by Connie Mason
Julie slewed around to look into a face with high cheekbones, strong nose, a smiling, well-shaped mouth and penetrating green eyes. Thick chesnut hair curled attractively at the nape of his neck and over his forehead, lending him a boyish air. It was a face she had seen before. At length she became increasingly aware that she was cradled protectively in the man’s arms, her bright head tucked beneath his chin.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Julie murmured. “You can put me down now.”
“Only if you promise not to do anything foolish. You almost got yourself killed.”
“Mae! Oh God, Mae!” Everything came back to her in a rush of suffocating pain. She began to sob softly, her copious tears dampening the man’s lapels.
Moved by Julie’s heartrending tears, the man abruptly turned and began walking away from the scene of destruction with the weeping girl still held securely in his arms.
“Where … where are you taking me?” choked out Julie.
“I’m going to take you home.” His words brought on a fresh barrage of tears. “I’m not going to harm you, my dear. My name is Brett Casey and though my reputation isn’t as pristine as I would hope, I do not hurt defenseless young women.”
At first the name meant nothing to Julie. Until she risked another look at his smiling face. Brett Casey. The man who had saved her life was the same one who had gallantly carried her across the muddy street months ago, inciting Rod’s anger. He was also the owner of Casey’s Pleasure Palace. Julie was certain he did not remember her. There was barely a soul left in San Francisco who even recalled that she was the wife of Don Rodrigo Delgado.
“I am Julie Darcy, Mr. Casey,” Julie said hesitantly.
“Please call me Brett, Julie,” Casey smiled engagingly. “Now, where do you live? And what was Mae to you that would cause you to risk your life for her?” Noting that Julie appeared recovered from her faint, Brett reluctantly set her on her feet, keeping a hand about her tiny waist in order to lend assistance should she still need it.
“Mae was a very good friend,” Julie said, swallowing with difficulty the hard knot of tears clogging her throat. “The only friend I had in San Francisco. She was also my landlady. I lived in her boarding house. And now she’s gone.”
“What about your parents? Surely they will find another place to stay.”
“My father left town a few days ago on business. I was to stay with Mae until his return.” Julie’s sad voice and tragic eyes struck a chord somewhere in the hardened chambers of Brett’s heart. “Everything we owned was destroyed in the flames. Clothing, money, everything,” she repeated, dazed by the enormity of the dilemma now facing her.
“We’ll send for your father, my dear. Once he finds out what happened, I’m sure he will return immediately.”
Julie’s bluebell eyes blinked at Brett Casey several times, and his heart was immediately lost. “I don’t know where he is,” she admitted somewhat shamefacedly. “His business was of a private nature. He assured me he would not be gone overly long.”
Intuitively, Brett knew that Julie’s emotions were near the breaking point. He was also aware that he could not in all good conscience abandon her on the lawless streets of San Francisco. Brett realized immediately that she was not a woman in the habit of caring for herself. Abandoning her would be tantamount to tossing a babe to a pack of wolves. Besides, he had just found her and was not about to let her get away so easily. Already he was half in love with her.
“There is no one who will take you in?” Brett asked carefully. “No friends? No family?”
Swallowing convulsively, Julie shook her head. She was well aware of what would happen to her if left to her own devices. In order to survive until her father returned she would be forced to support herself, employing the only means open to her. Her expressive face conveyed her thoughts perfectly to Brett Casey, definitely a man knowledgeable in the many aspects of life in the wide open city of San Francisco. And if Brett had his way, Julie Darcy would soon be firmly ensconced in his bed.
Taking Julie’s elbow in a way that brooked no argument, Brett said, “Come along, Julie.”
“Where … where are you taking me?”
“To my place. You need to rest. You’ve just had a terrible shock and I would never forgive myself if I left you alone and something dreadful happened to you.” His softly spoken words implied more than they said.
Brett Casey may have been a gambler, a ladies’ man well known for his impeccable taste in women, a man who changed his mistresses as often as he changed his shirt, but he was generous to a fault to his lovers; a man who rarely relied on violence in his dealings. Above all, Brett was not a ravisher of young, unwilling women. There was never any need.
To Brett’s way of thinking Julie had come into his life at an opportune moment. His current mistress, Rita, a fiery Mexican, was becoming far too possessive for his liking. She had become boring, too. Of late, even her considerable charms and expertise failed to arouse him. He was beginning to think he was becoming jaded and that no one would succeed in moving him to great heights again. Until he saw Julie, that is. Instinctively he felt that he had finally found a woman who would never bore him or fail to arouse him. Now that he had found her, he did not want to let her slip away.
Many things went through Julie’s mind as she considered her fate should she be left to make her own way. All of them worse than going along with Brett Casey, who seemed neither threatening nor dangerous compared to her other alternatives. Clearly at the end of her tether, Julie allowed Brett to guide her to the entrance of his saloon several blocks from where the fire was finally being brought under control.
Julie surveyed the main salon of the Pleasure Palace curiously. It was the first time she had seen the inside of a gambling establishment and she was not likely to forget the experience.
The first thing Julie noticed were walls papered in gold. Vivid red velvet drapes hanging from the long front windows and upon the stage complemented the plush red carpet on the stairs and along the balcony of the upper floor. The next most prominent object in the room was the long bar, stained and polished with beeswax until it shone with a dark, burnished gleam, as did the hard wooden floor and stage. Over the bar hung a gold-veined mirror that reflected rows of bottles and glasses lined upon shelves. Elegant was the only word Julie could think of. Even the potted plants and brass spittoons were clean and shining. Julie knew that her mouth was agape and eyes wide and staring as Brett, green eyes twinkling mischievously, seated her at a small, highly polished table. At that time of day there were few customers, and except for the bartender eyeing them curiosly, there was no one to interrupt.
Once Julie was seated, Brett ambled over to the bar and brought back a delicate glass half full of an amber liquid that appeared to capture the highlights of her sherry-hued hair, causing Brett to catch his breath in admiration. “What is this?” Julie asked suspiciously as she swirled the golden liquid in her glass.
Brett chuckled goodnaturedly. “Just brandy, my dear. I thought it might soothe your nerves.” Julie made no move to bring the glass to her lips, still distrustful. She had heard many rumors of the various ways to render helpless young women meek and pliable.
Exasperated, Brett took the glass in hand and sipped generously. “See, no drugs, nothing to harm you. Trust me, sweetheart, I would do nothing to hurt you. I’ve already told you that.”
Convinced that Brett wasn’t out to do her any harm, Julie sipped delicately of the soothing liquid, surprised at how good the brandy felt sliding down her parched throat. Against her will she began to relax, albeit keeping a wary eye on the devilishly handsome Brett Casey.
“Feeling better?” Brett asked, smiling. Julie nodded.
“Do you own all this?” Julie dared to ask, sweeping a slim hand before her.
“The Pleasure Palace is all mine,” Brett said proudly. “The first of its kind in San Francisco.”
“It’s … very nice,” Julie offered. For some reason Julie’s innocent obse
rvation appeared to amuse Brett and he chuckled low in his throat, a not unpleasant sound that caused crinkles to form around his fine, green eyes.
At length Brett ordered supper for them. Julie ate hungrily, suddenly aware that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. While they ate, the Pleasure Palace appeared to burst into life around them as men began to drift in from the street now that the danger of the fire spreading to other sections of town appeared remote. Some of the customers were grimy and soot covered, making Julie painfully aware of the cruel fact that Mae Parker was dead. Her expression became so sad that Brett fought the urge to gather her slim form in his arms and console her.
“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, concern roughening his voice.
“I can’t help but think of Mae. She’s dead … and … her funeral … I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Brett assured her, patting her hand comfortingly.
“Why should you? You don’t even know Mae?” asked Julie warily.
“Ah, you’re wrong there, my dear Julie. Everyone knew Mae Parker. She was well liked and respected in this community. I will consider it an honor to make all the arrangements. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
“You’re very kind,” Julie said softly.
Truly, Julie had never met a man like Brett Casey. Not even Joaquin, who professed love for her, could be placed in the same category as Brett. Murieta was a hardened criminal, a man whose life was dedicated to crime. While Brett, not exactly above reproach, was from all that she heard a non-violent man who flitted his time away in pleasurable pursuits. Compared to her proud, arrogant husband, he appeared uncomplicated and thoroughly charming.
Pleased by Julie’s timid response to his initial kindness, Brett sat back contentedly and studied her profile. Her bones were delicately carved, her mouth full and generous, and her smooth skin glowed with pale gold undertones despite her obvious fatigue. She sensed his scrutiny and her thick feathery lashes swept down across her cheekbones, completely obscuring her bluebell eyes. Brett was so entranced by the fall of honey-colored hair caressing firm, high perched breasts that he failed to notice the snapping-eyed woman advancing upon them with a murderous expression screwing up her lovely features.
“Who is this puta, Brett?” the fiery woman asked insultingly. “She does not belong here.”
Brett appeared not at all perturbed by the woman’s outburst as he smiled in a friendly manner at the intruder. “This is Julie, Rita. She has just had a terrible shock. As you can see, we are just finishing supper. Julie, meet Rita, one of my … employees.”
Julie smiled amiably but Rita would have none of it. “What else did you offer her with supper, querido?” Her voice was like oiled silk, and as deadly as a viper.
“You jump to conclusions, Rita,” Brett replied, the smile fading from his voice. Rita immediately recognized the note of warning and reluctantly desisted from her line of query. Though Brett had never harmed her, there were times, like now, when his tone belied his mild mannered reputation.
“I meant … nothing by it, querido,” Rita purred obsequiously.
“Jealousy does not become you, little one. Julie can take nothing from you that is not yours.” His meaning was perfectly clear and Rita had the grace to flush.
Julie watched and listened to the exchange between Rita and Brett with wide eyed apprehension. The last thing she wanted was to come between a man and his mistress, which was obviously Rita’s status. Thinking it was time to take her leave, she arose somewhat unsteadily to her feet. Brandy was something she could hereafter do without, she reflected as her head spun giddily.
“Where are you going?” Brett asked sharply.
“I … I think I should leave,” Julie blurted out foolishly, as if she had someplace to go.
“Where will you go?” Brett asked laconically.
“I …I …”
“Just as I thought,” he intervened curtly. “I won’t allow you to leave here only to end up in some back alley sprawled on your back.”
Julie gasped, shocked by his blunt language. But it seemed to spark a response in her as she abruptly resumed her seat. “You aren’t responsible for me, Brett.”
“I’m making you my responsibility, Julie,” Brett said softly.
“Are you loco, Brett?” cut in Rita nastily. “She’s right. Let her go. She’s not your worry. She’s trouble. Big trouble.”
“Shut up, Rita,” Brett warned sharply. “Get out of here. Julie and I need to talk.”
“Harumph!” Rita said, turning on her heel in a swish of short red and black ruffled skirts swirling about her shapely knees. “Be careful, Brett, or you’ll find your bed empty tonight.”
“Is that a promise, Rita?” Brett smiled devilishly. Julie blushed furiously and wished desperately to be anywhere but privy to Brett Casey’s love life.
The moment Rita left, Brett devoted his full attention to Julie. “Let’s talk about your immediate needs, sweetheart. What are your plans?”
“My father will return to San Francisco soon,” Julie said hopefully. “I will survive until then. I’m strong, I’ll find work.”
“I have a proposition, Julie, that should solve all your immediate problems to both our satisfaction.”
Julie bristled indignantly. “I’m not interested in your proposition, Mr. Casey. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Hold on, sweetheart, don’t jump to conclusions. I only meant to offer you employment.”
“Here?” Julie croaked. The thought was ludicrous. “What could I do?”
“Can you sing?” Julie shook her head. “Dance?” ventured Brett. Another negative shake. “Are you familiar with cards?”
“Look, Brett,” contended Julie, “I appreciate this, but … it’s hopeless.”
“Not as hopeless as you think. I can teach you all you need to know about dealing blackjack in one day.”
“I don’t know,” debated Julie skeptically.
“Well, I do, sweetheart. You can have one of the rooms upstairs and I’ll pay you a small salary besides. There are plenty of clothes around here so you won’t have to buy any.”
“What … what does Rita do?” asked Julie, suddenly recalling the indecently short skirt and low necked bodice that revealed all but the girl’s dusky nipples.
Brett was quiet for a long time, choosing his words carefully. “Rita entertains the customers, seeing that they buy enough drinks, helping them … forget their troubles, that sort of thing.”
Julie was not totally innocent in the ways of the world. She understood only too well what Rita and the other saloon girls did. “I will not entertain your customers, neither above nor below stairs,” she declared emphatically. “And that includes you, Brett Casey.”
Brett’s cheeky grin completely disarmed Julie. “No one asked you to, sweetheart. Your job is legitimate. I have plenty of girls to take care of the men above stairs. But I have no one with your looks or manners to lure them to the gaming tables.”
“It will only be until my father returns,” she wavered.
“Agreed.” Brett was jubilant, certain that Julie had decided in his favor.
“Then it’s a deal,” Julie declared, holding out her slim hand.
“Come along, I’ll show you to your room,” Brett smiled, enfolding her small hand in his smooth palm.
15
Carl Darcy’s unexpected arrival at Rancho Delgado proved to him that things were not always as they seemed. He sensed the tension swirling about him the moment he was shown into Don Rodrigo’s study and finally faced his son-in-law. He decided long before he left San Francisco to keep his identity secret. If he was to learn anything at all about the character of the man his daughter loved, he could only accomplish it while remaining incognito.
Rod looked up sharply, scowling fiercely the moment Carl invaded his inner sanctum. His thoughts were still on Elena and how badly he had misjudged her. He had known her all his life and it seemed improbable that she was c
apable of such deception. He could not help but wonder if she was in some way responsible for Julie’s disappearance. He would put nothing past her. But attempting to foist off a bastard as his own flesh and blood had been more than he could stomach.
Carl could not know Rod’s thoughts and he was taken aback by the unfriendly welcome he was accorded by the proud don. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fierce look died in Rod’s eyes as he realized how his greeting must look to a visitor. Rancho Delgado had few visitors but Spanish hospitality was legion.
“Forgive me,” Rod apologized, flashing a friendly smile. “It was discourteous of me to greet you so poorly. I have much on my mind of late and meant no discourtesy. But enough, señor, my problems are none of your concern. I am Don Rodrigo. Teresa tells me you wish to see me.”
Carl forced himself to relax beneath Rod’s curious scrutiny. “Actually, I came to see your father,” Carl lied smoothly, “but was informed that he is dead. I am sorry to hear that, Don Rodrigo.”
Rod waved his hand gracefully in ackowledgement of Carl’s condolences. “What is your business with my father?”
“Months ago Don Diego wrote and invited me to the rancho. You see, I am a horse breeder. Rancho Delgado is well known for its many fine horses. I was invited to remain for as long as it took to decide whether or not I wished to purchase some of your fine stock. But, if it’s no longer feasible—” Carl deliberately let his sentence trail off.
“I will honor my father’s agreement with you, Señor … Señor …” Suddenly Rod became aware that he did not know the stranger’s name.
“Blair,” Carl supplied. “Carl Blair.”
“Señor Blair, you are welcome to remain in my hacienda until your decision is made concerning your purchase,” Rod offered. “I am only sorry that it could not be at a happier time. My father’s death was quite sudden and … and my wife … has … has been … she is not here at this time.” Suddenly Rod had no wish to discuss Julie with a strange man.
