Chapter 7

As they rode back to town, Jim and Artie talked through ways they could lure LeClaire into the open so they could confront him. Jessie kept her mouth shut. She considered it a victory the agents finally believed her but she wasn't about to start telling them how to do their job. Like they would listen. She rode quietly between the two men, feeling like a spectator at a tennis match as they bounced ideas off each other with an ease that spoke of long practice.

Attempting to infiltrate the compound would be a suicide mission, given the number of chemically-controlled soldiers her stepfather had at his command. Jim and Artie were sure LeClaire must have a private home in or near Coyote Falls, since living in a military encampment didn't fit the grand style of a self-proclaimed dictator. Neither of them were in a hurry to attempt an infiltration of that site either. They concluded the man would have to be drawn out to a neutral spot.

It was finally agreed Artie would verify the whereabouts of LeClaire's residence, then send a message, allegedly from the private investigator in the mining tycoon's employ, saying his stepdaughter had been located and he should come to the Crooked Arrow Saloon at 8 p.m. that evening to discuss the matter. Artie would play the part of the investigator and Jim would be there, too, keeping a low profile until Artie could subdue LeClaire. Artie was trying to decide between slipping something into his drink or using his trademark knock-out gas. While they expected LeClaire to come with at least one bodyguard, both agents were confident they could out-fight, or at least out-think, whatever security presented itself.

Jessie was unsure what part she played in the plan. Jim suggested using her as bait – once again negating any warm feelings she'd started to have for him – but Artie nixed that on the grounds it would be dangerously easy for the hired muscle to snatch her up and be gone. As much as Jessie thought that might appeal to Jim, he let it go without too much argument, once gain leaving her mind in a swirl.

She hated the thought of sitting idly by while the men did the dirty work but she was afraid if she got within 50 feet of LeClaire, she'd shoot him on sight. Then the men would have another reason to throw her in jail. In light of the discovery of the compound and the magnitude of its implication, the charges against her paled by comparison. If she could stay out of trouble until LeClaire was safely behind bars and his plan to overthrow the territorial government dismantled, she might be able to get her life back.

In the meantime, the fact she'd just saved the two men from a disagreeable encounter up in the hills – and possibly their lives, in the process – seemed to have forged a degree of trust between the three of them. For the first time since she'd met Jim and Artie, she felt like they were all on the same side.

When they returned to Coyote Falls, Artie went to inquire about a messenger who could deliver the fake letter and also to book rooms at the local hotel. Jim and Jessie stabled the horses at the nearby livery. Jessie was tipping a ration of oats into Diamond's grain box when Artie returned.

"The messenger I hired confirmed LeClaire has an estate only a few miles from town," he said, keeping his voice low. "This fellow has delivered there before. He said LeClaire spends most of the day at the compound in the foothills but assured me he comes home for dinner every evening by 6 p.m."

"Good." Jim looked at his wristwatch. "That gives us time to clean up and be in place by 8 o'clock. Did you find rooms for us?"

"Yeah," Artie said, looking uncomfortable. "About that. They only had one room left so we'll all be staying together tonight."

Jessie narrowed her eyes.

"How many beds are in this room?" She could read the answer on Artie's face before she finished the question.

"Um . . . just one," he said. "But the proprietor assured me it's quite spacious."

"I don't care how spacious it is! I am not sleeping with the two of you in the same room, let alone the same bed!"

"You didn't have a problem with it last night." Jim's grin was unrepentant.

She rounded on him.

"That was different! That was on a train! And I was . . . I needed . . . oh, never mind! This is a hotel! You know what men and women do in hotels!"

"And you think they don't do that on trains? Come on, McCallister, you're not that naive."

Jessie closed her eyes and counted to 10. She poked Jim in the chest with her forefinger.

"Don't even . . ." she began. "I don't care who sleeps with whom in that bed but it's not going to be me. There'll be plenty of room for both of you." She pulled a face. "And that's weird."

Artie shrugged.

"Necessity makes for strange bedfellows. I don't hog the blankets and Jim doesn't snore, so we get along fine. Beats some of the places we've slept." He winked. "It wouldn't be so weird if you were there with us. We promise to be on our best behavior."

Jessie made an inarticulate sound of frustration.

"Not you, too. I thought you were the nice one."

Both men chuckled. She raised her hands.

"Never mind. I don't care. You two go get ready for tonight. Give me the room number and I'll come up when I'm done with the horses. I could use a bath, too." She saw the amused expression on Jim's face. "By. Myself." She glared at him. "And I'll sleep on the floor tonight if it's all the same to you."

"Your choice," Artie said.

"Your loss," Jim said. He grinned and the two men left the stable.

XXX

Jessie stepped out of the bathtub and looked regretfully at the cooling water. After Jim and Artie had cleaned up and gone downstairs to establish themselves in the saloon, she'd waited while the maids brought fresh water, then lounged unapologetically amidst soap bubbles and steam until it had gone cool. She appreciated the hot bath more than she could say. She appreciated the fact the men trusted her enough to leave her alone in it even more.

The hotel proprietor was right about the bed. It was huge. It would easily sleep three people but she wasn't about to share it with two men she barely knew, no matter how many times they assured her they had nothing more in mind than a good night's sleep. She wasn't about to share it with just one of them, either, especially since she was sure that would be more dangerous than both of them.

She felt a little hypocritical in light of last night. No, she told herself firmly, no need to feel guilty. The nightmare about Danny's death had left her shaken. She hadn't lied to Jim when she said she just needed to hear someone breathing next to her in the dark. His solid presence had kept the demons at bay and she had slept well. That morning, neither of them had mentioned the fact she'd woken curled against his chest with his arms around her. She'd feigned sleep until he'd left.

She toweled off her skin and hair, wondering how long it would take the hotel laundry to bring her clothing back. She guessed she would just sit around in her nightshirt until then. It wasn't like she was going anywhere this evening. The men's plan to flush LeClaire into the open didn't include her. She could read. Or maybe catch a few hours of sleep before they came back. She was regretting her hasty declaration that she would sleep on the floor. The bedstead was a huge brass thing with a thick feather mattress and clean linens. By comparison, the floor looked particularly unwelcoming. Of course, if she turned on the charm, maybe the men would do the chivalrous thing and let her have the bed all to herself while they slept on the floor. No, then she'd feel guilty about that.

Someone knocked on the door. Before she could answer, a key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Boots strode across the floor. She recognized that confident stride. She rolled her eyes and hastily wrapped the towel around her middle. Why had he even bothered to knock if he was just going to walk in anyway? God, the man was a law unto himself. Silk rustled. Was someone with him? No. There was only one set of footsteps.

"Get out! I'm not decent!" she called from behind the privacy screen that shielded the bathtub.

"Relax, I don't have designs on your virtue, McCallister. Hurry up, we need to get downstairs."

"We? I'm staying here."

"Change of plans. Now you're going downstairs with us." Jim's tone brooked no argument and Jessie felt her hackles go up.

"Why?"

"Not to put too fine of a line on it, but Artie and I both want you where we can see you."

So much for being left to her own devices.

"That's fine for you but what if LeClaire sees me? What if his bodyguards see me? They'll do anything he tells them – "

"Relax," Jim said. "Artie and I will be there. You'll be safe with us."

Jessie ground her teeth.

"I was with you earlier today. I got shot at."

Jim ignored her.

"We need you to point out LeClaire's body guards if you recognize them. We've only met one of them."

"I don't have anything to wear. My clothes aren't back from the laundry."

"That's why I borrowed this for you."

She peeked around the edge of the screen to see yards of lace-trimmed silk lying on the bed.

"What's that?"

Jim rolled his eyes.

"It's a dress. I assume you've worn one before."

She glared at him.

"It's not my style."

"It's your style tonight, sweetheart. Here. Put this on first, then I'll help you get dressed."

A bundle of fabric sailed over the top of the privacy screen. Jessie caught it.

"You'll . . . help . . . I don't think so!" she sputtered. The bundle turned out to be a clean cotton chemise. She eyed it warily. It was a frilly thing, trimmed with lace and ribbon that suggested it was the sort of garment a woman might wear when she had no intention of covering it with a gown.

"I'm just here to help speed things along. Trust me," Jim said. "Put that on and get out here."

Trust me. That went both ways. Jessie made a face. She dropped her towel and pulled the chemise over her head. It was alarmingly low cut and she swore.

"Do you always swear like a sailor when you're getting dressed?" Jim's tone was both amused and impatient.

"Whoever you borrowed this from is not my size," she muttered.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that."

There was no way around it. She stopped trying to make the chemise cover more than it was designed to and stepped around the edge of the screen. The exasperated humor on Jim's face quickly turned to open appreciation and his eyes raked over her without apology. She felt an odd jolt of heat run through. It had been a long time since a man looked at her like that. A second jolt reminded her Jim West had no business looking at her like that at all.

She turned quickly to the dress laying on the bed. It was sapphire blue silk with a daring neckline, off-the-shoulder sleeves and side flounces caught up to expose lace underpinnings.

"You expect me to wear that! It's a . . . a . . . a harlot's gown!"

"It's a saloon girl's dress," Jim said patiently. "I borrowed it from one of the girls who works here. You need to look your part."

"My part? I don't have a part! You and Artie are going to catch LeClaire and that's that." She eyed the dress again. "I can't go down there in this! I'd look like a . . . like a . . ." she sputtered, unable to get the words out.

Jim chuckled.

"Really? Now you're worried about propriety? You're standing here in your shift, alone in a hotel room with a man you've only known for two days. And you weren't so uptight you wouldn't share a bed with me last night."

"I am not uptight!"

With a snarl, Jessie snatched up the dress. It smelled faintly but not unpleasantly of its previous owner's perfume. She put it back down.

"I can't wear this," she said triumphantly. "I'd never get into it without a corset and I don't have one."

Jim tossed her a second bundle.

"You do now."

She glared.

"I can't lace it myself, now can I?"

"That's what I'm here for."

"What do you know about lacing corsets?"

"I know more about unlacing them but it can't be that hard."

"No! That wouldn't be appropriate." She was grasping at straws and she knew it.

"Appropriate? Since when do you worry about appropriate?" His eyes raked her figure again. "McCallister, we can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way but I'll get you into that dress one way or the other and I think you know it."

The look in his eyes was dangerous. Jessie knew she was fighting a losing battle but that didn't mean she had to like it. She shook out the corset and fumbled, trying to wrap it around her torso in a way that didn't put her breasts on display to the degree she suspected was intended. There didn't seem to be a middle ground and she swore again.

"Here. Let me."

Reluctantly, she handed Jim the assemblage of silk and whalebone. With unexpected gentleness, he drew it around her midsection. She held it in place as he began to tighten the laces. She shifted, trying to adjust her breasts without being obvious. He paused.

"Are you . . . ah . . . comfortable?"

Jessie looked down and grimaced. She'd passed comfortable a long time ago and it had very little to do with the corset.

"I'm fine. Just don't lace it too tight. I don't need a 17 inch waist."

Jim muttered something and yanked on the laces. He nearly pulled her off her feet and she grabbed the bed's foot rail.

"Easy!" she yelped. "You're not cinching a saddle!"

That brought a chuckle. She chanced a look over her shoulder, not letting go of the bed rail. The grin on his face indicated he was enjoying himself as he snugged the laces tight.

"That's a nice look, McCallister," he said quietly, surveying her after he finished. His gaze was bolder than it needed to be and Jessie was aware the corset had done its job. The chemise kept her from spilling out completely and added to the ensemble's allure at the same time.

"You don't have to wear the dress, you know," Jim said. "You could go downstairs like that. Some of the young ladies here – "

"Give me the dress," Jessie snapped. "I am not leaving this room in my underthings." She stepped into the gown and tugged it up. "I'll, umm, need you to button up the back." She struggled to adjust the bodice but it remained determined to display more of her than she thought was necessary. She hadn't worn a dress for months and had forgotten what a labor intensive proposition one could be. She'd take britches and boots any day.

"What did you say?" Jim acted like he hadn't heard.

"The buttons. I need you to do up the buttons."

"Mmmm. You need me. I like the sound of that."

"Stop it." Her heart was beating faster than it needed to. "Just button me up. I thought you were in a hurry."

Jim's fingers were warm against her skin as he fastened the row of tiny buttons that secured the back of the gown. He seemed to have forgotten about being in a hurry. Jessie fidgeted, whether out of impatience or the need to get away from his touch, she wasn't sure.

"Stand still. You're like a moving target."

"I think it might be safer that way," she muttered.

Jim laughed, a low, husky sound that did nothing for her state of mind. He finished with the buttons and gently tugged the sleeves down to rest just below her shoulders. When she protested and tried to pull them back up, he stopped her hand and said firmly, "These are meant to be worn off-the-shoulder."

"But I'll look like – " she started to protest.

"You'll look like every other saloon girl down there. We're hiding you in plain sight. Put these on." He handed her a pair of elbow-length, fingerless black lace gloves.

Jessie drew them on, starting to think this was a bad idea.

"Now do something with your hair."

"Stop giving me orders. What exactly am I supposed to do tonight? Dance on the bar?"

Jim paced the room as she sat down at the dressing table and began twisting her hair into an upsweep.

"LeClaire is meeting Artie at 8 o'clock. Once he's convinced Artie knows where you are – don't worry, Artie can be very convincing - he'll let his guard down because he'll be too focused on getting you back. I'll take out the bodyguard and Artie will subdue LeClaire. You can just be ornamental and stay out of the way." He cleared his throat and added, "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Ornamental? How kind of you." Jessie bit off the words, jabbing a final pin into her hair. "You mean, you don't want me to kill him."

"That too. Here, one more thing."

Jim stepped behind her and fastened a black velvet choker trimmed with crystals at her throat. Jessie caught her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair tumbled in ringlets, accentuating the sleek curve of her neck. The choker sparkled in the lamplight and the dress, with its plunging neckline displayed every curve of her upper body. She was definitely not the same size as the girl Jim borrowed the gown from.

He seemed to have realized that, too. He stood behind her, a grin playing over his features as his hands rested lightly on her bare shoulders. She took in his reflection, admiring the fit of his dark blue suit. The cut of the jacket emphasized his athletic build and the trousers fit just a bit more snugly than propriety allowed, she thought. For a second, their eyes met in the mirror and her breath caught. He was a devastatingly handsome man. When he wasn't driving her crazy. He was here to put an end to her stepfather's insane plan and if she wanted her freedom when it was all over, she had to cooperate. That was all she needed to have on her mind at the moment.

He squeezed her shoulders, stepped back and offered her his arm.

"Shall we?"

They paused at the head of the stairs. Below them, the saloon's evening clientele was in full swing. She had to look twice to find Artie, who was lounging against the bar. He was sporting mutton chop sideburns and was dressed like a Chicago private eye in a pinstriped suit and bowler hat. As soon as Jim tipped his hat, Artie returned the gesture.

"Remember," Jim said quietly in her ear, "you're a dance hall girl, not the prim and proper Miss Jessica McCallister from Nob Hill."

"I was never from Nob Hill," she snapped. "Wyoming is my home and I don't ever plan on leaving it again."

"If everything goes well tonight, you won't have to."

In for a dime, in for a dollar, Jessie thought. She flounced her skirt, revealing a daring amount of ankle and slipped her arm through his.

"Oh, Mr. West," she simpered as they descended the stairs, "you say the most charming things!"

The few the patrons who looked up from their drinks paid them no heed. Just another gunslinger in a sharp suit with a tipsy barfly hanging off him. It was business as usual in the Crooked Arrow Saloon.

XXX

"Make yourself useful and bring me a drink." Jim handed her some coins. Jessie glared at him. "And smile, darling, you're supposed to be enjoying my company."

His lazy grin left her steaming. She bared her teeth in a smile and flounced to the bar to order two whiskeys. When she set them down on the table, his grin widened.

"I can only drink one at a time."

"The other one's mine," she said tartly. "So I can deal with this dress and this place and . . . you!"

Jim raised his glass.

"A toast," he said.

Reluctantly, Jessie raised hers to match.

"To what?" she asked suspiciously.

The hot blue flame of his eyes traced her figure, lingered, then returned to her face.

"To beautiful women who aren't what they first appeared to be."

Jessie's heart pounded. She was afraid to ask him what she'd first appeared to be or what he thought she was now. She tossed back half the drink in one swallow and nearly choked. She'd never been much of a whisky drinker. This might or might not be the right time to start, she thought.

"Go easy on that stuff," Jim said. "I need you sober enough to tell me if you recognize anyone."

Around them, liquor flowed, saloon girls served and flirted and a man wearing a houndstooth checked suit pounded out a ragtime tune on a tinny piano. Across the room, Artie leaned with one boot on the polished brass rail, watching the front door by way of an enormous plate glass mirror behind the bar.

"You could sit a little closer, you know," Jim said. His eyes scanned the room from their shadowy corner table. "And act like you're enjoying my company."

Jessie thought she was already close enough. He grasped the seat of her chair and dragged it until it nearly touched his. Then he rested his arm around the back, letting his fingers trail on her bare shoulder.

"And how much of my company do you intend to enjoy tonight?" she asked through gritted teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her pull away.

"How much would you like me to enjoy?"

She was unsure if he actually meant it or if he was only teasing. She opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut, her eyes gone wide as she stared at the entrance to the saloon.

"It's Nigel!" she said, horrified, "my stepfather's bodyguard from San Francisco! He can't see me! If he sees me, nothing will stop him from coming after me."

She felt Jim tense but he didn't take his arm from around her shoulders as he scanned the room.

"LeClaire isn't with him. He must have only sent his bodyguard to meet Artie." His voice lowered to a hiss. "Damnit, he'll recognize me, too."

The hulking, vacant-eyed man began edging through the crowded room, studying each face in turn before moving to the next table.

"Do something!" Jessie's voice was edgy with panic. She felt like a trapped animal. The saloon had a back door but if they bolted, they'd only draw attention to themselves and ruin any chance of capturing LeClaire if he were waiting in a carriage outside. Plus, she didn't want to dessert Artie and knew Jim wouldn't leave, anyway.

"What exactly would you like me to do?" Jim's face was only inches from hers as he turned away from the approaching man.

"I don't know! Anything to keep him from seeing me!"

"Kiss me."

It wasn't a request. Her eyes flew open in surprise.

"Kiss me," Jim repeated. "Jessica McCallister isn't likely to be carrying on with a man in a saloon, is she? And it will hide both our faces."

Jessie stared at him, speechless. Nigel drew nearer.

"But I . . . you . . ."

"We don't have time to discuss this in committee."

Jim swept off his hat, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and took her mouth without apology. The embrace was rough, born of necessity, not passion, and she struggled in protest. Jim's scent – shaving lotion and leather and warm, male musk – filled her senses as she tasted the whisky on his lips. The combination left her paralyzed in his arms. He slid his other hand around her waist, pulling her closer.

Behind them, Jessie could hear the creak of floorboards, the heavy tread of a large man's boots as they drew even with the table, paused and went on. She tried to follow the sound, tried to gauge the direction in which it vanished, but Jim was occupying more and more of her attention. Unwillingly, she felt herself relax into his hands, his mouth still hard on hers, as the embrace shifted from brutal necessity to a swirling mix of power and sensuality.

Jim pulled back far enough to look into her eyes, then lowered his mouth again, gently this time. The kiss was long and slow and Jessie gave herself to it, letting her body respond to the warmth of his lips. It had been so long since a man had kissed her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips parted, inviting his tongue to brush hers. Time stood still.

He broke from her mouth, teasing down her throat with light kisses that set every nerve in her body on fire. Jessie kept her eyes closed, her face buried against his hair, and abandoned herself to him. Her head was spinning, her heart pounding in her throat as his touch rekindled flames that had long lain cold. Conflict battled with desire. She should be thinking about her stepfather, should be focused on avoiding his terrifying minion. With a monumental effort she forced herself back to reality.

"Is he gone yet?" she whispered, breathless, unwilling to break the spell.

"Mmmm-hmmm," Jim said quietly, kissing the corner of her mouth before capturing the fullness of her lips again. She slid her fingers into his hair, letting them tangle there. When had he taken off his hat? Oh, before he kissed her the first time. Two minutes ago? Ten? Time was meaningless and she never wanted it to stop.

"He's been gone for a while." Jim murmured and kissed her again before she could reply but she jerked back, indignant.

"For a while? And you kept. . . you let me keep . . ."

"You weren't arguing." His smile was lazy, tempting her to kiss him again or knock him out of his chair.

"You didn't give me a chance!" she sputtered. Fury mixed with arousal and left her incapable of choosing between them.

"Are you two done?" Artie's dry tone drifted across the table. Jessie realized she was sitting on Jim's lap and felt a flush rise through her. As if she weren't hot enough. She tried to wrench free. He didn't let go.

"I don't know." His grin was infuriating. "Are we done, sweetheart, or is there anything else you don't want to argue about?"

XXX

She argued about the sleeping arrangements when they got back to the room.

"Shall we flip to see who gets the floor?" Jim asked, pulling a coin from his pocket.

"I already told you – I'll sleep on the floor." Jessie spun in a swirl of indignant satin. "I'm not sleeping in that bed with either of you!" Her mind was still spinning from the events of the evening. Aside from discovering Jim was a complete rogue, their plan had been a failure. LeClaire had not shown up, or if he had, he'd waited outside while Nigel searched the saloon for traces of anyone he recognized. After Nigel left, Jim, Artie and Jessie had waited another hour before calling it a night and retreating to the room.

Jim chuckled and pulled off his jacket. He unbuckled his gunbelt and slung it over a chair. The vest and shirt came off next. Damnit. She forced her eyes away.

"Have it your way. You don't know what you're missing."

"I know exactly what I'm missing!" Jessie snapped, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Jim gave her the full benefit of a dazzling smile, which didn't help her state of mind, and Artie didn't even try to hide his smirk.

Jim kicked off his boots.

"I bet you do." His hands dropped to his belt buckle. Seeing her standing there, hands on her hips, he paused. "Need something, McCallister?"

She shifted uncomfortably. Yeah, she needed something all right and the sight of him standing there half dressed wasn't helping. She turned with a flounce to Artie.

"Would you unbutton my dress and unlace my corset? Please." Her tone was very polite.

Artie shot a look across the room.

"Jim, wouldn't you rather do the honors?"

"I think she's had all of me she can handle for one night." Jim started to drop his trousers.

Jessie narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

"You are no gentleman!"

"You didn't seem to mind earlier."

She clenched her fists. She noticed Artie had begun looking around the room in a preventive sort of manner, trying to gauge what she might grab up to crack his partner over the head.

"Let me know if you need any help with her, Artie. I'm going to bed."

Jessie turned away before his trousers hit the floor. She yanked her nightshirt out of her saddlebag with enough force she heard stitches rip and stepped behind the privacy screen. Artie followed her, though with some reluctance.

"Are you sure you really want me to . . .?" Artie gestured at her gown.

"Yes," she said firmly. "I am not sleeping in this dress or this corset and I can't get out of either one by myself."

Artie's hands were warm and efficient as he unbuttoned the gown, then loosened the laces and pulled them through the eyelets. Jessie stood, arms across her midsection to keep the garments from falling into a heap at her feet and breathed a sigh of relief. Even though Jim hadn't laced her tightly, a corset was still a corset.

Artie squeezed her shoulder, his hand warm on bare skin in a perfectly platonic way.

"Thank you," she said.

"Think nothing of it." He grinned, eyes friendly but teasing. "Are you sure you don't want half the bed? In fact, I could go sleep in the livery, for that matter."

"Yes. No! I mean, no, don't leave. I'm fine on the floor. Really," she said firmly and before he could ask, she added, "And I don't want a third of the bed, either."

"Let us know if you change your mind." Chuckling, Artie stepped around the screen.

Jessie let the gown drop. She peeled herself out of the chemise and hastily pulled her nightshirt over her head, silently cursing Jim for making her even consider Artie's offer to leave. She had bigger things on her mind and had absolutely no business thinking about anything else.

She rolled herself into the blanket on the floor and punched the pillow into submission. She lay awake for a long time before falling asleep. The hard floor under her had nothing to do with it.

TBC