Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  He rose to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Dressed in the demure flannel robe and nightgown, her glorious red hair pulled back and tied with a green velvet ribbon, Crystal looked as virtuous and demure as any genteel lady of quality. She might have been a prostitute with her body, but he would have bet any amount of money that her heart was as pure and untouched as any virgin’s soul.

  Turning her toward him, he kissed her forehead. “My dear, I’ve never been a conventional sort of man. It’s true I left Boston because of my illness, but I never really fit in there. It was much too staid, too bound in propriety and custom. I preach the word of God to those who need it—to those folks who might otherwise never have a chance to listen to His message of love and salvation.

  “I wouldn’t presume to think that you could ever love someone like me, Crystal, but I’d be honored if you would share what is left of my life. I’m not certain what kind of husband I would make, having lived a bachelor’s existence. But I would love, cherish, and protect you from the harshness of the world.”

  Crystal sank down on the chair, hardly able to believe what this gentle man was saying. He wanted to marry her, to make her his wife, to cherish and love her.

  She gazed into his face—a faced marked by years, marked by illness, but she saw only kindness and love. There would be no beatings from this man, no cruelty.

  But would it be fair to saddle him with someone like her?

  And then there was Al to consider. Al wouldn’t give her up willingly. One day there would be hell to pay. She knew that, just as she knew she was falling in love with Augustus Baldwin.

  “I cannot commit to anything as serious as marriage right now, Augustus. Though I’m honored that you would even consider sharing your life with me.” Noting the disappointment on his face, she patted his cheek. “But I would be willing to have you court me. Discreetly, of course. There’s still a part of my old life that needs to be reckoned with.”

  “You’re referring to Al Hazen, of course?”

  “I thought I loved Al once. And maybe a part of me did. But I think it was mostly just the need to be loved by someone, anyone. And Al was handy.”

  “But if you’re not in love with him anymore . . .”

  “Al’s not right in the head. The Bible speaks about an eye for an eye. Well, that’s how it is with Al. He’s going to want revenge for my leaving him. He’ll come after Chance now that I’m here. I won’t have him coming after you, too.”

  Her words wounded, and that hurt showed on his face. “You think Chance can take care of himself, but I’m just a weakling who needs to hide behind a woman’s skirts?”

  She kissed him softly on the lips, heard his sharp intake of breath, and smiled. “I care about you, Augustus. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone before. I don’t want to be a widow before I have a chance to be a wife.”

  He drew her to him, caressing her back, her hair, kissing her cheeks. “What makes you so sure Hazen will come after you? He’s not in Denver anymore.”

  “Al’s business is here. He’ll be back, if only to get his revenge on me. There’s not a great deal I’m sure of, honey, but one thing I’m certain of is the amount of hatred festering in Al’s heart. He won’t be content to let matters lie. Someday, some way, he’ll be back to get me. And he won’t be too particular about killing anyone who gets in his way.”

  * * *

  The velvety black, diamond-studded sky twinkled with a million stars. The air was biting, stinging her cheeks, and Laurel nestled deeper into the jacket Chance had graciously provided, warming herself against the evening’s chill as they walked briskly toward the Aurora.

  The scents of brandy, tobacco, and bay rum rose from the woolen garment, teasing her senses. The feel of his hand, warm and strong, holding her own as he guided her across the street made her feel protected and cherished.

  It had been a wonderful evening, and though the hour was scandalously late she hated to see it end, hated the thought of Chance going down the hall to his room while she went to hers, of lying in her cold, lonely bed and wondering what Chance was doing in his.

  Laurel felt mellow, almost content, after the delicious dinner they’d eaten at Delvechio’s Italian Restaurant. They’d supped on veal scallopini and mounds of spaghetti and meat-balls, then Chance had surprised her with an invitation to see the perky songstress Annie Wiegel in the musical melodrama, Bronco Kate, which was being performed at the Opera House.

  Next to her own nerve-wracking opening night, the evening had been the most exhilarating since her arrival in Denver. Chance was a witty and charming companion, always ready with an amusing anecdote or story, and Laurel had just about forgiven him for his earlier highhandedness about accompanying her to the Silver Slipper.

  Their arrival at Hazen’s establishment had been met with indifference, and they’d been able to procure most of Crystal’s clothing thanks to the help of a woman named Monique, the New Orleans whore Crystal had once mentioned. Chance had hired a boy to deliver the clothing to Crystal’s room at the Aurora before he and Laurel had gone to the restaurant for dinner.

  “It looks as if everyone’s already retired for the evening,” Chance said, holding open the front door. A single lamp burned, casting eerie shadows over the walls and floors of the saloon. Percy’s cage was covered and blessedly quiet, and their voices sounded strange as they bounced off the felt-covered tables and beveled mirrors in the tomblike room.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever stayed up this late before, ” Laurel admitted. “Even on Christmas Eve.”

  Chance chuckled, bolting the door behind them. “You’re becoming worldly, angel. Watch out you don’t turn into a night owl.” As if on cue, a distinctive whoo-whoo-whoo floated through the doorway, and Laurel smiled, shaking her head.

  “If I didn’t know better,” she said, holding on to his arm as they climbed the stairs, “I’d think you’d arranged that.”

  When they reached her room, Laurel paused before the door and patted Chance’s cheek in a tender display of affection and gratitude. “I guess I should thank you for a wonderful evening, even though I was coerced into it.” She smiled impishly.

  “What? You’re not going to invite me in for a nightcap?” His attempt at looking wounded made her laugh.

  “You know perfectly well what spirits do to me. I wasn’t able to enjoy that wonderful Chianti you ordered with dinner, and I don’t think it would be wise to tempt my luck now. Alcohol and I don’t seem to mix.”

  Reaching behind her, he turned the knob. “So, who says you have to drink? I’ll just have a sip of brandy,” he retrieved a silver flask from the hip pocket of his trousers, “and we can continue our pleasant conversation.”

  “It’s late, Chance.” But even as she protested, Chance was urging her backward through the doorway, following right behind.

  * * *

  Pearl dashed into the storage closet at the end of the hall to avoid detection, leaving the door cracked slightly to give her a better view of the approaching couple. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Chance entering Laurel’s room. She’d had her suspicions about the two, especially when she’d heard from Bertha, who hadn’t bothered to conceal her delight, that Chance had taken Laurel out for an evening on the town. Apparently, her suspicions had just been confirmed: Chance was bedding little Miss Innocence.

  Ungrateful bastard! After spending day after day tutoring that dimwitted cousin of his, you’d think Chance would have shown his gratitude by taking her out instead of Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.

  Some virgin, she thought. They’d probably been fooling around under everyone’s nose the entire time, and no one had realized it. Laurel had just pretended to be innocent, but she was really just as much a whore as the rest of the women working there.

  Tiptoeing to Laurel’s door, Pearl pressed her ear against it, listening to the soft giggles and sighs of a woman who was obviously enjoying a man’s touch—Chance’s touch.

  And why shouldn’t she?
Pearl knew firsthand that Chance was a damn good kisser. She’d never fucked anyone quite like him, never felt as satisfied as she had after they’d done it that one time. And she wanted to feel that way again. She wanted it more than anything.

  And she was determined to get it.

  Chance was hers. She’d had him first, before Laurel had waltzed into their lives, and she wasn’t going to sit back and let Laurel ruin things for her.

  If Laurel was out of the picture . . . Pearl tapped a long, lacquered nail against her chin. She’d almost succeeded that first time with Shooter, but he’d been too drunk and too stupid to carry out the plan of raping Laurel and scaring her off.

  But Laurel might not be so lucky the next time. She wouldn’t always be under Chance’s watchful eye, and Pearl would be watching for the right opportunity.

  * * *

  The room seemed suddenly too small with Chance standing in it, and Laurel took a step backward, her eyes round with nervous trepidation. “You shouldn’t be in here. What if someone saw you enter?”

  He shrugged, stepping closer, until they were face to face. “Everyone’s asleep, angel. And all we’re doing is having a friendly little chat.” He caressed the pounding pulse at the base of her throat.

  “I . . . I think you should leave.” Chance’s touch poured through her veins like molten lava, leaving her trembling and weak kneed.

  “Why do you fight what we feel for each other? You know you want me, and I definitely want you.”

  She pulled away, unable to think when he was touching her, when his lips were so close that she had only to reach out and press her own to them. “I admit I’m attracted to you, Chance, but I also know that women like me are easy conquests to a man like you. And it’s no secret that you aren’t looking to get married.”

  He hauled her against his chest, kissing her with all the pent-up passion being near her all evening had created. The jasmine scent of her hair, the feel of her warm breath on his face, and the innocent touch of her hand when she’d gestured to him had combined to play havoc with his emotions.

  He wanted her. Wanted her in a way he’d never wanted a woman before. Not just for sexual gratification, though that was high on the list. He wanted to possess her, make her his exclusively and irrevocably. He wanted to protect her, cherish her . . . .

  But she was right: He didn’t want to get married, to her or anyone else. Still, they could have a very satisfying relationship. If only she would give in to the natural desire she was feeling.

  That desire should have been sending warning signals to Laurel’s brain; instead it was shooting warmth to her nipples which were hardened with need, and to the achy area between her thighs, which begged for the feel of his warm hands.

  “Let me touch you. Let me make love to you, angel. I want you.” His lips never left her mouth, his hands never stopped their persuasive exploration of her now naked back and partially clothed breasts.

  When did that happen? Laurel wondered. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but the wonderful way Chance’s touch made her feel. Her breasts were full, aching, needing to burst forth from their confinement.

  When Chance unhooked her corset, removing the last barrier between them, there were no words of protest from Laurel, only soft mewling sounds of frustration and desire as she wrapped herself around his still-clothed body.

  “Please,” she heard herself say, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange even to her own ears, as if it were coming from a great distance.

  “Come,” he urged, pulling her toward the bed, his voice smooth and insistent as it lulled her into his silken web. “You’re so beautiful.” He stroked the satiny flesh of her inner thighs before lowering his head to kiss her there. Her soft moans of pleasure encouraged him to continue, and he toyed with rosy nipples now darkened with passion, laving them, rolling his tongue over the protruding buds, before sucking first one and then the other, while his hands moved to the area between her legs to find she was wet, throbbing, ready to take him.

  He stood to remove his jacket and then his shirt, and Laurel watched as if dazed. But when his hands went to the fastening of his trousers, she saw his intent. Finally realizing that this would go much farther than the last time, she shook her head and sat upright.

  “No! Please, you mustn’t, Chance. I’m a virgin. I must save myself for marriage.”

  “You’re just scared, angel,” he crooned, sitting down next to her on the bed, caressing her cheek. “But you mustn’t be. Surely you know I would never hurt you.”

  Not intentionally, Laurel thought. And never physically. But to love him, to make love to him, knowing that he didn’t love her in return, would never marry her, would be the most hurtful of all things she could experience.

  Laurel reached for a corner of the quilt, covering herself, noting the darkening of his eyes, the frustration on his face. She also noted his massive shoulders, the dark furring of hair on his chest, and she wondered if what she was about to do was wise. It certainly wasn’t easy.

  “Things should never have gotten this far, Chance, and I take full responsibility for what happened here tonight. But I can’t go through with . . .” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  He reached for his shirt, his lip curling disdainfully as he shrugged it back on. He’d never forced a woman in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  “Why do you deny what you feel? Sex between a man and woman is a beautiful thing.”

  “Sex between two people who love each other is even more beautiful. And I don’t believe you love me, Chance.” Even though she wished with all her heart that he did. For there would be no hesitation on her part, if that were the case.

  Aching with unfulfilled desire and a need to hurt, as he was now hurting, Chance lashed out at Laurel. “I guess I’m not the Prince Charming you’re waiting for, angel. I don’t live in a world of fairy tales and make-believe.” He grasped her hand, placing it on his erection, ignoring her shocked gasp.

  “This is reality, Laurel. I’m a flesh-and-blood man, and God knows you’re all woman, if only you’d let yourself be. I’m offering you pleasure beyond comprehension. Passion that defies explanation. A chance to be loved, and loved well.”

  “But for how long?” Her eyes filled with tears, but she willed them back. She couldn’t let him see how much this hurt her. “I want forever. You’re only offering now.”

  “For as long as it lasts, angel. Nothing is forever. We take pleasure where we can and damn the consequences. Life’s a gamble. If things work out, fine. If not, we go our separate ways.”

  Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that Laurel feared she was going to pass out. Biting her lower lip, she regained control of her emotions, and in as calm a voice as she could she replied, “You’re forgetting something, Chance . . .”

  Question replaced the anger in his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “I’m not a gambler.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Unkempt, ill-tempered, and smelling worse than Zeke Mullins could ever have imagined, Al surreptitiously entered the rear door of the Silver Slipper and came up behind the barkeep, who was pulling whiskey bottles from the shelves while he whistled a slightly off-key rendition of “Buffalo Gals.”

  “What the hell are you so goddamn happy about, Mullins?”

  Whirling about, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the offensive odor emanating from Al, Zeke nearly dropped the whiskey bottle he held. He took in his employer’s torn checkered trousers and mud-stained shirt. The man looked as if he’d been dragged for miles behind a couple of angry mules, and he smelled a hell of a lot worse than he looked. “Jesus, Al! What’s that stink?”

  Scraping the horseshit from the soles of his usually immaculate shoes on the edge of a wooden crate, Al was none too pleased by the question or by Zeke’s comment on his foul odor.

  “Get someone to clean up that goddamn mess out back,” he ordered. “And tell Luke to haul me up some hot water so I can wash the stench off me.�
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  “Where you been? You’ve been gone almost two weeks. Everyone’s been askin’. The girls were afraid you’d run off with their share of the profits.”

  “Tell them to get fucked—literally! We need to make up for lost time.”

  Nodding, Zeke turned to leave, but Al grasped his shoulder before he could avoid the inevitable question.

  “Where is she?”

  Zeke hated to be the one to break the news of Crystal’s whereabouts, especially knowing that Al wasn’t going to like it one bit. “Gone, Al. Crystal’s gone.”

  A shattered look passed over Al’s face, then was quickly masked by one of outrage. “She left town?”

  The bartender shook his head, and Hazen’s lips slashed thin. “Crystal’s at the Aurora, isn’t she? With that bastard Rafferty?”

  “Crystal was bad off, Al. You nearly killed her. She had to go somewhere for help.”

  He sneered. “I shoulda killed the bitch. This is what I get for showing mercy. Now she’s gone over to the enemy. Probably sleeping with the green-eyed bastard. She screwed him once, you know. Didn’t even charge him. Rubbed my nose in it, she did.”

  “I’m sure Crystal ain’t sleeping with Rafferty, boss. Monique claims Chance is hot for that little blond gal he’s got singing for him. Says they came in together to gather Crystal’s things, then went out for a night on the town.”

  “Pearl, that big-busted whore Rafferty’s got serving drinks, says he’s stickin’ it to her, just like you figured.”

  Al kicked the crate clear across the room, breaking it into several pieces. “I’m gonna get even with that slick thievin’ bastard if it’s the last thing I do. And Crystal’s gonna be damn sorry she betrayed me.”

  Rafferty might be having a lucky streak, but he wasn’t going to win this time. The stakes were too high for Al to let that happen. The gambler had three things he cared deeply about: the Aurora, his simpleminded cousin, and the Martin woman. It’d be a pity if something were to happen to one or more of them, Al decided, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Maybe if Rafferty lost what was important to him, he’d know how Al felt about losing Crystal.