Lady Gone Bad

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Authors: Sabine Starr

BOOK: Lady Gone Bad
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“Gentlemen! We’ve got a lawman with us tonight.”
Stamping their boots, the crowd jeered, hissed, and cursed.
Rafe figured he was well and truly shut in the outhouse and tumbling downhill. But he’d been in worse situations and come out alive. He just needed a plan that didn’t aggravate the situation.
She held the handcuffs above her head and clicked them together in rhythm. She pointed at her audience, and the saloon filled with deep, raw voices.
She’s a wild woman, a renegade, a lady gone bad.
Lady threw back her head and laughed, twirling in a circle as she continued to click the handcuffs.
Rafe wanted to grab her, shake her, and take her to bed. But he couldn’t let her get the best of him. “Darlin’.” he drawled. “You want me to show you how to use those cuffs?”
She turned to face him. Excitement brightened her agate eyes as she raised one arched eyebrow. “Lawman, you want to play?”
Lady Gone Bad
SABINE STARR
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
In Memory of
Uncle Brent
and
Cousin Brenda
They set this book in motion.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Elaine English
for being a great agent and wanting more after a wild ride in a red pickup on a slick road in an Oklahoma rainstorm;
Alicia Condon
for being a savvy editor with terrific taste;
Donna Elisabeth Gimarc
for excellent editorial advice and loyal friendship;
Kathleen Baldwin
and
Gretchen Craig
for insight, input, and fun lunches;
Janet Harris
for the Bend research and being a fine editor, educator, and friend.
Sharlot
for her wonderful Choctaw name, and
Genieva, Jeanie, Nancy, Patsy,
and
Wanda
for being friends and listening to my stories all these years;
Nancy, Rosanna, Patsy, Cynthia, Mary, Kelli,
and
Beatrix
for book suggestions.
Uncle Buck, Aunt Melba, Aunt Evelyn,
and
Aunt Mary
for style, charm, wit, and courage.
Cousin Miranda
for naming Copper and Jipsey;
Cousin Cathy
for four-wheeling around her horse ranch;
Brett
for horse stories;
Cousin Trooper Chris
for lawman inspiration;
Cousin Shelley
for sharing the creative dream;
Cousin Casi
for keeping me on time and on schedule;
Cousin Chester
for firearm instruction;
Cousin Eddie
for writing and support;
Cousin Ginger, Cousin Crystal,
and
Cousin Kendra
for inspiration;
Dee
and
Stella
for generously sharing their Choctaw heritage.
As always, for
Dean
who knows the many reasons why.
“There is no law west of St. Louis, and no God west of
Fort Smith.”
—
Red River Reporter,
Texas and Indian Territory
Chapter 1
1883, Delaware Bend, Texas
 
“S
he’s a wild woman, a renegade, a lady gone bad.”
Deputy U.S. Marshal Rafe Morgan sat at a battered table, his glass of whiskey gathering dust, as he listened to the legendary singer billed simply as Lady. She was a stunner, a heartbreaker. And her name was at the top of his “Wanted” list.
Lady’s husky voice wove sultry fantasies, enticing, cajoling, promising fulfillment by the light of a silver moon. She stood, strumming a guitar as she mesmerized her audience. Smiling coquettishly, she set one foot on a rung of the stool beside her, revealing white lace petticoats and shapely legs in black lace stockings.
Rafe shook his head, determined to break free of her spell. He felt like all the other red-blooded men in the saloon. More sinner than saint.
A crimson gown set off her auburn hair and golden skin, and showcased her luscious body. She was rumored to be part Indian, maybe explaining why she’d never been caught. A man could drown in her big eyes. Lose his wits and everything he owned. Plenty of men would be willing to pay that price. He wasn’t one of them.
Rafe carried a warrant for Lady’s arrest. Judge Parker and Marshal Boles of the Circuit Court for the Western District of Arkansas with jurisdiction over Indian Territory wanted her brought in, dead or alive.
He had tracked her to the Bend, a tough town squatting on the Texas side of the Red River. Outlaws had turned the place into their own heaven on earth, gambling, drinking, and carousing. If a Texas Ranger dared to show up, outlaws could easily escape north across the Red River where Indian law applied strictly to Indians and deputy marshals were limited to federal law. Rafe and other deputies did their best, but still the desperados ran wild.
Rowdy with drink and desire, cowboys, gunslingers, and outlaws stamped their boots, hootin’ and hollerin’ and clamorin’ for more as they joined the refrain of “The Ballad of Lady Gone Bad.” They were out of tune, with no rhythm, but enthusiastic enough to shake the rafters.
Lady’s performance was so riveting that, while she sang, every man in the place ignored the Red River Saloon’s legendary bar. Quite a feat considering the cavorting naked women carved into the mahogany. Patrons couldn’t set a glass steady on top, but a lot of them spent time nursing a drink and stroking the handiwork of a down-on-his-luck Eastern tenderfoot who had traded art for whiskey. The shapeliest parts were worn smooth and shiny. Rafe appreciated the famous bar, but it could not compare to the living, breathing beauty on stage.
Lady pursed her lips, painted come-hither red, and glanced around the saloon as she crooned in a sultry voice.
They always curse to lose their horses.
They surely cry to hand over their gold.
But on Lady’s trail at the wide Red River,
They better make sure not to ride alone.
Rafe tossed back his whiskey, wishing it was cold as a river in winter. He regretted that the whiskey did nothing to ease his pepper-hot, iron-hard ache for Lady Gone Bad. She teased and tormented men, stoking their fires, but gave no relief. Nobody knew her real name or much about her, but how much trouble could one little lady be?
The Bend was hell on lawmen. Rafe was out of his jurisdiction. But he didn’t care. He wanted this arrest. And he had a plan. Wasn’t much of a plan, but he didn’t figure he needed much of one. He’d buy Lady a drink, lure her outside, and handcuff her. Once on horseback, he’d take her back into Indian Territory and head for Fort Smith.
If Lady didn’t give him any trouble, he’d take time on the journey to inquire about his sister Crystabelle. She’d been kidnapped off a Katy train by outlaws. He didn’t know if she was still alive, but he couldn’t give up hope. He had good informants and better trackers, but so far nothing had led to Crystabelle. She was a delicate lady. He worried about her every day.
As he waited, he studied the patrons. A big man with a long mane of silver hair under a black hat sat at a table with his back to the wall. Two smaller men, one with a blond beard and the other with straight black hair, sat on either side of him. They looked like the kind of trouble that kept lawmen busy.
When he turned back to look at Lady, she was setting aside her guitar. She stepped into the crowd, giving her audience a notion of what it’d be like to get close to her. She patted a bald pate, stroked a bushy beard, and blew a soft kiss as she slowly prowled the room. A low growl, more animal than human, followed in her wake.
She sidled up close to Rafe and leaned down, the décol-letage of her gown revealing the upper slopes of her breasts. “Buy a lady a drink?”
He nodded, determinedly staring at her eyes instead of the tantalizing view below. She had unusual, tricolored eyes, a brown center with a band of sage green and an outer ring of forest green. Reminded him of agates. She likely mesmerized men with her cat eyes. But not him. He was made of stronger stuff.
Rafe picked up the whiskey bottle on his table and filled the extra shot glass. He pushed out the chair next to him with a boot. He dropped his right hand down near the Colt .45 Peacemaker he wore on his hip, ready for trouble.
“New in town?” She smiled, ruby lips curving slightly upward. She ignored the drink and the chair.
“Passing through.”
She leaned in closer and teasingly walked the tips of her nails up his chest. Breath caught in his throat. Wasn’t easy, but he remained stoic. She smelled sweet and tart, like honeysuckle and lemon. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in that lush bosom. She had a beauty mark just below the right corner of her mouth. He wanted to kiss that dark spot, lick and nibble to her mouth. Mark her all over.
But he was here on business.
“I like to give newcomers a special welcome.” She flattened both hands against his chest and stroked upward over his leather vest to his shoulders. “Something they’ll never forget.”
Suddenly she flipped open the left side of his vest where he’d pinned his deputy badge out of sight. Damn. He should have left it in his saddlebags. But it didn’t matter. She was going with him come hell or high water.
She pouted her crimson lips, sighing. “Figured you for a lawman the first moment I saw you. Hoped I was wrong.” She jerked the handcuffs out of his vest pocket.
Surprised again, he reached for the handcuffs, but she dodged quick as a cat and stepped back out of reach.
Lady turned to the crowd. “Gentlemen! We’ve got a lawman with us tonight.”
Stamping their boots, the crowd jeered, hissed, and cursed.
Rafe figured he was well and truly shut in the outhouse and tumbling downhill. But he’d been in worse situations and come out alive. He just needed a plan that didn’t aggravate the situation.
She held the handcuffs above her head and clicked them together in rhythm. She pointed at her audience, and the saloon filled with deep, raw voices.
She’s a wild woman, a renegade, a lady gone bad.
Lady threw back her head and laughed, twirling in a circle as she continued to click the handcuffs.
Rafe wanted to grab her, shake her, and take her to bed. But he couldn’t let her get the best of him. “Darlin’,” he drawled. “You want me to show you how to use those cuffs?”
She turned to face him. Excitement brightened her agate eyes as she raised one arched eyebrow. “Lawman, you want to play?”
Audacious as only a lady gone bad could be. She was burrowing into his mind, putting down roots like a squatter. He jerked free. She was one little lady whose good luck had turned bad. “Got an iron bed back at the hotel.”
“Really?” She stepped closer, handcuffs held against the swell of her deep bosom. “Tell me more.”
“Give those back and let’s go test how well they work on my bed’s railings.”
“Got a real high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” She glanced back at the room, shaking the handcuffs. “Gentlemen! What do we do with lawmen in the Bend?”
An angry roar filled the saloon.
Rafe forced his mind back to business, but his body didn’t want to follow. He checked the outlaws packing the tables and didn’t like what he saw. His situation was turning ugly fast. He had to end the game. He stood up, keeping an eye on the men around him.
She quickly snapped one cuff on his left wrist.
He reached for her, but she slithered aside and snapped the other cuff on a rung of his chair.
As she stepped back in triumph, laughter filled the room.
Rafe hadn’t given her enough credit despite the stories of her exploits. And he’d let her cloud his mind. He could quickly break the chair over a table and get loose, but she’d pricked his pride. He sat down and casually leaned against the chair, appearing completely relaxed despite his fast pulse.
She looked surprised, cocking her head to one side. He patted his leg with his free hand. “Sit here and let’s talk about finding my handcuff key.”
She shook her head, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “You look like a lawman that needs to be taught a lesson.”
“Think you’re the woman to do it?” He touched his vest pocket, ready to take action if any man made a move toward them.
She sighed dramatically. “I do believe the task has fallen to me.”
He patted his leg again. “Sure could use some help finding that key.”
“You just don’t know when to fold.” She turned toward the crowd, her crimson skirt swirling around her. “Gentlemen, he’s all yours.”
Rafe watched her pretty backside sashay away. Turned out, she’d held all the aces. He couldn’t go after her, not with a room full of men ready to jump him. He stood, then slipped the key from his pocket and into the cuffs with smooth familiarity.
A big brute with a beard down to his belt rose in drunken bravado. Somebody shattered a whiskey bottle on the side of a table. The outlaw trio he’d noticed earlier stood up and started toward him.
If they wanted a show, they’d get it. But he’d give as good as he got. He freed his hand with a satisfying click and reached for his Peacemaker.

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