Rainbows and Rapture Read Free Page A

handle on it!”
    Russia felt her cheeks heat. “Well…I didn’t git to warm up good. And I fergitted to bring my lemon wash down here with me. I gargle with it, y’see, and it makes my voice real—”
    “Girl, you could eat a whole lemon tree, and your voice would still turn sweet milk to clabber!” With that, the barkeep marched over to her and snatched every bill from the bodice of her gown. Counting it quickly, he grunted in satisfaction. “This’ll cover the damage your screechin’ done.”
    Her stomach felt emptier than ever as Russia watched him take the cash to his money box. “Blood and balls,” she whispered to the men still standing around her. “That man’s so mean, I reckon he’d cry over your wounds jist so’s he could git salt in ’em.”
    She sighed. It was obvious now that she’d be forced to invite someone up to her room. She peered up at the man beside her.
    He recognized the invitation in her eyes. “Miss Russia,” he began sheepishly, “I done tipped ya with all the money I had.”
    Many of the other men echoed his explanation. Nodding, Russia waved them back to their tables and studied the room again. Surely there were a few men who hadn’t tipped her, men who still had money in their pockets.
    She spied a few of them. But as she examined their attire, she realized that the reason they hadn’t tipped her was because they were too poor to do so. “Hellish hell and hangin’ hangnails,” she murmured. “There ain’t a single man in this here room who’s got money.” Her head hung low, she turned toward the staircase. She’d gone hungry before and guessed she would tonight, too.
    As she reached the stairs, a flash in the dim corner caught her eye: the gleam of bullets. They were studded in thick leather straps that crisscrossed a man’s broad chest.
    She stopped, wondering why she hadn’t noticed this man before. He was big. So tall she reckoned he had to bow his head when going in and out of doors. His huge hand covered his whiskey glass completely, and the only reason she knew he held one was because he brought it to his mouth and emptied it.
    She stared at his massive arms, then regarded the holstered guns that lay upon his corded thighs and the long dagger that hung from a sheath tied around his thick calf. At the sight of his heavily muscled body, Russia felt an unfamiliar tremor scamper through her.
    When he turned his head to look at her, she watched his midnight hair settle across his wide shoulders. As his eyes met hers, she tried to swallow, but couldn’t.
    They were the darkest eyes she’d ever seen, and she wondered if they were black. Deeply set, they didn’t blink, didn’t move, just bored into her. She felt as though they touched her very soul.
    Flustered, she brought her hand up to the place on her chest where she figured her soul was, then saw the jagged scar that marred the man’s left cheek. Set against his dark skin, its paleness was a startling contrast.
    Taking a nervous step backward, she continued to study the scar, wishing she knew how he had gotten it. She felt a touch of pity for him before reminding herself that she hadn’t given him the scar and therefore had no need to feel guilty that he had it.
    She decided he was Mexican. She’d never seen a Mexican as handsome as he was. For that matter, she couldn’t remember seeing any man as handsome as he was. His high cheekbones had deep, shadowed hollows beneath them, his jaw was strong and rugged, and his lips were generous. Oddly enough, his scar didn’t detract from his good looks. On the contrary, Russia mused, it enhanced them. His was a sinister sensuality, and despite her apprehension, she felt drawn to him in a way she couldn’t understand.
    The realization astonished her. She’d known a multitude of men and had never felt a thing for any of them. But this man… This man did strange things to her.
    Struggling with the mystifying emotions he evoked, she forced herself to consider his