by Alison Bruce
"You can leave the hunting to me."
After the meal, Jase pulled out the battered book he'd been reading and offered it to Marly.
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Sensing an unasked question, he added, "Many cowboys carry the Bible on the trail. I once met a man who carried Plutarch's Lives. I prefer Shakespeare."
"I didn't know this about you."
"Well, now you do." He closed his eyes, recalling Marly's earlier words. "Some folks enjoy killing."
He hoped that wasn't how she saw him. He didn't think of himself as a killer, but he couldn't deny that death was part of his stock in trade.
As he dozed off, he remembered the feel of Marly's body against his. He imagined taking her in his arms, pulling her close and devouring her with kisses.
Would she return those kisses or shy away from him?
Just past midnight, Jase woke to the smell of coffee. As he stretched, Marly glanced up from the book and gave him a warm smile.
Coffee, company and that smile sure beats waking up alone, he thought.
Then he tasted the coffee. Good God.
He didn't mean to be rude. The expression on his face was a natural reflex.
"It's not very good," she admitted, "but if you sip it slowly, I guarantee you won't fall asleep."
He nodded toward the book. "Which one are you reading?"
"As You Like It."
"Maybe it's time I reread that one."
A suspicious frown creased Marly's brow. "Really."
"It's one of my favorites," he added. Although he'd always thought a girl dressing up as a boy to be a bit improbable.
They switched places. She tucked down into his bedroll and he draped the blanket around his shoulders to keep the chill off his back.
He wondered if she accepted this arrangement as convention, or whether she knew that he gave up his warm covers for her sake.
"Do you regret taking me along?" she asked, startling him. "I've been a lot of trouble and I know I'm slowing you down."
He had no idea what to say.
"It has crossed my mind," she said, "that for a fraction of the cost, you could have put me on a stage for El Paso."
"Is that what you want?"
"No!"
Trouble gave an indignant whinny.
In a softer tone, Marly said, "Though I have someplace to be, I'm not in a big hurry to get there. I have to the end of the month to get to El Paso. That's still twenty-three days away."
"I know it's not the business of the Texas Rangers, but do you think you could tell me why you're goin' to El Paso?"
Marly rolled over on her back and stared at the stars. When she spoke, her tone was detached. "At the end of the month, maybe a bit later, a package should be arriving with my name on it. I didn't send it, but I've got to receive it or a lot of people will lose their savings. If I can, I also want to catch the guy who used my name―and me―to cheat my friends."
"Sounds like it could be Ranger business."
"The crime was committed in Kansas. Notices went out. The common wisdom seems to be that the folks of Cherryville should learn from their mistakes and get on with it."
"But that's not good enough for Marly Landers," Jase remarked without rancor.
"Nope."
"What's this bandito's name?"
"Charlie Meese. Though I think he's used other names."
"No doubt." He had a bad taste in his mouth. "Get some sleep, Marly. We're a couple of days out of Fortuna and El Paso is a four-day ride from there. I'll get you there in plenty of time to take care of your business."
And his.
Chapter 4
Fortuna was a frontier town west of the Pecos River, a synonym for wild. Law had reached it―just barely. The town was on the Sunset Trail, the southernmost overland route to California. Spring and summer saw a seasonal growth of the town with the movement of wagon trains. The rest of the year, it was the center of commerce for the area's residents. Since these included cattle, sheep and horse ranchers, plus a few stubborn homesteaders, a handful of itinerant prospectors and 'civilized' Indians, Fortuna was a lively spot year round.
Jase's plan was to stock up and move on, which didn't impress Marly much, especially when he told her the second half of their trek to El Paso would be longer, with harder trails, colder nights and a chance of trouble from man and nature.
"We'll be stayin' at The Oasis," he said. "Friend of mine owns the saloon."
"The saloon?"
"One of them. Last time I was through Fortuna, there were three, not counting the dance hall that burned down. 'Course, that was a couple of years ago now."
Given the picture he drew, Marly was surprised that her first sight of Fortuna was a shining white church spire.
"You didn't say anything about a church," she said.
"New to me. There used to be a meetin' hall for services. Caught fire the same night the dance hall went up in flames."
The steeple of the church acted as a beacon. She watched it change color, graying as the amber sun set behind it. By the time they crossed the river that defined the town's east boundary, the church was barely visible in the twilight. Then it disappeared altogether as the intervening houses blocked the church from view.
To the right, lanterns illuminated front porches and windows glowed golden-yellow. On the left, open fires cast eerie flickering lights on tents and shacks built in and around burned ruins of a building.
She shivered. "Who lives there?"
"The old. The outcasts. Every society's got its fringes. That's Fortuna's."
"Was that the dance hall or the meeting hall?"
"Both. They were side-by-side. With the livery over there." He pointed down the road. "They were the town's first buildings."
Marly got her first glimpse of The Oasis just before turning down Main Street. It was an impressive two-story building set back from the road. A wide veranda wrapped around it and there was a balcony above. Both had hanging lanterns and flower baskets. It looked like a respectable but expensive hotel and seemed out of place in a frontier town.
Then they turned the corner.
The hotel was a bright star on the darkened street. The veranda widened, serving as a sidewalk. The lanterns burned brighter and were augmented by the light pouring out of the open casement windows and French doors. The main entrance was at the end of the block, angled to face out onto the intersection. Hanging from the balcony above the entrance was a sign decorated with flowering cactus and desert roses.
The Oasis, it proclaimed in flowery script.
"This place is a hotel?" Marly asked with disbelief.
"Not properly speakin'." Jase dismounted and indicated she should do the same. "There are rooms you can rent. They're kind of expensive, but they come with perks."
"How expensive?"
He flipped the reins over the rail and ignored her.
"How expensive?" she repeated, pursuing him up the stairs.
At the door, he took a deep breath. "They tend to be rented by the hour."
"Oh."
With a shrug, she followed him inside and once over the threshold, she stopped, transfixed.
The first time she tried to get work in a saloon was at the Palace in Wichita, Kansas. The size and opulence of the place intimidated her and the scantily clad ladies were shocking to a small town girl. She wasn't sorry to find they didn't need her.
The Oasis wasn't quite as big as the Palace, or as crowded. In every other way, it exceeded Wichita's finest.
Marly was knocked aside by a brick of a man in a smock coat. He grunted something inarticulate and made a beeline to one of the green baize-covered tables where other gentlemen were engaged in a card game. Beyond the card tables was an ignored roulette wheel.
"Excuse me," a female voice briskly.
Marly dodged an attractive, boldly dressed woman with a gaping bodice and a delicately painted face. She was one of several ladies that seemed to floa
t like wheeled dolls, gliding between the casino area and the linen draped tables set for diners. They were nothing like the saloon women Marly had encountered in her travels, who at best could claim a shabby glamour.
"Don't stare," Jase said. "It ain't polite."
He had removed his hat upon entering and now shooed her with it toward the bar.
She nodded, then came to an abrupt halt.
Hanging above the mirrors behind the bar was the biggest painting she had ever seen. Rendered in vivid oil color, a voluptuous, auburn-haired Amazon was draped and posed in a suggestive manner. It was so lifelike that Marly's jaw dropped and a deep flush rose in her cheeks.
"If the boy's like that over my painting," a deep, throaty voice said, "what's he gonna do when he meets the real thing?"
Marly turned, musk perfume hitting her like a gut punch.
The Amazon woman from the painting stepped toward her. The glitter of colored sequins on the woman's skintight gown dazzled her as a bejeweled hand lifted her chin, closing her mouth. Through long, dark lashes, green eyes scrutinized Marly. Sculpted brows arched slightly. Then the hand dropped.
"A little young for The Oasis, isn't he, Jase?"
"The boy's old enough to have supper here."
Jase rested a heavy hand on Marly's shoulder. He pulled her in close to him, removed her hat and smoothed her hair.
Marly grabbed her hat back and held it in a tight fist.
"This is Marly Landers," he said. "He's in my charge for the time being. Marly, I would like to present my old―"
"Not old, sugar."
"My good friend," he corrected, "and proprietor of this establishment, Jezebel."
Still nauseous from the perfume, Marly managed a small, insincere smile. "Ma'am."
"Charmed," Jezebel replied with equal insincerity.
Jase took the woman's arm. "Got a room for us, Jez? We've been on the trail a spell and could use a bath and a proper bed."
"You always got a room here, sugar," she purred, leading them to the dining room. "Come and join me at my table. Happens I was just about to have Fred bring me my supper anyhow."
Jezebel's table was not hard to pick out. It was the only one on the raised stage beside the curved staircase. On the back wall, sconces dripping with faceted crystals bracketed long gilt-framed mirrors. The table itself was cherry wood, like the bar. So was the throne-like armchair that faced the room.
Standing next to the chair was a dignified-looking man with iron-gray hair, wearing a formal black, swallow-tail suit. He greeted Jase with a nod of recognition before holding Jezebel's chair.
Marly felt sick. It wasn't just the smell of perfume. Jase was ruggedly handsome, regardless of trail-worn clothes and untrimmed whiskers, whereas she looked plain and dirty. The only consolation she had in seeing her image in the mirror was the knowledge that her masquerade was safe. Besides, she wasn't one to spend her money on frivolous fancy dresses or face paint. Nor would Aunt Adele ever have allowed her these.
Still...
"What do you wanna eat?"Jase asked, interrupting her depressing thoughts.
"Not hungry," she whispered.
He frowned. "Since when?"
She sneezed from the perfume, gave a loud sniff and plopped into a chair. "Can I have a beer?"
Jase hesitated, pressing his lips together.
Her act was probably amusing him.
She arched one brow. "Well?"
"No. And don't try tellin' me you're old enough either."
Marly had a good ear and managed a fair imitation of Jase's thickest accent. "I reckon you ain't got any call to chew me out. I just stretched the truth a mite."
"Do we have sarsaparilla, Fred?" Jezebel asked the man in the suit.
"Milk," Jase said.
Marly pouted. "But I want beer."
"Milk," he repeated.
She sniffed loudly. "I'm leaving."
Jase caught her by the wrist as she stood. He looked puzzled and not at all amused.
"I'm not hungry," she said, giving him a look of quiet desperation.
He relented. At least, his eyes told her that he relented.
"Fine. Go." He spoke as though he were talking to a recalcitrant child.
This infuriated her, but she stifled a response.
Fred cleared his throat. "I've taken the liberty of having your things taken up to room five, Master Jason."
His accent was British, Marly reckoned, and well-educated.
"Your mounts, of course, are being seen to," he added. "I will have bath water sent up after I take your orders for supper. Master Landers, I'll show you to your room."
Jezebel sighed. "Ain't he a jewel?"
"I'll be up later," Jase called out as Marly followed Fred up the stairs. "And I'll be checking behind your ears."
She paused, biting back a retort. Then she took the stairs two at a time.
Jase watched Marly leave, wishing he could follow her. He also wished he had forewarned her about The Oasis. He should have known the place would overwhelm her.
"Quite a handful," Jezebel said. "Where did he come from?"
"Kansas."
"I mean, what's he doing with you?"
For a moment, he was tempted to tell Jezebel the truth.
"His parents are dead." He moved to Marly's abandoned seat. "You might say I'm his self-appointed guardian 'til he finds other relatives."
A waiter bearing a silver tray placed a goblet of wine before Jezebel and a tankard of beer in front of Jase.
"You're a Ranger," Jezebel said, taking a sip of wine. "Didn't you tell me once that Rangers can't tie themselves down with family?"
"It's temporary, Jez. He's looking for a relation in El Paso. That's where we're headed."
Jezebel's brow puckered. "You mean you're not here to replace Strothers?"
"Ellery Strothers? I thought he left the Rangers."
"Strothers accepted the post of town marshal last fall. He didn't exactly endear himself to everyone around here. About a week back, he was killed. I thought you knew. Rumor has it, one of Egan's men shot him."
"Good lord, Jezebel, how was I supposed to know that?"
"Well, I wired the boys in Austin right off, Jase. When I saw you, I figured they sent you to handle the case. I asked for you particularly." She smiled. "I had to get you back here somehow."
Jase sighed. "I'll wire Austin tomorrow. I'm here now and I suppose the other business can wait. You better fill me in."
"Later."
As if on cue, a convoy of waiters ascended the stage and set out a repast fit for a queen.
"We got plenty of time, Jase."
"All right. We can talk business first thing tomorrow, over breakfast."
Jezebel glared. "You know I don't do mornings, sugar."
When he said nothing, she heaved a sigh, then nodded.
He suspected she wasn't through trying to change his mind.
At the top of the stairs, Marly and Fred were met by a stately woman with raven hair streaked with silver. Unlike the ladies downstairs, her gown was modest and simple.
"You are with Señor Strachan?"
"Yes, ma'am," Marly said.
"We will get you settled. I am Señora Consuela Mercedes Domintado de Vegas."
"Marly Landers."
"Come, Señor Landers. This way." She eyed Fred. "I'll take things from here. Gracias, Señor Fred."
With a rustle of silk, Señora de Vegas led Marly down the hall to the last door but one. It had no number.
"What's that?" Marly pointed to the unmarked door.
"That is Señorita Jezebel's quarters." She opened the door to room five. "This is your room. It is reserved for special guests of the Señorita."
Marly gave a long whistle.
The room was impressive. A four-poster bed was the centerpiece. Draped with red velvet, it dominated the room. An ornate footed bathtub with a cherub decorated cover sat between a bronze trimmed stove and the window. Closer examination revealed a pipe leading
from the tub through the exterior wall.
"It drains?"
"Si," Señora de Vegas replied. "It drains."
Marly shook her head in wonderment. She explored the rest of the room and found their saddlebags sitting in the wardrobe. Hanging above them was a red-striped nightshirt and red quilted satin dressing gown.
She gave the Señora a questioning look.
"They belong to Señor Strachan," the woman said. "He left them here."
"Oh."
"He and the Señorita are very close friends."
Marly wondered how close.
"I will leave you, Señor Landers. Señor Fred will be up soon. He will see to your needs."
"Señora de Vegas, could you tell me something?"
"Si, if I can."
"Are all the ladies here..." Marly stalled, unsure how to put it.
Señora de Vegas blushed. "Some of the ladies who are employed at The Oasis are fully employed. Many are not. If you are wondering, I am not employed here as such."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean―"
"I know what you meant," she said with gentle dignity. "Señorita Jezebel has kindly let me stay, since my husband was killed a year ago. I try to help out. The Señorita calls me her den mother. Please let me know if you need anything."
As the door closed behind the Señora, Marly let out a long sigh and slumped onto the bed, stroking the velvet coverlet as she gathered her thoughts.
What was Jase doing downstairs? Was he still with Jezebel?
A campfire and a starry sky would suit her fine right now. A cup of Jase's coffee would be heaven.
A soft tap on the door interrupted her reverie. Before she had a chance to answer it, Fred came in, leading a parade of shirt-sleeved waiters bearing cans of hot water, while he carried a tray laden with sandwiches, cookies, milk and a pulp western.
As the waiters filled the tub, Fred arranged the repast on a side table, folded back the bedding and fluffed the pillows. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a young man loaded down with a stack of thick white towels. On top was a blue striped nightshirt. Fred took the pile and dismissed his entourage. The towels he placed on a chair beside the tub. The nightshirt was laid out on the bed.
