Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  She was his. Only his. And he meant to get her back, no matter what or whom he had to destroy to do it.

  * * *

  Pacing the confines of her sparsely furnished room, Pearl took several deep drags on a cigarette and blew smoke rings over her head while she planned and plotted the best way to get rid of scheming Laurel Martin.

  Pearl had come to the conclusion that Chance deserved one more opportunity to realize that she, Pearl, was the better of the two women. He might be screwing Laurel—no doubt she’d snared him with her innocent act. Men were suckers for that shit—but once Laurel was gone, Chance would forget all about her. Pearl would make certain of that.

  She knew dozens of ways to please a man. The Chinaman, Lee Poon, had instructed her years ago in the art of Oriental lovemaking. And she’d been an excellent, if not overzealous, student.

  She liked sex. And often. She would have done it for free if she weren’t intent on making a living. Some women were good at cooking or sewing, some had a knack for dancing or singing, but Pearl was just good at lovemaking.

  She’d been introduced to it at fourteen when one of her mama’s best customers had wandered into her room at the brothel by mistake, and Pearl soon discovered that a few seductive smiles and come-hither stares could earn her a lot more money than her mama was making.

  The miner offered to pay her five dollars for a look at her tits, which he’d said were the most beautiful things he’d ever laid eyes on, and fifteen more if she let him fuck her. Of course she had, and she’d enjoyed every delicious minute of it.

  Standing in front of the long cheval glass, the sun glinting off the mirror and her long bleached-blond hair, Pearl stripped off her red satin wrapper to gaze at her reflection.

  Her breasts had always been her best asset. She fondled the pendulous globes, admiring their lushness, pinching both nipples until they hardened into two pulsing points, all the while imagining Chance’s lips upon them, sucking and teasing, and she sighed with pleasure.

  Pearl liked it rough, hard, and fast. And Chance Rafferty had the equipment and the body to pleasure a woman long into the night. Just thinking about him made her hot, wet, and wanting.

  Pearl’s erotic fantasies were interrupted by a persistent knocking on her door, and she frowned. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Miss Pearl. You said to come to your room for my lesson.”

  Whitey. How intriguing, Pearl thought, smiling wickedly. He’d come for a lesson, and she wondered just what entertaining things she could teach him today.

  “Come in, sugar. I was just resting a bit.”

  Whitey opened the door and his smile suddenly froze. Gasping, he covered his eyes. “You ain’t decent, Miss Pearl.”

  “Come in and shut the door, sugar,” she coaxed. “I was just about to get dressed.”

  Whitey did as instructed, but his hand remained firmly clasped over his eyes, though he could still picture Pearl, all white and naked, and his skin started to tingle.

  Pearl noticed the slight bulge in the front of his pants and was pleased that the dimwit wasn’t immune to her charms. “I thought you said I was pretty, Whitey. How come you’re covering your eyes? Don’t you like to look at me?”

  Whitey felt a lump in his throat. “Sure I think you’re purty, Miss Pearl. But Chance says I’m not to look at naked women. He says it ain’t the proper thing to do.”

  She crossed the room to stand nude before him. “Chance has seen me naked, Whitey. He’s even touched my breasts. Would you like to touch them?” She pulled his hand down to uncover his eyes, which were still shut tightly.

  “I don’t know if I should, Miss Pearl. What if Chance were to find out? He’d be mad, mad, mad.”

  She made the decision for him by placing his hand on her breast, and she felt his fingers tremble as they clasped the satiny globe in exploration. The innocent massage sent currents of desire racing through Pearl, and she smiled ruefully, thinking that even a simpleton had the power to turn her on.

  “Chance wouldn’t have to know, Whitey,” she said. “Mmmm, that feels so good, sugar. I like it when you touch me. Chance touches me like that sometimes.”

  Opening his eyes, he stared at her large breasts, at his hands touching her pink rigid nipples, and he pulled back as if he’d been burned. “I ain’t never touched a woman before.”

  Leading him farther into the room, like a lamb to slaughter, she pushed him down on the bed. “Do you like what you see?” Hands on ample hips, she posed and postured for him, delighting in the drool of excitement dribbling down his chin. His gaze focused on the dark patch of hair between her thighs, and his curiosity wasn’t the only thing aroused.

  “Can I touch that?”

  Pearl smiled, stepped closer, and covered his hand with hers as she placed it on her mound and showed him the slow seductive movement that drove her wild. “How does that feel, sugar?”

  “Funny. I feel funny, too. My Willy’s hard as a brick,” he explained, using the euphemism Bertha had taught him. “Is something wrong with it, Miss Pearl? It hurts.”

  She rubbed his long, hard shaft, running her tongue over her lips, anticipating. “All men’s pricks get hard when they touch a woman, Whitey. Even your cousin’s. Chance has put his deep inside me. It felt real good.”

  His look of confusion told Pearl it was time to end the lesson for today, though she silently bemoaned the fact that she wouldn’t find out if he was really as huge as he felt. The thought of taking that hard shaft deep within her made her wet mound quiver.

  Backing away, trying to regain her composure, she reached for her wrapper. “You mustn’t tell anyone that I showed you my secret place, sugar. Chance wouldn’t like it.”

  He scratched his head. “How come? If he’s seen your titties, how come I can’t?”

  Securing her robe, she nestled herself on his lap, wiggling her bottom until she heard him moan. “Chance is jealous of you, sugar. If he knew we were together like this, that you had touched me here,” she pointed to her breasts, “and here,” then to her crotch, “he’d be mad at both of us. You won’t tell anyone, will you, sugar? It has to be our secret.”

  He shook his head, wondering why his Willy was throbbing so much. “I promise, Miss Pearl. But if I do good with my lessons, do you think you’d show me your titties again?”

  “Sugar,” she said, caressing his cheek. “If you do real good, and do everything I say, I’m going to let you do a whole lot more than look. Would you like that, sugar?”

  Staring at her breasts, now hidden by the red satin material, he nodded enthusiastically, giving her a hug of affection. “Yes’m,” he said loudly. “I’d like it fine, fine, fine.”

  * * *

  Still smarting over Laurel’s rejection of him, and remembering how adamant she’d been about saving her virginity for a goddamn Prince Charming who wasn’t likely to ever materialize, Chance cursed inwardly, paying scant attention to what Bull was anxiously trying to tell him.

  “Are you listening, Chance? I said those women from that temperance league are making a nuisance out front again. They’re going to scare the customers away.”

  Chance gazed in the direction his barkeep pointed. Through the condensation-covered plate glass window he saw six women carrying placards and banners as they marched on the sidewalk in front of his saloon. For the past three days they’d been permanent fixtures, and he wondered why he’d been so blessed to attract their attention.

  The Women’s Christian Temperance Union, or WCTU, as they were called, were a bunch of frustrated old biddies who were hell-bent on ridding every town and city they settled in from “the ravages of alcohol,” as they so eloquently and frequently preached.

  “Repent, ye sinners!” they shouted. “Alcohol and demon rum will be your ruination!”

  “Jesus,” Chance said. “Why the hell don’t they take their singing and chanting somewhere else? They give me the creeps.”

  Bull poured Chance a whiskey, figuring he could use something
stronger than coffee long about now. “The leader’s the worst of the lot. Her name’s Hortensia Tungsten. She’s formed some local group called the Denver Temperance and Souls in Need League. She called me a whoremonger the other day when I tried to get in the door, tried to knock me over the head with that sign she carries.”

  “I wonder if it would do any good to summon the police. Maybe they could get rid of them.”

  Bull shook his head. “Naw. Mort Fines over at the Hurdy Gurdy House tried that. Chief Stebbins said they was within their right to demonstrate, as long as they didn’t do any damage to the premises.”

  Swallowing his whiskey, Chance welcomed the fiery brew into his gut. It was getting cold outside; the sky had the promise of sleet or snow, and he expected to see one or both before morning. “They’ll most likely get tired of marching and go on home,” Chance said. “And if the weather worsens, they’ll surely give up then.”

  Bull didn’t look nearly as confident as Chance sounded. “I don’t know, Chance. I’ve heard of these temperance women making trouble in other parts of the country. They’re like ticks that burrow beneath your skin and refuse to come out.”

  Chance knew that the WCTU reached every city and state in the country. The organization was comprised only of females—men were banned from voting membership. Through song and prayer, touted from church pulpits sympathetic to their cause and from makeshift bandstands wherever crowds would gather, they spewed forth their edict of salvation through sobriety.

  Like an out-of-control prairie fire, their fanatical gospel had spread, and Chance feared that businesses such as his were likely to burn as a result.

  Women! They’re just not happy until they can change a man.

  Plowing his fingers through his hair, Chance finally replied, “I got more important things to worry about right now, Bull.” Like how he was going to get Laurel into bed without marrying her. And how he was going to exact his pound of flesh from Hazen’s hide, now that the bastard was back in town.

  Yeah, he had a lot more important things to think about than a bunch of man-hating harpies.

  * * *

  It had been a slow night, thanks to the inclement weather and those damn temperance women who hadn’t allowed the light snowfall to interfere with their praying and singing of hymns. If he heard another chorus of “Nearer My God To Thee,” Chance thought he might have to hurt someone.

  The fact that Laurel was humming the hymn as she approached the bar didn’t help his mood. “I’d appreciate it if you found some other tune to sing, angel. That one’s getting on my nerves.”

  Noting his irritation and the way he kept popping his knuckles, Laurel smiled, knowing how annoyed he’d grown with the ladies of the temperance league. She actually found their singing quite refreshing and uplifting compared to the bawdy ditties she was asked to perform. “Really? I kind of like it.”

  “Was there something you wanted or needed?” His eyebrow arched as his gaze skimmed over her red satin costume. It hugged every delicious curve, presenting her lovely legs to definite advantage, and he wondered at his own stupidity in insisting that she dress so provocatively. Perhaps a change of costume was in order. Something high-necked and long-sleeved, that draped in folds down to the floor.

  “I just thought you should know that the ceiling in my room is leaking like a sieve. I told Jup about it, but he said I should speak to you.”

  Chance sighed. He’d been neglecting things of late. The roof was merely one in a long list of things requiring his attention. Unfortunately his attention had been diverted elsewhere; he stared meaningfully at Laurel. “I’ll have someone take care of it first thing in the morning. Will you be all right tonight? Because if you need something, anything, I’ll be only too happy to accommodate you. My bed is large enough for two.”

  The suggestive remark made Laurel’s knees wobble. Chance’s caressing fingers on her cheek almost weakened her resolve, but she was determined to stand fast in her refusal to bed him.

  Until she saw some indication that he loved her, there would be no lovemaking. It was that simple. She had no intention of giving the milk away for free; he’d take the whole cow, or nothing, as her mama had cautioned.

  “I’m sure tomorrow will be fine. The leak is in the far corner of the room, away from the bed.”

  “Hey! That’s some pair you got, sweetie. Give me some tongue. My dick’s hard.”

  Laurel looked sharply at the parrot, her lip curling in disgust, then she stuck out her tongue. “There you go, you perverted bird. Have some tongue.”

  Chance threw back his head, and the deep, rich baritone sound of his laughter sent shivers down Laurel’s spine. “The parrot’s got the right idea, angel. Me and Percy are suffering from the same affliction.”

  Her gaze traveled down to the rather pronounced bulge at the front of his trousers, and her face flamed. “I’m sure you won’t have any difficulty finding someone to ease your affliction.” She started to walk away, but he grabbed her arm.

  “I don’t want just anyone, angel. Don’t you know that by now?”

  If only that were true, she thought. “Save your seductive comments, Chance. They’re not going to work.”

  “It’s going to get mighty cold this winter in that big lonely bed of yours. How long do you intend to wait for that Prince Charming of yours to show up?”

  She caressed his cheek, replying in her sweetest voice, “Someone once said that you have to kiss a lot of toads before you meet your prince. I guess I’m still in the toad-kissing stage of my life. Good night, Chance. Sleep tight.”

  Watching her walk away, Chance shook his head and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the bar, pouring himself a hefty shot. A toad, was he? He’d see about that!

  Hoping she’d made Chance furious, Laurel glanced over her shoulder, plastering a smug smile on her face, only to have it dissolve at the sight of Pearl draping herself around Chance’s neck.

  Like a vulture circling its prey, it hadn’t taken the whore long to swoop down on her victim. Though Chance didn’t look like he minded in the least that he was about to be devoured.

  A white-hot stab of jealousy knifed through Laurel, bringing unexpected tears to her eyes as she hurried to the kitchen. There was only one cure for the way she felt at the moment: Bertha’s applesauce-spice cookies. Lots of them!

  * * *

  “Hey, sugar! What’re you looking so glum about? I take it little Miss Priss rejected your offer?” Pearl caressed his stubbled cheek, smiling inwardly. She recognized the sexual frustration on Chance’s face; she’d seen that look a thousand times on “happily” married men and on schoolboys on the prowl. “Some women don’t know when they’re well off, do they?”

  In no mood for Pearl’s flirtations, Chance’s eyes darkened. “What’s between me and Laurel is none of your business, Pearl. So why don’t you run along?”

  Ignoring the suggestion, she poured herself a drink. “Why, sugar, I didn’t know there was something between the two of you.”

  Chance covered his mistake smoothly, unwilling to let Pearl’s viperous tongue sully Laurel’s reputation. “There isn’t. But even if there was, it’d be none of your business.”

  “A woman in my profession can’t help but notice when a man is getting all hot and bothered. And, sugar, I saw the bulge in your pants from clear across the room.” She trailed her finger up his arm. “A man like you shouldn’t have to suffer, sugar. I’d be happy to cure what ails you. We had a good time once.”

  The thought of bedding Pearl made Chance’s stomach roil. Her coarse, oversexed demeanor wasn’t the least bit appealing. And even if his dick was suffering a bad case of rejection, he sure as hell wasn’t going to cure it by sticking it into someone who had been used as many times as Pearl. Even he had his standards.

  The startling thought that whores and easy women weren’t quite as tempting as a certain blond virgin made him wonder just what kind of spell Laurel had weaved around him. He hadn’t had eyes for anyone els
e since she’d set foot in his place. And, he realized with a great deal of disgust, he hadn’t had any womanly comfort, either.

  No doubt he was destined to go through life with a permanent hardening to his male member. Damn, his luck was changing for the worse!

  “What do you say, sugar? Let’s go up to my room and get naked and sweaty. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me; you know I’ll make it good for you. Don’t you remember how good it was between us?”

  Her hand on his neck felt like a hundred pounds of cloying velvet, weighing him down, suffocating him. Shaking his head, he removed the offending appendage. “Thanks for the offer, Pearl. But no thanks. I’m not going to compound my previous mistake by repeating it. I was drunk, and you were insistent, if I remember correctly.” Very insistent, if memory serves. “I admit to being weak, but as I told you once before, fraternizing with the help is not good for business.”

  Her eyes darkened at the rebuff, and her fingers curled like claws at her side. “I guess I’m not good enough for you anymore, is that it, Chance? You’ve only got eyes for that mealy-mouthed priss, who couldn’t care less whether you live or die.” She tossed back her head and laughed. “It’s your loss, sugar. There’re plenty of men who’d like to bed me.” Like your dear cousin, Whitey, who finds me irresistible, she added silently, her lips forming a spiteful smile.

  “There’s never been anything between us, Pearl, so don’t go pretending there is. You’re a good barmaid, nothing more. What you do on your own time is your business. I just don’t want you doing it with me.”

  “I’ll make you sorry for the way you’re treating me, Chance Rafferty. I’ll make you all sorry. Just you wait and see if I don’t.”

  “Anytime you’re unhappy with our arrangement, Pearl, you can pack up and leave.”

  Like a snake, her hand darted out to rub the length of him before he could pull back. “I got bigger fish to fry. Much bigger than you, sugar.” And it was time she tossed both into the fry pan.