“Is that a fact?” Drake pulled the hammer fully back, making the gun ready to fire. The unmistakable sound of the cylinder locking into place behind the deadly barrel, the hammer poised to fire, echoed loudly as he glared at the red-faced secretary. “What’s your name, kid?”
“M-Mason,” was the hoarse answer as he huddled farther down in the chair. “D-Daniel Mason.”
“How long have you been working for Mr. Sneyd, Daniel Mason?”
“About s-six months.”
Drake grinned. The expression was not mirrored in his eyes. “Tell me something, Danny boy, have you ever met an Indian?” The kid’s eyes rounded, his cheeks draining of color as he shook his head. “I have,” Drake said. “In fact, I spent an entire winter with the Dakota tribe. Ever heard of ‘em?” Again, the boy shook his head. This time it was a weak, fearful gesture. “They’re a Plains tribe, cousins to the Apache. The Dakotas are known for two things: being very fierce and very strict. They don’t like liars.” His gaze narrowed on the boy whose complexion had gone past white, and was now a deathly shade of gray. Slowly, almost lazily, Drake pivoted the gun barrel until it pointed directly at the now-terrified young man. “How would you like to find out firsthand what the Dakotas do to people who lie to them, Danny boy?”
The boy’s eyes were so wide they appeared to be bulging from their sockets. “I was listening at the door,” he blurted, his cravat rising and falling as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “The lady didn’t tell me your name, I overheard you and Mr. Sneyd talking. But I wasn’t snooping. It was an accident. I was—er—polishing the doorknob. Yes, I was polishing the doorknob and the door slipped open. It was an accident. It could have happened to anybody.” He looked down the unwavering barrel of the gun and swallowed hard again.
“An accident that will never be repeated. Jus
t like my name and my presence here today won’t ever be repeated. Am I right?”
“Oh y-yes, sir. Definitely. It won’t happen again.”
Drake nodded curtly. “Smart boy,” he said as he lowered the hammer back into place and slipped the gun into the holster. “Get back to work. Mr. Sneyd doesn’t pay you to sit and stare at his clients.”
“Yes, sir,” Danny boy said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he delved into the stack of files cluttering his desk. Grabbing the top one, he muttered something about making a delivery, then ran out the door leading outside. His coat remained on the peg near the door, alongside his hat and scarf.
Drake shook his head in disgust as he approached the narrow bench. Hunkering down beside it, he gave Hope’s broad shoulder a gentle shake. “Wake up, sunshine. We have to go.”
Hope murmured something unintelligible in response. Her brow crinkled with annoyance as she batted his hand away.
“Come on, Hope, wake up.” Sighing, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “If you wake up right now, I promise you can have a real bed to sleep in tonight.”
The dark lashes fluttered up. “A real bed?” she asked suspiciously, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. “Did I hear you say something about a real bed?”
“Thought that would grab your attention,” he said with a warm grin. For a split second, when she smiled at him like that, he could almost believe there was nothing wrong between them. Almost. “And yes, that’s exactly what I said. After a few months of sleeping on the cold, hard ground, a nice soft mattress and pillow sounds pretty good to me, too.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” she asked, all signs of tiredness suddenly gone. Leaning forward, she scooped the hat off the carpet and pushed herself to a sit. Long months on the trail had taught her how to ignore the soreness in her muscles from the cramped position she’d slept in. “You promised me a real bed, gunslinger, and I intend to see you keep your word.”
One golden eyebrow rose high in his forehead. “Is that a fact?”
“Uh-hum.” Her eyes shimmered with a teasing glint as she sent Drake a provocative glance from beneath her lashes. One hand settled the hat on her head; the other lifted the gun from his holster before Drake could even guess what she’d done—until he heard the hammer cock. She lowered the barrel until it was in direct line with his chest. “You ever meet a gold miner?” she mimicked his earlier words with a wicked grin. “Well, I have. In fact, I spent two entire winters in the Mother Lode. Now, how would you like to find out firsthand what we prospectors do to people who don’t keep their promises, gunslinger?”
Drake’s eyes danced with laugher. “You little witch. You weren’t asleep at all, were you?”
“No,” she said with an impish shrug. She lowered the hammer into place, then handed the gun back to Drake, grip first. “I just got sick of that beady little man staring at me.”
Drake took the gun and slipped it back in the holster. “Where did you learn how to do that?” he asked as he dropped a loop of leather attached to the holster over the gun’s hammer.
Hope batted her lashes with feigned innocence. “Fake sleep? Nowhere. I guess it just comes natural.”
“Hooope?” Drake’s voice lowered sternly. “You know what I’m talking about, now answer me. Who taught you how to lift a man’s gun like that?”
Hope lowered her gaze and tried her best to look chastised. It didn’t work. The thought of a real bed, soft and fluffy, had put her in an incredibly good mood. Though the mood didn’t seem to be infectious, she couldn’t help the teasing sparkle in her eyes as she asked, “And if I don’t make a full confession? What are you going to do, beat me into submission?”
“Now that sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
“Careful, Frazier, I just might like that.” As she spoke, Hope ran the tip of her index finger down his jaw. Her finger paused at the slight indentation of his chin before slipping up to trace the line of his lower lip. She raised her gaze to his. It was the first time she’d touched him in almost two months, and the contact rippled up her arm like a path of white-hot fire. “Then where would we be?” she asked, her voice a pitch huskier than normal.
“I don’t know,” he answered, his voice a throaty whisper as he turned his lips into her palm, “but I’d sure as hell like to find out.” Enclosing her hand in his, he slipped her arm around hher neck and stole a slow, tender kiss.
Hope tingled with awareness. She returned the kiss, and at the same time attempted to fight off the insistent sensation that coursed through her blood. It was a losing battle, she realized miserably, thinking it would have been better to never have touched him at all. It was too late, of course, her body was already demanding a release that was long overdue.
“Where did you say that bed was?” she asked against his lips.