Amber Fire

Amber Fire

by

Lisa Marie Long

Copyright 2015 by Lisa Marie Long

Smashwords Edition

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then the author has not received compensation for her work. Please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

Chapter 12

Chapter 15

Chapter 18

Chapter 20

Chapter 23

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Excerpt - Borrowed Hearts by Lisa Marie Long

About the Author

~~~ Chapter 1 ~~~

Wyoming Territory, September 1884

Amanda stood in the dark, just beyond the shaft of light streaming beneath the swinging doors of the Evening Star Saloon. This was her last chance to find help out of this territory. If she failed this time, she was as good as dead.

A cold chill shivered up her spine. She shoved the thought of what she might have to do to the back of her mind.

Tinkling piano notes danced over the voices and laughter wafting through the doors. Her heart thudded against her ribs. She took a deep breath to calm herself and unclenched her fists.

The only man who had ever touched her was Vincent Jamison. The memory made her stomach roil. Thick fingers grasping her shoulders, the stink of bourbon and tobacco on his breath as he pressed his harsh mouth to hers...

Amanda shuddered. He was never getting his hands on her again. She had to escape that man, and now was her chance. She took another deep breath. Whatever it takes, whatever the sacrifice, she had to find freedom.

Grateful for the cover of darkness, Amanda pressed her back against the rough wall of the building as two men on horseback rode down the dusty street past the saloon. She let out the air she'd been holding and squared her shoulders. Taking a shaky breath, she stepped to the doors and pushed one open with trembling fingers.

The smells of bodies and tobacco assaulted her nose as she stepped inside. A layer of smoke swirled in the lamplight above the tables full of men, some playing cards, all drinking.

Amanda glanced around. Her eyes met with those of a young blonde woman on the arm of a dust-covered gambler. For a sad instant, she saw into the woman's soul. Pale and worn-looking, the girl's hair fell in dull yellow ringlets. She couldn't have been much older than Amanda, but her eyes were old.

Amanda tucked a loose hair behind her ear with gloved fingers and smoothed her woolen skirt. She wouldn't let herself be dragged down. She would do what she had to in order to survive, whatever it took, then start her life over.

She focused her gaze on the smudged brass foot rail around the bottom of the bar as she inched toward it. Amanda's heart hammered in her chest. She stopped in front of the long bar, her heart beating fiercely. The bartender leaned his hands on the worn wooden surface and stared at her, his eyebrow cocked beneath a fringe of greasy hair.

Fear bubbled up inside of her. Amanda needed courage to do what she had to in this place, and she didn't have enough in her right now. She needed the kind of courage found in a bottle, the kind that would keep her from thinking about what she was about to do, the kind of courage she had seen her father take whenever Vincent Jamison paid a visit to their house. Then she would have the strength to go on with her plan.

Whiskey, please, she whispered. Surely everyone in the room could hear the deafening pound of her pulse.

The bartender took her last coin and nodded. Amusement lit his round face as he poured the whiskey into the glass he set in front of her.

Amanda watched the golden liquid rise in the glass. She wiped her gloved palms on her skirt. The urge to turn and run out of the place overwhelmed her.

But she couldn't leave now. If she fled, she'd never find someone to help her. Her time had run out. Tomorrow the stage would take her north to Jamison's ranch. She needed to find help tonight, now. She had no choice but to continue.

Amanda reached out and wrapped her shaky fingers around the glass. Her heart beat so hard against her ribs she thought it would leap from her chest at any moment. Queasiness churned in her stomach. Her legs grew weak.

Shutting her eyes for an instant, she took a deep breath, and readied herself to lift the glass to her lips and gulp its contents. One…two…

I wouldn't drink that if I were you.

Amanda jerked her hand away from the glass and turned toward the deep, masculine voice. Her heart jumped to her throat at the sight of the man who owned it. He stood at the bar, five feet to her left, dark and looming. Even stooped over his drink, he stood a head taller than she. A shiver of fear slipped down her spine.

Wh—what? she said, breathless.

I said, don't drink that. His dark hat sat forward, shadowing his face, and a long black duster fell from his broad shoulders, concealing the rest of his body. He rested a dusty black boot on the brass rail next to the polished cherry butt of his rifle. His towering presence enveloped her.

Not him.

Fear tingled through Amanda's body. Her breaths came fast and shallow. Her dry tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she swallowed, steeling herself. She was through allowing men to run her life. Especially some stranger.

Thank you for your concern. But I'm quite capable. She cringed at the hollowness of her voice.

He turned his drink in his fingers, almost studying it. I'm not concerned, he said slowly. Only the strong line of his stubbled jaw shone from beneath the shadow of his hat. Just don't think a lady ought to be in a place like this, drinking.

Amanda swallowed back her fear and tipped her head toward one of the women at the tables. Perhaps you haven't seen the others ladies in this establishment, sir?

"You're not that kind of lady, he said coolly, fingering his glass. And you don't belong in here."

Amanda turned back to her own glass. You don't know the first thing about me, she muttered, and reached for her drink.

He turned and locked her in his gaze. Dark eyes bored into her, full of contempt. His face was lean, taut, browned by the sun. His lips drew into a thin line. Suddenly, he seemed almost frightening.

Not him.

She held her breath. Every fiber of her being told her to turn and run. But she couldn't let go of those eyes. Now that he faced her, she stood frozen. His eyes burned dark and menacing, full of scorn, aimed at her.

You tellin' me you're one of them doves? His gaze blatantly swept down her figure and then back up to her face. You don't look much like one. Don't act like one either. Unless you're new at it.

Dumbstruck, she stared at him, a hot flush creeping to her cheeks.

Didn't think so. He turned back to raise his glass with a tanned hand that looked as if he could crush a man's face with one blow. The glass hesitated at his lips. And I still don't think you ought to drink that.

Amanda shook her head at the man's audacity. Why do you care?

I don't think you want to look like a fool in front of these people. He inclined his head toward the room's occupants. I don't believe you've ever tasted whiskey before. He turned his hot gaze to her again. You're gonna look right silly when that gulp goes down your throat.

I've had whiskey plenty of times, she lied.

Somehow I doubt that. He turned back to his own drink, tossed back the last swallow and thumped the glass down on the bar. Then he turned to pin her with those dark, mesmerizing eyes.

Amanda glanced at the bartender. The amused smirk still rode his features. She grabbed the glass in imitation of the dark stranger. Courage glowed like amber fire in her glass. She needed all the courage she could get. Amanda lifted the glass and tossed back the whiskey.

The fiery liquid seared her throat and burned like lightning in her chest, stealing her breath. Amanda gulped for air. The whiskey scorched her mouth, her nostrils, her entire chest. Coughing and choking, she clutched the bar for strength. She gasped for air as the volcano inside consumed her. What was in that awful stuff?

Strong hands grabbed her and pulled her away from the bar. Tears welled in her eyes and she couldn't tell where she was being pulled. Fire engulfed her lungs. She couldn't see or breathe.

Cool air blasted her face as she stumbled blindly through the saloon doors. A stinging blow to her back almost knocked her off her feet. She gasped and coughed, desperately grabbing for something to hold onto. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Another blow sent her stumbling toward the porch railing. She grabbed hold, wheezing between coughs. Amanda turned toward the onslaught, wiping her eyes. The dark stranger stood next to her, raising his hand to slap her on the back again.

Are you...trying...to...kill me? she choked out as she braced her hands on her knees.

No more than you were in there. He lowered his hand. I told you not to drink that whiskey.

I do not...take the advice...of total strangers, she said, wheezing. Especially...strangers...who hit women. She straightened and stuck her hands on her hips.

I was only smacking some air into your lungs. He crossed his arms. Somebody oughta smack some sense into you, though.

Amanda shook her head, trying to clear a wave of dizziness. She lifted a hand to her temple. Did you hit me in the head? She thought she saw him roll his eyes upward.

It's that rotgut you downed. Now let's get you to your lodgings while you can still walk. Where are you staying? He took her arm and steered her down the saloon's two steps onto the wooden planks that served as a sidewalk.

At Mrs.— Amanda stopped. She needed him. She had gone into the saloon to find a man and now a very big one stood in front of her, offering help.

I don't have all night, you know. And from the looks of it, neither do you. Where are you staying? he repeated.

Warmth radiated from her stomach, and a strange fog swirled inside her head. She looked up into his beard-roughened face, at the hard eyes staring back at her. Thank God, the dulling whiskey would make it easier to do what she had to next.

She opened her mouth to ask him for help, when it occurred to her that he may flat-out refuse to help her, like the others. She couldn't risk that. Not now. There wasn't time to find someone else. She had to make her offer.

She flashed him a smile she didn't feel. "Where are you staying?"

What? He dropped her arm and glared down at her.

I want to see your room. She tried to remember how the girls inside had done it. She rested one hand on her hip and thrust a shoulder forward. Take me there.

I don't believe this. The man threw his hands into the air. You blush like a schoolgirl when I ask if you're a whore, then you want me to take you back to my room. Well, which is it? And stop doin' that with your arm, you look silly.

Irritation stabbed at her. Stop calling me that.

Why are you asking me to take you to my room? You don't even know me. He narrowed his eyes. Is it money you're after?

Amanda shook her head, making her even more dizzy. I don't want any money from you. I just need your help. Please. God, she felt ridiculous, having to beg him. The man leaned back against the porch railing and crossed his arms. Why was this so difficult?

Please, you've got to help me, she said. I need to get away from here, in a hurry. I can't offer you any money, but maybe we can work out a—a trade—of sorts.

A muscle in his jaw twitched as his dark eyes bored into her. He didn't answer, didn't move. Hadn't he heard her? Maybe he needed more convincing, a clearer explanation of her offer. But how much clearer could she be?

Just take me to your room. She stepped toward him. The toe of her boot caught on one of the boards beneath her. Amanda stumbled. A brilliant flash of pinpoints exploded behind her eyes as her head slammed into the railing. A wave of darkness engulfed her.

Oh, no you don't, a voice echoed through her head, as her knees buckled beneath her.

Davis Riley scooped the girl into his arms as she slid down the railing. He didn't think she'd hit her head that hard, but sure enough, she was out cold. What the hell was he going to do with her? He had no idea who she was, or what she was doing in the saloon, but he had to do something with her right away.

Clutching her to his chest, Davis glanced up and down the deserted boardwalk, grabbed the rifle that never left his side, and rounded the corner to the alley between the saloon and a mercantile. Her limp body swayed against him with each step as he bounded up the side stairs. What on God's green earth was he doing with this girl? He had other things to worry about.

Davis opened the side door and strode into the dim upstairs hallway, crossing to the plain wooden door of the room he had rented.

Inside, he laid her on the rumpled blankets of the creaking bed and lit the lamp on the table next to it. She didn't move. Christ, he hoped she wasn't hurt bad. A nasty red welt already swelled on her forehead.

Davis watched her pale face in the lamplight for a moment. Tendrils of dark, reddish hair curled around her face. Her breath puffed softly through parted lips. Her tiny hat tilted off to the side, crushed by the railing. He studied the lacy gloves, the expensive dress, the polished boots, and shook his head. Whatever she was trying to pull, she was no whore.

Davis turned the lamp low and strode to the door. Dammit, he didn't need this right now. He had a job to start in the morning. He sighed and shook his head before closing the door behind him, then headed for the stairs to the lower level of the saloon.

The smell of smoke and sweat hit him halfway down the stairs, and Davis scowled. Some places smelled worse than others, and this wasn't one of the good ones.

Davis found what he was searching for as he hit the last step. He stared across the room until the woman disengaged herself from the piano player and sauntered toward him.

Davis ordered a half-bottle of whiskey and carried it to an empty table in the corner as the brunette took her time in reaching him. Pouring himself a drink, he watched her, half amused, half irritated, as she rocked from one hip to the other on her way over, trying her best to entice him. He chuckled into his glass. She didn't interest him. He wanted her for something else.

Hey, handsome.

Her southern accent dripped honey. He wondered if it was real.

A good-lookin' man like you shouldn't be all alone. Want some company? She stuck her hands on her hips and jutted out her ample bosom. Her faded ivory camisole barely kept her covered.

He lifted his gaze to her face and pushed out a chair with the toe of his boot, motioning with his glass. Sit down.

The woman arranged her petticoat around her as she sat, then leaned across the table to trace on the back of Davis's hand with a fingernail. I saw you leave earlier with that little girl. Guess you came back for a real woman, huh? Want to give me a try? she said, grinning.

Heavy makeup caked her skin and she appeared worn beyond her years. Her eyes were tired and her hair fell in limp ringlets. She'd been at this life a while, Davis thought, as he moved his hand from her reach.

I'm not interested in your wares, he said dryly, and took another swig of whiskey.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, gazing at him through darkened lashes. Then just what are you interested in, sweetheart?

Davis pulled two dollars out of his vest pocket and placed them on the table. I want you to go up to my room.

She reached for the money. This is sounding better.

He placed his hand on the bills and leaned in. I'm not finished, he said quietly. The girl you saw me with earlier, she's up there. I want you to look after her.

She stood, an insulted expression on her painted face. I ain't a wet nurse, you know, mister.

Sit down, he said, pointing to the chair. He unfolded another dollar and placed it on the table. The woman relaxed a bit and slid back into the chair. I want you to sit with her until she wakes and tend to her.

Her eyes widened. What did you do to her?

Davis scowled. Nothing. Let me know when she wakes, and try to find out where she belongs. Will you do it?

She slid the money off the table and tucked it in the valley between her breasts as she rose. Seein' how you're so worried about her, I guess I can. But this is a strange request, I'll give you that much. Which room?

He gave her the key to his door and caught her wrist as she turned. One more thing. Can you be discreet? I don't want anyone knowing she's up there, got it? That girl was in some kind of trouble, and he didn't want to be a part of it.

The woman eyed him and grinned. I can be anything you want, honey, for the right price.

Davis laid out another dollar and watched her snatch it and head up the stairs. He didn't have time to mess with the crazy girl in his room. He had another one to worry about, starting tomorrow. He had orders to escort some rich little city girl to some ranch up near Jackson, and the assignment didn't thrill him. It wasn't the kind of work a man like him ought to be doing.

Davis scowled as he poured himself another drink. He had no idea why he'd been yanked from his border post for this job. He was familiar with the area, but a lot of other lawmen were, local lawmen. Escorting some judge's daughter a couple hundred miles wasn't the kind of job he was used to. He was a fighting man, not a nursemaid. His orders hadn't offered any explanation, simply told him to get himself to Chandler and wait for the Barker girl. There must be something more to it. He sipped his whiskey. At least this place was a change of scenery. Watching for cattle rustlers along Rio Grande was getting old.

The whiskey burned its way down his throat. He grimaced. Some of the worst stuff he'd ever had. Probably cut with turpentine. He didn't intend to drink much of the stuff anyway. He needed to keep his wits about him in a place like this. But more than that, he needed to get that girl out of his room.

A half-clad blonde glanced his way. She left the game of cards she was watching to make her way toward him.

Ah, hell, he muttered. He didn't need yet another woman to bother him.

Sittin' here all alone? she said with a syrupy voice as she sauntered up to his table. I thought sure you'd go up with Rose, but I guess she wasn't to your likin'. How about givin' me a try? she said, pulling her neckline lower to expose more of her pale breasts.

Davis's mind flashed on the pale face of the girl upstairs. I'm not looking for company. He kept his expression a practiced neutral.

Feigned disappointment crossed her painted face. Well, let me know if you change your mind, handsome. She smiled and turned. A moment later, Davis watched her drape herself around some cowpuncher at the next table.

The women he'd known during the last eight years were all like that, and just as well. It had taken a long time and a lot of hard riding to forget Angelina. Dammit, he'd tried so hard to forget that woman. She'd taught him a good lesson, all right. He'd nearly married her. But he'd been kid then, thinking with other parts of his anatomy. Now he was a Marshal.

The life of a Marshal was rough and grueling, and Davis had chosen it to keep from getting attached to anyone or anything. That was the way he wanted it.

He especially didn't need to attach himself to another woman. It was best if he believed they were all like the one keeping that cowpuncher warm right now. He wouldn't lose himself again in anger and hurt over a woman. Especially a young, green-eyed girl with a beautiful neck and tempting mouth...

Davis thumped his glass on the table. What the hell was taking Rose so long? God, he hoped the girl wasn't hurt bad. If that brunette didn't sashay herself down those stairs soon, he'd go find out himself where the girl belonged. He had enough to worry about with the judge's daughter, he didn't need to worry about some crazy red-haired girl, too.

Amanda opened her eyes to a pounding pain and gingerly felt the protruding lump on her forehead. Strangely familiar tinkling music drifted to her ears. She could barely make out the room in the low light of the lamp. She lifted her throbbing head and found herself lying on the shabby blanket of a rumpled bed. A wide swath of petticoat glared out from beneath her rumpled skirt. Oh God, where was she? What happened?

She remembered hitting her head, but had no idea how she'd gotten here. It wasn't her room at the boarding house. This had to be the dark stranger's room. She searched for him in the dim light, but found herself alone. So he had brought her here after all. What would he do to her?

Dread filled her at the thought of being alone in the room with that man. Where was he? How long had she been there? How long did she have until he came to demand what she had offered? This was a mistake.

Amanda moved to sit up, but the pounding in her head worsened with every movement. She tried to calm the rising panic in her chest. He could come back any minute, and she would be helpless against him. This plan wasn't going to work. No, she had to get out of there and try to get help another way. This wasn't what she wanted. She couldn't go through with it. Whatever had made her think it would work?

Amanda froze when a key turned in the door.

Dear God, he's back.

She struggled to sit up, clenching her eyes against the flashing pain in her skull. She was out of time, trapped in the room with no other door, no way out.

A figure entered the room in the slice of light from the doorway. Amanda's body immediately tensed and her pulse quickened. A sick feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

The smell of roses wafted toward her and lamplight flooded the room from the small table next to the bed. A woman stood next to her, scantily dressed. One of the saloon girls. Amanda let out the breath she'd been holding as relief flooded her.

Well, look who's awake already. The woman stuck her hands on her hips. How are you then?

I--I'm not sure where I am. Amanda's voice sounded tiny and far away to her ears. My head hurts. Who are you?

The bed creaked as the woman sat on the edge to massage her calf. Well, I'm Rose, and you're upstairs of the Evening Star Saloon. He wants me to make sure you're all right, she said, jerking a nod toward the door.

Amanda clutched her aching head. Who?

Why, your man, of course. Sent me up here to see to you. Looks like he was a little hard on you. Rose crossed the room to the washstand in the dimly lit corner. Was it your first time?

My man? No, he's not my man. Amanda stared at the door. Oh, Lord, is he out there?

It's all right, honey. He's downstairs, drinkin' it off. I don't think he means to come back up for a time. Glass clinked, followed by the slosh of water.

I don't remember coming here. Amanda sat up and leaned against the creaky headboard. Oh, my head hurts. She let out a groan and pressed her temples.

Rose handed her a glass of water. Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better.

Amanda sipped it, eager to rid her mouth of the foul taste of whiskey, but the water tasted strange, perhaps stale. She wrinkled her nose and drank anyway.

What's your name, honey?

Amanda. Amanda Jane Barker. She handed the empty glass to the woman and laid her head back down. When is he coming back?

Don't worry, honey. It's never as bad as the first time.

First time-- Amanda swallowed. Oh.

You gotta watch out for the ones who like to beat on you. Rose reclined on the edge of the creaking bed. Some of them like that kind of thing. It gets 'em going. She half-chuckled. Hell, there are lots of times I'd rather be out cold than awake, but it ain't good to let 'em knock you around so bad. Knew a gal who had to go back home to her momma 'cause she got beat so bad once. Her long fingers idly picked at a loose thread on her petticoat. Lucky her momma would take her in.

Rose clucked her tongue and sat up. Well, I s'pose I could get him drunk and take him off your hands for the rest of the night. Gettin' 'em blind drunk usually keeps 'em pretty safe. Her painted lips widened. He's pretty free with his money, too.

Amanda tried to sit up again. I need to talk to him right away. I have to tell him--

You got a lot to learn, sweetie. Men don't like talkin'. They only like doin'. Rose tossed back her fat ringlets. How'd you get hooked up with him, anyway?

I--I'm not sure. I was just, I mean, he--

The buxom woman patted Amanda's arm. It's all right. I understand. Sometimes you just fall into these things. She stood and straightened her skirts. Where you from, anyway?

Boston.

Rose smiled sadly. All that way to come here for this?

Amanda lowered her gaze. It's not exactly what I intended.

It never is, honey. It never is. Rose paused at the door. You plannin' on stickin' around the Evening Star?

Amanda detected a hint of something more than curiosity. No. I'm getting out of here the first chance I get.

That's good. Rose closed the door behind her, leaving Amanda alone in the stranger's room again.

Her mind started to work. Fear gripped her. All she had to do was ask him for his help. Surely he would help her and wouldn't demand what she had already offered, wouldn't he?

Of course not. He'd be like the others she'd asked for help, who had either turned her away or taken her money. What had she been thinking when she asked him to bring her here?

She squeezed her temples between her palms. Her head still pounded, but a gray mist clung to her mind. She wasn't sure she understood everything Rose had said, but clearly the dark stranger had brought her to his room.

Maybe if she closed her eyes for a moment, her head would clear. But what if he came back? Right now he sat downstairs, drinking. What if he was past reasoning with when he returned? She couldn't protect herself from a man his size, not without a weapon. She had to get out of there, now.

But the gray mist swirled in her head and sleep beckoned. Amanda closed her eyes for only a moment.

"You did what?" Davis rose from his chair, slamming his palms against the table.

I gave her a little laudanum to help her sleep, is all. She had a bad headache and wasn't well, Rose said. She stuck her hands on her ample hips. You know, you oughta been easier on her. She's just a young thing. She ain't one of us, you know. At least she wasn't.

She doesn't need opium, he said through clenched teeth, ignoring her accusation for the moment. He had other problems.

What she needs is some sleep. The woman leaned close to Davis until he smelled her cheap perfume through the thick, smoky air. Why don't you give her a rest and come see me tonight, handsome? She's too young for you, anyway. What you need is a real woman. Let Rose here take care of you. She grinned and jutted her breasts out farther.

Davis sat back down, frowning. What was he supposed to do with the girl now? She'd probably sleep soundly through the night, thanks to the opium, in his room. Damn the woman for giving it to her.

Did she say where she belongs? he asked, expecting to get nothing useful from this woman. He lifted his glass and only half-listened as Rose sat down and rattled on about the girl's condition and her needing to talk to him about something, and him being too hard on her. Maybe he should just leave the girl in Rose's care and get himself another room.

A couple of words grabbed his attention. Where did you say she's from?

Boston.

Rose chattered on, but Davis had stopped listening. He was almost afraid to ask the next question. Did she tell you her name?

"Amanda Jane something. You