Three of a Kind: Black Aces, Book Two Read online

  Slowly, just like everything else he did, O’Grady’s smile bloomed, and he raised his whiskey glass in salute.

  “Well alrighty then,” he said with a pleased nod, just before he downed his drink and reached for the bottle again. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” King agreed, looking far too at ease for what was being discussed.

  And Millard? He sipped his drink again, welcoming the burn in his throat, and wondered if there was anything he could do to prevent what was coming.

  If only he could reach the Black Ace and warn him.

  11

  Quint spent the morning of the 27th shoveling snow; lots and lots of snow. The blizzard had dumped sheer tons of the stuff—heavy and wet—around Black Aces, and it was back-breaking work to clear paths.

  But everyone was out together, doing the same thing, so that was nice. The ladies—like Mrs. Blake and Mrs. Gomez—made up hot coffee and passed it out, while the men held competitions to see who could shovel faster, or who could shovel longer. There was a lot of laughter and good-natured challenges.

  It was exactly the way a town should be. The people had come together to work for the betterment of each other, just as Finnie had always wanted.

  He glanced over to where she was knocking snow off the roof overhang of the saloon with a broom, tendrils of brown hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead. There she was busting her ass to help the town, the same as the rest of them.

  On Christmas Eve, she’d been afraid he wanted her to be more feminine. He didn’t. He liked her just the way she was, but he also liked she’d dabbed on that rosewater each morning since.

  She was strong and determined, and that was appealing to him. Hell, she’d met him head-on in that kiss the other night, and every kiss since then. And it was admirable she cared so deeply for this town she’d become a part of. He thought about the way she spread gossip and news to the people, and how so many of them had gone on to help one another out afterwards.

  While the Black Ace—the man— had helped the people of town, albeit by breaking the law, she was doing that too, but in her own way, and without breaking the law. The Ace had always taken a direct interest and sometimes even resorted to violence, while she was more subtle. She encouraged the townspeople to help one another, and as far as he was concerned, that made her the real hero.

  A thought then struck him so suddenly, Quint was forced to pause his shoveling and rest his elbow on the shovel's handle as he considered it. The Black Ace had been strangely subdued in the last few months; his actions and interventions less obvious, sightings less frequent. Since Hartwell’s attempted hanging for being the Black Ace, in fact, when the real Ace showed himself, the Black Ace had been acting like a different man.

  Was he a different man? A man who felt as Finnie did; that it was important to encourage the people of Black Aces to look after themselves, rather than directly intervening?

  Quint hummed thoughtfully and shook his head, before going back to shoveling. He had a job to do here in Montana, and no matter how much he liked this little town, he needed to finish his mission.

  Still, he worked alongside the people of Black Aces for hours that morning. At midday, the restaurant opened its doors and everyone piled in for Charlie Wilson’s complimentary bread and stew. Reverend Trapper blessed the food, and many had to eat standing up because there wasn’t enough chairs, but that was fine. It was an impromptu celebration, as if making up for the Christmas parties they’d had to miss this year.

  The Gomezes brought over candies from their store—and when Quint grabbed a peppermint and winked at Finnie, she’d flushed prettily—while the kids played out in the now-cleared street. The older man seemed to be doing better since his encounter with McNelis, who was thankfully absent.

  In fact, all of King’s cronies were absent, which might’ve lent to the festive air. Only Douglas, the representative, was there, keeping quietly to himself off to one side, not eating, but watching everyone carefully. Quint figured he was trying to get the lay of the land in order to judge the quality of the town.

  “Merry Christmas, everyone!” came Mrs. Hoyle’s voice from one of the front tables, and the cry was immediately taken up by everyone.

  Quint was glad to see her there—and her ever-present companion—even if neither had done any shoveling. The way the townspeople deferred to her, it was clear they loved her, so having her at the impromptu celebration was important. He remembered what she’d said the day they’d all cut their trees—raving about how her dead son would be home soon—and how her neighbors had been gentle, but firm with her. It had probably been the holiday which made her think of the kid, but now she was among her friends, she seemed in much better shape.

  After the meal, the party started to break up with much groaning about sore muscles and cramped backs, though with a lot of teasing as well.

  Finnie made a point to thank Mr. Wilson for the meal, and Quint echoed the appreciation solemnly, as he shook the man’s hand, then commented on how the delicious meal had brought everyone together.

  On the way back to the saloon, with Cinco walking between them, one of his hands tucked in each of theirs, Finnie glanced over.

  “I heard what you said to Mr. Wilson, and you’re right; today was real nice. And it was great how all the neighbors came together to help.”

  Quint nodded. “The way it should be.”

  “Yeah…” She frowned pensively as her gaze swept around the tremendous piles of snow.

  Was she thinking about her efforts to get the town to unite? This is what she’d spoken so passionately about the day they’d seen the empty camp after all; she wanted the town to work together and confront King.

  Was that the Ace’s goal as well? Was that why he’d poisoned the coffee?

  Cinco tugged on his hand, distracting him. “Can you teach me to shoot today, Quint?”

  Exhaling on a laugh, Quint watched the white puff of his breath float away. “Why not? Give me a few minutes to stretch my muscles and relax a bit, then we can head out back into the alley and set up some targets.”

  “Finnie?” The boy swung his big eyes towards her.

  She smiled. “Sure. But I need to make some more coffee first. And I’ve gotta make sure the bar is in order before I can go out. After this morning, I think we’re going to do a lot of business tonight.”

  Quint chuckled. “I’m guessing people are sick of being stuck indoors.”

  “Not me.” She smiled faintly, but didn’t look at him. “I’ve liked the last few days. I've had a real nice time.”

  Thinking of the way he’d won a kiss from her on Christmas, and the additional kisses she’d given him yesterday when they’d played poker again, his pulse began to pound. “Real nice,” he drawled in agreement, though what he wanted to do was drop Cinco’s hand, pull her into his arms, then show her exactly how much he’d enjoyed their time together.

  He might not have done it then, but when Cinco shuffled up the stairs to fetch his new rifle, Quint got his chance. He tugged her to a stop, and when she turned, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her intensely.

  “What was that for?” she asked, though she seemed a little flustered, when they finally pulled apart.

  He grinned lazily. “No reason. I just like touching you.” He squeezed her gently. “And kissing you.” He kissed her again. “And being with you.”

  She was staring at his lips, which made some parts of him go all soft and squishy, but another part of him got very hard indeed. When her tongue dragged over her slightly-swollen lips, he had to restrain himself from pressing that hardness against her, but he couldn't stop a groan of need from escaping.

  “I like being with you too, Quint,” she finally whispered. Then her golden-flecked eyes met his. “A whole bunch.”

  Her simple confession made him smile, so he kissed her again, just as Cinco began back down the stairs.

  “Quint! Finnie can’t breathe when you do that to her!”

  The two a
dults were chuckling as they pulled apart. They separated reluctantly, then each of them went off to do what they needed to do.

  Back out in the cold, Cinco helped Quint set up targets in the back alley, which were just some old pieces of wood with chalk circles drawn on them. Later Cinco could work his way up to cans, but for now, this was good enough.

  Prince Armory had started making smaller rifles a few years back—coincidentally, right around the time Mr. Prince became patron of an orphanage down in Everland—and with such a small round, they were perfect for teaching kids how to handle a firearm.

  “Now that I have a horse of my own, I’m going hunting with Finnie in the spring,” Cinco was saying, self-importantly, as he dragged a stool to the other end of the alley to steady his aim as Quint had taught him. “We’re going to bring down a buffalo!”

  “A buffalo, huh?” Quint whistled. “Good luck finding one of those.”

  “I heard stories about them; they’re huge!”

  They used to be, sure. But the way they were being hunted these days, they’d probably be extinct in another few years.

  “Maybe you could hunt for something smaller until you find one.” He wanted to offer to take Cinco hunting himself, but since he wasn’t sure what the future held for him, he definitely didn’t want to make promises to the kid he wasn’t sure he could keep.

  Cinco shrugged. “Maybe. Finnie doesn’t hunt much anymore anyhow, now that she can buy everything, she says. But she used to be a crack shot!”

  “A crack shot, huh? Maybe when she’s done inside, she can come show off.”

  He and Cinco went over all the safety rules they’d discussed earlier, and he showed the kid how to load and eject the cartridge. Cinco’s hands were sure and steady, his attention focused, as he repeated everything back to Quint.

  They’d been shooting for about a half hour, with the kid getting better each time he took Quint’s advice, by the time Finnie finally came out, carrying her own Winchester. Cinco was careful to keep his rifle pointed at the target when he turned his head to her, a big grin on his face.

  “Finnie! Did you see?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t! Show me again.”

  As the kid obliged, she moved up next to Quint, and he threw a glance her way. She’d placed her rifle down across the barrel he was using as a table, and was still dressed in the clothing she’d worn to help shovel snow; an old skirt over a pair of men’s trousers, a man’s old winter coat, and a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck and chin. Her hair had fallen out of its braid and was now cascading down her back in a feminine riot of curls, and when he inhaled the cold, crisp Montana air, he caught a whiff of roses.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled slowly. She was a contradiction alright, and he loved it.

  They stood side by side, calling out suggestions to Cinco, for a few more minutes. Finally, she huffed in frustration.

  “He’s making the same mistake over and over,” she muttered to Quint. “Hold on.”

  She stomped over to Cinco and leaned down to be more at his level. “You gotta squeeze the trigger, not jerk it. When you yank back on it, your shot’s going wild.”

  “I’m hitting the target!”

  She snorted, then reached her arms around the kid, placing her hands on top of his. “Yeah, but I’m assuming you’re aiming for the middle, right? You’re hitting the sides because you’re jerking it. Here.”

  Quint watched as she leaned her head next to the boy's and cradled his arms in hers. Her index finger rested on his.

  “You’ve got the middle of the target in your sights?”

  “Yeah,” Cinco murmured.

  “Alright, we’re going to just gently squeeze…”

  With her anchoring him like that, neither of them were moved from the slight recoil, and when Cinco saw how much more accurate his shot was, he whooped with joy. Quint smiled and rocked back on his heels, his attention caught by the way Finnie's skirts were swaying around her rear end as she moved.

  She had a nice rear end. And nice legs. And nice…boots?

  Quint’s smile eased as he saw her boots. Had she been wearing those all day? They looked familiar…

  His gaze traveled across the packed snow, finding the prints she’d just made. “I knew it!”

  Finnie straightened and raised a brow at him, before stepping away from Cinco. “What?”

  With a smirk, Quint jerked his chin towards her footprints. “The loose nail on the left heel. Those are my old boots, aren’t they?”

  Immediately, she flushed, but didn’t look away. Instead, her chin came up. “So what? You asked me to get rid of them, and I needed a new pair of winter boots.”

  He softened at the challenge in her voice, as if she were afraid she’d done something wrong. His hands dropped to his side. “I’m not upset. But can’t I buy you a new pair? One that fits properly and isn't falling apart?”

  As she shrugged, she lifted one foot. “Nah, I can handle myself. Besides, I only need two pairs of socks to make these fit, and that just helps keep me even warmer.”

  In the week after he’d been shot, when it had become obvious he wasn’t going to die, Quint started taking care of some of the administrative stuff he’d been letting slide over his last few missions such as ordering that new pair of boots he’d been needing for some time.

  And while the old ones still had plenty of life left in them, it just didn’t seem right Finnie should be the one re-using them. Especially not when he so badly wanted to shower her in gifts, and not just rosewater and delicate jewelry, but new boots and a rifle, and whatever else she wanted and needed.

  Still, she could handle herself, and knew it. He shook his head with a chuckle. “You’re welcome to them. Let me know if there’s any more of my clothing you want to get into.”

  He said the last part with a wink, and when she flushed even pinker than could be blamed on the cold, he knew she’d understood what he meant.

  But being Finnie, she didn’t back away from a challenge, and he knew that too. “You got any extra shirts?”

  But he hadn’t expected that. “You want to wear my shirts?” he asked in surprise.

  Even as he said it, the thought of her wearing one rose up in his imagination. She’d be all long-limbed and tan, the sleeves rolled up to show off her strong wrists and forearms. And unlike her usual preferred get-up, in his imagination, his shirt was all she was wearing, her long legs disappearing under the cotton, and a teasing smile on her lips.

  From the way she was smiling at him now, she knew exactly what he was imagining.

  “I don’t know,” she said, and gave a much too-nonchalant shrug. “I’ve never tried them. But I do know, if I’m wearing your shirt, you’re not.”

  When she winked right back at him, he began to chuckle again. If she wanted to see him without a shirt on, that was perfectly alright with him! He reached for her hand and tugged her closer.

  “Finnie Pompey, I think I love you.”

  He’d said it so casually, he surprised even himself. But before she could react with more than a widening of her eyes, he’d pulled her into his arms and had lowered his lips to hers.

  And there, under the bright Montana winter sky, he showed her he was telling the truth.

  12

  Finnie felt as if she were walking on air the rest of the day. She even found herself humming happily as she brushed out her hair and re-braided it before the evening rush. On a whim, she dabbed a bit of rosewater behind each ear, then smiled when she remembered the way Quint had nuzzled her there earlier.

  Any day which started with her neighbors coming together to help one another was a good one in her opinion. But the fact Quint had been there, working just as hard as any of them, had made it even more special.

  She’d made Black Aces her home, the same as so many others, and she wanted it to thrive. That’s why she’d taken up the mantle of the Black Ace, and that’s why she strove to make sure her neighbors started helping th
emselves and each other more. Having a future here in town meant everything to her, and the idea of sharing it with Quint…?

  Well, that’s why she was smiling so hugely as she served her customers that evening. Because, if the people of Black Aces were willing to stand up to Mr. King, willing to take back their town, then she didn’t have any need to be the Black Ace anymore. They wouldn’t need her!

  And that meant she’d be able to hang up her bandana, and wouldn’t have to worry about Quint’s mission, or asking him to compromise his duty.

  It seemed as if half the town was in the High Stakes that evening, and Finnie couldn’t have been more pleased.

  Back when Black Aces was still booming, the Three Queens across town—with its whores and watered-down whiskey—brought in the most money from the local cowboys and miners. But as the years passed, and King forced out more and more businesses, the crowd over there got rowdier. Now, most of the residents preferred her saloon for the calmer and more friendly atmosphere.

  There were plenty of bachelors in her saloon tonight, and family men looking to escape their homes for a bit of gambling and drink. The poker tables were all packed, which was a good sign. There were even a few women, mostly wives who’d come with their husbands for a good time.

  Finnie still wore the same beaming smile as she poured a small port wine for Mrs. Blake, the schoolteacher, who must’ve left her daughter home with her older son for the evening to come spend some time with her husband.

  “On the house,” Finnie said with a wink, as she slid the drink across the bar.

  Abigail smiled prettily and dipped her head in thanks. “Us ladies need to stick together, I suppose?”

  “Exactly!”

  Abigail smiled happily up at Matthias Blake and took his arm. “Well, husband? Why not show me a good time, hmm?”

  They were both chuckling as he led her towards one of the tables along the back wall, and Finnie used that as her cue to start dishing up some supper bowls. Cinco had eaten earlier and declared it the best chicken stew he’d ever had, so she figured anyone wanting food tonight would be pleased with it as well.