Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) (30 page)

“How to wish I wasn’t blood related to someone.” She locked eyes with Hughes for a long moment that turned uncomfortable, and then looked away.

“I thought you was an orphan,” said Stoney, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

“I wasn’t always.”

Hughes tapped his finger on the rim of his whiskey glass. “We’ll play five-card draw. I stake you each twenty-five. If you win more than that, pay me back my twenty-five, then you keep the rest. If you lose, then it’s my loss, too. A small risk I’m willing to take.” He waved the dealer over as the man walked in through the back door.

Barleigh, feeling a little lightheaded, pushed her whiskey glass further from her reach. She imagined what her papa would think if he saw her sitting in a bar, drunk, playing poker. She might as well be chewing on a cigar, too, to complete the picture. Checking her posture, she reminded herself to sit like a man, to think like a man, to not let her guard down.

Stoney cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Bar, for interrupting your reverie. Pick up your cards. You look like you’re a million miles away.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” She picked up her cards, fanning them in one hand, reminding herself of the first rule of poker. Just because her hand held two jacks and three tens was no reason to reveal her luck to the rest of the table by grinning from ear to ear. She picked up her glass and raised it to her mouth to hide her smile, and then took a very small sip.

After several hands, she had doubled her money, paid Hughes back his twenty-five, and was ready to leave with Stoney who had managed to lose everything.

“I’m going back to the pie-eating contest to find my love, Elizabeth. Elizabeth Annabelle Parnell. I want to marry her,” said Stoney, his speech thoroughly slurred. “Elizabeth, with the beautiful, big brown eyes.”

“You might have better luck wooing the heart of Miss Doe Eyed Elizabeth,” teased Hughes. “The Queen of Hearts sure wasn’t doing you any favors here.”

“I won’t need luck,” said Stoney with a confident air, before hiccoughing. “I think she loves me.”

“Bar, you might want to stick around,” Hughes said, nodding toward two well-dressed gentlemen walking toward the card table. “I think the stakes are getting ready to go big.”
 

“Are these seats vacant? Care if we join in your game?” asked the heavyset man with round spectacles and a walrus mustache.

“I’m just leaving,” said Stoney. “You coming or going, Bar?”

“I’ll stay and play. If I win another twenty-five, I’ll toss it over to Hughes and pay your debt.”

“You’re sounding pretty bold,” said Hughes. “But remember, I said that if you lost your twenty-five, I considered it my loss, too. Stoney doesn’t owe me.”

“You two can argue,” said Stoney, shaking Hughes’s hand. “As for me, I’m going to find my lost love. Thank you for the poker game. It was the most fun I’ve ever had losing.”

Another bottle of Baer Brothers was sent to the table, courtesy of the bartender. The dealer shuffled a new deck with lightning-fast fingers and declared the table now doubled, if all players agreed. All nodded their acceptance.

Under the table, Hughes bumped Barleigh’s knee with his, and then whispered, “Do you want the twenty-five back you repaid me? It might come in handy with these gents. I have a feeling they’re going to be loose with their bets.”

“Then they’ll be big losers,” she said. “Thank you, but no.”

Somewhere in the course of the evening, Barleigh noticed that Hughes’s knee went from an accidental bump or two against her knee to his thigh resting against hers continuously. And, somewhere in the course of the evening, she went from being distracted by the touch to being even more distracted when the touch was momentarily absent.

The bespectacled walrus man lost big and lost quick after a few hands, while his short, bald partner with the unblinking eyes held on to his money well into the night, increasing it by half before losing it all as well.

*****

“Congratulations, Barleigh, I don’t know if you’re good, or lucky, or both. What was your final take?” Hughes asked.

They strolled along the upper end of Whiskey Street, the plank sidewalk dark and empty except for an occasional passerby. Barleigh jiggled the gold and silver coins in her pockets, feeling again the bulge of paper money wadded in the inside breast pocket of her coat.

“I quit counting at two hundred fifty or so. How can people throw money away like that? What do those people do for a living that they can lose hundreds of dollars a night and not blink an eye?” The thought of losing that much money made Barleigh nauseated.

“They’re owners of silver and copper mines. A few hundred dollars is a drop in the bucket for those gentlemen. You sure took them by surprise. And me, too.”

“Pardon me for asking, but did you throw a hand or two my way?” she asked, her question serious.

Hughes laughed. “I’m as competitive as you are. I don’t like losing—money or anything else. Here, walk this way.” He turned left down a narrow alley that wound several yards through a courtyard before coming to a dead end behind a row of empty shops that were closed for the night.

“What are we doing here?”
 

“I want to talk to you in private, away from the others at the hotel, and this looked like it had possibilities.”

“What do you mean? Talk about what?”

“About how long you can keep this up. About how dangerous being a Pony Express rider is and how I . . .”

She placed her index finger across his lips. “Don’t say any more. We’ve covered this topic in the cave. You don’t have any right to interfere.”

Hughes took hold of the finger she’d placed across his mouth, pulling it away, running his hand down to her wrist, his fingers easily encircling its circumference, and he kissed the underside of it. Then he pressed his mouth to her palm, lingering his lips there.

“God, I wish I had the right to interfere. Every time I watch you ride away by yourself, run after run, taking such risks, I get so—distracted. It’s driving me crazy, knowing the danger you’re in.”

“What are you doing? What are you saying?” She pulled her hand out of his grasp. “You can’t do that. I’m Bar Flanders. Pony Express Rider. A boy.”
 

Barleigh stared at her palm where his lips had touched, then pressed her hands together, trying to rub the sensation away that left her head light, her knees unsteady.

“You’re Barleigh Flanders, Pony Express rider
disguised
as a boy. But a woman who—”

“—who you shouldn’t be saying these things to. Stop it. You’re drunk. You’re not making sense.” She tried to back away, but a brick wall stopped her retreat.

“—who drives me crazy with desire. Mad with worry. I don’t handle worry very well. I want to kiss you.”

“That’s the whiskey talking. That’s nonsense, that’s—”
 

His mouth covered hers, soft and tender at first, then more insistent, his tongue seeking hers. Entwining his arms around her waist, he pulled her close, lifting her to her toes. His hungry kisses sought nourishment from her lips.
 

Words of caution flitted through Barleigh’s mind like summer butterflies. She thought of capturing them, but let them pass unfettered. Pressing against him, enjoying the sensation, she wanted to know the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hard body, the smell of his breath. Her hands explored his neck, his back, his arms, and she pulled him closer, wanting to feel every part of him. She felt dizzy, and couldn’t blame it all on the Baer Brothers’ whiskey.

His hands cupped her face, tilting her head, exposing her neck, and there he lingered, kissing, biting, trailing his tongue along the curve of her ear, down the side of her neck, stopping with a kiss at the base of her throat.
 

He groaned, pulling away. “I could go on forever kissing you. I don’t want to stop, but I’d better get control of myself.”

Barleigh blinked hard, trying to catch her breath, trying to find her balance against the cold brick wall she stood against. “I—that was—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll take your poker winnings, go back to Texas, and stop this tomfoolery. I worry about you and it drives me crazy. I’m not good at worrying. I don’t know what to do with it. It—interferes.”

“Hughes,” she said, releasing a deep sigh. “Thank you for worrying about me, but I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m enjoying the challenge and I’m good at what I do.”

“Then do me a favor and consider this,” he said, drawing her near, leaning in, brushing his lips against hers. “Consider taking Stoney into your confidence. Now, don’t start bristling before you hear me out.”

“No. Absolutely not. Why should I even consider that?” Barleigh put both hands against his chest in protest.

“Things are heating up with this mail-tampering business and I have to leave for California first thing Monday. I’d leave feeling much better knowing Stoney was keeping an eye on you and watching to make sure you’re safe.”

“Keeping an eye on me? Making sure I’m safe? What?”

“The men trying to steal the mail are vigilantes who’ll stop at nothing. They’re Southern sympathizers who’re willing to kill to keep President Lincoln’s letters from reaching California. They’ve already killed others who’ve gotten in their way. The Union needs California’s gold. So does the Confederacy. If we go to war, California’s gold could sway the outcome.”

Barleigh took a deep breath and let his words soak in.
If we go to war?
She felt a growing sense of urgency and alarm. So much was at stake getting the mail through, now so more than ever. “Tell me more.”

“I’ve already told you too much.”

“Then you’re in danger, too, spying on these vigilantes.”

“Yes,” he said, placing his hands against the wall on either side of Barleigh’s shoulders, forming a barrier. “That’s why I’d feel much better if I knew Stoney was my backup. If things go bad while I’m not here, it’d help if he knew the truth. I know we can trust him.”
 

“I’ll consider it, though I’m not clear exactly why his knowing my secret will keep me safe. Why do I have the feeling that you’re not telling me everything?” She looked up into his eyes, hoping for a satisfying answer.
 

“Trust me on this. Please? I have my reasons,” he said, his voice deep and persuasive.

“May I sleep on it?” she asked, not yet persuaded.

“Of course. We can talk about it over lunch tomorrow.” He leaned in close, his hand drawing her face to his. “Don’t pull back. Kiss me.”

“I may have to take the eastbound run tomorrow. Eagan is training a new rider and it’s Stoney’s day off.” She pulled further away. “But no more kisses.” She knew the kissing had to stop. She couldn’t risk being caught. The thought of being seen, of being found out, of losing her job, terrified her.
 

“All right, no more kisses,” said Hughes, “after this last one.”
 

Hughes took Barleigh in his arms and kissed her again, long and deep and slow—an illuminating kiss, making the invisible visible. Pressing her against the wall, he leaned in, moving his body against hers in a way that sent her senses tumbling, sliding, radiating, that one last kiss stealing her breath and her heart.

*****

Walking toward Main Street, Barleigh and Hughes stepped from the shadows where the alley crossed through the courtyard. Near the center, three men stood together in an apparent one-sided conversation, one man speaking, the other two nodding. As Barleigh and Hughes neared, the one man who was speaking hurried away. The other two figures turned, crossed their arms, and stood in wait.
 

“Excuse me, gents,” said Hughes as they tried to pass.

Shoulder to shoulder, they blocked the way. “You have something that belongs to my boss,” the bigger one said, his voice clear and full of menace. “He wants it back. All of it.”

“You must be mistaken,” said Hughes. “I don’t know you or your boss.”

“My boss is the man you cheated at what was supposed to have been a friendly game of poker. Hand over the money.” He drew his weapon, pointing it at Hughes.
 

Hughes raised his hands and took a slight step in front of Barleigh, who also raised her hands. Then, addressing the two men, he said, “Gents, that money was won,
and lost
, fair and square. No cheating occurred.”

“We’re not here to converse. We’re here to collect. Just hand over the money and no one gets hurt. If Boss says you cheated him, you cheated him. He wants it all back.” He thrust his gun forward for emphasis.

“It’s not all his money,” Barleigh spoke up. “I’ll keep what we had to begin with. You can take the rest.”

“This is not a negotiation,” the smaller one said, drawing and pointing his pistol, Barleigh’s midsection his target. “You must be the one holding the money. Keep your hands up. Which pocket is it in?”

Hughes and Barleigh looked at each other, an understanding passing between them. They both knew where she’d put the bundle of money. It was stowed in her inside breast pocket.
 

The small man took a step in Barleigh’s direction, pistol in one hand, the other ready to search. He fumbled in her pants pockets and frowned as he came away with a handful of coins.
 

“I know Boss plays with bigger stakes than this. Where’s the rest?” He started to pat down Barleigh’s coat.

“I have the rest,” said Hughes. “It’s in my inside coat pocket. There’s five hundred dollars in there. You’re right. Your boss lost big. But he came to the table with only three hundred. I bet if you took him back the three hundred he lost, and you two kept a hundred each for yourselves, he’d never know the difference.”

The small man stopped his pat-down of Barleigh’s coat, looking to the bigger man for guidance. The big man gave a nod of his head toward Hughes, and with that the search shifted.

“Unbutton your coat, then hands back in the air,” the small man said to Hughes. “You,” he looked at Barleigh. “You keep yours where we can see them. I done saw that you’re not armed.”

Hughes did as he was told.

The man took his pistol and, with the tip, opened Hughes coat wider. “You won’t be needing this.” He removed the Colt revolver hanging at Hughes’s hip and placed it in his own holster. “Which side’s the money?”