Ace's Wild

“You think you can sway Tyson to sell?” She’d been trying for a month to no avail. Every time she approached the irritating man, the price went up. And it hadn’t exactly started at reasonable.

He just looked at her. “I said I’d handle it.”

And that was that as far as he was concerned. So be it. Petunia folded her own arms across her chest. “Fine. Then under the condition you get the Haylen place for us tomorrow, Terrance can sleep on my sofa tonight.”

“I’m sure he’s slept on worse.”

Which just brought them back to the questions that had been plaguing her since Ace and Luke had ridden back into town with Terrance in tow.

“Did Brian really just let you walk in and take his son?” She knew Brian was a wastrel, but she didn’t believe he was that much of a wastrel. If nothing else, Terrance had value as a worker that made his father’s life easier.

“Not exactly, but in the end we came to an agreement.”

Petunia dropped her gaze to Ace’s hands, the ones he had tucked under his arms. She didn’t know what possessed her. It was against all propriety, but she reached out and caught his right pinky in her fingers. His hand was warm, but the palm surprisingly calloused for a man who gambled. He hadn’t always been a gambler or an assayer, she reminded herself. According to legend, Hell’s Eight was a lot of things. A group of almost mythical warriors. Fierce. Relentless.

She tugged. The only thing that moved was his left eyebrow.

“You wanting something?”

“I want to see your hand.”

“Why, going to slip a ring on it?”

She huffed. “I’m not that kind of woman, and you’re not that kind of man.”

The smile he gave her was genuine. “You’ve got that half right.”

She tugged again. This time he let her win. She was surprised to see the knuckles unscarred.

“Satisfied?” he asked, tucking his hand back under his arm and shifting his position.

“Hardly.”

She noticed the butt of the revolver on his left hip had a little less shine. It was then she remembered he was left-handed.

“Can I see the other hand?”

“Why?”

“I’m contrary that way.”

“I’ll give you that. You’re contrary.”

He didn’t make any move to show her his hand. She didn’t push it.

Rubbing her fingertips on her thigh she said, “I’m going to take it from that that those knuckles are bruised.”

“Assume all you want.”

“Did you hurt him?”

That got his attention. “Worried about his sorry ass?”

“No, I’m more hoping you beat him into the ground. He’s a brute and a bully, and it’s about time somebody gave him what he really deserved.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s nursing a headache for sure.”

It soothed a bit of her anger to know that. “Is he going to come after Terrance?”

“At some point I imagine he will remember he’s a father, but I don’t think it’ll be in the near future.”

“How does Terrance feel about that?”

“I don’t think he feels anything. He seems to live for the right now.”

For some reason she felt the need to defend Terrance. “He’s a boy.”

“Uh-huh”

The wind blew a hair across her face. She brushed it out of her eyes. It fell back down, tickling her temple. “You don’t like children?”

“I don’t have anything against them. I don’t have anything for them beyond I don’t intend to have any ever.”

“Why not?”

“Do you really think I’d make a good father?”

Surprisingly, she did. He might have a wastrel profession but he also had a reputation for fighting for the underdog. He’d be a strong and protective father. And while breath filled his lungs, his children would never want.

Half turning, he pushed the hair that was tickling off her temple. “That hard an answer to come up with?”

“I was actually thinking you’d make a very good father. But heaven help your daughters.”

His brow snapped down, and that hand that had just touched her so tenderly curled into a fist. She had the oddest impression that he was hurt. “You think I’d hurt my girls?”

One would think she’d have the sense to be afraid, but she wasn’t. “I think they’d grow up in danger of becoming old maids waiting for a suitor brave enough to come courting.”

“Damn straight.” His expression traveled from wary to speculative in the space of a breath. “Have you been spending a lot of time thinking on me?”

She didn’t like to admit the truth. She also refused to lie. “Some. There’s not much to do in this town besides look at the local color, and you are colorful.”

“Do you always give a direct answer?”

“I try to be honest.”

“When it suits you?”

She sighed. Life would be so much easier if she could lie. “Even when it doesn’t.”