by Tess LeSue
* * *
• • •
AS IF IT wasn’t bad enough being left to wait in a jailhouse, Georgiana had been left to wait with a whore. The woman was caged up in a small cell in the corner of the sheriff’s office, and she’d eavesdropped on every word of Georgiana’s brief conversation with the sheriff. It had made it seem even tawdrier to have a whore witness the lies Georgiana heard coming out of her own mouth.
“They’re my cousins,” she’d heard herself say when the sheriff questioned her about the scene in the town square. The lie was patently ridiculous, as Wendell and Kipp barely looked the same species as Georgiana, let alone as though they were closely related.
The whore had leaned against the bars, her enormous breasts bulging over her corset, and had smirked at every word Georgiana said.
“You’re a terrible liar,” the whore drawled once the sheriff had gone.
Georgiana felt rude ignoring her, as it was such a small room, but she’d never even seen a whore before (at least as far as she knew), and she didn’t know where to look, let alone what to say. The woman certainly fit the image Georgiana had of soiled doves. She was in her unmentionables, for a start. In public. She had a Chinese robe thrown on, but she let it fall open, and most of her body was on clear display. Georgiana had noticed how the sheriff couldn’t keep his gaze away from her, try as he might. Her breasts looked like they might just burst out of her corset at any moment. But even if she had been fully dressed, her unnaturally bright red hair and rouged cheeks would have given her away. As would the smudgy black kohl around her tawny green eyes.
“But you’re a smart girl, honey,” the whore continued in a thick Tennessee drawl. “There ain’t no point in accusing a man of rape, not to another man at least. They stick together.”
“No one tried to rape me,” Georgiana said, aghast.
The whore shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
“I had an altercation with my cousins. It’s just a misunderstanding.” She’d spent the whole walk to the jailhouse trying to work out a story to explain her run-in with Wendell and Kipp, and this was the best she could come up with. It wasn’t a good story, but at least it was a story. The sheriff had seemed dubious, but he hadn’t outright called her a liar the way the whore did.
“Where you from, honey?” the whore asked. She was obviously bored in the cell and wanted to make the most of the company. Georgiana wasn’t sure which was worse, having to lie to the sheriff, or having to talk to the whore. The sheriff was probably worse, but not by much.
“I’m from New York,” Georgiana said, keeping her eyes fixed over the whore’s right shoulder. All that bare flesh was too much for her constitution.
“Oh, I’d love to see New York! I ain’t been farther east than Louisville, Kentucky.” The whore’s face turned dreamy. “I once had a man who wanted to take me to New York.” She sighed. “But then he got married and all that talk stopped. They do that, you know; tell you stories and paint you a picture about the places they’ll take you and the things you’ll see. They tell you you’ll be a princess and they’ll carry you off on their white horse. But they’re always just stories. They get up in the morning, put their boots on and never once even get their horse out of the stable to take you for a ride.”
“I know,” Georgiana said grimly, thinking of her husband.
The whore gave her a curious look.
“I mean, I imagine,” Georgiana said, lifting her chin. She had her pride.
“I’m Seline.” The whore stuck her hand through the cell bars for Georgiana to shake.
Georgiana wished she hadn’t. She took it gingerly between her fingers and shook it once, dropping it as fast as she could.
The whore laughed. “You ladies are all the same. You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re as much a whore as I am. You just call it marriage. And those men answering your advertisement, they’re whores too.”
“You know about my advertisement?” Georgiana felt uncomfortable at the idea.
“Honey, everyone knows.” She cocked her head. “Did it work? Did you find a husband yet?”
“Not yet,” Georgiana said stiffly.
“Well, when you have a candidate, you should come ask me about him. Chances are I’d know him. They all come to the Bunkhouse sooner or later; it’s the best cathouse in town. And I’m the best cat in the cathouse,” she said smugly.
Georgiana blushed.
“Seriously,” the whore said, “you come and ask. I can tell you which ones are mean. It’s always worth knowing that. You don’t want to be marrying a man who’s mean. Trust me, I should know.”
Thankfully, they were interrupted at that point.
The whore gave a shriek when she saw who was coming through the door.
“Matt Slater, is that you? Honey hush! You shaved again. You know I love it when you shave.”
The brute stood dumbstruck. Georgiana felt a stab of pure jealousy as she saw the way his eyes were fixed on the whore’s chest. And was he blushing?
“Did you come to rescue me?” the whore asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
“I came for Mrs. Smith,” he mumbled.
He was. He was blushing. Georgiana’s jealousy turned to anger. She had no right to be angry at him, but that didn’t stop the fact that she was.
“Lucky Mrs. Smith,” the whore hooted.
Matt Slater flinched. “Let’s go,” he muttered.
“You come and visit me when I’m back at the Bunkhouse, you hear,” Seline called after him as they left, “and I’ll give you a special welcome!”
So he visited whores. She didn’t know why that disappointed her so much. He was a frontiersman, and she supposed that’s what they did for company on the frontier. He wasn’t married. A man had needs.
That made her think of Leonard. Married men had needs too. He had been away for years at a time, and she’d always had a sick certainty, which sat like a lump in her stomach, that he found other women on his travels. Women who weren’t her.
This was why she should choose a husband she wasn’t attracted to, one she wouldn’t love, because of this horrible feeling of shame and hate and rage and . . . failure. She needed a man she didn’t care about, so that raw part of her wouldn’t die a small death every time he found comfort in the arms of another woman.
8
WENDELL AND KIPP were back at the hotel when Georgiana and Matt returned, and they’d made short work of annoying the men waiting for their afternoon interviews.
“You can’t cut in!” one particularly irate New Englander protested loudly.
“We just did.”
Georgiana stepped in just as Kipp pulled a knife on the poor man. “Wait!” She gingerly touched Kipp’s hand and turned the knife away from the clueless New Englander. “I’m so sorry, but I just need to speak to these men for ten minutes,” she apologized to the crowd.
“I’ve been waiting since yesterday, and they only just turned up!” The knife hadn’t discouraged the New Englander. If anything, it only seemed to have fueled his irritation. His voice got prissier the more irritated he grew.
“They’re not here for the interviews,” she told him, striving for calm. It wasn’t easy. Not only were her nerves shredded by Wendell and Kipp’s presence, but she was wrung out by her lunchtime adventures with the jailhouse and the whore. Her lunchtime adventures that had meant she’d completely missed lunch and was cranky with hunger.
“They’re my cousins,” she told the men in the foyer as she facilitated Wendell and Kipp jumping the queue. Or perhaps it was the brooding bulk of Matt Slater standing behind her that convinced them.
“Your cousins?” The New Englander was clearly dubious. And why shouldn’t he be? It was the most bald-faced lie Georgiana had ever told. Almost.
“If you could just be patient for another few minutes,” she asked, “we’
re making arrangements for the trip to California.”
“I should think you’d want to wait to hear your husband’s opinion on those matters,” the New Englander said, disgruntled. Georgiana mentally crossed him off the list, even as she gave him a sugary smile.
“What are you doing?” Wendell Todd snapped when Matt moved to join them in the parlor.
“It’s a public room,” he said.
No one was more surprised than Georgiana that Matt had continued to shadow her. He could have left her at the jailhouse; he could have left her on the front steps of the hotel; he could have left her in the parlor with Wendell and Kipp. But he didn’t. He just kept coming along. Like a guard dog.
Georgiana couldn’t deny that she was relieved to have him there. He took up residence in one of the salmon pink velvet chairs by the window.
“What are you doing?” Georgiana whispered as she sank into the chair beside him.
“Witnessing,” he told her, not bothering to lower his voice. He’d left the door ajar, she noticed.
“Close it,” Wendell ordered.
“You close it.” Matt slouched back in the chair, legs spread. His expression was unreadable.
“I’ll close it,” Kipp snapped, kicking it closed with a slam.
“No one asked you to be here.” Wendell was too highly strung to sit. He stood by the fireplace, jiggling his leg. His spurs chimed every time he jiggled.
“She did.” Matt jerked his head at Georgiana.
Georgiana felt like someone was sitting on her chest. She needed to keep this under control. These men had her son. She couldn’t afford to antagonize them more than she had already.
“What have you told him?” Wendell demanded.
“Sit down, Mr. Todd, and we can talk in a civilized fashion,” she implored.
“Not until you tell us what you’ve told him.”
“She ain’t told me anything, except that you’re her cousins,” Matt sighed. He didn’t sound like he believed a word of it.
“That’s right,” Kipp said, thrusting his chin out, “we’re her cousins.”
“Look. I’m only here to see that you talk civil to the lady. I don’t care what you talk about, so long as you keep it nice. I don’t give a fig if you’re her cousins, her stableboys or her great-aunts. Just keep a civil tongue in your heads.” He reclined and rested his head on the back of his chair. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just take a doze while y’all talk.” His eyes closed.
No one believed for a minute that he wasn’t listening to every word they said.
“That’s really all you told him?” Wendell was still jiggling with nerves.
Georgiana met his eye and nodded. “It is.”
“Why wasn’t you in St. Joseph’s, like we arranged?” He flicked a glance at Matt. “We were waiting for you . . . cuz.”
Georgiana steeled herself and actually told the truth. “I wanted to get a husband first.”
Wendell put his hands on his hips and shook his head. He looked frustrated. “We said we’d take you there. What do you need a husband for?”
“I’ve got the children to think of.”
“We’re taking you to California!” Kipp’s narrow face was pinched with anger. Of the two of them, he was the one who scared Georgiana more. “You think you can get around us with a husband?”
“We’ll protect you,” Wendell insisted, glaring at Kipp. “That’s what we’re here for: to get you and your little ’uns there safe.”
Ha. Except for the fact that just a few hours ago they were threatening to hurt the children to keep her cooperative.
“And then?” Georgiana asked. She was sweating. She didn’t know how to control this conversation. “And then what? We get to California . . .”—she paused as Wendell pointed to Matt and gave her a warning look—“and you help me . . .” she finished by mouthing the words get my son back. “And then what? I’m in California, with a pack of children and no money.” Saying it so baldly made tears prick her eyes.
“Don’t do that,” Wendell said tightly. “Don’t go using your tears against us.”
She thought Matt’s eyelids opened a crack at that.
“I have to think of our future.”
“You can get a husband in California once our business is done,” Kipp said dismissively. “So you can go right out there and tell those fancy boys to get. You ain’t going to be marrying anyone. Not yet.”
“Wait a minute, Kipp.” Wendell grabbed his companion by the arm and tried to silence him. “You got that land on the main street of Mokelumne Hill, don’tcha? As well as the gold claim?” he asked Georgiana.
She nodded stiffly. “My new husband and I will be setting up a mercantile business.”
“There’s good money to be made doing that,” he said.
“I’m sure there is. But I can’t do it alone. I won’t do it alone.” She wasn’t backing down on this one. She was getting a husband, and they could just accept it. They needed her, and she needed this. What if something happened to her? What if the deal with Hec Boehm went wrong and the children were left alone? She was going to ensure they had someone to look after them.
“I see,” Wendell said slowly. “You’re that determined?”
“I am.” There was steel in Georgiana’s voice.
Wendell nodded.
Georgiana fidgeted. The silence dragged on. What was he thinking? What were they going to do?
“Kipp. Come here, I want to talk to you.” Wendell gestured him to the door. “You wait here,” he told Georgiana.
“What do you think they need to talk about, in secret like that?” Matt asked, without opening his eyes.
“I don’t know,” Georgiana said anxiously. “But it’s probably not good.”
“They’re your cousins, huh?” He shifted in his chair.
She didn’t answer.
“None of my business,” he muttered.
It was none of his business. So why was he here?
She jumped as the door opened and hurriedly looked away from Matt before they caught her mooning over him.
“We told ’em all to go,” Kipp announced.
“You what?” Georgiana couldn’t believe it. Of all the high-handed . . . She hadn’t found a husband yet!
“We told ’em you don’t need them anymore.” Wendell looked pleased with himself.
“What gives you the right?” She was sick of these men telling her what to do. Leonard. These two. They all treated her like she was some half-wit child. Well, they had another thing coming if they thought she was going to stand for that!
“You don’t need ’em anymore,” Wendell told her. He was frighteningly smug. “We found you a husband.”
Her mouth fell open.
Beside her, Matt sat up. The news of their matchmaking seemed to have shattered any pretense of sleep.
“You what?” Georgiana’s stomach sank.
“I’ll marry you,” Wendell said. He looked proud of himself.
Georgiana struggled to comprehend what he was saying. “You?”
“Me.”
“It’s perfect,” Kipp told her. “You want a husband, Wendell ain’t married and he fancies the idea of running a store.”
“And you ain’t a bad-looking woman,” Wendell added.
Georgiana’s head was swimming. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no. She met Matt’s gaze. He was poised, waiting for her to say something. She knew if she asked, he would step in.
“I think it would make your kids mighty happy,” Kipp said. There was malice in his eyes. He meant Leo.
She broke out in chills. Was that a threat?
Of course it was. Of course these rat-faced cowards were threatening her child. The kind of men who could hold a child hostage clearly wouldn’t blink at using him to force his mother into marriage.
“So that’s settled, then,” Wendell said. “We’ll get married. We’ll do it as soon as possible.”
“No!” She wouldn’t marry a man like him in a blue fit.
She heard Matt sigh as he got to his feet. Wendell and Kipp’s hands leapt to their weapons. They kept them there, frozen, waiting to see what Matt would do.
He didn’t do anything. He just stood there, a mountainous presence in the dusky pink room, watching them.
Wendell’s expression darkened. “You said you wanted a husband.”
“I can’t marry you,” she said desperately, casting around for a way out of the trap.
“Sit back down,” Kipp warned Matt.
“Why cain’t you marry me?” Wendell demanded.
“I just can’t,” Georgiana repeated. She inched in front of Matt. She was scared they’d shoot him, or stab him; Kipp looked like he was just waiting for the opportunity. But Matt took her by the shoulders and set her firmly aside.
Damn them all! She wasn’t a sack of wheat!
“Why not?” Wendell asked forcefully.
“Because I’m already married!” she blurted.
“What?” He was looking really murderous now, and Kipp had drawn his weapon. “No, you ain’t.”
“I am! I got married!” She heard the edge of hysteria in her voice.
“Oh yeah?” He clearly didn’t believe her. “Who to?”
Who to? Georgiana felt faint.
“Who to?” Wendell demanded.
“To . . . to . . . him!” Georgiana panicked and did the only thing she could think of.
She pointed straight at Matt Slater.
9
“WHAT THE HELL was that?” Matt bellowed when he finally had her alone. He’d dragged her upstairs to her rooms. The door slamming behind them actually seemed to shake the hotel, he slammed it with such force.
“You don’t actually have to marry me,” she said quickly, trying to appease him.
“You’re damn straight I don’t!”
“Keep your voice down.” She couldn’t take any more shouting. Her ears were still ringing from the scene in the parlor.
