by Connie Mason
It was difficult for Rod to think beyond the fact that Julie was alive. Surprisingly he could understand her reluctance to return to him considering how badly he had treated her. He wondered how and where she had found her father. But none of that mattered now except the fact that Julie was alive and under the protection of her long lost parent.
The reason behind Julie’s failure to return as Señor Blair promised was another matter altogether. Had the man been attacked along El Camino Real and never reached San Francisco as Felicia feared? Or had Carl examined his character and somehow found him wanting? The longer Rod thought, the more he convinced himself that the sad truth of the matter was that Julie wanted nothing more to do with him.
“Señor, did you hear me?” Felicia asked, breaking into his reverie. “What if something terrible happened to Dona Julie’s father?”
“I intend to find out, niña,” Rod assured her firmly. “There is but one place Julie could be in San Francisco, and if she’s there I’ll find her. I … I only hope she hasn’t already returned east with her father.”
“She wouldn’t do that, señor, I am sure of it.” Rod smiled at Felicia’s thinly veiled rebuke.
“Perhaps you’re right, niña, but I promise you that if Julie is in San Francisco I will find her and bring her back to Rancho Delgado where she belongs.”
Rod left for San Francisco the following day.
* * *
Julie had more than one reason to feel grateful to Brett Casey. Not only had the charming gambler offered her employment, thus saving her from starvation, or worse, but his protection had far reaching results. Julie’s sudden appearance at Casey’s Pleasure Palace was the cause for much speculation. Some thought she was an old girl friend of Casey’s newly arrived to resume their relationship. Other’s considered her fair game and were quickly relieved of that notion when Casey blandly declared that Julie was his mistress and the first man to make a move on her was dead.
At first Julie was enraged by Brett’s bold, as well as unfounded, disclosure. But she cooled down considerably when Brett explained that it was for her own protection that he lied. She had to admit that she was bothered little after that by the rowdy miners looking for a woman to satisfy their urges after long months in the mine fields without female solace.
But the truth of the matter was that Julie was not, nor would she ever be, Brett Casey’s mistress. She liked and respected Brett for all his kindness on her behalf, for his protection, and yes, even for the attention he showered upon her. In the months during which she dealt blackjack at the Pleasure Palace, Brett had begged her repeatedly to become his mistress in fact as well as in word. And each time she had refused, Brett advised her that he was not the type to give up so easily.
It was ironic, Julie thought, that two men should profess love for her while the only man she could ever love cared for another. She wondered if Rod and Elena were happy together now that she was no longer around to interfere with their lives. Did he think her dead by now and had he already wed Elena?
If Julie was not happy, she was content. What kept her from complete happiness was her father’s continued absence. She had heard nothing from him in months and she feared that something dreadful had happened to him. Surely he would have returned, or at least contacted her in all this time if he were well and safe. Julie fretted constantly over his strange disappearance and began to despair that she had lost him for good this time.
One evening shortly before she was due to make an appearance at the gaming table, Julie sat before the mirror, staring at her reflection. She had changed a great deal since she first arrived in San Francisco over a year ago. She had matured, grown more sure of herself, no longer the untried girl naive enough to set out on her own to find her father in an untamed land. Though much had happened to her it had not coarsened her flawless features nor dimmed her spirits. Though Rod had tossed her aside like so much unclaimed baggage, Julie had emerged unscathed and far stronger, much more aware of life around her. Even her beauty had been honed and defined in such a way as to add to her appeal.
The gentle rap on the door brought a smile to her lips. In all the weeks she had been at the Pleasure Palace Brett never failed to show up and escort her below stairs to begin her duties. “Come in, Brett,” Julie called out fondly.
The door opened and Brett Casey stepped inside, as vibrantly handsome as ever. “Are you ready, Brandy?”
Brandy. Another illusion to add to the mystique surrounding her. The name had been given to her by Flossie, one of Brett’s girls who coaxed the customers into buying drinks, among other things. On the first day Julie showed up downstairs to take up her duties, Flossie had remarked that her hair was the color of warm brandy. The name was immediately picked up until even Brett now called for Brandy. But Julie didn’t mind. Somehow it fit in with her new lifestyle.
“I’m ready, Brett,” Julie announced, patting a stray curl in place.
Brett’s green eyes roved appreciatively over Julie’s trim figure perfectly displayed in an emerald green gown fashioned in shimmering satin that barely concealed two rose-tipped nipples. The dress was designed purposely to delight the customers’ eyes and divert their attention away from their troubles long enough to separate them from their gold. It worked exceptionally well. Though the Pleasure Palace employed many women, some more seductively attired than Julie, only the woman known as Brandy had the ability to draw in the men like bees to honey. From the moment she walked sedately down the stairs on Brett’s arm until she returned at night in the same manner, she was a constant source of admiration as well as speculation.
It was obvious to all that Brandy was a lady as well as a woman who did not stray far from her protector. There was not a man around who did not envy Brett Casey or dream of what it would be like with a woman like Brandy in his bed. For the most part Julie was liked and respected by men and women alike, except for Rita.
Once Julie entered Brett Casey’s life, Rita’s relationship with the gambler deteriorated swiftly. Though it was already on the wane, Brett’s affair with the fiery Mexican came to an abrupt halt the moment Julie walked through the door of the Pleasure Palace. Brett never again took Rita to his bed, or any other woman for that matter. Julie had firmly entrenched herself into his life and his heart and no other would do. Consequently, Rita did her utmost to make Julie’s life miserable.
“You grow more lovely every day, sweetheart,” Brett grinned roguishly. “Are you aware that every man in San Francisco is jealous of me?”
Julie blushed becomingly. “You have a silvery tongue, Brett Casey,” she retorted archly. “And I suspect you are a rogue.”
“Guilty,” laughed Brett. “But you could change all that.”
“Brett,” began Julie, turning serious. “Please don’t—”
“All right, sweetheart, you win,” he gave in graciously, hiding his hurt beneath a facade of good humor. “I won’t press you. But if you change your mind…”
“I won’t.”
“What if I offered marriage?”
Oh, God, Julie silently prayed, please help me out of this mess. “I’m eternally grateful for all you’ve done for me, Brett, truly. But marriage? It’s out of the question. Shall we go?”
That evening Julie’s thoughts were badly fragmented and more distraught than usual. The offer of marriage from Brett was something new. Previously he had wanted her for his mistress. Now he had brought a new dimension to his proposal. Of course there was no possibility of their marriage taking place. She was still married to Rod. But she was a woman awakened to the joy of love, how long could she go on without Rod’s comforting arms? Loneliness was not a state she cared to explore for years to come. She was human; a warm, passionate woman newly awakened by an extremely virile man adept in the art of arousal. Could she be happy with a man she didn’t love? Divorce was not the answer even though she knew Brett would be good to her. Somehow the thought of marriage to anyone but Rod was repellent. She fervently prayed for her father’s
swift return as she automatically began dealing the cards to the crush of men ringing her table.
Without a doubt Rod knew he had never made a faster trip to San Francisco. He ate and slept in the saddle, stopping once or twice to refresh himself in a bubbling stream. Had he encountered bandits they would have been hard pressed to catch him. Dusty, saddle-sore and badly in need of a shave, Rod unerringly turned toward Mae Parker’s boarding house, certain that he would find Julie there if she was still in San Francisco.
You can imagine his shock when he reined up before what should have been the boarding house only to find a newly erected structure standing in its place. At first Rod thought Mae might have built a new, larger house until he realized that Mae hardly had the resources for such a venture. Where Mae’s house once stood now reposed the law offices of Murphy and Harper. In fact, now that Rod thought about it, the entire block had an unfinished look about it, certainly nothing like the weathered buildings that once stood side by side on this street.
The first person Rod encountered knew exactly what had happened, describing in great detail the terrible fire that took not only Mae Parker’s life but the life of several others unlucky enough to be trapped inside their houses.
“A girl,” asked Rod, not even aware that he was holding his breath. “Was a girl about eighteen among the victims? A beautiful girl with blond hair? She and her father were probably tenants of Mae’s.”
“Don’t recollect anyone of that description,” replied the man, scratching his bald pate. “Course it ain’t impossible. But it seems to me most of those killed were older, less agile folks unable to escape the flames fast enough.”
Rod allowed himself a few private minutes to mourn Mae Parker, a woman he respected in every way, before contemplating his next move. It was obvious he was no closer to finding Julie now than he was before he left Rancho Delgado. Rubbing his stubbly chin in vexation Rod decided to find himself a room, grab a few hours sleep and clean up before beginning his search.
Hours later, looking rested and extremely handsome in leather trousers hugging his powerful thighs and a short fringed jacket of the same material, emphasizing broad shoulders, Rod prowled the streets of the city. Though the hour was late the revelers in Casey’s Pleasure Palace were a boisterous lot, drawing Rod inexplicitely through the swinging doors and into the smoke-filled interior.
The first sight to greet his eyes was a somewhat ragged line of scantily clad dancing girls prancing about the stage amid hoots and howls from cheering, clapping miners hungry for the sight of a woman’s flesh. Rod chose a seat at a small table well out of the way and settled down to watch the proceedings. Within a few minutes a striking, dark haired Mexican girl sidled up to Rod, posed seductively for his benefit, and asked throatily, “What are you drinking, señor?” There was no mistaking the invitation in her flashing black eyes.
Rita had spotted Rod the moment he entered the saloon. It had been a long time since anyone of his looks and obvious breeding had come her way. Rita immediately assumed him to be a rich hidalgo from one of the sprawling ranchos nearby and quickly staked her claim. Rita decided she was just the right woman to provide entertainment for the virile stranger who was no doubt bored with horses and cattle and was on the prowl for a little fun.
“Whisky,” answered Rod, raking Rita’s ripe figure with disinterest. Though he hadn’t had a woman in months, he had more important things on his mind than a quick tumble.
Rita sauntered off with a provocative wiggle and returned forthwith carrying a bottle and two glasses. Rod carelessly tossed her a coin which promptly disappeared between her ample breasts. “May I join you?” she asked silkily.
“Suit yourself,” Rod shrugged negligently while Rita settled beside him, poured a hefty measure of whisky into two glasses and handed him one. Rod sipped slowly, allowing the amber liquid to slide smoothly down his throat while Rita quaffed hers in one gulp.
“The name’s Rita, querido,” she said, batting her long lashes seductively. “What’s yours?”
“Rod suits me just fine,” Rod drawled lazily. They drank in silence for a few minutes and then Rod asked, “How long have you worked here, Rita?”
“Eight, ten months,” Rita shrugged carelessly, caring little for the way the conversation was going. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m looking for a woman.”
Rita giggled. “That’s what I’m here for, Rod. “Come, querido, my room is at the top of the stairs.”
“Perdicion, Rita! That’s not what I meant. I’m looking for my wife. She … she disappeared and I have every reason to believe she is in San Francisco.”
Rita laughed lustily. “And you come to the Pleasure Palace looking for her? I have an idea your wife is hardly the type of woman to hang around saloons.”
Rod flushed, realizing the truth of Rita’s words. “You’re right, Julie would never be seen in a place like this. I don’t know what I was thinking of.”
“Obviously not me,” teased Rita archly. “But the offer still stands. I could make you forget your wife for a little while.”
“No doubt, Rita,” replied Rod dryly, rising to his full height. “But I—” Suddenly he froze, his eyes zooming in on a woman in an emerald green dress seated at a blackjack table dealing and smiling at the adoring men clustered about her.
A mass of honey-colored curls were artfully arranged around a face that had haunted Rod’s dreams for months. “Julie!” His words were but a whisper but Rita heard them and stared at Rod strangely.
“Who is that woman? The one in green dealing blackjack,” Rod asked in a strangled voice. He was positive it was Julie. A more mature, lovelier—if that were possible—more elegant Julie than he remembered. But Julie nevertheless.
“That’s just Brandy,” snorted Rita disparagingly.
“Brandy? do you know her last name?”
“If I did I don’t remember,” pouted Rita.
“How long has she been working here?”
Rita shrugged, disinterested. “Two, three months. Why do you ask? Do you know her?”
“I … I thought I did but …” Rod hedged.
“She affects all men that way. Can’t see why myself,” she sniffed. “If you have any ideas about her, forget them,” Rita advised sourly. “She’s Casey’s private property. No one touches her but him.”
“She’s Casey’s mistress?”
“Si, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” Rita glowered, becoming weary of the subject. “She appeared out of nowhere and Brett hasn’t looked at another woman since. Caramba, I’d like to tear her hair out!”
What must Julie’s father be thinking of? Rod wondered angrily. For that matter, where was the elusive Carl Darcy who seemed to flit in and out of Julie’s life like an errant butterfly. To Rita he said, “Does this … er … Brandy have any relatives in town?”
“None that I know of. Listen, Rod, I don’t want to talk about another woman. Come, querido,” she coaxed, “I promise to make you forget about Brandy or that wife you’re looking for.”
Rod had no desire to make love to Rita. How could he expect a woman like Rita to take the place of a honey-haired vixen with bluebell eyes whose special brand of loving was forever imprinted upon his heart and body?
The thought that Julie had become another man’s mistress was repellent to Rod. The longer he dwelt on the picture of her in another man’s arms, responding passionately to another man’s caresses, joined in the act of love with another man, the angrier he became. Forgotten was the fact that he had rushed pell-mell to San Francisco expressly to find his wife and bring her back to Rancho Delgado. Forgotten also was Rod’s fervent desire to tell Julie of his love once he found her.
By now Rod’s emotions were a boiling cauldron of turmoil. In light of what he had just learned from Rita, he no longer was certain of his own feelings. From the moment he learned about Julie and the gambler, whatever love was in his heart seemed to wither and die within him. All his emotions were held suspended in that
painful void betwixt love and hate. He had no idea what he would do next nor how he would deal with Julie when he confronted her. He could only hope that the edge was gone from his anger before they met, else he could not be responsible for his actions. His Spanish pride allowed him little room for forgiveness.
“Why the scowl, querido?” Rita asked lazily.
Startled to find the sultry beauty still at his side, Rod stared distastefully at her. “I’m sorry, Rita, I’m not in the mood tonight.” He began moving away.
“Do not hurry away, querido,” Rita purred, hoping to entice him. “I’m certain I can please you if you give me the chance.”
Rod extracted a coin from his pocket, flipped it carelessly in her direction where it landed with a soft thud against her chest and slipped down between her breasts. “Another time, perhaps,” he drawled laconically.
“Suit yourself, querido,” Rita replied, a pout turning the corners of her mouth downward. “I’m here every night.”
Rod slipped back to his table, his thoughts dangerously volatile. Rita watched him through narrowed eyes, then shrugged and turned away in pursuit of a more likely customer. Like magnets, Rod’s ebony eyes were drawn to the blackjack table where Julie sat like a goddess upon a throne robed in shimmering green. Looking handsome and debonnaire, Brett Casey sauntered over to Julie and Rod’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists when he saw the gambler slide an arm possessively about Julie’s slim waist and whisper intimately into her shell-like ear.
Rod thought the sultry look she gave him conspiratorial, as if only the two of them shared a secret. He scowled darkly as his imagination ran rampant, causing a grinding ache deep in Rod’s bowels. Like two burning coals his eyes stared fixedly at Julie and her lover, the heat of his gaze enough to ignite the entire room.
