The fan snapped open as Dillon dragged Skippy away, and Lia covered her mouth. “A forward-thinking man, are you?”
“I don’t know about that, Miss Lia.”
“Madam or Madam Lia, if you please…?” Trailing off, she waited for him to introduce himself.
“Where are my manners?” Doc smiled. “I’m Doc, Doc Holyday.”
Lia studied him intently. “The Spring would have you— they only accept humans under their roof. I don’t exclude people because of their heritage. Everyone is welcome at the Lily. The room is a dime a day and includes laundry and a single meal.”
Doc pulled a silver dollar from his pocket. “For the week. Two meals, drinks while I stay, a bath when requested, plus the laundry?”
Lia nodded, “I accept, but if you drink too much, I will cut you off.”
Doc slid the silver to her. “Agreed. Thank you, Madam.”
“Fiala, take our guest to room twenty.”
“Yes, Madam Lia,” Fiala said. “Follow me, sir.”
“Oh, one more thing,” Doc asked. “Do you happen to know who the healer in town is?”
“You mean Doctor Whittaker?” Lia asked.
“Probably. Where is he located?”
“To the east one street and down four buildings,” Lia replied. “He will cost you a good amount. He dislikes working on… some.”
“He’s the only one in town?”
“The only licensed healer,” Lia said. “Old Maid Henrick is the town alchemist. It’s said she can cure the simplest of ailments. Healing without a license can get one in trouble.”
“Thank you,” Doc said, picking up his hat but keeping it in hand.
“Good day,” Lia said, her fan moving slowly in front of her mouth.
Following Fiala had his mind wandering a bit; the dark gray tail that swished from side to side, coming out of a slit in her skirt, caught his eye. He saw her speculative gaze when they got to the third floor.
“If you need anything, I’m more than happy to lend a hand,” Fiala smiled as she led him down the hall.
“I can’t say I’m not intrigued, Fiala, but today, I think I need to get my bearings. That’s hard to do when my brain’s been scrambled.”
Fiala’s smile grew, “Oh. Well, that is a good point, but I’ve always thought a good tumble helps one relax.”
Doc chuckled, “Direct, aren’t you?”
“Want to make sure you know that I’m willing, especially before the others see you and try to cut in.”
“What if I give you my word that if I feel that need, I’ll find you first?”
“I accept your word, sir. Try not to keep me waiting too long, though, hmm?” She gave him a good once-over as she opened a door to the last room on the third floor. “This will be your room.”
“Thank you, Fiala. Will you have someone bring me a glass of something to drink? I need to get my things organized and it’s going to take me a bit.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you,” Doc said, pausing in shutting the door to watch her leave. He gave her a knowing smile when she caught him watching her.
He exhaled when he closed the door. She might be forward, but she is cute as hell. The single long canine that just pokes out above her bottom lip… Doc sighed as he put that train of thought aside.
Dropping his bag on the uncovered bed, he unzipped it and started to inventory what he had. He had just finished putting his clothes into the chest at the foot of the bed when there was a knock on his door.
When he opened it, Fiala was there with a pitcher and two mugs. “Didn’t know I needed two mugs,” Doc chuckled.
Fiala hesitated for a moment before she replied, “I figured a man such as yourself would like company while he drinks.”
Doc chuckled, “Insistent on keeping me company? Well, I do have a hard time denying beautiful women. Please come in, Fiala.”
Fiala’s cheeks tinged a little pink at his words and at his manners as he stepped aside to let her in. “I don’t mean to bother, it—”
Doc shut the door behind her, cutting her off by speaking over her, “I doubt you’d bother me at any point. However, I’m getting the feeling it’s not just the usual business that has you so forward.”
Fiala didn’t look at him as she put the pitcher and mugs down. “Never had someone do that for me before. He wasn’t completely wrong... I mean, I—”
“He was wrong,” Doc cut her off. “You’re clean, honest, and there is nothing wrong about doing what’s needed to survive.”
Fiala’s hand trembled as she poured the beer into the mugs. “You don’t think we should be ashamed of what we do?”
“No. The only thing someone should be ashamed of is giving up on life.” Doc moved over to the chest and pushed the rest of his bag into it, shutting the lid. “I’ve had hardships, moments when it would have been much easier to just give up and let life slip away.”
“But you didn’t?”
“I’m here, instead,” Doc chuckled, “putting one foot in front of the other. It’s the hardest thing to do at times, but every bad moment passes if you keep pushing.”
“You make it sound easy,” Fiala said softly.
When he turned to face her, she had her back to him, still looking down at the mugs. “It’s anything but easy. Why don’t you sit and we’ll have that drink? You can tell me about the town. I’m sure you know things that I would need to know.”
“Maybe a thing or two,” Fiala said, shifting to take the single chair in the room. She fidgeted as she sat and took a pull on her mug.
Doc moved over to the table and picked up his mug. Stepping back to the bed, he took a seat on the edge of it. “You have my undivided attention,” he told her with a gentle smile.
Chapter Four
The pitcher stood empty and Fiala had gone back to smiling and meeting his gaze. “Thank you for sitting with me for a bit, Fiala,” Doc said, “but I’m sure you should have been trying to drum up business, right?”
Fiala nodded, “Yes. Madam said that it was okay to stay with you for a couple of hours since you overpaid for the week.”
“Ah. Tips are kept by you though, right?”
“Yes, but you don’t need to do that.”
Pulling out a couple of copper pennies, he handed them over to her. “I really do appreciate you taking the time to talk with me.”
“But I didn’t do anything…” Fiala said, reaching out slowly for the coppers.
“Information is a type of power and now, I have more than when I showed up.”
“Well, if you say so.” She accepted the pennies, slipping them into a small pouch on her waist.
“Now, I need to see about making some money,” Doc said and set his empty mug on the table. “What do I do with these empties?”
“You can leave them in the hall. One of the helpers will pick them up. Umm, aren’t you going to air out the bedding?”
Doc looked back at the bed. The bedding was lying folded in the middle of the mattress, just as it had been in the chest, where it had been in his way. “I knew I was forgetting something,” Doc chuckled.
“If you want, I can handle it for you,” Fiala said. “It’d make me feel better about the tip.”
“If you feel the need, go ahead,” Doc said, stepping away from the bed.
Fiala stepped around him and quickly made the bed. While she did that, Doc put the pitcher and mugs in the hall beside his door. Stepping back into the room, he eyed Fiala bent over the bed, fixing the blanket with her tail lazily drifting side to side.
I still need to see if using healing hands is obvious when it’s being used or not. As much as I’d like to see more of her, she is still a prostitute, and I’d like to make sure she’s not carrying things I’d catch. Doc smiled when Fiala looked back and saw him watching her.
“Maybe you want a little more than just the talk?” Fiala asked. She stayed bent over the bed, her tail twitching a little faster.
“You make a
compelling offer,” Doc chuckled. “Nearly irresistible, in fact, but I do need to make some more money before I let myself get too distracted.”
Fiala’s smile slipped and she stood up. “I understand.” Without saying more, she left the room, clearly upset at being rejected again.
Doc closed the door behind her and exhaled deeply. Going over to the chest, he finished unpacking his things. There was a knife inside, making him smile, and he set it and a clean cloth aside. Once he was finished getting everything sorted, he closed the chest and took a seat on the bed.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled the knife from its sheath and looked at the edge. “Sharp enough,” Doc muttered after testing the edge. “This isn’t stupid,” he assured himself as he put the knife over his left pinkie and the cloth under his hand.
Breathing in, he cut his finger, hissing out in pain as blood welled up. After wiping the knife on the cloth, he set it aside and focused on the cut. Come on, spell-thing... work, he thought.
A soft green glow enveloped his hands, and the cut on his finger closed a moment later. Exhaling, he used the cloth to wipe at the blood. The cut was closed with only a dim scar left behind where it had been. As he rolled his hand over, he noted the bruises from slugging Skippy were gone as well.
“Okay, it works, but it’s visible and leaves scars,” Doc sighed, glad it had worked. “Hm... do I want to see about getting a license to heal or do I want to hit the card table first? I probably have enough for a license, but I might not.” He wavered on which way to go for a moment. “Let’s build the bankroll some, first. I have Lilly on my side, so I should have a good chance to win.”
Looking out the window, he could see the sun was on its way to the horizon. “It should start getting busy soon. Might as well go get a good feel for where I’m hanging my hat.” He left his hat on the hook behind the door and stepped into the hall.
“Excuse me, sir,” a soft voice said.
Looking down, there was a young girl with rabbit ears looking up at him. “Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he stepped aside.
Pitcher and mugs in her hands, the girl gave him an innocent smile. “Thank you.” Her step had a small bounce to it as she headed for the stairs.
Obviously part of the cleaning staff. I wonder if she’s related to one of the women? Doc mused as he walked behind her.
Pausing at the base of the stairs, he met the gaze of the few men that looked his way. Hmm, already more people here, Doc thought. As he made his way toward the card table, he did his best to mentally mark the dozen men in the room and the rabbit-eared saloon girl, who was picking up a drink order from the bar.
The one card table in use had five players and Dillon, who was dealing the hand. Pulling one of the seats out, he gave the men at the table a friendly nod before sitting. “You all don’t mind if I join, I hope?”
“As long as you don’t mind losing,” one of the men laughed.
Doc saw the stack of coins in front of the man and smiled. “It’s all part of the game, isn’t it? Some you win, some you lose.”
“You ain’t from ‘round here, is ya?” one of the others asked.
“Just arrived,” Doc said as he pulled a silver from his pocket. “Dealer, can you make change?”
Dillon nodded. “Yeah.” Looking over at the bar, he shouted, “Westin, need change for a dollar.”
“Be right there,” the bartender said, continuing to fill a drink order for the saloon girl.
“Where you from?” another player asked as Dillon moved the pot to the winner.
“A long ways off,” Doc chuckled.
“You’ll have to ante when your coin gets here,” Dillon said as he shuffled.
“That’s fair. I am the new man at the table, after all,” Doc said. “What’s the game?”
“Stud 1-3-1,” Dillon said.
“Been a bit since I played that one,” Doc said. “I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”
“Your coin, sir,” a soft voice announced from behind him.
“Thank you,” Doc smiled at the saloon girl.
Giving him a professional smile, she looked at the table. “Drinks?”
Two of them asked for another round and Doc asked for a whiskey.
“Ante up,” Dillon said.
Doc tossed a penny into the middle of the table. Dillon collected it and dropped it in the coffer attached to the table. “Good luck, gentlemen,” he said before burning a card, then dealing around the table.
Doc didn’t react to the burned card, even though it wasn’t something that he had ever seen to start a hand of stud. The first card was facedown, and Doc peeked to find the queen of hearts. The second card came around faceup, giving him the two of hearts.
The cards were a little different than what he was used to, made on a thick stock and with sharp, pointed corners. The suits were the same, but the face card he had been dealt was different. This queen was elven and instead of holding a flower in her left hand, she was wielding a pistol. The other main difference was it wasn’t the usual split bust, but a single figure from the knees up.
“Since I got the ace showing, we’ll respect it,” the man with the most money chuckled, pushing five pennies forward. The man’s card was the ace of spades and, while it had the emblem on the card, there was a rifle across the top of it.
The next two men folded, bringing the bet to Doc. “My poor deuce feels threatened, but he’s a stubborn cuss.” Chuckling, Doc called the bet, pushing a nickel forward.
One of the remaining two men called. Dillon pulled the money together before burning the next card. With that done, he tapped the table and sent faceup cards to the three men still in the hand.
Doc’s face remained neutral when the queen of diamonds slid in front of him. His opponent with the ace picked up a three. Doc chuckled internally at the diamond queen; it depicted a dwarven female holding a shotgun in her hands.
“Five again,” the bettor said.
“Call,” Doc replied.
The last man in looked between them. His faceup cards were a ten of diamonds and the nine of spades. After a moment, he sighed and pushed his coins forward.
Dillon collected the money before burning the top card, tapping the table, and giving them each a third faceup card. The man with the ace got the ace of diamonds, which had a shotgun across the diamond. Doc picked up a two, and the last man picked up an eight.
“That should about do it,” the bettor laughed. “Rifle and shotgun are worth a dime.”
Doc paused as he considered the odds. Five cards would give him a better hand than I have. The other guy has the chance at a straight, as well… One more card left to go.
“Bet is a dime to you, sir,” Dillon said, looking at Doc.
“So it is,” Doc replied. “Raise. Make it a quarter.” He pushed a good chunk of his coins forward.
“A quarter to you, Edward,” Dillon said.
The man with the possible straight stared at Doc. “That’s a lot of faith in either that queen or those twos.”
“I do love the ladies,” Doc smirked. “Lady Luck is my favorite lady.”
“Too rich,” Edward sighed as he mucked his cards.
“I was afraid you’d back out,” the first man snickered. “Let’s just make it a half dollar.”
Everyone at the table looked at Doc.
“I’m fine with that,” Doc said. Pushing the money forward, he felt a twinge of doubt. What if my old luck isn’t gone? He managed to keep his face impassive, but the worry started to gnaw at him.
“Last one is down and dirty,” Dillon said after he collected the coin. Burning the next card, he tapped the table and dealt each of them a facedown card.
Doc checked the card and saw the two of diamonds staring back at him. A full house, deuces over queens. Unless he’s got another ace and a three, pocket aces, or pocket threes, he can’t beat my hand.
“You got thirty-nine left on the table,” the man said. “Let’s make it that.” Counting out the money, he push
ed it to Dillon.
“Didn’t think my dollar would get used so fast,” Doc said.
“Your drink, sir.”
“Thank you,” Doc said, taking the shot glass, downing it, and handing it back. He coughed once as the cheap liquor burned his throat. “Now that’s liquid courage.”
“It’s thirty-nine to you,” Dillon prompted Doc gently.
“Call,” Doc said, putting the last of his dollar forward.
Suited for Luck Page 3
