Most of the men nodded their agreement, and a couple said, “Yeah.”
“Well then, I’m sure you heard me provide my name as Horatio P. Thomas. A moniker that is much too formal for a bunch of just-plain fellows sitting around a poker table. Call me H.P.” He circled a hand, palm up, over the table. “Who might I have the pleasure of playing with?”
“Hugh.”
“Emmett.” Lantern light flashed off his spectacles as he nodded.
“Janus.”
“Bud.”
“Nic.” He had the deal, so he shuffled the cards as the new arrival dug into his pocket for his gambling money. “The game’s draw poker, ante is two bits, nothing’s wild, and the limit is a five dollar maximum bet per hand.”
“I understand the rules, sir.” H.P. picked up his first card and smiled. “May I assume there will be no prestidigitation associated with the manner in which you distribute the cards?”
Janus leaned over to Bud and whispered, “What’s that he said?”
Nicolai narrowed his gaze at the fancy-dressed man. Does he think the long word will be unknown to someone who lives in this small town? “Only straight dealing allowed here.”
The next few hands involved modest betting, and the winning pots were dispersed about evenly among the players.
Nicolai bit back a yawn and figured he’d relaxed enough to go home and get a good night’s sleep.
“Gentlemen, I have to share the news that the notoriety of your small town has exceeded the boundaries of Montana Territory.” H.P. tossed in his ante and fanned out his cards. “I heard about Morgan’s Crossing during the troupe’s stay in Sheridan, Wyoming Territory. Actually, the news of your fair city was shared by one of your mining cohorts.”
Coins clinked as others added their antes to the small pile.
“Do tell.” Bud fanned out his cards then shoved them closed and stroked a hand over the dark stubble covering his jaw. “Who was that?”
Hmm, the action with his cards was Bud’s tell for a bad hand. Nicolai glanced at his own hand, seeing three cards of the same suit and in sequence. Two possibilities to build on. Maybe he’d stick around for a bit longer.
“Man by the name of Conrad. I raise four bits.” H.P. slid the silver coins toward the pot. “Yes, indeed, he told me about a town on the picturesque prairie under the shadow of a mountain range with a crew of bachelor miners but so few women.”
Janus pitched in his matching bet and nodded. “I remember Willy Conrad. He lit out a month or so back.”
The hairs on the back of Nicolai’s neck bristled, and he slouched back in his chair, studying the verbose man through a slit-eyed look. His father had taught him how to sniff out dishonest talk, and this H.P. fellow was planning something.
The men around the table grumbled their agreement about the lack of unmarried women.
“I had high hopes for the chance to court Miss Bucholtz after she arrived last month. Several of us did.” Hugh rolled the cigarette to the other side of his mouth. “We went so far as to set up one end of the boarding house dining room like a parlor. A bunch of us sat on benches for an hour one evening and watched her knit.”
Nic glanced closer at the man to see if he was making a joke. The disgusted curl of his lower lip proved he was serious. Fairly convincing testimony to a sore lack of females.
“I was lucky enough to grab a dance at the Harvest Festival.” Bud tapped a fist on the edge of the table, rattling the coins. “Now she’s off limits, because Howie Brungar staked his claim.”
“We brought this matter to Morgan earlier this year.” A sharp nod scraped Emmett’s wiry brown beard against his chambray shirt. He dropped his coins into the center and shot a glance around the circle.
Janus shook his head, flopping shaggy blond hair over his forehead. “And he ain’t done nothing about the situation.”
“’Cepting he got hisself a mail-order wife.” Hugh took a drag on his cigarette and squinted, deepening the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He blew the smoke toward the ceiling before setting his cards face down on the table. “I fold.”
Nicolai tossed in his money to match the bet but didn’t have anything to add to the conversation about available women. His interest was piqued, because he hadn’t been in this location long enough to know details about the backgrounds of any of the townspeople. Gossiping was not in his nature, so he gained information wherever he could.
“But arranging for mail-order brides takes time, and the groom must always front the transportation fees.” H.P. paused and rocked on the back legs of his chair. “Besides, unless the woman has a photograph to send along, you are paying for a pig in a poke.” He chortled and waggled his eyebrows. “If you catch my meaning here, gentlemen.” He held up his cards in front of him then glanced at Bud, who was the dealer for this round. “I would like two cards.”
What is this man leading up to? Nicolai leaned back in his chair and raised two fingers when Bud looked toward him for new cards.
“Within those wagons in the center of town housing my troupe of performers are single women.” He laid a hand over his heart. “I am aware of how fortunate I’ve been to be in their gracious company for these past months as we’ve traveled the country together, bringing our entertainment to many cities and towns. For the next few days, seven gentle souls of propriety and piety will be right here in your midst, within the town limits of Morgan’s Crossing. Any of whom would make a wonderful addition to the town, and specifically to your own household.” He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “What would you think about gaining the opportunity for a private hour or two with the woman of your choice?”
Around the table, all the players tensed and glared.
“Hey.” Emmett sat forward, his brows drawn low. “What are you proposing here? You saying those women we saw tonight are soiled doves?”
H.P.’s eyes shot wide, and he shook his head. “Oh, no, no, no. Gentlemen, I mean no disrespect. My statement was worded all wrong. I merely meant, what if I could make arrangements for you to take a walk with one of the ladies, or perhaps share a meal?” Again, he glanced around the table. “This town does have a café, does it not?”
Bodies relaxed, glances were exchanged, and the men fingered their cards.
“No café.” Janus jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “But Miss Bucholtz at the boarding house serves up three meals a day. She’s a right good cook, although can’t say I much like sauerkraut.”
Nicolai couldn’t figure out why this pompous man would want to marry off his performers. Was this the manager’s way of going out of business? Way out here in the middle of nowhere?
Play continued around the table for several minutes as the men focused on the game. The four remaining players bid up the pot until quite a sizable mound occupied the center of the table.
“Nights are pretty lonely around here.” Hugh pulled out the makings for a new cigarette from his shirt pocket. His practiced moves created a packed cylinder in seconds. “What did you mean about arrangement?”
“So glad you asked, my good man.” H.P. beamed and then subtly waved away the cloud of smoke that erupted from Hugh’s lit cigarette. He fished out a silver dollar from his vest pocket and held it up, turning the coin to catch the light from the overhead lantern. “For the price of one dollar, I will guarantee you a meeting with your chosen prospective bride. You’ve already had, or will have when you attend a performance, the opportunity to see each of the lovely ladies, so no surprise exists about their looks. The rest is up to your indubitable charm and powers of persuasion to win the maiden’s fair heart.”
Irritation ran along Nicolai’s skin, and he hunched forward, leaning both elbows on the table. This talk about selling time with the women in the troupe rankled. For one, he didn’t want to think of any of these men, or any miner, spending time with the beautiful Miss York. “Are we playing poker or jawing? I believe the bet is another dollar for you to stay in the game, Bud.” His hearts flush was a decen
t hand, and he wanted to see if he’d win the healthy pot. Mostly, he wanted to get away from this pompous man and his attitude toward the women he should be protecting.
Moments later, when all the hands lay face up on the table, a grinning H.P. pulled the pile of coins toward him. “Well, I’d say that was a stroke of luck. What about the matter of the ladies? Who is interested?”
“I’m heading home.” Nicolai stood and strode from the room, the injustice of what he suspected was happening right now in Rigsby’s Saloon fueling his movements.
CHAPTER THREE
With an audible shiver, Cinnia awoke and realized her body was covered in goose flesh. Sometime during the night, she’d curled herself into a tight ball in an attempt to keep warm. Reaching backwards, she grabbed for the edge of the quilt Nola had cocooned herself inside and pulled. She reclaimed enough to cover most of her body and waited for the flannel-backed quilt to warm her chilled skin.
Scrunching her eyes closed, she mentally stretched for the wispy remnants of her happy dream—a wonderful fantasy about wearing a fancy pink silk gown and dancing in the arms of the handsome stranger. In her waking life, she’d never choose pink—a horrible shade to put with her coloring—but this was a dream, and she could wear whatever color or style she desired. Fullness pressed against the pit of her belly. She shifted, straightening her legs, but the new position didn’t relieve the pressure. The need to use the privy wouldn’t let her return to her delightful dream.
Muted light showed at the edge of the curtains, indicating the time was just after dawn. I’ll never get back to sleep now. Biting back a sigh, Cinnia braced her hands on the edge of the mattress and eased down, grazing the backs of her legs against the wooden cupboards until her feet touched the floor. She sank into a squat and then crawled under the sling hammock spanning the middle aisle where Dorrie slept. Whimpers came from the built-in dog crates under the padded settee as she passed, but she couldn’t take the time to put them on leashes. Holding a finger to her lips, she shushed them.
Standing, she dipped first one foot then the other into the pair of boots she’d left near the door the previous night, not taking time to lace them. From the shelf over the dry sink, she lifted the package of Gayetty’s Medicated Papers and quietly unlocked then opened the door. The cold morning air went right through the flannel of her nightgown, so she reached inside to grab her green plaid cape. Dew weighed heavy on the stems of grass. With the paper packet tucked under one arm, she held up her hem with the other hand and shuffled along in her unlaced boots toward the incline. Glad no one is awake to see the sight I am.
Once she got away from the backs of the wagons and circled around the rope corral, she spotted a privy that stood behind the building between what looked like two small stables. She hesitated, her gaze flicking between the low bushes, where snakes might be sleeping, and the nice-looking wooden outhouse with its cute cut-outs of a half moon and two stars.
Knowing she’d only be a minute or two, she slipped inside, flipped the keyhole latch, and then sat while breathing out a long sigh. Grateful for the tiny luxury of not being forced to take care of her needs in the wild, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the owner of this privy. From where she sat, she admired the craftsmanship and how the door fit tight. Some privies she’d been in had big gaps between the boards or the doors sagged on their hinges. On a shelf to the right side sat a packet of medicated papers just like the one she’d brought.
At that moment, the door rattled.
Cinnia stilled then used the sheet of paper and jumped to a stand. Was someone out there, or had the wind kicked up? She pressed an ear to the door then straightened at the silly motion. Exiting the confines of the privy was a given, so she just unlatched the door and stepped out. Only to come face-to-face with the man from her dream, the man whose scrutiny made her lose her place in the recitation the previous evening. Her mouth dried.
The blond man stood a few feet away, wearing a lazy smirk. The gray flannel union suit he wore under his unbelted trousers had several of the buttons undone, exposing defined muscles and a tuft of honey-colored chest hair. His blue-eyed gaze focused on her face.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your privy is real nice, and I used it for only a minute. I-I couldn’t resist.” Heat flashed in her cheeks. Sucking in a breath, she grabbed the front of her cape and pulled it tighter. I’m saying all the wrong things. Here she stood in her nightclothes in front of a man she’d not yet been introduced to. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the lace edging on her gathered cuffs and flushed hotter. This was so much different than being seen by one of the men in the troupe. Incidents like this were bound to happen among people camping out together. “I have this thing about snakes.”
“Snakes?” The man’s eyebrows kicked higher, and he ran his gaze down her length.
His voice had a sleepy rasp, and a shiver went down her spine at the sound. “I don’t know this area yet, and snakes might be out there.” She waved the paper packet toward the bushes and watched his gaze follow her hand. “Uh, these are mine—see, at least I brought my own paper.” Just stop talking. When she spotted his mouth start to open, she raised a hand and shook her head, sending wisps of loose hair flying against her cheek. I must look a wretched mess. “Please, sir, I beg of you. Let me go back to my wagon with whatever dignity I still possess.”
His lips quirked, but he gave a quick nod and extended his hand in that direction.
Cinnia turned to her right, and with head held high, she walked away, her boots flopping loosely with each step. Right before she reached her wagon, she lost her toe-grip on the shoe and her left boot flew off. Her bare foot landed on damp grass and something squishy—the origin of which she did not want to ponder. Her stomach roiled, but she restrained herself from hopping on only her booted foot.
Bending from the waist, she scooped up the boot, climbed into the wagon without looking back, and shut the door with a decisive click. Once she was inside, she realized the view she’d presented of her flannel-covered backside as she recovered her shoe. Again, her cheeks flamed. Hopefully, he would have already been inside the privy by that point.
Why couldn’t real life be more like the dream world?
Two heads popped up from their pillows, and dual narrowed gazes shot down the aisle.
“Sorry. I’ve just had a horrible encounter…oh, never mind. Suffice to say, I made a fool of myself in front of one of the townspeople. And the day has just begun.” She twisted to the side to hang her cape on the hook. When she turned back toward the interior, she spotted both women sitting upright, arms hugging their knees.
“This I’ve got to hear.” Dorrie pushed her braid over her shoulder. “I’d say from the paper packet you’ve been out answering nature’s call.”
Nola pointed. “The hem of your nightgown is stained.”
Nodding to both comments, Cinnia shook out the skirt of her nightgown. “Hopefully, it’s just wet from the dew.” She sank onto the settee, crooking her legs to the side, and sighed. “I snuck into the privy behind the shops next door, and the owner caught me. Plus he might have gotten the impression I was stealing his packet of Gayetty’s papers.”
Giggles sounded, and both women rolled their eyes.
“Who was the owner?” Nola scooted to the edge of her mattress.
Only a very handsome stranger who I now know has the most beautiful ice-blue eyes. “The man who…um”—she narrowed her gaze on Dorrie, who merely blinked—“one of the townspeople we weren’t introduced to last night.”
“Well, that leaves a lot of possibilities.” Nola jumped to her feet, easing down her bunched-up nightgown. “Thomas only introduced us to a handful, because the crowd dispersed quickly. We’ve all learned how folks in small towns like to be home early.”
“But I want to know what made you dash inside like you did.” Dorrie hopped down and tossed her quilt, sheets, and pillow on the settee. She and Nola lifted the hammock from its slots and slid it on top of the matt
ress.
Cinnia jerked back her head. “I was caught using his privy. Without permission, and at the very moment when he came outside to use it. Wouldn’t you think that was embarrassing?” She grabbed the quilt bunched at her side and started folding.
“Not really.” Dorrie gave a shrug. “Everyone has to go someplace. Better a wooden plank for a seat than a sharp rock.”
The women’s chatter dissolved into the common complaints of being in one another’s way as each tried to use the pitcher and bowl to wash up and get dressed for the day. The handy part of sharing the small living space was having someone always at hand to fasten those hard-to-reach buttons, help with creating an upswept hairstyle, or to tighten corset laces—a fashion necessity now they were among society again. Although, Cinnia refused to wear the added mattress bustle that many women considered essential.
Laughing at the energetic moves of the excited dogs as Nola released them from their crates, Cinnia scooted around them and started down the wagon’s steps.
Three male strangers rose from where they’d been sitting on the stools at the fire pit, pulled their hats from their heads, and turned to face the back of the wagon.
Who are they? Her grip on the metal railing tightened. “Uh, Dorrie, Nola. Come outside please. Quick.” She looked over her shoulder to watch for their reactions to the scene she’d encountered.
“Hold yer horses. We’re com—” Dorrie stopped in the doorway, and her eyes shot wide.
Nola bumped into her from behind. “Why’d you stop? These dogs are antsy as all get out to be outside.” She peeked over Dorrie’s shoulders and frowned. “Oh.”
“How do, ladies.” The man who spoke was tall and broad with longish blond hair. “As discussed last night with Mr. Thomas, we’re here before our shift in the mine to arrange for our hour of special time in your lovely company.”
What in the world? Cinnia moved sideways to make room for Dorrie and Nola to join her on the ground.
“I’m not sure I understand.” Nola leaned to the side as the dogs scrabbled in the grass to move away from the wagon. “You want a special performance?” She glanced at the dogs, who strained at the ends of their leashes and relented a few steps. The dogs disappeared into the space between the wagons. “Or maybe you want training lessons for your pet?”
Montana Sky_Laced By Love Page 4
