Читать книгу Burke's Rules - Pat Tracy - Страница 9

Chapter Two

A powerful knock rattled the front doors of Jayne Stoneworthy’s new residence and school. She withdrew her head from the crate of books she was unpacking and sneezed twice. The workmen had left for the afternoon, and this was the first peace she’d had since they’d descended that morning with hammers pounding.

She looked toward the floral-etched glass panels installed yesterday. The shadowy figure of a man was visible. Perhaps one of the workmen had forgotten something. She weaved her way through the chaos of stacked lumber, sawhorses and sacks of nails. Two-by-fours of various lengths lay where they’d been cut. Even her upstairs bedchamber, the one area she considered habitable, had been invaded by the sawed-off portions of wood. The foreman’s prediction that within two weeks the torn-apart great room would be transformed into a parlor, business office and three classrooms seemed overly optimistic.

Having accepted there was no way to look her best while immersed in the renovation project, Jayne didn’t bother brushing the dust from her apron or tucking the tendrils of hair skimming her cheeks beneath her white kerchief.

She opened the glass-paneled door and looked up, then up some more, to fully take in the mountainous man standing before her. Roughly dressed, the gargantuan man resembled Paul Bunyan come to life. He definitely wasn’t one of the workmen.

“May I help you?”

“Oh, that you can, girly-girl.” His black mustache and beard rippled as his booming voice filled the room. “I quenched my thirst at the Plucked Turkey. Now I’m itching for some sweet female comfort.”

Though certainly the largest, this wasn’t the first man to arrive with the mistaken belief the saloon she’d recently purchased was still in business.

She craned her head to gain a better view of the jovial face revealed beneath a battered brown felt hat. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”

He walked through the doors, leaving them open behind him. She tried to hold her ground but would have had better luck trying to block a mud slide.

“I see things are in an uproar. I don’t mind a little dust.” Thick fingers closed around her waist, whisking her through the air, he plunked her onto the long bar counter carved from the trunk of a pine. “No need to apologize. So you ain’t fixed for cavorting. With that yeller hair of yours and those big green eyes, I can overlook you needing a bath.” He raised a massive arm and sniffed. “Truth be told, I’m not so fresh myself.”

“I do not have yeller hair. It’s light brown.”

“Naw, you’re wrong. Your hair’s as yeller as a shiny gold nugget.”

“No, you’re wrong,” she said briskly. “I want you to leave.”

He gazed at her with such dopey goodwill she couldn’t be angry. Even so, his interruption was putting her behind schedule. She had a dozen things to accomplish before her head could hit the pillow that night, not that she planned on getting much sleep. Since moving in, she’d learned that the street came alive after dark with boisterous men converging upon the nearby saloons.

“Listen...” She broke off. “What’s your name?”

“Newton Timothy White. Most folks call me Newt. Maybe you heard of me. I found a vein of the prettiest gold you ever did see. My mine’s The Lucky Lasso, on account of I always wanted to be a cowboy, but never could find a horse big enough to carry me, for long anyway.”

“Well, Miner Newt, pay attention.”

Grinning sappily, he leaned forward. “Sure thing, pretty filly.”

“This building is no longer a saloon. There’s not a drop of liquor on the premises and even if there were, there’s nary a ‘girly-girl’ to serve it.”

The man’s features sagged dramatically. She was put in mind of a hound dog. She doubted this affable, if somewhat inebriated miner, represented a threat to her safety.

“Ya mean this here ain’t the Wet Beaver anymore?”

She nodded. “Several weeks ago it became the Stoneworthy School of Tutoring for Young Ladies.”

The miner’s bushy eyebrows climbed to the outer reaches of his broad forehead. A vibrant red blush swept the portion of his face not carpeted by his lush mustache and beard.

He ripped the hat from his head, mangling it between gigantic hands. “I’m beggin’ your pardon, miss. I had no idea the Wet Beav—” He broke off, his blush deepening to purple. “I mean to say, I... Oh, Lordy, you’ve got to forgive me. I didn’t mean any offense, honest I didn’t.”

Jayne scooted forward and jumped down from the bar. Newt’s reaction was similar to that of others who’d visited the building in the mistaken hope of sharing a drink and some conversation with a dance hall girl. It astonished her how differently the male population of Denver treated her when under the misapprehension that she served drinks in a saloon. Even more amazing was that a few words could transform her in their eyes from a notorious sinner like Belle Starr to a respectable personage akin to Betsy Ross.

“It’s all right, Mr. White.” She wondered how long it would take him to pull himself together and depart. There was that list of chores.

“No, it ain’t,” he said morosely. “I never in my life have disgraced myself with a lady. If my sainted mother knew what I’d done, she’d turn me over her knee for a good paddling.”

Jayne doubted even his saintly mother had a knee big enough to turn him over it. She patted his arm and tried to usher him to the door. “We won’t tell her. It was an honest mistake.”

He continued to maul his hat. “I should have knowed right off by looking at you that you weren’t no good-time gal. Why, it’s as plain as the sparkle in your green eyes that you’re a lady, right down to your brown leather shoes—even if you are lookin’ a mite worse for wear.”

If she was offending the sensibilities of wild and woolly miners, it was time to pay attention to her appearance. “Mr. White, why don’t you visit another tavern? I’m sure there’s lots of...um...‘good-time gals’ who’ll help you spend your gold.”

He frowned. “You’re not supposed to know about such women.”

“Don’t be silly, how could I not be aware of them? What with their fancy clothes and big-feathered hats, they’re impossible to miss.”

“You’re supposed to pretend you don’t know about them.”

“All right, we’ll just say you’re going for a walk.” She pulled experimentally on his arm. Nothing happened. “You are going, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like the idea of you alone here. Some other feller might come along and make the same mistake I did. You could be in big trouble, Miss...” He paused, his rough-cut features solemn. “What’s your name?”

“Stoneworthy.” What on earth was she going to do with a three-hundred-pound knight who preferred plaid and denim to shining armor? “Actually, this has happened before, and I’ve been just fine.”

His expression remained disapproving. “I’ll fix that. What did you say the name of your school is?”

She obliged him by repeating the information. He headed for the doors that had remained open throughout their confrontation. It disturbed her that any passerby could have overheard the ridiculous exchange with her uninvited visitor. If she wanted to establish a successful school for young ladies, she would have to be more careful about such things.

He stepped across the threshold. “I’ll be back.”

“You will?”

He nodded gravely. “I’m going to fix it so you won’t be bothered by any more no-account, low-life drifters like me.”

“You’re not a drifter. You’re a miner with your very own gold mine.”

“I should be strung up and shot for insulting you.”

“That seems a bit harsh.” Really, he was taking this too much to heart. “Cheer up, Mr. White. You’ve got a dozen wheelbarrows of gold dust to spend.” She frowned. “Though, in good conscience I must recommend you consider your future and deposit your newfound wealth in a bank.”

He shuffled booted feet the size of watering troughs. “That’s what my mother would say. Don’t worry, I’ve already done it.”

“Well then, good day to you.” Even though he stood directly in front of her, she waved goodbye.

His palm came up, and he wriggled huge, sausage-sized fingers. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss Stoneworthy.”

The boardwalk buckled beneath his weight as he ambled away. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine how Miner Newt thought he could assist her.

She stepped through the open doors, turning to lock them. Without warning, a man moved in front of her. A. small shriek sprang from her throat. Tall, lean and grim-lipped, this new arrival projected none of Mr. White’s affability. Wearing a black dress coat, pristine white shirt and snug-fitting black trousers, the intruder radiated an aura of sophisticated hardness.

Her gaze flew to his face. Whereas the miner’s features looked as if they’d been carved by a dull ax, this man’s countenance had been chiseled with the precision of a sculptor’s hand. Angular, strongly defined cheekbones, narrow lips and deeply set brown eyes created a visage without inherent tenderness. Thick black hair, combed severely back, added to his formidable expression. Handsome was too benign a word to apply to a face of such harsh contours. Yet his features were imbued with a bold, almost savage beauty.

Recognition dawned. Standing before her was none other than Burke Youngblood, owner and president of Denver’s largest bank. They had met briefly on two previous occa sions. The indelible impression he’d left during those fleeting encounters had followed her into her dreams.

She had no idea why one of Denver’s most powerful and wealthy men stood on her doorstep. It seemed prudent to inquire. “Uh, may I help you?”

Burke took in the bedraggled appearance of the woman he’d agreed to check on. After overhearing her naive exchange with Newton White, Burke felt obligated to teach her an unforgettable lesson that would irrefutably demonstrate the danger she’d placed herself in by moving into a former whorehouse. “I’m certain you’re the perfect person to...help me.”

Mr. Youngblood’s gritty voice performed some kind of dark magic on Jayne’s inner tickings. She licked her suddenly dry lips. The banker’s expression bordered on carnivorous. “Are you sure you have the right place?”

Only as the question emerged did a horrible inkling of what might be about to transpire unravel within her. Surely not, she told herself. A man of Burke Youngblood’s wealth and reputation wouldn’t—

“I’ll be in exactly the right place when we go upstairs, find ourselves a bed.”

Like jagged bolts of hot lightning stabbing the earth, three thoughts struck Jayne. Burke Youngblood did not remember her from their previous meetings, he expected much more from a dance hall girl than friendly conversation and...and he was no gentleman!

She raised her chin. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”

Something elemental flashed in his eyes. “We won’t know that till I’m there.” His glance took in the room’s torn-up condition. “It’s a little drafty down here, but if this is where you want to do it, I’m game.”

Heat crawled to her cheeks. After being raised by her late aunt Euphemia, Jayne had a good idea what “it” was. The spinster had waxed with vigorous zeal upon the subject of men’s lusts.

Without conscious thought, Jayne’s gaze drifted to Mr. Youngblood’s lower anatomy. To her inexperienced eye, it appeared Euphemia had been on the right track, which would explain why disrobing was required to facilitate actual... er...linkage.

“The view’s likely to be more interesting without my trousers on.”

His husky observation shocked Jayne from her reflections. An even deeper blush singed her face and throat. What a time for her thoughts or gaze to wander! “You’ve made the mistake. This is no longer the Wet Beaver. I bought the building to—”

Without signaling his intent, he swept her into his arms. “You talk too much.”

Before she could react, he was striding toward the stairs. Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, she tried to twist free.

He slung her over his shoulder. Her field of vision shrank to the bobbing floor and an upside-down view of his lean backside.

With an audible whoosh the air bounced from her lungs. She looked over her shoulder and was greeted by the sight of her posterior pushed up alongside his face. One wide palm rested proprietarily upon her upthrust bottom. Incensed by his familiarity, she pounded his back with her fists. The jarring blows should have had him howling for mercy. Evidently, the banker had a high tolerance for pain. He didn’t miss a stair as he took them two at a time.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he drawled with maddening calm. “An ample-sized, unmade bed, waiting for us to get acquainted.”

He tossed her onto the disheveled bedding. Jayne bounced twice, then rolled to her side, scrambling to reach the edge of the mattress and freedom.

“Where’re you going?” Restraining hands pulled her to the center of the bed. “You must be new at this. The exercise is supposed to come between the sheets, not on top of them,”

“There’s not going to be any exercise.” She slapped his renegade hands. “The tavern went out of business. I bought this building to use as a school for young ladies. Now let me go!”

She counted the seconds before her explanation had Burke Youngblood on his knees, pleading that she accept his apology.

“You can’t expect me to believe that.” He straddled her hips and pinned her hands. “No sane person would buy a brothel and try to turn it into a school for respectable girls.”

Jayne’s thoughts reeled. Brothel? She’d bought an obscure, run-down tavern, not a house of ill repute.

When the man’s harsh face a scant inch from hers, his dark, glittering eyes promised danger.

“Am I going too fast? Do you like your customers to take it slower?”

“Mr. Youngblood—”

“So you know my name....” He brushed his mouth against her startled lips. “If that’s how you like it, I’m willing to slow down.”

“You’re not listening,” she began again, desperate to make him understand his mistake before it was too late. “I’m not what people call a...uh...‘good-time gal.’ I’m a respectable teacher and businesswoman.”

“Some men might like the fantasy of having a virgin or a Sunday school teacher in their bed, but I like my women bold. If you’re going to pretend to be someone, try Cleopatra or Delilah.”

“Cleopatra? Delilah?” she sputtered, astonished by his preferences. “They’re two of the most treacherous women who ever lived.”

“You’re not supposed to criticize your customers’ tastes,” he chided. “I know what’s the problem. You want your money in advance, don’t you?”

Burke reached into his coat pocket and extracted a roll of bills. He’d already pushed Miss Stoneworthy further than he’d intended, yet he refused to back off until he’d put the fear of doom into her. The mildly panicked look in her vivid green eyes indicated she still didn’t grasp the full significance of the danger she’d placed herself in by living in a cathouse.

“Let’s see, what’s the going rate for an hour in your bed?”

“Marriage, you insufferable clod, now get off!”

She surprised a chuckle from him. “Marriage? That’s a mite steeper than I planned.” He peeled off a bill and returned the rest of the money to his pocket. “Ten dollars should cover it.”

“Ten dollars!” she cried. “I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.”

He leaned across her and placed the bill on the nightstand. “What do you expect when you entertain customers dressed like a charwoman?”

When he’d agreed to Gideon’s request, there had been no way to anticipate events spinning out of control like this. But when Burke had overheard Miss Stoneworthy’s cavalier treatment of the rough-and-tumble miner, Newton White, he’d decided she needed to find out what happened if a man without scruples had only one thing on his mind. Who better to play such a part than himself?

“I’m dressed for work, not entertaining, you dimwit!”

“Keep insulting me, and I’ll take back the ten. You’ll have to settle for five dollars. I’ve got my standards where such things are concerned.”

Her flushed face glared up at him with enough righteous fury to send him to Hades. Why not steal a kiss? he wondered. After today’s debacle, she wouldn’t let him within a hundred feet of her. He might as well gain a little satisfaction for his troubles.

“You mule-headed dolt, I’m not in the business of selling myself. I’m a respectable woman!”

“Are you telling me I’ve made a mistake?” he asked, surprised by the peculiar tenderness her impassioned objection stirred. What possible attraction could exist between himself and a protesting virgin?

“Hallelujah! The voice of reason has finally penetrated the pea-sized organ serving as your brain. No matter what this place used to be, it’s now the Stoneworthy School of Tutoring for Young Ladies.”

“You almost had me convinced until you made that rude remark about my brain.” He tugged the white kerchief from her hair. “No school of refinement would let you within a hundred miles of its students.”

She sucked in her lower lip. Meaning to claim it for himself, he bent his head.

“I’m not usually rude,” she muttered. The moistened lip slid free.

“Neither am I.”

He wove his fingers through silken hair that lay like a river of spilled gold on the pillow, taking the kiss. Female heat, wet and beckoning, drew the tip of his tongue into the sweet cavern of her mouth. She stiffened and pushed against his shoulders.

It was ridiculous to be disappointed by her resistance. He was taking what she wasn’t offering—a moment and kiss stolen from time. He groaned with unexpected need. Mingled with sawdust, her womanly taste and scent honed a sharper edge to the hunger surging to life.

Enough... He’d trespassed further than he had any right. She shifted beneath him. New need erupted. He tried to end the kiss. His mouth refused to cooperate. His hands were getting restless. He had to stop. Now.

Struggling for control, he raised his head. “I’m sorry.”

She shifted again. “You will be.”

He wasn’t sure he heard her right. The blood thundered in his veins with the fury of a herd of stampeding cattle. Her wet lips invited more insanity. If he didn’t start breathing again, he was going to black out.

“I didn’t mean for things to go this far,” he said hoarsely.

“Save the apology.”

He felt more than saw the blur of movement. One moment he had heaven and bliss rolled into one package beneath him. The next instant, a thunderbolt of pain exploded in his skull. The beguiling woman with green eyes splintered into a whirlwind of spinning stars, then disappeared into blackness.