Dance With A Gunfighter by JoMarie Lodge Page B

interest him.
    She held her breath and waited. The pale blue of his eyes
seemed to deepen. They searched her face, her mouth. Then his breath drew in
sharply. He stood up and took a couple of steps before turning to face her.
"The one thing you can do, Gabe, is to forget about such questions. Forget
about men and what it takes to make yourself desirable to them. When you’re
back in Jackson City and ready to settle down, there’ll be time enough for all
that. Then it’ll just come to you, natural. And right."
    He turned his back to her.
    Horrified, she realized how inappropriately she had acted,
how she must have embarrassed him with her questions. She rose to her feet.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, quickly packing up the picnic basket,
wanting to run from him.
    He grabbed her arms, jerking her hard against him. His
gaze zeroed in sharply to her lips. She could feel his breath mingling with her
own, feel the tension building between them. "Don’t trust the men around
here, Gabe." His hands tightened, hurting her now. "They’ll use you
and leave you. And you’re too good to be treated that way. Remember, don’t
trust anyone." Her chest ached from his nearness, his words, his anger. Then
he let her go.
    "Don’t even trust me," he said. "Especially
not me."
    She stared at him without speaking.
    He picked up his hat, bunched their picnic blanket under
his arm, and walked away.
    o0o
    "I’m out." McLowry threw down his poker hand, and
picked up what little was left of his money. He strode over to the bar and
asked for a whiskey while the others continued playing. It had been a long time
since his luck had turned so bad.
    Luck, hell. He had learned years ago that luck played only
a small part in poker. Concentration and remembering which cards you’d seen,
figuring out which cards the other players were most likely trying for, and
then computing your odds against theirs, was the way to win. If the odds were
with you, over time, lady luck would be right there, too.
    He never played long odds, and he never staked everything
on one play. Slow and steady, he was in for the long haul. That’s how he
usually won. Except tonight.
    Tonight, he couldn’t concentrate. Instead of seeing the
cards, he kept seeing big, brown eyes that looked at him as if he were George
Washington, Daniel Boone and the whole Lewis and Clark expedition all rolled up
in one. The trouble was, heroism was the last thing on his mind when he looked
at her.
    Who was he trying to kid with his construction job and his
hands off ways? He had made a living as a gunfighter and a gambler. They had
kept him in liquor and card games, and what else was there in his life, anyway?
He knew what he had become. His spit wasn’t good enough to shine the shoes of a
girl like Gabe.
    She was the one thing in his life these days that had any
goodness to it, and it was up to him to make sure she got back home safe--and
pure. He would be damned before he would allow her to become corrupted the way
everything else he touched had. Everything else had either turned bad or died.
    "What’s the matter, handsome?" Clara strolled
over to him at the bar then leaned against his shoulder and dragged her
fingernail along the ridge of his ear. Ever since he had arrived in town, she
had given him the eye, but he had ignored her.
    He took another swallow of his whiskey. She spun around,
turning so that her back pressed against the bar. She placed her elbows on it
in a way that made her breasts thrust out at him like the horns on a bull. He
kept his attention on his whiskey.
    "Buy me a drink?" she purred.
    "Sure." He nodded at Sanders, the barkeep, who
refilled his glass then grabbed another bottle and poured a shot glass for
Clara. Her drink looked like whiskey, he would be charged as if it were, but he
knew it was tea. Tea didn’t cut into the profits.
    She sidled closer to him. "Not having much luck at
cards tonight, McLowry."
    He didn’t answer.
    "Maybe you’ll make up for it in other