TRAINING IVY (How the West was Done 1)
released March 11, 2012 from Siren-Bookstrand, Inc.
Erotic Romance, Menage a Trois, Romance with Paranormal Elements, M/M/F, Light Bondage, Sex Toys
Ivy didn’t like that these two vibrant, hale men seemed to loathe each other. She’d been looking forward to courting both of them and choosing between them. Now it appeared that whichever one she settled on would be murdered by the loser. “Now, Harley. Whatever deed he committed has been paid in full, or they wouldn’t have let him out. Oh, what is this?”
A departing hooker had been standing on a gauntlet, a beautifully fringed and beaded glove that had been stamped into the dirt. Gingerly lifting it, Ivy shook it out, and a length of twisted rope fell onto the ground. Only a foot long or so, the rope was thin and terminated at both ends with a large glass trade bead.
Harley squatted down next to her. He looked at the rope. Then at Gentry’s neck. Then at the rope. “This could be what was used to strangle him.”
As Charlie and Wade lifted the body, Ivy asked, “Yes, but what is it? It’s so short.”
“Could be the drawstring for something.” Harley placed the rope inside the glove and pocketed them both. “Someone’s poke or purse.”
“Like a sort of reticule?”
“Exactly. Say, Neil. This is going to be an odd request.”
Neil fairly snarled at his adversary. His nostrils flared as he looked sideways down his lovely aquiline nose at the linguist. “Odder than anything else you’ve said?”
“Yes, probably. I want to photograph that body. I’ve brought camera equipment for surveying, and it’s all been taken to Vancouver House. You say the body will be at the undertaker’s?”
“Yes. But why would you need to photograph it?”
“It’s a new theory I’ve been hankering to test out. Don’t worry, it won’t harm the body in any way.”
“Well, you know,” Neil said in a new way that was somewhat friendly. “I’ve seen that symbol before, the one on his forehead. I just can’t pinpoint exactly where. But I’ve got a hunch it’s stamped on some paper on the desk of Miss Hudson’s father. Not that it involves him,” he was quick to tell Ivy. “Just that I’ve seen it, incidentally, emblazoning a paper of some sort.” He frowned and looked far away at the horizon. “But I’ve got to get over to Gentry’s ranch now, find his wife.” Looking back to Harley, his exquisite face almost had the cast of nobility when he said seriously, “You’ll look out after Miss Hudson.”
“Most assuredly.”
“I’m coming, too!” cried Zeke. “I can look for the paper you’re referring to. After all, paper is my job.”
“No,” said Neil. “You’re coming with me to Gentry’s ranch. If Katie Gentry is going to be sobbing all over me, as I reckon she will, I’m going to need someone more familiar with female emotional turbulence.”
“I? But I’ve never been married,” Zeke protested.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Neil said darkly.
So they parted ways, Ivy glad that she was at last alone with the accomplished British traveler. Not only was she able to take his solid, substantial arm and parade down Thornburgh, but a heat emanated from him that made her feel assured and confident in some odd way. That was it—she felt protected. The serious mountain-man rifle slung across his back, the strength in his swagger, the livid, deep scar across his cheekbone—all these things combined to melt Ivy into a particularly feminine puddle of frailty. Oddly enough, this alleged feminine weakness actually made her feel stronger than she had in years.
Exhilaration flowed through her veins as she strolled with the powerful adventurer. What a day! An hour ago she’d walked the opposite direction clutching the arm of a different man. She was becoming quite the bon vivant, if not something of a fresh judy! “So what is this photographic idea you have?”
“Well. It will sound odd, but there is some scientific basis for it. The idea has been floating about that if you can photograph the retina of a recently deceased person, the retina will function like the plate of a camera and display to you the image of the murderer.”
Ivy’s jaw hung so low she couldn’t even speak.
Harley continued, “Hear me out. If the pupil becomes hugely dilated at a moment of sheer fear, anger, shock, or other strong emotion, the concept is that the image of the last thing the victim sees remains fixed forever.”
“But,” Ivy gasped at last. “What if the last thing he sees is—oh, I don’t know, say, the floor? Or the back of his own hand as he lies face down on that floor? Or the barrel of a gun?”
Harley shrugged. “Theoretically we’d get a photograph of the gun, at least. And the idea has gained enough footholds in society, at least in some shady underworlds, that some murderers have resorted to gouging out the eyes of their victims.”
If Harley expected her to cringe in shock, then he was in for a surprise. “This sounds like that spirit photography I’ve heard about. Some photographers have been able to capture images of the dearly departed standing behind a subject. Of course, the ones I’ve seen mostly look like a photograph of the departed glued to a stick that someone is holding up. Completely ridiculous.”
“I’d like to try my hand at that as well!” Harley cried enthusiastically. “If it’s true that your beloved Neil is a conductor, a medium, if you will, then we might be able to get some interesting results.”
“Oh, he’s not my ‘beloved.’ I only just arrived, as you know. I barely know the man.”
“Really? You seem to have such camaraderie, such an emotional connection. That’s just my observation, of course. And the fact that he’s adamantly and hotly competing with me for your hand.”
At this, Ivy did cringe. “What gives you the idea he wants my hand?”
“My dear.” Harley patted her hand. “I’ve made a study of the mating rituals of humankind—a sort of amateur ‘sexologist,’ if you will. And the way that fellow took such a rabid and instant dislike to me tells me that I’m a vast threat to him.”
Did Harley insinuate that he, too, was fighting for her hand?
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