Wild Lilly (3 page)

Skin tanned a dark brown set off his soft blue eyes, the color of washed-out denim. A strong jaw and high cheekbones gave his face a masculine charm. The rough stubble of dark hair shadowed his jaw as he stared at the bearded man without fear. She tensed, getting ready to try and slink past the men while they were distracted. Her heart pounded so hard she heard it in her ears.

***

Paul McGregor glared down the alley at Hank and his no-account buddies. He’d been passing down the road when he noticed them cornering someone in the alley. He couldn’t make out who it was, but the glimpse of pink between their bodies and the muffled, high-pitched scream let him know it was a female.

“What the hell are you doing,” he asked, keeping the gun trained on Hank.

“We’re just havin’ a bit of fun with the new soiled dove,” he answered, in an overblown aw-shucks voice. His mean little eyes watched the gun in Paul’s hand. Hank, a trail boss over at Lee Krisp’s cattle ranch, was an all-around bully of a man with a mean temper, much like his boss.

“She doesn’t look like she’s having much fun. Why don’t you boys let her come over here by me?” He never took his eyes off the other man.

The trio of grimy ranch hands parted to reveal a stunning creature. His breath caught in his throat as the morning sun shone off her. A pink bonnet with little blue flowers and silver ribbon covered hair the pale gold of winter wheat. The pretty hat graced a face as delicate and pure as a snowflake. Big, emerald-green eyes stared at him as her perfect lips curled into an O of shock. A pale pink dress with a cream shawl covered her slender body.

The front of her dress was torn and she struggled to hold up the top of her corset. The tips of her nipples, pinker than the velvet, peeked out and distracted him. Feeling like a lecher, he forced his gaze away from her tits and back to the scene before him. He really should tell her that the best set of breasts he’d seen in a long time were struggling to get out of that tight bodice.

The remains of a ruined parasol and a scrap of fabric lay at her feet. She started to bend down to retrieve her belongings when her top slipped down a little more and she noticed him staring at her. He cleared his throat and made a hitching motion with a significant look at her chest. Her eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed as she tugged at the corset. The spell was broken when Hank’s hand made a sudden move toward his gun belt.

“Now, don’t get jumpy. Let the little lady come here, and we’ll all go on our ways without me having to talk to the sheriff about this. I’m sure your boss doesn’t want any more trouble from the law.”

His lips turned down, frowning, as his gun hand twitched beside the pearl handle. Paul heard a wagon roll by behind him and the ruffian glowered past him at the increasingly busy street.

“Come on, Hank,” one of his followers begged in a squeaky voice. “We don’t want no more trouble.”

Hank turned to the woman, giving her a big false smile as he did a mocking bow. “It sure was a pleasure meetin’ you, miss. You enjoy yer time wit’ the mayor.”

Paul moved to her side at the back of the alley, keeping his gun trained on the men as they left.

Her lips thinned in anger. Trying to hold up the top of her dress, she grabbed her ruined parasol from the dirt. He noticed a slight tremor in her hands and gave her a moment to collect herself. She took a deep breath and let it out through her nose before looking at him.

Paul turned to her and slipped his gun back into its holster, trying not to stare. She was almost as tall as he was, and her perfume was sweet and fresh like honeysuckles. Up close, he noticed her eyes weren’t a solid green. Gold and amber flecked the deep emerald like gold binding a jewel. A small scar marred her chin and she had a spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

From his height, he could see down her torn bodice, and as she took a deep breath more of the flushed skin of her nipples escaped. He actually held his breath and prayed for the fabric to drop just another inch. As he watched, the very tips of her nipples peeked out and they tightened beneath his stare. They looked like pink gumdrops and his mouth watered to taste them. Behind the stiff fly of his jeans, his cock hardened as he imagined what it would feel like to roll those plump tips over his tongue.

She was heart-stopping. He had to find out what saloon she worked at.

“Thank you, sir. I would have been in dire trouble if not for your brave actions.” She shook out the dirty fabric, trying to get the muck from the alley off of it.

She gazed at him, apparently unaware of her exposed chest. Her accent was cultured and her voice musical. He wondered how an East Coast socialite became a whore. His eyes followed the curve of her neck and her pert little nipples begged for his attention.

“You’re welcome, miss. I don’t know what saloon you’re working at, but you might want to ask one of the bouncers to walk you down the street if you wish to go shopping.” His mind filled with thoughts of pulling her against his body and nuzzling her cheeks. Her skin was so smooth, and those full lips begged for long, slow kisses.

His eyes darted down to her nipples again and she tugged the top back up with a furious glare before slinging the torn and stained shawl over her shoulders with a grimace. It didn’t do much to hide her bosom and the filth seemed to call attention the creaminess of her skin. Maybe he could interest her in becoming his mistress. The vision of those long legs waiting at home for him every night made him bite back a growl. She would belong only to him, waiting ready in his bed, the golden curls that guarded her pussy damp with her honey.

A pang of guilt made him twitch at the thought of putting aside his current gal, Estrella, but her temper and jealousy were quickly outweighing her charms in bed.

The blonde stiffened, her upper lip lifting in a sneer that made her cute freckled nose crinkle. “As I told those men, I am not working at any saloon! I’m to meet the mayor at eight thirty. I decided to do some shopping beforehand.”

He gave her a condescending smile. Her performance as an offended lady of quality was perfect. “You don’t have to lie to me—it’s all right. I won’t judge you for what you have to do to survive. If you’re new in town, I can introduce you to the owner of the Gilded Rose. You’ll have to sing or dance for your supper, but you won’t have to sell your favors....” He dipped his voice to a bass purr. “Unless you want to.”

He had about two seconds to register her shocked expression before a small, gloved fist made contact with his jaw and knocked him out of his daydreaming. She packed a punch any of his brothers would envy.

“How dare you!” she yelled into his face.

He rubbed his aching jaw, checking for loose teeth. She might look like a little bit of nothing, but she hit like a mule. Even the sting of her punch wasn’t enough to get rid of the erection straining against his jeans.

“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?” As he roared back at her, he became aware of a group of men, including the sheriff and portly mayor, making their way toward them with grim expressions. “Here comes the sheriff. If you can calm down, I’ll try to keep you out of jail. He don’t take kindly to dance-hall girls creating a ruckus.”

Before she could say anything else, the mayor came up, a red-faced and sweaty mess. “Oh my goodness, Miss Brooks, what on earth is going on?” His eyes darted to her chest and she yanked the remains of the dress back up. She pulled her shawl up for good measure, despite the fact that it smelled like it had landed in some horse shit.

Paul felt his stomach clench. The mayor did know this woman. This lovely creature he had called a prostitute two—or was it three—times? He felt his mouth drop as he stood there like a slack-jawed schoolboy.

“This...this...this...turkey-brain thinks I’m a dance-hall girl!” She yelled in a shrill voice, making all the men wince at her tone.

The mayor and sheriff turned to him. “Mr. McGregor, what happened?”

Ignoring the uncomplimentary sputtering of Miss Brooks, he rubbed his jaw. “Hank and his boys were try’n to have some fun with Miss Brooks. She was wandering around the saloon district look’n like that.” He ignored her furious glower as she tugged at her shawl. “They thought she was a new whor—dance-hall girl.”

Paul felt the sting from the little green daggers of ice that flew from her eyes. “My apologies, Miss Brooks. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He tipped his hat toward her. She was delicious in her anger and his need to obtain her increased, battling with the bone-deep respect for proper ladies that his mother instilled in him. Women of any kind were valued on the frontier, but a lady was a special prize that every man hoped to have someday. They were treated with the utmost respect. Though Paul wondered how much of a lady she could be if she knew how to throw a punch like that.

Before she could say anything, the mayor took her by the arm and talked in the same soothing tone that Paul had often heard the man use on his high-strung wife. Miss Brooks glanced back once, over her shoulder at him, with a glare and a sniff. Her sweet little backside sashayed down the street as they marched back to the Mayor’s office.

Sheriff Manchan let out a low whistle. “You, my hombre, really know how to stick your foot in your mouth. That’s the new schoolmarm. And your neighbor, the heiress of the Brooks estate.”

Paul groaned and smacked his hat against his thigh in frustration. “How was I to know who she was? Damn it, I needed to start on the right foot with that woman. I need her to sell me all that grazing land she’s sitting on.” Gritting his teeth, he began to plan. Teacher or not, she was still a spoiled socialite who had no idea of the real world. It shouldn’t be that hard to twist her to his will.

Sheriff Manchan sucked his teeth. “Well, I might not know much about women, but I’m pretty sure calling one a whore five minutes after meeting her might make her hold a bit of a grudge. Right pretty little thing, too.”

Paul kicked at the dirt and willed his mind to focus on Miss Brooks’ land, not her soft skin and beautiful eyes. “I need a way back into her good graces.” He jammed his hat back on his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be out of town for the rest of the day. Sheriff, can you keep an eye on Miss Brooks? I don’t like her being alone out at that cabin. Not with Hank and his friends interested in her.”

Sheriff Manchan gave him an appraising glance. “Will do. Though I don’t think he’ll be much of a problem. Lee Krisp wants that land just as bad as you do, and he ain’t afraid to fight dirty.”

“All the more reason to keep an eye on her.” His hands tightened on his gun belt. She didn’t know it yet, but that woman and her land belonged to him.

Chapter Three

One Man’s Castle is Another Woman’s Nightmare

The smell of musty air and food gone to rot wafted out the front door of the log cabin. Lilly stood on the edge of the doorway in shock. What she could discern through the dim light of the shuttered windows was even more discouraging than the smell.

Behind her, the dark-haired porter from the train station began to cough. From the odor, she assumed.

“You sure you want to go in there, miss?” He peered over her shoulder, his wide mustache almost touching his ears.

She squared her shoulders. “Of course I do. This is my home now.”

She wished the end of that statement hadn’t sounded so stunned. From the outside, the log cabin was everything she’d dreamed it would be. Two stories, with a roomy loft and pine-green shutters. A wide porch wrapped around the back, affording a marvelous view of the west side of Willow Creek.

A swing hung from the beam of the porch, and morning glories clung to the rails in bursts of purple and blue. Nearby was a weathered barn, big enough for four horses and a carriage. The barn and adjoining corral would need some minor work. Mature walnut trees surrounded the house, and she remembered her Uncle Jackson writing about planting them and trying to keep the wildlife from nibbling the saplings down to sticks.

Lilly stepped inside, almost tripping over a pair of old boots that lay on the floor. In the kitchen, mold-covered dishes filled a grimy sink. Dust and cobwebs covered every surface of the cabin. Suddenly, all she wanted to do for the next year was to sit on the porch and watch the creek flow.

She breathed deeply and tugged off her gloves. Her lips curled into a disgusted scowl as she brushed the cobwebs away and wrenched open a window next to the stone fireplace. Sunlight streamed into the room, lighting up the darkened corners, as well as the silver specks of dust floating in the stale air. She glanced at the furniture. There was no evidence mice or rats had gotten to it.

Despite the filth, she couldn’t help but grin as she continued to evaluate the room. She had read about the cabin in Uncle Jacksons’s letters. There, over the fireplace, hung his gun rack with a rifle still in it. It was the same rifle he’d used to shoot a bat, and left a large hole in the wall. She spotted the rickety bookcase he’d decided to build himself, and his comfortable leather armchair next to it. The cabin was furnished for comfort and relaxation, not to impress. A chandelier made of deer horns and an ashtray made of a bear’s foot were clear reminders of Uncle Jackson’s eclectic personality.

“Leave the trunks in this room please,” Lilly ordered as she gave the porter a tip.

He touched his cap. “Thank you kindly, ma’am. If I may be so bold, you look like you could use a bit of help with gettin’ the barn ready.”