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  She was fierce with that disclaimer. He didn't factor in her experience with Frank Rossiter before his own temper flared. "You have a problem with my Indian blood?"

  Anger simmered as he prepared to say to hell with the whole proposition and take his chances with the crowd gathering outside.

  But he explained himself, for her ears only. "I need to deed my spread to a son. My bloodlines range a little too close to my Kiowa mother for present ease."

  Her expression was unreadable, but her hands still clutched the edge of the table. She asked, "Why would that fix anything?"

  "We'll breed back to the red hair and white skin of my father. If I'm fortunate, my son will inherit those features." He frowned, irritated to admit his plan to deliberately dilute his Indian blood.

  His voice dropped into a threatening growl. "After you give me a son, pale-skin or Kiowa, do what you will, but the boy remains with me." The crowd outside was louder, and Grady Hawks thought it was time for plain speaking.

  "Ma'am, you need a husband, and I need a wife. What say you?"

  The heavy tread of footsteps and flickering light of a torch had more of her attention than he did. She walked to the window and peered outside, ignoring the room's occupants. Grady had time to admire the proud line of her back and shoulders as she telegraphed her right to be left alone.

  He mentally shrugged and admitted defeat. The gambler's widow had made her decision. He pulled on the brim of his hat and nodded at the others.

  And then, because in a curious way he still needed to close out his memory of her at the Eclipse social, he joined her at the window, shielding her from the room's view.

  She didn't flinch or respond, but their gaze crossed in the window's reflection. A shout outside and a lifted torch showed the crowd. But her gaze was tilted upward, fixed on a second-story window in the Golden Eagle Saloon. A man outlined there stood smoking a cigar and watching the mob. Her gaze refocused on Grady, and green fire met cold slate.

  "All right." She nodded her acceptance, surprising him.

  It was a good enough answer for him. Negotiations were over, and he'd courted and claimed himself a bride. She turned to him, almost in his arms and lowered her voice, shielding the rest of the discussion from the other listeners in the room.

  "Why is it, Mr. Hawks, that our paths seem to keep crisscrossing?"

  He drew deep of her scent, the smell of Comfort Quince's soap and bottled pretties drifting up as he leaned closer to hear her husky voice. Her own rich musk wafted sweetly and tickled his senses, unexpectedly stirring an arousal. He was the first to step away, but he had the last word. "I think you know." His eyelids drifted to half slits, and a growl of hunger clawed at his throat. Siren, they call her. Jesus.

  *

  Jewel felt a minor triumph when her would-be groom stepped back. Although it shouldn't have been so, he took up more space than the others in the room combined. She assessed the half-breed rancher. I think you know. His muttered words erased any sense that she'd brought these troubles on him. Grady Hawks was just another man who wanted to use her.

  He wasn't the biggest man in the room—that would be Hiram Potter. Grady Hawks was neither tall nor broad, standing no more than a head above her five and a half feet.

  But his compact build exuded power that dominated everyone else—except her. The woman who was once Julie Fulton stared at him and resisted.

  Jewel let her eyes play mockingly across his face as his eyes undressed her. "My husband just perished at the hand of a murderer, Mr. Hawks. Surely you would allow a widow a discreet mourning period."

  Her words were now pitched to carry to the other room occupants. It was a call for agreement, protection, support. None was forthcoming.

  She tried to look past his thin lips, blade-like nose, and copper skin to see the man beneath. But he remained expressionless except for the pale eyes that returned her intent stare. For a moment she was dizzy; a combination of little food, fear, and the trauma of finding Frank, threatened her with weakness.

  Grady Hawks saw the moment her strength abandoned her, and he took her into his arms, preventing her slide to the floor. She looked up at the man balancing her weight, as he demonstrated his claim on her to the room members. For a moment, she wanted to close her eyes, let go, and let him take control.

  "Get this woman something to eat," he commanded. It was that order that brought her back to attention. His nose intruded into her space, and she commented waspishly,

  "I'm fine. I want nothing from these people. Let me up."

  Chapter Five

  She pushed ineffectually at the forged steel of his shoulder as he remained close, his breath mixing intimately with hers.

  "You're very strong," she told him. But instead of the compliment or flirt it might have sounded, it was a recognition of the damage such strength could deliver. Jewel shuddered involuntarily.

  Grady Hawks set her on her feet but didn't remove the hand that telegraphed ownership from her back.

  The judge licked his lips and looked alternately at the rancher and then at her. Jewel could see that the man of mixed blood made most of the people in the room uneasy.

  When Judge Conklin moved toward her, Hawks shifted, subtly warning the other man away. And yet, he was careful to keep his gaze from touching any but her, ignoring the others in the room as though the two of them were alone. She was irritated at his possessive stance.

  "Well, then, Judge. Mrs. Rossiter has agreed. Let's get on with it." The voice of Hamilton Quince interrupted the silent tableaux, urging haste.

  "Wait," Jewel hesitated. Again, remnants of her former self clamored in her head.

  She turned to the man she had just agreed to marry. "I can't do this."

  But, on the porch, someone yelled, "Come on outside, Jewel. Glad you're back in town. You can stay at my place for awhile."

  "Better take her weapons away from her before you tuck her into bed, Jud." Julie recognized the voice of Ansell Harper, one of Frank's card buddies.

  "Better yet, how 'bout we both tuck her in. I figure Jewel can handle us both," and then, as though he knew she was listening, he yelled, "Right, Jewel? You'll fuck more than one of Frank's friends at a time, won't ya?"

  Her face burned in humiliation as the room's occupants listened. She stepped toward the door, ready to leave. "I'm going out the back way."

  "I'll see to the care of your daughters and give each one a section of land when she marries."

  Jewel stopped in her tracks. She had nothing to return to but a thin-walled paper shack that now had holes kicked in the side.

  Her glance played over Comfort Quince, who sat tensely on the arm of her husband's chair, as he rested his hand on her hip. It was such an intimate gesture Jewel looked away. The Quinces hadn't given up.

  If she stayed where they could watch her, she could lose her children anyway. The judge seemed ready to toady up to whoever wielded the most power and influence.

  Grady Hawks was a rich rancher who could protect her and her children. "Access to water," she asked him, adding silently, to be able to give my girls a dowry, a grubstake to protect them when they're grown.

  She didn't know much about Texas land, but she'd heard the word water repeatedly since this conversation had begun. So she put that in too and studied his face, looking for assurances. His eyes were cold and hard, but he nodded.

  "One year. If there is no child in one year, the girls get their land or the price of it, and I get enough money to set us up in a decent home when we leave."

  He stared at her sudden, aggressive demand and then nodded.

  "I want it in writing." She swung around to the judge, who laughed nervously, glancing at Grady Hawks and then back at Jewel.

  "Might be best to put the conditions in writing," he advised.

  Grady Hawks pulled on the coat that she'd abandoned, turned, and walked toward the door, saying nothing to the people in the room. The occupants didn't realize at first that he was leaving.

&nbs
p; Jewel froze. She'd pushed too hard. Grimly, she stepped to his side and laid her hand on his arm, turning to face the others. "I beg your pardon. I'm accustomed to dealing with men who don't keep their word."

  It was all she said, but she felt the stiffness of affront drain from his muscles as he turned her back into the room.

  Once begun, the particulars didn't take long. "Your full name—we need to make sure this is right and tight." It was Hamilton who pushed the business forward.

  When she hesitated, he assured her, "It goes no further than this room, but the documents need to be witnessed and legal. We need your given name."

  "Julia Fulton Rossiter." She hadn't been that girl for four years, and it felt as though she called out another's name when the Judge made fast work of the ceremony. The vows consisted mostly of Will you? and Do you? , wrapped up in male ownership papers. As soon as the last promise was made, she asked, "My girls?"

  Before anyone could answer, the front door banged open and rowdy drunkards filled Comfort's Boardinghouse. It quickly became the scene of a milling crowd determined to add to the developing story about the death of the gambler.

  Several of the men at the front of the mob had other concerns. Teddy James had been her dead husband's drinking-and-carousing buddy, not to mention his partner in mutual scamming and thieving projects.

  "Jewel, you need to come back to the Golden Eagle tonight. Frank had obligations we need to discuss." He leered at her familiarly, as if the last time she'd been near him, she hadn't slapped his face.

  At least his girth blocked those who pushed from behind. "Hurry on over here, Jewel. I can't hold this mob back for much longer. The Kiowa half-breed knifed Frank, and the people of the town are fixing to get justice for your man."

  If the mob hadn't been a real threat, it would have been funny. When Teddy said your man, Jewel wanted to ask, Which one? Instead, she looked toward Grady Hawks.

  But it was Hamilton Quince who answered. "Don't know of any Indian hanging around town, do you, Judge?"

  The question was caught and answered by Conklin as though rehearsed. "I came over for dinner with you and your lovely wife, and stayed for a meeting with those now present. I've not seen any strangers in town."

  The judge avoided lying adroitly, and Jewel shifted her attention back to Teddy James fast enough to see his frown.

  "Judge, we know for a fact that Sheriff Potter pulled that fancy knife that belongs to Hawks out of Frank's chest."

  Hiram Potter spoke up. "How do you know that, Teddy? I didn't see you or any of your cronies around when Mrs. Rossiter and I found her husband. Maybe you need to come on over to my office if you've got information."

  In a seemingly friendly bear hug, Sheriff Potter turned the saloon owner and half pulled him from the door and to the outside, where Jewel could hear him calming down the mob.

  "There are no murderers at Comfort's place, gentlemen. I brought the widow here to clean up and catch her breath before she has to face tomorrow." Several of the men called out offers to put her up, but Sheriff Potter shushed them and added, "Teddy, here, was making some dangerous and mistaken allegations, weren't you, Teddy?"

  Potter continued as if the man had agreed. "First off, there aren't any Indians hanging around the town tonight. I'd know. Secondly, you fellas are causing a mite of disturbance here at Comfort's house." His observation was amiable as he pulled the saloon owner in his wake.

  "Comfort was entertaining Hamilton Quince and Grady Hawks, as well as Judge Conklin and Mrs. Rossiter when this all happened." Jewel was pretty sure that the choke-hold the sheriff had on Teddy James was enough to silence his dissent.

  Hiram Potter's voice boomed as he directed the crowd. "I'd take it kindly if you'd all go home now. If you've got information, like Teddy does, come on over to the jail, and I'll take your statements."

  Jewel watched the crowd disperse at Sheriff Potter's blanket invitation to visit the jail. As one danger receded, a second, much more threatening, reminded her that she had a new husband.

  "Julie Hawks." His voice was a whisper of sound in the room, but it raised the gooseflesh on her arms and the fear in her heart.

  She shouldn't have agreed to the scheme, but her best option at the moment seemed limited to a man she didn't know. "My name is Jewel. I don't go by the other."

  But she spoke to his back, and he paid her no attention as he headed toward the door, clearly intending for her to follow.

  *

  Grady didn't trust the woman the distance it took to get from one side of the room to the other, but that didn't seem to matter to his cock. He'd had to turn away from her to hide the swollen log in his pants.

  He could feel the gaze of his new bride on his back, and his shoulder blades itched as he imagined her getting ready to stab husband number two. Jesus, what did I just do?

  But he didn't have to look behind him to know why he'd jumped at the chance to maneuver the widow into marriage. When he'd seen Jewel Rossiter in town for the first time, four years before, he'd been stunned by her looks.

  Like his father, her hair was the color of good whiskey. Her skin was pale and fine, with cheeks that were blushed with a peach color. He'd wanted to know her that day and had set out to make it happen.

  Even then he hadn't liked her name. Jewel. It had seemed to him something a loose woman would call herself. He was glad to know her given name was Julia, even though his new wife had removed all doubt that she was for sale.

  And not a two-penny whore, either. She just sold me a year or so of fucking rights, plus a baby, in exchange for good range land with water access.

  Grady Hawks scowled at the thought of diluting his Kiowa blood with the mercenary white woman; at the same time his dick, now hard for her, didn't give a rat's ass what her motives were.

  On first glimpse of her, four years before, she'd seemed lost, scared, and adrift. He'd lingered in town after his father had driven the wagon home, stalking her.

  Even after she'd checked into the seedy hotel at the end of town, he'd still waited around, hoping to get another glimpse of the exotically beautiful girl.

  She'd been sweetly innocent then. He'd still been spying that evening when she'd braced Frank Rossiter, and he'd witnessed the blow she'd taken when the gambler used his fist on her.

  Grady had reacted by instinct, yanking the jackass outside with the intention of beating him to death. It wasn't till the girl he'd followed all day had intervened, half carrying the worthless gambler to the wagon she had waiting, that he realized she was a married woman. And on top of that, she was married to the bastard who had punched her.

  It should have been a bucket of cold water dampening his interest, but he'd still listened when gossip about her came round. She'd disappeared from Eclipse after that night.

  But around the time Grady's father had been killed, the saloonkeeper, Teddy James, mentioned the gambler was back in town. The saloon owner had claimed that for a price, the gambler would share her.

  Red hair or not, Da would have had a fit over this match.

  It didn't matter. Grady thought about her pragmatically. She would do for his purpose. He needed to get a son upon a white woman.

  He'd already figured that by marrying an Eclipse ranch daughter, he'd temporarily secure his stance in the county—but he didn't trust any of the locals enough to give a white woman's relatives a strong claim on Hawks Nest. That would just invite a bullet in the back, leaving a new-made widow ready to take over.

  This woman had no relatives to protect her or steal from him. She would do. He'd have to watch and make sure no other males covered her until after she caught. Then—

  his face was grimmer than usual—then she could be on her way.

  The hard years had taken their toll on her beautiful features. Lines marred her forehead and pinched a groove on either side of her nose, giving her an almost feral look.

  A wolverine. Grady saw her as the fierce animal, avoided by prey and predator alike.

  Toda
y he'd come to meet with Hamilton Quince. The territory was overrun with crooked land agents stealing Texas out from under white and Indian alike. When he'd received a message from Quince, calling for him to ride into Eclipse for a cattleman's meeting in town, he'd almost smiled.

  He'd been here longer than most and sure as hell qualified as a cattleman, owning the second largest spread in the territory as well as the water rights needed by all. But since his father's passing, there had been few invitations to the Eclipse Cattlemen's meeting.

  He'd arrived at Comfort Quince's Boarding House in late afternoon, tying up discreetly in the back. Other ranchers drifted in and out, giving him a stiff nod before they spoke to Quince.

  According to Hamilton, the land grabbers were after the water rights that made the two ranchers allies. If today's meeting was intended to give him a heads-up, it had turned into more than that.

  During the afternoon, he'd known that he'd left himself too vulnerable, with so many white men giving him questioning looks, like he wasn't one of them. For most of them, the suspicious glances weren't a real threat, and Grady knew it.

  But when the sheriff brought Jewel Rossiter and Grady's stolen knife to the boarding house, it was obvious he'd been set up. The woman was so recently widowed that she had her husband's blood on her hands, and it was the same blood coating the blade of the murder weapon. When it was apparent that one or the other of them was intended to be found guilty, he'd seen a solution to two problems.

  He needed a white wife, and she needed someone to keep her out of jail or worse—

  Teddy James' brothel. He'd watched Comfort Quince escort the woman to the bathing room, and he'd stepped into the alley and signaled for his friends who'd ridden to town with him.

  He'd asked Dan, Rowdy, and Navajo to find out what had transpired. When Dan had knocked on the back door of the boarding house and told him about the babies the gambler had left at Ma Siler's place, he'd been sickened. To have even a brief association with a woman who would abandon her children to the care of the slattern was unpalatable.