Free Much Ado About Madams by Jacquie Rogers Page B

whorehouses and had used every woman in them all.
    He was probably just like his old man. God only knew, he sure wanted to lay this woman out and drive his “snake” in her until she screamed his name. A man with any honor at all wouldn’t even be thinking what he’d thought about her. He wouldn’t end up like the old bastard, though, murdered while abusing a woman forced to earn her own miserable way.
    Damn, he wished Miss Sharpe would quit looking at him that way—trusting and wanting. He’d have bet she didn’t even know what she wanted. Nevertheless, Lucinda nor any other woman deserved the likes of him. He’d never do to a good woman what his no-account father had done to his mother—marry her, plant his seed, then abandon her. But he could see how a man could get trapped.
    She sucked in a breath and those beautiful green eyes of hers widened. Reese suppressed a groan, frustrated that he couldn’t control his reaction to her any better than a buck in rut.
    “ A snake!” she yelled.
    Was she stupid or what? Granted, he’d swollen to the size of an oak tree, but they’d already been through this once.
    “ It’s not a snake.”
    Thrrrrrrrrrr .
    A snake. A rattler.
    He froze. He glanced to the other side of the fire where his six-shooter lay useless. “Lucinda,” he said quietly, “don’t move a muscle and tell me exactly where the snake is.”
    “ It . . . it’s a couple of yards to your right and a yard to your back.” After her initial stammer, her words tumbled out so fast he could hardly comprehend them.
    Thrrrrrrrrrr . Again, the snake made his threat. Reese’s heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer. “Is he coiled?”
    Her eyes sparked dread. “Yes,” she whispered.
    “ Good. We’re going to jump to the other side of the fire on the count of three. One . . . two . . . three!”
    He held her hard to his chest and leapt, rolling over the flames and knocking the coffee pot over. He grabbed his Colt and fired through the hissing sparks. His aim was sure and deadly. The snake’s body flopped in death throws, its head blown off.
    So relieved he couldn’t move, Reese sat, concentrating on his lifeless enemy and thankful for his weapon. Snakes scared him worse than anything he’d seen in the Indian wars, and nearly as much as respectable women. His heart slowed. He had to take a leak.
    “ Oooow!”
    Lucinda’s muffled yell confused him at first. His brain still hadn’t settled down from their close call.
    “ Get off!”
    He looked down. Damned if he wasn’t sitting on her head! He moved off her, careful not to scrape her face on the pebbles dotting the grass.
    She sat up and blew dirt and twigs out of her mouth. She looked cute even wearing a man’s baggy trousers and weeds in her hair. She needed to be kissed. He had to get away from her, or he’d do it. “Let’s pack up and get back to Dickshooter.”
    He tossed his duster to her. “Put this on.” He picked up his saddle and blanket, and heaved it onto his horse.
    It was going to be a long trip.
    * * * * *
    Trinket stuck her head through the doorway. “Fannie, the sheriff’s here.”
    Fannie put the iron on the stove, shook out the pillowcase she’d pressed, and looked up at Titus—or Midas. “Tell that horny bastard we ain’t open for another three hours yet.”
    “ He don’t want a poke. He wants to see Reese.”
    “ Reese ain’t here.”
    “ I told him so. Said he wants to talk to you.”
    “ He ain’t gettin’ any for free, if that’s what he came for.”
    “ Tell him yourself. He’s propped up at the bar.”
    Fannie folded the pillowcase and tossed it on the clean clothes pile. The day had started out smelling like rotten eggs, what with that mean gambler, Hannibal Hank, showing up at the crack of dawn like he owned the place. He’d wanted Felicia, who had finally agreed to service him for twenty dollars. The asshole was so desperate for a poke he paid it. Maybe he’d move on, but somehow Fannie didn’t