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asked.
    “They…” Eve looked away.
    Reno waited.
    “They bought me off an orphan train in Denver five years ago,” she said in a low voice.
    Even as Reno opened his mouth to make a sarcastic remark about the futility of tugging on his heartstrings with sad stories, he realized that Eve could easily be telling the truth. The Lyons could indeed have bought her from an orphan train as though she were a side of bacon.
    It wouldn’t have been the first time such a thing had happened. Reno had heard many other such stories. Some of the orphans found good homes.Most didn’t. They were worked, and worked hard, by homesteaders or townspeople who had no cash to hire help, but had enough food to spare for another mouth.
    Slowly Reno nodded. “Makes sense. Bet their hands had started to go bad.”
    “They could barely shuffle, much less deal cards. Especially Don.”
    “Were they cardsharps?”
    Eve closed her eyes for an instant, remembering her shame and fear the first time she had been caught cheating. She had been fourteen and so nervous, the cards had scattered all over when she shuffled. In picking the cards up, one of the men noticed the slight roughness that marked aces, kings, and queens.
    “They were gamblers,” Eve said tonelessly.
    “Cheats.”
    Her eyelids flinched. “Sometimes.”
    “When they thought they could get away with it,” Reno said, not bothering to hide his contempt.
    “No,” Eve said in a soft voice. “Only when they had to. Most of the time the other players were too drunk to notice what cards they were holding, much less what they were dealt.”
    “So the nice old couple taught you how to colddeck and bottom-deal,” Reno said.
    “They also taught me how to speak and read Spanish, how to ride any horse I could get my hands on, how to cook and sew and—”
    “Cheat at cards,” he finished. “I’ll bet they taught you a lot of other things, too. How much did they charge for a few hours with you?”
    Nothing in Reno’s voice or expression revealed the anger that churned in his gut at the thought of Eve’s beautiful body being bought by any drifterwith a handful of change and a hard need filling his jeans.
    “What?” Eve asked.
    “How much did your employers charge a man to get under your skirt?”
    For an instant Eve was too shocked to speak. Her hand flashed out so quickly that only a few men would have been able to counter the blow.
    Reno was one of them, but it was a near thing. Just before her palm would have connected with his cheek, he caught her wrist and flattened her out on the bedroll beneath him in the same violent motion.
    “Don’t try that again,” he said harshly. “I know all about wide-eyed little hussies who slap a man when he suggests they’re anything less than a lady. The next time you lift a hand to me, I won’t be a gentleman about it.”
    Eve made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “Gentleman? You? No gentleman would force himself on a lady!”
    “But then, you’re not a lady,” Reno said. “You’re something that was bought off an orphan train and sold whenever a man was interested enough to hand over a dollar.”
    “No man, ever , paid for anything from me.”
    “You just gave your, uh, favors away?” Reno suggested ironically. “And the men were so grateful, they left a little present on the bedside table, is that it?”
    “No man ever got under my skirt, with or without paying,” Eve said icily.
    Reno rolled aside, freeing Eve. Before she could move away, his hand settled at the apex of her thighs, where a bronze thicket guarded her sultry core.
    “Not true, gata. I’ve been under your skirt, and I’m a man.”
    “Go to hell, gunfighter,” Eve said through clenched teeth, her voice steady despite the tears of shame and rage in her eyes.
    Reno saw only the rage. It occurred to him that he would be wise not to turn his back on his little saloon girl until she cooled off. Eve was quick, very quick, and at the moment she