Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  Hazen opened his eyes to see Pearl smirking at him, then leaned back against the pillows, trying to regain his composure—not an easy task with a madman pressing a knife to your genitals. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rafferty,” he brazened out. “And if you don’t get out of here, I’ll summon the law.”

  Chance stepped forward again. “If you so much as look in Laurel’s direction again, Hazen, I’ll carve you up in such little pieces, your own mother won’t recognize you.” He trailed the knife blade along the inside of Hazen’s thigh, delighting in the man’s gasp of terror as he trimmed off several of his pubic hairs. “This will be my last warning to you. If any harm comes to Laurel, I’m going to hold you personally responsible.”

  “You’re insane, Rafferty. Now get out of here!”

  Chance stood fast, staring scornfully at the two lovers. The room smelled of sex, cheap perfume, and cigar smoke, and the thought of the two intimately together made his stomach turn.

  “You’ve more to fear than this knife, Hazen,” he said, looking pointedly at Pearl. “I’d be a little more discriminating where I put my dick. I hear the clap can eat away at your brain and make you crazy. Come to think of it,” he added, pausing by the door, “maybe you’ve already got it. That would explain your psychotic behavior.”

  Chance slammed the door behind him, but the sound of his laughter lingered long after he was gone.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Chance stepped into the darkened Opera House and looked at the empty stage, remembering the audition of a frightened woman whose beauty far outweighed her singing talent. The image brought a queer ache to his chest, but a very different and inconvenient effect slightly lower.

  Laurel’s stubborn refusal to quit the temperance league had made him more determined than ever to take matters into his own hands. All Laurel needed was the right incentive, and he aimed to see that she had it.

  “Howdy, Rooster,” he said, stepping up behind the stage manager, who shrieked in fright and dropped the billboard to which he’d been putting a finishing touch; it smacked loudly as it hit the floor.

  “Dammit, Chance! You nearly made me mess my pants. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Come now, old friend. It hasn’t been that long since Whitey and I were here listening to the auditions.”

  “Just since Laurel came to town, that’s all,” Rooster retorted, a knowing smirk on his lips.

  “She’s the reason I’m here. I guess you heard about the fire?”

  Rooster nodded. “Flora Sue told me. She was nearly hysterical. Course, I had to comfort her.”

  Chance couldn’t help but smile at the pleased look on the smitten man’s face. “Of course. But I didn’t come here to discuss your love life. Although I admit I’m looking forward to watching you make an ass out of yourself tonight at the big surprise engagement party you’ve planned for yourself and Flora Sue.”

  Grinning, Rooster asked, “Will Laurel be there? Flora Sue would be mighty disappointed if she wasn’t.”

  “Laurel said she wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Though Chance wasn’t sure how she was going to persuade the old battle-ax to let her attend a whore’s engagement party. “It’s Laurel I came here to talk about.”

  “Nothing’s the matter with her, I hope.”

  Chance shook his head. “I want you to hire Laurel to perform here.”

  “Are you nuts? Witherspoon’ll never hire Laurel. Never in a million years. Besides, why would you want that sweet thing around him? The old bastard’s a lecher. He practically drools every time Flora Sue comes to visit.”

  “I need to protect Laurel from herself. She’s going to get herself killed if she keeps working with those temperance women.”

  Rooster studied his friend closely. “Are you sure that’s the only reason? Laurel’s been pretty determined to shut you down. It’d make your life a whole lot easier if she stopped targeting the Aurora.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Chance shook his head at the man’s obtuseness. “It’s her life I’m worried about, not mine. If she keeps on at Hazen, he’s going to finish off the job he started with the fire.”

  “Hazen set the fire?”

  “Probably not directly. But I’d bet a hefty wager that he’s behind it. Al’s not the type to dirty his own hands.”

  “Witherspoon’s upstairs in his office, but I doubt you’ll have any more luck than I did in convincing him to hire Laurel.”

  Chance grinned as if he had a dozen aces up his sleeve, and Rooster instantly grew suspicious. “If I didn’t know better, Chance, I’d say you were playing with a stacked deck.”

  Patting his friend’s shoulder, Chance replied, “Where Laurel’s concerned, I’m leaving nothing to risk.” And he hadn’t. Witherspoon’s gambling losses at the Aurora amounted to almost two thousand dollars. Men like Witherspoon, who lived off the good graces of rich wives, couldn’t afford to have their indiscretions aired publicly.

  Whoring, gambling, and the like wouldn’t be tolerated by Mrs. Witherspoon, who’d recently donated a large sum of money to the temperance league. Chance figured that the old reprobate lived in constant fear of his moralistic, affluent wife finding out about his secret life.

  He had Witherspoon right where he wanted him, which was why he hadn’t called in his markers before now. If there was one thing a gambler learned at a young age, it was that he should always have an ace in the hole.

  “Well, you’re going to need all your luck where Witherspoon’s concerned,” Rooster said. “He ain’t gonna hire her, I tell you.”

  “Don’t worry. Just do your part when the time comes.”

  “Of course I will,” Rooster agreed. Then he paused, scratching his head. “What part is that, Chance?”

  Chance’s reply was a confident grin.

  * * *

  “Congratulations, you two!” Laurel said loudly enough to be heard above the din. The Aurora was packed to the rafters with friends and well-wishers who had come to celebrate Rooster and Flora Sue’s engagement.

  Laurel hadn’t seen the saloon this crowded since before . . . before the temperance league had come to town. She smiled guiltily as she raised her glass of champagne to toast the couple. “I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  Flora Sue kissed her cheek. “You’ll be next, doll baby. I just feel it in my bones.”

  Laurel gazed across the crowded room and saw Chance conversing with Crystal. She’d be the next to get engaged, not Laurel. Chance had about as much intention of proposing marriage as the temperance league had of giving up their quest to reform. That knowledge made her heart sink.

  “Miss Laurel.” Rooster tapped her on the shoulder. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.” He caught Chance’s encouraging nod over Laurel’s shoulder and shot back an irritated look of his own.

  “You two talk to your heart’s content,” Flora Sue said. “I’m going to show off my engagement ring.” Kissing Rooster’s cheek, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving her fiancé with a sick smile on his face.

  “Shall we make our way over to the stage?” Laurel suggested, noting the man’s nervousness and wondering if all prospective grooms reacted to marriage this way. For all their braggadocio, men could be such cowards at times. “Perhaps it’ll be quieter over there,” she added.

  Following her lead, Rooster summoned up all his courage. Who would have believed that Witherspoon would agree to Chance’s proposal? Whatever Chance had on the man had to be something downright dirty; Witherspoon didn’t bend to many men.

  “You’re looking awfully solemn for such a happy occasion, Rooster. You’re not having second thoughts about marrying Flora Sue, are you? I know she loves you very much.”

  He shook his head emphatically. “Oh, no, Miss Laurel. It’s nothing like that. In fact, I have some good news for you.”

  “Good news for me?” Laurel asked, confused, then she smiled playfully. “Don’t tell me Mr. Witherspoon’s had a change of heart.�
��

  Rooster looked dumbstruck. “How’d . . . how’d you know?”

  She rocked back on her heels and laughed lightly. “Rooster Higgins, are you telling me that Mr. Witherspoon wants to hire me for the Opera House?”

  He nodded. “It’s true, Miss Laurel. He told me so himself just this afternoon. And I know how much it would mean for you to perform there. Wouldn’t it?”

  Laurel’s smile was so brilliant, it could have lit the room without the help of electrified fixtures. “It’s something I’ve dreamed of my entire life.” Suddenly she floated back down to earth. “But what made him change his mind? He was pretty emphatic when we talked last.”

  Rooster shrugged, trying to keep his face impassive. “There’s just no telling with Witherspoon, Miss Laurel. He’s contrary as they come.” That at least was the truth. The man changed his mind more often than Rooster changed his underwear.

  Excitement roared through Laurel’s veins, and she blurted, “I’ve got to tell Chance! I’ve got to tell Crystal and Flora Sue!” With that, she pushed her way through the crowd.

  Rooster, watching her, felt dirtier than horseshit on the bottom of a boot. But that was nothing compared to the way Chance would feel if Laurel found out the truth behind Witherspoon’s magnanimous decision.

  Spotting Crystal and Flora Sue, Laurel rushed toward them. She realized that they were having an earnest discussion about something important, because Crystal was throwing her hands up in the air and her face was twisted in anger.

  Laurel didn’t want to interrupt what looked to be a disagreement. On the other hand, she was full to bursting with the news of her impending employment at the Opera House and couldn’t wait to tell her best friends. She inched closer, waiting for a break in their discussion.

  “I can’t believe Chance would do such a thing,” Crystal said, shaking her head. “If Laurel finds out, she’ll kill him.”

  Grinding to a halt behind a tall, heavyset man, Laurel grew increasingly uneasy as she listened to the heated exchange.

  Flora’s hands were fisted on her hips. “He did it for her own good. You know how caught up she is with that temperance league. And she’s going to get herself hurt, or worse, if she continues working with them.”

  “How did you find out about this?”

  “Rooster told me Chance paid him a visit at the Opera House this morning. Said he wanted Rooster to hire Laurel.”

  Shocked, Laurel covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming aloud all the vile things she thought about Chance Rafferty. She should have known he was behind Witherspoon’s change of heart. The smelly old goat had made his feelings pretty clear when he’d refused to hire her those many months ago.

  “Laurel would be terribly upset if she knew,” Crystal said. “You know how much having an opera career means to her. She’s not going to take kindly to Chance’s interference.”

  “You are exactly right about that, Crystal.”

  Startled, both women turned to their friend, who looked angry enough to breathe fire.

  Crystal held out her hand to Laurel. “I’m sorry, honey. I was hoping you wouldn’t find out.”

  “As was Chance, no doubt,” Laurel replied, her lips tight. “How long did he think it would take before Witherspoon threw me out on my rear? Or didn’t he think about that when he went behind my back to find me a job?”

  Flora Sue clasped Laurel about the waist. “Don’t be upset, doll baby. Chance was only trying to protect you. And besides, he’s blackmailing Witherspoon about something or other. It ain’t likely the old coot’s going to fire you.”

  That made things even worse, and Laurel felt her face growing red. “Where is he? Where’s that scheming, no-good gambling man?” She scanned the crowd until her eyes fell on the laughing face of her supposed intended. He wouldn’t be laughing for long, Laurel decided.

  Despite Crystal and Flora Sue’s best efforts to subdue her, Laurel burst through the crowd like a firecracker exploding. “Chance Rafferty!” she shouted, and the swarm of merrymakers quieted, separating to make a path for her, like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  “Chance Rafferty,” she repeated, stepping up to him. Drawing back her hand, she slapped him soundly across the face. A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

  Chance stopped laughing, grasped Laurel’s wrist, and said, all in the space of an instant, “What the hell was that for?”

  “For interfering in my life, that’s what.”

  His face still bearing the imprint of her anger, Chance shot Rooster a menacing look, and his co-conspirator quickly disappeared into the crowd.

  A dropped pin could have been heard in the next moment, as Chance yanked Laurel across the room. “We’ll discuss this without an audience, if you don’t mind, angel. I don’t like airing my dirty linen in public.”

  “Release me at once, Chance Rafferty,” she demanded, but her pleas fell on deaf ears as he firmly led her up the stairs. Only when they were ensconced in Chance’s bedroom, did he let go of her.

  “I’d think you’d be thanking me, not slapping me. I thought you wanted to sing at the Opera House.”

  She was so furious that she couldn’t even speak; and she had to breathe deeply several times to regain her composure. “Thank you? For humiliating me? For taking it upon yourself to interfere in my life? You’ve made me a laughingstock!”

  “I was trying to protect you, not interfere in your precious life, goddammit!” he said, heading for the brandy decanter.

  “Oh sure, have yourself a drink. That’s what men like you do to solve their problems, instead of facing them square on.”

  Ignoring her, he swallowed the amber liquid and felt better for it. “And what do you do? March head-on into the lion’s den and wait for him to chew your fool head off?”

  “What I do is none of your business. It never has been.”

  “Everything you do is my business, goddammit. And don’t you forget it. I’ve saved your ass more times than I can remember. I figure that makes it mine.”

  “Some women get a Prince Charming who rides in on a white steed and rescues them from the villain. But not me. Oh, no. Not me. I get an interfering, blackmailing, hard-drinking gambler, who ignores everything I’ve been working for and tries to destroy it, along with my reputation and my self-respect, all in one fell swoop.”

  “You wouldn’t know a Prince Charming if one came up and bit you squarely on the behind.” She stiffened, and his voice filled with entreaty. “Dammit, Laurel, I was only trying to help.”

  As he saw the tears trickling down her cheeks, Chance stepped closer to her. “Don’t cry, angel. I can stand your anger, but not your tears.”

  “I’m not crying,” she insisted, sniffing loudly and wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “And don’t you touch me.” She backed away from the hand he offered. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Chance. Never in a million years Maybe you were concerned about my safety, but I think there’s more to your interference than that.”

  “Laurel.”

  There was a wealth of apology in that one word, but she went on as if he’d not said it. “I wondered at your motives in courting me, and now I know. You thought you could sweet-talk me into stopping my work with the league. Knowing how much my singing career meant to me you thought you could force Witherspoon to hire me and that I would then quit the league, thereby leaving you and your saloon free of the temperance league’s wrath.” She was poking her finger at his chest now and hollering at the top of her lungs.

  “Well, it didn’t work, Mr. Rafferty. Your ploys to stop my work with the league didn’t work. In fact, I intend to step up my efforts to shut down this place. Just see if I don’t.”

  Chance’s face reddened, his fists clenched as tightly as his lips. Laurel had misread every single one of his motives. He’d tried a hundred different ways to show her he loved her. True, he hadn’t said the words, but a reasonable, intelligent woman would know just the same.

  And he’d behaved every
bit the Prince Charming of her fairy tales by trying to rescue her from Hazen and, more aptly, from herself.

  But all he’d received for his efforts were ridicule and mistrust. Not unlike other times in his past when he’d tried to do the right thing, open himself—his heart—to others.

  Well, no more. If Laurel wanted to declare war on him, then she damn well better be prepared for the consequences, because he had every intention of winning come hell or high water.

  That was something Miss Temperance Worker could place a hefty wager on.

  CHAPTER 21

  After the night of “the big blow up,” which is how Bertha and Crystal referred to Chance and Laurel’s argument and resulting estrangement, liquor flowed freely at the Aurora. More accurately, it was free.

  Having decided that profits didn’t matter as much as winning his battle with Laurel, Chance made good on his promise to teach her and her band of do-gooders a lesson.

  Free beer now accompanied sandwiches; whiskey was reduced to five cents a shot; and if a man really wanted to whoop it up at the Aurora, he arrived at midnight for the girlie show, which was touted as the closest thing to Sodom and Gomorrah this side of the Rocky Mountains.

  Chance had searched the city for prostitutes willing to earn a few extra dollars dancing naked, save for a few strategically placed flowers and feathers.

  Over the past two weeks the men of Denver had flocked to these entertainments and the promise of untold delights, while the women of the city, in particular those of the Denver Temperance and Souls in Need League, had grown more incensed with every passing day.

  “I’ve called this emergency meeting to discuss what we can do about Mr. Rafferty’s assault on decency and reversion to debauchery,” Hortensia said, addressing the angry women who packed the auditorium. “As I have so often said,” she looked pointedly at Laurel, who had the grace to blush, “the leopard does not readily change his spots. In Mr. Rafferty’s case, it appears that he doesn’t even camouflage them.”