Mccarty Sarah - Promises 01 - Promises Linger.pdf - English books - renee2010

PROMISES LINGER

An Ellora’s Cave Publication, March 2004

Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

PO Box 787

Hudson, OH 44236-0787

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-848-0

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales

is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Edited by Pamela Campbell.

Cover art by Syneca .

PROMISES LINGER

Sarah McCarty

Chapter One

It wasn’t every day a lady strolled into Dell’s. A few strumpets graced the place, but

Asa was willing to bet every dollar in his pocket that the last time a buttoned-down,

poker-backed lady had entered this rundown excuse of a saloon was never. One by one,

the other patrons noticed the gray clad intruder. The cacophony of voices dropped

until, with a resounding clank on the keys, the piano player took note.

Asa watched as the woman turned this way and that, no doubt straining to see

through the murk. He lifted his whiskey to his lips, took a sip, and waited. He

wondered whether it was a husband or a lover she was seeking. He hoped it was the

former. A wife in search of an errant husband was bound to put on a better show.

With a sharp tug on each finger, she yanked off her gloves. Backlit as she was by the

doorway, Asa had an excellent view of her silhouette. Petite and curvaceous with softly

turned hips that had Asa thinking in terms of sinking deep and riding hard. He took

another sip of his whiskey. As it burned the back of his throat, he tried to figure out

why the sight of this woman had his cock sitting up and taking notice. Maybe it was the

way she stood that piqued his interest. Kind of a cross between it’s-snowing-in-hell

panic and hell-bent-for-leather determination. Then again, maybe he was just the

contrary sort and his cock followed suit, longing after what he could never have.

Respectable women like her were the wives of bankers and judges. They were never

seen within a country mile of a saddle tramp such as himself. Just because this one was

perched on the doorstep of the seediest saloon in town didn’t change that fact.

The sun peeped out from behind a cloud. The feeble shaft of light curved around

the door, illuminating the woman’s profile. His cock came fully erect and he almost

wasted a swallow of rot gut choking on his surprise.

A man could look at a face like that for years and never get tired. It wasn’t that she

was beautiful, though she was mighty easy on the eyes. It was the way the planes and

hollows came together in a delicate balance of strength, humor and bone-deep

sensuality that had him gaping like a green kid. A face like that spoke of endurance and

character. A face like that invited visions of naked bodies and long, lusty, leisurely

nights. And her mouth, hell, her mouth was a fantasy unto itself. He couldn’t begin to

corral the ideas the sight of those wide plump lips had running through his head.

He shifted in his chair to ease the pressure on his manhood and reigned in his

imagination. The woman might be every fantasy he’d ever had wrapped into one

delectable armful, but she was about as attainable as the moon. And the sooner he

forced himself to accept that fact, the better he’d be. He’d stopped lusting after what he

couldn’t have about the same time he had realized the son of a whore and a passing

through gambler was good for only one thing in the townsfolk’s eyes. Cleaning up

Promises Linger

other people’s messes. He’d gotten real good at cleaning up over the years, and

someday he was going to take the money he had earned bringing in robbers and

murderers, and he was going to buy a future for himself and his kids. Someday.

He forced his fingers to relax their grip on his glass before it cracked under the

pressure. He didn’t know why this woman was stirring up old demons, but he didn’t

like it. He’d long since adjusted to the way the world worked, and he wasn’t about to let

the sight of a woman, no matter how temptingly packaged, upset the peace he’d made

with life’s ironies.

A quartet of poker two tables over from Asa broke into yells. A fancy gambler with

his back to the door let out a hoot and leaned over the table, raking in the winnings.

As if that were the signal she’d been waiting on, the woman launched into motion.

Head high, shoulders back, she crossed the cramped room with a determination that

sent the working girls in her path fleeing for cover. Asa released the breath he’d been

holding and tipped his chair back on two legs until his shoulders connected with the

wall. Raising his glass, he toasted her grit. Not many women had the wherewithal to

confront their man’s shortcomings.

“Hello, Brent.”

Her voice was well modulated, without any hint of a drawl.

The blond-haired gambler froze in the act of raking in his winnings. The woman

moved around the table, murmuring “Excuse me” as she went, stopping when she

reached the man’s side. The flickering glow from the oil lamps set off the red highlights

in her scraped-back hair. Those sparks were nothing compared to the fury raging in her

vivid green eyes. One of which was black and blue.

“What in hell are you doing here, Elly?” Brent growled.

The name landed wrong on Asa’s ear. No one that buttoned-down could ever be an

Elly.

“I came for my money.”

“You don’t have anything I don’t give you,” the gambler retorted in a snide voice

that just made Asa itch to feed him a few of his own teeth.

The woman didn’t seem to share his irritation. Cool as a cucumber, she replied.

“You’re wrong.” Reaching across her husband’s arm, the woman snatched a pile of

bills. “This is mine.”

She was halfway through the stack before one of the other players thought to react.

“Hey! We’re playing a game here.”

“Mr. Doyle is cashing out,” she said, not looking up from her counting.

Mr. Doyle apparently had other ideas. “Put the money back, Elizabeth.”

That, Asa thought, was a more fitting name for the lady.

Elizabeth looked up from her counting. “You owe me two hundred dollars more.”

Mccarty Sarah - Promises 01 - Promises Linger.pdf

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