Summer Breeze (17 page)

pinned by an alarmed blue gaze. He couldn't think what to say, but, true to form, he opened his mouth anyway. "Don't let that worry you. Old Glory just stands at attention sometimes." Like
now,
with soft, warm, feminine flesh melting all around him. "In my younger years, I let him influence most of my decisions. Those days are gone forever. I finally figured out that he's got a nose for trouble, and I never pay him any mind."

Her cheeks went bright pink. Joseph was glad to see some color come back to her face, whatever the cause.

"Maybe I should move."

She scrambled off his lap and back into the tub. On the one hand, Joseph was glad to be able to stretch and get the crick out of his spine, but he wasn't pleased to see her gaze shift to the doorway. She locked her arms around her knees, her fingers interlaced and clenched so tightly that her knuckles glowed white. Then she jumped.

"Did you hear that?"

Joseph tipped his head. "Hear what?"

"That."

He listened again and heard only the wind buffeting the house, but the creaks and groans clearly terrified her. "It's just the house settling."

"No, no." Her pupils went large, the blackness almost eclipsing her blue irises. "A footstep," she whispered. "I just heard a footstep."

Buddy whined.

"There, you see?" she said. "He hears it, too."

Buddy was reacting to the fear in her, plain and

simple. Animals could smell it. "It's nothing, honey, just an old house shifting in the wind."

She went quiet, but Joseph could tell that she hadn't relaxed a whit. He found himself
wishing he had some of Doc's laudanum. That would relax her. As things stood, it promised
to be a mighty long night, and she needed some rest.

A sudden thought occurred to him. "Buddy," he said, "go get my saddlebags."

Fetching the saddlebags was a trick that Buddy had learned out on the trail, a fairly easy
one for Joseph to teach him, actually, because the dog knew all their food was in one of the
pouches. The shepherd was nothing if not accommodating when it came to getting his
treats. He sped off for the dining room.

It took Buddy an uncommonly long while to drag the bags back to the water closet. Joseph
figured that the leather probably had gotten hung up in the archway where a few broken
boards still protruded.

"Good boy!" Joseph said warmly when the shepherd reappeared, tugging the saddlebags
behind him. "First things first." Joseph opened the side pouch, which he had replenished
with rations, and pulled out two pieces of jerky. "There you go, partner."

Eyeing Rachel, Joseph opened another bag, found what he sought, and drew it out. Pulling
the cork with his teeth, he took a swig, wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve, and then
passed the jug to his charge.

"What's this?" she asked as she grasped the bottle in a shaky hand.

"Ne'er may care," he said with a grin. "A remedy to cure what ails you. Have a snort."

She sniffed the contents and wrinkled her nose. "It smells like whiskey."

"I like 'ne'er may care' better, but whiskey's another name. Bottom's up."

She pushed the jug back at him. Joseph held her gaze and slowly shook his head. "Not an option, darlin'. You're as jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. The way I see it, we've got two choices. I can go repair that barricade"—he paused and arched an eyebrow at her—"or you can put a brick in your hat and calm down."

She looked back at the jug. "You expect me to become intoxicated?" she asked in a scandalized voice.

"Think of it as getting happy."

"Ladies do not overindulge, Mr. Paxton."

"My name's Joseph, and sure they do when the circumstances call for it. For tonight, think of it as a medicinal remedy. With a few swigs of that under your belt, you won't care if every wall in the place blows down."

"Precisely why I don't choose to obliterate my good sense with drink."

Joseph pushed to his feet. "I reckon I'll see what I can do with that archway, then."

She gave him a glare, put the jug to her lips, and took two dainty swallows. Then she gasped, her eyes went watery, and she started whacking her chest.

"It'll pass," Joseph assured her. "The next swallow will go down like warm honey."

She eyed the jug askance. "I don't care to have any more," she said thinly.

Joseph leaned down to get nose to nose with her.

"You'll drink that whiskey or let me go out there to fix the hole. Your choice. Your eyes look like they've bled onto your cheeks. You have to get some sleep."

She took another gulp of the whiskey. "How much do I have to drink?"

Joseph resumed his perch on the toilet seat. "That'll do for the moment."

She rolled her eyes and made a face.
"Nothing,
not whiskey or anything else, will calm my nerves about that hole."

Joseph had a double eagle in his pocket that said otherwise, but he just shrugged, checked his watch, and winked at her. Holding the neck of the jug clenched in one fist, she remained in a tense huddle, one arm locked around her knees. Every time the house creaked, she wiggled like a Mexican jumping bean.

He liked her nightdress. It was different from the one last night, still a Mother Hubbard but trimmed with lace over the front and at the cuffs. With her knees drawn to her chest, the hem rode high on her shins, revealing shapely calves, trim ankles, and dainty feet, tipped by ten shell pink toes. In all his days, Joseph had never clapped eyes on such tiny toes.

When five minutes had passed, he asked, "How you feelin'?"

She jumped at the mere sound of his voice.
"Nervous.
It won't work, I tell you."

"Try three more swigs."

She lipped the bottle.

"Not sips, sweetheart,
swigs.
By definition, that means big swallows."

He saw her throat working, counted the times her Adam's apple bobbed, and then watched her shudder down the burn. As she settled the jug beside her, Joseph noticed that her fingers limply encircled the neck now. That told him she was starting to relax.

"Now three more," he urged.

She narrowed an eye at him but obediently tipped the jug and took three more gulps. When she came up for air, her cheeks were flagged apple red. She swiped at her mouth with the sleeve of her gown. "Goodness, me."

Joseph grinned. "Feelin' any better yet?"

She fanned her face. "Is it hot in here to you? I'm stifling."

He couldn't very well open a window to let in fresh air. "It'll pass." At least she wasn't listening to the house settle now. "Here in a bit, you'll feel fine as a frog hair."

"Fine as a what?"

"A frog hair. And that's pretty damned fine."

She startled him by pushing suddenly to her feet. Grasping the front of the gown in both hands, she fanned the cloth. "I'm stifling, I say."

When she exited the tub, Joseph gave her a wondering look. "What are you doing?"

She bent over the sink, turned on the tap, and cupped cool water to her cheeks. When she groped for a towel, he tugged one from the rack and handed it to her. "Thank you," she mumbled into the linen. When she lifted her head, she added. "That's better."

"Good." She looked bright eyed and bushy tailed,

which wasn't the effect Joseph had been hoping for. "You ever played poker?" he asked.

"Never."

"You aren't fixing to say that ladies don't play cards, are you? Caitlin does, and she beats Ace's socks off."

"She does?"

Joseph pushed up from the toilet. "Will you be all right while I run get my cards?"

She frowned up at him. "Where are they?"

The very fact that she would consider letting him leave the water closet told Joseph that the whiskey had soothed her nerves some. "On the dining room table."

"Will you hurry back?"

Joseph gave her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Within seconds he had returned with the cards. Rachel was back in the tub. She wiped her mouth and corked the jug before looking up at him. "It doesn't taste so bad after a while."

Uh-oh.
Joseph retrieved the bottle and gave it a shake to check the level. He wanted her relaxed, not pie-eyed. He sat on the commode seat to shuffle on his knee.
Problem.
The rolled edge of the tub wouldn't hold the cards. Joseph eyed the interior.

"Is there room enough in there for you to sit at one end and me at the other if we cross our legs?"

She scooted around with her back to the faucets again. Joseph toed off his boots and crawled in, cards in hand. "I can sit at that end if you like."

"I'm fine."

He handed her the pillow. "Use this to cushion your spine."

He sat cross-legged facing her and settled back. "Okay," he said. "We'll start with five-card draw.

It's a pretty simple game." Buddy reared up, hooking his white paws over the edge of the bathtub to eye them. After a moment, he gave a disheartened sigh and curled up on the floor. The dog knew it was time to sleep when he saw his master with playing cards in his hand.

Joseph began explaining the rules. A few sentences in, his student yawned. "You getting sleepy?"

She blinked and sat up straighter. "No, no, I'm fine. With that huge hole in my barricade, I shan't sleep a wink, I assure you."

He dealt the first hand of cards.

She gave him a questioning look. "I pair up the cards, you say?"

Joseph nodded.

"What do you do when you've got three?"

Joseph narrowed an eye at her. "Three what?"

"Three of the same card."

Three of a kind beat his two pairs, hands down. His only hope was to deal himself a third king.

That wasn't impossible. He'd seen it happen a number of times. "You keep the three cards and discard the other two," he explained.

"Even if the other two make a pair?"

Joseph gave her another hard look. "You're funning me, right?"

She turned her hand so he could see it. Three aces and two tens. "I'll be a bungtown copper. That's a full house."

She smiled brightly. "Is that good?"

Joseph groaned and bunched that deal. "Beginner's luck," he assured her. "A full house, dealt cold? Never happen again."

Two hands later, Joseph was leaning forward over his crossed ankles, enjoying himself as he hadn't in weeks. "We need something to bet." He studied his cards and bit back a smile. A straight was surely better than anything she had. "It just doesn't feel right without a pot to win."

"I can't afford to gamble with money."

"How about tokens?" Joseph thought for a moment. "You got any hairpins?"

She laid her cards facedown between them and struggled to her feet, treating Joseph to a delightful glimpse of bare thigh when her nightgown rode up. She stepped from the tub to open a cabinet over the sink and returned with a tin of hairpins. Joseph doled out twenty to each of them and schooled her in the fine art of betting. She caught on fast.

"I'll meet your hairpin and raise you"—she pursed her lips as she studied her cards—"two, no, three."

Joseph kept his face expressionless as he eyed his straight. He tossed out three more hairpins.

"Call."

With a flick of her wrist, she showed him her hand. Joseph gaped. When he finally found his voice, he said, "A royal flush?"

"Is that good?" she asked innocently.

The question told Joseph he'd been hoodwinked, good and proper. "If you didn't know it was good, why'd you raise me three?"

Her dark lashes swept low, the tips gleaming golden in the candlelight.

"You've played before," he accused.

Her cheek dimpled in an impish grin. "Ma wouldn't let Pa gamble at the saloon, so he taught me how."

"I'll be." He shook his head as he watched her take the ante. "You're having the mother of all lucky streaks."

She giggled, a light tinkling sound that Joseph could have listened to all night. "Luck or know-how. It all depends on if you're winning or losing."

She looked too sweet for words in that lacy Mother Hubbard nightdress with her beautiful hair coming loose from the braid and forming shimmering ringlets around her slender shoulders.

Joseph refused to allow his gaze to dip lower, even though he'd done his share of looking earlier.

She was all-to-pieces beautiful, make no mistake. And she played poker. He couldn't believe it when she shuffled the cards with a flick of her wrists and started dealing like a pro. He just flat couldn't believe it.

He picked up his cards, arranged his hand, and said, "I'm in for one."

He tossed out a hairpin and discarded. She anteed and stayed, her lips curved in a smug little smile as she dealt him replacements. Joseph perused his hand. He had a full house, kings over deuces. If she had better, he'd gargle salt water while he whistled "Dixie."

He raised the bet by two. She paid to see his hand and raised her delicate brows. "Very nice." Her cheek dimpled again. "But it doesn't beat aces over sevens."

"No way." Joseph stared at the cards she laid down, faceup. "No
way."

She giggled and collected the ante. "Your deal. Maybe we should change the game."

"Seven-card stud," he suggested.

In truth, Joseph didn't really care if he won. He just enjoyed playing. It was especially pleasurable when his opponent was so lovely to look at.
The perfect woman,
he thought.
Beautiful, a dog
lover, a poker player, and a fabulous cook, to boot.
It just didn't get any better than that.

A prickle of alarm worked its way up his spine. He was coming to like this lady a little too much for comfort. In his recollection, he couldn't recall ever having felt this attracted to a female.

She reached over the side of the tub to retrieve the whiskey jug. The cork departed from the neck with a hollow
thunk.
She thrust the bottle at him. "Maybe you need a drink to change your luck."

Joseph guessed he could have one more swig. He didn't want to drink too much for fear that he would sleep too soundly. As unfounded as most of Rachel's fears seemed to be, she hadn't imagined that bullet in Darby's back. He needed to be on guard, just in case the old foreman had it right about her life being in danger.