Scandal: A tempting Western romance. Molly Wishlade Ann

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СКАЧАТЬ of thunder. She wasn’t whoring any more. She was a Madame, taking care of the girls and looking out for them. But not taking part in any of the baser activities that occurred in the Gem herself.

      The relief that the realisation brought was akin to diving into a mountain spring on an August day. It made his balls tighten and his cock twitch. His heart leap and his stomach flip.

      Ellen was no painted cat. Not anymore.

      He had scurried off into the night, his excitement warming him like a dozen shots of whisky. But by the time he’d reached his cabin, disappointment had replaced his jubilation.

      What was he thinking? What did he really believe he could have with Ellen Finch? She hadn’t even noticed him and…well…he had his own issues to deal with. His own past sitting like a storm cloud above his left shoulder and a future as dun and murky as a muddy pool. He had no right imagining that there could ever be anything between him and the young woman. No right at all.

      He had responsibilities. Provisions to find. A proper home to create. Before the baby came.

      So when things didn’t run as smoothly as they’d hoped with the labour and he needed to find someone to help, he had been shocked at his own joy when his neighbour had mentioned Ellen’s name.

      He had an excuse to call on her. To ask for her assistance. Sure, it wasn’t the best reason to be knocking on her door in the dead of night…but…hell, it was a reason.

      And now she had noticed him. He knew she had.

      Even if it wasn’t for the reasons he had hoped.

      He glanced up as he heard a door slam at the top of the stairs.

      There she was. The woman who had mysteriously captured his complicated, irrational and wounded heart.

       Chapter Two

      Clayton held the swing doors open for Ellen and she nodded her thanks. She’d dressed in her oldest frock and boots, not wanting to ruin the pretty damask velvet travelling suit she’d bought to wear for her journey when she left Deadwood for good.

      The faded green cotton housedress was worn at the hem and armpits but she’d likely end up covered in sweat and blood tonight so it hardly mattered. However, as she’d walked towards Clayton in the bar, she’d felt a twinge of regret that she looked such a mess. She wished that she could see how he would react to her dressed in her new outfit. Would he think, as she did, that the deep red sat well with her pale skin and blue eyes?

      She shook her head. Nonsense thoughts. Why on earth was she being so weak? She would help this young man’s wife through her labour then board the train tomorrow and leave this sorry-ass town for good.

      She stepped out from beneath the cover of the porch and into the muddy street. Cold rain pelted her hair so she tugged her threadbare grey shawl up over her head.

      “Where’s your place?” She raised her voice to be heard above the storm.

      “Right up yonder.” Clayton pointed to the far end of the camp. “We’ve a small cabin up near the north hill.”

      Ellen ground her teeth together. Why did he have to live so far away? She’d get a drenching now.

      She hurried along next to him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged strides. He seemed immune to the rain as he stepped into one muddy puddle after another and his boots and legs were splattered with the red mud of the street. Deadwood had a way of doing that, of staining your clothes like it did your heart and mind. Even if folks were lucky enough to get out, Ellen suspected that the town would haunt them…her…long after she’d washed its physical evidence away.

      “You’re sure in a hurry, ain’t ya?” Ellen observed.

      He turned to her, his eyes full of concern. “I promised I’d not be gone long. Stella Rose was in a sorry ol’ state.”

      So his wife’s name was Stella Rose. Pretty name for a young woman. Ellen bet she was pretty too. A good-looking man like Clayton would surely set himself up with a handsome woman. Like attracted like, right?

      “So this is her first baby?” Ellen asked. She shivered as cold rain sneaked under her collar and ran down her spine, soaking into her chemise. When the rain came in Deadwood, it really came, and if you were unlucky enough to have to go out in it, even your undergarments wouldn’t be spared.

      “Uh huh!” Clayton nodded. “And there ain’t much of her. I ain’t even sure if she’s due yet.”

      Ellen shook her head. So he’d gotten his woman with child and the pair of them had no real idea whether the babe was ready or not. She hoped that this wouldn’t turn into a tragedy. She hated delivering dead infants into the world. Even when the mothers had clearly interfered with them deliberately, in order to avoid the shame of becoming a mother to a bastard child. It was so sad and it just wasn’t right.

      No child should be born to die before its time. Yet it happened so often.

      “Just up here now, Miss Finch.” Clayton directed Ellen towards a set of wooden steps that had been cut into the hillside. She lifted her skirts then placed her foot on the first step but slipped.

      “Darnit!” she snapped, feeling the bite of rocks as they pierced the thin skin covering her kneecaps.

      “Miss Finch!” Clayton gasped and rushed to her side. He placed his hands beneath her arms and lifted her to her feet as easily as if she were made of satin and feathers. His touch sent heat hurtling through her body and she gasped as it curled between her legs and tingled there.

      Clayton placed her before him and leant forwards to look beneath her wet shawl.

      “Are you okay, ma’am?”

      She nodded. The concern in his eyes made her heart beat faster and her blush deepen. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like she was a virgin who’d never felt the touch of a man before. In fact, she’d felt the touch of so many men that she usually experienced no physical reactions at all anymore. But Clayton Kile was…actually penetrating her carefully constructed veneer and affecting her.

      This could only end badly.

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