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Acclaim for DeLoras Scott’s previous books “Listen to me, Beth!” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Author’s Note Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Copyright
Acclaim for DeLoras Scott’s previous books
Addie’s Lament
“DeLoras ‘superscribe’ Scott scores with this stupendous story.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“A fantastic tale.”
—Rendezvous
Timeless
“5
—Affaire de Coeur
“...tops her Springtown, and I thought that was super!”
—Rendezvous
Springtown
“...a fresh, entertaining and witty romp...4+”
—Romantic Times
“GOLD 5”
—Heartland Critiques
“Listen to me, Beth!”
Cole’s gaze shifted here and there for any signs of the raiding party. “I’m going to try to get us out of this alive, but I’m going to need your help. Should we meet up with the Indians, I don’t want you trying to outrun them.”
Beth’s panic exploded in her ears. “I’ll not give up without making a run for it!”
She leaned forward, ready to plant her heels in her horse’s ribs, but Cole grabbed the bit. Beth could do nothing as long as Cole held on. She whipped unmercifully at him with the ends of the reins.
“Dammit, Beth, stop fighting me!”
Beth continued to struggle. “I’ll never listen to you again...you yellow-bellied—” All other accusations were left unsaid. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she became very still.
Five mounted hostiles in full plumage were riding toward them. They, as well as their horses, were splashed with all the colors of the spectrum.
Cole stated coldly, “You wanted to see scalpings and you wanted to see Indians. Well, here they are....”
Dear Reader,
DeLoras Scott’s first book, Bittersweet, was published by Harlequin Historicals in 1987, and she continues to be one of our most popular authors. This month she is back with The Devil’s Kiss, a romantic comedy about two misfits who discover love, despite Indians, outlaws and themselves. Don’t miss this wonderful story.
The Trail to Temptation is the second book for Rae Muir, a featured author in our 1996 March Madness promotion. It’s a Western about a star-crossed couple who fight their attraction on a trail drive from Texas to Montana. Awardwinning author Margaret Moore’s The Wastrel, the magical story of a disowned heiress and a devil-may-care bachelor, introduces her new series of Victorian romance novels featuring a trio of “most unsuitable” heroes that she has aptly named MOST UNSUITABLE....
And March 1996 author Tori Phillips returns this month with an unforgettable story, Silent Knight, the tale of a would-be monk and a French noblewoman who fall in love on a delightful journey across medieval England.
Whatever your taste in reading, we hope Harlequin Historicals will keep you coming back for more. Please keep a lookout for all four titles, available wherever books are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Devil’s Devil’s Kiss
Deloras Scott
DELORAS SCOTT was raised in Sutter’s Mill, California—an area steeped in history. At one time it was gold country, and the legacy of wagon trains, cowboys and miners has remained. It’s no wonder she enjoys writing about a chapter of history referred to as the Old West.
Author’s Note
When my parents moved to Sacramento, California, in the fifties, there were still thousands of acres with nothing but rocks left from the mining days. A hundred years ago the miners dredged everything. Especially the soil needed for plants to grow. This bit of knowledge, Sutter’s Fort and a land steeped in history drew my fascination. Now, having lived and traveled extensively across these United States, my interest hasn’t diminished. Of course, everything comes full circle and I am again living in Sacramento, and enjoying that wealth of history.
The idea for The Devil’s Kiss came from old pictures I happened across in a library. A lady of obvious quality was seated on a horse—sidesaddle—a rifle lying across her lap. The picture next to it showed a burly sharpshooter standing beside a towering pile of buffalo pelts. My imagination churned and came up with The Devil’s Kiss.
I love to hear from readers. Please write.
DeLoras Scott
P.O. Box 278042
Sacramento, CA 95827-8042
Prologue
Texas
Cole Wagner watched the freckle-faced young man enter the saloon and sidle up to the bar. It was doubtful the pup had yet reached his seventeenth birthday. Cole’s gaze dropped to the .35 resting in the kid’s holster—hand level for a quick draw. There was a cockiness about him that Cole easily recognized. He had seen it many times before.
“Are you goin’ to call the bet or not?”
Cole glanced down at the cards he was holding. A jack high. He called the wager and drew three cards. Tonight he’d barely been able to stay even in the game, but things were starting to look up. He’d just been dealt two jacks to go with the one he held.
On the other side of the room the kid downed his drink, then turned. Eyes narrowed, he slowly, methodically scanned each man in the saloon.
Cole dropped what was left of his cigar into the spittoon beside his foot. “Tell you what,” he said to the other four players. “Its been a long night, and I have to hightail it to Missouri on the next train. So, I’m going to make this my last hand.” He shoved his stash to the center of the table. “Anyone care to match it?”
The banker shook his head and tossed his cards in. The barber thought a moment before calling. The other two also called, making it the biggest pot of the evening. The three jacks were good and Cole started raking in his winnings.
“Cole Wagner!”
The call was loud and the saloon was small. Everyone heard the name. Cole shoved his winnings into his coat pockets.
“Has old age made you a yeller belly?”
The other players at the table suddenly realized whom they had been sitting with. They made a dash to get away, knocking over several chairs in their haste. It had always amazed Cole how quiet a saloon could become when a gunfight was about to take place.
“Well? You jest gonna sit there? Maybe you ain’t as good as I heard tell?”
The chair scraped the wooden floor as Cole shoved it back and slowly stood. There were some things he just couldn’t abide. Being called yellow was one, and being called an old man was another. He started walking toward the bar, his body a taut spring waiting to uncoil. He smelled the rank odor of unwashed bodies, Rosebud whiskey and stale smoke. Even a whisper seemed amplified a hundred times. “You’d be wise to reconsider, pup.”
“I didn’t ride no hundred miles for nothin’, old man.”
“You’re not even dry behind the ears. It’s too bad you’re not going to live long enough to find out that thirty-two isn’t old.” When Cole came to a halt, there was less than twenty feet between him and the cur. With a resigned sigh he tucked the front of his black longtail coat behind his guns. His hands dropped to his sides ... ready...waiting. “It’s your move, boy.”
Beads of sweat began popping out on the kid’s forehead. As usual, the mutt wasn’t as brave as he was making out to be. Then Cole felt the steel barrel of a shotgun jammed between his shoulders. It had all been a setup. The kid’s partner must have been waiting until he could get behind him.
“I wouldn’t make a move for that gun, Wagner,” the man behind Cole warned. “It makes no difference if I turn you in dead or alive. All I want is the bounty.”
“Damn you, Perkins!” the kid yelled. “What took you so long? Hell, I thought I was fixin’ to get killed!” He grabbed the neck of the whiskey bottle and with a shaking hand lifted it to his lips and guzzled the contents.
Cole felt his .45 being lifted from his holster. As the bounty hunter came into view, Cole chuckled. The one with the rough voice was a skinny weasel, had a glass eye and was considerably older than his friend.
“Dammit, Jake, get over here and tie him up!” Perkins yelled.
The kid slammed the bottle down on the bar. As he hurried forward, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his dirty shirt.
“Is he really Cole Wagner?” one of the patrons called.
“The one and only,” Jake boasted now that he knew the outlaw couldn’t harm him. “Or maybe we should call him Sir Outlaw. Look at him. He was talkin’ real big a minute ago, now he ain’t nothin’. I’ll bet I could’ve outdrawn him.” He took the rope Perkins handed him. “He ain’t gonna be seein’ the outside of prison for a hell of a long time. If he don’t get hung, he’ll probably die there.”
“You’d best hope so,” Cole warned, “’cause if I get out, you’re a dead man.”
“Shut up, Jake,” Perkins ordered. “If you gotta act so almighty, do it after we get our money.”
The saloon became a hubbub of voices as the two men marched their prisoner outside. Perkins was being especially cautious. Jake, on the other hand, kept giving the outlaw unnecessary shoves. As Cole swung up on his horse’s back and settled himself in the saddle, young Jake stepped forward, ready to taunt the prisoner again.
With Jake between him and Wagner, Perkins couldn’t prevent what happened next.
The outlaw swung his foot upward, the toe of his boot catching Jake beneath the chin. The boy staggered backward, falling into his partner, knocking him down. By the time Perkins had scrambled to his feet, Wagner had his horse galloping down the road. Perkins fired several times, but the wanted man had already disappeared into the night.
Chapter One
Independence, Missouri, 1874
Bethany Alexander folded her hands in her lap trying to look pleasant, when in reality the chairs in her small hotel suite were most uncomfortable. “I was pleased to see you had the carriages waiting for our arrival.”
The portly man seated across from her smiled.
“Have my other instructions been carried out?”
“I have done everything you requested in your letters,” John Smyth assured the wealthy and very beautiful redhead. “However, I did have a problem with your telegram.”
“Oh?”
“The telegrapher must have misinterpreted your message. It said something about buying an outlaw.”
“What was confusing?”
He cleared his throat. “How do you expect me to do that?”
“I’m the one paying for your services, not the other way around. I’ve decided a bank robber or someone of such a nature would be perfect.”
“Apparently you have not considered the impossibility of such a purchase, or the danger in hiring a man of that caliber.”
“Oh, but I have, Mr. Smyth.” Beth leaned forward, excitement shining in her eyes. “I am looking for a man who can show me the real West, and who better to do that than a real outlaw?” She leaned back in her chair. “I’m disappointed that since my trip from Boston began, I have yet to see a man wearing a weapon on his hip.”
“I can assure you the people hereabouts are just as civilized as they are in Boston. And, contrary to the picture you apparently have in mind, wanted men do not go about sporting hardware on their hips, nor do they make themselves available. They would be hauled off to jail.” Why would a woman of obvious quality even consider such a thing? Smyth wondered. It certainly couldn’t be for the money. Well, it wasn’t any of his concern. When she left Independence, he’d be finished with her.
“If you are unable to get what I want,” Beth said calmly, “I will locate someone better qualified to handle the matter.”
John frowned. “There is a jail, but I wouldn’t recommend—”
Beth stood. “Good. I knew you would come up with something. We’ll leave immediately. I want to get everything settled as quickly as possible so I can be on my way.”
John pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. It had been a tedious day. “Instead, why don’t I look into the matter and report back? I’m certain you would rather rest after your long journey.”
“May I remind you that I stepped off the paddle wheel two days ago? Besides, I can rest after I die.” Beth anointed him with a radiant smile. “Well, are we going?”
“Y-yes, of course, but I doubt we’ll be immediately successful in our quest,” John hedged. “However, given proper time, I’m certain I can find the type of man you are looking for.”
“Well, we won’t know until we try. Shall we be on our way?”
The gentleman stood. He had tried to dissuade Mrs. Alexander from going to the jail. Now he could only hope Wagner had had enough time to get there from Texas. As they walked down the hotel stairs he thought about how shocked the lovely Mrs. Alexander would be should she discover she was about to be used by the government to track down a band of outlaws. When they entered his coach Smyth swallowed a chuckle. And wouldn’t the widow really blow off steam if she knew he wasn’t the real John Smyth? He was simply there to set up everything.
When the carriage pulled to a halt, Beth was surprised to see the size of the jail. She hadn’t expected the Tower of London, but neither had she expected such a small brick building. Could prisoners actually breathe in such a place?
The deputy inside was snoring so loudly he didn’t hear the visitors enter—until Smyth shoved the man’s feet off the scarred desk.
Deputy Carson jumped to his feet. Startled at seeing the well-dressed lady, he sputtered, “Ah...ma’am, I think you’ve come to the wrong place. This here’s a jail.”
“Obviously,” Beth stated tartly.
“Mrs. Alexander is looking to buy an outlaw,” John announced.
The statement caused the deputy to choke on his tobacco juice. After a coughing fit and several gasps, he finally managed to catch his breath. “Whoever heard of such a thing? ’Sides, all I got is a couple of men sleeping off a drunk.” Easterners sure can come up with some of the damnedest things, he thought.
“Mrs. Alexander is willing to pay you handsomely for the right outlaw.” John winked at the deputy trying to indicate that money could be made from this deal.
“Of course, he must be good at what he does. And a gentleman,” Beth added.
Carson was beginning to get Smyth’s message. “It just so happens I do have such a man.” He certainly wasn’t above making money off a drunk.
“And he must know how to shoot and talk to Indians,” John added. The only problem with this entire setup was not letting the deputy in on the deal. But orders had been to let no one else know what was really going on. Even he didn’t know all the facts.
“Oh, he does,” Carson assured Beth. “Yes, sirree. Why, he’s even robbed a bank or three,” he threw in for good measure. He glanced at John to be sure he was saying the right things. Just how much money was this woman willing to pay?
John nodded his encouragement.
“There’s a reward for him,” Carson added as an afterthought.
“How big of a reward?” Beth asked.
“A... five hundred?”
Beth clapped her hands. “Wonderful. I’ll buy him.” She looked at John. “See how easy that was?”
Carson couldn’t believe his good fortune. He should probably feel guilty about taking advantage of the lady, but he didn’t. “Plus what he owes for tearing up the Gun Runner Saloon last night.”
“Who shall I pay?” Beth inquired.
“Me. You can pay me.” Carson said.
“I want to take a look at the man first,” John insisted.
The deputy opened the door leading to the two cells. John stepped into the narrow walkway.
“And how much do I owe the saloon?” Beth asked the deputy.
As soon as John saw the big man lying on the bare straw mattress, he released his breath. He should have known Wagner would be there as arranged. This had to be an important assignment for President Grant to send his best man. He was also the most cold-blooded son of a bitch John had ever worked with—but that was neither here nor there. The man always seemed to get the job done.
“What is your name?” John asked, loud enough for the others to hear.
“Who the hell wants to know?”
“I do. I might have a job for you.”
“Just call me Sir Outlaw.” The big man laughed at his own joke.
“I have a lady who is willing to pay a good wage for a man who can show her the West. Would you be interested in such a proposition?”
“Hell, yes. Beats staying in this confounded place. I’d make a good guide.”
John walked back out just in time to block Beth from entering. He closed the door behind him.
“Perhaps I should take a look. I don’t want to spend money unnecessarily.”
“He needs to be cleaned up before being presented to a lady.”
“Well, what do you think?” Beth asked.
“He seems to be just the man you’re looking for.”
The deputy tried not to stare as the lady reached into her reticule for the money, but he was having an awfully hard time believing his good luck. “The prisoner’s name is Cole Wagner, ma’am,” he stated. He couldn’t believe the amount of coin that was being placed in his hands.
“Thank you,” Beth said sweetly. “I will send two men to take him away. Even so, it might be wise to have him manacled.”
Inside the cell, Cole Wagner scratched his bearded chin, grinned, then returned to his smelly mattress. So far everything had gone as planned. But for now, he needed all the rest he could get. His trip from Texas had been long.
The rhythm of rain splattering on the tin roof soon had him sleeping as soundly as a newborn babe.
That afternoon Deputy Carson and his handcuffed prisoner stood just inside the doorway of the jail, staring at two brawny men who were climbing out of a coach. Cole could tell by their hesitant smiles that they weren’t too sure how they were supposed to handle him.
Since the good deputy had already repeated his conversation with the woman, Cole saw no reason to delay his departure. He nodded at the men, ducked his face from the rain, then ran to the coach. In truth, he needed to get away from the jail as quickly as possible. At any time the deputy could have recognized his picture, if the Wanted posters had already been distributed. Too many explanations would have had to have been made, and under the circumstances he couldn’t afford that to happen. But that was exactly why Smyth had selected this particular jail. The deputy was new and gave no inkling of ambition. It was doubtful he even looked at the Wanted posters.
Cole quickly discovered that this particular style of carriage wasn’t made to carry three big men. The vehicle seemed to sink a foot when the other two joined him inside. One sat facing him, the other sat beside him. Cole felt like a squashed gnat. He studied his companions. They had to be brothers. They both had light brown hair, blue eyes, and were devoid of any quality that would make them easy to identify.
Because the men seemed nervous, Cole decided to make their acquaintance. “Since we’re apparently going to be working together, it’s only right that I introduce myself. The name’s Cole Wagner.” He gave them a wide, friendly smile.
“I’m Wilber Jones,” the older of the two replied, “and this is my brother, Decker.”
Cole raised his hands. “I’d shake but, as you can see, that would be a bit difficult.”
They both laughed, already starting to feel relaxed around the stranger.
Decker cleared his throat. “You don’t look like a man who would rob a bank.”
The statement slid off Cole’s shoulders as easily as satin. Over the years he’d had a lot of practice at coming up with answers people wanted to hear. “Looks can be deceiving. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m quite harmless, if that’s what is bothering you. That bank thing happened a while back. I was trying to feed some of my family whose farm had been ravaged by grasshoppers.”
The Jones brothers fell silent.
Cole had just drifted off to sleep when the conveyance came to a halt in front of the hotel. A few minutes later he was escorted through the back entrance, up the stairs and was finally brought to a halt in front of a large door. When the door opened he found himself facing a petite beauty. Servants didn’t wear such expensive gowns. He suspected he was facing his soon-to-be employer.
“Please come in, Mr. Wagner.” He stepped forward and she closed the door behind him, leaving the others to stand in the hallway. “I am Mrs. Bethany Alexander.”
A slow grin spread across Cole’s lips. This situation had possibilities. Besides the lady’s pleasing physical qualities, he liked her apparent lack of fear at being alone with an outlaw. He snatched off his top hat, then sauntered farther into the room.
A quick glance at the expensive surroundings told Cole a great deal about the lady he was going to be working for. She was wealthy and accustomed to the very best. The price he had planned to charge for his services escalated.
Cole held up his manacled hands. “Do you plan to leave these on me?”
“For now.”
“I’m curious. Aren’t you worried that I might attack you?”
“Why should I be? Decker and Wilber are on the other side of the door. Besides, we’re not alone.”
Out of the corner of his eye Cole caught sight of a man sitting in a chair, partially hidden by the room’s shadows.
“Please join us.”
Cole followed her to the other side of the room.
“You’ve already met the Jones brothers. This is Howard Bench. He will be second in command during our trip.”
Howard stood and nodded.
Cole figured him to be approximately ten years the woman’s senior. He had a touch of gray at his temples and his clothes were fashionable and expensive. But the gentleman wasn’t just a soft greenhorn. He had the look of a hunter in his eyes, a look Cole easily recognized. Cole knew immediately that Howard knew how to take care of himself and would probably be dangerous if crossed. Because he and the lady had different names, he wondered if they were lovers. “What trip are you talking about?”
“We’ll discuss that in a moment.” Now that Beth had a good look at the man, she began to slowly shake her head from side to side. His beard, height and build were the only images that made him look even half dangerous. Undoubtedly his black eye and facial abrasions were due to tearing up the saloon she’d paid for.
“You don’t look like an outlaw,” Beth commented, more to herself than to Cole. She shouldn’t have relied on Mr. Smyth’s opinion.
“What is an outlaw supposed to look like?” Cole asked.
“Well... I...I certainly wouldn’t expect one to be dressed in a plaid tweed suit and wear a top hat, even though the suit is quite worn and outdated.” Beth sat on a cushioned chair, leaving him standing. “Even your hair and beard are well trimmed,” she said with obvious disappointment.