“Is this normal?” his lady asked, her palm splayed over the Reaper tattoo on his
shoulder.
“It is for us, milady,” he answered. “I don’t think I can keep my hands off you.”
“You’d best not try,” she warned him. She pushed against his chest and climbed off
him. “But we can’t spend the day doing this, Bev.”
Bev? He questioned as she stood at the side of the bed flouncing her skirts. No one
had ever called him “Bev” and he found he liked it.
“We need to go thank Widow James,” she said. She walked to the window to push
aside the curtains.
“Aye, we should,” he agreed with a sigh. Waving his uniform back on, he swung
his legs from the bed. “First I want to see that land.”
With his gun belt strapped on his hip, he escorted Lea down the stairs, nodding
politely to the women who were sitting together at one of the tables. They looked
unhappy and the cause did not escape him.
“You can have your customers come back, Mable,” he told the saloonkeeper. “I
think we’ll take the widow up on her offer to stay at her place.”
Relief appeared on the older woman’s face for she would hate to turn away a
customer while the Reaper was in residence in her establishment. No man wanted to
cause even a moment’s trouble for Bevyn Coure, and not being able to laugh and carry
on while drinking, whoring and gambling was a right hard thing to keep from doing.
Strolling out into the bright sunlight, Bevyn was astounded at the activity around
him. Normally when he rode into a town, the people scattered, not wanting to garner
his attention. Now they treated him as though he’d been living there all along—smiling,
nodding, waving to him and Lea.
“You’re ours now,” Lea told him when he voiced his surprise. “This will be your
home base and we are your people. They know you will protect them better than you
will any other town in your territory.”
“But they’ve always been scared shitless of me before,” he said, tipping his hat to a
pair of elderly ladies who nodded regally to him.
“Aye, but that was before you became one of us, milord,” she said.
“Huh,” he grunted, not really knowing whether he was pleased or annoyed at the
sudden attention.
55
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
The parcel of land to which Lea led him would indeed suit a nice little clapboard
house that Lea insisted would not be pretentious or gaudy.
“Something small but comfortable,” she’d insisted.
“But large enough for a good-sized study,” he argued.
“With plenty of bookshelves,” she added, her hand clutched tightly in his.
He thought of his promise to give her a library and realized such a thing would
keep her occupied and safe when he was out taking care of business. A trip to the
sheriff’s office netted them another look at an empty store that would be ideal for such
an enterprise.
“Let’s get some carpenters in here and start gutting the building,” Bevyn said.
“Milady can draw up a plan for where she wants shelves and furniture.”
“We’ll be a city before you know it!” the sheriff said with a grin then coughed,
realizing he’d spoken out of turn.
“Say what you want when you want, Buford,” the Reaper told him. “You and I will
be working closely together to keep our people safe.” He held out his hand. “I think of
us as partners.”
The sheriff’s mouth gaped open. “P-Partners?” he repeated. He grasped the
Reaper’s hand.
“Friends too, I hope,” Bevyn said.
Buford Gilchrist could not find the words to answer that. He just beamed from ear
to ear, his shoulders thrown back with pride for the first time in many a year.
“Okay, so now, we’re off to see the Widow James,” Bevyn said, easing his hand
from the sheriff’s tight grip. “If you’ll set things into motion on the library, I’ll have the
plans drawn up for the house before the week is out.”
“Aye, milord,” the sheriff agreed, his head bobbing. “I’ll get right on it!”
Cornelia James opened her door to the Reaper and his lady with a hand on her very
ample hip. “’Bout damned time you finally got your skinny little butts over here,” the
large black woman said with a sniff. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get on in here!” She
hobbled back to give them room to pass her.
“Sorry,” Bevyn mumbled as he tried to smile at the dark face, but the widow just
glared at him. He felt like a little boy again.
“The breakfast was delicious, Miss Cornelia,” Lea said.
“Uh-huh,” Cornelia agreed, closing the door. She folded a pair of huge arms over a
very impressive chest and just looked at them.
Bevyn cleared his throat. “We’d like to take you up on the offer of the room,” he
said.
“Uh-huh,” came the reply.
The Reaper exchanged a look with his lady. “I’ll be glad to pay you for—”
56
Her Reaper’s Arms
Cornelia snorted. “Son, you won’t do nothin’ of the sort. Don’t want no money for
the offer. I ain’t running no bed and breakfast here.” She sniffed. “You’ll earn your
keep.”
“Ah, well, now, I don’t…” Bevyn began, his eyebrows drawn sharply together.
“What is it you would have us do, Miss Cornelia?” Lea cut him off, giving him a
warning look.
“Done done it so far as I’m concerned,” Cornelia said.
Bevyn just stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
Cornelia arched a nearly non-existent eyebrow. “You went and took this little girl
here as your lady and that’s all the payment I need.” She smiled to reveal two missing
front teeth. “Now, who wants some egg pie?”
Half an hour later, Bevyn was shifting uncomfortably on the chair in the kitchen,
wishing he were anywhere else. He had already downed four glasses of water but the
sugar overload that was rushing through his system wasn’t abating and he gave
another nasty look to the empty pie plate that sat on the counter.
“One dozen eggs, two cups of sugar, two cups sweet cream, one teaspoon each of
vanilla and nutmeg…”
He tried not to listen to Cornelia giving Lea the recipe for the ultra-sweet pie that
had turned his cock into a living nightmare between his legs. There was no way he
could stand up without the women seeing the evidence so he just sat
