Painted Lady

by Roxy Harte

  “Yes!” She answered too fast and immediately realized her mistake. Meeting his gaze, her heart fluttered in her chest like a frightened, caged bird beating its wings against the wires.

  “Want to try again? Maybe tell me the truth this time?”

  Keeping her eyes on him, Lucy backed hurriedly down the steps.

  “Don't be afraid of me. Whatever trouble you're in, I can help you.”

  Lucy shook her head, catching the parcel when it fell and clutched it to her chest as she took off running.

  Her breath came in frantic gasps as she ran as fast as she could down the road, but she didn't stop running until she was on the opposite end of town, hiding behind the livery. She leaned against the rough wood wall and tried to catch her breath. He hadn't chased after her. That had to be a good sign, right? Oh God, Oh God. Emma! Why did you have to leave me? I was safe when I was owned. No one would dare hurt your property.

  Lucy buried her face in her hands and cried, sobbing until there wasn't another tear to shed, and here she'd thought she'd been all cried out. It seemed a cruel joke she was so close to Emma's dream for her—a life she had never really seen or wanted for herself—only to discover she did want the freedom promised.

  Hearing voices, she ducked into a stand of nearby pines and found herself near a wide creek. She followed the stream until she was well out of sight, and sat, settling her bundle beside her. She dipped her hand in the water, then brought her cupped fingers to her mouth to drink. Seeing her reflection, she splashed her face. She let out a heavy sigh.

  She needed to be brave.

  She wished she had the confidence of the woman in Hangtown. Miss Birdie. She would have no trouble marching into a bank to buy a piece of property. Lucy worried her bottom lip and thought aloud, “I could be her. Strong. Powerful.” The kind of woman men respected solely because she catered to their needs. Not those needs, but whiskey for certain. She somehow knew one might not be possible without the other, and shivered, wanting to be in a position of power but fearing the path. She closed her eyes and pulled her strength around her like battle armor. It wasn't a far stretch for her mind, because she really was fighting for a new life. “I can do this!”

  She hurriedly opened the bundle before she lost her nerve and drew out the bright yellow satin gown. She didn't have skirt hoops, but she had everything else. After making certain she was discreetly hidden from any passerby's view, she stripped and re-dressed, starting with the corset. When lacing it up the back proved impossible, she laced it up the front and shimmied it around. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it served a purpose, pushing up her breasts as Miss Birdie's had been. She stepped into the dress and pulled it up, then slid her arms into the long, billowing sleeves. Then she faced the more daunting task of her hair. Sitting in a dry bed of pine needles, she worked the tangles out and styled it up.

  There was no way she could tame her hair into the elaborate style she'd seen on Miss Birdie, but she could put it in a knot at the nape of her neck. Seeking her reflection in the stream, she smiled. She felt almost human again.

  Hair dressed, she tucked her feet into the boots with heels. And very tight toes. “Holy Mother of God.” Lucy stood, stumbled, and then tried another step. After a few moments she could walk in the shoes, but it was going to be a painful proposition.

  Determined, she withdrew the silver tin from her pocket. “I can do this.”

  She tidied and hid the bundle before coming out of her hiding place, then walked the back side of town to the bank, wanting as few people as possible to see her. She felt ridiculous and not at all confident. She hoped she didn't end up in a world of hurt for drawing attention to herself. She didn't yet feel safe.

  From the backside of the buildings they all appeared the same, but knew the bank was at the far side of town. When she reached the building she believed was the bank, she walked around to the front. The streets seemed busy, making her wonder where everyone had come from. She lifted her chin and tried to walk the way she'd seen Miss Birdie walk. She lifted her skirts and strode up the steps purposefully, thrilled when she didn't trip.

  Catching her reflection in the window, she barely recognized herself. Oh. Her skin glowed against the rich yellow of the gown. She felt beautiful and confident. Emma would have been proud. She'll be even prouder if I pull this off.

  Entering the bank, she felt every set of eyes on her. Maybe it was because she was new in town. Or a woman. Or maybe it was because she was a Negro woman. She hitched her chin a little higher, telling herself it was because she appeared to be a powerful woman in town on business. She stepped up to an open teller window. “I'd like to see the manager.”

  A man left his desk. “I'm the manager.”

  Now what? Lucy had only been in a bank once before, and then she'd been with Emma and Oliver. There only because she was holding their packages from a day spent shopping. She tried to remember what to say, how to act. “Might we speak privately?”

  “In regard to?” He glanced around the room, and it seemed to Lucy he was more nervous than she. She leaned forward and whispered, “A business matter.”

  The bank manager flushed scarlet. “I assure you, madam, we have nothing to discuss.” Taking her elbow, he tried to hurry her toward the door, and it was then that Lucy understood. Two women were in the corner whispering, a man was leering openly at her, and the two tellers had stopped transacting business in order to listen. He believed the town would get the wrong impression, deducing she was a prostitute or his mistress.

  “A moment of your time ”—she glanced frantically around, spying MR. JONATHON BALE, MANAGER, painted on the glass of a door that led to a private office—“Mr. Bale, to discuss a business matter would seem a wiser choice than the smear I will leave on your reputation if you hustle me away.”

  His eyes widened. “Is that a threat?”

  She nodded toward the gawkers. “Merely the truth as I see it.”

  He pushed her into his office and slammed the door closed. “Now what is this about?”

  “I would like to purchase the saloon across the road.” She caught herself and rephrased, remembering the notice on the window. “I meant to say—the foreclosed hotel.”

  He laughed at her and sat in the big chair behind his desk. He didn't offer her a chair, but she sat anyway. “You want to buy the property across the road?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He laughed again, a great big barrel laugh that filled the room. Withdrawing the silver tin from inside her sleeve, she set it on her lap out of his view before removing the lid. She withdrew a single stone and placed it on his desk in front of him. “I assure you, I am serious.”

  He gaped and then picked it up. She held her breath and waited to be accused she was in possession of stolen property. She kicked herself for not asking Daniel to do this task for her before leaving town to go to his ranch.

  Mr. Bale held the cut diamond up to the light. He bit it, and then he pulled a piece of glass from his top drawer and drew the stone across the surface, marking it easily. “It's real.”

  “Yes. I'd like to use it to buy the hotel. If you would just draw up a deed.”

  He pushed the diamond toward her. “A dozen men have been in here with twenty times this stone's worth in gold, and I've refused to sell.”

  Defeat swept through Lucy, but she didn't let it show. “Twenty times?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if a man brought you thirty times this stone's worth?” She picked the stone up and held it in her palm to catch a beam of sunlight streaming through his window. It sparked a rainbow of color to dance over his walls.

  “Miss”—he looked over the rim of his round, wire-framed glasses at her—“I hardly think it is appropriate to discuss the price of a property you clearly cannot afford.”

  “What if a man offered you forty times that stone's worth? Fifty?”

  He licked his lips, and Lucy saw greed. “I s'pose I'd settle for fifty times the stone's worth.”

 
; Lucy nodded. Looking down, she counted out forty-nine stones and laid them on the desk with the first. “I trust you will draw up the deed immediately?”

  Mr. Bale's eyes bugged, and he started to stutter. Lucy worried he would try to steal the stones; she'd seen enough lawlessness in town to know no one could protect her if he did. When he reached into his desk drawer, she stood, fearing he was going to point a pistol at her, but instead he withdrew his notary stamp, a quill, and ink. She swallowed, walked to the window, and pretended to gaze upon the hotel. She wrung her hands in front of her, hardly believing the transaction was going to take place as she watched the reflection of man's quill flying swiftly over paper in the windowpane. “Who should I make the deed out to?”

  His reflection turned to look at her, and she smoothly pivoted around to face him. “Lucy Bowman.” She smiled. Be calm, be calm. A few minutes later she left the bank with the deed clutched tightly in her hand. Jumping up and down, she released the shriek of happiness she'd been holding since he'd started laying ink to paper. She couldn't believe it.

  Mr. Bale came outside, alarming her. “Miss Bowman?”

  “Yes?”

  He took her hand and placed five diamonds in her palm. “I couldn't live with myself if I kept these. I'm an honest man and shouldn't have taken advantage of your ignorance. You might consider exchanging those into currency, though. I fear you face a slew of repairs over there. The men haven't been too kind to the place.”

  Lucy nodded, looking over her shoulder at the drunks lying on the steps. She withdrew her hand from his and placed the stones in the silver box before tucking the tin back into her sleeve. “Do you think if I exchange one, it will be enough to purchase a rifle?”

  Mr. Bale coughed. “I think you could buy several dozen rifles, but I'd advise you to not go that route. I believe we have a new lawman in town, perhaps you could ask him to run off the riffraff, and then you could spend your money on paint and laborers.”

  Lucy agreed and followed him into the bank to exchange one of her diamonds for federal-issued currency and deposit the rest for safekeeping. Leaning near, he said, “Once you have your business up and running, perhaps I can be one of your first customers?” He winked, and Lucy saw that clearly he thought she was exactly like Miss Birdie in Hangtown. Oh no, oh no! How could she ever correct the miscommunication?

  * * *

  Rages Like Thunder threw on his clothes and gathered together his things. He had no intention of staying on as sheriff, and he certainly wasn't going to have another confrontation with the crazy man who had awakened him up with the barrel of a rifle pressed to his face. He could be dead. And why? Because he'd drunk himself into a stupor? It didn't matter that it was harder and harder to sleep at night with so many ghosts to keep him awake; dead was dead. He wouldn't be caught incapacitated again.

  He looked out the window. At least the dreariness of the last week had been replaced by a bright sun and brilliant blues skies. It would be as good a day as any to take to the trail. If only he knew which way to head.

  An imp walked by the hotel. Leaning over the sill of the upstairs window, he watched her look in the lower windows. He'd blinked twice, seeing a little bit of nothing swallowed up by a dress big enough to hold a dozen of her. His first impression was that she was looking for a place to hole up and had probably heard the hotel had been abandoned.

  He had hurried down the stairs to set her straight, but she was gone by the time he got outside. Looking up and down the street, he'd decided she'd been a mirage brought on by his heavy drinking, but then he sighted her in front of the bank and crossed the street.

  Face-to-face with her, he had been captivated by her beauty. If angels could fall from heaven and take on human form, they could be no more beguiling than the living, breathing woman standing in front of him. Beautiful didn't cover the perfection of her heart-shaped face, cupid lips, and the most expressive eyes he'd ever seen. He had to have her. Not a very patient man, or at least not one who left his fate to chance, he spoke, scaring her half to death.

  He couldn't even remember what he'd said.

  Once she had taken off like a doe in the woods, he had tracked her, following far enough behind as to not spook her again. He found her beside a stream's edge but didn't dare go any closer.

  She was nude.

  Dappled sunlight played over her deep brown skin, making him hard and anxious with raw need. He wanted to break through the brush and throw her to the ground. He wanted—

  Watching her, his mouth went dry.

  She appeared to be struggling with a corset, her breasts heaving, but then they were captured behind the tight, stiff cloth, pressed together, and pushed up. He wanted to free the perfect globes again, hold them in his hands. He knew they'd be soft and firm. He imagined taking her nipple into his mouth. He vowed in that moment she would be his…even if he had to become a better man to make it so. Watching her leave the glade, he pinned the silver star to his vest and put the bloody days of his past behind him.

  Chapter Six

  Lucy stepped around the drunks lying on the steps and entered the foyer of her hotel. A wide staircase led up to the bedrooms; to the right, a wide threshold opened to the saloon. “I own you now.”

  She stepped into the dust-filled, gloomy room and started opening the interior shutters. She twirled in a circle, hugging herself, congratulating herself, and then she saw the broken chairs, the holes in the walls, and the broken glass on the floor. Letting out a heavy sigh, she wanted to cry.

  She didn't take time to admire the beautiful carved wood bar as she stepped behind it and grabbed a broom, left leaning against the wall. She started sweeping. Glass. Splintered wood. And when she reached the steps leading off the porch—men—hitting them in the head with the broom handle to wake them up if just swatting them with the bristled end didn't work. “Shoo. Shoo!”

  One of the men stood up, swaying on his feet, but ready for a fight. He shoved Lucy hard in the chest, knocking her down. From nowhere, Thunder appeared and pressed his pistol next to the man's temple. “Apologize.”

  “She attacked me!”

  “I said apologize.” Thunder cocked his gun.

  The man swallowed hard, his face turning bright red. “Sorry, ma'am.”

  Lucy nodded, pushing herself back onto her feet and dusting her hands on her skirts. She thought her beautiful dress might be ruined. Stomping her foot, she exclaimed, “Look at what you did,” as she tried to brush the dirt off her backside.

  The man looked at his feet sheepishly. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a dozen gold nuggets and held them out to her. Lucy stepped back from him. “You can work off the damage. I have a wall that needs to be patched and repainted.”

  He nodded and tucked the gold back into his pocket. He started to mount the steps, but she stopped him with a push of her hand. “Tomorrow—after you've sobered up.”

  After he'd gone, Lucy looked into the eyes of her rescuer. “I guess I owe you my gratitude.”

  Thunder smiled and tipped his hat. “Ma'am.”

  The gesture made her blush. She'd never been treated like a lady before. She fidgeted nervously. “Well, I should probably get back to work.”

  Thunder took hold of the broom handle, stopping her in her tracks and making her look into his face. His eyes were as mesmerizing and as terrifying as they'd been the first time she'd looked into them. “You are the same woman as this morning.”

  She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly too dry to confirm or deny.

  He nodded at the saloon. “You're the woman who just bought the hotel?”

  Her eyebrow went up. “Word travels fast.”

  “Small town,” he said but then added, “Mr. Bale thought you might need some protection.” Thunder opened the edge of his jacket to reveal the silver star pinned to the leather vest beneath. “I was elected sheriff this morning.”

  “I'm fine, but thank you for the offer of protection.”

  “Wasn't an offer. I'm here; I'
m going to be protecting you.”

  Lucy furrowed her brow.

  “In a few hours, when night falls on this town, you'll be glad I'm here. Besides, I've pretty much moved into one of the rooms upstairs. Look at it as barter. I sleep here in exchange for your personal safety.”

  Lucy turned away, not liking the way his suggestion was making her feel. Her insides turned warm as thick molasses over flapjacks whenever she looked into his eyes, and now they were going to be sleeping under the same roof? She didn't think that seemed acceptable, but then she reminded herself it was a hotel; there were many rooms to choose from. It occurred to her Daniel wouldn't like the arrangement either, but then she reminded herself Daniel had ridden out of town without her. Climbing the steps, she heard Thunder's footfalls on the steps right behind her. “You better have left the largest bedroom for me.”

  “Lady's choice. I can switch rooms if I need to.” He chuckled, and the sound reverberated through her, increasing the feeling of warm sweetness flowing through her veins. She closed her eyes to quiet her mind of the images filling her head; all the things she'd done with Daniel, but the face had changed to be Thunder. Oh God. She tripped on a loose plank. Her eyes flew open, but Thunder had already caught her elbow.

  “Easy, now.” He held her elbow, stabilizing her as she climbed the stairs, the heels she was wearing suddenly heavy and cumbersome. She was trembling and blamed it on his nearness, although she honestly couldn't say she feared him. At the top of the stairs, the hall was dark. He led the way, opening doors on left and right as he went. With each opened door, a little more light drifted into the hallway. Light and the cloying scent of perfume. Peeking in each door, she was surprised by the opulence. It wasn't anything like the filth and destruction she'd encountered downstairs. Dark wood furnishings—a bed, chest, chairs, and several carved tables—filled each room. Brocade wallpaper. Silk curtains. Exotic patterned floor coverings. By the time she reached the last door and the largest room, she had no doubt in her mind the hotel she'd just purchased had a dubious past. Stepping into the largest room, she started to laugh. She ran her hand over the dark wood of the bedstead; she caressed the silk and velvet covering the bed. She'd wanted to be like Miss Birdie, and now it seemed that was exactly the position she could be in if she wanted it. Going to the window, she looked at her view, or lack of one because pine trees pressed in close. She threw open the window, letting a cool, fresh breeze in. She inhaled deeply, and the air smelled better than it ever had. This is what freedom and power smell like.