Annabelle Weston Page 2

  He dismounted and headed for the livery. The large man came from around the back, wiping his hands on a rag. His forehead was smudged with coal dust and his clothes were filthy.

  “Howdy stranger,” he said. He didn’t come any closer.

  Jed closed the gap. “Name’s Jeddah Poole. I’m your new sheriff.” He held out his hand to the smithy.

  The smithy took it and shook hard. “John Trumbull. Mighty nice to have you here, Sheriff.”

  He glanced back at the saloon. Jed followed his gaze. The two men he’d seen coming out of the Lonesome had mounted their shabby horses and were galloping out of town, shooting their guns into the air.

  John huffed. “We’ve been needing someone with a badge here in Tucson. The town can be rough as a cob.”

  “Time that changed.”

  “We had a U.S. marshal for a spell but the poor man was killed in a nasty business last year.”

  Jed had heard. The lawmen in the territory didn’t live long, he’d been told. He’d taken the position anyway. There was a job to be done and he was the man to do it.

  “I was sorry to hear about the marshal.” He spoke sincerely. He’d not known the man but folks spoke of him with respect.

  “Yes sir. We’re mighty pleased you’re here.”

  “Thank you, kindly. I aim to keep the criminals out of Tucson.”

  He’d have to take them all in hand. Lay down the law, so to speak. He wouldn’t allow desperadoes to run around like they owned the place, free to do what they pleased. Towns like this were ripe for the picking for no-accounts.

  This was his town now and the good people of Tucson didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

  “Have they been open all night?” He nodded toward the saloon.

  The smithy closed one eye. “You mean the Lonesome? That place operates around the clock.”

  Jed grunted.

  “Prettiest gals this side of Santa Fe.” John grinned.

  “You don’t say?” Much as Jed craved a whiskey and a woman, those two hombres shooting up the town had him worried. They were liquored up and itching for trouble. Discharging a firearm in town was dangerous.

  Jed wouldn’t be worth his salt as a lawman if he ignored them.

  “You recognize those cowpokes who just rode out of here?”

  “Couple of hired hands from one of the local ranches, I reckon. They don’t mean no harm, Sheriff, but they scare the bejesus out of the decent folks.”

  “I’ll ride out and give them a talking to.” No one shot up his town.

  “If you think it’ll help.”

  Jed reconsidered. Both he and the mustang were spent. “It’ll keep until later.”

  “’Spect you want to keep your horse here?”

  Jed patted Shooter’s neck. “Yeah, and he’ll need some oats.”

  Mr. Trumbull took the reins. Jed removed his saddlebags and drew his Winchester out of its scabbard.

  The smithy led Shooter away, leaving Jed to find his own accommodations. For now, he’d have to be satisfied with the jail. He couldn’t afford a place of his own. He hoped to make roots here, settle down. Someday, with enough cash, he would buy some land, build a stable for Shooter and a house to call home.

  Jed wasn’t about to ignore his gnawing hunger a minute longer. He shouldered his saddlebag and made his way down the street. As he passed the Lonesome, he decided to stop in and give those boys inside a warning.

  He ascended the rickety wooden stairs and pushed open the swinging doors.

  The interior was dark, musty and heavy with cigar smoke. Peanut shells and sawdust littered the floor and crunched under his boots as he made his way to the bar. A barkeep, skinny as a pike, greeted him with a nod.

  Jed set his rifle down and leaned back—his elbows resting against the scarred wood. Beer had dripped from the nearest table, leaving a pool on the floor. Men were passed out, heads on tables. Saloon dollies walked around picking up empty glasses.

  One of them, a girl with a birthmark on her cheek, was pulled onto a lap, squealing. She nuzzled her customer like a feline.

  Jed quirked a brow when he spotted a woman in the corner kneeling between a man’s thighs, obviously pleasuring his cock with her mouth.

  Nobody paid any attention to Jed.

  “What’ll you have?” the barkeep asked behind him.

  Jed turned around. His throat was dry and a whiskey would taste mighty good but there was work to do.

  “How about some coffee?”

  The man stifled a yawn. “You’re in the wrong place for coffee. You could try Rosy’s a couple of blocks to the west.”

  “Got any water?”

  “Have some cool ice house water brought down from the mountains. Cost you a silver dollar for a glass full.”

  “I’ll take some.”

  The barkeep obliged him with a clean glass and a bottle. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

  “I’m new in town.”

  He poured Jed a drink.

  Jed tossed a silver dollar onto the counter and the man grabbed it up. He walked away muttering about a fool and his money.

  “Mighty odd for a man to walk into a saloon and order coffee.” The voice came from upstairs.

  Jed glanced up and into the eyes of an angel—albeit a rather fallen angel but beautiful nonetheless. He gulped, surprised to see such a vision on a balcony in a hot and dusty town like Tucson.

  She was wrapped in a silky red robe with black lace around the edges, leaving her shoulders bare. She gripped the railing, showing off shapely legs. She licked her bottom lip as she boldly assessed him.

  Her blonde curls tumbled to her shoulders in a tangle, giving the impression of a reckless breed. Her skin was creamy perfection—but no longer with the bloom of youth. Her lips were red…and swollen, a bruise marred the corner of her mouth and cheek.

  Someone had slapped her hard. He winced and then regretted it. A woman wouldn’t take kindly to him noticing such things. Nor would she want him to pity her.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Her smile was wicked.

  “No ma’am,” he said.

  She shrugged and leaned over the railing, her smile widening. Her robe opened to reveal the tops of a pair of smooth, silky breasts, pushed high and full from a black lacy corset.

  Jed swallowed hard. He couldn’t take his eyes off her breasts. He swore if she

  moved just another inch her nipples would pop right over the top of that corset.

  “Like what you see?” She leaned even farther over the railing.

  He held up his hands. “Don’t lean so far, you’ll fall.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a hoot? You’d have to find someone else’s breasts to ogle.” She laughed, swirled around, the robe lifting enough in the back for him to see the curve of her ass.

  She was pretty but she was trouble. He’d been on the trail for a spell and any woman would be a welcome sight.

  With a careless sigh, she descended the stairs. A wrangler stepped up to meet her, took her by the hand and twirled her around. She stumbled and plopped down in the nearest chair. Her dance partner frowned and turned his attention to a big-breasted woman who obliged him with a hug.

  “Who is she?” Jed asked the barkeep.

  “That’s Carly Buchanan, owner of this place,” the man answered, a protective edge to his voice.

  Jed whistled low in his throat. “That little gal is the owner?”

  “She runs a law-abiding establishment.”

  Jed wouldn’t be so foolish to suggest otherwise. “Appears she’s had a rough morning.”

  “Some shithead wrangler drugged her and beat her. Brought his weasel friend too. Wish I’d known, else I would have beaten the men into bloody pulps, but she didn’t tell me nothin’ and those no-accounts are long gone.”

  “Seems this town is in need of a sheriff,” Jed said with a wry smile.

  The barkeep raised his brow. “Maybe. Don’t seem like a sheriff does any good anyhow.”

  “You
just may be wrong about that, my friend.”

  The barkeep narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying? Who are you?”

  Jed smiled wide. “Jeddah Poole, new sheriff of Tucson.”

  The barkeep wiped his hands on the feed sack tied around his waist. “Mighty glad to make your acquaintance, Sheriff.” He extended his hand.

  Jed shook it. The silence within the saloon was deafening.

  The barkeep spoke up, “This here is the new sheriff.”

  Jed turned to address the crowd. They were all staring at him with mouths open.

  Time he laid down the law.

  “You boys can have your fun but I won’t have anyone shooting in the streets on their way home. I’ll confiscate your weapons if you do.”

  The men looked at each other. A few grumbled. Others scrambled to their feet.

  Jed rested his hand on his six-shooter.

  A man with a scraggily beard collected his winnings into his hat. “Seems like this party is over.”

  With a glance at Jed, he pushed through the swinging doors. Others followed.

  The big-breasted woman put her hand on her hip. “Now look at what you’ve done.”

  Jed held his ground. “It was their choice to leave, not mine.”

  She cast him a scowl. “Having a sheriff in town is gonna be bad for business. You just wait until Carly finds out.”

  Jed shifted his gaze to the saloon owner. Her head had fallen back and she appeared to be sleeping without a care in the world.

  A woman dressed in plain gingham hurried down the staircase. Her mouse-colored hair was pulled back in a twist at the nape of her neck. She knelt by Carly Buchanan’s side and patted her cheek.

  “Come on upstairs,” she said. “Let Ester put you to bed.”

  The saloon dolly slumped further in the chair. Her arms hung limply at her side. Jed had seen plenty of folks tired of life. Miss Buchanan would be at the top of the list.

  The woman calling herself Ester straightened. She scanned the room, wringing her red, chapped hands. “Will someone help me?”

  The remaining card players ignored her. The other dollies kept their attention on their customers. The barkeep was busy with a cowhand.

  Jed swore to himself. He couldn’t turn away from Ester’s anxious pleas.

  He stepped forward and Ester backed away. He placed a hand underneath the crook of Miss Carly’s delicate knees and the other around her thin, white shoulders. He picked her up.

  She was as light as goose down. Her head lolled toward him and rested on his neck, exposing her lace-topped corset. The garment didn’t hide the ample curve of her breasts or the pucker of dark nipples. His first instinct was to look away, to not take advantage of a woman in her condition.

  The scent of her hair grabbed him by the short and curlies. Something earthy, something carnal. He couldn’t help but be enthralled by her. How was it possible? Must be the fact that he’d been without a woman for more days than he could count.

  Ester waved him to follow her. He carried Carly up the creaking stairs, her warm body pressed against him. Her breathing was soft and innocent. Temptation wasn’t far from his thoughts.

  The door to the first room was open. He crossed the threshold. The scent of sex and perfume was strong. Ester pulled down a clean satiny sheet—looked like it had yet to be used. The mutterings from Ester about how the last of Miss Carly’s customers had gone and ruined her good sheets confirmed his opinion. He laid her on the bed as if she was broken. His lip curled into a snarl when she turned her head and he saw more clearly the ugly bruise and her lip swollen from a cut that must hurt.

  “Thank you, sir,” Ester said behind him. She poured water into a basin and moistened a cloth. “I’ll just clean her up now if you don’t mind.”

  Jed realized he’d been staring at the helpless Carly. He stepped back, not truly wanting to leave. Ester took his place and wiped the blood from the corner of the dolly’s mouth. Carly groaned and squirmed to get away.

  “You hold still,” Ester implored her in a maternal voice.

  He caught a glimpse of eyes the color of fine Kentucky bourbon as she peered at him through slitted lids. With a shudder, Carly abandoned her fight and let Ester clean the cut. Her eyelids grew heavy and closed.

  Jed couldn’t abide anyone who would mistreat a woman. From the look of her, she’d more than her share of manhandling.

  He vowed no man would hurt her again.

  He studied her room. There weren’t any pictures of family, no keepsakes from the past. No reminders of any kind of where she hailed from or what’d brought her to the territory. Who were her family and friends? Ester? The barkeep? The big-breasted woman?

  He sighed, shook his head. He didn’t have much in the way of family either.

  A pistol caught his attention. The derringer lay on the small table, partially hidden by a bottle. Ester snatched the weapon before he could examine it and held it to her bosom. He followed the trembling woman’s gaze to a hole in the wall.

  Jed huffed. “Looks like the lady can defend herself.”

  Ester nodded vigorously.

  He picked up the brown bottle. The label read Dr. Baxter’s Eight-Day Elixir. He recognized the name immediately, anger searing his blood. He took a whiff. Just as he thought, part whiskey and part something referred to as medicinal and far more dangerous.

  “That’s Miss Carly’s,” Ester said. She reached for the bottle.

  Jed held it away from her and poured the rest of the contents into the slop bucket. “She’s better off without it.”

  Ester chewed her lower lip. “She won’t be happy.”

  “I expect not.” He set the empty bottle back on the table.

  “What’ll I tell her when she comes around?”

  “She shouldn’t be drinking this rotgut. If you’re her friend, you won’t let her drink any more.”

  Why had he taken it upon himself to empty the bottle? Why should he care about one more saloon dolly, in one more saloon? The territory was filled with them. Could it have been the way her head had rested on his shoulder, vulnerable and at the end of her rope? Or because the elixir reminded him of his childhood filled with too much drink and heartache?

  Or was he just doing his job, protecting the citizens who depended on him?

  He didn’t have an answer. With one last glance at Carly, he headed out of there.

  Chapter Two

  Carly woke with a start. It was quiet—too quiet—which meant business was slow at the Lonesome. Not good. No good at all. She kicked off the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  The room spun and she squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of nausea roiled in her stomach and pain shot across her forehead. She touched her cheek and ran her tongue along her bottom lip. The two drifters had treated her bad. The bruises were still tender. She shrugged. It could’ve been worse.

  Their conversation came back to her in fits and starts. They’d been talking about killing someone and they were dead serious. They’d been paid to murder.

  They intended to commit the crime soon. Of that much, she was certain.

  She remembered getting dressed and going downstairs. A new arrival, a stranger in town had stood at the bar. He hadn’t given a name. He’d been talking to Alvin, his voice commanding. She’d liked the look of him. The rest was a blur.

  Ester came through the door and clucked. “Good. You’re up.”

  Carly sighed. The woman tended to be a bit bossy even with all her childish ways.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Nearly on four o’clock.” She pushed back the heavy curtains.

  The afternoon sun streamed into the room and nearly blinded her.

  Carly groaned. “Close those curtains, will you? My head hurts something fierce.”

  Ester rushed back to the window and drew the heavy drape closed. The darkened room suited Carly better. She rose from the bed. She’d slept the better part of the day. If she didn’t get going, her
customers would find another saloon to spend their wages.

  Ester unbuttoned Carly’s dress and untied the laces of her corset. “I’m heating water for your bath.”

  “What would I do without you?” A bath sounded wonderful.

  Ester smiled shyly and stooped to pick up Carly’s dress and a pair of stockings from the floor.

  Carly put on her wrapper and cinched her waist with a silk scarf. Her headache subsided but her mouth was dry as the desert. She could use a drink.

  Ester stepped between her and the bottle on her bedside table. “Bath first.”

  “Whatever you say.” Carly reckoned she could wait. “Anything important going on I should know about?”

  Ester held the dress to her bosom. “The new sheriff was here and he’s a mighty good-looking fella.”

  “I’ll look forward to meeting him.” Carly was always friendly with lawmen. As a business owner, she couldn’t afford to make enemies of a man wearing a badge.

  Ester giggled in her childlike way. “Reckon you already have.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s the man who carried you upstairs and put you to bed.”

  Carly remembered hazily a man’s strong grip holding her.

  “Was he the stranger I saw standing at the bar?”

  “Yes. You spoke to him.”

  Carly wished she could remember more.

  “Gentle as any man I’ve ever come across,” Ester went on. She shook out the dress.

  Carly was intrigued. What kind of sheriff took the time to tend to a saloon dolly? He’d done her a good turn, she decided, which meant she owed him a favor.

  Ester entreated her with puppy dog eyes. “Will you be wearing this dress today?”

  Carly shook her head. “Not the red satin, something more ladylike. I think I’ll go reacquaint myself with the new sheriff.”

  “Your gingham go-to-meeting dress?”

  “Exactly.”

  Ester snorted then quickly covered her mouth.

  Carly went out into the hall and pounded on the crib doors. “Come on, girls. We’re paying a call on the new sheriff.”

  Gladys poked her head out her door. The mayor was fast asleep in her bed. “What’s going on?”

  “Get dressed. The ladies of the Lonesome need to show their appreciation.”