Chapter One
Killing Time
The air in the saloon was stagnant and heavy. It was one of those uncharacteristically hot, heavy days that sucked the breath out of you and left you dry and parched by the time you had finished your morning chores. The saloon was a refuge of sorts, a place to hole up and wait for sundown and relief from the unrelenting heat. For men who weren't compelled to be somewhere else and who had nothing better to do, the draw of a cool beer and the prospect of winning a few dollars at the poker table was enough to keep a friendly game going. Jed Curry was one of those men.
Outside, the early afternoon Wyoming sun was still almost directly overhead and even with every window and door in the place propped wide open, it felt close and stifling. Not the slightest breeze ventured inside; which in itself was unusual for this part of the country, where the wind seemed to blow day in and day out. But for the men and women who called this place Home, it was just another hardship to be handled without complaint, almost without notice. Genevieve was one of those women.
Although Genevieve hadn't actually lived in Pine Bluffs long, you could tell by looking at her that she'd learned to live with hardship early, wherever she had grown up. She was a pretty woman, but her beauty had more than a little bite behind it. Her hazel eyes didn't sparkle so much as gleam. Her lips curved into a charming, come-hither smile, could be used to strike fear into the hearts of her customers as easily as they could incite desire. All an unsuspecting man needed to do to witness this transformation would be to mistakenly shorten her given name to the more playful sounding 'Genny'. It was one mistake he would be loathe to commit a second time.
The heat had encouraged her to leave her layers of crinoline, usually worn beneath her skirt to add the flounce that so many men found appealing, in her room. Her yellow satin dress clung to her body provocatively in ways that not even the heat could diminish. She was perched on a stool next to the bar, a few feet behind Kid Curry. Her back was to the bar, her elbows propped on the bartop behind her. She held a glass filled with plain water in one hand and would take occasional sips from it. Other times, she dipped her fingers in the cool liquid, and with it, sprinkled the milky white skin left bare by her décolletage—a move that was not missed by any of the male patrons in the bar.
She was bored, and despite the heat or maybe because of it, restless. Her right leg, crossed demurely at the knee over the left, bounced up and down continuously. Her restlessness grew as the minutes ticked by and her eyes never left the back of Kid's head. Having him so close and seemingly uninterested was more than she had the patience to bear.
After a few more minutes, she had taken all she would tolerate. Sliding off her stool, and straightening her posture in a way to best accentuate her figure, Genevieve walked quietly over and stood behind Curry.
His senses were as sharp as they had ever been, six years of amnesty hadn't changed that. He knew she stood behind him even before she spoke or touched him. He could smell the rose-water perfume that she spritzed herself generously with several times a day. Underlying this pleasant scent was the slightly tangy, but still not unpleasant, smell of her perspiration. He smiled, thinking no amount of bathing was going to keep even a woman like Genevieve from succumbing to the effects of this heat.
He shivered as her fingers, surprisingly cool, played along the edge of his shirt collar, toying with the curls that had grown longer than he normally kept them. He reminded himself silently that it was past time for a haircut and wished he had remembered to take care of that before today. He wanted to look his best when his daughter arrived. Looking at the clock on the wall, he wondered fleetingly if there was still time to visit Jim at the barber shop this afternoon before the stage got in.
He'd looked forward to this day for eight long months. Finding out that Eliza's daughter, Catherine, was his child had been a bittersweet time for Kid; he'd been filled with joy over the thought of having her in his life, but also regret for the years that could never be replaced. He was determined to make the most of his time with her now.
Genevieve raked her fingernails up through Curry's hair starting at the nape of his neck, moving her hand upward until it was fully tangled deep in his blonde waves. "Kid, why don't you leave those cards and come upstairs?" she purred, her voice husky with desire. "We can take up where we left off last week." She slipped her other hand, the one that wasn't still enmeshed in his hair, seductively over his shoulder and down his chest.
He removed her arm and shook his head. "Don't have time today Genevieve," he said inattentively.
A little angry at being rebuffed, Genevieve withdrew her hand from its nest within his hair roughly enough to make him wince inwardly. "But Kid," she said, her voice taking on a childlike lilt, "you haven't been to town all week. Stay gone that long and a girl's apt to get desperate and lonely." She feigned a pout and waited for him to respond. When he didn't, she gave a sigh and leaned closer again, giving the men seated across from Curry a better look at the swell of her full breasts and the shadowy valley between. Attention on the game was momentarily halted.
Kid studied his cards. "I doubt if you've ever had occasion to feel lonely, Genevieve. Not with all these other fellas ready to keep you company."
"You know I ain't interested in them like I am in you," she said, sliding her arm back around his shoulder, playing with the buttons on his shirt. "Come on, Kid. Just for a little while. It's cooler upstairs."
"I don't think so."
Her lips pursed in frustration and barely refraining from stomping her foot, she managed to keep her voice even. "Why are you in town so early anyway? Shouldn't you be at the ranch?"
"I told you last week," he answered, reaching up to brush her fingers away. "Today's the day Catherine arrives for her visit. I have to meet the stage and I don't want to miss it."
"What time does she get in?"
"Four o'clock."
"Oh, for Heaven's sake! Cutting it a little close aren't you? Just three hours before the stage is due," Genevieve said, sarcasm dripping from her tongue.
"Well, I didn't want to be late, in case I got held up on the way into town," Kid replied defensively. "Besides, I think I might try to get a haircut if old Jim isn't too busy."
The player seated to Kid's left burst out laughing, revealing a mouthful of stained and crooked teeth, spraying a fine mist of spittle onto the table and onto the cards he held. The other players looked at him in disgust and bewilderment. Looking from one face to another, he finally said, "Don't you get it? Held up! Kid Curry held up! Now that's funny."
The other players either grimaced or groaned, depending on how close they were sitting to the player on Kid's left. Kid just glared cold steel at the man. "I meant delayed," he snapped. Shaking his head with annoyance, he threw his cards onto the table. "Cash me out," he snarled. "Come on, Genevieve. I think I might have a little time to kill after all."
Taking his cash in his left hand, Kid reached down and picked up the wooden cane that lay next to his chair with his right. He stood up, using the cane and the table to give him the extra support he needed. "You boys behave now," he said, nodding at the men remaining at the table.
Genevieve wrapped her arm around Kid's waist and slowly, the two headed towards the stairs leading to the private rooms. She glanced over her shoulder, favoring the envious poker players with a lascivious smile. "You boys behave now," she echoed.
Kid moved slowly, his pace measured and deliberate, hampered by the injury to his leg that he had sustained when he had rescued Catherine from kidnappers last fall. He was still within earshot when one of the poker players said in a loud hiss, "Emmett, you keep making them jokes about Kid Curry and he'll be killin' more than time."
Kid flinched at the words, but didn't turn around. The comment hurt more than the pain he carried with him in his leg; just one more reminder of his past. But his pace didn't slow and he didn't falter; he just kept moving forward, like he always did.
