Page 53 of New Storm Rising
I considered that for a moment—then, grinning, put a hand on a specific spot where the two legs of his trousers met, underneath the table. “Definitely. Remind me of that principle tonight, will you?”
Mr Ambrose stiffened.
“Still…” I shook my head at him disapprovingly, “I’m rather disappointed.”
Mr Rikkard Ambrose glanced down at the spot where my hand was located, then up at me again, raising his eyebrow about half a millimetre. “Disappointed?”
“Oh yes, indeed.” Grinning, I jabbed a thumb towards the exit, where the batwing doors were still swinging back and forth. “You let them keep their underpants on.”
His eyes bored into mine. “I may not yet be the most experienced of husbands, Mrs Ambrose, but I am fairly certain removing other men’s underwear in the presence of your wife isnotcommon practise.”
“Is that so?”
“Indeed it is, Mrs. Ambrose.” He threw a look sideways to where the three women were still sitting dazed at the table. With all of their clothes on, incidentally. “Since we’re on the subject of gambling away underwear, Mrs Ambrose, should I also have acquired these ladies’ clothes and underwea—”
I held up my hand. “Forget I said anything.”
His cold eyes sparkled. “I surmised as much.”
Harrumph!
Folding my arms, I glared down at him.
“And, Mrs Ambrose…”
“Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?”
“Do. Not. Ever. Do. Something. Like. This. Again.”
“Win lots of money, you mean?”
“No. That wasnotwhat I meant.” Leaning towards me, he pinned me in place with his eyes, his perfect face only inches away from mine. Suddenly, I found my poker winnings a lot less intriguing. “I was referring to the fact that I was just at the mayor’s office, trying to show him the error of his ways in welcoming the Spaniards and attempting to convince him how…beneficial it would be to support me, when suddenly, a certain someone comes rushing into the room to inform me that mydear wifeissitting in a local den of iniquity, drinking and gambling with a gang of hooligans.”
“Well, in my defence, theywerean easy mark.”
He did not seem amused. “I told you to stay at the house, Mrs Ambrose.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And when have I ever been one to do what I was told?”
“You don’t understand!” He very nearly growled, lowering his voice. “I told you to stay for a reason! They knew I was coming to this town, and made preparations! They called for—”
Clink…clink…clink…
Once more, the ominous sound of jingling spurs echoed through the saloon. And this time, they werenotattached to my fashionable footwear.
The saloon doors swung open, and a shadow fell across the dusty floor.
“Well, now…what do we have here?”
Rikkard Ambrose, the Feminist
The murmur, laughter and sound of clinking glasses inside the saloon ceased abruptly. Everyone’s eyes moved to the door of the saloon, and there, his hat dipped low, shadowing his face, stood Sheriff William Gallagher.
“You know…I just ran into a very interesting little scene outside the saloon.”
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The metallic sound echoed as he strode into the saloon.
