The Invitation (40 page)

When the pretty little shoes were on her feet, she stepped out from behind the rock and looked into the faces of four speechless men.

And her heart soared.

How many thousands of times had she seen Rowena enter a room and the men turn to stone? Every voice had gone silent, and women as well as men had stared. She had even seen large groups of children stop moving at the sight of her beautiful sister.

But never had such a thing happened to Dorie. She could have ridden into a room on a white elephant behind a brass band, and no one would have noticed. At least that was what she'd always thought.

“Do I look all right?” she said in a shy tone of voice she'd heard Rowena use all her life. She, as well as everyone else, had always thought Rowena was modest—as in “Isn't she adorable? She's so beautiful, but she has no idea she is. Just like everyone else, she asks if she looks all right.” At that moment Dorie understood how nice her sister really was. Rowena didn't need to ask how she looked; people's eyes were mirrors, they told her how wonderful she looked. When she asked if she was presentable Rowena was trying to put people at ease so they weren't completely in awe of her beauty. She was letting people believe that she had no idea that she was breathtaking.

So now, for the first time in her life, Dorie was getting to play this very enjoyable game. “Isn't anyone going to say anything?” she asked with all the innocence of a four-year-old in her first party dress. But the difference was that Dorie wasn't four years old.

Cole couldn't move; he just stood there and stared at her. She wasn't beautiful in the way her sister was, but Dorie was, in her way, more arresting. Her hair, released from its bondage and subjected to long hours of wind and sun, floated around her head like a cloud, soft, full, and alluring. Her little heart-shaped face was a combination of innocence and great intelligence. The sparkle in her eyes was not from sunlight but from that prodigious brain that churned day and night. A pretty mouth, small but full-lipped, curved above a determined chin, and below that…

Cole's hands tightened into fists. He was not a possessive man. He'd never owned anything in his life and never wanted to. He'd certainly never regarded another human being as his property. But now Dorie was, well, making him think that what she was showing to these other men was
his
—and she was showing it in public before he got to see it in private.

When he'd first met her, he'd thought she had no figure. A nice bosom, yes, but what he was seeing now was a great deal more than “nice.” She had a long, graceful neck that was made to be swathed in diamonds, then shoulders of perfect shape and slope. Everything poured down to beautiful breasts that mounded exquisitely above the velvet that narrowed into a tiny waist.

If he could have used one word to describe her, it would have been “elegant.” She'd put on a dress that would have made any other woman look like a tart, but Dorie managed to look as though she were about to have tea with the queen. He wasn't sure how she'd done it, but maybe all those books she'd read were reflected in her eyes. Maybe it was the way she carried herself. Maybe it was that she knew she wasn't a hussy so she didn't allow others to see her as one.

On the other hand, maybe all that creamy skin was blinding him so he couldn't think clearly.

“Isn't anyone going to say anything?” Dorie asked, wanting to stand there with the men gaping at her for about a year or two. However, she longed to hear a few words that no man had ever before thrown her way—words like “beautiful,” “exquisite,” and “divine.” Actually, plain ol' “pretty” might have served well for a start.

Cole knew too well what she wanted, and he was damned if he'd give it to her. At least not in front of these slavering men. Hadn't he heard that in some countries men made their women wear veils that covered them from head to toe? The men of that country were very wise.

Within seconds, Cole had removed the blanket from the back of his horse and was trying to drape it about her shoulders.

“Really, Mr. Hunter, it's much too hot for a cape,” Dorie said, sliding away from him while looking innocently over her shoulder.

When the men around them began to chuckle, Cole was sure that if he hadn't wanted to kill them before, he did now.

“Could someone help me mount?” Dorie asked in her best southern belle tone, fluttering her eyelashes. “I think this velvet is just toooo heavy.” She didn't say the words, “too heavy for little ol' me,” but they were there.

Amazingly, considering he had the use of only one arm, Cole managed to swoop her off the ground and slam her into the saddle so hard her teeth jarred. Dorie didn't so much as lose her smile.

Nor did she lose her smile during the thirty minutes it took to ride down to the town, during which time Cole lectured her nonstop. He talked to her “for her own good” about the way she was displaying herself, making a public spectacle of herself. He even said the sun was going to ruin her complexion. He talked to her about the way men were going to think of her. When he said, “What would your father say?” Dorie began to laugh. Never in her life had she inspired jealousy in anyone, and she had to admit that it felt rather nice to have a man like Cole Hunter jealous because other men were looking at her.

“What will the men in town think when they see me?” she asked softly, leaning back against him.

“That you are a woman of the streets,” he answered quickly.

“If
you
saw me, what would you think?” she asked before he could continue assassinating her morals.

Cole started to tell her that he'd think she was for sale, but he couldn't. No matter what Dorie was wearing, there was still a look-but-don't-touch attitude haloing her.

“I would think you were beautiful. I would think you were an angel come to life,” he said softly as he kissed her bare shoulder.

That was more than enough for her. “I love you,” she whispered, meaning the words with all her soul.

Cole paused in kissing her shoulder, but he didn't answer. He couldn't allow himself to say what he felt. A woman as clean and as good as Dorie deserved more in life than an aging gunslinger. She deserved the best there was. And right now he wished he were a man who deserved her.

Cole's mind was taken away from Dorie when Ford rode past them and said, “You know, Hunter, you two are so damned entertainin' I'm gonna hate killin' you if I find you've played me for a fool. I don't like card cheats and I don't like liars.”

As he rode away, Dorie said, “But I'll bet he likes lizards, because his mother must have been one.”

Cole didn't answer her.

D
orie,” Cole said, his lips near her ear, trying his best to ignore the fact that the upper half of her body was nearly bare. “I want you to listen to me and listen well. You understand me?”

She nodded, knowing that he was planning to tell her something awful.

“I found out what they plan to do with us.”

She knew it must be serious or he wouldn't have waited until they were nearly at the town before saying anything to her.

“We're not going to stay in town. It seems that a man who hates Ford”—he stopped to make a sound that said, Is there any other kind?—“an old enemy of his is in town, and Ford doesn't want to see him. I thought we'd have a chance if we were surrounded by other people, but that's not to be. Ford plans to get supplies and some beer and head out into the hills. I think he means to make us tell him where the gold is or we don't leave the hills alive.”

His arm tightened around her waist. “I'm going to try to get Ford to take me into the saloon with him, and while I'm there I'll create a diversion and try to get a gun. When I have the gun I'll come back to the street and steal a horse and ride out south. I want you to stay on the horse, and when you hear the distraction, I want you to ride north. If I don't come out of the saloon or if you hear shots, you're to ride north as hard and as fast as you can. Don't even look back. Understand?”

“Where do we meet?”

He took a breath. “We don't.” When she tried to look back at him he wouldn't let her. “Dorie, we've done what we set out to do. I was able to keep your sister from forcing you to marry Mr. Pepper, but you can see that there can be nothing else between us. I have too many enemies.”

Dorie knew that he was worried about her, and he was choosing to give up everything in life so she could be safe. The town was close now, and she had only a few minutes to make the most important decision of her life. “Do you love me?” she asked.

“That has nothing to do with—”

“Do you love me?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he said, “but what I feel means nothing. It will mean less than nothing if you're dead.”

She turned in the saddle to look at him. “If you could, would you like to live in Latham with me? Help me manage the town?”

Smiling, he kissed her nose. “I'd like nothing better than to have my own bed, my own house, my own…” He looked at her hair, at her lips, at her eyes, knowing he was probably seeing her for the last time. If he didn't get killed within the next hour, he'd ride away one direction and send her off in another. It would be difficult but he would never allow himself to visit her in her peaceful little town. She deserved better than to be hooked for life to an “aging gunslinger.”

“Dorie,” he said, and put his hand on the back of her neck to turn her face to kiss him. A good-bye kiss.

But she turned away and wouldn't kiss him.

In spite of his good intentions, anger ran through Cole. Maybe she wouldn't kiss him because she was seeing him as he truly was: the one who had gotten them into this mess. Maybe the mention of her precious town had made her realize what he was and who she was.

When they entered the town, Cole's jaw was set into a hard line. He would do what he could to get her out unharmed and that would be all that was between them.

 

Dorie refused to kiss Cole because she felt as though it would be saying good-bye. And she was not going to say good-bye after she'd spent a lifetime trying to find a man like him. She loved him and she meant to keep him. Alive.

Of course she had no idea how to go about preventing him from getting shot on her account, but she hoped she'd think of something.

The first thing that went wrong with Cole's hastily concocted plan was that Ford said they both had to go into the saloon with him. She knew Cole wanted one of Ford's men to stay outside and guard her, but Ford didn't want the group to be separated. In this he was wise, but Dorie doubted the wisdom of stopping for a bottle or two of whiskey while trying to hold a man like Cole Hunter prisoner.

Racing through her head was the fact that Cole planned to create a diversion. What did that mean to a man with his background? Perhaps he'd start a fight, and in the ensuing tussle Dorie was supposed to run out the door, jump on a horse, and be long gone by the time the men realized she was missing. Was that what he thought of her as a person? She'd told him she loved him. Did he think she loved him only when things were going well and that when they got bad she'd run away?

For a moment after they entered the saloon, Dorie was too sun-dazzled to see much, but as her eyes cleared, she saw even less. There seemed to be a lot of smoke, and judging by the smell, at least as much beer had been spilled as had been drunk. There were men everywhere, but they weren't men who looked as though they attended church on Sundays. They held their cards or their drinks while looking about the room as though every person was an enemy.

There were some women too, slouched about the room, their eyes dead. Dorie had heard of such “bad” women and had always thought they were dangerous and fatally alluring. She thought such women must know a great deal about the secrets of men, but the women in this saloon just looked dirty and tired. She had a feeling that what they'd like best in all the world was a tub full of hot water, a bar of scented soap, and a good night's sleep.

All in all, the saloon was a disappointment to her. Where was the danger and the intrigue? This place was just full of tired, bored-looking people.

She was so absorbed in her observations that she almost failed to see Cole pretend to trip while his hand reached out for a gun that was snugly tucked away in one card player's holster. All the man had to do was shift his position and Cole would be caught stealing. Dorie didn't think the man frowning over his cards looked as though he'd be forgiving if he caught Cole.

Dorie didn't think about what she was doing before she did it. All she could think of were the words “create a diversion.” Cole needed to make sure that the attention of the people of the saloon, Ford and his men included, was focused on something other than him so he could steal a gun. He needed the people in the saloon less alert than they were.

One minute Dorie was being shoved along in front of the fattest of Ford's men and the next she'd opened her mouth and begun to sing. She'd sung in church, but that was all, so she didn't know too many songs that were suitable for a saloon. But she did know a little tune about a singing bird, and she thought maybe the men would like that.

On second thought she doubted if anyone in the saloon was a connoisseur of music and was very particular about what he heard.

When the entire roomful of people came to a halt to stare at her, a few notes choked in her throat. Unlike the choirmaster in Latham, no one complained. Instead, they all seemed to be looking at the top of her dress—or rather at the missing top of her dress.

Dorie put her hand to her throat and continued to sing.

“Dorie!” Cole hissed. He took a step toward her, but she eluded him, hoping he wouldn't spend too much precious time trying to get her to do what he wanted her to do. She'd had her fill of doing what men wanted her to do. Doing what men wanted a woman to do made for a very dull life, and besides, she had learned something in the last few weeks. She had obeyed her father, and he had therefore imprisoned her and demanded that she do even more. Rowena had disobeyed their father and had been given love and freedom. Now Dorie had disobeyed Mr. Hunter at every turn and, by golly, he was in love with her. When she got out of this mess she was going to think about this whole philosophy some more, even though already she could tell that it made no sense. Meanwhile, she planned to disobey Mr. Hunter so much that he'd probably end up kissing her feet—or anywhere he wanted to kiss, she thought.

Since all eyes were on her, Dorie walked away from Ford's men and no one tried to hold her back. After three choruses of the bird song, she went into a little tune she'd heard the grocer's wife singing.

Within minutes, she knew she was losing her audience, but so far, Cole had done nothing but stand in one spot and glower at her. He wasn't any nearer to getting a gun or horses or anything else. And it seemed that the men in the saloon were once again more interested in their cards than in yet another half-robed woman singing. When men killed other men on a daily basis, it took a lot to hold their interest.

Dorie didn't think about what she was doing; she just did it. Her one objective was to get the men to focus their attention on her and away from Cole. One minute she was standing at the back of the saloon singing and the next she had climbed up on a stool, stepped onto the bar, and begun to walk down the long, scarred mahogany expanse, now singing much louder. Looking out over the audience she could see that Cole had finally come to his senses and was searching for a gun.

Meanwhile Dorie had begun to enjoy herself. Maybe it was just that she'd been confined to too small a space for too long. Maybe it was years of sitting unnoticed while her older sister got the attention of every man. Or maybe it was just nice to have men look at her. She didn't know what it was, but she began to have fun.

First she began to repeat her song about the bird, but this time she sang it as though the little bird tweeting away in its tree had a different meaning than originally intended. And then she saw Cole reach toward a table for a few of the coins from a pile and one of the players was about to see him. To keep the man's interest on her, Dorie lifted her skirt to reveal her ankle.

The response of the men was so wholehearted that she pulled her skirt a little higher. What a fuss, she thought, over something as ordinary as an ankle.

Someone began playing a piano, and in spite of the fact that a few keys had been shot away, the sound it made was rather festive. Dorie became more interested in what she was beginning to think of as a dance. She moved to the far end of the bar, but she did not just walk; she strutted, her hips swaying, as she'd seen Rowena do many times. When Dorie got to the far end, she looked at the men in the saloon over her left shoulder. Then, slowly, she slipped that shoulder strap down a little farther on her arm.

When Cole left the saloon she was so afraid Ford would see that he had gone that she began to unfasten the front of her dress one hook at a time, moving very slowly, so slowly that the men began to bang their beer mugs on the dirty old tables.

She wasn't really worried until she got down to the last hook and eye and still there was no sign of Cole. He wouldn't leave her to the mercy of these barbarians, would he? He wasn't so disgusted with her that he never wanted to see her again, was he? He
would
come back for her, wouldn't he?

Slowly the dress slipped off her hips into a puddle on the bar and immediately one of the women grabbed it; Dorie assumed she was Ellie, the owner of the gown. That left Dorie with no dress, just her underwear.

Petticoats came next, and still there was no sign of Cole. Corset cover came off and was grabbed instantly by the woman standing at her feet, as though she were some odd lady's maid.

“Could I have something to drink?” Dorie mumbled to the man behind the bar, but he paid no attention to her words. His eyes, like those of all the men in the saloon, were on what was coming off next. What had she been hoping for anyway? Buttermilk?

She was fumbling with the front latches of the corset when Cole, atop a big chestnut horse, three men behind him, stormed through the saloon doors. Never in her life had she been so glad to see anyone.

There was general chaos within seconds, caused by the entry of four men on horseback into the saloon—it was Dorie's opinion that the animals could only improve the smell of the place—and also caused by the disappointment of the men at the interruption of Dorie's performance.

Dorie didn't have to guess at Cole's mood. After riding up to the bar, amid a fistfight with several guns going off, he didn't look into her face, but grabbed her about the waist, slung her face down across his horse, and rode out of the saloon.