Chapter 11
Vance smoothed the front of his strawflower blue suit jacket. “You look ravishing tonight, Stormy. Your hair, your gown. Exquisite.”
Stormy swept her gaze over the bed of the buckboard looking for something heavy or sharp. She spied a hammer way up front but she’d have to climb in to reach it. “You keep away from me.”
He pressed his hands together in a gesture of supplication. “I acted badly the last time we met. I’m a man of action, used to taking what I want. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
She eyed him guardedly, calculating if she could reach for the hammer over the side of the buckboard without ripping a shoulder seam in her new dress.
“Let me prove myself. Dance with me.” He reached for Belinda’s reins, slid his hand to where she gripped the smooth leather strap, and frowned. “This is Masters’ horse.”
“I’m borrowing it. He can ride home in the buckboard.”
“I don’t think so.” Vance pointed toward Blade, who strolled toward the hotel with his arm around one of the whores. “He reserved a room when he heard about Founders Day. He’ll need his mare come morning.”
The air around her head thundered like she stood in the middle of a stampeding herd of wild horses. Vance’s lips moved, but she didn’t hear what he said. Her foolish hope—that Blade secretly cared for her—withered and died.
“And, that’s why I don’t trust him,” Vance said with a decisive nod. “Now, let’s go show ourselves off. You, me, dressed in our fine new clothes. We’ll walk, and when you’re ready, we’ll dance.”
Determined to shake off the wooden feeling in her limbs, Stormy decided she wanted to dance now. Vance made a great show of bowing before drawing her into his arms. She emptied her mind and followed his lead without much effort.
After several dances, Vance suggested a short promenade down Main Street. “You’re finer than any of those whores. The hired hands waiting their turns at the hotel will be jealous. Including Masters.” He tucked her arm under his.
Stormy shook free. The last time she was alone with Vance, she’d had to fight her way out.
“I swear I’ll be a perfect gentleman. We’ll walk as far as the hotel and come right back.”
Stormy wasn’t sure she believed him, but if she went along, she might discover an excuse to fire Blade on the spot. Moreover, there were people milling about on Main Street.
She’d handled Vance before. She could do it again.
As they strolled, Vance commented on how spry Zed appeared tonight. He inquired after the health of her steers. She answered with single syllable words. “Yes. No. Fine.”
She stopped abruptly when she heard a whoop and a holler inside the hotel. One voice was definitely female. The other didn’t sound like Blade.
“Whores and hands deserve each other, don’t you think?” Vance sniffed as they crossed to the other side of the street. A light glowed through the window of his Land & Loan office. “I’ve been saving a bottle of single malt scotch for a special occasion.” He patted her hand. “I’ll run in and get it.”
Relieved to have a few moments alone, Stormy stared outright at the hotel. Blade wasn’t milling on the front porch or dancing on a balcony. She wondered which room he was in, and what he was doing.
Vance spoke in her ear, startling her. “He’s in six, the room with no lights, bedding his whore. Forget about him. We’re celebrating.” He held up the bottle like a prize. “Come inside.”
“Why?” She blinked away angry tears. Her heart felt hollow and useless, like an abandoned paper wasps’ nest.
“Because, this is very expensive whiskey, and because you don’t want to risk spilling a drop on your lovely gown,” he said reasonably. “One drink, then we’ll head back to the dance.”
Hoping a shot would heal the hurt in her chest, she followed Vance as far as the open door. “I’m staying outside.”
“Suit yourself.” He broke the wax seal on his bottle, pulled out the cork, and half-filled two squat tumblers, sitting on his desk. He held one out to her.
“Bring mine out here,” she ordered.
“Your wish is my command.” He came almost within reach.
Playful shrieks pierced the evening. A ranch hand wearing unlaced boots and a red union suit chased a scantily clad whore down the front steps of the hotel.
“They’ll go on like that all night.” Vance sighed. “Might as well drink up.”
Stormy inched close enough to take the glass. She drank the whiskey, and when it didn’t numb her lips, she held out her glass for more.
Vance poured full measures this time. “Stormy, I could do so much for you. Forgive your note. Buy you dresses that would make this beauty look like an old rag. Hire cowboys to tend your cattle.”
The cowboy I want doesn’t want me. She downed the drink as if it were water and stared morosely across the street.
“Pay attention to me.” Suddenly cross, Vance grabbed a fistful of her hair and manhandled her into the Land & Loan.
“Let go!” She struggled to claw his fingers loose, but her fingernails were trimmed short for work. “Somebody, help me!”
“Yell all you like.” He turned the lamp down low. “Everyone at the hotel is drunk or busy, and we’re too far from the dance circle for anyone to hear.”
Twisting her hair savagely, he forced her down onto her knees with his back toward the door. “Unbutton my pants.”
Eyes blurring, fingers shaking, Stormy touched the fold of his fly. Slender and stiff, his rod lurked underneath. She patted it clumsily, stalling, praying he’d let go.
“That’s right.” He quit twisting, but still held tight. “As soon as we’re done here, you’ll tell Zed we’re enga—”
“Let her go, Vance, or I’ll shoot.”
Blade? Oh God, let it be him. She forced her head past Vance’s hip, stretching her scalp to its limit. Anymore, and she’d tear out her hair. She glimpsed someone Blade’s size looming in the doorway of the Land & Loan.
Vance yanked her back and pressed her face against his crotch, muffling her sob of pain. “One-hour whores are at the hotel, friend. This one’s mine for the rest of her life.”
Click.
“Stormy, stand up and come here.”
“Blade!” Her high-pitched cry sounded foreign in her ears. “I can’t. He’s got my hair.”
Vance turned, forcing her to scramble on her knees.
The bodice of her new dress clamped her shoulders until the cloth gave way. The sound of the rip sickened her. She flailed for a foothold that would lessen the pain searing her scalp.
“You’re too late, Masters. She’s as good as mine, and so’s her land.”
“Right eye or left, Vance? I’m a real good shot.”
Vance abruptly let go of her hair and shoved her toward the potbelly stove near the door. She landed hard on her hands and knees.
Reaching over her back, Vance snatched the fire poker from a bucket of kindling and swung at Blade’s head.
“Watch out!” she cried.
Blade ducked like a professional boxer and rammed his fist into Vance’s stomach.
Vance doubled over, gasping for breath. The iron poker crashed to the floor.
Blade kicked the poker away and hauled Stormy to her feet. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”
She clutched his arm until the room stopped spinning. Her head ached, and she had so many questions. Wasn’t he with the whore? Why did he come to save her? Where did he learn to fight like that? Was there anything he wasn’t good at?
She searched his eyes for answers, but they were dark and unreadable. He breathed heavily, as if he were trying to chain an inner fury.
Vance straightened, waved his hands in surrender. Then, he snarled and charged again.
Blade thrust a derringer into her hand and pummeled Vance with a barrage of blows to his abdomen.
The banker’s eyes bulged in their sockets. He crumpled to the floor and lay still on his back.
Blade straddled his head. “If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Vance uttered a strangled groan.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Blade took back his gun and tucked it into his boot. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her outside.
“Bring her up here.” A drunken ranch hand waved from a third-floor window.
Blade bounced her lightly and reinforced his hold on her hips and thighs.
Was he going to take her up there? “Oh, no you don’t.” Stormy pushed against his chest and kicked.
“Be still,” he said sharply.
“I can walk.”
“And, give you another chance to run off? Not on your life.”
As he carried her toward the circle of wagons, she regained her senses and wondered what people would think when they got there. The ends of his western tie hung loose, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. Her hair was tousled, and her dress torn. Surely, they looked like they’d just made passionate love in some isolated shadow.
She longed to be Guinevere to his Lancelot. His scent scrambled her thoughts. The heat from his body—not the malt whiskey she’d just drunk—made her want to kiss him.
He set her down beside the buckboard. His eyes held no tenderness, and his jaw clenched.
Did he intend to tow her back to the dancing circle? She gripped the side boards and tried to imagine what the gossips would say about that.
Grim-faced, Blade tied her mother’s cape around her shoulders and unhooked Belinda’s reins. “Mount up.”
“Zed’s expecting me to ride home in the buckboard,” she protested.
“No, he’s not.”
“First the dress. Then, one dance. Did you and Zed plan this entire evening?” Her voice grew uncontrollably shrill, and she trembled with indignation. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Not here,” he said. “Mount up, or I’ll put you up.”
She heard a knife’s edge in his tone and decided it was better to have this argument at the edge of town. She hiked up her skirt and revealed a scandalous amount of bare leg as she swung into his saddle.
“Stormy, are you leaving?” Anna Lee called.
Stormy didn’t respond. Her reputation was tainted beyond redemption.
Blade pried her foot out of the stirrups and climbed up behind her. At the edge of town, instead of stopping, he belted one arm around her waist and kicked Belinda into a gallop.
After six or seven shouts to stop, she gave up and held on. She’d show him she could play his game.
Miles later, he slowed Belinda to a stop. The air was still except for the hum of nocturnal insects. A pale moon glowed behind wisps of clouds high overhead.
Blade pushed himself off Belinda’s back. “Do you want me to stand for murder? I’d have shot him dead for you,” he bellowed. “Are you promised to Jonathan Vance?”
“No and no!” No one had ever yelled at her like this before.
“Then, why did you go with him? You know what he’s like.”
“You have some nerve.” She climbed down from the saddle and faced him. “I saw you walk towards the hotel with your arm around a whore. Why were you in such a hurry? Did Emma turn you down?”
“What?” He stared at her as if she’d just swallowed the moon.
She set her fists on her hips.
“Get back up on Belinda.”
“Not with you.”
“Stormy, let’s go home. I’ll explain on the way.”
“No. You are going to answer every question I have right here, right now. Even if it takes all night.”
Blade crouched, scraped up a handful of dirt, and hurled it into the night. “Purdy had something important to show me.”
“Purdy?”
“She owns Purdy’s Place in Yankton. I stayed there for a few days before I headed this way.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Best food in town.”
“She runs a whorehouse.” Stormy crossed her arms.
“That’s not important. I wasn’t going anywhere with her until she said, ‘Patrick and Natalie.”
Stormy had no idea what he was talking about. The haunted look on his face told her this was deep and personal.
“Patrick and Natalie are my—my brother’s children.”