Darting a look across the room, Jo found their one chance at deliverance fast asleep, hat on face and all, and she muttered an unintelligible curse. How dare Cutter sleep so placidly just now? For a moment, in her irritation, she considered screaming for help, but then decided against it. How many times had she spouted off to Cutter that she could manage things well enough on her own? Besides, if she could keep from mopping up blood tonight, that was the way to go. There was no telling how her brother would react if she roused him from his nap, particularly to the sound of her screaming.
Brady scratched his forehead. The scraping sent another shudder down Elizabeth’s spine. “Well now… I think ya do, Miss Lizzy. You ask for a man and here I am,” he said with a meaningful grin. He reached out and seized Elizabeth’s dowdy spectacles from her face before she’d realized what he intended, looking the shiny lenses over, this way and that, finally raising a matted brow at her.
“Well, lookee here,” he said finally. “Don’t think I done spected there was a real lady behind these things.” He looked up at her meaningfully. “Shame on you, Miss Lizzy. You gonna bother to tell us what else you’re hiding from us poor fellas?” With a dirty little self-satisfied chortle, he glanced toward the table where he’d been playing cards with his friends. He winked, his face contorting hideously with the drunken effort. “Whattaya think, boys? Think Doc Liz’s been keepin’ stuff from us?”
A round of laughter answered his question as one man rose, swaying, from the table and headed their way.
The other rose, too, unceremoniously dumping a petite, dark-haired woman onto the dusty floor at his feet. “Wait right here,” he demanded, then stumbled forward after his comrades, unwilling to miss any of the evening’s promising entertainment.
As the enormity of the situation finally registered, Elizabeth’s heart thudded frantically. How very stupid she’d been. She could see that now. But she passed these same self-loving clods on the street every day. Never once had they given her a second glance. She’d honestly never considered this a possibility.
Actually, she’d expected to pay dearly for the services she required—had even considered blackmail, in fact. But though she was a physician, she was only a woman, and while no one hesitated to seek her out for medical aid, neither did they seem to value her overmuch either. Threatening to leave the town without a doctor would have done little good for her cause.
With a sigh, Jo inched closer to Brady, darting another irritated look toward the figure sprawled comfortably in the corner. She forced a smile, and slid a hand down Dick Brady’s arm to lessen the sting of her coming rebuke. “Now, Dickie boy,” she said, looking reproachfully at his men. “Boys... iffen it’s a woman you’re after, there’s plenty of ’em here other’n Doc Liz. Why,” she continued on a sweet high note, winking at him coyly, “Doc Liz here wouldn’t know your heads from your hairy heinies!”
Riotous laughter exploded.
Dick Brady’s smile turned lascivious, but his gaze remained pasted to Elizabeth.
Her cheeks warming with a mixture of chagrin and outrage, Elizabeth shot Jo a warning glare, but said nothing. She and Jo were very unlikely friends—a physician’s prudish daughter and a saloon madame—but friends they were. Jo would never intentionally malign her, she knew.
Still, Elizabeth couldn’t quite contain her indignation. Never had she been spoken to so rudely! Though there was no way they could know of her grief, Dick Brady’s crudeness was inexcusable. She was the town’s only physician—no respectable man of medicine would even come near the place. She deserved to be treated with a modicum of respect.
“But they’s costly,” the tallest man whined. “And if Miss Lizzy here’s offerin’ for free...” He shrugged. “Well, then...” The statement was left hanging in the air as each man mulled it over.
In the darkest corner of the Oasis, a Stetson lifted. Eyes as black as midnight peered out to scrutinize the woman in question. With a lazy effort, Cutter McKenzie removed his boots from the small bare-wood table and quietly set down the front two legs of his rickety chair.
He’d heard every word, of course, and his curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. The woman, “Miss Lizzy,” had said very little in her own defense. On the other hand, it seemed his sister was near to panicking on the gal’s behalf. Likely the poor woman was frightened out of her gourd, and Jo, naturally good-hearted, just couldn’t bear to let her be gobbled up.
Squinting as his eyes adjusted, Cutter focused, and he saw her, her eyes blazing in the dim light, her expression wrathful, and more than his curiosity was piqued. Never had he seen eyes so brilliant. Without trepidation, she snatched her spectacles out of Dick Brady’s churlish hands.
“Doc Liz,” the woman said, her face pale and pinched with anger, “is not offering anything at all!” She shot his sister a withering glance, then turned back to glare at Brady. “And I sure enough would know a man’s posterior from his head,” she assured them both, her eyes flashing. “Especially yours, Mr. Brady, since it was I who had to stitch that miserable knife wound of yours.” She gave him a tight little smile, advising him without words that she’d reached the end of her tether... that he might want to see himself off before she was forced to tip her hand.
Brady started visibly, almost as though he’d been physically smacked, turning a deep, mottled shade of red.
Miss Lizzy, on the other hand, Cutter thought with a touch of respect, looked right pleased with her little bit of extortion, and it roused a satisfied chuckle from him.
“Two years past, wasn’t it?” Elizabeth persisted, further emboldened by Brady’s silence.
“Damn, Brady, how in tarnation did you get stuck in the ass?” the tallest man asked, scratching his head.
Brady swallowed convulsively. He looked to Elizabeth, and seeing the resolve there, quickly averted his gaze, slapping his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, boys, Doc Liz says she ain’t offerin’... and sure t’Betsy’s she ain’t offerin’. Let’s let her be.”
“Uh-uh,” the friend refused. “I know I plainly heard her say she was needin’ herself a man, and I reckon I’m more’n qualified to give her what she’s needin’.” He leered at Elizabeth, speaking to Brady without turning in his direction. “What’s she got on ya, anyhow, to send ya scampering like a spooked squirrel? How’d ya happen to get a frogsticker in that mangy ol’ butt o’ yers?” Tension mounted as the man turned to pierce Brady with an accusing stare.
Chuckling over Brady’s flustered expression, Cutter stood, stretching slowly. He was sure Doc Liz could handle herself; the little harridan didn’t even seem to need his sister’s help. Still, he was ready to step in if the need arose. In the meantime, he stood back, watching with an admiring grin on his face as she replaced those god-awful spectacles on her face.
And damn, if he didn’t suddenly have a hankering for her eternal gratitude.
She wasn’t a looker, not in the usual way, but she was pretty, despite her obvious efforts to prove otherwise. And he had to hand it to her, she had more spirit than Cutter had ever witnessed in a woman—aside from his sister. Jo had come by hers the hard way, though. A lifetime of dealing with prejudice did that to a body, it seemed. Some would say he wasn’t the most agreeable sort himself. With good cause. Their father had been an Irish trapper, their mother Cheyenne, and that made them nothing more than breeds, with no place to hang a hat. Didn’t fit in with the Cheyenne, didn’t fit in with the Anglos, either. But it didn’t matter. He preferred it that way. Life was safer when you played a lone hand.
Still, Jo never complained. She understood, without having to be told, how lucky she was to have the Oasis, and she gave it her best, knowing that money and their father’s name had gotten her further than she could ever have expected to go in the white man’s world. Aside from that, folks had a healthy fear of the business end of Cutter’s Colt. Anyone who tangled with his sister, tangled with him. He’d made that very clear.
Despite the fact that Cutter’s mood soured over the turn of his thoughts, his expression revealed none of it as he pushed the brim of his John B. up out of his eyes and made his way toward the bunch. The discussion being carried on was such a heated one that no one even noticed him until he had slipped his arm cozily about Liz’s waist.
She stiffened.
He stifled a chuckle as he bent to conform her body to his. “Mmmm, mmm,” he murmured, embracing her as though she were his long-lost kissin’ cuz. “You’re looking better than ever, gal.”
