Only 03 - Only You

saloon girl.”
    The blood left Eve’s face. She couldn’t think of anything to say except the kind of words that would give Reno a lower opinion of her than he already had. Silently she turned to her saddlebags, grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans, and started walking away.
    Reno’s hand shot out with startling speed, grabbing her arm.
    “Going somewhere?” he asked.
    “Even saloon girls need privacy.”
    “Tough. I don’t trust you out of my sight.”
    “Then I’ll just have to pee in your boots, won’t I?” she asked sweetly.
    For an instant Reno looked shocked. Then he threw back his head and laughed.
    Eve jerked free of his fingers and stalked off into the nearby forest as Reno’s words followed her.
    “Don’t be long, gata , or I’ll come hunting you—barefoot.”
    W HEN Reno came back from the forest with more dry wood, he looked approvingly at the small, hot, nearly invisible fire Eve had made. Woodsmoke from the hat-sized fire drifted no more than a few feet into the air before it dissipated.
    He dumped the fuel near the fire and sat on his heels by the small, cheerful flames.
    “Who taught you to make that kind of fire?” he asked.
    Eve looked up from the frying pan where bacon sizzled and pan biscuits turned crisp brown in the fat. Since she had returned from the forest dressed in men’s clothing, she hadn’t spoken to Reno unless asked a direct question. She had simply gone about preparing breakfast under his watchful eyes.
    “What kind of fire?” Eve asked, looking away from him.
    “The kind that won’t attract every Indian and outlaw for fifty miles around,” Reno said dryly.
    “One of the few times Donna Lyon took a cane to me was when I put wet wood on the fire. I never did it again.”
    Eve didn’t look up as she spoke.
    Irritation prodded Reno. He was tired of being made to feel as though he had offended the tender sensibilities of some shy little flower. She was a cardsharp, a cheat, and a hussy, not some cosseted child of strict parents.
    “Did the Lyons have a price on their heads?” Reno asked bluntly.
    “No. If they had, they wouldn’t have worried about attracting outlaws and gunmen and thieves to their fire, would they?”
    Reno made a noncommittal sound.
    “They just would have shot a buck and roasted it whole,” Eve continued acidly, “and then robbed everyone who followed the smell of cooking meat back to their camp.”
    “Too bad Donna didn’t tell you about the difference between honey and vinegar when it comes to attracting flies.”
    “She did. I’ve been using vinegar ever since. What sane girl would want to draw flies?”
    A smiled flashed beneath Reno’s dark mustache.For an instant he thought how much Willow and Jessica would have enjoyed Eve’s tart, quick tongue—right up until the time she cheated or lied or stole something from them. Then he would have to explain to them, and to their irate husbands, why he had brought a saloon girl in red silk to their home.
    Eve pulled a piece of bacon from the pan and put it on her battered tin plate.
    Silently Reno admitted to himself that Eve didn’t look like a slut at the moment. She looked more like some waif blown in by the wind, worn and sad and frayed around the edges. Her clothes had once belonged to a boy, from the look of them—too narrow in the chest and hips, and too loose everywhere else.
    “Whose clothesline did you steal that outfit from?” Reno asked idly.
    “They belonged to Don Lyon.”
    “Lord, he was a small man.”
    “Yes.”
    Reno stopped, struck by a thought.
    “I didn’t see any new graves when I passed by Canyon City’s graveyard on the way in, but you said the Lyons were killed by Raleigh King.”
    Eve said nothing in response to the implied question.
    “You know, gata , sooner or later I’m going to break you of lying.”
    “I’m not a liar,” she said tightly. “I buried the Lyons at our campsite.”
    “When?”
    “Last week.”
    “How?”
    “With a shovel.”
    With a speed that startled Eve, Reno straightened and grabbed one of her hands. After a singlelook at her palm, he released her.
    “If you handled cards that deftly with a mess of broken blisters,” Reno said, “I’d hate to take cards in a game with you when your hands heal.”
    Saying nothing, Eve went back to tending breakfast.
    “You should wash them with soap and hot water,” Reno added.
    Startled, Eve looked up. “The biscuits?”
    He smiled unwillingly.
    “Your hands. Jessi says