This Gun for Hire Read online

  “Mercenary.”

  That made her smile. “I am a gun for hire.”

  “He’s twice your age.”

  She shrugged. “He wears it well.”

  “Hmm.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you suspect there was interest on his part before this afternoon?”

  “I had an inkling at the interview.”

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  “It was an inkling. Nothing will come of it, except that I will be careful not to encourage him. It is flattering, though, and my head is not easily turned.”

  “Gooseflesh already gone?”

  “I believe it is. Do you suppose he would name something after me?”

  “Probably. A park, maybe. Calico Commons.”

  She struck a thoughtful mien. “Perfect. Yes, I like that. Perhaps with a statue at its—”

  “Well, don’t start posing for it now. You are a proposal, ring, and ceremony away from marble immortality.”

  “I know. But I have always taken the long view.”

  One of Quill’s eyebrows kicked up in a perfectly skeptical arch before he stood and moved closer to the fireplace. He put his back to Calico while he poked at the embers and added a log, and when he was done, he continued to face the fire. No gooseflesh here, he thought. The chill he felt went all the way to his marrow.

  He expected to find Calico staring at him when he finally turned around, but she was contemplating her left hand instead, fingers splayed, palm down, turning it ever so slightly, admiring the ring she imagined Ramsey Stonechurch would put there. “Diamond?” he asked dryly.

  “With my eyes? Hardly. Emerald. A silver setting, I think. Mined right here in Stonechurch.” When Quill said nothing, Calico looked up. His jaw was set in the way it had been earlier when he stood in the doorway. “Oh. It appears we are done with that.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “All right,” she said. “We are done with that.” She sighed. “I suppose you want me to tell you about my conversation with Ann now.”

  Quill neither confirmed nor denied it. His expression was not expectant. He simply waited.

  “Ramsey Stonechurch was right,” said Calico. “There is someone keeping Ann here.”

  “She told you that? You saw him?”

  “She did not tell me, not in plain words, but I certainly saw him. Her father will not be pleased, I think, because he is not the young man Ramsey imagines.”

  Quill groaned softly. “Ramsey won’t be pleased about any of it, but at least tell me he is not twice her age.”

  “No. Not that. But there is no mistaking him for a young man.”

  “Not the boy who sweeps out the feed store, then.”

  “No. There is definitely interest on his part, but Ann did not appear to notice him. And you can cross off the Smith and Hamilton boys as well. She was equally awkward around each of them, but not in a girlish, shy sort of way.” Calico was pensive. “Have you noticed that she is ill at ease around most people? I did not expect that. And I saw exactly the opposite with Beatrice. She greets everyone as a friend.”

  At the risk of being sidetracked, Quill still chose to answer. “What I noticed when I was with them was that Ann hung back with me and seemed to find pleasure that her aunt was so clearly enjoying herself.”

  Under her breath, Calico said, “Men.”

  “How’s that again?”

  She waved the question aside. “An observation. Nothing more.”

  Quill said, “If Ann did not give you a name, would you recognize this man if you saw him again?”

  “Yes. He will be surprisingly easy to spot. That’s always the way it is when the thing you’re looking for is hiding in plain sight. You wonder how you could have possibly missed it because once you see it, you cannot not see it. You must have had that experience.”

  “Nothing’s coming to mind.”

  “Perhaps it will. It’s happened to me more than I like to admit, although admitting it keeps me open to the possibility that it will probably happen again. I set out on the trail once to find Boomer Groggins and take him back to the Denver jail. I was out thirty-three days, and the only nibbles came about when I was fishing—for fish. No one knew anything about where he was holed up, and I talked to his mama, his brothers, his cousins, half a dozen friends, and two women who claimed to be his fiancée. The smartest thing Boomer did when he made his escape was not telling anyone about his plans. There wasn’t one of them who wouldn’t have given him up for the reward money, and his fiancées would have given him up for nothing.”

  Quill felt a smile tug at his lips, and it was against his better judgment that he asked, “So where was he? I know you brought him in.”

  “When I got back to Denver, I found a hotel room, cleaned up, and went downstairs to get my first meal in thirty-three days that wasn’t fish or hardtack. Guess who served it to me?”

  Quill regarded her suspiciously. “No. You’re making that up.”

  Calico held up her right hand. “Swear to God. I was irked some that there was a perfectly good plate of hot chicken and dumplings in front of me that would go cold if I left them, but since the jail was only two blocks up and one block over, I decided to enjoy my dinner. I was feeling a mite sluggish after that big meal, but my trigger finger didn’t know that. I took him in and had dessert when I got back because I was feeling peckish again by then.”

  “What did you have?”

  “As I recall, it was a generous slice of walnut cake.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat. “You really aren’t making that up.”

  “I’m not, but what convinced you?”

  “The walnut cake.”

  “Huh. Maybe the next time I tell that story, I’ll start there.”

  Quill fell quiet. He stared at her. She sat on the edge of the bed still huddled in the quilt, her heels propped on the frame. Her toes wiggled in the thick woolen socks. Short strands of hair not tamed by her braid shone brightly in the lamplight. Her head was tilted a few degrees to the right as she looked at him inquiringly. The faintest hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her full lips. Her eyes were luminescent and keenly aware, and he saw the subtle change in her expression mirror his own. She took a short, shallow breath and softly bit her lower lip.

  “Ah, hell,” he said. He closed the distance between them before he had time to think better of it and pulled her to her feet. As he had anticipated, she was not tuckable. Staring at her lush mouth, only inches away now, he had just enough time to wonder why tuckability had ever been a consideration before his lips closed over hers.

  He had no expectations about the kiss and had made no predictions about her reaction. He told himself he was prepared for anything. That turned out to be a lie.

  Her lips were soft, pliant, and they parted on the smallest of sighs. She held herself very still as his mouth moved over hers the first time, but on the second pass, she gave back. There was pressure from her lips and intention also, and he understood it was the reflection of what she felt from him. That was good. He wanted her to feel his intention.

  This kiss was not the impulse of a moment, no matter that it must have appeared exactly that way.

  Quill’s hands slipped under the quilt and nudged it off her shoulders. He slid his palms down her arms until they came level with the belt of her robe. He tugged, found the knot, and undid it. The robe fell open. The kiss deepened. His fingers walked inside and curved around her waist. He was reminded how slender she was. It was easy to forget that she was a slip of a woman, not fragile, never that, but delicate in the way a spider’s web was delicate.

  She lifted her arms to his shoulders. Her fingers twisted in the damp, curling ends of hair at his nape. Droplets of water slipped under his collar and slid down his back. He rolled his shoulders and shuddered. He swore he could taste a smile o
n her lips. It made him chuckle, and the vibration of his mouth on hers was all it took for her to take more of him. His tongue flicked across the ridge of her teeth and then met hers. Even if he had only imagined her smile, he was not mistaken about the hint of chamomile tea.

  He sipped on her lips, her tongue, the very air she breathed. It was only when he felt her tug hard on his hair that he lifted his head. She sucked in a ragged breath, looked as if she might say something, but only stared at him instead.

  “Uh-huh,” he whispered, lowering his head again. “It’s like that.”

  His hands tightened infinitesimally on her waist and slowly moved upward along her rib cage until his thumbs grazed the undersides of her small breasts. He rested them there when he felt her stiffen. He waited for her to relax, and she did by slow degrees, but even then he did not press. She moved against him. It was sweetly erotic, but he recognized experimentation, not experience, and he did not encourage her when she rubbed against his erection. She looked at him then, not startled, not in any way, but not certain either. It was her uncertainty that undid him. He leaned in, touched her forehead with his, and kept it there while his heartbeat slowed.

  Later, he kissed her, and it was different this time. His mouth softened, his lips gentled, and he touched her on the corner of her lips, then her cheek, and then just below her ear. She turned her face into the crook of his neck and stayed there for a long time, her breath warm against his skin.

  She separated from him, backed up to the bed, and simply folded. Quill stooped to pick up the quilt and remained there while he held it out to her.

  Calico made a show of fanning her face with her hand. “I am warm enough, thank you.”

  He tossed the blanket at her anyway and stood. “Well, I certainly don’t need it.”

  Calico was careful to keep her eyes on his face. “Uh, no. You don’t.”

  “It seems Mrs. Riggenbotham’s whore stories were lacking in certain details.”

  “There were no illustrations, if that’s what you mean.” Her eyes dropped to his groin. “Still, I grew up on military posts. I know what a cock looks like.” She stared at the tent his made in his drawers until it twitched, and then her eyes flew to his face. “You did that on purpose.”

  “If you believe that, there are definitely holes in your education.”

  She huffed, but it was only for show and they both knew it. “I cannot believe you remembered Mrs. Riggenbotham’s name.”

  Quill shrugged. “I remember lots of things that don’t seem to matter until they do. Hard to figure out if it’s a gift or a curse.”

  “Well, it’s interesting.”

  He sat down on the wide arm of the chair again and folded his arms. “Is that good?”

  “Good. Bad. I don’t know. It’s better than boring.” Calico shoved the quilt off her lap and belted her robe. “And because there is always the risk of boring ourselves to the point of stupefication, there will be no more kissing.” Before he could speak, she said, “Do you recall what we were talking about before you lunged at me?”

  “Lunged? I didn’t—Never mind. Yes, I recall. Walnut cake.”

  Calico’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. Her question had not been rhetorical. She really had lost her way. Stupified.

  Unperturbed, Quill said, “You were making a point that things could be hidden in plain sight, and you were making that point in connection to Ann’s young man, or rather the man who is not so young but has managed to engage her interest in spite of it. You said you would be able to recognize him when you see him again.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will I know him?”

  “I am almost sure of it.”

  He nodded, thoughtful. “Can you arrange a meeting with him? Is that possible?”

  “I can try, but I believe it will be awkward to confront him. He will not be expecting it.”

  “But you’ll try?”

  “I will.” She got to her feet. “Come here with me. I want to show you something.”

  Quill followed her into the bathing room. She stopped in front of the washbasin and motioned to him to stand beside her. He did, and then he followed the path of her gaze as she looked directly into the mirror.

  “There,” she said, pointing beside her reflected image. “Don’t look at me. Look there.”

  Quill did. He stared at his reflection for a long moment, his eyes never wavering from the blue-gray pair in front of him, and was eventually rewarded by the odd experience of watching comprehension dawn in his own eyes.

  “Damn me,” he said under his breath. “God damn me.”

  “That seems rather harsh,” said Calico.

  His eyes shifted sideways, and he held her gaze in the mirror. “Are you sure it’s me? You said she didn’t say so in plain language.”

  “I’m sure.” She took him by the wrist. “Let’s go back to the bedroom, where it’s warmer.”

  Quill shook her off and snapped, “I don’t need to be led like a dog on a leash.”

  Calico paused, nodded, and then she left the room. It was several minutes before he returned. Calico was standing at the fireplace, and she did not give ground when he came up beside her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I embarrassed you.”

  “You gave me every opportunity to figure it out for myself, right down to that story about capturing Boomer Groggins.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the right example. Maybe I should have told you one about how hard it is to see what’s under your own nose. Like the time I—”

  Quill’s short laugh was rich with self-mockery. “Perhaps later. I have it now.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Tell me how you ferreted this out in three days.”

  “All right. I picked up on some things that made me realize Ann changed her mind about college in the East a while back. A long while back, actually. Probably about ten minutes after she clapped eyes on you, and the only reason it took her ten minutes to make the decision is because she lost her mind there for a bit. It’s not your fault. I figure you likely smiled at her, being all polite the way you are when you’re not barging into someone’s room or trying to sneak up behind them, and she was a goner right then and there.”

  “You know you are being ridiculous.”

  “What’s ridiculous is that, smart as you are, you don’t know it.”

  He sighed. “Go on.”

  “Well, Ann’s smart, too, and she knew better than to make it obvious by telling her father right then that she was going to stay in Stonechurch. She’s shy in some ways, so I would guess she skittered out of your way in the beginning. I think you noticed and wanted her to feel comfortable. You probably made sure you spoke to her in passing, had a kind word for her now and again, showed an interest in whatever she was talking about at meals. Does that sound about right?”

  It sounded exactly right. Quill swallowed a groan.

  “While that’s going on, Ann is making her plan. You don’t think she came up with the curriculum on the spur of the moment, do you? She’s a deep one. That took some serious study. She never thought it would be easy.”

  “There’s something you don’t know. Ann never was one to seek me out much. On the occasions she did, it was because she was worried about her father or she was out of sorts with Beatrice. I can count on my fingers the number of times we were alone for more than five or ten minutes.”

  “I’m sure. No wonder she is trying to find a way to spend time with you. She could not keep speaking on the same two subjects forever, and she was confined by her youth, her sense of propriety, and concern about raising her father’s suspicions—and yours.”

  Quill grimaced, pushed his fingers through his hair. “She’s a child.”

  “That is the first I’ve ever heard you say so, and I don’t think you really treated her th
at way.”

  “I didn’t treat her like—”

  Calico turned her head toward him and cocked a fiery brow. “Like me?” she asked. “Like a whore?”

  Quill stared at the flames. “You have a knack for getting under my skin, Calico, and not always in a good way. I was going to say I didn’t treat her like a woman full grown.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Oh.”

  “First love is complicated,” said Calico.

  He nodded. “We need to find her a beau.”

  “I thought of that. From what I observed today, it is very slim pickings. This herd’s been culled.”

  That raised a small smile. “What did she say to you this afternoon that tipped the scales? There must have been something.”

  “Mm. Shooting lessons.”

  “I hope you didn’t encourage that. It took me better than half an hour after dinner to direct Ramsey to another subject. If Ann cares about his welfare, she will not light his fuse again.”

  “I did not encourage her, but I did ask her who she thought was going to teach her to shoot. Do we need to return to the mirror?”

  He practically recoiled. “She said she wanted me to teach her?”

  “She did. She was set on it, as a matter of fact. And that’s when I knew I had drawn to an inside straight.” When Quill could only stare at her, not moving, not blinking, she offered up a slim, sympathetic smile. “You, Mr. McKenna, have yourself a sweetheart.”

  Chapter Seven

  Calico began to feel restless at the end of her first week. By day fifteen, she was contemplating escape. At the end of her first month, with too much of nothing physical to do, her skin began to crawl. And if it was not a fact, then she was hallucinating. Although she entertained notions of leaving this job behind and taking another, it was never a serious consideration. It did, however, make for a diverting daydream.