Notorious in the West

“No.” He contemplated it. “I don’t believe I do.”

“I am more than an image on a bottle!”

“Really? What else are you?”

Rather than answer him, she paced. Then she whirled, sending her skirts swaying. “You truly are beyond the pale.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

“What else am I? I’m unimpressed with you, that’s what else I am. You’re hopelessly rude. Purposely boorish—”

“I’ve been deemed much worse.” By my own mother, for one. “Although not by anyone as wholesome as you.” He gave a civil nod. “I’ll take your attentiveness as a compliment.”

“Don’t. All I want from you is a bit of contrition.”

“Ah. You’re angling for an apology for yourself now, too?”

“You are the one who’s empty-headed, Mr. Turner, if you believe I would ask for an apology for myself.”

“You only crusade on behalf of your friends?”

“It’s not a crusade.” She gave him an uncomfortably comprehending look—one he didn’t care for much. “It’s decency. Something you’re not on very close terms with, evidently.”

But Griffin knew that already. She couldn’t hurt him by pointing out the truth, any more than she could wound him by asserting grass was green. He hauled in a breath, intending to tell her so. “I’m sorry,” he surprised himself by saying.

Her eyes widened in surprise. But she didn’t speak.

“That’s not good enough for you?” he groused, unaccountably piqued by her unsatisfying reaction to his concession. “You want a prettier apology than that? I don’t have one for you.”

“Mr. Turner.” Delicately, she placed her hand on his arm. He realized, to his unwelcome dismay, that he didn’t know her name—and, to his further consternation, that he wanted to. “An apology isn’t only for the person who receives it. It’s also for the person who gives it. It’s for the person who needs to see what he’s done...and to try his hardest not to do it again.”

Griffin frowned. Would she never quit saying things that confounded him? Something about her made him feel that she had...something...he needed. Something important and inexplicable.

Something he shouldn’t allow himself to have.

“You shouldn’t casually touch a man like me,” he warned in a low voice. “Especially when you’re alone with him in his private hotel suite, and he’s still a little drunk.”

“Drunk?” She peered at him. “That explains a great deal.”

It didn’t explain enough, Griffin knew as he moved beyond her reach to stand nearby. It didn’t explain why he’d apologized to her...except that he’d felt a cad for not doing so. In the past decade, few people had roused a true sense of remorse in him.

That she had was all the more reason to avoid her.

“Don’t make excuses for me,” he said. “You’ll regret it.”

“I doubt it,” she disagreed with surprising sanguinity. “Folks generally live up to people’s expectations of them.”

“Or down. I’ll likely stay drunk for weeks to come.”

“Is that your plan? Is that why you’ve come here?”

“No. I came here to confide all my secrets to a suitably nosy chambermaid.” He gave her a deliberately bland look. “I’m lucky you’re here. You’re exactly what I need.”

Her uncomfortable expression told him all he needed to know. She was no more a chambermaid than he was a saint.

“You’re making fun of me. I see.” With abundant poise, she put her palms together. “I guess I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

She offered Griffin a wobbly, unpracticed chambermaid’s curtsy. Despite his best intentions to remain unmoved by her, her awkward gesture amused him greatly. Her stubborn pride endeared her to him, too. They had that much in common—that, and a love of difficult books. He didn’t want to see her leave.

He also didn’t want to admit it.

It would almost have been worthwhile to agree to being pestered by maid service while he was here, Griffin reckoned, if it would mean seeing Miss Milky White every day during his stay. Having her attend to him would mean he didn’t have to endure one rubbernecking dunderhead after another as various members of the hotel staff found reasons to “help” fulfill his requests.

This was not the first time he’d been the subject of prurient curiosity during a hotel visit. It wouldn’t be the last. The difference was, Griffin now knew how to inure himself.

“I hope you enjoy your stay with us.” Her gaze lingered tellingly—yearningly—on his books. With evident effort, she transferred her attention to the door. “Good morning to you!”

Griffin tried not to watch her leave. He did. But there was something positively entrancing about the way his “chambermaid” moved. It wasn’t overtly sensual. It wasn’t even especially ladylike. Her movements, it occurred to him, were appealing not because of their grace but because of their inherent liveliness. Here was a woman, he understood as he watched her stride across his suite, who was interested in everything life had to offer.

Why that should appeal so strongly to him, Griffin didn’t know. He only knew that it did. And that he still wanted her.

“Wait,” he blurted.

She turned, characteristically inquisitive...and far too decent for the likes of him. “Yes?”

“I...” Hellfire. All at once, he felt as bumbling as a green youth of fourteen, all thumbs and stutters. “What is your name?”

“Hmm.” Her eyes sparkled. “You want to know my name?”

Was she teasing him? Incredibly, her tone suggested as much, yet Griffin knew that couldn’t be possible. No one teased him. He’d become far too influential—far too fearsome—for that.

“Tell me your name.” A beat. “Please.”

This time, it was her turn to smile. “If you want to know that—if you want me to come back—then you’ll have to apologize to Miss Holloway first,” she declared. “She’ll let me know when you’ve done so to her satisfaction.”

“No.” Griffin could scarcely believe her audacity. She couldn’t order him about. “Tell me now. I demand to know.”

Her laughter rang out. “Mr. Turner, you are in the Arizona Territory! I don’t know or care what you’ve done back in the states. Here, everyone starts fresh. Before you start expecting folks to kowtow to you, you’ll have to prove yourself.”

He frowned. “I’ll do nothing of the kind.”

A shrug. “Suit yourself. But our coffee is mighty fine. Everyone in town says so. I can promise you that you’re missing out on a wonderful brew. And a tasty breakfast, too.”

She opened the door to his suite. Griffin stopped her.

“Wait.” He couldn’t help admiring the steely strength of her posture and the shininess of her elaborately upswept hair. He couldn’t help admiring her. Unfortunately, that impulse was in opposition to everything he knew he ought to want. “Do you really have nothing to lose?” he asked, reminded of her words in the hallway. If that was true, it was something else they had in common. “With your friend, Miss Holloway, I heard you say—”

“I’m afraid that’s not something I intend to share with you, Mr. Turner.” She cast him an indomitable over-the-shoulder look—one that, again, diligently avoided his nose. “Remember, if you begin feeling peckish, just ask for Miss Holloway at the hotel’s front desk and get busy making your amends to her.”