Page 86 of Falling for the Cowgirl
Chapter
27
Jericho pushed open the door of the Little Blue Angel. The piano music, cigar smoke, and coarse laughter greeted him. Through the haze of the dimly lit interior, he searched the crowded saloon until his sights alighted on Dylan.
At a table in the center, Dylan leaned back in his chair and grinned as the woman on his lap wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. Another woman hovered above him, her fingers combing his hair. With low necklines, tight bodices, and painted faces, the women were clearly of ill repute.
Didn’t matter what kind of women they were. Dylan seemed to attract females the way spilled molasses attracted ants.
He picked up a shot glass and downed the dark liquid in one swallow before tilting his head and capturing a kiss from the woman on his lap. She happily obliged, letting her hands roam freely over his chest.
Jericho paused, and the swinging door slammed into hisbackside. The sight of the kiss and the intimacy only stoked something inside him, something that reminded him of Ivy and that day in the cave when she’d knelt beside him, grabbed his shirt, and kissed him with a fervor that had set him on fire as easily as the flames did the mountain forest. He hadn’t been able to resist drawing her onto his lap and kissing her until they’d both been breathless from their wanting.
As the same wanting stirred within him again, Jericho closed his eyes and tried to block out Dylan and his women. He’d blocked out his longings so far since his return to Chicago, and he’d kept the needs locked far away. But every once in a while, they escaped—like now—and tormented him with all he was missing.
With the growing darkness of the September evening, he’d planned to simply head home after leaving the main Pinkerton Agency office. But Dylan had sent word that he needed to see him right away. Usually that meant Dylan was in some kind of trouble and required bailing out.
Jericho shoved aside his wayward thoughts, opened his eyes, and surveyed the saloon. The typical crooks lounged around the dozen or so tables, including Black Jack and Dopey-Eye. More shady characters perched on stools along the mahogany counter, where the proprietor was busy pouring liquor.
As a police officer in the second precinct, Dylan claimed that he frequented the saloons in the area to keep abreast of trouble as well as to deter crime. While the strategy had worked to some degree, Dylan also used the opportunity to imbibe much too frequently. And to lust after women.
Even so, Jericho was thankful he hadn’t needed to rescue his friend recently from any drunken brawls, hadn’t neededto drag him home after he’d passed out, and hadn’t needed to wake him up from a hangover to keep him from being fired.
Overall, Dylan seemed to be maturing. At the very least, he wasn’t getting himself into trouble every other night. Maybe all the information Jericho had shared about his family had awakened the desire to do better. Except for the night Dylan had brought up the possibility of going back for a visit, and Jericho was left with no choice but to relay Bat’s warning. That night Dylan had gone out and drunk himself to oblivion.
From all appearances, Dylan didn’t need rescuing tonight. So why the urgent message?
Jericho started forward, winding through the revelers. He garnered a few raised brows since most of them knew he was a Pinkerton agent, especially now that he’d done the near impossible and brought in the infamous Rodney James.
It had taken him four grueling weeks to haul Otis to Chicago. He’d hardly slept in order to keep tabs on Otis day and night. Good thing he had, because one of the Denver lawmen had conspired to release Otis, lured by the promise of being taken to a hideout containing more gold.
When Jericho reached Chicago, he’d made sure Otis was safely locked in a prison cell before he’d dropped into bed and slept for two days straight. Over the few weeks since then, he’d been handling small assignments while waiting for the Department of Justice contract to come through. After that, he’d get his next big mission, rumored to be finding another war criminal hiding in Texas.
The problem was that Jericho’s reputation as a bounty hunter had grown. And the next time he set out, he wouldn’tbe able to conceal his identity quite as well. The other problem was that the idea of traveling to Texas didn’t excite him.
If he was completely honest, he’d lost the thrill for his job altogether when he carried Ivy off Windy Peak. In fact, he’d lost the thrill for just about everything when he’d ridden away from Fairplay.
Maybe he’d once been able to push his feelings for Ivy out of reach, even from himself. But not anymore. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was on his mind every day and night. Rather than time lessening his ache for her, the pain of missing her stabbed him harder with each passing day.
“Bliss.” Dylan locked in on Jericho, his roguish smile falling away.
“What’s so urgent?” Jericho shouldered a man out of the way as he neared Dylan’s table.
Dylan lifted the woman off his lap and then stood. Immediately each of the women latched on to one of his arms, sidling close and pressing up against him, as if he needed reminding of the pleasure they had to offer.
But Dylan wasn’t paying them attention anymore. Instead, he narrowed his brows, his green-blue eyes flashing with something dangerous, something that set Jericho on edge. He stopped several feet from his friend, sensing that if he got any closer, Dylan might come at him with both fists flying.
For a few long seconds Dylan glowered and Jericho waited.
“What’s wrong?” Jericho finally asked.
“You know.”
“No, clearly I don’t.”
Dylan extricated his arm from one of the women, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a letter. He tossed it onto the table.
Jericho studied the neat, slanted cursive but didn’t recognize it. “Who’s it from?”
