by Carol Arens
“Let’s go, Fey,” she said to the horse. “I’ve got someplace special to show our boy.”
Fey picked up her pace, prancing and seeming happy. The horse had traveled this path many times in the past and was clearly pleased to be back in familiar pastures.
Boodle laughed belly deep at the increased speed. Heaven help her if he turned out like his uncle Chance.
It wasn’t long before they arrived at the edge of Cherokee Bluff. Leanna remained in the saddle with Cabe tucked in close to her.
“You see that, baby?” Far below, the land stretched away in rolling green hills as far as she could see. Trees grew on the banks of Triple Creek, their leaves twisting in the breeze and reflecting sunlight. “There’s the 4C.
“Uncle Quin runs it now, all by himself.” So many emotions jumbled around in her heart. Nostalgia, grief, guilt, joy…lots of joy. And just now the joy poked through. She didn’t know this firsthand, but rumor had it that Quin had found his one and only.
Good for Quin, and Bowie, too. That was another happy rumor; Bowie had found his own true love, as well.
“I suppose you’ll have to settle for uncles, Boodle. I can’t imagine there will be a one-and-only for me. If there is, he’ll be some sort of saint to overlook what I’ve become.” She ruffled Cabe’s hair, watching brown then blue highlights shine in the black. “That’s all right. I’ve got my little man.”
It was all right. There was not a soul on earth she could love more than Cabe, anyway.
A cloud passed in front of the sun, its shadow sliding over the land below.
“Look, way off there in the distance.” Leanna pointed to the spot. “See that smoke? It’s coming from the house that Grandpa Earl built.”
And where he’s buried in the little valley nearby, right beside Mama.
She could hardly believe she was here. She would be able to visit the graves whenever she wanted. During her time in Deadwood, her exile and what she considered to be her growing up from a spoiled girl to a woman, she had longed for this day a million times.
“We’ll visit soon, Papa…Mama.” Boodle wouldn’t understand much of what she told him, but she spoke out loud, anyway.
A dust cloud rose from a corral near one of the barns on the 4C. Maybe it was Quin going about the business of keeping the ranch running.
She didn’t tell Cabe what had happened the last time she’d seen her brother.
Growing up, there had never been a moment Quin hadn’t watched out for her. As the oldest, he had decided it was his job. Many years back, she’d wandered too far from the house and gotten lost. He’d found her on the banks of Triple Creek well after dark. He hadn’t scolded her, though. He’d bundled her in a blanket because it was October and turning cold, and taken her home to Mama, who had been crying her eyes out. Mama had scolded her.
Until that last day, until the fight, Quin had been there, always on her side.
Bowie had indulged her. If she wanted candy, the next time Bowie went to town, he delighted her on his return by letting her draw a peppermint stick from his coat pocket. If she was in a snit over some little thing, he coaxed her out of the mood with a tickle or a handful of flowers. In her mind, growing up, Bowie had wanted nothing more than to indulge her every whim. She had let him, of course.
Chance had never let her get away with anything, unless she was getting away with something he was involved in. He had never minded when she sneaked out at night after him. They’d watched shooting stars until dawn. When she begged him to teach her to ride astride, in secret so Mama and Papa wouldn’t know, he’d been happy to do it. He hadn’t been so happy about teaching her to shoot a gun because she’d caught on so quickly. Over time her aim had become nearly as good as his.
After the family split up, Chance had become a bounty hunter. She’d remained in touch with him, even seen him on occasion during her time in Deadwood.
He had been out collecting a bounty when Quin had sent the wire wanting them to come home. He wouldn’t know that Mama and Papa had been murdered—she still couldn’t wrap her mind around that thought—until he got the letter she’d left for him with her landlady in Deadwood.
He’d be home as soon as he got the news, surely he would. With all of them working together they would discover what had happened to Mama and Papa. It might take some convincing to make her brothers understand that she would not be left out of the search for the killers, that she was no longer the baby sister who had to stay home and be pampered.
Making them come around to her way of thinking would not be easy.
There had never been a time when her brothers hadn’t watched out for her. Boys on neighboring ranches had thought long and hard before they came to call.
Why, just before the tragedy, Preston Van Slyck had started to court her. She had most definitely decided to refuse him. When he did not respect her decision, Quin, Bowie and Chance had run him off the 4C with a boot to his backside, one kick from each brother.
Over the past two years she had discovered that she could get by without her big brothers as champions, but she still well and truly missed them.
Upon her arrival in Deadwood two years ago, she had sent each of her brothers, even Quin, a telegram giving her location. She had warned them not to come for her or she would find an even more wicked place to live. Deadwood was perfection, she’d told them.
Of course, it hadn’t been perfection. She’d had no money of her own, except what Chance had slipped into her saddlebag—praise heaven for that. Thank goodness Chance had also taught her poker and other useful card games.
At the time, she hadn’t wanted his help. She’d thought she could make it on her own, easily.
All too soon she’d discovered what became of women who thought the same and found out differently. They became prostitutes. Bought, sold and forgotten by families who used to love them.
Had it not been for Chance, she might have been one of them. She might have been like Arden Honeybee. No one knew how close she had come to sharing her friend’s fate.
Leanna had been lucky to be able to earn money, lots of money, dealing cards. She was pretty enough and knew how to charm men. Social grace was not a part of her past that she’d left behind.
Flirt and tease as she might, she knew that a trip upstairs with a gentleman was a trip to ruin.
She could never take back the hateful words she had shouted at her mother that last, horrible day, but she wouldn’t dishonor her memory now.
Every day she tried to behave like the lady Mama had brought her up to be.
Because of her friendship with Arden Honeybee, Leanna learned that women were women, no matter what they did for a living. She wanted to give the girls who had made that trip upstairs a way out of the lives they had chosen.
And so, Hearts for Harlots had been born. She’d saved every tip she’d ever earned toward that cause.
“You were kind to everyone, Mama, no matter who they were,” she said to the clear blue sky. “I really was paying attention growing up, even though it was probably hard to tell. I’m trying to be more like you. Although, and you’ve probably noticed, I still have a weakness for a pretty dress.”
A bird chattered in a tree and it sounded like laughter.
“Let’s head on home, Boodle. Time for your nap.” She lifted his face and leaned down to kiss his nose. “From way up in heaven, Grandma is so proud of you.”
Chapter Three
Because Leanna Cahill was not coldhearted, selfish or dishonorable, not any of the things he had prejudged her to be, Cleve had lost sleep again last night.
Dammit if he hadn’t risen from bed, lit the lamp and practiced shuffling cards. Cards were predictable when one knew how to play them. It was easy to be in control when all that was needed to fall into place were hearts, clubs, diamonds and spades.
Over time he had found that there was something about the muffled sound of the deck—aces sliding over jacks and queens mingling with kings—that soothed him.
Usually.
He’d left the hotel again this morning just after breakfast, knowing that the business he had with Miss Cahill could not wait any longer.
Neither would the noon train.
While he walked he tried to come up with a plan to bring up the business. Unfortunately, the only plan that his mind seemed capable of forming had to do with kissing Miss Cahill.
Pretty kissable lips haunted his nights and disturbed his days.
Cleve slammed his hand on top of his hat. Weather in this part of Texas was fickle. Today, the wind blew. He strode with his head down, leaning into a gust.
A woman walked several yards ahead of him carrying a bucket. Some rotten, awful stench from the pail blew back at him.
The woman stopped in front of Leanna’s Place. She glanced left, then right. Had she looked behind her she would have seen Cleve stepping double time.
She hurried up Leanna’s front steps. He dashed up after her and grabbed the bucket an instant before she would have dumped the disgusting contents on the porch.
“Let go of me you…you…cur!” the woman, dull of hair and dress, yelped.
“Your kind isn’t welcome at Leanna’s Place,” he told her.
It might not be his place to stand up for Miss Cahill, but she was doing a good and honorable thing by helping the helpless. He couldn’t make himself turn a blind eye and mind his own business.
“My…kind?” The woman blinked at him, not seeming to comprehend that the thing she had intended to do was wrong.
“A judgmental…” He smiled down at her. Anyone passing by might think they were in involved in friendly conversation. “Narrow-minded…shrew.”
He closed her fingers around the handle of the stinky pail.
She huffed, puffed out her chest, then stomped down the stairs, the stench of her refuse trailing behind.
There were worse names he should have called her but just inside the open door a boy sat on the floor shooting marbles. The child couldn’t be more than eight years old.
“Nice shot,” Cleve said to him, striding through the doorway.
“Thanks, mister.” He looked up, his face covered in freckles and hope. “I’m Melvin. Like to play?”
“Maybe later, son. Miss Cahill looks like she needs some help with that lamp.”
“Miss Cahill needs help,” she cried out. “And in a hurry!”
Miss Cahill stood on a bench trying to hook a large glass lamp onto a chain dangling from the ceiling. Her arms strained with the weight of the ruby-red globe.
Crystal bangles clinked together. She slowly tipped backward. Apparently, she wasn’t going to let go of the lamp even if she ended up on the floor sitting in a heap of shattered glass.
Cleve sprinted forward for the second time that morning. He leaped upon the bench, caught her about her waist with one hand and rescued the lamp with the other.
“Mr. Holden,” she said. “You have a knack for turning up at the right time.”
“I aim to be of service.” Most of the time, at least.
Not today, though. Today he would set matters straight between them. No more being swayed by her charm, her beauty and, there was no denying, her good heart.
First, though, he needed to take his hand off her. Curse it, she was firm and warm under his fingertips. It felt nice to have her weight leaning into his palm.
This was a mistake, but he drew her closer…just an inch…to breathe in the fresh, clean scent of her. She was like a summer storm when the earth begins to get wet.
She tipped her head and arched a brow at him; one slender hand pressed his chest, maybe in protest or maybe for balance. Since she made no move to step off the bench, he lingered just a bit to watch her cheeks blush the most charming shade of pink.
If Miss Cahill was a fallen woman he was still a sodbuster back in Nebraska.
“Lucky thing for me.” She placed her free hand under the globe. “I paid a pretty price for this fancy piece.”
He lifted the lamp, and she pushed it up. The movement shifted her left breast. He couldn’t help but notice since it was only an inhalation from his chest. The heat of her sizzled through his coat and shirt.
A trance must have taken hold of him. She smiled and everything went away. If life went on beyond the two of them, toe-to-toe on the bench, he didn’t notice much.
If it weren’t for the boy playing marbles on the floor and the woman weeping in the corner, he might do the one thing sure to cause him grief. He would claim the kiss he had been thinking about and for that one moment he wouldn’t be sorry.
But there was a woman weeping in the corner.
“I’ll need to see to that,” Miss Cahill murmured, but made no move do it.
“May I call you Leanna?” He was a fool. It would be much easier to confront Miss Cahill than Leanna.
“That would be lovely.” Like her smile. “I’d like to call you Cleve.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
The wailing from the corner grew louder.
“I’ll need to get down…Cleve.”
He stepped off the bench first, making sure that both of his hands cupped her waist for the five seconds it took to lift her down. It might have taken only one second had a button on her dress not snagged a button of his coat.
Three seconds passed when she had to press into him in order to free herself.
At second number four, she pushed away but slowly, all the while looking into his eyes as though trying to see deeper than flesh would allow. He shouldn’t want her to look so deeply but he watched her eyes the same way.
Both of them kept secrets.
Leanna turned all of a sudden. She hurried across the room.
“What is it, Massie?” She crouched down, eye to eye with the tearful dove who sat on the floor.
All of a sudden, the thought of breaking her heart made him feel hollow inside. For the first time he wondered if he was making a mistake.
“People hate us.” Massie sniffed. “I’ll never get to be respectable and go h-h-home.”
“Of course you will!” Leanna stroked a lock of blond hair back from Massie’s blotched face.
“But that awful woman was about to dump rotten potatoes on our porch. If Mr. Holden hadn’t stopped her we’d have stunk to high heaven.”
“Cleve? Did you do that?” Leanna blinked clear, dark-lashed eyes at him. Why did his name have to sound so special coming from her lips? He felt like a cad.
“Mr. Holden called her a shrew and sent her on her way, and her stinky bucket with her,” young Melvin, still sitting on the floor with his marbles, declared. “I saw it all.”
“Thank you, Cleve. That was kind of you.”
“Anyone would have done the same.” He’d do it again, a dozen times for Hearts for Harlots.
“Not around here, they wouldn’t.” Leanna helped Massie to her feet, frowning. “I’m afraid you’ve cast your lot with us. When Mrs. Busybody spreads her righteous tale, your reputation won’t be worth much.”
“I’ll be taking the train this noon. I won’t be here long enough for it to matter.”
He was a cad. He’d be gone, putting her firmly out of his mind, while she and the ladies dodged rotten potatoes.
“All the same, I’m sorry, Cleve.”
She wouldn’t be, though, once he told her what he had come for. He shouldn’t feel guilty for doing the right thing. And he wouldn’t if only she had been the woman her reputation claimed her to be.
Cleve wrestled with his conscience while Leanna sent Melvin home to play with Cabe, then gathered the ladies for a lesson.
If things were different, he’d pursue Leanna Cahill. Maybe even court her. He couldn’t recall ever being so drawn to a woman. Forbidden fruit and all that, he reckoned.
“Cleve, will you act as our gentleman for this session?”
What he had come to do could wait half an hour. Who was he kidding? He knew he wouldn’t be on that train.
He walked past the open front door and th
rough a beam of sunlight. A leaf from the tree shading the front porch blew inside.
Leanna’s students waited for him in the corner where Massie had been weeping.
“Ladies, always a pleasure,” he said. Something inside him twisted, burned. If Leanna had been able to help his sister the way she was helping these ladies…well…life would be very different. He’d have no cause to be here now.
The sad fact was, she could not now be saved, but maybe these women could.
He would play their gentleman to the best of his ability, even though some would say he was no more a gentleman than Leanna was a lady.
“We practiced formal greetings yesterday, but I think we need a bit more work in that area,” Leanna said. “First impressions are crucial. Lucinda, you go first. You are meeting Mr. Holden for the first time.”
“Hello, mister.” Lucinda arched her back and settled her shoulders. She rocked slightly side to side leading with her hips. Her dark gaze raked him, head to toe, then settled where it shouldn’t.
“I think you got that all wrong, Lucinda,” Cassie argued.
She tried the greeting herself but only succeeded in looking more a lady of the night than her friend.
“It’s more like this,” Leanna explained. “You stand an arm’s length from the gentleman and extend your hand.”
She demonstrated. Cleve took her hand and bowed just slightly over it. He didn’t feel much like a gentleman, but he acted the part, anyway.
“You’ll be wearing gloves during this greeting. If you aren’t, don’t offer your hand. Just nod to acknowledge the gentleman.”
Leanna withdrew her hand from his slowly, flesh to flesh with no annoying gloves to get in the way. Her skin was warm, smooth, and damned if he hadn’t felt a spark kindle between their palms.
Well, then, she’d noticed it, too, if the sudden widening of her blue eyes meant anything.
“Like this?” Lucinda tried the nod.
