Pah! What would she want with love or marriage?
All she wanted now was her independence and a hearth to call her own as she saw in her old age. No more dragging drunks off girls half their age in the hours before dawn and running to fetch the doctor as yet another whore complained of a burning where the sun didn’t shine.
All she wanted now was some peace and quiet.
****
“Ellen! Wake up!”
She lifted her head from the saloon table and absently wiped cigar ash from her cheek.
“Ellen, there’s a man here to see ya.” Joanna, one of the Gem’s new girls pointed towards the front of the saloon.
Ellen blinked, trying to clear away the whisky haze. Once she’d packed her meagre belongings and seen to the whores one last time, she’d joined Kacey and Al for a farewell drink. But one drink had turned into five or more and now her head ached and her tongue was thick and furry.
Yuck…
“Who is it, Joanna?” Ellen frowned.
“No idea,” the girl shrugged, “but he sure is handsome.” She grinned, revealing a set of teeth that would make an old man blush.
“Okay, sweeting,” Ellen nodded. “Go tell him to come on through.”
Ellen shifted in her seat as a tall figure dressed head to toe in black followed Joanna. He stopped just in front of her and removed his dripping Stetson. She looked up from his muddy boots to his raised collar then into the darkest eyes she had ever seen. A shiver ran down her spine like a lazy finger.
“Excuse me, Miss Finch,” the man fingered the brim of his hat. “I’m mighty sorry to disturb you at this time but…ah…um…my name is Clayton Kile, ma’am. And I uh…”
Ellen watched him. His face was covered with a few days’ stubble. His dark hair flopped over his forehead and it was long enough to hang over his collar at the sides. He had a generous mouth and a strong, square jaw. Joanna was right. He was handsome…if a little unkempt. But there was nothing unusual about that in a mining town. And he was young. Clearly younger than her by at least five years.
In fact, he seemed familiar. As if she’d passed him in the street a few times…or even served him a drink or two. But wouldn’t she remember a man as easy on the eye as he was? She shrugged. Maybe…maybe not. Men were men. She didn’t take that much notice of them. Not even the handsome ones.
“Yeah, what is it?” She leant back in her chair and watched his expression change.
He stared at her like he’d never seen a half-naked woman before. Ellen wore the typical chemise, corset and bloomers of a Gem saloon whore. Even though she didn’t lie with the customers any more, she still accompanied them for drinks and shows, so it made sense to dress to maintain their interest. Like most of the girls, her clothes were shabby and worn but she’d be darned if she was going to waste her hard-earned money on new under garments to make Al Swearengen more money. Hell no! She was saving every dime towards her new life. And she wouldn’t be needing fancy undergarments just for herself to look at.
Besides, she was never short of admirers. With her generous curves she was well sought after and the state of her garments didn’t deter the men who clambered to buy her drinks in the hope that she’d weaken and choose to offer them a flop.
Take Samuel Foxdale, for instance. That man knew she’d been off the menu for two years, yet he persisted in trying to get her to surrender. He kept on and on about the last time she’d let him fuck her as if they’d been proper sweethearts and him her intended. As if! Surely two years was time enough to get over it?
Damn fool. They were all damn fools these men.
But now…the young man who’d appeared in the dead of night, in the middle of a storm, was gazing at her like she had a pot of gold tucked into the top of her corset rather than two large creamy bosoms. Men looked at her all the time. She was used to it. But this one…his interest was arousing her curiosity and it uncurled from deep inside her like a lazy cat and began to stalk around her edges.
“What’s the matter?” She scowled at him. Best to seem cold and hard. No point encouraging the young fool. “Ain’t ya ever seen a whore before?”
She swept her long black hair over her one shoulder and combed her fingers idly through it. He followed the movement of her hands, his eyes hungry.
“No I…I mean yes I…but not like…” His face filled with colour as he stammered. Ellen’s defences relaxed. He seemed harmless enough. Sweet enough.
“It’s okay, sugar,” she soothed, adopting the seductive tone that she’d honed over the years. She grinned inwardly as his eyes darkened in response. She bet his cock was hardening right now and pressing against his rain dampened pants. She pouted slightly, just to complete the effect. She couldn’t help herself. There was just something about him that made her feel playful. More kitten than cat. “Now why in the hell are ya here at this time of the night? Surely you should be home in bed with a pretty young wife?” At the thought of him snuggling into someone, Ellen felt a surge of something unsettling. It finished in a hot, sharp pain that pierced her core and took her breath away.
Was she jealous? Of what? The idea of lovers holding one another close? Or was it the idea that this particular young man was already taken?
“I was wondering,” he sniffed as a raindrop plopped off the end of his nose, “I was hoping, Miss Finch, ma’am, that you’d come with me. I’ve heard that you’re as good a midwife as any round here and I’m in desperate need of your help.”
Ellen chewed at a jagged fingernail.
So that was it. His wife was in labour and she needed help. Was it the thought of a long night ahead that made Ellen feel so disheartened or that not only was this handsome stranger married but he also had a babe on the way?
She shrugged. Well, that was the way of the world. Men and women got wed then had, or tried to have, children. Sometimes it worked out and sometimes it didn’t. For whores like Ellen, most of their good years were spent trying their best to avoid getting with child. She felt the familiar tug at her heart. Even after all these years, she couldn’t shake off the warmth that the thought of being a mother could bring. Foolish for a woman in her position and at twenty-nine she should know better.
“I…I’m leaving in the morning.” Ellen got to her feet then lifted her right leg to adjust her stocking. As she rested her foot on the chair beside her, she heard the young man’s sharp inhalation of breath. She looked down and realised why. He could see right up the leg of her bloomers to the ebony curls at her groin. She smiled. It was kind of nice to have such an effect on this man. The fun she could have with this one.
Most of the regulars at the Gem weren’t much to look at and they didn’t smell too good neither. There was something different about this interloper. Her body sensed it. Her heart knew it. He had her feeling tense and alert. Unless it was the whisky still running through her veins, of course.
Ellen’s inner muscles twitched and her clit tingled. Sensations she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It must be her excitement at the thought of her future freedom. Surely. But she suspected that being close to such a handsome young man had something to do with it. A whole lot more to with it.
“You’re leaving, Miss Finch?”
She looked at him and compassion washed over her at his crestfallen expression. It was as if he’d been given a brand new house then told he had to share it with his hogs.
“Yeah, I’m quitting Deadwood for good.”
“Oh…I see…” He curled the edge of his hat between his fingers.
Ellen’s heart leapt as she looked at his strong, masculine hands. Hands that would be able to cradle even her ample bosoms. Her nipples tightened.
“But I’ll come with ya tonight and see if I can help.”
What are you doing? Fool! Weakened by a good-looking face and a woeful tale.
“Oh thank you so much, Miss Finch!” he exclaimed, his expression lightening. “I’m mighty grateful.”
He was even better looking when he smiled a
nd the cloak of solemnity fell from his features.
Ellen scowled at her own weakness and at the pleasure that his obvious relief brought her. She was being weak. Too soft. As always. “Let me just throw on some clothes…”
“Clothes?” He frowned and she had an urge to reach out and smooth his brow, to lay his head in her lap and shower his face with kisses.
What was in that whisky?
“Yeah.” She gestured at herself, trying to ignore the unfamiliar heat flooding her cheeks. “I can’t really come like this.”
As she walked towards the staircase, she heard him mutter, “You wouldn’t catch me complaining.”
So he was just like all the others. Her foolish heart sank.
No loyalty. No self-control. Just a walking talking horny guy who couldn’t keep his eyes off a whore even when his own dear wife was in the throes of childbirth.
Men were all the same and she had no right reacting to this one in the way she had. No man was going to ruin her plans for the freedom that she’d fought long and hard to earn.
No man!
****
Clayton stood in the bar of the Gem.
Waiting.
He gripped his hat with one hand and drummed the fingers of the other one against his tense thigh. He was vulnerable, exposed, out of his depth.
Up close, Ellen Finch was even more beautiful than he’d imagined. He had first seen her the day he’d arrived in Deadwood, six months past. He had been gathering supplies from the variety of merchant tents in the Main Street when she’d strolled past. His mouth had fallen open and he’d almost dropped his purchases into the mud. A local tradesman had seen his reaction and told him Ellen’s name then made Clayton cringe as he sniggered when he added her occupation.
Overwhelmed by her clear skin, her flashing sapphire eyes and her waist-length ebony hair, aroused by her feminine curves and her sensual, exotic perfume, he had been hooked. Instantly. And desperate to discover more about her.
But she hadn’t even glanced his way. It was as if he didn’t exist or he was merely ordinary, just like the other men bustling about in the ankle-deep mire that pervaded the street after a heavy rain storm.
It had wounded him. Ridiculous and he knew it. Especially when it was clear that she was a whore. Why on earth would he be attracted to a woman who sold her body to rotten-toothed miners and drunken scoundrels? How many men would have pawed her voluptuous flesh of an evening and emptied their balls into her sweet, warm flesh? He shuddered.
Then there was his past. His responsibilities. His pain. Combine these with his knowledge of her occupation and he knew well enough that he should have left it there. But he had not. He had been drawn to the Gem, eager to seek her out and even pay her for a flop just to get it out of his system. He had been driven mad by the need to see her again, to get her to notice him. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch and he had fought the urge, battled against it with all of his strength until it had all but consumed him. Hard, physical labour as he built his cabin, long evening walks and even the caress of his own, callused hand had brought him no relief from the burning desire to be with this woman.
One evening, just a few weeks ago, he had taken his usual solitary evening stroll through the town and past the Gem, when he had seen Ellen through the window. That had been it. His feet had assumed a life of their own and carried him into the smoky, noisy saloon where he had taken a seat in the corner. Suddenly painfully self-conscious and keen to avoid being noticed, he had tried to blend in, to actually be just like all the other customers.
His day-dreams of marching up to Miss Finch and carrying her upstairs, then taking her roughly – as if to punish her for stealing his sanity and clouding his usually sensible mind – had evaporated as he had observed her. Though men hovered around her like flies, she did not pay any one man attention for too long. She smiled at them, laughed at their jokes and occasionally accepted drinks from them. But that was all. Most of the patrons seemed happy to accept this. It was as if she had an invisible barrier around her that kept them at arm’s length. They could look – and look they did, so much so that it made Clayton’s blood boil – but not touch. And apart from one man, who watched Ellen possessively as if she belonged to him in some way, they seemed content.
It had surprised Clayton. The bar was full of eager whores. Some of them had tried to sit on his knee or take his hand and lead him out back but he shook them off. He had no interest in them. His life, his loss left him no time for the haggard girls with their painted faces and whisky-soaked breath. As a young man, not yet twenty-five, he knew that he should have been interested. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. In his circumstances, it would have been perfectly acceptable to lie with a soiled dove or two.
But he felt nothing but revulsion as they flashed him their breasts or tried to fondle his cock.
Nothing.
Yet Ellen Finch. She stirred him. Why, oh, why he couldn’t explain it. She held herself differently. She laughed differently. She moved differently.
Because she was different. There was a quiet dignity about her that the other girls lacked.
Because she is different.
It had come to him like a crack of thunder. She wasn’t whoring any more. She was a Madame, taking care of the girls and looking out for them. But not taking part in any of the baser activities that occurred in the Gem herself.
The relief that the realisation brought was akin to diving into a mountain spring on an August day. It made his balls tighten and his cock twitch. His heart leap and his stomach flip.
Ellen was no painted cat. Not anymore.
He had scurried off into the night, his excitement warming him like a dozen shots of whisky. But by the time he’d reached his cabin, disappointment had replaced his jubilation.
What was he thinking? What did he really believe he could have with Ellen Finch? She hadn’t even noticed him and…well…he had his own issues to deal with. His own past sitting like a storm cloud above his left shoulder and a future as dun and murky as a muddy pool. He had no right imagining that there could ever be anything between him and the young woman. No right at all.
He had responsibilities. Provisions to find. A proper home to create. Before the baby came.
So when things didn’t run as smoothly as they’d hoped with the labour and he needed to find someone to help, he had been shocked at his own joy when his neighbour had mentioned Ellen’s name.
He had an excuse to call on her. To ask for her assistance. Sure, it wasn’t the best reason to be knocking on her door in the dead of night…but…hell, it was a reason.
And now she had noticed him. He knew she had.
Even if it wasn’t for the reasons he had hoped.
He glanced up as he heard a door slam at the top of the stairs.
There she was. The woman who had mysteriously captured his complicated, irrational and wounded heart.
CARINA™
ISBN: 978 1 472 09959 4
Bound
Copyright © 2014 Molly Ann Wishlade
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