Just then, Lucille popped back in. “Where should I put these?” She had her bags with her.
“Hold on,” he said to Jo and went outside to the railing. “Ben,” he hollered.
His right-hand man appeared on the deck below.
“Show Lucille to Rachel’s old cabin.” Jameson called down. Ben nodded. “Just go down those steps,” Jameson told Lucille. “He’ll get you settled.”
“Thank you,” she said, staring right into his eyes with nothing that resembled gratitude. Puzzlement reverberated through him. What was with Miss Strong? Still, as long as she crooned for his customers, she could be as odd as she liked.
“You’ll be stationed in the lower-deck gaming room tonight. The one right below us. Ask Ben to give you a dress and a feather for your hair.” He turned away, making certain she knew their discussion was over.
There was Jo, watching everything carefully.
“Do you have time to talk now?” Jo asked him, a tart tone to her voice.
“Yup, nothing going on till dusk.”
“I took a chance you’d have some time. Pete should be here any moment.”
“Both of you?” Jameson said. So it really was all business, and he was hoping...
“Of course,” Jo said. “He’s my partner.”
“Let’s sit down while we wait. Can I get you a drink?” Jameson offered.
“Not this time,” she said.
Immediately, memories of their previous encounter and their kiss flooded his brain. He’d barely thought of anything else since—except wanting to do it again.
Before he could pull out a chair for her, she took a seat. He thought she looked different than usual, a little weary, a little worried.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
“You heard about the fire, no doubt.”
“I heard the bells,” he paused, then his heart skipped a beat as the awful truth sank in. “Don’t tell me—”
“It was my place,” she said.
“God, Jo, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
“Evidently,” she said.
“Anyone hurt?” He thought of her pretty ladies who slept upstairs, and blonde Madeleine whom a man had died over.
“No. We all got out. And Pete lives at home, on the southern side of Keokuk. My ladies were awakened by rapping on their doors around the time the fire started. That’s what they told me.”
“And you?”
“And I wasn’t,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “But luckily, the alarm bells woke me. I climbed out my window.”
“Damn,” he swore softly. “I’m truly sorry. Is the saloon salvageable?”
She shook her head. “We retrieved a few things yesterday. Some glasses, the taps, and an ugly painting that just won’t go away.”
He liked her dry humor, but he could tell she was hurting. Just then footsteps sounded on the outer stairs and Pete Carlisle appeared.
Jameson stood and welcomed him to their table, shaking the bartender’s hand. “Sorry about the fire. I just heard.”
Pete shrugged, flipped a chair around backward and straddled it. “Bad luck is all. We’d had a good run. Maybe it was our turn.”
Jo looked as though she didn’t quite agree.
“I hear you have a business proposition for me,” Jameson prompted.
Pete looked at Jo, who nodded for him to explain. He tapped his fingers on the table while he spoke, “We plan to reopen but not in the same locale. There’s another place in Keokuk we like, but we need an investor.”
“I see.” Jameson wasn’t sure if he wanted the complication that would ensue from getting entangled with Jo’s business, right at the time he was trying to get entwined with her in other ways.
“Need seems like a strong word,” Jo said. “We could probably get it up and running with what money we have, but it would be tight, and we want the new saloon to be as nice as our old place.”
Jameson nodded. “So you want a loan?”
“Yes,” said Jo.
“No,” said Pete.
Jameson looked from one to the other. “Glad you two partners agree so easily.”
Jo spoke first. “I’d rather have a loan, low interest of course, and not have someone else wanting a share of profits. We pay you back and you’re done—clean and tidy.”
Pete shook his head. “And I’d rather not pay interest on a substantial loan, but I’d be willing to cut you in for a share. That way, if and when we profit, you do, too. Besides, you might have some good ideas. You run this place,” he added, glancing around the attractive gaming room, “and you know about our kind of business.”
Jo made a sound that was pure exasperation.
Jameson got up and walked to the bar. He didn’t really want a drink, but he needed a moment to think. Business was business, and he had no real connection to Pete or Jo, except for that persistent tug he felt whenever he thought of her. He poured a finger of whisky. “Anyone want anything?”
His two guests declined. They weren’t the sorriest creatures he’d ever seen, but he couldn’t imagine how he would feel if his boat burned, taking his livelihood and his home in one fell swoop. Poor Jo!
He downed the drink and walked back to the table.
“I think you both have good points, and I can compromise so you both get what you want. I can give you a loan that you can hold off paying back for a year or so until your showing a good profit. If I needed the money, I wouldn’t loan it in the first place. Pay it off like you would if I had a stake in your place with no interest. In any case, I have enough to do running this place, and I don’t need a share in yours.”
Jo pursed her lips, and he had a feeling she wasn’t thoroughly pleased.
“We don’t need charity,” she said.
Ah, that was it. Her pride was pricked.
“Just be thankful,” Pete advised, pinning his partner with a strained look.
“It’s not charity,” Jameson insisted. “It’s one business owner helping out others. Besides, I’ve always liked The Pork. Where will I go if you don’t rebuild?”
Pete smiled. “Miss Josephine has always made sure to have the prettiest gals.”
Jameson winced. He didn’t really want Jo thinking of him bedding her ladies right then. “I was talking about the excellent bar,” he corrected. “But speaking of your ‘gals,’ what will happen to them while you rebuild?”
“Don’t suppose you’re hiring?” Pete asked.
Jo stood up, and both men shot to their feet to join her. “Mr. Carter has just hired one more, so I doubt he has room for any of ours,” she surmised.
“You’re wrong,” Jameson said, still wondering if she was jealous over seeing Lucille in his arms. He rather hoped so though she had nothing to worry about in that regard. Jo was like a bottle of fine wine—red, of course—delectable, intense, earthy, complex, and naturally, full-bodied. Whereas Lucille was ice water. And even Jo’s ladies couldn’t compare to their madam. They were more like good-time moonshine. And he’d never cared for the after effects of moonshine.
“I need one more lady. But whether she goes back to you when you want her, that’ll be her decision. She might like it here better. As you know, the job is a little different.”
Pete and Jo exchanged a look, likely contemplating which of their girls would be happy not to have to entertain men in her room.
Jameson shrugged. “Just send me one who can dance and flirt. We’re all set with the singing for now.”
“That’s all right,” Pete said. “Even if we lose ‘em to your place for now, they’ll come back after The Pork is rebuilt. No one is better to work for or with than Miss Josephine.”
For the first time that day, Jameson saw her smile. “That’s very kind of you to say, Pete. I think we’ve taken up enough of Mr. Carter’s time.” She turned back to him, looking less tense than when she’d walked in. Still, Jameson’s fingers itched to rub her shoulders until she relaxed under his ministrations—and then kiss her into a complete f
renzy of passion.
She interrupted his thoughts. “I’ll send one of my girls over tomorrow.” Then she cocked her head. “We didn’t talk numbers, but I imagine you have a fair idea of the sum we’ll need to get the carpenters in and the tile layers. If I draft something up with our lawyer, I can drop it back by here in a day or so.”
Jameson nodded. “I was going to say that I could come by and pick it up, but I was thinking of Johnson Street. So where’s home for you now?”
“I’m at the Fairview Hotel,” she said.
He nodded, glad to have that tidbit of information as to where he could find her. It made him feel better somehow, knowing where she was. He wished he had a spare room he could offer her. Hell, he wished he could get her to stay in his cabin, but he knew she would turn him down flat.
Long after they’d gone, he was still considering how easily he’d made them a fool’s offer. Had he been too generous? Of course. And Ben would have something to say about it, that was for sure, something along the lines of how he’d been persuaded by a lovely face and a bustle, all right.
He walked out onto the deck and down the outer stairs, past the stationary red paddlewheel and onto the dock. He glanced back at his boat, unnamed when Stoddard had her and still unnamed nine months later. Everyone knew it as the place to gamble and be entertained in these parts. Didn’t need a name, but sometimes, Jameson pictured something painted in sharp black, maybe outlined in red or gold across her white hull. He just didn’t know what.
Then he forgot about his contemplations, as he realized that Lucille Strong was watching him through the small square window of her cabin. Before he could raise a hand to wave or even to read her expression, she turned away.
Back in her room at the hotel, Jo drew a deep breath and let it out again with a huff. Tension tightened her skin, making it feel a size too small, and she didn’t particularly wish to examine why. She knew she ought to return to Carter’s riverboat with the legal documents the next day, though she felt a definite hesitance that set her on edge. He’d been beyond reasonable; Pete was pleased, and the subsequent meeting with the lawyer had been perfectly painless.
So what’s eating at me? And then it came to her with a harsh twist in her gut. I don’t want to see that woman in his arms ever again.
Carter certainly wasn’t hers to lay claim to. He’d even bedded one or two of her girls before she became aware of who he was—or rather, of how he affected her—but they were her girls. Knowing how absolutely disinterested they were in their gentlemen clients, it hadn’t bothered her. Much.
That skinny brunette he’d hired was a different matter. She’d given Jo a strange stare that unnerved her, though of course, Jo had delivered an even better glower right back at her.
She paced the room to walk off the unfamiliar feelings. Then putting her hands on her hips, she shook her head at her own foolishness. She’d been used to seeing Carter on her own terms, on her territory—that was all. And of course, she’d never seen his hands on a stranger before. It wasn’t jealousy, she decided. She was simply unsettled by her new situation.
Descending to the lobby, she procured a piece of hotel stationary from the concierge. In a neat hand, she wrote Carter a note inviting him to come to the Fairview’s elegant restaurant mid-morning the next day to look over the lawyer’s papers. Then she tried to figure out what to do with herself.
At loose ends with no job and not even a home to tidy, Jo decided it was a good day to replenish her wardrobe lost to the flames. Then she’d pay a call on Pete’s wife; maybe she had some sewing Jo could help with. After all, she’d never been a lady of leisure. No wonder she was unsettled and tending to flights of fancy regarding her feelings for Carter. She couldn’t wait to start rebuilding The Pork.
The next morning, her eyes trekked repeatedly to the clock on the dining room’s mantle as the hands moved in excruciatingly small increments toward the time she’d suggested Carter should join her. At last, with half an hour to spare before his arrival, she returned to her room to freshen her appearance.
Regarding herself in the mirror attached to the bureau, Jo applied a touch of color to her lips, then brushed her hair out until it shone before twisting it into a chignon. Then she froze with the realization that she was taking painstaking measures to look appealing—for him! Did Carter think about that sensual kiss they’d shared, the one she relived whenever she thought of him?
It made no difference whether he did or not, she scolded herself, slamming the brush down on the top of the bureau. She could never become what she was not—an ordinary woman like the one who’d swayed in his arms the day before. Or like Emily Carlisle, content to bake tarts and birth babies.
Minutes later, seated at a table for two next to the window, Jo gazed outside and spied Carter strolling toward the hotel. Her insides did a quick turn at the sight of his striking countenance. Somehow he’d become the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, and practically overnight, too.
He disappeared from sight momentarily as he entered the hotel, then showed up at the restaurant’s open double doors, scanning the plushly carpeted room for her. She waved him over to her table and waited while he approached and sat down.
“How are you doing?” he asked, his gaze locked on her face. Suddenly, she was glad to have taken the time to arrange her hair and add her signature color to her lips.
“I’m fine. A little bored though,” she admitted, surprised by how self-conscious she felt beneath his unwavering regard.
“Nothing worse than a forced vacation, I suppose,” he drawled.
“Precisely. But by week’s end, workmen will be over there fixing up the new place,” she said, grabbing onto the neutral topic of business. Without that, what would she say that wouldn’t reveal her secret yearning where he was concerned? “Which brings me to this.” She slid the envelope with the documents across the table to him.
“All business,” he noted wryly, but not unkindly.
“I will go plum crazy if I don’t have my saloon to run, and soon,” she admitted.
“I admire that about you, Jo. Most women would be satisfied getting themselves a husband and having kids.”
Jo blinked. My, but that was rather forward of him. She didn’t know what to say so she said nothing, lowering her lashes to shield her feelings. Why would he assume that a normal home life wouldn’t satisfy her? He was correct, but still, it stung a little to know he didn’t think of her in terms of someone who could be a wife and mother—even though she’d been thinking those very same thoughts earlier.
“Before you know it,” he continued, “you’ll be ruling the roost again, I have no doubt.” He opened the envelope and started to read. She seized the opportunity to study his features, taking fascinated note of the tiny scar on his left cheekbone—the relic of a bar brawl, perhaps. The slight cleft in his chin drew her attention to the sensual curve of his lower lip. She had firsthand experience with that lip!
She could have stared at his face for hours, but he looked up suddenly, putting an end to her indulgence.
“Everything seems fine,” he said, with the hint of a smile. He reached out and took the pen that rested next to her hand, brushing her fingers as he did. He may as well have hit her with a sledgehammer for the way her heart jumped.
Their gazes locked for a moment, and she watched his smile spread and his golden brown eyes dance. It looked like a challenge. Still, she refused to look away. Dammit! She was Josephine Holland, not a simpering green girl. She would get her reactions under control if it was the last thing she did.
“Shall we head over to the bank now?” she asked him, as her breathing leveled out along with her pulse.
He narrowed his eyes, perhaps sensing her struggle, then he signed the papers.
And that was how she came to be walking along Main Street in the company of Jameson Carter. To her amazement, it wasn’t awkward at all, accompanying this man. He told her about a customer who’d nearly fallen overboard and then mad
e her laugh with another story of an outraged wife who found her husband in the middle of a losing streak.
“I’ve had to deal with a few outraged wives myself,” she admitted, “though obviously they’re angry over quite a different vice than gambling.”
He nodded. “I suppose you’re certain you want to own another saloon and not do something else?”
“Why would I—?”
The shot that reverberated in the air and split the tethering post next to Jo was followed by another one that sent pieces of the window frame beside her flying into the air. Before she could fathom what was happening, Carter grabbed her around the waist and hauled her into the haberdashery beside them, slamming the door.
Chapter Three
“G
et down,” Jameson shouted, pushing her to the floor beside him. His heart hammered in his chest at how closely Jo had come to being snatched from him by an unforeseen bullet.
“Who in the hell would be shooting at you?” she asked, her voice calm despite their situation.
“Me? I’m pretty sure those bullets were aimed at you.”
Jo shook her head, clearly doubting him. “That makes no sense.”
He said nothing more but levered himself up on his hands and craned his neck to peer out the shop window. Other pedestrians had ducked for cover, too, but now, everything was quiet. He would never be able to tell which window the shooter had fired from in order to chase him down, but he knew a rush of gratitude that whoever it was had piss-poor aim.
Jesus! He couldn’t imagine how he would be feeling if Jo had been shot dead next to him. Then he realized that he could imagine it all too easily, and his gut churned. He’d made a living with his gun, protecting people, trains, and shipments before he began working for Stoddard. And now that he was a legitimate businessman, he did not want to go back to that life ever again. For a moment, he considered whether Jo was right, however, and someone from his past was trying to take him down. If so, they’d failed today.
An Impassioned Redemption: A Defiant Hearts Novella Page 4
