Her shoulders slumped forward. She looked up at Burnsey through lowered lashes. Chance’s stomach dropped to his feet at the soft expression on her face. The smile she gave Burnsey set his pulse racing and his blood pounding in his veins. “Yes, I probably would have liked it,” she admitted.
His curiosity aroused…as well as other parts of him, Chance listened avidly. And watched with smug delight.
“I believe the sheriff is a strong, yet kind man,” she continued. “When he thinks of it he can be considerate, and he’s always been fair, even while locking me up. He’s determined and decisive and knows just what he wants.”
“I’m not so sure,” Burnsey said.
“Maybe not…but you’re right, he is very handsome, as you pointed out to me. He also thinks I’m a liar, a bank robber and a fraud. None of which is true.”
“I’m well aware of that. You have an honest face.”
“Thank you. But don’t forget I shot him. So no matter what I feel for him, he will never give me a second look, except maybe to lock me up in that horrid jail again. Besides all that, he’s engaged to Fanny.”
“Well, you know what they say, dear. The third time is a charm.”
“Third time for what?”
“You’ve shot him, and given him hives. You should think of something else to keep him home where he can discover what a precious gem you are. Have you thought of breaking his leg?”
She laughed out loud, then covered her mouth with the palm of her hand.
Chance decided this would be a good time to make his entrance. He’d learned quite a bit in his short spell of eavesdropping. She had a sister, she found him handsome and wished he’d kissed her. And she didn’t seem to be lying about any of it, including the fact that she still insisted she hadn’t rob the bank in Dena Valley, although he guessed she wouldn’t admit it if she had. He was mightily confused, and more than a little attracted to the woman, whoever she was.
Trixianna almost jumped from her chair when Chance sauntered into the room. She raised her eyes to find him watching her. She wondered if he’d heard any of their intimate conversation.
Chance glanced at her companion. “A little early in the day for you, isn’t it, Burnsey?”
“And I’d say it was a wee bit late for you, Sheriff.”
Chance tipped an imaginary hat. “Point taken. My esteemed houseguest can tell you I’ve been a little under the weather.”
“And looking much better also.” Trixianna noted the unsightly blotches had disappeared overnight, revealing taut bronzed skin. Reflected sunlight shining through the windows glimmered on his handsome features and danced in his pale blue eyes.
“Why, thank you,” he said.
She felt a new emotion radiating from him—a bold eagerness she didn’t understand. His gaze raked over her, and settled on her face. She self-consciously licked her lips.
Burnsey cleared his throat and stood up. “Thank you for the tea, my dear. A delight, as usual. Next time I’ll bring James and we can discuss your incarceration.” He pulled on his gloves, settled his hat just so and bowed. He tipped his cane over one shoulder. “Sheriff, please be kind to her. She’s a rare one.”
“Oh, no doubt ‘bout that.” A thoughtful smile curved his mouth. “I’ll try to be nice if you’ll promise to stay off the rotgut and keep your fine English clothes on, Burnsey. Half the men in Grand Fork now sport a pair of your Wellingtons and one of those ugly bowler hats. Frankly, I don’t see how you can afford to lose another pair of boots.”
Burnsey flushed, then looked Chance square in the eye. “No gentleman would ever question another about his finances, but believe me, sir, when I say that I certainly have the means. In the future, however, I will make every attempt to stay clear of the liquor.”
“Much obliged.” Chance brushed back his hair with the fingers of one hand. He turned to Trixianna just as she noticed droplets of water glistening in the raven black locks. His hand stopped mid-air when he caught her expression.
Without thinking, she reached out and pushed a wayward strand off his forehead.
He stood still, his eyes contemplative.
Up close, she saw he hadn’t shaved this morning, for a dark shadow shaded his jaw. She could tell he’d washed up, though, for the smell of lemony soap clung to him.
Trixianna brought her hand self-consciously to her side and peered out the door.
Burnsey had disappeared from the house unnoticed by either of them.
They cleared their throats simultaneously, then glanced at each other.
Chance’s eyes narrowed and his head shot up. “Is something burning?”
“Oh, my stars!” She rushed across the room and opened the oven door. Without thinking, she grabbed the pie pan, burning her fingers. The steaming pie clattered to the floor. She pursed her lips tight to hold back a screech from the searing pain.
“My God, woman,” Chance exploded. Rushing to her side, he grabbed her arm and hurried her over to the pump. With several jerky motions, he pumped cool water onto her stinging fingers. Holding her wrist in a tender grip, he kept her hand under the faucet and splashed water onto her fingers.
With her lower lip caught beneath her teeth, she watched as he capably soothed the burn with a gentle touch.
Black hair curled along the back of his wrists and up his arm. Mesmerized by his strong hands, she forced her gaze away and looked up to find him staring at her mouth. Her heart turned over in response.
Chance took a deep breath. He released it through clenched teeth.
With his thumb, he rubbed small circles into her palm, and then turned her hand over. A string of expletives slipped from his mouth when he saw the line of small blisters across the tips of her fingers.
He pulled her hand to his face and pressed a kiss into her palm. The touch of his mouth branded Trixianna with a tingling spiral that danced up and down her spine. Before she could catch her breath, he bestowed a feather-light kiss to the tip of each finger with a velvety, tender warmth. His clear blue eyes smoldered with fire and never once left her face.
She trembled, wrapped in his invisible warmth.
“Better?” he questioned in a hoarse whisper.
She nodded without thinking.
He dipped his head, his eyes closed. He brushed his lips against hers. And then once again, with a sweet tenderness that buckled her knees. His lips were soft and slightly moist. One of his hands came up to cup the back of her head and pulled her closer. His breath caressed her heated cheek.
Chance moved his mouth over hers, willing her to open for his seeking tongue. When she did, he thrust again and again, setting her body aflame with rampant desire. Eager for more, she touched her tongue against his, eliciting a groan from deep within his throat. She mimicked his actions with her own tongue. His hand tightened around her neck and he held her snugly.
Her thoughts whirled and spun and skidded out of control. She had never been kissed like this before. Who was she fooling? She had never been kissed at all before, and certainly had never returned a kiss.
She quivered all over like a willow in the wind. She knew it was wanton and terribly wrong to feel this way—out of control and deeply aroused—yet she didn’t stop him from kissing her because she wanted the feeling to go on forever. And she wanted more.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, he was panting. His eyes, narrowed and glassy, seemed ablaze with an inner fire. He dropped his hand from her neck. With a bemused stare, he rubbed his own neck.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, her own breath coming in short gasps.
His eyes widened. “Why did you let me kiss you?”
“I…well, I know it’s wrong, but I’ve never been kissed before.”
“So you wanted to see what all the fuss was about?” he asked with a hint of humor in his voice.
“No. Well, maybe, I guess, but once you started, I found I liked it.”
“My God, woman, but you’re plainspoken.”
“Well, I did
like it.”
“So did I,” he muttered. He bowed his head, still rubbing at the back of his neck. “Way too much.”
“It’s wrong, isn’t it? A woman’s not supposed to feel such things.”
A look of disbelief crossed his features. “Wrong?” His voice rose an octave. “There’s nothing wrong with desire between a man and a woman. Every man hopes that when he marries he’ll wed a passionate woman.”
Trixianna’s cheeks bloomed with heat. Now he was telling her she was acting the wanton.
“But you’re supposed to be my prisoner. And I’m supposed to be engaged.”
“This doesn’t change that.”
“Well, hell,” he muttered. “I guess it doesn’t.”
He turned on his heel and left the house, leaving Trixianna alone and torn by conflicting emotions.
The sound of shattering glass woke Trixianna. By turns disoriented and frightened, she bolted upright in bed. Pushing tangled hair from her eyes, she squinted against the early morning sun that slanted through the open window. Jagged shards of glass poked out of the frame. Slivers of glass lay glittering on the floor beneath the sill.
The bedroom door burst open. Holding a revolver in one hand and buttoning his trousers with the other, Chance glanced at her. He stood for a moment, barefoot and bare-chested, taking in the broken window.
“Damn,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and sprinted out the door.
Trixianna grabbed her wrapper from the end of the bed. She struggled with the sleeves as she stumbled down the hall, following after him.
He tore out the front door and left it wide open. As she watched, he hurdled the picket fence and bolted around the corner of the house.
She scrambled down the walkway and through the gate. She dashed over the dew-damp, cold grass, holding her night rail and robe high to keep them dry. She stumbled around the corner of the house, and came to a halt just beyond the side porch.
Chance stood there panting. He’d stuck his Colt in the waistband of his trousers. In each hand he held two squirming young boys by the scruffs of their neck.
The youngsters were protesting for all they were worth, their voices loud and boisterous in the early morning air.
Chance gave each a none-too-gentle shake, which effectively stopped their grousing.
When he spotted Trixianna, he drawled, “Look what I found. New occupants for the jail.”
“Damn, are we under arrest?” the taller of the two asked.
Chance gripped his collar and pulled him up tight. “Watch your mouth, son.”
Trixianna stared at the two squirming boys. “Why, they’re just children. They’re not cut, are they?”
Chance snorted in derision. “No. These so-called children are young men, old enough to know better than to peek into a lady’s bedroom window.” He stared hard at their faces. “Aren’t you Harvey Perry’s boys?”
“Yes, sir,” the smaller of the two whispered. “I’m Michael.”
“And you’re—?” prompted Chance.
The older boy ducked his head. “Thomas.”
“And just what did you two think you were doing? It’s against the law to break into someone’s home even if you’re just looking.”
Trixianna gave Chance a knowing stare. He frowned at her. Sheriff or not, he’d broken into her home without a thought about the law, and she was tempted to remind him of just that.
The line of his mouth tightened before he turned back to the boys.
“Gosh, we wasn’t breaking in. We didn’t mean to bust the window, neither. We was just trying to get a better look inside,” explained Thomas. He elbowed Michael in the ribs. “This ninny was trying to step up onto a rock, and lost his balance. His elbow hit the glass.”
“But why were you looking in?” asked Trixianna.
Thomas’s face colored. He rubbed his nose with the back of one hand. He turned to Chance, a scowl on his face. “Do I hafta answer?”
“Yes, you do, son.”
Thomas hemmed and hawed, shuffling his feet in the grass.
Chance gave his arm a gentle shake.
The boy stared at the ground. “We just…that is, we just wanted to see Miss Lawless’s new, you know, her new drawers. The ones she bought at Johannsen’s. Johnny Washington tole us they was see-through, real purty and pink and well, we never seen the like on anybody’s clothesline. We was wantin’ to see them up close on a real lady.”
Trixianna’s face flamed, and the tips of her ears burned. She clutched the sides of her wrapper tighter around her waist. Holding her hair away from her face, she glanced up to find Chance grinning at her.
He threatened the boys with jail time if he ever found them prowling around his windows again, then released them. They scampered away, hooting with high spirits at their unexpected freedom.
Amusement flickered in his gaze as he took her arm and moved her toward the front door. “Why, Mad Maggie, I believe you’re blushing.”
“Trixianna,” she reminded him. “And you would, too, Sheriff, if young boys were falling all over themselves to get a peek at you in your underpinnings.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “I would be shocked if young boys were trying to catch a peek at me in my drawers without my clothes on.”
“It’s not the same thing and well you know it.”
He opened the front door, and gestured for her to proceed him. “No, ma’am, it’s not.”
Trixianna tossed her hair over her shoulder and stomped inside. She stopped in the foyer and turned to him, her hands fisted at her sides. “Why, Sheriff, I believe you’re laughing at me. Perhaps you’re changing your mind about me and thinking maybe I’m not all that bad.”
He shook his head. “Perhaps, but then again, maybe you bank robbers have many sides.”
“Like the side you kissed yesterday?” Did she really want a reaction from him? She knew that she was probing at emotions better left alone. But what she really wanted was another of his heated kisses.
“Perhaps,” came his reply. He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. He looked her up and down, his eyes bright with merriment. “Those Perry boys are right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“No one around here has drawers like you.”
An injury is much sooner forgotten than an insult.
– Fourth Earl of Chesterfield, Philip Dormer Stanhope
CHAPTER SIX
LATE MORNING sunshine and a clear, blue sky greeted Trixianna as she jostled her way down the boardwalk. Chance had agreed to let her go about her business if she promised not to run off. Humming to herself, she pulled her baked goods along behind her.
The walkway wasn’t designed for wheeled vehicles. Though late and in a hurry, she had to slowly maneuver the small child’s wagon through the few people she passed. She dreaded her meeting with Bertram Sinclair. He wouldn’t be at all pleased to know that she dawdled over her morning coffee with Chance instead of firing up the oven and getting to her baking.
She just couldn’t help herself. By turns, Chance fascinated and annoyed her. Whenever he gazed at her with those intense pale blue eyes of his, her heart turned over. Aside from the traits she admired—his stubbornness, his unwavering confidence and a total honesty—she had no reasonable explanation for her reaction to him except that he was a good-looking man.
She pulled the cart to a stop in front of Sinclair’s Restaurant, then took a deep breath. Brushing aside a wayward strand of curling hair, she tucked it beneath her bonnet. She reached for the door handle. The door banged opened, startling her, and Bert Sinclair stepped outside. He presented her with his usual scowl.
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair, but I think your customers will find the wait worthwhile.”
The man’s florid face flushed with obvious doubt. His glower deepened. “Oh? How so?”
He reminded Trixianna of a toad…a red, inhospitable toad with his cheeks and chest p
uffed out. She wondered how he kept his restaurant solvent with his crotchety disposition. She waved her hand over her baked goods. “I’ve got five pies—two apple, two cherry and one gooseberry—and one chocolate cake I made especially for you. The cake is my Granny’s special recipe and it’s delicious.”
“I don’t care if it was Mary Todd Lincoln’s favorite recipe. You’re supposed to have them delivered by eleven and…” He pulled out a pocket watch, snapped it open and squinted at the face. “It’s eleven-fifteen.”
Trixianna squelched the urge to roll her eyes. She pulled the covering off her pies, releasing an aroma that set her own mouth watering. Sinclair’s scowl lessened and his lips turned up in what could almost be termed a civil smile. “My, but those do smell good. My dinner customers haven’t arrived yet…so, young lady, I’ll let it go today.”
She refrained from calling him a fatheaded old nincompoop. Instead she smiled, and using all the restraint she could muster, said, “Why, thank you, Mr. Sinclair.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her shove the wagon over the threshold and through the doorway. She prayed she wouldn’t dump its contents all over the restaurant floor, although the man certainly deserved it. As she stewed over his lack of manners, she unloaded the desserts onto a sideboard at the back of the room. She noted, with satisfaction, that the place was devoid of customers.
With a look of indigestion on his face, he paid her. She left with a mumbled thank-you and a desire to give him a set-down that even Granny Lawless would have envied. Now there was a woman who could put a man in his place. Chance’s aunt, Tildy O’Hara, seemed like the same kind of woman. She admired gumption in a person.
She stepped outside onto the boardwalk and shaded her eyes from the sun. She gave some thought to doing a little shopping, but knew Chance would track her down if she weren’t home in the time it took to deliver her baked goods. Instead she decided to send a short telegram to Granny Lawless in Abilene explaining her predicament. She’d written once to Jonathan, but not wanting to involve him, hadn’t mentioned her troubles. The more she thought about it, though, the more she needed the moral support that Granny could provide. If the sheriff from Dena Valley came for her, it might be a while before she’d be free to contact anyone. Besides, she didn’t want to wait until they decided to hang her and it was too late to prove her innocence. Goodness, now there was a horrible thought.