Hawk's Prize by Elaine Barbieri Read Free Book Online Page A

because my first impression supports your warning. Also, you know him far better than I, but I have one question. If he’s as dangerous as you say he is, why do you keep a room here specifically for his . . . enjoyment?”
    “I should think the answer to that question is obvious, Tricia.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer
is good advice. Angie isn’t to be trusted either, but she brings Simon here. She enjoys his perversions, and because of her, he doesn’t bother the other girls anymore—and I’m still able to get a sense of what he’s up to.”
    “Why do you care what he does?”
    “Because—”
    A call from below turned Chantalle toward the sound. Looking back at Tricia, she said, “It’s busy downstairs tonight. I have to be there to make certain things don’t get out of hand.”
    Tricia looked at the brassy, middle-aged hussy standing before her, knowing that despite her appearance, Chantalle treated her customers fairly and with respect. Surprisingly, her customers seemed only too happy to respond in kind. Chantalle also kept her girls in line, and Tricia supposed that was the reason her house had a reputation unlike any other bordello in Galveston—because of Chantalle’s sincere, warmhearted nature despite the business of her establishment.
    “Don’t worry,” Tricia whispered. “I heard everything you said, and I’ll keep my distance from Simon Gault. It won’t be any problem for me at all.”
    Chantalle glanced at the delirious man in the bedand Tricia added, “As soon as this fella’s on his feet, he’s on his way, too. I promise.”
    Tricia did not speak when Chantalle kissed her cheek unexpectedly and then turned toward the doorway. Instead, Tricia picked up the bucket on the nightstand as the door clicked closed and poured water into the waiting basin.
    There was fire all around him and he was burning up. He struggled to escape from the flames, then stepped out onto clear ground at last, but he was still hot.
    He looked behind him. There were Yankees everywhere. They were all looking for him. They wanted him to reveal the location of the gold shipment, but he wouldn’t tell them even if he knew.
    “You’ll be all right soon. You’ll feel much cooler. Just lie back and rest.”
    He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. It was the angel again.
    No, she wasn’t an angel.
    She was opening his shirt and slipping his arms free. She was struggling and he tried to help her but he could not seem to make his body cooperate.
    He was free of the garment at last. He gasped as he was enveloped by a sensation so cold that it stole his breath. He struggled to clear his vision and saw that she had tears in her eyes.
    No, don’t cry.
    “You’re going to be all right. You’ll see.”
    She spoke to him, and then she smiled.
    Her smile was beautiful.
    She was beautiful.
    He closed his eyes.
    Tricia struggled to hold back her tears. This man was so sick, she feared for his life. He was too young and too handsome to die. She looked at the broad, muscular chest she had bared for her ministrations, noting the scar on his shoulder. It was from an old wound. She wondered if he had received that wound in battle also. The war had taken so many lives, but although it was over, it still threatened him.
    She touched the scar with silent reverence, then dipped the cloth in the basin and twisted it dry before spreading it across his chest as she had done before. The cloth was frigid against his heated skin, and he gasped another mumbled protest. She repeated the act, allowing the cloth to warm up against his skin while she bathed his arms and face.
    The water warmed quickly, and Tricia refreshed it with colder water from the bucket. She performed the process again and again. Concerned when his fever did not appear to be subsiding, she moistened the smaller cloth and ran it across his forehead, then his cheeks and mouth. She felt his lips move underneath it, then started when his eyes opened