The Innocent And The Outlaw. Harper St. George

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Emmaline and her sisters had modified it by shortening the deep red silk to knee-length and adding two layers of black lace taken from another gown. The bodice had already been obscenely low, so they had only had to add the matching black lace there. It revealed a large amount of her cleavage with its nonexistent sleeves, mere scraps of fabric that dropped low off her shoulders to hang down her upper arms. Her legs at least were covered in sensible black, woolen stockings. She’d started out with her mother’s silk ones, but they had worn out years ago. She’d always disliked the costume, but never more so than now as she walked toward a table full of outlaws.

      She shivered as she approached the doorway. Though the days were getting warmer, winter had refused to relinquish its grip on the nights. The other customers were drinking and keeping warm at tables near the cast-iron stove that sat further inside, but not the strangers. Apparently they preferred to keep their distance, as if she needed any further proof of their dubious intentions.

      As she advanced, the pretty one with light hair—is that how she was referring to him?—turned the full force of his gaze on her. It licked its way up her legs and over her hips, settling on her breasts for a moment before finally making its way to her face. He’d sat back in his chair, one leg stretched out before him, almost lazy in his regard of her. She had worked at the saloon for almost five years, so she was used to the looks men gave her. She even encouraged them in the hopes that those passing through would leave a little extra on the table for her—the locals had nothing extra to leave. But with him...the look was different. It wasn’t merely taking in what the dress put on display. His eyes demanded her attention, demanded her response, demanded much more than she was willing to give, while his lips promised more than she could risk imagining. One corner of his mouth turned upward, a suggestive smile that had her blushing again. Holy hell, what was happening to her? Men didn’t affect her this way. She didn’t allow it, because she knew they couldn’t be trusted.

      Tearing her gaze away from him, she focused her attention safely on the scarred, wooden tabletop as she sat the tray down and offered her customary greeting. “Welcome, gentlemen. Jake sends his regards.”

      “Jake?” The pretty one spoke, his voice a deep rumble that warmed her deep down in ways she refused to acknowledge.

      “The owner.” Without looking up, she gestured over her shoulder toward the bar where Jake stood watching...she hoped. Then she carefully sat a tumbler with a finger of whiskey in front of each man. On the rare occasions Jake thought it necessary, he’d preemptively send over a free drink to welcome a new customer. If the man felt indebted or grateful to the proprietor, he’d be less likely to leave a mess behind. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

      The giant picked his up and tossed it back before she’d even finished.

      “Rotgut.” The hard voice matched its owner.

      Glancing up, she met his disapproving look with a challenge in hers. “We don’t serve rotgut, sir.” She actually didn’t know if that was true or not. Men complained that other saloons cut their whiskey, but nobody had ever complained about Jake’s. She wouldn’t put it past him, though. With the amount of business they’d had lately, it was barely worth her time to make the trip into town for work.

      “My friend has expensive tastes.” The pretty one pulled a wallet out of a pocket hidden inside his coat. It was a smooth, chocolate-colored leather with no creases, almost brand-new, she’d guess. When he opened it to extract a note, she could see many others nestled inside. The confident way he carried himself, along with his clothing, had left little doubt in her mind as to his wealth, but this only confirmed that she was right to be suspicious. What were they doing in Whiskey Hollow? Bringing trouble, she was certain of it. “A bottle of your finest Kentucky bourbon.” His gaze licked over her and one corner of his mouth tipped up as he extended a ten-dollar note to her.

      “We only have rye. Overholt?” The question forced her to look at him. She was struck anew by the strong, masculine beauty of his features. High wide cheekbones, strong granite jaw covered with a dusting of honeyed stubble, perfectly formed lips. This one was trouble in more ways than one.

      He merely gave a single nod, indicating the substitution would be fine, and lifted an eyebrow when she hadn’t taken the money.

      Remembering herself, she grabbed the note, deliberately making sure to not touch him, and gave a small smile to the other two. They did not return her smile. “I’ll be right back.”

      Emmaline managed to keep her steps even and measured all the way back to the bar. But when she placed the tray down, her gaze speared Jake where he stood. “They want a bottle of rye. Come to the back and help me get one.”

      He looked like he wanted to argue—she knew he kept a few bottles under the bar—but she needed to know what he knew of them. Some instinct warned her that their presence had something to do with her stepfather’s absence. He and her older stepbrother, Pete, were over a week late coming home from their latest job, which wasn’t entirely uncommon, but no one had heard from them. A hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach said that the job had gone terribly wrong. As much as she disagreed with their lifestyle, it turned her stomach to think of what would happen to her and her younger sisters without them.

      “Who are they?” she asked the moment Jake stepped through the door to the tiny storeroom filled with crates of bottled beer and barrels of moonshine. “Does their presence have anything to do with Ship?” Though he was her stepfather, everyone called him Ship, even her younger sisters who were his blood.

      “Calm down, Em.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know anything for sure and getting upset won’t help anything. You’ve heard of the Reyes Brothers? That could be them. That one in the middle, the one that looks like a Spaniard, I think he’s their leader.”

      The Reyes Brothers. A chill prickled her scalp and cold ribbons of fear trailed down her spine. Ship had talked about them the last time he’d been home. Though she hadn’t gotten the impression the two had crossed paths, he’d described the successes of the gang with the glee and admiration only someone hoping to rise to those levels could summon. They moved cattle across the border. Lots of cattle. Which was only illegal depending on which side of the border they were on. But to hear Ship tell it, they’d made a fortune guarding mining and land claims and even that wasn’t technically illegal, unless it involved killing. She couldn’t remember anything else he’d said. The only detail she’d taken to heart from that conversation was that no one crossed them and lived to tell about it.

      Had Ship done something stupid like try to steal from them? Had he taken Pete with him?

      “That doesn’t make sense. They work down near the border. Las Cruces, or was it Santa Fe? Damn, I can’t remember. Why would they be here?”

      Jake shrugged. “My buddy down off Green River swears he saw the Spaniard there last month buying supplies. He’d know because he spent some time near the border just last year. Says he was in a saloon down in Perez and in walked the Spaniard with a giant, I suppose that one he brought with him tonight. Both better dressed than normal outlaws. He walked in and called out to a fella playing faro. The man charged him with his gun drawn so they shot him. The Spaniard left and the giant followed him out. No one said a word and the poor son of a bitch was carted out the back and his winnings divided amongst those at the table.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck and glanced at the closed door leading to the bar. “Seems like if they were in Green River last month they could be here now. It’s not that far away.”

      “Is this the same buddy you have to carry out every time he comes in because he drinks an entire jar of moonshine?” When he gave an irritated sigh, confirming her words, she continued, “That man could be anybody.”

      “Sure СКАЧАТЬ