by Lisa Cooke
She waited patiently while the cook dished out their specials, so she could deliver them to their table as quickly and invisibly as possible. But try though she might, she couldn’t help but glance occasionally in their direction until Dyer left the restaurant . . . alone.
Lottie took a small sigh of relief and had headed back to clear their table when the peacock intercepted.
“I couldn’t help but notice you have an interest in my Dyer,” Mimi said. A caustic little twist to her words sent a warning in Lottie’s direction.
“We have a business arrangement, nothing more.”
“That’s one thing you can be assured of.” Mimi sneered as she threw her words in Lottie’s face. “Dyer would never be interested in you for more than a brief tumble in the sheets, and I promise you, before the bed is cold, you’ll be a fleeting memory.” She scoffed at Lottie. “He has much more expensive tastes than some common saloon whore.”
Lottie stood stunned as the woman finished her tirade. She had never been attacked so viciously in her life. Evidentially, the measure of a true lady had nothing to do with expensive gowns after all.
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Mrs. Anderson, I assure you, you have no reason to be jealous of Dyer’s attention to me,” she said, with a cool edge to her voice. “While I will admit my circumstances have required I currently seek employment, I would much rather be a lady masquerading as a saloon girl, than a whore masquerading as a lady.”
Mimi’s face turned a rather unattractive shade of red, complete with little white splotches on her neck. “I will see you dismissed from this boat,” she said through clenched teeth. “No one speaks to me that way.”
Lottie held her tongue. Maybe she shouldn’t have said what she had. No one aboard the Belle even knew Lottie’s real name, let alone anything about her life before the war. She wanted desperately to put this woman in her place once and for all, but she couldn’t risk her position on the Belle. Too much depended on it. “Forgive me, Mrs. Anderson. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You should be sorry.” Mimi’s arrogant expression was almost more than Lottie could bear. “But then, people in your station are not expected to know how to behave.” She flipped open her fan and waved it under her chin. “Just remember, Dyer is mine, and we won’t have any more problems.”
Thankfully, Dyer’s voice interrupted their exchange. “Ah, I’m glad I found you,” he said, walking toward them.
Mimi gave Lottie a smug little smile. “Of course, sugah,” she muttered in response to his statement. “Where else would I be?” She turned back to face him, and Lottie prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her.
Dyer stopped next to them and offered his arm . . . to Lottie. “Surely, Miss Mace, you have not forgotten your promise?”
“Promise?” Lottie asked, working on her third fluster.
“Why, yes.” He lifted her hand and placed it on his arm. “You promised to allow me to escort you into Natchez this afternoon. I have looked forward to your company all day. You can’t disappoint me now.” He tipped his head toward Lottie, then glanced at Mimi. “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Anderson. We have plans.”
Dyer led Lottie out of the restaurant and some distance down the deck before he finally spoke. “I hope I wasn’t too late.”
“How could you be late for plans we didn’t have?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
They stopped at the front of the boat, where several wooden chairs sat facing the river ahead. Most were empty now, but for a few passengers who had taken the opportunity to enjoy the shade of the upper deck. Luckily, the annoying Mrs. Anderson was nowhere in sight.
“I came back as soon as I saw Mimi talking to you. She can be rather vicious when she puts her mind to it,” Dyer said.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry for that.”
“No need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” She wasn’t sure exactly where to place this side of his personality. Considering she usually felt a need to be rescued from him, being rescued by him was a new experience.
“Somehow I doubt that,” he said. “But in the meantime, I’ll wait here.”
“Pardon?” she asked.
“For you to fetch what ever you need before we go into Natchez.”
“We didn’t actually have plans for this afternoon.”
“And have you had a better offer?”
His voice was too smooth and his smile too inviting, and if she had the sense God gave a goose, she’d lie and claim she couldn’t leave the restaurant, but her shift had ended, and she hadn’t been off the Belle since they’d left New Orleans. The thought of walking on solid ground sounded too good to turn down.
“I’ll only be a moment.”
Mimi watched the insipid saloon girl scurry up the steps to the passenger cabins. It galled her to think Dyer would prefer the company of that common trollop to a true Southern lady such as herself. She had not made this trip to watch Dyer consort with another woman.
She tapped her folded fan against her chin in thought as a slow smile spread across her face. Dyer had better enjoy his little tart while he had the chance. Things were about to change.
Chapter Eight
The clop, clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestone streets of Natchez brought with it thoughts of days gone by, one day in particular. Lottie closed her eyes for a moment and allowed her mind to drift to a place that had existed once but never would again. Glittering ball gowns and sparkling lights, delicious food and soft chamber music floated through her memories as though it were yesterday instead of years ago.
There had been a man by her side in that carriage as well, though nothing like the one who sat there now. Toby Flanders had a respectable upbringing and a promising future. Maybe even with her. They had gone to a soirée, and the evening’s magic left her spellbound, so much so that when he asked her to wait for him, she agreed without hesitation. The next day, Toby left to fight in the war, and when he returned, he found Lottie destitute . . . then, he found an heiress.
“Miss Mace?”
Lottie jerked open her eyes. “Yes?”
“Are you well? You were frowning.”
Of course she was frowning. She’d just realized the boy she’d admired her entire childhood hadn’t deserved a whit of it. “I wasn’t frowning. The sun was in my eyes.”
“They were closed.”
“Because of the sun.”
She made a show of adjusting her bonnet, even though the shade of several large oak trees dappled the street as they rode by. She dared not look at Dyer for fear he’d see through her and push for an explanation. It was bad enough realizing all she’d wanted was Toby Flanders, and all he’d wanted was her money. Admitting that to Dyer was out of the question.
“Where are you taking me to find my cards?” A change of subject should save her that humiliation.
An unasked question flickered across his face, but luckily he chose not to pursue it. “There is a shop a few blocks from here that caters to gentlemen’s whims. They will have your cards, and even some cigars if you’d like.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Thank you, but I have enough to last me.”
He chuckled as the driver turned the carriage down a street lined with shops and crowded with people. A young boy rolled a barrel hoop with a stick while other children laughed and ran behind him down the lane. Yapping dogs followed their trail, and more than one grouchy gentleman raised a cane at them as they raced by.
The carriage stopped, and Lottie accepted Dyer’s hand as he helped her step to the ground. Her mouth watered at the heavenly smell of baking bread as it wafted from a restaurant on the corner, and much to her embarrassment, her stomach grumbled in response. Hopefully, he didn’t hear. She rolled her gaze up to his eyes and caught a twinkle.
“I think we should step into this restaurant,” he said. “I just heard a beast growl, and I fear for our safety in the street.”
/> So much for hopes of his temporary deafness. “A true gentleman would not point such a thing out to a lady.”
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Perhaps we should trade lessons. I’ll teach you poker, and you teach me how to be a gentleman.”
“Do you really wish to learn?”
His lips parted, and his lashes lowered in an expression she’d already come to recognize as trouble. “What do you think?”
Simply put, that was the trouble. When he looked at her like that, thinking became complicated. “I . . . I think we should eat.” Brilliant. Toby Flanders would be proud.
His parted lips broke into a smile. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
He escorted her into the establishment and to a small table in the corner. A red checkered cloth covered the top, and two perky daisies in a glass vase sat in the center. The restaurant was remarkably crowded given the time of afternoon. Evidently, this was the place to eat lunch when shopping in Natchez.
A waitress came to the table and spoke to Dyer. “The special today is fried chicken, if y’all are interested.”
Dyer glanced at Lottie, who nodded in approval. “The lady would like the special, and I’ll have a piece of apple pie and some coffee.”
“You don’t want lunch?” the girl asked.
“I, uh, already ate.”
Lottie’s face flushed. How could she have forgotten he’d already eaten? She had served him. “Mr. Straights, we don’t need to eat if you’d like to go ahead and shop—”
He waited for the waitress to leave. “Miss Mace, I’m trying to be a gentleman.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Not yet,” she said, prying her tongue from the roof of her mouth, “but the day is young.”
Dyer couldn’t remember the last time he’d escorted a lady into town. The women he entertained on the boats were there for one purpose and one purpose only . . . and shopping was not that purpose. Surprisingly enough, he found himself smiling more today than usual. Maybe he should shop more often.
He escorted Lottie to a modiste shop near the restaurant.
“Do they have cards in here?” she asked as he opened the door.
“No. I’ll find those across the street, but I thought you’d enjoy shopping here while I go to the gentlemen’s store. Ladies don’t usually frequent Flannery’s.”
She made a pretty little ‘oh’ shape with her mouth and stepped into the shop. Bolts of textiles in every color imaginable lay on tables and peeked from shelves around the walls of the room. Several women milled about, chatting excitedly about the new shipment as they looked at fabrics and ribbons.
“I’ll be back shortly,” he said to Lottie, but he might as well have spoken to the wall. She’d already made a beeline to a bolt of blue satin.
He smiled and shook his head, then turned, nearly colliding with a gentleman and his lady friend as they came through the door.
Dyer stepped to the side so they could enter and had almost made it outside when he heard the man say, “I know you. You’re a saloon girl from the Magnolia Belleriverboat. Since when do they let the likes of you into a respectable establishment like this?”
The shop fell silent. Dyer spun back toward Lottie. Her face turned ashen, and her lower lip quivered in an unspoken response. He rushed across the room.
“Miss Mace?” He hoped none of the others would realize he’d just escorted her into the shop. “How good to see you again. I was just thinking of your father this morning and wondered if the ambassador was well.”
She blinked once and swallowed. “He—he’s fine. Good of you to ask.”
“I wasn’t aware you had returned from Europe. A good trip, I trust?”
She managed a shaky nod. “Yes, thank you.”
Dyer turned to the man who had just announced her as a whore and narrowed his gaze. The bastard better make this right while he had the chance. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt?”
The man stammered, “Well, er, no. I’m afraid I was mistaken.” He bowed to Lottie. “Forgive me, madam.”
She lifted her chin. “No harm done.”
Like hell.
Dyer offered Lottie his arm and escorted her from the shop. By the time they made it to the sidewalk, most of her color had returned, but her hand still trembled as he led her to a bench under an ancient tree across the street from Flannery’s.
“Will you be all right here while I get your cards?”
She took a seat and folded her hands primly on her lap before she looked up at him and forced a smile. “I’m fine, Mr. Straights. I’m not so fragile that a few harsh words can destroy me.”
That much he knew. So much more about the woman was a mystery.
“I’ll be right back.” He jogged across the street, anxious to get her cards and return her to the Belle. The day had taken an ominous turn, and something told him it wasn’t over yet.
How could it be? How could Dyer Straights be in Natchez? There was no way Straights could’ve known he was here. He covered his trail far too well for Straights or anyone else to find him or even know who he was. Still, this did not bode well.
He watched Straights leave the woman on a bench, hurrying across the street to Flannery’s. He only had a few minutes to determine what to do, or Straights might find him. He couldn’t take that chance. For the first time in years, things were going in the right direction, and Straights couldn’t be allowed to ruin it. Not now.
The horse beside him snorted in agreement with his thoughts. A pair of fine thoroughbreds stood tied to a hitching post, the carriage they pulled lightweight and little challenge for them. The owner had stepped inside a shop, leaving the prancing beasts for just a moment, while he picked up some valuable or another.
And the lone beasts faced Straights.
A casual step to the post allowed him to loosen the tie with none to the wiser. Straights stepped out of the shop and into the street, his attention focused on something he carried in his hand.
Perfect.
A lit cigar against the flank of the closest animal should do the trick.
* * *
Lottie pressed her balled fist against her belly, willing the queasiness to subside. Twice in one day, Dyer had saved her from total humiliation, and though she was grateful for his rescue, she would have been more grateful had it not been necessary.
She stared across the street and willed him to hurry with her purchase. She’d seen enough of Natchez. Who knew how many others on the street might recognize her?
The door to Flannery’s finally opened, and Dyer stepped from the sidewalk onto the street, examining her new cards as he walked. The knot in her stomach relaxed until the rattle of a carriage caught her attention. Two spooked horses raced down the street, their driver nowhere to be seen. And Dyer was about to step into their path.
She jumped to her feet. “Dyer!” she yelled, just as the carriage thundered past. She ran toward Dyer’s prone body on the brick street, praying with each step as she dropped to her knees beside him.
“Dyer? Are you all right?” Please, God, let him be all right. She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, searching for injuries.
He blinked his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow. “Yeah, I jumped back when I heard you yell. But feel free to keep checking me.” He lowered his voice. “We could continue this in my cabin if you’d like.”
Lottie sat back on her heels and plopped her hands onto her lap. She knew he joked to make light of the situation just as she knew it had scared him too. She had no retorts to his comment, brilliant or otherwise.
“I—I thought it’d killed you.”
He stood and helped her to her feet before he pulled her into his arms and muttered against her temple, “I thought it had too.”
She knew she shouldn’t hug him in the street. People had gathered, and it was broad daylight, but she didn’t care. Everyone who passed them by now thought she was either the daughter of
an ambassador or a saloon whore. For one the actions would be forgiven, for the other, expected.
Dyer stepped back and placed her hand in the crook of his arm, patting it for reassurance. “What say we return to the Belle?”
She sighed theatrically. “If you insist.” And if her legs could still carry her.
Chapter Nine
Lottie finished her toilette and stepped quietly from her cabin. It was too early to disturb the other girls from their sleep, but her excitement forbade her to stay in her bed any longer. Today she would learn an actual game. Of course Dyer didn’t know that yet, but he’d get used to the idea soon enough.
The door made a soft click as she closed it behind her and made her way to the restaurant. Her lessons usually began at nine o’clock, and she had just enough time to eat a little and sit a few moments out on the deck before she needed to report to Dyer’s cabin.
The smell of porridge made her stomach rumble as she entered the back entrance to the kitchen. Workers on board the Belle were given a small bowl of porridge each morning as part of their payment. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
“Here you go, Miss Lottie,” the old cook said with a wink. He handed Lottie her bowl with a piece of fried ham as a bonus. They weren’t supposed to get the meat without paying, but he often slipped her a little extra on the side. She wasn’t sure if wrinkled old men could be angels, but she suspected this one just might be.
“Thank you and good morning, Mr. Stanley.” She accepted her meal with a smile and headed out to the deck to eat in the cool morning air.
A chair on the port side of the Belle allowed her to admire the town of Natchez while she ate. A shudder ran through her as she thought of how close the carriage had come to running over Dyer. It was almost as if someone had intentionally sent the horses his way. Though that was silly. Who could possibly want to kill Dyer?
