Desperate Hearts (20 page)

She looked at the brown-paper package. She
couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened a gift—this wasn’t a
gift, she was sure, but it seemed like one. What had prompted him?
She edged closer to bed.

With a tentative hand she reached out and
pulled the loose end of the slip knot tied in the string. Her
hesitation fell away with it and she hurried to open paper.

Kyla felt her jaw drop, and the breath left
her lungs. Tucked within the wrapping she found a dress, a
beautiful butter yellow dress, much lovelier than the one she’d
seen in the dry-goods window. Almost reverently, she lifted it by
its shoulders to look at its full length. The big leg-o’-mutton
sleeves tapered to a slim fit from elbow to wrist. Its wide,
ruffled yoke was trimmed with narrow lace and the bottom edge of
the bodice was gathered at the waist where it had been stitched to
the skirt with a V-shaped waistband.

Just holding the dress against herself made
her feel lighter. It had been so long since she’d had anything
really nice like this. Rushing to the small mirror over the
washstand, she tried to see how it might look on her. She stood on
tiptoe and ducked down, getting only a partial view.

But in the reflection she caught a glimpse
of the bed behind her, and saw that there was more in package.
Laying the dress out on the mattress, she plowed through layers of
tissue and found shoes and stockings, a beautiful underskirt
trimmed with an embroidered ruffle, a white cambric chemise with a
pair of matching drawers, even a lacy shawl and a velvet ribbon for
her hair. A whole ensemble, and an expensive one. Her face felt as
hot as a flatiron at idea of a man buying underwear for her. In
fact, the dress alone was a highly improper gift. She might have
lived most of her life as a tomboy, but Kyla knew that much about
what was acceptable between a man and a woman.

And as much as she wanted to, the idea of
wearing a dress, of stepping out from behind Kyle and revealing her
femininity, made her feel very vulnerable. Being herself, a female,
had rarely been safe for her.

She knew she couldn’t accept any of
this.

Disappointment mingled with anger and she
flopped on the bed and scowled at the lovely garments around her.
Jace didn’t seem like a man who could divine the secrets a woman
held close. But that’s what he had done, she thought as she
fingered the embroidered edge of the underskirt. In her heart she
yearned to be Kyla again, as much as she craved revenge on Tom
Hardesty. Jace was giving her chance to do just that, to be
feminine.

But there had to be a catch—why else had he
bought all these things? She thought of the graze of his mouth on
hers, the kiss that wasn’t quite a kiss. But she wished that it had
been . . .

Irritably, she batted the clouds of tissue
paper. She’d just have to pack up all this stuff and give it back.
He could return it to wherever he’d bought it and go to dinner
without her. She reached for a sheet of tissue to wrap up the
stockings, and the sparkle of gold caught her eye. Nearly lost
within the depths of the wrapping was some piece of jewelry. A
necklace? A bracelet? She pulled it out and discovered a
heart-shaped locket engraved with intricate flowers and scrolls and
suspended on a delicate chain.

“
Oh,” she breathed, feeling
a sob fight its way up her throat.

I didn’t buy this to make you feel bad.

For some reason, this one thing—a heart on a
chain—made her believe him. Why it made a difference, she didn’t
know. Perhaps a man who bought a woman jeans and a shirt one day,
and then could think enough of her feelings to get her a locket the
next—well, she supposed she ought to accept this. Touching the
dress again, she knew it was too hard to refuse.

But it wasn’t a gift. It was a loan, and she
intended to tell him that. She’d pay him back. She swore she would,
just as soon as she could get to her strongbox at the ranch.

All that stood between her and that money
was Tom Hardesty.

* * *

Dusk was purpling the sky over Baker City
when Jace pulled the window shades in his room and kicked off his
boots and clothes. Striking a match, he held it to the wick of the
lamp on the dresser. Harsh kerosene light threw tall shadows on the
walls.

From the bottle he carried in his saddlebag,
he poured a healthy measure of whiskey into the glass on the
washstand and drank half of it down in one gulp. Then he looked at
the man staring back at him in his shaving mirror and called him a
fool.

“
What the hell are you
playing at?” he muttered aloud to the reflection. “What are you
telling Kyla with your fancy presents?” He got no response. Because
he had no answer to give.

Over the course of his years, he had faced
bullies who wanted only to beat him to a pulp. He had been drawn on
by men who would have shot him in the heart or the head or the
balls without a moment’s hesitation. But buying that female rigging
was, without a doubt, the most fearsome thing he had ever done in
his life. He hadn’t known what to get. He’d simply told the
shopkeeper’s wife that he needed a dress and everything that went
with it, from the skin out. The locket, though, he had chosen
himself. It seemed to suit Kyla.

But his purpose?

He told himself that he just wanted her to
have something decent to wear to dinner. But that was too
simple.

He told himself that maybe he’d felt sorry
for her when he saw the yearning in her face through the window at
the dry-goods store. That buying those clothes was like giving a
kid the candy she’d been hankering for. But it was more than that.
And a hell of a lot different.

In Misfortune he had been tense with worry
and fear for her life while he bathed her fevered body in cool
water. Now, when he remembered it, he thought her hot, silky
skin.

With the memory of her smoothness, his
imagination worked overtime to show him a picture of Kyla as a
woman, fully curved, warm to his touch. In his daydream her soft,
white shoulders bore no burdens and carried no chip. This image
came to him at night, while he tried vainly to get comfortable
sleeping on rock-hard ground. It drifted through his mind during
the monotonous miles of the journey they had undertaken.

It aroused him, hot and hard, and made him
yearn to hold Kyla in his arms. To honor and protect with his own
the body that Hardesty had ravaged . . .

Goddamn, there he went again, thinking more
of that mushy hogwash, he groused to himself. Maybe the old man
hadn’t beaten all of it out of him, after all. He plucked his
shaving brush from the washstand and jammed it into the shaving
mug, whipping up a fierce lather. Bolting the other half of his
whiskey, he plied the brush with impatience and watched the scruff
of his beard turn white with foam.

He just needed to visit the upstairs rooms
at some saloon—that’s what he’d always done when he wanted a woman.
It was easy and uncomplicated, with no entanglements of feelings or
questions about the future.

Yup, that’s what he needed to do.

He picked up his razor to scrape off the
lather, then halted in midstroke. The kerosene light cut harsh
shadows across his face, making him look as old as he often felt.
He stared at the man in the glass, and at the scar on his
shoulder.

Maybe what he needed and what he wanted
weren’t the same anymore.

* * *

An hour later, Jace paced in the hall in
front of Kyla’s door. What would she look like? Hell, would she
even answer when he knocked? The anticipation had tied his stomach
in knots. He had never courted a woman in his life, and he wasn’t
courting one now. But he felt as if he should have brought flowers
or some damn thing, so he wouldn’t have to stand there,
empty-handed.

Groping around in his shirt pocket, he
brought out a cheroot and lit it. Finally he lifted his hand and
knocked. Then remembering what had happened earlier, he called,
“Kyle, are you ready?” It would be just his luck that she’d shoot
him through the door.

There was an agonizing moment of
silence.

“
Yes,” she finally answered
with that smoky voice.

He heard the key rattle in the lock and the
doorknob turn. When the door opened, Kyla appeared in the opening
and Jace froze, the cheroot in his hand paused on its path to his
mouth.

After weeks of seeing her in grubby boy’s
clothes, of watching her spit, wipe her nose on her sleeve and her
hands on her pants, he could only gape at the completely feminine
woman who stood before him now.

She’d managed to tie back her red hair with
a ribbon, concealing its blunt ends, and revealing her long, slim
neck. The locket hung on its chain and rested at a spot just above
her heart.

The rich swell of breast and hip that had
been hidden by a shirt and baggy dungarees now showed themselves in
a way that his daydreams had fallen far short of. And in between
those curves was a long, slim waist that begged to be encircled by
a man’s hands.

His original impression of a woman dressed
as a farm boy was utterly destroyed. Blood pumped into every part
of him. He fought hard to resist the overwhelming urge to take her
into his arms, to inhale the scent of her hair, to taste her mouth
again with a kiss.

Her turquoise eyes sparkled and color filled
her cheeks. She offered him a shy smile that shot another hole in
his attempted indifference. He swallowed.

“
Damn,” Jace mumbled
appreciatively, “you clean up pretty good.”

“
Thank you,” Kyla replied.
Her blush deepened. “You look nice, too.”

He looked down the front of his own shirt.
“Hell, this isn’t nice. Not like you.” He felt suddenly too rough
and saddle-worn to escort her.

“
About these clothes—“ She
plucked at the skirt and held it wide between her hands.

“
What about
them?”

“
Well, they’re lovely, and
I appreciate you buying them. But I’ll pay you for them as soon as
we get to the ranch.”

Jace felt a twinge of disappointment. “I
don’t want you to pay me back.”

She pulled back a bit. “Dressing me up isn’t
part of our agreement. After all, we have a business deal. So you
should tack on the cost to the money I already owe you.”

Yes, a business deal. And for the first
time, he was sorry that it was not more than that. He nodded and
sighed. “Okay, you pay me. Later. Right now, though, the McGuires
are waiting for us.”

She stepped out into the hall and closed the
door behind her. Jace waved her ahead of him.

He saw her hips sway lightly under the soft
fabric and heard the swish of her skirts. It was going to be a long
evening.

CHAPTER NINE

Travis McGuire stood at the head of his
table, cutting pieces of the apple pie in front of him. “We came to
Baker City last spring. Misfortune was like a ghost town, and then
after Doc Sherwood died there was no one left to deliver the baby.”
He grinned and winked at his very pregnant wife opposite him.
“Chloe wasn’t very enthusiastic about the idea of me doing it.”

“
Better you than Mildred
DeGroot,” Jace replied, stirring sugar into his coffee. “She’d be
in your kitchen putting the water on to boil whether you wanted her
help or not.”

Chloe laughed and accepted a big wedge of
pie from Travis. “I can’t say that I miss any of the people we left
back there.” Her smile dimmed a little. “The ones I loved are gone
now anyway.” Looking at the portion he’d given her, she handed it
back. “Oh, Travis, for heaven’s sake—about half that much please,
or I won’t be able to wear any of my old clothes after the baby is
born.”

“
I keep telling her that
she’s eating for two now, but she won’t go along with it,” he said,
cutting a narrow sliver off the piece.

Chloe pantomimed a cutting motion with her
hand, and he took off a little more. “I miss being able to wear
nice clothes, and that’s something I’m looking forward to in a
couple of months. Your dress is so pretty, Kyla.”

Kyla caught Jace’s ice blue gaze drifting
over her, intimate and forthright, and she felt a flush creep up
her neck. In fact, she’d sensed him watching her all evening. She
dragged her eyes back to Chloe. “Oh, well, thank you. I—it’s
new.”

Even shaved and combed and sitting here in
this quiet dining room, Jace retained an aura of danger and
strength that Kyla knew could inspire fear. But she wasn’t afraid,
exactly. In fact, with him she lost her worry about dressing
up—Jace made her feel safe to be a woman. No, some other sensation
rippled through her body—one that drew her and pushed her away at
the same time.

Obviously catching the look that had passed
between them, Chloe smiled like a cat with bowl of cream and
quirked a brow as she passed pie to each of them.

Conversation flowed as dessert and coffee
were consumed, and Kyla felt it was the nicest evening she had
spent in recent years. No one asked awkward questions about the
reason she had hired a bounty hunter, and spirits here seemed
especially bright, even to Kyla, an outsider. She had expected to
feel a bit awkward and out of place, but the McGuires’s happiness
filled this pleasant house and overflowed to their guests. Even
Jace smiled and laughed more than she would have guessed he was
capable of.

They were a very handsome couple—Travis with
his dark hair and gray eyes, and Chloe with red-gold curls—and it
was plain to her that they were very much in love. Beneath the
laughter and casual banter a strong current ran between them, one
of passion and respect.

Kyla felt a twinge of envy for what they
shared. She had wished for such a love at one time, to be accepted
for herself, without having to constantly seek approval. Hank had
offered her that, she supposed. Perhaps given enough time, she
might have come to care for him, as well. But Tom Hardesty had
taken that possibility from her, too.