Page 100 of Native Hawk
Drew was simultaneously honored and annoyed. “You know, I’m notalwaysgettin’ into trouble.”
Chase raised a brow at that.
“I’ve done nothin’ wrong,” Drew insisted.
“You’re telling me you’re holed up in a cathouse, gambling with lawmen, and you’re not in trouble?”
Drew smirked. “That’s right.”
“Huh.”
Whether Chase believed him or not remained to be seen. But now that he’d delivered his message, Chase figured his duty was done. With a nod of his head, he said goodbye and turned tail to get back to his ladylove.
The news was actually a relief to Drew, now that he thought about it. White folks didn’t have the same superstitions as natives about twins, so he didn’t have to worry about people thinking the brothers were bad luck. And if all was forgiven—hell, his kidnapping brother had turned himself into a local hero—then both of them could walk freely through town.
He thought again about the beautiful woman who had shared her body with him last night, the woman who would shortly become his wife. Now the clock was ticking. If they were going to start enjoying each other’s company on a regular basis, Cat could very well get pregnant.
They had to get married sooner rather than later.
And since Cat was so set on making her own dresses for the wedding, he had to find a way to get her that sewing machine she wanted. But how?
He could raise the stakes in poker. But he’d almost bled the town dry. And he didn’t dare win another cent off of the sheriff.
What did he have that was worth selling?
All of a sudden, it dawned on him. He could sell his Colt forty-five. Sure, he’d had that gun by his side for seven years, and there was nothing like a pistol to keep a poker game honest. But if Drew was going to stay put in Paradise, he wouldn’t be gambling much anymore. He’d have to find himself a proper job. So he might as well sell the piece and order that sewing machine for Cat.
He glanced over at the nightstand. His gun wasn’t there.
He narrowed his eyes. Then his lip curled up in a smile. Maybe in their wild coupling last night, they’d knocked it from the nightstand.
He looked down at the floor. Nothing was there.
Throwing the covers back, he climbed out and searched behind the nightstand and under the bed. He lifted up the pillows. He looked in his boots. He rummaged through the sheets.
Nothing.
What the hell had happened to his forty-five?
While he was standing nude with his hands on his hips, the door opened, and Cat peeked in.
Her jaw dropped, but then she gave him a devilish grin and closed the door behind her, leaning against it with lust in her eyes.
He couldn’t help but be captivated.
He meant to ask her about his revolver, but promptly forgot.
Then, after they spent a delicious half-hour seizing the day by reliving the entertainment of the night before, Drew changed his mind about selling his weapon.
He realized that Cat considered him her gunfighting protector. Without his gun, she might think he couldn’t defend her properly. The truth was ithadcome in handy a few times in the last month.
He’d find the piece eventually. He must have left it downstairs or something.
As he cradled her in his arms, smiling at the rumpled dress with its bustle twisted to one side—the dress she was in too big a hurry to remove, he decided he’d just have to earn his money the way he always had—at the poker table.
By late afternoon, Drew was up and around. He was already in a foursome and up by three dollars when Sheriff Campbell waltzed in.
“Twins,” he said, shaking his head at Drew. “Well, I’ll be.” Then he rubbed his hands together. “Any o’ you boys headin’ out?”
