“Why warn me away if I can’t trust you?” She tucked the rebellious strand of hair behind a delicate, perfectly shaped ear. “Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”
The teasing warmth in her smile whittled away at his resolve. He had to warn her away because if he was worried about her safety, he couldn’t concentrate on his job. Because if he didn’t stop Vic from selling those guns, more men would die on either side of the Cherokee war. Because simply being near her was a dangerous distraction.
Instead he said, “If you stay in this town, you’re in danger. You were hired to keep those children safe. If something were to happen to them, could you live with yourself?”
She blinked rapidly. “No.”
“Then trust your gut, Lily Winter.”
“Trust my gut, but not you.”
He let out a gusty sigh. She had the kind of pure innocence about her that made a man think about a different way of life.
His breath hitched. The unexpected thought shook him to the core, and he forced the weakness aside. In order to do his job, he’d erected an icy wall around his emotion. Strong feelings were a distraction. He was a man who gave one hundred percent to the job, and there wasn’t anything left over for anyone else. That sort of man was no good for raising a family.
He wouldn’t be ensnared by the way her pale eyelashes fluttered against her soft cheeks.
“I’m not the man for you, Miss Winter. Never forget that.”
* * *
“Surely there’s someone in Frozen Oaks who can be trusted,” Lily demanded. “I doubt the entire town is inhabited by thieves and brigands.”
Nothing had gone as planned, and she was unexpectedly frustrated by the gunfighter’s insistence on frightening her. While she appreciated his profession required a good bit of intimidation for success, she wasn’t in the mood for subtle threats.
She’d created a neat and orderly world for herself. She followed a strict schedule. She never walked alone after dark. She never spent more money than she earned. This unexpected plunge into intrigue had set her on edge.
A humorless smile stretched across the gunfighter’s face, and he adjusted his hat over his forehead. “Be cautious with your challenges, Miss Winter. You never know who might pick up the gauntlet.”
“I didn’t realize I was challenging you.”
“A beautiful woman is always a challenge.”
She flushed beneath his appraising glance. “You’ve been away from civilization for too long, Mr. Jake. The description is too generous.”
“Look in the mirror, Miss Winter. And don’t forget to watch your back.”
The next instant he was gone. Lily gaped at the space he’d recently vacated.
“What’s a gauntlet?” Peter asked.
“A glove,” Lily said. “Throughout history, challenges have been issued by throwing down a glove. The challenge is accepted when the other person retrieves the glove.”
She pressed two fingers against her temple and shook her head. Without the distraction of the gunfighter, she took stock of her surroundings. The last thing she recalled, she’d been standing outside. Her unlikely rescuer had carried her into the hotel and an overdone parlor of some sort.
Every window, wall and chair had been dressed in varying autumnal shades of damask fabric, flocked wallpaper and dangling fringed tassels. Clearly the decorator was enamored with the extravagant theme. A little too enamored. The jumble of patterns was giving her a headache.
At least her charges didn’t seem any worse for wear. Peter gazed adoringly at the precious coin clutched in his palm.
Massaging her forehead, Lily vaguely recalled the gentle brush of the man’s fingers. Had she imagined the encounter? That couldn’t be right. Nothing about Jake had struck her as comforting, and yet that was exactly how she felt—comforted. The man had an oddly enthralling effect on her.
She straightened her spine and crossed her ankles. That sort of thinking wouldn’t do at all. From what she’d heard from scores of women passing through the boardinghouse, men were rarely the sensible choice. Men who carried guns in towns that outlawed weapons were the least sensible of all.
At least her head had cleared and she no longer felt as light-headed. The tantalizing aroma of roasted beef drifted from the restaurant, and her stomach rumbled.
Sam perched next to her on the settee. “I like him. He’s nice.”
Apprehension rippled through Lily. “How long was I unconscious?”
Her instincts warred with her common sense. Jake was clearly a gunfighter. He’d come close to threatening her into leaving. Perhaps threatening was too strong of a sentiment, but he’d been very stern in his warning.
“You weren’t passed out for long.” Peter splayed his hands. “A few minutes.”
She’d always trusted the instincts of children. She wasn’t so certain anymore. Although she couldn’t blame Peter entirely. She retained the same conflicted feelings about the man. The heat of the parlor slicked her skin with sweat and she removed her coat. Conflicted or not, she wasn’t lingering over the odd encounter. She couldn’t imagine the circumstances where they’d cross paths. They’d likely never see each other again.
She resolutely ignored her minuscule prick of disappointment.
Open double doors led to a larger, wood-paneled lobby. Voices sounded and Lily craned her neck to hear.
“Don’t put yourself out, Miss Regina,” the first voice spoke.
“I’ll handle this,” a second female voice said. “If there’s a strange woman in the hotel, Vic will want a full accounting.”
Lily stood too quickly and her legs wobbled. Her head spun and she braced one hand on the settee until the moment passed.
“It’s a hotel,” the first voice muttered. “They’re all strangers here.”
A pretty dark-haired woman with striking blue eyes, who was not much older than Lily, appeared in the doorway. Her extravagant burgundy day dress with its layers of satin ruffles marked her as the most likely suspect for decorator of the parlor.
“This room is for paying guests only,” the woman declared, twitching an olive-colored damask drapery into place. “If you’re not paying, you’ll have to go.”
Something about the woman was familiar, and Lily studied her closer. “Do I know you?”
“The name is Regina Dawson. I don’t believe we’ve met before.” The woman squinted. “Wait a second. What’s your name?”
“Lily Winter.”
Regina fiddled with the perfectly tied wine-colored bow beneath her chin. “I know that name. Are you from Chicago?”
“St. Joseph.”
“I rented a room at a boardinghouse in St. Joseph two years ago.” A deep crease appeared beneath the netting covering the woman’s forehead. “The nasty old biddy who ran the place was always spying on my comings and goings.”
“That would be Mrs. Hollingsworth.”
Dawning recognition spread across Regina’s face, highlighting her rouged cheeks. “Weren’t you the maid or something?”
“Not the maid, exactly,” Lily mumbled.
Though