Emily sighed, wishing she could hold the man who was keeping himself a few infuriating inches away from her. “Tomorrow’s Friday. Miss Victoria usually shops first thing in the morning, to prepare for the weekend.”
“And most of the girls will be sleeping then. We should be at the Rose bright and early.”
“We?” She looked up into his handsome face, unable to read it.
“You bring Zenia, and then keep Donahue distracted while I slip in the back way. I’m guessing he won’t give her much time before he goes after her, and I’ll be ready for him.”
Emily frowned. “Sounds like an ambush.”
“Just a precaution.” Matt grinned boyishly. “Lucky for us Zenia’s room adjoins Gracie’s.”
“Who?”
“Grace Putnam—Princess Cherry Blossom,” he explained. “She’s been trying to get me up there for weeks, and now she’ll have her way with me.”
The sparkle in his clear blue eyes told Emily not to jump to any jealous conclusions. She ran a finger along the virile shadow of his jawline. “Why’re you getting involved in this, McClanahan? I mean, besides the fact that you and the Princess are such, uh, good friends.”
He brushed her lips with his and forced himself to let her go. “You’ll have to trust me on that one, rosebud. Leave the front door unlocked. I’ll be in after Silas is home and everyone’s in bed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Emily’s head felt as thick as the fingers of autumn fog curling around her feet while she and Zenia walked toward the Golden Rose. The girl beside her was silent and apprehensive, which gave Emily a chance to plan how she’d sidetrack Clancy Donahue.
A familiar bay gelding stood at a hitching post on Fourth Street, so Emily sped up. “Come on, Zenia. Better not keep McClanahan waiting.”
The girl clutched Emily’s shawl closer, sighing as she walked faster.
“It’ll work out, I promise,” she said softly. “What’re you going to tell Victoria?”
Zenia took several more steps before she answered. “I ain’t sure. Prayed on it all night, but seein’s how the Lord let me live to face it, I guess Miz Chatterly’ll just hear whatever comes out.”
“She’ll probably be there. It’s awfully early to do her shopping.”
“Yeah.”
The Rose stood proudly ahead of them, its ivory sides glistening with dew as the first rays of the sunrise lit the sky. Unlike its neighbors, the house was centered on a grassy lot, which gave the brothel an air of grandeur Emily wasn’t sure it deserved. The ladies were expensively dressed and they catered to a wealthy clientele, yet it was the same business girls conducted in the dingy cribs along Poverty Gulch. Sordid, Clancy had called it, and for once Emily thought he was right.
The parlor was hushed and dim when they entered, and no one was behind the bar. Emily gave Zenia a quick hug. “Go on up to your room now. I’ll tell Miss Victoria you’re here.”
The young girl nodded and hurried quietly up the stairway. The aromas of bacon and coffee drifted in from the kitchen, and the cook was humming, but otherwise the place was steeped in a rare, peaceful sleepiness. Emily went down the hall and knocked quietly on Miss Victoria’s door.
“She’s gone to the hairdresser’s.”
She turned to see Clancy balancing a wooden crate on one shoulder as he came up from the cellar. He looked shaggy and uncombed, like a bison that hadn’t slept well.
“Did you bring Zenia?” he asked gruffly.
“She’s as good as her word.”
Donahue grunted. “What about LeFevre?”
“Josh went home. He’ll show up when he’s supposed to.” She followed him toward the bar, and when he crouched behind it to pry the nails from the whiskey crate, Emily glanced down the long hallway. There was no sign of McClanahan.
What should she do? After threatening the bartender with a gun last night, she couldn’t just stand here watching him. Emily emptied the ashtrays and brushed pastry crumbs from the tables with efficient hands, and then she crossed the parlor to pour the debris into the fireplace. McClanahan still wasn’t at the back door.
After tidying the bathing suite, Emily was getting nervous. The ladies would be waking up soon, and if she were cleaning upstairs—as Clancy would expect her to be—she couldn’t watch for Matt. She stood beside the bar, where she had a view of the door if she leaned back slightly. What she was about to do was no more a lie than pretending she was Eliza —and that role was surprisingly easy for her now—yet the words
dragged in her throat.
“I…I got a little carried away last night,” she mumbled. “Ladies don’t solve their problems by pointing a gun at people.”
Clancy gave her a guarded glance from under the bar, where he was positioning new bottles of whiskey, but he didn’t say anything.
Emily shifted her weight. “I guess you were only doing your job,” she continued. “We wouldn’t have much of a business if our girls just stayed long enough to latch on to a new wardrobe.”
A hint of a gruff smile showed beneath his rust-colored beard. He studied her with pale green eyes that were as sly as a cat’s. “You sayin’ you’re sorry?”
She refused to apologize, and had to clench her jaw not to tell him so. “I—I was too busy taking Zenia’s side to understand yours,” Emily replied quickly. “Things have happened awfully fast lately, and I can’t seem to control my temper.” And you’re not helping matters, McClanahan. Where ARE you?
When Clancy looked into his crate again, she peeked down the hallway. At last! Matt was cautiously stepping inside the back door, questioning her with raised eyebrows. Emily flashed him a thumbs-up, and walked behind the bar. She let her skirts brush Clancy’s backside, and pretended to be extremely interested in a set of decanters on the opposite end of the counter.
“Pretty early to be drinkin’, little girl.” The bartender placed the last bottle of whiskey on the shelf, eyeing her warily.
“Oh, I’m not! Just looking at these decanters. We—we have such pretty things here at the Rose.” Emily swallowed. Could he see how her hands were shaking as she fingered the etched crystal?
Donahue straightened to his full height, hitching his trousers up. “You’re either up to somethin’, or you’re tryin’ to make amends, Emily. Which is it?”
When he stepped toward her, she forced her gaze to remain locked into his. “Well, I—I could’ve shot somebody. Papa would’ve been appalled at my behavior last night.” As she widened her eyes at the barkeep, Emily caught a glimpse of Matt tiptoeing by, carrying his boots. He winked at her, and he was fighting a laugh.
Clancy leaned against the counter, letting his eyes linger on her bosom. “Your daddy raised you to be a lady, darlin’ And ladies shouldn’t concern themselves with anythin’ but marryin’ a good man and bearin’ his children. You thought any more about that?”
She felt the edge of the bar against her back, and her head was pounding. And there was McClanahan pausing on the stairs to watch her humiliate herself!
“A girl thinks about those things every day,” Emily hedged. Clancy was getting closer, enjoying her agony, judging from the glitter in his eyes.
“Then you’d be smart to forget about McClanahan,” he replied. “He comes on like a big hero, but he’ll run like a rabbit when people start suspecting he’s a fraud.”
“Wh—what do you mean?”
Clancy rested his huge hands on her shoulders, his gaze roving over her face and neck. “I think he’s the killer you’re lookin’ for. You made a big mistake hirin’ him, darlin’—gave him too much access to your daddy’s records and properties. If you want me to show him up for the crook he is, you just let me know.”
Fiendish pleasure was glowing in the bouncer’s eyes, and Emily tried to look away without being too obvious. McClanahan was gone. It was time to change the subject, without arousing Clancy’s suspicions. “Would—would you explain something else?” she asked quickly.
He blinked, then continued
kneading her shoulders. “Like what?”
Emily gave him her shyest smile, ducking out from under his arms. “Well, yesterday when Zenia came down the stairs, all the men looked at her like she was…special.”
“Honey, she’s a nigger” he said with a snort. “Even if she was ugly as sin, most men would pay extra because
they don’t get her exotic kind of nectar on a regular basis. That’s not the sort of thing ladies speculate about, Emily.”
“I just wanted to know.” She was facing the stairs now, wondering how to get up them without the bartender following her. “I mean, you claim you want to marry me, yet you look at Zenia as though you want to…” Too late Emily realized she may have put her colored friend into more danger. When Clancy pressed himself against her, a stiff ridge prodded at the small of her back.
“That’s the way it is with a man, darlin’,” he murmured against her ear. “Just thinkin’ about a woman…what she’ll do to him with her private parts, is all it takes to make him want her. And right now, I’m thinkin’ about you, little girl.”
Sickened, Emily pulled away. “Clancy, please—some of the ladies might see—”
“Why would they care? They all get their turn.” He chuckled, reaching around her to squeeze her breasts. “Why, some of ‘em might even want to help. This isn’t a place where innocence can survive for very long, darlin’.”
“Stop it! Let me go!” she demanded. She heard the sleeve of her uniform tear as she jerked out of his grasp.
Clancy laughed, a wicked chuckle that made her in-sides shrivel. “So you’ve kept it away from McClanahan—or maybe he’s not man enough to take it. He never seems interested in the women here, who all but throw themselves at him. That’s odd, Emily. Real odd, you know?”
Emily glared at him and backed out from behind the bar. Reeling with revulsion, she hurried down the hall and slammed the pantry door behind her. She couldn’t stay here long—Clancy would either find her, or head upstairs to vent his passions on Zenia—but she had to have time to think, time to put a plan together before all her efforts to protect the young girl fell apart.
McClanahan knocked quietly on Grace Putnam’s door. “You awake, Princess? Open up—it’s Matt.”
“Forget it. I’m busy,” came the brusque reply.
McClanahan scowled; he hadn’t thought about her having an overnight customer. “It’s important. I need a favor, and I’m in a hurry.”
Grace’s laugh was humorless. “Do it yourself, then. I don’t like rush jobs.”
Chuckling, he gripped the doorknob. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll pay the other guy for the rest of his time. Or if he isn’t ready to go yet—”
“That’s not the problem. Come back in half an hour.”
He didn’t dare wait that long, and the last thing he wanted was to attract attention here in the hallway. Matt opened the door just wide enough to slip into her room.
Grace gasped, then glared at him. “Dammit, McClanahan, is nothing sacred?” With a pointed glance at his fly she added, “You don’t look desperate to me.”
“What in the hell are you…” She was nude, sitting on the floor beside her bed, holding a bottle and a wet, red-brown rag. One of her legs was noticeably darker than the other.
“So much for Cherry Blossom’s Indian secrets,” Grace muttered. “How do you think I keep myself from looking like those other palefaces?”
Matt set his boots down. He crouched beside her, shaking his head as he read the label on her bottle. “Mahogany stain? I suppose you dye your hair, too.”
“So? We weren’t all blessed with Little Yellow Hair’s natural beauty, McClanahan.”
Her tone was tough, but he realized he’d found another of Grace Putnam’s vulnerable spots. Gently, Matt lifted her long raven hair so she could see to rub the stain on her other leg. “You’re one of the best-looking women I know, Grace. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I enjoy a little mystique as much as the next man.”
“Right. That’s why you keep me so busy I don’t have time to see anyone else. So make yourself useful—do my backside.” Without waiting for a reply, Grace shoved the bottle and rag into his hands and then twisted her hair into a coil, which she held against her head.
Her back curved gracefully down to a slender waist, and Matt realized he’d gotten himself into a hell of a spot. Grace’s skin was soft and warm, and she relaxed as he began to stroke the liquid over her spine and shoulder blades. “Who usually does this for you?” he murmured.
“Darla. I give her a new tattoo now and then.”
He chuckled, then sat flat on the floor with his legs on either side of her. As he rubbed the stain in slow, even strokes, Grace leaned forward and let go of her hair. Her bottom was long and rather flatter than he liked, but as she brushed her shapely legs against his he found himself overlooking that minor flaw. “I, uh, came up here for a different sort of a favor, Grace “
She sighed. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”
“It concerns Zenia Collins. Victoria asked me to watch out for her, because it seems Clancy misrepresented her age and experience.”
“She ran out on Stokes, didn’t she? I wondered why Donahue was nastier than usual last night.” Grace turned to look at him, her dark eyes serious.
“She went home with Eliza. Then Clancy showed up—found her there with Josh—and his mood didn’t improve any when Eliza ordered him to leave,” Matt replied. “Pick up your hair, so I can do your neck.”
“Zenia has no business being here. Though I suppose Clancy fed her a few lines too.” She arched her back with a throaty giggle, pointing her elbows toward the ceiling as he daubed the stain behind her ears. “For a celibate, you’ve got damn fine hands, McClanahan.”
“Who said I was celibate?”
“Aha. It’s Eliza, isn’t it?” Grace rose onto her knees and turned to face him, a sly smile shining in her eyes. “Do my arms now, and then my front.”
“But you can reach—”
“If you’re going to use my room, you’ll have to follow my rules.” Grace shook her hair over her shoulders with a low laugh, and extended one arm until her hand rested on his shoulder. “After all, what’re friends for?”
Matt sucked in his breath. Her ebony hair and brown skin gave her a savage aura which appealed to his sense of adventure, and he had the feeling Grace did indeed know a few tricks that weren’t in the average woman’s repertoire. “If something happens next door, well hear it, won’t we?” he asked in a strained voice.
“The walls are like paper, dear. Adds to the atmosphere when you hear springs creaking on both sides of you.” She cast a seductive glance down the front of him and reached for his top button. “Maybe we shouldn’t get stain on this nice shirt.”
“I don’t think you ought to—”
“Wait in Zenia’s room, then. If Clancy comes up, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you in there.”
McClanahan turned his attention to the slender arm in front of him. It was firm without being muscled, and by the time he’d covered it with mahogany stain, Grace was ruffling the hair on his chest with her other hand. He held his breath—was that Zenia’s door that just opened and shut? “Other arm now,” he rasped.
Muffled voices came through the wall, and Grace was listening, too. “Can’t tell who it is…could be Victoria checking on her,” she murmured. Her eyes were a piercing ebony and her nostrils quivered. “Put this stuff down, McClanahan. You’re driving me crazy.”
Before he could protest, she rocked him backward and landed between his legs. Matt set the stain an arm’s length away, then gently gripped her shoulders. “Gracie, I may have to leave very suddenly.”
“Come on, McClanahan. I’d give up a day’s pay to spend just an hour making love to you” she whispered hoarsely. She placed feverish kisses on his mouth and eyelids before running the tip of her tongue inside his ear. “You want it, too. You’re hard as a rock.”
“Damn you—” She was wr
ithing against him like an impassioned snake, her breasts warm and loose against his bare chest.
“I knew you wanted me, Matt,” she said in a husky, triumphant voice. “You won’t regret it—I’ve forgotten more about pleasing a man than Eliza will ever know.”
Emily’s face flashed before him and McClanahan came to his senses. Then he realized that the noise he heard wasn’t Grace’s knees bumping the floor—it was coming from the next room. “Let me up,” he groaned.
“McClanahan, you—”
“Listen! Something just hit the wall in there.”
When Grace rose up, he rolled onto his side and gave her a gentle shove. “Those footsteps are too heavy to be a woman’s. Put a robe on—see if Victoria’s back.”
She scowled and swore at him, but she went to her door and took a scarlet satin wrapper off the peg. Matt pressed his ear to the wall and listened intently.
Nothing. Then he heard plaintive whimpers followed by a smack and a string of mumbled curses. The voice was low and threatening, unmistakably Donahue’s. Something bumped against the other wall…had he propped a chair under the doorknob?
McClanahan pulled his boots on and shooed Grace into the hall ahead of him. “Hurry,” he whispered. “I may need somebody to keep Zenia out of his reach.”
He waited until she was downstairs, then took a running jump from across the hall. His feet landed squarely against Zenia’s door, splintering it and shoving Clancy’s barricade aside. The redheaded bartender was stripped to the waist, his hairy belly hanging low as he leaned over the bed. When Donahue whirled around, Matt saw that he’d tied the young girl’s wrists to the spindles of the brass headboard. Zenia wasn’t moving.
“You goddamn—” Donahue lunged toward him, but McClanahan sidestepped.
“I’d say you’re the one who’s damned,” Matt snarled. “Couldn’t take a warning. Had to go from bad to worse.”
Clancy recovered his balance and came at him again. “You should keep your nose out of my business, McClanahan,” he snapped. “I might just make you into mincemeat.”
Colorado Captive Page 14
