WildOutlaws Page 5

  Creed could still hear the marshal’s words: “Tell her you’re trying to protect her and she’ll run. She never wants to owe anyone and even if you explain you’re doing a job for which you’ll be paid well, she won’t stay. She’ll flee and you’ll never see her again. And if she dies, boys, it’s on you. I’ll make sure none of you ever work again.”

  Creed had believed the aging marshal. They’d been collecting bounties from him for well over a decade and to date, he’d always said what he meant and meant what he said.

  That was a trait Creed admired and possessed. Which was why, on second thought, he figured he should let Tuff do the talking. Creed wouldn’t be able to lie to her, even if the fib was only told in order to protect her.

  “Okay,” Mary Margaret drawled. “So no one has the balls to enlighten me? If you can’t tell me what it is you hope to learn, how can you expect me to teach you?”

  “You have a point,” Buck spoke up, shocking Creed. Hell, if he did that very often, Creed would end up in an early grave.

  “We’re bounty hunters,” Jared said, saving Buck from overexertion.

  “You don’t say.” She watched Tuff and then swung her gaze back to Jared. “My first clue was when Geronimo here burst into Constance’s room, flung himself into the line of fire and then somehow killed a man without any explanation as to why he was in that room in the first place.” A beat later, she added, “Yes, I sort of figured you were trackers.” She walked over to Jared, working those hips like she meant to use them to earn her keep. “So tell me something, Jared, is this your first time honey?”

  Her mouth was inches from his. Her loaded statement wasn’t about to go unnoticed but there was one little problem.

  Mary Margaret underestimated her target.

  * * * *

  Jared was the guy in the grey area. His outer appearance and demeanor would suggest a quiet man lived in his skin but Tuff had always considered him his deadly weapon.

  When the going got rough, Jared came through and generally he was the man who mattered when their gang faced off with an army. If one of the fellows stood out as bringing home the most profits, Jared was the man. He closed deals, took shots no one else could make, and became a killer when the slogan of the hour was kill or be killed.

  He was a survivor and he wasn’t one to taunt.

  Tuff should’ve warned Mary Margaret before she moved her little body too close to the bull ready to expose his horns. Without warning, he lifted Mary Margaret high above his head and let her gently glide down his body. Hooking her legs around his middle, he had her pinned to the wall before she could say her prayers or curse aloud.

  Her mouth fell open but she didn’t utter a sound. Jared was obviously satisfied. He’d earned her attention.

  “This ain’t my first time, beautiful.”

  “Are we talking visits to a whore house or bounty hunting?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Both.”

  “At least you’re smarter than the average fallen woman.”

  “I like to think so.”

  “That’s your problem. You’ve had too much time on your hands. You’ve been thinking too much. We want to do that for you.”

  “I thought you needed a teacher.”

  Tuff shifted his weight between his feet and started to intervene. Creed’s arm flew to his gut when he stepped forward. He stopped him from interrupting what promised to unfold as an entertaining show.

  “Some of us do.”

  “Are you one of ‘em?” Mary Margaret asked.

  “Do I look like a man who needs to open a book?”

  “No,” she drawled, her lips brushing against his. She nipped at his bottom lip and Jared growled as the heat between them obviously gained momentum. “But you feel like a man who is easily read.” She shoved her fingers through his short hair and he bunched her skirts, balling the material in his hands as he allowed them a beautiful image. Shapely legs curved around Jared’s waist and he forced his hands higher.

  “Dear God, he got a handful,” David said.

  Tuff didn’t wonder where his palms landed as his arms disappeared under the crinoline and lace.

  Mary Margaret gasped as he rubbed against her. He forced her back against the wall and held her there, staring down the bridge of his nose as if he were mesmerized, as if she’d placed him under a lusty spell.

  “You’ve been without a woman so long you’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to lay one down and love her. It’s been at least a year, maybe longer, since you’ve put your dick anywhere worth remembering. Unless of course, you have a good strong grip and I’m betting you do.”

  Rather than take her jabs lying down, Jared did what any man in his position would do. He moistened his lips and said, “You trying to tempt the devil, honey?”

  “I hope so,” she admitted.

  “Yeah?” he asked in a raspy voice. “Because it won’t take much. You know that. You feel where I am. Don’t ‘cha baby?”

  “Absolutely.”

  A dry chuckle escaped his lips. “Hell has a special place for women like you. But don’t worry, Mary Margaret. I plan to reform you before you’re forced to visit there.”

  Chapter Four

  “Mary Margaret! Are you in there?” Annabelle sounded panicked.

  “Maybe you should release me,” Mary Margaret whispered against his lips. “Otherwise I might be tempted to put on a show.”

  “I didn’t think you had time,” Jared challenged her.

  “I don’t,” she assured him, thinking the stagecoach to Stockton was one she could afford to miss. The hard cock poking between her clothes, practically piercing through her folds, was far more tempting than galloping horses carrying her into the vast prairie and an uncertain future.

  She still wasn’t sure what kind of job these fellows wanted performed. If past work experience prepared her for five hard and handsome cowboys, then she was sure to find plenty of personal perks and benefits working for bounty hunters.

  “So you aren’t interested in what we can offer you?” Jared asked.

  “I’m listening.” She stared at the door. Annabelle wouldn’t go away and she was far too intrigued by the pending proposition.

  “Mary Margaret! Open up!”

  “I think you’d better get that.” Jared released her. She slid down the length of his body and strolled across the room, straightening her skirts as she walked. Butterflies took flight and the fluttering sensation in the pit of her gut was quite abrasive rather than soft and fluffy. The pains alone should’ve been a warning.

  Then again, she’d always loved a challenge.

  While the anticipation may have gotten the best of her, the angst in the air was hard to describe. There was plenty of sexual chemistry. The mutual attraction between her and each man present was understood and quite defined by their individual expressions, their uncanny ability to hide their interest. She couldn’t defy her own building lust and she wouldn’t deny them if they made an offer she couldn’t refuse.

  Swinging open the door, Mary Margaret moved out of the way and allowed Annabelle to peer inside. “Oh, I’m uh…I’m…sorry.”

  “We told you we had business with Mary Margaret,” Tuff reminded her.

  “I was afraid you’d leave without saying goodbye,” Annabelle said, studying Creed.

  Mary Margaret faced the man holding Annabelle’s interest. “If you’d like, Annabelle can keep you company while your friends explain themselves.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Creed replied firmly.

  Mary Margaret was strangely relieved. “Sorry, Annabelle.”

  “Don’t mention it. Seems the older whores around here were right. You always get the good guys.”

  Annabelle disappeared and Mary Margaret returned to her guests. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. The older whores were working girls like herself, not a day over thirty-five. Most of them were considerably younger than Mary Margaret.

  Had she j
ust been insulted? Probably. Annabelle and Mary Margaret were friends but at the moment, Mary Margaret had a man in her room holding Annabelle’s interest. In a whorehouse that was often grounds for a cat fight.

  “Is she right?” Mary Margaret asked, her gaze dancing between the fellows. “Are you good men or are you bad boys waiting to take advantage of some innocent woman?”

  “You’re not exactly pure and untouched,” Creed said, stating a fact.

  “And that’s why we want you,” Buck added.

  “Ooh,” she drawled. “So he does speak.”

  David winked. “He speaks, fucks, laughs, fucks, and did I mention…”

  “I get the picture,” she interrupted him, redirecting her focus. She stared at Tuff. “So that’s what this is all about. You want a whore?”

  “We want a woman,” Tuff explained.

  Of course they wanted a whore. They were in a saloon for goodness sake. They didn’t come there for a virgin.

  “We want a teacher who will gladly show five men how to love a woman the way she wants to be loved. We don’t have time to court or choose a suitable person for marriage,” Tuff explained.

  “And you think I know what a lady suitable for marriage is looking for in a man?”

  “Well don’t you?” Tuff asked.

  “I should think not! I’ve been servicing married men since I was old enough to enter the profession. Obviously they don’t know what they want if they’re making a commitment to one woman then paying for time with me. If their women are in the dark about the gals they frequent on the side, they have no idea what they want in a husband either. They don’t even know the person they’ve married.”

  “That’s not entirely true. People change. Marriages fail. One person gives and another one takes. Anything can happen,” Tuff explained his views as if he were speaking from experience.

  “Sounds like you’ve been married before,” Mary Margaret said.

  “No,” Tuff bit out. “And if I didn’t want children, I wouldn’t consider the possibility now.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have a slew of possible candidates. With that attitude, women will stand in line to become your wife.”

  Tuff frowned, acting as if she’d stepped on a nerve. Then he said, “When have you ever had a woman come to you for advice?”

  “The few times I’ve been confronted by women courting or married to a customer, it hasn’t been pretty. They want to know what they did wrong—first mistake—then they want to know what I’m doing for their man that they can’t or don’t do. And there’s plenty if you wanna know the truth.”

  “I’m sure,” Creed said, studying her through dark black eyes.

  After thoughtful consideration, she added, “Only one woman ever came to me and asked for true advice. Her husband had been with every whore here and probably half the others in Cripple Creek. She was a smart cookie, that one. A year after we talked, she came back to thank me.”

  “What’d you say to her?” Buck asked.

  “The quiet one speaks again,” Mary Margaret teased, taking a deep breath. She smiled at Buck, thinking if she took this job, Buck would be the one to teach. She could mold a man like him into the perfect husband.

  “Well?” Buck asked, apparently a good listener, too.

  Oh yes, she and Buck would get along fine.

  “I told her not to accept all the blame for her failing marriage. I suggested she talk to her husband and learn how to become a good listener, too. And of course, I gave her some pointers in the bedroom. Her husband liked to spank me so I assumed he’d enjoy smacking her bottom as well. Basically, I told her what he liked and once she got over the initial shock of the things he required when he paid for sex, I believe she was willing to try it at home. Apparently, they did. Last time I saw them at The General Store, they couldn’t keep their hands off one another.”

  David smirked. “So you like spankings, do you?”

  She shrugged. “That’s the kind of thing a man must find out for himself.”

  Jared said, “You’ve made some good suggestions. You’re perfect for the job. We need you to teach us to become the kind of men who will appeal to women looking for marriage. Teach us to be content with what we have at home. Show us how to be the kind of husbands who will never stray.”

  “That’s easier said than done.”

  “Yes,” David agreed, rising and going to her. “But think of how much fun we’ll all have.”

  “Best of all, you can teach,” Tuff reminded her. “Your friend said that’s what you’ve always wanted to do.”

  David said, “From what I gather, teachers who like what they do and know what they’re talking about are often the best instructors of all.”

  “That’s true, but—”

  “You’re already packed and ready to go,” Tuff pointed out.

  “Yes, but—”

  “There’s nothing to discuss except wages. How much will you charge?”

  Mary Margaret felt like her back was against a corner. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “You’ll have room and board,” Tuff volunteered.

  “Yes, but I’m not sure about this arrangement,” she readily admitted. Good Lord, she’d have to be crazy for considering this in the first place.

  “We’ll answer your questions on the way to Tombstone,” David told her.

  “Yes, well, about that,” she began. “I’m willing to consider your offer but first, I want a trial period.”

  “How long?” Creed asked, arching a brow.

  “I don’t know. I may be a whore but my Ma never raised an idiot. I’d be a blasted fool to ride out into that prairie with five men I don’t know. We’ll stay right here in Cripple Creek and start your lessons tomorrow. You wouldn’t expect a woman you marry to take off on a long trip with you before you’ve even had relations. Don’t expect the same from me.”

  “If it’s the relations you’re worried about,” Buck said. “We’re willing to get that part out of the way.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Mary Margaret said, smiling sweetly. “But that too will have to wait. We’re taking things slow. Remember, I’m teaching you to behave like gentlemen and by the time I’m through with you, every woman in the West will line up for miles to meet the most eligible bachelors in Colorado.”

  “Arizona,” Tuff grumbled.

  “There, too.”

  * * * *

  “Mary Margaret, you’ve become a proper whore,” Annabelle drawled later that evening when she entered her sleeping chambers. “I tried every way in the world to get one of those men to take me upstairs and pay for my time. Nary a one was interested.”

  “We’re working under an arrangement,” Mary Margaret told her, redressing her bed with soft cotton sheets.

  “You didn’t have to tell me. Why do you think I said you’re a proper whore?” Annabelle turned up her whiskey glass.

  Mary Margaret stared at the bottle dangling from her fingertips. “Annabelle, you’ve had enough to drink, honey. Let me walk you to your room and tuck you into bed.”

  “My room is next door.” She took a swig from the bottle. “Are you making a pass at me?”

  Taken aback, Mary Margaret’s palm flew to her chest. “Absolutely not! Why would you say something like that?”

  “I guess I’d be honored if the greatest whore to ever work in Cripple Creek’s finest establishment had a thing for me!” she slurred, teetering around the room and grabbing hold of whatever piece of furniture she could use to steady herself.

  Mary Margaret had dealt with one round of jealousy after another ever since she started working in the business. She hated to see Annabelle slip into the clutches of envy. Besides, the young woman had nothing to worry about. She was younger, prettier, and had a better shape at twenty-something than Mary Margaret did as she climbed the hill toward forty. If Annabelle had one flaw—and she certainly did—it was her attachment to the bottle.

  “I do have a thing for you,” Mary Margaret finally
confessed, brushing Annabelle’s hair away from her face. “You’ve been like a kid sister to me since you moved in here. I look out for you, Annabelle and you know it. I love ya, kid and that’s why I’m gonna tell you why your personal business is declining.”

  “I know why!” she bellowed. “You’re the whore with the golden twat! That’s why none of the rest of us can work!”

  “Shh!” Mary Margaret said, placing her fingertips over the woman’s lips. Annabelle immediately nipped at the pads of her fingers and Mary Margaret backed away. “Don’t do that.”

  “Why?” Annabelle asked, tilting her head and pushing her evening gown off her shoulders. “Don’t you find this attractive either?”

  Mary Margaret rushed her before she dropped the entire front of her dress and exposed herself. She grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Quit this right now. Do you hear me? I want you to stop this and pull yourself together.”

  “See there,” Annabelle drawled. “You can take a sweaty, smelly man to bed, fuck him all night long but the thought of me sickens you to the quick. Maybe men are starting to see me through your eyes, too.”

  “That’s not true, Annabelle. We’re friends. We’re family. We’ll always be like sisters.”

  She laughed crudely, the wicked pitch in her voice nearly rocking the room. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

  A minute later she disappeared down the hall. It was the last time Mary Margaret saw her. The next morning, Annabelle was dead. A full glass of whiskey was on her bedside table, right next to an empty bottle of morphine and a piece of stationary with one word scribbled across the front—rejected.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later, Annabelle was laid to rest in a cemetery at the foot of Pikes Peak. Mary Margaret requested the tombstone read: Miners came to Cripple Creek digging for gold. Men came to Annabelle searching for pleasure.

  That afternoon, she was condemned by the others working at the saloon. Constance slipped into her room later that evening and said, “If you were the one in that shallow grave, what would you have wanted on your tombstone?”