darkest midnight. His smoothly shaven face was so deeply tanned it was almost swarthy.
But oh, what a handsome face it was.
High forehead, proud roman nose, full, sensual lips and strong, harshly cut chin. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but she could see the long, black lashes that shaded them.
Marietta, feeling strangely faint, was half-afraid to move closer to the tall, dark stranger. Why, she didn’t know. She swallowed hard and moved cautiously forward. She was holding her breath by the time she reached him.
And she was confused. He had to know that she was approaching him, had to see her moving in his side vision. But he didn’t turn his head to look at her.
Not until the very last second. When Marietta passed directly by him, the man finally looked up and met her gaze. And Marietta thought her heart would beat its way out of her chest. Startlingly sky-blue eyes staring up from under improbably long eyelashes touched her, assessed her, frightened her.
Then quickly dismissed her.
Marietta was nonplussed. She hurried away, flustered and insulted. This darkly handsome man had looked directly at her, but was apparently not the least bit interested. Those beautiful blue eyes did not light up at the sight of her. Those sensual lips did not lift in a flirtatious smile. That lean, masculine body had not shifted, muscular shoulder had not left the barber pole. She had had no visible effect on him.
None whatsoever.
She wandered aimlessly up the street, both disappointed and excited. She was extremely frustrated that the handsome stranger had paid her no attention. At the same time she was strongly intrigued by his utter nonchalance. His obvious lack of interest made Marietta all the more interested in him.
That and the fact that he was a sultry, sexually suggestive, highly threatening male and just the sight of him had made her tingle all over. She wanted the feeling to last. She wanted to be close to him again. She wanted him to make her tingle. And she especially wanted to make him tingle.
Marietta paused half a block past the barbershop and the tall, dark, indifferent stranger. She lifted her chin defiantly, turned about and almost bumped into the lumbering Con Burnett. Her anger flared and she loudly berated him.
“I told you to stay out of my way!” she hissed.
“Sorry, Miss Marietta.”
Cole heard the exchange and grinned. He knew what she was going to do. She was coming back his way. She had noticed him. She wanted him to notice her.
So he wouldn’t.
Not yet.
Her heart in her throat, Marietta nervously approached the tall man who still stood there leaning against the barber pole. Cole waited until she was a few steps from him. Then he pushed away from the pole, turned his back on her and stepped down off the sidewalk. He unhurriedly crossed the street.
Marietta couldn’t believe her eyes. It was all she could do to keep from calling out to him and ordering him to come back. She was filled with anger and despair as she watched him casually walk away from her. She continued to stare, longing to know who he was and where he was going and wondering if she would ever see him again.
She blinked when he turned into the silver-floored entrance of the Teller House Hotel and disappeared. She was tempted to follow him, took a tentative step forward, and caught herself. She couldn’t go running after a stranger. Besides, even if she could, the Burnett brothers would tell Maltese.
Marietta sighed, her slender shoulders slumping.
The excitement of her afternoon adventure was gone. She had no particular interest in shopping or having a late lunch. She just wanted to go home. Parasol raised, she walked dejectedly back to the opera house, ignoring the passersby who smiled and called to her.
Back in her private quarters, Marietta undressed, drew on a satin robe and paced restlessly. She was agitated. Fidgety. Unable to relax. She had seen an incredibly attractive man who’d set her pulses to pounding and she wouldn’t rest until she saw him again.
Marietta abruptly stopped pacing, snapped her fingers and said aloud, “I will see him again. I will go to the Teller House tomorrow and have lunch.”
Marietta did just that.
But to her disappointment, there was no sign of the dark-haired stranger. She hurried through her meal and left the hotel. She walked up the street toward the barbershop, hoping to find him leaning against the colored barber pole.
But he was not there.
From the front window of his fourth-floor suite in the Teller House, Cole watched Marietta leave the hotel, walk up the street. Her head was bare and her glorious red-gold hair, dressed elegantly atop her head, blazed in the sunlight.
He watched as she approached the barbershop. And he smiled when she stopped, reached out and touched the barber pole.
She was looking for him.
Soon he would let her find him.
Seven
Cole knew it wasn’t going to be easy to catch the lovely Marietta alone. When she was with Maltese, the scar-faced Lightnin’ hovered nearby. If Marietta went out alone, she was closely shadowed by those two big bruisers, the Burnett brothers. Maltese saw to it that his ladylove was well guarded at all times.
Still, Cole was confident he could find a way around the bodyguards. Impatiently he bided his time, waited and watched. And he smiled when, three days in a row, he saw Marietta venture out. From his fourth-floor Teller House suite he watched her stroll up Eureka Street, pausing before shop windows.
But her interest was not really in the merchandise displayed. She didn’t gaze longingly into the plate-glass windows of the stores. Instead, she covertly glanced around, as if looking for someone.
She was looking for him.
Each day Cole waited until Marietta returned to her private quarters. Then he went out. He explored every inch of the little mountain hamlet, walking up one street and down another. He spoke to no one, attracted as little attention as possible. He hunted for the ideal place for a private rendezvous with Marietta. He found it on his third day out. The Far Canyon Café. A cozy little out-of-the-way restaurant nestled in the sheltering slopes near the top of the hill. The food was good, the wine cellar exceptional, and the high-backed banquettes afforded total privacy.
It was, Cole decided, time to end the little game of cat and mouse. The very next afternoon he dressed in a freshly laundered blue cotton shirt and a pair of dark twill trousers. Cleanly shaven, his hair neatly brushed, he left the Teller House resolved to carry out his mission. His mission was Marietta. Cole stepped out into the scorching June sunshine and looked up the street.
And there she was.
Marietta and her shadows were only a couple of blocks ahead. Cole proceeded cautiously, ducking into doorways, mingling with the milling crowds. All the while advancing, determined to meet Marietta, to talk with her.
He knew his opportunity had come when he saw Marietta enter a little shop on the corner at the far end of the block. Cole picked up his pace, hurried toward the store where the sign above read Lilly’s Ladies Apparel.
The Burnett brothers stood on the sidewalk a few feet from the shop’s front door. But neither noticed when Cole went inside. Their attention was momentarily diverted. An altercation had broken out across the street in front of the Golden Nugget Saloon. A crowd quickly gathered and bets were being placed on the bloodied pugilists. Con and Jim Burnett whistled and applauded, liking nothing better than watching a good fistfight.
Inside Lilly’s small shop, Marietta was alone. There were no other customers. And the shop’s owner, the diminutive Lilly, was in the back storeroom. She’d gone there after telling Marietta about the new shipment of lacy underwear that had just arrived that morning.
“Stay