Annabelle Weston Read online

  Scandalous Woman

  Annabelle Weston

  Book two in the Desert Heat trilogy.

  Carly Buchanan knows who and what she is. She’s the owner of the Lonesome Saloon, a bawdy place in the harsh West where any man can have his darkest desires fulfilled—for a price. But life at a saloon isn’t easy. After hearing too much one night, Carly is caught in the middle of a deadly dispute. Now no-accounts are shooting up the streets, good men are dying and no one will do a thing about it.

  Until he comes to town…

  Sheriff Jeddah Poole is lethally serious about cleaning up Tucson. But he can’t stop thinking of Carly’s bright eyes and passionate nature…or the way her lush curves feel pressed beneath him as he takes her again and again and again. In a town on the brink, caught in a divine passion they can’t escape, Jed and Carly have only each other to rely on. And only their love can help them survive.

  SCANDALOUS WOMAN

  Annabelle Weston

  Dedication

  To Anna Kathryn Lanier, in appreciation of your leadership and friendship. And to C.H., who made sure I had time to write this book!

  Acknowledgements

  Annabelle wishes to thank her editor Carrie Jackson for her guidance, encouragement and support.

  Chapter One

  Tucson, Arizona territory, 1882

  “Shh… You don’t wanna wake up the whore.”

  Carly Buchanan blinked, trying to sort out the hoarse whispering that swirled in her muddled brain. Everything around her was hazy—evening shadows cast their patterns against the bare walls. She tried to raise herself on her elbows but gave up. Dizziness made the room spin.

  One thing she was certain of. She wasn’t alone. Two customers huddled at the end of her bed, one of them buttoning up his britches and pulling up his suspenders. Their voices had woken her from a nightmare.

  In the background, she could hear the sounds of a bawdy tune on a piano and folks singing, clapping and stomping their feet. Glasses clinked together, followed by raucous laughter and shouts of “More!” These were all distinct sounds of the Lonesome Saloon. Her saloon.

  Her mouth was dry as cotton. She needed a shot of whiskey or a swig of Dr. Baxter’s, either one would do. She’d come to rely on Dr. Baxter’s Eight-Day Elixir to ease her aches and pains. For sure, her whole body hurt especially her honey pot. The strong scent of blood, sex, sweat and semen soured the air.

  What had happened? The memory was too far away. She didn’t coax it to the present. What did it matter? All she cared about was the men had been satisfied.

  She shifted her gaze to the side table. The bottle of Dr. Baxter’s Elixir was there within easy reach. Her arms were too heavy to lift. She tried to summon some energy in the lumpy bed with the satin coverlet an old lover had given her. She shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was from being buck-naked or from the presence of two men.

  What had they said? You don’t wanna wake up the whore.

  Neither one looked at her. They appeared to be having such an intense conversation they hadn’t heard her stir. The one who hadn’t yet buttoned the back flap of his union suit, his freckled ass facing her gestured in wide circles. With every wave of his arm she caught the pungent scent of his body odor. The other had finished putting on his clothes. He kept fingering the six-shooter hanging on his hip—a different kind of lust stirring his blood.

  “Let’s go get him.” His laugh was deep and raspy. Cold-blooded.

  Carly stiffened. She didn’t tolerate any fighting in her establishment.

  “He’ll be easy to find. Heard the ranch isn’t far from town.”

  When she realized they weren’t talking about the Lonesome, she breathed easier.

  Her head cleared a little. She heard bits and pieces of what they were talking about. They spoke about killing a man. They’d been paid well and were expected to keep their side of the bargain in the next day or two.

  She shut her eyes, praying neither of them had seen her wake.

  A man that shifty, fingering the butt of his shooter, wouldn’t think twice about killing a whore. With the absence of a lawman in their town, no one would do much about it. She’d been a saloon dolly for enough years to know where she stood in the pecking order of the wild Arizona territory.

  Pain in her groin gripped her in its vise. Her ass burned as if she’d been dragged behind a horse. With her eyes closed, she tried to assess her own body without moving. What had the men done to her? All she remembered was they’d pay double if she’d do both together. She’d taken them up on the offer and brought both to her room. One of them had seen the elixir on her nightstand and taken a swig then offered some to her, dribbling it in her mouth as he ran his slobbering tongue along her neck. She hadn’t resisted. She never did.

  She didn’t remember much after the elixir reached her brain—rutting men were all the same. Without question the elixir put her into near unconsciousness and the two men had done devil-only-knew-what to her body.

  She touched the corner of her mouth with her tongue. Gingerly. The open cut still bled, the sweet taste familiar. She’d need a day or two to recover.

  No more than that. The responsibilities of the saloon and all its inhabitants rested with her, ever since Big Jim the previous owner had left the place in her care. And here she was, stuck in a room with two men who’d sorely used her and were itching to shoot someone.

  How she wished O’Dell were here. O’Dell had been her saving grace. The saloon Madame, taking care of all the girls—and most of all her. She would take care of these assholes. But O’Dell had lit out of Tucson at the first opportunity. She wanted respectability, love, a family. And she’d found it with a drover. Nathan was his name. Had little munchkins running around her own ranch now. Tears sprang in her eyes. She’d never even met them.

  Carly grimaced. She’d betrayed that friendship. There was no way O’Dell or anyone else would want to be close to her again.

  Carly was on her own, which was no more than she deserved.

  She wished the two men would just pay up and go away.

  “You know what the old man looks like?” The voice was husky.

  “I seen him around town a time or two.”

  “I’m told he lives with two daughters. Won’t be too difficult to ambush him.”

  “What’d I tell you? Keep your voice down.”

  “I don’t care about wakin’ up that bitch. She’s good for nothing but a fuck anyway. If she wakes up, we just kill her.”

  Carly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping. One gulp of elixir would take away her fear. The haze would return. All of this would go away.

  “Best we part company as soon as we kill the bastard.”

  “Whatever you say. I’d like my share now.”

  “You wanna split the take here?”

  “That’d be my preference.”

  “Don’t you trust me, Kid?”

  “What do you think?”

  There was a jingling sound and Carly risked opening her eyes just a smidge to see one of the gunman thumbing through a leather pouch.

  “Here’s your cut.” He tossed his partner a handful of silver coins.

  The man didn’t take the time to count but stuffed them into the pocket of his britches. He glanced back at her.

  She shut her eyes right quick.

  “Let’s be on our way,” he growled. If he’d seen her, he didn’t let on.

  “I’ll be right down. I’m gonna get me another poke at this hussy.”

  “Ain’t no time, Tom. We need to go now, even if she’s a pretty sight buck-ass naked.”

  “You got that right.” The man called Tom slapped Carly on the rear. She bit her tongue and pretended to be asleep.

  “I h
ope you didn’t give her too much of that dope.”

  “Naw, Kid. She’ll be all right. These saloon dollies are used to the stuff.” Tom laughed a raw, scratchy sound that sent chills racing up Carly’s spine. The laugh turned into a coughing fit.

  “Can I watch?”

  Tom snorted. “Thought you were in a powerful hurry?”

  “Reckon I am but you don’t need much time to satisfy your prick.”

  Tom guffawed. The next thing Carly knew, cold, work-roughened hands grabbed her. He flipped her onto her belly and yanked her toward the edge of the bed. She squeezed her eyes tight, praying the man would be done with her soon—if she could only have a drink of the miraculous Dr. Baxter’s Eight-Day Elixir, she could pass out and feel nothing.

  He let go of her. She chanced a glance over her shoulder.

  “Glad to see you’re back with us.” He unbuckled his gun belt—sickening grin made her stomach burn.

  “I need a drink.”

  He licked his lips. “It can wait.”

  She glared. She wasn’t gonna let him plunge his foul Johnson into her ass without a drink.

  “I’ve had enough, boys.” She kept her temper at a slow burn.

  His grin faded. “I say when enough is enough.”

  The bottle seemed so far away. She could get her hand under the mattress. The four-barrel pepperbox O’Dell had given her was stuffed beneath the feather mattress and the wooden slates of the bedframe—the perfect spot to grab it when a customer got rough.

  Slowly she inched her hand toward the edge of the bed. His gun belt hit the floor, then his britches. His union suit was moth eaten and stained. His prick strained to be released.

  Tom pressed a leg between her thighs. She laid her head on the pillow, her hand nearly under the mattress. She heard him spit into his palm. A whiff of his smell—sour and raw—turned her stomach. He’d worn shit on his boots coming into her bedroom.

  He rubbed her ass, panting. The other man—the one called Kid—was also breathing hard. The odor of whiskey and jerky mixed with the horseshit. She needed to move fast before she puked.

  And before he accomplished what he was set on doing.

  She slid her hand under the mattress and found the cold metal of the derringer. Her fingers found the grip and whipped it out, just as Tom pressed his cock against the ring of her ass.

  Carly bucked upward, knocking him off balance. He stumbled backward into the

  wall. Shaking and dizzy, she whirled around and pointed the gun at the maggot’s heart.

  “What are ya doin’, ya crazy whore?” Tom sprayed spittle as he spoke. He turned blustery red, ugly, vicious with hate.

  “Shut up and listen.” She needed both hands to steady the pistol.

  He clamped his mouth shut, eyes fixed on her weapon.

  “Get the hell out of here and I won’t shoot you.” Her voice wobbled and she cursed under her breath.

  “Grab her,” Tom shouted to the Kid.

  Carly backed up against the edge of the bed, her knees slipping across the silky coverlet. She leaned against the bedpost for support, hoping these no-accounts didn’t guess how weak she was. She kept the gun aimed on Tom’s heart. She hadn’t actually ever fired the thing. She wasn’t even sure if the gun was loaded. That’d been O’Dell’s job, taking care of the details.

  She stared at the Kid. “You make a move and I’ll put a bullet in him he won’t likely recover from.” She spoke with false courage. “I reckon you don’t want me to do that.”

  The Kid shook his head, assessing her hard. “No, ma’am, I surely don’t.”

  Tom slapped his knee. “Whoo-eeee. She sure is full of vinegar and spice.”

  “I think we’d better do as she says.”

  “Are you kidding?” He was holding on to his prick. “I like a gal with a little fight in her.”

  The Kid stepped between his partner and Carly. “Time we leave.”

  Tom pushed him aside. “Let me handle her, boy.”

  Carly squeezed her eyes shut and pulled off a shot. The gun exploded, the noise deafening. When she popped her eyes open, Tom was standing halfcocked and there was a pigeon-egg-sized hole in her crib wall. Instead of despairing, she got mad. She’d used up only one shot. She raised the weapon again.

  “No, no, we don’t want any trouble.” The Kid backed toward the door with his arms raised. “We’ll be about our business.”

  Tom stared at the weapon. “You ain’t gonna shoot me.”

  Big talk, Carly reckoned, but he didn’t come any closer.

  “Come on, Tom, this whore is as crazy as we thought.”

  Tom pulled up his britches and fumbled with his buttons.

  “No hard feelings.” The Kid looked ready to bolt out the door. “We were just having some fun.”

  “We’ll take our business elsewhere in the future,” Tom said with a sneer.

  “Leave her be, Tom. Let’s git.”

  Tom was staring at her with his beady, snakelike eyes. Something about him hadn’t struck her as right from the first minute he walked into the Lonesome.

  “Suppose she heard?”

  Kid shifted his feet. “What does it matter?”

  “You know where we’re goin’, dolly girl?” Tom asked.

  Carly met his gaze. She’d plenty of guile. “I didn’t hear what you all were talking about, if that’s what you’re asking. I was asleep.”

  “I reckon you’re a liar.” Tom stood straight and picked up his gun belt.

  Carly kept her eyes steady, her chin lifted. Lying came naturally to her but he hadn’t been convinced.

  “Well, I suppose that don’t matter, because who’s gonna believe a whore?” Tom said, his voice soft and conversational-like.

  Carly was immediately alert to his changed tone and stance.

  “Nobody in their right mind.” The Kid glared at Carly. “You had better keep your mouth shut about what you heard anyway.”

  “That’s right or else we’ll come back and make sure a bullet is put clear through your heart—and the hearts of every other whore in this joint.”

  Carly swallowed hard. “I didn’t hear nothin’, now get out.”

  The Kid tipped his hat. Tom frowned as his partner opened the door. He started to walk out then turned. “I forgot, thanks for the good time.” He tossed a silver dollar on the bed.

  “I thought we were going to pay double,” the Kid said.

  “I didn’t get all I came for.” He scoffed. “She got what her services were worth.”

  The door shut behind them.

  Carly dropped the pistol and sank into the bed, her entire body screaming out in agony. “Good riddance.”

  She’d been afraid, she wasn’t gonna lie about that. Terrified. She’d no doubt they’d make good on their promise to kill all of them if she told what she knew. They’d been hired to kill a local man. She didn’t know who. She couldn’t afford to care.

  She listened to the click of their boot heels on the hardwood and the ringing of spurs as they descended the stairs, and then finally the shouts of the other dollies as they welcomed them back. She reached for the bottle of Dr. Baxter’s Elixir, pulled out the cork and gulped down a healthy swig.

  * * * * *

  The sun blazed hot as a cast-iron stove as Jeddah Poole rode Shooter down the main drag of Tucson. He shifted in the saddle, wiped the grimy sweat on his brow with his bandana then pulled his hat lower to shade his eyes.

  “Gonna be a scorcher today.” He’d gotten into the habit of talking to his horse. Old Shooter didn’t seem to mind.

  Surprisingly, the town was quiet for this time in the morning. A few shopkeepers swept the sand off the planked boardwalk. They stopped and watched him. They were curious, no doubt, to see a stranger coming their way out of the east. Each and every one of them placed their hands on their brows, keeping the sun from their faces, and followed his progress down the dusty street.

  Jed nodded hello, touched two fingers to his Stetson, but not a on
e of them nodded back.

  “Mighty fine welcome, eh, Shooter?”

  The horse snorted and chewed his bit.

  Jed decided the citizens of Tucson were smart to be wary of strangers but he’d change their minds quick enough about him when they found out why he was here.

  He continued traveling the wide street, checking out the town. He was the newest citizen of this lawless place—even if nobody knew it yet. He passed by the small adobe building with a large star painted on the triangle above the door, indicating it was the local jail. The place was deserted. Jed frowned. Apparently, not even a deputy had been left in charge.

  The owner of the dry goods store across the street came out of his store to study Jed. His hawklike stare needed no interpretation. He barked some cuss words at a boy bringing in boxes from a wagon and followed him inside.

  Best to keep moving, Jed decided. Introductions could wait. They’d been on the trail for two days and both could use some good grub and some shut-eye.

  He rode on past the post office and the Wells Fargo Bank, both closed up tight. Next to the bank was an inn, aptly named the Tucson Inn, with mighty fine smells of frying meat and baking bread. His stomach grumbled, reminding him of his meager breakfast of a few dried venison strips. He’d be sure to stop in there for some grub when he finished his first order of business—finding a place for Shooter to bed down.

  He saw the last building in town, set apart from the others. Smoke rose from chimney tiles.

  “Must be the livery,” he told Shooter.

  A loud ruckus caught Jed’s attention. A couple of rough men stomped out of a pair of swinging doors to his right. They shouted cuss words to one another, a quarrel brewing—fueled, no doubt, by drink. Jed read the sign in need of a coat of paint. The Lonesome Saloon.

  Jed thought the name all wrong. Seemed like the busiest place in town, especially for the early morning hour. Music floated out into the street along with women’s laughter. His cock jumped. After he filled his empty stomach, he would satisfy his other need. The saloon would be the second place he’d visit today.