by E. E. Burke
Hank didn’t count the minutes, but she wasn’t gone long.
“I think I have it all.” Glass bottles rattled as she set something on the floor, a tray perhaps. “Angelique helped me gather everything. I can tell she’s worried about Bear.”
He had wondered about the silent girl. “Can Angelique speak?”
“I’ve never heard her utter a word. But she can hear just fine.” Jolie scooted closer. “If you’ll lift Bear’s front, I’ll position the blanket, then we can move him onto it. I brought a pitcher of water and some bowls.”
“Good thinking.” Hank lifted Bear and waited as Jolie spread out the blanket. “Pour some water into a bowl, add a few drops of the tincture of opium, see if he’ll drink it. We need for him to relax.”
Jolie set to the task he’d given her. He heard her uncork a bottle, pour water, and after a moment, she slipped the bowl beneath Bear’s nose and the dog lapped at it. Hank held the bowl and petted him. In a little while, Bear stretched out.
“Looks like he’s relaxed,” Jolie observed. “I’ll clean up that leg if he’ll let me.”
“I need for you to do more than that.” Hank moved to cradle the dog’s head in case he became agitated. “After you clean off the blood and dirt, carefully cut away the fur so you can see the wound clearly.”
He heard more water being poured. “Are you sure you don’t want me to send Angelique to find Woody? He’s very knowledgeable about animals.”
“That would take more time, who knows how much, and I can tell Bear trusts you. He might not cooperate for someone else. We need to remove the bullet and stop the bleeding—”
“Hank, I have no idea how to remove a bullet.”
“I can direct you. My father was a surgeon. I helped him tend soldiers during the war and worked beside him afterwards. We removed lots of bullets.” Hank projected confidence for her sake. He hadn’t touched a patient since the accident, but he could recall enough to guide her. Besides, she was smart, observant, and most of all, caring.
He stroked Bear’s heaving side. “He’s fallen asleep, but we’ll need to work fast.”
“All right.” She heaved a worried sigh. “I have everything spread out. Tell me what to do.”
“Wipe off the scissors and tweezers with carbolic acid solution. Trim enough fur so you can see about a quarter inch of skin around the wound. Make sure there’s no debris in the wound. Use the tweezers to pick it out. If it starts bleeding profusely, apply pressure with a rag.”
Hank’s steeled his nerves when the clipping commenced. He continued to stroke Bear’s head, ready to hold Bear’s muzzle if necessary, but the dog remained asleep.
“Oh! I see the bullet! It’s fairly close to the surface.”
What a relief they wouldn’t have to dig for it. “That’s good. Use the tweezers to remove it. Take your time.”
When Bear whimpered, Hank cradled the dog’s head.
“I got it!” Jolie cried. A clink sounded when she dropped the bullet into a container.
“Use the carbolic acid solution to clean the wound. Is it bleeding badly?”
“A little.”
“Take a fresh rag and apply pressure for a moment. If the bleeding slows, that’s a good sign. We won’t have to cauterize. Make sure the wound is clean before you stitch it up.”
“Stitch it!” She sounded horrified. “Repairing a torn sleeve isn’t the same as—”
“Actually, it’s not that different.” It would be best if she thought so anyway. “Pinch the skin together, sew a crisscross and tie it off, then sew another one. Use your best judgment to decide how many stitches you’ll need to keep the wound closed. When you’re done, use a clean cloth to make a bandage and wrap the wound.”
Hank stroked Bear’s neck and waited. He hoped he hadn’t confused her, and the silence meant she was concentrating. The seconds ticked by on a nearby clock.
“Done!” Jolie’s heavy exhale made him wonder if she’d been holding her breath. He had, and now he released it.
He gently stroked Bear’s head. “Thank you, Jolie. You did a good job.”
“We did it together.”
“Yes we did. We make a good team.” Hank longed to reach out and pull her into his arms, but he didn’t have that right. They weren’t partners, or even close friends. In fact, they could have no ongoing relationship if he intended to court Ophelia. And he wouldn’t betray either woman by marrying one, while continuing an illicit affair with the other. The only way he and Jolie could ever be together would be if he were willing to take a risk and tell Mr. Hardt he’d chosen another woman. If he did that, he’d lose his chance to invest in the silver mine for sure.
Chapter 7
Jolie cleaned the scissors and set them on the tray, along with the thread, needle and bottles. Bear slept on, seemingly oblivious to Hank’s continual petting. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction she’d been able to help save his dog, but she didn’t fool herself into thinking she and Hank would become a team. He’d already gone quiet and reflective, almost as if he regretted the remark. He’d only said it out of gratitude. Earlier, he’d been clear about his plans.
Hank was a good, kind and gifted man, who deserved a chance to regain his pride in accomplishments. If it were in her power to help him, she’d do it. Her good deeds, if they could be called that, wouldn’t erase her many sins, nor was she doing favors for that reason. Hank, curse him, had somehow picked the lock on her heart. She had no such claim on his.
“Aren’t you supposed to meet Ophelia this evening?”
Hank ran his hand over the sleeping dog’s side with concern and love written all over his face. “I won’t leave Bear until I’m sure he’s out of danger.”
Jolie adored him all the more for his devotion to the dog. “No, of course not. Stay here as long as you like. No one comes to the back parlor except the girls, and they won’t bother you tonight. I’ll ask someone to get word to Mr. Hardt with your apologies.”
“Thank you.” Hank’s smile turned wry. “It seems my debt to you is adding up.”
“I’m not keeping track.”
He seemed to be studying her, although she knew he couldn’t see her well enough to discern the details of her form, much less her features. For that reason, she didn’t even try to hide the emotions brimming in her eyes.
“Why are you here? What made you choose this life?” he asked in a solemn tone.
Jolie’s heart constricted. She’d been asked the question before, and her pat answer had always been a coquettish smile and some inane remark about enjoying sex. She hadn’t enjoyed sexual encounters since Asa had left her stranded and pregnant. Besides, Hank wouldn’t be able to see her false smile, and she had no desire to lie to him.
“It’s where I ended up because of my own decisions.” Jolie heaved a sigh. This was the first time she’d admitted aloud her culpability in the matter, it being so much easier to blame others—her overbearing parents, faithless Asa and his slovenly lover. Only she’d never been able to transfer the guilt along with the blame.
Hank cocked his head, indicating another question. “What decisions?”
Oh no, she wouldn’t lay bare her soul. Not to any man. “I haven’t pried into your past.”
“You can ask me whatever you’d like.”
Of course she could. It was pretty obvious he’d done nothing wrong. But then he’d expect answers to his questions, and she wasn’t ready to give them. “I don’t have an intense curiosity about you,” she lied. She stood and picked up the full tray, which prevented her from running, but gave her an excuse to make a hasty exit. “Excuse me, I have work to do.”
She staved off the annoying tears and went to the kitchen, where she set the tray on the worktable. She’d ask the cook to take food to Hank and see the dog had something to eat and fresh water. That way, she should manage to avoid them both until he left.
Milly was hanging her apron on the peg near the door and retrieving her coat and hat. The middle-aged cook gest
ured to the stove. “There’s a stew prepared, fresh bread, and I’ve left a cake and made up some punch you can put with the champagne.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Don’t you remember? You gave me a few days off so I could go visit my sister.”
Jolie put her hand to her head. She never forgot important things like giving the cook time off, but it had slipped her mind while she’d been dwelling on Hank. Now he would become an even bigger distraction, because she would be the one looking after him instead. “I do remember now. Would you be able to get word to the Hardts that Mr. Donovan won’t be attending dinner tonight?”
“I guess I can make a stop,” Milly grumbled. “Should I tell them he’s here?”
That would ruin his chances for sure if that crusading woman heard Hank was staying at the whorehouse she wanted to close down.
“No! Just say his dog is injured and he’s indisposed.”
Milly nodded and pulled the kitchen door shut firmly behind her as she left.
Jolie lifted the lid to the Dutch oven and inhaled the delicious aroma. The stew could be shared with Hank, but the cake and fortified punch were intended for the customers, along with the plentiful liquor.
She carried the cake on a platter into the front parlor. Angelique and Felice were setting up chairs along one wall, clearing the floor for dancing. There was no sign of the new girl, and their piano player wasn’t at his usual spot. “Where’s Milton?”
“He’s sick,” Felice lamented.
No music? That would put a damper on the evening.
“What happened to Belle?”
Felice shrugged. “Who knows? She’s like a ghost. We never see her except late at night.”
Belle remained something of a mystery. She kept to herself and ate at different times than the others and didn’t socialize much. On the other hand, she possessed an exotic beauty some men clamored for, so she had made a good addition to the house. Jolie guessed the girl was at least part Chinese, although she claimed to be French and used a fake French name, like the other girls. Men paid more for French women under the false impression they were less inhibited and more talented. Both were skills that could be taught.
Jolie set the cake platter on the serving table. “I’ll tell her she’s expected in the parlor.”
“No need. I’m here.” The tiny woman entered the room, giving Jolie a brief glance, before training her eyes to the floor. Her straight black hair flowed loose down her back, and she wore a bright red silk gown that complimented her translucent complexion and golden-brown eyes. She was easily the prettiest of the girls, but she wasn’t the best dancer. Felice held that honor. Angelique ended up with men who liked to hear themselves talk.
Jolie surveyed the formal parlor. The gas lamps cast a warm glow over the room, and bottles of champagne had been tucked into buckets of ice. The girls could mix any stronger drinks the men requested. Now if only they had music...
A knock sounded at the front door, and Jolie consulted the watch pinned to her bodice. It wasn’t even half-past five. “The miners are early.”
“What a surprise,” Felice replied dryly. “I’ll get the punch.”
Jolie went to the front door and welcomed the three men into the hallway, all repeat customers who paid in gold....the best kind.
“Good evening Johnny, Ned...” The two blue-eyed charmers loved to dance and drink, and they always tipped well. “Hello, Bud.” This one, on the other hand, was an intolerable braggart who had a problem controlling his pinching fingers. She’d come within inches of refusing him entry after his “playful” pinches had left bruises on Angelique’s tender skin.
Jolie eyed the gun in a holster on Bud’s hip and held out her hand. “No firearms allowed inside. I’ll lock it up until you leave.”
He grumbled as he put the heavy revolver into her palm. “Don’t seem right a man can’t keep his protection handy.”
“No one here poses any danger to you.” She smiled at the three men as they turned into the parlor. “Have fun and mind your manners.”
“We will,” the brothers chimed.
Bud simply smirked and walked past without another word.
What a contrast to Hank’s polite and pleasant smile. Why couldn’t more men be like Hank? That was easy to answer; he was a one of a kind. There weren’t any other men like him, or if there were, she’d never had the pleasure of meeting them.
Hank approached life with an appealing mixture of optimism and determination. He didn’t complain about how good others had it, or whine about how he deserved better, even though in her opinion, he did. She was glad she’d been here when he needed help. Possibly, he’d be able to do her a small favor in return.
Jolie checked her watch again and addressed Angelique. “Go ahead and serve the men drinks, while I try to round up a piano player.”
In the back parlor, the lights were still burning. Hank had remained on the floor, although he’d stretched out his legs and leaned his shoulders against the settee, with one hand resting on the dog’s shoulder. He had his eyes closed, but as she came into the room, he opened them.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
Well if that was true, she didn’t feel so bad about asking, “Do you know how to play the piano?”
His brow creased in puzzled amusement. “Are you offering me a job?”
If only it were that easy to keep him with her.
“Our piano player is sick. We generally having dancing for the first hour, but none of us know how to play.”
“I can plunk out a few tunes.” Hank drew his foot back and hooked his elbows on the settee behind him for leverage, then stood up. “Bear’s been snoring. I suspect he’ll sleep a little while longer.”
“We’ll only need you for an hour. After that, I can get you something to eat.” She smiled fondly at the snoring dog. “If he wakes up, I’m sure we can find something for him too.”
She gave Hank her arm and guided him to the front of the house. As they entered the front parlor, the three miners, already seated with girls on their laps, looked up. Three pairs of eyes widened.
“What the hell is he doin’ here?” Bud demanded.
Hank’s grip on her arm tightened and Jolie frowned, annoyed by what she assumed was the bully’s disdain for Hank’s blindness. “Mr. Donovan has agreed to play the piano for us.”
“Where’s the dog?” Ned eyed Hank fearfully.
Apprehension tickled Jolie’s spine. Oh no, it couldn’t be...But the hard set of Hank’s jaw confirmed her suspicion. These men had been involved in the altercation, and one of them had shot Bear.
“I hope the cussed thing is dead,” Bud sneered. “Damn dog attacked a woman.”
With a look of alarm, Angelique left the man’s lap. She seemed more scared of Bud than the possibility the dog posed any danger.
“Bear didn’t attack anyone,” Hank ground out. “I was pushed into that hysterical woman, and my dog put himself between us to keep me from falling. If you hadn’t encouraged your friend to take hold of his leash, Bear wouldn’t have growled. He wouldn’t have done anything further unless I told him to attack.”
Bud came to his feet with his hands fisted. “You callin’ me a liar?”
Felice cast a silent appeal with her eyes toward Jolie. Yes, the situation was unraveling fast. Thankfully, the angry miner didn’t have his gun. But if he went after Hank with his fists, as it seemed he was itching to do, Hank would be at a disadvantage and outnumbered. Jolie made a quick decision. She would send these other men home and let everyone cool off.
“Gentlemen, I think our evening has come to an end.”
Felice and Belle took her cue and went quickly to the other side of the room to join Angelique.
Johnny got up and threw a disgusted look at his brother. “Dang it, Ned, I told you to stay away from that dog. Now we’re missing out on a good time.”
“Well I didn’t know he worked here,” Ned replied, g
esturing at Hank.
“You can’t throw us out!” Bud roared. “We got a right to be here, same as him.” The brawny miner took a threatening step in Jolie’s direction.
Jolie dropped Hank’s arm, drew up her skirts, and calmly removed the derringer she kept tucked into her garter, which halted the miner in his tracks. She took great pleasure in seeing his face turn red. “Time to leave, Mr. Nance.”
Bud veered toward the exit of the room, where Jolie and Hank still stood. On his way out, he turned and pointed a finger in her direction. “I’ll come back and take care of you, you uppity whore. Right after I take care of that blind sonofabitch.”
Hank’s hand shot out and grabbed the other man by the coat, jerking him around, then threw a punch so fast Jolie had no time to react. Bud staggered backwards, hitting the doorframe, as blood began spurting from his nose.
Jolie’s jaw dropped. How the devil had Hank struck a bull’s-eye?
With a snarl, Hank stretched out his hands and went after his tormentor, letting loose an unearthly roar of rage that was downright menacing.
Bud whirled around and fled out the front door; Ned and Jack followed fast on his heels.
Jolie caught hold of Hank’s coat before he made it outside, knowing he wouldn’t see the step and would fall flat on his face. “Hold on, Lancelot. You need your horse.”
“I need to get my hands around that sorry son-of-a-gun’s neck. If he comes after you, I swear I’ll kill him.” Hank’s flushed complexion, and the fury burning in his eyes, made it clear he was dead serious.
The thought of him going after those belly-crawlers scared her to death. She gripped his arms to hold him in place. “Don’t even think about challenging them. They won’t fight fair. In the morning when it’s light, we can go to Sheriff Draven and report them for shooting your dog, and we’ll tell him about the threats. I’ll bet he makes them leave town. He doesn’t like troublemakers.”
Looking somber, Hank lifted his hands to her shoulders. She sensed he was about the pull her into his arms and forced herself to step backwards, away from him. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but to avoid being hurt, she had to keep her distance, physically and emotionally.