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Authors: Starla Kaye
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her lower lip. “The man doesn’t smile
and his eyes… His eyes—if you look closely, like I did once—tell
you so much about him. He’s sad and hurting all the way to his soul. He’s
cautious of everyone except maybe your brothers. And he’s deadly. No sane
person would dare to take him on.”
Sad,
hurting? The big, bad marshal? Camelia often saw things in people that no
one else did. All Whiskey had seen was a man bent on destroying her life,
stealing her ranch, planning to take her for wife in spite of her wishes. Well,
she’d also seen a man who just might be too much man for her to deal with. A thought which sent hot little tingles through her once more
She forced the disturbing feelings aside. “Are you
saying I’m not sane?”
“What?”
She guided Camelia back to the carriage, although she
wasn’t looking forward to the ride. She’d walked to the river
bank having known riding horseback would provide her nothing but misery.
“Let’s go get some tea and out of the hot sun.”
They climbed up into the high carriage and she eased
gingerly onto the seat. As soon as Camelia was settled she urged the horse into
movement and she looked curiously at her. “Explain yourself.”
Her poor bottom was still very tender and she winced
as the carriage rolled over a bump. She hoped Camelia didn’t notice.
Of course Camelia did, she noticed everything. “I
heard your brothers were sort of upset with you yesterday. They didn’t…” She
looked worried and embarrassed at the same time.
Frustrated with the uncomfortable ride and the
situation all over again, Whiskey said, “Yes, they did. Both of them.” She
huffed. “So did that annoying Marshal Rydell.”
Camelia pulled up on the reins which drew another wince from her. “He didn’t?”
“He most certainly did. The rotten scoundrel spanked
me right there on top of Kelly’s Opera House. People on the street below
probably heard it, but, thank the Lord, didn’t see it.”
She reached to rub her tender bottom. “I will never forgive him. And I will never marry him. Never,
never, never. Which is exactly what I told him.”
* * *
Morgan’s mood had grown sourer as the day wore on.
From the second he and Taos had walked into the Dusty Trails Saloon for some
whiskey and a talk with Keno, he’d been harassed. Bat Masterson and his good
buddy Wyatt Earp had ambled in and snickered all the while congratulating him
on his upcoming marriage to the town’s most notorious troublemaker: Angelina
Wakefield, better known as “Whiskey.” They’d tormented him with replaying the
events of her arrival in town yesterday. And then a dozen other men in the
saloon had started in on talking about the amazing event, about that crazy
balloon. He’d come close to pulling out his Colt and shooting them all.
Now, working in the late afternoon hot sun to get the
balloon loaded in the ranch wagon with lots of curious eyes watching, lots of
chuckling going on around them, he again considered pulling out his gun. He
didn’t like being laughed at. He sure as hell didn’t find this particular chore
amusing. He grumbled under his breath and tugged hard on his side of the rope.
As he tied a knot, he looked around the jumbled mess
and found Taos scowling and mumbling, too. At least he wasn’t alone in his
frustrations.
When Taos stepped away from the wagon, he met Morgan’s
eyes. “Are you up to stopping by to see the reverend before we head back to the
ranch?”
His stomach roiled. The day just kept getting worse
and worse. Resigned, he nodded. “Best to get all the unpleasant chores done at
once, I guess.” He wasn’t sure which was worse: loading up the balloon or
making plans to get hitched. No, he knew for sure it was anything to do with
getting married.
Keno walked around the end of the wagon parked outside
his saloon. “After all the ribbing you took today, I figured you would be
demanding to sell the ranch back to us and then fleeing the area.”
“The
and his eyes… His eyes—if you look closely, like I did once—tell
you so much about him. He’s sad and hurting all the way to his soul. He’s
cautious of everyone except maybe your brothers. And he’s deadly. No sane
person would dare to take him on.”
Sad,
hurting? The big, bad marshal? Camelia often saw things in people that no
one else did. All Whiskey had seen was a man bent on destroying her life,
stealing her ranch, planning to take her for wife in spite of her wishes. Well,
she’d also seen a man who just might be too much man for her to deal with. A thought which sent hot little tingles through her once more
She forced the disturbing feelings aside. “Are you
saying I’m not sane?”
“What?”
She guided Camelia back to the carriage, although she
wasn’t looking forward to the ride. She’d walked to the river
bank having known riding horseback would provide her nothing but misery.
“Let’s go get some tea and out of the hot sun.”
They climbed up into the high carriage and she eased
gingerly onto the seat. As soon as Camelia was settled she urged the horse into
movement and she looked curiously at her. “Explain yourself.”
Her poor bottom was still very tender and she winced
as the carriage rolled over a bump. She hoped Camelia didn’t notice.
Of course Camelia did, she noticed everything. “I
heard your brothers were sort of upset with you yesterday. They didn’t…” She
looked worried and embarrassed at the same time.
Frustrated with the uncomfortable ride and the
situation all over again, Whiskey said, “Yes, they did. Both of them.” She
huffed. “So did that annoying Marshal Rydell.”
Camelia pulled up on the reins which drew another wince from her. “He didn’t?”
“He most certainly did. The rotten scoundrel spanked
me right there on top of Kelly’s Opera House. People on the street below
probably heard it, but, thank the Lord, didn’t see it.”
She reached to rub her tender bottom. “I will never forgive him. And I will never marry him. Never,
never, never. Which is exactly what I told him.”
* * *
Morgan’s mood had grown sourer as the day wore on.
From the second he and Taos had walked into the Dusty Trails Saloon for some
whiskey and a talk with Keno, he’d been harassed. Bat Masterson and his good
buddy Wyatt Earp had ambled in and snickered all the while congratulating him
on his upcoming marriage to the town’s most notorious troublemaker: Angelina
Wakefield, better known as “Whiskey.” They’d tormented him with replaying the
events of her arrival in town yesterday. And then a dozen other men in the
saloon had started in on talking about the amazing event, about that crazy
balloon. He’d come close to pulling out his Colt and shooting them all.
Now, working in the late afternoon hot sun to get the
balloon loaded in the ranch wagon with lots of curious eyes watching, lots of
chuckling going on around them, he again considered pulling out his gun. He
didn’t like being laughed at. He sure as hell didn’t find this particular chore
amusing. He grumbled under his breath and tugged hard on his side of the rope.
As he tied a knot, he looked around the jumbled mess
and found Taos scowling and mumbling, too. At least he wasn’t alone in his
frustrations.
When Taos stepped away from the wagon, he met Morgan’s
eyes. “Are you up to stopping by to see the reverend before we head back to the
ranch?”
His stomach roiled. The day just kept getting worse
and worse. Resigned, he nodded. “Best to get all the unpleasant chores done at
once, I guess.” He wasn’t sure which was worse: loading up the balloon or
making plans to get hitched. No, he knew for sure it was anything to do with
getting married.
Keno walked around the end of the wagon parked outside
his saloon. “After all the ribbing you took today, I figured you would be
demanding to sell the ranch back to us and then fleeing the area.”
“The
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