berth as he strode up to the counter. Each footstep pounded against the pine boards of the pockmarked floor, jarring through the soles of my satin-heeled slippers.
Lord, he was a huge bear of a man, complete with a brown wool suit. It stretched across his body, straining at the seams to cover his endowed frame. The suit makers surely grinned with glee when Luke paid them a visit; all the material required to cover the man them a visit; all the material required to cover the man boggled the mind.
I was behind the bar, pouring the usual rotgut into clean glasses, when his eyes fell on me. They were light brown, a rich whiskey color. The expensive kind, not the watered-down swill we served here.
He smiled, and the ends of his heavy mustache lifted, easing the look of criminal intent on his lined face.
If I did not know better, I would have said he was working with Bill Cody out of Wyoming. He had that dangerous, unpredictable showmanship air about him.
But Luke Pierce was a cattleman, a baron to rival all Texas cattle barons. I heard tell his herd stretched farther than the eye could see, and as I discovered upon arrival in town, the naked eye could see for miles.
He was not handsome in the refined, upper-class sense, although his clothes were as rich as any gentleman’s. It was his devil-may-care attitude that lit him from inside.
I have to admit I was most curious about Luke Pierce.
“And who are you?” His voice was belly deep and sounded ill-used. A cigar smoker, maybe. Or perhaps all the smoky-backroom high-stakes poker games men of his station liked to play had worn his voice.
I looked down the bar to see Thomas Blevins, the owner of the booze house, give me a nod. I knew the routine without him telling me. Rich customer. Give ’em whatever he wanted.
That was usually my motto too, but I was more discriminating with my customers than Blevins. I did not play cute with every cowboy who walked through the door.
Luke was still waiting for my answer when I turned back. “Prudence,” I said at last, knowing where this conversation would lead, but curious despite myself.
It elicited a giant knee-slapping laugh from the bear of a man.
A prostitute named Prudence was often a source of hilarity around here.
The flecks of yellow in his eyes sparked with amusement. “Prudence! You’re the best-looking thing I’ve seen all day. Come and have a drink with me.”
He slapped a large bill on the bar and shoved it in my direction.
Yup. Just as I expected. Why should this man be any different from the others? I was a working gal, and payment was expected.
But something about this good-natured, long-haired, jovial man dressed in a wool suit struck me. Struck me as right, in spite of the money on the bar. I felt comfortable with his eyes on me. Comfortable in his presence.
Safe.
Why hadn’t she taken the car? Because Jake had implied she’d gained weight. Lila hated to admit her rear might be a tad larger than when he last saw it. Though it might be bigger, she comforted herself with the thought it was all muscle. She’d worked hard over the last couple of years to keep herself in shape.
But did he care? Oh, he’d been looking. She’d caught his eyes dropping to check her out. Whether he acted on the interest was a whole other story.
Lila huffed along, juggling bags from hand to hand, hoping the weight would shift and let the blood circulate. It didn’t.
Stopping on the sidewalk under the shade of a large pecan tree, she set her burden down, allowing her reddened palms to rest. A hot breeze lifted the blond tendrils of hair around her face.
From behind her she heard a truck slow and roll to a stop. Afraid to turn, Lila stared at the rough bark of the giant tree. It could be anyone, perhaps the owner of the house beyond the pecan? But she had a tickle of giddiness in her belly that it was neither. The tickle that meant Jake was near.
“Hope you don’t have ice cream in those bags.” Jake’s lazy tone