Natchez Flame Read Online Free PDF

little less wary.
    “Fella named Camden. Tom Camden. He’ll be joinin’ us sooner or later. Never could resist a good game of cards.”
    Brendan grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Tom Camden. How the hell is he? Figured he’d be dead and buried by now, crazy as he is with that pistol he totes.”
    “Did take a bullet in the shoulder a ways back,” Badger drawled, “didn’t slow him down much.”
    “Nothing slows Tom Camden down.”
    Badger spit out a wad of tobacco, missing the brass cuspidor on the floor near the wall by a goodtwo feet. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Same as he says about you.” He tossed his floppy-brimmed hat at the line of oak pegs mounted near the door, missed, and it slid to the floor. “Pleased to meet ya, Trask,” he said. “Now let’s play cards.”
    Brendan relaxed and picked up the hand he’d been dealt. The rangers hadn’t yet heard about the shooting in the Indian Territory. If his luck held out, maybe they never would. He wondered what Priscilla would say about his “kind eyes” if she knew Barker Hennessey wasn’t the first man he’d killed—or even the second. But then, she didn’t look like a fool, just far too trusting, and way too naive.
    He felt the ship lurch sideways as the fury of the storm increased, and crushed out his cheroot. The
Windham
wasn’t really a passenger steamer—there weren’t that many passengers traveling to Corpus Christi these days. Not since General Taylor and his troops had pulled out five months ago.
    Brendan had heard the place looked like a ghost town with all the buildings empty. They had sprung up nearly overnight to house the hangers-on, gamblers, and scoundrels who chased after the gold in the soldiers’ pockets.
    Now Taylor had headed south to fight the Mexicans.
    Unconsciously Brendan rubbed the scar on his upper left arm. He’d done his share of fighting back in forty-one. After a two-year stint in the Texas Marines, he’d taken a musket ball in a battle on the Yucatan. The wound had been bad and he’d damn near died—would have if one of his comrades in the Mexican prison outside Campeche hadn’t helped him.
    Brendan thought of Alejandro Mendéz and, as always, something painful constricted inside his chest.
    “It is your turn to bet,
Herr
Trask,” the German reminded him.
    Damn.
He’d better start paying attention or he’d lose his winnings and then some. He made his wager, a conservative bet this time, and glanced at the round brass ship’s clock screwed to the bulkhead across from the table. Nearly time for supper. He’d check on Priscilla, take her in to dinner if he had to, then, as much as possible over the next five days, he’d leave her alone.
    Against his will, he thought of her slender curves and luscious pink mouth. He remembered her dainty waist, and found himself speculating on the size of her breasts. He wondered what her hair looked like, freed from her bonnet.
    “You lose, Trask.” Badger Wallace chuckled as Brendan flipped over his cards. “Maybe Tom’ll do all right, after all.”
    “Tom Camden never won a hand of cards in his life,” Brendan grumbled. He’d been traveling with the lady below decks for less than eight hours and already she was causing him trouble. He’d damn well see to it she didn’t get a chance to cause him more.
    “Time for supper, Miss Wills,” Trask called through the door to her cabin, rapping his knuckles lightly against the heavy wood.
    Priscilla clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from throwing up. “I … I’m not hungry just yet.”
    “Whatever you say.” Relief rang in his voice. “I’ll have someone bring you down a tray.”
    “Thank you.” Just the thought of food sent Priscilla running for the chamber pot again. Forehead beaded with perspiration, she forced herself to hold on until Trask’s footfalls receded, then she bent over and emptied the contents of her stomach for the sixth time in the past three hours.
    Dear God in