Beholden

by Bronwyn Williams

  “Never mind, love, Casey can play for you. Come along, I’ll introduce the two of you and you can start working on your repertoire.”

  “I’ll not go for a singer, I’m that sorry, but there’s other things I can do, and do well. I’m not afraid of hard work, sir, that I’m not.”

  Galen eased in behind her. His voice came from over her head, as a hand came to rest possessively on her shoulder. “As I said before, Bellfort, the lady’s spoken for. Now, my dear, if you’ve finished what you came to do, we’d better get back before that sister of yours gets into any more trouble.”

  Katy turned a worried look on him, but he shook his head imperceptively. “She’s fine,” he murmured. “Just fine.”

  They left as soon as Katy could recapture the kitten. It was not a particularly dignified exercise. All the way back to the Queen, she could feel Galen’s eyes on her. She had a feeling he was scowling, but lacked the courage to look and see. Before they even left the main deck of the Albemarle Belle, with Captain Bellfort watching their progress from his canopied balcony, he had tucked her free hand under his elbow and kept it there, clamped tightly against his body.

  She’d have freed herself if she dared. Never had she been so aware of her lack of inches. Or of the heat and strength of another body. Of the scent of him, and even the sound of his breathing.

  Sweat trickled under the brim of her hat, beaded her neck, and trickled down to pool between her breasts. If he was bothered at all by the miserable heat, he hid it well. One more sin to lay at his feet.

  “Do you ever jump into the river for a swim?”

  “Good Lord, no. Whatever gave you that notion?”

  She marched along beside him, taking two steps for his every one. Her two little boys ducked between buildings, and she wondered if they ever swam in the river. Wondered if anyone watched over them. Wondered if one of the old men would go in after them if they were to get into trouble.

  “So you suppose—” she blurted, then broke off.

  “Do I suppose what?”

  Slipping her hand from the crook of his arm, she fanned her damp face. Galen handed her a crisp, folded handkerchief, and she fanned with that, then blotted her forehead.

  “I was only wondering if the children ever fall overboard.”

  “From the looks of them, neither one has been in close contact with water lately. Why?”

  “Don’t they have anyone to watch over them?”

  He sighed. They were nearly at the Queen, by then. “Katy, Katy, you can’t take on the whole world.”

  “They’re too little to run wild.”

  Galen could have told her that wild they may be, but that didn’t mean they were entirely without supervision. His own crew kept an eye out. He had an idea Bellfort’s did, too. There were official ways of dealing with the hungry and homeless, but for the most part, the waterfront looked after its own.

  *

  Five days later, Galen wondered if he wouldn’t have been wiser to let Bellfort have the pair of them, with his blessings. They had both been on their best behavior, Katy assured him of that at least once a day.

  And every day he watched her scurrying around, trying to make herself indispensable, trying to keep an eye on Tara. He found himself actually seeking her out, listening for the sound of her voice. Was she aware that she hummed when she worked? That she poked the tip of her tongue out the corner of her mouth when she was trying to thread a needle? It took her at least half a dozen tries, and by that time, he was usually so damned aroused he had to go back to his own quarters and wrestle with the books to get himself under control.

  Katy, of all women. It didn’t even make sense.

  Aster hadn’t said anything lately, but he could tell she was just waiting for a good excuse to boot them out. The more dead set she was on getting rid of them, the more determined he was to keep them. Which was one more thing that didn’t make sense.

  All week he’d been trying to locate a suitable place in town where they’d be safe until he could find Katy a husband. Nothing was working out. The timing couldn’t have been worse. His land deal was coming to a head. The little problem on the wharf wasn’t anywhere near solved. As for Katy and company, if he didn’t dispose of them in the very near future, Aster was going to land on him with both feet.

  And if he did, his own conscience would do the job. Either way, he couldn’t win.

  It didn’t help matters that nearly his entire crew was enchanted, except for one or two dealers who threatened to quit if the kid came anywhere near their tables again. Among the enchanted was Willy. The grizzled old son of a sea cook was going to bankrupt him, cooking twice as much as it took to feed the crew and allowing the kid to pass out what was left over to anyone on the wharf who looked hungry.

  Naturally, they all looked as if they were hovering on the edge of starvation. He knew damned well there were soup kitchens in town, but this was easier. Why walk a block for food when it could be delivered to your doorstep?

  Aster would have a fit if she ever got wind of what was going on. The lady never let go of a dollar without expecting a five-dollar return. Galen, on the other hand, wasn’t against charity. While it had been years since he’d set foot inside a church, he tithed unofficially. A matter of conscience. Just in case gambling was the mortal sin some claimed it was.

  Also a matter of conscience, he made sure Tara didn’t wander outside alone with her charity baskets. Either Johnny the Knife or Oscar went along with her. Neither complained about the chore. The little minx had them both wrapped around her thumb.

  Also among the enchanted was Ermaline, who had ended up with a new pair of shoes in a larger size so that she no longer hobbled around with that long-suffering look on her face. Meanwhile, Katy, wearing Ermaline’s old shoes with cotton stuffed in the toes, swished around the gaming rooms in Sal’s cut-down red silk dress, selling cigars, cigarettes, and handing out free smiles.

  She’d quickly become a favorite with his regulars, which both irritated and amused Galen. He set it down to the way she smiled when one of the men paid her an extravagant compliment.

  “Some of the high rollers are claiming she brings them luck,” Pierre said in a quiet moment one Thursday evening, before the crowd settled in. “They call her over to stand by whenever they’re in a tight spot. From the tips she collects, even when they lose a pot, it won’t be long before she can set herself up in whatever business she wants. I only hope it’s not gambling.”

  Galen hoped so, too.

  “Maybe she’d like a partner. When you move on, maybe Katy and I can take over the old Queen. I’ve got a few ideas about expanding I wouldn’t mind trying out.”

  “Stay away from her,” Galen grumbled.

  “Dog in the manger?”

  “You’re pushing your luck, old man.” Galen shot him a hooded look, and the New Orleans gambler chuckled.

  “Still, you have to wonder why the other girls aren’t raising hell. She’s easily raking in twice the tips they are, after no more than a week on the job.”

  “Maybe they like her,” Galen said with a shrug.

  “I like her myself. She doesn’t play favorites. She might be a tad clumsy at times, but you can’t help but like her, even when she trips over her own feet and spills her tray all over the floor. What do you think about this notion she has of going into business for herself?”

  “I try not to think about it,” Galen snapped. It was bad enough that he couldn’t sleep for dreaming about her, without wasting time swapping gossip when he should be looking after business.

  “Might not be a bad idea to look into it.”

  It would be a lousy idea. He admired ambition in anyone, man or woman, but hers had about as much chance of being realized as a snowball in hell.

  Galen told himself he was overdue a visit to Miss Dilly’s Sporting House. Obviously he’d neglected certain matters of a purely physical nature for too long. Sex was like any other appetite. When a man was hungry, he ate. When he was th
irsty, he drank. When he was—

  Yes, well . . .

  The first time he’d seen Katy in Sally’s red silk dress, with her face powdered and rouged to disguise the cat scratches and her hair all curled and caught up in a silver ribbon, he’d damned near swallowed his cigar.

  She was stunning. All the more amazing, she didn’t even seem to realize it. Ila had brought her up to his cabin for a final inspection that first night. She’d held out her skirts and whirled around, then kicked out first one foot and then the other in her new secondhand shoes that were at least an inch too long, admiring the flash of white ruffles.

  “I never saw so many storebought underclothes in my whole life, and not a single layer of wool,” she’d exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m all cambric and lawn, with ruffles and ribbons down past my knees and clean up to my gullet. Who’d have thought a body needed so many layers just to be decent? Faith, and here I’ve been indecent all my life, and never even had the pleasure of knowing it.”

  At the innocent disclosure, all in the lilting Irish brogue, Ila’s usual pinched expression had given way to a reluctant smile. A childless widow, his housekeeper was totally under the spell of the Misses O’Sullivan, not that she would ever admit it.

  As for Galen, he hadn’t known whether to laugh, sweep her up and take her to bed, or reprimand her for talking about her underclothes in front of a man.

  If she even thought of him as a man.

  Did she think of him at all? Other than as an employer, that was? Did he want her to?

  Oh, hell yes, he wanted her to. And that, unless he got himself back on course pretty damn quick, was going to be a problem. “Ah, Katy, Katy,” he murmured now, studying the glowing tip of his cigar. “What am I going to do with you?”

  At least there’d been no more hocus-pocus trouble with Tara. He’d have heard about it if there’d been any further incidents like the one that first day.

  How the devil had she done it?

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Better to put the incident behind him. The old Queen might be a tub, but she had an impeccable reputation for honesty, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as he was here.

  With his tie and collar loosened and his bare feet propped on the railing, Galen gazed out across the gleaming reflections that snaked across the river’s surface. He could hear strains of music coming from Bellfort’s orchestra.

  Katy? A singer?

  Not if he had anything to say about it. Katy had her own dreams, and as impractical as they were, they were a damned sight better than anything Bellfort could offer her.

  Everyone had dreams. Hell, even Aster had her dreams. He’d heard more than he ever wanted to hear since the day he’d taken over Tyler’s ownership. And while he couldn’t in all good conscience allow her to take the old tub out of the harbor, once he was out of the picture she could hire herself a fancy chef, a dance band—hell, she could hire on a damned circus if she felt like it.

  Stretching, he tossed away his cigar. It was going to be one of those nights. There was something in the atmosphere tonight. He had a sixth sense for trouble, which was why he’d taken his break early.

  Reluctantly, he buttoned his collar, adjusted his cravat, put on his boots, and went below. Outside the double doors to the main salon, he paused and adjusted his expression to one meant to tell the world he was one armed and dangerous dude. Quietly, he moved from table to table, alert for signals from his dealers. Ava and Katy were working the main salon, which meant Ermaline was handling the high rollers tonight. They took turn and turn about. The crowd was a bit more unpredictable in the larger room, the tips usually higher in the small salon.

  It was noisy. All the tables were busy tonight, both rooms filled to capacity. He’d come to hate the constant din, the smoke so thick a man needed a foghorn to navigate. The rosebud in his lapel was already wilted. Another part of his don’t-mess-with-me, I’m-a-dangerous-man image was the nightly rosebud he affected, the only spot of color he allowed himself in an age when most men sported striped shirts and flowered waistcoats, not to mention neckties that rivaled the ladies for flamboyance.

  Image. Was that what it had come down to, after all these years? he wondered tiredly. His father had been a successful horse breeder, his grandfather had owned a shipping business. And here he was, at an age when most men were already established in their chosen career, operating a leaky old gambling tub in a town he’d never even heard of a few years ago.

  It had to be the weather. He could remember thinking not too long ago that he had about as sweet a setup here as any man could wish for. That life was good, and getting better every day.

  Among his many vices, he added the vice of self-delusion.

  He was still distracted by a vague sense of disquiet when suddenly, the room erupted. A chair flew past his head. Men cursed. One woman gasped and another one squealed, and then he heard the ugly sound of flesh striking flesh. By the time he managed to work his way to the center of the crowd gathered around the faro table, he had a sinking feeling the trouble was just beginning.

  “What seems to be the problem here?” He might have known Katy would be right smack in the middle of it. “Katy, do you have something to say for yourself ?”

  Her face almost as red as her dress. She was standing on a chair, holding her empty tray as if it were a weapon. The table and floor were both littered with chips, cigars, cigarettes, and overturned glasses.

  Pierre was helping a young man up off the floor. Waving off the two relief dealers moving in from the left, Galen said blandly, “All right, gentlemen, go back to your games, everything’s under control now.”

  Naturally, not a soul moved an inch. Hell, nothing was under control. “Katy, get down off that chair. Pierre, would you mind telling me just what the devil is going on?”

  “She was trying to cheat me, that’s what she was doing!” the young man on the floor shouted. Galen had never seen him before, but judging by his appearance and his slurred voice, he was well under the hatches.

  “Katy, is what the gentleman said true?”

  She didn’t move a muscle, didn’t utter a word. Nor did she climb down off the chair.

  Galen grasped her by the waist and swung her down, not releasing her immediately. Her eyes had a glassy look, as if she’d backed into a situation she didn’t understand, and it scared the hell out of her. Instinct urged him to get her out of here, to take her upstairs, lock her in his cabin, and throw away the key.

  Fortunately, reason prevailed. “Katy?” Her face was no longer red. She was white as a bedsheet except for a pair of snapping green eyes, two blotches of rouge, and a handful of freckles. “Did you try to cheat the gentleman?”

  She was trembling. “Sure, and I would never do such a thing,” she retorted in a voice so soft it was barely audible.

  “No? I’d like to know whacha call it.” The young man was on his feet by now, just barely. Still looking dazed, he rubbed the top of his head. At closer range, he didn’t appear quite so inebriated.

  “Pierre? You want to tell me what happened?” Katy tried to pull away, and he tightened his grip. “Stay right where you are, young lady.”

  Pierre nodded to one of the boys, who hurried over and began cleaning up the litter. “Near as I can make out, this gentleman here wanted to buy a cigar. Katy came over with her tray. He took his choice, paid his money, and the next thing I knew they were going at it, tooth and nail. Then Katy—”

  “I gave her a double eagle! She gave me back a nickel! I figured she wanted to do a bit of business on the side, so I told her to go on to her room and get in bed, that I’d follow her as soon as I’d finished the game, and damned if she didn’t kick me. Knocked the cards right out of my hand. Best cards I’d seen all night.”

  “He grabbed my—my—he put his hand on my—”

  “Katy, pipe down. Pierre, did you see what happened?”

  “They’re both telling the truth. He gave her a twenty-dollar gold piece.
I didn’t see what kind of change she gave him, but . . . ah, there’s been some trouble before tonight about the way she makes change. A tip is one thing, but . . .”

  “Katy? Did you try to cheat this man?” Galen deliberately kept his voice devoid of the impatience and frustration he was feeling.

  It didn’t help. She was going to cry. He should have waited to deal with her once he got her alone, which was what he’d intended to do all along, but dammit—!

  “That I did not.”

  “She sure as hell did!”

  “It felt like a quarter,” she exclaimed. Her lower lip was quivering. Galen stared at it until she began to speak again. “I didn’t look at the color, for my eyes were burning from all the smoke, but I was sure he’d taken a twenty-cent cigar.”

  “I don’t smoke crap!” the young man shouted.

  “Well, how was I to know what you smoke? Any man who would touch a lady on her—on her—”

  “Lady? Ha! If you were a lady, you wouldn’t be strutting your stuff in a place like this! You been giving me the come-on all night, admit it! I don’t mind a little sport, but dammit, not when I’m holding a winning hand. I was fixing to rake in the biggest pot I’ve seen all week—I was all set to celebrate with a good cigar and a quick tumble when you turned into a damned wildcat.”

  “I did no such!”

  “The hell you didn’t! We had us a deal. You gave me the eye, you took my money and then, first thing I knew, you were beating me over the head with that damned tray. Man, this place stinks! I’m getting out of here, but not before I get my money back.”

  “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, young man. Pierre will settle up with you.” The room was still as a morgue. Every eye in the room was fixed on the small tableau gathered around the faro table. Galen, his face set in a chilly smile, nodded to the spectators. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. Sorry for the disruption—merely a misunderstanding.”

  It was Pierre who announced that the next round was on the house. Galen nodded to the bartender, and then he got out before something else could go wrong. Ushering Katy out before him, he waited only until the doors swung shut behind them, and then he grabbed her by the wrist and headed for the stairway, his long stride eating up the distance.