Little Red: An Everland Ever After Tale (9 page)

But he still found himself sitting beside Max at the bar of the Gingerbread House—what a dumb name for a whorehouse!—thinking about the town. He had to admit that there was an odd kind of…
charm
to the place. He could see how, if someone was the kind of man who could be swayed by pretty women and clean living and friendliness, he might be willing to put up with Wyoming winters. But that wasn’t him. He wasn’t the kind to live in Everland. He wasn’t the kind to make a home here, no matter how hard he was falling for Red.

No matter how hard he was falling for Red.

Cursing, Hank threw back another whiskey. Falling for her? Hell, he’d fallen hard already, and there was nothing he could do about it except enjoy the ride.

Eleven fifty-five. Rojita skid to a stop in front of the Van Winkle Inn, glanced at the clock on the big bell tower of the church, and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. Despite her best efforts that morning, she was afraid she looked exactly the same way she had over the last few days. Same dull dress, same lovely cloak.
Abuela
had spent some time this morning brushing and braiding her hair in a lovely coronet around her head, but strands were already loosening and falling into their usual lack-of-style. No, Hank wouldn’t see anything special today, and she desperately wanted this to be special.

After all, today was the day he’d find out how badly she’d lied.

Knowing that she was early, she began to pace the boards of the sidewalk, wondering how to break the news to him. Straightforward—
I can’t pay you a hundred dollars—
seemed like the best bet, really. Of course, as soon as he saw the dilapidated house, he’d know.

It
had
been good to be home, though. Despite the cramped quarters, she’d stayed up late helping with the younger kids, and then curled up beside
Abuela
in the bed she used to share with
Abuelo
, and told her everything. Told her all about the cloak and the will and
El Lobo
and Hank. Especially about Hank; about how she’d lied to him, and how he thought that she was wild and impulsive, and how he’d kissed her so wonderfully. And after,
Abuela
had stroked her hair—just like she had when Rojita was a child—and told her that everything would be okay. There was more to the story, Rojita was sure of it…
Abuela
wasn’t telling her something. And as soon as she cleared her conscious with Hank, she’d figure out what it was.

Eleven fifty-nine. Her breath caught in her throat when he stepped through the grand door of the Inn, and out onto the porch. The silver threads at his temple sparkled in the bright sunlight before he shoved his hat on. It was a lovely, early spring day, and most of the snow had melted, so he’d forgone a coat, instead wearing a thick blue flannel over his undershirt. Watching him absent-mindedly roll down the flannel sleeves over those powerful forearms, remembering how it felt to have them pressed against her back, drawing her against him… Rojita swallowed, a little lightheaded. Heat pooled in her stomach, and lower, and she whimpered quietly.

Not so quietly that Hank didn’t hear, turn, and start towards her. She forced herself to suck in a gulp of air, but couldn’t stop her body from betraying her. As he approached, she leaned towards his warmth, her lips already parted to taste him.

Hank had this way of lifting one corner of his lips; not a smile, not a smirk, but definitely teasing. He was looking at her like he knew what she wanted, what she needed. And there, in front of the whole town—
again
—he gave it to her. And she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave it back to him, and when the clock finished striking twelve, they were both more than a little dazed.

Dropping his forehead to her, Hank exhaled. He still managed to smell of wood smoke, and Rojita wanted to burrow into his comforting presence. “Damn, woman. You make me…” He pulled back and swallowed, and she grinned up at him, pleased to know that she’d managed to affect him the same way he was affecting her.

It was a long moment of him staring down at her, before he shook his head slightly. “You said something about lunch?”

And just like that, her good feeling faded. It was time to confess her sins, but how? Just come out and say it:
Hank, I can’t afford to pay you
? Or hint? Or offer an exchange? She was still wracking her brain when he stepped off the porch onto the wooden sidewalk, and pulled her up against him. A gentleman would’ve offered her his arm, but then he wouldn’t’ve kissed her on the Van Winkle Inn’s porch, either. Besides, Rojita loved his strength and his presumption and his
rightness
. Why pretend that she didn’t?

As it was, his nearness had completely driven away her nervousness, and she decided to just be up front about her lie. “Hank, I—”

“This was waiting for me at the desk just now.” He spoke at the same time, and pulled a telegram from his pocket. Taking it, she read:

Hank Cutter, Van Winkle Inn, Everland

Prisoner released this morning. STOP Did not REPEAT did not get on 11am train to Everland but horse is gone from livery. STOP Good luck.

Signed Trey Knighton, Sheriff

“What does this mean?”

“Means
El Lobo
won’t be here by this evening.”

Rojita smiled, and snaked her arm around his back so that they walked, entwined. “That’s good news. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know my family, then.”

He snorted slightly. “Maybe. But it’s bad news ‘cause if he ain’t on the train, we don’t know when or where he’ll show up. I’d figured on settling you in at home, and then confronting him at the train station this afternoon. But if he’s coming in by horse, he could be here tomorrow—or any other time—and we’ll have to guess.” He cursed under his breath, and she pretended not to hear it.

Turning down Perrault Street, she finally said, “You were going to meet him yourself?”

“Well, I sure ain’t taking you with me.”

“Why not? This is my fight. He’s after me. I…I hired you to get me to Everland, and you did. Now that I’m here, you don’t need to protect me.”

He pulled her to a stop, and rested both hands on her hips, pinning her in place. “Honey, you honestly think I’d leave you? Just kiss you like that and leave you to fight off a gunslinger?”

She swallowed, and looked away. Would he do that, once he knew how she’d tricked him? He dropped a kiss to her forehead, and sighed. “Red, I ain’t leaving you. Understand?” There was something in his voice that drew her gaze back to his. A sincerity. A surety. “I’m set in my ways, and I’m ornery, and I sure don’t know what my plan for the future is anymore, but I’d be a fool to walk out on something as good as you.”

Something as good as you
. Her eyes widened as realization dawned. He was saying… he was saying that he
liked
her? She had to blink a few times. Obviously he liked her, he’d kissed her enough times, but he liked her enough to stay in Everland? Why? To protect her? That wasn’t exactly a declaration of his feelings, but it made her breathless to consider.

And it was likely to change, as soon as he saw her home. So she twisted her fingers through his—how’d they manage to be so warm, even without gloves?—and brought the back of his hand to her lips. His
café con leche
eyes softened at the gesture, and he stroked their hands down her cheek. She had to close her eyes to the tenderness in his gaze, and sighed and pulled him towards the orphanage.

But by the time they reached the end of Perrault Street and turned out onto the path that led home, Rojita had worked herself into a panic again. And it hadn’t lessened when they crested the little rise, skirted the copse of fruit trees
Abuelo
had planted decades ago, and saw the house. Hank pulled her to a stop, and she couldn’t blame him.

The structure was… well, “dilapidated” wasn’t the right word, because
Abuelo
had done a good job of keeping everything upright, and Micah had taken up where he’d left off. But the roof leaked every spring, and enough of the porch boards were rotted through that the children we forbidden from playing on it. At least the “Zapato Orphanage” sign out front was cheery and freshly painted; Tom had been put in charge of keeping it that way years ago.

When she stopped in front of the building, Hank pulled his arm from around her waist, and she shivered from more than just the absence of his heat. Not bearing to look at his expression, she stared down at her clasped hands.

“You live in a shoe?” It hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear from him, and her attention snapped back up to her home, trying to understand what he meant.

“Did your grandfather build a house that was shaped like that because he made shoes or because ‘Zapato’ means ‘shoe’?”

Cocking her head, Rojita tried to see what he was talking about. She supposed that, if she squinted, the way the three-story structure with the flimsy roof and the line of cross-paned windows abutted the one-story, slopped shoe-making shop might look a
little
like a boot. One without a heel, maybe? Still, it hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear, and she turned an incredulous look his way.

Should’ve known he’d be smiling. Not his real smile—she still had the memory of that one, though. No, this was his faint, lips-curled-up-at-the-corner smirk that told her he was chuckling at her expense. So she pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes, and tried her hardest to glare. How dare he tease her like this! Especially after she’d worked up the gumption to bring him here, to confess!

He must not have been impressed with her pique, though, because he put his hands on her hips and turned her towards him, just like he’d done in the street earlier. She stared at the blue flannel of his chest, not willing to risk a peek at his expression, for fear of what she’d see. Was he still teasing her? Was he angry that she’d lied?

“Well, Red?” She could hear the smirk in his voice, and she finally lifted her eyes to his. He looked like he was enjoying her discomfort, but knew that was just his way of teasing. “Looks like you haven’t been completely honest with me, have you?”

Well, here it was. So much for agonizing over how she was going to confess her lie to him; he just outright asked her. All she had to do was acknowledge it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to look away from those lovely eyes. And she was, too. Sorry that she’d lied and ruined his trust in her. Sorry that she’d put him in danger with her lie. But not at all sorry that he was standing here with her at this moment.

She couldn’t read anything in his expression any more, and was suddenly terrified that she’d lost him. Terrified that he was going to turn around and leave, disgusted with her for lying to him. She panicked. Didn’t want him to go, not yet, not after he’d said those wonderful things to her, not after he’d kissed her in front of everyone.

She put both of her hands on his chest, not to push him away, but to keep him with her. “I’m sorry!” She said it again, hoping that he’d see her desperation to make him understand. His brows lowered and he glanced down at her hands, and she was sure that he was about to scowl at her presumption.

“I can’t pay you one hundred dollars, Hank.” She could hear her own breath coming in short gasps, but pushed through. “I’m sorry that I lied, I really am.” Gulping, she bit the inside of her cheek, praying for some kind of sign from him. Nothing; his expression was impassive when he met her eyes again. “But I… I can pay you. I don’t want you to think that I don’t pay my debts, and you did get me home, like I asked. I can pay you.” She repeated it, more to reassure herself than him.

“How?” Was it her imagination, or was his voice colder, harder than usual?

She swallowed. “I can…” She had to take a deep breath, and stare at her fingers, where they were wrapping around the fabric of his shirt, kneading and pulling. “You kissed me. I… Surely there’s
something
I could… I could do for you.” She swallowed again and had to close her eyes and continue at a whisper. “Something I could do
to
you. Or you could do to me, I guess, or—“

He cursed, and crushed her to his chest, trapping her hands between them and pressing her head to his shoulder with one hand. She felt him take a shuddering breath, but didn’t know if that meant he planned to take her up on her offer. Something hard pressed against her belly, and her eyes widened as she realized what it was. The knowledge sent heat pooling between her legs, and
that
made her breath catch. She suddenly was quite hopeful that he’d take her up on her offer.

And then she wasn’t thinking at all, because he’d wrapped his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back to bare her lips to his. He was kissing her, and
Dios mio
was it hot! She clutched at his shirt and held on for dear life, desperately trying to show him her willingness to… to repay her debts.

“Why you standing out in the cold? Come in, come in!”