Breaking Down Defenses (3rd in Breaking Series)

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

"Is he dead?" a feminine voice with a thick Mexican accent yelled... Technically it wasn't truly a yell but it might as well have been with the pounding in Thomas's head.

"I don't know..." another feminine voice replied, "I hope not. I recognize him. He is sheriff Brody's friend."

"Senor? Are you muerto?" the first voice asked.

Thomas groaned and felt his stomach roll as he attempted to sit up, "No... I'm not dead." he whispered, wincing when the pounding in his head increased tenfold, "But I wish I was. Could one of you ladies be kind enough to please grab my gun off the floor and shoot me in the head with it?"

They both giggled in response and Thomas was sure the sound was going to crack his skull. He raised his hand to the back of his head and felt the blood in his hair. What the hell had happened to him?

He opened his eyes just a crack and saw the women, clearly maids, standing there staring at him. Glancing down Thomas realized he was naked. He quickly covered himself with the blanket that had fallen off when he'd sat up and blushed as he scratched at his stubble covered jaw.

"Were you attacked, senor?" the first maid asked with concern, "Sheriff Brody is not in town yet but his deputy LeRoy is at the jail. We could get him for you."

Thomas closed his eyes and tried to remember the night before. A kiss. He remembered a kiss. A mind rattling kiss that had made his legs weak, his blood seem to boil and his brain to turn to mush. Sally. He had kissed Sally... Just before she'd cracked him upside the head with a water pitcher.

"No I wasn't attacked," he replied. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened last night but he figured he probably deserved whatever Sally had done to him and he didn't want to get her in trouble.

"You were hit with the pitcher," the Mexican woman informed him as if he hadn't already figured that much out.

Thomas looked at the broken pieces of floral ceramic and shook his head, though he ceased that movement quickly when he realized that it made him want to vomit, "No, I was holding the pitcher and I fell..." he offered lamely.

The ladies gaze was skeptic, "You fell and hit yourself in the back of the head with the pitcher, senor?"

Thomas glared at her, "Yes. Now leave me alone."

The maids clearly didn't believe him but they backed out of the room and shut the door behind them. Thomas used the bed and every ounce of strength he had to pull himself to his feet. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, pressed his fingertips into his temples and tried to remember exactly what had happened the night before, other than that amazing kiss and the less than awesome pitcher incident.

He remembered he had been drinking. Why did every groggy story of remembrance of the night before always start with the words, he'd been drinking? Maybe Thomas needed to stop going to saloons.

He shook his head again to focus back on the night before. He'd been drinking. A lot. Then he had argued with Wendell over something... It was foggy but he was pretty sure he'd said something like 'to hell with the Atkinsons'.

Then that little whore, he still couldn't remember her name, had offered to come back to the hotel and he had accepted. Not because he had really enjoyed her the night before but because his body had been screaming for a woman after Sally had awaken a burning desire in him when she had placed her hand on his thigh.

Him and the woman had been enjoying themselves and then the door had burst open and Sally had been there..... He groaned as he vaguely remembered the things he had said to her. Thomas couldn't remember word for word but he knew he had invited her to join him and the whore in the bed.. Why had he done that? If he ever did get to bed Sally, there sure wasn't going to be any other person in the bed but him and her... He decided to just blame it on the whiskey and thought back to remember more.