An Agent for Liana Page 5

  Liana dropped into the closest chair, struggling to untwist her skirts. But, really…not to warn her such an attack might happen. Well, she had not followed a single one of Maman’s admonitions for the ladylike way to act in public.

  Footsteps approached down the hallway and stopped.

  Gathering her patience, she looked to the far side of the room.

  “Recovered from your tantrum?” Dale stood with a shoulder propped against the doorjamb and his arms crossed over his broad chest.

  Liana mustered her best glacial stare. “At least have the courtesy to call it a pique. I am French, you know.” Keeping her expression calm, she rose, picturing herself moving with the grace of a princess. People waited for her next inclination, and she had all the time to inform them of her wishes.

  No more would she expose her feelings for this unsympathetic man to smirk at. Gazing at a spot over his left shoulder, she crossed the room and then hesitated in the foyer. A grand exit like she’d just made demanded a destination. But she had no idea what Dale intended next. Hiding her clenched hands in the folds of her skirts, she stopped, facing away.

  “Out the back door.” Dale strode down the hallway.

  He might have tried to hide it, but she heard a definite chuckle...a sound that only stiffened her resolve. She followed.

  Dale stood at the bottom of the back steps, his right hand raised.

  She pretended not to notice and reached the ground without his assistance then waited.

  “We’re headed behind the dormitory to the shooting targets.” He turned and strode forward.

  With a nod, she lifted her skirts and tiptoed across the rocky soil. Over seven years, the path became more established through the stubby vegetation as multiple agents trod between the dormitory and the mansion. She liked the idea of walking where successful agents had.

  Soon, Dale moved ten feet ahead. His arms swung freely at his sides, the right arm a bit farther from his hip than the left.

  Would she have noticed that detail if he hadn’t worked her through the observation exercise earlier? Probably not. By the time she reached where Dale waited, a distance measuring longer than a city block, she was a bit winded but hid that fact. Her normal tasks didn’t require such physical activity. But she would not give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right about her corset being too tight.

  “See where I’ve set up tin cans along the top of that hay bale?”

  She looked at the place he indicated and spotted six crooked shapes spaced evenly. “I see them.”

  He reached into his left jacket pocket and removed a small pistol. “This weapon is a derringer. A Remington model 95, to be exact. It fires two shots and is meant for close-in action. The shooter doesn’t have to be skilled to hit the intended target.” He extended it on a flattened palm, handle out.

  Liana glanced at the weapon with a bulky handgrip. She stepped closer to study it and noticed two barrels, one on top of the other. “You want me to pick it up now?” She slid her reticule cords along her sleeve to nest in her left elbow.

  Nodding, he inched his hand forward. “It’s empty. Get a feel for its weight and how it fits your hand before we move to the next step.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the wood-grained handle, scraping the rounded tips across Dale’s palm, and picked it up. The weapon was heavier than she thought, and the grip lent her to position a forefinger on the trigger rest.

  “Feel okay?”

  “I do not know how to answer that question. Having a gun in my hand is very strange.”

  “But you’re a natural. You’re holding it right.” He gestured toward the hay bale. “Walk over there until you’re about six feet away.”

  Liana started walking and held the weapon as if aiming straight ahead. The pose was awkward, but at the same time, she pictured herself as the heroine in “Laura’s Peril” from a serial she’d read in The New York Saturday Star Journal. Tante Cosette was a fan of the dime novels and mailed several when she’d finished them.

  “Keep the weapon pointed downward.”

  His voice came from right behind her. She lowered her hand and stopped the designated distance from the hay bale.

  “To load the cartridges, you push this cross-hatched button on the side, and the barrel hinges upward.” He held out a hand with two small items.

  She leaned over to see they had a metal flat side on one end and a pointed white top. “Are these bullets?”

  “Cartridges. Slide them into the barrels with the flat side first.”

  Picking up the first one sent a shiver over her skin. She followed his instructions and his pantomimed movement to pull down the barrels. This time, she made sure to aim the weapon at the dirt. Making the same mistake twice was not in her nature.

  “Now, square your body with the hay bale, lift your arm, and look along the top of the barrel. That little piece of metal sticking up is called a sight.” He pointed then withdrew his hand. “Put the raised sight at the top of the can on the far left and squeeze the trigger.”

  Liana did what he said but when she squeezed, the shock of the shot pushed up her arm. The cartridge chopped off a branch of the oak tree ten feet away. “Oups. Désolé. I am sorry.”

  Dale grabbed her wrist and forced down her hand. “My mistake.” Without releasing his hold, he stepped close. “Forgot how slender you are.”

  His chest pressed against her back, instantly heating her skin. Her skirts belled out in front of her legs. Liana stiffened and sucked in a breath. His woodsy scent tickled her nose.

  “Try again.” His grip shifted so his fingers circled her wrist from the underside.

  His breath brushed her left ear, and gooseflesh pebbled her arms. Thankfully, her long sleeves hid her reaction. She lifted her arm and pointed the derringer toward the can. Closing her left eye, she squeezed the trigger. The jerk on her arm was the same, but Dale held it in place.

  Thunk. A can toppled out of sight behind the bale.

  “I hit it.” She bounced on the balls of her feet and angled her head. But that move only brought her nose within inches of his neck, where the woodsy scent thickened. She glanced up to catch him watching her. Spikes of light blue edged his pupils, and gold flecks scattered throughout the cobalt irises.

  “Do it again.”

  A warm thumb grazed her wrist, back and forth. Wild attraction thrummed through her body. He wanted her to do something again. Lean into his strength? Sniff his soap smell? Decipher the color elements in his eyes? Activities she would gladly prolong to become better acquainted with this handsome man.

  Easing back a step, he released his grip, then reached into a jacket pocket to pull out two more cartridges. An eyebrow quirked. “The targets?”

  Of course, he wanted her to shoot again. That lesson was why they were back here within three hours of being married. Heat flamed her cheeks and she repeated her earlier movements to load the derringer then took her stance. To compensate for the jolt, she locked her elbow and lined up the sight with the bottom of the can before pulling the trigger. The can in the middle jumped and fell to the side, followed by the one on the far right.

  “Well done.”

  Wanting to demonstrate she’d paid attention, she grasped the barrels to pass him the gun. But the metal burned her palm and she dropped it. “Ouch.” Her palm ached like she’d stuck it into a box of sewing needles.

  Dale bit off a curse. He stooped to collect the gun then rose to cradle her hand in his palm. “I should have warned you it would be hot.” He lifted her hand and brushed soft kisses on the strip of reddened skin.

  The gentleness of his gesture shocked her into silence. His hat hid his face from her view. She would have liked to see the physical contact.

  He lifted his head. “Sorry.”

  At the connection of their gazes, she locked her knees to keep from swaying. Trembling invaded her limbs. His gaze was so intense, she wanted to dive right in. All her prior anger melted away, like a nighttime dusting of snow after the sun rose. “I will know for next time.”

  “We should get some cold water on that burn.” He cupped her elbow and guided her through the side door of the dormitory.

  Still in a stupor, she just walked because letting him lead felt right. She gave the interior a brief glance to see a sitting room to one side and a library on the other. Both rooms were smaller than those in the mansion.

  At the kitchen pump, he angled her hand so the water ran down her palm, from the heel toward her fingers.

  The cool liquid eased the sting. A door slammed somewhere, and she jerked. They were alone inside a small room, a situation that increased the intimacy. “I should get home.”

  Dale glanced up from manipulating her hand under the stream. “Relax, Liana. Your reputation won’t be ruined. Remember, we’re married.”

  To confirm that fact, she only had to run her thumb over the ring on her left hand. Although the ceremony occurred hours earlier, she did not feel changed. Instead, confusion swamped her thoughts. A laugh bubbled up. “Silly me. I do not know what I am fretting about.”

  The water flow dribbled to a stop. He reached for a towel hanging from the stove handle and patted it over her palm. “You’re not silly. Today has presented a lot of changes to your routine. To both our routines.” He tossed aside the towel and leaned a hip against the counter. “I’d like to take you to supper this evening. But our schedule is more pressing than engaging in social pursuits. Tomorrow, I want to conduct your riding lessons. Can you adapt one of your skirts to accommodate both riding astride and guarding your modesty?” His mouth twitched, and he lifted a brow.

  “Alterations take less time.”

  “Good. Shall we?” He waved a hand toward the open doorway. Once outside, he extended his right elbow.

  Resting a hand on the inside of his forearm was becoming a habit—one that she never knew she missed. The sun dropped low toward the Rocky Mountain range, and cool air nipped at her cheeks. On the walk across the yard and onto the boardwalk, she focused on the clip-clop of horses’ hooves along the street and the distant clack of a blacksmith’s hammer. Had she been aware of those sounds before today’s lesson?

  Since hearing him mention their married state, she couldn’t stop thinking about his challenge of where they would spend the night. Fearful of what she might blurt out, she chose to remain silent. Was being glad for the unusual arrangement of not sharing a room with her husband on their wedding night a bit odd? Maybe by conferring with Dixie, her reliable confidante, she could make sense of these contradictory feelings What if her sister and Alexei had come to a different agreement? A pang stabbed her chest.

  “What made you stiffen?” Dale moved his head to see the boardwalk and street ahead.

  “Nothing dangerous.” Except that I now recognize what I will lose by us becoming agents. She forced a smile. “What time will the lessons start?”

  “Nine.”

  “Oh. You’re not a churchgoer?”

  “Not when I’m preparing for a case.” He stopped in front of the shop.

  “All right. I can be at the office then.”

  “Not what I meant.” He shook his head. “I’ll be here at that time to escort you, Liana.” Then he cupped her shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed her cheek.

  This time, she did not pull away, but her breath stuttered in her throat. His whiskers tickled, and at the warmth pressing on her skin, she closed her eyes. She should be used to such social niceties—she was raised with accepting and giving double cheek kisses for saying hello and goodbye. But this gesture was different, and she didn’t know what to make of the feelings it caused. In less than a day, had she fallen for this man?

  Tight-lipped, Dale watched Liana slip into the shop and close the door.

  She moved in front of the big window and waved.

  He raised a hand and nodded, then he stepped off the edge of the boardwalk and looked up. Once he spotted lamplight in an upstairs window, he let out a pent-up breath. Since that stupid move of kissing her injured palm, he’d been kicking himself. What made him act like a prince from a fairy tale? Life didn’t grant people happy endings, and he had irrefutable proof.

  Jamming hands in his pockets, he stomped down the boardwalk back toward the office. The fact Liana learned quick would shorten the training process. Now he had to clear his head and work on the plan for the next couple of days before they headed west.

  As promised, Dale arrived at Liana’s shop by nine a.m. and rapped on the door. Today, he dressed the way he preferred—denim trousers, chambray shirt, black vest, and worn boots. The morning air held a chill but the clear sky and rising sun allowed him to forgo a jacket. He angled his body toward the street and took inventory of today’s pedestrians. Not as many as yesterday. No ring of the blacksmith’s hammer filled the air. Folks were probably attending church services.

  Footsteps approached before the door opened. “Good morning, Dale. Would you like to come inside?”

  At the greeting, he turned and took his time in looking at this less-fancy version of his wife. The term still felt strange. Gone were the fancy fabrics, rich style, and elaborate hairdo. The pale-yellow gown had complimented her dark hair and eyes. Too bad his assignment in the alley probably ruined it. But her dark skirt and forest green shirt were better choices for riding. “’Morning.” He stepped into the shop, pulling off his wide-brimmed hat as he moved. “You look different.”

  She held out her arms and turned a circle, displaying a single plait down the center of her back. “I have never worn these fabrics or such plain styles. But, as Marianne said, our job is to blend in.”

  “I like the braid. It’s sensible.” He looked around at shelves with bolts of cloth, a row of pegs with various colors of thread, and two sewing machines set against the back wall. Several magazines titled Ladies Quarterly of Broadway Fashions sat in a wooden rack. A dress hung from a wire stand that filled all the feminine curves. Realizing she was quiet, he glanced over a shoulder.

  She stood with arms crossed over her chest, and her mouth pinched tight. “Sensible, huh? Not a compliment that every woman would consider ideal, Dale.” She touched a hand to her hair.

  Again, he’d said the wrong thing. Having to watch what he said could become bothersome. “I have horses reserved at the livery. Shall we go?” He dropped his gaze to her feet and groaned at what she wore. The color was the only correct detail. The ankle-high, brown shoes had thin leather soles and narrow inch-high heels. Would they be another victim from her wardrobe at the end of the day? “Those are your sturdiest shoes?”

  Liana straightened. “I do not own sturdy shoes.” Her lip curled at the last two words.

  “Fair warning. Riding a horse in those will scrape the inside surfaces. Maybe the mercantile will have a pair that fits.” He gestured toward her length. “Need a jacket or a hat?”

  Nodding, she turned, opened a door, and climbed the stairs.

  With no petticoats or whatever she wore under a regular dress, the skirt molded to her hips with each step. Enjoying the view, he didn’t look away until she disappeared. Too late, he realized the skirt contained two loose, but separate, sections and that she must have spent last night sewing it.

  His teeth ground hard. He was a marksman with both a rifle and a pistol. He could track week-old hoof prints in dry weather. He’d collected twenty-two rewards in his career as a bounty hunter. And he was an expert at reading people’s expressions. So, why the dickens couldn’t he say the right thing to one particular woman?

  Chapter 5

  What self-respecting man makes a woman carry her own luggage? Tuesday morning, by the time Liana reached Denver Pacific Railway depot, she wanted to scream in frustration. Although he warned her, she had not believed she would be the one to transport her valises from the shop. She glared at Dale’s broad back on their walk through town as he strode five feet ahead carrying his carpetbags like they were filled with feathers.

  Facing the six wooden steps rising to the platform, she almost gave up. Mid-morning sun beat down on her dark cloak and hat, causing perspiration to gather at her hairline. Pain throbbed in her shoulders and hands from the weight of the valises. Stiffness lived in her leg muscles and pulled taut with each step. Not to mention the aches in her derrière that soaking in a hot bath didn’t even relieve. Why would anyone wish to submit to the torture of riding a horse?

  As she lifted her right foot, she breathed deep and fought a wince. Then, two large hands extended into her field of vision.

  “Hand them up.”

  The three, most wonderful words in the world. “Thank you.” She lifted the valises one at a time, then slipped her hand into his waiting one. The ascent was easier, and she smiled her appreciation.

  Dale stepped away to pass off the luggage and receive claim slips.

  People moved in both directions on the platform with no obvious pattern. Uniformed porters pushed carts piled high with valises, carpetbags, and trunks. From one wicker basket came a dog’s bark.

  Dale appeared and cupped a hand on her elbow. “Our car is the third one ahead toward the engine.”

  She hurried, trying to keep up. “You know, this is the first time I have travelled since arriving in Denver more than a year ago. Don’t you love travel? So many places to see.”

  “We’re not sightseeing, Liana. We’re traveling to a job.” At the metal steps, he showed the tickets to an attendant then returned them to his jacket pocket.

  Moving past the aches, Liana clung to the handrail to help her climb and then paused to look at the train car’s interior. Padded bench seats lined both sides of an aisle. Curtains hung alongside each window. “Dale, where should we sit?” She peeked over her shoulder and spotted his frown. Several people waited behind him. “I want the best view of the countryside.”