Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  Laurel couldn’t blame Chance for what had happened last night. She’d practically begged him to make love to her. She really should be grateful that he’d used some restraint in leaving her virginity intact. God! She had acted worse than any two-bit whore on Holladay Street.

  Every disgraceful, delicious minute of their encounter was firmly embedded in her mind . . . and in her heart. She’d been drunk, she told herself. But it hadn’t been the alcohol that had made her so brazen. She’d wanted Chance Rafferty with an intensity that frightened her, and she’d used the alcohol as an excuse to lose her inhibitions and beg him to make love to her.

  “Was I right? Has Shooter been bothering you again? I’ll rip him apart if he has,” Chance said, stepping closer, bringing Laurel back to the other, more pressing reality.

  “If I tell you what’s wrong, you must promise not to behave in a rash manner.” She didn’t want to give Hazen an excuse to come against Chance. After all, this was her problem, not his.

  Chance sighed and shook his head. “I don’t like playing games, angel. Now, are you going to tell me what happened or not? You looked white as a ghost when you came in here and not the least bit content. Not exactly flattering to a man in my position, considering our recent encounter.”

  Needing to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off Chance’s face, she blurted, “Al Hazen insulted me.” It worked. The veins in his neck and temples began to bulge like a Yellowstone geyser.

  “What! Did he hurt you?” He looked her over carefully.

  She shook her head. “No. Crystal was with me at first. But she left when Hazen insisted on talking to me alone. I was concerned for her welfare, so I agreed to hear what he had to say.”

  “That was foolish.”

  “We were in broad daylight. I didn’t think I was in any danger.”

  “You don’t know Al Hazen.”

  “I know he abuses Crystal, and I couldn’t allow my actions to bring any more pain upon her.”

  “What did the bastard want?”

  “He wanted me to come to work for him.” She explained in detail everything he’d said. “He thinks we’re . . .” She swallowed. “He thinks we’ve been sleeping together. He said if I was giving it to you, then I shouldn’t mind giving it to his customers.” She covered her face with her hands, mortified to admit such a thing. “He acted as if he knew what had happened between us last night.”

  Chance drew Laurel into his arms, willing his fury at Hazen to subside for the moment. He’d deal with that bastard later, in his own way and time. “Nothing happened, angel. You’re still a virgin. I merely helped you attain a little pleasure. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  She looked up at him, and the tears in her eyes shot straight to his heart like crystal bullets. “How can you say that? We’re not even married. We don’t even get along all that well, and I allowed you to . . .”

  His kiss silenced her. Then he asked, “Didn’t you enjoy it? Didn’t you thank me for making you feel like a woman?”

  “Well, yes,” she replied in a small voice. “But I was raised on the doctrine of eternal damnation. Pastor Bergman would consider what we did a sin. And my sister Heather warned me about men and their animal urges.”

  “But she didn’t explain about the urges women have, did she?” Laurel shook her head in dismay, and he smiled tenderly. “Trust me, angel, you’re not going to hell in a hand-basket just because you enjoyed making love. God wouldn’t have made it pleasurable if we weren’t supposed to enjoy it.”

  She looked up, noting the sincerity and kindness in his eyes, and knew in that moment that she was falling in love with Chance Rafferty.

  But how can I be?

  He was a gambler and a scoundrel of the first order.

  But he’s kind and gentle, and he makes me feel like no one ever made me feel before.

  He wasn’t the marrying kind. Everyone in the saloon had warned her that Chance was a man looking for pleasure, not permanence.

  But he has dimples, and a most extraordinary smile.

  He had a definite lack of morals and refinement.

  But he can kiss the very breath out of me and make me crave for more.

  He was in no way, shape, or form Prince Charming material.

  But he’s a man. All man. And a man can be changed.

  * * *

  Chance had just thrown the bolt on the front door and was about to turn off the lights when a frantic pounding sounded against the glass. Unlocking the door, he was shocked at the sight of Crystal leaning heavily against the door frame.

  She’d been beaten so viciously that he barely recognized her lovely face, which was swollen to twice its normal size. The skin around her eyes was discolored, and there was dried blood on her lips.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Grasping the woman about the waist, he scooped her slight form into his arms and carried her into the gambling parlor. “Jupiter!” he yelled out, and a moment later the piano player appeared from the kitchen.

  “Lordy be!” Jup said as his gaze fell on the near unconscious woman cradled against Chance’s chest.

  “Fetch Bertha, Jup, then get Laurel. Tell her Crystal’s been hurt bad.”

  Jup left to do his bidding, and Chance marched toward the stairs, the beaten woman held tenderly in his arms. Her lips were so swollen that she couldn’t speak. She tried to form words, but could only nod her head in a gesture of what appeared to be thanks.

  “Hazen,” Chance said, the word sounding more like a curse than a question, and Crystal nodded slowly.

  Bertha, Jup, and Laurel appeared all at once.

  Seeing the shocking condition of her friend, Laurel clutched the edges of her wrapper together and ran forward, her eyes swimming with tears. “Dear God! Crystal!” she cried, taking the woman’s limp hand in her own.

  “She’s fainted,” Chance explained. “It’s probably a blessing. She’s been beaten pretty badly. I think her ribs might be cracked.” Due to the pallor of her skin, he feared that she might be bleeding internally, but he refrained from adding more to Laurel’s burden.

  “Shall I fetch Doc?” Jup asked. “This woman might need some tendin’ to.” He stared at the lifeless form before him, remembering . . .

  “Doc Toomey ain’t going to be in any shape to help,” Bertha said, shaking her head in disgust. “He was drinking to beat the band tonight. I wouldn’t trust him to treat a horse, let alone this here child.”

  “I think we should get the reverend,” Laurel said. “He told me he had a small amount of medical training before he became a preacher. And it wouldn’t hurt to have someone praying over Crystal right about now.” She had the sinking feeling that Crystal was going to need all their prayers before this night was through. Damn Albert Hazen to hell!

  Jup left to find Gus, and Laurel ran up the stairs to ready the empty bedroom at the end of the hall. It was the farthest one from the noise of the main gambling parlor, and Crystal wasn’t as likely to be disturbed there by drunken revelers looking for an evening’s entertainment.

  “Put her here on the bed.” Laurel pulled down the comforter and smoothed the sheets. Her voice cracked when she said, “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been so rude to Hazen—”

  “That’s nonsense,” Chance cut in. “The man’s an animal. Always has been. If he hadn’t taken his anger and frustration out on Crystal, he’d have taken it out on you.” And he’d be a dead man by now.

  “It ain’t gonna do no good arguing about this now.” Bertha turned to Laurel. “I’ll get Miss Crystal undressed, honey, while you fetch one of your nightgowns for her to wear.”

  Laurel returned a moment later, carrying a soft flannel rose-patterned gown that was one of her favorites. She handed it to Bertha.

  Feeling more helpless than he’d felt in years, Chance paced the small room, while Bertha and Laurel tended to the stricken woman. Crystal whimpered several times while they undressed her, but she didn’t regain consciousness.

  “I’ll kill
that bastard,” Chance swore, and fear darted through Laurel’s breast.

  “That kind of talk’s not going to help Crystal at the moment. There’ll be time enough to deal with Hazen after she’s taken care of.”

  “Miss Laurel’s right,” Bertha said, wringing out a damp washcloth and dabbing the dried blood from Crystal’s lips. “We don’t need no more trouble right now. We gots us enough to deal with. Why don’t you go see what’s keeping Jup, Mr. Chance? And you’d best make sure Whitey went straight to his room.”

  Chance’s eyebrow shot up. “Whitey? Why wouldn’t he be in his room?”

  Bertha shrugged, not about to reveal her suspicions about Pearl. But she wouldn’t put anything past that woman when it came to making trouble. “I’d just feel better, that’s all.”

  Chance went down the hall and paused before the door to Whitey’s room. He hadn’t spent a great deal of time with his cousin lately. Whitey was always busy with Pearl and his writing lessons, and Chance had been preoccupied with a certain blond opera singer who he couldn’t get out of his mind.

  Laurel was becoming as necessary as the air he breathed. He could barely remember what his life had been like before she’d come into it. Her warm laughter never failed to draw his attention. Her radiant smile could light up a room on the gloomiest of days. She was gentle, kind, a woman who didn’t fit into the mold in which he usually lumped all decent women.

  Laurel wasn’t calculating or greedy. She had a soft spot in her heart for anyone she perceived as less fortunate than herself: dimwits, prostitutes, down-on-their-luck preachers.

  She was special. And if he’d been the kind of man who was looking for a good woman to marry, she certainly fit the bill.

  But he wasn’t, he reminded himself.

  He knocked softly on Whitey’s door before opening it to find his cousin diligently practicing his letters. Notepad on lap, his lower lip gathered between his teeth in concentration, Whitey looked like a schoolboy studying for a college exam, and Chance’s chest swelled with pride.

  “Howdy, Whitey. Just thought I’d stop by and see how everything’s going.”

  The big man smiled proudly, holding the paper up for Chance’s inspection. “I’m learning to make my H’s, Chance. Pearl says I’m doing real good.”

  The mention of the whore made Chance frown. He still wasn’t convinced of her motives in tutoring Whitey, despite her reassurances. Pearl never did anything nice without an ulterior motive. Generosity and kindness were not inherent in her nature. So why, suddenly, was she being so attentive to his cousin?

  “She ain’t causing you any trouble, is she?”

  “Miss Pearl’s purty. And she’s been real nice to me, Chance. I think she likes me.”

  “I’m sure she does, Whitey. Pearl likes most men.”

  “I like her, too. She smells good.”

  Chance, however, found Pearl’s gardenia scent cloying. “I guess.” He took a seat on the chair next to the bed. “You mustn’t mistake Pearl’s friendship for anything else, Whitey. You know she likes to tease everyone.”

  Wetting the lead of the pencil with the tip of his tongue, Whitey drew several more letters. “She likes me, me, me. Pearl said I was handsome as you, Chance. Ain’t that something? Most times women don’t see me the same as they do you.”

  Chance scoffed inwardly. Did the whore think to make him jealous of his own cousin because he’d spurned her advances? The thought was too preposterous to even consider.

  Pearl couldn’t be interested in Whitey sexually. Whitey could never satisfy someone as insatiable as the whore. He was much too childlike to feel sexual yearnings and didn’t have the urges normal men had. And Pearl definitely needed someone with an ardent sex drive to match her own. She’d bed just about anyone who wore a pair of pants and had a dollar to spend on her.

  At any rate, he decided, he’d best keep a close eye on both of them. He had no intention of allowing Pearl to mislead his cousin or pretend a relationship that didn’t exist. But for the time being he would leave things as they were. Whitey was content, and that was the most important thing, in Chance’s opinion.

  And he did have other, more pressing concerns on his mind at the moment, like Al Hazen and his despicable treatment of women. Despite what Bertha and Laurel had cautioned, he was determined to exact his pound of flesh against the ruthless bastard.

  * * *

  Gus stood at the side of the bed, staring down at the helpless woman before him. She made whimpering sounds as she slept, probably reliving her ordeal in her subconscious, and the reverend reached out to caress her cheek in a gesture of comfort.

  For three days and nights Crystal Cummings had clung to life. It was only by the grace of God, constant prayer, and a smattering of medical training on Gus’s part that had gotten the woman this far. By all rights she should have succumbed to the vicious beating Al Hazen had given her.

  What was wrong with a man who could abuse such a beautiful child? Why had God put such foul creatures on this earth?

  These were the questions Gus could never answer, though he asked them silently every day. He didn’t want to question his faith in a God who could allow an innocent young woman to be treated so shamelessly, to be forced at an early age to sell herself to the highest bidder so that she could have a roof over her head and a small amount of food to sustain her.

  He sat in the chair next to the bed, clasping her small, clammy hand in his own. Crystal reminded him of a fragile porcelain doll. Her skin was smooth and unlined with age, unlike his, which was as creased as a well-used saddle.

  She had an exquisite figure that a man could only dream of possessing, but he knew many men had possessed her.

  It was difficult, even being a man of God, to avoid Crystal’s allure. And though he tried to ignore the stirring of passion that seeing her naked had aroused, he hadn’t quite been able to, and he prayed to the Almighty to help him resist the temptation before him.

  His hands had trembled when placing the bandages around her injured rib cage, and his fingers had burned when they’d come in contact with the underside of her full, satiny breasts. And his eyes had not looked away from the sight of her nipples, dusky, rose-tipped beauties that poets could write sonnets about.

  With her body bruised and her lips cracked and swollen, a man might not think the young prostitute all that enticing. But to Augustus Baldwin, who’d never before experienced the gut-wrenching emotion he felt every time he looked at Crystal, she was the most beautiful creature on the face of God’s earth.

  “Reverend Baldwin.”

  He looked up at the sound of Laurel’s voice, his hand releasing Crystal’s, feeling guilty at his own thoughts.

  “How is Crystal doing today? Her color seems to be a bit better.”

  Gus forced a smile as he looked at his patient’s black and blue face. “Only you would have such an optimistic opinion, my dear.”

  “Mama always said that a broody hen never lays many eggs. I try to see the best of things when I can, Reverend. And I know with your help Crystal’s going to come out of this just fine.”

  “Your faith humbles me, my dear. Sometimes it’s hard to keep my spirits up. It’s a failing I have; one of many, I’m afraid.”

  Carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping woman, Laurel lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. “Why did you become a preacher, Gus? You don’t seem like the type. Why did you quit your doctoring lessons?”

  Pain filled his eyes, and he looked away. “I thought once that I was infallible and found out I wasn’t. Someone I cared very deeply about died because of my stupidity, my inflated sense of self-worth.” Because he had failed to listen to men who possessed years more experience and knowledge than himself.

  She placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Your wife?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’ve never been married. It was my sister. My sweet Adrianna. She died in childbirth, and I never forgave myself for not being able to save her.”

  “
I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, Reverend. Women die in childbirth every day. It’s part of life on the prairie. My own mama died trying to bring forth new life.” A baby boy who’d tried to be born before his time.

  “I’m sure you did everything you could for your sister. My papa never blamed Doc Spooner for my mama’s death. He did the best he could, doc did, same as you, but these things just happen. Nobody knows why. God’s will, Bertha would say.”

  Gus brought Laurel’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “For a young girl, you’re very wise.”

  “You might not have been able to save Adrianna’s life, Gus, but you did save Crystal’s. I know she’s going to be eternally grateful when she realizes what you’ve done.”

  Funny, Gus thought, as he stared down at the sleeping woman, a gentle warmth wrapping around his heart, it wasn’t Crystal’s gratitude he craved. It wasn’t even her body. He realized, despite the vast differences in their ages and upbringing, and the fact that they hardly knew each other, that it was Crystal Cummings’s heart that he desired above everything else.

  But only God knew how he was going to satisfy that unreasonable yearning, for he doubted that a woman of Crystal Cummings’s extraordinary beauty would see much worthwhile in a consumptive old coot like himself.

  * * *

  “Well, you’re looking downright perky this morning,” Laurel said, seating herself on the Windsor chair next to Crystal’s bed. “Funny what a week’s worth of Bertha’s good cooking can do to a body, and the attention of a handsome gentleman like Reverend Baldwin.”

  Propped up against the headboard, leaning against two fluffy down pillows, Crystal’s blush could be seen quite clearly beneath the fading bruises. “The reverend has been very kind,” she admitted, unwilling to look Laurel in the eye, lest she reveal too much.

  “Why, Crystal Cummings! I do believe you’re blushing.”

  Laurel’s comment made Crystal giggle, and she grabbed herself about the middle to keep her sore ribs from hurting. Fortunately they weren’t broken, only bruised. “Hard to believe a woman in my profession can still blush after everything I’ve seen and done.”