Authors: To Seduce andDefend
“Why don’t you come inside for just a minute,” she suggested.
“I will see you to the door … make sure you’re … safely inside.” His speech was halting, the words slurring more than before. He took the porch steps slowly, laboriously, as if his boots were made of lead. When he finally stood on the porch, he ran a hand down his face. “Maybe I will sit out here for a bit. I’m not feeling so good.”
“Come inside.” Jennie unlocked the door and opened it. The brass bell rang out, announcing them as she motioned Zach to follow her. He was much more inebriated than she had thought. “Please, Zachary.” She held out her hand and he took it. Tugging him over the threshold, she turned up the flame on the oil lamp that was lit every evening in the foyer. There were electric lights in the house, but oil lamps were still used here and there because they were cheaper. “Let’s sit you over here in this big, comfy chair.”
He released her hand and flung his arm around her neck. “You know what?” he asked, his lips brushing against her temple. “You smell like violets. I like you. You are one pretty woman.”
“That’s nice.” Although her heart fluttered like a wild bird, she sternly cautioned herself not to allow his words to come anywhere near her heart. He’s drunk, she reminded herself. He doesn’t have a notion about what he’s saying. She unwound his arm from her neck and pressed her fingertips against his solid chest, giving him a little push. “Have a seat, Zach.”
His grin was charmingly lopsided as he fell back into the easy chair. “Sit right here in my lap, darlin’.”
“I think I will see about brewing a pot of coffee for you.” She turned, barely escaping his grasping fingers as he lunged to grab her skirt and haul her into his lap. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said, laughing under her breath as she skittered to the center of the parlor before turning back to him. “You need to sober up before you — Zach?” She dipped her head to peer at him. He was slouched in the chair, his head flung back against the cushions, his mouth slightly open. His Stetson had fallen off and lay on the floor behind the chair. “Zachary?” She moved closer to him just as he began softly snoring. “Oh, dear.”
Now what? Looking around helplessly, she wondered if she should try to wake him or simply leave him in the chair. But what would the other boarders think when they came downstairs to find him sprawled in the parlor, sleeping off a big night at the saloon?
“Jennie?”
She almost shrieked as she spun around to find Mrs. Philpot standing in the threshold leading into the dining room. Dressed in a nightgown and cotton robe, she had obviously been rousted out of bed. She squinted past Jennie.
“Is that Zach Warner?”
“It is.” Jennie sighed. “He walked me home and I insisted he come inside because he was none too steady on his feet. I thought I’d brew some coffee and sober him up enough to send him on his way, but he seems to have passed out.”
Mrs. Philpot came further into the room and stood a few feet from Zach. She propped her fists on her ample hips. “I’ve never known him to get so liquored up.”
“It’s his birthday.”
Mrs. Philpot arched her pepper and salt brows. “Oh, I see. Well, let’s you and me haul him into the spare room back here by the broom closet. Used to for a maid, but I’m the maid here. I keep a cot in there for surprise guests.”
“He certainly fits that bill. I’m sorry, Mrs. Philpot. I wouldn’t have asked him in if I thought he would —.”
“Don’t fret. I don’t mind doing him a favor. He’s helped many a lady boarder out of bad fixes, so he’s due for a good turn from me. You get on one side of him and I’ll get on the other and between the two of us we ought to be able to drag him to the back room.”
“Maybe he will rouse up and help us.” Jennie leaned closer to him and patted his face – lightly at first and then with a bit of a smack. His lashes dusted his cheeks and he opened one eye slowly. “Zach, get up. We’re taking you to bed.”
“Honey, I’m always up around you. Ramrod straight,” he drawled.
Jennie felt her face heat with embarrassment even as Mrs. Philpot released a lusty chuckle. The older woman hooked a hand under Zach’s arm and motioned for Jennie to do the same on his other side.
“Get on up now,” Mrs. Philpot said. “You gotta help us.”
Grunting and using all their might, the two women managed to get him to his feet. He swayed, but remained upright.
“Let’s go, big fella,” Mrs. Philpot said. “Put one boot in front of the other. That’s right.”
Slowly, the trio made their unsteady way across the parlor, the dining room, and into the kitchen. For his part, Zach seemed to be enjoying the trip. He nuzzled Jennie’s hair a couple of times and grinned at her.
“We’re going to bed, aren’t we?” he asked as Mrs. Philpot let go of his wrist long enough to open a door beside the broom closet.
The room was small, barely large enough to house a cot, a washstand, and a trunk. It was windowless, but Jennie could see that the cot had sheets on it and a big pillow at one end. They backed him up to it and then eased him down until he was sitting on it.
“Whew!” Mrs. Philpot smoothed her graying hair back from her face. “I swear he kept gaining weight with every step we took.”
Jennie pressed a hand against his shoulder and he fell sideways onto the cot with a soft moan. The cot creaked with the added weight. Jennie positioned the pillow under his head and pulled back the sheet. Mrs. Philpot managed to remove his boots and then place one leg at a time onto the cot. When she straightened again, her face glowed with perspiration.
“Undo a couple of his shirt buttons, why don’t you?” Mrs. Philpot said. “That’ll make him more comfortable.”
Jennie leaned over him and released one of the pearl buttons and then another. Suddenly, his hands came up to close on her wrists as he eyes flew open. She jerked involuntarily and his grip tightened.
“Zach! It’s me …Jennie.”
Immediately, his hold on her lessened and his eyelids floated down again to hide his startlingly blue eyes. “Ahh, Jennie,” he murmured and then whispered something she couldn’t hear.
“What?” she asked, leaning closer to him. “Say that again. I couldn’t make out —.” Her words were stopped by the pressure of his lips on hers. He angled up toward her and his mouth covered hers for a few brief, blood-heating moments, before he let go of her wrists and fell back onto the cot.
He signed expansively, his chest rising and falling. “I’ve wanted to do that for a loooong time,” he murmured. Then he turned onto his side and began snoring.
“Well, I never!” Jennie stood up and pressed her fingertips against her burning lips. Gloria Philpot’s cackle made her want to cover her red face with her hands.
“Sneaky rascal,” Mrs. Philpot said. “Just like a man to steal a kiss and then act like whiskey made him do it. But don’t you let him get away with it. If he says he doesn’t remember kissing you, you tell him to peddle that tale somewhere else. He knew
exactly
what he was doing.” She let out another cackle, her eyes dancing with merriment. “Cheeky devil, that one.”
“I don’t know what got into him,” Jennie said, unsure of how to handle the situation.
“He’s got an eye for you, that’s what,” Mrs. Philpot said and motioned for Jennie to follow her out of the small room. She closed the door. “Let him sleep it off. He will be back to himself come morning and probably full of apologies.” She went with Jennie into the dining room and sat at the table. “Have a seat, dearie.”
“It’s late and I should be –.”
“Your little man’s asleep and dreaming of being a rough and tumble cowboy. Sit a spell here with me. Tell me how you’re doing at the dry goods store. They sure are working you late!”
Jennie sat in the chair to Mrs. Philpot’s right. “I’m taking in extra work. Some of the ladies in town have asked me to make their dresses more fashionable.”
“Is that right?”
“That new dress shop in town has the latest fashions, but the prices are double what the women here are used to paying. I can redo a dress for half what they can buy a new one for.”
“You’re a clever one,” Mrs. Philpot said. “I like a woman who is industrious and uses her head for something more than a pretty hat stand. Now tell me, are you divorced or widowed? Seems that everyone in town has a different opinion on that.”
Jennie felt her shoulders sag. Not
that
again. “I thought I was widowed, but it appears that I am divorced. Luna Lee married my – Charles after he divorced me.”
“Heaven help us. Some men aren’t worth shooting and others are worth their weight in gold. It’s just so hard to tell one from the other sometimes.”
“I knew nothing about the divorce or Luna until I arrived here. It’s a big mess, but Zachary is trying to sort it out so that I can inherit the land Charles bought.”
“The land Luna has now? That little spread just outside of town?”
“Yes. I’m pinning my hopes on Zach.”
“He’s a good man, like I said. What he really needs is a strong woman to pin him down.” She flashed a naughty smile at Jennie. “It’s a wonder to me that some pretty gal hasn’t already lassoed and hog-tied him.”
“He has some peculiar ideas about marriage.” Jennie held Mrs. Philpot’s gaze for a few moments before she added, “He’s against it. He thinks that fidelity between a man and a woman is against human nature.”
“Does he now?” Mrs. Philpot laughed heartily. “Like I said, he hasn’t met his match. Once he finds a woman who won’t listen to that nonsense and makes him dream only of her and want only her, then he will change his tune. Here’s how I see it – he witnesses a lot of bad relationships in his work. That’s enough to make anyone think twice about hitching up with someone. But what he isn’t paying attention to are the people who have found happiness with each other.”
“Like Adam and Bertha Polk.”
“That’s right.” She pointed a finger at Jennie. “And they are right under his nose. Maybe he even got his heart stomped on by some gal before he came here. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She brought herself up short. “But that’s none of my business. He is my attorney and that’s that.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.” Jennie squared her shoulders and forced thoughts of Zach and his searing kiss to the far reaches of her mind. “Mrs. Philpot, are you acquainted with a saloon girl by the name of Stella Carlson.”
The woman glanced at the ceiling for a few moments. “Can’t say that I am.”
“She works at the Lantern Saloon. A little bitty thing with thin blond hair. I met her this evening and someone – a man had hit her. She was hiding in an alley, waiting for him to leave the saloon before she went back there.”
“Saloon girls have it rough,” Mrs. Philpot said. “Which is why I never rent rooms to them. I don’t want them visiting their troubles on my establishment.”
“She said she has a room above the saloon.”
“Most of them do, but sometimes they come around here and want to rent a room just to get away from the drunks and the noise. I can’t have that, though. I run a respectable place here.”
“That you do,” Jennie agreed. “I just felt sorry for her. I think she should tell the sheriff about the man who hit her.”
“Press charges against him, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“That won’t happen, dearie.”
“Why not?”
“Because that girl won’t do such a thing and the sheriff wouldn’t follow through if she did.”
“But she was struck and —.”
“And she works as a saloon girl and that means she sells herself. When you take money from men to bed you, you also have to take their bad manners and bad behavior right along with it. Men aren’t going to arrest other men for getting rough with a round-heeled gal.”
Jennie digested this. She wanted to argue, but knew it was futile. Stella Carlson had nowhere to turn. It was a feeling far too familiar for Jennie to ponder. She stood from the chair. “I’m suddenly bone tired. I must say good night to you, Mrs. Philpot. And thank you for your help tonight with Zachary.”
“He’s one man who is worth his weight in gold,” she said, giving Jennie a wink. “And I reckon he’s a mighty fine kisser, too.”
Jennie tried to issue a light-hearted laugh, but it came out fluttery and false sounding. She hurried from the room, her lips tingling with the memory of that stolen kiss.
Zach emerged from the fevered dream and sat up as if he’d been gouged in the ribs. His breath sawed in his throat and he blinked stupidly, casting his gaze around him. Where the hell was he? He ran a hand down his crumpled shirt, which was damp from perspiration. The last vestiges of the erotic dream curled through his mind. He had been with Jennie Hastings and the things that she had been doing to his body made him ache with longing. He looked down and saw the evidence of his arousal poking at the sheet that covered him.
“Lord God,” he groaned, swiping a hand down his face. The dream had been so real that he felt as if he had been ripped from her arms. His lips throbbed and he could swear he could still taste her on his tongue. She tasted so damn good.
A tapping sound made him glance around wildly again. “You okay in there?” someone asked through the closed door.
“Yeah. Where am I and who are you?” His voice was hoarse and scraped against his dry throat like sandpaper.
“It’s Mrs. Philpot and you’re in my boarding house. You decent?”
“Uh …” He grabbed the pillow behind him and put it in his lap. “Yes.”
The door creaked open and Mrs. Philpot’s round face appeared. “Good morning, sunshine. The washstand is all set up for you over there in that corner and there’s a chamber pot beneath it. Holler if you need anything else. When you’ve washed off last night, come on out and have some flapjacks and sausage.”
“Much obliged.” After the door closed again, he picked up the pillow and buried his face in it to muffle another groan. His head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton and he wasn’t sure his stomach would tolerate any food.
Disjointed memories of yesterday backed in and out of his mind. His birthday. The saloon. A lot of free drinks from well-wishing friends. Jennie. He had walked her home. Everything was a jumble after that except … he was pretty sure he’d kissed her.
He groaned once more into the pillow before flinging it away and kicking out of the sheets so that he could plant his feet on the floor. He wiggled his toes in his socks and looked around for his boots, located them at the foot of the bed, and pulled them on. The inside of his mouth tasted like stale whiskey and a dull headache throbbed behind his eyes. Moving to the washstand with slow, mincing steps, he stopped before it and stared, aghast, at his reflection.
His hair stuck out in all directions and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. The lower part of his face with darkened by whiskers and his clothes looked as if he’d … right. He had.
Zach set to work making himself presentable again. A good hour later he emerged from the room freshly shaven and feeling more like himself. He stepped into a corridor that opened to the kitchen where Mrs. Philpot sat at the table. A bushel of potatoes was beside her chair, piles of peelings littered the table, and she was reaching for another spud to peel when she spotted him.
“You look like you’ll live,” she said, grinning and waving him forward. “Have a seat. I reckon you could use a cup of coffee.”
“I sure could.” Zach pulled a chair out from the table and lowered himself into it. The headache had subsided a little and he hoped coffee would chase the rest of it away.
“How many sausage patties can you eat with a plate of flapjacks?” She selected a mug from the cupboard and poured coffee from a pot on the stove into it. Steam curled up and the aroma of the brew floated across the kitchen. His stomach clenched.
“I don’t think I can eat anything right now.”
“Sure you can.” She sat the cup in front of him. “You want milk or sugar for it?”
“Sugar, please.”
“It’s in that bowl in front of you. Help yourself. Here’s a spoon. I’m fixing you breakfast and you’ll eat it.” She swept the potato peelings into a bucket and took it with her to the kitchen counter. “Something in your belly will make you feel a heap better.”
He glanced around for a clock. “What time is it?”
“A little after ten.”
Zach stirred sugar into the coffee and then took a sip. As the hot liquid filled his mouth and heated his throat, his head began to clear. Thank God it was Saturday and he didn’t have to argue any cases in court today.
“You’re a good woman to let me sleep it off here.”
“Tied one on last night, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I could have made it back to my place, but I guess I escorted Jennie Hastings here and then … I’m not sure what happened after that.”
“Never you mind.”
She had her back to him as she worked at the stove. Zach wondered if she was laughing at him or frowning at his display of drunkenness. “I know you’re busy, Mrs. Philpot. I’m sorry to take up more of your time.”
“Stop it.” She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a motherly scowl. “I don’t think any less of you, Zach Warner. I’m pleased to give you refuge for the night and to feed you a good breakfast this morning. I hear that yesterday was your birthday. How old are you now?”
“Thirty.”
“A man in his prime.”
“I suppose.” He drank the rest of the strong, sweet coffee. Gradually, the pounding in his temples subsided. By the time Mrs. Philpot placed a plate of flapjacks and a saucer of sausage in front of him, the headache was history and his stomach had settled. He tucked into the food, thinking it was some of the best he’d tasted in months. “Ma’am, you sure know how to cook,” he told her when she sat at the table with him.
Mrs. Philpot’s face broke into a big grin and she even blushed a little. “I know my way around a cook stove,” she allowed. “I reckon you don’t get many home-cooked meals.”
“Only when I’m invited to Adam and Bertha’s,” he said.
“You’re not courting Vera Holdridge, the baker’s assistant, anymore? I heard she was a good cook.”
He shook his head while he swallowed a mouthful of flapjacks and blueberry syrup. “No, ma’am. She was in the market for a husband and we parted ways a while back.”
“You’re not interested in being any woman’s husband?”
He shook his head again as he bit into his second sausage patty.
“I guess you see a lot of bad marriages.”
“Guthrie is full of them.”
“And you see good ones, too.”
He glanced at her, then away. She was headed somewhere and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be led there.
“And you see some odd ones,” she continued. “People get hitched for all varieties of reasons. Take Luna Lee and Judge Bishop. They married, each for their own reason. Luna saw a chance to become a respected member of Guthrie’s society. Judge Bishop was lonely and Luna made him feel needed and treasured.”
“Don’t forget that she also makes him feel like a stud horse again.”
Mrs. Philpot covered her laughing mouth with her hand and pinpoints of light danced in her dark eyes. “That, too!” she said between giggles. “Luna knows her way around a man, I reckon.”
“That she does,” he agreed, finishing off the flapjacks and sausage. He sat back and patted his stomach. “Delicious. I feel like a new man.” He glanced down at his wrinkled shirt. “Even if I don’t look like it.”
“So, who are you courting these days, Zachary Warner?”
“Nobody in particular. Why are you so interested in my lady friends? Are you angling for me to ask you out?”
“Me?” Her dark eyes widened until he thought they would pop out of their sockets. “You cheeky devil.” She released another high giggle. “You know better. I’m just thinking it’s time for you to find a wife instead of another woman.”
“Don’t wish me on any good woman,” he said, grinning at her. “It would be no time before I’d be in divorce court as a defendant instead of counsel.”
“It’s a shame that you see the seedy side of marriage so often. It has jaded you. More’s the pity.”
“My thoughts about marriage started way before I obtained my law degree.” He pointed a finger at her. “Why haven’t you married again if you liked it so much?”
“Because I haven’t met a man to measure up to my Hal yet,” she replied with a jerk of her chin and without missing a beat. “I had me a wonderful man and a great marriage. Together, we carved out a happy life for each other. I miss him every single day, but I won’t replace him with someone who isn’t his equal.”
“How long were you married?”
“Thirty-four years. I married him when I was seventeen and he was eighteen. The minute I met Hal, I knew he was mine. We raised four children together. He made sure we always had a roof over our heads and food on our table.” A wistful smile curved her lips. “And he made me laugh. Lordy, how he made me laugh.” She wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron. “When you have a partnership like that and it’s taken away from you, it’s the memories that keep you warm at night and make you glad for what you had. Some people never know the revelation of having someone in your life who knows you better than anyone else, who keeps your secrets safe, who you trust with your very life.” She leveled her dark-eyed gaze on him. “I feel sorry for folks who aren’t lucky in love. They come in and out of here and I see the loneliness and pain in their faces and it ‘bout breaks my heart.”
The truthfulness stamped on her face was too much for him and he had to look away. He swallowed hard and his eyes stung as melancholy stole through him.
“Which is why I don’t mind a bit giving you a helping hand,” Mrs. Philpot said, brightening as she rose from the chair.
He blinked at her, not following her reasoning. “Because you think I’m unlucky in love?”
She laughed at that. “Because you do what you can to help those whose lives are in shambles,” she amended. “I lost count how many people have boarded here who hired you as their attorney and left here feeling better about their situation.”
He gave a quick shrug “I try to earn my wages, that’s all.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she stood near him and shook her head slowly. “You do that more than that, Zach Warner. You fight the good fight and you give them a shoulder to cry on. To some of them, you’re the only champion they got and you never let them down.”
“Never say never,” he recited, getting to his feet and feeling uneasy being the target for such high praise. “I do believe that anyone who stays here has a shoulder to cry on – yours. It’s well known in Guthrie that Gloria Philpot has a heart as big as this whole Territory.” He was pleased to see pink color spread from her neck up to her forehead. On impulse, he leaned forward and pecked her on her rosy cheek. “Thank you kindly, ma’am. I’ll be getting out of your way now. Unless you need me to peel the rest of those potatoes for you.”
“No, no. You go on now.” She shooed him out of the kitchen and waved him out the front door.
As was her custom, Mrs. Carter sat in a rocker on the front porch.
“Good day, Mrs. Carter.”
She turned watery blue eyes toward him. “Is that Zach Warner?”
“It is, ma’am. How are you faring?”
“I’m old,” she said in a voice full of spent tears and years.
He turned to her, resting an elbow on the porch railing. “So am I. I turned thirty yesterday.”
Her thin, colorless lips twitched. “You’re barely out of boyhood. You have a long row yet to hoe.”
Zach looked toward the street where a buggy that needed oiling creaked past. “Pretty day. Looks like the town is bustling. I suppose you see most of Guthrie pass by here, don’t you?”
“I reckon I do. I see a lot of peculiar things, that’s for sure.” She rocked back and forth and sucked on her teeth for a few seconds. “This here morning I’ve been watching a little, ole girl hiding from a man.”
“Oh?” He looked at her and then back at the street. “Anyone you know?”
“I believe the gal works at one of the saloons in town. The man … I don’t know. I’ve seen him ride into town every so often. He sits astride a pretty pinto pony. Brown and white pony.”
Zach’s interest sharpened, recalling the pinto in the corral on Luna’s ranch. Mel Parks’ ride. “What makes you think the woman was trying to hide from him?”
“She came running down the street, her skirts a flyin’,” Mrs. Carter said, motioning with a crooked finger the direction the woman had been traveling. “Kept looking back over her shoulder. I could see fear in her face even from this far away. She stopped for a few seconds and peered down the street, then she gave a little yelp. She jumped in behind the bushes there beside the grocery store. A few seconds later, here comes the man on the pinto and I could tell he was looking for someone, but he didn’t spy her in the bushes. After he was gone, she crept out, brushing leaves off her, and then ran in the opposite direction of him.” She rocked back and forth, quicker now. “Yep, she was running and hiding from him. Looked like one side of her face was bruised. Wouldn’t be surprised if that man on the pinto was responsible for marking that girl.”
“That’s interesting.” A breeze ruffled his hair and he ran a hand over it. He realized he’d left his hat in the small room off the kitchen. “Will you excuse me, Mrs. Carter? I have to retrieve my hat.”
She nodded. “If I had hair as pretty as yours, I‘d never wear one.”
He chuckled and went back inside, retracing his steps into the kitchen. Mrs. Philpot was no longer there. Crossing to the small hallway, he opened the door to the room he’d slept in.
Jennie stood beside the cot. She looked up, startled. She held the bed pillow in her arms and she dropped it as if it were a hot branding iron. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had not just been holding it – she’d been hugging it, burying her face in it. His blood heated and his heart bumped up against his ribcage, then bucked like a wild bronco.
“I left my hat in here.” He looked at the washstand where he’d hung his hat on a peg.
“Oh. I was just … just …” She moved around the cot and toward the doorway that he blocked.
Zach was mesmerized by the pulse beating in her throat, moving the creamy skin ever so slightly. The scent of soap and violets lifted off her to tantalize him further. She wore a white dress, a lacy thing that hugged her curves, emphasizing the narrowness of her waist and the seductive swell of her breasts, her hips. Her raven hair was loose, falling over her shoulders and down her back. He flexed his hands, wanting to drive his fingers through her hair and tip back her head so that he could capture that pulsing skin on her neck with his lips.