By forcibly concentrating, Ellie was able to bring her tears under control. “Nothing. At least, nothing earth shattering. I just learned what you and the others have known all along—men are no damned good.”
Poppy sighed. “That isn’t one hundred percent true.” She shrugged. “You’ve had a run of bad luck, that’s all. Now, let’s get you out of this thing before Lavender comes.”
Ellie danced away from her, kicked out a fishnet-clad leg, and pointed a red slippered toe toward the ceiling. “Help me fix my hair.”
“No! Absolutely not.”
Ellie gulped a big swallow of brandy, coughed at the burning sensation, then sat down at Poppy’s dressing table. She rummaged through Poppy’s hair ornaments. “If you won’t help, I’ll do it myself.”
“Lavender would fire me, Ellie; you know that. In fact, if you’re not out of that dress by the time she returns, we’ll both be in more trouble than old man Peters—” Poppy stopped short, clamping a hand over her mouth.
“No, we won’t.” Ellie lifted her hair to the top of her head again, shaping it, sticking pins here and there. “I’ll tell her I slipped into your room while you were working, that you couldn’t see me for the portly customer on top of you.”
Her eyes caught Poppy’s startled expression in the looking glass. “And that you couldn’t hear me above his loud—what kind of noises do fat men make, Poppy?”
Poppy held Ellie’s amused gaze, finally sighing in resignation. Ellie sat quietly then, while the girl began jerking pins from her hair and repinning it. When Poppy finished, the top of her head looked like a confection, complete with red silk poppy and a black feather that dipped low enough to tickle her bare shoulder.
“Stunning, don’t you think?” Ellie complimented.
Poppy wrinkled her nose. “It isn’t you.”
“I know.” For a moment melancholy threatened to claim her resolve, then she gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders. “It is now.”
For the fifth or sixth time since Ellie had begun dressing, the front door chimes sounded. Every time anxiety had raced through her blood. Was that Lavender?
Was it Kale?
“You’d better go,” she told Poppy. “Business seems to be picking up.”
Walking from Poppy’s room to the parlor in this getup ranked high among the hardest things Ellie had ever done. Although she and Poppy were virtually the same size, she kept thinking the bodice of her dress was about to fall down.
Several times she glanced down to make sure, and each time she was appalled to see her breasts swelling above the dress. How ever did the girls keep these things on? Then she grimaced. They didn’t, not for long.
With every step fresh air rushed up the short skirt, reminding her of her unclothed state from the bottom up. Not only were her ankles exposed, but a good three inches of skin above them. And the silk rustled so loudly that she might as well have had a town crier preceding her, announcing her arrival to the gentlemen callers, or whatever in hell one called paying customers.
On top of it all, she expected Kale to materialize in front of her at each and every step.
By the time she reached the gaming room, she practically fell around the corner, blindly taking a stool at the bar, where Daisy had stationed herself to serve drinks in Snake’s absence.
“Ellie!” she hissed. “What are you doing in Poppy’s—”
“A whiskey,” Ellie breathed, leaning both trembling arms on the bar for support. “Give me a whiskey, a big one, and quick.”
“Does Lavender know about this?”
“Yes,” Ellie lied. “Give me something to drink.”
The whiskey burned down the same path the brandy had taken. But it also steadied her trembling body. Or was it that the burning sensation took her mind off it? She wasn’t sure which, but when a customer approached the bar and drew out a stool to sit beside her, she could at least focus on him.
A stranger. Thank God for strangers.
“May I buy you another drink?” he asked.
Ellie stared at the empty glass she held with a death grip. She’d already finished the whole thing? Oh, well, it was a small one. “Yes, thank you.”
“No,” Daisy said.
“Yes, please,” Ellie insisted. “Make this a large one.”
“No.”
This time the voice was masculine and familiar, and Ellie turned to see Armando Costello looming behind her, a bemused smile on his lips.
“Yes,” Ellie repeated. She felt herself drowning in the confusion inside her brain. The room spun like a child’s top. “Please.”
Daisy complied with a sigh, but she had no more than set the glass on the bar when Armando took it from her hand. With his other hand, he gripped Ellie’s very bare arm and pulled her from the stool.
“The lady is with me,” he told the stranger. “Put it on my tab, Daisy. And bring us the bottle.”
Before Ellie could so much as wonder what reaction to expect from Armando Costello, he had dragged her to a table at the far corner, where he seated her and then sat beside her, dismissing his two men with a curt nod. He handed her the drink and watched her gulp it down. She squinted against the burning sensation.
“I was expecting you, Ellie. I knew you’d come. After all, you belong in this place. It’s your home.”
Chapter Twelve
Matt Rainey expected results. Ira Wilson pondered this while he sat in front of the rock shelter overlooking the Jarrett ranch house. What was left of the late-afternoon sun sank below the horizon at his back. Till Metz squatted down beside him, offering a swig from their remaining store of whiskey.
“If somethin’ don’t give soon, we’ll run out of belly wash,” he grumbled.
“And patience,” Ira added.
Well before sunup two days back Matt Rainey had come charging into the bunkhouse, sending them back to their hideout above the Jarrett house. He gave them strict instructions not to leave their post until they had the news he awaited—that the Jarrett place was abandoned.
Ira and Till entertained doubts that it was likely to happen in their lifetime. They were cowboys, accustomed to spending long hours in the saddle taking care of Circle R cattle. If this detective job kept up much longer, they figured they would die of boredom, and neither of them would get a chance to loop a rope on an ol’ mossy horn again.
“Anything happen while I napped?” Till asked.
Ira shook his head. “That whore’s still down there.”
“Never figured I’d live to see the day, Ira…,” Till wiped his moustache with two fingers, “…but I’m gettin’ mighty tired of looking at women. First the Jarrett woman, now the whore…I’m about ready to trade ’em both in for a good cow pony and a herd of steers.”
“Know what you mean. For my money, it’s Newt and Saint should be here. Free us to tend to ranch business. Half the Circle R cattle’ve likely strayed or gotten their-selves bogged and died by this time. Why, we ain’t made a gather in six months.”
Till agreed. “Time was the Circle R was the outfit to ride for. Right now I’d quit, if there was anybody to take care of things.”
“Same here. I keep hoping Matt’ll get shut of this crazy notion and go back to ranchin’.”
“He’ll have to clean house first. Get rid of them killers—including that brother of his. Hire some cowboys. Hell, we’re about the only old-timers left.”
Loyalty was important to Ira and Till. They rode for the brand, and they planned to continue that way as long as there were Circle R cattle left—and no longer.
Ira started to rise, then paused in a squatting position. “Hold on a cotton-pickin’ minute. We’ve got some action.”
Below them Ellie Jarrett raced past the ranchhouse and up the town road. Kale, Snake, and Lavender rushed into the yard, calling after her, or so it appeared.
“Wonder who lit a fire under her?” Ira mused.
“Lookee there.” Till pointed to the opposite side of the barn, where the horses Elli
e had released ran toward the creek. “She’s done set ’em afoot.”
“A spunky lady, that.”
While the evening shadows lengthened and the valley became shrouded in darkness, Ira and Till watched Kale and Snake catch up the horses and harness Lavender’s mare. The three set out after Ellie.
“Maybe we’re fixin’ to be relieved of this dirty work after all,” Till said. “Matt wants the ranch abandoned. From the looks of it, that just happened.”
Ira sighed. “Reckon we’d best wait till morning to make certain.”
After her second whiskey, Ellie felt the room begin to sway. Lights from the chandeliers glowed in fuzzy halos, as if she were seeing them through dense fog. The volume of noise heightened, and she suddenly recalled that she had been about to prepare supper when her world had fallen apart. Her stomach felt hollow, empty, but not from lack of food. A tremor racked her body. She had to find out what Armando Costello knew.
“This is where you belong, Ellie,” he was saying. “Not out on that lonely ranch, but here…,” he swept the room with his beady gaze, resting once more on her eyes, “…here among the bright lights…,” with an index finger he traced the outline of her bare shoulder, then ran a thin line down her arm, eliciting a shudder, “…and warm bodies.”
Warm bodies…Kale Jarrett had a warm body. A warm body…
And a cold, lying heart.
“Tell me what his brothers said,” she demanded.
Costello cast her a knowing look. “By his, I assume you mean that gunfighter?”
She started to protest, but her ability to concentrate was ebbing, and she knew she’d best stick to the problem at hand. She nodded.
“Not much to it,” Costello answered. “They wanted to see you taken care of—by a member of the family, you understand, because of the ranch and all.”
“They said that?”
He nodded, sipped his drink, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, not vigorously, as Kale would have done, but in a persnickety manner, like a gambler, she thought. Like city folk.
“In so many words,” he added.
“What words?”
“What words?” he echoed.
“Tell me what they said exactly, word for word.”
He downed a shot of whiskey and poured another. “You can’t expect me to recall their exact words.”
She inhaled a deep, quivering breath, then quickly glanced down to see if her bosom was still in place. When she looked up, Costello winked. He touched her glass with his own. “Welcome home, my dear.”
Ellie gritted her teeth. “Tell me about the drawing.”
“Oh, you mean when the brothers drew straws to see who’d have to marry you?”
“Have to?” Kale hadn’t said have to; neither had Lavender. Those two words added immeasurably to her distress.
Costello shook his head quickly. “Poor choice of words, my dear. Forgive my—”
“Your words or theirs?”
He sighed. His eyes remained fixed on the baize-covered table. “Now that you mention it, I don’t recall. No matter, you’re a comely lass. Any one of them would have been fortunate to win you.”
Anger stirred within the tight ball of despair knotting in her stomach. She stared at the empty whiskey glass; absently she began to tap it on the table.
“Another drink?”
She glared at Armando Costello. “No. No, I don’t want another drink. I want…I want…” Desperately she threw her head down on the table, cradled it in her arms. What did she want? She knew.
God, how well she knew! Why had she started wanting things in the first place? For years she had lived oblivious to the world and the multitude of wonders it possessed. If only she still did…
If only she were still ignorant of the blissfulness of being free, still ignorant of the wonders of sharing—sharing a laugh, a tear, hurts and pleasures, sharing her bed, her life.
Not sharing, she rebuked…what she had experienced with Kale had not been sharing, but the illusion of sharing. Like the reflection of a smile in a looking glass: the smile was real, the reflection of it an illusion.
The love had been hers; Kale had merely reflected her love, and the reflection had been a lie.
The front door chimes sang out, a backdrop now to the laughter and talk in the parlor and gaming room. It no longer startled her; she had grown used to it. Or had the whiskey merely dulled her senses?
Suddenly the door banged open, slamming against the foyer wall with a force that shook the chandeliers. The sound brought Ellie and everyone else in the gaming room to attention. Before she had time to collect her wits, Lavender’s voice screamed through the melee.
“Break my rose-etched door, Kale Jarrett, and you’ll pay for it.”
“There are things in life money can’t buy, Lavender,” Kale’s angry voice boomed back, “but I wouldn’t expect you to know about them.”
His last words were spoken straight into Ellie’s wide-eyed face, for he had turned the corner of the gaming room without breaking stride and now confronted her across the crowded room. The patrons separated as though expecting an exchange of gunfire.
Ellie’s eyes went to Kale’s hips, where she saw his six-guns belted low and strapped around his thighs. Immediately her vision was drawn back to his eyes.
“You can’t wear those guns in here,” Lavender called from behind him.
“Don’t worry yourself,” Kale barked, without taking his eyes from Ellie, who had by now risen and stood defiantly beside Armando Costello. “I won’t be here long enough to start a gun battle.”
In three strides he crossed the room. “Get yourself out of that goddamn fancy getup.” He screeched to a halt across the table from Ellie, stopped by her defiant stance. “Put your clothes back on. We’re going home.”
Home. She swallowed. How wonderful that word sounded falling from his lips! Angry though he was, she knew she could walk out of here with him and calm him down and everything would be all right, same as always.
Except that now she knew the truth, and the truth changed everything. What she considered the same as always had not been real, but an illusion. She didn’t want things to be the same as always.
She squared her shoulders. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her chin, then ran her hands down the sides of her boned bodice, feeling the silk, recalling how he loved the feel of her green silk kimono. With measured slowness she raised a knee, rested a red-silk-clad toe on the seat of a chair, and rustled her black petticoats.
When the ruffled edge of her skirts fell seductively over her thigh, Kale bolted around the table and grabbed her arm.
Armando Costello caught her by the shoulder—a bare shoulder, Kale saw—and tugged her toward him. “To my mind, Miss Ellie is gowned most appropriately for this establishment, Jarrett. Seeing’s how this is her first night back—”
Kale dug in his heels. “Turn her loose, Costello. I’ll deal with you later.” Facing Ellie, his voice beseeched her. “Come on, honey, we have a lot to talk about. I’ll take you home.”
At the sound of that word falling again from his lips, combined with the tender appellation, her resolve weakened; she fought to retain it. Appealing to her anger, she forced herself to recall the truth. Her empty stomach filled with anguish, bitter and cold. But her eyes remained mercifully dry.
Jerking her shoulder from Costello’s unwelcome grip, she charged around the table, then pulled free from a startled Kale Jarrett as well. Before he knew what had happened, she had taken him by the hand.
“You want to take me home, Kale? Come. I’ll show you my home. But it will cost you a fifty-dollar gold piece.”
She couldn’t have struck a more devastating blow had she used her fists; she saw that immediately. When he spoke, his voice was hushed.
“Ellie, please…give me a chance to explain.” He glanced at their wide-eyed audience, first left, then right. “Not here. In private.”
“There’s nothing to explain. I understand the situa
tion all too well.”
“No, you don’t—” Kale began.
Costello interrupted him. “Let her be, Jarrett. She doesn’t need the likes of a disreputable fellow like yourself. She’s happy here. Or she will be, after a few customers have hardened—”
“Shut your mouth while you still have some teeth in it, Costello,” Kale shot back. “I’ve done some checking on you, and when I get that wire back from New Orleans, we’ll see who’s the disreputable one.” He turned back to Ellie. “Show me your ro…” His lips closed over the word, as if not to speak it would deny its existence. “Where can we talk?”
“Use my room,” Lavender said. “Go on, Ellie. We’ve got to get back to business around here.”
Leading Kale down the hallway, Ellie tried to dislodge her hand from his grip, but he held on so tightly that by the time they reached Lavender’s room the pain in her hand had helped take her mind off the conversation looming before them.
Inside she closed the door and watched Kale look around the lavender room in astonishment. “What’s that smell?”
She almost laughed. She came so close to it that not to do so only reminded her of the gravity of the situation. She felt as though some giant hand had squeezed every bit of joy and happiness from her body.
“Lavender,” she answered. “It’s a flower.” Releasing her grip, she pulled free and crossed the room, putting some distance between them. Now that they were alone she didn’t dare linger near him.
Not now, when she wanted so desperately to be in his arms.
“Where’re your clothes?” he asked.
Steeling herself, she turned to glare at him. She swished her skirts, strutting a bit more than she had earlier in the gaming room. “I have them on.”
“That isn’t yours.”
“No, but I thought you’d like it.” She ran her hands up and down the boned bodice as before, toying with black laces which drew the fabric together in front. She lifted her chin, flounced her skirts. “It’s such a wicked gown, I was sure you’d like it.”
“I do,” he answered, but his voice was hoarse, the words whispered from his throat. “In here where no one else can see.”
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