Annabelle Weston (3 page)

Jed rested his hand on his six-shooter.

A man with a scraggily beard collected his winnings into his hat. “Seems like this party is over.”

With a glance at Jed, he pushed through the swinging doors. Others followed.

The big-breasted woman put her hand on her hip. “Now look at what you’ve done.”

Jed held his ground. “It was their choice to leave, not mine.”

She cast him a scowl. “Having a sheriff in town is gonna be bad for business. You just wait until Carly finds out.”

Jed shifted his gaze to the saloon owner. Her head had fallen back and she appeared to be sleeping without a care in the world.

A woman dressed in plain gingham hurried down the staircase. Her mouse-colored hair was pulled back in a twist at the nape of her neck. She knelt by Carly Buchanan’s side and patted her cheek.

“
Come on upstairs,” she said. “Let Ester put you to bed.”

The saloon dolly slumped further in the chair. Her arms hung limply at her side. Jed had seen plenty of folks tired of life. Miss Buchanan would be at the top of the list.

The woman calling herself Ester straightened. She scanned the room, wringing her red, chapped hands. “Will someone help me?”

The remaining card players ignored her. The other dollies kept their attention on their customers. The barkeep was busy with a cowhand.

Jed swore to himself. He couldn’t turn away from Ester’s anxious pleas.

He stepped forward and Ester backed away. He placed a hand underneath the crook of Miss Carly’s delicate knees and the other around her thin, white shoulders. He picked her up.

She was as light as goose down. Her head lolled toward him and rested on his neck, exposing her lace-topped corset. The garment didn’t hide the ample curve of her breasts or the pucker of dark nipples. His first instinct was to look away, to not take advantage of a woman in her condition.

The scent of her hair grabbed him by the short and curlies. Something earthy, something carnal. He couldn’t help but be enthralled by her. How was it possible? Must be the fact that he’d been without a woman for more days than he could count.

Ester waved him to follow her. He carried Carly up the creaking stairs, her warm body pressed against him. Her breathing was soft and innocent. Temptation wasn’t far from his thoughts.

The door to the first room was open. He crossed the threshold. The scent of sex and perfume was strong. Ester pulled down a clean satiny sheet—looked like it had yet to be used. The mutterings from Ester about how the last of Miss Carly’s customers had gone and ruined her good sheets confirmed his opinion. He laid her on the bed as if she was broken. His lip curled into a snarl when she turned her head and he saw more clearly the ugly bruise and her lip swollen from a cut that must hurt.

“
Thank you, sir,” Ester said behind him. She poured water into a basin and moistened a cloth. “I’ll just clean her up now if you don’t mind.”

Jed realized he’d been staring at the helpless Carly. He stepped back, not truly wanting to leave. Ester took his place and wiped the blood from the corner of the dolly’s mouth. Carly groaned and squirmed to get away.

“
You hold still,” Ester implored her in a maternal voice.

He caught a glimpse of eyes the color of fine Kentucky bourbon as she peered at him through slitted lids. With a shudder, Carly abandoned her fight and let Ester clean the cut. Her eyelids grew heavy and closed.

Jed couldn’t abide anyone who would mistreat a woman. From the look of her, she’d more than her share of manhandling.

He vowed no man would hurt her again.

He studied her room. There weren’t any pictures of family, no keepsakes from the past. No reminders of any kind of where she hailed from or what’d brought her to the territory. Who were her family and friends? Ester? The barkeep? The big-breasted woman?

He sighed, shook his head. He didn’t have much in the way of family either.

A pistol caught his attention. The derringer lay on the small table, partially hidden by a bottle. Ester snatched the weapon before he could examine it and held it to her bosom. He followed the trembling woman’s gaze to a hole in the wall.

Jed huffed. “Looks like the lady can defend herself.”

Ester nodded vigorously.

He picked up the brown bottle. The label read
Dr. Baxter’s Eight-Day Elixir
. He recognized the name immediately, anger searing his blood. He took a whiff. Just as he thought, part whiskey and part something referred to as medicinal and far more dangerous.

“
That’s Miss Carly’s,” Ester said. She reached for the bottle.

Jed held it away from her and poured the rest of the contents into the slop bucket. “She’s better off without it.”

Ester chewed her lower lip. “She won’t be happy.”

“
I expect not.” He set the empty bottle back on the table.

“
What’ll I tell her when she comes around?”

“
She shouldn’t be drinking this rotgut. If you’re her friend, you won’t let her drink any more.”

Why had he taken it upon himself to empty the bottle? Why should he care about one more saloon dolly, in one more saloon? The territory was filled with them. Could it have been the way her head had rested on his shoulder, vulnerable and at the end of her rope? Or because the elixir reminded him of his childhood filled with too much drink and heartache?

Or was he just doing his job, protecting the citizens who depended on him?

He didn’t have an answer. With one last glance at Carly, he headed out of there.

Carly woke with a start. It was quiet—too quiet—which meant business was slow at the Lonesome. Not good. No good at all. She kicked off the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

The room spun and she squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of nausea roiled in her stomach and pain shot across her forehead. She touched her cheek and ran her tongue along her bottom lip. The two drifters had treated her bad. The bruises were still tender. She shrugged. It could’ve been worse.

Their conversation came back to her in fits and starts. They’d been talking about killing someone and they were dead serious. They’d been paid to murder.

They intended to commit the crime soon. Of that much, she was certain.

She remembered getting dressed and going downstairs. A new arrival, a stranger in town had stood at the bar. He hadn’t given a name. He’d been talking to Alvin, his voice commanding. She’d liked the look of him. The rest was a blur.

Ester came through the door and clucked. “Good. You’re up.”

Carly sighed. The woman tended to be a bit bossy even with all her childish ways.

“
What time is it?” she asked.

“
Nearly on four o’clock.” She pushed back the heavy curtains.

The afternoon sun streamed into the room and nearly blinded her.

Carly groaned. “Close those curtains, will you? My head hurts something fierce.”

Ester rushed back to the window and drew the heavy drape closed. The darkened room suited Carly better. She rose from the bed. She’d slept the better part of the day. If she didn’t get going, her customers would find another saloon to spend their wages.

Ester unbuttoned Carly’s dress and untied the laces of her corset. “I’m heating water for your bath.”

“
What would I do without you?” A bath sounded wonderful.

Ester smiled shyly and stooped to pick up Carly’s dress and a pair of stockings from the floor.

Carly put on her wrapper and cinched her waist with a silk scarf. Her headache subsided but her mouth was dry as the desert. She could use a drink.

Ester stepped between her and the bottle on her bedside table. “Bath first.”

“
Whatever you say.” Carly reckoned she could wait. “Anything important going on I should know about?”

Ester held the dress to her bosom. “The new sheriff was here and he’s a mighty good-looking fella.”

“
I’ll look forward to meeting him.” Carly was always friendly with lawmen. As a business owner, she couldn’t afford to make enemies of a man wearing a badge.

Ester giggled in her childlike way. “Reckon you already have.”

“
What are you talking about?”

“
He’s the man who carried you upstairs and put you to bed.”

Carly remembered hazily a man’s strong grip holding her.

“
Was he the stranger I saw standing at the bar?”

“
Yes. You spoke to him.”

Carly wished she could remember more.

“
Gentle as any man I’ve ever come across,” Ester went on. She shook out the dress.

Carly was intrigued. What kind of sheriff took the time to tend to a saloon dolly? He’d done her a good turn, she decided, which meant she owed him a favor.

Ester entreated her with puppy dog eyes. “Will you be wearing this dress today?”

Carly shook her head. “Not the red satin, something more ladylike. I think I’ll go reacquaint myself with the new sheriff.”

“
Your gingham go-to-meeting dress?”

“
Exactly.”

Ester snorted then quickly covered her mouth.

Carly went out into the hall and pounded on the crib doors. “Come on, girls. We’re paying a call on the new sheriff.”

Gladys poked her head out her door. The mayor was fast asleep in her bed. “What’s going on?”

“
Get dressed. The ladies of the Lonesome need to show their appreciation.”

The other ladies emerged from their rooms. Big Judith cackled and pressed her huge breasts together. “I’ll make the sheriff happy he took the job.”

Miss Lorraine frowned. “I saw him first.”

Blanche plumped up her ginger hair. “He was staring at me when he first arrived.”

Carly had no time to listen to their quibbling. “I’m having a bath. By the time I’m finished you all should be assembled downstairs in your Sunday finest.”

Ester regarded her from the doorway with a solemn expression.

“
That includes you, Ester.”

Ester rocked on her feet and then scurried down the hallway.

* * * * *

Carly reckoned the six ladies of the Lonesome made quite a sight bustling down the boardwalk, twirling their parasols. When dressed their most modest, her dollies’ gowns were still more provocative than the other ladies of the territory. Bodices cut low, waists cinched tight—a lift of the skirt when traversing the street—most men turned their heads in appreciation.

With a dab of rouge on their lips and cheeks and kohl-blackened eyes, there was no mistaking who they were.

Town women held on to their husbands tighter and slapped their sons on the backs of their heads for gawking too long. Those women’s mouths puckered and they stuck their noses in the air as they scurried in the opposite direction. Almost as if the dollies had a disease—and if they should breathe the same air—it would surely infect them.

Why would Carly mind? She’d been a saloon dolly since she was fourteen. She’d known no other kind of life and considered these saloon ladies her family, even when their bickering frayed her nerves.

The wide street was filled with wagons and freighters filled with all kinds of goods. Scents of cooking came from the Inn and the air was sultry—a welcome desert scent. The town had a look of prosperity. Being a business owner, Carly was proud to be part of its good fortune.

Tucson’d been needing a new sheriff. A growing town depended on law and order. Plenty of no-good men—like the two who’d beaten her—had taken advantage of the vulnerable town. Shooting, looting, gunfights. Indeed, she was glad they had a sheriff, and man who might bring a measure of safety.

She considered it her civic duty to welcome him. She had to admit she was curious about the man. He’d carried her upstairs but hadn’t stayed. After talking with Alvin, she found out he’d only asked for a cup of coffee and had paid good money for a glass of water.

There was another reason she needed to pay this call. Alvin had also told her how he cleared out the saloon with his threat to take her customers’ firearms. A lawman who was bad for business was no good to her. She would have to set the sheriff straight on a few things. He could clean up the town for sure but messing with her saloon was another story.

Her steps faltered when she saw him. He’d come out of the sheriff’s office and stood in the lengthening shadows. There was no mistaking the shiny star pinned to his vest. He was lean and muscular, with wide shoulders, long limbs. A gun belt hung low on his hips and showed the distinct bulge of his cock, of a size she very much appreciated. Her blood rushed to her chest. He crossed the street, walking with the swagger of a man in charge.

When the sheriff spotted a gaggle of town women headed his way, he stopped and removed his hat—looking slightly amused. A good-natured man, Carly decided. His dark hair reached his collar but his chiseled jaw was clean shaven, showing off lips she’d like to lick.

She took a deep, slow breath, liking a little too much what she saw. She would truly enjoy some bed play with him. And just like the snap of fingers, she decided she would entice this new lawman into her bed—and the sooner the better.

Carly waited until the town ladies moved on down the boardwalk. Those woman chattered amiably. Whatever this new sheriff had said had put them in a good mood.

She strolled past the storefronts, in no particular hurry. No sense letting the man think she was eager to make his acquaintance. Such a notion would give him inflated ideas about his manly skills.

As she approached, there was no doubt his manly skills were considerable.

“
Howdy Sheriff,” she said, jutting her hip out provocatively and batting her eyelashes.

He tipped his hat, a sexy smile curving those luscious lips. “Ladies.”

She couldn’t help but curl her tongue slowly across her mouth, thinking about his lips pressed to hers. “My name is Carly Buchanan. I gather we’ve met.”

His grin grew wide and a twinkle centered in his dark brown eyes. “We have.”