Ace's Wild (Hqn) Page 4

“I’ve had worse.”

  Yes, he had but if she had her way, there wouldn’t be any more. Terrance was a prime example of why the type of boarding school she wanted to establish needed building. “And maybe after school today we can see if something can be done about your problem.”

  He shook his head and stepped back. “Pa is who he is.”

  Yes, he was. “But you love him.”

  A boy should love his father. But more important, a man should be worthy of that love.

  Ducking his head, Terrance shrugged his shoulders. “I used to. He didn’t used to always be this mad. Just since Ma’s been gone.”

  She’d never been able to find out if Terrance’s mother had left or passed on.

  “Sometimes life can be hard, but tomorrow can be much better.”

  He didn’t even look at her on that one. She guessed she couldn’t blame him. For a child his age, life had to seem pretty darn impossible. Wringing out the handkerchief, she came to a decision.

  “I’ll tell you what, Terrance. I can’t make any promises, but after school today, I’ll go talk to Mr. Parker.”

  Hope sprang into Terrance’s eyes. She felt a pang at feeding it to him. To him, the schoolteacher was all powerful. And at the end of the day, she was going to have to be. Or learn to live with the guilt.

  “You will? Thank you.”

  She shook her head at him. “It’s not going to be that easy. As you said, Ace Parker isn’t one for letting things go.”

  “But neither are you.”

  He had a point there.

  “You’re right, and I’m going to do my best to see if we can come up with some compromise that will fix your problem. All right?”

  He nodded.

  “Now do you want to go inside and practice your letters with everybody else, or do you want to be excused for the day?”

  He grabbed up his books and headed to the door. She guessed that was an answer. She followed more slowly. For an eight-year-old boy, Terrance had a serious dedication to learning that if she had her way, would not be snuffed out. Not by his father, not by life and certainly not by a gambler with a possessive streak. Ace didn’t need the strip of land Terrance’s father pretended to farm. But Terrance did. Which meant just one thing. Ace was going to have to give it up.

  * * *

  PETUNIA STOOD OUTSIDE the saloon and straightened the dark blue jacket of her most favorite suit, wishing the day wasn’t so unseasonably hot. Wishing she could just look the other way like so many people did. Wishing there was a way to keep her promise to Terrance without actually having to speak to Ace. Wishing she’d been able to run into him somewhere in town today rather than having to track him down in his lair. She stared at the saloon doors and bit her lip.

  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

  The only other time she’d been in a saloon had been in the company of several suffragettes, and even that protest had been timed to occur during the hours of nonoperation. And it’d ended with her spending twenty minutes in jail before her father had fetched her out.

  Truth be told, she’d been rather disappointed with the “grand adventure.” Outside of one picture featuring a scantily clad woman, the saloon had been bland and smelly and not at all the gaudily exciting place she’d expected to see. This building was probably the same. Bland and smelly and sparsely populated with the same people she saw on the street every day. So why was she standing here hesitating?

  A movement down the street caught her attention. Terrance. He stood on the sidewalk watching her, hands clenched at his sides. His posture set to run. Clearly, he expected her to chicken out.

  Well, he had another think coming. She was a Wayfield. The family motto, longer than most, spoke to noble attributes. But quitting wasn’t one of them. With a lift of her chin and small wave to Terrance, she stepped through the swinging doors.

  Her initial thought as the gloom of the place surrounded her was this wasn’t so bad. On her first breath, she started to change her mind. The stench of stale sweat and sour beer hung thick in the still air. By the time her eyes adjusted in the dim light, she was ready to back right out. This was not her world. There was no optimism here. Just apathy reflected in the way a blonde woman dressed in a loosely tied wrapper sat at the long bar and picked at a plate of food. The thud of slamming wood made her jump.

  “You lost, ma’am?”

  She turned to the barkeep. She couldn’t remember his name, but she’d seen him around town. He had a rather distinctive appearance with that greased back black hair and large waxed mustache.

  “No.”

  “Maybe she’s looking for a job,” the woman at the bar said. “A person can’t hold body and soul together on what this town pays a schoolmarm.”

  The woman was attractive in a blowsy sort of way, but not welcoming. Petunia straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch.

  “I’m not looking for a job.”

  The woman met her gaze squarely, and took a bite of egg. “A bit of excitement, then?”

  Petunia took another step into the room. A drunk she hadn’t noticed at the table to the left eyed her from hat to boot.

  “I’d take a turn on her.”

  She arched her brow at him. “You would do better to lay off the drink and indulge in a bath, rather than to speculate on a fornication that I doubt you’d be able to perform anyway.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” he said looking at her askance, or maybe he was just trying to focus.

  The woman at the bar laughed and sat up straighter. The wrapper slipped open exposing an amazing amount of white flesh. “I think you’ve just been accused of not being able to get it up, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy huffed. “Hell, there hasn’t been a day since I’ve been born that I haven’t been able to get it up. Hell, I’ll prove it.” He stood up, knocking the table back and shoved his suspenders off his shoulders. When he reached for his belt Petunia decided it was time for her to take charge before the man bared all in an effort to prove something she couldn’t care less about. But just to be safe, she stepped out of his reach.

  “I do apologize for interrupting your afternoon, but I’m looking for Ace Parker.”

  “Hey, Acey!” A woman leaning over the railing at the top of the stairs screeched. “You’ve got company waiting downstairs.”

  The woman looked as tired and as worn as the blonde woman at the bar. But her lung capacity assured Petunia that Ace knew he had a guest. Folding her hands in front of her, she waited. Patiently. For three minutes. But the longer she stood there feeling everyone’s eyes upon her, the more she became excruciatingly aware of the tendrils of hair she tucked behind her ear trying to come loose, the tightness of her bun, the difficulty of keeping a smile on her face and the utter lack of response on Ace’s part.

  The blonde at the bar waved a forkful of egg at her. “Doesn’t look like he’s coming.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Does he often ignore company?”

  The bartender kept wiping glasses. The blonde popped the bite of egg into her mouth.

  “Ace pretty much does what he likes, and it doesn’t look like he wants to do you.”

  The edges of Petunia’s temper started to fray right along with her patience.

  The drunk from the table by the door shuffled over. Thankfully, he still had his pants on. “I can keep you busy, honey.”

  She put her gloved hand over her mouth and nose as he got closer. He reeked of alcohol and other things she didn’t care to identify.

  “Could you please call him again?” she asked the lady at the top of the stairs.

  “Ace! The lady doesn’t fancy cooling her heels waiting for you any longer.”

  Still no response. The woman leaned over the rail, her breasts all but spilling free as she shrugged. “Sorry, ho
ney, doesn’t look like it’s your lucky day.”

  “No, it’s definitely not.” Sighing, she gathered up her skirts. “But sometimes you just have to make your own luck.”

  When her foot landed on the first stair, the woman at the bar gasped.

  “Honey, you don’t want to be doing that.”

  Petunia spared her a glance. “No, I’m sure I don’t.” But she kept climbing.

  “Ace, you’d better get out here,” the woman at the railing yelled when she reached the halfway point. Whether it was repetition that inspired it or that half octave increase in the woman’s pitch, this time there was a response.

  “Stop your caterwauling, Bess. I’m not expecting anyone.”

  Petunia reached the landing. Bess blocked her way. This close Petunia could see she was older than she’d thought, maybe in her midthirties, but still pretty in an overdone sort of way.

  “Excuse me, please.” The please was a courtesy. One way or another, she was getting down that hall.

  Instead of moving, Bess caught her arm. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s not worth your reputation. If you don’t leave now, no decent man will touch you.”

  The genuine concern in the woman’s gaze kept Petunia from rolling her eyes. “I’m twenty-nine years old and well and clearly on the shelf. If a decent man was going to touch me, he likely would have done it sometime in the previous thirteen years.”

  Bess took her measure, sighed and shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Stepping around Bess, she nodded. “Oh, I know what I’m doing.” To herself she muttered, “It’s the results that are in question.”

  Bess caught her arm again, drawing her up short. “He’s had a lot to drink.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Honestly? It could go either way.”

  Petunia set her shoulders. “Well, if it can go either way, then it might just as well go mine.”

  The woman sighed. “It’s the third door down.”

  “Thank you.”

  Determination kept her feet moving. When she reached Ace’s room, the door was ajar. She knocked.

  “Go the hell away, Bess.”

  Petunia pushed the door open. Ace was lying on his stomach on the bed in a decadent sprawl, his muscled back, broad shoulders, and lean hips and strong legs were dark against the white sheets.

  “I’m not Bess but if I were, I’d take offense at the language you just used.”

  Ace went very still. His fingers tightened on the pillow. On a “What the fuck?” he rolled over, grabbing the sheet and pulling it over his lap. His front was just as mouthwatering as his back. The light sprinkling of hair across his chest made her fingers tingle to follow it down over that hard ladder of muscle across his stomach. To follow it beneath the sheet to see where it ended...

  “I repeat. Language.”

  “I’ll talk any way I want.” He shook the hair out of his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I needed to talk to you.”

  “You can’t be up here.”

  She rather enjoyed his discomfort. “Apparently, I can.”

  “Turn around.”

  She did, listening as he got out of bed and yanked on his pants. “Of all the idiotic things you’ve done, Pet.”

  “My name is Petunia, and to you, Miss Wayfield.”

  “Since you’re standing in my room, on the upper floor of a saloon, in what technically is a brothel, I’ll call you any goddamn thing I want.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you cleaned up your language.”

  “I’d have appreciated it if you’d let me sleep.”

  “May I turn around now?”

  “Yes.”

  She was disappointed to see him shrugging into his shirt.

  “We have business to discuss.”

  “We have business? The most we’ve ever exchanged is a few insults over a cinnamon bun. And I didn’t even buy you that.”

  “Nonetheless, we do.”

  He finished buttoning his shirt. “You need to get the hell out of here.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Grabbing his hat, Ace crossed the room and grabbed her elbow. Her pulse leaped. Tingles raced up her arm and over her shoulder, sending goose bumps across her chest. Beneath her jacket, her nipples tightened. What was it about this man that affected her so?

  “I’ll thank you to let me go.”

  He pushed her toward the door. “I’ll thank you to get the hell out of my room.”

  “I did try to speak to you down in the lobby.”

  “That’s not a lobby, it’s a saloon.” He shoved her through the door. “Do you know what you’ve done to your reputation?”

  “You realize I don’t care?” The dryness of her tone got her a look. “I am, as you pointed out, completely on the shelf.”

  “I don’t realize anything except a reputation is a hard thing to replace.”

  “I have no intention of rebuilding it. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You’re in a brothel.”

  “It’s the middle of the day.”

  “It’s a brothel!” He shoved her down the hallway. Bess was standing where Petunia had left her. Ace shot her a glare. “What the hell were you thinking, Bess? Letting her up here.”

  “What did you expect me to do?” Bess snapped back.

  “Trip her and knock her down, throw a punch.”

  “She wasn’t looking for me.”

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Fucking women.”

  Petunia wanted to shout back “Fucking men” but no matter how liberated she was, she hadn’t gotten to the point where she could say words like that.

  Ace hustled her down the stairs. Her skirt caught on her heel, tripping her. He hauled her up. “Keep moving.”

  “It would be easier if you slowed down.”

  “I’m getting you the hell out of here before somebody sees you with me and starts thinking we need to get married.”

  “I have no intention of getting married.”

  He grunted. “Probably a lot of men grateful for that fact.”

  She planted her feet. “Did you just insult me?”

  He yanked her forward. “I haven’t begun yet.”

  “Should have taken me, honey.” Jimmy lurched toward them. “Seems like he’s not in any too hurry to have you.”

  Ace swore. Petunia looked over her shoulder at the drunk and smiled sweetly. “I insisted on clean sheets.”

  He hauled her along to the back of the saloon. “I hope nobody saw you come in here.”

  “I imagine everyone on the street watched me come in here.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “I don’t know what you’re worried about. Even if they march you down the aisle with a shotgun at your back, I’ll never say I do.”

  This time he was the one to jerk them to a halt. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because my standards for a husband are a bit higher.”

  Pushing her through the back door and into the alley, he snarled. “I bet.”

  Letting go of her arm, he faced her. He was still standing too close for Petunia to catch a decent breath. And with his shirt flapping open like that, he was still too much temptation for her mind to focus the way she needed it to. She wanted to run her fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest to see if it was soft or wiry. She also had an incredible urge to bite his right pectoral. To leave her mark on him.

  Clenching her fists at her sides, Petunia reached for focus. It stayed just out of reach. The circular scar just to the left of Ace’s breastbone was far more tempting. She wondered how he’d gotten it. She wondered how it’d feel. Were the edges soft or rough?
Was his skin warm to the touch or cool? How would he taste?

  With a growled curse, Ace yanked his shirt closed. “So what was so important that you had to come storming into my bedroom?”

  “I did not storm.”

  He sighed. “I’ll rephrase. What was so important you had to wake me from a good sleep and put us both in peril of a shotgun wedding?”

  She wanted to stomp her foot. “Will you stop harping on a wedding?”

  The muscles in his jaws bunched. His tone when he spoke was more even. “What was so damn important?”

  “You were at a card game last night with the father of one of my students.”

  “I was in a game last night with a lot of fathers of a lot of kids.”

  “Terrance’s father is Brian Winter.”

  “Ah, that one.”

  “What does ah mean?”

  “He drinks too much, has too many tales and bets more than he can afford.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I want you to give him back what you won.”

  He blinked. “You want me to do what?”

  “I want you to give him back what you won.”

  “Why in hell would I do that?”

  “Because he lost more than he can afford to.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “He took out his frustration on his son. And without a home the Winters will have to leave...”

  Ace’s expression didn’t change.

  “Terrance is a good student with an inquisitive mind. He deserves a chance to grow up to be a man who can use that mind.”

  “Nobody ever said life was fair.”

  Now she wanted to growl. “Life might not be fair, but people can be.”

  “And you think it’s fair to ask me to give back my winnings?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do realize this is how I make the majority of my living?”

  “Yes, I realize you make money this way, a lot of it. Enough that you can afford to give him back his.”

  Ace leaned back against the building and folded his arms across his chest. It was a position that spoke of confidence and power. Her knees went weak.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “The knowledge that you bought a little boy some time.”