“I’ve been riding a long time,” he said, working on his whiskey. “A man gets hungry for company…and other things. I hope I am not out of line in asking you if you know a place where a man can…well, you know…find a little comfort for the night? If I offend you, I apologize.”
Joanna felt a rush of desire. She didn’t usually have any feelings for any of her customers, but this one was not only beautiful to look at, but soft-spoken. She sensed a quality about him, a man who would not be crude and in a hurry. If she had to take a customer tonight, maybe at least this one would not be such a hideous chore as some of the others.
“I, uh, I’m not sure,” she answered, per her usual orders from Sam. All customers had to be approved by Sam Gates. “I’ll ask my boss.”
His eyebrows arched. “Maybe it’s too offensive for you to ask. I would be glad to ask him for you.”
“It’s all right. You wait right here.” She got up from the table and went through the same door the bartender had entered. River waited, keeping a pleasant look on his face while seething inside. Where was Emma? What had they done to her?
He breathed deeply, allowing the spirit of the Maker of Breath to fill him with the strength he would need to face Sam Gates, if this Joanna brought the man back with her. Sam Gates was surely a man of experience and cunning. He would not be easily fooled. But he didn’t even think River Joe was alive; and if he did suspect, he would surely expect a long-haired, buckskin-clad man to come for him, not the mustached, neatly dressed and well-spoken white man who sat here waiting for Joanna to return.
“It could be him!” Stu was saying in Sam’s office.
“Not a chance,” Joanna returned. “This isn’t a man who runs around the woods chasing bears and living like a heathen. He’s too well spoken, and look how he’s dressed.”
Sam eyed them both disdainfully. “I’ll go talk to him myself,” he said with a note of disgust. He walked around them with deliberate authority, trying to hide his own nervousness. Joanna and Stu followed.
In the main room, two other barmaids had started talking to River, while men gambled and a man at the piano pounded out bawdy songs. Sam walked closer to River, shooing away the two women. Again a sickening dread flowed through River as he moved his eyes to meet those of the well-dressed man who stood before him. River had no doubt it was Sam Gates. He nodded.
“Sir?” He stood up and put out his hand. “You must be Joanna’s ‘boss,’ as she put it. I’m John Beck.”
Gates took his hand, and River chose to give the man a light handshake, the kind a softened city man would give. He dared not squeeze this man’s hand until it broke, as he so dearly wanted to do. He felt the Maker of Breath was with him, was proud of the kindness he kept in his eyes and the warm smile he managed to display.
“Sam Gates,” Sam answered, letting go of River’s hand. “Joanna tells me you’re just passing through on your way to Atlanta.”
“Yes, sir.” River looked around the room. “This is a real nice place you have here. I asked as I came through town, and everybody said this was the place for a man to come for the best whiskey in Knoxville.”
Sam nodded, smiling, gauging the tall, handsome man before him. Yes, he could be the white Indian, but he seemed too well spoken, and he had every appearance of being the lawyer he said he was. His clothes were immaculate and of the latest style. His hands were clean and soft. This was not the mean, vengeful, white Indian that Tommy had described. The one called River Joe would not be able to stand and look him straight in the eye as this man was doing without giving away the anger and revenge that lay beneath the smile. Sam Gates knew his men. This surely was not the infamous River Joe.
“What do you think of having our man Jackson for president?” Sam asked, testing River’s knowledge.
River folded his arms in a scholarly pose. “Well, we have a couple of years to decide, but he is certainly giving President Adams a time over states’ rights. I think for states’ rights alone we need to vote for Jackson. He’s a firm believer in keeping the federal government out of state affairs; and even though I’m from Ohio, I don’t think the federal government has a right telling the southern states that their citizens can’t own slaves. I’ve been studying up on such things, since I’m on my way to Atlanta to set up a practice. I figure with all the arguments flying over slavery, the south is a good place to do business for the present.”
Sam smiled and nodded. “I like your thinking. And I have a feeling Jackson can help us get rid of the damned Indians,” he added cleverly. If this man was River Joe, he would not like such a statement. But River was ready, and his face brightened at the remark. Inwardly he thanked the Cherokee leader John Ross for keeping all of them so well informed on what was happening in the government. Because of the Cherokee fight to stay in Tennessee and Georgia, many of them, including River Joe, knew all about what was going on with the federal government. And the Cherokee were closely tied to Andrew Jackson, had fought under his leadership in the War of 1812. They knew now that Jackson would probably turn on them if he became president, knew the man’s feelings about states’ rights. If his intentions at the moment were to test River’s knowledge of the law, Sam Gates could not have picked a better subject.
“Exactly,” he answered Gates. “Dealing with Indians is as much a matter of states’ rights as slavery. It’s true they were here first, but we have proven that things must change in this country now. We are ordained by God, I am convinced, to build this country into the truly great and powerful nation it can be. Andrew Jackson is the man who can see that it happens.”
Sam looked from River to Joanna, who stood grinning. “You see? I knew you’d like him, Sam.”
Sam chuckled. “Joanna tells me you were asking about, uh, some manly comforts for the night.”
River grinned. “I hope I didn’t insult the lady,” he answered.
Sam grinned wryly. “On the contrary. For the right price, the, uh, ‘lady’ can afford you those comforts right here.”
River’s eyebrows arched in feigned surprise, as his dark eyes moved to take an appreciative inventory of Joanna. “Well, well,” he said seductively. “How lucky can a man get?” He looked back at Sam Gates. “What is the price?”
“Thirty dollars.”
River grinned. “She must be very good.”
“The best,” Sam answered. “Young and firm.”
Never had River’s willpower been more tested. Again Sam Gates watched him carefully, and again he caught no sign of animosity in the tall, handsome John Beck.
“You can pay Joanna in her room,” Sam said to River. “If you don’t pay, I, uh, have men who will find you and make you pay. I don’t mean to sound rude, Mr. Beck, but I like my customers to understand how things are here.” He leaned closer. “And don’t follow Joanna up right away. We don’t make bold public displays of our extra activities around here, although most of my customers know what goes on. That’s why they come here. My girls see that they get what they pay for.”
Sam smiled almost wickedly, and River felt his chest tighten. He could see through the glittering dark eyes of Sam Gates, into the man’s hideous soul. He bowed slightly. “Well, then, I should be in store for a very pleasant evening. Thank you so much, Mr. Gates.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Beck. And do what you can to get Jackson elected next term, will you? He’s one of our Tennessee boys, you know.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” River answered. He watched Gates as the man turned away, pulling a cigar from his coat pocket and lighting it, walking to another table to talk to someone else. Never had River been more glad he had paid attention to John Ross and all the news from Washington. More than that, never had he been happier to be white. For once it had helped him. Knowing both worlds could be an advantage. He had proven that tonight.
He sat back down, moving his eyes to the woman called Joanna. “I’m awfully tired,” he said with a gentle grin.
She laughed lightly, bending close to him so that he could
see her nipples. “Room number six,” she said softly in his ear. “Wait about fifteen minutes.”
She sauntered away and up the stairs. River watched, wondering if poor Emma was up there somewhere. He wanted to charge up the stairs and tear into every room until he found her, but that would only get him killed.
Instinct told him that never in his life would he have to be more careful than now. This was more dangerous than stalking a bear or trying to hide from raiders. This “civilized” territory was more dangerous than all the wild mountains through which he had traveled, and the men in this place more cunning and dangerous than the wiliest Indian or the most hateful settler. This was a place of lies and deceit and murder, and the man who owned the Tennessee Belle dealt in woman slavery.
What had Sam Gates done with Emma? Somehow he had to get that information out of the woman called Joanna.
He finished his whiskey and ordered one more. But he only toyed with it, worried that too much whiskey would dull his senses. He had to be alert this night. One way or another, Sam Gates would die before dawn! He had made it into the lion’s den. Before he left, he would kill the lion.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Joanna opened the door and River entered the musky room. He felt amost dizzy at the thought of Emma in such a place. He watched Joanna approach with drinks in her hands. She had changed into a feathered robe, just thin enough for a man to make out the naked figure beneath it.
“Want another drink?” she asked, holding out the glass.
“No, thank you,” he answered. “I like to be fully alert when I’m with a woman, if you know what I mean.”
Joanna laughed lightly, setting the glasses aside. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve had men come up here so full of booze they work the rest of the night at performing. It’s absolutely humorous.” She put her hands to his sides and ran them down over his hips. “I have a feeling that won’t be any problem at all for a man like you.”
River pulled her close, running a hand over her hips, feeling every curve through the thin robe. He did not want this hard, painted woman. But she could be his only hope for finding Emma. He met her mouth with a convincing kiss that drew forth the response he wanted. He had to soften her, had to gain her confidence. His hands detected the odd indentions on her lower back and bottom. They felt like scars, but he said nothing for the moment.
“My, my,” Joanna said as he pulled away then. “This is going to be the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” She pulled his jacket off his shoulders.
“I have to be honest with you, Joanna,” he said as she threw the jacket aside. “I knew I could find what I wanted here. Someone in another saloon told me to come here if I wanted more than whiskey and cards. I just wasn’t sure how easy it would be to get what I wanted. They said Sam Gates was a careful man.”
He watched her eyes harden slightly. “Careful isn’t the word for it. In fact, you’re quite lucky, Mr. Beck.” She pulled down his fancy suspenders and unhooked his pants, running her fingers along his legs as she pulled them down. She knew her job well, but River was too full of Emma to be affected by her skilled fingers and the light kisses she planted along his legs. “Sit down and I’ll pull off your boots and these pants,” she said.
“Why am I lucky?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She pulled at his high, Wellington boots, tugging one off.
“Sam thought you might be somebody else—some man he’s thinking might come by here looking for him—and not for friendly purposes, if you know what I mean.” She tugged on the other boot.
“I see,” he answered, his heart quickening. Perhaps she would be so talkative he wouldn’t have to ask too many questions on his own. “Well, I’m glad I wasn’t mistaken for this other person. I might not have been able to come up here with you.”
She snickered. “It would have been worse than that.” She met his eyes. “You might be dead.”
His eyebrows arched. “That bad, is it?”
She pulled off his pants. “Some big Indian—well, not an Indian really. A white man. But he was raised by the Indians and he looks and acts like one himself, so I’m told.” She got to her knees, moving her hands along his thighs to the buttons of his knee-length cotton underwear. She began undoing the buttons, and he allowed his purely animal instincts to come forward. How was he to keep her talking if he did not convince her that his intentions were what he said they were? He gripped her hair as she toyed with him.
“This problem with the Indian—must be over a woman,” he said, his voice deliberately gruff with pleasure. “That’s usually what men are at odds about, either women or money.”
She smiled, looking up at him. “A pretty little blond girl that both Sam and the white Indian think they own.” She stood up, opening her robe. “Some say the Indian is dead, but Sam doesn’t believe it, and the girl finally admitted he’s still alive. Still, I don’t think the Indian would come to a place like Knoxville, unless he wants to die. Sam is surrounded by good men. The Indian would never get to him.”
She let her robe fall to the floor. Her body was firm and shapely, and River wondered about the scar on her belly, but again he asked no questions. Joanna smiled and knelt down again. “Stand up and I’ll get rid of your underwear for you.”
River rose, fighting feelings of guilt in letting his manliness show as she pulled off the underwear. For the moment he had no choice but to go along with her. She moved up his legs and thighs, kissing at him expertly. “I’ll make sure you get your thirty dollars’ worth,” she told him, pushing at him to sit back down on the bed. She stood up again, bending forward and cradling his head against her breasts as she moved a leg to each side of him, straddling his lap and then playfully pushing him back onto the bed.
“I shouldn’t have told you about the white Indian,” she said. She hovered over him, brushing her breasts against his lips. “I’m talking about things that don’t interest you and things I probably shouldn’t be talking about at all. I don’t usually do that. It’s just that you’re…I don’t know…you make me want to talk. You’re an interesting man, John Beck, and you sure are the handsomest man who ever came through Knoxville.”
She sat up, rubbing against him as she began unbuttoning his shirt. River ran his hands gently along her thighs and up over her breasts.
“I don’t mind,” he said, hoping to keep the conversation going. “I need to talk, no matter what the subject. I’ll be moving on in the morning. What happens here at the Belle doesn’t make much difference to me. I’ve been a long time traveling, mostly alone. I need to talk.” He massaged one nipple teasingly. “I must say you have my curiosity going now. Where is the pretty little blond girl? She work here now?”
Joanna snickered. “No. But in a few months she’ll be wishing she did. Where she’s going is a lot worse than this place.”
River felt himself losing control. What had they done with Emma? “Oh?” he answered calmly. “Where is she going?”
Joanna opened his shirt, then gasped when she saw his chest. River told himself to be careful. He had forgotten about the scars. This woman could ruin everything. What had she learned about River Joe? He watched her green eyes as they moved to meet his own dark ones.
“What happened to you?” she asked him.
He put a hand to his chest. “These? I guess I should have warned you. On my way here I was attacked by a bear—almost died. I’m sorry if the scars offend you.”
She watched him for what seemed an eternity, then moved off of him. “You’re him, aren’t you!” she exclaimed in a near whisper. “You’re River Joe!”
He sat up, every nerve and instinct alive. “Why would you think that?” he asked cautiously.
“Emma. She said you were attacked by a bear but that you would get well and you would come for her.” Her eyes widened. “My God, it’s you! You really did come for her!”
River’s hand went around her mouth and he pulled her down onto the bed, keeping a hand clamped tightly over her mouth and m
oving a leg over her to pin her body. “Please, do not make me hurt you. I do not want to hurt a woman, but I will do anything to get my Emma back! Promise me you will not scream.”
She nodded slightly, her eyes tearing. He cautiously moved his hand slightly, keeping it against her chin. “Now you know. There is nothing I can do about it. Where is my Emma?”
A tear slipped down the side of her face. “You really did come for her!” she whispered. “I didn’t think men like you really existed.”
“Please help me,” he said, moving his hand to her neck. He ran a thumb over her cheek. “Do not make me hurt a woman. It is not a brave thing to do. The Maker of Breath would frown upon it.”
“The Maker of Breath?”
“My God. He brought me my Emma. Then she was taken from me. I have prayed very hard to the Maker of Breath to help me find her, and He has led me here to you. Surely He knows you are good somewhere deep inside and that you will help me. Where is Emma?”
She blinked, alive with emotions she had never felt before. Were there really good men in the world? She had never had the chance to find out. She suddenly realized that for the first time since pirates had sold her to Sam Gates she had a chance to get away from the man.
“First you tell me,” she whispered. “Can you do it? Can you really kill Sam Gates like Emma said you could?”
His eyes glittered with vengeance. “I am already here in his very presence. If I have come this far, I can kill him. I was raised by Indians. I can be in a room without a man knowing it.”
She breathed deeply with the excitement of it. Never before had she had any kind of hope, but even though she had fought against the feelings, Emma had stirred something in her, had touched deep, womanly instincts Joanna thought had died years ago.
“Pull the blankets over us,” she said. “Someone might look in. Sometimes Sam peeks at us girls to see if we’re doing our job right.”
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 35
