He had images of touching her. Of tasting her. Of rolling around on the ground and filling himself with her. Seeing her now, looking like some flower that had sprung up out of the sand, he had to remind himself that they could only be images.
He figured that was no reason he couldn’t needle her a bit.
“Morning, Duchess. You come by to see me?”
“Certainly not.”
He couldn’t help but enjoy the way her eyes fired p. Casually he brushed a finger over the fabric she held and felt her jolt. “Mighty pretty, but I like the dress you’ve got on better.”
“It isn’t for me.” There was no reason in the world she should feel flattered, Sarah reminded herself. No reason at all. “Mrs. O’Rourke expressed interest in having a dress made.”
“So you sew, too.” His gaze traveled over her face, lingering on her mouth too long for comfort. “You’re full of surprises.”
“It’s an honest way to make a living.” Deliberately she looked down at the gun on his hip. “It’s a pity not everyone can say the same.”
It was difficult to say what the cool, disapproving tone made him feel. Rage, familiar and bitter-tasting. Futility, with its cold, hollow ring. Both emotions and flickers of others showed in his eyes as he stared down at her.
“So you heard about me,” he said before she could follow her first impulse and lay a soothing hand on his arm. “I’m a dangerous man, Sarah.” He took her chin in his hand so that her eyes stayed on his. “I draw my gun and leave women widows and children orphans. The smell of gunsmoke and death follows me wherever I go. I got Apache blood in my veins, so I don’t look on killing the way a white man might. I put a bullet in a man the same way a wolf rips out throats. Because it’s what I was made for. A woman like you had best keep her distance.”
She heard the fury licking at his words. More, she heard frustration, a deep, raw frustration. Before he could reach the door, she was calling after him.
“Mr. Redman. Mr. Redman, please.” Gathering up her skirts, she hurried after him. “Jake.”
He stopped and turned as she came through the doorway. They were outside only a step, but that was enough to have the heat and dust rising around them. “You’d do better to stay inside until Maggie comes down for you.”
“Please, wait.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t understand what you do, or who you are, but I do know you’ve taken the trouble to be a help to me. Don’t tell me to forget it,” she said quickly. “Because I won’t.”
“You’ve got a talent for tying a man up in knots,” he murmured.
“I don’t mean-”
“No, I don’t reckon you do. Anything else you want to say?”
“Actually, I-” She broke off when she heard a burst of wild laughter from the next building. As she looked, a man was propelled headfirst through a pair of swinging doors. He landed in a heap in the dust of the road. Even as Sarah started forward, Jake shifted to block her.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“That man might be hurt.”
“He’s too drunk to be hurt.”
Her eyes wide, Sarah looked past Jake’s shoulder and saw the drunk struggle to his feet and stagger back inside. “But it’s the middle of the day.”
“Just as easy to get drunk in the daylight as it is when the sun’s down.”
Her lips primmed. “It’s just as disgraceful.” Whiskey might be the work of the devil, Sarah thought, but she had promised Lucius. “I wonder if I might ask you another favor?”
“You can ask.”
“I need a bottle of whiskey.”
Jake took off his hat and smoothed back his hair, then replaced the hat. “I thought you didn’t care for it much.”
“It’s not for me. It’s for Lucius.” She was certain she heard the sound of breaking glass from the neighboring saloon as she reached for her reticule. “I’m afraid I don’t know the price.”
“Lucius is good for it. Go back inside,” he told her, then passed through the swinging doors.
“Quite a man, isn’t he?”
Sarah lifted a hand to her heart. “Mrs. O’Rourke, you startled me.”
Grinning, Maggie stepped outside. “Your mind was elsewhere.” She handed Sarah a bundle. “Good-looking, Jake is. Strong back, good hands. A woman can hardly ask for more.” Maggie glanced over as the din from the saloon grew louder. “You don’t have a fella back east, do you?”
“A what?” Distracted, Sarah inched closer to the saloon. She hated to admit it, but she was dying to see inside. “Oh, no. At least there was no one I cared for enough to many.”
“A smart woman knows how to bring a man around to marriage and make him think it was his idea all along. You take Jake-” Maggie broke off when Sarah squealed. Two men burst through the swinging doors and rolled into the street, fists flying.
“My goodness.” Her mouth hanging open, Sarah watched the two men kick and claw and pummel each other.
“I thought I told you to go inside.” Jake strolled out, carrying a bottle of whiskey by the neck.
“I was just-Oh!” She saw blood fly as a fist connected with a nose. “This is dreadful. You have to stop them.”
“Like hell I do. Where’s your wagon?”
“But you must,” Sarah insisted. “You can’t simply stand here and watch two men beat each other like this.”
“Duchess, if I try to break that up, both of them are going to start swinging at me.” He passed her the bottle of whiskey. “I don’t feel much like killing anybody today.”
With a huff, Sarah thrust the bottle back into his hands and followed it with the fabric and Maggie’s bundle. “Then I’ll stop them myself.”
“It’s going to be a shame when you lose some of those pretty teeth.”
Taking time only to glare at him, Sarah bent down and scooped up the spittoon Maggie kept beside her doorway. Her skirts in one hand, weapon in the other, she marched toward the middle of the melee.
“That’s some woman,” Maggie said with a grin.
Jake merely grunted. “Got grit.”
“Go water down your stew.”
Maggie just laughed. “She’s got you, too. Hope I’m around when she figures it out.”
A little breathless, Sarah dodged the rolling bodies. The men were groaning and hissing as they struggled to land punches. The smell of stale whiskey and sweat rose from both of them. She had to scramble a bit for aim before she brought the brass down with a thunk on one head and then the other. A roar of laughter, then a few cheers, poured out the doorway of the saloon. Ignoring the sound, Sarah looked down at the two men, who were frowning at her and rubbing their heads.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” she told them, in a tone that would have made Mother Superior proud. “Fighting in the street like a couple of schoolboys. You’ve done nothing but bloody your faces and make a spectacle of yourselves. Now stand up.” Both men reached for their hats and struggled to their feet. “I’m sure whatever disagreement you have can be better solved by talking it out.” Satisfied, Sarah nodded politely, then glided back across the street to where Jake and Maggie stood.
“There.” She handed Maggie the spittoon. Her self-satisfied smirk was for Jake alone. “It was only a matter of getting their attention, then applying reason.” He glanced over her head to where the two men were wrestling in the dirt again. “Yes, ma’am.” Taking her arm, he started up the street before she could get it in her head to do something else. “Did you learn to swing like that in your fancy school?”
“I had occasion to observe the nuns’ techniques for handling disagreements.”
“Ever get knocked on the head with a spittoon?”
She tilted her head, her eyes laughing under the cover of her lashes. “No, but I know what a wooden ruler feels like.” Sarah glanced in the dry goods as she stopped by her wagon. Inside, she could see Liza flirting with a thin, gangly man with straw-colored hair and shiny brown boots.