“She’s not for you, though,” Burnsey said.
Chance sat up quickly. Water spilled over the sides of the tub and gushed onto the floor. It seeped between the cracks in the floor boards and disappeared below. He plopped back down. “What the hell does that mean? Not for me?”
“You don’t love her.” He no longer sounded like a drunk. Although Burnsey stared at Chance through bloodshot eyes that had recently seen the bottom of a whiskey bottle, they contained gentle warmth and complete understanding.
“No, I don’t,” Chance said, unsure why he was admitting it. He couldn’t keep the regret from his voice. He gripped the sides of the tub with both hands and clenched his eyes shut tight. “God knows I’ve tried.”
Burnsey released a long, drawn-out sigh. “And your plan is to carry through with this loveless marriage?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” Burnsey repeated in a low whisper. His expression stilled. He picked up a cake of lye soap off the table between the two tubs and began sudsing his chest.
“I made a promise,” said Chance. “And I would never humiliate Fanny by backing out at the last hour.”
Burnsey’s hand stopped in the middle of his chest. He leaned toward Chance. “Have you ever told her how you feel?”
“Are you crazy, man? I don’t talk to her about such things.”
“What do you talk about?”
Chance scrubbed his hands down his face. “Hell, I don’t know. The usual stuff.”
“You should tell her. Doesn’t she deserve that much?”
Chance stiffened, irritated and uncomfortable with the intimacy of this particular conversation. He liked Burnsey, but this was really none of his business. “What she deserves,” Chance said, “is a husband who comes home every night, isn’t unfaithful and provides a solid roof over her head. That’s it. And that’s all I have to say about it. Now shut up and leave me be.”
With a significant lifting of his brows, Burnsey went back to vigorously soaping his body. “Whatever you say, Sheriff.”
Chance went back to trying to relax. Unfortunately, he now had two women on his bedeviled mind.
Trixianna lay her head back on the edge of the hip bath. Lavender-scented soap bubbles floated about her and tickled her chin. The comfortable, warm kitchen and the low light cast from the lantern surrounded her in a soothing atmosphere. The hot water swirled about her, making her limbs tingle and coaxing her body to relax.
Although she tried, she couldn’t forget Chance. Two simple words—Chance and relax—could never be put together in the same sentence as far as she was concerned.
He, with his persuasive, knowing kisses.
He, with a voice, husky and silky-smooth at the same time, that sent her heart skittering every time she heard it.
He, with a laughing smile and a gentle, beckoning, all-male touch.
He, who was engaged to marry Fanny Fairfax in less than three days’ time.
Trixianna closed her eyes and moaned. How had she ever gotten herself into such a confounded predicament? She’d fallen in love with a man promised to another. He thought she was the deadliest bank robber Grand Fork had ever seen…the only bank robber Grand Fork had ever seen, she amended. What was she going to do?
Something would happen soon, she thought. She would just have to put her mind to work—what would Granny Lawless do in this situation? It was something to ponder.
That decided, Trixianna continued her bath with only troubling thoughts of the sheriff to contend with. They weren’t really troubling, though. More like confusing, exciting, restless.
Trixianna compared these new feelings of desire for Chance to drinking a hot cup of chocolate. It soothed and warmed her insides, making her feel loose and relaxed, yet happy at the same time. She liked the feeling.
She couldn’t help groaning aloud at the mess she’d made of her life. She ticked the occurrences off on the fingers on her hand. One, she’d run away from her problem with Georgette instead of staying and working it out together. Two, she’d been arrested for something she hadn’t done. Three, she’d complicated the sheriff’s life in every way imaginable. He thought she was a menace to his well-being and most of the time, she was. Four, she’d fallen in love with him. And five…what was five? She wondered. It didn’t matter. Chance was engaged to Fanny: a woman Trixianna liked, a woman Trixianna didn’t want to hurt. Fanny had been so understanding, even allowing her to stay with Chance in his home.
Trixianna wouldn’t betray that trust, that kindness. First she had to get Chance to drop the charges against her, and then she had to leave Grand Fork, as quickly as possible. Before her heart broke.
She feared it was already too late.
The abstinent run away from what they desire
But carry their desires with them.
– Bhagavadgita
CHAPTER TEN
THE SHERIFF from Dena Valley was due in Grand Fork tomorrow or the next day to take Mad Maggie West alias Trixianna Lawless off his hands. But did he want her taken off his hands?
Chance stared at the print on the telegram until the words blurred before his eyes. Rain blew against the side of the building. Falling off the roof, it splattered noisily into a nearby rain barrel. The sunless, gloomy end to the day only added to Chance’s foul mood. He scrubbed his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, then stared out the window at the rain.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the framed photograph of Fanny and her silly pet goat, Bluebeard. He frowned at the serious, reserved expression on her face. He gave Fanny a grudging nod. The sheriff from Dena Valley would be here, all right. Just in time for his wedding.
So why, if he was getting rid of that woman, did he feel so heart-sore? Why did he feel as if he were losing his best friend? And why, if in just a matter of days he’d be marrying the woman he thought he’d always wanted, did he feel like kicking a mongrel dog into the next county?
He was a coward for refusing to acknowledge the answer that lay right in front of him. He had fallen in love with another woman while engaged to Fanny. Dishonorable and shamed was how he felt…and guilty as sin.
Jerking to his feet, he shoved his Stetson on his head and made for the door. He didn’t ordinarily drink during the day, but right now he needed a drink. All right, he wanted one. There was little difference at this point. And not one Grand Fork busybody better say a single damn word about it. That is, if they didn’t want to find their butts kicked up around their necks.
He stormed out the door and stalked down the boardwalk. Rain soon soaked through his shirt, but he didn’t care. Eyes widened and feet moved quickly out of his way. He received a “howdy” from the blacksmith, Luther Inman. Apparently he was the only man in town brave enough, or foolish enough, to speak when Chance’s face was deliberately set in such a dark, vicious expression.
As he passed two young boys playing marbles under an overhanging roof, one looked up and his eyes widened. Chance heard him whisper to his friend, “Look at Sheriff Magrane.” His eyes shimmered with admiration. “He ‘pears madder’n a rained-on rooster. Do ya suppose there’s gonna be a real doggone shootout right here in the street?”
“Got that right, kid,” Chance muttered. He stopped long enough to say, “Better clear the streets.” Like spooked cattle, they jumped off the boardwalk and shot off in opposite directions, dodging puddles as they scrambled down the muddy road.
He stomped into the Annie V. Standing with feet planted wide, he shook the rain off his hat, then hung it on a wall peg. One single-minded intention played in his head. To get so drunk he could forget he’d ever met a certain rusty-haired woman with kissable freckles all over her kissable nose. And eyes the color of the first spring blades of grass. He groaned aloud. He sounded like a lovesick cowboy who’d been out on the range too long. Next thing he knew he’d be scribbling poetry and wearing those fancy scarves that Burnsey wore around his neck.
He strode over to the bar, settled his elbows on
the counter and ordered a whiskey. He glanced around. It might be too early for Annie’s girls to be strutting their goods, but the place was humming all the same. The packed room buzzed with hearty, male laughter and the sound of serious monkey business. Annie V.’s saloon was no different than most; dark and dank, smelling of stale whiskey and unwashed bodies. Choking smoke hung above the room like a gray cloud. The mirror behind the wall was cracked, the floor muddy. The piano player knew five songs, only one of which was recognizable.
But Annie V. knew how to keep ‘em happy, and she knew how to keep ‘em coming back for more.
During the nooning she supplied thick beef or ham sandwiches for a nickel. Set up on a long table against the back wall, large glass jars of pickles and eggs accompanied the sandwiches. All a man had to do was order a drink and he could keep eating.
During the evenings, Annie’s girls smiled and cooed, whispering compliments in the men’s eager ears. They displayed their assets with low-cut dresses and short hems, thereby allowing them to cajole the men into drinks, money and a go-round upstairs. Everyone went away with a smile on their face.
Today, however, Chance wasn’t interested in them. He was here not to think about Trixianna.
“It’s good to see you, future son-in-law,” said a sadly familiar voice.
Chance groaned.
Mayor Frank Fairfax stepped up to the bar and slapped him on the shoulder. He called for a beer, then settled in on the closest stool.
Apparently, thought Chance morosely, there were two men brave enough—or stupid enough—to beard the lion in his den. First the blacksmith, and now the mayor.
“All set for the big day?”
No. Chance nodded.
Frank angled his head at Chance’s empty whiskey glass, and cocked an eyebrow. At his nod of agreement, the mayor ordered one for each of them. “Last chance to sow some wild oats?”
“Frank, I reckon you’re just being friendly, but would you mind leavin’ me be?”
He chuckled. “What’s the matter, son? Have a spat with Fanny?” He shook his head. “That girl can be quite a trial sometimes.”
“No. Fanny’s done nothing wrong.” Fanny never did anything wrong. Fanny was above reproach. She was good and right and honorable. That was part of his problem.
“Why, she’s so het up about this wedding, she’s about to make me crazy,” Frank said. One minute she’s laughing, then she’s crying. Hell, that’s why I’m drinking in the middle of the day myself. I had to get away from those two blubbering women of mine.”
He glanced at Chance beneath lowered brows, then whispered, “Grand Fork’s illustrious mayor and no-nonsense sheriff gettin’ educated together in the Annie V.” He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Don’t that beat all?”
It sure as hell did. Chance downed his second whiskey in one gulp and ordered a third.
He glanced up at the sound of voices. The bat-wing doors swung open. In strolled Burnsey, dapperly dressed as usual, and his dour companion, the lawyer, James…what the hell was that man’s last name?
Unfortunately, they, too, strolled over.
“Well, do tell, James. Chance Magrane imbibing in the pub and it isn’t even…” He pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket, snapped it open and checked the time. His face lit with a grin. “My, my, it isn’t even one o’clock. What’s the occasion? Have you arrested another beautiful woman?”
Burnsey and Frank burst into howls of laughter, slapping each other on the back. Tears of mirth rolled down Frank’s cheeks.
“Well, hell,” muttered Chance. “Can’t a man have a drink without the whole damn town wondering what for?”
“No,sir,” came the simultaneous reply.
“At least not you, Sheriff,” Burnsey said. A Cheshire cat grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You never drink during the day. We should get a table. This calls for a celebration.”
“Why?” groused Chance. He wanted to get drunk, and he preferred to do it alone.
No such luck. Before he had a chance to get away, Burnsey grabbed the glass out of Chance’s hand, ordered another round and dragged him over to a table. He pushed him into a chair. “Drinking in the middle of the day. The revered sheriff…and the mayor. Think of it. It will probably make the headlines of tomorrow’s gazette.”
“Shut up, Burnsey.”
The afternoon hours rolled on and Chance kept drinking. Burnsey wandered off to join a poker game. It wouldn’t be long before he began shedding his dandyish clothes. The man was an incorrigible gambler, and a lousy one to boot. Besides, he didn’t have the sense God gave a damned fence post.
Earlier James had joined the piano player, and Chance had been surprised to hear him playing a pretty fine tune. He put the current musician to shame. His head hanging in dejection, the humbled piano player had left the saloon, apparently having lost his position to a better candidate.
The sun began setting, yet Frank matched Chance drink for drink, his face becoming redder with each swallow. His laugh became louder, his jokes more absurd, and his words less intelligible.
Meanwhile, Chance remained sober. Cold stone sober. Unaccountably so, for he’d drank enough to down three good-sized men.
He glanced at Burnsey, then shook his head. He’d lost track of him for a while, but the man was now down to one sock, red underwear, and his expensive Derby hat. He hated to see him lose another of those all-fired hats that he sent all the way to London for.
Chance rose to his feet, surprised to find them steady. He grabbed Frank in one arm and Burnsey in the other, leaving Burnsey’s lawyer banging away on the piano. He hauled them both out the door and into the downpour. He didn’t lock Burnsey in the cell, but he knew he wouldn’t get into any more trouble, even without locking it. The Englishman passed out as soon as his head hit the mattress.
Chance turned to the mayor, whom he’d left propped against the wall while he helped Burnsey into his cell. Frank’s spectacles had slipped to the end of his reddened nose. His eyes were no more than narrow slits in his face. Chance smiled. “Frank, let’s get you home.”
Unbalanced, the mayor teetered on his feet. If not for Chance’s grip on his arm, he would have toppled face first onto the floor. Glassy bloodshot eyes met Chance’s. “I don’t reckon the missus will like my drinking the afternoon away.”
“I don’t reckon,” Chance agreed.
“What she doeshn’t know won’t hurt her,” the mayor slurred. He gave Chance a knowing, buck-toothed grin.
“I believe she’ll know.”
“How?”
Chance rolled his eyes. “Oh, just a wild guess, Mayor.”
Frank stumbled as Chance pulled the door open. He grabbed Chance’s sleeve. “We’ll shee.”
Chance tightened his grip around Frank’s shoulder. “I can hardly wait.”
By the time they made it to the mayor’s house, both men were drenched from head to toe and shaking with cold. Frank, muttering something about weddings and debtor’s prison, stumbled through the front door, as Mrs. Fairfax yanked it open. He dropped into a wet heap on the foyer floor. His eyes drooping, his hands limp at his side, he sat in a puddle oblivious to the wrathful look on his wife’s face.
“What has happened to my husband, Sheriff?”
Chance swallowed a knot of apprehension. If icicles could form on people with cold stares, Eloise Fairfax would have been an ice sculpture. “I’m afraid the mayor may have had a mite too much to drink.”
With hands on her hips, and eyes as chill as last winter’s snow, she asked, “A mite?”
“Well, maybe, more than a mite,” Chance amended. He felt his chance for a civil relationship with his future mother-in-law dwindling away by the minute.
He heard a gasp and saw Fanny step into the foyer, her smile fading as she surveyed her bedraggled father. She clasped a hand against her chest, her startled gaze seeking her mother’s. “What’s wrong with Father?”
“The danger of drink, my dear.” She tur
ned a hostile glare toward Chance. “Mind you don’t do this to my daughter once you’re married, Mr. Magrane.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Belatedly remembering his manners, Chance yanked off his Stetson. Rain poured off the brim, further ruining the foyer floor.
“Don’t look so melancholy, Chance. I sincerely doubt that you held my husband at gunpoint and poured liquor down his throat.”
“Well, no, ma’am.” Despite being chilled, Chance’s cheeks flamed. So why did he feel guilty about Frank getting drunk?
“It’s too late to cry over spilled milk.” Eloise shook her head, a look on her face that could have curdled that very liquid. “Would you mind taking him upstairs and putting him to bed? I’ll get towels and dry clothing. Then you’ll stay and have supper with us.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. Chance nodded. He leaned over, grabbed a still-muttering Frank beneath the arms and hauled the near dead-weight over his shoulder.
“First door on the right,” said Eloise through lips pinched tight. She tossed her skirts aside and marched down the hall to the kitchen. Fanny followed her mother. Over his shoulder Chance caught a glance of her—eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
Mumbling as Chance tossed him over his shoulder, Frank continued his incoherent harangue all the way up the steps and into the bedroom. Chance dropped him on the bed. He lay where he landed. Chance arched his aching back, then leaned over to remove Frank’s shoes. Wouldn’t want to soil the missus’s ivory bed coverings. The mayor’s shoes clung tight to damp socks that pulled off at the same time. Chance wadded up the soggy pair and tossed them into the corner.
The sound of a window-rattling snore followed Chance out the door. Fanny met him in the hall holding a towel and a clean, dry shirt of Frank’s.
Her cheeks colored as she held them out to him. “Mother said you could clean up across the hall.” She indicated the door. “If there’s anything else you need, let me know.”
Chance had no idea what possessed him to say, “There is one thing.”
“Oh, what’s that?”