“Oh, you use me all right,” she said, grimacing. She was kept busy from dawn until dark with her regular duties. The hard work was no problem. She enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment it gave her. The only thing she really minded was playing Brady’s pitiful waif. Even though she knew the role had no relationship to her true self, still playing it grated on her nerves unbearably. Yet if there was a chance this little act could stave off the bankruptcy that constantly shadowed the troupe, then it was worth it. A good many jobs depended on avoiding that shadow, Sierra told herself. Acrobats, snake charmers, and tap dancers weren’t exactly in high demand in today’s job market. She leaned wearily against the wall. “This time, though, I think you’ll come up with a big fat zero.”
“We’ll see. At any rate it was very clever of you to speak up and get us inside the door.”
It hadn’t been clever or conniving at all. It had been sheer self-preservation, Sierra mused. But it was no use trying to convince Chester. “It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” She unbuttoned her heavy corduroy jacket. Funny how wonderfully comfortable it had seemed only a few minutes ago. “I wonder if they’ve turned up the thermos—” She broke off as a paroxysm of coughing overcame her, leaving her weak and drained.
Chester gazed at her worriedly. “You look like hell. Are you going to be able to work tomorrow? We’re going to need every hand we’ve got to set up in time to open tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be able to work.” She smiled with an effort. “And if I’m a little pale, it will add to the effect you want, won’t it?”
“I guess so,” he said uneasily. “Have you taken your temperature today?”
She had been afraid to do it, afraid it would tell her something she didn’t want to know. She avoided his gaze and tried to evade the subject. “This is quite a place. It reminds me of the Chicken Ranch bordello in that Dolly Parton movie.”
Red plush velvet was everywhere. It covered the cushioned bench in the foyer and the circular Victorian loveseat she could glimpse in the parlor to her left. There were even touches of it in the flowered wallpaper. A small crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling right above the curving staircase that led to the second floor. A Titian print on the wall across from her depicted several plump nudes frolicking in a forest glade. Or maybe it wasn’t a print, she thought. The Delaneys could certainly afford the real thing.
“I half expect to see a parade of sexy ladies of the evening come trooping down those ornate stairs.”
“This is strictly a private residence now,” Chester said. “If you want to see a parade like that, you’ll have to go down to the Soiled Dove.”
“The Soiled Dove?”
“Melanie Dolan’s place,” he said absently, then frowned. “Look, are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sure. I’ll be fine as soon as I get a good night’s sleep.” She closed her eyes, thinking she shouldn’t be leaning against the wall. Her wet hair was probably dampening the gaudy but no doubt expensive wallpaper. She would straighten away from it in a moment, she promised herself. Soon she would gather enough strength to make the effort. In just another minute she would open her eyes and move away.
York glanced up from his cards as Deuce Moran entered the library. “Trouble?”
“More in the line of annoyance, I’d say.” Deuce sauntered across the room to the card table and picked up his bourbon glass. “Chester Brady is waiting in the hall with explanations and apologies.” He finished his drink in two swallows and set the glass back down. “And also a request, I imagine.”
“The hell he is.” York leaned back in his chair. “Why didn’t you kick his crooked fanny back out into the storm?”
A distinct look of pain crossed Deuce’s face. “I really wish you’d remember we don’t all believe in sheer brute force. I prefer to use the persuasion of my razor-sharp intellect and wonderfully facile tongue. Besides, the bloody bloke would make two of me.”
York took another look at the cards in his hand, and his lips suddenly quirked. “Judging by these cards you dealt me, it’s not only your tongue that’s wonderfully facile tonight. Trying to keep your hand in, Deuce?”
A slight twinkle in Deuce’s eye belied his deadpan expression. “Why not? You’re an advocate of keeping all one’s talents and skills honed. You told me so yourself. The stakes weren’t all that high.”
York chuckled and slowly shook his head. “One of these days I’m going to get annoyed enough with you to remove your other eye. Then what would you do?”
“Use Braille cards,” Deuce said calmly. “It might be very convenient. No one would be able to tell if they were marked or not.” He paused. “You don’t want to see Brady?”
“No. You’re the only crook for whom I have any fondness. Use your razor tongue and flick him out of the house. I don’t know why you let him in to begin with.”
Deuce shrugged. “I don’t know either. It was probably the girl. She looked half drowned and there was something—”
“Girl? Brady brought me a peace offering?”
“I don’t think so. He would be too sharp to use someone like her to tempt you into bed. She looks young enough to be jailbait, and she’s not even terribly attractive.”
York’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Yet she was intriguing enough to persuade you into letting them come into the house.”
“It was the eyes, I think. She has eyes like Liza Minnelli. Big and dark, with eyelashes that look too heavy to lift. They had a most peculiar effect on me.”
“It must have been peculiar to sway a hard case like you.” York threw his cards on the table. “Why don’t you tell Brady to bring in Little Big Eyes so I can take a look at her? It might be amusing, and it’s obvious I’m not going to get an honest game out of you tonight.”
“I noticed you were a bit restless,” Deuce said quietly. “Bored?”
“It’s one of the drawbacks of being respectable, I suppose,” York said. “Hell, yes, I’m bored.” He met Deuce’s gaze. “I thought I had it out of my system when I came back to Arizona, but it never really goes away, does it?”
Deuce shook his head. “Too many years of wandering, too many places without laws or even codes of behavior. It spoils a man for the tame life.”
“But I was getting bored with wandering, too, before I came back home.” He made a face. “I’m tired to death of being the rough, tough mining tycoon. I don’t know, maybe I should try something new.”
“Maybe,” Deuce said. “But Rafe and Burke will be very disappointed if you opt out of the Shamrock Trinity again, you know.”
“I know.” He’d miss them, too, he thought, if he started wandering. His brothers and Killara were the only part of the Delaney empire he had longed for while he’d been away those seven years. The three of them were linked by ties more binding than heritage and upbringing. Except for Deuce, Rafe and Burke were the only people on the face of the earth York really loved. “I guess I’ll have to think about it,” he said. “In the meantime, let’s see if we can lighten the boredom with your Liza Minnelli look-alike.”
“I said the eyes were Liza Minnelli, the rest is an unknown quantity. But that won’t be bad in your present frame of mind. You’re in the mood for blazing new trails.”
“Not with jailbait,” York said dryly. “And I doubt very much if the trails in question are virgin-new.”
Deuce chuckled as he strode from the room.
York stretched out his legs, his fingers toying idly with the poker chips in front of him. He didn’t want to be half a world away from Rafe and Burke again, dammit. Perhaps he was just bored with Hell’s Bluff. They had recently opened a new mine in the north of the state. He could transfer its manager here and take over the new location himself. Maybe the challenge would be enough to pierce the ennui he’d been experiencing lately. At this point he’d try any—
Enormous black eyes were burning fitfully in a pale face.
York was so shocked by those eyes, he noticed little else about the girl
who had followed Deuce and Brady into the library. Haunting and vaguely melancholy, her eyes dominated the room with the force of a hand laid upon the heart. York felt like shaking his head to clear it of the strangely poignant effect her eyes were having on him.
He found he wanted to do something, anything, to chase away her melancholy. Her short black hair was wet and shining, and emphasized the gauntness of her face. Her mouth was her only other noticeable feature, well shaped with a sensitive curve to the lower lip. In the loose dark jacket she was wearing, she looked as tiny and fine-boned as a bird. And she was thin, too damn thin, he thought with an irrational burst of annoyance.
“It’s very good of you to see us, Mr. Delaney,” Brady said with an ingratiating smile. “But then when I first met you, I knew you were a fair man.”
York stood up. “Brady,” he acknowledged. His gaze returned to the girl standing by the door. “I don’t believe I’ve met the lady.”
“Sierra Smith, one of my employees. She wasn’t with us at the time we came to Hell’s Bluff two years ago. This is York Delaney, Sierra.”
“Mr. Delaney.” The girl’s voice was low, even a little husky, but expressionless.
For some reason her apparent indifference further irritated York. When he turned back to Brady, there was an added edge to his words. “I can’t say my experience with you has been a particularly pleasant one, Brady. You’re a greedy man, and I don’t care for the breed. My men dropped enough in your coffers without you having to resort to cheating to pick the bones clean.”
“That was a mistake,” Brady said hurriedly. “The dice game—”
“Was crooked,” York finished crisply. He glanced at Deuce. “I have it on the very best authority.”
“Well, yes, but I knew nothing about it. The man who was running the game did it without my knowledge or consent. I don’t tolerate any kind of chicanery in my troupe. It causes far too much trouble. Now, if you’ll just give us your permission to come into town and give a few performances, I promise to keep an eye on everyone and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“I don’t give second chances, Brady.” York’s lips tightened grimly. “My men are isolated here by my own policy. It’s my responsibility to see they’re not fleeced or victimized because their isolation makes them vulnerable to any huckster who comes along.”
“But I assure you, if you’ll just—”
“It’s no use, Chester,” Sierra said. “Can’t you see that? Let’s go back to the trucks and—” She broke off as a violent fit of coughing struck her.
“Be quiet, Sierra,” Brady said tersely. “You said you wouldn’t try to persuade him, but don’t interfere either.”
She was still coughing, and the racking of the girl’s fragile body filled York with anger. “Shut up, Brady. What the hell do you mean, dragging her out in weather like this anyway? Can’t you see she’s sick?” He was across the room in three strides. “Come on, I’ll get you something hot to drink before you go back to the rest of your troupe. You’re shaking yourself to pieces with that coughing.” He took her by the elbow and began to push her toward the door. “Wait here, Brady,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I don’t want her on her own at this time of night. This is a rough town.”
“I’ll wait.” There was a curiously satisfied expression on Brady’s face. “Take your time, Sierra. Mr. Delaney’s probably right about your cough. You shouldn’t have insisted on coming with me tonight.”
The sound Sierra made was somewhere between an incredulous laugh and a gasp. Then the coughing started again, and she was led from the room by York Delaney’s far from gentle hand.
Two
“Sit down,” York ordered as he opened one of the pine cabinets above the sink. “I’ll make this as quick as possible. I don’t want you here any more than you want to be here.” He took a brand new bottle of lemon juice concentrate from the cabinet and slammed the door shut. After setting some water on to boil, he retrieved a terry-cloth towel from a drawer and tossed it to her. “Dry your hair. You’re so wet, I’m surprised you don’t leave a puddle where you’re standing.”
Sierra caught the towel and automatically began to dab at her hair. He was angry, she realized. There was an almost tangible leashed violence to his movements. She collapsed on the kitchen chair he’d indicated and sighed with relief. Her legs were terribly weak, and it felt good to relieve the strain on them.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, draping the towel on the back of her chair. “I can get something when I get back to my trailer. I’m used to taking care of myself.”
“Then you should have learned to do it better by this time. Why didn’t you stay with the others at the trucks?” His back was toward her, and it seemed taut with anger and disapproval as he measured lemon juice into the cup. It was a beautiful back, she thought hazily. He was wearing a black chambray shirt, and it emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His low-slung jeans were faded to a pale white-blue and clung to muscular thighs and the most magnificent tush she’d ever seen.
But then the attractiveness of his back wasn’t really unusual when you considered the rest of him was just as beautiful. When she’d first walked into the library, she had felt an almost physical shock. His classical features could have graced a Grecian coin, Sierra thought, and his startling sapphire-blue eyes were clear and deep against the darkness of his sun-bronzed face. His thick raven-black hair had just the right amount of wave. It wasn’t fair for a man to be this gorgeous, she thought; Mother Nature should have spread her bounty around more evenly. The only hint of imperfection was the cynical twist to his perfectly shaped mouth and the slightly jaded expression in those wonderful blue eyes.
“Well?” He turned to face her.
Had he asked her a question? She tried to concentrate, but the fog of lethargy creeping over her made it increasingly difficult. Oh, yes, now she remembered. “Chester wanted me to come with him.”
“So you obediently trotted out into the storm with a cough that sounds close to tubercular,” he said caustically. He poured hot water into the cup, then walked over to her, the cup and saucer in his hand.
“He thought I could help,” she said. “I think he’s getting desperate.” She took the cup he handed her. “Chester doesn’t realize there are some people who can’t be influenced.”
He went still. “You agreed to try to ‘influence’ me.”
She smiled shakily. “Not that way. Neither Chester nor I are stupid enough to think you’d be sexually interested in me. But Chester believes I have a kind of lost-puppy appeal that can soften up a certain kind of businessman. Sometimes it even works.”
“You’ve let yourself be used like this before?”
“On occasion. The troupe isn’t in very sound financial shape, and there are a lot of good people with their jobs on the line.” She lifted the cup and the steam rising from it was filled with the pungent scent of lemon.
“Don’t just stare at it. Drink it,” he said as he dropped into a chair across the table from her. His eyes were blazing in his set face.
What she had said had evidently made him even angrier. Well, it didn’t matter. He had already made up his mind anyway. She took a sip of the lemon juice. It was hot and sour and cut through the haze of congestion as it flowed down her throat. “This is very good.”
“My mother used to dose my brothers and me with hot lemon juice when we had colds. I don’t know if it did any good, but it always made me feel better.”
She took another sip and gazed at him over the rim of the cup. Even when frowning, he was handsome enough to stop traffic, Sierra mused. He was like a magnificent peacock whose plumage rippled and swayed in the breeze, revealing new colors and vibrancy every moment.
“Why the hell are you looking at me like that?” he asked testily. “I assure you I’m not one of those businessmen who can be ‘softened’ by a big-eyed waif.”
“I know. I was thinking you remind me of a peacock.??
? Oh, dear, what a thing to say. The words had just tumbled out.
He blinked in surprise. “A peacock?”
“Because you’re so beautiful,” she said. “It’s really not fair, you know. There are so many plain people in the world. You shouldn’t have gotten it all.”
He was instantly wary. A come-on? he wondered. He knew he was physically attractive. It had been a miserable curse when he was growing up on the ranch. Later he had found it useful and even exploited it when it suited him. He was accustomed to women enjoying looking at him, but he didn’t remember anyone ever gazing at him with the grave wonder he saw in Sierra Smith’s eyes. No, it wasn’t a come-on. Her expression held a childlike honesty and directness.
He pulled his gaze away from hers with an effort. “How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-one.”
“You look younger. Deuce thought you were jailbait.” He studied her. “How did you get hooked up with Brady’s outfit?”
“Eighteen months ago I was working as a bank clerk in Flagstaff when Brady’s vaudeville troupe came to town. When they left town, I went with them.”
“If you wanted to become involved in show business, I think you could have chosen a better vehicle than Brady’s sleazy outfit.” His lips twisted in a crooked smile. “Is life on the wicked stage as glamorous as you thought it would be?”
“I wasn’t looking for glamour.” She took another sip of the lemon drink. “You know, when I was a kid, my family traveled constantly, and I dreamed of a time when I could have everything orderly and secure. Then, when I finally achieved my orderly life-style, I couldn’t stand it. It was too regimented. I wanted to try new things, experiment. I swore every single day I was going to learn at least one new thing.”
“And did you find you could do that with Brady’s troupe?” His gaze was fixed intently on her face.
“Yes, and I don’t think you’re being entirely fair to Chester. The troupe may be a little sleazy and this kind of entertainment may have gone out with Stutz Bearcats and raccoon coats, but his people love performing. Chester provides them with an opportunity to do that, an opportunity they wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.” She set her empty cup down on the table. “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Delaney. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She started to get to her feet. “I’ll go tell Chester I’m ready to go.”