by Sandra Brown
"I knew you'd say that."
She was gowned in peacock blue satin. Her breasts swelled above the low neckline. Grady's hands skimmed the creamy mounds; his lips followed. "Damn!" He raised his head from that most engrossing occupation when someone knocked on the door.
Priscilla stroked his cheek. "Someone important to us both, darling. Trust me. No matter what I say, play along." She lowered her hand to his hard erection and squeezed. "Then we'll take care of that."
Her whisper held such provocative promise that Grady didn't even have the willpower to object when she slipped from his embrace and went to answer the door.
He was somewhat surprised when Priscilla admitted one of the whores. He couldn't imagine that the woman with the puffy face and lank hair would be of any interest, much less any importance, to him.
But Priscilla reached for the prostitute's hand and ushered her in, closing the door behind her. She led her to one of the ridiculously spindly chairs around a small tea table. The woman made full use of the decanter of whiskey there. She poured herself a liberal portion and raised the glass to her lips, suspiciously eyeing Grady over its rim.
"Sugar, this is Mr. Grady Sheldon, the lawman I told you about."
Grady shot Priscilla a look of pure disbelief, but she was as cool as a cucumber as she took a seat opposite Sugar and indicated that Grady should take the other. "Would you care for a drink, Mr. Sheldon?"
Plumping down in the chair, he forgot his earlier resolve and croaked, "Yes, please."
"I've seen him in here before. I thought he was one of yours." Sugar mumbled the words dourly. Lately Madam Priscilla had been treating her better. She got to drink all the whiskey she wanted. If she didn't feel like taking on the customers, she could stay upstairs in her room. She'd even been given the new gown she was wearing tonight as a token of Priscillia's appreciation for years of dedicated service.
Sugar wanted to take these special considerations at face value. But if she knew anything about life, and she knew plenty, it was that nothing came without a price. What was Priscilla up to, introducing her to this lawman? He didn't look like any lawman Sugar had ever seen. Too nervous and pale. Was Priscilla going to pin some trumped up crime on her and have her carried off? Had she only been buttered up for a roasting?
"Mr. Sheldon is one of my favored customers," Priscilla said silkily, "but tonight he's here on business. As you know, the Garden of Eden and Hell's Half Acre in general, attract a certain criminal element. Mr. Sheldon often combines business with pleasure since the pressures of his job are so tremendous."
"What's his job?" Sugar sloppily tilted the decanter over her glass and splashed more whiskey into it.
"To track down wanted criminals, of course."
Prisicilla could see the growing suspicion in Sugar's bleary eyes as she surveyed Grady. Priscilla rushed on. "Do you remember the story you told me about Ross Coleman? Mr. Sheldon would like to hear it."
"How come?" Sugar asked insolently.
"He wants to know if it bears checking out. It would be a shame to let that reward go to waste."
"Reward?" For the first time since coming into the room Sugar displayed some interest. Her glass was even halted midway between the table and her flaccid lips.
"How much did you say the reward was, Grady?" Priscilla asked innocently.
"Uh, uh, five hundred," he improvised.
"I thought you said one thousand."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, one thousand." Grady had no idea what all this was about, but if it concerned the Colemans, it concerned him. And from the way it sounded, with Priscilla' passing him off as a lawman, it boded ill for Ross Coleman. His interest was as sharpened as Sugar's. He would gladly pay a king's ransom to hear what the old whore had to say.
"You'll give me one thousand dollars for telling that story about Ross Coleman?" Sugar shrieked. She planted her hand over her chest. "Jesus. Why?"
"It could be very important," Priscilla said obliquely.
Sugar's momentary enthusiasm subsided and she looked at them warily. They resembled two birds of prey about to swoop down on her. "I don't want to get nobody in trouble."
"Would you rather let a criminal go free?"
Grady's head snapped around and his eyes bored into Priscilla. Coleman was a criminal? God almighty!
He cleared his throat and tried to sound authoritative. "If you know any information vital to the apprehension of a wanted outlaw and withhold it, you could be considered an accomplice."
Priscilla looked at him with new respect. Her smile was secret and congratulatory.
"I don't want to get anybody in trouble," Sugar repeated tremulously. Her eyes filled with apprehension. She thought of the two dear boys who had showed her some respect even while releasing their lusty passions. And Jake, who had always treated her kindly.
But she wanted to live out her days in the Garden of Eden. Between it and starvation were the flophouses and the cribs behind the livery stables. She didn't want to die a crib girl. At least at the Garden of Eden she had a roof, a bed, and an occasional bottle of whiskey.
She had prostituted herself nearly all her life. One more time wouldn't matter. "What do you want to know?"
Priscilla laid a comforting hand on Sugar's shoulder. "Just tell Mr. Sheldon the story you told me."
Sugar eyed Grady again. He drew his most foreboding expression, though he wanted to smile elatedly. Priscilla's promise hadn't been an empty one. She was providing him with the ammunition to bring the Colemans to their knees.
"I was working in a dirty railroad town in Arkansas," Sugar began in a small voice. "During Reconstruction."
"1872," Priscilla supplied, knowing the year she and her parents had migrated to Texas from Tennessee. The year of her liberation.
Sugar nodded. "I worked for this madam named LaRue. It wasn't her real name. She was—"
"Just stick to the part about Ross Coleman," Priscilla urged, trying not to let her impatience show. "When did you first see him?"
"Well, we, uh, our wagon had broken down outside of town. A wagon train of folks had camped near the creek there. A man was sent for to help us. Once he got us pulled out of that mudhole, he rode back to town with us. We all wanted a go at him on account of how handsome he was and all. But I don't think he took any of us. Anyway we got busy with those railroad men. They were as randy as a herd of buffalo bills. I didn't see him anymore."
Grady looked at Priscilla inquiringly. One visit to a whorehouse wasn't incriminating. If it were, nearly the entire male population would be behind bars. Priscilla smiled complacently.
"Go on, Sugar," she said.
Sugar fortified herself with another belt of whiskey. "We would have forgotten this Ross Coleman, except that a lawman came looking for him later. A Pinkerton man. Don't remember his name, but he had Coleman's daddy-in-law with him."
"Lydia's father?" Grady asked.
Priscilla shook her head. "No. It must have been Ross's first wife's father."
"Lee's mother," Grady mused. "Why were they looking for Coleman?"
Indelicately Sugar scratched under her arm. "One of our whores had been killed. No one ever knew who did it. Mr. Coleman hadn't because he hadn't been there that night."
"I still don't understand," Grady said, shaking his head in puzzlement.
"Well, the strange thing was that they said Coleman's name wasn't really Coleman."
"Wasn't Coleman?" Grady sat straighter in his chair and leaned across the table.
"Nope. It was Clark, I believe. Sonny Clark. Rode with the James brothers. You can imagine how excited we girls got over knowing that we'd rubbed shoulders with one of the James gang. They were in their heyday then. That bitch LaRue made a fortune advertising the fact that he'd been in her place. 'Course, after he was killed she—"
"Killed?"
"This is where it gets interesting," Priscilla purred. 'Tell him what you told me, Sugar."
"A while later, maybe a month or two, Madam LaRue got a lette
r from this Pinkerton man saying that Sonny Clark had died of gunshots. We all thought it was real sad, his being killed and being so good-looking and having that pretty wife and all."
She drank from her glass again. "I didn't think about it for years. Then when I hired on with Priscilla and found out she had been on that very wagon train, we started talking about it. I thought it was odd when she mentioned that the Colemans were living in east Texas." She shrugged. "But it wasn't none of my business. I only saw him and his wife that one day. If such a commotion over his name hadn't been raised later, I wouldn't have even remembered that."
Grady Sheldon sat perfectly still. He tried to organize the information Sugar had given him into some sort of logical order and digest it. Ross Coleman, a rider with the James brothers? A robber? A killer? Living under an alias all these years?
He wanted to crow with glee, to fall to the floor and roll with hilarity. But he pulled a serious face as he addressed Sugar. "Is there anything else?"
"No."
"You've been most informative and helpful, Miss... ?"
"Dalton," she said primly.
"You'll get your reward tomorrow."
"Thank you, Sugar," Priscilla said, rising and indicating that the interview had concluded. She led the other woman to the door. You look tired, dear. I know this has been an ordeal. Why don't you go to your room and rest?"
"I could use a drink."
"I'll have one of the boys bring you a bottle."
After she closed the door behind Sugar, Priscilla turned to her guest slowly, her grin feline and villainous. ''Well?"
Grady rushed across the room, took her in his arms, lifted her up and whirled her around in a mad dance. "Priscilla, I'll smother you in furs and cover you in diamonds for this!"
She laughed. "All I ask for is a partnership in your timber business. I think your ideas are innovative. I have some of my own. And I can bring a considerable amount of cash into the coffers to finance our expansion."
Grady stopped walzing and slowly lowered her to the floor. He had never considered taking on a partner. He had certainly never considered going into partnership with an infamous whore. But he'd work all that out later. Right now he felt like celebrating. "I'll give you anything you want, Priscilla. You've made me the happiest man alive." Then his smile collapsed. "What if she's just a drunken slut who's making up fairy tales to get attention?"
Everything Sugar had said fit. It had always been curious to him that the Colemans didn't have any in-laws. Ross's temper wasn't that of an ordinary man. Grady could well imagine him a trigger-happy outlaw. Still, he couldn't take any drastic action until Sugar's story was checked out.
"I've already documented it," Priscilla assured him. Her eyes grew animated as she told him what she had uncovered. "The sheriff here is a friend of mine. He checked his file of wanted papers, but they didn't go that far back. I had him wire Memphis. There was an outlaw named Sonny Clark.
"He was no more than a wild kid when he rode with the Jameses. He disappeared and was given up for dead in '69. Three years later, his name resurfaced and lawmen were on the watch for him living under the alias Ross Coleman. He was reported to have been killed by a Pinkerton detective named Majors."
"That would have been 1872."
"The year coincides with Sugar's story."
Grady paced the room, slamming one fist into the opposite palm as he concentrated. "There are still gaps a mile wide in the story. Why would the Pinkerton man report Coleman dead and close the file forever?"
Priscilla had come this far. She wasn't going to let a panty-waist like Sheldon get cold feet and ruin everything. She needed him to do her dirty work, to get back at Jake for bis rejection of her and to get even with that cat-eyed, black-haired girl he fancied himself in love with.
"Who knows?" she cried. "Who'll care when you bring him down? Imagine," she said, firing his imagination, "all those people who laughed at you for having to marry that moonshiner's daughter will respect you and look at you with fear and awe. You'll bring one of the James gang to justice. You'll be famous." She thrust herself against him and let her eyes shine up into his face. "It makes me breathless just to stand close to you."
His mouth swooped down on hers. Sex, power, and lust for revenge surged through his body and concentrated in his loins. He carried her into the bedroom and virtually ripped the satin gown to shreds getting it off. In no less a frenzy, Priscilla disrobed him.
As their heaving, naked bodies came together on the bed, Priscilla panted, "You know what you have to do, don't you, Grady darling?"
He plowed into her yielding body, bucking wildly. "Yes. I'll leave for Larsen tomorrow."
She clutched his hair, pulling so hard tears came into his eyes. Her teeth sank into his meaty shoulder and they screamed together as their fulfillment blazed, forging them in a covenant of hate.
* * *
Ma Langston didn't like it. Not one bit. Something was amiss. She could smell it, sense it like an animal senses the change of season.
She arrived at Banner's front door the morning after the cattle had been herded to the ranch. She had stubbornly insisted on taking the raft across the river and walking the distance to the house.
Alternately she scolded and sympathized as she deftly relieved Banner of her stitches with a pair of manicure scissors. She examined the incision and pronounced it was healing well considering a sawbones like Hewitt had done the surgery.
When Banner fell onto her enormous bosom and began to weep copiously, Ma patted her back and comforted her, thinking she was still upset over the surgery. They had shared a cup of tea and a chat. Banner was composed by the time Ma hauled herself up for the trip back across the river.
She was uneasy, knowing something else ailed the girl, but as. yet unable to figure out what. Did she miss her mama? Was that the reason for Banner's tears?
But when Jake rode up beside Ma as she made her way back to the river, she got her first inkling that it amounted to much more than homesickness.
"Ma, why don't you ride Stormy the rest of the way?" Jake offered as he dismounted.
"Hmph! I reckon my legs is as strong as his. I'll walk, thank you."
"How is Banner?" Jake matched his pace to hers, leading Stormy by his reins.
"Don't you know?"
"I didn't see her last night. This morning I was too busy for breakfast."
"She's fair to middlin'. Healing right nicely. A little out of sorts." Ma shaded her eyes with her hand as she peered closely at her son. "You look a might peaked yourself. And swelled up like a bullfrog. What's wrong with you?"
His teeth clamped down his cheroot. "Nothing."
"You got a bellyache?"
"No."
"You mad at somebody?"
"No."
"Hmph!" Ma repeated, letting him know she didn't believe him.
When they reached the river, he made sure she was safely on the raft. Before she took up the long pole to push herself across, she said, "Take care of that girl, ya hear?"
"She can take care of herself," he muttered beneath his breath.
"No, she can't," Ma snapped, wondering if her son was too old to get a well-deserved whipping. "She ain't strong enough yet to see to herself. She's weak in body and soul. Bawled her eyes out this morning."
Jake wouldn't meet his mother's eyes as he threaded Stormy's bridle through his fingers. "Did she say anything?"
"Should she have?"
He shrugged, automatically alert to his mother's keen perception.
Ma dipped the long pole into the water and when it found the muddy bottom, she leaned her weight on it. Something was wrong all right. And it had to do with the two of them. She'd stake her life on that.
Well, whatever it was, they each seemed determined not to talk about it. Best just to leave them alone and let them work it out by themselves. She left Jake with one last instruction. "See to it that she don't do too much."
* * *
Neither of them would h
ave been pleased to see Banner lift the tub of wet clothes and haul them toward the clothesline. The morning after her visit with Ma, she decided that the laundry couldn't pile up for one more day. It had to be washed. Besides, activity kept her from thinking.
She didn't want to think about it.
It was all she thought about.
Jake didn't love her. He pitied her. All his tenderness, his gentle concern, his soul-rending kisses, had been born of pity, not passion.
Oh, the gall of him!
What was she to do now?
Banner knew what people thought of girls who got themselves "in the family way" before they were married. They were no longer stoned in the streets, but their reputations were. As often as not the man who fathered the child went unnamed and unscathed while the girl was sent away in shame. Her family invented trips to Europe or sick relatives back east as an excuse for her absence. But everyone knew she had gone away to give birth to an illegitimate child. Often neither the girl nor the child ever returned.
Banner's parents would never forsake her. She was too confident in their love for her to fear banishment. No matter how she disgraced them, they would never cast her out. But they would be disillusioned beyond repair. Hadn't she hurt them enough with one disastrous love affair? Could they withstand another?
Could she?
She must. Even though she felt like dying, she would live because of her baby. Setting the tub beneath the clothesline, she paused to run her hand over her abdomen. It was awesome and wonderful and thrilling to think that she was carrying a child inside her. Jake's child.
She sniffed as a tear trickled down her cheek. He would probably think no more of it than he did her. It would be a liability to him just as she was. He hadn't become her foreman because he wanted to. He had stayed out of a sense of responsibility for what had happened in the barn. He felt he owed it to her parents for tainting their daughter. He was making recompense for taking her virginity.
Well, she didn't need pity from a sorry sort like Jake Langston! Who did he think he was to pity her?
He had ruined everything for her. She couldn't even find joy in seeing her herd of curly, red-haired Herefords being driven into the fenced pastures. For the benefit of the hands, she had smiled and waved and whooped from the front door as they drove the cattle past the house. For Jake she had had nothing but a cold stare, full of all the contempt she felt for him. He had taken the hint. He hadn't shared a meal with her since their argument. He hadn't even approached the house.
