His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2) (24 page)

Irritating man.
She turned her shoulder. She knew he disapproved of her, but did he have to telegraph his feelings to the entire county?

"I'm sure you're mistaken," she told Chance firmly.

"Do you want me to be?"

"Well, no, it's just that..." She fingered her empty jar and tried to ignore a pang of longing. "Michael has been very clear about his intentions. He's my neighbor, nothing more."

Amusement punctured Chance's preferred armor: indifference.

"I usually make a point not to tell a lady she's wrong. But in this case, I figure you won't mind. Besides. You've always been nice to me."

"I have?"

"You don't think so?"

An unaccountable shyness washed over her. She couldn't remember treating Chance differently from any of the other men who came into the store. Then again, most women crossed the street, refusing to share a sidewalk with him. Did Chance receive so little kindness in Blue Thunder that mere courtesy seemed remarkable?

"I know what it's like to be an outsider," she said quietly.

A faint grimace marred his features. It was a glimpse into his private pain, and it surprised her.

"Reckon you would," he said after a moment, "what with the way folks treated you in Silverton."

She sucked in her breath. "You... know about that?"

His lips twisted faintly.

"You never mentioned it before," she added uneasily.

"Don't like to talk about it much," he admitted. "I'm trying to put Colorado behind me, too." Knowing eyes, discerning eyes, touched hers. "Fact is, I was locked up in the county jail, waiting to stand trial, about the same time your pa got sick. The reason I know about him is the marshal tossed a couple of rowdies into the cell next to mine. After they slept off their rotgut, they got to scheming. Said they could make a heap of drinking money once they got free if they told that grieving Mallory girl her pa owed them money for testifying to the crowd.

"I always reckoned," he added softly, "you'd want to know about that."

Eden's eyes brimmed. That he was willing to expose his own sins to exonerate her father touched her deeply. "Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, gazing once more into the crowd, his coarse, coal-black hair rising on a puff of wind.

As he gave her the space to compose herself, she thought of Papa's heart tonic, and excitement kindled in her chest. Chance's tale could mean her father's successes had been valid. Perhaps the elixir would even help Claudia, despite her advanced years. The trouble was, how could she convince her aunt to try it?

Eden ventured another glance, this one hopeful, at Michael. He hadn't taken his eyes off her, or maybe Chance was the one he was really glaring at. It was hard to tell.

"Want to try an experiment?" Chance drawled.

She started, realizing he was watching Michael, too.

"An experiment?" she repeated uncertainly.

Dimples carved Chance's cheeks. He turned his head her way. "Lean over the counter, closer to me."

A vague suspicion snaked through her mind. "Why?"

"Just do it."

"Chance, I'm not sure..."

Devilry glimmered in the stare that captured hers. "You want Jones or don't you?"

Suspicion turned to understanding, and her heart tripped. She tried to look at Michael.

"No," he murmured. "Look at me. That's it." He gave her a smile that would have melted Lucifer's heart. "Now then. Smile. Like you mean it."

His instructions, so matter-of-fact, were at odds with his expression: provocative, tantalizing. She couldn't help but wonder which was playacting and which was real. Was he genuinely attracted to her?

"Good. Now shimmy out here a bit."

Her pulse quickened. "Are you going to kiss me?"

"If that's what it takes. You game?"

She drew a long, tremulous breath. She didn't like the idea of trying to make Michael jealous, but he wasn't likely to care, so she couldn't bring herself to regard it as much of a crime—especially after Chance had gone out of his way to give her peace of mind.

She nodded her consent. "I don't understand," she whispered, feeling more than a little traitorous. "Why are you doing this?"

"I've got my reasons." He turned his body to face hers, and her breath caught in her throat. He was broader than she'd first thought. Broader, taller, and more formidable.

"Now," he murmured, his lashes fanning lower, "I'm going to come closer." He tossed aside his matchstick, and her pulse leaped. His lithe sinews hinted of a restrained strength that made her stomach flutter. "Steady." The corner of his mouth curved. "I'm going to touch your cheek." She caught a whiff of leather and woodsmoke as a dark hand, calloused but gentle, tilted her face up to his. She swallowed as his thumb brushed her chin. "You're a beautiful woman, Eden," he said wistfully. "Jones is a damned fool to—"

"McCoy!"

Chance smirked. He barely had time to raise his head before two hundred pounds of muscle and menace grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him backward. Chance recovered his balance with the grace of a puma, while Michael, heedless of the younger man's sixshooter, planted himself like a grizzly bear between Chance and Eden.

"Stay away from her," Michael growled.

Chance feigned indignation, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Now see here, Doc. I don't know what you're getting so riled about. I paid my dollar. Paid three dollars, to be exact. The lady owes me three kisses."

"Your money's no good here."

"Oh, I get it," Chance said amicably. "Don't worry. Those silver dollars are the real McCoy—no pun intended. Got them straight from the sawmill for a day's worth of work."

Michael swept up the coins and flung them at Chance's boots. "No orphan in this county is in dire enough straits to take charity from the likes of you."

"Michael!" Eden gasped. "That is entirely uncalled for."

"Well now." Chance arched an onyx brow. "I think my feelings are hurt. But I hear Miss Eden's cherry pie's the best medicine a man can buy. 'Specially for Cupid cramps." He gave her a naughty grin. "Which one of those picnic lunches did you say was yours again, hon?"

"
Miss Mallory"'
—Michael emphasized the formality—"and her picnic lunch are spoken for. By me. Now be about your business, McCoy."

"Is that a fact?" Chance stooped, picking his coins out of the grass. "Reckon you've got some competition then, Doc. Good thing I saved up two months' worth of wages, eh?" Pocketing the silver, he tipped his hat, giving her a furtive wink. "See ya at the auction block, Doc."

Hooking his thumbs over his gunbelt, Chance sauntered away, nearly colliding with Sera, who'd come racing up behind her brother, Sheriff Truitt huffing in her wake. Chance exchanged a few terse words with the lawman, while Sera, turning red with guilt—or perhaps it was triumph—hurried out of Chance's path.

Eden, meanwhile, was so furious, she was shaking. She rounded on Michael, who was glaring like a hanging judge after the younger man. "How dare you?" she sputtered. "How
dare
you come over here and order my customers around?"

He turned slowly. The full force of sapphire steel clashed with her ire; she felt the vibration all the way to her toes. Still, she refused to be cowed by his ever-ready scowl.

"You had no right to banish Chance from the booth," she said. "He paid his money, just like everyone else."

"Eden, honey," Sera interceded anxiously, "you don't know what you're saying."

"I most certainly do! Your brother is a common bully. What's more, he has the manners of a boor!"

A disturbing gleam kindled in Michael's eyes. She suspected if she'd been less angry, she would have considered it a warning. Instead, she proceeded to seal her own doom.

"I shall kiss any man I please, Michael Jones. And I shall picnic with whomever I please too! Don't you dare tell another beau I'm spoken for, least of ail by you!"

"Are you finished?" he demanded in a low, fierce undertone.

She hiked her chin, hating that the traitorous thing quivered. "For now."

"Good."

He turned on his heel and strode away.

She gaped. Then she choked. How dare the arrogant cuss turn his back on her and walk off without so much as a grunt in apology? She stomped her foot, wishing she could satisfy her outrage in a more visceral way like punching him in the gut.

"Eden..." Sera twisted her hands. "You shouldn't have said all those things. Michael did the right thing."

"I can't believe you're condoning his behavior!"

Sera fidgeted. "You just can't trust Chance," she said, although she didn't sound entirely convinced. "I know he seems nice sometimes. But you can't let that fool you. He's not safe to be around."

"Sera, really. Is that more gossip from Bonnie and the Ladies Aid Society?"

"No, I..." Sera shook herself. "It was—
you
know"—she lowered her voice—"one of the visions I told you about," she finished in a rush. "Michael says I shouldn't speak of such things."

"Michael's not here."

"I know, but..." She bit her lip. "Well, I could have been mistaken. I mean, the things I see don't always make sense. Still, Kit said Chance used to be married. And that his wife ran off with some fella named Hatfield. In my vision, I saw Chance ride after them and break every bone in the Virginian's body. Hatfield died from complications. Chance fled to Colorado. If the Hatfield family gets wind that Chance is back in Kentucky, they'll come gunning for him."

Eden's gut clenched. Chance had as much as admitted he was an outlaw. She'd even thought him a tad shy of frightening. But that was before she'd glimpsed his private pain.

"If Chance is that dangerous to be around, why is Kit keeping company with him?"

Sera's chin raised a notch. "Well, they
are
first cousins. And Kit says that Collie's some distant relation of theirs. Kit figured Collie would want to know he has a family to come home to."

Eden frowned. Sera didn't sound convinced about that part, either.

Suddenly, a towering shadow darkened the stall. Eden glanced up in time to see Michael eclipse the sun. Striding out of the crowd with a bulging picnic hamper in his fist, he halted before her, hoisted the box, and banged it down on the counter with a challenging thud. Dishes clattered inside, so did the silverware. He didn't seem to notice, though. Nor did he seem to care that he might have broken Aunt Claudia's china. He was too busy locking stares with her.

"Forgive the intrusion, ladies," he said, deceptively pleasant, "but there's been a slight change in Eden's plans. This afternoon, she'll be picnicking with me."

Chapter 8

Eden was so stunned by Michael's audacity, that for a moment, all she could do was blink. Even Sera looked aghast. She gazed up at her brother as if he had just committed some unforgivable crime.

"Michael," she said, her usual bravado wavering, "what have you done? Put Eden's basket back. If you disqualify her, she'll be ruined in this county!"

He didn't look the least bit disturbed. "I'm sure Eden's reputation will survive."

"But you can't just steal her basket—"

"I don't consider a $100-dollar investment to be a steal."

One hundred dollars?
Eden gulped a shallow breath. She hadn't thought it possible for a corset to grow so tight.

"Can you do that?" Sera breathed.

"I just did."

"But the auction hasn't even started—"

"The auctioneer," Michael interrupted dryly, "had the good sense to take my one-time offer, since he, as the president of the Raise the Roof Committee, recognized that Eden's basket was unlikely to earn as much income from any other bidder, Chance McCoy included."

Eden's heart hammered so hard against her ribs, she feared one would break.

"So..." Sera's eyes had grown as wide as the Ohio River. "You didn't disqualify her?"

"Like I said. Eden's reputation is likely to survive this episode. It might even be enhanced. Coming, Eden?" He stretched out his hand. "I believe you owe me the pleasure of your company."