Chapter Three
The dull thump of Jake’s boots echoed in the quiet brothel as he strode across the great red Chinese rug on the main level. A wealthy and well-traveled friend of the previous Madam reportedly sent it as a gift to the Sweet Magnolia. For a house of ill-repute located in the foothills of a small and primitive mining town, its exotic furnishings, smooth whiskey, and beautiful women rivaled those found in finer establishments of the cities back on the East coast. Jake kept his eyes averted from the portraits that lined the halls of the bordello, in particular the one of its current head Madam, known to all as Lucky Lil. Jake didn’t care for the nickname or the connotation it implied.
Maybe it was naive, but he wanted to think that she was different than the others. In truth, ever since Lillian White arrived, Jake had struggled to focus on his responsibilities. She’d only been around a few months, taking over after the former madam had up and married a rich hat salesman and moved to New York. However, in her short time at the helm, Sweet Magnolia had created enough ruckuses that he’d been forced to make frequent visits to the bordello to reprimand the women for one thing or another.
Those frequent visits had served to create a friendship between him and Miss Lillian. He loved her spunk, and there was no denying that her looks were every man’s deepest fantasy.
The Magnolia served a purpose in town, keeping the unruly men who’d come to seek their fortunes in the mountains entertained and relaxed, and for that he was grateful. But it was getting harder for him to keep his mind off of Lil. She caused a lust that pulled on him from every direction, until he was nearly dizzy with need. However, that same lust from a lawman and the sainted son of the only preacher in town was dangerous to everyone’s reputation, including Miss Lillian’s.
His father used Jake often as the epitome of holy living. Moreover, those residing at the Magnolia were examples of those destined for eternal damnation. Truth was, sitting in that pew every Sunday morning listening to another of his father’s sermons only made him more aware of his lust for Lillian.
***
“It would be better to pluck out your eye than to associate with such heathen promiscuity.” Jake stole a look at the faces of the congregation around him. What were they really thinking? Many of them made frequent visits to the Sweet Magnolia, and though they would loathe admitting it, Jake knew where the money to build the new schoolhouse and doctor’s office had come from.
“Hear me, brethren, if your eye causes you to lust, pluck it out. If your hand causes you to steal, better to cut it off than to suffer the eternal damnation of the
Almighty!”
Sometimes, Jake marveled at how he’d been born. His father, it seemed, had a personal mission to eradicate the world from the sin of sex. The use of it for procreation apparently was its only accepted form, at least in his father’s eyes. However, for anything else, particularly if intended for pleasure, sex was a sin, even in marriage. It wasn’t until he was old enough to understand his father’s mentality that he felt sorry his mother had been locked in a loveless marriage.
He watched his father’s stern expression, scanning the faces of his followers, his sheep. The old man’s penetrating gaze stopped on Jake. Though he’d not been around much himself, he’d been in the company of one or two beautiful ladies in his lifetime-- under the guarded eye of his father. As a boy, like many curious boys, he’d snuck out with his friends to peek through the clapboard walls of the bordello on the outskirts of town. They’d gotten an eye-opening education all right, but Jake remembered having more questions than answers and none that he dared to ask. His father’s voice echoed through the quiet church. He was on a tangent, more so than usual and Jake wondered why.
“Your soul will forever be in the pit! Your soul shall be seared with fire and brimstone for all eternity!” Preacher Sloan’s fist slammed down rocking the pulpit, his eyes wild with fury.
Jake’s thoughts skipped back to another time when his father’s fury chipped away his respect for the old man. He was barely eleven and his mother was dying….
***
His mother lay pale and frail looking propped up against the pillows of her single bed. A quilt she’d had for years, worn thin with age, covered her petite form. She smiled, though weak, and touched Jake’s face with her cool fingers. Death lingered in the room…waiting. Jake could feel it. The doc couldn’t tell them why she was sick, only that he’d done all he could. In Jake’s view of things, his father’s rigid ways and incessant criticism had driven her to sickness. Even up to that morning, his father had prayed over her, absolving her of her sins, tormenting her with repeated pleas for her soul to be saved, so he could believe that she was pure in her intent to meet her Maker. Jake wondered how his father purified himself, or if he thought himself capable of sin.
Her fingers, calloused and dry, patted his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Jacob. Now, it’s up to you to take what God has given you and use it to help your fellow man,” his mother told him quietly. She clutched his hand, fighting off another horrific coughing spell that ended with her spitting up blood. Where was his father when she needed him most? On the day that he should have been celebrating his life, he wanted nothing more than to cut out his father’s hateful tongue. Where was the man who proclaimed judgment on others but would not take responsibility for the care of his dying wife?
“Be kind and try not to judge others too harshly until you’ve been where they are.” She motioned him close, giving him a weak, but loving hug.
In the next moment, she lay lifeless in his arms.
Jake remembered holding her hand. He stared at her for what seemed an eternity. It was not until much later that he allowed himself to cry. Anger burned deep inside of him as he went in search of his father. He found him in his study, a place profoundly forbidden to anyone else. He was deeply engrossed in reading his Bible with its frayed edges, oblivious that his wife lay dead in an upstairs room. Had it not been for the influence of his mother, Jake would have slit his father’s throat right then. He stood in the doorway battling the grief and fury roiling inside him.
Without looking up, his father spoke, the sound of it apathetic to Jake’s ears,
“She’s gone then, boy?”
“Yes,” Jake mumbled, his anger rising to the surface, but he stood his ground.
“Yes, what is it, young man?” His father’s ramrod-stern tone reprimanded.
“Where were you?” He shouted. Jake’s fury came unleashed, ignoring his father’s insistence to address him properly. “Where have you been all this time? Didn’t you even care that she was sick?” Jake’s voice echoed through the house, uncaring of his father’s reprisal. “She died without you at her side. You should have been there.”
“I was here, reading and praying for your mother’s soul.” “Jesus, you’re a hypocrite,” he muttered.
Black, soulless eyes turned to him.
“And who is praying for your evil soul, Father?” he spat through clenched teeth. “Not me. I won’t ever pray for you.” His eyes welled with unshed tears, still he wasn’t about to let his father see him cry.
His father rose and the screech of the chair legs across the worn wooden floor sent a chill up Jake’s spine. He knew that look. He’d seen it plenty on his father’s face, a big man who stood six-foot-tall with broad shoulders who ruled his family, as he did his parishioners, with an iron fist.
Before Jake took his next breath, let alone thought to run, his father snatched him by the back of the collar and dragged him to the back porch. That’s where the strap was kept. Jake had the scars on his back to prove it. He set his jaw, determined not to be afraid, not even to flinch. This time he would be strong for his mother.
“It’s for your own good, Jacob. This rebellious attitude that you’ve developed must be nipped in the bud or it will come to no good. You must purge your soul of its blackness, my son. One day, you will thank me for this.”
The rough razor strap slapped across Jake’s back, slicing
open old scars. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes, but he bit down hard, his jaws sore from gritting his teeth, his body trembling as he struggled to muster his courage. Two more lashings and Jake heard the thump as the strap fell to the floor. He didn’t bother to look when the screen door slammed behind his father.
“I’ll give you rebellion, old man.” Jake turned on his heel and headed straight for the one place he knew his father despised—The Sweet Magnolia.
His father would never know what happened that night. He’d never told another living soul. Her name was Ruby and she was a buxom, dark-haired beauty with brilliant blue eyes and a petal soft voice. She found him huddled at the end of the wrap-around porch, his face tear-stained and ruddy. Jake was cold, tired, and hungry.
“Well, now, what ‘ave we here?”
Her heavy French perfume nearly suffocated him as she knelt close, uncaring that the gesture gave him full view of her ample breasts.
“You’re a might young to be out so late, aren’t ye, lad?” She had a funny lilt to her voice, but it solicited a weak smile from Jake.
He glanced up at her. “I’m eleven today. I’m almost a man.”
She straightened at his quick response and tipped her head, studying him carefully. “All of eleven, you say. Well, then, Mr.…” She waited for him to tell her his name.
Jake hesitated revealing who he was for fear that he’d be sent away, and he didn’t know where else to go. “Sloan. Jake Sloan.”
Her expression sobered instantly. “The preacher’s son?”
He scowled. “What of it?”
She shrugged, eyeing him with renewed interest. “So, ‘ave you come to find a lady for the evening, Mr. Jake Sloan?” she asked, placing a hand on her curvaceous hip.
Faced now with the reality of his situation, his intent to seek revenge wasn’t quite as potent. Still, he’d put on a brave front. “I dunno, maybe.”
“Well, there’s one thing ye ought to know before you take on a woman, Mr. Sloan.” She nodded toward the cacophony of music and laughter coming from inside the brothel’s saloon. “You want to be sure what direction you’re taking a woman when you meet with her.”
Her comment confused him all the more. “Where would I take her? I haven’t got any money.”
Ruby’s laugh was light, carefree. It almost made him forget the pain he carried, both emotional and physical. “Come on, Mr. Sloan. Let’s see if cook has got something in the kitchen that might resemble a birthday cake. Follow me, lad.
We’ll go around the back way.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder and he winced, ducking away in rapid response to the pain.
“Good heavens, child, what happened?” She turned him around and he heard her gasp. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what did that monster do?” she whispered.
“I talked back to my father. I know I shouldn’t have, but my ma, she died today, and he wasn’t there. He should have been.” Jake looked down at his feet, feeling the rush of emotions coming at him like a great flood.
He felt her hand on his shoulder, careful not to touch where the blood stuck to his shirt as she turned him around to face her. The look of sorrow on her face reminded him of his mother, and it was more than he could take. A loud groan escaped his lips and he flew into Ruby’s embrace, sobbing against her soft breasts.
She let him stay there, soothing him with hushed murmurings of understanding. She brushed his stringy hair from his face and let him cry until he could cry no more.
“My poor boy,” she cooed stroking his cheek with her cool palm. “Come now,
Ruby will see to you tonight. You’ve no need to be afraid.”
After a good soaking bath to clean his raw wounds, she gave him a man’s nightshirt to wear and together they sat in the kitchen and ate an apple cobbler that the cook had baked that day. Jake looked across the table, and where most townsfolk saw a loose woman, tainted and unworthy of a simple hello, Jake saw an angel with raven hair and a spark of courage in her blue eyes. She was afraid of no one. “Thank you, ma’am,” Jake stated politely, pushing the tin plate away from him. “I reckon if my ma was alive, she’d have made me a pie, too.”
Ruby regarded him with a sweet smile. “You are quite welcome, Mr. Sloan, and
I’ll tell you something about your ma that I bet you don’t know.”
Puzzled that a woman like Ruby would have any knowledge of his mother,
Jake leaned forward with avid interest. “What is that, Ruby?”
She reached across the table, chucking him lightly under his chin. “Your ma
did a fine job of raisin’ a sweet young man with a good head on his shoulders. She left this world knowing that, and there ain’t much more that a mother could hope for from a son than that.”
Jake swallowed and held Ruby’s gaze. “She told me that I ought to use my gifts to help others.”
Ruby nodded. “She was a wise woman.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, but a questioned burned in Jake’s head and he had to ask it. “Is that what you do, Ruby, use your gifts to help people?”
A sad, sweet smile crossed her lips. “I suppose in a way, lad, I do.”
He never asked Ruby how or why she chose the profession that she had, and only once did he ever see her again after that night. The sight of her leaving his father’s church, donning the hat and dress befitting a gentlewoman would haunt him the rest of his life. She left town not long after, and he and his father never spoke again about the day his mother died. While Jake grew determined to make good on his mother’s hopes for him, his father never again raised a strap to Jake’s back.
***
His horse shook his mane, offering an irritated snort. Jake looked up and saw a wagon headed toward him. So lost in his thoughts he hadn’t realized that he was clipping along at a snail’s pace.
“What is it you want, Sheriff?”
Lil’s words popped into his head, soothing his troubled thoughts in one way, causing problems for him in others. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as he thought of her come-hither smoky gaze. Hell, what he wanted—and very badly, maybe twice—was clear to him. The image of her just-ravaged body glistening in the lamplight and fantasizing about her calling his name out in the throes of passion just about did him in.
He took a deep breath and attempted to put Lil out of his mind. A monumental task to say the least, but if he wanted the support of these puritanical townsfolk to further his career, he was going to have to keep things in perspective. And lusting after the head Madam of the Sweet Magnolia was not going to win him votes with the influential folks he needed on his side.
I’m really just a librarian.
Jake shuddered. God almighty, the woman was a tease. An image of her popped into his brain—her dressed in a pristine white blouse tucked into a staunch black skirt and her chestnut-colored hair pulled back tight in a bun. But underneath…underneath, she wore that tiny animal print underpinning that barely covered her luscious breasts and the soft, triangular patch that he dreamed of exploring.
“Howdy, Sheriff Sloan. A right fine day for a ride, isn’t it?” Mr. and Mrs. Greensboro pulled their wagon hitch to a stop. Mr. Greensboro removed his hat and wiped his brow. “We’re on our way up to Virginia City to pick up a load for the store. What brings you clear out this way?”
Jake cleared his throat, leaning forward in his saddle to relieve the rubbing of his crotch on the saddle horn every time the damn horse moved. “Just paying a call to the Magnolia, setting straight a few rules.” Indulging in a few lustful thoughts.
The man nodded, quickly averting his eyes. The owner of Deadwater’s mercantile store was known to play cards and do a little carousing of his own from time to time, though Jake had a feeling that Mrs. Greensboro was none the wiser.
She raised her chin and peered down her nose at Jake. “A den of evil, I say,” she stated succinctly. “Your father is right. There’s no place for their kind in this town.”
Jake bit his lip and wanted to point out how much the Magnolia was overcharged by the city fathers for taxes that helped build new business and maintain the ones started, including the mercantile.
Mr. Greensboro cleared his throat, slicing a nervous look at his wife. He shot Jake a brief smile. Clearly the man and his wife didn’t agree on the topic of the Magnolia.
Jake watched the wagon pass by. The insistent creak of the old wood to metal pushed his thoughts right into the middle of Lil’s big old bed. He groaned inwardly and decided a swim at the nearby lake might do him some good.
***
Lillian spent several days trying, without success, to sort out her predicament and calm her libido after meeting, the too-hot-for-words, Sherriff Jake Sloan. In a modern day they might have met at a bar, shared a drink and maybe a cab. It was certain that what had happened in the hall between them wouldn’t have ended the way it did. There’d have been more dancin’ in the sheets, and she couldn’t say that she’d have denied herself the pleasure. Still, his noble restraint coupled with the hungry look in his eyes had done little to help her stop thinking about the notion. She tried to focus on how long ago their meeting had been—was it two days, a week?
Memories of her former life seem to come and go with each passing day, blurring the distinction between fantasy and reality. The responsibilities she’d assumed at the Sweet Magnolia had progressively become more of a reality. She’d have flashes of another time, another place with people who seemed more fictitious than real in her mind. Though one fact remained constant and that was her belief that the red amulet she wore was a key factor, a conduit between the two worlds and what had happened to her. Perhaps the rest was simply fate.
Remarkably, thus far, she’d done better than expected in answering questions, making decisions and generally seeing to the daily responsibilities of the Magnolia. The parlor house was popular in secret with many of the men in town, including a few of the city leaders who wandered in for a drink and a few rounds of cards. But the task was not easy. She’d soon discovered that it required careful accounting to make sure the assessed taxes were paid in a timely fashion and that the rules set forth for her girls were strictly adhered to. In truth, managing the parlor wasn’t much different than running a library. Instead of keeping books organized and seeing to it they were handled with care, she had seven women-ages seventeen to thirty-- a cook, barkeep, and a small saloon to watch over in much the same manner.
Closer To You (Tales of the Sweet Magnolia Book 1) Page 4
