Romancing the West (13 page)

“A poet?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.”

“You mentioned Boris over at the Moonstruck frowns upon men who are, how did you put it? Delicate. I’m not saying it was him. I’m saying there are plenty of motives.”

She had a hard time thinking of Pinkerton as delicate now. She’d seen him ably handle what he perceived as dangerous situations twice today. Was it just yesterday he’d tripped over his own feet? “Boris would rib you. He wouldn’t shoot you. Heaven is riddled with conservatives and hypocrites, but not murderers.”

“What about blackmailers?”

She averted her face, not wanting him to see her distressed expression. The thought of her
Savior
made her anxious.

He reached over and relieved her of the weighty picnic basket without breaking stride. “We need to talk, Emily.”

She made the mistake of looking at him. Shirt torn and stained red, forehead and arm bleeding. The Pinkerton of yesterday would have fainted dead away. Then she thought back on her first impression of him--
Warrior of God.
Someone who fought against evil. Or evildoers. Although he hadn’t recited a lick of poetry since his arrival, he most definitely had a silver tongue. His obsession with her blackmailer spoke volumes. She wanted him to be an artist, but his true passion was in detective work. She could see that now. Why was he only an intuitive detective and not a working detective? Nothing worse than being unable to pursue your real passion. She knew that all too well.

Emily felt a sudden and fierce connection with the man as surely as if they were spiritually mated. She didn’t know what to do with the feeling, overwhelming as it was. She swallowed a lump of emotion and looked away. “I need to get you to a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“If you let Doc Kellogg examine you, I’ll talk.”

“Deal.”

Territory of Arizona

“This was more than I bargained for.”

“Was I too rough?”

“You were everything I’ve dreamed of and more. Thank you, Athens.”

“For ravishing you like a common trollop?”

“Honestly? Yes.”

They lay side by side on her tapestry carpet, one of the few things she’d had shipped over from Kent, staring up at the ceiling, and trying to catch their breath. They never made it to the bedroom. They’d torn off each other’s clothes and made torrid love in her small, but comfortable parlor. He’d pinned her against the wall and done unspeakably intimate things to her naked body. She’d felt no shock or embarrassment, just wonderment and intense pleasure. Her knees gave way upon reaching orgasm and they ended up writhing around on the carpet like two animals in heat. When he entered her, she’d climaxed again, which only heightened his excitement. The man pleasured her in countless ways before finding his own release.

Her muscles ached and her skin glistened from exertion. Somewhat self-conscious now that the fog of passion had dispersed, she reached for the calico quilt on the sofa and covered herself.

Still splendidly nude, Athens rolled onto his side and gently brushed her hair off of her damp face. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. Just thoughtful. I never knew it could be like this. Sex,” she clarified, cheeks flushing. “Although I had hoped.” She turned her head and smiled at him. “You are an imaginative and energetic lover.”

“You inspire me.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I’m not being kind. I’m being truthful.”

“May I speak frankly?”

“Haven’t you been doing that since the moment we met? It’s very attractive, by the way.” “Few men would agree.”

“Why do I get the feeling your husband was a controlling man?”

She dragged her fingers through his fine, fair hair. “Handsome and perceptive.”

“Beautiful and interesting.” Propped on one elbow, he traced his fingers over her arm. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve never made love in the afternoon. I’ve never done most of what we just did. Charles was conservative. Cold and conservative, and vaguely disinterested. I feared I was . . .”

“Frigid?”

“Mmm.”

“Far from it, honey.”

The endearment made her heart flutter. Her husband had been a practical man, sparing with his compliments and affection. Athens Garrett was giving and warm. Far from the dangerous gunslinger she fantasized about, but equally exciting.

“So tell me,” he said with a cocky grin. “Was I bloody good?”

She laughed. “Bloody hell, yes.”

His green eyes sparkled. “You’re an intriguing puzzle, Kaila Dillingham. You’re obviously well-born, cultured. Yet here you are.”

“In Phoenix running a bakery?”

“With me. Making love on a carpet.”

He looked so befuddled. So deliciously handsome. A gentleman with a wild streak. She longed to ask him if he was indeed brother to the famous Garretts featured in I. M. Wilde’s adventurous tales. Zoe had mentioned two uncles in a dime novel. She’d put two and two together last night while reading
Showdown in Sintown.
She was terribly intrigued, but feared if she asked he’d think she was merely fascinated by his association with pulp heroes, Rome and Boston Garrett. She knew the wretched feeling of people wanting to get close to you for ulterior motives only too well.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, English? What are you about?”

Another endearment. Another flutter. “Would you like me to clear up the mystery?”
Maybe if she opened up first
. . .

“I would.”

On second thought
. . . “Do you think it’s wise? Perhaps the less we know about one another, the better. It would make this, us, less personal.”

“Is that what you want?”

“From what you said before, it is how it has to be.”

His expression changed from playful to somber. “Unfortunately. I’m afraid--”

She pressed her fingertips to his lips. “I don’t want to know. Not now. I don’t want anything to spoil this moment. This memory.”

He furrowed his brow. “When I walk out that door, are you going to be able to act like this never happened?”

“Absolutely. I’ve had years of training in the art of denial.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

She knew next to nothing about this man, but sensed he wrestled with his morals and actions daily. She pushed herself up and kissed him softly. “You are a tormented man.”

“We all have our demons.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for taming mine. At least for awhile.”

He kissed her slow, deep, leaving her breathless and dizzy with yearning as he rolled away and gathered his clothes.

“What did you mean when you said this was more than you’d bargained for?” he asked while fastening his trousers and shirt.

She leaned back against the sofa, the quilt clutched to her aching chest. “I thought one divinely passionate encounter would satisfy me for a lifetime. Indeed, it only makes me hunger for more.”

He bent over, framed her face in his hands. “Your frankness is going to be my undoing, English.” He brushed his lips across hers, groaned. With a reluctant farewell, he nabbed his jacket and made use of her back door.

“You are fortunate, Mr. Garrett,” she whispered in his wake, “as I fear I am already undone.”

Napa Valley, California

Seth wrestled with whether or not to report the shooting incident to the sheriff. It was the right thing to do, but it might focus unwanted attention on Emily. On their way to the livery, he spotted the badge-wearing lard-ass snoring away on the jailhouse porch. That cinched it. No report. The last thing he needed was an inept lawman mucking up his investigation.

After stabling Guinevere, they visited Doc Kellogg. The good doctor wasn’t inept, but he did rush the examination. He never looked Seth in the eye as he abruptly applied a smelly poultice and bandages and issued a clean bill of health. He had to know it was a gunshot wound, yet he didn’t comment or question. Maybe he was being discreet. Maybe he suspected foul play and chose not to get involved. Maybe he didn’t want to help a Nancy boy.

Eager to leave, Seth settled the bill, mindful that Emily lingered after Kellogg showed him the door. Seth
hovered
just outside the office within earshot.

“Are you sure he’s okay?” she asked in a soft voice.

“For now. You best keep your eye on Percy there,” the doctor said with a snort. “I swan, that man’s accident prone.”

“His name is Phineas, and it wasn’t his fault.”

“You would say that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re always making excuses for other folks’ . . . eccentricities. Relax, Emily. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Speaking of odd sticks, how’s Mrs. Dunlap?”

“Fit as a fiddle. Thank you for asking.”

She didn’t seem all that pleased to Seth. She sounded pissed. He bit back a smile and eased away from the door when he heard her snap, “Thank you for your time, doctor, and good day.”

He was shrugging into his frock coat and wearing his best poker face when she stepped out onto the boardwalk. While Mrs. Dunlap had cleaned his wounds with peroxide, Emily had changed into a fresh shirt and traded her suspenders and britches for a brown skirt and a wide black belt. Her effort to conform, he supposed, since they were coming into town, only she still looked the left side of conventional. Maybe it was the way she tied off her braids with leather thongs in stead of satin ribbons. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but her style was unique. She was unique.

“Honest to gosh,” she huffed, her hands balled into tight fists.

“Anything wrong?”

She marched up to him, red-faced and harried. Damn, she was pretty when her back was up. Her blue eyes flashed behind her oval lenses. “You’ve been around.”

His lip twitched. “Excuse me?”

“Paris said you travel the theater circuit.”

“Ah.”

“So you’ve been around. Various cities, regions.”

“Sure.” That was true enough. He’d ridden with the Texas and Arizona Rangers before signing on as Sheriff of Pinal County. His travels, up until now, had been limited to the Southwest and Mexico, but that covered an almighty chunk of territory.

“Are people like this everywhere?”

“Like what?”

“Intolerant. Judgmental. Mean-spirited. Small-minded!”

With every word her voice boomed louder. She looked madder than a rained-on rooster and he didn’t want her crowing in public. The sharp-clawed she-cat who’d ridiculed her at yesterday’s social club meeting had poked her head out of the mercantile. Not that Emily noticed. She was in the midst of a red-hazed rant. Others had stopped in their tracks to view the show, not that it would be long-running. Seth pressed his hand to the small of Emily’s back, guiding her quickly down the boards and across the street as she continued to spout mankind’s most negative qualities.

“Got a key to the library, Em?”

“What? Of course. Why?”

“Let’s take this inside.”

“Do you know how many churches are in this town?” she snapped as she jammed the key into the front door and let them in. “Methodist, Methodist Episcopal, Catholic, Presbyterian. Every Sabbath folks put on their go-to-meeting clothes and squeeze into pews to listen to sermons on how to live a Godly life. Meanwhile, the other six days of the week they drink, covet, lie, mock, and cheat on their spouses!”

He closed the door behind them, leaned against it with his arms folded and watched as she paced and lamented under her breath. “Surely, you’re not referring to every citizen in Heaven.” The name of the town, given their discussion, struck him as ironic.