Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  “I don’t much like paying for it myself, Miss Martin.”

  What on earth did that mean? “Mr. Rafferty . . .”

  “You’re hired, Miss Martin. I can’t pay you much, but you can keep all your tips. And I’ll throw in a room and some meals. Be here tomorrow morning.”

  Her eyes widened. “You want me to move in here? Live above the saloon?” She shook her head, her face filled with uncertainty. “I don’t know about that, Mr. Rafferty. I’ve heard about what goes on in those rooms.”

  “What my girls do on their own time is their business, Miss Martin. I’m not here to judge them. And I don’t profit from their skills. Your room will be your room. Who you invite to share it is your business.” Of course, he’d be only too happy to make a few suggestions.

  She reviewed her options. Her room at the hotel was awful and rat infested. And staying here in the saloon would prevent her from having to walk back and forth alone at night in this horrible section of the city. Plus, she’d be able to save her money and perhaps find herself another job that much more quickly.

  Moving into the Aurora Borealis seemed the sensible and most practical thing to do for the time being. And her mama had always said that a pound of practicality was far more valuable than a pound of gold. Though at the moment, Laurel thought, she’d gladly have settled for the gold.

  “I accept your offer, Mr. Rafferty. I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  “Not too early, angel. We’re open late most nights. And don’t call me Mr. Rafferty. The name’s Chance. From here on out I’ll be Chance and you’ll be Laurel. Agreed?”

  “I suppose that will be fine, Chance.”

  He grinned. “You learn fast, angel. I think you and I are going to get along just fine and dandy.”

  She rose to her feet, not liking the self-assured look on his face one little bit. “As long as you remember that you’re my employer and nothing more.”

  He lifted her chin with his forefinger and looked straight into her eyes—eyes filled with suspicion and uncertainty. “You’re the one, angel, who’s going to have to remember who’s boss around here. And let me assure you, there’s only one boss at the Aurora. What I say goes.”

  She pulled back her head. “And if we disagree about something?”

  “I doubt we will, angel. You and I seem very compatible. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

  Laurel sincerely doubted that, after the few conversations they’d had, but she refrained from saying so. She needed this job. And if she had to put up with Chance Rafferty’s teasing remarks, then so be it.

  After all, the man was used to dealing with whores. Once she made it perfectly clear that she was a lady and expected to be treated as such, she had no doubt that he’d grow bored with her and leave her alone.

  She looked at his wide shoulders, the dimples in his cheeks, and sighed inwardly.

  He was a man few women could ignore.

  She was a woman.

  The conclusion to be drawn wasn’t the least bit comforting.

  CHAPTER 5

  “God damn that bastard!” Al Hazen smashed his whiskey glass down on the bar, sending shards of glass flying everywhere, barely noticing the cuts to his hands. “Rafferty knew the girl was a virgin, and he wanted her for himself.”

  Pulling a clean towel from behind the bar, Zeke Mullins handed it to his boss. “Take it easy, Al. You’re bleeding all over the place.”

  “Shut up!” He wrapped the towel around his hand like a bandage. “Where’s Crystal? I want to talk to her.”

  He knew all about Crystal’s friendship with Laurel Martin, but he hadn’t objected to it, thinking it might serve him well to entice the little virgin to work at his establishment. But now she’d gone and hired on with Rafferty.

  Zeke paled at the look of fury on Al’s face, knowing it boded ill for Crystal whenever Al was in a rage. He usually used the little gal for a punching bag in order to take out his frustrations. It just didn’t seem right to Zeke. Crystal was a real nice girl.

  “I ain’t seen her,” he lied, knowing damn well she was upstairs in her room taking a bath. She was the cleanest whore he’d ever met, and she always smelled real good. “Maybe she went out for a spell.”

  Al’s lips thinned. “You sure about that, Zeke? I wouldn’t like it if you was to lie to me.” He stroked his mustache, his brown eyes glittering dangerously.

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, Zeke wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Crystal might be upstairs, boss. I’m not sure. You could check.”

  “I think I’ll do that, Zeke. And we don’t want to be disturbed . . . for any reason. You got that?”

  The bartender nodded, watching the man’s retreating back, wishing he could stick a knife into it. But he wouldn’t. He didn’t have the nerve. At least none that didn’t come from a bottle. Reaching beneath the bar, he grasped the whiskey bottle that helped him through times like this and took a long swallow, thinking he’d be needing more of its courage before this day was through.

  The bedroom door crashed loudly against the wall, and Crystal spun around, retreating a step when she saw the fury on Al’s face. She remembered the other times Al had worn that look. God, how she dreaded these times, when anger and frustration turned the usually passionate man into a monster she hardly recognized.

  Crystal dropped the damp towel, hoping her nakedness would take his mind off whatever was bothering him. Al usually couldn’t resist her when she was naked. “What’s the matter, honey?” She looked down at his hand and frowned. “Did you cut yourself? Is that why you look madder than a March hare?”

  “Shut up, bitch, and come here.” He slammed the door shut behind him, allowing his eyes to feast on Crystal’s pink-tipped, plump breasts. She was a beauty, Crystal was. Pity she’d have to suffer for her friend’s lack of judgment.

  Fear clouded her pale blue eyes. “Why are you mad at me, Al? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He struck her hard across the face, cutting her lip open with his ring; it began to bleed profusely. “No. But your little friend Laurel did. She’s going to work for Rafferty. Did you know about that?”

  Her throat filled with silent screams, and she shook her head, her hand going to her swollen, bloodied lip. “No. I—”

  “Liar!” He struck her again, marring her flawless complexion with an ugly red welt that was sure to leave a bruise. “You were supposed to convince her to come to work for me. Instead she’s gone over to the enemy.”

  Crystal raised her hands against the next blow and was successful in deflecting part of it. “Laurel’s not whoring for Chance. She’s going to be singing in his saloon.”

  “All women are whores,” he said, pinching her nipples cruelly until her eyes filled with tears. “You’re only good for fucking and nothing else. You hear me, Crystal?” He cupped her mound and squeezed hard, until she cried out for mercy.

  “Please, Al! Don’t hurt me any more.”

  “I’m just getting started, bitch.” Grabbing a handful of hair, he yanked back her head. “I could break your lying neck and no one would do a thing about it. You belong to me, like a dog belongs to his master. When I say fuck, you fuck. When I say jump, you say ‘how high, Al.’ You got that, bitch?”

  Crystal nodded, though the effort proved costly, her scalp burning as if her hair had been pulled from its roots.

  “I can’t hear you, Crystal.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I understand.”

  He pushed her down on the bed, his smile evil and twisted, his eyes filled with lust as he reached for his belt.

  * * *

  Laurel stared at herself in the long, cracked cheval glass. She looked practically naked! How on earth was she going to go downstairs in a few short hours and face all those people—all those howling, women-crazy gamblers?

  She couldn’t possibly. Not dressed as she was.

  The black satin gown cascaded off her shoulders, displaying a large expanse
of creamy white skin. It was cut indecently low, and somehow the boning inside the costume pushed up her breasts, making them look much larger than they were. Why, she actually had cleavage! She poked at the plump protrusions, truly amazed by the discovery.

  Her waist looked ridiculously small, thanks to the way the skirt had been pulled back and fastened with a saucy bow. Of course, it was done that way to expose her legs, which were now housed in black net stockings.

  “Lord have mercy,” she declared, shaking her head in dismay. “I look just like a harlot.”

  The knock on the door startled her. “Laurel, it’s Chance. I’ve come to see if the dresses I brought fit. There’s still time to alter them if they don’t.”

  “What there is of them fits fine,” came her muffled reply, making Chance smile.

  “Open the door, angel. I have to approve of the costumes. And you did say I could make up my mind about your legs. I wouldn’t want to be scaring away any of my customers.”

  Laurel flung open the door and stood there, looking every bit the enraged goddess. “I doubt you’ll have any complaints about my legs, Mr. Rafferty. They’re perfectly fine, as you can see.”

  So great was the transformation from prim little miss to femme fatale that Chance was stunned. Laurel did indeed have gorgeous legs, shapely calves, trim ankles, and no doubt firm thighs. An enticing thought that made him shuffle his feet restlessly. “I had no idea . . .”

  “What? That I had legs? I assured you I did.”

  “You sure as hell do, angel. And you’ve got a decent pair of bosoms, too.”

  “Really! That is a terrible thing to say!” Though she was secretly pleased that he’d noticed the alteration. No man had ever stared at her bosoms with such appreciation before. “I admit to being a bit shocked myself. I have cleavage.”

  Chance’s eyes were glued to that cleavage. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The men are going to go wild tonight.” That thought made him frown. Those filthy bastards were going to ogle Laurel’s body, and for some inexplicable reason, that didn’t sit well with him.

  Clearing his throat, and trying to ignore the uncomfortable thought, he said, “You look absolutely dazzling. I’m sure your debut tonight will be well received. Is your room all right? Do you need anything else?”

  Laurel took a quick glance around the room, noting the brass bedstead, the colorful patchwork quilt, the red velvet draperies at the window, and nodded. It was a far better room than the one she’d occupied at the hotel.

  “Thank you, Chance. It’s very nice. And thank you for the flowers.” She pointed at the large bouquet of blue columbines in the vase on the walnut dresser. “They’re lovely.” She’d been touched by the gesture, for it seemed out of character with the Chance Rafferty she knew.

  Chance stuck his head into the room and saw the arrangement. He smiled sheepishly. “ ’Fraid I can’t take credit for those, angel. Most likely it was Bertha who brought them up. She takes care of things around here.”

  A stab of disappointment shot through her. An unreasonable stab, she knew. Nonetheless, it still registered as disappointment. “Well, please thank Bertha for me. It was very considerate of her.”

  “May I come in? It’s getting tiring standing out here in the hall.”

  “No, you may not! What would people think if I allowed a man into my room? I certainly wouldn’t want to give anyone the impression that my favors are free for the taking.”

  It was bad enough that she was living in a saloon; she certainly wasn’t going to provide more grist for the mill. Though she was sure that whatever was left of her reputation was already in tatters. Theater folk were considered no better than prostitutes by some. And her choice of friends and living arrangements had already condemned her by the Sacred Thirty-six—the town’s socially elite females.

  Chance grinned. “No doubt most men would be willing to pay a hefty sum for your favors, angel.”

  She gasped, and tried to slam the door in his face, but he wedged his foot in the opening. “If there’s nothing else, Chance, I’d like to rest before this evening’s performance. I still have some unpacking to do, and someone named Flora Sue offered to fix my hair for me.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Really?” Flora Sue wasn’t usually so generous with newcomers. “I thought you were going to wear it down,” he reminded her.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the boss ogling the new girl.”

  Pearl stood by Laurel’s door, sizing up her competition. The girl was pretty in a vapid sort of way, but she wasn’t Chance’s type at all. He liked seasoned women; he’d told her as much. And this girl looked green as newly cut firewood. And as thin. Still, Pearl decided, it wouldn’t hurt to scare her some.

  “Watch out for Chance, sugar. He likes to sample all the new girls; don’t you, Chance?” Laurel was shocked by the woman’s effrontery. “Though by the looks of it, you don’t have enough tits to interest Chance. He’s really quite a breast—”

  Chance shot Pearl a dangerous look as he cut her off. “That’s enough, Pearl. Don’t you have something else to do? I’m sure Bertha could use some help in the kitchen.”

  “I’m paid to serve drinks and keep the customers happy, not to dice vegetables and make biscuits. Let the new girl do it. She looks the type.” With a throaty laugh that made the hairs on Laurel’s neck stand on end, Pearl sashayed down the hall.

  Never in all her born days had Laurel seen breasts as large as that woman had. They made her newly enhanced ones look pitiful by comparison. Sort of like an apricot standing next to a watermelon.

  “I take it that was one of your bar girls?”

  Still frowning, Chance nodded. “Her name’s Pearl. She’s a bit taken with herself, so don’t mind her comments. Pearl thinks she’s better than any of the other girls working here.”

  “Bigger maybe, but not better,” Laurel was surprised to hear herself remark.

  Chance laughed. “Definitely bigger than most, and she revels in it.”

  Laurel looked down at her bosoms. “Thank goodness I won’t be required to entice the customers. I doubt they’d be impressed after seeing that woman’s . . .”

  He lifted her chin, fighting the urge to strip her out of that gaudy gown and throw her down on her back. Laurel’s honesty and innocence made her far more enticing and sensual than most of the experienced women he’d known. A man could drown in those wide, trusting pools of blue, and Chance had never been much of a swimmer.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “You’ve got nothing to worry about, angel. You’re going to wow them tonight.”

  Laurel’s heart accelerated at the comment; her skin grew warm, and she tingled in places she’d never even known existed. “Thank you. And if your Bertha needs help with the chores, I’d be only too happy to oblige. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time on my hands during the day, and I know my way around a kitchen.”

  “That’s considerate of you. Bertha’s getting on in years, and though she’d die before admitting it, I know she’d appreciate some help.”

  “Then consider it done.”

  He skimmed his finger lightly over her cheek, then down her neck, and felt the rapid beat of her pulse. “There’s a lot about you that fascinates me, Laurel Martin. I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you better.” He traced the outline of her lips before parting them with the tip of his finger, inserting it gently into her mouth until it touched her tongue.

  Laurel was totally and utterly shocked by his actions, and by the delicious sensations he was creating. The feel and taste of Chance’s finger in her mouth was the most erotic experience she’d ever had. Fighting the instinctual urge to suck, she grasped his hand and pulled it down to his side.

  “You’d better leave, Chance.” Her nipples were starting to pucker, and she knew she’d be mortified if he noticed, which he was sure to, the way her breasts were starting to swell up over the edge of her gown.

  Turning her hand over, he kissed her palm. “Welcome to the Aurora, angel,” h
e said, then walked away.

  Closing the door behind him, Laurel felt the strangest stirring between her legs. Her nipples throbbed, and she had the strongest desire to touch herself in that forbidden area nice women never talked about.

  “Laurel have mercy,” she muttered, not knowing what to make of these foreign feelings. She decided that the scandalous costume was having an undesirable affect on her. She didn’t want to consider what else it might be.

  “Watch out for Chance, sugar. He likes to sample all the new girls . . .”

  Pearl’s words of warning made her blush, and Laurel was suddenly filled with unease—an unease that soon turned to indignation.

  Chance Rafferty was a rake and a womanizer, and he had a wealth of experience when it came to seducing women. An inexperienced woman, such as herself, would be easy pickings for him.

  Laurel drew herself rigidly erect and sucked in her breath, fortifying herself against the unfamiliar, unwelcome arousal Chance’s touch had elicited. She’d be easy pickings for no man, she vowed. And that included that arrogant, scurrilous gambler.

  * * *

  The noise was deafening. Laurel peeked out from behind the red velvet curtains, swallowing with a great deal of difficulty at the sight of the raucous men who comprised the audience, and wondered how she’d ever be able to make herself heard.

  “Be just a few more minutes, Miss Laurel.”

  Laurel smiled kindly at Jupiter, the piano player she’d met at rehearsal earlier in the day. Besides a piano, her accompaniment consisted of a banjo, a cornet, and a fiddle.

  Chance’s idea of an orchestra was vastly different from her own. She’d imagined violins, guitars, and the soothing strains of a concert piano, not the lively thumping of a honky-tonk piano and the twanging of a banjo.

  This was not the Opera House, Laurel reminded herself; a fact made clear a moment later when a beer glass smashed against the stage, making her jump back.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen, quiet down!”

  Chance’s voice rang loud and clear as he prepared to introduce her, and Laurel swallowed again.