by Lisa Cooke
He continued toward his room until the glow of a cheroot caught his eye. Newt leaned against the rail, staring out at the night.
“She’s not very good, is she?” Newt said, more as a statement than a question.
“At what?” Dyer leaned beside him deciding it was too hot to go to his room right now anyway.
“Poker.”
“She hasn’t been playing very long.”
“No,” Newt agreed, “but the tournament’s coming fast, and she still doesn’t stand a chance at winning it.”
“Hell, she doesn’t stand a chance of winning her entry fee, let alone the tournament.”
Chuckling, Newt took the last draw on his cheroot before flicking it into the river. “Did you ever find out why she needs the money so bad?”
Dyer shook his head.
“Me neither,” Newt said, “but it must be important for her to do what she’s done.”
“Yeah. I’ve tried more than once to talk her into going home, but she refuses.”
Neither spoke for a few moments as they allowed their thoughts room to roam.
Dyer was the first to break the silence. “You know we have to help her win her damn money, don’t you?”
Winking, Newt stepped away from the rail. “I wondered how long it was going to take you to reach that conclusion.”
Lottie reached for the doorknob to slip in her key, but the door swung open as soon as she touched it. One of the other girls must have left it unlocked by mistake. Not that it mattered. None of them had anything worth stealing anyway, especially her. She didn’t even have hope.
Lighting the lantern in the dark was more of a challenge than usual. The silly little knob must have shrunk in the last few hours. She stretched out on her quilt and stared up at the beadboard ceiling of her cabin. Even with her foggy brain, she knew things couldn’t get much worse.
No money.
No hope.
A lone tear rolled down her cheek into her ear. A reminder of why crying on her back was not a good idea. She turned to her side, tucked her fist under her pillow and hit something with her hand.
Sitting up, she lifted the pillow and found a piece of folded paper. A note. She forced her eyes to focus.
Dear Miss Mason, it read. If you give up now, Daddy pays with his life.
She gasped and dropped the paper as though it were on fire. No one on the boat knew her real name, and only one other person in the world knew why she was there.
The blackmailer was aboard the Belle.
Chapter Sixteen
Did you do it?” Mimi Anderson fidgeted, looking around as though someone knew or cared they were talking on the deck.
“Of course I did.” Joseph Cullen didn’t appreciate her lack of faith. It wasn’t as though the task were difficult.
“How do you know it was her bunk, and not one of the other whore’s?”
He wouldn’t tell her he’d peeked through the window of their cabin while they’d slept. If he did, she might start closing her window as well. “You’re just going to have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”
“And no one saw you?”
He sighed and stepped closer to her. She was so beautiful standing in the moonlight. Almost as beautiful as the night he’d watched her bathe in her cabin. He brushed his hand against her cheek. “If you didn’t trust me to do this, why did you ask me?”
She winced and pulled away from him. “Really, Mr. Cullen. It was simply a favor, nothing more.”
He forced his teeth to unclench. She was a bigger whore than all the others put together. And now she pretended insult?
“Yes, my dear. A favor that requires compensation.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She attempted to slip past him from the shadowed corner of the deck, but he’d have none of that. He’d taken quite a risk, and it was time for payback.
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He skimmed his fingers down her throat to the creamy white breasts she loved to flaunt. “There are certain people on this boat who would be very interested in your little scheme.”
He slipped his fingers into the neckline of her gown, growing instantly hard when his brush against her breast brought a gasp from her mouth.
“Are you threatening to betray me?” she asked.
She tried to act indignant, but he knew better. “That’s up to you and how long it takes you to get to my cabin.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dyer, wake up.” Sally Summerfield’s voice penetrated Dyer’s overused and under rested mind. Each strike against his door sent a jolt through his body. He had just fallen asleep, and it wasn’t even dawn.
“Hell, Sally. Can’t this wait?” He flipped the sheet off his naked body, knowing he was bound to get up in the long run. Sally wouldn’t be pounding unless it was important, but his fog-filled mind didn’t want to accept it right now.
“It can’t wait if you want to save Lottie.”
That worked. He sat up and grabbed his pants off the end of his bed, jerking them on as he crossed to open the door.
“What’s happened to Lottie?”
“That witch had her thrown off the boat.”
He blinked twice. “Into the river?”
“No, Dyer.” She smacked him on the shoulder. “Wake up!”
“I’m trying to, Sally, but you’re not making any sense.”
She put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot impatiently against the deck. “That hussy, Mimi Anderson, accused Lottie of stealing a brooch from her and insisted Captain Woodruff throw her off the boat.”
“Lottie wouldn’t steal anything.”
“I know that and you know that, but Captain Woodruff found the pin in Lottie’s bunk, and he has shit for brains.”
Dyer stepped back into his room to grab his shirt while he quizzed her. “When did it happen?”
“I’m not sure. I was out at the time, but when I came back the other girls told me, and I came straight to you.”
Dyer pulled on his boots and grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair, not bothering to button his shirt as he stormed out of his cabin.
“Are you going to go get her?” Sally asked from behind.
“Yeah, but first I’ve got a hussy to deal with.” He ran down the deck to Mimi’s cabin, but pulled up short before pounding his fist into her door. If she knew how mad he was, she wouldn’t let him in, and he didn’t have enough time to cool off.
“Mimi, sweetheart?” he purred outside her door. “It’s Dyer.” He would give her a minute to get to the door before he’d kick it in. But she’d better hurry. The idea of kicking something sounded pretty good.
“What do you want?”
Damn. Her timid reply told him she already suspected he was mad. “Open the door, Mimi. I need a word with you.”
“Can’t it wait ’til morning?”
“Open the damn door,” he said quietly, “or I’m going to rip it from the hinges.”
The door swung open. Mimi peeked around the corner like a puppy does when it hopes no one else knows it’s the one that pissed on the floor.
“Really, Dyer, I don’t know what you’re so upset about.”
He stepped into the cabin. “Did I say I was upset?”
She pulled the front of her wrapper closer together and patted her hair. She normally wasn’t one to fidget, but then Dyer suspected she normally didn’t get caught pissing on the floor either.
“You didn’t have to say it. I can tell by the way you’re acting, but it’s not my fault that saloon girl stole from me.” She sashayed across her cabin to pick up a brush to run through her hair. Leave it to Mimi to act as though she were the one wronged.
He had no intentions of arguing with her. Too much whiskey and not enough sleep had his head thick and his patience thin. “Get dressed.”
“What ever for?”
“You’re going to tell Captain Woodruff the truth.”
“I have no intentions of getting dresse
d at this hour—”
“Fine.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her from her cabin out to the deck.
“Dyer!” She struggled to free herself as he dragged her to the captain’s cabin. “You can’t expect me to tell Captain Woodruff anything—”
Dyer stopped just outside the captain’s cabin and grabbed Mimi’s shoulders. He leaned close enough she could hear his lowered voice. “If you don’t tell him the truth, I’m going to throw you over the rail into the river.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He arched his brow.
“All right,” she ground out. She jerked her arms from his grip and straightened her wrapper. “The least you could’ve done was let me get dressed,” she murmured before she knocked on the captain’s door.
Dyer rolled his eyes but held his tongue. The sooner he could get Lottie’s name cleared, the sooner he could get her back to the boat, and time was wasting.
Captain Woodruff came to the door already dressed for the day. “How can I help you, Mrs. Anderson?”
“It appears as though I made a mistake, though it truly wasn’t my fault—”
Dyer cleared his throat.
Mimi glanced up at him and pursed her lips. “I might have been wrong about that saloon girl—”
“Miss Mace,” Dyer corrected.
“Miss Mace,” Mimi repeated through clenched teeth.
“What kind of mistake? Wasn’t it your brooch?” the captain asked.
“It was mine, but I’d forgotten I lent it to her.”
The captain rubbed the top of his bald head and frowned. “Oh my, I’m afraid she’s already been removed from the boat.”
“Oh well, what’s done is done.” Mimi turned to leave, but Dyer grabbed her arm to prevent her from escaping. He wasn’t through with her just yet.
“I’m going to fetch Miss Mace from town,” he said to the captain. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Captain Woodruff checked his pocket watch. “You’d best hurry, Mr. Straights. It’s four thirty now, and the Belle will be leaving for Greenville promptly at dawn. I want to make sure we have plenty of time to wood up once we get there.”
“If you’ll wait ’til Miss Mace and I return, I’ll help load the wood myself.”
“Sorry. I can’t be holding up the Belle on the whims of my passengers. We have a schedule to keep.” He closed the door, and Dyer agreed with Sally’s opinion on the captain’s brains.
“Well,” Mimi said, a little too smugly to be healthy, “we tried.”
Dyer pulled her quickly with him down the deck toward her cabin. “The way I got it figured, you have about an hour and a half to pack.”
“What ever for?”
He spun her around to look at him. “When I get back, you’re to be off this boat. You can either walk down the gangplank or get pitched overboard. Make your choice.”
Her jaw dropped open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I think we’ve already established I would.”
She snapped her mouth shut and stormed into her cabin, slamming the door in her wake.
Dyer hurried to his cabin, grabbed his wallet and gun, and rushed off the boat to find Lottie. Time was short, and given the hour, finding someone who saw her leave the Belle wouldn’t be easy.
A long stretch of weathered boards provided floating decking along the river’s edge, and a lone out house sat in a cluster of trees at the end of the cobblestone loading area. No one was in sight near the small storage building at the edge of the cobblestones or on the little bench leaning under its drooping wooden eaves. He would start his search with the rooming houses near the river, and any places Lottie may have decided to wait until businesses opened in the morning. He hurried into the town of Vicksburg.
“Whew.” Lottie stepped out of the out house near the pier, fanning her hand in front of her nose.
They sorely needed to add lime to that privy. The stench could’ve brought tears to a dead man’s eyes. She situated herself on a bench near a storage building and faced the river, careful not to jar her thumping head. She didn’t know if the pain was the result of too much whiskey or the humiliation of knowing she’d asked Dyer for kissing lessons. Either way, the fact she wouldn’t have to face him again until St. Louis gave some relief.
The Magnolia Belle sat beautifully moored against the bank. The smoke from her stacks indicated a fire already burned to make steam for her imminent departure. Most of the deck was deserted, but for a woman carrying her valise down the gangplank and into Vicksburg. She couldn’t see who the woman was, nor did she care. The Belle’s business no longer mattered. What she needed was to find another boat heading north in time for the tournament. At least the next boat wouldn’t have Mimi Anderson or the blackmailer on board.
Lottie had little doubt as to the identity of the blackmailer. Abe Johnson had unnerved her from the moment he’d stepped aboard the boat. At least now she knew why.
The activity on the deck increased as the sun’s light peeked above the horizon. One of the crewmen untied the Belle’s ropes from the pylons before he scrambled on board, and the large paddle wheel came to life. She laid her head against the building and closed her eyes. Now that the day had begun, she should be able to get some help.
“Miss Mace!” The sound of Dyer’s voice brought her awake with a jolt. She wasn’t even aware she had drifted asleep.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as he jogged toward her.
“Looking for you.”
“What ever for?” She tipped her head back to look at his face. If his flushed cheeks and heavy breathing were any indication, he’d been running.
“To take you back to the Belle before she leaves.”
“But—”
Raising his hand to stop her, he said, “There’s no need for you to worry. Mimi admitted she lied, and everything is all right.”
“But—”
“And she is no longer on the Belle, or at least she’d better not be.”
“But—”
“Captain Woodruff understands what happened, and you can have your job back.”
“But—” She stopped herself that time, figuring to save him the trouble.
He raised his brow. “But what, Miss Mace?”
She pursed her lips and pointed to the back end of the Belle, chugging its way up the Mississippi. Dyer turned to look in the direction she pointed.
“Hell,” he grumbled. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I tried—”
He grabbed her valise off the bench and headed toward town. “Come, Miss Mace. Don’t dawdle.”
She hurried to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”
“The Belle is heading to Greenville, but she won’t be staying there for long. There’s not much left since the war, but the captain is wooding up there, so we should have a day or two to catch them.”
She lifted the front of her skirts to allow her to move more quickly. His long legs covered a lot of ground, and even the weight of her valise didn’t slow him down. He bounded across a street and onto a wooden sidewalk, stepping over mud puddles and horse droppings without breaking stride. She wasn’t doing quite so well. She’d already stepped in a couple of things that felt rather squishy.
“Where are we going?” The gulp of air she sucked into her lungs did little to relieve the stitch in her side.
“Greenville.”
She followed for a few more minutes before she finally gave up. “If you’re planning to run there, you’re going to have to do it without me.” She stopped and leaned against a building to gasp air into her empty lungs and rub her aching temples.
He looked at her, shaking his head. “We weren’t running there. We were running here.” He pointed to a sign over her head.
She tipped her head back and squinted up at the sign. “Why are we at a livery?”
“To buy horses, of course.” He walked inside.
“Of course,” she mimicked under her breath, pulling reluctant
ly away from her resting place to follow him inside. The barn smelled of horses and hay, and the nickers of the animals greeted them as they entered the dark interior. Someone in the back pitched hay over the stall doors, whistling an unidentifiable tune as he worked.
Lottie wasn’t sure how much it cost to purchase a carriage and horses, but it couldn’t be cheap. She would be sure to repay him as soon as she won the tournament.
“What can I do for you, sir?” The fellow feeding the horses tossed his last bit of hay into a stall and headed toward them. He took a kerchief from his pocket, wiping his brow as he walked.
“I’d like to buy two horses,” Dyer said.
Lottie waited politely for him to add the, “and a carriage” part, but when he didn’t, she tugged on his coat sleeve. “No carriage?”
“I don’t know of the condition of the road between here and Greenville. Besides, horse back will be faster.”
She swallowed. “You want me to ride a horse?”
He sighed. “I imagine that would be faster than if you tried to carry it.”
“I—I don’t ride horses.”
He raised his brow. “What do you ride?”
“Carriages.”
“Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“When I was a child, but I swear, I don’t think I could stay on top now.” She’d never mastered the sidesaddle her heavy gown would require, and the thought of climbing on a strange horse terrified her.
Dyer turned back to the owner of the stable. “Make that one horse and tack.”
Lottie’s shoulders sagged. Not that she could blame him for giving up on her. She’d been nothing but trouble, and he could get to the tournament much faster without her. Her best bet now was to return to the waterfront and find a job on the next boat heading upriver. A tear filled the corner of her eye, but she blinked it back quickly. When this was all over, she intended to cry herself silly . . . and maybe even swoon, but a good swooning took time, and she didn’t have any of that to spare.
“Well, Mr. Straights.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Thank you for all your help. Perhaps we will meet up in St. Louis.”
She left the livery quickly on the off chance the cry would come ahead of schedule and stepped into the warm light of the morning sun. She wished she’d paid closer attention to where they’d gone when they rushed through the streets and alleys to the livery. Though right now, the most important thing was to get away from Dyer.
