The Gambler (7 page)

She glanced down at the shift she’d been
handed. The delicate lace around the top and the blue satin ribbon
that held it closed made the garment look very feminine. The
bloomers were made of silk, embellished with lace around the legs,
and Emmaline had never touched such fine material in her life. It
was soft and cool to the touch and so pristine white, it looked
like newly fallen snow in her hands.

Tristan wasn’t buying her these clothes, was
he? Was that what he’d discussed in hushed tones with Mrs.
Kilpatrick before he left?

It was absurd to think he’d go to the
trouble. And for what reason? Did he think of her as his lady? She
laughed at the thought but sobered a moment later.

Why else was he going to so much trouble for
her? Did he think last night meant more than it did? Had he enjoyed
it enough to want to keep her? But keep her for what, exactly?

The first thought to pop into her head was
that of a mistress. She had let him bed her hours after meeting
him. If that didn't scream wanton hussy, she didn't know what did.
And maybe, just maybe, he thought taking her home with him provided
him with a few extra perks.

She’d heard enough gossip in town to know
some men preferred having a mistress to marrying. It was less
complicated and freed them to do as they pleased. Was that what
Tristan was doing? Thinking to take her out of her horrible life?
To be her rich benefactor? To give her a fabulous life full of fine
clothing, food enough to make ten people fat and paraded her around
on his arm like she was his very own prize heifer. Grooming her to
be his kept whore?

Was he going to buy her fancy dresses and
lacy under-things and take her home with him to live in a fancy
house? Would he stay once they arrived or would he amble through
town every once in a while and visit her, expect payment in the
form of bed play, then be off again?

Emmaline looked down at the soft materials in
her hands, and could imagine him doing that very thing. He hadn’t
wanted her to begin with last night but changed his mind pretty
damned quick. Then brought her straight to a dressmaker and
instructed the owner to make her look presentable. That old goat.
He didn’t want her unless it was to his liking.

She smiled. Well, she’d show him a thing or
two. Emmaline undressed, throwing her borrowed trousers and dingy
shirt to the floor before slipping into the satin and lace
bloomers, the soft chemise, tying the blue ribbon that closed the
material over her breasts and fumbled with the corset until she
tossed it to the floor forgotten. She picked the dark green fancy
dress from the peg, ignoring the homespun dresses, and slipped it
on, buttoned the front and smoothed the shiny material down.

Pulling the curtain back, she stepped out of
the small dressing room and stumbled to a stop when she saw
Tristan. He smiled at her and nodded. “We’ll take everything you
picked out, Mrs. Kilpatrick.” He met Emmaline’s gaze. “Unless you
don’t like them, of course.”

Emmaline smiled back, making sure her
irritation at being turned into a kept woman didn’t show. “I don’t
like the calico dresses but this one will do.” Mrs. Kilpatrick
flicked a nervous glance toward Tristan and walked to where she
stood, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid I only have one
traveling gown in her size. Will that be enough?”

“It’ll have to do,” Tristan said. “We can
pick up a few more later.” He looked Emmaline over from head to
toe, frowning as he looked at her feet. “She’ll need new boots and
a good, thick, coat. We have a long way to go and winter is chasing
us. I don’t want her catching a chill on the journey.”

Mrs. Kilpatrick busied herself picking out
the things Tristan had requested and Emmaline cleared her throat.
“I’ll need stockings as well.” She glanced at Tristan and smiled
again. “And a new hat." When he raised an eyebrow at her, she
repeated the gesture. "Also a reticule and a few
handkerchiefs.”

Tristan frowned at her.

"A lady always needs a place to put her
things." Emmaline's smile widened and she fluttered her eyelashes
at him. If Tristan was buying her clothes in order for her to be
his kept whore, then he would pay to have her at his beck and call.
She’d get his money any way she could. She would just sell
everything he purchased for her later and pocket the money.

Mrs. Kilpatrick handed her a pair of silky
stockings with dainty bows at the top to hold them in place and the
woman was scandalized when Emmaline lifted the hem of her skirt and
put them on in the middle of her store.

She’d watched Tristan as she slid them up her
leg, taking her time tying those little bows around her thighs
before lowering her skirt. The new kid boots, with their tight
little buttons in a neat even row were slipped on, the button hook
painstakingly inserted into each buttonhole until every one of
those buttons were fastened.

The coat Mrs. Kilpatrick handed her was wool,
in a dark green that almost matched her new dress. A wide brimmed
hat with flowers and a feather plume was added to the growing pile
of items. Tristan pulled out a black leather pouch, stuffed full
with his money, and gave her a disapproving look as he paid Mrs.
Kilpatrick. Emmaline bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Her first assessment of him being wealthy had
been an understatement. He was apparently loaded judging that
bulging leather pouch, and what guilt had been riding her
conscience vanished in an instant.

She picked up the hat, stuck it on her head,
jabbed the hatpin in to hold it in place, and turned to look at
herself in the mirror. Her eyes widened. She didn’t even recognize
herself. She looked nothing like the thin, half-starved girl she
was used to seeing. She looked… refined. Glamorous. Like a real
lady. She had curves that showed off her small waist. Her breasts
looked bigger and the scooping neckline of the dress made her neck
look longer.

Lifting her hand, she tossed her braid over
her shoulder and saw Tristan’s reflection in the mirror. He was
watching her. The look in his eyes was the same as last night when
she’d taken off her shift before bed. His gaze devoured her, drank
her in until her skin warmed, her insides jumped and butterflies
swam in dizzying circles inside her stomach.

She blushed before looking away, fussing with
her hat as her new dresses were packaged, the ugly calico’s bought
along with several sets of under-things and stockings. When
everything was ready to go, Tristan picked it all up and nodded to
the door with his head. “Let’s go Ms. Hunt. We have exactly one
hour to eat and pack before the stagecoach leaves.”

Stagecoach? Emmaline grinned and felt
wonderfully numb by the time they walked out of the dress shop, her
newly acquired clothes carried by a man she barely even knew. One
who left her homeless then treated her like a queen.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her
eye, saw him struggling with the packages and wondered again why
he’d gone to so much trouble. “You didn’t have to buy all that
stuff, you know.”

He glanced at her and smiled. “I’m aware of
that. I wanted to.”

“Why?”

Tristan shrugged his shoulder. “Just seemed
like the right thing to do.”

She stopped and turned to look at him. “I’m
not a charity case.”

He turned and shifted the packages again. “I
didn’t say you were.”

“Then why’d you buy all that stuff?”

Tristan looked at the packages, then at her,
his gaze lingering on the scoop-neck of her dress. “If you’d rather
have the things you packed in that bag back at the cabin, then I
can take all this back. It’s winter and the only things you have to
keep you warm are threadbare dresses and a blanket. What sort of
person would I be if I took you clean across the territory and set
you up in a new life with nothing but moth-eaten clothes and not
one decent coat to keep you warm? Do you think anyone would hire
you in those rags you were wearing?”

So he did it because she didn’t have anything
decent of her own? That was the complete opposite of what she'd
thought, especially when he mentioned a job. Of course, the job
wouldn’t be happening but she’d save that discussion for later. She
shoved her hands into the pockets of her new winter coat, felt the
warmth and knew she should probably thank him. She didn’t. “Very
well, then. I just wanted to make sure you weren't taking me on as
some noble cause. I’m not used to people doing things for me
without a reason, so I’m not sure what you’re getting out of all
this.”

“What I’m getting is to see you’re able to
take care of yourself and to get back on your feet. That’s
all.”

He turned and left her standing there to
stare at his retreating back. A Gambler with a kind heart. She
almost choked on her tongue at the thought. Tristan Avery may be
handsome and rich but he was a terrible liar. She'd seen his gaze
lingering on her breasts. He may say he was taking care of her
because it was the right thing to do but she knew better. That man
would bed her at any given chance. She'd just have to make sure she
didn't give him anymore.

Chapter Four

Tristan led her to the hotel and to a table
in the back of the dining room, the packages he’d been carrying
filling one of the chairs and spilling out into the floor.

A woman smiled at them as she handed them a
menu with the days specials on it and Emmaline stared at hers while
chewing on her bottom lip.

Tristan ordered them both coffee and watched
Emmaline concentrate on her menu before he noticed it was upside
down. Her eyes scanned the page as if reading the choices but by
the time the server came back to take their order, Tristan added
another bit of knowledge to his growing list of things about
Emmaline no one else probably knew.

Laying his menu down, he cleared his throat.
“Do you know what you want, Emmaline?”

She looked up, her eyes a little wide. She
flicked a nervous glance to the server before saying, “What are you
having?”

He smiled, glanced at the menu again and
ordered eggs with bacon and toast. Emmaline’s eyes glazed over a
bit before she looked at the server. “I’ll have the same.” She
handed the menu back to the woman before turning to stare out the
window.

Tristan watched her, amazed at the
transformation. He'd written her off last night as only fairly
attractive but seeing her now with her hair pulled back from her
face and the light from the window casting her in a soft glow, she
was downright pretty. The new frock helped too. That little dress
let him know with just a glance that she had curves he'd not paid
enough attention to. The cinched waist of the garment and that
dangerously low neckline made her look womanly and soft and she
still smell faintly of flowers.

He wondered what sort of life she’d led as he
sat there staring at her. She obviously couldn’t read, unless she
could read upside down, which meant she hadn’t attended school. He
knew next to nothing about her, not even her age, which would
probably explain her reluctance to come with him. What kind of
person would go off with a total stranger?

Looking at Emmaline, he knew the answer.
Someone desperate with no other choice.

Their food arrived and Tristan noticed
Emmaline was watching him instead of eating. He picked up his fork
and took a bite before looking back up at her. She started eating
then, cleaning her plate until not a morsel was left. He hated her
stepfather all over again. He may have killed the man and felt
guilty for doing it but he wasn’t sorry. Not when he looked at
Emmaline, knowing, had her stepfather still been alive, she’d be in
that drafty cabin, alone more than likely, with nothing to eat, no
wood for her stove to keep her warm, and no clue when her next meal
would come.

She sat back in her seat, her eyes drowsy
looking before crossing her arms over her chest. “What?”

He smiled. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you staring at me?”

Why
was
he
staring at her? Was it the new clothes that outlined her petite
figure in great detail? That ridiculous hat every woman he knew
thought she had to wear or was it because those dark circles under
her eyes didn’t look as dark today.

Maybe it was the pink glow to her cheeks, the
brightness of her eyes or her lips, wet and shining from where
she’d licked them. Or maybe it was just because she was pleasing to
look at. Not a classic beauty or a seductive temptress, but pretty.
Appealing without even trying. Natural beauty that was only
enhanced by the finery he’d bought for her. “I can’t look at
you?”

Emmaline shrugged her shoulder and removed
the napkin from her lap, placing it on the table. “So, where is it
we’re going, exactly?”

“Willow Creek Montana. I told you that last
night.”

“I know, but where in Montana is Willow
Creek?”

“On the other side of Missoula.” He grinned
and wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. “Know where that
is?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve never been to
Montana. I’ve never been anywhere.” She looked around the hotel,
her smile widening. “I lived in Cottonwood Springs my whole life
and this is the first time I’ve ever left.” She looked back at him.
“Never been on a stagecoach, either. Are they comfortable?”