Velvet Thunder (28 page)

Stevie strolled up beside Sweetums and scratched his head. “Neither am I.” She drew closer to Heath, who had not yet leathered his gun. Looking pointedly at the weapon, she quipped, “You wouldn't shoot an unarmed lady, would you?”

“Stevie, what are you doing here?” That didn't come out exactly as he meant it. He sounded angry. Rather, he was frightened that he might have shot her and her four-legged pal.

“Well, excuse me for living. I'll just be going.”

That was when he noticed the pain in her eyes. Something was wrong with Stevie's world, something new, and she had come to him for help. “You're not going anywhere. At least, not yet.”

He held on to her hand while he unlocked the door. He pulled her into his room and into his arms. He kissed her sweetly, hoping to distract her from her troubles. Passion took over, and soon they were both breathless. He gave her a lopsided grin. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit . . . after I'm trying my damnedest to stay away from you?”

Stevie's eyes burned with rage. “Our cook, Pepper, told Pa that Judge Jack's burned the ranch house down.”

Her obvious anguish aroused deep emotions in Heath. He took her hands in his own. “I'm sorry, hon. When all this is over, it can be rebuilt.” He bent his head until they were eye to eye. “I'll even help.”

Smiling gratefully, she regained control of her rage and nodded. “Thanks. I'll remember that.” The silence that ensued was uncomfortable. Unable to help herself, Stevie glanced at the bed that seemed to dominate the room. “I want to show you something.”

He arched his brows twice. “And I'd love to see it.”

“Ha-ha.” She withdrew a sheet of paper from her shirt pocket. “I gave the rock we found in the cave to Pepper. He took it over to Fort Union and got back this report. What do you make of it?”

He accepted the paper and dropped onto the bed. Standing close in front of him, she watched as he scanned the report.

“The stone is a partially cut diamond. Obviously imported from somewhere else. Africa maybe.”

Stevie nodded agreement. “So how can we prove it's a hoax and get our land back?”

“I don't know yet. Let me think about it.” He seemed to forget her presence. “What we need is tangible proof.” He sat a moment more, thinking. “Ted Reno's funeral is tomorrow, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“The judge will attend the services for appearance's sake. I'll search his quarters while he's gone. If there's proof to be had, that's where it'll be.”

“No.”

“No?” He smiled incredulously.

“No. It's too dangerous.”

“I appreciate your concern, sugar. But I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

“You might end up like Ted.”

“No, honey. I won't end up like Ted.”

“You might,” she whispered.

He didn't see the point in arguing further, so he changed the subject. “How's Pedro holding up?”

Stevie was well aware that Heath had just made a switch. She let him get by with it since she wasn't getting anywhere with the obstinate male anyway. “He's trying very hard to be brave. Blue's a big help. They've become very close. She won't let the boy out of her sight. If we could find her a husband, they could be a regular family.”

Heath chuckled softly. “That might take some doing in this town, given her former profession.” He pulled Stevie between his thighs. “You know you shouldn't be here, don't you, sugar?”

She shook her head. “I know. And I'll go. In a minute. There's something else I want to say.”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

She was careful to avoid his eyes. “I had no right being jealous of that woman.” Clearly, she referred to Rachel. “I mean, you and I both know that I can't be a part of your future.”

“We do?”

“Yes. So I don't have the right to begrudge you other women. Everyone needs companionship. I understand that. And I want you to be happy . . . and find somebody to love.” Her voice broke. She regained control almost immediately. “That's all I wanted to say.”

It was obvious she didn't mean a word of it. At least not the part about wanting him to find somebody to love. Heath tried unsuccessfully to hide his grin. God, how he loved this woman! It was a good thing her head was still bowed, otherwise she would see the skeptical, indulgent, knowing gleam in his eye and crown him for sure. “You're a very understanding young lady. I appreciate that you feel that way.”

Stevie's head jerked up. “You do?”

Heath kept his face carefully blank. He hadn't ridden the Mississippi posing as a gambler for two years without developing an effective poker face, after all. “Certainly. Most women wouldn't be so selfless. I really admire that in you.”

Admiration be damned. Stevie would rather hear a confession of love. Even if she couldn't allow herself to return the sentiment. “It's nice . . . being admired.”

“I thought you would appreciate the sentiment.”

Her expression could have curdled milk in a cow's teat. But she cleared her throat and tried to appear nonchalant. “So you'll be seeing her again?”

“What do you think?” The little imp; he had told her he loved her, three simple words that didn't come easy for him. Did she think he was so fickle that he would profess his love, then throw her over for the likes of Rachel Jackson? He couldn't help but be insulted. It would serve her right if he let her stew in her own juices.

“Do you think she's pretty?” Stevie asked.

“What do you think?” he asked again, maddeningly.

She clenched her jaw and tapped her foot rapidly on the hardwood floor. To say that he was irritating her would be an understatement. “Well, truthfully, I think she's a little old for you.” Actually she's too old for anybody, she muttered beneath her breath. Aloud, she observed, “And she's kind of . . . pudgy. And loose.” She gestured appropriately. “Everything on her just kind of hangs there.”

She tossed her head defensively. “I know I'm no fashion plate, but really, Heath, the clothes the woman wears . . .” She trailed off when Heath's laughter drowned out her
glowing
assessment of Rachel. Jerking her hands free of his and balling her fists, she planted them firmly on her hips. “Heath Turner, don't you dare laugh at me.”

Heath fell backward onto the bed and hooted. Stevie dove on top of him, scrambled up his prone form, sat on his stomach, and hit him squarely in the chest with the flat of her hand. “Stop laughing at me, you pea-brain!” She thumped him again for good measure. “I don't know what you have to be so happy about. If my girlfriend was a fat old toad, I wouldn't be laughing. I'd be downright depressed.”

The thought of Rachel Jackson as his girlfriend was so ludicrous that Heath laughed even harder. Stevie grasped him by the shoulders, tightened her thighs around his waist, and shook him vigorously. “Hush, you imbecile. You're going to alert everyone in the hotel. And if I'm caught in your room, Pa will sprain his brain trying to decide which of us to shoot first.”

He would have continued laughing had she not slid her derriere south just a tad so that her most intimate place was in warm contact with his most intimate place. His laughter turned into a groan, her righteous indignation into a gasp of desire, a situation her pa would not like one bit.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and flipping over, pulled her under him. Their bodies fit together like a hand in a well-worn glove. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be lying in bed, kissing, cuddling, rubbing against each other.

Stevie reached up and touched his cheek gently. “We can't do this, Heath,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her own. “I understand.”

“Do you? Do you really understand why I can be no more to you than a friend?”

“I know your reasons. But I hope you don't mind if I disagree with them.”

She decided to try again. “You can't tie yourself to an Indian for the rest of your life. I won't let you.”

Heath's heart plummeted. He would tell her how he felt . . . just one more time. There was a fire in his sapphire gaze that she hadn't seen before. When he spoke, their was a depth of sincerity that she had not heard. “Stephanie Kay Johns, I love you dearly. I want you to be my wife, the mother of my children. I want to be a father to Winter and Summer. I can't even imagine a future without the three of you. My life would be hell on earth. Please, sweetheart, you can't sentence me to that.”

Tears brightened her eyes, but when she clenched her jaw, Heath knew he had lost. Sighing heavily, he released his hold on her.

“I have to go,” she said quietly, slipping from the bed. “The children need me.”

“I'll walk you back to Pilar's.”

Stevie nodded. They made the trip home in heavy silence. When they mounted the steps, Stevie moved aside for Heath to open the door.

He placed his hand on the knob, then turned to her. “Sugar,” he whispered down to her.

She angled her head back. “Hmm?”

“Do you love me?”

The question was so simple, so vulnerable, so poignantly pitiful, she couldn't deny him. “Yes. I love you.”

He released the knob and swept her against him. Their hearts beat as one. They stood in the darkness, entwined, like two halves of a whole, for how long neither of them knew.

“But I can't love you,” she said, then pulled away and slipped into the house.

He stared at the closed door. The haunting call of a coyote broke the silence. The wild, predatory animal sounded as lonely and empty as Heath felt. For the first time since he fell in love with Stevie, he considered the possibility that he would face the future alone. His gut ached at the prospect.

Fortunately, the general had not taught his sons to retreat. Heath simply didn't know how. Wheeling about, he strode back to his hotel. No matter what it took, he was going to marry Stevie.

And if anyone opposed their union, that was just too damn bad.

The next day at precisely one o'clock, the townsfolk of Adobe Wells turned out for Marshal Reno's funeral. Even some of the miners, freighters, and businessmen who had never met the boy attended.

Preacher Black's eyes sparkled with delight when he looked out over the congregation. The church was filled to the rafters. It was hot, stuffy, and those parishioners who weren't acquainted with soap and water made the atmosphere unpleasant for those who were.

The regulars knew their reverend loved the sound of his own voice. And today he had a captive audience. It was going to be a long afternoon, they feared.

Since Reno had no living relatives, Pilar, Sandy, Pedro, Stevie, Sully, and the Pridgens were the closest thing to a family he had. After everyone was seated, they made their way to the front of the church.

Blue had cared for Reno as well, but she remained at the boardinghouse, minding Winter and Summer. Try as she might, Stevie was unable to coax Blue out into society. Once a whore, always a whore; that was Blue's perception.

Stevie told her that she was stupid to allow the townspeople's misguided prejudice to control her life. But when Blue pointed out that Stevie was giving up the man she loved because of society's prejudices, Stevie walked out on her. She couldn't argue with the truth.

Pilar entered the pew first, dressed in a black bombazine gown, her tear-ravaged face covered by a heavy crepe veil. Sandy, looking ill at ease in his Sunday suit, was by her side, offering emotional support even as she gave him the physical support he needed due to his slow-healing gun wounds. Nellie and Pridgen entered next. Sully slipped in behind them.

Hand in hand, Stevie and Donn Pedro brought up the rear. Stevie wore her black leather trousers, fringed vest, and print blouse. It was the same outfit that she'd had on the first time she saw Heath. The matrons of the church gasped at the sight of a woman dressed like a man—in church—but for once Stevie was oblivious of their disapproval. Her thoughts and concerns were centered on the grieving boy at her side.

Donn Pedro was dressed like a little man, wearing the dark frock coat, trousers, and white shirt Stevie had purchased for him early that morning at Bret Dowling's general store. New leather shoes encased his feet for the first time in his life. They pinched his toes, but he was unmindful of the physical pain. He would much rather be barefooted and dressed in rags, sitting beside the stream, a fishing pole in his hand, his hero, Ted Reno, big and strong, telling him tall tales about the ones that got away.

As he took his place by Stevie's side, he fought desperately to maintain control of his emotions. He would not cry as he had when
Señor
Diamond held him in his arms. He would not shame Marshal Reno's memory. His piercing black eyes never left the plain pine box at the end of the aisle. He wanted to scream. It was unfair. Reno couldn't be dead. He needed him! Didn't God know that? Tears threatened and the child trembled with the effort to keep them at bay. He bit down on his tongue until blood pooled in his mouth.

Stevie sensed his inner turmoil, and her heart ached for him. She remembered sitting at her own mother's funeral, trembling from head to toe, tears cascading down her cheeks. She had felt cold and hot at the same time. Her teeth chattered from the chill while perspiration pooled under her arms.

The only thing that saved her that awful day was the warm, secure presence of her father and Jeff. Her pa had placed his arm around her shoulders and Jeff had held her hand. Somehow, the two of them had kept her from flying apart.

When she slipped an arm around Pedro's frail shoulders, he leaned against her gratefully. She tucked his head beneath her chin and glanced toward the minister, signaling him to begin.

Heath stood watching them from the rear of the church. He smiled sadly at Stevie's gesture of support. He had never loved her more than he did at that moment, when she offered comfort to this child who was heartbroken.

But he wasn't surprised at her act. Stevie was the kindest, gentlest, most giving woman he had ever known. His heart was full of her. How could she possibly think marrying him would hurt him? Didn't she know that losing her would destroy him?

Preacher Black's thickly pious voice drew Heath's attention. The reverend droned on, extolling the virtues of their dear, departed brother.

Heath stared at the pine box, then sighed heavily. It always angered him when a lawman was killed, any lawman. But Reno had been little more than a kid. “Damn,” he cursed silently. Placing his hat firmly on his head and nodding respectfully to the lifeless marshal resting in the coffin, he slipped from the room and hurried to the courthouse.

Quickly, he searched Judge Jack's living quarters. He swept the obsessively neat room and found nothing out of the ordinary. Even when he gave close attention to the judge's desk, he came up empty.

Undaunted, he moved to the dark mahogany chifforobe. The open doors revealed a number of expensive suits, robes, hats, and boots. The lingering smell of expensive cigars rose as he patted the frock coat and waistcoat pockets, one by one, absently noting the quality of the fabric.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” He pulled a sheet of thick paper from the breast pocket of a charcoal-gray frock coat. It was a letter from Johannesburg, South Africa, addressed to the judge.

It read:

A grin the size of his aunt Louise's fanny spread across Heath's face. He tucked the folded letter into his vest pocket and quit the room. Finally, he had tangible evidence of the judge's scheme. With the letter as leverage, he hoped to make him confess his other unlawful deeds. If the judge wouldn't cooperate, they would arrest him for conspiracy to defraud. The man's accomplices would run up one another's backs to sing like canaries, just to save their own sorry hides.

Or his name wasn't Harrington Heath Turner.

 

 

When the heavy blanket of night cloaked Adobe Wells, Heath left the hotel, making his way to Pilar's rooming house. He slipped around the house and approached from the rear.

Silently, he peered through the kitchen window. It was a cozy scene reminiscent of the times he, his brothers, and sisters would gather around the kitchen table and coax Hattie, their housekeeper, who was more like a mother than a servant to them, out of ginger cake and spiced cider.

He smiled at the nostalgic tug. As he had so often in the past several weeks, he yearned for home.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and allowed his gaze to wander the kitchen idly. From the tranquil picture within Pilar's house, one would hardly know that brigands and murderers roamed the streets of Adobe Wells. Thank God these people who had come to mean a great deal to him were safe inside.

Motherly in the extreme, Pilar was alternately washing dishes and making sure that everyone was properly fed. Sandy, Pridgen, Nellie, Stevie, and Preacher Black were sitting at the table in the middle of the room, assuring Pilar that they'd had quite enough.

Blue sat beside Summer on a pallet near the cold fireplace. The baby was lying on her back. Pedro and Winter were dangling brightly colored wooden objects just out of her reach. She was too tiny to pay them any mind, but Winter didn't seem to notice. Despite what he'd been told about babies not being able to see clearly at Summer's age, he was enthralled with his little sister, sure she could see him if no one else. Donn Pedro had a vacant look in his eyes, more hopeless and grief-stricken than any child should look.

Heath automatically returned his gaze to Stevie, drinking in the sight of her. She was dressed in her usual boyish attire, but her hair was loose about her shoulders. It brought to mind ebbing and flowing waves of corn silk. The lantern light played across it, giving it the appearance of a cloud upon which fireflies flirted and skittered about.

Stevie felt his gaze. She looked toward the window and saw his strong profile limned by the full moon at his back. Drawn to him by a silken cord, she slipped through the back door and joined him on the porch.

He smiled broadly, starlight dancing in his clear blue eyes. “Hello,” he mouthed, leading her into a corner away from the window.

“Hello,” she returned with a thready whisper.

They stood still and drank in the sight of each other.

Stevie shook herself free of his seductive spell. She cocked her head and tried for a wry smile. “For a man who wants to stay away from me, I sure have seen a lot of you lately.”

Not as much as I'd like you to see, he thought, then raised one thick brow, feigning arrogance. “Well, missy, I had some interesting news to tell you . . . about Judge Jack. But I think I'll just keep it to myself now.” He bowed chivalrously. “A good evening to you, madam.” He made to leave.

“Get back here.” She grabbed his hand, whirling him toward her. “Talk.”

He looked meaningfully toward the kitchen door. “Not here.”

Nodding, she took his hand and led him to the front porch. Golden illumination bathed them from the porch light like rivers of cream flowing over fresh fruit. His next words were spontaneous, spoken without conscious thought. “I've never known a woman as beautiful as you.”

She actually blushed. Thoughts of Judge Jack were forgotten in the heat of Heath's perusal. “I swear to heavens, Heath Turner. Charm just oozes out the pores of your skin.” She was truly perplexed. “Do you practice that, or does it come naturally?”

He shook his head, setting his shiny hair in motion. Stevie was so taken with the way the ebony strands brushed his strong bronze neck that she barely heard his reply. “It's a Turner family secret. How we charm our women.” His voice dropped to a husky caress. “I could tell you, but then I'd have to shoot you. You're far too precious to shoot.” He slid a finger over her dusky cheek.

Such a simple act, but so devastating to Stevie's senses. She scoffed to hide her reaction to his touch. “I think we've gone far afield from the purpose of your visit.”

He smiled down at her a moment more, then shook his head, dashing away the heady effect of moonlight and amour. He handed her the missive from South Africa without speaking.

She read the letter and smiled. Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him soundly. “That's it,” she enthused. “You've got your evidence.” Her brow furrowed before her heels hit the floor. “Why haven't you arrested him yet?”

He pointed to the scrap of paper she clutched in her hand. “This implicates the judge. But he's not in it alone. I'll let him play the scheme out. It won't be long now. It's almost over.”

“But what if he gets away?”

“Trust me, sweetheart. Judge Elias Colt Jack is not going to leave town without his ill-gotten gains. He's far too greedy.” He gave her a barely perceptible wink. “But just in case I'm wrong, I'll be watching him like a hawk.”

She squared her shoulders and nodded tersely. “I'll help.” Fear slammed into his gut. “You will not.”

Her mouth fell open at his harsh tone. Eyes wide, she seamed her lips together and affected the picture of innocence. “You're right, of course. It would be entirely too dangerous.” She smiled sweetly. “I'll just leave that nasty business to you.” She actually had the audacity to shrug her shoulders and wrinkle her nose.

He chuckled, tapping her nose with the tip of his finger. “Good try, sugar. But I'm not buying it. You've never given up that easily in your life.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” She stepped closer to him and laid a slender hand on his shirtsleeve. “Of course, you can believe what you want. I would never try to dissuade you. But I told you I'll stay away from the judge, and I shall.”

The little minx, he knew what she was about. She stepped closer, so close their thighs were flush. It was hard to think with her pressing against him, and she knew it. Ah, well, he would enjoy her nearness and think later. “Good.” He circled her waist loosely and pulled her with him into the shadows. “But remember, while I'm watching the judge, I'll be watching you too.”

She tossed her head flirtatiously. “Watch all you like, Heath Turner.” She leaned toward him and flicked his bottom lip with her tongue. His sharp intake of breath pleased her inordinately. She enjoyed the sensual power she had over him almost as much as the sensual power he had over her. “I'll have to remember to draw my shades at night.” She stood on tiptoe, planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, and slipped out of his embrace.

Heath let her go. “Don't go to any trouble on my account,” he called after her.

The laughter that floated back to him fluttered across his heart.