California Caress

Tomorrow, Tubbs thought. Exhaling, he tossed the distasteful cigar into a puddle. He watched as the glowing tip sizzled out.

Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze narrowed on the largest in the long row of grubby cabins. Smoke curled in wisps from the stone chimney, carrying with it the tangy scent of baking pie. A rare delicacy, to be sure. Too bad they wouldn’t have the chance to enjoy it. An evil smile curled over his lips as he tapped a finger against the jug by his side.

As on the nights before, Frazier had returned with the rest of the men; they’d come home earlier tonight because of the foul weather. He’d been in there almost half an hour now. These days the gunslinger took the majority of his meals with the Bennetts. Chances were, he wouldn’t be out soon. But Tubbs wasn’t a man who took chances. Especially life-threatening ones. He’d learned that lesson weeks ago.

Taking potshots at the gunslinger from a hotel window as the man was riding out to the mines hadn’t been one of Tubbs’ most brilliant ideas. At the time, it had been an opportunity too good to pass up. Now he could see it for the stupid move it was. Luck was the only thing that had kept Frazier from seeing and recognizing him—luck and distance. Tubbs wouldn’t stretch his luck a second time.

Two weeks, that mistake had cost him. Two weeks of lying low, waiting for Frazier to make a mistake. Two weeks of skulking in alleys and spending his money gaming and whoring in The Brass Button Tavern while he marked Frazier’s comings and goings. Looking back, he had to admit the time had paid off. He now knew Drake Frazier’s schedule better than the gunslinger knew it himself. And he knew Frazier’s weakness.

His eyes glistened when he thought of the arrogant woman who’d gypped him out of four hundred bucks worth of nuggets. His fingers itched over the cloth he’d stuck in the glass jug’s neck. He wouldn’t be sorry to see the last of that little bitch. His only regret was that he wouldn’t get the payment he deserved for getting rid of her as well.

Tubbs chuckled as he stuck a piece of grass between his teeth. A dro

p of rain fell off a leaf, splashing on the worn leather of his hat. No, he wouldn’t get a thing for taking her out. He’d just have to drown his regret at that slight with the money he’d earn for ridding the world of Drake Frazier.

Fifteen minutes. He’d give the gunslinger fifteen minutes to show his ugly face. If he wasn’t out by then, it was a safe enough bet the guy wouldn’t leave the cabin until well into the night.

Again, Tubbs chuckled. The ominous sound rivaled the nervous whicker of the horses he’d tethered behind the granite boulder. They were workhorses, each one as poor an excuse for horseflesh as ever he’d seen. But they had been cheap, he reminded himself as he spit out the grass. They might be old nags ready for slaughter, but they’d do the job just fine.

He pulled another stale cigar from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, rolling it over his tongue before clamping it between his teeth. Yup, fifteen minutes and Drake Frazier wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“I didn’t bring you out here for this,” Hope said, her voice a tentative whisper, as she let her fingers trace a path down his breastbone. Her fingertips stopped just short of his navel and she chanced a glance at him from beneath hooded lashes.

“You brought me out here to show off those wretched hens,” he reminded her lightly. Snatching up her hand, he brought the fingers to his lips. Their gazes met, and when Drake saw the serious glint in her dark eyes, his expression sobered. “Why did you bring me out here, sunshine?”

The newborn honesty between them felt right, too fragile to tamper with. She rested her chin atop the hand pillowed on his chest as she sent him a small half-smile. “I wanted to tell you I planned to welch on the rest of our deal.”

One golden eyebrow cocked high in that broad forehead and she couldn’t resist the temptation to reach up and brush the tousled hair from his brow. “Our deal,” he said, his tone low and guarded. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”

Hope felt his thoughts as though they were her own. The hand on his brow turned to caress his cheek, her eyes softly searching. “Don’t get defensive on me now, Drake. I’m here because here is where I want to be. I want to be in your arms. I—” Her voice cracked and she turned her face away. “I just never thought you—that any man would ever want me. I’m... I’m not—”

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered huskily, covering her hand with his own. He planted a soft kiss in her palm. “Every single inch of you.”

Hope swallowed hard, her smile waning. “When you say that, I can almost let myself believe it.”

“Believe it. I don’t lie.”

“But—”

“I said I don’t lie.”

As he spoke, his fingers trailed a path down her back. Hope’s breath caught as she waited for his reaction. There was none. His expression didn’t change, the intense emotion reflected in his eyes remained. Was it possible her scars truly meant nothing to him? There was a way to find out, though she was reluctant to try it.

Sighing, Hope dropped her head back to his chest. His flesh felt warm beneath her cheek. She savored the bittersweet sensation. She tried to memorize the sound of his heart drumming its gentle rhythm beneath her ear, terrified this might be the last time she would ever feel his body pressed intimately against her own. Say it and get it over with, Hope, she told herself. It’s the only way you’ll ever know for sure.

Fifteen minutes turned into twenty; twenty into thirty.

Tubbs fingered the jug, his eyes bright with cruelty. The tip of a fresh cigar glowed as he pushed himself to his feet. He stretched the tightness out of muscles that were stiff from his cramped position.

Anticipation pumped through his veins as he leaned over and picked up the jug. The contents sloshed against the glass, soaking into the cloth that corked the bottle. Peeking around the tree, he assured himself that there were no witnesses to his presence before he stepped from his hiding place.

He’d waited an extra ten minutes hoping the drizzle would subside. Instead, the light shower had turned into a downpour. It didn’t matter. There was enough kerosene in the jug to set most of Thirsty Gulch on fire. Another two-bit mining town burning to the ground wasn’t unusual in the Mother Lode. It wouldn’t draw much attention. And if it did, who cared? By the time the first question was asked, Tubbs would have rounded the Horn, be halfway to Boston.

The sharp point of a rock worked its way through the crack in the sole of his boot as he stealthily approached the cabin. He took perverse pleasure in the slight pain.

A rumble of voices echoed through the walls of the cabin as Tubbs slipped soundlessly through the shadows. He pressed his back hard against the rough-hewn sides, waiting for the cry of alarm that would warn him his presence had been noticed.

The seconds stretched out for what seemed like an eternity, and no cry of warning came. Confident, he pulled the cork of cloth from the jug. The pungent odor of the kerosene hit him at once. He’d have to be quick before the stench worked its way inside.