Scandal at the Cahill Saloon - By Carol Arens Page 0,8

I’m not married. That speaks for itself.” Drumming rain ate up the silence between them. “I’m opening a saloon.”

“Things aren’t always what they seem, are they, Miss Cahill?” For a long heartbeat, his gaze held her.

No one knew the answer to that question more than she did. She wasn’t entirely comfortable that he had asked it.

Before she had time for concern to settle in, he grinned. Lantern light cast a glint in his eyes that twinkled mischief, not malice.

Cleve Holden took off his coat and extended his elbow. “I’m walking you home whether you agree to it or not.”

She didn’t need his arm to walk home on or his coat to huddle under. But once in a while a woman needed a knight, and if his armor was shining, for that brief moment, life was sweet.

She ducked under his coat and took his arm.

With lightning etching the sky all around, they dashed out into the rain.

Chapter Two

The next morning Cleve stepped onto the front porch of the Château Royale, closing the door on an argument between the proprietor and her daughter. Leanna Cahill’s name had been mentioned a time or two.

Everyone, it seemed, had something to say about Miss Cahill. One of the things he knew to be a lie. A few he guessed were likely lies. The rest were none of his business.

Sometime during the night the storm had blown over. Morning air filled his lungs. It chased away the foggy visions that had haunted him through the wee hours and left him restless.

Surely by the light of day the lovely Miss Cahill would not seem so appealing. Last night in the rain and the lightning, the distressed woman had touched him in a way he hadn’t expected. No doubt, in harsh daylight she would no longer seem a lost angel, weeping and in need of protection.

The truth was, he hadn’t traveled to Cahill Crossing to protect Miss Cahill.

Far from it. As soon as he concluded his business with her he would leave this fledgling town and try very hard never to think of her again.

If his discussion with her went as he hoped, he could be on the noon train out of here. Since he hadn’t even bothered to unpack his bag, he could be gone as quick and smooth as a deck of cards being shuffled.

Cleve straightened his coat, adjusted his hat and walked toward the most wicked establishment ever to spring up on the right side of the tracks, according to the lady proprietor of the Château Royale.

He didn’t know if that was true. He didn’t care much, either. Leanna Cahill had something that belonged to him and he meant to take it back from her.

There was a letter in his pocket, tattered and worn with many readings. It had led him from home, a hardscrabble homestead, to one tawdry town after another. Finally, in Deadwood he had discovered that Cahill Crossing was where he would find what he was looking for.

The note, written in a scratchy hand, kept him focused on his goal. It reminded him that in spite of whatever enchantment Miss Cahill might possess on a stormy night, he would not be swayed by it during the full light of day.

He would face her, take what was his and be on his way.

Fifteen minutes later he stood at the front door of Leanna’s Place. The paint on the sign over the entrance smelled fresh. She must have been at work before dawn. The sign hadn’t been there last night.

Miss Cahill must be a hard worker. He tried not to admire her for that, but he fell a bit short. Hard work in anyone was an admirable quality.

“Leanna,” he heard a woman’s voice say from inside. The front door stood open but the voice came from a portion of the large room that he couldn’t see. “Maybe we ought to wait on the postings another day so that we can get this place open on time.”

“That would be the logical thing, Lucinda.” Miss Cahill’s voice hadn’t lost a peck of charm by daylight. It carried out of the door as soft and melodious as he had feared. “But when I was here last night, I closed my eyes and listened. Those places across the tracks sounded every bit as wicked as the ones in Deadwood.”

His task would be a lot easier if Leanna Cahill’s voice didn’t sound like a love song. Damn!

Cleve knocked on the doorframe. He stepped inside to find four women gathered