Only My Love Read online

Ethan was losing patience but he was aware of the harm antagonizing her could do. "You can come back downstairs for it."

  Michael was feeling belligerent. She turned to the others at the table to take up her cause. "You don't want me to leave, do ya, fellas? Weren't we just talkin' about our own poker game before Ethan got here?"

  Billy looked uneasily at Ralph. Ralph traded looks with Jim and Jim with Calvin and Ben Tyler. "You know, Michael, seems like I'm plumb empty in the pockets," Billy said. "Wouldn't be much of a game with me in it."

  "I'm not feelin' very lucky tonight," Jim said.

  "Me neither," Ben chimed in.

  "I'm tapped out, too," Calvin said.

  "Can't have a game with jest the two of us," Ralph told her after everyone had backed down.

  Michael fixed them each with an accusing stare. "Cowards," she muttered. "It's all right." To the amazement of everyone at the table she reached inside her bodice and pulled out a deck of cards. She fanned them expertly and began shuffling. "I know lots of ways to play solitaire."

  Ethan felt every other man's eyes on him, waiting to see what he would do. Michael's steady defiance was eroding his patience and the respect he was afforded by others. "She has a mind of her own when she's sober, fellas," he said, shrugging off her actions. "When she's drunk she sits on it."

  Laughter erupted around the table. Ethan grinned. Michael glared at him. "There's only one ass at this table," she said. "And if I were over there—" she pointed to Ethan's lap, "—then I'd be sitting on it."

  Silence reigned for several seconds then Ethan began to laugh. "Come here, Michael, I'll see if I can't accommodate you."

  "A pompous, braying ass," she told the others, ignoring Ethan's overture.

  He jerked her chair close to his and lifted her easily onto his lap. She tried to wiggle off. Her movements merely made him hard. She quieted immediately. "That's better," he whispered against her ear. "Now deal the cards. We'll play one hand, then it's upstairs where you can sleep off that swollen head of yours."

  "One han." It was difficult to give the hard consonants sound. "Han-duh," she repeated. "An' if I win I stay an' I dance." She tossed him a saucy grin over her shoulder. "I'll dance for you, Ethan. Jus' for you."

  Ethan wasn't certain he liked the sound of that. That saucy smile boded no good for anyone, especially not him. His blue-gray eyes took in the others in a single glance. What was the chance of her really winning the hand against all of them together? "All right," he said. "But I'm cutting the cards."

  "Of course," she said off handedly. "No matter how dumb the dealer looks..."

  "Always cut the cards." The men finished for her in unison.

  Michael bobbed her head twice in agreement. "Oooh," she said softly as the room spun a little. She held herself very still for a moment. Ethan's large hands were braced on her waist. Even through her tight corset she could feel his fingers as if they were on her skin. She began to deal the cards. "Five card stud," she said. "One up, four in the hole. Nothing wild. Highest card starts the bidding."

  When the cards were out Ralph had the only face card showing. "It's up to you Ralph," Michael said. "C'mon, gentlemen, you'll have to dig a little in your pockets to stay in the game. I'm curious how empty they really are." Michael peeked at her cards, making sure to keep them out of Ethan's sight. She had a three of hearts up, another three, a king, and a pair of tens in the hole. Two pair. It wasn't a bad hand. It probably wouldn't win though. Ralph in particular was looking very full of himself. She wished she could see Ethan's face. It probably wouldn't help. He had the sort of face that gave little of what he was thinking or feeling away. "All right, gentlemen, name your pleasure. How many shall it be?"

  "Two for me," Ralph said. Three of a kind in his hand, Michael thought.

  "Three," said Ben. She thought he probably had a pair.

  "Four," said Jim. Nothing in that hand, Michael decided. Yet.

  "Two for me," Billy said. He looked as he if were hoping for a straight.

  "I'll take one," said Calvin. Michael couldn't make him out. Probably a bluff, she thought.

  "Dealer takes one," she said. She laid down the card but didn't look at it. "Ethan? How many?"

  "Three." She snapped out three cards and prayed he came up short.

  Everyone tossed more money into the kitty. "Well, Ralph," Michael said. "Let's see what you have. We've bought the right."

  Ralph turned over his cards. "Three pretty ladies. Not as pretty as you."

  "What a flatterer you are, Ralph," Michael teased. She felt Ethan's hand tighten on her waist. "Ben, what have you got?"

  Ben just pushed his cards toward the middle of the table. "Nothing that beats that."

  Jim sighed, tossing in his cards before Michael even asked for them.

  Billy showed his pair of sixes.

  "What about you Calvin?" asked Michael.

  "Two pair."

  "Too bad." Michael flipped over her cards and fanned them out. "I drew to a full house. Threes and tens." Behind her she was delighted to hear Ethan's low, disgruntled growl. She reached over her shoulder for his cards. He put them in her hand and she showed them to the others. "It looks as if he was going for a straight. What a pity, Ethan." She slid off his lap, bobbled on her feet a moment, and scooped up the winnings at the table. When she sat down it was on her own chair, not on Ethan's lap. Looking hopefully around the table she asked, "Another game, fellas? No? Oh, well." She shrugged, gathering up the cards. She leaned toward Ethan and put the straightened deck in the breast pocket of his shirt. She patted it lightly. "You keep those safe for me, will you? They're my lucky cards."

  "Since when?"

  "Since I just won with them." There was a little beer left in the pitcher. As she topped off Ralph's glass she noticed Billy was rolling himself a cigarette. "Could I have that one, Billy?" she asked. "And you roll yourself another?"

  Billy started to push it across the table toward her when his wrist was clamped hard by Ethan. He glanced up uneasily at the younger, stronger man.

  "She doesn't smoke," Ethan said.

  "I most certainly do," Michael said. "Just pass it here, Billy. Ethan won't break your wrist."

  Ethan sat back in his chair and glared at Michael. "I just may break your neck."

  Billy started to withdraw the cigarette but Michael managed to snatch it from under his fingers. "Does anyone have a light for it?" she asked, holding it out between her index and middle fingers. A shred of tobacco fell out on the table and Michael picked it up and stuffed inside again. "You roll yours a little loose, Billy." She glanced around the table. "Well? How about that match?"

  None of the men offered one. Ethan's look assured them they would be sorry if they did.

  "You'd think you'd never seen a woman smoke before," Michael said, disgusted with them all. "Worse, you think a woman has no right." She dropped the cigarette down her bodice and wrinkled her nose at Ethan. "I'll simply save it."

  "Perhaps you should have another drink," Ethan said, pushing his glass of beer at her. "One more might put you under the table."

  Michael shook her head, smiling sweetly and insincerely. She felt the room spin again but refused to give in to it. Over the general noise of the saloon she yelled to Lottie who was talking to admirers by the piano. "Play something slow and sweet, Lottie! I'm going to dance for Ethan!" Michael's chair scraped against the floor as she pushed it back and came to her feet. Bracing her arms stiffly on the table a moment for balance, she bid them all good evening. She didn't notice the saloon had become very quiet, nor that focus of every man's eyes was on her. Michael only heard the first strains of the lilting ballad and felt only Ethan's stare.

  Swaying to the music, Michael wended her way around the tables to the stage. She pirouetted gracefully as she cleared the footlights, raising her arms above her head and turning slowly, elegantly, her back arched slightly and the line of her throat exposed. She turned once, then again, and again, then she was spinning across the stage, still
in time to the music, still with the same beautiful symmetry of motion, but it was different somehow, as if she had given herself up to the music and moved because it compelled her to move.

  Her feet seemed to make no sound on the platform as she danced. She had a cat-quickness, a lightness of expression that was all feline grace. Her arms and hands stretched out in a shapely arc, extending the soul of the music to her fingertips.

  Ethan had had as much as he could tolerate. He stood up and headed for the staircase, determined to let Michael fend for herself when the music ended. She was so hellbent on proving how independent she was. Let her, he thought. He started to climb.

  Michael stumbled briefly on her feet when she saw Ethan start up the stairs. She called to Lottie to change the tempo. Michael took up an imaginary partner and started to waltz, twirling about the stage in large elegant curves. At Michael's signal Lottie played faster and Michael abandoned the waltz and her invisible partner. Her steps became quicker, the sway and arch of her body more exaggerated, the dance more frantic. The dreamy quality of her form and movement was abandoned. Her expressive green eyes were sultry. Her hair whipped across her face as she turned and twisted in a frenzied rhythm.

  Ethan was near the top of the stairs now. He didn't want to watch what she was doing on stage but he couldn't help himself. And as he watched he realized he couldn't abandon her to the crowd. It would be a miracle if she wasn't attacked right on the stage. Even as he thought it there was a surge toward the platform as the music ended. Michael made a grand curtsy, then dropped to the floor as if she had collapsed from the frantic energy of her dance.

  "Dramatic," Ethan said under his breath. He reached for his gun and held it up over his head, coming down a few steps. "All right, fellas," he called. "She's had her fun. It's over." A few men near the foot of stairs heard him and stopped. Lottie glanced up from the piano and pounded out a few minor chords. Ethan punctuated the dying notes with a single shot from his Colt. There was complete quiet after that. Ethan slipped his gun back in the holster. "Come on, Michael. You can dance your way up here now." There was a low rumble of laughter from the patrons as they started to return to their seats.

  Michael raised her head and fixed Ethan with a hard stare. She blinked. He seemed to fade in and out of focus.

  "Kitty!" Ethan called. "Josie! See if you can't help her up. I don't think she's going to dance again this evening."

  Kitty and Josie leaped quickly to the stage. Lottie started playing again and the other girls began serving drinks. Detra had watched the entire drama from behind the long bar. She cast a sidelong glance at Houston who was leaning against the bar across from her.

  "You see what she is?" Dee asked.

  Houston pushed away from the bar. "I see what she's becoming," he answered. He went to help Josie and Kitty.

  Ethan was setting a fire in the stove when he heard footsteps approaching in the hallway. "Get her over to the bed," he said, shutting the stove's grated door. He stood up and turned. It was Houston who was carrying Michael, not Kitty and Josie. "Oh, it's you."

  "It's me."

  "Put her on the bed. I'll see to her from here."

  Houston's black eyes were cold as they rested long and hard on Ethan. "You haven't seen too well to her since she's been here."

  "That's odd coming from you. You made no secret in the beginning that you would have preferred her dead rather than company."

  "That's before I knew her." He laid Michael on the bed. The covers had been turned back. He raised the sheet around her shoulders as she turned on her side and curled against one of the pillows. "You should take more care with her, Ethan. She'll be mine in a month."

  "I saw you kiss her this morning."

  "Then you know she pushed me away." He stepped back from the bed. "But she won't always do that. She doesn't know what to make of me." He smiled slowly. "I think I've intrigued her."

  "I'm sure you have."

  Houston went to the door. "Are you going to fight for her at all?" he asked.

  "It depends."

  "On what?"

  "On whether she wants me to."

  Houston thought about that as he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

  Ethan cast a disgusted look in Michael's direction then latched the door. "Why in God's name didn't you just stay in New York? Why aren't you raising babies instead of raising hell?" He didn't expect a reply and he didn't get one. After removing the bullets from his gun, he hung the belt on the hook by the door and stripped down to his drawers to get ready for bed. He took fresh linens and blankets from the wardrobe, laid them out on the floor as he'd done every night except the last one, and tossed down a pillow from the bed.

  That's when he deviated from routine. Sliding one arm beneath Michael's shoulders and the other under her knees, he lifted her off the mattress and eased her onto the floor. She barely stirred in the process. He covered her, tucking the blankets around her curled form. "I told you I wasn't giving up my bed again," he whispered.

  Ethan extinguished the lamps and slid between the sheets that Michael had already warmed. The scent of her filled his nostrils. It took a lot longer for him to get to sleep than he had ever anticipated.

  * * *

  Michael knew a moment's disorientation when she awoke. When she realized where she was and who it was sleeping just above her, enjoying the soft comfort of the mattress, she made a quietly derisive sound at the back of her throat. She turned on her side, then on her back, then on her other side. She tried lying on her stomach, her arm under the pillow, then her arms at her side. It didn't matter. Nothing worked. Worse, every time she moved the slightest bit her head thudded abominably. She swore she could feel the blood coursing through her veins and rushing to her head, then rushing back to her leaden feet. She was dizzy and light-headed one moment, steady and immobile with heaviness in the next. Blinking hurt.

  It was not as difficult to remember what she had done below stairs as it was painful. The vision of herself, first behaving outrageously at the poker table, then later on stage, dancing with such sensual provocation, caused Michael to grimace with embarrassment. She prayed none of it was true. Her fingers slipped under the bodice of her dress and between her breasts. Her horrible suspicions were confirmed when she found the cigarette. "Oh, God," she moaned softly. For all the good it did her head to whisper she may as well have screamed the words. She nudged the cigarette under the bed and out of the way.

  Michael sat up gingerly, holding her head in her palms as she did so. She clutched the bedframe, then the foot post, and carefully raised herself up on her knees. When she was steady and could stand the drumroll in her head, she slowly got to her feet. Every movement was accompanied by a soft little grunt or groan.

  "You sound like you're dying," Ethan said tiredly. He turned on his side to watch her halting progress to the bureau.

  "Trust you to state the obvious," she said lowly. "And, for God's sake, don't yell. That's cruel."

  "I'm whispering."

  "Then do it softer." She leaned against the chest of drawers and closed her eyes. "I don't drink. I know I don't drink. I know I can't drink. So why did this happen to me?"

  As forlorn as she sounded Ethan wasn't moved to help her. "Because you're a willful, stubborn woman with no more sense than a box of rocks."

  "That's one explanation." She placed her forearm across the top of the bureau and buried her face in the crook of her elbow. "Don't rush to my aid. I'm sure I can manage."

  Ethan wanted to remain angry with her but he was finding it difficult not to laugh. How she could be so pathetic and still find it in her to admonish him with sarcasm and humor defied explaining.

  Michael inched back from the bureau and used touch to search out the second drawer with her fingers.

  He heard her fumbling in the dark. "Would you like me to light a lamp?"

  In her mind she imagined the torturous brightness of a glaring sun. "Don't you dare."

  Ethan rubbed h
is eyes with his thumb and forefinger, glad she couldn't see that he was smiling. "Did you find the nightshirt?"

  She nodded, then moaned. "Yes," she said finally. "I found it." She laid it on top of the bureau. With cautious movements Michael pulled the pink taffeta gown she was wearing over her head. She let it drop on the floor, not caring that she'd have to pick up after herself later. The strings of her corset proved obstinate at first. When she finally loosened them she felt as if she had won a major field campaign. Her petticoats followed the dress. Leaning against the bureau again, she rid herself of her shoes, stockings, and garters. Turning her back to the bed, Michael took off her chemise and short pantalets and put on the nightshirt. When she turned around Ethan was sitting up in bed.

  "I need a drink," he muttered. He was rock hard. The light from the coals in the stove, though meager, hadn't prevented him from seeing the curve of her hip or the line of her leg. There were twin dimples at the base of her spine, no less alluring than those on either side of her mouth when she favored him with a smile. He found himself lying there, hoping she would turn just enough to give him a glimpse of her breasts. That's when he sat up and ground the heels of his hands against his eyes until sparks of color appeared. He didn't need her tantalizing him when she was as in control of herself as tumbleweed in a dust storm. Ethan watched her wobble to the washstand, a pale, unsteady wraith in her white nightshirt. Sighing, he got up and searched out the whiskey, uncorked it, and drank a long swallow straight from the bottle. He was putting it away when he noticed Michael had finished washing her face at the basin and was heading for his bed.

  "Oh, no," he said, catching her by the shoulder as she placed one knee on the mattress. "The floor."

  She winced at the pressure of his fingers against her skin. "You're not serious. You'd really make me sleep on the floor for the rest of the night?"

  "That or share the bed."

  Michael looked longingly at the bed, then at her feet where she was standing on the blankets she would have to wrap around her. "You don't mind sharing?"

  "I mind like hell."

  "Oh. Then I'll take the floor."