by Holley Trent
He leaned back on the stool and glanced toward the door. No customers yet, and no Cougars in earshot as far as he could tell. “I expended a lot of energy earlier today. Happens when I port myself across great distances in small stretches of time. I’ll need restoration before moving on.”
“Surely, there are other places you can rest.”
Tarik shrugged his good shoulder. Tamatsu kept a little place on the Hudson River and Tarik didn’t doubt he’d be welcome there, but he didn’t enjoy dwelling in other angels’ roosts. Too personal. Gulielmus had enough space in his apartments that Tarik wouldn’t have felt so claustrophobic, but if he stayed there, Gulielmus was probably going to try to press him to work again. He’d end up with another drug-addled straggler. The last thing Tarik needed was to collect another foolish Englishwoman as a pen pal. He had no idea why he was so curious about where Lady Sophie ended up, other than that the situation was so outlandish that for the first time, he couldn’t predict what would happen.
Besides, her brother might have been Satan incarnate, but she wasn’t so odious. A bit annoying, and more than a little clingy, but not odious.
“Here’s fine,” he said. At the discomfiting rumble of his belly, he tilted his head toward the kitchen. “Is your cook coming back soon?”
“You need sustenance?” Lola stuffed the wad of cash into her cleavage, hitched up her corset, and rearranged the mounds within as though that was a completely reasonable thing to do in front of a male creature.
Obviously she didn’t care.
He couldn’t help but to. He may not have had any sophistication where as far as cuisine was concerned, but his taste for women was perfectly ordinary. Even cruel women.
“Unfortunately,” he murmured, lifting his gaze from her powdered décolletage.
“I will see what I can find to slake your discomfort.”
Tarik suspected that was the closest thing he was going to get to permission to stay.
He followed her around the counter and into the sweltering kitchen. Cook had left something simmering on the stove and an unsliced loaf of bread on the counter.
She nudged the bread toward him along with a knife. “Bland enough?”
“Doesn’t matter. It all tastes the same to me.”
“A pity.” She sounded as though she actually meant it. “If I am going to bother to eat, I want to enjoy what I am putting into my mouth.”
“What do you like to eat?”
He didn’t really expect her to answer. She wasn’t a conversationalist, and perhaps that was why he was so curious about her. She didn’t make unraveling the mystery of her at all easy. In spite of the way she carried herself, she wasn’t an automaton. She had opinions and passions and he was going to figure out what they were one way or another.
She dipped the ladle into the pot and poured a portion of stew into a bowl. “I prefer spice,” she said softly as she fondled a leaf of the pepper plant on the windowsill. “I am accustomed to it. Addicted to it, maybe. I have been saving seeds and growing this variety for longer than my son has been alive. I have not seen it anywhere else in a long time.”
“You have a son?”
She grimaced.
A personal question for creatures like them, probably too personal. Offspring were far too often liabilities. Pawns in a game they often didn’t even know they were playing.
Tarik was curious, though. Stunned that a creature such as her had let a man get close enough for them to create something miraculous together.
“You can tell me, if you’d like. I’m certain you enjoy your secrets. We all do. Not everything needs to be a secret, wouldn’t you agree?”
Sighing, she left the plant alone and retreated to the saloon doorway. She stood silent there for a minute, and then turned back to him.
He wondered how other people saw her. She made a pretty picture with that upswept hair and the waterfall of forced curls. With those unsmiling red lips. With that slight, petite frame squeezed, shaped, tortured by corset and heavy emerald skirt.
Men probably looked at her and made personal wagers of how much she’d cost them for an hour or two. About how much satisfaction they could get out of her versus some other.
Tarik couldn’t think that. He looked at her and saw a goddess doing things the hard way when she didn’t need to. He could make things so easy for her, if she’d let him.
“Yaotl,” she said finally. “That is the name I gave him. He calls himself other things now. New name in every town.”
“Where is he?”
She made a circle gesture with her hand. “Near. Far. Around.”
“He is like you?” He left the question open to interpretation. It was hers to answer as she saw fit.
She shook her head.
“What is he like?”
“Like a Cougar, mostly. He puts his head down and works hard. Does not seek attention. Has a temper at times, but who does not? He…tries to help people whether they deserve it or not.” She shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “Better than me, perhaps.”
“Not better. Just different.”
“You do not know me, angel.”
“So let me. Tell me things. I will hold them in confidence. Free of charge.”
“I do not think so,” she whispered and disappeared into the saloon. She called out to the guests who must have just entered, “Tonight’s poker game starts at seven. New rule, gentleman. I want to see cash up front. Take it or leave it.”
Tarik grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the stew bowl. His body may have demanded the offering of food, but his real hunger was for something that had just walked out of the room.
He’d never had an obsession before.
She may yet turn out to be his undoing, but he was willing to take the risk.
He was long overdue for a disruption of his own life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Throughout the evening, rather than closely monitoring the saloon for early signs of trouble, Lola’s attention was elsewhere. She moved through the establishment, murmuring responses to guest queries without really processing them.
Her focus was on the door upstairs that remained closed and who was behind it.
As promised, Tarik had retired for the evening before the saloon filled with patrons who might have recognized him from the previous day’s exploits. She found herself wondering how he was occupying himself. So much wondering, in fact, that she neglected to notice Clyde Planter reaching for her skirt.
“Hey, Lola,” he slurred. “How come you always say no to me?”
Carefully uncurling his fingers from the silk, she performed her most beguiling smile and patted the top of his head. “You don’t have enough money, Clyde. We’ve discussed this.”
No one had enough money. Oddly enough, though, no one had yet asked how much it would take.
They didn’t really want her anyway—not when there were friendlier women like Elizabeth and Rachel around. Lola was essentially an exotic novelty for them. A different flavor. They could keep their curiosity in their pants where it belonged, as far as she was concerned.
“Heard I’m headed out to California next week, didn’t ya?” he asked her.
Her gaze flitted upstairs again briefly.
How much can he hear?
For all she knew, he was watching from some high-up perch and she simply couldn’t see him. Why the idea of that brought her comfort, she didn’t know. Perhaps she was tired. It’d been months since she’d slept.
“Are you?” She pulled the bottle of whiskey across the table and sloshed a bit more into his glass. “I hadn’t heard.”
“You gonna miss me? Your best client?”
He was hardly that, but she smiled anyway. “I miss every one of you when you leave.”
That fib seemed to satisfy him for the time being. He turned his attention to his cards and his drink.
She turned hers to the commotion at the front door.
Sal Edwards and Oscar Dale were both trying to squeeze through at the sa
me time.
Groaning, she made her way through the packed tables and chairs. By the time she got to the front of the saloon, they’d figured out a way to get inside without tearing their arms off on the doorframe. “What’s the hurry, boys?”
“Pa told me to run this telegram over to Miss Elizabeth,” Sal piped up before Oscar could get his mouth open. He waved the little slip of paper triumphantly in the air, probably feeling like he’d won at something.
He had won at one thing—actually entering the saloon. His mother had threatened him with hellfire and brimstone for going anywhere near the place, but obviously stepping inside in the course of conducting business was a different story.
Lola ground her teeth and reached into her purse. “And how much are you going to charge her for the delivery?”
“Penny.”
She sighed and flipped him the coin.
He handed her the folded sheet, which she promptly stuffed into her bodice.
“Not gonna read it?” he asked.
“Not my business. Elizabeth is busy.”
Not too busy, Lola hoped. She’d seen the Cougar escorting Bart Conway upstairs an hour prior. He was harmless. Generally, he just wanted someone to talk to. Unfortunately, Elizabeth was neither counselor nor priest, and Lola suspected the blacksmith needed both of those things.
Oscar cleared his throat. “Can I speak now?”
“I’m not stopping you,” Sal told him.
“Why’re you still here? Better watch out or a light’nin bolt’s gonna char you were you stand.” He lurched toward Sal and sent the young man running through the door. “Damn kid,” he said under his breath.
“Don’t be too harsh,” Lola murmured absently, glancing upstairs again.
What is that angel doing up there?
There was hardly an excess of good reading material in the building. Rachel had hoarded the few decent books under her bed, and she wasn’t so keen on giving them up. Lola couldn’t imagine how he could possibly be occupying himself.
“Yeah, yeah,” Oscar said, reaching into his bag. “He’s just tryin’ to make his mama happy.” He handed her the mail. A couple of small parcels, a newspaper from Albuquerque, and one tattered enveloped scrawled in a familiar, careless hand.
Her breath caught momentarily.
But she couldn’t afford to display sentimentality there. The place for that was in her office with the door closed after all the drunks had gone home.
“Thank you for the delivery,” she told Oscar. “How many more stops do you have tonight?”
“Oh, just a few. Been at it since early this morning.” He crooked his thumb toward the boarded-up window. “What happened?”
“The usual.”
“You should make ’em pay for it.”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
“Can’t the sheriff help you out?”
Lola ground her teeth again.
Oscar dragged his hand down his face and let out a tired breath. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want him doin’ me favors, either. Somethin’ ain’t right about him, you know? Don’t trust him.”
“You sense anything unusual from him?”
Oscar gave his shaggy head a shake and started for the door.
Lola followed.
Oscar was one of the few Werewolves in Maria. There’d been more once, but the pack had butted heads with the local Cougars and Coyotes, and the Cougars had forced them out. They liked their peace. The few remaining Wolves were allowed to stay only due to the critical nature of their jobs.
“I imagine you’d be able to suss out more than I can,” Oscar said. “You see him more than I do.”
“I’m not that kind of psychic.”
“Well, what kind are you?”
She gave him a scolding look. He should have known better than to ask. “Go deliver your mail.”
“Aw, you never tell me nothin’.”
“And you’re in good company with that. Be safe.” She waved him on and took the mail and telegram up to her office. They could sort through it all after the close of business.
She only hoped she wouldn’t have to wait until sunup for the last of the cowboys to stagger out of her saloon. She didn’t think she could wait that long.
___
“Late night, hmm?”
At the sound of Tarik’s voice, Lola lifted her head from her desk and rubbed the weariness from her eyes.
Creatures like her didn’t generally need much sleep, but she couldn’t remember the exact time she’d last afforded herself such restoration. She was fairly sure, though, that it had been after she’d spent a week tracking her son. She wished she could keep up with him in the easier ways she used to track her Cats, on the rare occasion she wanted to. A simple mark in their flesh—the tiniest implant of her magic—and she would always be able to trace them.
She had to want to, though. It had been ages since she’d put her mark on anyone.
“Saloon’s closed today,” Elizabeth said from beneath her pile of blankets on the chaise. “We should all sleep in.”
“Considering that myself,” Lola murmured.
“Do you usually shut down after dawn?” Tarik asked.
“Not usually so late.” Lola grimaced. “Or early, depending on how you look at it.”
“There was a card game that went on forever,” came Elizabeth’s muffled voice. “Funny thing is they’re all going to be sitting in church today acting like they weren’t carousing all of last week.”
“Not our business,” Lola reminded her.
“Still. The hypocrisy grates me.” Elizabeth peeked out from under the blankets at Tarik. “You put that rat in my room last night, didn’t you?”
Lola had never before encountered a creature with such expert ability to convey both guilt and innocence in a smile. “What did you do?” she demanded.
Elizabeth waved off the query and settled back into her little fabric cave. “Wasn’t anything too awful. I was tired and Stanley wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Lola grated her teeth and squashed her unwelcome urgency for revenge. Perhaps it was better that the angel had dealt with the situation in his way. Lola’s solution would have involved a bodily calamity of some sort. A curse of extreme dropsy, perhaps.
“Well. Thank you,” Lola told him.
He shrugged. He had his coat on, unbuttoned, but his suspenders were down and shirt untucked. He was obviously in no hurry to go anywhere. “No trouble for me. I was in the room next door. Easy to overhear.”
“So, you just walk through walls?” Elizabeth peeked out again and pushed her crooked glasses up her nose. “Oh, Lord! What all did you see?”
He chuckled as Rachel sidled into the office and around him.
She looked as tired as Lola felt. She plopped onto the chaise and forced Elizabeth over a few inches, sighing.
“I don’t see what I don’t wish to see,” Tarik said obscurely. “And, no, I do not possess the ability to pass through walls. I remove myself from one space and reemerge in the next.”
“Huh,” Rachel said.
Lola was equally curious. Her ability to move through space wasn’t so impressive. She moved in straight lines, never in hops from one place to the next. She imagined his way saved a great deal of effort. Or maybe used more.
“I just want to sleep for three hours or however long it takes for church to let out so I can send a telegram,” Elizabeth said.
“All that telegramming is getting pricey,” Rachel said.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You learned more about your nephew, then?” Tarik asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Yep. You know how telegrams are. They charge by the letter and sometimes you have to read between the lines. I don’t feel right about it. I need to get down there and get him. Once I get him back here, I’ll figure out what’s what. Maybe I can find someone respectable to take him in until I can get my act together.”
“And what would that look like?”
Rachel asked. “Your act being together, I mean. You gonna find some Cougar to marry even when you’ve already passed over all there are on offer?”
“They passed me over. Not the same thing.”
“They’re just stupid.”
“They are male,” Lola murmured flatly. “Adjust your expectations.”
“Well, that’s not fair,” Tarik said. “You can’t paint all men with a single swipe.”
“Then perhaps all men shouldn’t queue up so neatly when the brush passes over them.”
He had the audacity to look annoyed.
She couldn’t imagine why.
“This was meant to be temporary,” Lola said. She put her head down again and closed her eyes. “The saloon, of course. I assumed the railroad would run closer to this place and that the town would boom, but I don’t foresee that happening. Ladies, you may have to consider going elsewhere to find your respectability.”
No one said anything, and Lola didn’t really expect them to. Over time, they’d stopped making so many objections to the idea that they’d peel away from the Cougar group and improve their circumstances.
They wanted more—deserved more—but there was a chance they’d never be able to get it in Maria.
“Are there truly no other profitable ventures for women here?” Tarik asked.
“Who said this one is profitable?”
Tarik moved further into the room. She counted his footsteps between the door and desk. Two. Three. Four. Long strides, heavy feet.
She could feel the heat of him as he leaned down, and didn’t lift her head. She didn’t think looking at him would help matters any.
“Perhaps we’ll think of something new,” he said low.
“I would be wary of anything a creature like you with so little regard for order would suggest.”
“You’re entitled to your wariness; however, I’d caution you to not let the taint of complacency befoul it.”
Elizabeth rolled Rachel off the chaise and sat up to stretch. “Can we be closed on Monday, too?”
“Why?” Lola asked.
“We don’t make much on Mondays because the preacher’s Sunday sermon hasn’t completely worn off the men yet. Probably more profitable to stay closed.
“Hm.” Lola gave her a long, contemplative stare, and then finally nodded. “We could all use the rest.”
