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She wouldn’t deny a man a taste of spirits now and again. Smitty said nothing compared to how a couple sips could warm a man on a cold night, but she’d never abide by all-out drinking. Men who rode with her father had done that—Bass, too. The stench of their breath still had the ability to haunt her at times. She’d known what those men had wanted from her, and how drinking had made them foolish enough to believe they could take it. The memory had her glancing over her shoulder. One had fought hard and got too close once, and she’d shot him. Just in the thigh, but she’d never forgotten it. The brief glimpse she’d gotten of Mad Dog down in California said he still walked with a limp.
Shortly after the shooting, Bass had left her with Smitty. Something she’d always be thankful for.
She was thankful for the gun Trig had given her, too. A fine six-shooter. Mad Dog might never find her here, but it would do every man glancing her way in this muddy little town—aptly named Bittersweet—good to know she wasn’t afraid to shoot them where they stood.
“Maddie, this is Truman Schlagel.”
Turning her gaze from the busy street to Lucky and the merchant now standing near the mules, she nodded. “Mr. Schlagel.”
As bald as a turnip, yet with more gray hair on his face than a bear, the older man grinned, leastwise it appeared that was what happened under all those whiskers.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. DuMont,” he said. “Welcome to Bittersweet.”
Her stomach muscles tightened. Though her upbringing had been full of them, she’d never participated in telling lies, and didn’t appreciate how Lucky let this one—about them being married—keep going. Just as she opened her mouth to set the tale straight, Lucky opened his.
“There’s a cabin out back we’ll spend the night in, Maddie, and then head out to where we’ll make our claims in the morning.” Grinning, Lucky took the rope to his mules. “And Truman invited us to supper. Let’s get these animals round back so we can join him.”
She nodded her thanks toward the shopkeeper and followed in the wake of Lucky’s mules, tugging hard for her tired animals to step up. Still worried he might try to leave—habits were hard things to overcome, and she hadn’t trusted Smitty at first, either—she couldn’t help but keep glancing back toward town.
“What are you scowling about?” he asked.
“Just wondering why you were so insistent we spend the night in town.”
“Because it may be the last chance we get,” he said over one shoulder as he led the mules into the barn. “Once we set out to meet up with Whiskey Jack, we may not be back this way for months.”
Once all four mules were tied up, she began unloading their heavy burdens. “Why should that matter?”
He stepped closer and hoisted the heavy pack frame off the mule as if it weighed nothing. “I figured you’d like the chance to sleep in a bed.”
“I’ve told you before, I—”
“I know,” Lucky interrupted. “But I am used to sleeping in a real bed, and I like it.”
His nearness, and his grin, had her heart picking up speed. That had been happening a lot lately, especially at night, when they snuggled to stay warm. No one had ever held her like Lucky did, and she liked it, which went against every grain inside her.
Maddie moved to the next mule, unloading bags and bundles so Lucky could remove the pack frames. Ever since Mad Dog’s attack, she’d hated men—except for Smitty—so why didn’t she feel that way about Lucky? He didn’t scare her, not like others always did. She didn’t mind looking at him, either. Actually, she liked looking at him. Even now, with short stubbles of whiskers covering his jawline. They appeared each night even though he shaved every morning. She liked that. The men that rode with her father rarely shaved. They never cut their hair, either, and though Lucky’s hair was long, he bound it at the nape of his neck with a leather strap, and as unusual as it was, it fit him.
His hair was thick and dark brown, his eyes that color, too. They were her favorite things about him. The way they twinkled, she could almost hear them laughing. Eyes couldn’t laugh, of course. Couldn’t make any sound, yet his sure seemed to. They were kind, too. Sometimes when he looked at her, her insides did funny things. Grew all soft and warm and, well, somewhat giddy. To the point it made her cheeks flush and her heart rush. Especially when he winked at her. Which he did often enough. Probably because he knew it made blood rush to her face.
