Becoming Miss Becky Page 5

  Chapter Five

  Adam sat with his boots propped on his desk, wishing somebody would walk through his door with a distraction. Preferably a distraction involving shooting.

  For the first time in his life, he was giving some deep thought—too much thought, actually—to the old gypsy’s prediction.

  “You are going to grow into a fine, strong man. Many will fear you. Yes, you will stand tall among men. But a painted lady will be your downfall.”

  What did that mean exactly? If he succumbed to the attentions of a painted lady, would men no longer fear him? Would it mean the end to the ruthless reputation he’d worked so hard to build?

  He had to admit Rebecca Hamilton seemed worth the risk. His reputation wasn’t smoke and mirrors, after all. Even if his finding a woman to love made some men think he was going soft, having a wife wouldn’t affect his aim any. It wouldn’t take more than a few bodies to make folks realize he was still nobody they wanted to trifle with.

  But what if the prediction was more dire? While he couldn’t reason out any way having relations with a soiled dove could lead to him getting killed, he couldn’t totally put aside the fears he’d had since he was just a pup. No matter how powerful the need he felt for Rebecca, it wasn’t worth dying for.

  Still, since the notion of marrying the woman had popped into his head, he hadn’t been able to shake it loose. Kissing her hadn’t helped any. Instead of even temporarily easing his hunger, it had been like letting a starving man lick the soup spoon. Now that he knew how good it was, he just wanted more.

  The door opened and Adam let his feet slide to the floor, but it was only Will. “Howdy, Doc.”

  “I hear you went into the livery stable to see Guapo and came out hot under the collar with a smear of lip paint on your mouth. Somethin’ about that horse I don’t know?”

  “It was that damn woman.”

  Will helped himself to some coffee and pulled up a chair. “That damn woman is usually Lucy Barnes or Eliza Jane, but Lucy don’t paint her face that I know of and I doubt you’ve been kissing my wife.”

  “You know damn well what woman I’m talking about.”

  “I’m guessing Becky’s got you all riled up, Adam. It’s about time.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call her that.”

  “Just doin’ what the lady wants.”

  “Lady.” Adam snorted. “Listen, you managed to get a women’s libber to marry you and take up cookin’ and everything—not that that’s necessarily a good thing, mind you—so what the hell should I do about this? I can’t remember the last time I had a problem I couldn’t just shoot.”

  “I’m not sure I can help you with this one. Eliza Jane ain’t exactly the prim and proper wife I imagined finding someday, but we made it work.”

  “Eliza Jane ain’t a whore.”

  “Neither is Becky.”

  “She looks like one. How would you feel if every man who rode into town looked at your wife and assumed she’d spread her legs for him for what’s jingling in his pockets?”

  “A man thinkin’ it and the woman doin’ it are different things.”

  “You’ve known me a long time, Doc. You really think I could live with any man disrespecting my wife?”

  Will grimaced into his cup before setting it down on the desk. “Your coffee’s more piss-poor than usual. And no, I don’t think you’d live with it well at all. No doubt Texas would suffer a shortage of cow hands within a year.”

  “You see my point. Unless she gives up on this Miss Becky charade, there ain’t no future for us.”

  “Thing is, Adam, I don’t think Miss Becky’s a charade.”

  No, he didn’t either. It was as if her outside finally matched what was really inside of her and it was the plain, gray little mouse that had been the charade.

  “What you need to do is go shoot a couple of people, have a drink and then spend some time with a nice widow.” Will surrendered to the need for coffee, no matter how bad it was and picked up his cup again. “You know I loved Miss Adele like a mother, my friend, so it goes without saying I feel a certain amount of loyalty to her niece.”

  There was an edge to Will’s voice Adam hadn’t heard directed at him before. “A certain amount of protectiveness, you mean.”

  “You’re a hard man, Adam, and set in your ways. Since I don’t see Becky being able to both meet your terms and be happy, I think you’re right about not having a future together. Might as well admit it straight out before anybody’s feelings get hurt.”

  ***

  Becky had developed the habit of being in the parlor when the first visitors arrived in the evening because it gave her a small measure of comfort to meet the men her chickens would be entertaining.

  And so it was she happened to be standing in the parlor talking to Holly when a filthy cowboy with a mean look in his eyes and scabbed-over gouges down his cheeks stepped into the Chicken Coop.

  Becky’s stomach rolled, but she managed to give him her customary polite smile. “Good evening, sir.”

  His flat gaze passed from her to Holly, then back again. “I’ll take you.”

  Though she knew it was a mistake to show fear, she couldn’t stop herself from taking a step back. “Sir, first of all, I own the establishment but I’m not in the habit of entertaining. Secondly, I require a certain amount of…cleanliness before allowing patrons upstairs. Laundering sheets is quite exhausting, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  The man started toward them and Holly whimpered beside her. Then Becky saw the knife in his hand and terror threatened to melt her insides like churned butter.

  She’d never wished so desperately for a gun. Or the knowledge to use one.

  “Fiona,” she whispered. Fiona not only had a gun, but was quite knowledgeable about its use, as well. “Why don’t you run and fetch Fiona, Holly. She has some special talents this gentleman might be interested in.”

  Before the man could say yes or no, Holly fled up the staircase like her heels were on fire. Now all Becky had to do was avoid angering their visitor to the point he used the knife before Fiona came downstairs. She had no doubt one look at the shotgun would send him on his way.

  “I said I’ll have you,” the man said, staring at the vee in her gown that gave him a glimpse of cleavage. “Your talents will suit me just fine.”

  “Please…just go.”

  “Oh, I’ll go. Soon as I’m done here.”

  Footsteps pounded across the ceiling and down the stairs. A man dressed only in his trousers with a pistol in his hand stopped halfway down, ready to draw aim, with Fiona and her shotgun on his heels.

  In the blink of an eye, the man reached out and grabbed Becky by the hair, pulling her in front of him and pressing the tip of the knife against her neck. It pricked just hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

  “Y’all put those guns away and nobody will get hurt.”

  “You let her go,” Fiona yelled, “and I won’t blow you out of your boots.”

  The man laughed as the pain increased and Becky felt a small trickle of warmth run down her skin. “I’m not letting her go until I’ve had me some fun. Feel free to watch if you like.”

  Adam was on his way to the livery stable to see Guapo—and relive yet again the kiss that shouldn’t have happened there—when a horse tied up outside the Mercantile caught his eye.

  He’d know that big chestnut anywhere. Handsome, strong and one of the finest-looking pieces of horseflesh in Texas, he’d lost to Guapo the only time Halstead had ever agreed to race. The man had lost a hundred dollars to Adam, and Guapo had started getting a little more respect.

  That Johnson fellow had been stupid enough to ride into Gardiner.

  Hand over his gun, Adam shoved through the door into the Mercantile, taking the entire store in with one sweeping glance. He didn’t see anybody who didn’t belong.

  “Tom, where’s the man who was riding that horse out front?”

  “Bought some tobacco and said he was going to f
ind him a woman, then a drink. Said he liked his vices in that order.”

  “Send Doc to the Coop,” Adam called over his shoulder as he left. He ran down the sidewalk, praying with every step he’d be on time. That nobody was hurt.

  That the bastard hadn’t cut Rebecca.

  He reached the Coop and didn’t bother reaching for the latch. He kicked the door open, his momentum carrying him inside the parlor, gun in hand.

  His gaze went immediately to Rebecca. Johnson was behind her, one hand holding a blade under her chin, the other cupping her breast.

  Blood ran down her neck, brilliant against her pale skin.

  Adam raised his gun. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

  He aimed.

  Fired.

  Johnson fell. Rebecca screamed, lurching forward. Adam swung his pistol toward the stairs—toward the second armed man in the room.

  The cowboy put up his hands, but Adam recognized him and lowered his gun.

  Rebecca sank to the floor, scrambling backward away from Johnson who stared sightlessly up at the ceiling. The single shot to his temple had done its job.

  Fiona pushed past the cowboy and descended the stairs. “Sheriff, you drag him off the carpet and onto the hardwood before the blood soaks in. Holly! Get on down here and fill a pail with hot water. Milton, you may as well get dressed. You come on back tomorrow and I’ll give you your money’s worth.”

  The cowboy went back upstairs, passing Holly on his way. Fiona started toward Rebecca, but Adam got there first, ignoring her instructions to keep Johnson from bleeding on the carpet. He crouched down and pulled her to her feet.

  She was shaking like a newborn calf. “It’s over now, sweetheart.”

  “You shot him,” she whispered.

  “He cut you.”

  “But…just like that.”

  “I didn’t want to shoot him. I wanted to beat him to death with my bare hands.”

  Her entire body shuddered hard and he pulled her into a tight embrace. He could tell by the amount of blood the cut wasn’t life-threateningly serious, so he’d comfort her and let Will see to the doctoring.

  “He wanted me to…he wanted me.”

  Words piled up in his throat—a lecture on how dangerous the whorin’ life was, how unsuited she was for it and the like—but he forced them back down. If he said them, she’d pull away and right now all he wanted to do was hold her until she felt better.

  Or until he felt better. Seeing that knife against her throat had scared him more than facing down what had seemed like the entire Union army at Gettysburg.

  Will walked through the door, gun in his right hand and medical bag in his left. “What the hell’s going on here?”

  Fiona and Holly seemed only too happy to fill him in on every detail, so Adam just kept holding Rebecca until Will extracted himself from the chattering chickens to see to her cut.

  “Where’s Sadie?” he asked.

  “She went for a walk with Dan so they could talk about their wedding. I’m so glad she wasn’t here.”

  “You’re a lucky woman, Becky,” the doctor said after cleaning and examining the cut.

  “I don’t feel very lucky at the moment.” She was sitting on the sofa, but she looked over at Adam. “How did you know to come here?”

  “Recognized Halstead’s horse in front of the Mercantile. Johnson was last seen riding it.”

  “I’ve never had to deal with anybody like that before.”

  “You get all sorts in a place like this,” Adam snapped, but then he shut his mouth when Will glared at him. It still wasn’t time for that lecture. “I’m going to go get Ol’ Bart over here to collect the body and make arrangements to get Halstead back his horse.”

  “Adam, please don’t—” He turned, but she stopped and looked down at her hands. “Thank you for being here.”

  He tipped his hat and left before the tears he heard in her voice began to fall.

  Chapter Six

  Becky sat with Eliza Jane in the Coop’s kitchen, drinking tea before the chickens were out of bed. It had started as Becky’s habit, then become Eliza Jane’s after the first time she tasted the tea Tom Dunbarton shipped in special for the Coop.

  “Are you sleeping any better?” Eliza Jane asked after they’d each savored a first sip in silence. It was part of the morning ritual.

  “I almost slept straight through last night.” It had been nearly a week since Johnson held a knife to her throat, but the memory still made her shudder. “I’ve just never seen violence like that before.”

  “The West is a rough place. Fortunately Adam keeps most of the problems other towns face out of Gardiner.”

  That was part of what was keeping her up at night. If she’d ever imagined what violence and death would be like, it would be loud and passionate, raging fear and fiery tempers.

  Adam had been stone-cold. No emotion. He hadn’t hesitated. He’d simply shot the man, just like that. And he’d shot to kill.

  After spending her life surrounded by nonviolent businessmen with impeccable manners, she wasn’t sure how she felt about a man who could kill another as easily as he might sneeze.

  On the other hand, looking into a man’s eyes and knowing he’d walk through hellfire to keep her safe had a way of making a woman breathless. She supposed he’d do it for anybody—he had sworn an oath in order to get that badge—but remembering the look on his face that night had kept her warm during recent sleepless nights.

  “Let’s talk about that marriage proposal again,” Eliza Jane said.

  “Sadie and Dan are getting married next month. You know that.”

  “And you know I’m not referring to that proposal.”

  Becky sighed. Once Eliza Jane confessed Will had told her about Becky’s first meeting with the sheriff, she’d been like a dog with a soup bone. “You think I’m foolish for not accepting, don’t you?”

  Truth be told, Becky sometimes thought that herself. If she was the sheriff’s wife she never would have had a knife held to her throat in a whorehouse.

  And if Lucas Kilraine came after her…

  Becky dropped her gaze from Eliza Jane’s and resisted the urge to run a fingertip over the emerald pendant she wore. They’d shared many confidences as their friendship grew, but she’d never mentioned Lucas Kilraine or who the jewelry might legally belong to.

  Sometimes she’d go days without thinking of him. But then the memory of the days until her father’s deadline would overtake her. If it was only her or even only the jewelry, she might feel safer. But with all of her father’s money at stake, she couldn’t help but be afraid.

  “I don’t think you’re foolish,” Eliza Jane replied, and Becky forced her attention back to the conversation. “But based on what you’ve told me about your upbringing, marriage would seem more suitable for you than being a madam.”

  “Considering how much I’ve changed since then, the proposal’s hardly relevant anymore. He’s made it perfectly clear he won’t accept me like this.”

  “Would it be so great a sacrifice to wash your face and put up your hair?”

  “Yes, it would. I’m happy living by my own terms, Eliza Jane.”

  The doctor’s wife smiled over the rim of her cup. “And that’s what’s truly important. Adam will either come around or he won’t.”

  They were on their second cups when Sadie wandered into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing the curve of her belly. “I’m starving.”

  “And I just happened to bring muffins,” Eliza Jane said, pointing at the linen-draped basket at the center of the table.

  Sadie eyed it warily. “That’s mighty kind of you, Mrs. Martinson, but…”

  “I didn’t bake them,” she admitted with a laugh. “I asked Marguerite to bake me a batch to thank Miss Becky for sharing this wonderful tea with me.”

  “I consider your company thanks enough. And you eat up, Sadie. We need to head over to the Mercantile and find some pretty yard goods for your wedding dress.”

 
Sadie didn’t smile, but Becky didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up. “I don’t need nothing special, I reckon. A pregnant whore getting married ain’t cause for a grand celebration.”

  “Love is always a good reason to celebrate. Although I will admit a lovely shade of something other than white might be most suitable.”

  They all laughed and passed the muffin basket around. Shortly thereafter the other women made their appearance and soon there was nothing but crumbs left in the bottom.

  “So I hear Lucy Barnes tried to strong-arm Tom Dunbarton into closing your account at the Mercantile,” Eliza Jane said.

  Becky rolled her eyes. “That dreadful woman is always up to something. Tom, however, is an intelligent businessman.”

  “You all do a fair amount of business there, I’d say.”

  “I also explained to him that if we had to start freighting our supplies in from someplace else, I would have to raise our prices to compensate for the added costs.”

  “Since he already pays extra on account of having some peculiar tastes,” Fiona added, “the idea didn’t set well with him.”

  Becky wasn’t sure exactly what those peculiar tastes were, and she wasn’t going to ask. The prices had been set by Aunt Adele and that was good enough. She did wonder at times, though.

  “Speaking of peculiar,” Betty said, her red hair a messy cloud around her face, “I ran into the Widow Donnelly at the Mercantile yesterday and she asked if Sheriff Caldwell had been comin’ round here.”

  Becky tried not to look puzzled by the statement. What did peculiar have to do with Adam? Did he have those unexplained peculiar tastes? And, more importantly, who was the Widow Donnelly?

  “It seems he used to visit her regular-like up until last month or so,” Betty continued. “But he ain’t been, so she wanted to know if he’d been payin’ for it instead.”

  Eliza Jane kicked Becky’s ankle under the table and gave her a wicked smile. “He’s saving himself for you, Miss Becky,” she said and the chickens giggled.

  Becky tried not to blush in front of her vastly more experienced friends, but she could feel the tell-tale heat in her cheeks. “It’s more likely he found another widow to visit.”