Brides of the West

by Michele Ann Young

  Rufus sat as if he had been pole-axed. “What does that mean?”

  “This young lady is the new owner of the Chances Are Saloon and Social Club.”

  Rufus’ jaw dropped. “The new owner? I work for her now?”

  “Yes, you do, Rufus, and I expect Mr. Woods would want you to extend every courtesy to her. She doesn’t know anything about running a saloon, so we’re going to have to help her.”

  Rufus’ stare cut through her. Maybe he expected to end up with the business after Mr. Woods’ death. “I know this is a shock to you; it was for me, too. I’d appreciate your help as you obviously know how to run a saloon.” She added quickly studying Rufus’ reaction.

  “You do know this is a saloon and uh—social club?”

  “Yes, I know, but I’m not certain what a social club is. Is it a hotel?”

  The men looked at each other. Rufus finally spoke. “It’s a brothel, Miss Yeager. Lauren Thamann is the madam. She pays rent and a percentage to the house—” he pointed a finger at her—“which is you.”

  She owned a brothel! A whorehouse! What had Barry Woods done to her?

  “Of course, you can always sell the business and the buildings,” Mr. Landers volunteered.

  “Lauren isn’t going to be happy about this. She thought Barry was going to marry her.” Rufus furrowed his brow. “I don’t know how she’s going to take this news.”

  “She doesn’t have a choice,” Mr. Landers said. “Judge already signed the papers.”

  “What papers?” a female voice asked.

  Annabelle stared at the tall woman dressed in what appeared to be an expensive day gown. Her long red hair hung loose down her back. Red tint colored her cheeks and lips. A little on the stout side, maybe even chubby, an air of arrogance and authority surrounded her.

  “Miss Thamann, this is Miss Annabelle Yeager, Mr. Woods’ fiancée,” Mr. Landers explained. “Miss Yeager, this is Miss Lauren Thamann.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Annabelle offered her hand.

  “I don’t believe it.” She rested her hands on her hips, ignoring Annabelle. “Barry loved me and we were planning to be married. She’s lying.”

  “No Lauren, she ain’t lying. Mr. Woods told me about it. Sent for her from Georgia,” Rufus said.

  “Mr. Woods also made provisions for Miss Yeager in the event of his death. He left her all his property, including the saloon and social club,” Mr. Landers added.

  Lauren clenched her hands into tight fists and her mouth tightened. “Barry wouldn’t do that to me. The Chances Are is rightfully mine, she can’t have it.”

  “The will was offered for probate and the judge already signed the papers. There’s nothing you can do,” the attorney explained.

  “We’ll see about that.” She spun on a heel and clomped out of the office. Her heavy footfalls on the steps echoed through the building as she stomped upstairs.

  Rufus opened a drawer and pulled out a book. “This is the ledger. You can read and write?”

  “Yes, I can read and write and do my numbers.” Obviously Rufus didn’t have a very high opinion of women.

  “I reckon you better start learning the saloon business. This’ll give you a good idea of what goes on. We sell alcohol-liquor-all kinds. There’s gambling and each table pays the house fifty percent of the take. Lauren runs the social club and pays fifty percent of those proceeds to the house.” Rufus tapped the books and gave her a short lesson about running a saloon.

  She looked at the ledger, but her head hurt so much the numbers danced on the pages. “I’ll look at this later. You’ll stay on won’t you?”

  “For the time being. I need to order whiskey and beer. There’s enough for the next two weeks, but it takes a week for an order to get here. The barmaids have been paid and I drew my pay last week. Mr. Landers has been overseeing the books since Barry died. The piano player needs to be paid.”

  “By all means, pay him, please. What about the...er...ladies?”

  “Lauren handles them. She hires and fires the girls, collects the payments and pays them. The house takes care of the furnishings and linens. The girls pay a reduced weekly rate for their rooms.”

  “Oh.” She sat, numbed.

  “Why don’t you show her around?” Mr. Landers said.

  “It ain’t proper for a lady to be in a saloon,” Rufus protested.

  “She owns it, she should check out her property,” snapped Mr. Landers, clearly losing his patience.

  “Well, I reckon,” Rufus conceded. “We’re in the office. Out there is the saloon and upstairs is the social club.”

  “I think we would like to see it,” Mr. Landers said, looking at her.

  “You’ve been here before, Landers, including upstairs,” Rufus challenged.

  Mr. Landers’ face flushed with embarrassment until he looked like a ripe tomato. “Miss Yeager hasn’t seen it,” he stuttered in protest.

  “All right,” Rufus stood and led them into the bar. “This is the saloon. Customers drink at the bar or at tables. Those tables back there are reserved for gambling.” He walked to the door next to the office and unlocked it—the supply room. Next, he showed her the bar and all its bottles, before he pointed out a piano sitting in a darkened corner of the hall. Unless you knew it was there, it could’ve been just another piece of furniture.

  “Do you serve food?” Barry had written about a restaurant in his letters.

  “No kitchen,” Rufus said. “This is the grand tour unless you want to go upstairs. All the girls are sleeping, except for Miss Lauren.”

  “I think I’ll wait ‘til another time. Is it always this dark in here?”

  “No need to light the place when it’s empty, and drunks don’t much like bright lights,” Rufus explained. “The gaming tables are lit to keep down the cheating. Mr. Woods didn’t tolerate cheating.”

  “I don’t condone cheating either.”

  “Thanks for the tour, Rufus. I think Miss Yeager is a little overwhelmed. I better get her back,” Mr. Landers said.

  Hurrying down the street, they returned to the front of his office.

  “If you need anything at all, just let me know. Rufus and I will help you through it the best we can.” He started to go into the office. “Maybe you better come inside a minute.”

  He took a seat at his desk. “I better warn you. Barry told me someone wanted to buy him out and was trying to cause problems.” Mr. Landers leaned back in his chair. “If someone offers to buy you out, check with me first. They may make a real low offer hoping you don’t know the value.”

  “I will, and thank you so much,” she said shaking his hand.

  Annabelle left and went by the mercantile for some tooth powder. The doorbell announced her presence, and Mrs. Johnson and an older lady stopped talking. Annabelle felt their long hard stares. She made her purchases and left the store.

  A soft afternoon breeze caressed her skin and a sudden memory of a carefree little girl frolicking in the mountain streams of Georgia on a hot summer day came to mind. The war had snuffed out her dream of a home and family as one by one young men marched off to war, never to return. She came to Shiloh Springs in an attempt to resurrect that dream, but it had been extinguished again. It was only a few days ago she faced either going back to Georgia and its hardships or trying to make it on her own. Now she owned a business and her future looked bright. But deep in her heart, she still wanted that little girl’s dream.

  Before she could get to the boardinghouse, Fanny came storming up the street toward her like the Confederates coming out to meet the Yankees.

  “Miss Yeager, I heard you inherited the Chances Are Saloon and Social Club,” she snapped.

  “Yes, Mr. Woods was kind enough to provide for me, despite our not being married,” she stammered. What good would it do to deny it?

  “I won’t have it in my house. You have to leave right now.”

  Mrs. Appling was kicking her out. “You can’t do that, I paid for a week in advance.”


  “You didn’t tell me you owned the saloon. I don’t allow people like you in my house,” she ranted. “Pack your things and get out.”

  It was senseless trying to argue with her, so Annabelle returned to the boardinghouse and packed her meager belongings. Normally she would have removed the soiled linens from the bed, but she saw no reason to do so now.

  “Do you know another place in town where I—” She stopped, realizing she shouldn’t have asked.

  “Why don’t you sleep at the social club, since you own it?”

  Surely there had to be some place for her to stay.

  Minutes later Annabelle stood in the middle of town carrying her bag. There was no hotel. Perhaps Mr. Landers would know where she could stay. She hurried to his office, but found the door locked and he didn’t answer her knock.

  She was still standing there when Sheriff Morrow appeared. Her heart skipped a beat in anticipation of his touch. If he was going to order her around again and try to get her to leave town, he better think again.

  “Miss Yeager, is something wrong?” He stopped a respectable distance away.

  “I was hoping Mr. Landers could tell me some place to stay.”

  “I thought you were staying at Mrs. Appling’s.” A smile quirked the corner of his lips.

  “She threw me out because I inherited Mr. Woods’ property—lock, stock and barrel.”

  “You what?” Josh removed his hat and wiped his brow.

  “Mr. Woods executed a will leaving everything to me, including the saloon and...social club. So Mrs. Appling won’t let me stay at her house any longer.” Annabelle really didn’t want to discuss it standing on the street, but had no choice.

  “There isn’t a hotel in town and she has the only boardinghouse.” His eyes narrowed and a facial muscle twitched. “Why don’t you wait at my office and I’ll see what I can find.”

  Carrying her bag, he started walking toward his office as she struggled to keep up with his long stride. The squeaking boardwalk seemed to mock her.

  Sheriff Morrow dropped her bag and lit a small lamp on his desk. “Wait here ‘til I get back.” The grim set of his jaw portrayed a man who didn’t take his job lightly. It would’ve frightened her a few days ago, but she’d seen how people in town respected him. Clearly, he was a good man.

  “Thank you. Seems like you’re always coming to my rescue.” She felt safe when he was around, like how he helped smooth away the bad things that had happened to her.

  ***

  Josh left Annabelle in his office. Mrs. Appling was in her rights not to rent to her, but it wasn’t fair. He just had to find another place for her to stay since she couldn’t sleep on the street and didn’t know anyone in town. He didn’t want to be responsible for another woman getting hurt when he could stop it.

  He entered the Emporium and approached Mrs. Johnson. “I need your help,” he began. “Seems Miss Yeager inherited Woods’ property, including the saloon and social club. Mrs. Appling told her to leave. Do you have a room she could rent?”

  “I’d lose business if I let a woman like that stay here. Why can’t she stay at the Chances Are? They have rooms there.” A wicked grin crossed her face. “Maybe she and Miss Lauren can share a room. Excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Damn, he should’ve expected that kind of response.

  He tried several other places, including the pastor, all without success. They couldn’t let a woman who owned a saloon and social club in their home or business. Mrs. Huddleston strongly lectured him on why God’s people should stay clear of people like Miss Yeager and how the sheriff should be ashamed of getting involved with her. Josh trudged back to the jail. It surprised him how fast everyone passed judgment on Annabelle when she hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Annabelle sat at the desk reading a Mark Twain book he’d left there.

  “I’m sorry, Annabelle. There isn’t a room to be had in town. I was told several times that you could stay at the Chances Are.” His gut wrenched as her face paled. “There is one other place, but I don’t think I could let you stay there.”

  “I’d be happy to stay anywhere but the Chances Are,” she said, “including here at the jail.”

  A smile crossed his lips. “Well, that was the spot I was thinking about.” Did he have the right to offer it? The town owned the jail. Annabelle owned property and that made her a citizen, didn’t it. Oh hell, what difference did it make?

  “You haven’t changed your mind?” Annabelle asked. Worry lines creased her young face.

  He couldn’t raise her hopes and then dash them. That would make him the worst kind of a heel.

  “No, but only because we don’t have any prisoners right now. When we get one, you’ll have to leave. All I can offer is the bunk to sleep on. You’ll have to take your meals elsewhere and other things, too.”

  “What other things?” Her innocent blue eyes did him in.

  “You know.” He couldn’t say it. “Uh, well, er, ladies things.” Lord, what the hell had he gotten himself into?

  “No, I don’t know.”

  He willed someone, anyone, to come through the door, but it remained resolutely shut.

  “Bathing and washing and such.” Damn, now he’d done it, he’d mentioned the unmentionables. If his cousins heard about it, he’d never hear the end of it.

  “Fair enough. Who’s here at night?”

  “No one unless we have a prisoner,” Josh answered. “I’ll lock up the jail when I leave. Roger has no business here at night unless something happens and I require his help. You’ll know it’s me when I come around. People know where to find me if they need me at night.”

  Josh admired Annabelle’s spunk. It took a lot for a woman to come west by herself to marry a stranger. She was not only beautiful but brave. Still he was reluctant to leave her in the jail by herself. Hell, what could happen? Well, there could be a fire, but that could occur anywhere. Would he worry about a man, say his brother, staying in the jail? No, but damn it, she was a woman, and a damn fine woman at that, and he just couldn’t ignore that fact. He hadn’t felt this way since he met his fiancée back before the war.

  “I understand, Josh,” she said.

  If she did, she was the first female in the history of mankind to understand a man.

  “I can’t stay here if there is a prisoner. I’ll eat at the diner, and do ah—other things someplace else.” She sat down heavily in the chair. “I might as well leave town.”

  To his surprise, he no longer wanted her on that stage out of town. “It’s late and I’m hungry.” He had to stop her before the tears came. “I bet you are, too. We’ll just go over to Gloria’s and get dinner.” He didn’t give her much choice, grabbing her elbow, picking up her reticule and pushing her out the door.

  The long shadows of evening were falling. On the way to the diner, they passed Mrs. Appling. Annabelle stiffened while he glared at the pompous old woman, forcing her to remain silent.

  At Gloria’s, he held the door for her. As she entered Gloria rushed forward, evidently to shoo her out of the restaurant, but stopped short when she saw him. So this was the way it was going to be.

  Gloria escorted them to a table in the rear where decent folks wouldn’t see Annabelle, but Josh stopped at a table in the middle of the room. “This one will do just fine,” he said, pulling out a chair for Annabelle and sitting down himself. He could almost see steam pouring out of Gloria’s ears and lightning bolts shooting out of her eye sockets.

  He ordered steak and potatoes for them. Gloria’s discomfort about Annabelle’s presence was evident because the food arrived in record time.

  “Eat up,” he said when Annabelle hesitated. “She won’t turn down money. Nor will she serve any food left on your plate to others, so eat up.

  “I suppose not.” She cut the steak and ate a bite. “This is very good.”

  All conversation ceased as her fork remained in constant motion from her plate to her mouth until the plate was empty. He couldn
’t remember watching a woman eat so much at one time. And he didn’t remember eating his own food when he found his plate empty, too.

  “Would you like some dessert?” he asked. Personally, he couldn’t get enough of Gloria’s apple pie.

  “I shouldn’t,” she said biting her lower lip. “Do they have good desserts?”

  “Gloria has the best apple pie in Texas. I’m going to have a piece.”

  “Then I will, too.” Annabelle laughed.

  Gloria took his order and returned with two slices. She stood nearby as he savored the taste of the pie. “Wonderful as always.” Despite her pique, she puffed out at his praise.

  Annabelle took a tentative taste. “This is very good.” He wasn’t sure if she meant it, but clearly Gloria thought she did. The woman fairly beamed.

  “Won first place at the Fourth of July Celebration five times in a row.”

  “I can see why.” Annabelle finished the last of the pie. “That was delicious,” she said to Gloria.

  “Thank you.” Gloria replied with a smile. He pulled out a few coins and paid the bill. Then he escorted Annabelle back to the jail.

  He unlocked the door and led her inside. How could he leave her here alone?

  “Annabelle,” he said, “I don’t feel right leaving you here by yourself.”

  “I’ll be all right, Josh. I’ve stayed in worse places. It was pretty bleak on the farm at times, particularly during the war.”

  He took a seat at the desk while she sat in the chair on the other side. “Don’t tell me you were in the fighting?”

  “No, but they fought all around us. Troops from both sides moved through so often we didn’t pay attention to them anymore. It wasn’t too bad until Sherman came through and torched everything for miles, including our house. Pa hid me in our root cellar. He’d built a false wall to hide me. It saved me from the Yankees. My best friend Miranda killed herself after they had...all had her.”

  By her expression, he could tell the memories were painful.

  “The soldiers beat Pa before they burned the house around me. After that he was never the same.”

  Getting up and taking her in his arms, he held her until the body shaking sobs died. He wiped her eyes with his bandana. “That’s over and you’re in Shiloh Springs now. You got a new life and a future ahead of you.”