Natural Born Sinners (Soiled Dove Series Book 3) by tyranni thomas

Author:tyranni thomas [Thomas, Tyranni]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tyranni Thomas
Published: 2019-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

There was no denying it, Rhett was nothing short of sour that he’d been saved by a woman. Nor was he remotely appreciative that I’d spared his conscience the guilt of killing children and the elderly. No, he went inside, grabbed a bottle, and headed upstairs.

“Who handed him his ass?” Remy asked with an unchecked smile.

“Wh—where’s the doc?” Amelia asked.

I felt horrible when she stretched her neck to see past me. The doctor! I’d forgotten all about the doctor.

“I, um . . . shit. There was trouble,” I admitted with an apologetic wince. “He turned me loose in front of the dress shop and . . .”

“Turned you loose? Did he keep you cooped up the whole way there?” Remy laughed, clearly in fine spirits after seeing Rhett’s swollen and battered face.

“No, he tied his horse up there and scampered off to the saloon like he couldn’t stand to go one more minute without a drink,” I recalled before my voice channeled the repulsion of such a thought. “Is he really prone to whiskey like that?”

Amelia put a hand on her belly and dimples twitched at either side of her mouth. “He prefers to . . . well, he prefers to take his leisure elsewhere. Keeps his business and pleasure separate, ya see?” she politely stumbled.

“Well, I’d guess tonight he didn’t have no business seekin’ pleasure.” Remy laughed.

“I guess not.” I smiled. “He should be thankful I went with him. If it weren’t for me, he’d have likely needed a doctor himself.”

“What do you mean, if it weren’t for you?” Remy asked without an ounce of play in his voice.

“Nothing. Gosh, don’t be so serious.” I tried to laugh, but subconsciously stroked the handle of my revolver. I only realized I was doing so, when his eyes dropped down and he stepped back with a slew of curses.

“Jesus. Really? He gets himself in a scrape, and you have to be dragged into it? With pistols, no less?” Remy started to pace up and down the side of the saloon.

“I handled it,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, you handled it. He got his ass kicked, and you got away. What if it’d went different, huh? What if I was writing back home about you being in the hospital or worse yet . . . dead?”

“Write whatever the hell you want!” I snapped, shoving my way past him. Winston had begun to plunk out a tune, and bawdy laughter trickled from the behind the double doors. “I own a fucking saloon, and I intend to enjoy it. If they wanted me to be a saint, they should have sent me to Sunday school, instead,” I informed Remy before slapping the doors open and disappearing inside.

A half dozen eyes roamed my jean-clad legs. A few settled on my tits, but only one met and held my gaze.

“I’m sorry–” I started, once I reached the bar, but Amelia shook her head like it was nothing.

“It’s not your fault. I’m pretty sure that one’s been bull-headed since the day he drew his first breath.

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