To Seduce a Rogue (45 page)

He stepped to the boardwalk, unable to miss the saloon, as Adam had said. The Four Leaf Clover announced itself in grand style, ornate green letters spilling across a filthy window. Ivy was draped across the entrance and wound in tight spirals on the posts outside. The saloon was the most guileless Tanner had ever seen. He paused, looking down the narrow street. Wagons pulled by sway-backed nags, women in worn gingham, baskets bobbing against their hips. A mercantile, a livery, a millenary. He leaned back, raised his hand to shade his eyes. Peters’ Millenary. He snorted. Just his goddamn luck.

Shouldering past the swinging doors, he held his arm against his side, and ducked a fat twist of mistletoe. The calming mixture of tobacco and whiskey wafted over him. He smiled. Now that was more like it.

A woman flaunting generous curves and a thatch of tangled, blond hair stepped forward, snagging his good arm before he reached the bar. Her bosom strained her bodice, inviting closer inspection. Tanner let his gaze linger before lifting his head. Cheap perfume, sweat, and powder entered his nose on his next breath. Ah, well, what you he expect?

“Howdy,” he said, presenting a practiced smile. It was the first time he had said
howdy
in his life.

She giggled and leaned closer, pressing her bosom into his elbow. He shifted and felt her nipple pucker into a tight bud. He’d remember the word if it worked this well.

Red lips parted. “Oh, honey. Are you a cowboy?”

“No.” Tanner lowered his chin and his voice. “A newspaperman.” He gave the title the stamp of a lover’s caress.

Cowboy-lover’s shoulders drooped, sucking her breasts inside her dress. “Dang. I’ve been wanting to meet a gen-u-ine cowboy for a long time. I heard, well” —she wrinkled her nose— “I heard they’re fun. Too far out here to meet a real one. Plenty of farmers, though, and farmers
are
a healthy bunch. Pretty fun, farmers.”

“Newspapermen are even more fun. Guaranteed.” Another elbow caress might get her going. A couple of drinks. He sniffed. A bath for both of them. Clean sheets.

Cowboy-lover skimmed a chipped nail up his sleeve. “Honey, you look tired.”

Tired? For two months, he’d slept on warehouse floors and prowled Richmond’s docks like a starved cat, conversed with dregs and tramp, and all for a story that had nearly gotten him killed. He’d come to Edgemont to let things calm down and run straight into Kat Peters. A bitter sigh slipped past his lips.

Cowboy-lover smacked her lips, the paint-filled wrinkles quivering. “Don’t worry none, honey. I’ll fix you up fine and dandy.”

“Two whiskeys, Doris. From my bottle. We’ll be at the usual table,” a deep voice behind them instructed.

Cowboy-lover flashed a sour smile and marched behind the bar.

Tanner managed a short laugh. Men in love with their wives always disapproved of trollops. “Adam. Perfect timing as always.”

“Not much has changed, I see.”

Tanner shrugged and smoothed his hand over the bar. Witnessing his fingers tremble, he clenched them into a fist.

Adam’s gaze lowered, then he gestured to a dark corner in the back. “Come on. You look like you need a drink.”

Cowboy-lover swept past them, slapped glasses on a scarred table, rubbed her hip against Tanner’s, sniffed at Adam, and pranced away.

“You’ve made her very happy, Tan,” Adam said.

Tanner slid into a chair, grimacing when he banged his arm on the wooden edge. “Oh? How’s that, Chase?”

“Doris doesn’t get a lot of...attention around here.”

Tanner took a sip, rolled the whiskey around his mouth and swallowed. The liquid blazed a fortifying trail, settling quite nicely in his gut. “Well, she’s not so bad, if that’s all you have.”

Adam leaned forward, searching his face. A shot of discomfiture snaked along Tanner’s spine. He couldn’t guess what lurked in his eyes, was afraid to examine closely. He avoided mirrors for just that reason. Shoving his buttocks back as far as he could without toppling from the chair, he lowered his gaze to his glass.

“What the hell if going on, Tan? You look like you haven’t slept in days, bathed in weeks, eaten in months. Christ, your clothing is hanging off you in tatters.”

Tanner shifted, the oil lamp’s glare lighting amber fires in his glass. Amber. Like Kat’s eyes during— “
Nothing
. Nothing to worry about,” he said, slowly lifting his head. He cleared his throat and repeated the words in a steadier voice.

Adam’s gaze jumped from his arm to his face. “Yes, I see.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry to rush down here without more notice. I telegraphed as soon as I could.” He tilted his glass back and forth. “I didn’t realize how close it was to Christmas.”
“Tanner, I’ve been asking you to come for two years. Plenty of room since I added on to the house.” Adam paused, took a deliberate sip. The flame illuminated the calculating glint in his eyes. “Maybe you can find time to write an editorial for the
Sentinel
while you’re here. God knows, we could use it. Besides, Charlie is so damn excited to see you, she can’t sit still.”

Thank you, God. A safe topic. “Charlie,” Tanner said, fingering the chipped rim of his glass. “How is she?”

“Wonderful. Beautiful. A pain in my ass.” Adam grinned and Tanner felt a moment’s envy at the expression of love on his face. “Ever since you put her on the train in Richmond and told her what you thought of me, she’s considered you a true friend. Truthfully, you didn’t have to be quite so honest.”

“Yes, well, standing in for you that day was terribly unpleasant. I had to get some enjoyment. Ruining your good name with the woman you loved worked at the time.”

“I’ve paid heavily for my cowardice, believe me.”

Cowboy-lover’s heels clicked against the plank floor as she swabbed the bar and whistled “Camptown Races” in an off-key chirp. Adam’s shoulders hitched, fell. He blew out a breath, glanced at Tanner, glanced away.

Here it comes
. Tanner’s stomach sank to his boots.

“Tan, what did I intrude upon today? By the stagecoach?”

Tanner smiled, a slight smile, the best one he could manage. Then he drained his glass in one swallow. “Why do you think you
intruded
upon anything?”

Adam’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth together. “Fine, don’t tell me. None of my business. But let me remind you: this is a small town. So goddamned small you can stroll from one end to the other and never finish a cheroot. If you have a problem with Katherine Peters, it’ll be hard to avoid it, or her, in Edgemont. And Kate’s mother, you remember Charlie’s chaperone in Richmond, don’t you? Mrs. Peters owns a fripperies shop down the street.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. I saw the sign for her store.” Tanner licked a drop of whiskey from his lip and scrutinized his empty glass with marked intent.

Adam rolled his eyes and poured a half measure.

Tanner frowned at the stingy allotment; Adam sighed and slid the bottle out of reach.

“Charlie’s having a Christmas tree decorating party.” Adam propped his chin on his fist and leaned forward. “If you don’t show, she will kill me. And I know for a fact Mrs. Peters is invited. Her daughter is sure to be there, too. Can you handle that without upsetting the guests? One lovely guest in particular.”

“No problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look, I knew her once. Okay?” Tanner slammed his glass to the table.

“How well?”

How well? Well enough for dreams to wake him. Dreams that had him desperately searching a cold bed for a warm body. Some days, when loneliness seemed a living, breathing entity inside him, he smelled her scent on his sheets.

“How well, Tanner? I guess I should understand in the event I need to stand between you again.”

“How well?” He tipped his glass high. Welcome warmth flowed through him. “Pretty well. About two years ago.”

Adam’s hand shot out, entreating. “And?”

“Suffice it to say, the lady isn’t as charmed with me as old Doris. At one time, maybe, but some well-intended lies, a series of articles in the
Times
, and a bit of belated, ham-fisted backtracking botched
that
rather well.”

“With both of you in Richmond, seems like—”

“Seems like nothing. Close proximity hasn’t helped. The woman literally dashes the other way when she sees me coming. Even if” —he shook his head— “even if I wanted to give the relationship another try, she has someone. Saw them twice. On the street. A few weeks later, at the opera. The second time, I asked my host who the man was.” The bastard clinging to her side, hand resting possessively on her arm. “A damned society boy. I certainly don’t reside in his circle, so I’m not acquainted with him. Too lofty an assortment for a lowly newspaperman.”

“Maybe—”

“Listen,” Tanner said, setting a scowl on his face he hoped would convey his exhaustion with the subject. “I’m past wanting Kat Peters to be a part of my life. She’s nothing now except a faded memory.”

“Faded memories make you act like you did by the stagecoach?”

Tanner grunted. “She made me a little angry, is all.” He closed his eyes, the meager amount of whiskey he’d consumed clouding his mind. Maybe food would help. When had he eaten last? Two days, three?

“Tanner?” Adam’s voice called to him from the end of a long tunnel. “Tanner, are you all right?”

Tanner blinked, Adam’s face swimming into view. “Just tired, hungry. The last few weeks have been rough...working on a story. Hiding out. The beard, the clothes, simply part of the ruse. A few days ago, I got caught in some trouble.” He paused and wiped his hand across his mouth. His fingers quivered against his lips. “I—I had to leave town.”

Adam rocked back in his chair. “Are the police looking for you?”

“No. God, no.” He shook his head. “Nothing like that. I didn’t do anything
illegal
. I picked the wrong place at the wrong time. Trust me, a very wrong time.”

“Your editor?”

“Suggested I lie low for a week or two. Take a rest, so here I am.”

Adam sighed. “Well, you’re safe here. This is as close to the end of the world as she gets.”

For the first time in nearly a week, the flare of panic in Tanner’s chest dimmed. He realized he could place some of his burden on his friend’s capable shoulders. “I want to sleep. Forget about writing for a few nights. Forget what a newspaper looks like.” Forget he’d ever known Kat Peters.

“How about we stop by the barber, then get you home? Tan, I think you need a few years sleep, never mind a few nights. We can work the rest out tomorrow.”

Tanner released a weak smile. “A trollop, a barber
and
a bed? This place might be too much for me.”

“Barber first. Bath a close second. No wonder Katherine Peters was in such a rage. Locked in a stagecoach with you smelling this...terrible.”

Kat. Just a few doors down. Long limbs tangled in silk sheets, her glorious hair flowing down her back. God, she was so close he could almost feel her, simmering deep in his bones.

I don’t care about her anymore
, Tanner assured himself.

What the hell difference would one more lie make?

* * *

Kate closed the bedroom door and turned, slumping against it. Her legs didn’t want to support her, her feet didn’t want to move, but she forced them to, her knees finally cracking the wooden bedstead. Flopping to her stomach, she buried her face in the coverlet.

Dear God
.

Tanner Barkley.

As lewd images raced into her mind, she sat up with a whispered oath.

Tanner Barkley
.

She yanked her boot off and flung it against the wall. She had avoided him for a year and a half. Except for four inadvertent meetings. Outside Palmer’s Antiques: willowy redhead. On the lawn of Capital Square: petite brunette. Chisom Taylor’s ball: voluptuous blond. Spring races. Hmm...she squinted and wound a strand of hair about her finger. Ah. Another blond.

With a yank, Kate hurled the other boot against the wall.

All at once, Kate felt like crying. Or leaping from the upper porch she had glimpsed from the walkway below.

What was she going to do? What in the world was she going to do?

Buck up, Kate. You shared a stagecoach with him. For over three hours
.

Yes, that was true. The longest three hours of her life. To avoid looking at him, she’d recorded the number of scuffmarks on her boots, identified every variety of shrub among the frost-covered tangle they passed, and calculated interest rates in her head.

Regrettably, as the coach bounced, so did her gaze.

Tanner looked dreadful. Emaciated. Pale blue eyes hollow in their sockets, normally bronze skin the color of chalk. Arm supported by a dirty sling. A nasty red scar snaking beneath the stubble on his chin. His good hand shaking as he lifted his cheroot—which he’d not asked permission to smoke—to his lips. The wind had snatched it from his fingers and thrust it, smoldering, atop her paisley shawl.

She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged tight. What did it matter? She hated Tanner Barkley. She truly did. However, she didn’t delight in his looking so frail. Senseless when, not long ago, she’d wished to see him at his worst: strung from the highest limb in Richmond, dragged down Bank Street behind a galloping horse, tarred and feathered and forced to run through Town Market.
Naked
. She shivered and closed her eyes as an image of his muscular physique, as clear as any daguerreotype, popped, unwelcome, into her mind.