The Lady's Hand

by Bobbi Smith

  "Nothing like a little excitement to liven up the night," she said as she put the gun back in the hidden pocket in her skirt.

  All the men were impressed by her nerves of steel in facing down the drunk. They complimented her on her quick thinking, admiring her even more than they had before.

  "It's a hazard of the trade, gentlemen," she remarked with seeming ease. In her heart, though, she realized just how close she'd come to shooting a man, and she knew she would be on edge for the rest of the night. "Shall we continue play? Now that Mr. Jackson has left us, there's room for one more."

  One of the onlookers quickly took Jackson's seat, and the gambling continued as if nothing unusual had happened.

  Brandy retired for the night about an hour later. She made a quick, quiet exit and retreated to her cabin, locking the door behind her. She was still tense and nervous as she tried to sleep.

  When Brandy had gone, Rafe and Marc stood at the bar with Kevin and Dan.

  "So, what did you think of our Brandy?" Kevin asked.

  "She's everything you said she was and more," Rafe agreed. "I can't believe how well she handled Jackson. It's not easy to back down a mean drunk, but she did it."

  "And without even flinching," Dan praised her. "How did she manage to draw so fast?"

  "I don't know, but I'm glad I never made her mad." Kevin was impressed.

  "She knew exactly what to do and how to do it," Rafe said.

  "It could have gotten ugly in here if she hadn't been ready for him," Marc said.

  "Very ugly. Let's hope the captain puts Jackson off the boat first chance he gets. Brandy doesn't need to be putting up with his kind," Dan remarked.

  "Don't worry," the bartender said, overhearing their conversation. "Captain Rodgers won't let Jackson out of his sight until he's put him ashore. He's not about to take any chances with Miss Brandy's safety."

  Later, after Kevin and Dan had gone, Marc and Rafe moved to sit at a table. They were more than mellow as they enjoyed one last bourbon before calling it a night. Marc looked thoughtful.

  "You know, Rafe," he mused out loud, a gleam in his eyes, "I think I've figured out the solution to your problem."

  "What problem?" Rafe looked at him, puzzled. He couldn't imagine what Marc was talking about. Life was generally good he had Bellerive; he had money; he had a few friends. What problem did he have? What could be wrong?

  "You know.. .your problem.. .the way the women are always throwing themselves at you. Well, I've figured out how you can put a stop to it." He paused and took another drink, feeling rather pleased with the brilliance of his idea.

  "Really? And just what is your solution to my `problem'?"

  "I think," he announced with as much seriousness as he could muster, "you should marry Brandy."

  "Have you been drinking something besides your usual bourbon tonight?" He stared at Marc as if he'd lost his mind.

  "No, I haven't, and this would be perfect-you and Brandy, happily ever after." He grinned, obviously feeling no pain.

  "Why don't you and I go see the captain right now? We can arrange for him to perform the ceremony first thing in the morning," Rafe countered sarcastically. "Of course, there is the problem of asking the bride if she wants to be a part of this...."

  "Hear me out." Marc held up a hand to shut him up. "Admit it, there isn't a female within a hundred miles of Natchez who could hold a candle to her. Brandy is beautiful."

  "So? What does her being good-looking have to do with anything?"

  "Not only is Brandy gorgeous, but she's smart, honest and just about the bravest woman I've ever seen. Not to mention the fact that she's damned good at poker. She beat you tonight and not just once." Marc was grinning widely. He knew how much his friend hated to lose.

  "Tonight was only one night of many," Rafe as sured him. "It's a long trip to St. Louis, and believe me, by the time we get there, I'm going to be on the winning end." He fully intended never to lose to her again.

  "I'm telling you, she'd make you the perfect wife."

  "Right. Once we're married, we could open a gambling den in the front parlor at Bellerive. That would really impress everyone who came to visit."

  "Since when do you care what people think?"

  "I don't, and I don't give a damn about getting married, either."

  "Don't be so quick to reject the idea. Besides, I'm not through yet." Marc continued with his argument. "Brandy also, and this is probably the most important part for you to remember..." He paused for emphasis, "...Is very good with a gun."

  "What does that have to do with anything?" Rafe demanded incredulously as he stared at his friend. He could not imagine why Marc thought having a wife who could use a gun would be a good thing.

  Marc was trying to keep a straight face as he answered, "Because, my friend, she could use it to run off all the other women who are constantly chasing you!

  "Oh, sure, I can just see me introducing Brandy to Natchez society while she's packing her gun just in case Mirabelle or some of the debutantes show up."

  Marc laughed out loud. "Granted, Brandy may have a few rough edges, but she could learn. Hell, if she can bluff her way through a poker game, she could bluff her way through a society ball. All she'd need is a new wardrobe and a few lessons in etiquette, and she could fool everybody."

  "I don't want to get married."

  "Well, if you were looking for a wife, she'd be per feet," Marc concluded, finishing the last of his bourbon. "Think about what I've said."

  "Oh, I'll do that," Rafe replied, ready to say anything just to silence his friend.

  "Good." Marc was quite proud of himself for having come up with such a great idea.

  Brandy had been lying in bed trying to fall asleep for the better part of an hour when she finally gave up. Tossing off her covers, she rose and started to dress. The memory of her showdown with Jackson was still haunting her, and she hoped a few minutes out on deck under the starry night sky, listening to the sound of the paddlewheel and the distant call of the night birds, would help her relax.

  Donning a demure day gown suitable for a lady of quality traveling by steamer, Brandy left her cabin and went to stand at the rail. Dressed as she was, she bore little resemblance to the Brandy who'd just passed the night gambling with the men. Her face was washed, all traces of her makeup gone. She looked innocent. Her hair was unconfined, brushed out in a glorious, shining mass of curls about her shoulders. It was the look Brandy had hoped to achieve, for she didn't want to attract any notice. She just needed some peace.

  The warmth of the night was a velvet caress. Brandy was enjoying her time there, when suddenly the steamboat slowed and began to glide in toward the bank where she could see the lights of a small settlement burning. This was not one of their regular stops, but she knew what Ben was doing: putting Jackson ashore.

  On the deck below, Brandy could hear the sounds of men's voices arguing as the steamer closed in on the riverbank.

  "I don't care what you say, the woman's a cheat and a whore!" Jackson was shouting in a slurred voice.

  "You're wrong, Jackson, and I suggest you shut up. You keep pushing me, and I just might decide to throw you over the side and let you swim to shore."

  "To hell with you!" Jackson came back at Ben. "The slut's probably sleeping with you. She's probably up in your bed right now just waiting for you to get back there-"

  There was the sound of a fist connecting with solid flesh and a grunt of pain.

  "I warned you to hold your tongue," Ben snarled at the man. "I won't hear any such remarks about Brandy. She is a lady and my friend. She will be treated right by you and everyone else on my ship."

  The steamer reached the bank, and the deckhands who were helping Ben quickly put out the gangplank for Jackson.

  "Get off the Pride, Jackson. I don't want your kind on my boat!"

  Brandy could hear the man's vile curses as he made his way down the ramp to the muddy bank. She stepped back into the shadows, not wanting anyone to s
ee her there and know that she'd overheard his ugly comments.

  "One day you'll all get yours! That slut will, too! Just wait and see!" Jackson's voice echoed hollowly through the night.

  "Pull up the ramp, boys. Let's get out of here." Ben's orders were curt.

  On the deck above, Brandy stood alone in the darkness, feeling the bite of Jackson's ugly accusa tions. Ben had been staunch in her defense, but she feared that every man on board, no matter how nicely they treated her to her face, really believed the same thing. Her heart ached at the thought.

  Rafe parted with Marc at his cabin door. He was heading on to his own room when he realized they were slowing and moving in toward the shore. He heard the argument between Jackson and the captain on the deck below and started to go see if he could help. He quickly realized, however, that the captain had things well under control and didn't need him.

  Moving on toward his own room, Rafe almost didn't notice the woman standing back in the shadows. When he did see her, he didn't recognize her, merely thinking it strange that a lady would be out on deck at this time of night alone.

  "Are you all right, ma'am?" he asked as he drew near.

  Brandy had been so intent on listening to what was going on below that she hadn't noticed his approach. Her breath caught in her throat as she found herself staring up at him in the darkness. "Why, Mr. Marchand... you surprised me."

  "Brandy?" Rafe frowned as she stepped forward into the light, then gazed down at her, amazed by her transformation. The woman he'd just spent the evening playing poker with was a temptress. The woman standing before him looked for all the world like a genteel Southern lady. Rafe was spellbound. Gone was the face paint and seductive gown. He knew it was crazy, but as attractive as he'd found her before, he found her even more so now.

  "Isn't it dangerous for you to be out here by your- self?" he asked, concerned.

  "Is it, Mr. Marchand?" she challenged, wondering at the strange, breathless tension that gripped her because he was near. A moment ago, she'd been almost in tears, but now her heart was pounding a frantic rhythm. She told herself it was only because he'd surprised her. That was all.

  "Call me Rafe, please."

  "All right, Rafe. And no, I'm not worried about being out here alone." Brandy looked up at him, a hint of a smile curving her lips.

  He stared down at her mouth, suddenly wondering what it would be like to taste of her sweetness, then remembered her rule that she never got involved with passengers. He smiled easily, wondering if he could be the man to get her to break that rule. "I've seen how you handle a gun. You'll get no trouble from me."

  "You know, I've never had to fire that gun yet. Usually just showing it convinces the drunks to back down, but Jackson was not a good loser."

  "That's the understatement of the year," Rafe agreed. "I liked the captain's idea of letting him swim to shore."

  "I did, too," she said with a laugh.

  "He's gone now. You won't have to worry about him anymore."

  "Jackson may be gone, but there will always be men like him...."

  "You handled the situation very well."

  "I was lucky this time. Who knows what I would have done if he'd actually drawn his gun. Somebody could have been killed and all over money." Her words were heartfelt.

  Rafe had thought her hard and a bit brazen to do what she did for a living. He had thought her completely motivated by money, but now...An emotion foreign to Rafe stabbed at him as he realized there was more to her than he'd thought. He felt a twinge of conscience over his earlier remarks to Marc.

  "Well, I'd better be going in now," Brandy said as the boat churned its way back to midstream.

  "May I walk you to your cabin?" he offered in his most gallant manner.

  "No, thank you. Good night."

  Brandy turned and walked away without a backward glance.

  Rafe stared after her. He was accustomed to women fawning over him, vying for his attention. He'd expected her to welcome his escort and even encourage him once they reached her cabin door. He'd been wrong. She had turned him down flat. His mood turned black.

  Rafe stayed where he was, watching her until she'd disappeared inside her cabin, but she never once looked his way.

  Scowling, Rafe went to his own cabin. As he lay in his bed much later courting sleep, the memory of Brandy's transformation and Marc's "solution" would not let him rest.

  Brandy lay awake in her own bed staring up at the ceiling. It had not been one of her better nights. Dealing with Jackson had been upsetting enough, but then there was Rafe Marchand. She knew how to handle men like Jackson, but Rafe...

  Brandy closed her eyes, yet a vision of Rafe haunted her. She found herself mesmerized by his dark, compelling good looks. There was something about him that drew her to him like a moth to a flame. She'd had to force herself to walk away from him when they'd been on deck. Her rule about not getting involved with the passengers was a steadfast one, and she would not break it tempted though she might be.

  She tossed and turned, knowing it was going to be a long night.

  Ben sought Brandy out first thing in the morning. He wanted to make sure she was all right after the excitement of the night before.

  "Join me for breakfast?" he invited her when she answered his knock.

  "That's the best offer I've had all morning," she said. They often breakfasted together, and she enjoyed his company.

  They made their way to the dining room and were seated at a quiet table so they could talk.

  "I put Jackson ashore last night," he told her once they had settled in.

  "I know. I heard."

  "You did?"

  She nodded. "I couldn't sleep, so I went out on deck late for a breath of fresh air."

  "I'm sorry you had to listen to that. He was an ugly one to deal with."

  "Thank you for defending me." Her eyes met his across the table.

  "He needed to be set straight about you," Ben said gruffly. "I didn't want to leave any doubt in his mind that you're a lady."

  "From what I heard, you were pretty forceful about it." She was smiling.

  "Some men don't understand plain English. You have to add a little emphasis for them to get the full meaning."

  "Let's just hope we never run into Mr. Jackson again."

  "That would be fine with me, too. But you take care," he cautioned. "There are a lot more dangerous men out there than just Jackson's type. He was just a stupid, mean drunk. No doubt he's all sobered up this morning and regretting everything he said and did. It's the other ones you have to keep a look out for. Remember that."

  "I will. The last thing I want is trouble from anybody."

  Ben knew it wasn't easy for her, especially when situations arose like the one last night, and he admired the way she was handling herself.

  When they'd finished their meal, Brandy accompanied Ben as he made his way to the pilothouse.

  Marc regretted his late-night drinking far more than Rafe did, for Jason and Merrie, along with Louise, were at his cabin door bright and early the next morning wanting him to eat breakfast with them. Dutiful father that he was, Marc dragged himself from the comfort of his bed to join them.

  After eating, they went out on deck to take a walk. It was then that Jason caught sight of the captain. The boy's eyes rounded as he realized that this was the man who commanded the whole boat. Without waiting for his father's approval, he ran straight up to the uniformed man where he was standing talking to a lady.

  "Are you the captain?" he asked, awed by his uniform and bearing.

  Ben had seen the youngster running toward him and had stopped talking to Brandy long enough to speak to the boy. "Why, yes, I am. I'm Captain Ben Rodgers, at your service. And you are?"

  "I'm Jason," he replied, elated to have met a real live captain. "I never got to meet a captain before. Do you really pilot the ship and everything?"

  "I have river pilots to help me. But, yes, I do a little of everything on the Pride. My favorite
part is talking to my passengers and making sure they're having a good time on board. Are you?"

  "Yes, sir! Your ship is great."

  "I'm glad you like her." Ben found the boy's candor entertaining.

  "Captain Rodgers, I'm sorry if Jason is bothering you," Marc said as he caught up with his son. "Ma'am." Marc greeted the lady in passing, then took a second look. "Why, good morning, Miss Brandy."

  "Good morning, Mr. LeFevre. How are you today?" She smiled at the sight of him with his children and nanny. She recognized the little girl as the one Rafe had rescued back in Natchez.

  "We're just fine," he replied. "Come on now, Jason, I'm sure the captain has a lot of work to do."

  "No, no. It's perfectly all right. In fact, I was thinking perhaps Jason would like to have a tour of the pilothouse. What do you say, young man?"

  "Could I?" Jason looked eagerly at his father for approval.

  "You wouldn't mind?" Marc did not want to pester the captain, for he knew how busy he must be.

  "Not at all. It would be my pleasure. Why don't you come along, too? Brandy? Would you like to join us?"

  Brandy declined, saying, "I think I'll just sit on deck and read for a while. You all enjoy your visit."

  "It was nice to see you again," Marc said and meant it. He had a distant memory of his drunken conversation with Rafe the night before and recalled that he'd told him Brandy was potential wife material. Looking at her now, dressed as a Southern lady, he knew he'd been instinctively right. Her beauty was natural. She could easily pass for a lady. When he'd been drunk, he'd thought it an outrageous suggestion. This morning, as he looked at her, he suddenly knew there was more to Brandy than just being a gambler.

  "Jason and I will be back in a few minutes, Louise."

  "Of course, sir. Merrie and I will be fine."

  "So, you're the lovely Merrie?" Brandy remarked, kneeling down before the little girl who held such an esteemed place in Rafe Marchand's heart.

  "Merrie, this nice lady is Miss Brandy. Can you say hello?" Marc introduced them before he followed Jason and Ben toward the pilothouse.