The Lady and the Lawman Read online

  “Don’t trust a man of the law, Croft?” Grant asked.

  Croft glanced briefly at him, but was smart enough not to answer.

  Jimmy stood uncomfortably in front of the men, like a fish out of water without the bar in front of him. He nodded to Grant. “Sheriff.”

  “Jimmy, how’s your wife these days?”

  “Lorna? She’s pregnant again.” The man shook his head. Strange, he seemed surprised his wife could be having another child. After four, the man should’ve figured out where they came from.

  “Well, these things happen.” Grant hid his smile behind his whiskey glass. Practice was one thing, but a gaggle of kids was something else. Grant sure as hell liked to practice. He shifted in his chair at the thought.

  Croft returned minutes later, pulling a woman by the arm. He dismissed the bartender with a curt nod and Jimmy appeared relieved to return to his work.

  Grant studied the woman Croft had dragged to stand beside him, unsteady on her high heeled shoes. She was a sight to behold. A prize Dalton would want to win. Her dark, silky hair hung loose down her back like a waterfall, with tendrils cascading around her face in soft curls, brushing her bare neck and back. Her skin looked pale and creamy against the bold colors of her gaudy outfit. The color of her cheeks and lips matched the red of her corset and petticoat. Beneath the red stain he could see her mouth was full and round, luscious. Her eyes were a dark green, as clear and cool as the grass on a spring morning. Dark lashes fluttered beneath arched brows.

  In one large swallow, Grant gulped down the whiskey. Damn, he wanted her. What red-blooded male wouldn’t? He couldn't help that his pants didn't fit so comfortably anymore.

  Grant’s gaze continued to rake over her, taking in the daring outfit, not unlike the other women’s attire in the establishment, and honed in on her full breasts topping her corset like two soft globes. His blood heated, thinking of all that was hidden beneath the red lace and silk. Her breasts were large, more than a handful. What kind of nipples would she have? Large, full ones with pink tips or little round disks the color of dusk? His fingers itched to find out. To tweak them into hard points for him to suck on. Good thing he could hide his growing desire under the table. As sheriff, it was his job to protect her, not maul her like the other men in the building.

  The woman, and she definitely was a woman and not a girl, struggled against Croft’s grip, but was unsuccessful at loosening the man’s tight hold. Her eyes darted between the men at the table and repeatedly glanced at Grant. He found himself staring right back. He couldn't help it. He'd never seen her before, and that surprised him. No one new, especially a woman like her, rolled into town without the gossip mills grinding the details his way.

  The woman didn’t seem to relish the idea of being the subject of a wager. She looked scared, like a cornered animal. Was she acting, or was her fear real? Did Croft put her up to this? For the life of him, he couldn’t tell. The only way to do so was to get her upstairs and ask her. To protect her if she needed it. That meant he had to win.

  Croft brought a callused hand up to her bare shoulder and brushed his fingers along her collarbone. “Gentleman. Do you accept my wager?” A crooked smile spread across his face, then quickly faded. His meaty fingers lowered to skim the full swell of her breast. “Winner takes all.”

  Grant could see the bastard regretted his wager and wanted one last touch of something that was slipping through his fingers. Watching the woman flinch from Croft’s touch made Grant's hands turn into fists under the table. He looked to Dalton and recognized the look of a man’s desire, and his thoughts turned even darker.

  Grant wanted his fingers to be stroking her breast, not Croft's, and definitely not Dalton's.

  She tried to break free, fighting against Croft’s tight hold. “Leave me alone, you filthy animal!”

  Dalton, and a few men who’d returned to watch the game, laughed. Clearly they were enjoying the playacting.

  A little make-believe, especially in the bedroom, wasn't beneath Grant either. In fact, the very idea of having this woman bow to his wishes was arousing as hell.

  Croft yanked her arm, twisted her around to face him so hard that her curls flew, and slapped her hard across the cheek. If he hadn't been holding her so securely, she would have fallen to the floor.

  “Don't make me do that again,” Croft hissed, face red with anger at having one of his women out of line in front of his customers.

  Grant stood abruptly, his chair skidding against the floor. The man’s brutality was more than pretend. A little role play and submission was one thing. Hitting a woman, for any reason, was something else entirely. Something Grant could not, would not, ever condone.

  “Let her go, Croft.” He towered over the saloon owner. His size and the seriousness of his tone had the impact Grant wanted. Croft released the woman, who held her hand to her reddening cheek.

  He'd expected her to cry out in surprise, or from the severity of the strike, see tears streaming down her cheeks. But that didn’t happen. Instead, her eyes shot daggers at Croft.

  Something was wrong here. He could feel it in his gut. Croft wasn’t doing anything illegal having one of his whores play the part of a virgin, but from what he’d seen so far, especially the slap, he couldn’t be sure if she actually was one. Hell, she looked the part, but the question was, was she genuine or simply acting a role?

  There was something fresh and pure about her that the other women carousing with the cow punchers didn’t possess. Especially the one in the corner with her petticoat up around her ears. He needed to be sure. To validate what his gut was telling him, and his gut was never wrong.

  “Miss, are you aware of what’s going on here?”

  Her eyes darted to Croft, clearly afraid to answer.

  “Now Sheriff, there’s nothing illegal going on!” Croft stammered.

  Grant held up his hand. “I want to hear that from the lady.” His gaze held hers. Emeralds. Her eyes sparkled like the green gems. She was the prettiest thing he'd seen in a long, long time.

  She brushed her hand over her reddened cheek. “Yes, I’m aware,” she replied. Her voice was soft, but delicate, like a new spring flower.

  Croft released a pent up breath and smiled. “See, Sheriff, nothing to get all worked up about.”

  Grant continued to watch her, still doubtful. Since she confirmed Croft’s story, there was nothing more he could do. For now. He paused, waiting for her to change her story. When she just looked at him, her full lips pinched tightly together, he nodded and sat back down.

  “Now then, do you accept my wager, Dalton?” Croft questioned.

  Grant turned to Dalton, who'd said nothing through the whole encounter. The man’s gaze was locked on the woman’s breasts where Croft’s gnarled fingers had lingered. In fact, every man within ten feet had their eyes focused on the woman's ample endowment. But there was a look, a sinister look, that was obvious at least to Grant, that the bastard enjoyed watching women suffer and struggle under a man's hand. If Dalton won, there was no doubt what the woman's evening would be like. Bondage, pain and humiliation. It wouldn't be rape since she was one of Croft's whores. She'd be forced to like Dalton's attentions, no matter how dark and seedy there were, and say nothing. Then she'd let the next man have her. And then the next.

  “Dalton!” Grant said forcefully, trying to move Dalton's gaze.

  “I accept your wager,” Dalton replied. “Masterson?”

  It was all or nothing. Do or die time. He had to decide once and for all if he was in or out. Another look at the beautiful woman and his instincts were telling him something wasn’t right. But, she’d had the opportunity to gain his help and she’d refused. That being the case, sheriff or not, he was a man. He wanted her. He wanted her as much as he wanted Dalton to lose. No way Dalton was going to lay one finger on her. She was his. “I’m in. I’ll wager my horse, as well.”

  “Damn, but I hate to give one of you first dibs with her,” Croft grumbled as he pull
ed the woman down into an empty chair next to him, keeping her close. Grant couldn't help notice how the tops of her breasts jiggled with the movement. Clamping his jaw tight, he focused on winning. Winning her. She would be his. He knew it deep down. He'd have her, know the feel of her soft skin, her creamy breasts, her wet pussy clenching about his cock as she cried out his name and she found her release.

  Finally, with all bets resolved, they returned to the game. The men studied their hands.

  “How many cards?” Dalton demanded.

  Grant asked for one, Croft two. Dalton took one. Grant ignored the woman and stared across the table at the other men. She was a beautiful distraction and he needed to stay focused. This is where it was all decided. No one moved, tension building between the men. It came down to these cards. For Grant, the stakes had never been so high.

  ***

  Margaret’s heart hammered in her chest like the pistons of the steam train she took to Omaha. Her head still ached, the pain at the back of her skull pulsing in time with the terrible piano music. From the large lump the size of a goose egg at the back of her head, she made the obvious assumption the man who’d kidnapped her had knocked her unconscious and delivered her to Croft. Every time she tried to remember what had happened, she got a more powerful headache, not memories, for her efforts.

  With the men’s attentions on their cards and not her, she took a deep breath and tried to relax, to calm her nerves. It felt as if her breasts were about to burst forth from their confines in the desperately tight corset. She looked down to confirm everything was still where it was supposed to be. If she had much more skin exposed, she’d be naked. It didn’t matter though, she was sure each of the men had already visually undressed her in their minds.

  She looked like a trollop, like a used woman—tarnished. She was a used woman, she'd let William have her, although begrudgingly, as her choices were either submit or be beaten. She longed for someone to save her, to take her away from the nightmare that had become her fate. The lump in her throat burned as she tried not to cry from mortification of being the prize for these men. To divert her attention off her near-nakedness, she took in the men who wagered for her.

  The man called Dalton had hair as black as a raven’s wing. His thick mustache, she imagined, must get in the way while eating soup, gravies or other such liquids. Deep lines creasing his forehead made Margaret wonder if the man ever smiled. She highly doubted it, based on the short amount of time she’d been in his presence.

  Dalton was dangerous, she had no doubt. She recognized the dark, sinister look in his eye. William shared such an expression. He also had a gun, rested next to his right hand on the table, that seemed ready to shoot a hole through anyone he didn’t like. The possibility of Dalton winning the hand made her cringe, something she definitely didn’t want to consider.

  Margaret shifted her gaze and studied the other man in the game. His name wasn’t mentioned, but the silver badge pinned to his shirt clearly indicated he was the town sheriff. If she had to guess his name, it would be Paul Bunyan. The man came from solid stock, one of the biggest she'd ever seen. His face was rugged, as if he had spent many a day beneath the sun, wind and rain God dealt. A smattering of reddish stubble covered his face and Margaret wondered how it would feel beneath her fingers.

  His hair was a light brown, lighter even at the tips, with thick waves curling around his ears. The lighting in the saloon was too dim for her to discern the color of his eyes, but it didn’t matter, she was more than pleased with his other attributes.

  He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Maybe she’d been hit harder on the head than she’d thought, because her heart galloped like a race horse as she studied him. Strange, since he was here betting on her just like dangerous Dalton.

  But, the man of the law had given her the opportunity to save herself. A sheriff had outright asked her if she knew what was happening to her. She’d have to be unconscious to not know that what was in store for her. A silver star on his chest however, didn't mean he wasn't corrupt, wasn't cruel. With Croft looming and the stinging in her cheek a reminder of what could happen to her if she talked, she hadn’t dared to speak up. Fear had prevented her from running and standing behind the behemoth of a lawman for protection. Fear of being hit, beaten again. Fear of men in general.

  ***

  Grant glanced up from his cards to see the woman’s green eyes focused on him. She smiled tremulously, making him forget what he was doing. That he was playing cards, that he was in a saloon, that he was sheriff. All he could remember was that he was a man and she was a woman. She tilted her head to one side and brushed a curl off her shoulder. Mesmerized, all he could do was stare back.

  Quickly remembering where he was, what he was doing and that she was at stake, he got his head back in the game. “Call. Let’s see your cards,” he said to the men, a new edge to his voice.

  Croft laid down a pair of tens, Dalton, three queens.

  The green-eyed vixen wasn’t smiling anymore. Her white knuckles gripped the edge of the table, clearly awaiting the hand that held her fate. Did she understand what was going on? Of course she did. Every woman in this place knew as much about gambling as he did. Maybe more.

  “Well, well, looks like the little lady’s going with me. I'm looking forward to teaching her a thing or two,” Dalton said, smirking. He stood and grabbed the woman’s hand across the scarred wooden table, fingers digging into her wrist hard enough she cried out in pain.

  Grant noticed the red marks on her wrists that weren't from Dalton's tight grip. One of her patrons must’ve been into some pretty kinky stuff. Hell, he liked to tie a woman to the headboard and have his way with her as much as the next man, forcing her to climax after climax, but the raw abrasions were more indicative of rough treatment than sexual games. Knowing Dalton, he’d be more than willing to teach her a new, perverse trick or two. And none-too-gently while he was doing it.

  “Not so fast, Dalton. You haven’t seen my hand yet.” He waited for Dalton to remove his grip from the woman’s wrist while Grant looked deep into the woman’s sparkling green eyes. Their faces were close enough for him to feel the warm, anxious exhale from her lips and see her fear. “Sit down,” he growled. Immediately, she dropped into her chair and he quickly realized she thought he was talking to her.

  Dalton’s immediate possession of the woman riled him. But not for long. As he laid out his hand on the table, one card at a time, Grant made sure Dalton watched. His pleasure grew with each card he exposed. “Straight Flush.”

  Croft's jaw dropped and if Dalton ever showed emotion, his probably would’ve, too. The only sign of his anger was a noticeable tick in his right cheek. The woman looked between the three of them, her gaze settling on Grant. Her confusion was blatant, it was obvious in that instant she knew nothing about poker. Nothing about her fate. She still didn’t know who won.

  “Masterson, you cheated!”

  Dalton reached for his gun, but Grant was faster. His revolver came out from beneath the table quicker than a bird on prey. “Put the gun away, Dalton.”

  “How the hell did you get those cards?” His rival retreated, putting his gun back in his holster.

  Grant offered a slight shrug, not interested in enlightening him. He’d won and that’s all that mattered. Like Croft said, winner took all, and he was going to get everything he imagined, and hopefully more, from the woman across the table. Desire and anticipation made it difficult to keep his cool with Dalton.

  “If I ever find out, I guarantee there will be a rematch, and you’ll be sorry.”

  “First you say I cheated, now you threaten me?”

  Dalton rounded the table and pulled the woman to her feet, ignoring Grant. “My dear, it seems we must delay our night together. I won't have you tonight, but I will have you. Soon.”

  “I don’t think so, Dalton.” Grant pulled her into his lap. Unsteady, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He couldn’t have asked for a better reacti
on since he wanted to show Dalton what he wouldn’t be getting his hands on. Ever.

  Nuzzling his face into her neck, he took a quick nip at her racing pulse. Her skin was soft as silk and hot as a bonfire. She tasted sweet at her nape, and thoughts of how she tasted in other places, other more intimate places, came to mind. Her warm scent teased him, taunting him to take more. He didn’t expect the instant, immediate need to touch all of her.

  Dalton watched the foreplay and laughed, low and menacing. “I always get my woman, and you’re not going to stand in my way.”

  “I already have. She’s going upstairs with me. Tonight. Right now. Not with you.”

  Grant brushed a hand over her mussed hair. It was as soft as it looked, the dark curls tangling in his fingers.

  “You’re not man enough to give her what she needs.”

  “Is that so?”

  Even though he didn’t like to stoop to Dalton’s level, he couldn’t back down now. Not only was his virility at stake, he had to prove this woman was his, at least for the night.

  One hand held her firmly about her narrow waist, the other cupped the nape of her long neck. His fingers remained tangled in her hair as he lowered his head. Surprise was the last thing he saw on her face before he kissed her.

  His mouth consumed hers, not in a tender, warm peck, but in a fiery, smoldering kiss meant to brand her. The piano music faded, the saloon sounds all but disappeared as he focused on her soft lips, pliant and welcoming beneath his. She tasted so sweet, like cinnamon and sultry woman. One taste wasn't enough. It was just a sample of what was to come. His cock pulsed with need at the very thought. He slowly pulled back to look at her, and gauge her reaction to his possession. Now he was the one surprised. Smoky green eyes were all he could see, all he wanted to look at. They pierced him, questioning his actions, wary. Blurry with passion.

  She seemed as affected as he was. Her lips were a lovely, bright pink, swollen and damp from his mouth. Pleased with himself, his lips returned to hers with equal ardor as before. She struggled in his grasp, to no avail. In fact, her wriggling in his lap had her sweet little bottom rubbing over his hard shaft. It may not have been a seductive move, but hell, his body wasn't all that particular at the moment. She must have felt his growing desire for her in the kiss, not to mention the bulge growing in his pants beneath her, because she suddenly froze in place. If his brain worked correctly, he would’ve questioned her mixed signals, but he didn’t...couldn’t.