“Fair? It’s fair only if you aren’t the one bleeding in the dirt.” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, his gaze focusing on the Swedes, then shook his head. “No. It was a good try, sunshine, but my original price stands. Even if I lose, I get the hundred dollars,” he paused for the length of a heartbeat, “and the pleasure of your company for one night. If I win I get the same, plus a healthy cut of what comes out of your claim.”
“But you won’t work it,” she sneered. “What’s the matter, gunslinger? Afraid a little good, honest work might get your hands dirty? Or is it your reputation you’re worried about?”
“The only thing I’m worried about right now is whether or not I can trust you,” he growled.
His answer, shockingly honest, took Hope by surprise. She blushed fiercely when she realized his mistrust was well-founded.
“Of course I can be trusted,” she lied, thrusting her chin up proudly as their gazes clashed. “No reason to think I can’t be.”
“Oh no? Look over there,” he said, nodding to a point past her shoulder. “I can’t believe all those men would let a woman—a supposedly decent one, mind you, not the ones at The Brass Button Tavern—roam the countryside unattached. Not when there are so many men and so few skirts. Logic says there’s got to be a reason for that.”
There was a reason, a good one. But Hope would be damned if she’d share it with the likes of this conniving rat! “Let’s leave my personal life out of this, gunslinger. What I do, and who I do it with, is none of your goddamn business.”
“It is if you’ll be carrying anything contagious to my bed, lady.” His attention returned to the men. “Miners aren’t the cleanest of men. And they aren’t known for being very particular about their women.”
Hope contained the urge to slap the arrogant smirk from his face by balling up her hands into tight fists. The tips of her fingernails dug painful crescents into the fleshy part of her palms. She was blushing, she could feel it, and she hated the instinctive reaction. “I am no man’s ‘woman,’ “ she hissed indignantly, flexing her fingers and willing them to refrain from doing what they itched most to do.
Frazier’s lazy smile made Hope’s urge to whack him all the stronger. Containing her anger wasn’t easy, but by using a healthy dose of Bennett determination, she managed.
Looking away for a diversion, she noticed the group behind her. The men shuffled restlessly, mumbling amongst themselves. Her father had stepped into what was now a circle of men, and was talking to one of the Swedes. The wild gestures of the burly blond suggested that whatever Bart Bennett was saying, it wasn’t welcome news.
Her palms went suddenly moist and a surge of fear rushed through her veins. “It’s time. Are you going to fight?”
“Depends. Do we have a deal?”
Hope sighed. There was no way out. He’d cornered her someplace between saving her pride and saving Luke’s life. The latter easily won out. She forced the air from her lungs and drew in another ragged breath. “Yeah,” she said weakly, “we have a deal. I—I’ll talk to my father and see what can be done about the mine.”
“And tonight?” His voice was soft, husky whisper as the tip of a calloused finger traced the smooth line of her jaw. “Don’t tell me you forgot about tonight, sunshine?”
She swatted his hands away. “As if you’d let me!”
Frazier’s deep, rumbling laughter was her only answer as he cupped her cheek, then dropped his hands to his side. His voice was still thick with humor as he said, “You know, I once read in a book—yes, I can read, don’t look so surprised—that in medieval times, a lady fair would give her lover a token to take into battle. It was supposed to bring the fighter luck.” All laughter was suddenly gone as his voice lowered to a throaty pitch. “Are you going to give me a token, Hope?”
“This isn’t the Middle Ages,” she replied tightly, hiding her surprise that a man like Drake Frazier would even know about such things. “And I am definitely not your lover.”
“Yet,” he dared to remind her. The single word coiled around Hope’s spine. “A technicality that will be remedied. But I’d still like a token.”
“Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense,” she scoffed, gasping when he reached down and pulled a glistening, curved blade bowie knife from the top of his boot.
Before Hope could stop him, the sun-bronzed hands had reached out and sliced free a thick chestnut curl. His other hand returned the knife to its hidden sheath.
“A token,” he stated, much too lightly for Hope’s liking as her fingers automatically groped the place where the curl had been. She gasped, her mouth open wide in silent protest, as Frazier wound the thick lock of hair around his hand.
“Ready?” he asked, as he slipped the chestnut strand from his knuckles a
nd tucked in into his pants pocket.
He didn’t wait for an answer as he strode by her, leaving nothing for Hope to do but follow in his wake. Not a pleasant prospect, that, she soon realized as she forced herself to face that broad back and the swaggering stride of his lean hips.
Bart Bennett’s gaze drifted from the brooding Swede to his daughter. Hope nodded tightly and took her place between Luke and Old Joe. Frazier stood a small distance from Luke. Although his gaze seemed to be drifting lazily about his surroundings, Hope doubted the sea-green eyes missed a thing.
“What’s going on?” she asked Old Joe when her father and the Swede launched into another angry bout of conversation.
“Garth’s madder’n a polecat in heat cuz Luke won’t be fightin’.” Coughing in the back of his throat, he turned his head and spit in the dirt near his feet.
Luke puffed his chest proudly. “He’s gonna be even madder when he finds out who’s taking my place.”
Watching Bart and Garth split apart, Hope had a feeling the Swede had just found out. Garth glared over his shoulder as Bart rejoined his group.