Pam Crooks - The Mercenary's Kiss

“They kill for the sport of it.” Jeb clenched his jaw. “You think you’re going to find them by yourself?”

Green eyes flashed. “If it’s the last thing I do.” She halted, her bosom heaving.

“Like hell you will.” Jeb released her. He didn’t want to be affected by this woman. He didn’t want to be needed by her.

Instead, he thought of honor and integrity. Of patriotism. He thought, too, of leaving the country he’d just come back to. One more time. And his plans for California disintegrated like smoke in the wind.

“I’ll help you, damn it.”

She gaped at him. For a long moment no one spoke.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I can. And right now you have no one else.”

“I don’t even know you!”

“You will by the time we get to Mexico….”

“Pam Crooks brings every character, every danger, every ordeal to life through her vivid descriptions and snappy dialogue. This is one author whose star is rising fast.”

—Romantic Times on Hannah’s Vow

“Pam Crooks writes westerns like nobody’s business! They grab you from the start, and you better hang on for the ride!”

—The Best Reviews on Broken Blossoms

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my agent, Paige Wheeler.

Thank you.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Texas, 1896

“L a-adies and gentlemen! What a singular pleasure it is to bring to your fair city the most dazzling, the most thrilling, the most renowned extravaganza this side of the Missouri! Doc Charlie’s Medicine Sho-o-w-w!”

The audience packing the wooden benches inside the canvas tent whooped and clapped, their enthusiasm as palpable as the sawdust beneath their feet. Men whistled. Women and children cheered. The calliope player banged the keys in a chaotic medley of earsplitting notes, all to perpetuate the excitement and anticipation of the entertainment to come.

As always, Elena Malone was filled with her own excitement of yet another performance to a crowd who had traveled from miles around to watch.

A crowd with money in their pockets, of course.

The medicine show was her father’s production. Doc Charlie Malone carried the responsibility of the entire troupe on his shoulders. As pitchman for his own elixir, Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound, it was up to him to sell enough bottles after every performance to support them all.

And there wasn’t a better pitchman than Pop.

Oh, but she never tired of watching him. He always dressed impeccably in a smart suit and crisp white shirt, kept his mustache trimmed neat and his graying goatee combed and stylish. He had eyes that were sharp and straightforward. His booming voice inspired confidence. Honesty. Doc Charlie Malone was the picture of professionalism.

A medicine man the crowd could trust.

And why not? He touted his elixir with pride, and while the results he claimed didn’t always happen to everyone, most times they did. Elena was shrewd enough to know there wasn’t a cure around that could single-handedly conquer the world’s ills.

But Pop’s elixir came close.

She roused herself from her musings and realized that Jake, the show’s blackface comedian, had finished his opening routine. The crowd’s laughter attested to their enjoyment of his jokes and his success in delivering them. He was still taking his bow when a trio of jugglers appeared in the ring, plates spinning in the air as they ran.

Elena’s gaze swept the crowd and noted the rapt expressions on the people’s faces, their happiness and delight. On cue, the performers abandoned the plates and switched to fiery torches. Everyone seemed to wait with bated breath at the jugglers’ dexterity, at the danger, fearful they might be burned and fascinated by the possibility.

Everyone except one.

Her attention snagged upon a man openly staring at her. A Mexican with jet-black hair that cascaded down to his shoulders in gleaming waves, and who possessed eyes as dark, as glittering, as polished onyx.

Elena pulled her own eyes away. She was accustomed to men staring at her—women and children, too, of all ages. It was part of performing in front of a curious public. She had learned to distance herself from it.

“Your cape, Elena.”

She turned and glanced at Toby, the freckle-faced young man who worked behind the scenes to help keep the show going smoothly and on schedule. A ventriloquist and a song-and-dance team would perform after the jugglers. She had some time yet before she’d take her turn in the ring.

She smiled as he settled the satin fabric around her shoulders. She was inexplicably glad for the covering—not that she was shy wearing her red-spangled costume, which conformed to the shape of her body like a second skin, enabling her to move freely during her trick-riding routine. She still had the uncanny feeling the Mexican watched her. “Thanks.”

“Good crowd tonight,” Toby commented. He removed his cap and ran his shirtsleeve over his sweaty forehead. He always labored hard for the show. Pop was lucky to have him.

“Yes. The take will be high, I think.”

“High enough for Doc?” He grinned, his expression teasing, but knowing.

Her mouth softened. “Is it ever?”

Pop’s obsession to sell his precious elixir, cases of it, was common knowledge among the troupe. The more money they took in, the happier Pop would be.

But then, everyone knew their expenses were formidable. If Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound didn’t sell, the troupe didn’t eat. Their debts always came first.

“Be careful out there, Elena.” Serious again, Toby pulled his cap back onto his head.

She gave him a confident wink. “I always am.”

He moved away from her, to the next chore that awaited him. Elena turned back to the ring, her fingers fastening the cape’s clasp. Only minutes to go.

The first wave of apprehension went through her, as it always did before she performed. Even though she was only eighteen years of age, Pop considered her the show’s top act—the final one before his pitch. He depended on her to leave the audience so thrilled, so awe-struck, they were compelled to buy his elixir out of sheer gratitude for the pleasurable entertainment he’d given them.

At last, it was time. Toby led a pair of white horses into the ring, both unsaddled and wearing red-feathered ornaments on their heads. Elena swept off her cape with a flourish, bowed, then bounded onto the lead horse’s back. With an ease she’d earned from countless hours of practice, she performed her routine of splits and cartwheels, tail and shoulder stands, until the crowd cheered in delight. She slid into the grand finale—a breathtaking choreography of somersaults and back flips on a half-dozen matching white horses.

When the routine was complete, she dismounted in one fluid leap. The applause increased to an even higher crescendo. Exhilarated, she sank into a long, deep bow of acknowledgment.

“Yes-sir-ree, ladies and gentlemen!” Pop’s booming voice soared over the applause. “An extravaganza the likes you’ll never see again! Doc Charlie’s Medicine Sho-o-w-w!”