Esmerelda shivered. The exploits of those Confederate desperados who had refused to accept that their cause was lost had reached as far north as Boston. The wild-eyed boys and their ruthless leaders had struck terror in the heart of a nation already ravaged by four years of war.
The cowpoke shook his head. You dont want to mess with them Darlin boys. They set a high store by Billy, him bein the baby o the family and all.
Esmerelda clenched her teeth against a frisson of rage. How could a cold-blooded killer like Billy Darling be anybodys baby? Her brothers face drifted through her memory as it had so many times in the months since his disappearancehis plump, rosy cheeks pale and sunken, his sable hair dulled by blood, the spark of mischief in his eyes doused by the icy, black waters of death.
Beset by a strange and dangerous calm, Esmerelda gently placed her violin case on top of her trunk and dipped a hand into her reticule to caress its sleek contents.
As she stepped off the sidewalk into the dusty street, the cowhand called after her. Miss! Oh, miss, you forgot your fiddle and trunk.
Watch them for me, wont you? she replied, studying the beckoning doors of the saloon through narrowed eyes. I wont be long.
Esmerelda Fines arrival in Calamity on that lazy Wednesday afternoon had garnered more attention than she realized. While the townsfolk had grown accustomed to having the stagecoach pass through, they were not accustomed to seeing anyone actually disembark from it. Especially not a slender wren of a lady garbed in a bustle and bonnet the provincial folk of Calamity assumed was the very pinnacle of city fashion.
When Esmerelda plunged into the dusty street without a visible care for her high-heeled kid leather boots, curtains twitched and children came creeping out of alleyways. When it appeared her destination was to be none other than the Tumbleweed Saloon, shopkeepers emerged from their deserted stores to sweep the sidewalks, trading curious and wary looks.
They breathed a collective sigh of relief when Esmerelda paused just outside the saloon, obviously realizing her error. No true lady would ever darken the doorstep of such an establishment. The townsfolk nodded and smiled at one another, their faith in the innate nobility of womankind restored.
Until the young woman squared her slender shoulders, thrust open the swinging doors, and disappeared inside.
The sudden shift from sunlight to gloom nearly blinded Esmerelda. Long shadows cut a swath through the interior of the saloon. The isinglass windowpanes admitted only enough light to gild the dust motes drifting through the air.
A garishly painted woman straddled a chair in front of the piano, banging out a rollicking dance-hall tune with her crimson fingernails. A bartender stood behind a long counter, polishing glasses in front of a row of amber-tinted bottles. A handful of stragglers slumped at the bar, but most of the chatter and merriment in the room seemed to be coming from a table situated just below the upstairs balcony.
Two bleary-eyed cowboys flanked a broad-shouldered man whose mouth was dwarfed by a drooping mustache. His silver hair flowed past his shoulders like lustrous waves of corn silk. A tin star was pinned to his satin waistcoat.
The esteemed sheriff McGuire, Esmerelda deduced, fortified by a fresh surge of contempt.
The trail of bills and silver scattered across the tables pitted surface led directly to a fourth man. A man who sat with his back to the wall and his face shadowed by his hat brim. A thin cigar was clamped between his lips. A dimpled whore perched on one knee.
He was watching her, Esmerelda realized, repressing a shiver. His regard might be nothing more than a wary gleam penetrating the shadows, but it was powerful enough to draw every other eye in the saloon to her frozen form. It was almost as if she hadnt existed until the moment he had chosen to take notice of her.
The piano fell mute. The bartenders cloth ceased its circular motions. Curious faces appeared in the saloon windows, struggling to peer through the gloom. Avid eyes peeped over the top of the saloon door, abandoning all pretense of discretion.
Chin up and one foot in front of the other, girl, Esmerelda heard someone say in her head. If you keep putting one foot in front of the other, youll eventually get where youre going. Although she had never heard her grandfather speak, Esmerelda knew exactly who that clipped British voice belonged to. She might loathe the man for turning his back on her mother, but it was his pitiless scolding that had prodded her to get up off the bed and stop feeling sorry for herself after her parents had died, that had goaded her into drying little Bartholomews tears when she was still blinded by her own.
Despite her hatred of her grandfather, or perhaps because of it, his gruff, no-nonsense tones never failed to calm her fears.
Until now.
She marched to the table, stopping directly across from the man she had traveled over two thousand miles to find. The woman on his lap wrapped a possessive hand around his nape, surveying her with sloe-eyed amusement.
Mr. William Darling? Esmerelda winced when her voice cracked in the unnatural silence.
His only acknowledgment of her presence was the faint twitch of a muscle in his jaw. Smoke wafted from his cigar, curling toward her like tendrils of brimstone.
I am, he finally drawled, stubbing out the cigar and tipping back his hat with one finger.
Esmerelda had braced herself to confront a bewhiskered fiend. She nearly dropped her reticule when the shadows retreated to reveal lean cheeks shaded by the barest hint of stubble and a pair of dark-lashed, gray-green eyes that failed to betray even a glimmer of shiftiness. Those eyes assessed her, taking her measure with disturbing bluntness.
Praying that she had practiced in front of the mirror often enough to do it without shooting herself in the foot, Esmerelda fished the derringer from the satin-lined depths of her reticule and leveled it at his heart.
Youre under arrest, Mr. Darling. Im taking you in.
CHAPTER TWO
Billy Darling was a jovial drunk.
Which explained the dangerous edge to his temper as he surveyed the haughty young miss who had presumed to interrupt his poker game. His first whiskey of the day sat untouched on the table just inches from his fingertips. The way his day was going, he doubted it would be his last.
The woman disagreed. Noting the direction of his glance, she gave the brimming glass an imperious nod. Youd best finish your whiskey, sir. It may be the last you taste for a very long while.
Billy barely resisted the urge to bust out laughing. Instead, he curled his fingers around the glass and lifted it in a salute to her audacity. She really ought to be flattered by the stir her announcement had caused. Noreen had gone tumbling off his lap in a flurry of scarlet petticoats while Dauber and Seal went diving under a nearby table, scattering bills and coins.
Only Drew had remained upright, but even he had scooted his chair back a good two feet and thrown his hands into the air. The waxed tips of his mustache quivered with alarm. Billy suspected he would have joined the cowboys under the table if he hadnt feared rumpling the new paisley waistcoat hed had shipped all the way from Philadelphia. You could almost always count on Drews vanity overruling his cowardice.
It wasnt the first time Billy had faced a woman across the barrel of a gun, and it probably wouldnt be the last. Hell, hed even been shot once by a jealous whore in Abilene. But shed cried so prettily and tended the wound and the rest of him with such gratifying remorse, hed forgiven her before the bleeding stopped.
It wasnt even that he particularly minded being shot by a woman. He just wanted to do something to deserve it first.
He sipped the whiskey, narrowing his eyes to study the woman over the rim of the glass. Her hands were steady, but an unnatural flush heightened her color. Any woman with a gun was dangerous, but he suspected this one might be more dangerous than most. Her delicate nostrils flared like a high-strung mares each time she exhaled.