Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  The older woman nodded, licking the gooey pumpkin pie off her fork before replying. “I heard as much, dear. Your experience working in a saloon and gambling parlor intrigues me. Though many of us know firsthand about the evils of drink—my own disreputable husband, Reginald, drank himself to death—it would help our cause immensely to have someone with your inside knowledge of saloon life . . . gambling and prostitution included.”

  “My knowledge? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Our leader, Miss Willard, founder of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, believes that rather than dwell on the evils of drink, we should instead emphasize the moral and religious aspects of temperance and the impractical side of alcohol consumption.

  “Men who spend money gambling and drinking deprive their families of necessities such as food, clothing, and education. I’m sure you have observed family men gambling away resources that could better be spent on their wives and children.”

  Laurel had in fact witnessed this many times over, but a sense of loyalty to her friends and co-workers at the Aurora kept her silent.

  Hortensia touched the white ribbon pinned to her lapel. “This is our badge of courage, Miss Martin. It symbolizes purity, womanliness, God, and home. Miss Willard calls our group ‘the great society,’ and that is what we are. Through peaceful confrontation and the gathering of pledge signatures, we hope to unite women of this land to stand up for their rights and defy the abuses that men heap upon them. We also hope that through our efforts women will one day earn the right to vote.”

  Setting down her fork, Laurel shook her head in confusion. “That is all very noble, Miss Tungsten, but I don’t understand what all of this has to do with me. I’m working in a saloon, undermining the very thing for which you stand.”

  Grasping Laurel’s hand, Hortensia looked deeply into her eyes, trying to convey the conviction she felt in her soul. “But, my dear, that is the whole point. Your experience can be put to the good. You could join our cause and speak out for the downtrodden women of Denver, for the children who go to bed hungry every night, for those poor unfortunates who are beaten senseless by drunk and abusive husbands, lovers, and fathers.”

  “Crystal.” Laurel said her friend’s name aloud, not realizing she’d done so.

  “We all have friends, my dear, who have been abused in one form or another. I, myself, was treated abominably and was not the least bit sorry when my husband succumbed to his failing.

  “If, as you’ve led me to believe, your present employment is only temporary and unsuited to your true nature, then join us, Miss Martin. Speak out against what you have observed.”

  Speaking out against Chance, Crystal, Flora Sue, and the others who earned their living at the Aurora was unthinkable, and her concern shone on her face.

  “I can almost read your mind, dear,” Hortensia said. “You’ve made friends and feel you’d be betraying them by joining our cause. And I admire your loyalty. But think of the many you’d help.”

  “Miss Tungsten, I’m honored by your proposal, but loyalty aside, there is a practical reason for not joining you. I now have a roof over my head, and the ability to earn my own way. I cannot afford to walk away from my present job.”

  “We would supply you with whatever you need, Miss Martin. A room will be furnished, though it will be necessary to share your accommodations with others. Three meals a day will also be provided, without alcohol, of course!”

  Thinking of her humiliating bout with a bottle of champagne, Laurel knew she’d never miss alcohol!

  “And your salary will be provided by donations, which are gathered during speaking engagements.”

  Laurel’s eyes widened. “You would expect me to speak?”

  “Indeed, my dear. You’d be the featured speaker, the center of attention, so to speak. People will come from miles around to hear what you have to say on the evils of gambling and demon rum. You’ll be given their undivided attention.”

  The center of undivided attention. How different that would be from what she was doing now. But as tempting as Hortensia Tungsten made it sound, Laurel knew she couldn’t go against her friends. “I don’t think I’m the right person for this job, Miss Tungsten, though I appreciate the offer.”

  Hortensia clasped Laurel’s hand. “Think on it, Miss Martin. Don’t give me your answer now. The Lord works in mysterious ways. If your destiny is to aid our cause, then He will provide the way. Just promise me you will think about all we have said here today.”

  “My mind is made up, Miss Tungsten. I will not speak out against people who have become my friends and family. I could not forgive myself for being part of their ruination.”

  “And what of your ruination? Surely your own family would be horrified to know what you’re doing for a living. Surely you do not enjoy parading yourself night after night for a bunch of drunken men, who no doubt entertain lascivious thoughts.”

  There was only one man she knew of who entertained lascivious thoughts about her, but Laurel refrained from mentioning her esteemed employer’s name. “Mama always said that if your heart is pure and your mind is clean, then no matter what you did, God would always love you.”

  “But . . .”

  Laurel raised her hand to forestall the woman’s objection. “I will think on what you’ve said, but it’s doubtful that we will meet again, Miss Tungsten. Thank you for the pie and coffee; they were delicious. And good luck with your efforts to rid this town of sin and corruption. You have a difficult task ahead of you.”

  “We’ll meet again, Miss Martin. I feel it in my heart.”

  Though Laurel did not respond to the persistent woman’s prediction, as she crossed the street on her way back to the Aurora, she couldn’t dismiss the sixth sense that warned her that Hortensia Tungsten could be right.

  CHAPTER 14

  Noting the Closed sign on the Aurora’s front door, Laurel crinkled her forehead in confusion. It was highly unusual for the saloon to be closed for business so early in the day, especially considering the fact it was Wednesday and not Sunday.

  She entered to find a celebration in progress. Colorful streamers of red, white, and blue hung from the ceiling rafters, bottles of iced champagne in silver buckets graced the center of tables, and platters of delicious-smelling food lined the mahogany bar.

  Percy, that obnoxious creature, was pecking on a particularly delectable-looking tray of sandwiches, and even though she’d just consumed a large piece of pumpkin pie, Laurel felt her stomach rumble in response to the tempting sight and smell of Bertha’s cooking.

  She smiled in greeting as Augustus and Crystal came forward, holding hands and looking for all their worth like two people very much in love. Perhaps the celebration was for them, for their engagement, Laurel surmised. But surely Crystal would have said something to her if that were the case.

  “There you are, ” Crystal said. “I’ve been worried sick about you.” They exchanged a meaningful glance, remembering Al Hazen’s recent threat.

  Shaking the snow off her cape, Laurel hung it on a nearby chair to dry. “What’s all this? Is there something you two want to tell me?”

  Crystal’s cheeks flushed rosy. “Laurel honey, you do jump to conclusions. This party isn’t for me and Gus.” She smiled so sweetly at the reverend that his usually unhealthy pallor ignited. “It’s for Chance. For his birthday.”

  “His birthday?” Laurel’s eyes sought Chance and found him standing on the opposite side of the room, laughing with Jup about something. He looked boyishly handsome and very relaxed in his black superfine pants and blue cambric shirt, which had been left partially unbuttoned. Her eyes were drawn to the exposed area of flesh and the sprinkling of dark hairs at the vee of his neck.

  “I didn’t know,” she said, hearing her heart pound loudly in her ears and wondering if her voice sounded as strange as she felt. “I would have bought him a gift if I’d known.”

  “Come join the party,” Crystal urged, clasping her hand. “We�
��ve been waiting ages for you. Have you been with that temperance woman all this time?”

  “Crystal tells me you’ve been approached by Hortensia Tungsten,” Gus interrupted, a thoughtful look on his face. “She hasn’t taken you to task for working here, has she?”

  He’d already been visited by the Denver Temperance and Souls in Need League, and they’d urged him rather emphatically to aid in their noble, if not misguided, cause. But he knew that turning gamblers, whores, and drinking men into teetotalers wasn’t a very practical solution to the problems existing in today’s society.

  He was certainly in favor of encouraging husbands to cleave to their wives and to forego their other amusements—many of which smacked of drunkenness and infidelity—and he preached as much in his sermons every Sunday. But he wasn’t naive enough to think that a few prayers and hymns were going to change overnight what had taken decades to develop.

  Laurel answered Gus’s question but her attention was fixed on Chance. When he turned his head in her direction and his green eyes locked with hers, Laurel felt the magnetic pull clear across the noisy room.

  Ignoring the raucous music pouring forth from Jup’s piano, Flora Sue and Rooster’s spine-tingling chorus of “Oh, dem Golden Slippers,” and Percy’s vulgar comments about the size of Pearl’s breasts, she walked purposefully toward him.

  “Where’ve you been, angel? I was afraid you’d miss my party.” He handed her a glass of champagne.

  Laurel stared at the bubbly liquid with a great deal of uncertainty, remembering the last time she’d indulged herself with the intoxicating spirit. Never in her life had she felt so uninhibited. It had been a wildly exhilarating, embarrassing, and frightening experience.

  “You’re not going to refuse to toast me on my birthday, now, are you?” Chance asked, a definite challenge twinkling in his eyes.

  She sipped cautiously, vowing not to have more than one glass, and felt herself relax for the first time since her disturbing conversation with Hortensia Tungsten.

  Here at the saloon, surrounded by Chance and all her friends, she knew with a certainty that she’d made the right decision in not joining the temperance league.

  “I didn’t know today was your birthday. I’m embarrassed because I have no gift for you.”

  A dark eyebrow shot up. “No gift?” His gaze raked her from head to toe, a devilish grin cutting his face. “I wouldn’t say that, angel. You’ve got the only gift I want.”

  Laurel’s cheeks flamed, and she took a large swallow of champagne, but rather than cool her down, it only made her hotter. Thankfully, Bertha waddled forward, saving her from having to comment on Chance’s suggestive remark.

  Taking one look at her favorite couple, the woman decided that a little matchmaking was in order. “Lordy be! It’s about time you done showed yourself, child. Jup and me was getting worried.”

  Laurel shook an admonishing finger at the cook. “I should take you to task, Bertha Tubbs, for not telling me about this party and not allowing me to help.”

  Chuckling, Bertha pinched Chance’s cheek, as if he were a lad of ten and not a full-grown man. “My boy here wouldn’t have allowed me to have this party if I woulda told him or anyone else what I was plannin’, honey. Every year it’s the same: Mr. Chance warns me not to go having a party, and every year I has one anyway. I’s got a mind of my own.”

  A calculating gleam entered Bertha’s warm, dark eyes. “Now why don’t you two run along to the storage room and fetch me some more bottles of champagne and a bottle of that expensive Napoleon brandy. I’m fixing something special for dessert tonight.”

  Laurel followed Chance into the storage room at the back of the saloon, feeling extremely relaxed and just a bit woozy. It was pitch black inside when they entered, and she couldn’t see a blasted thing in front of her, including Chance, who had stopped abruptly. “Ooops,” she said, colliding with his backside. A very warm backside, she realized.

  “I’ll light a lamp. We never had this part of the saloon electrified.”

  A warm glow soon suffused the room and Laurel’s heart as well. It’d been a while since she and Chance had had an opportunity to be alone, and she found herself wondering if this hadn’t been Bertha’s intention all along. She smiled to herself, unable to fault the older woman’s meddling . . . not when she wanted Chance as badly as she did.

  “I missed you today.” The huskiness of his voice played along her spine like caressing fingers, hitting a responsive chord within her. “Did you enjoy your luncheon with Crystal?” He held out his hand to her.

  She wouldn’t tell him of her meeting with Hortensia Tungsten, or with Al Hazen, for that matter. It was his birthday, and she didn’t want anything to spoil it. “Yes. We had a very nice time.”

  Pulling her against his chest, he snaked his arms about her waist. “You could make my birthday extra special, angel. You know that, don’t you?”

  She nodded mutely, knowing exactly what he was referring to, and wondering why she just didn’t let him have what he wanted. It was what she wanted, too. To lie naked with Chance, feel his lips on her breasts and belly, to have him fill her with his masculinity . . .

  Yes, it was definitely what she wanted.

  His kiss was slow and gentle, sending delicious shivers of desire coursing through her and reaffirming her need for him. Wrapping her arms about his neck, she pressed herself to him, delving her tongue into his mouth, tasting and touching and wanting their kiss never to end.

  Moaning deep in his throat, Chance forced himself to step back. “You’ll unman me, angel, if you continue kissing me like you want me.” He watched the conflicting emotions play across her face like words on newsprint, clear and easy to read.

  “I do want you, Chance, more than you’ll ever know. But I’m just not sure . . .”

  “You think too much. Just let your body speak for you. It knows what you want.” Her breasts knew, for her nipples hardened instantly at his touch. The very core of her knew, for it was dewy with need. Her heart knew, for it was bursting with the love she felt for him.

  “Come with me,” he said, leading her to the far corner of the room where an old cot stood waiting.

  She went, knowing that if she was going to object, now was the time to do it. But no words of protest came forth.

  It was time. She knew it. Her body knew it. Her heart knew it.

  Having made the momentous decision, she lay down on the ticking and waited for him to follow. Her smile was anxious, his overjoyed.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Because I want you to be sure. And I also want you to know that I haven’t been with anyone else since you came into my life, angel.” He caressed her cheek. “Other women don’t seem to interest me anymore.”

  Stunned and delighted by the revelation, Laurel was filled with renewed hope that Chance did love her; she nodded, unable to find the words to tell him just how sure she was, or how much she loved him.

  Not giving her the opportunity to change her mind, Chance’s fingers went to the copper buttons on his jeans, unfastening them with a dexterity that surprised Laurel.

  His fingers were long, tanned, and lean, much like the rest of him, and they fascinated her whenever she watched him deal cards or roll dice. The same fingers that could efficiently feel the nicks in a marked deck could also explore and bring exquisite moments of pleasure. She swallowed hard at the memory.

  Those fingers were at the moment making short work of unbuttoning her dress and untying her drawers. “You won’t regret this, angel,” Chance said in a seductively soothing voice as he settled down next to her. “I promise.”

  Laurel wanted to believe that with all her heart and soul, but the fact remained that she was gambling her love on a gambling man.

  None of that mattered at the moment, however. Only Chance’s fingers massaging her hardened nipples, his lips and tongue ravishing her mouth, the hot skin of his bare chest pressing against her own, mattered.

  Regret might come later. And so
might tears. But now there was only pleasure. There was only Chance.

  His hands and mouth were everywhere, on her sensitive swollen nipples, suckling the hardened nubs, sliding down her taut belly to tease, taste, and tantalize. To devour the very essence of her being.

  “Chance,” she whispered, grasping his head between her hands, urging him to continue the delicious torment his tongue inflicted. “Oh, God! Please!”

  “You’re almost ready, angel,” he said, easing himself over her as his fingers parted her swollen nether lips, then slid in to ready her for their coupling. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

  Absorbed in their pleasure, neither heard the frantic pounding on the door or the shouts of “Chance? Miss Laurel?” But as the caller grew more insistent, his voice louder, and they finally heard him shout, “Bertha sent me to fetch you,” lips parted, hands stilled, and heads turned toward the door.

  Laurel moaned. Chance groaned, then let out a string of expletives. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he said as he rolled off of her.

  “I don’t think so, Chance. It sounds like Whitey.”

  He looked at her, cursed again, then began putting on his clothes.

  Her fingers flying, Laurel began refastening ribbons and buttons. “What if he comes in and finds us like this?”

  “It’s all right, angel,” he said, kissing her cheek and sighing with a great deal of frustration. “He won’t. I’ve taught Whitey that it isn’t polite to enter a room without an invitation.”

  Regret plastered Laurel’s face. “I guess we’d better get back to the party.”

  “I guess,” he agreed, but his lips managed to find hers once more and for a moment they lost themselves in each other again. “Someday we’re going to finish what we started, angel. But I guess it’s not going to be today.” But it had to be soon, or he’d die from want of her.

  Flooded with disappointment and an ache so keen that rational thought was impossible, Laurel wanted to shout, to insist that the day wasn’t over yet. But she couldn’t make her lips say what her mind so brazenly thought.