promptly fell asleep.

Rafe awakened the
next morning early, claiming no signs of a hangover or need for pampering. He
was itching to be up and out of bed. Sparkle argued that he shouldn't be
walking around yet, but she couldn't persuade him to rest another day. He left
the saloon in pursuit of his reward money and told her he'd see her later.

* * *

Sparkle also had
business across town, Rafe discovered when he followed a small knot of
customers out the back door of the general store. She'd set a checkerboard over
a barrel and was giving free tarot readings. Local women were literally lined
up to have their fortunes told.

"Priscilla,
you and your husband will have a baby within the next year."

"Oh, Sparkle,
are you certain? We've been trying."

"I'm sure. Now
let someone else have a turn. You know I can't stay long," Sparkle teased,
patting the matron's hand.

Rafe leaned against
a post on the porch a few feet behind Sparkle to watch and listen. The
womenfolk had plainly been coming to Sparkle for some time. She knew a lot
about every one of them. Rafe smiled to himself. She could never tell folks
their fortunes for free within a mile of her saloon boss. Frazer would've
insisted she charge to tell a body the time of day. Wasn't likely any
homesteaders' wives would be caught strollin' into a bordello like the Scarlet
Lady, anyhow. Sparkle was here bein' neighborly.

"Elmira, get
away from that witch!" a florid-faced man shouted to the woman who'd
replaced Priscilla at the makeshift table. "I've told you I don't hold
with such mischief. It's deviltry, and that harlot's from one of the bagnios.
Nothing but a no-account whore. You'll not associate with that woman."

"She's my
wife," Rafe spoke up. "And I don't hold with folks callin' her names.
Your woman came seekin' advice. Sparkle's here as a kindness. You'll apologize,
or answer to me." Rafe shifted his weight, but hadn't even reached toward
the grip of his pistol before a woman shrieked.

"Oh, my God!
Do you know who that
is
, Bertha? He's the one they took to Doc Stone's
the other day. The fella who caught those horse thieves, and saved Dan Tucker's
son." She glared at the unfriendly husband. "Michael Malloy, you
should be ashamed of yourself, acting like that! Especially after what
Sparkle's husband did for this town."

Her friend, Bertha,
stood glaring beside her, both of them scowling at Malloy.

"Sorry,"
he choked out. "Come on, Elmira, we're going back to the rooming house."
They left. Mumbling excuses, the other ladies wandered off too, leaving Sparkle
and Rafe alone on the store's rear porch.

"Did you
follow me here?" she asked.

"Nope. I came
to buy a new shirt and coat with some of my reward money. Old coat's missin' part
of a sleeve."

"I've
encountered men like Elmira's husband before. I can handle his attitude. I'm
used to it. Every card reader hears it at some time or another."

Rafe rubbed his
boot sole along a protruding board on the porch. "Didn't like hearin' him
call you a whore. I know better than anybody you ain't one, even though you
work in the saloon. Couldn't let him insult you without speakin' up."

Sparkle was bemused
by that admission. His face was partially averted. Was Rafe Conley embarrassed?
It didn't seem possible. He'd taken on three rowdies at once. One small-minded
bigot surely couldn't faze him. It was probably his recent injury bothering
him. "You should go back up to my room and get some rest. I warned you it
was too soon to be up and about."

He stopped her from
gathering up the tarot cards. "How much of what you see is in those? They
tell you everything, or you got second sight? I heard what the ladies said, how
you're right most of the time. Snatch almost got bit by a rattler right after I
rode out of here, just like you'd cautioned me. How much can you tell about the
future?"

Sparkle saw he
looked disturbed by more than Malloy's outburst. Had she foretold anything
disastrous in Rafe's future? His reading had been so long ago now, she honestly
couldn't recall. "Sit down, and we'll look at your cards again."

He dropped onto the
rickety stool across from her and watched her reshuffle. "Them things look
heathen."

"Some say they
are." Seeing the furrow beneath the brim of his hat, she softened her
manner. "But I don't know that the ideas of older religions and folklore
can't be compatible with Christian teachings. Why would God give us abilities
if we weren't supposed to use them?"

Rafe chose from the
three stacks of cards before him. "How much of it's these cards?" he
asked again.