Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Laura Strickland
Tough Prospect
Copyright
Dedication
Other Laura Strickland Books
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers
“No, Tessa.” He sat up straight and clasped his hands together. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this, have it out.”
“Have what out?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’re not dumb. I’m talking about how you act toward me, how you feel toward me.”
She gave a hard laugh. “I should think that would be obvious.”
Yeah, it was. Real obvious. But it couldn’t go on much longer before Mitch snapped.
He said, trying to sound patient, “We’ve been married two weeks. You’re gonna have to reconcile yourself to it.”
“Am I?”
“Well, yeah. We live in the same house. We should be sharing a bed. What’s it going to take?”
Tessa bared her teeth in a grimace. Tears filled her eyes. “It will never happen.”
“What?”
“The deal was I should marry you. Only that.”
For an instant, Mitch felt totally helpless, a condition he didn’t tolerate well. Indeed, he’d worked hard since his days back in the orphanage to guarantee he’d never feel that way again.
And now here came this woman with her hands on his heartstrings, hating him.
“But…” he began.
She leaned forward in her chair and lowered her voice even though no one else in the house could hear. “I know what you are, Mitch Carter. A tough. A brute, a lowlife. You may have blackmailed me into marriage. That doesn’t mean I’m ever going to like it.”
Praise for Laura Strickland
Laura Strickland’s novella FORGED BY LOVE won first place in the short historical category of the International Digital Awards.
~*~
“The world building is phenomenal.”
~Daysie W. at My Book Addiction and More
~*~
“Laura Strickland creates a world that not only draws you in, but she incorporates it…seamlessly.…the kind of book that keeps you awake well into the wee hours, and sighing with satisfaction when you’ve finished the very last page.”
~Nicole McCaffrey, author
~*~
“As I read I became so involved with the story, I found it difficult to put down the book. …Definitely …an author to watch.”
~Dandelion at Long & Short Reviews
Tough Prospect
by
Laura Strickland
A Buffalo Steampunk Adventure
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Tough Prospect
COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Laura Strickland
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2018
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2381-7
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2382-4
A Buffalo Steampunk Adventure
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
A tip of the flat cap
to the immensely-talented Richard Thompson,
with gratitude for much inspiration
provided by his song, “Cooksferry Queen”
Other Laura Strickland Books
available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Dead Handsome: A Buffalo Steampunk Adventure
Off Kilter: A Buffalo Steampunk Adventure
Sheer Madness: A Buffalo Steampunk Adventure
Steel Kisses: A Buffalo Steampunk Adventure
Last Orders: A Buffalo Steampunk Adventure
Devil Black
His Wicked Highland Ways
Honor Bound: A Highland Adventure
The White Gull
Forged by Love (sequel to The White Gull)
Words and Dreams (sequel to Forged by Love)
The Hiring Fair
Awake on Garland Street
Stars in the Morning
Cinder-Ugly
Hearts of Caledonia Trilogy:
Loyal and True * Valiant and Wise * Noble and Blessed
The Guardians of Sherwood Trilogy:
Daughter of Sherwood * Champion of Sherwood * Lord of Sherwood
~*~
Short Stories:
Mrs. Claus and the Viking Ship
The Tenth Suitor
Christmastime on Donner’s Mountain
Ask Me
Chapter One
Buffalo, the Niagara Frontier, November 1884
“Show me the first one again.” Mitch Carter, lounging in the doorway of the small shop on Chippewa Street, made the request in a lazy drawl, belied by the intense expression in his narrowed hazel eyes. A tall man wearing a good-quality coat and a pair of workman’s boots, Mitch rarely raised his voice; he rarely had to.
People tended to jump and fulfill his requests.
Like this shopkeeper whose establishment he now visited, a thin fellow with scarred and work-stained hands, who seemed overly nervous. Under Mitch’s gaze he hurried to bring out the first mechanical dog and once more set it in motion.
The damn thing, as Mitch had to admit, had been cleverly fashioned to walk and part its mechanical jaws in a pretended pant. It sat on command and could even, presumably, learn its own name.
Would Tessa like one? If he brought it home now, this afternoon, would she be favorably impressed?
The shopkeeper, who claimed to be the only craftsman in the city of Buffalo manufacturing these dogs—clockwork, rather than steam-powered—had three models f
or sale, varying mostly in size and shape. For reasons unknown to him, Mitch favored the first and smallest one. It would potentially fit in his wife’s lap. Lucky dog, permitted to touch her so intimately.
Unlike Mitch himself.
“Not very cuddly, is it?” he observed, more to himself than the shopkeeper.
But the man answered, “Maybe not, sir. I couldn’t come up with a viable way to attach fur that wasn’t…disturbing. The toys kept turning out looking like they’d been skinned by a taxidermist and reanimated. I actually had one lady pass out.”
Mitch couldn’t imagine his new wife passing out; she was much too angry.
The shopkeeper rattled on, “There are a lot of other advantages to this model, though, unlike a real dog, I mean. You never have to walk it or clean up after it. You can shut off the bark feature if it becomes annoying—can let the whole thing run down if you get tired of it. You don’t need to worry about grooming or fur around the house. And since these are clockwork, there’s no expenditure for coal.”
The man met Mitch’s gaze briefly and faltered, “Not that you need to worry about that, sir.”
Mitch grunted, “You know who I am?”
“Sure. You’re King Carter—the King of Prospect Avenue.” The man swallowed. “Everyone knows.”
Mitch smiled inwardly, though it didn’t show. Everyone in the City of Buffalo had at least heard his name—and feared it. You couldn’t beat a measure of healthy fear, in Mitch’s opinion.
And, by God, he’d earned it.
“So”—Mitch made a gesture with one big hand—“I could buy all these dogs.”
“Yes, sir. Sure you could, sir.”
“On the other hand, me having one would be a good advertisement for you. So it would behoove you to give me one.”
The shopkeeper’s expression became interestingly conflicted. Caution flashed across his face along with honest dismay.
“You wish me to give you one of my models? But sir, they take a long time to make. I’m the only man in this city with the ability to build these clockwork ones.”
“Right. And they work real good. You should be proud of that.”
The shopkeeper licked his lips and said, greatly daring, “I feel I should be compensated.”
“And you will be. Just think about it; if the wife of the King of Prospect has one of these, people will come flooding in to buy them. You won’t be able to keep up with the orders.”
“I suppose so.”
“You’ll be a wealthy man.” Mitch Carter grinned. He’d learned through experience that receiving one of his grins seemed to both upset and persuade people to his point of view. The grin of a shark, so he’d heard it described, in whispers, of course. “You’ll have as much money as me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As well as my good will. I daresay some of my boys will even keep an eye on your shop for you—in passing, like. Make certain no one gives you any trouble.”
“I’ve never had any trouble, sir.” The man’s expression screamed, Till now when you darkened my doorway.
“Well,” Mitch purred, “we’d like to keep it that way, wouldn’t we?”
The shopkeeper stared into Mitch’s eyes. Then he swallowed, scooped up the mechanical dog and held it out. “Yes, sir. Please accept this as my gift to your wife.”
Mitch took the unit and tucked it under his arm. Unpropping himself from the doorway, he nodded. “Thank you. Have a pleasant day.”
“You also, sir. I hope your wife enjoys the little dog.”
So did Mitch, though he had his doubts.
He left the shop and turned to his steamcar, which stood at the curb. Long and sleek, it gleamed with a smooth black finish, in which Mitch could see his face if he cared to look—which he didn’t. His chauffeur and man-of-all-work, Marty, leaped forward to open the door for Mitch and the mechanical dog. They climbed in.
“Home, Mitch?”
“Yeah, sure.”
The journey of only a few blocks wouldn’t take long to walk, but Mitch rode anyway. It impressed people. The car did, he did, and he was all about impressing people.
Too bad he couldn’t make a favorable impression on his new wife.
Two weeks they’d been married—just two—and he’d yet to see her smile. This despite the fact that he’d given her gifts, like this one, nearly every day. He’d as yet to kiss her, other than the smack he’d bestowed at the end of the marriage ceremony. He’d as yet to spend a night in her bed.
Even though he ached to.
He’d thought about it, he reflected as the long black steamcar crept through the streets—longed for it. He’d even considered forcing himself on her, but that wasn’t the beginning he wanted.
He wanted her to want him. And it would be a battle getting her to move all the way from hating to wanting.
As Mitch had learned long ago in the murky days of his youth, there was a price attached to everything. A boy—or indeed a man—had to be willing to pay that price in pain, coin, or moral turpitude.
His wife’s affection absolutely must have a price. He just hadn’t found it yet.
****
Tessa Verdun Carter, sitting in the parlor of the house on Prospect Avenue, heard the slam of the door and the footsteps she’d come, through dread, to recognize. He was home.
Damn it.
She immediately attempted to gird herself, as an Amazon Maiden might, for battle. She might not be Amazonian in size, being a petite woman, but at least she remained a maiden, by God—her new monster of a husband hadn’t stolen that from her.
Yet.
She figured it was only a matter of time before he got impatient. The man had a reputation, and not for being particularly forbearing. The day—or more precisely night—would come when he’d make his demand.
And then she’d have to consider killing herself, which seemed the only viable option.
The parlor door swung open; Tessa met her husband on her feet, as any good warrior might.
As always, loathing flooded her when she beheld him. Neither handsome nor ugly, Mitch Carter had what she considered a brutal face, narrow and dangerous, and far too clever for anyone’s good. Though he always presented himself well-groomed and expensively clad, the rough edges still showed.
What had her father said about him, while presenting his ridiculous proposition—that Tessa buy his way out of severe debt by marrying the brute? Mitch Carter had begun his career as an orphan at the Carter Home for Boys—he didn’t even own his last name, in truth. That beginning, so Father said, had brought him up hard, a tough willing to do anything to survive. He’d apparently done more than survive, however—he’d thrived through a combination of cunning and ruthlessness.
Only take this house—the finest on the street. And he owned nearly all of Prospect Avenue.
He hadn’t stopped bragging about the house since he brought her home. Pre-Civil War he called it, with architectural importance. Tessa admitted it was a fine house, built of red brick and well-appointed. To her it felt like a prison.
She narrowed her eyes at Mitch as he crossed the parlor floor. Black hair well cut like everything else he wore. A firm jaw and a hard expression. Hazel eyes bright with danger.
She nearly always found it impossible to read Mitch Carter’s expression. He wore that strong face of his like a mask.
He couldn’t be less like Richard Trask, with his fair hair, laughing eyes, and ready smile. Richard, Tessa’s best friend.
Richard, the man she loved.
Chapter Two
“What do you think?” Mitch made the query with deceptive laziness while he lounged in the big chair, studying his wife’s face.
He might make a lifetime’s occupation of that, just looking at her. A lifetime’s pleasure. It never failed to gratify him.
She was, hands down, without dispute, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a lot of women round this city. He could afford the best of them, and had.
He’
d even tried one of those mechanical whores back before the Crystal Palace burned down. Now, of course, the automatons had revolted and demanded their rights. All those hybrid whores had scattered, and got married if you could believe what you heard.
These days he had to pay the steam units in his employ a wage. He didn’t mind—he could afford it. At least the little mechanical dog came free.
Did Tessa like it?
She turned her exquisite head and looked at him. Today she wore her glossy, auburn hair—warm with a hint of red—piled on top of her head, just a few curly tendrils trailing down to kiss her cheek. She had a delicate chin, round dimpled cheeks, and guarded green eyes fringed by lashes so long they should be illegal.
What did he see in those eyes when she looked at him? Wariness. Caution. Worse, dislike, and worst of all, disdain.
The damn dog didn’t seem to have changed a thing. Though he didn’t reveal it outwardly, despair touched his heart.
What was it going to take?
Tessa hastily averted her gaze from his and looked at the dog. “It’s…charming.”
“The fellow who made it said it will adapt to you, your likes and dislikes. Just like a regular dog but none of the work. All you need to do is keep it wound. Here, see?”
He leaned forward to show her the key. She nodded. She also shied, as if afraid his fingers might touch her instead of the toy. Like he’d try, given the way she looked at him.
“You want to keep it then?” he asked.
“I guess so.” She shrugged one graceful shoulder. “But you don’t have to keep bringing me presents.”
“Yeah, I do. That’s what a husband does for his wife.” In truth, Mitch had no idea how a proper husband and wife treated each other, never having experienced the environment provided by such an association. But he could imagine. And since the first time he saw Tessa Verdun at one of her father’s gambling dos, he’d wanted nothing so much as to be her husband.
“What you going to call it, then? It can learn its name.”
“Well, certainly not ‘Fluffy’ since it has no hair.”
“Yeah, pity, that. Would you rather have a real dog?”
The little toy chose that moment to sit down at Tessa’s feet and stare up into her face. Its glass eyes gazed directly into her eyes for a moment.
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