Page 34

The gritty, foul taste in her mouth made her gag. That’s all she needed, to lose her breakfast in front of him, or, worse, all over him.

“Got a mouthful, have you?Open, and stick out your tongue.”

She’d done much more, and, far worse, with a man. Why, then, did the idea scandalize her so completely? But it was better than getting sick, so she did as he directed, no matter how mortifying. The only concession to surrendering every ounce of her pride to this man was shutting her eyes.

After a couple of passes with his linen-covered fingers, he uttered, “There, now. Can’t do much for the aftertaste, but that should do until you can get to a toothbrush and a basin of water.”

Having held the urge at bay for too long already, Charlotte swallowed tentatively. Finding most of the grit gone, she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her expectantly.

“Better?” he asked.

At her nod, he went back to removing the mud dripping from her face as if he did such a thing every day.

She could only stare at him in gratitude.

While she did, Charlotte took in everything that had changed about him.

He seemed taller than she remembered. Even with her face angled up to his, he still had to stoop a bit to get close to her.

The brim of his hat shaded his features, but this close, she could see them clearly.

Well-shaped brows gathered as he focused on his task; long black lashes framed eyes as blue as the sky above him.

They were light in contrast to his sun-bronzed skin and dark hair.

Full lips, soft looking as though they’d be heavenly to kiss, and a neatly trimmed beard along his firm jawline rounded out his striking features.

He was handsome, but he wasn’t perfect. A slight bump on the bridge of his nose indicated it had been broken in the past. A thin scar, pale and smooth, which told her it too had happened some time ago, extended at an angle from below his left cheekbone toward his mouth.

It disappeared into his beard and left her wondering where it ended.

The minor flaws only enhanced his rugged appeal.

Men from eighteen to eighty—though fortunately few were near the upper end of the age range—and of all shapes and sizes flocked to the Red Eye. She didn’t see many like Seth Walker, however. Everything about him spurred her interest.

He paused in his wiping to fold the linen square. “I believe you found the worst place in all of Laramie to take a tumble.”

With a clean patch of cloth to work with, he went back to it.

What had come over her? Waxing poetic over a man’s appearance wasn’t like her.Perhaps, at seventeen, when she’d been testing her wiles at the dozens of balls and soirees she’d attended. Not since Carson had she ruminated over a man’s lips and how kissable they would be.

It may have been the rare kindness he showed, offering help without seeking something in return. Men at the Red Eye were nice to Miss Charlotte, but it was transactional. If they weren’t, they risked leaving without being invited upstairs, which, for most, was their goal.

“I think I saw her turn down a side street.” The voice drifting down the alley toward them belonged to Violet. Even though she’d said not to, she must have dressed quickly and followed her, anyway.

“Why ever would she go off the boardwalk?” This second voice, sweet and lilting, belonged to Patsy. “Everything else is like a river of mud. Are you sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you?”

“Plain white blouse, drab skirt, feathers bobbing from her ridiculous hat. It was Charlotte all right,” Violet replied. “As to why, you’ll have to ask when we find her.”

“All right, but if I stain the hem of my new dress, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Having nothing wrong with his hearing, her rescuer asked, “Friends of yours?”

“I’ve been gone awhile. They must have gotten worried and come to look for me.”

He dabbed at a spot on her cheek. “I’ve done all I can with what I had to work with. You’re hardly presentable, but it will have to do.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done, Sheriff.”

With mischief dancing in his captivating blue eyes, his lips kicked up in a smile. “If I didn’t save a damsel in distress, they’d take away my badge and title. My name is Seth, by the way.”

“After today, your badge and title are safe, Seth.” She would have smiled in return but was too mesmerized by him. “It’s funny. I used to read fairy tales constantly as a girl, but it’s been so long, I’d forgotten white knights existed.”

The sparkle in his eyes dimmed. “Even adults deserve a happy ending, Charlotte.”

She held his gaze, wishing that were true for all adults.

“I should catch up with my friends and reassure them I’m all right.” She slid out from between him and the wall and hurried to the mouth of the alley, on the pallets this time, where it was safe.

With a quick glance down the street, she spotted Violet and Patsy approaching. She paused and glanced back at the man who had twice been her hero. Should she trust him with the truth? Something deep inside told her she could.

“Perhaps next time I can assist you in some way,” she proposed. “Let’s not forget, you saved me from a depraved Frenchman, a fiery inferno, and, now, drowning in mud. I think it’s my turn to play the white knight.”

Before she fled the shadowy alley to meet her girls, she caught a brief glimpse of his stunned expression. He thought she didn’t remember him, but she couldn’t forget the young man who’d risked his life for hers. Today hardly compared, but she appreciated him just as much.

Out on the busy street, her muddy, drenched state drew curious glances. Her friends lurched to a halt, eyes wide with horror.

“Criminy, Charlotte,” Violet exclaimed. “What happened?”

“A massive mud puddle,” she mumbled, her sodden clothes clinging uncomfortably as she slowly drew near, shoes squelching with each step.

“Were you pushed into it?” Patsy asked, eyes darting to the alley, ready to fight.

“No. This is my fault. To avoid more nasty looks, I took a shortcut.”

“You should have waited for us,” Violet insisted.

“You’re right, and I deserve all the ‘I told you sos’ coming my way. Can they wait until we’re home so I can get out of these clothes? I also need a scrub brush and to soak in a hot tub for an hour.”

“Make that two hours with a double dose of bath salts,” Patsy said, holding her nose. “Can you walk downwind, hon? No offense, but you stink.”

Then, an unusual event occurred. Charlotte laughed because frankly, it was either that or burst into tears. Her closest, and only, friends gave her a wide berth, but they accompanied her home, sludge-covered clothes and dripping hair leaving a brown trail from Main to Sixth Street.

What a spectacle she must have been.