What would draw Hank here, so far away from the big money? He liked his creature comforts and wasn’t given to do an honest day’s work. Hank lived off women and gambling and not much of either could be found in Dickshooter.
“Says he’s owner of the saloon here. I wouldn’t doubt if he’s heard about the strike over in Delamar. Dickshooter’s on the main route, you know. Good for business.”
“Shit. I suppose he thinks he’s going to wangle this place out of me. But if I did sell this place, it sure as hell wouldn’t be to him.”
“Prob’ly. But right now you’d better get your butt in the house. Fannie’s been chomping at the bit to talk to you.”
Reese hurried into the whorehouse and nearly knocked Fannie over. “How’s my favorite lady?” he asked as he steadied her. One look at Lucinda standing in the kitchen and his previous discomfort re-emerged.
“Fair.” Fannie turned toward the kitchen and yelled, “Sadie, would you heat some water for Miss Sharpe’s bath?” Not waiting for an answer, she turned back to Reese and sniffed. “Whew! You could use a scrub-down yourself.”
She looked at the front of his britches. Reese took off his Stetson and hid the evidence. Thunderation, a man couldn’t hide anything from Fannie. She cocked her head and with a most annoying smug smile she said, “Don’t look like you got much satisfaction.”
Hell, no, he hadn’t. He’d been wound tight as a southern belle’s corset ever since that schoolteacher had shown up. He headed for the kitchen. “I’m getting my bath.”
“First you need to know that Sheriff Tucker’s been here asking to speak at you. Says some rustlers have been stirring up trouble.”
“Cattle rustling?”
Fannie waved her hand in dismissal and scowled. “I don’t know who’d want a goddamn sheep. ‘Course, cattle rustling.”
She had a way of making him feel about ten years old. “Why’d he want to talk to me?”
“I s’pose he’ll be back.” Her cheek twitched, like it always did when she bore bad news. “Another thing, Hannibal Hank’s sleeping off a drunk out’n the barn.”
“That’s what Gus said, only he told me it was laudanum.” Reese rubbed his whiskers, itching for a shave, wishing that was the only itch he had. “What the hell’s Hank doing here?”
“Sonuvabitch said he wanted to marry up with me,” she answered, biting her fingernail.
The hackles rose on Reese’s neck. “You going to?” he asked, forcing his voice to be calm. He wanted the women to leave the sporting life, but Hank was a damned poor choice of a husband. She wouldn’t be safe with him.
“Hell, no!” Fannie snorted. “Maybe he’s just here for a poke and a drink.”
“Yeah, but you don’t think so, do you?”
She shook her head. “Naw, I think he wants to see just how Fast Hands Stuart’s boy is making out. He came in here acting like he owned the place, which he would have if we hadn’t found you. Six more months, you know, and Hannibal Hank would’ve inherited it.”
“I know. I’m still amazed that the lawyers tracked me down after all that time. I hadn’t seen the old bastard since I was a boy.”
“I’d say it was the only good thing he ever done.”
“The lawyer, or my indulgent father?” Neither lawyers nor his father had ever done him any favors.
“Probably both. Lawyers are always out to fill their own pockets, and your daddy did you a favor by letting your mama raise you into a decent man. Lord knows, Fast Hands didn’t have the slightest idea about honor. And putting it in the will that you had eight years to claim your inheritance was pretty sharp.”
“Sharp, all right,” he muttered, and wondered what kind of favor it was to give your son a whorehouse. The only benefits it had were the location—he’d found good ranch land—and that he had a place to sleep. At least he did before the schoolteacher took up residence. Unfortunately, he’d inherited a whole passel of women he didn’t want or know what to do with.
Maybe by next year all the ladies would have a safe place to go so he could sell the danged place. He suspected not, unless he had a little better luck coming up with a workable plan for their relocation. He had hoped they’d all get married. With all the single men around and the shortage of women, marriage didn't seem out of the question. Except, and this was a big except, none of the ladies seemed the slightest bit interested in holy matrimony, even though he knew for a fact that most of them had been proposed to many times.
Hiring the schoolteacher couldn’t possibly hurt, even if none of the ladies seemed too intellectually inclined. Still, they might never have had the opportunity. The schoolteacher was here and would be for another month, so why not?
Meantime, Hannibal Hank needed to be invited out of town. He couldn’t be trusted around the ladies with his reputation of use and abuse. A mean sonuvabitch, and the sooner he left, the better off the ladies would be.
“Did Hank behave last night?”
With a smirk, Fannie replied, “Yup. I loaded up his whiskey some before he went upstairs with Felicia. Ain’t no man nor beast could’ve misbehaved after imbibing that concoction. Then Titus hauled his sorry ass out to the barn.”
“Maybe he’ll see clear to leave town.”
Fannie shook her head. “I think he might need a bit of coaxing, if you know what I mean,” she said, punching the air with her fists.
“Fannie, it’s a good thing you were born a woman because I don’t think the world could handle you if you were a man. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get that bath now.”
She nodded toward the kitchen. “Be my guest.” She sniffed. “Hell, we can use your bath water to grow potatoes.”
* * * * *
Sadie managed to look terribly busy heating water when Lucinda entered the kitchen.
“How could you just abandon me like that?” Lucinda knew she sounded cross, and she was. Reese McAdams had proved himself absolutely…intolerable. Handsome. Helpful. She’d have had a better chance with the bears and the snakes.
Without looking up from the pot of water on the stove, Sadie answered, “I saw Reese coming down the road, so I knew he’d find you. That’s his homestead, you know, the place where I took you. Nice little place. You could build a nice cabin and have lots of babies there.”
“Maybe you could, but I couldn’t, nor will I. That man’s impossible. He almost kissed me!”
She’d wanted him to kiss her in the worst way, but he hadn’t. Of that, she was glad to have escaped from her predicament still a maiden. But the honor had come from him, not her. In truth, she was no better than her mother or any working girl in the Comfort Palace.
Sadie grabbed a rag and proceeded to scrub the stove. “He must be purty awful to want to kiss a decent woman like you.”
“Um, actually he behaved…well.” Flustered, Lucinda patted a wrinkle out of the pants she wore. Reese’s britches. Aw, piffle again. His thing had been inside these pants, right where... Heat rose over her face, and escape preoccupied her mind. Everywhere the britches touched, the sensuousness of them brought a spark of fire.
“Go up to your room and shuck down out of them there clothes. I’ll have one of the boys haul your water up.”
Lucinda all but ran from the kitchen and forced herself not to take the stairs two at a time. She dashed into her room—Reese’s room—slammed the door behind her and leaned on it. If only he hadn’t come so close to kissing her! Why’d he have to stop? And why’d she want him not to stop? Life was much less complicated when she hadn’t had to deal with men.
Men! Who wanted them? Who needed them? She gave an unladylike snort. All they were good for was fouling up the works. And to think, they ran the country. Few places had granted women the right to vote. Wyoming, just to the east, was one of them, but men still seemed to think that women had no brains, and were only good for cooking, having babies, and...other things.
She didn’t want or need a man, especially if that man were Mr. Reese McAdams. She’d rather have the
sniffles—at least they go away. But that near-miss-kiss just stayed and stayed. She cursed her body for wanting more as her knees turned to mush at the thought of what it would be like for his lips to touch hers.
Well, she resolved, she just wouldn’t think about it. Nor would she think of his warm body sleeping next to hers. And she certainly wouldn’t think of his arousal nudging her back while they rode to Dickshooter. Absolutely not!
Reese did have some redeeming qualities. He had hired her to teach the women in hopes that they’d gain respectable employment. At least, that’s what he claimed. It didn’t make sense, though, that a man would give away his livelihood. Maybe he really did want to be a rancher, build a cabin, and make bab...No, what a dreadful thought!
She heard a knock on the door.
“Are you decent?” Fannie yelled from the other side. “I have Midas and Titus out here with your bath water and tub.”
Lucinda opened the door and Fannie rushed in, directing the twins as she went. “Put the tub over by the wall, Midas, and go tell Sadie to bring up some towels. I forgot them.”
Lucinda crossed her arms and glowered at the bossy madam. “I will not have Sadie take one step into this room!”
“Get over it,” chided Fannie. Midas left for his errand, despite Lucinda’s protest. “Titus, fill the tub and be on your way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling as he dumped a large bucket of steaming water into the tub. After he emptied the second, he picked up the first bucket, straightened, and winked at Lucinda.
Winked! He obviously thought she’d let Reese... Perish the thought. She drew a deep breath, but it didn’t help.
Fannie giggled. “Go on, Titus. Get out of here now.” After he’d shut the door behind him, she turned to Lucinda again. “You caused quite a ruckus showing up here in Reese’s duds. I’d say he was a lucky man, but he didn’t look none too happy to me.”
Lucinda donned her sternest schoolteacher expression. “There’s no reason for him to be happy or unhappy. Nothing happened. My dress was wet, so he let me use his spare clothes. That’s it.”
“It don’t take no genius to know something happened. And if it didn’t, it should’ve.” She crossed her arms over her ample bosom.
“My bath water is getting cold.” Lucinda shot her best glare at Fannie. Fannie didn’t seem to have the slightest inclination of leaving the room until she knew everything that had transpired the previous evening.
“Strip off those men’s clothes and get into the tub. Maybe a good head-scrubbing will help relax you. It seemed to help the other day.” Fannie sprinkled rose petals in the bathwater.
Lucinda sighed. She’d never, ever run into anyone as persistent as this woman. Who said prostitutes were down and out? Fannie could run the whole country’s railroads single-handedly. Lucinda started to unbuttoning her—Reese’s—shirt. “Turn around while I undress, please.” She fumbled with the buttons, inwardly cursing the person who decided men’s shirts should have the buttons on the wrong side.
Fannie turned and faced the wall. After Lucinda sank under the water, Fannie walked over to the dresser and picked up the soap. “Dunk your head and I’ll get that mop of yours washed.”
Lucinda did as instructed. She tilted her head back, feeling the weight of her hair lighten as the water bore it, and reveling in the warmth as she submerged. She closed her eyes when Fannie began softly massaging her scalp. “Hmmm.”
“Yup. Both schoolmarms and whores alike purr like kittens when someone gives ‘em a good head-scrubbing,” she heard Fannie mutter under her breath.
After the second lather, Fannie rinsed Lucinda’s hair with clean water. “There’s a man visiting the area that ain’t good for young ladies. You’d be best off staying in the house even during off hours.” She handed Lucinda a towel. “If you do go out, though, make sure you’re not alone. This hombre’s a hard case.”
Fannie turned away and Lucinda took the gesture as a direct order to get out of the tub. She rose carefully in order not to splash on the floor and wrapped the towel around herself.
“What does he look like?”
“Black hair and mustache, black suit, white shirt, red vest. Always wears the same clothes. I swear, that man hasn’t changed since I saw him in St. Joseph eight years ago.”
Red vest? A scary man who always wore a red vest used to come see her mother in the brothel at St. Joseph. Lucinda had hated him—he’d slapped her mother and made her cry many times. Lucinda shuddered, then dismissed the sordid memories. Thousands of men wore red vests. Surely he couldn’t be the same man.
She continued drying herself with the towel, keeping herself covered as much as possible. Even if he were the same man, he’d never recognize her. He’d only had brief glances at a young girl eight years ago. She’d changed into a grown woman since then.
“Don’t worry, Fannie. I’m in my room doing lesson plans during your working hours.” Truth be known, she wouldn’t dare step a foot out of her room when the brothel was open for business! She pulled a pair of drawers and her spare petticoat from the trunk.
“Yeah, and we don’t let men, ‘cepting them that work here, in the house during the day.” Fannie raised her right eyebrow. “Besides, the shopping’s slim pickings around here, so there ain’t much to do during the day.”
Lucinda smiled. “No, Dickshooter isn’t exactly a shopping Mecca.” The whole town consisted of a brothel, a saloon that also served as a general store and a post office, and a barn. So what did the ladies do with all their earnings? The thought brought her back to Reese, the oddest man she could imagine to be a brothel owner. According to Fannie, the ladies didn’t pay a penny for all the clothes he brought for them. Nice ones, too, albeit color-coded.
And now he wanted to pay for their education. What kind of brothel owner would do these things? If she didn’t know otherwise, she’d think he was protecting them in an odd sort of way. Very odd, since keeping a stable of women for immoral purposes certainly wasn’t protection. Still, the brothel where her mother had worked in St. Jo had one bouncer for over twenty ladies. Seldom were there fewer than three men at the Comfort Palace protecting only six working women.
After Lucinda had dressed, and what relief to wear her own clothes again, Fannie pulled the wooden chair from the secretary in the corner and patted it. “Set yourself down and let me brush out them tangles for you."
Fannie’s previous comforting ministrations made Lucinda all too willing. “You know,” she said as she sat down, “you could start a hairdressing salon. You work magic with hair and you know how to run a business.”
Fannie gave a sharp laugh. “I s’pose you think working with women would be easier than working with men, but you’re dead wrong. Men want business taken care of. Women have to tell you ever mean thing about ever mistake anyone’s ever made. And usually, truth be known, the one opening her yap has more dirt under her sheets than anyone else in town. No ma’am, men don’t care about no one but theirselves. Get what they want and leave—they don’t have no time for pissin’ on someone else’s parade.”
Lucinda took the mirror Fannie handed her and watched while she made a stylish chignon. No stray hairs, no lumps, and the bun was perfectly centered. She sighed. Why couldn’t she arrange hair like that? Hairdressing was a skill that a respectable woman needed, and one in which she was decidedly deficient.
“There,” Fannie said as she planted her hands on her hips and surveyed her work. “We’ve made your hair all pretty for Reese.”
Reese! First of all she didn’t want a man, especially Reese. Suffragists didn’t need men. Most particularly Reese, who stirred unwelcome tingles in her spine, and elsewhere, every single time that handsome face of his flashed through her mind.
Fannie took a dress from a hook on the wall. A fancy dress, indeed. “And look here,’ she said, displaying it in all its glory. It was beautiful—royal blue with tiny intricate flowers tastefully embroidered on the bodice. It could have jumped right off a page o
f the latest Godey’s. “Trinket sized it for you from your brown calico. She’s a handy one with a needle.”
Lucinda longed to wear such a fine garment. It would be very flattering to her honey-blonde hair and fair skin. She’d never owned a dressed nearly so fine. Sorely tempted, but recalcitrant for reasons she knew not, she started to shake her head to refuse the offer. She simply couldn’t accept such an exquisite gift, especially when she was leery of the motivation behind it. The ladies seemed quite interested in keeping her in proximity to their boss, and now they wanted to clothe her, too.
Still, Trinket had worked hard on the fitting and design. Lucinda didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and it certainly was a beautiful dress, prettier than anything she’d ever owned.
“Trinket thought it was a might plain, so she embroidered these here flowers for you,” Fannie pointed out.
The fine stitchery compared to the best she’d seen. Trinket could definitely compete with the best seamstresses in St. Jo. If Lucinda could persuade Fannie to go into the hairdressing business and get Trinket set up in a dress shop, she’d only have to find respectable positions for Chrissy, Petunia, Felicia, and Holly. Holly, young and eager to learn, wouldn’t be hard to train. Sadie could use her magnificent cooking skills anywhere. The other ladies—well, they presented more of a challenge.
The suffragist ladies back in St. Jo would certainly be impressed with her work for the down and out. She could hardly wait to outline her successful endeavor for others to implement. Soiled doves everywhere would benefit. Maybe she could call it Sharpe’s Academy for Fallen Ladies. But shook off the thought. Such grandiosity would be sinful.
“Come on down to dinner,” Fannie instructed as she buttoned Lucinda into the gorgeous dress. “It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes or so.”
Lucinda’s stomach took the opportunity to emit an unladylike growl as Fannie left the room. “I’ll be down shortly.”
A glance in the mirror proved quite a pleasant shock. She raised her chin and stood most graciously. The woman staring back looked sophisticated, educated, and most of all, respectable.
Much Ado About Madams Page 8
