A Good Man for Katie Page 4

  While Sam smoked, she took stock of her sometime lover. She admitted Sam was an extremely attractive man. Blond hair stuck to his forehead from sweat and a light sheen of perspiration coated his long, lean body. Muscles, relaxed now, rippled with every move he made.

  As a lover, Sheriff Townsend left a lot to be desired. As a partner in crime, she couldn’t have asked for a more conniving, scheming and manipulative man—the reason she did everything in her power to keep him happy.

  Piercing green eyes met hers in the mirror and she knew he was ready to take her again. The hungry gleam filled her with a sense of power, but the feeling never lasted long.

  Though sore and chafed from his less than satisfactory performance, Cassandra would, once again, let him use her body so she could get what she wanted. And what she wanted, more than anything, was wealth. Enough wealth to start over, to put her sordid past behind her.

  Mentally, she shook herself from her musings. “I don’t like him.”

  “Only because he didn’t take you up on your offer.” He snickered. “Turned you down flat, as I recall.”

  “That’s not true.” She bit back the rising tide of anger, rose from her seat and strutted toward the bed while she envisioned putting a bullet hole right between Sam’s eyes. The edges of her dressing gown flared open to offer him a tantalizing view of her full breasts, flat stomach and triangle of curly hair between her thighs. “Why would I even look at him when I’ve got you?”

  “You have a weakness for handsome men, Cass,” he stated in a matter of fact way with no rancor or criticism. “You always have.” He grinned. “Of course, it helps if they’re rich.”

  Cassandra couldn’t argue, not when he spoke the absolute truth although he didn’t have to keep reminding her of the fact. She did have a weakness for handsome men and they were her downfall on more than one occasion. This flaw in her character was the reason she’d married Winston Kinsbrough, a man thirty years older than herself, and moved to his ranch in Arizona Territory.

  A year later, she became Winston’s widow, inheriting Willow Creek and the mountain of debt that went with it.

  “Something isn’t quite right. I’m not sure he is who he says he is.” The mattress dipped beneath her weigh as she crawled on the bed and straddled him. She took the cheroot from his fingers and put it in her mouth. Smoke filled her lungs then escaped her lips before she crushed the stub in the glass tray on the bedside table.

  “You’re a lawman,” she said the words with tongue in cheek. As a sheriff, he broke the laws more often than he enforced them. “You’ve seen gunfighters and how they act—all full of themselves. Arrogant. Ready to draw and kill with the slightest provocation. Tell me, does Hunter act like your typical gunman? Does he?” Her finger trailed through the coarse hair on his chest. “All I’m asking is that you check up on him. Have you gone through his room at the boarding house? Have you followed him to see where he goes?” She pinched his nipple and drew a groan from him.

  “Cassie.” Sam reached for her breasts, squeezing her soft flesh hard enough to leave red marks on her white skin.

  With a gasp of pain, Cassandra pushed his hands away though the smile never left her face, letting him think his clumsy attempts at arousing her worked.

  “You should, you know.” She slid down his body and her teeth grazed his flat stomach, eliciting another heartfelt moan from him. Her hand drifted downward. Long, thin fingers wrapped around his stiffening shaft as she planted tiny kisses along the hard muscles of his thigh.

  “Cass,” he moaned as her tongue stroked the hard length of him. “All right! I’ll have Jesse go through his damn room.”

  Cassandra raised her eyes to hold his gaze while her lips poised at the tip of his shaft. “No, Sam, I want you to do it.” Practiced in the art of pleasure, Cassandra knew how to drive a man wild. With great skill, she drew him into her mouth.

  Sam’s hips bucked off the bed and she smiled around the thick flesh between her lips. “What do you say, Sam?”

  “Yes! God, yes!” he gasped, his hands clasping her head to push her mouth closer to where he wanted it. “I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

  With a sigh for her ruined coif, Cassandra took him in her mouth again. Sam Townsend had to be the easiest man in the world to manipulate. She knew he would do exactly as she asked.

  Chapter Four

  With a quarter moon to light his way, Chase traveled the dusty road toward Crystal Springs. Too many hours in the saddle left him stiff and sore. His bones ached almost as much as his heart and he shifted to relieve some of the pressure off his behind. All he wanted was a drink and a soft bed, not necessarily in that order.

  He doubted he could sleep, though, no matter how comfortable the bed, no matter how exhausted. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mother’s tear-stained face or the grief-stricken features of Evan’s fiancée, Wendy, who refused to believe the love of her life would never come back.

  What haunted him more was his father’s stoic expression. Jaw tight, face pale, Charles’s soft gray eyes had shimmered with unshed tears when Chase told him about Evan. For the longest time, he hadn’t been able to speak, but when he did, his voice had been raw with suppressed emotion. The words he uttered echoed in Chase’s head. Find the bastards and kill them.

  In all his thirty years, Chase had never seen his father in such a state nor had he ever uttered such words. A federal court judge, Charles knew the law better than anyone. To order his son to kill another human being was testament to the depths of his grief.

  Chase’s heart twisted to realize there was nothing he could do to ease their pain. He couldn’t even ease his own.

  “Almost home, boy,” Chase murmured as he guided Champion over the wooden bridge at the edge of town, the horse’s hooves loud in the stillness of the night.

  Chase shook his head. How he could ever think of this place as home was beyond his comprehension and gave further proof of his weariness.

  Except for the raucous music and raised voices coming from the saloon, Crystal Springs was quiet. A few lanterns burned behind the windows of the homes he passed, but most folks had already retired for the night. The clock on the Town Hall tower showed the hour to be just after eleven.

  He wondered if the beautiful, fascinating Kathryne O’Rourke remained in Crystal Springs or if she continued on her journey. It amazed him how often he’d thought about her. The simple act of bringing her features into his mind soothed him when nothing else had. The trusting gleam in her brandy-colored eyes and dazzling smile made his darkest moments a little less dark.

  He pushed the vision of her out of his head. Evan’s killers remained on the loose and he had little time for romance. Not helping matters was his undeserved reputation as a gunslinger. A self-respecting woman such as Katie wouldn’t give him the time of day, even if he had saved her life.

  A dog barked from someone’s yard as Chase passed by while a scrawny, flea-bitten cat pawed through a pile of trash someone had thrown in the street. The orange tabby snagged a bone and ran behind the saloon to feast upon his treasure.

  He glanced around and grinned when he spotted a couple embracing in the bandstand in the middle of the town square, their shadows darker between the slats of the lattice siding.

  For a moment, he imagined himself and the lovely Katie in a similar embrace then shook his head and forced the picture away. Several lights burned on the second floor of Mrs. Rawlins’s boarding house. He cut through the narrow alley beside the two-story house and the home next to it, coming to the small stable Mrs. Rawlins kept for her guests’ horses. Lights glowed here, too. He heard an excited shout, followed immediately by a drunken reminder to be quiet, then braying laughter.

  Chase dismounted and, leading Champion by the reins, peeked into the stable. Joe Rawlins and three of his ne’er-do-well companions sat in a circle. An empty bottle of whiskey lay on a bale of hay, another one rolled back and forth on the dirt floor. Oren Jessup Junior, the spitting image of his fat
her, tipped a half-full third to his lips and drank deeply.

  Joe shook his hand at face level. Chase heard the telltale rattle of dice clicking together before the small cubes went tumbling into the middle of the circle.

  “Hoo-ha, boys, looksss like ah’m th’ big winner!” His words slurred. Dark, oily hair hung in his face as Joe scooped up the pile of gold coins next to the dice. He shot Oren a scowl then grabbed the bottle from his friend’s hand, tipped it to his mouth…and choked on the fiery liquid. Whiskey trickled down his chin and dripped to his shirt. His eyes widened as he slowly lowered the bottle and wiped his lips with his sleeve.

  “Your mother know what you’re doing out here?” Chase asked, unable to keep the disapproval out of his voice.

  Sometimes, fear worked to his advantage. He would have smiled if he weren’t so angry as three heads swiveled in his direction. Not one of them could focus on him and he wondered how long they’d been drinking.

  “I think it’s time for you boys to be going home. Joe has chores to do tomorrow morning. I’m sure you do as well.”

  Three young men scrambled to their feet. They swayed against each other, trying to remain upright. Chase caught Oren’s collar, pulled him closer. The boy expelled a puff of foul-smelling breath. Chase wrinkled his nose against the stench and fought the nausea twisting his stomach. “I’m certain your father doesn’t even know you’re out of the house, does he?”

  Oren squirmed and tried to push Chase away, but in his drunken state, coordination seemed beyond his capabilities. His movements were ineffectual.

  “What do you think he’d say if I told him?”

  Still holding Oren’s collar twisted in his fist, Chase turned to Pete Maitland, who sported an ugly black eye. He said not a word, but the boy blanched and took to his heels, followed quickly by Joe’s other companion, Con Riley. The parents of these boys were certain to be furious by their behavior, if they knew.

  He released Oren’s shirt. “Go home and pray I don’t tell your father where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.”

  “Whadya do that fer?” Belligerence colored Joe’s words as he scrambled to his feet. He drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his thin chest. Chase glared at him. Within seconds, the boy’s bravado disappeared. On some level, despite the liquor, he must have realized he stood alone with a gunman. He took a shaky step backward.

  Chase advanced toward the teen-aged boy and tried hard to rein in his anger. “You need to learn some respect, boy. Your mother works hard every day while you waste time and money with those bullies you call friends.” His eyes narrowed as he pinned the boy to the spot.

  Joe opened his mouth. Nothing emerged except a rank burp. He mumbled an apology as his eyes darted toward the open door and the big black stallion.

  “Pay attention!” Chase commanded and the boy focused on him once more. “I know you’re supposed to clean this stable. By the looks of it, you haven’t in quite some time. It reeks. Tomorrow morning, you will do your chores, all of them, without being asked or you’ll answer to me. Do I make myself clear?”

  Joe nodded as his eyelids began to droop. Chase’s tone softened. “Now, go to bed and be quiet. Your mother, I’m sure, is asleep as she deserves to be.”

  Joe mumbled something unintelligible, stumbled from the stable and staggered straight into the garden without regard to the vegetables he crushed. Chase winced as the young man fell in the dirt then picked himself up and entered the house on tiptoe. The door closed softly behind him.

  Chase let out a long sigh. He had no right to tell Joseph Rawlins what to do, but he felt pity as well as respect for Mrs. Rawlins. A kind and generous woman, too nice in too many ways, Joe, fatherless for the past year, took advantage of her gracious nature. Chase disliked disrespect for one’s parents. If nothing else, perhaps Mrs. Rawlins could get some rest.

  “You deserve a rest, too, don’t you, boy? We’ve had quite a ride to Denver City and back.” He turned his attention to Champion, unhitched his saddle and removed the thick blanket that protected his back. “A nice brushing, some oats and you’ll be in horse heaven.”

  The ebony stallion nickered and lipped at his hand.

  With Champion settled, Chase saw to himself. He grabbed his saddlebags and entered the boarding house through the kitchen. A lantern burned in the middle of the table, the soft light illuminating half an apple pie in its tin beneath a glass dome. His stomach growled, but he had no appetite. Exhaustion made the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other an effort and yet, he continued, the thought of that soft bed spurring him on.

  Footsteps trod the floor in the room above him. He paused and stared at the ceiling, imagining someone pacing with great agitation. A muffled thud made him jump. Had someone fallen? Dropped something? As he concentrated on the noises, his heart rate picked up. The fine hair on the back of his neck bristled and his stomach dropped. The room above him wasn’t just any room.

  It was his room.

  And someone made no secret of searching it.

  The staircase lay on the other side of the dining room, down a long hallway—with no carpet or rug to soften his footsteps. He moved with exaggerated slowness. Another thump, this one louder, made him stop with one foot on the bottom tread of the stairs. He slung his saddlebags over his shoulder, drew his pistol and cocked it with practiced ease.

  With the stealth of a cat on the prowl, he climbed the stairs, remembered which riser squeaked and stepped over it. At the top of the stairs…his heart stopped pounding for a moment before it resumed with a painful thud.

  Kathryne stood in the hall, one hand raised to knock on his door, the other holding a book, her finger marking the page. Another muted thump seemed thunderous in the silence of the house.

  Without a single thought except keeping Kathryne safe, Chase took three steps forward, and clamped his hand over her mouth. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s Chase.”

  Except for a stifled squeal, Kathryne didn’t make another sound nor did she struggle as he backed into the room. He held her, trying to return his breathing to normal. With her back pressed into him, Chase inhaled and caught the alluring fragrance of her hair and warm skin, which did nothing to still the rapid beating of his heart or his respiration. He dropped his saddlebags on a chair.

  “Don’t scream,” he whispered as he removed his hand and turned her to face him.

  She didn’t scream. Instead, she stared at him with an expression of complete and utter trust in her beautiful brandy-colored eyes, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She didn’t even flinch when he uncocked his pistol and slipped it into the holster.

  “Chase.”

  His name fell from her lips in sweet, dulcet tones that shook him to his soul, as if she’d practiced saying it over and over until it sounded just right.

  “Keep your voice low.”

  She nodded, her eyes sparkling behind the lenses of her glasses, a flush on her cheeks.

  “Do you know who’s in my room?”

  “No, but he hasn’t been there long. He made no attempt to be quiet. I heard glass breaking and furniture moving.” She tilted her head. “Why would someone want to ransack your room?”

  He knew why, but couldn’t reveal the secret, which had made his life of late a living hell. The words stuck in his throat. He shrugged instead, his gaze steady on her lovely face. Without conscious thought, his eyes dropped lower to rest upon the soft skin of her neck and chest. She looked utterly delectable standing in front of him. Long chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Wide eyes sparkled as they assessed him. Her smooth pink tongue poked out to lick to her lips as the blush on her cheeks deepened.

  Dressed in a blue nightshift of the softest cotton he remembered fingering when he’d collected her clothes, topped by a darker blue robe that left bare more than it covered, her figure whetted the appetite. The deep valley between the plumpness of her breasts appeared luminescent and drew h
is eye, as did the small span of her waist.

  With a will of their own, his eyes traveled upward to rest upon her face and he caught the pinkness of her tongue as she licked her lips again. The small action tempted him beyond all thoughts of propriety.

  Aw, hell!

  Despite the fact someone was searching his room as he stood here, despite the fact he shouldn’t even think it, Chase dipped his head and captured the sweetness of her mouth with his own.

  A small sound escaped her and Kathryne stiffened, but only for a moment. The book dropped to the floor and landed with a soft thud on the carpet before her hands splayed on his chest, their warmth seeping through his shirt.

  He’d made a mistake touching his lips to hers, and yet, he didn’t care. Sweet couldn’t quite describe her taste, especially when she kissed him back, her lips moving over his with a confusing mixture of innocence and knowledge. Once again, his heart rate picked up speed and pounded in his ears when she pressed closer and her body fitted against his. His hands wove into her hair, the thick mass like silk between his fingers. Her scent tickled his nose, intoxicating him more than liquor ever could.

  I shouldn’t be doing this, the thought flittered through his mind, but I can’t stop myself. Don’t want to stop. She feels too good in my arms. His mouth played over hers, drawing another small sigh from her before she stiffened in his arms.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered as she broke the kiss.

  “I know.”

  “I’m supposed to stay away from you.”

  He said nothing, but the loneliness he’d felt earlier whispered through him.

  The sound of a window opening and closing in the next room made him pull away, though with a great deal of reluctance. He’d rather stay here, with her, than follow whoever had been in his room. Duty called, however.

  “Lock your door, Katie. Don’t let anyone in.” He adjusted her glasses, which were crooked on her face, the lenses foggy, caressed her cheek with the side of his thumb then crawled over the windowsill.