to remind him.
It was dark when Hud arrived in The Flat. His first order of business was to lead Rambler to the livery stable and brush him down thoroughly. In his line of work, a man was only as good as his horse. Hud made certain Rambler received full rations and the best of care.
He glanced down the street and told himself he should be enthusiastic about being back in society—if you could call this collection of misfits in The Flat society. He stared down the dimly lit street, noting the gathering crowds and hearing boisterous laughter wafting from a nearby gaming hall. There were all sorts of entertainment to be had. Ironically, all Hud wanted was a bath and a few minutes to stretch out on a real bed for the first time in months.
Assured that his horse was in capable hands, Hud strode off to find comfortable accommodations for himself. He pulled up short when a woman in a frilly costume pirouetted in front of him then leaped through the air.
“We’ll be giving our last performance tonight before continuing our tour to Fort Elliot, Tascosa and Mobeetie,” she announced as she circled around him and waved a perfume-scented scarf under his nose. “Come join us, handsome.”
Handsome? Hud inwardly scoffed as the woman flitted off to entice another passerby on the boardwalk. He didn’t consider himself anywhere near handsome. Whiskers lined his jaw. The bags under his eyes testified to his lack of sleep and too damn much time in the saddle.
Thanks to Commander Price, Hud had set a swift pace to reach Fort Griffin to look up Gabrielle and play nursemaid and tour guide.
Scowling, Hud veered into Brazos Hotel to rent a room. After requesting heated water for a bath, he slung his saddlebags over his shoulder then scaled the steps. He smiled appreciatively when he entered his room to see the feather bed and the brass tub in the corner.
Tossing aside his saddlebags, he ambled over to the window to look down on the bustling streets filled with hide hunters, gamblers, cowboys and desperadoes. Turning away to heel-and-toe out of his boots, Hud un-fastened his holsters and set aside his weapons. His gaze skittered around the room again.
“Hell of a life you lead,” he mumbled to himself. “The highlight of your month is bathing in a tub and sleeping on a real bed.”
Chapter Two
After a surprisingly appetizing meal at Garland Café, Bri scurried back to her room. She considered searching out a guide and arranging to rent a horse from the livery this evening. But first things first, she decided. She wanted to confront Eaton Powell II immediately. Although Bri could practically hear her mother pitching a fit—all the way from her palatial drawing room in Austin—she was giving Eaton notice that she had cancelled their engagement. Permanently. He could make his way home without her and he could campaign his heart out while he was at it.
All she wanted was to be rid of him for good.
Determined of purpose, Bri hiked down the hall. Two scraggly-looking characters came to attention as she approached. She kept her head down, her face concealed by the floppy-brimmed gray bonnet. She could feel the weight of the derringer she kept tucked in one garter on her thigh and the cool steel blade of the dagger she stashed on the other.
Anna Roland Price would throw a conniption if she knew what a vast education and unconventional training her daughter had received when she’d been shipped off to that snobbish finishing school in Houston. Bri had befriended a rascally, fun-loving street urchin—who had initially tried to rob her—and then he became her dearest companion.
The thought of Benji Dunlop’s life cut short by his senseless death galvanized her determination. She was not going to be the extension of her mother’s unreasonable expectations and she could handle herself in adversity, thanks to Benji’s thorough training. Bri had become a fair shot with a pistol. She could wield a knife accurately and she had learned to be a scrappy fighter in hand-to-hand combat.
“Don’t let nobody get the drop on you,” Benji had lectured her countless times. “Gotta guard yer own back ’cause you can’t count on nobody else to do it for you.”
Regret and sorrow whipped through Bri, remembering the loss of that treasured friendship. Benji had come to a bad end in a dark alley one night before he was to meet Bri for an evening adventure to Galveston. She had waited two hours but he never showed up. It was the next day before she learned that Benji had died at the hands of three knife-wielding bullies because he refused to give up the shiny gold pocket watch she had given him as a gift.
Bri slid her hand into her pocket to clasp the watch she had recovered at a pawnbroker’s shop. It was a constant reminder of the loyalty of her best friend and the uncertainty of life. Even after three years she still hadn’t recovered from the guilt. If she hadn’t given him the expensive gift that he treasured and carried proudly—visibly—he wouldn’t have lost his life.
“My, my, ain’t you easy on the eye, honey. Care for a little company?”
Bri ignored the tall, greasy-haired hombre whose smile displayed a mouthful of rotten teeth. He looked to be at least a decade older than her twenty-three years and he smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in months. When he grabbed her elbow, she jabbed him in the soft underbelly to ensure that he turned her loose so she could continue on her way.
“I bet I could teach you a thing or two about a woman’s place,” the man growled as he started after her.
“Try it and I’ll scream this place down around you. You can spend your evening in jail,” she muttered as she glared over her shoulder at him.
His slate-gray eyes narrowed menacingly. When he stepped toward her, his friend clamped hold of him to hold him at bay.
“Leave me alone, Pete,” the man said, and scowled.
“Easy, Joe, we got places we gotta be tonight. No need to call unnecessary attention to ourselves,” Pete, the heavyset, auburn-haired man insisted. “The boss wouldn’t like it.”
Bri ignored Joe Whoever-He-Was. She remained on high alert, in case the scoundrel wormed loose from his companion’s grasp and came after her.
She was proud to be the daughter of a veteran of the Confederate Army and Rangers’ upper echelon, as well as the best friend of a scrappy street fighter. Men didn’t expect her to be capable of defending herself. It was that element of surprise that had saved her several times when she chose to venture off alone to escape the restrictions of high society.
Bri silently rehearsed what she intended to say to Eaton before she wished him a final fare-thee-well. All the while, she cautiously monitored the whereabouts of the two men. She breathed a sigh of relief when they ducked into the room three doors down from her own. She halted in front of Eaton’s room and drew herself up to full stature, trying to make the most of her five-foot-three inch height.
She smirked at the thought of Eaton demanding the two-room dignitary suite. Nothing but the best for Eaton. He had convinced himself that he was entitled and he constantly put on airs to assure the public that he was something special.
Her thoughts flittered off when she heard a burst of feminine laughter on the other side of the door. Bri frowned then looked up at the room number. Yes, this was Eaton’s suite. She had come to the right place.
A man’s rumbling laugher caught Bri’s attention. It dawned on her that her soon-to-be ex-fiancé was entertaining a woman.
