“Australia? How fascinating. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from there. That explains your accent. I suppose many Australians have recently come to the States? You say such amusing things, like calling Zeke ‘Admiral Lushington.’”
Neil knew he’d made a mistake in calling Zeke an Admiral Lushington. That was strictly flash slang, a term hobbled chums used, government men who knew life. Simon Hudson, Zeke, and many officers at the fort knew of his history, but out here on the frontier, that history was to his advantage. No one minded what he’d done in New South Wales. Now, however, he was already quite nuts upon this woman, so he tried to laugh. “Yes, we speak oddly in Australia. I’m sure it’s all British colonial talk. Now, tell me, Ivy. What will you do about your father? He seems to want you to return to New York.”
She was even more luscious when she pouted, and she hugged his forearm as though cuddling a kitten. “Oh, damnation, Neil. I hate to say it, but…” Her heavy sigh sent a surge of sperm up the underside of Neil’s prick, stiffening it so boldly against his hip he was certain he’d have to think of the most recent dead body he’d viewed. Who was it? Oh, his fellow office-mate, the telegraph operator Bradley Mack. “I worked—slaved is the more proper word for it—for over a decade caring for my mother, who was dying of consumption. All of my sisters did. That’s how we came to be spinsters at such an advanced age.”
“Yes, I recall Hudson mourning when his wife passed.”
“Oh, yes, to be sure. She was a good woman and all of that. But I think it really drained the youth from us. Now we are all, in our own separate ways, very keen to experience aspects of life we were never allowed to see. She had quite a lingering and demanding illness.”
“That’s a shame.” Neil placed his free hand over hers on his arm to keep her close to him. “You seem like such a vibrant woman, with such a lust for life.”
She shrugged. “Who knows if I am? Frankly, I don’t even know anymore. But I do know I could never marry that John Prahl dullard. I’ve disappointed Father, but when the only topic a fellow can think to discuss with his fiancée is the price per share of his stock on the New York Exchange, well…”
“Valves and ledgers,” Neil said warmly.
Ivy paused briefly, looking up at Neil with what could only be called fondness. “Yes,” she agreed fervently. “Valves and ledgers.”
Her fingers walked down his forearm until she was actually holding his hand—like lovers! And they proceeded to turn the corner onto First Street in this manner! Neil could only hope he’d run into McCormack, who owned the Frontier Hotel, Jack Quinn the assayer, or Ace and Con Moyer of the Bucket of Blood, although he’d never bring Ivy there. He just knew his fearsome reputation would be enhanced even further by jealousy when townspeople saw him escorting this out-and-out stunning judy.
He did wave at Melville Brown, who had just agreed to be Laramie’s first mayor, but he didn’t want to waste time introducing them. Neil really did have a meeting scheduled with Melville to discuss the outlaw situation, but instead he asked Ivy, “So, do you really intend on becoming the new telegraph operator?”
He gestured in the direction of the new Union Pacific complex, where they were building a restaurant complete with fans and a soda fountain. There would be a hotel and machine shops to repair railroad cars, and Neil’s security office was in the midst of this activity. Neil actually agreed with Ivy’s father that it was a dangerous spot and occupation, but she would be safe as long as he was around. “There’s your new office.”
But Ivy was staring in the opposite direction, her lower lip gone slack. Her hand went limp, and she let loose of his. She was particularly beautiful like this, absolutely glowing with round-eyed wonder. “I know that man,” she whispered, and of course Neil had to look.
Oh, great balls of fire! The man Ivy was so enamored of was a great brute of a cove, a dashing, muscular chum. His fiery eyes glanced from side to side with great intelligence, and his shoulders practically busted the seams of his tweed shooting jacket. His slouch hat was jammed atop a head of enviable gleaming black curls, the crimson cravat at his powerful throat giving him an aristocratic look. The Sharps rifle slung across his back told Neil he was serious about defending himself, and he wore his pistol at his right side with its butt to the fore for a quick draw.
With a horrifying scar across his cheek and clutching paper-wrapped packages to his annoyingly broad chest, he was obviously a criminal of some sort. But most men in Laramie were, so that was not what irritated Neil.
Neil panicked because the cove was emerging from the pharmacy of C. Chang, Proprietor.
Chapter Four
Harley was thinking about his camphor when he spied the woman from the stagecoach.
He honestly hoped this camphor would do the trick, but in case it didn’t, he had already made a mental map of the bordellos in town. Fucking, like sleeping and eating, was a normal part of everyday life for Harland Park. He was a man of huge lusts and appetites—a falconer who spoke eighteen languages, an expert fencer, a poet. But sometimes it felt like he became so obsessed with sex his daily tasks fell by the wayside.
He was in Laramie to ensure that these clowns didn’t deviate from the advance survey route he’d mapped out years ago. He had also been told to keep an eye on the graders making their way to town from Sherman Summit and to oversee the construction of the roundhouse for repairing locomotives. So he needed to keep a cool, clear head, a head not muddled by the attractions of the fairer sex. Harley had a tendency to “take to lodge and squaw” when in any wilderness, which was nearly all the time, so he had to guard against this.
But the sight of this voluptuous, exceptional, and charming creature had Harley all atwitter. He had seen her earlier alight from the stage, when he was very glad he’d been around to save the life of such a bountiful “doll,” as they called comely women in the States. He barely noted that she stood close by another fellow, because she was gazing directly at him.
His feet moved toward her. That was all he could do. Do what thy manhood bids thee do…
Lifting his slouch hat a fraction of an inch from his head, Harley graced the creature with the heat of his smile. “Miss. I hope you had a tolerable trip from Sherman Summit.”
Harley was glad to see that instead of being offended or afraid, the miss appeared ecstatic that he’d approached her. “But how did you know I was on that stage?”
The tall fellow next to her added, “Yes, how did you know?”
Harley answered the doll, her lovely eyes fringed as though with kohl. “I happened to be out there on the plain taking samples of the lime and clay soil when your stage went by. A questionable fellow was crawling around on his belly with a Sharps rifle aimed at your coach, so I shot him. I later saw you arriving at the depot—”
“Oh, that was you?”
As he’d predicted, the miss was enraptured by the story. A rush of warmth surged through Harley. If he didn’t have his cock embedded in this delicious minx of a doll by sunrise tomorrow, he’d eat his hat and swallow the buckle whole.
She turned to her male partner and carried on, “It was the most sensational thing I’ve ever seen! I had no idea anyone was even targeting us and suddenly pop! Everyone looked to the north just in time to see some outlaw somersaulting over. It wasn’t until we got back to the depot that we heard a Good Samaritan had picked him off.”
But Harley wasn’t allowed to revel in his daring feats, for the tall, aggressive fellow addressed him with flashing eyes. He was an exceptionally handsome man, his cornflower-blue eyes so piercing it was as though he imagined Harley without any clothes on, but his attitude was annoying, at best. “That’s the first I’ve heard of this! I’m head of security, and this should’ve been reported to me immediately.” His accent was Australian, like one of the hardened convicts that usually emigrated from that continent—one of those ruthless “Sydney Hounds” that had run roughshod over San Francisco.
“We tried, dear Neil.”
Dear Neil! She called this potato-head “dear!” Perhaps he was only a brother…
“We tried, but you were nowhere to be found. You were obviously over at my father’s house.” Turning back to Harley with her shining face, she said, “Everyone was marveling at your shooting ability. We saw you as a speck on the prairie, but you must’ve been eight hundred yards away from that outlaw.”
Harley shrugged, as though he plugged outlaws every day of the year. “I’m a good shot.”
Neil insinuated himself once more, practically stepping on Harley’s toes to get between him and the woman. “What happened to the outlaw once you shot him?”
Harley drew himself up. He was just as tall as this pesky guy. “He leaped on his horse and hauled off toward Sherman Summit, so I imagine I’ll see him around again eventually. The workers spiked past there on April the fifth. He must work for the railroad. I’ll just look for any fellow limping about with blood gushing down his thigh.”
“Who are you, anyway?” Neil, Head of Security, demanded to know. “You haven’t given your name.”
Harley extended a reluctant paw for Neil to shake. “Captain Harland Park, chief surveyor for the Union Pacific.”
Neil gripped his paw much longer and much harder than propriety required, to show his superiority. “Oh. Yes. I was expecting you.”
“And I am Miss Ivy Hudson.” She put the emphasis on the “Miss.”
Harley was glad for an excuse to wrench his hand away from Neil, and he bowed deeply over Miss Hudson’s hand. He caught a whiff of pine trees emanating from between her uplifted breasts. “Ah, yes. I’m supposed to go meet with your father posthaste.”
Neil said, “Miss Hudson needs to do some shopping first. Perhaps you could go on ahead and—”
Ivy interrupted. “But I would like to go inside this pharmacy. It looks Oriental. Do you think this proprietor would have any laudanum?”
“I have no doubt that Chang Xiānshēng would carry that commodity,” Harley responded smoothly. “He has a wide variety of Eastern items—feline placentas, testicles in jars, all manner of herbs from Kwangtung.”
Neil was horrified, as Harley had hoped. “Testic…Now listen here, my good man—”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Ivy clapped her hands. “I knew I’d see interesting and exciting things out here in the Far West. Please, Captain Park. Do introduce me to Mr. Chang.”
Ignoring Neil’s entreaties to avoid that disgusting establishment, Harley led the delightful Ivy into the dusty, still shop. He’d been so gratified to find a pharmacy like this in such a backwoods burg as Laramie City. Harley’s mind was entranced with things of a mysterious, foreign nature. He’d ventured to Mecca, had investigated brothels in India for the British Army, and had been impaled through the jawbone by a Somali’s javelin. In accepting this Union Pacific position his hope was to explore the Far West and study the Indian tribes while earning a paycheck.
Now, apparently, he’d discovered a vibrant, adventuresome woman interested in the same sordid things. Already Harley was tempted to stray from his righteous path.
“What did you purchase from Mr. Chang, may I ask?” Ivy inquired. They stood by tidy piles of twisted, dried roots, powdered seeds, and sea urchins forever frozen in ferocious positions. Harley waited for her to notice the dried, coiled rattlesnake that reposed near her elbow.
Harley laid his bundle on the counter and started unwrapping it. “I was most pleased to discover he has peach pits—very difficult to find, believe you me. The Arabs believe that peach pits boiled in water ease the necessity for—”
“Peaches!” Ivy raised her stunned eyes to Harley’s face.
“Yes,” Harley said guardedly. “Peach pits. Why is this so amazing?”
“Mr. Park!” Chang cried happily. “You have already brought your friends to see me.”
“Yes, Chang,” said Harley. “The lady here wishes to purchase some medicinal opium.”
But “the lady” was still fixed on the peaches. Eyes wide with horror, hands shaped into claws, she pivoted mechanically toward the door. “Neil! Did you hear that? Peaches! Captain Park here was purchasing peach pits!”
Neil came forward from the shadows, rubbing his handsome face wearily. “Yes, my dear.” He sounded like a henpecked husband. Harley wondered if he’d been married before. “But didn’t Caleb say it would be an Indian who would find the peaches he was looking for? Captain Park here is hardly an Indian—”
But Chang interrupted then. With arms wide, a smile erupted on his face, and he gestured to Neil. “Mr. Neil! So good to see you again, too. I have made up a special batch of that prick tea for you. I found rhino horn.”
There was a brief silence, both Harley and Ivy Hudson staring dumbly at Neil.
Then Neil exploded into a round of nervous laughter. “Oh, ha ha! He means thick tea! He makes this very thick tea for me.” Quickly he strode to the counter and gripped Chang’s arm. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Thank you for making me that thick tea again. I’ll take all of it. And now. Miss Hudson here would like some laudanum.”
But Chang waxed enthusiastic about the tea and wanted everyone to know how good it was. With idealistic eyes, he told Harley, “Rhino horn makes for very thick prick!”
Harley chuckled. “That’s just a lot of hot air. A very expensive way to drink bones, if you ask me.” Harley did feel sorry for poor Neil. If he needed an aphrodisiac to find success with ladies, Harley was already way ahead of the game. Way, way ahead.
But Neil cried defensively, “Bones, right! I drink it for strong bones.”
Offended, Chang spat, “Next time I give you Spanish fly!”
Harley burst out in a hearty round of laughter. “Spanish fly, ho! Watch out for this fellow here, Neil. Spanish fly will cause immense gaping boils all over your body. Not worth the risk for the, er, stimulating effects.”
As Chang angrily slammed Neil’s package of prick tea onto the counter, Ivy turned to Harley with a desperate air. She had not appeared to follow the tea conversation nor care very much, and she now took Harley by the forearms. “Tell me, Captain Park.”
“Harley, please.”
“Harley. What led you to purchase the peach pits?”
Harley cleared his throat and looked at a mummified monkey that was posed on a branch. “Well, ah.” Did she really want to know? Or would his answer offend her? He looked back into her questing eyes. “I happen to be burdened with an abundance of, shall we say, appetite? Peach pits and camphor—particularly if it’s recently left over from a funeral—are held by the Arabs to reduce the appetite.”
“Appetite.” Ivy appeared to mull this word over. “But what is so bad about having an appetite?”
Harley shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused at her ignorance or aroused by her interest. “Well. When the appetite is of a carnal nature, let’s just say it can ‘get in the way’ of certain daily tasks.”
Ivy’s lovely berry-stained mouth turned into a perfect O. Color did rise on her cheeks, leading Harley to believe she’d just been ignorant of his intent. For a few moments she could only look at his boots, but eventually her eyes wandered boldly up and found his face again. Raising a hand to her mouth, she opened those plump lips and chewed on a knuckle. It must have taken every ounce of bravery she could summon to inquire coyly, “And what is so bad about an abundance of carnal appetite?”
Harley was astounded. His heart speeded its pace, a sheen of sweat broke on his forehead, and his penis ballooned uncomfortably against his thigh. Instantly his lascivious brain calculated how long it had been since he’d ejaculated.
He realized he was panting down on this poor unfortunate gal, so he continued unwrapping the package on the counter. Without looking, his fingers sought and found a peach pit, which he slowly popped into his mouth and chewed. Ivy had not removed her eyes from his face. He had to say something. “A man has to get some work done some time.”
This seemed to please her, for
she smiled knowingly and at last glanced toward the luckless Neil, who was pacing back and forth in irritation with his bundle of tea. “Neil? Harley here has got to be part of the mystery Caleb was mentioning! How often does one run across peaches in Dakota Territory, much less twice in one day?”
Neil shook his package angrily. “Yes, but what does an Indian have to do with it? I tell you, Ivy. Caleb is loco. He’s been in the desert so long he knows all the lizards by their first names.”
“Indian?” Harley asked. “Why? Was there some prophecy that an Indian would arrive with peaches?” Prophecies fascinated him. Harley had steeped himself in Eastern mysticism and had seen the effect prophecies had on people. The more strongly they believed in them, so it seemed, the more likely they were to come true.
“Yes!” Ivy said with shining eyes. “His exact words were ‘an Indian will find the peaches he’s been looking for.’ You were looking for peaches, although Neil is right. You’re hardly an Indian.”
Harley cocked a hip with confidence. “Does being in the British Indian Army count? I was stationed in Gujarat for two years. That’s where I learned to speak Sindhi, Persian, and Arabic.”
A slow, knowing grin spread over Ivy’s face. Her fingers reached to the crumpled paper on the counter and felt around for a peach pit, which she rolled about in her hand. “Sure, why not? You’ve been to India. I’m sure we just assumed it was an Indian from around here, but the Far East India, why not?”
They shared a warm, secret glance that was ruined when Neil shouted, “Enough is enough! Ivy, listen. I’m taking you to the telegraph office to wire your sister, as we promised your father. Is this the only item you needed in town? You must be dying to bathe. Your father has the biggest bathtub in town, you’ll be glad to know. I can send for his laundress to clean anything you need cleaned.”
“Why, thank you, Neil. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
Neil shot Harley a defiant glare, jerking his head in a terse nod as though to say, “There! I won that hand!” Harley narrowed his eyes at the dashing head of security. The two men stood for several long seconds in a showdown of wills, as though about to pounce.
Training Ivy [How The West Was Done 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 3
