by E. E. Burke
Was she being difficult on purpose? He’d give her the benefit of not being very bright.
Hank held onto a polite smile. “I believe Mr. Daniels brought the item to you a few minutes ago.”
“Yes, there is a rattle on the table.”
“Would you pick it up? I’d like to send my dog to fetch it.”
“Your dog?” She sounded doubtful.
“Yes. He’ll be gentle.”
“Very well.”
“Fetch the toy.” Hank instructed Bear and released the leash. The dog bounded off the stage. After a few squeals, people began laughing.
From where Hank stood, he could see the occasional glowing light from what he surmised were candles at the edge of the stage. Good thing Bear hadn’t knocked one over and started a fire. That would assure Hank of one thing—being ridden out of town on a rail, coated with tar and feathers.
“Shouldn’t he be returning the rattle?” Ophelia called out.
Hank’s heart gave a hiccup. Now wasn’t a good time for Bear to misbehave. He brought up his hand and shielded his eyes, then dropped his arm. What was the use pretending he could see? Everyone was already starting to laugh at him. “What’s he doing?” he called out.
“He appears to be taking it outside,” Ophelia answered.
The laughter got even louder.
“Bear, come!” Hank commanded, and under his breath added, “And while you’re at it, stop embarrassing me.”
A moment later, he heard a commotion.
“He’s bringing you a toy!” a man shouted with amusement.
“Got her by the skirts!” declared another.
Good God.
“Miss Rathbone, don’t be concerned, just come along with him. He must think I wanted him to fetch you too.”
“The dog isn’t bringing you Miss Rathbone,” a deep voice boomed. Something in the man’s tone warned Hank the speaker wasn’t enjoying the performance nearly as much as the rest of the crowd.
Bear’s toenails clicked as he came onto the stage with someone in his wake. Small, light foot footsteps...who the...?
“Hello, Hank. That’s quite a trick you taught him.”
***
Poor Hank had turned a deep shade of red, which wasn’t particularly flattering with his light complexion. “Jolie? Where did you—?”
“Come from? I was just coming over to peek in on the talent show.” She didn’t voice the truth, that she could care less about the community event. No one wanted a local madam showing up anyway. She’d actually been on her way over to check on him because she hadn’t seen or heard from him, and had gotten worried something might’ve happened to his dog.
“Lo and behold, here came Bear with a baby rattle.” She held up the item, which had the dog’s slobber all over it, and the crowd broke into laughter.
Humor was the only thing that would save this performance.
“He gave me the rattle, then he took hold of my skirt and wanted me to come with him.” She hadn’t expected the dog to do that, but she’d gone rather than risk having her skirt torn. Not only that, she’d realized she needed to rescue Hank from the embarrassing situation he’d somehow gotten himself into.
She’d heard him call on Ophelia Rathbone, and had seen the other woman stand. Then she’d abruptly sat back down when the man next to her glared as if he wanted to storm the stage and strangle Hank. The dog hadn’t paid the other woman any mind after retrieving the rattle. Perhaps the man had glared at Bear too. The stranger had gripped the back of her chair. He couldn’t have been more obvious: Ophelia was off the market. Hank just didn’t know it yet.
But no one was paying a lick of attention to Ophelia and her surly suitor. All eyes were now on the stage. The big dog had taken his place next to Hank and gazed at his master like he expected to be rewarded.
Jolie resisted the urge to lick her lips, which the crowd might misinterpret, and wouldn’t help matters. The dog’s antics could prove to be detrimental to Hank’s future if people got the wrong idea. “I’m not sure why Bear came after me.”
“He must like that pretty dress you’re wearing, and wanted to borrow it.” Hank’s witty retort garnered a round of laughter.
She held out the drab wool skirt she’d chosen as her go-to-town outfit so she wouldn’t draw unnecessary attention. “You think this dress is pretty?”
“What do you think Bear?” Hank asked the dog.
Bear barked.
People began to clap.
“Looks like you’re a hit,” she said under the noise. “Do you have another trick?”
“Are you kidding? He’s the one coming up with them,” Hank replied, loud enough for only her to hear. He then turned to Bear and spoke loud enough the crowd could hear. “And you! You ought to beg her pardon for bringing her up here and embarrassing her.” Hank swept his hand upward, and Bear immediately sat back on his haunches and lifted his front paws like a supplicant.
Hank gave an exaggerated nod. “I’m surprised you’re not hiding in shame for soiling her skirt.”
Bear dropped flat and crossed his paws over his muzzle, peeking up at them as if to ask whether he was doing it right.
The crowd loved it. Jolie actually began to enjoy getting into the act as well.
“Nonsense,” she said with a sniff. “He’s a perfect gentleman. He only tried to take my hand.” She held it out. “Or maybe he meant to shake my hand?”
Bear came up into a sitting position and raised one paw, much to the delight of the audience. She suspected he would know how to do that, but he made it look as if they’d been practicing together for years.
She took his paw and smiled. “See? Everyone approves of Bear.”
“Hmm, looks like he found a new partner. I’m not sure I’m needed.” With a mock frown, Hank started toward the stairs as if he intended to leave. The dog raced over and blocked his path. When he stepped too near the lanterns lined up to provide light, Bear got in front of him and nudged him away, whining softly.
“You want me to stay up here?”
Bear pushed his head beneath Hank’s hand and helped his master find the leash.
Hank grasped it, then shrugged. “I guess he’s decided to keep me.”
Laughing, Jolie clapped loudly, and the audience joined her. She stepped forward with a smile and grasped Hank’s hand. “Think we need to take a bow?”
“Why not?”
Hank motioned to Bear, and the dog also put his head down, taking his bow, garnering the most applause.
Jolie followed Hank off the stage. As her euphoria faded, she noticed people were still staring at them. The small bubble of discomfort suddenly burst into a desperate urge to escape. She headed straight for the door, dodging men, and avoiding meeting the eyes of anyone in the crowd, especially the women. They must wonder why she’d shown up in the first place.
There had really been no need to rescue Hank. In cat-like fashion, he would have landed on his feet and would’ve done just fine without her. Bear apparently hadn’t thought so, but who could know what went on in a dog’s mind?
She hurried down the boardwalk, her spool heels clacking on the boards. Seamus must’ve shoveled the snow and swept in preparation for the talent show. A faint sound of applause came from behind her. Perhaps it was another act, or maybe Hank was doing a reprise with Bear. His newfound popularity would help him win a bride when the next wagonload arrived and they took over La Maison.
She’d be out in the street along with Angelique, Felice and Belle. The only one she really worried about was Angelique. But they would all have to start over. It wasn’t fair, damn it. It wasn’t fair! They’d worked as hard as these men.
“Jolie!”
What did Pearl want?
Long strands of honey blonde hair escaped as Pearl’s hood fell back when she dashed across the street, dodging a wagon loaded with mining supplies. She shouted an apology at the driver, whose scowl vanished, and was quickly replaced by a dreamy smile.
Jolie har
rumphed. If it had been she who’d cut in front of him, he would’ve run her over and spit on her broken body. Pearl—whose beauty had inspired miners to pen poetry—could charm a vulture. No wonder Draven had fallen in love with her.
Pearl flipped her hood back over her head. “Brrr, it’s cold out here.”
“If you don’t have your hood pulled up, I suppose it is.”
“It never stays up.”
Jolie couldn’t resist the double entendre. “Did you come over here to lament your husband’s marital difficulties?”
Her friend flashed a smile. “Draven has no such difficulty, if you really want to know.”
“I really don’t.”
“Then let me tell you about my conversation with Mrs. Hardt.”
“Mrs. Hardt?” Jolie’s amusement vanished. “I thought Draven might appeal to Mr. Hardt. Why did you go to his wife? She despises us.”
“That’s not true. She cares very much. She and Mrs. Kinnison want to give the women of La Maison a better life, better opportunities.”
“Before or after they kick us out?” Jolie dug into the pocket of her cloak. “Here, take a few of these flyers I had made up. I’ve been handing them around.”
The single men had taken them and asked for extra favors for passing them out. She didn’t bother approaching the married men.
Pearl took a handful and sighed. She might help, or not. It wasn’t really her problem any longer. “Mrs. Hardt wouldn’t kick you out of your home. I heard her warning Felicity not to get embroiled in this fight.”
Jolie snorted in disgust. “Too late. Gertrude Stiles and that other hatchet face are determined to run us out of town. Other women are right there with them. They don’t care about us.”
Pearl grasped her arm. “Jolie, listen to me! Some of them do care. You don’t have to leave, even if they do close La Maison. What Mrs. Hardt and Mrs. Kinnison will be doing with the mission is a true gift.”
If there was one thing Jolie had learned, it was that a gift always had a catch. Except for that Valentine card. She still owed Hank for that, and it annoyed her to be in his debt.
“What kind of gift?” she asked.
“An opportunity to make a match.”
“Oh good Lord.” Jolie rolled her eyes. “I can imagine the kind of husbands we’d end up with—cheaters, thieves and lazy brutes, the kind of men who proposition us every other day. Who needs an introduction?”
“That’s not at all what they’re proposing. Mrs. Kinnison, if you recall, brought the first group of brides out here. They were all from the mission in Denver that serves women in unfortunate circumstances.”
“Ah. You mean women like Felicity Hammond, whose father owns half of Denver, and aristocrats like Minnie Gold.”
Pearl heaved an aggrieved sigh. “Felicity and Minnie were in unhappy situations.”
“Pardon me if my heart doesn’t bleed for them.”
“Will you please stop being sarcastic and close-minded?”
“I don’t know how else to be,” Jolie said, this time with complete seriousness. She didn’t have Pearl’s natural beauty on the outside, or the inside. Although being around Hank had softened her heart...or maybe it was her head that was going soft.
“Why don’t you talk to Felicity and Ophelia? See what they really want. I could arrange a meeting.”
“Oh, I’ve already spoken with them. I can’t imagine there’s anything else they have to say to me.” Jolie immediately felt guilty for dousing her friend’s determined optimism. Sweet Pearl meant well, but she’d been one of the lucky few who’d gotten out of the business through a good marriage. Boum Boum had run off with that miner, Orvis, but who knew where they were, or if they’d even stayed together. Most women who started down this path wouldn’t escape unless they left in a pine box.
“You really believe we could find good husbands?” Jolie asked, softening her tone.
“I found Draven.”
“Wasn’t that his idea?”
“Actually, it was Reverend Hammond’s idea to have us pretend marriage. We just made it official.”
“And now you live in a room next to the jail.”
“He’s promised to build us a cabin...as we add children.” Pearl’s hand came to rest on her flat stomach, and a smile curved her lips.
“A baby?” Jolie choked out. The one thing she wanted most and would never have. “How did— But you never were— I don’t understand.”
Pearl shook her head with obvious amazement. “I’m not sure I do either. I didn’t expect I could conceive, but somehow it happened.”
“Hmm, I don’t believe in miracles.” Jolie did believe Pearl was more deserving of Divine mercy. “It just sounds like marriage agrees with you.”
“Yes it does. You should try it.”
Jolie dipped her chin and blinked fast to stop the tears. She wouldn’t get the chance, because she wouldn’t take the chance. Hank had been right in saying she was afraid. But why should she let her heart be ripped out again? Besides, Hank needed a respectable wife, and he hadn’t asked her to marry him at any rate.
She forced a laugh. “Oh, you know me. I’m too bossy to be married, and I’m way too busy to be waiting on some man hand and foot.”
Pearl’s cheerful expression faded into one she didn’t wear very often. Sadness. “You need to think about what you’ll do if the town votes to close down the house.”
The possibility struck dread in Jolie’s heart. She raised her chin in defiance. “I’ll find another place to work.”
“You could find something more lasting,” Pearl suggested softly.
Hank had made a rather indirect offer. He’d asked her if she’d ever leave her job, and had said he didn’t want her to view him as a customer. Which implied he might support her as a mistress. She’d rather be Hank’s mistress than some other man’s wife.
Such a relationship might work for her, but for him it could prove to be disastrous, especially with the married women out crusading against sin. She was already among the damned, and her life had been ruined years ago. Hank had a chance for something so much better. In refusing him, she had done the right thing.
“I’ve made my bed, so to speak, and that’s where I’ll continue to sleep.”
Chapter 11
Early on Valentine’s Day morning, Hank dressed in his best suit and set out for a meeting Charlie Hardt had set up. Not wanting to be late, Hank polished off a quick breakfast and headed out before most people in town were awake. The only sounds came from the direction of the mine, where they started work shortly after dawn. The mine owner, however, apparently wasn’t such an early bird.
Hank sat on a bench outside Mr. Hardt’s office to wait, and Bear took his usual position next to Hank. “So what do you think Mr. Hardt wants to talk about?” He stroked the dog’s head. “I know! I’ll bet the mayor wants to congratulate you on your debut.”
After the talent show—which they’d won, to Hank’s astonishment—Mr. Hardt had introduced him to Ophelia Rathbone, and to a man named Clint Jones, who seemed to have taken an immediate dislike to him. After an awkward conversation, Hank had excused himself. Despite bad vision, he could see the situation clearly enough.
“Miss Ophelia Rathbone will soon be Mrs. Jones, if my guess is right. Can’t say I’m that disappointed.” Bear nudged Hank’s hand when he stopped petting. “You aren’t disappointed either, are you?”
More likely, Mr. Hardt had called him here to tell him he was out of consideration. Should he accept the loss, or redouble his efforts to meet the requirements? He wanted the investment and Jolie, but it seemed he couldn’t have both. As it was, she’d taken the decision away from him anyway.
Or had she?
Hank continued to rub Bear’s ears. “Maybe you were trying to tell me something.”
She’d come to the saloon to watch the talent show, or so she said, but she hadn’t come inside. She’d been lurking at the periphery, peering in, yet holding herself at a distance. Bear
had brought her inside and delivered her to him.
She could’ve run off, and Bear wouldn’t have stopped her. The decision to stay must’ve been difficult for her, dealing with all the stares and whispers. Jolie acted tough, but Hank was sure she could be wounded by the insensitive comments people were bound to make. Still, she had bravely come up on stage and helped him salvage his flagging performance.
“I’m an idiot.”
The dog rested his muzzle on Hank’s knee.
“You’re right, I should go talk to her. The way things are going I won’t even get in on this investment. But you know what? Liam bought all the cards I offered to him, and he’s already placed a big order for next year. It won’t be enough to move out here, but Jolie could come back to Kansas City with us. How does that sound?”
Bear only sighed, but Hank knew he’d like having Jolie around.
Hank mulled over how his sister would react. If he brought Jolie home as his wife, Maggie would welcome her with open arms. She’d told him repeatedly he needed to find someone he could love—and who would love him in return. If he offered Jolie his heart, she might open hers.
“Wonder what time it is?” he muttered.
Heavy steps echoed on the boardwalk, coming closer to where he sat. The shapes were large, and looked like two men. Was one of them Mr. Hardt?
A growl started in Bear’s throat.
Hank straightened. His dog didn’t growl unless...
“Looky here, Ned. It’s that blind fella with his friendly little dog.”
Hank clenched his fists on his knees. It was the miner who’d shot Bear and threatened Jolie, and he’d brought along one of his henchmen. Whatever the bully intended, Hank would be ready. Taking a cue from Jolie, he had tucked a derringer away where he could easily reach it inside his coat pocket. He hadn’t fired a gun for seven years. What good was it to a man who couldn’t see clearly enough to aim it? But he’d decided to pack one in case of extreme danger. This moment might just be considered extreme.
“Better not get too close, Bud. The beast might attack.” Ned remained at a distance, which didn’t give Hank much comfort. Fearful men were unpredictable, and could be every bit as dangerous as braggarts.