Native Hawk (California Legends Book 3)

by Glynnis Campbell

  Almost in unison, the mortified citizens averted their gazes and lowered their heads, shuffling on about their business.

  Catalina frowned. How unfriendly these people were. She didn’t expect to be welcomed like a long-lost cousin. But she deserved at least a bit of courtesy.

  She sighed. It would have been easy to be discouraged. Here, with no friends or family, things looked bleak. But she hadn’t come this far to slink back to Italy like a dog with its tail between its legs.

  Certainly, fitting in to a town like Paradise was going to be a challenge. But it wasn’t impossible. It was simply a matter of having a positive attitude, making a few minor adjustments, and then employing sheer force of will.

  Just like fitting into a corset.

  Chapter 2

  If no one wanted a bustle dress, and if there were no dress shops, Catalina would just have to seek a position elsewhere until she could afford to buy a sewing machine.

  She’d never tried to get a job before. But she’d seen her father interview staff. She knew what sort of things impressed an employer.

  She straightened her jacket and prepared to enter Clark’s Dry Goods.

  Just before she reached the door, she felt someone’s eyes on her. She peered discreetly from under the tipped brim of her hat. At the farthest end of the boardwalk, a woman all in burgundy watched her with keen interest. Her bright red hair was piled high beneath a feathered hat, and her neckline was cut low enough to be more suited to the ballroom than the street. Catalina wondered why the woman was staring. Was she fascinated by Catalina’s bustle as well?

  But by the time Catalina opened the door to the dry goods store and looked back, the woman had disappeared.

  Catalina went into the store. At the back, behind the counter, a man in an apron was polishing his spectacles.

  “Signore Clark?” she asked.

  There were two customers in the store, a pair of men in jeans and flannel shirts who were looking over the jars of liniment. As she breezed past, the blond man backed out of her way. The bearded one let out a low whistle.

  “Well, good mornin’,” the blond crooned, letting his gaze drip down over her.

  She gave him a curt nod and proceeded to the counter.

  The skinny and balding Mr. Clark fumbled his glasses onto his face and looked up with a start. “Can I help you?” he squeaked.

  She flashed him a friendly smile. “Yes. I am seeking a position.”

  “A position? You mean a job?” he said, rapidly blinking his eyes. “Here?”

  The blond chuckled as he came up behind her. “Well, well, Henry, it must be your lucky day.”

  She ignored him and spoke to Mr. Clark. “Yes. I can read and write. I can settle accounts. And I am good with peoples.”

  “I bet you are good with peoples, darlin’,” the blond continued.

  Catalina furrowed her brow. The blond man reminded her of her spoiled cousin Alessandro, who believed he was as irresistible as Adonis.

  She went on. “I can order supplies, stock the shelfs…”

  “Can you lift a twenty-four pound sack o’ flour too?” the blond jeered. His companion giggled.

  Her eyelids flattened, but she only tightened her fist around her closed parasol.

  “I am not lazy,” she told Mr. Clark. “I am always on time. I—”

  Mr. Clark held up his hand to stop her. “Much obliged, ma’am, but I don’t need help. My son does my stockin’, and my wife keeps the accounts.”

  Catalina tried not to show her disappointment. “I see. Well, thank you for your time. I will go now.”

  “Hey, you want a job with Calvin and me, workin’ at the Curtis Ranch?” the blond offered with a leer. “I bet you could tame those randy stallions faster than—”

  She raised her hand and slapped the words right out of his mouth.

  His eyes widened in shock as he cradled his injured cheek.

  She swept past him on her way out, closing the door behind her.

  Perhaps she should have used more discretion. But, as she’d learned from watching her father, it was best to let bad-mannered people know who was in charge from the very beginning.

  So, straightening her shoulders, she proceeded to the Assay Office next door.

  There was no work available at the Assay Office. Nor were there any positions open at the bakery. She sidled discreetly past the Red Dog and Pair-o-Dice saloons. The boardinghouse could offer no pay, only free room and board in exchange for labor. The hall already had a caretaker. The barbershop would hire no women. And the Hill Hotel had enough Hills to fill all the available positions.

  There was just one more business on this side of the street. It was at the spot where the woman in burgundy had disappeared. The beautifully scrolled red letters rimmed in gold above the door said simply The Parlor.

  As soon as she turned the brass handle on the heavy oak door and stepped inside, she gasped in wonder and delight. This was the kind of elegance to which she was accustomed.

  Here she fit in perfectly. Here she felt right at home.

  The ceiling was high, like that of her family’s villa. A staircase led up to a balcony with a carved wood balustrade that looked down on the first floor. The large salon had a bar on one side and was filled with plush sofas and chairs which were upholstered in scarlet velvet to match the walls. An enormous mirror took up most of the wall behind the bar, reflecting the brilliant chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Flowers were placed in the middle of a few card tables and elsewhere around the room in vases of crystal. The scent of roses and lilacs mingled with traces of whiskey and tobacco, filling the salon with a pleasant aroma.

  No one seemed to be here. She wondered where the woman in burgundy was.

  As she gazed around the salon, it suddenly occurred to her that this might be a private residence. Santo cielo! Had she trespassed into someone’s home, without even ringing the bell?

  Before Catalina could slip away, she heard a woman’s voice calling from the next room.

  “You’re startin’ a little early, hon,” she said as she swept into the salon. “The girls don’t get up and around till—” She stopped when she laid eyes on Catalina.

  The woman was older than Catalina had first assumed. The way her face was painted had made her look younger, at least at a distance. This close, the lines around her eyes were visible, and her cheeks were obviously rouged. Her burgundy dress was a bit worn in places, but it was well-fitted to her body. The velvet dipped with risqué daring at her neckline, clung to her waist, and flared smoothly over her hips. Her feathered hat perched at a playful angle atop her graying red hair. And a large ruby pendant sat upon her bosom. In this exquisite room, her formal clothing didn’t look out of place at all.

  “I’m sorry,” Catalina said. “I did not realize this was—”

  “Well, well.” The woman placed her hands on her hips and smiled. “If it ain’t the lady with the bustle. How do you do?”

  “Good morning,” she said, still perusing the luxurious room.

  “Come on in. You like the place?”

  “Very much. It is beautiful. It reminds me of my home.”

  The woman coughed. “Your home? Well.” She squinted. “Where do you call home?”

  “Ferrar-…” Catalina caught herself before she slipped and revealed her true title. “Ferrazzano, in Italy.”

  She didn’t want anyone to know exactly who she was or where she came from. If her father heard a young lady by the name of Ferrara had been found in America, he would track her down and bring her back. But she was also keenly aware of bringing further shame to her family name. According to her father, she was already a disgrace. She’d spurned suitors and engaged in artistic pursuits instead of marrying the man of his choice like an obedient daughter.

  “Italy,” the woman repeated.

  She was studying Catalina, discreetly sizing her up from head to toe. Not that it made Catalina terribly uncomfortable. After all, she did the same thing all the
time. One could learn a lot about a person from the way they dressed.

  If the woman was as discerning as Catalina, she’d realize Catalina was a woman of quality who took care with her appearance.

  “Would you care for a cup o’ coffee? I just put a pot on.”

  Catalina smiled and nodded. Finally, someone in this town was offering her hospitality.

  From the next room, which Catalina assumed was the kitchen, the woman called out, “What brings a lady like yourself from Italy to this neck o’ the woods?”

  Catalina frowned, puzzled. She wasn’t sure what a neck of the woods was. “I am a designer of clothings.”

  “So I heard.” The woman entered with a tray. On it were a pot of coffee, two flowered bone china cups and saucers, spoons, a small pitcher of cream, and a bowl of sugar. “But why California? Why Paradise?”

  She set the tray on a low table and gestured for Catalina to have a seat.

  “My uncle came here twenty-five years ago for gold,” she said. “He said it was a beautiful place, a place to make a fresh start.”

  The woman gave her a calculating glance as she poured the coffee. “So is that your plan—makin’ a fresh start?”

  “Si, yes.” She didn’t know why, but she felt like she could confide in this woman. “My father did not wish for me to design clothings.”

  “Is that a fact?” The woman added sugar and cream to her coffee and stirred it.

  Catalina had quickly learned that American coffee was very different from what she drank in Italy, but she decided she could make a fresh start with coffee too. She mimicked the woman’s formula.

  “But you had to pursue your dreams, right?” the woman guessed.

  Catalina brightened. Here was a woman who understood her. “Exactly! It is my passion. How can I let it waste away?”

  She took a sip of coffee. It wasn’t too terrible.

  “Mm.” The woman eyed her for a moment over the top of her cup. Then she lowered the cup into the saucer. “Folks call me Miss Hattie, by the way.”

  “Miss Hattie, I am very happy to meet you. My name is Catalina.”

  “Catalina. I like that.”

  Catalina beamed. At least that part of her name was real.

  Miss Hattie picked up her cup again and wrinkled her brow in concern. “You know, just between you and me, I don’t think there’s a big market for bustles in this town.”

  Catalina lifted a brow. “Not yet.”

  “So how are you plannin’ on drummin’ up business?”

  “Drumming,” Catalina echoed. “I do not know this word.”

  “How are you goin’ to get customers?”

  “Oh. I need first to buy a sewing machine. Then I can make dresses much faster, and hopefully, I will get customers. But…”

  Did she dare prevail upon Miss Hattie for a job? Could the woman possibly have need of help? She didn’t seem to have household staff. She’d made the coffee herself.

  “But?”

  “I do not have the money to buy a sewing machine yet. So I must find other work.”

  Miss Hattie stopped with her coffee halfway to her lips. “Other work?”

  “Yes. Do you…know of anything?”

  Miss Hattie looked at her long and hard then, gazing into Catalina’s eyes as if she were peering into her soul. “You’re a very pretty girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Pretty girls like you don’t grow on trees.”

  Catalina blinked. That was true. It was an odd thing to say. Pretty girls also did not hatch from eggs.

  Finally, Miss Hattie sat back with a sigh and said, “And you seem like a very nice girl.”

  “Thank you.”

  “From a nice family?”

  “Yes.” Despite her father’s tyrannical nature, he was a decent man.

  “Yep, that’s what I thought,” Miss Hattie said, shaking her head. Then she let out another sigh and said, “Tell you what. I can’t offer you much, but I’ve been shorthanded since one o’ my girls got herself in the family way. I may be mad as a March hare, but I’m goin’ to offer you a job.”

  Catalina almost spilled her coffee. She didn’t understand half of the words, but she definitely understood the offer. “You are?”

  “It won’t be much,” Miss Hattie warned. “I can give you a dollar a day to start, plus room and board.”

  Catalina thanked her enthusiastically, hiding her disappointment. At a dollar a day, it would take almost three months to make enough for a sewing machine.

  Still, she was grateful. It wasn’t such a long time to wait when it came to realizing her dream.

  She was proud of the fact she’d landed her first job and in such a beautiful house. She’d do whatever it took to buy that sewing machine, even if it meant doing clerical work, such as keeping Miss Hattie’s household accounts, writing correspondence, managing her servants.

  “You’ll start with the housekeepin’,” Miss Hattie told her, “washin’ laundry, polishin’ furniture, waxin’ floors.”

  The smile froze on Catalina’s face. Those were not just menial tasks. They were servant’s work. And yet, what had she said? Whatever it took.

  Miss Hattie added, “So I hope you have some plainer clothes to wear. It’d be a shame to ruin—”

  From upstairs, a door swung open with a loud creak. Catalina looked up. Emerging to lean on the balustrade was a curvy woman with bright gold hair, clad in nothing but her camisole and drawers.

  “Betsy!” Miss Hattie called up. “You’re up early.”

  Betsy yawned and scratched between her ample breasts. “Casey took off around midnight last night.” Her eyes roved over Catalina. “Who’s this?”

  “New girl,” Miss Hattie said.

  Just then, a second door opened. Another woman came out. This one, a brunette, was dressed in just a corset. When she turned with a laugh to drag her male companion out of the room, he slapped her bare bottom with his palm, and the woman shrieked.

  Catalina’s fingers tightened on her coffee cup.

  “Jesse!” the brunette scolded with a giggle. “You stop that!”

  He pinched her buttock, making her squeak. Then he put on his hat. “Next Friday?”

  Miss Hattie called up to him, “As long as you got the gold, sweetheart!”

  One by one, the doors along the balcony opened. Men of various social standing, judging by their attire, emerged from the rooms. Some of them grinned and tipped their hats to all the ladies before tromping down the stairs. Some of them shuffled away like shadows, their hats pulled prudently over their brows.

  The ladies mingled on the balcony, as if chatting in their corsets in public was perfectly acceptable. A few of them lit cigarettes and began puffing away. Most distressing to Catalina, between them, they probably wore less than seven yards of fabric.

  Catalina couldn’t budge. She felt like a fool. How could she not have realized this was a bordello? If she’d thought the town was scandalized by her bustle, what would they think of her working in such a place?

  But it was too late to refuse Miss Hattie’s offer. Catalina needed the money. Besides, she thought, staring at all the half-naked ladies on the balcony, they looked like they could use a good seamstress.

  She’d just have to be cautious. She didn’t dare let the upstanding women of Paradise know she was employed at a bordello. Her reputation as a dressmaker might suffer.

  She took a fortifying gulp of coffee. Whatever it took, she thought again. She supposed she should be thankful Miss Hattie hadn’t hired her to do…what the ladies did.

  Chapter 3

  Drew Hawk lowered his gaze discreetly to the pretty lady in red. Beside her were her three sisters. Though he was much obliged to see them, he kept his feelings to himself. He wouldn’t let his face betray a thing.

  He glanced up at the three men sitting around the poker table in the Winsome Saloon.

  He was pretty sure Harvey, the one twirling his mustache, would fold.

  The eyes
of the bearded fellow next to him, Jim, widened the slightest bit. He might have a decent hand.

  Billy, the bare-faced third gent, was working his lips, like he was getting ready to spit. He probably didn’t have shit.

  It had been a good night for Drew. After two hours, most of the money had moseyed its way over to his side of the table.

  He’d have to leave Shasta in the morning. Being a gambler was a bit like selling snake oil. Once you drained a town dry of its wealth, you were smart to skedaddle to the next.

  Harvey stopped twirling his mustache long enough to recklessly plunk his last two silver dollars in front of him.

  Jim wiped at his beard in indecision. Finally he let out a sigh. “Aw, hell.” He tossed out two dollars of his own, which left him two.

  Billy picked up his shot glass and slugged it back with a vengeance. “I’m in,” he snarled in reckless defiance, shoving two dollars forward. “Call.”

  Drew calmly spread the four lovely queens on the table, kicking the unnecessary jack aside with his little finger.

  “Criminy,” Harvey muttered, tossing his useless cards in front of him.

  Jim showed his hand—three tens, a seven, and a five. “Damn it.”

  The young firebrand Billy slapped his cards face-down onto the table. “You’re a cheat!” He looked for confirmation from the other players. “That damn half-breed cheated! That’s the only way he could have won so much!”

  It wasn’t the first time Drew had been accused of cheating by a sore loser. Nor was it the first time his mixed blood had been used as a slur. Under the table, his hand moved to hover over his holster as the firebrand staggered to his feet.

  “Now, simmer down, little brother,” Jim said.

  Little brother? Hell, were the two of them related? Just as a precaution, Drew soundlessly slipped his Colt out of its holster.