Chapter Forty-Three
Jack slammed the glass down and reached for the bottle. His hand closed with exaggerated precision around it. He lifted the bottle and poured, managing to spill as much as not. He didn’t give a damn. He banged the bottle down, raised the glass, and drained it.
It had been two weeks.
Two weeks since she’d left on the stage with her white husband. Fifteen days since he’d told her she was his wife and asked her to marry him. What a fool he was.
The saloon was busy even though it was only midday.
A few wranglers, many drifters, some miners, and two baby-faced soldiers from the fort.
The bartender was serving a steady stream of drinks.
Nadi, the young half-breed, was busy serving and avoiding grabs to various parts of her anatomy.
The buckskin skirt clung to her young, high buttocks and was the most sought-after target on her person.
He should have left town days ago, but he hadn’t the ambition to do so. Where would he drift to now? Sonora? Texas? West, to California? Shit; he didn’t give a damn.
By now he’d heard all the gossip. Rumor had it that Candice had jilted Kincaid in Arizona City for him, then had jilted him for Kincaid.
It was amazing how the perverted gossipmongers could so totally twist the facts.
There was a lot of head-shaking. Men and women alike believed that Candice was that kind of woman, a scarlet woman, a hussy, a breed lover. She was ruined, irreparably.
Was she happy?
He didn’t even want to consider that thought, not when he was so damn miserable. But whose fault was that? It was his, for being foolish enough to marry her—worse, make love to her, fall in love with her. Even now, he didn’t hate her as much as he loved her. And the whiskey only dimmed the pain.
He was sitting there brooding when suddenly—or not so suddenly—a miner was standing before him, a tall, brawny shadow, and the next thing Jack knew, his chair was kicked out from under him. He went flying back onto the floor.
“Hey, breed,” the miner laughed. “Hear you got a taste of a white woman.”
Jack was badly drunk. He shook his head to stop the floor from spinning. He knew he was in serious trouble. He leaned up on his elbows, trying to focus on a pair of thick calves clad in moccasins.
“You know what I think of breeds who fool with white women?” the miner asked. “This!”
Jack saw it coming, the hard, vicious kick to his face. It was one thing to see it and another to react. He tried, and managed to move his head slightly aside, but not enough to avoid the stunning blow. His head slammed against the floor, and he saw stars.
He was still seeing stars when he was being lifted to his feet by many hands.
“What should we do with him, boys?” the miner roared.
“String the no-good bastard up!” someone shouted.
“That’ll teach him,” a wrangler declared, and a round of laughter greeted this.
“He won’t never touch no white woman again,” agreed one of the soldiers.
“Yeah!” It was a chorus.
Jack’s legs refused to work as the miner began dragging him outside, followed by the crowd in the saloon. He was done for. He was so drunk he barely cared. He heard Nadi trying to scream for help. He smiled, thinking, Poor, foolish girl.
Someone threw a rope around his neck. Panic set in, and his heart started to pound, clearing his head a bit. Things were more in focus. His mouth was bleeding from the kick.
“We’ll take him around back where there’s a nice tree with his name on it,” the miner shouted, and everyone laughed and roared their approval.
The cocking of a gun sounded. “I don’t think so.”
Jack knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it. He turned his head, blinking, trying to focus on the rider on the rangy bay.
“Stay out of this, boy,” the miner said.
“What’s his crime?” Luke Carter asked coolly.
“You asking what his crime is?” the wrangler asked incredulously. “He stole your sister from Kincaid.”
“My sister,” Luke said calmly, “was dying in the desert after leaving her husband for dead in Arizona City, This man saved her life. Untie him.”
The miner hesitated, but held at rifle point, he had no choice. He slipped the noose from around Jack’s neck and stepped away, muttering angrily. Jack stood swaying while Luke dispersed the crowd. He wiped his sleeve over his mouth and looked up at Luke Carter.
Nadi came running up and grabbed him, and he leaned on her gratefully.
“You’d best sober up,” Luke said, slipping off the horse. He walked over. “You need a hand with him?” he asked the girl.
“Please,” Nadi’s eyes seemed to beg, her face tense with anxiety.
“Shit” was all Jack managed, and Luke threw an arm around Jack as he stumbled along. He found himself falling onto Nadi’s straw pallet. “Thanks,” he mumbled, groaning.
Luke stared down at him, glanced around without expression at the squalid little room, nodded to Nadi, and left.
Jack had flung his arm over his eyes. Nadi crouched beside him, pressing her face on his chest. As his world did another spin, he groaned again. Nadi made a funny noise, something that sounded like she was crying. One of Jack’s hands came out and he patted her head.
Later, and how much later he wasn’t sure, but the room was in total darkness, so he knew he had passed out, he became groggily aware of a warm, naked body curled beside his.
He was naked too. He remembered what had happened that afternoon and cursed himself for his idiocy in getting so drunk that he couldn’t defend himself.
The woman’s slim, hard body moved on top of his. At the sensation of soft, warm skin and hot groin, his body stirred. He recognized Nadi with a start, despite the numbed, half-inebriated state he was in. “Nadi? What are you doing here?”
She began kissing his throat, and his groin swelled.
“Nadi, no.”
Her hands slid to his jaws, holding his face, and as she kissed him, she rubbed hard little nipples against his chest. “No,” he tried to say, into her mouth, but now his groin was aching and full, his rigid penis straining against her belly.
He was still half drunk and barely awake.
He groaned, opened his mouth, closed his arms around her, and surrendered.
She was warm, and she was woman. He knew he shouldn’t.
It was in the back of his mind. She was too young, and a prostitute for the patrons of the saloon.
None of that mattered now. What mattered was sheathing himself in her warm, wet flesh.
He flipped her and drove into her, groaning.
She moved her hips in rhythm with his, returned his kisses, ran her hands up and down his back.
Because of all the alcohol, it was some time before he found release, but he wasn’t too drunk to tell that he hadn’t aroused her—even halfway.
He rolled off her and stared at the ceiling. She instantly curled against his side.
He turned to look at her thin face with the too-big black eyes, which were shining with adoration. Her expression made him freeze. “Nadi, this wasn’t right.”
She smiled, took his hand, and placed it on her heart. The look she gave him was as eloquent as words she seemed to want to say but could not: “I love you.”
Jack looked at the ceiling, feeling awful. He felt her kiss his hand before releasing it. A change of topic was always safe. “How old are you?” Her fingers moved too rapidly, and he grabbed her wrist. “Slow down.”
She smiled, held up ten fingers, then five and two.
She looked fourteen. “Is that the truth?”
Still smiling, she nodded vigorously. She was so sincere, and so pathetic. He had just used her, and even though she had offered herself, he was grim with remorse. He stared again at the ceiling.
She smiled and stretched out alongside him.
He looked at her.
She stroked his chest languidly. He watched her get up and pull on her calico blouse and the buckskin skirt.
Her clothes were much mended and could use a wash.
He was aware of the heavy odors in the room.
He recalled how her hair had felt in his hands.
He glanced at the soiled pallet he was lying on.
She returned with coffee and whiskey. His head pounding with an immense headache, Jack reached for coffee and pushed the whiskey away.