She took the time to wash and dress herself in her freshly laundered shirt and trousers. She also packed the clothing and toiletries Lola had given her into her weathered saddlebag and carried it with her so that she wouldn’t have a reason to return to the room with its memories.
She found him downstairs having breakfast at one of the tables. She dropped her pack on the floor by one of the unoccupied chairs and greeted him nonchalantly. “Good morning, Marshal. Did you sleep well?”
He eyed her over his mug of coffee and searched her face silently as if trying to determine what she was about. She kept her features bland.
“I did,” he finally replied. “And you?”
“I did as well. Is there more food?”
“Kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Walking away she thought she’d handled that as well as could be expected. That was that.
In the kitchen, Maggie found Lola pouring herself a cup of coffee. Apparently it was too early for the girls to be up and about because the house’s owner was alone. “Morning, Miss Lola.”
“Morning, Maggie. How’d the night go?”
Maggie shrugged noncommittally.
Lola raised a tweezered eyebrow. “That good, huh?”
Maggie got herself a cup of coffee but didn’t respond.
“There’s eggs and bacon and bread on the counter behind you. Get yourself a plate and let’s talk.”
Maggie wasn’t keen on sharing her evening with the marshal, but she got a plate of food and sat down at the small table anyway.
“So did you ask him to let you go?”
“No.”
“For heaven’s sake, why not?”
“Getting him to let me go wasn’t the reason,” Maggie said as politely as she could manage around the forkful of eggs in her mouth. “I’m not a whore.”
Lola tossed back with a laugh, “You say that as if being a whore is a bad thing. Plenty of women whore and many of them are married. How else are they going to get that new hat or that fancy stove? You’d be surprised how weak-minded a man can be after a good tumble in the hay. A smart woman should take advantage of that.”
Maggie shook her head. “Guess I’m not that smart.”
“Oh, you’re smart enough.”
But not enough to keep from wanting a man she’d never have. She wondered if Lola had a magic salve that could somehow uproot the seeds of feelings that had taken root in her heart for him. Changing the subject, she asked, “What’s Abilene like?”
“Much tamer than it used to be. Back in the late sixties, early seventies, folks called it the Queen of the Cow Towns. Hundreds of thousands of cows went through the stockyards. Almost as many cowboys, too. Me and my girls did good business there back then, so did all the brothels and saloons. Lots of shooting, drinking, and carousing.”
“But it’s calmer now?”
“Yes. There are still saloons and madams, just not every five steps like it used to be. Wild Bill Hickok was the sheriff there for a while. Spent most of his time playing cards and drinking at the Alamo Saloon though. After he shot his deputy during a misunderstanding, the town council decided the place needed cleaning up, so that’s when I packed up my business and moved here.”
Maggie wondered what she’d find in Abilene. She hoped the reply to the wire would be there and have a positive response written on it so that she and the marshal could part ways and her feelings for him could wither.
Lola’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Things will work out, you’ll see.”
Maggie nodded and focused on finishing her breakfast.
They reboarded the crowded train without incident. Ian found them two seats together in the second car. Maggie sat by the window while he took the aisle. He hadn’t spoken much, so neither had she. According to the conductor the train would arrive in Abilene by early evening. Out of her window she watched the plains roll by. She wished the train could go faster so this would all be over, but it was moving as quickly as the engines would allow. She’d just have to be patient.
Ian was impatient to get to the end of the journey, too. After making love to her last night, his hold on his commitment to keep his heart in check now had cracks in it large enough to send a herd of buffalo through. His feelings didn’t care about his resolve, they wanted Maggie and to hell with everything else.
The train arrived in Abilene early that evening and they rode Smoke to the sheriff’s office. The man who greeted them introduced himself as Pete Granger. He didn’t appear to be very old; mid-thirties at the most. Ian knew that many sheriffs were corrupt individuals bought and paid for by the local power brokers and therefore controlled like puppets on a string. Granger, however, shook Ian’s hand firmly and looked him in the eye. His decent manner reminded Ian of Sheriff Wells.
Granger assured them that he’d gotten the wire. “Sorry about the pickle you’re in, Miss Freeman,” he told her kindly. “Wells wants you to be jailed here until he gets the paperwork finished showing he dropped the charges. Once he sends them you’ll be free to go.”
She nodded.
“We’ll try and make your short stay with us as comfortable as we can. I’ll wire him back and let him know you got here safe and sound.”
“Thank you.”
Granger asked Ian, “So where you headed now, Bigelow?”
“Home.”
“Where’s that?”
“Wyoming.” Ian forced himself to stay focused on Granger and not look Maggie’s way for fear of what it might do to his resolve.
“Well, have a safe journey. We’ll take good care of her. I promise.”
Only then did Ian turn her way. She faced him with unflinching eyes and her chin held high.
“Thank you for your kindness, Marshal. Safe travels.”
“Where will you head, once you’re done here?”
She shrugged. “Try and make it to Ohio, I suppose. I’ll see.” Her business with him seemingly done, she asked Granger, “So where do I go, Sheriff?”
“How about you just take a seat over there for now, and we’ll get you something to eat first.”
She complied.
It was apparent to Ian that she had nothing else to say to him and that she wasn’t going to meet his eyes again. He tightened his jaw. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
“You’re welcome.”
Maggie watched him walk out of the door, and the pain closed her eyes for a moment. Hoping to appear nonchalant, she angled her head towards the window and watched him mount up and ride away. She was glad the ordeal was over. She didn’t mind staying in Abilene until the papers were wired, but the idea of going on with her life without him was difficult.
“So,” Granger said.
Maggie turned to him.
He had his hip propped on the edge of his desk and was viewing her speculatively. “How’d you get the black eye?”
“A fight.”
“A little face paint should cover it fine.”
Maggie stilled. “Face paint?”
The smile on his face gave her both pause and a chill that ran down her spine.
“You sing?” he asked.
She tried to determine where this conversation might be heading, so she responded warily, “A bit, yes.”
“Good. Open your shirt. Let’s see what you got?”
She stared, outraged. “No!”
He pulled his gun and pointed it her way. “Open it now, or I’ll shoot you and swear on a stack of Bibles you were trying to escape.”
Eyes wide, she searched his face and realized he was serious. She hid her fear behind her fury and after getting to her feet, undid the buttons on her shirt and spread the halves wide to reveal the worn white shift beneath. He studied her for a long moment, then looked up again with pleased icy eyes. “You’ll do. Grab your pack and let’s go.” Still holding the gun on her, he gestured her towards the door.
They walked a few streets away to a place called the Red Garter Saloon. On the way, she’d prayed the marshal would appear, b
ut of course he hadn’t. She was in this new nightmare alone.
Holding her by the arm, Granger guided her in through a back door and up a flight of stairs that led to a hallway on the second floor. A number of painted women in various stages of undress were rushing back and forth, apparently in preparation for the night’s activities. They viewed the sheriff malevolently and her with various degrees of curiosity, suspicion, and in one case, pity.
“Where’s Bunny?” he asked.
“In her room.” The woman who’d replied had been the one eyeing Maggie so suspiciously. She was tall, and her long blonde wig cascaded past shoulders bared above her tight black corset. Her legs were covered by patched knee-length drawers. Years ago she’d probably been quite beautiful, but now the twin demons of age and a hard life had taken the bloom off the rose. “Who’s she?”
“Your new sister.”
The mocking reply drew a sneer and the sight of her back as she walked away.
“Bunny!” he yelled angrily.
A loud female voice hollered back, “What the hell are you bellowing about now!”
The voice belonged to an older woman who came charging out of one of the rooms dressed in a pink satin robe. Her sparse graying hair was in pipe-cleaner rollers, her feet were bare, and she had a lit cheroot in her hand.
“Got a new one for you,” Granger explained.
Maggie watched the woman size her up.
“Says she can sing.”
“That’s what they all say,” Bunny replied, inhaling her cheroot. She blew out a thin column of smoke. “Okay. Leave her to me.”
He turned his icy gray eyes on Maggie. “Nice meeting you, Miss Freeman.”
The angry Maggie didn’t reply.
While he departed, Bunny said in a far kinder voice, “Come on with me. Place opens in an hour. We need to get you ready.”
Maggie followed her down the hallway.
Once the two of them were sequestered in a room behind closed doors, Bunny tapped ash into a small saucer on the old desk dominating the interior and asked, “So, how’d you wind up in Granger’s net?”
Maggie hesitated for a moment, not sure she wanted to share the story.
Bunny must have read her mind. “It’s okay. I hate him like everybody else up here does.”
That surprised her.
“We’re all wanted for something, but rather than letting us plead our cases before a judge, we’re working for him and the bastard owner of this place, McQuade.”
“Who’s he?”
“Town’s crime boss, and a fine upstanding member of the Kansas legislature. Wants to be governor eventually. With any luck, someone will stick a shiv in his ribs before that happens and save the good citizens a lot of grief.”
“All of you are here against your will?”
Bunny nodded.
“But what if you decide to just leave?”
“You wind up in the cemetery on the edge of town.”
Maggie’s eyes widened.
“Saw Granger shoot a girl in the back a couple months ago. Said she was trying to escape.”
“But how can he hide you away like this?”
“If no one knows you’re here . . .”
Maggie found this appalling. Had Granger lied about the reply he’d gotten from Sheriff Wells? “How long have you been here?”
“Be three years in July. Most of the others a year or less. Some are here because they answered flyers McQuade posted back East for singers and dancers.”
Maggie thought about Carson Epps. This was more of a nightmare than she’d originally imagined. “So what do we do in the saloon?”
“Dance, sing, make sure the rubes buy lots of drinks.”
“No back work?”
Bunny shrugged. “If you want to. He has a whole ’nother operation for that. Most of those girls are willing. They stay in the cribs in the building next door.”
Maggie dragged her hands down her face. At least she wouldn’t be forced into prostitution, but it made her captivity only mildly more acceptable. What am I going to do?
“You really sing?”
“Yes.”
“Ever been on a saloon stage before?”
“Yes. Even have my own dress and a pair of shoes.”
“Well, good.” Bunny reached into a desk drawer and handed her a pair of new fishnet stockings. “You get the first pair free. After that it comes out of your tips.”
“Tips?”
“Yeah, you get a small cut for every drink you sell, and any that the customers buy you, too.” Granger takes most of it back for rent and food. If you’re frugal you can save a little bit for things like underwear and feminine supplies.”
Maggie found this unbelievable.
“Get dressed and I’ll take you downstairs before the place opens up so you can meet Vincent the piano player. He’ll want to know what you’re planning on singing.”
Maggie was grateful the woman seemed to have a kind heart, but for the life of her couldn’t figure out how she was going to get out of this.
Bunny showed her into one of the bedrooms and left her alone to get dressed.
Maggie took the bright red dress out of her pack, along with the matching glittery shoes, and felt the sharp sting of tears. Crying wouldn’t help, so she dashed them away and laid the wrinkled taffeta dress on the bed. It needed an iron but she assumed Bunny could supply one. In the meantime, she tried not to think about being held there against her will for maybe the rest of her life, otherwise she’d go screaming out into the streets like a madwoman.
Chapter 12
Ian pushed the food around on his plate with the fork in his hand. He missed her already. Even though she’d been with him less than a week he’d grown accustomed to having her near. Now she wasn’t.
It was his plan to take the train in the morning to Denver. From there he and Smoke would make the long journey home to his ranch. All he had to do was survive the night without her. He was in one of the local boardinghouses. It was small but clean. The woman who ran the place, a widow named Winthrop, had thrown in dinner with the price of the room, along with breakfast in the morning. She’d said there were three other boarders in the house, but Ian hadn’t seen anyone else, not that it mattered. The only person he wanted to see was Maggie.
He forked up some of the beef and potatoes. They weren’t the best he’d eaten nor the worst. A man entered and walked over to the table. Ian realized it was the gambler from the train.
“Evening, Marshal. Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.”
“Evening.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Ian gestured to one of the empty chairs.
“Let me get a plate first.”
Once that was accomplished, the gambler sat down and introduced himself. “Name’s Franklin Denton.”
“Didn’t expect to see you again, either. Where’re you from?”
“Born right here in the Queen of the Cow Towns. Live in Denver now though. Was back East a few weeks ago, and thought I’d stop in Abilene and see family before going home.”
His suit was well made and gave the impression that his career as a gambler was a successful one. “What brings you to Abilene?” he asked Ian.
“Business with Sheriff Granger.”
“Hope he’s not a friend.”
“Why not?”
“Man’s a snake.”
Ian went still. “Explain that.”
Denton cut into the slices of ham on his plate. “He’s been sheriff here going on four years, and he’s owned lock, stock, and balls by Benjamin McQuade.”
“Who’s McQuade?”
“Controls the sin trade. Gambling, whiskey, whores. Grew up in a soddie in Nebraska but has made himself over into one of the town fathers. Wants to be governor I’m told. He’s the reason I moved away. Gambler can’t make a living competing against marked cards, crooked tables, and cheating dealers, all of which is business as usual at his place.”
Ian knew that t
he crooked gambling establishments were common everywhere.
Denton continued. “My sister, who still lives here in town, said one of McQuade’s girls was shot by Granger over the winter, trying to escape.”
“Escape what, jail?”
“No. The Red Garter, one of the saloons.”
Ian was confused. “Why escape from the saloon? Was she being held against her will?”
“Something like that. From what my sister said, Granger reels women in by hook or crook and puts them to work at the Garter or in the whore cribs.”
Ice ran through Ian’s veins. “I left Maggie with him a few hours ago.”
“The little lady with the black eye who was with you on the train?”
Ian pushed back from the table and got to his feet. “Yes.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of cartridges and began feeding them into his guns.
“Why?”
“She was under arrest.”
Denton cursed. “You’d better go after her. There’s no telling what Granger’s done with her.”
“For his sake, it’d better be nothing. Where’s this Red Garter?”
Denton told him, and a cold-eyed Ian set out.
Decked out in her low-cut taffeta dress, fishnet stockings and her worn, red satin shoes, Maggie was doing what Bunny called working the room, which entailed flitting from table to table and flirting with the customers. It was the job of the floor girls to make the farmers, businessmen, and cowhands happy with their attention, and entice them into buying the house’s watered-down spirits. If they purchased drinks for the girls all the better, but the ones the girls consumed were tea, so as to keep them from becoming as drunk as the customers. The saloon was loud. Bunny had explained that on a good night, the aging place with its stage and faded red-and-gold drapings could hold as many as fifty people. Maggie guessed there were that many inside presently, if not more. The noise of all the conversations, Vincent banging on the piano, and the high-pitched laughs of the girls, coupled with the clink of glasses and the clouds of cigar and cheroot smoke, were conspiring to make her head ache, but she had to keep smiling, and flirting, and sitting on laps until the time came for her to take the stage and sing.
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