Standoff at the Waterin' Horse Saloon Read online

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  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Stacy Dawn

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Standoff

  at the

  Waterin’ Horse Saloon

  by

  Stacy Dawn

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Standoff at the Waterin’ Horse Saloon

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2007 by Stacy Dawn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 706

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Line Cactus Rose Edition, July, 2007

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my own personal cowboy ... I adore you.

  5 Angels From Fallen Angel Reviews

  Stacy Dawn had me laughing and completely drawn into Cheatin’ Hearts at the first page. Quite a feat when you consider the story is told in eleven pages. The author has taken what could have been a predicable night looking for love and delivered a romance with refreshing wit.

  Amanda S., Fallen Angel Reviews

  "Jonas Decker! You low-down-dirty-rotten...” The crash of Room 3's door as she flung it open, gave Bridgit Schneider a moment of pure satisfaction. The barrel of the gun pointed square between her eyes did not.

  All sounds of the Waterin’ Horse Saloon's barroom below the second floor landing muted beneath the ricocheted beats of her heart.

  Fierce, green eyes stared steadily at her for half an instant before widening in shock. “Bridget! What the hell are you doin’ here, girl? I coulda shot your head off!"

  She clasped a hand to her throat as her eyes followed the lowered gun to a bare chest grazed with dark hair, which coursed down to disappear beneath steaming water.

  Maybe Izzy was right—I shoulda thought this through a bit better.

  Her gaze darted back up at the curses hissed out above the broad chest. Quick as lightening, Jonas holstered the gun in a thick, leather belt hanging off the chair next to the long, narrow wooden tub. With the same frantic momentum, he grabbed the brown cowboy hat from his head and slapped it onto the water between where his knees broke the surface and his chest drizzled with moisture.

  Even though it was only half way through spring, the steam from his bath held the musty air like the thick humidity of high summer. Bridget inadvertently bumped into a large, lopsided chest of drawers. The vase of bright, spring flowers shivered and looked out of place next to a dull, chipped basin and pitcher. A rustic bed sat in the far corner behind Jonas, its mattress covered in a torn quilt. She'd heard stories of what happened in these rooms and sent up a prayer of thanks that Izzy made sure he was alone before she tore his door down.

  Her hand trembled at the thought, and she reflexively pinched the lace of her high collar between twitchy fingers. But half a year's worth of anger stored up wouldn't be hog-tied so easily.

  Bridget cleared her throat and slammed the door closed. The affirmative action snapped her out of the unexpected distraction.

  "Yes, well.” Satisfied the resolve in her voice sounded stern enough out loud, she clasped her skirt and petticoats, raising the faded spring dress above the puddles of water on the floor. The strong appearance she attempted to hold onto would not benefit from a trip and tumble right now. The minute the thought crossed her mind, a picture of herself surrounded by Jonas's arms in the water sewed itself permanently into her imagination.

  Bridget shook her head. No. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. She couldn't let his handsome face—and body—distract her from her mission. She might've been raised on forgiveness, but there was no forgiveness left in her heart because he stole it right from her chest.

  "You have a lot to answer for, Jonas Decker."

  Large droplets fell onto his hat when he raised his hand between them. “Now hold on there, Bridge—"

  "Don't you Bridge me.” She tightened her fists against her sides. “I've been holdin’ on for the last year—six months of that with no word from you at all. Then I hear you rambled into town and the first place you go is the saloon!” Lifting her chin, she looked down her nose at him. “I'd say that about says it all. If I was all fired important to you, you would've been on my doorstep first thing."

  Jonas's eyes darted around the room uncomfortable like. “I'm not about to go into this with you here, Bridget."

  Wispy spurts of steam swirled up with the rippling water as he shifted within the wooden washtub. Larger than the one she used above her parent's shop, it still shied in comparison to his large frame. She'd almost think it funny if she weren't so sure fire mad.

  A second later, a small smile touched her lips, and she relaxed her hands. Then again, maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. Having a standoff with Jonas in a tub gave her the advantage—he'd have to stay put and hear her out.

  The idea came to root, and without thinking twice, Bridget lifted her skirts and dashed to the chair draped with his dusty clothes. Grabbing them up, she threw open the window and tossed the lot out onto the boardwalk two stories below.

  "Hey!"

  Water sloshed over the floor, weighting down a corner of her petticoats as he bounded up and flung a leg over the side. “What the hell did you do that for?"

  An involuntary gasp escaped her lips and her hand flew back to her throat. She'd known he was handsome, but this was the first time she'd ever seen Jonas in all his God-given glory.

  Oh my!

  His angry gaze dove from the window back to her then down to his naked self. More water sprayed around as he quickly retreated back to the shallow depths, using his hat to the best of its dismal ability to cover himself.

  The repetitive knock of the swinging gun belt against the jarred chair ticked off the silent seconds.

  Jaw tight, Jonas's brows lowered further in frustration. Beneath his breath, she heard a muttered, “Damn."

  "I've had just about enough of your cussin'.” Bridget shook a finger at him. “Is that what they taught you back on your granddad's ranch? I woulda thought inheritin’ it would make you wanna give a good example to your cow-hands, not the other way around."

  It irked her that he ignored her comments to jerk a thumb at the door. Those striking eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How'd an innocent little seamstress like yourself get into the Waterin’ Horse anyhow?"

  Bridget raised her chin, proud of her occupation and not impressed to be called little. “Saloon girls need dress repairs too, you know. Some of them are even quite interestin’ once you get talkin’ to them. Isabelle happens to be a friend of mine now—you'd know that if you'd kept writin’ like you'd promised."

  One sandy brow rai
sed in a hint of admiration. “Conspirin’ with a workin’ girl and sneakin’ into saloons? That don't sound like the sweet little Bridget I left.” He folded his arms across his expansive chest, which left the hat to float precariously in front of him. “Does your daddy know you're here?"

  Some of her fire instantly fizzled and she gulped.

  Jonas's smile grew. “I didn't think so. Now, why don't you be a good girl and get yourself out of this saloon before he finds out—oh, and get your friend, Isabelle, to bring me back my clothes."

  His chuckle rolled through her body, warming low in her belly. She placed a hand over the spot and squeezed her eyes shut. Everything in her screamed to run. Who was she kidding? Jonas was right—if Poppa found out she was here ... No. She didn't want to think about that and she didn't want to run—not yet.

  The foolish little girl who gave Jonas Decker her heart had grown up a lot in the last year. Now a woman of eighteen, she reluctantly acknowledged he still held her heart—and probably always would—but he wasn't gonna get away with stealing her pride as well. Bridget opened her eyes to glare at his smug smile. Dignity was all she had left and it wanted satisfaction for being wronged.

  "I wouldn't be lookin’ so smug there, you scoundrel. If my daddy finds out I'm here—and with who—I'm not the only one who'll be lookin’ down the barrel of a gun today.” She crossed her own arms against her chest in imitation. “So, why don't we just leave him out of this?"

  With determination, she held his furious gaze in a standoff.

  Seconds, minutes, an eternity passed before Jonas broke away first.

  Euphoric triumph filled her chest.

  When he rested his arms along the edges of the tub with an overly friendly, ‘Fine, then,’ her hackles rose, slicing through her victory at the seams.

  The hat bobbed on the small waves Jonas's body created as he relaxed back. “If this is where you want me, guess I can't complain, now can I?” The crooked grin and glitter-green sparkle in his eyes revealed the mischievous sweet-talker she remembered.

  "Oh, no you don't. You ain't gonna sweet talk your way out of this one. I'm not gonna be duped by a low-life-liar again."

  "Bridget.” The low warning tone darkened the green of his eyes like looking into a deep, dark forest. “You better not be talkin’ ‘bout me."

  She knew those words would hit him right where it counted. She'd had a lot of time to get them just right. Sprouting pretty words about honor and how a man's word is his bond pulled her in once, but she wasn't about to fall for that load of hogwash again.

  "You can bet I'm talkin’ about you.” Bridget stood tall and stepped back to the window. Fingering the muslin curtains, she mimicked, “I won't be long, Bridge. Once I make somethin’ of the ranch, Bridge.” The material was already frayed—just like her heart. “I'll be back to marry you in the fall, Bridge,” she finished over a lump in her throat. She cleared the weakness quickly and whipped around on him. “'Member all those pretty words—all those lies?” Hands on hips, she glared down at him.

  All her silly, young girl's dreams had revolved around Jonas Decker—and all had come unraveled like a run away spool of thread. It hurt to even see him again, be so close again, but she knew this was for the best. Give them both their due and get out. Then she could spend the rest of her life with her pride intact—while stitching up her broken heart.

  "The least you coulda done was come to me proper like and tell me you didn't want me anymore.” She glared at the protesting hand he'd swept out of the water. “Don't you even try to deny it. I was worried, terrified somethin’ awful had happened to you—wranglers had shot you down or the Indians I'd heard rumors about had come raidin’ again. Then to find out from Ned over at the livery that your spread was doin’ better than you'd expected and you'd even gotten yourself another three horses and fifteen head of cattle. That sure sounds more than settled to me. But not one letter, not one note in the last six months.” Her gaze dropped to a straight razor and cup of shave cream set out on the dresser next to the window. Bridget purposely swiped a finger through the steam-fogged mirror lying with them. “And you can't deny how well you're doin’ if you can afford the hot water."

  A navy blue handkerchief missed her stunt with his tossed clothes. She picked it up from the floor and pulled at a loose string. Holding it up in front of her, it flittered away with the release of her fingers. Just like her one last thread of hope she'd clung to when she heard Jonas had finally rode back into town had been snipped away when she watched him head happily into the saloon without even a glance at her family's shop. The same shop where he'd come a courtin’ and where she'd pined for him for the first six months, then spited him for the last. She pitched the hanky out the window too.

  "I shoulda known you'd chickened out and hide out in the saloon instead of comin’ to me."

  "You're right."

  Bridget reared back in shock. She'd readied herself for a fight, a good tongue wagging and then storming off with her head held high. The soft apology was the last thing she expected. “Wh—what?"

  His hand closed around her arm. She resisted the pull tugging her closer.

  "I don't much like you questionin’ my honor, and I sure ain't no chicken—but you do have a point.” His wet hand slid down her arm to clasp her hand. The cooling water fused their skin together. “I may have got my seasons wrong, and I admit, I got a little busy these last months to write. For those wrongs, I'm sorely apologizin'. But I didn't lie to you, Bridge.” Sincerity shone from his ruggedly handsome face. “I'd never lie to you. I'm here because I came back for you just like I said I would."

  He could always do that; lull her in with the calm timbre of his voice and the smile in his eyes.

  She yanked her hand away, afraid to be made a fool of again. “You're just sayin’ that because I got you cornered."

  His smile crooked up on one side. “Nope. I'm just sayin’ that because it's the only way I'll get my clothes back."

  "Oh! Why you low down...” She swept up the cup of shave cream and threw it at him.

  Jonas ducked, white foam flaring like a winter storm across the floor and over the bed's quilt.

  Fuming at her miss, she reached back for the mirror. Before her fingers could grasp it though, strong arms looped around her waist, hauled her off her feet and over the side of the tub.

  A squeak of surprise escaped from her throat as warm water soaked into her clothes and she came to a stop on his naked lap.

  "After today, I swear, I'll never call you my little Bridget ever again. More like my little wildcat,” he laughed, tightening his hold as she thrashed about to get away. “I'll also be callin’ you my wife."

  That stopped her. Dead still, the weight of the water in her petticoats dragged her down further into the crook of his lap. “Wh—what did you say?"

  The damp hand pushing a curl from her face left a whisper wet trail of tingles along her cheek. Forest green eyes smiled down full with the love, not of a boy ... but of a man.

  "If you'd just given me another hour, I woulda been standin’ at your door, flowers in hand"—he nodded to the vase on the chest of drawers by the door—"and not smellin’ of cattle and the road."

  She glanced from the vase, to his cherished face, then to his naked chest a mere breath away. Something stirred against her under the water and the air thinned in her lungs.

  Jonas shifted until she was cradled in one arm. With the other hand, he lifted her chin between his thumb and finger. Her bewildered gaze met his serious one

  "I stopped at the Waterin’ Horse to make myself presentable before I went to your parents to ask for your hand."

  His fingers wove through her thick hair, drawing her head closer. All the anger, all the spite, all the doubts washed away as his lips claimed hers. And this kiss wasn't the quick peck of a courtin’ boy. This kiss, this kiss held all the passion of a man claiming his territory.... claiming her heart forever.

  Though he released her lips after a few deliciou
s moments, he didn't release her or her gaze. “Now, Bridget Marie Schneider, will you agree to be my wife so we can end this standoff and get onto the service. Because if you keep starin’ at me that way, we may not make it to a proper matrimonial weddin’ night."

  Bridget nodded. A slow, daring smile drew her lips up.

  She couldn't wait for the wedding night. Having a saloon girl for a friend was beneficial in other ways too. And she planned to show her husband a few of those benefits every night for the rest of their lives.

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