Read Online Devils on Horseback: Zeke, Book 3 by Beth Williamson - Free Book Online
Authors: Beth Williamson
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finger. Wasn’t she in a pickle? In jail for a saloon fight, attracted to the sheriff who put her in there, and ready to mount him because he liked milk.
“Tanger doesn’t have a lot of money. The town almost died out last year and it’s just getting back on its feet.” He held up the last bite of cornbread. “The restaurant’s been open a month but only serving good food for a week.” He popped the bite in his mouth and thankfully wiped his hands with the neckerchief. She didn’t need to see another tongue show, thank you very much.
“Lots of towns are dying. There ain’t much money anywhere since the war. Folks do what they can to get by. I can show you how to make better wicks.” Naomi didn’t know what possessed her to say that. What would the sheriff care about making lantern wicks?
He tipped his hat back and regarded her. “You have skills other than serving drinks then?”
Naomi swallowed back a sharp retort, annoyed with him for ruining her fun. “You’d be surprised how many skills I’ve had to learn, by necessity mostly.” She shrugged. “I found that most of them didn’t put food in my belly for long.”
Zeke’s expression softened. “I know what you mean.”
Their gazes locked and the moment hung in the air. A connection between them, a common bond, blossomed against Naomi’s will. She didn’t want to be anything like him, or to soften her opinion of the hard-nosed lawman, yet she was helpless to stop it.
“I think you mean that.”
He shook his head. “You sure are cynical, Miss Tucker.”
“Pot calling the kettle black. You might just as well call me Naomi, seeing as how I’ve ridden your shoulder already.”
Zeke rubbed his chin with two fingers. “That you did. Well then, you can call me Sheriff.”
He said it with such seriousness, Naomi at first didn’t react, but then the corner of his mouth lifted.
“I never would have guessed you were funny.” She smiled.
“I have many hidden talents.” He dropped the empty milk bottle into the basket.
Against her will, she felt a chuckle rumble in her throat. “Is Zeke your real first name?”
He frowned and didn’t answer for a moment or two. “No, my real name is Ezekiel, my brother’s is Cornelius.” Zeke’s face twisted in a grimace of distaste, as if he’d gulped down sour milk.
“Very old Biblical names, hm? You don’t hear that much anymore.” She reached through the opening and snatched a piece of cornbread.
“You figured that out?” Zeke plucked the cornbread from her fingers so fast she barely saw him move. “Most folks miss that. You study the Bible much?”
A rush of bitterness filled her mouth. “Something like that.” She tried to take the cornbread back in an effort to forget her own personal ghosts. No need to dredge up memories of her father and his Bible teachings—they certainly didn’t save his life.
He pulled back far enough she couldn’t reach him or the bread. “That’s not very nice, you know,” she huffed.
“You said you weren’t hungry.” He balanced the cornbread on his palm. “Change your mind?”
She scowled. “I don’t play that game very well.” The one thing Naomi refused to do, had vowed never to do, was beg.
Without a word, he handed her the half-eaten cornbread. “Neither do I.”
“Appreciate it.” She took normal-sized bites, resisting the urge to scarf down the most wonderful cornbread she’d had in three years. No need for the sheriff to think she was a heathen. When she finished, she licked the crumbs from her fingers, savoring the flavor.
“Good, hm?” Zeke’s voice had a husky tinge to it.
She glanced up to find him watching her like a great mountain lion. Naomi ignored the tingles of awareness running through her. “Very good. Who’s the cook?”
He cleared his throat and waved his hand at whatever spell was in the air between them. “Lady by the name of Margaret. She works down at the restaurant.”
Naomi jumped on the topic, eager
“Tanger doesn’t have a lot of money. The town almost died out last year and it’s just getting back on its feet.” He held up the last bite of cornbread. “The restaurant’s been open a month but only serving good food for a week.” He popped the bite in his mouth and thankfully wiped his hands with the neckerchief. She didn’t need to see another tongue show, thank you very much.
“Lots of towns are dying. There ain’t much money anywhere since the war. Folks do what they can to get by. I can show you how to make better wicks.” Naomi didn’t know what possessed her to say that. What would the sheriff care about making lantern wicks?
He tipped his hat back and regarded her. “You have skills other than serving drinks then?”
Naomi swallowed back a sharp retort, annoyed with him for ruining her fun. “You’d be surprised how many skills I’ve had to learn, by necessity mostly.” She shrugged. “I found that most of them didn’t put food in my belly for long.”
Zeke’s expression softened. “I know what you mean.”
Their gazes locked and the moment hung in the air. A connection between them, a common bond, blossomed against Naomi’s will. She didn’t want to be anything like him, or to soften her opinion of the hard-nosed lawman, yet she was helpless to stop it.
“I think you mean that.”
He shook his head. “You sure are cynical, Miss Tucker.”
“Pot calling the kettle black. You might just as well call me Naomi, seeing as how I’ve ridden your shoulder already.”
Zeke rubbed his chin with two fingers. “That you did. Well then, you can call me Sheriff.”
He said it with such seriousness, Naomi at first didn’t react, but then the corner of his mouth lifted.
“I never would have guessed you were funny.” She smiled.
“I have many hidden talents.” He dropped the empty milk bottle into the basket.
Against her will, she felt a chuckle rumble in her throat. “Is Zeke your real first name?”
He frowned and didn’t answer for a moment or two. “No, my real name is Ezekiel, my brother’s is Cornelius.” Zeke’s face twisted in a grimace of distaste, as if he’d gulped down sour milk.
“Very old Biblical names, hm? You don’t hear that much anymore.” She reached through the opening and snatched a piece of cornbread.
“You figured that out?” Zeke plucked the cornbread from her fingers so fast she barely saw him move. “Most folks miss that. You study the Bible much?”
A rush of bitterness filled her mouth. “Something like that.” She tried to take the cornbread back in an effort to forget her own personal ghosts. No need to dredge up memories of her father and his Bible teachings—they certainly didn’t save his life.
He pulled back far enough she couldn’t reach him or the bread. “That’s not very nice, you know,” she huffed.
“You said you weren’t hungry.” He balanced the cornbread on his palm. “Change your mind?”
She scowled. “I don’t play that game very well.” The one thing Naomi refused to do, had vowed never to do, was beg.
Without a word, he handed her the half-eaten cornbread. “Neither do I.”
“Appreciate it.” She took normal-sized bites, resisting the urge to scarf down the most wonderful cornbread she’d had in three years. No need for the sheriff to think she was a heathen. When she finished, she licked the crumbs from her fingers, savoring the flavor.
“Good, hm?” Zeke’s voice had a husky tinge to it.
She glanced up to find him watching her like a great mountain lion. Naomi ignored the tingles of awareness running through her. “Very good. Who’s the cook?”
He cleared his throat and waved his hand at whatever spell was in the air between them. “Lady by the name of Margaret. She works down at the restaurant.”
Naomi jumped on the topic, eager
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