Just This Once (7 page)

“Yeah. Sure. Just settle the hell up with
Mills and get me out of here.”

“Sheriff...”

“Hold on, now. This ain’t how we usually do
things.” The sheriff held a hand up, his tone testy. “For one
thing, it’s got to cost at least two hundred dollars or more to fix
up the Golden Pistol, and there’s a fine to pay for public
drunkenness and disorderly conduct—and fighting, and destroying
property.”

Latherby steepled his hands. “Yes, Sheriff.
The total will be quite a large sum. Kindly tell me what it
is.”

Before Ethan had time to do more than pace a
dozen or so times around the confines of the bleak little cell, he
heard the key scrape in the lock.

“Maybe I can go home now,” Mills
grumbled.

“Like hell. Sheriff, I just remembered
something. That little witch who robbed me was at the Golden Pistol
tonight. In one of the upstairs rooms—packing a suitcase! She must
be leaving town. You have to get over to the Golden Pistol and
place her under arrest. Right now, before she can get away.”

“The only place I’m going right now, young
feller, is straight home and into bed!”

“Like hell. Latherby!” Ethan stuck out his
hand.

The solicitor instinctively understood what
he wanted. He dug inside his pocket and then placed a crisp
hundred-dollar greenback into Ethan’s palm.

Ethan waved it under the sheriff’s nose.
“Mills, this’ll be the easiest money you ever made. All you have to
do is lock that woman up in this very same cell tonight and it’s
yours.”

The sheriff snatched the bill from him. He
studied it a moment, eyes blinking soberly, then he nodded. “Can’t
turn my back on doin’ justice,” he mumbled.

Ethan Savage’s lips drew back in a sneer. He
started toward the door, the sheriff and Latherby trotting after.
Suddenly Ethan swung around. “Latherby, I forgot something.”

“My lord?”

“Token of appreciation for all the
aggravation you caused me tonight.”

“Sir?”

Ethan’s fist swung out and connected hard
with the solicitor’s jaw. The man went down with a thud.

Ethan rubbed his sore knuckles, a hard
glitter in his bleary eyes. “Don’t thank me, Latherby. It was
nothing.”

* * *

Josie had just fallen asleep on top of the
bed, already dressed in her denim pants and flannel shirt so she’d
be ready to move when the sun came up. She was dreaming of herself
in a lovely open field, wearing a lavender dress, and in her dream
she was opening the worn cloth pouch containing her brooch and her
ring—but when she tugged at the drawstring the pouch was empty, and
when she glanced up, there stood Snake right before her.

He was smirking at her in a way that made
her want to knock the grin off his face, but also made her back up
a pace. Then she saw that he held both her brooch and the ring in
his grimy, nailbitten hand, and suddenly he was bending over a
broken stone well, dangling them over the yawning black gap.

“You crossed me, Jo. You can say
adios
to these. And you’re going down into the well
next...”

Her heart was pounding so hard, she could
scarcely breathe. Pounding, pounding. Then she opened her eyes and
realized with a raspy intake of breath that the pounding was coming
from the hall outside. Someone was banging on the door.

“This here is Sheriff Mills. Open up in the
name of the law!”

Jolting upright in the other narrow bed,
Rose gaped at Josie through the darkness. “The sheriff! What’s he
want with us, Jo?”

“Not us.
Me,
” Josie whispered.
Trembling, she flung herself up from the bed and put a hand to her
throat. Think, think hard. “That gunslinger must’ve sent him—Rose,
don’t go to the door yet. Stall him.”

Rose nodded, her dirty blond hair straggling
forward over her shoulders as she slid from the bed and reached for
a wrapper. Josie was already tugging on her boots.

“Open the door or I’ll break it down!”

“Hold your horses, Sheriff!” Rose called out
shrilly. “Can’t a body make herself decent?”

Josie grabbed up her valise and ran for the
window. She stopped only long enough to hug Rose good-bye, then
heard the sheriff bellow again, demanding that Rose open the door.
On an icy rush of fear, she threw a leg over the sill. She
scrambled onto the overhang and dropped her valise down into the
alley. If she lowered herself over the edge, holding on with her
hands and then dropping down, she might just make it without
breaking an ankle. She could make a run for it.

Her grip slipped as she heard Sheriff Mills
thunder into the room above her. Hands slippery with sweat, she
couldn’t hold on. She fell from the overhang, smothering a cry of
panic as she dropped off into open air.

Suddenly, instead of hitting the ground, she
felt herself caught up by powerful arms.

“Ohhhh!” Her lips parted in shock. A jolt
slammed through her as she was scooped up, caught against a wide,
muscled chest. She stared into the fierce dark countenance of the
man whose pocket she’d picked twice this very afternoon.

“Ma’am,” he said with dry mockery. “May I
have this dance?” Then his face broke into a demonic grin that
froze Josie’s blood.

“Let me go!” Wildly, she began hitting him
over the head with her fist.

The blows narrowly missed the still oozing
wound on his temple, and at any moment Ethan expected to have blood
trickling once more down his face.

“Why, you little bitch,” he muttered,
setting her on her feet so sharply, her teeth rattled. One strong
arm imprisoned her waist, pulling her so tight against him that she
could scarcely draw breath. He pinioned her hands, halting the rain
of blows.

Josie gasped as she struggled to free
herself. He was all hard muscle and strength. He smelled of liquor
and male sweat and there was a reckless, dangerous glint in his
eyes that frightened her more than her fall from the overhang,
though she would rather have eaten bullets than admit it.

“Mills!” he shouted toward the open window.
“Down here. Come and get her.”

Jo gasped, wriggling frantically. Uselessly.
“You can’t let him lock me up. You’d be signing my death
warrant—you don’t understand—”

“
You
don’t understand, lady,” he
interrupted with a heartless laugh. “You’ve caused me a hell of a
lot of trouble. Now it’s your turn to lie in a jail cell and stare
at the bars.”

“I know what trouble is, mister, believe me,
I do—I’m no stranger to it. But there’s a reason why I took your
things.”

“Savage, you got her? Good work. I’ll be
right down,” the sheriff called, leaning out the window.

“Please!” Jo begged, staring up at the
gunslinger with wide, beseeching eyes.

The moon shimmered over her white upturned
face. It wasn’t all that cold a night, but she was shivering in his
arms. He was aware of how soft her body felt pressed against him,
of her small, high breasts, the curve of her thighs. She felt
helpless and sweet. Yet he knew she was anything but sweet.

Still, the appeal in her face went beyond
words—it reached deep inside and clutched at his heart. Or would
have, if Ethan had let it for one minute.

“You’re going to pay, lady,” he said
harshly, putting a hand to her hair and forcing her head backward
so that her white throat above the collar of the flannel shirt was
exposed and vulnerable. “Now where’s my money and my pocket
watch?”

“In my valise. Over there. You can have them
back.”

“Damn straight I’ll have them back.”

“And whatever else you want. I’ll do
anything, I’ll pay you double what I took... but please don’t let
the sheriff lock me up. I’d be a sitting duck.”

“For who? Who the hell is after you?”

She didn’t answer, just licked her lips.
Nice lips they were, too. Lush and generous, the color of rosebuds.
Another lawman’s after her,
he decided.
Someone more
intimidating than old Mills.
Her shivering grew worse after he
asked her the question. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
Brilliant eyes, he realized now. Mesmerizing. They were a clear,
wondrous violet, like the wild flowers that grew in the glade
beyond the pond at Stonecliff Park.

“I’ll do anything,” the girl whispered again
just as Sheriff Mills stomped out of the Golden Pistol’s back door
and approached them, his weary face tight with impatience.

Suddenly an idea penetrated Ethan’s bitter,
half-drunk haze. “Anything, eh?” he repeated, and then chuckled
long and low.

Josie stared at him fearfully. That chuckle
sounded almost demented. “Yes, anything,” she heard herself vow,
but the words seemed unwise the moment they’d left her lips.

“Fine. Then you’ll marry me. Tonight.”

Now she knew he was demented. Loco. She
struggled again to get away as Sheriff Mills reached toward her and
she heard the clang of handcuffs, saw the silver glitter of them in
his grip.

But as the sheriff reached for her wrist,
the stranger shoved her back and placed himself between her and
Mills.

“Hold on a minute, Sheriff.”

Josie’s legs shook.

“Huh?” Mills grabbed at his hat as a gust of
wind whipped through the darkened alley.

“The manacles can wait until I’ve had a
chance to speak to... the lady.”

“So now she’s a lady. You called her a dirty
thief. Savage, is this the woman who stole your money and your
watch or not?”

Ethan surveyed her, from the tousled mass of
chestnut curls to the scuffed boots on her dainty feet. He nodded,
no expression showing itself on his swarthy face. “It’s her. But I
might change my mind about pressing charges.”

He dragged Josie along with him through the
alley, out of earshot of the sheriff.

“Wait there and I’ll let you know,” he
commanded over his shoulder, and Josie realized he was still drunk
enough not to know or care that he was making enough noise to wake
half the town.

She glanced helplessly at her valise, still
lying where she’d dropped it in the dirt, with the brooch and ring
inside. She didn’t like having it out of reach. She didn’t like
anything that was happening to her.

“You can’t possibly want me to marry you,”
she insisted, drawing a deep breath, trying to steady her shaky
nerves.

“You’re wrong, lady. I do. Seems I need a
wife. I need one bad.”

“Why
me
?”

“You’re as good as any. Better than most,
I’d say, since you’ll make my dear old father spin in his grave.”
He gave a hoarse laugh and raked a hand through his hair, looking
suddenly weary and half beside himself with anger—or was it grief?
Josie couldn’t tell which. And then, as she started to back away,
deciding he was crazed, he gripped her arm again and jerked her
close.

“Not so fast, angel. How about it? You come
to England with me and be my sweet little bride—and I’ll see you’re
well taken care of. You’ll live the high life, with servants,
pretty clothes, all the baubles you want. Isn’t that what a woman
like you dreams of? You won’t have to steal, and you’ll have all
the spending money you could want. But...”

His voice harshened and so did his grip,
pinching her flesh. “After six months, it’s
adios
. You get
the hell out. I’ll settle a fair amount of money on you, enough to
set you up so you won’t have to rob anyone else for a good long
time, and then we get a civilized divorce and you get the hell out
of England, out of my life, and never come back.”

“So very romantic.” Josie bit her lip,
trying to stall for time, trying to think. She guessed it was the
liquor talking. Why would any sane or sober man want to marry the
woman who’d robbed him?

“Romantic,” he sneered. “Don’t think so.
Strictly business. Something tells me you’re not the romantic type
anyway. You like money? I’ve got some—and I’ll pay you to be my
wife for six months. Yes or no?”

He was swaying on his feet, and Josie
instinctively found herself steadying him. “You don’t even know
what you’re saying,” she managed to gasp on a half-hysterical
laugh. “Or what you’re doing.”

“The hell I don’t. I need a wife, and you’re
the one I picked. I’ll bring a damned two-bit low-class vulgar
thief to England and introduce her to all the swells! Lord, that’s
rich!”

He gave a shout of laughter. “It’s the only
way I’ll go back. I swore I never would, swore I’d never marry, and
now, if I have to—”

He broke off, and Josie realized he hadn’t
meant to reveal this much. “If you have to, you’ll marry a
low-class thief? To prove what? To who?” she asked desperately.

“That’s none of your business. You either
marry me tonight—right now—or I turn you in to the sheriff. You’ll
sleep in a cell. Hell, you’ll rot there.” He stared down into her
eyes, his own blazing with contempt and triumph. “So, lady, take
your pick. Me—or that cell.”

Mills marched toward them, his face
wrathful, before Josie could speak.

“Well?”

“Leave her be, Sheriff. This lady’s going to
do me the honor of becoming my wife.” His laughter rang out again
so harshly that goose bumps prickled Josie’s flesh.

“I didn’t say...” Then her protest died on
her lips as he turned those ice-gray eyes on her once more.

“Then say.” His tone was low and warning,
cutting in its impatience. “One way or the other, you damned hussy.
Answer right now.”

He was crazy. But she had to say something
before Mills snapped those manacles on her. “Yes. Yes, of course,”
Josie heard herself murmur. “I’m going to marry him.”

Never mind that I already have a husband—one
who’s hunting me down like a rabbit at this very moment. Now I’ll
have two. Neither of them worth a damn.

The sheriff stared at each of them with
utter fury and disgust. “Damned if I know what the hell is going on
here, Savage—but I’m going home. Unless,” he added sarcastically,
glowering up at the taller man, “there’s something else I can do
for you tonight?”