Heaven Sent

Chapter 8

Sam walked into the saloon the next evening. He'd slept well at the hotel, and spent the morning getting a haircut, and bathing at the public bath house. He'd asked a few questions around town and shown drawings of the bank robbers' faces, getting odd looks from people. They seemed surprised to think thieves could be living in their midst. Maybe someone would talk in the saloon, after he loosened their lips with alcohol.

As soon as he entered the establishment, his gaze went right to the red-haired doxy from yesterday. She was hard to miss in that shiny green dress. It exposed the lower half of her legs encased in black, lace stockings, along with trim ankles that gave a man ideas, ideas he had no business thinking.

She stood with her back to him, singing "Red River Valley" along with the piano player, while everyone in the place listened. She sang like an angel. Sam ambled to the bar and leaned his elbow on it, drawn by her voice like the rest of the patrons.

He shivered as she reached the end of the ballad, her voice holding on to the last note like a lover clinging to her heart's desire. He fought the urge to cry. He hadn't shed tears for anything since he wore knee-britches, but the pureness of her voice coaxed them into his eyes. He blinked furiously, and barked at the barkeep, "Whisky, please."

The rest of the listeners gave a hearty round of applause, and she bowed deeply. He couldn't look away from her, and tossed back his drink in angry response. What the hell was she doing to him? Women such as her were necessary evils in towns where men outnumbered the women, but he was only here on business. Yet she drew his attention like a shining beacon.

"Mattie, table four's drinks are ready."

Prepared to mosey over to a poker game already setting up, Sam paused when the redhead nodded and strolled toward the bar, hips swinging like a hypnotist's watch. She nodded at Sam in passing, and then faltered as she recognized him. Taking a step back, she looked into his face and mustered a grin, but he could see worry at the back of her eyes. She thought he was here for her.

He tipped his hat to the back of his head and nodded. "We meet again, Mattie." He used her given name on purpose. Her body stiffened, and she narrowed her eyes. The next moment she licked her red-painted lips with a slow swipe of her tongue. He nearly groaned at the suggestive move, but managed to hold it back.

"So we do, cowboy. And the pleasure is all mine. Though it could be yours. I always keep my promises." She put one long-fingered hand on her hip, the move designed to thrust out her chest. He glanced at her shadowed cleavage and bit the inside of his jaw.

After her grab yesterday, and today's luscious lick, plus peep show, he was ready to slam down the fee and slam into her. Instead, he gave her an insolent up-and-down look before shaking his head.

"Sorry, Mattie. Go ply your trade elsewhere. Frequently furrowed fields don't interest me." He touched his hat brim and stepped around her, but not before he saw the cloud of fury cross her face. He smiled to himself.

"It's not as frequent as you think, choir boy," she snapped in a harsh whisper, brushing past him. That brief touch of her uncorseted breast was a tantalizing reminder that he wasn't as immune to her as he thought. And her sharp retort told him he'd hit the bullseye. Too bad he couldn't dredge up any elation.

He sat down at the game table, determined to ignore the saucy redhead. He was here to locate some thieves, though he found it hard to dismiss the saloon girl from his thoughts. Her reaction to his rebuff and her comment that sleeping with men for money hadn't been "as often as he thought," taunted him. It told him she was ashamed, which meant she hadn't been at the job that long. Lifers didn't apologize for their trade.