Electing to Love Page 5

  She stood over the cursing, angry man and gave him a smile laced with venom. "This ain't no whorehouse, Mister. You'll do well to remember that."

  Gregory appeared beside her, looked down at the man lying on the wooden floor, and whistled. "I'd offer my assistance, but I don't think you need it."

  Angel folded her arms over her chest. "Jackass."

  Gregory helped the man get up and right the chair. Once the man was on his feet, the deputy posed a question. "Look, I'm deputy sheriff here, and if you want to press charges against Miss Lane, I can..."

  The man squinted at Gregory through his good eye. "Hell no, I ain't pressing no charges. It was just a lucky punch. No lady never got the best of me before and it won't happen again!" That said, he grabbed up his hat and shuffled out the way he'd come in.

  Once he'd left, Angel returned to the bar. Parts of her were still seething from the encounter, but it had felt damn good to put the jackass in his place. “Good riddance, I say."

  Gregory returned to his stool and his half-finished sarsaparilla. "You're pretty impressive, Angel May."

  Looking in his direction, she furrowed her brow. "How's that?"

  "Never known a woman who could run a business, keep up with politics, and knock a grown man over like that." He took a draw from his glass. "Yep. Pretty damn impressive."

  Hearing him speak of her that way, she smiled. She rested her elbows on the bar, and leaned toward him. “Thank you. That's high praise, I reckon."

  Their eyes met again, and this time their gazes connected and held.

  A few silent beats passed. She could feel her heart rate quicken as the dark pools enraptured her.

  "If you don't want me to kiss you, Angel May, now's the time to stop me."

  His gruffly spoken words seemed to vibrate through her entire body. Her eyes drifted to his full lips, and she heard herself say softly, "I don't object."

  He leaned into her, his large hand reaching out to capture her hair as their lips touched.

  This wasn't like then angry kiss she'd given him before. This was much sweeter. She reveled in the feeling of his tongue grazing over her lips and the corners of her mouth, beckoning her to open to him. When she did, and his tongue slipped inside, the passion sparking between them bloomed like a rose opening to the sun. Her hair came loose, but she didn't care as the kiss deepened. He laced his hands into her loose locks, his fingertips massaging her scalp, and a stream of heat radiated from his touch through her entire body.

  Only the sound of someone clearing their throat drew her back to reality. Reluctantly, she drew away, and turned to see her Aunt Myrna standing by the door to the apartment.

  Aided by her mahogany cane, Myrna slowly made her way toward them. "Evenin', Deputy."

  Looking altogether uncomfortable, he returned her greeting. "Mrs. Corcoran."

  Myrna's brow lifted, the aged face showing a hint of humor. "I came to check on my dear niece, because I knew she'd be working alone tonight. Or at least, that's what I was told."

  Angel felt the heat fill her cheeks. Even though she picked up on the humor in her aunt's statement, she couldn't help feeling like a child caught stealing candy. "I'm fine, Aunt Myrna."

  "Oh, I can see that, dear." With a wink, the older woman turned and went back through the door to the apartment.

  She watched her aunt depart, then turned back to him. "Goodness. I'm thoroughly embarrassed."

  He shook his head, a smile creeping over his face. "Don't be. I'm the one who started it...this time."

  Hearing him refer to their previous kiss make her cheeks feel even hotter. "Just be glad I kissed you that day instead of socking you like I wanted to."

  "I am glad. Especially after the way you laid that fellow out today."

  She rolled her eyes, gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. "You think this is all so funny. But now that my aunt's seen you kissing me, she'll expect us to be courting. Nothing she wants more than to see me married off." She cringed, wishing she could take back those last few words. What in the world has possessed her to tell him that?

  Nonplussed, he quipped, "I wasn't kissing you. We were kissing each other. And what's wrong with that?"

  She shrugged. "What's wrong us kissing? Nothing, I suppose. We're both adults."

  "No. I mean, what's wrong with us courting?"

  Round eyed, she stared at him. "Have you taken leave of your good sense?"

  Now he shrugged. "Maybe, but I want you."

  "You don't want to court me."

  He inclined his head. "And why not?"

  "What kind of fool question is that? You said yourself that I'm bossy and opinionated, and I ought to be tending to so called 'female affairs' rather than agitating for the vote."

  "Yeah, I did say that. But what if I changed my mind?"

  "About women voting?"

  "No. About you."

  He fixed her with a gaze so intense, she had to look away.

  "Gregory..."

  He grabbed hold of her hand, clasped in both of his atop the polished surface of the bar. "I'm not promising I'll come around to your way of thinking, Angel. But I am promising that if you'll have me, I'll treat you like the treasure you are."

  A sigh escaped her lips. She had to admit that she'd enjoyed his kisses, and that even now, the contact of his hands sent the shivers up and down her arm. On matters of principle, she couldn't be more at odds with him. But when it came to this strange, unnamed thing sparking between them, she felt her soul opening up to him. When he was near, her body reacted to his presence as if they were predestined to be close to one another.

  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "What do you say, Angel? Will you let me court you?"

  ***

  Gregory held fast to Angel's hand, and waited. He'd wait all night if he had to; his shift at the sheriff's office was over for the day. He had nothing but time on his hands, and he was determined to make her his.

  He understood her hesitance. Hell, just yesterday, he'd been complaining to Noah about how difficult and hardheaded she was. But after what he'd seen today, he'd evaluated the sum total of everything he knew about Angel, and the qualities she possessed. He'd always known she was beautiful. From the moment he'd laid eyes on her years ago, he'd seen that. That rich dark hair, the sparkling brown eyes, the full bosom and shapely hips bared to his gaze by the denims she insisted on wearing were all signs of her physical beauty.

  Since the day he'd arrested her, though, he'd discovered so much more about the person she was. What lay beneath the lovely surface was a complex woman, one he wanted to claim. It was as crazy a notion as had ever entered his mind, but he wanted her, and his desire could no longer be denied.

  She blew out a long, slow breath. "If I agree to this fool arrangement, will you promise to at least consider that women should be able to vote?"

  He bowed over her hand. "If those are the terms, then yes. I can agree to try and be more open-minded."

  Silence fell between them while she considered his offer.

  At last, she spoke. "Then, fine. I'll agree to it. But the first time you rile me..."

  "I know, I know. You'll sock me." He feigned receiving a blow, then covered his eye.

  "Don't mock me, Gregory." Her words were sharp, but her beautiful face held a smile.

  Behind him, the doors of the saloon swung open, and rowdy bunch of men entered. Their boisterous laughter and loud conversation quickly turned the quiet saloon into a noisy space. The men chose the largest table in the center of the space, the only one large enough for a group of the size.

  He released her hand, and she eased away. "Get on home, Gregory. I've got customers and you're a distraction."

  He drained the last of his drink. "What if I want to sit here and drink sarsaparilla all night?"

  Her brow creased, she pointed toward the door. "You've had your drink, and you got what you wanted. Now, git!"

  Noting the mirth behind her words, he sat his Stetson on his head. Tipping it to her,
he meandered out.

  Outside, full dark had fallen. The pole mounted oil lamps lining the street illuminated his path as he moved down the plank walk toward the Taylor Hotel. He lived in a room on the third floor, which was set aside by the Taylor family for regular boarders. Noah often asked him why he didn't have a small cabin built for himself, but as a single man with no attachments, he didn't see any need. His life consisted of working for the people of Ridgeway, the occasional poker game or fishing expedition, and little else. For a man living the way he did, a small room was all he needed. With no grass to mow, animals to care for, or crops to plant, boarding at the Taylor Hotel suited him just fine. He opened the door, avoiding the fancy glass pane, and removed his hat as he stepped inside.

  In the lobby, he nodded to the elder daughter Kelly Taylor, who was working the desk. On his way up the stairs, he passed young Marcus Taylor, carrying a stack of bathing sheets. No older than ten, Marcus helped his family in cleaning and stocking the rooms. He greeted the boy, then moved down the third-floor corridor toward his room.

  He was about to extract his key when he heard approaching footsteps. Turning, he smiled at Eugenia Taylor, moving toward him with a basket. She and her husband Milford, who'd moved to Ridgeway from Charlotte, North Carolina several years ago, owned the hotel.

  "Evenin', Gregory." A thin smile brightened her otherwise stern countenance.

  "Mrs. Taylor. How are you this evening?"

  "Just fine, son. Need any fresh towels?" She gestured to the basket in her hands.

  "Sure, I could use a few." He removed two clean towels from the pile and slung them over his shoulder. "Thanks."

  "No problem. Oh, and one more thing."

  "Yes?"

  "I understand you're 'involved' with Angel May. Is that right?"

  He inclined his head. "That only just happened today. How do you know about it?"

  Eugenia's face crinkled, as if she were confused. "As I understood it, y'all were kissing in the saloon several days ago. Getting along like two hogs in slop, as I heard it." Her time living in California had only softened her Southern drawl by a small margin, and she still spoke with the colorful language of her home.

  He drew a deep breath as he remembered the day he'd argued with Angel, only to have her kiss him. Ridgeway was a small town, and anyone walking by the saloon could have seen them. Still, he was curious about her source. "Mrs. Taylor, may I ask who told you that?"

  "Mrs. Corcoran. She told all the ladies at the quilting circle. We all agree it's about time you settled down."

  He closed his eyes briefly and stifled a groan. Angel's aunt had seen them; that fact had slipped his mind until now. Why she'd felt the need to inform an entire group of gossiping biddies about it, he couldn't guess. Whatever the case, his private business was probably now on the lips of every woman in town.

  Eugenia continued chattering. "I don't mind it, myself. Not one bit. You're free to court her if you choose. She's a nice girl, a bit unconventional, but still nice. All I ask is that you remember hotel policy about unmarried couples." She crinkled her brow to emphasize the last two words.

  "Yes, ma'am, I remember. Don't worry. I won't be bringing Miss Lane here." He'd been informed when he took the room that he couldn't bring ladies past the lobby, until he took a wife. He didn't necessarily agree with the Taylors' overly moral stance, but it was their business to run as they saw fit.

  "Good, I'm glad to hear it. Because you know me and Milford don't run that kind of establishment. We may be out west but we still want to inject as much southern gentility into this place as we can."

  He said nothing, knowing she was probably only pausing to take a breath, not to let him voice his opinion.

  "Anyhow, like I said, I approve. If you're gonna be sheriff, it'll look much better if you have a wife. Good wife helps ground a man, you know. Gives him a sense of responsibility, makes him more thoughtful."

  He blinked. Did she just say, wife? He'd been courting Angel May all of three hours, and the biddies of town were already planning the wedding.

  "Well, have a good night, Gregory." She shifted the basket in her arms, then moved on down the corridor toward the large suite she shared with her husband and two children.

  Unlocking the door with the key he kept in his vest pocket, he entered his room and closed the door behind him.

  His room was as simple a space as his uncomplicated life allowed. It was of good size, and held a large poster bed, dresser, a dining table and chair, as well as a wardrobe, all built of sturdy pine. The hardwood floor was covered by a single, large woven burlap rug. An armchair occupied a corner of the room, between the bed and the window, and that was where he often sat to read the morning paper, if he didn't have early duty.

  He hung his vest inside the wardrobe, placing his Stetson on the flat top with its kin. As he gathered his soap and shaving things in preparation for a trip to the bathing room, he thought about what Eugenia had said. Out of all her idle chatter, one phrase had stood out to him.

  "If you're gonna be sheriff, it'll look much better if you have a wife."

  He hadn't given much thought to it, but he supposed she was right. He'd heard Noah talk about the way folks seemed more willing to obey his edicts, and were generally easier to deal with, since he'd married Miss Valerie. Maybe there was some benefit to having a wife on his arm. If nothing else, it would get the biddies to cease their hypothesizing about when he might "settle down".

  He thought of his older brother Jack, and the way he'd mellowed since marrying his wife. As a boy, Jack had been as rough and tumble as they came, and now that he'd married, he did things he'd never done before like reading and attending plays. Despite the changes, Jack seemed very content with his new life.

  With his shaving things in the bag, he opened his door and poked his head out, to see if the chatty Eugenia might be in the hall again.

  Once he'd determined it was safe, he eased out and headed for the bathing room.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Her protest sign tucked beneath her arm, Angel opened the door to Lilly's Dress Emporium and stepped inside.

  Within the confines of the dress shop, several of the women of town were already gathered. This small but determined contingent of about twenty women was led by Prudence Emerson, wife of the town's reverend, and the librarian Prissy Parker. They’d dubbed themselves the Crusaders for the Vote.

  The ladies all stood in various spots among the racks displaying Lilly Beningno's latest creations, conversing amongst themselves. As Angel moved further inside, she shared greetings with them. Some smiled and responded in kind, while others cut her a censuring look. Unsure of what could be causing their sour attitudes, she found an empty spot near the counter and moved into it to wait for the meeting to begin.

  Soon, Prissy stepped up on a crate behind the sales counter. She wore her typical librarian's garb of a dark skirt and white shirtwaist with a crocheted collar. Raising her hand, she called the meeting to order. "Good Morning, ladies. Thanks for coming today. We've got a very unique protest planned that's sure to get the men's attention."

  The tall, graceful Prudence, dressed in a simple yellow day dress, nodded her head in agreement. "Yes. Today, they won't be able to ignore us. We're going to hit them right where it smarts."

  Lilly raised her hand. "We ought to. Did you all see the article in the Tribune the other day? About how the deputy doesn't want us voting? Why, he's about as bad as that spiteful reporter at the San Francisco Chronicle."

  Being reminded of the article made Angel's face wrinkle into a frown. Not only had Gregory made those remarks, but the reporter McCormack had also included remarks from several men of town, some of who had been listed only as 'a male citizen.' They'd spouted pretty much the same sexist views. Even though the article attemp6ted to paint an objective portrayal of the opposing views folks had on the suffrage issue, it had still raised her ire.

  Prissy said, "I saw it. That's why we're going to fix th
em, and fix them good."

  Angel couldn't help but smile as the women chattered around her. The air held a sense of excitement, because they all knew Prudence was right. They'd come up with a truly clever way to cause a noticeable, yet harmless disruption. Aside from that, she wouldn't have to break the vow she'd made to Gregory the day he'd arrested her. What they had planned today wouldn't affect traffic in any way, at least not on the roads.

  Prissy's voice rang out over the assembly again. "Now, we all know our places, correct? Because once we get there, there won't be any time for dilly dallying."

  Everyone responded affirmatively. They'd gone over their plan several times over the last few days, so by now they all knew their assignments.

  "Good. There's one more matter we ought to address before we leave."

  Angel looked around, wondering what Prissy might want to discuss. To her surprise and confusion, most of the women in the room seemed to be looking directly at her.

  Not one to shrink from a challenge, Angel called, "What is everyone staring at?"

  Prissy clicked her teeth. "We all know about you and the deputy, Angel May."

  She groaned. So, her personal life was now grist for the gossip mill. She and Gregory hadn't even been out on their first courting excursion, and already folks were talking about them. "So? What of it?"

  Prissy faltered. "It's none of our concern, really. We just..."

  "Don't cotton to your consorting with the enemy." Eugenia finished Prissy's sentence.

  Angel rolled her eyes. "Look here, all of you. Yes, I'm courting Gregory. And Prissy's right, it's not any of your concern. He isn't going to change my way of thinking. I'm just as committed to us getting the vote as always."

  Prudence intervened before anyone else could make a smart remark. "That's good enough for me. Now let's get our wits about us, and get ready to go. It's nearly eleven thirty."

  Angel took a deep breath to calm her nerves. How could these women, many of whom she considered friends, interrogate her like that? As the women began to form a line by the door in preparation for the march, Angel strode over to the librarian, who was climbing down from the crate she'd been standing atop.