Clockwork Cowboy

Chapter 3

He swallowed nervously, his throat suddenly dry. It had been so long since he'd spoken to such a pretty lass that he couldn't trust himself to be articulate. "Hello, ma'am." Now what was he supposed to do? Make small talk until he could escape? "Can I get you a drink?"

"A whiskey." With a smile, she wriggled her buttocks onto the stool next to him. "Such a hot night." Her fingers brushed out the blonde tendrils around her shoulders, drawing his attention to her cleavage.

Clearing his throat - hoping to simultaneously clear his mind - Jese ordered two whiskeys.

"It's quite a busy night." She adjusted her skirt, revealing brown and cream striped stockings. His fingers ached to reach out and caress the fabric.

He sat silently. His jaw clamped stubbornly. A muscle working in his cheek.

"I noticed you from the stage," she said with an encouraging smile.

Jese glanced at her, before darting his eyes back to the safety of his glass of water.

The wooden tavern adorned with gilt-framed mirrors and paintings as her back drop all paled in comparison to the expression on her face... She wanted something, there was a hint of desperation in her expression. Was it him?

The thought caused a whole new sensation to jolt to life in his veins. To make love to a woman like that. He rubbed his head with his hands, desperate to erase the images that already tormented him.

She didn't seem to care that he hadn't replied. "You're an eye-catching sight." She took an iced tea from the Barkeep, in the guise of a strong whiskey. It was the way saloon girls survived. The difference she made from that overcharged drink would go directly to her handbag. She raised it to her lips and sipped.

He couldn't help but watch. It had been so long since he'd been seated next to someone who smelt so nice. Like honey suckle. Honey suckle and diesel. It was a strange, yet compelling smell. As she lowered her glass Jese noticed a droplet on her lips.

She'd a look of awareness on her face. India caught her bottom lip between her teeth, the plump flesh turning white. His heart slammed against his ribs. She was flirting with him. He struggled not to look. If he did so he wasn't sure that he would be able to stop himself from kissing her. Being lynched for molesting a saloon girl was not how he wished to die. His tombstone deserved far better content.

"How long have you been here?" Jese asked his glass of water. He could see through the glass where his fingers had turned white from the pressure. He was desperate to lead the conversation away from this path. He needed to be in control, his past had taught him that his light headed sensation she was giving him was going to land him in serious trouble.

"Ten years," she answered absentmindedly. Her hand reached out, stroking his arm down to his hand. Chills darted up his limb as if it was set alight.

"Ten years?"

With a wide eyed look she stuttered, "Sorry. I misheard you. One year. I've only been here one year." Her hand dropped from his arm like a sack of copper.

Too well-mannered to show suspicion he moved on quickly. "And when do you mean to travel home?"

"Soon," she said with an overly bright smile. "Really soon."

"You favor the English climate?"

"It's hard to compare."

It really was, he thought in amusement. When you'd never set foot in the country. He watched her take an apprehensive sip of her drink. What was her story? Maybe she was escaping the law like he was?

Her nervousness gave him the surge of power he needed. She'd seen his fresh face and come strutting over, hoping to empty his wallet on over priced iced teas. She'd made him look like a clumsy git, but now he'd grabbed hold of the reins. He was back in control.

Reaching his hand out Jese traced a lock of hair as it fell onto her bosom. "Strange mixture - this yellow hair with those strange blue eyes of yours."

She coughed. He could see her skin had puckered into tiny goose bumps where his finger had touched her warm cleavage. "So I have been told."

Glancing down at his finger tip he noticed a smudge of white paint that covered it. His mind boggled to think who could be hidden under this disguise. What she was hiding? Smallpox scars?

"You're the perfect woman," he said. Wiping her body paint off onto a napkin, pointedly. "Almost too perfect." He caught her gaze. "As if you don't really exist."

She moved restlessly in her seat. "I guess that is why I'm so popular here."

He snuck a hand out and captured her chin. His thumb brushed her lower lip. "And this mouth. It's far too exotic to be British."

She stood up suddenly; her iced tea forgotten. "Thank you for the drink." Stumbling back into the fray she was whisked away by an opportunistic cowboy.

Jese glanced down at the drink in his hand, but something caught his attention. His gut lurched. "Filthy wench!"

One of his Grandfather's precious cufflinks had gone missing.