Ante Up: Black Aces Book One Page 4

  She shrugged. “I’ve been my father’s assistant as long as I can remember. Even as a little girl he’d have me help him. My mother died when I was very young, and Papa raised me himself.”

  “He’s done a good job,” Hart told her. “The way you treated Pony— I mean, not just medically, but as a person, when not everyone around here sees him as equal. I just mean, uh… You’re a good doctor. Doctoress? Nurse?” He mentally groaned because he realized he was making a mess of things.

  She made a little noise under her breath. “A female doctor is still a doctor. There just aren’t many of us.” When she tilted her face back and inhaled deeply of the cold air, the sun caught the pale skin normally shaded by her bonnet. “I could’ve gone back east to school to get my degree, but I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Papa. Once we arrived in Black Aces, this became our home, and I just couldn't leave it.”

  That had been almost ten years ago now, as Hart remembered. There’d been one summer he’d been away from town for a good long while. When he returned, she’d gone from being a scrawny kid, to a beautiful young woman, and had just gotten prettier from there.

  At first, it had made him uncomfortable to think of her as a woman, much less a desirable woman, because he remembered the girl she’d been. But as the years had gone by, and she showed herself to be competent and intelligent, as well as beautiful, Hart had fallen a little bit in love.

  They reached the corral, and to his surprise, Regina rested her forearms across the top rail and exhaled softly. She looked as if she might stay awhile, instead of hurrying back to town, and Hart didn’t mind that one bit. He propped his foot up on the lower rail and wondered how the hell to continue the conversation with such a beautiful woman.

  Luckily, she did the work for him.

  “Your grandfather says you cook?”

  “I do. Pa’s cooking was as bad as Pony remembers. I learned pretty young, and have been cooking ever since.”

  “What’s your favorite thing to make?”

  He shrugged, watching the filly cavort with her new friends. “Soup’s easiest, but I make a damn good—excuse me--I make a really good meat pie. Chicken is Pony’s favorite.”

  “Really?” She turned to him with her brows up. “Chicken pie is one of my favorites too. I’ve never met anyone outside of the restaurant who made it.”

  He felt himself flushing the same way he had last night. “I got it out of a book,” he mumbled, not daring to look at her.

  “Well, I’m impressed.” She turned back to the horses, but wasn’t silent long. “Why do you call him Pony?”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d had to explain. “He’s Crow, and his name in his own language is a real mouthful. It means something like ‘Small horse who leads the herd,’ so my father just shortened it to Pony when they met.”

  From the corner of his eye, he watched her pick at a splinter along the rail. She hadn’t put her gloves on yet, and although she must be cold, he was glad he got to see her hands.

  “I’ve never heard your story before, Hart,” she said in a low voice.

  A low voice which reached down into his stomach, wrapped its sexy little fingers around his gut, and pulled. Good thing he was holding on to the fence, or he might’ve fallen over when his knees went weak. She’d called him by his name. Again.

  And he’d loved it.

  He cleared his throat. “My story?” He managed not to sound like a choking cat, which was good.

  “Your friend Matthias speaks highly of you, you know. I've always wondered, you’ve been here longer than we have, but your grandfather is an Indian...”

  The unspoken So how do you own this land? was loud in the silence.

  “My father started the ranch, although he farmed the land. He met my mother when he ended up in their village one winter. Pony had married a white woman, and my mother was real pretty, to hear Pa tell it. By the spring, he couldn’t do without her, so he brought her back here and married her. When I came along, Pony moved in because he didn’t trust Pa to know how to raise me right.” Hart smiled, remembering the good-natured fights the two men used to get into about everything from religion, to chores, to Hart’s education. “Ma named me River, which made Pony happy, but Pa always called me ‘Young Hart.’ ” He shrugged. “Ma died when I was little, trying to birth another baby. Pa passed on, oh, seven winters ago now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her words didn’t sound perfunctory, and Hart appreciated them. “Pony and I get by alright. I don’t like to think of doing all this without him. What you said inside was true, you know? He’s the one who talked Pa into roping some horses, he’s the one who taught me how to ride and how to train. He’s the reason this ranch is here, and I know he’s getting up there, but he’s still got life left in him. So, thanks.”

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  Suddenly, he had the urge to say more than just what was expected.

  “No,” he said, turning to rest one elbow on the upper rail and face her completely. “No, I mean it. Thank you. You don’t have to come out here to check on him.” You don’t have to risk your neck to deliver medicine. “If Mr. King had his way, all of us out here, everyone who doesn’t kowtow to him or who looks different, wouldn’t be able to get the medicine we need if we can’t make it into town.” Like, because of a busted leg or a real sick kid. “You’re out here, and…” He shrugged. “Well, thank you.”

  When she turned to him, her expression was serious. “Hart, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a word about Mr. King, good or bad. Just this morning I was thinking that I didn’t know how you felt about the man, and if I had an ally in you or not.”

  An ally?

  Unbidden, the memory of the way she felt on his lap rose in Hart’s mind, and his hand closed into a fist on the rail. He had to remember, no matter how sweet she was, no matter that she had a good reason to stand against King, he couldn’t afford to let her know his secret. Last night she’d said she wanted to know the Black Ace’s identity, and he knew she was smart enough to figure it out.

  Well, hell.

  He tried for a smile. “Hey now, I’m just a dumb cowboy. Don’t have any opinions about politics and stuff. I’m just glad someone’s here to fix up my grandfather.”

  In the shade of her bonnet, Regina’s eyes narrowed. “Nice try, Hart, but I think you’re smarter than you want me to think.” She cocked her head to one side. “You know, the Black Ace was sighted in town last night.”

  He knew how to handle this. He’d spent years pretending polite interest or outright disbelief when someone mentioned the mysterious vigilante. “Oh yeah?” he asked in a bored voice. “Who by?”

  A slight smile pulled the corners of her lips up, and he knew she was going to keep her secrets. She’d been the only one to see him last night—not even Stilton had glimpsed him before that fateful shot. But she couldn’t come out and say that, not to a random rancher, which is who she believed Hart to be.

  No, she knew who’d seen the Black Ace. And he knew she knew. But he couldn’t let her know he knew she knew, because that would mean revealing where he’d been last night too.

  Whooooo, boy!

  This is what happens when you get careless, River.

  Silently, he agreed with his grandfather’s scolding.

  Regina was still watching him. “I saw Mr. King this morning. He said the Black Ace entered town last night for some sort of dastardly evil doings, and gunned one of his men.”

  Hart hummed noncommittally. Stilton had only been patrolling—keeping the people of Black Aces stuck in their homes—until he’d raised his rifle towards Regina. That’s when he’d become a threat.

  When Hart didn’t react, and continued to look only mildly interested in what she was saying, Regina sighed and turned away from the corral. She took a few steps towards her cariole, then whirled once more, as if remembering something.

  “Mr. King also told me a US Marshal would be arriving in Montana Territor
y soon to track down the Black Ace. You do know what that means, don’t you, Mr. I’m-just-a-cowboy?”

  A US Marshal? Hell.

  His eyes must’ve gotten round, because she nodded. “Sheriff McNelis is incompetent, and firmly in King’s pocket. He’s tried to hunt down the Black Ace, but can barely find his own feet, much less a man as talented and wily as our Ace. But a US Marshal? He stands a very real chance of success.”

  She stared at him, clearly waiting for an answer, but Hart didn’t know what to say. “Why—” His voice sounded rusty. From fear? He had just been told one of the government’s most competent lawmen was coming here to find him and stop him. He was allowed to be afraid. He swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

  She shrugged. “I’m telling everyone. Somewhere out there is the Black Ace, and I don’t know who he is, or how he gets his information, but he needs to hear this. If a US Marshal rides into town, he’ll have to be on Mr. King’s side. According to the law, King is in his rights to demand rent and all the other things he asks from us. And if this Marshal tracks down the Ace, he’ll have to bring him to justice.”

  Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, and Hart saw how upset she really was. Oh, she’d hidden it under a calm expression and proper posture, but her eyes—those eyes the color of his sky—told a different story. They were swimming in tears.

  “I know what King says about the Black Ace, Hart,” she said in a rough voice. “I know the man thinks he’s a criminal. But to us, to the people of this area, the Ace is a hero. He’s brought money to those who couldn’t afford King’s rents. He’s saved people from fires. He once alerted the town to a fire in enough time to put it out, remember?” She took in a shaky breath. “He’s killed a man to protect m— to protect people.” All at once, the fire seemed to go out of her. “If this Marshal succeeds, I don’t know what our town will do,” she ended in a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Hart was moving before he knew what his plan was. All he knew was he had to make it better. To take away her pain.

  Before he could blink, he was standing beside her, his hand on her elbow, offering whatever comfort he could. The problem was, it wasn’t much.

  A US Marshal was coming here? To track him down?

  Hart swallowed past a dry throat, and stared down into her eyes. Her eyes, which looked up at him so trustingly.

  “I’ll, uh…” What could he say which wasn’t going to give his own fears away? “I’ll spread the word.”

  Those bright blue eyes flicked down to where his hand supported her, then back up to his. She took a breath, her chest expanding, then placed her hand on his.

  And damned if he didn’t feel a jolt all the way through him at the way her skin felt against his.

  “Thank you, Hart,” she said in a low voice.

  And long after he’d managed to get her cariole hooked up, long after she’d driven off towards town with only a few backwards glances, he stood there at the corral, feeling her hand on his, and thinking about her words.

  A US Marshal was coming to end him, and here he was thinking of the way her eyes reminded him of his sky. He couldn’t decide if he was more terrified of the Marshal, or how smart she was.

  He sighed and headed for the house. He needed to tell Pony, who’d probably come back with some sanctimonious old-man wisdom which would make Hart roll his eyes. But at this point, he didn’t care, because he needed help.

  Help figuring out what to do about this Marshal, and help figuring Regina out.

  One or both of them seemed determined to end him, and Hart had a feeling his days as the Black Ace were coming to a close.

  Four

  On Sunday morning, Regina woke to the first snowfall of the season. It was barely a dusting, but it coated everything and made the town look…clean. It hid all the nastiness going on behind closed doors, and the burdens everyone had to bear.

  Maybe that’s why her heart felt lighter when she came downstairs to find Papa already frying up the johnnycakes. He looked up and smiled.

  “You seem happy this morning, Reggie.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him in response to her childhood nickname, then went to the icebox to pour them both glasses of milk. The milk, as well as the corn for the cakes, and many of their foodstuffs, came from bartering. Certainly, they could purchase everything they needed here in town, but by bartering directly, it made things easier on their wallets and their clients.

  “I’m just excited for Reverend Trapper’s sermon this morning,” she responded with a small smile.

  Papa just hummed, as if he knew the truth—which Regina herself wasn’t so sure about—and slid their breakfast onto two plates. He changed the subject, bringing up a new treatment for influenza he’d been reading about in his latest medical journal, and she was intrigued enough to debate the merits with him.

  Only in this household would bodily fluid discussions be appropriate for the breakfast table.

  It might’ve been disgusting, but she was invigorated by the time she and Papa donned their coats for the walk through town. With her arm tucked snugly through his, the cold air tickling her lungs, and the clouds moving fast overhead, Regina couldn’t help but tilt her head back and inhale joyfully, thankful to be able to appreciate this crispness.

  Papa, of course, noticed. “Reverend Trapper will be pleased you’ve become so devout,” he teased. “Unless you’re planning on telling me the real reason for this spring in your step, hmm?”

  She chuckled and poked his side. “It’s a lovely day, and I’m glad to be outside.”

  “And it has nothing to do with who we might see at the service, does it?”

  She opened her mouth to deny her father’s hint, but closed it again.

  Who would she see?

  The Ryans might be there, and Abigail Blake, and a few other women Regina considered friends. But Mr. King would be there too, along with some of his goons, almost assuredly. They came in from his ranch outside of town, and often had dinner in the restaurant on Sundays, which is why Regina already had a roast—part of her limited cooking repertoire—in the oven instead.

  Her frown was slight when she contradicted her father. “I’m not looking forward to seeing you know who.”

  “No, indeed.” Papa chuckled dryly. “I just thought there might be another young man who’s caught your eye.”

  Eye…

  The word reminded Regina of Hart’s beautiful topaz eyes, the ones she’d stared into earlier that week when she’d gone out to his ranch, and she felt her heart speed up. The thought of seeing him again made her stomach tighten oddly, and made her palms a little itchy.

  The doctor’s daughter in her was able to catalog her body’s reaction to the thought, but the woman in her knew what it meant, and she caught her breath.

  Hart.

  Hart was the reason she was feeling this way? Seeing Hart again was the reason she felt as if Christmas had come early, even though it was a cold October Sunday?

  She hummed thoughtfully to herself, considering the implications. She had enjoyed her time with Hart a few days back, but why? Well, that was simple to explain: She was determined to discover the Black Ace’s identity, and she suspected Hart knew more than what he was telling her.

  Yes, of course, that was it exactly. Since the evening she’d sat on the Ace’s lap, and he’d saved her life, she’d had a driving need to discover who he was, and during each visit and call over the last few days, she’d spread the word about Mr. King’s Marshal, and tried to suss out more information about their mysterious benefactor. There’d been plenty of Black Aces residents willing to gossip and discuss theories, but none of them had made her instincts spark quite as much as Mr. River Hartwell.

  The more she thought about it, the more she was determined Hart did know more about the Black Ace than he’d told her. Maybe he even was the Black Ace!

  She nodded firmly and sent a smile to her father. “Perhaps.” Yes, she was excited to see Ha
rt, because she wanted to know what he knew.

  And that explained why, once seated in their customary pew, Regina kept craning her neck around every time the door opened and cold wind blew in; she was anxious to see if he’d be here today. Certainly, she smiled and nodded to friends and acquaintances. And when Mr. King came in and tipped his hat to her with a particularly lewd grin, she merely raised her brows haughtily and dipped her chin in acknowledgement, rather than rebuff him.

  His grin grew.

  But that didn’t matter, because right behind his last goon, the door opened once more and Hart slipped in. Those arresting topaz eyes of his scanned the congregation and landed on her almost unerringly.

  Was it her imagination, or did the worried look around his eyes fade slightly when he nodded to her?

  Her lips curved upwards, and she told herself it was only because she was looking forward to talking to him about the Ace.

  Nothing more.

  Reverend Trapper’s sermon about loving one’s fellow man was not lost on Regina, and she gave him a particularly approving smile as he finished. As was tradition, he called for announcements before everyone filed out.

  Augustus King, apparently immune to the message of the sermon, stood up from his place in the front row. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, but for those of you who continue to reside or work on my property, rent is due the first of the month.”

  Around her, there was grumbling, but King ignored it.

  “Let’s not have any tardiness this time around, shall we?” he prompted smugly.

  On the other side of the aisle, Mrs. Hoyle herself stood up. “What you’re doing is a disgrace, King, and so close to the holidays too!” She was short and plump, but had gotten frailer over the last years, and her hands and voice shook with fury. “My husband would’ve never been so heartless as to—”

  But King smoothly interrupted her. “Ah, yes, Widow Hoyle.” He dipped his head in regal acknowledgement. “Thank you for the reminder. Since you persist in remaining on my property—”