by Kaki Warner
The following Sunday, after a rousing sermon on the evils of loose behavior—either aimed at Lottie or as a warning to Becky—Reverend Nathaniel Lindz stuffed his tent into his wagon, and with promises to Juno that he’d be back by summer to pay off his debt, and assurances to Becky that when he returned they would marry, he climbed into the driver’s box.
Lottie doubted they would ever see him again. Nonetheless, she stood with the other smiling townspeople to bid the preacher adios and safe travels.
Becky took the parting well. Maybe too well. But Lottie didn’t press it. She could barely manage the chaos in her own life, much less someone else’s.
After another restless night of if onlys and what ifs, she headed to the club to work on the hotel and restaurant books. She hoped Briggs would be tending duties elsewhere, but when she arrived, she found him at his desk, counting the weekend’s take from the tables and tying the bills in neat bundles.
“Good morning, Miss Weyland.”
“Good morning, Mr. Briggs.” After stuffing her winter gloves into her coat pocket, she hung her coat and scarf on the hat rack by the door and crossed to her desk.
“I relayed to Lady Jane your comments about the menu,” he said, without looking up.
Lottie studied his bent head, wondering if Jane was mad at her.
“You’ll be pleased to know she is having them reprinted in English.”
“Oh.” Still confused, Lottie eased down into her chair. The menus looked very expensive. Reprinting them would be costly.
When she didn’t respond, he finally looked up. “You are pleased, aren’t you? I certainly am.” He must have found her bewilderment hilarious. He almost smiled. “I’ve always thought the French menus were a mistake. But I’m relieved she heard that from you, rather than me.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Not as much as I would have been.” He went back to counting and tying.
Lottie admired Jane. She’d hoped they could become friends. Had she ruined any chance of that? “I should have kept my mouth closed.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Miss Weyland. Leave that to me.” He flashed a sudden, teasing grin that almost rocked her back in her chair, then on the next breath, his expression settled back into its usual somber lines. It had come and gone so fast Lottie wondered if she had imagined it. “In truth, Lady Jane tends to overlook practicalities. It falls to me to rein her in, which I don’t enjoy doing. I’m grateful this time I didn’t have to.” Rising from his chair, he gathered the tied bundles and crossed to the door. “I’ll return later to check your progress.” He opened the door, then hesitated. “Miss Weyland, I’m curious.”
Lottie was learning to dread his turn-back remarks. “Yes?”
“That young ranger you had dinner with . . . is there an understanding between the two of you?”
Heat flooded her face. “No. Maybe. I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”
“Before he left with the congressman, he made a point of warning me away. I’m puzzled as to why he thought I was a threat to you.”
Oh, Lord. “N-not a threat. Exactly.” She needed to sew her mouth shut.
“Then what . . . exactly?”
“He thought you and I . . . we . . . he didn’t know about Lady Jane, or that you were my employer.” She was almost gasping by the time she got the words out.
“Know what about Lady Jane?”
“That you and she . . . you know.”
“No, Miss Weyland, I do not know. Explain.”
Could those gray eyes look any more furious? “It’s just talk, Mr. Briggs. That’s all.”
“About me and Lady Jane?”
Lottie nodded. Despite the chill, she was starting to sweat.
“I see.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, sir.”
“Carry on, Miss Weyland. And please don’t mention this conversation to Lady Jane.”
“I would never.”
Over the following days, Lottie went from missing Ty so much she doubted she would ever feel whole again, to anxiously anticipating the letter he’d said he would send. Gradually, her restless nights improved, mostly because she stayed so busy with her bookkeeping tasks, chores around the market, and consortium investments she fell into bed each night numb with exhaustion.
Somehow, the sun set, the moon rose, February came, and her life went on without him.
Becky wasn’t faring much better. No matter what she did, Juno stayed at arm’s length. Early into the second week after the reverend left, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Either I’ve lost my touch,” she announced, plopping down onto the crate in Lottie’s office, “or you’re as big a liar as Titus Curlew.”
Biting back a sigh, Lottie closed the store ledger and turned in the chair to face her scowling friend. “What did I lie about and who is Titus Curlew?”
“Never mind Titus. Why did you tell me Juno had feelings for me? I might as well have the clap for all the distance he keeps between us.”
“What’s the clap?”
“Lord.” Becky pressed a hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe I’m taking love advice from a girl who doesn’t know the first thing about men.”
Lottie bristled. She might not be as experienced as Becky, but she wasn’t the naïve ninny everyone seemed to think she was. She’d let a man put his tongue in her mouth, for heaven’s sake. “Juno does have feelings. He admitted as much to me. The truth is he’s convinced he’s not good enough for you.”
“Not good enough?” Becky’s stunned expression gave way to a speculative frown. “Why not? What’d he do?” Suddenly furious, she leaped from the crate. “If that man already has a wife somewhere—”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then what? Did he rob a bank? Kill someone?”
“Of course not!” Striving for patience, Lottie waved Becky back to her seat. “I’ll tell you what I can, but you have to promise you’ll never let Juno know where you heard it. Do I have your word?”
“Okay, sure. Talk.”
“He’s disillusioned.”
Silence. Blinking. Then, “That’s it? He’s disillusioned?” Becky said it like she’d never heard of such a thing. “About what?”
“Life. The past. The future. He’s gone through some difficult times. They’ve left their mark on him. Plus, he’s twelve years older than you.”
More blinking. “You’re jesting. That can’t be all there is to it.” And before Lottie could answer, Becky was off the crate again, pacing and waving her arms in vexation. “That’s the poorest excuse I ever heard! My uncle was twenty years older than me, but that didn’t keep him from nosing around whenever he had the chance. Poor Juno’s had difficult times? So what! Does he think I’ve been hiding in the cabbage patch all my life? I’ll match scars with him any day.”
Lottie let her rant until she ran out of steam, then calmly said, “It’s not me you have to convince.”
Becky stopped pacing and let her arms fall to her sides. She looked on the verge of tears. “Then what do I do?”
Lottie patted the crate. “Sit down and we’ll figure it out.” Once Becky was seated, Lottie said, “First, you have to decide if you really want him.”
“Of course I want him. He’s handsome, generous, rich, and one of the nicest people I know.”
Lottie didn’t tell her that most of those riches were tied up in uncollected IOUs . . . many of which were signed by Becky’s last admirer who was, hopefully, halfway across Kansas by now.
“Is there anything about him you don’t like?”
“I don’t like the way he ignores me. Or pretends to.”
“What about the Spotted Dog? Would you want him to give it up?”
“Heavens, no! I love the saloon. I love dealing there. It’s a fun place.”
“What about his
whores?”
“I love them, too. And don’t give me that look, Lottie Weyland. They’re just people trying to get by as best they can. And they’re not his whores. They rent rooms from him. That’s all.”
Lottie kept her opinion of that arrangement to herself. “You don’t want a cozy cottage with a chicken coop out back and flowers along the front walk?”
Becky snorted. “That’s what you want, not me. I want to be where the fun is. Where people go to have a good time and set their troubles aside for a while. Like the Spotted Dog.”
“What about babies? You wouldn’t want to raise them in the saloon, would you?”
That stumped her for a moment. Then she gave a shrug and said, “I’ll worry about babies when I have babies to worry about. He may be too old, you know.”
Even Lottie knew better than that. Plus, she’d seen the way Juno looked at Becky. “So there’s nothing you’d change?”
She made a face. “I’d get rid of the bottled pig’s feet and maybe have the girls clean up a little. Everybody already knows they’re whores. No need for them to dress the part.”
Lottie was amazed. How could she and Becky be so different and still be closer than sisters? It was a good thing her friend hadn’t married the reverend. With her unconventional views, the two of them would have been doomed from the start.
Chapter 11
Lottie was on her way to the club several mornings later when Sugar, the pretty blond whore from the Spotted Dog, stopped her on the boardwalk.
“Sally’s baby’s on the way,” she said, struggling to catch her breath. “Been at it most of the night, so it won’t be long. Becky sent me to tell you.”
“Does she want me to come?”
The girl must have seen Lottie’s panic. She laughed. “No need. She’s got plenty of help. She just wanted you to know.”
Lottie let out a relieved breath. She’d never been around a birthing before—other than horses and cows—and the idea of assisting at a human birth made her slightly queasy. “I’ll be at Lady Jane’s most of the morning. Let me know how it goes, or if she needs anything.”
Promising she would, Sugar hurried on toward the house where Becky and Sally lived.
When Lottie entered the club, Jane smiled at her from the lobby window overlooking Main Street. “Who was that you were talking to? I don’t believe I’ve seen her around town before. She’s very pretty.”
“She works at the Spotted Dog.” Lottie hoped Jane wouldn’t hold her association with a whore against her. There were many who would.
Jane crossed toward her. “A dealer, like your friend, Becky? I wonder what he pays. We’re busy enough now we could use more help in the gaming rooms.”
“Ah . . . no. She’s not a dealer.”
Comprehension dawned. “You mean she’s . . .”
Lottie nodded, sparing Jane the horror of saying the word aloud.
“Oh, my.” The Englishwoman looked more intrigued than insulted. “I don’t believe I’ve ever spoken to a light skirt. You Americans are so . . . democratic.”
Lottie smiled. “We try.”
Linking her arm through Lottie’s, Jane led her toward the offices in back. “It was suggested—and by our own banker, no less—that we offer such services here. But Anson wouldn’t hear of it. For a military man, he can be quite prudish about such things.”
“What things?” a deep voice said behind them, startling them both.
“Light skirts.” Jane pushed open the door into Briggs’s office. “And I do wish you would stop lurking about, Anson.”
“I do not lurk. And why were you discussing prostitutes?”
“You most certainly do lurk. Doesn’t he, Lottie? Shall I send for tea?”
With a disgruntled look, Briggs crossed to his desk. “She has work to do.”
“Oh, pish, Anson. Even if you don’t know how to enjoy a relaxing moment, there’s no reason to deprive others.”
Watching them out of the corner of her eye, Lottie disposed of her outer wear then took her seat at the worktable. It was fascinating to see the two of them go at each other. Especially if there was a chance Briggs could come out the loser.
“As I’ve stated many times, Lady Jane,” he said in his sternest voice as he stood at the desk sorting his mail, “it is highly improper for you to address me by my Christian name. Briggs will do.”
Jane grinned at Lottie. “See what I mean? Provincial to the core.”
“I am simply trying to maintain proper decorum. Something you would do well to observe yourself, milady.”
Jane rested a hip on the edge of his desk beside his thigh. “Oh, Anson. Do let up. We’re practically family. My brother would never have asked you to look after me if he knew you would be such a bossy old thing.” Turning to Lottie with a mischievous grin, she added in a whisper loud enough for Briggs to hear, “But I must admit, when he stomps about in his uniform issuing orders, he cuts as fine a figure for a tyrant as I’ve ever seen. The upstairs maids at home practically swooned when he passed by.”
“I do not stomp.”
“Oh, dear.” Laughing, the pretty Englishwoman reached up and patted Briggs’s red-flushed cheek. “I see I’ve upset you, darling, so I shall go. Lottie,” she added with a wink as she rose and headed to the door, “we’ll have tea and chat about prostitutes another day. Ta-ta.”
Lottie was too astonished to respond. Darling? Who was pursuing whom? Had she been wrong all this time? She had only been around Briggs and Lady Jane when they were discussing business. This teasing banter was altogether new . . . and enlightening. Although Briggs didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as Jane, which made it all the more fun to watch.
With a deep sigh, he settled into the chair at his desk. “Miss Weyland, you will not repeat anything you see or hear in this office. Is that understood?”
Struggling to hold back a smile, she opened the hotel ledger. “Of course.”
“Lady Jane is above reproach. I would not have you think differently.”
“I don’t.”
“She’s impulsive and high-spirited and often says things she doesn’t mean.”
“Like calling you ‘darling’?” She couldn’t help herself.
“I should dismiss you for that.”
His threat left her unmoved. With Jane as an ally, she felt safe enough as long as she didn’t push it too far. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Briggs. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I have no secrets.”
“Of course not. If you’re finished with it, may I have the restaurant ledger?”
A few minutes later, Bea brought in a tray sent by Jane, bless her. Briggs—as always—wore a vest and wool suit, and seemed impervious to the chill, but Lottie could definitely have used a warming cup of tea.
For an hour she and Briggs worked in silence, then Kearsey appeared in the open doorway with a message for Lottie. “I’m to inform you that the baby has arrived. A girl.”
“A girl! Wonderful! And everyone is okay?” Lottie might not know much about birthing, but she was aware that it often ended badly.
Kearsey nodded. “Both are resting. Miss Carmichael suggests you come this evening after they awaken.”
Lottie let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Kearsey.”
After the doorman left, she became conscious of Briggs studying her. “What?”
“Who had a baby?” he asked.
“Sally.”
“One of the prostitutes you and Lady Jane were discussing?”
A shocking thought arose. “You know her?” Was Briggs one of her regulars?
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No, Miss Weyland, I do not . . . know her. But I make it my business to be aware of the people around me. Miss Carmichael is the blond woman I’ve seen you with?”
Lottie nodded, another thought taking sha
pe. “You were a spy, weren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“In the British army. That’s why you watch everybody the way you do and creep around—”
“I do not creep. Or stomp. Or lurk. And we call them forward riders, not spies.” Pushing back his chair, he rose. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a meeting with our banker.”
Sally’s baby was red and wrinkled and crowned with downy pinkish hair as soft as the fuzz on a new foal’s belly. The instant Lottie cradled the tiny bundle in her arms she realized why Becky was so desperate to keep her. “Oh, Sally, she’s beautiful. Have you named her yet?”
“Anna,” the new mother said from the bed. Even resting most of the afternoon, she still looked exhausted. “After my ma.”
Lottie knew better than to ask who the father was. Sally was a whore, after all. But as she studied the baby’s hair, she wondered if maybe Tim, Sally’s freckle-faced cowboy and one of her long-time regulars, might be the father after all.
“She’s starting to fuss.” Becky hovered anxiously nearby as if she expected Lottie to become so upset with the crying she tossed the baby out the window. “Jiggle her a little bit. Not that hard. Like this.” All but snatching the infant from Lottie’s arms, she held her close and began to sway and jiggle and croon in a soft musical voice.
It didn’t seem to work.
“Maybe she’s hungry.” Sally held out her arms. “I’ll try to feed her. Doc Helms said to keep at it until my milk comes in.”
With reluctance, Becky returned Anna to her mother. As she watched the baby nurse, she had such a look of longing on her face Lottie had to turn away.
“Has Tim been by to see her yet?” she asked. Becky had told her he’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with another man’s baby. Hopefully, once he saw little Anna—and her pink hair—he might relent. If he was smart enough to figure it out.
Sally yawned. “I sent word to the Bar M. I suspect he’ll be in when he can.”