Forever And A Day

His slate gaze skimmed her face, then lowered to the black lace edge of her skimpy bodice. “Nope. I just think you need a little looking out for, at least as long as you’re filling out that dress the way you are.”

She tugged up on the red-and-black satin. To no avail, she realized. “Well, don’t look, dammit.”

“Hard not to.”

The sudden and unbidden thought that this man had undressed her made Honey’s heart begin a brisk, panicky tattoo. Had those dark pewter eyes caressed her then as they were now? And—the thought shocked her—had they liked what they had seen?

“Are you hungry?” he asked her.

“What?” For all the images skittering through her brain just then, Honey barely heard him and could only vaguely comprehend his meaning.

“Come on.” He nudged himself away from the wall, towered over her a moment, then curled his fingers around her upper arm. “Let’s get some food in you and then we’ll see about getting you back to Santa Fe.”

Honey pulled away. “With or without my money?” she demanded hotly.

“Without. You’ll be lucky to get back there with your virtue, let alone your life.”

“I’m not leaving without my money.” Honey crossed her arms and widened her stance.

“Fine with me, lady.” Gideon threw up his hands. “When you find it, you let me know. I’ll be down the street eating breakfast at the café.” He turned on his heel, stalked down the hallway and left her standing there.

“Fine,” she called after him, shaking a fist for emphasis, even though he couldn’t see it. “I hope you choke.”

She was going to get that money back if it was the last thing she ever did. She’d hand that canvas sack to her father, proving once and for all, beyond the shadow of a doubt, just how capable and responsible she was. He’d be so grateful as a consequence he’d probably trade in his desk for an enormous partner’s desk, then install her in a big leather chair right across from his. She smiled wistfully at the prospect.

Beneath her crossed arms, Honey’s traitorous stomach churned and growled. She’d find that canvas sack if she had to turn the hotel and the whole town upside down. In the meantime, though, steak and eggs and steaming coffee was beginning to sound like a king’s ransom. Starving to death wasn’t going to accomplish anything anyway, she thought.

She gave another quick upward tug to the red-and-black bodice of her dress and trotted down the stairs in Gideon Summerfield’s wake. She’d find the money—right after breakfast.

Chapter Four

The big plate glass window in the café was thick with grit, inside and out, but still Gideon could see across the street where the lady in the skimpy red-and-black dress was facing off against a young prospector. The boy looked to be about seventeen, thin as grass, and just about as green. Gideon didn’t see a need to intervene—yet.

He sipped from his mug of coffee as he continued to gaze out the window. Lord, she was a beauty. The morning sun blazed like wildfire through her deep mahogany hair. Her skin—plenty of which was showing—was smooth as cream. Her legs—and plenty of those showed, too—were long and slim. From this distance he couldn’t see the color of her eyes, but he figured they must be burning like blue flames, judging from the cowed stance of the young prospector. The poor kid looked as if he was about to use his shovel to dig himself a hidey-hole right there on the planked sidewalk.

Gideon felt his mouth slide into a crooked grin. Edwina. The grin got a little more lopsided. Ed. A hell of a woman, he thought. One of these days that little bank teller was going to make some man’s life pure heaven—and sheer, unadulterated hell—on earth.

He’d had a brief taste of her heaven this morning, waking as he did with his hand curved over her lush, sleep-warm breast. He was surprised he hadn’t awakened her the way he had wrenched his hand away, then bolted from the bed feeling like a kid caught raiding the candy jar. Not candy, Gideon thought now. There was no candy that had ever filled his hand the way her firm flesh did. More like sweet, ripe, sun-warmed fruit. Like late summer apples. And just as dangerous in their allurement, for this was no Garden of Eden and he had already fallen farther than Adam had ever dreamed.

His grin hardened into a scowl. He was going to fall even farther, too, as soon as he located Dwight Samuel. The plan, as the banker Logan had outlined it, was to lure his cousin and former partner into a doomed bank robbery. The reward for that betrayal was supposed to be Gideon’s parole. But Gideon had other plans, and the only reward he sought was revenge. After that, it didn’t make much difference what happened. He planned to cross the border into Mexico with enough money to see him through however many days remained in his sorry life.

Now through the dirty window he watched the little bank teller tossing her proud head, slashing the young prospector with the sharp tilt of her chin, dashing the boy’s hopes for good as she sashayed away from him toward the café. Gideon held her in his gaze while his breath changed rhythm, his heart suddenly pressed hurtfully against his ribs, and the rest of him grew heavy and hot with desire. There was no denying that he wanted her. And there was also no denying that there was no room for Miss Edwina Cassidy in his plans.

She shot through the café door and strode to his table, standing there, haughty and a little breathless, glorious in her ire, a lady demanding her due. Well, not from him, he thought. He was glad she was riled because that anger would serve her as a weapon now. It would help see her through. Because he couldn’t. He tamped down on his natural inclination to rise to seat her, and instead slid his foot to shove out a chair.

“Have a seat,” he said almost gruffly.

She sat, her spine stiff as a rod, her legs tucked primly to the side, her slim ankles crossed.

“Want some coffee?” he asked, taking a sip of his own, foolishly believing the hot liquid would somehow douse the hotter flames rising inside him.

Honey bit her lower lip. She was dying for coffee, but Gideon Summerfield always made her feel so contrary she almost told him no. “Yes. Please.”

He signaled the lumpish Mexican cook, who seemed loath to leave his griddle to approach their table.

“Coffee for the lady,” Gideon told him. He angled his head toward the sizzling griddle. “And we’ll each have a plate of whatever it is you’re fixing back there.”

“Huevos,” the cook said.

“Whatever,” Gideon replied. Then, after the cook had turned and shuffled away, he looked at Honey. “Do you speak Spanish?” he asked almost sheepishly. “What the hell did I just order?”

“Rattlesnake,” she snapped. “I hope you like it.”

He swallowed, hard, and drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah. Oh, sure. How’s it fixed?”

“With onions usually. Or sourweed. Sometimes they mix in frogs’ eggs.” She shrugged. “It depends on the cook.”

Honey had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling as she watched the outlaw wince and cast a quick, suspicious glance toward the kitchen at the back of the café.

“Pretty tasty, is it?” he asked. “You eat it often?”

Honey fashioned her sweetest smile. “Oh, my, yes. It’s considered quite a delicacy, even out here where rattlesnakes are so prevalent.”

The cook brought Honey’s coffee. “Algo más?” he asked Gideon, whose brow was furrowed now and whose voice cracked just slightly when he replied, “Huevos, huh?”

The Mexican smiled and bobbed his head affably. “Sí, señ or. Huevos.”

Gideon nodded and, with a soft sigh, lowered his worried gaze to the tabletop.

“No más, gracias,” Honey told the cook. When the man left, she sipped her coffee. Between sips, she smiled sunnily at her nervous breakfast companion.

Good, she thought. She didn’t mind making him uncomfortable one little bit. It pleased her enormously to watch Gideon Summerfield sweat. The man had been much too cool and controlled behind those ice gray eyes. He deserved a little spoofing, in Honey’s estimation. Then, quite suddenly, she remembered the night before, when he had turned to her in his sleep, pleading for warmth. So cold. So goddamn cold.

“Who’s Cora?” she asked him now.

His gaze shot up from the stained oilcloth that covered the table. “What?”

Honey managed a casual tone. “I asked you who Cora is.” She’d never seen such a surprised or bewildered expression on anyone’s face, which piqued her curiosity to the extreme. The man could barely put two words together when he tried to speak.

“What...? How do you...”

She sipped her coffee again, then shrugged indifferently as she set the cup back on the table. “It’s just that you mentioned her name in your sleep last night. I was merely wondering who she was.”

A muscle worked furiously in Gideon’s cheek and his teeth seemed clenched so tight, Honey despaired that he would even get a word out.

But he did.

Two words. A harsh, hard-bitten phrase.