Becoming Miss Becky Read online

  “Bad for Rebecca’s business,” Adam pointed out.

  “I’d be happy for every one of those women if they found another way to make their way in the world,” she said indignantly and Adam shifted his legs in case she was the one who’d kicked him and was of a mind to do it again. “But until they do I’m going to strive to do my best to provide for them.”

  “Seems only fair seeing as how you benefit from them taking—”

  Will set his coffee mug down with a thump and pale pink washed over Rebecca’s pale skin.

  “Sheriff Caldwell, I did not ask to inherit a house of ill-repute, but I did. And I’m not going to abandon everything and everybody my aunt held dear simply because you disapprove.”

  Will and Eliza Jane both looked a little surprised by the biting tone coming from the little mouse, but Adam wasn’t. Hell, he’d felt the sting of her hand across his cheek a mere ten minutes or so after she first stepped foot in town.

  “You have other options,” he reminded her.

  “None that appeal to me just now,” she said in a snippy voice.

  Will coughed, trying like hell to smother a laugh in his fist and failing miserably. Eliza Jane looked a little confused, which was good. Maybe Will hadn’t spilled his guts about him proposing to a woman he didn’t even know. His pride was still smarting from that.

  “Have you seen much of Gardiner yet?” Eliza Jane asked, and Adam was grateful for the change in topic.

  Once womenfolk got to talking about shops and gossip they were generally at it a while, so Adam turned his attention back to finishing his breakfast. Making conversation wasn’t something he ever did well, but he seemed to do a poorer job of it than usual when it came to Rebecca Hamilton.

  What he needed was a bank robber or a cattle rustler to deal with so he could feel like his old self again.

  Rebecca made her way down the plank sidewalk to the Mercantile, intent on ordering tea. Her aunt might have been extravagant when it came to clothing and décor, but a palatable morning beverage seemed to have escaped her notice.

  The store was a hive of activity, owing no doubt to the signs advertising sales on muslin, gunpowder and cornstarch. Unwilling to push through the crowd or shout, Rebecca waited patiently in line.

  Unfortunately, calling the chaotic gathering in front of the cash register a line was being generous and—as usual—people didn’t notice her standing there so her turn never seemed to come.

  Taking a deep breath, Rebecca gathered her resolve. If she was going to get anywhere in this new life, she needed to learn to put herself forward, even if just a little.

  Even though she was trembling on the inside, Rebecca stepped in front of a stout, matronly lady holding a Bible. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I’ve been waiting a very long time. I believe I’m next.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and Rebecca was slightly perplexed by a few gasps from the crowd—she hadn’t been that rude—and turned to the man whose name was listed in the Coop’s account books. “Hello, Mr. Dunbarton. I’d like to order some tea.”

  “Got tea over there on the shelf.”

  “Yes, well…there is a tea I was accustomed to drinking back East, and I’d be ever so appreciative if you could order that for me. My Aunt Adele wasn’t much of a connoisseur, I’m afraid.”

  Mr. Dunbarton’s eyes widened, the crowd sucked in a shocked breath as one, and the woman she’d cut in front of took hold of her elbow. “You.”

  Rebecca turned to face the woman whose face was turning a rather alarming shade of red. “Pardon me?”

  The woman looked her up and down. “You don’t look like a fallen woman.”

  “Perhaps because I’m not?”

  “You’re living in that…that…place, with those sinful women. Turn your back on them and I’ll pray for your soul.”

  Rebecca tugged her arm out of the woman’s grasp. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but who are you?”

  “I’m Lucy Barnes. I founded the Gardiner Bible Brigade, and we’ll help you save your soul before it’s too late.”

  The attention being given her by the crowd was more than Rebecca had ever suffered, and the skin under her high collar started to itch. “I don’t believe my soul is in jeopardy, Mrs. Barnes. I’m simply a businesswoman, but I do thank you.”

  She started to turn back toward the counter, but the woman wasn’t done yet.

  “Are you not a God-fearing woman, then, Miss…Hamilton, is it?”

  “My father attended church regularly, but he preferred I stay home and see to his household. He wanted me to have no God but him, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re not like that woman, though. I can see that.”

  “That woman? Are you referring to my beloved aunt?” Beloved might be a stretch, as she barely remembered the woman, but Adele had been much beloved by Will and Eliza Jane, so it wasn’t an outright lie. “I do believe I’m more like her than you would ever know.”

  Lucy Barnes’s eyes narrowed while she petted her Bible as though it were a treasured pet. “Strumpet!”

  Shock froze Rebecca for a second, as she’d never in her life been spoken to like that. How dare she? “Shrew!”

  Rebecca pushed past the woman and out the door, realizing too late she’d never given Mr. Dunbarton the name of the tea. But it hardly mattered. She couldn’t believe she’d behaved like that in public.

  She really couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt.

  Once she was back in the safety of her room, Rebecca sank onto the vanity chair and looked at herself in the mirror. Unfamiliar temper had put color in her cheeks, and her normally very boring eyes fairly snapped back at her.

  Standing up for herself clearly suited her.

  One by one she pulled the pins from her hair until it flowed freely down her back and her scalp seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Freed from its prim and proper prison, her pale hair formed a curly cloud around her face. Very impractical, she’d always told herself, and her father had despised seeing it loose because it was so like her mother’s.

  Thoughts of her father drew Rebecca’s gaze to the trunk the sheriff had set at the foot of her bed. Other than when it was on the train and then strapped to the roof of the stagecoach, it hadn’t been out of her sight since she left Massachusetts. Not because of her serviceable wardrobe or the few favorite books she’d managed to bring, but because deep inside was hidden the evidence of the only crime she’d ever committed.

  Evidence she hoped a man named Lucas Kilraine wouldn’t care enough about to come looking for.

  Just thinking his name started a shiver that threatened to twist her spine into knots. The way he’d looked at her as the lawyer read to them the contents of her father’s will had turned her stomach at the time, and the memory of it did now. The will had stated in no uncertain terms Lucas inherited Rebecca’s hand in marriage, along with the rest of his substantial worldly goods. And not once in her entire life had Rebecca ever disobeyed her father.

  Even now she marveled at the coincidence of her Aunt Adele’s letter waiting for her on the entry table when she returned home, devastated and frightened, from the lawyer’s office. The letter offering her an opportunity—a chance for freedom. She’d written back immediately, packed some clothing and a few treasured books and—before she could talk herself out of it—her grandmother’s jewelry. It had been passed to Rebecca’s mother and then left to Lucas Kilraine along with the rest of the estate.

  Assuming he made her his wife within the year. She’d stolen it all from him by running away.

  Rebecca took a deep breath and, determined not to dwell on Lucas Kilraine, started poking around the little boxes, pots and jars on her aunt’s vanity table out of sheer curiosity. Dusting on powder. Dipping brushes.

  She caught herself glancing again and again at the door, as if she were a little girl afraid of being caught at her mother’s vanity. Then she realized there was nobody to catch her—nobody to scold her.

  For the first time in her life she could do
exactly as she pleased.

  And she pleased to be seen, to be heard. After believing herself condemned to go through life as a drab and dutiful woman, the very idea of freedom made her stomach flutter like a hummingbird’s wings.

  After many failed attempts, smudges and blots, Rebecca blinked at herself in the mirror. Her kohl-lined eyes stood out, dark and mysterious against pale skin, and her crimson lips curved into a smile.

  Feeling very much like a little girl playing dress-up, she went to her aunt’s wardrobe and touched the scandalous gowns. It wouldn’t hurt to try one on, as long as nobody saw her.

  She couldn’t get the corset tied as tightly as she would have liked, but a few minutes later red satin and lace clung to her body, caressing her skin as though they’d been made just for her. Aunt Adele obviously hadn’t pinched pennies when it came to her clothes because, red or not, the fine fabric was like heaven.

  To complete the look, Rebecca burrowed down to the bottom of the trunk and retrieved the gold and ruby necklace and eardrop set she’d always been especially fond of. Her father had declared the jewelry vulgar and forbidden her mother to wear it, but sometimes her mother had let her touch the necklace’s big blood red stone.

  Her next glance in the mirror stole her breath away. She looked…beautiful.

  There was nothing drab or invisible about the sultry woman looking back at her. From the shining mass of pale spun-gold hair to the soft swell of her breasts to her tiny waist to the soft swishing of red satin around her ankles, she looked bold. Brilliant. Free.

  Looking back at her from the gilt-framed glass was the woman she’d long ago stifled inside of her. The woman she wanted to be.

  “Why, hello there, Miss Becky.”

  Chapter Three

  Something was up in Gardiner. Adam tried his damndest to focus on his dinner, but his trigger finger was starting to twitch in anticipation, which played hell on holding a fork.

  “You hear any news this evening?” he asked Will, who seemed oblivious to the town’s agitation. With Eliza Jane visiting with the Thayer woman, giving him a respite from her cooking, he was just glad to be eating Marguerite’s food.

  “Nope, but then I did spend most of the afternoon behind closed doors.”

  It was enough to put a man off his food. “You keep this up and I’ll have to reconsider having a friendship with a married man. Or at least sharing meals with one.”

  The doc washed down the last of his dinner with a swig of coffee. “When a man starts proposing to women he doesn’t even know, his single days are drawing to an end anyhow.”

  Adam pushed away his plate, wondering again about the tension in his town. “You didn’t tell anybody about that, did you?”

  “Just Eliza Jane.”

  “Damnation, Doc, I told you not to tell anybody.”

  “She’s my wife. And you try keeping a secret from that woman.”

  Try keeping a secret in Gardiner, period. Some good gossip about the sheriff offering to marry Miss Adele’s niece ten minutes after she arrived in town would go a long way toward explaining the whispers and furtive glances.

  Because it was his turn to pay, Adam dropped some money on the table and pushed back his chair. “God help me if the Bible Brigade finds out I’d swear vows with a whorehouse madam.”

  “Calling Rebecca Hamilton a whorehouse madam’s quite a stretch, if you ask me.”

  The two men nodded to Marguerite on their way out of the restaurant, then donned their hats before stepping out into the sun.

  “Whether she acts the part or not,” Adam said, “it’s what she is.”

  Will shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back onto his heels. “Eliza Jane’s been after me to invite you to our place for dinner.”

  “I’d rather shoot myself in the foot, but thank you kindly anyway.”

  “I’m afraid even that wouldn’t be a good enough excuse.” The doctor laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “She is getting better, though. There were hardly any shells at all in the eggs she fried up the other night.”

  But Adam was barely listening because a colorful flash of frills and feathers had caught his eye. A little way down the sidewalk, heading away from him, was one of the chickens. Or so he’d figured, judging by the get-up.

  But only one of the chickens was blonde, and Sadie was a sight taller. The misgivings of the morning set to boiling and he headed up the sidewalk after the woman. He was only vaguely aware of the doctor following after him, but very aware of the way people were stopping to stare as though anticipating a brawl.

  And that’s exactly what they were going to get if Rebecca Hamilton had gone and done what he feared she had.

  “Stop!” he hollered, and all of Gardiner fell still and silent.

  The woman turned and all the air whooshed out of Adam’s lungs. Yup, she’d gone and done it all right.

  Freed from what must have been hundreds of pins, Rebecca’s cloud of blonde curls would have put him in mind of a halo, if not for the small but devilish red feather pinned jauntily to one side. Her ears and neck sported a gold and ruby set that had sure cost some man a pretty penny. And speaking of necks, Adam could see way too much of hers—clear down to cleavage that made him forget every word he’d been about to hurl at her. The scarlet dress with its too-tight bodice damn near made him forget his own name.

  “Good morning, Sheriff,” Rebecca said, lips painted the same shade as her dress forming the husky words that seemed to reach out and stroke parts of his body that had no business being stroked right there on the main street. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “Like hell it is, Rebecca.”

  Her dark eyes, accented by that black stuff the chickens wore, crinkled at him and those damn dimples winked. “I’ll be going by Miss Becky now.”

  “Like hell you will.”

  “I’m a new woman, Sheriff Caldwell.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  “You’re repeating yourself.”

  “Like hell I am.”

  “Like hell you ain’t,” Will said, and a few people in the gathering crowd chuckled.

  “You ain’t no kind of loyal, Will Martinson.” Then he gave his full attention back to Rebecca Hamilton. “You go on back to the Coop and wash that paint off your face. And change out of that dress, too.”

  She put her hands on her satin-covered hips and he braced himself for a torrent of feminine fury.

  “No,” was all she said, but it was enough to make the crowd gasp.

  People, as a rule, didn’t tell him no. The number of men he’d had to shoot, combined with the highly exaggerated number of men he was rumored to have shot, added up to a reputation that made most people do as they were told. Even if the reputation wasn’t wholly merited, it was one he cultivated in his effort to keep the peace in Gardiner. People being in awe of the number of men he’d shot cut down on the number he actually did have to shoot.

  But Miss Hamilton sure as hell didn’t seem to care much about his reputation. On the one hand, he could understand her not paying him any mind. He didn’t hold any kind of authority over her, after all. But on the other, he didn’t give a damn. Seeing her all decked out like a whore made him feel as though he’d swallowed nitroglycerine and it was fixing to blow him to hell and back.

  Adam made a conscious effort to rein in his temper. “This ain’t what Miss Adele wanted for you.”

  “I suppose if she didn’t want me to be a whorehouse madam, she wouldn’t have left me a whorehouse.”

  Logical females made him crazy, so he tried a different tactic. “If you take a good look around, you’ll notice you’re disturbing the peace. I don’t like my peace disturbed.”

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Everybody’s peace was just fine until you bellowed.”

  He leaned in close so folks couldn’t hear him. “I can’t believe I offered to marry you.”

  She had to tilt her head way back to look him in the eye. “And I can’t believe I seriously considered it.�
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  Well, son of a bitch. That took the wind right out of his sails. “You actually gave consideration to becoming my wife?”

  “Yes, I did. But I decided to become Miss Becky instead.”

  And then she turned around and walked away from him. Adam stood there, his right hand flexing over his gun belt. It was just a creature habit, but it was enough to get the townsfolk hurriedly going about whatever business they’d been up to before he decided to make an ass of himself on the main street.

  The woman had it in her head running a brothel was preferable to being his wife? He’d be lying if he said that didn’t sting a bit. While he wasn’t any kind of poetic soul, he wasn’t a two-bit saddle bum, either.

  Women had led him to believe he wasn’t hard on the eyes, and he earned a decent wage as sheriff. Hell, he even bathed regularly and took care of his teeth like his ma had taught him. In this neck of the woods, he was damn near a prince.

  Before he could do the sensible thing and talk himself out of it, Adam went after her. Maybe he could try sweet talkin’ her a bit. Rather than shout again, he lengthened his strides until he was close enough to catch her by the elbow and turn her around.

  Rebecca put both hands on his chest and shoved. Hard. As a rule, a little mouse such as herself would have no effect on a man of Adam’s size, but something hard caught him behind the knees. Next thing he knew, his feet were coming up and a disgruntled sorrel nickered as Adam landed with a mighty splash in the horse trough.

  He came up sputtering and shook his head like a wet dog.

  “I will not be manhandled, Sheriff Caldwell,” the blasted woman said calmly. “If you would like to conduct a civilized conversation, you may call on me at the Chicken Coop. Good day.”

  Becky walked down the plank sidewalk as quickly as she could without running. She was afraid if she stood still all of Gardiner would be able to hear her knees knocking together.