Angel Creek by Linda Howard Page A

she’ll get everything. Or rather her husband will.”
    â€œI heard Cochran was courting her,” Fronteras murmured.
    Kyle shrugged his shoulders. “That doesn’t mean I can’t pay attention to the lady, too.”
    He sipped his whiskey, thinking about Olivia Millican. Why not? He had as much chance with her as anyone else, maybe more. Women had always seemed to like him. He liked a bit more spunk in his women than Olivia seemed to have, but she was pretty and rich, and in Kyle’s experience money made up for a lot of shortcomings. He was doing all right withmoney right now, but he had learned the hard way not to count on everything staying all right. Having Wilson Millican’s money would make his life a whole lot more comfortable. He’d start his own courting of Olivia and give Cochran something to think about.
    He was on his second whiskey, savoring both the biting, smoky taste of the liquor and his mental image of marrying Olivia Millican, when Tillie sauntered over to him. He leaned back against the bar and enjoyed the sight, because Tillie had a walk that could make a man’s privates stand at attention even if he had a lot more than two whiskeys in him.
    Tillie was something, all right. He’d met her for the first time about ten years back, in New Orleans. She’d been all of fifteen then, he guessed, remembering how fresh and wild she’d looked. He grinned, thinking that he was probably the only person in town who knew that her name was Mathilde. He called her that sometimes, when they were in bed together, always earning a long warning look from those heavy-lidded eyes of hers. It was all right with him if she chose to be Tillie the saloon girl; he just didn’t want her to forget that he knew where she came from.
    Of course, she knew more about him than anyone else, too, but he didn’t worry about it. Tillie had never tried to use the information to get money out of him. She was oddly accepting of her life in a two-bit saloon in a small town, her rich brown eyes full of a half-weary, half-accepting worldliness. A man never felt as if Tillie was judging him; she simply took him as he was and expected nothing else.
    A lot of the men in Prosper, including the married ones, had found their way into Tillie’s embrace. Shewas generous even when her time was paid for, giving at least the appearance of affection and sometimes even her passion.
    Kyle never expected anything less than full participation from her and never let her give less. Sometimes she wanted to hold back from him, but he’d known her a long time, knew exactly how to make her squirm and buck beneath him, and in the end she would always give him what he wanted.
    She looked more like twenty than twenty-five, he thought, admiring her creamy skin and dark mahogany hair. She was still slim, still supple, her breasts full and upright.
    She leaned against the bar, her mouth voluptuous with invitation. “Kyle,” she murmured in greeting.
    He didn’t need much encouragement. His name in that soft drawl was enough. He set his glass down and took her arm. “Upstairs.”
    She blinked at him in mocking surprise. “Well, hello to you, too. Nice day, isn’t it?”
    He ignored her light sarcasm and continued propelling her toward the stairs. He gave an abrupt flick of his hand to Pierce and Fronteras, letting them know that he’d be a while and they could do whatever they wanted.
    Luis Fronteras watched Bellamy disappear up the stairs with his arm around Tillie’s waist before returning his attention to the beer in front of him. Pierce sat down at a table with him, silently nursing his own beer. That was normal for Pierce, who seldom said more than three words in a row.
    Luis was irritated by the small pang of jealousy he’d felt watching Bellamy and Tillie go upstairs together.Not because of Tillie, though God knows she was a head-turning woman, but just because of