California Caress

“I can take care of myself.” She parted the cloak and patted the side pocket of her dress, reminding her brother of the gun that was concealed there. There was no need to tell Luke about the knife she had tucked in the other pocket—just in case a backup option was needed. “No one’s going to hurt me.”

The conviction shimmering in his sister’s eyes and mirrored in her voice made Luke nod. “You’ll be careful in there?” he asked, as she stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. Hope was the only girl Luke knew who was tall enough to do that.

“I’ll be careful,” she promised. Sending him a brief, encouraging smile, she edged back down the alley. Stopping midway, she turned back to her brother, her features stern. “You’ll wait out here for me, won’t you, Luke? I don’t want you wandering off again. So help me, if I come back and find you’re carousing, I swear I’ll—”

“Take me over your knee,” he finished the familiar threat as his lips curled into an impish grin. “Yeah, I know.”

Hope shot him a look that told him he was incorrigible, then slipped stealthily down the rest of the alley and around the corner.

Luke watched her go with an uncomfortable feeling pulling at his gut. He didn’t like this at all. Hope had a way of getting herself into trouble. She needn’t court more by walking into a saloon full of drunk men and whores at this hour of the night. But there was nothing he could do. Hope trusted him to stay put, and here is where he’d stay. She hadn’t forbidden him from worrying himself sick, however, and until she got back that was exactly what he intended to do.

Hope slinked past the front of the saloon and molded her back against the wall near the swinging doors. Entering a saloon at this hour of the night went against every grain of upbringing she held dear. But there was no help for it. She had to find Drake Frazier. Luke’s life depended on it.

Wiping her sweat-dampened palms down the front of her cloak, she pushed herself away from the wall and made ready to enter the saloon—only to have the door swing open and almost smack her in the face.

Gasping, she melted back against the wall as a gaunt, drunken miner staggered onto the boardwalk. The doors squeaked loudly behind him, then banged shut. She held her breath. The man hesitated, struggling to maintain his balance while she steeled herself for a confrontation, glad that her brother was still within calling distance. To her surprise, none came. Instead, the man raised his nose to the cool night air, then smiled as though he’d just caught whiff of the most delightful aroma he’d ever smelled. The contented smile stayed plastered on his face long after he’d staggered into the street, headed toward the crude little shanties on the outskirts of town.

Hope let out a pent-up sigh, then wondered what on earth she was feeling so relieved about. She’d missed being seen by one drunk miner. One! There was still a whole saloonful of them yet to be faced. Relief was the last thing she should be feeling right now.

Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep, steadying breath, smoothed down the cloak covering her rose-colored skirt, then pushed open one of the double doors. The hinges announced her entrance as she stepped into the saloon.

Smoke was everywhere. The curling gray vapors filled the room, hanging in the air like a thick ground fog, only fog didn’t smell this bad, nor did it burn one’s eyes. Tables were scattered over the floor in no semblance of order. An oak bar stre

tched from the far wall clear across to the other. In front of it were a variety of stools on which only a few of the many patrons sat. None of the stools matched, and to Hope it looked as if they’d all been salvaged from the trash heap. As for the other customers, they didn’t seem to care too much what they sat on. So long as they had a bottle in front of them and a glass, dirty or not, to drink from, they were a happy lot. A deck of cards wasn’t mandatory, but it sure was appreciated.

It took her a few seconds of squinting through the haze of pipe and cigar smoke before she could make out the vague lines of the piano in the corner to her left—and it was then she realized the paunchy man who sat in front of the instrument had stopped playing. It was a blessing in disguise, for as she watched, mouth upon bearded mouth snapped shut until it seemed like the attention of every man in the room rested on her. The attention she received from the “ladies” was not nearly as appreciative.

Only the sound of her heart drumming loudly in her ears saved Hope from hearing the whispers of speculation her presence stirred. For the first time in her life, she felt like hanging her head in defeat, and slinking out the door she’d just entered. But Bennett blood ran too thick in her veins to allow such cowardly retreat. Drake Frazier was here, and it was her job to find him. With her chin tilted at a proud angle, she returned the curious stares and stepped into the saloon as though she belonged there. The sound of the doors swinging shut behind her was loud in the ensuing silence.

A hushed voice to her right made Hope glance down at a nearby table. There, two men well into the cups tipped their hats back, leaned their heads together, and whispered furiously. A bargain was quickly struck. Chuckling obscenely, the men reached into their grubby pockets, and each produced a chunk of gold, almost equal in proportion. The nuggets were placed side by side on the table before the two men shifted their attention back to Hope.

“Well, sweetie?” the toothless one said when he noticed her staring at him and his companion. “You gonna make me rich or you gonna make me happy?” Taking his hat off, he rested it over his heart and sent her a lecherously forlorn look. “Either way, I’ll surely die a happy man.”

A round of laughter exploded at the off-color remark, but Hope refused to dignify the slimy toad with a response. Instead, she turned her attention to the rest of the room, her gaze searching for any man who would fit Drake Frazier’s description. There were a few, but the smoke was so thick and the men so many that she was quickly losing hope of ever finding the gunslinger without some measure of help.

“Don’t think she likes ya too well, Hank,” the other one said to his toothless companion. The hat he plucked off his head revealed a bald, leathery scalp that glowed dull in the lamplight. “Maybe she cottons more to a man with some meat on his bones.” The slurred voice rose with a confidence born from the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. “Hey there, little filly, if Hank here don’t suit ya, why not give me a try? Old Mel here really knows how to please a gal.” His busy brows rose in lewd suggestion. “Ya won’t be disappointed—and that’s a promise.” Leaning back in his chair, the man hooked his thumbs in his belt loops as his vulgar gaze ran up and down Hope’s body.

A hush fell over the room as she slowly turned to the man in question. She fixed her gaze on the one named Mel, and there was no stopping the shimmer of distaste in her large brown eyes as her gaze traveled over the pudgy man.

The toothless one shifted restlessly in his chair as she took a step toward the table. He sent his friend a nervous glance, not at all liking the angry color on the young woman’s face. It was a belated thought, but he wondered if any relatives of hers were here to witness his friend’s crude remark. If there was a father or brother around, they were keeping their peace. That settled the small man’s nerves—a little.

Hope stopped as soon as her thigh was an inch away from the table side. She was careful not to let the folds of her cloak brush against it, so greasy did the wooden surface appear. Her gaze hardened as it shifted from one man to the other, then down to the two gold nuggets on the table. They hadn’t been to the stamp mill yet, she noted, but even a rank amateur could see that both were of fine quality, with hardly a trace of quartz running through the shimmering surfaces.

“A bet?” she drawled, eying the gold. The silence that enveloped her was so acute that even those on the far side of the room could hear the softly spoken words. She batted a thick fringe of ebony lashes and regarded the pair with mock innocence. “Over little ol’ me? Why, gentlemen, ah surely am flattered.”

The small man ran the tip of his tongue over the disgusting pucker of his lips and nodded. His gaze ran greedily over the curvaceous body, only hinted at by the loose cloak. The eyes were beady and filled with a perversely nervous sort of hunger. It was plain to see he didn’t much care what lay beneath the coarse wool. The fact that she was a bona fide, honest-to-God woman was good enough for him. And if she was ugly or disfigured beneath those billowing folds? Well, he could always close his eyes and pretend, now couldn’t he?

“Care to settle it, honey?” the bald man asked, his voice a cold, hard challenge. Unlike his friend, he was not as easily intimidated, nor was he as drunk.

“Why, ah’d be truly honored,” she replied, her voice a soft, sweet, deadly purr as she purposely thickened her accent. “Why don’t y’all tell me what yer little bet here’s about first.”

The one named Mel grinned. “Why, honey, it’s so simple even you can understand it.” Hope’s lips thinned to an angry white line at the insult, but the man was too busy preening to notice. “Whoever gets lucky ‘nough to bed you first gets the gold—if’n he remembers to take it.”

“Well now, isn’t that just tha sweetest thing?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Finely arched brows rose high on her forehead as she resisted the urge to slap his ugly face. But there were better ways to deal with his sort. Lightning quick, she reached out and scooped up the two nuggets. After testing their weight in her palm, she slipped the gold into her pocket, much to the shock of the two men. “Neither of you will be—ahem—bedding me tonight. Looks to me like you’ve both lost, gentlemen.” Batting her lashed again for good measure, she sent them her most charming smile. “Mind you, ah use the word lightly.”

Flabbergasted into silence, the two men watched her pick up one of the glasses of whiskey a buxom barmaid was about to set on their table. She held the glass up to the light, noting its dull, spotted rim. It looked partly clean, Hope decided, which would probably be the cleanest she was going to get in a place like this. As she tipped the glass to her lips, the hood of her cloak fell to her shoulders, freeing a waterfall of chestnut curls that swayed to below the gentle taper of her waist. She downed the contents in one fiery gulp, gasping as the stuff burned a path down her throat.

Feeling suddenly warm, she wondered why she’d even bothered with the cloak. Had she really thought the shadowy hood would conceal her identity? How foolish of her. She stood eye to eye with most of the men in Thirsty Gulch, and even a head taller than a few. Certainly, if her height didn’t give her away, her soft, husky voice would. Ah well, there was precious little to be done about it now, and she was quickly finding that she really didn’t care if the patrons of The Brass Button Tavern knew who she was.