watched the statuesque woman approach. In all her life she’d never seen hair that color. It gleamed like the brass knob on Mother Superior’s office door. The vivid blue silk dress she wore was too snug at the bodice and entirely too low for day wear. Smooth white breasts rose out of it, the left one adorned with a small beauty mark that matched another at the corner of her -red lips. She carried an unfurled parasol and strolled, her hips swaying shamelessly.
As she came shoulder-to-shoulder with Sarah, the woman stopped and looked her up and down. The tiny smile she wore became a smirk as she walked oh, rolling her hips.
“My goodness.” Sarah could think of little else to say as she rubbed her nose. The woman’s perfume remained stubbornly behind.
“That was Carlotta. She runs the Silver Star.”
“She looks…extraordinary.”
“Well, she’s a-you know.”
“A what?”
“A woman of ill repute,” Liza said in a whisper.
“Oh.” Sarah’s eyes grew huge. She’d heard, of course. Even in Philadelphia one heard of such women. But to actually pass one on the street… “Oh, my. I wonder why she looked at me that way.”
“Probably because Jake Redman’s been out your way a couple times. Jake’s a real favorite with Carlotta.”
She shut her mouth tight. If her mother heard her talking that way she’d be skinned alive.
“I should have known.” With a toss of her head
Sarah started to walk again. For the life of her she didn’t know why she felt so much like crying.
Mrs. O’Rourke greeted her with pleasure. Not only had it been a year since she’d had a new dress, she was determined to know all there was to know about the woman who was keeping Jake so churned up.
“I thought you might like this striped material, Mrs.
O’Rourke.”
“It’s right nice.” Maggie fingered the cotton with a large, reddened hand. “No doubt it’ll make up pretty. Michael…my first husband was Michael Bailey, he was partial to a pretty dress. Died young, did Michael. Got a little drunk and took the wrong horse. Hung him for a horse thief before he sobered up.” Not certain what response was proper, Sarah murmured something inaudible. “I’m sure the colors would flatter you.”
Maggie let out a bray of laughter. “Girl, I’m past the age where I care about being flattered. Buried me two husbands. Mr. O’Rourke, rest his soul, was hit by lightning back in ‘63. The good Lord doesn’t always protect fools and drunkards, you know. Save me, I’m not in the market for another one. The only reason a woman decks herself out is to catch a man or keep one.” She ran her shrewd eyes over Sarah. “Now you’ve got a rig on this day, you do.”
Deciding to take the remark as a compliment, Sarah offered a small smile. “Thank you. If you’d prefer something else, I could-” “I wasn’t saying I didn’t like the goods.”
“Sarah can make you a very serviceable dress, Mrs. O’Rourke,” Liza put in. “My ma’s real pleased with hers. Mrs. Miller’s having her make up two for her trip to Kansas City.”
“That so?” Maggie knew what a pinchpenny the Miller woman was. “I reckon I could do with a new dress. Nothing fancy, mind. I don’t want any of my boarders getting ideas in their heads.” She let out a cackle.
“If a man got ideas about you, Maggie, he’d lose them quick enough after a bowl of your stew.”
Sarah’s fingers curled into her palms when she heard Jake’s voice. Slowly, her body braced, she turned to face him. He was halfway down the stairs. “Some men want something more from a woman than a bowl of stew,” Maggie told him, and cackled again. “You ladies want to be wary of a man who smiles like that,” she added, pointing a finger at Jake. “I ought to know, since I married two of them.” As she spoke, she watched the way Jake and Sarah looked at each other. Someone had lit a fire there, she decided. She wouldn’t mind fanning it a bit. “Liza, all this talk about cooking reminds me. I need another ten pounds of flour. Run on up and fetch it for me. Have your ma put it on my account.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Anxious to be off, Sarah picked up the bolt of material again. “I’ll get started on this right away, Mrs. O’Rourke.”
“Hold on a minute. I’ve got a dress upstairs you can use for measuring. Needs some mending, too. I’m no hand with a needle. Liza, I can use two pounds of coffee.” She motioned at the girl with the back of her hand. “Go on, off with you.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” Liza promised as she walked out the door. Pleased with her maneuvering, Maggie started up the stairs.
“You’re about as subtle as a load of buckshot,” Jake murmured to her.
With the material still in her hands, Sarah watched Jake approach her. Though she was standing in the center of the room, she had the oddest sensation that her back was against the wall. He was staring at her in that way he had that made her stomach flutter and her knees shake. She promised herself that if he touched her, if he even looked as though he might touch her, she would slap him hard enough to knock his hat off.
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.”
