Laurel jerked away but before she could retaliate, the drunk tumbled off the porch. Creede’s furious expression and his fisted hand told Laurel he’d taken care of the rude man.
“I could’ve handled him,” she said, glaring at him.
“Probably. But I wanted to.”
Despite Laurel’s dislike of violence, she couldn’t stop a tendril of warmth at his protectiveness. Flustered by her reaction, Laurel knocked on the wide door.
Feminine giggles preceded the open door, revealing a young woman wearing only her underclothes, and those left little to the imagination. The girl’s gaze skipped over Laurel and immediately settled on Creede. The approval in her eyes started a burn in Laurel’s chest.
She stepped in front of Creede, blocking the prostitute’s view of him. “I’m here to see Miss Fancy Donovan.”
The girl laughed, a braying sound that didn’t seem to fit her petite but large-breasted figure. “Well, la-di-da. What would a lady like you want with Miss Fancy?”
“She has business to discuss with her,” Creede said.
The girl tipped her head to the side and eyed Creede like he was a thick, juicy steak. “I tell you what, while she does her business with Miss Fancy, you and I can do some business of our own.”
Suddenly another woman appeared behind the barely clad girl. She was a tall, full-figured redhead who wore a faded red dress with a plunging neckline that barely restrained her nipples. “What’s going on here, Lacy?”
“This here lady wants to talk to you,” Lacy replied, twirling a strand of blond hair around her finger as she gave Creede a come-hither look.
“Get back to work. I’ll take care of this.”
With obvious reluctance, Lacy left.
“Are you Miss Fancy Donovan?” Laurel asked.
She nodded warily. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Laurel Covey and I’d like to speak with you about your son Luther.”
Miss Fancy’s cheeks lost all color except for the two splotches of rouge. “He’s dead.”
“Yes, I know. I was with him when he died.”
Despite her pallor, Miss Fancy’s voice was harsh. “Good for you. So what’s there to talk about?”
Nonplussed, Laurel glanced around. “I’d rather talk in private.”
Miss Fancy narrowed her eyes then opened the door wide. “Sure, honey. Come on in, and bring the handsome stud with you.”
Confused by the woman’s attitude, Laurel stepped inside and her attention was immediately captured by the scene of debauchery. Three girls wearing as much—or as little—as Lacy were entertaining the men. One girl was sitting on a lap, her hand inside the man’s shirt. Another was having her bare breast fondled and the last was dancing, her body moving sensuously beneath the skimpy undergarments, as three men stared in rapt attention.
Sweat beaded Laurel’s brow as her stomach tightened and her nipples hardened in response to the erotic scene.
“You sure it’s talking you want to do?” Miss Fancy asked Laurel, a pencil-thin eyebrow arched knowingly.
Startled, Laurel quickly averted her gaze. “Yes.”
Miss Fancy shrugged as if she could care less. She spoke to Creede. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I’m sure my girls will make you feel welcome.”
A mixture of jealousy and humiliation seared though Laurel.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay with Mrs. Covey,” Creede said.
Though Laurel didn’t want him around Miss Fancy’s girls, she didn’t want him to be with her when she delivered her message either. “It’s all right, Creede. I’ll be fine.”
For a moment, Creede looked like an animal caught in a trap, then he nodded curtly. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
Miss Fancy motioned for Laurel to follow her and they passed closed doors. Behind one, Laurel thought she heard the sounds of coupling, but firmly set the image out of her mind. Besides, this wasn’t the first time she’d been privy to the goings-on of soiled doves. Laurel had felt sorry for the camp followers, who were oftentimes widows of soldiers who had no other option but to sell their bodies. She’d been the one the women sought out when they were sick or had the clap.
Miss Fancy led her into a room that was both office and boudoir and settled herself on a worn chair. She motioned for Laurel to sit on the matching one. Laurel perched on the edge, keeping her gaze away from the mussed bed in the corner.
“I’m waiting, Mrs. Covey.”
Laurel brought her chaotic thoughts back to her task. “I was a nurse with the Confederacy. I was working in the hospital tent where your son died.”
“Are you looking for a medal?”
“No. I-I was with Luther when he died.”
Miss Fancy lifted a cheroot out of a carved box and lit it. Her fingers trembled slightly. “You already told me that. If you’ve got nothing else to say, you’re wasting my time.”
Disturbed by her indifference, Laurel said sharply, “He was your son.”
Miss Fancy exhaled a stream of smoke. “He was my bastard son, Mrs. Covey.”
“But surely you must’ve loved him.”
She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Love? Tell me, Mrs. Covey, what the hell is love? From what I’ve seen, it’s a commodity bought and sold like flour or beef.”
Laurel leaned back in her chair, eyeing the woman’s garish make-up and timeworn dress. “You loved Luther’s father, didn’t you?”
Anguish flashed through Miss Fancy’s flinty eyes. “Luther’s father took my virginity with the promise of marrying me. A month later he was gone and I had his bastard growing in my belly. My folks didn’t take too kindly to their fifteen-year-old daughter getting knocked up, so they tossed me out on my ass.”
“And you’ve been selling ‘love’ ever since,” Laurel finished softly.
Miss Fancy shrugged. “I’m damned good at it. So good that I got this place.”
“If this is what makes you happy, then I’m glad.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?”
“After what I saw during the War, I’ve learned that a person has to find happiness wherever they can. It’s not for me to judge.”
Miss Fancy glanced away and continued to smoke her cheroot. However, her jaded expression faded to reluctant curiosity. “How did Luther die?”
Laurel took a deep breath and opened her journal that was marked with the blue ribbon and a picture. “He received a wound that putrefied.” She looked up at Miss Fancy and realized the madam wouldn’t appreciate the watered-down version. “He was in terrible pain the last few days of his life. I tried to sit with him whenever I could. All he wanted was to hold my hand. It was little enough. He asked me to give you this.” Laurel handed her the picture of Luther as a young boy with his mother.
Miss Fancy studied the picture, her expression blank.
“And he asked me to give you a message.” Laurel took a deep breath and read from the journal. “‘Tell Ma I tried my hardest. Tell her I loved her even though I hated what she was.’”
Laurel kept her gaze aimed at her handwriting, giving Miss Fancy time to absorb her son’s message.
“He wasn’t a good boy,” Miss Fancy finally said, her coarse voice amazingly gentle. “He used to beat up other boys, weaker boys, but he never hurt a girl. I did teach him that.”
Laurel remained silent.
“I know growing up in a whorehouse wasn’t good for a boy, but I didn’t have any choice. When he asked me if he could join the army, I gave him my blessing. Fact is, I was glad to see him go. He was getting too old to be around the girls.” Miss Fancy’s forgotten cheroot burned out. “I’ll never forget how ugly he was when he was born. And the crying and carrying on, like he couldn’t wait to get out.” She chuckled, but it was a watery, teary sound. “If he’d have known his mother was a whore, I doubt he would’ve been so eager to join the world.” She visibly roused herself and the vulnerability faded. She set the picture aside. “Thank you for bringing me the
picture and his final words.”
“You’re welcome.” Laurel rose, instinctively knowing Miss Fancy was embarrassed by her candidness.
Without another word, Miss Fancy led Laurel back to the parlor. Laurel’s gaze flew to Creede who sat in a chair, with Lacy sitting on his lap.
“Maybe your friend would like to stay and sample the goods,” Miss Fancy said, reverting back to the coarse madam.
Laurel forced herself to shrug. “He can do whatever he pleases.”
Creede suddenly noticed them and clambered to his feet, nearly dumping Lacy on the floor. He steadied the girl then joined Laurel.
“Is your business done?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Is yours?”
Creede’s face reddened. “I didn’t ask for her company.”
“I doubt someone like you ever needs to ask a girl for company,” Miss Fancy said, winking at Laurel.
Discomfited, Laurel crossed to the door. When she heard Creede’s footsteps following, she couldn’t help but feel relieved.
Miss Fancy beat them to the door and opened it. As Laurel went out, the madam caught her arm and said in a low voice, “I loved my son, Mrs. Covey. He was the only person in this world I ever gave a damn about.”
Laurel gazed at her, seeing the woman—the mother—Miss Fancy could have been if circumstances had been different. “He knows that now.”
As the madam closed the door, Laurel spotted one tear rolling down her painted cheek.
SIX
Creede hoped like hell the trip to the bawdyhouse had been worth it for Laurel. Although Lacy was young enough to be his daughter, her charms were mature enough to fire his blood. Combined with months of abstinence, Lacy was temptation personified. Only the appearance of Laurel had cooled his body enough to allow reason to take control once more.
Besides, if he had his druthers, he’d prefer taking someone like Laurel to his bed. Of course, that was a hell of a thing to admit to himself when they’d be spending weeks alone on the trail to Texas.
“You could’ve stayed,” Laurel said, drawing Creede out of his musings.
Creede couldn’t tell if she’d wanted him to stay or to leave with her. Surely she knew what he’d end up doing if he remained. “No reason to.”
Laurel’s lips twitched. “Lacy seemed to be a pretty good reason.”
“She thought so.”
Laurel’s smile broke through this time, but it faded a few moments later. “Miss Fancy was younger than Lacy when she started selling her body.”
Creede wasn’t certain talking about loose women with a lady was proper, but Laurel wasn’t a typical lady. “Did she say why she did it?”
“She didn’t have a choice with a child on the way and no husband.”
Creede suspected that was the case. He’d seen more than one child around a whorehouse in his time and although he felt sorry for the children, it never stopped him from enjoying a prostitute’s body. But now guilt niggled at him for using women whose circumstances placed them in that position.
From one of the saloons a gunshot exploded followed by rough laughter. Laurel shifted closer to Creede and he instinctively put his arm around her slender shoulders just as he had earlier. He tried to ignore his body’s reaction to her soft curves, but after Lacy’s priming his body wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
He focused on what Laurel had said. “Tough break.”
“For her, but not the man who abandoned her. Who knows, maybe if he’d married her, their son wouldn’t have gone off to war to die.”
Impatience washed away Creede’s lingering lust. “Just because a boy has a father doesn’t mean he’ll be able to talk his son out of joining the army.”
Laurel’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
He knew she hadn’t meant to be cruel, but the wound was still too fresh. He swallowed back the burgeoning grief, hiding it behind a veil of indifference. “Was Miss Fancy glad to hear her son’s last words?”
Laurel seemed surprised by the question. Perhaps she’d expected him to talk about his son, but Creede couldn’t. Not yet.
“I think so,” Laurel replied. “She’s a hard woman. She’s had to be to survive as long as she has in her business.” She paused. “But I think now she’ll finally be able to cry for him.”
A block filled Creede’s throat and he swallowed back the emotion. He’d needed a bottle of whiskey to allow himself to cry for his son, but now the tears welled within him without invitation.
They walked silently back to the safety of the main street and Creede removed his arm from Laurel’s shoulders. Without her tucked close to his side, he felt the loneliness more keenly. It’d been years since he’d been alone. Even when he and Austin were arguing, he could count on his son being there. But now he, too, was gone.
At the boardinghouse Creede opened the door for Laurel. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Aren’t you coming in?”
He shook his head. “I need to take a walk, clear my head.”
Her muscles stiffened and her lips pressed in a thin line. “I hope that walk won’t take you to the nearest bottle of whiskey.”
Her holier-than-thou attitude angered him and he smiled without warmth. “My ma’s been dead for over twenty years and I reckon it’s a little late for you to take over.”
A flush crept across her face and she dropped her gaze. Before she could say anything he spun around and strode away toward the edge of town. He didn’t want whiskey or a woman. All he wanted was peace, but he knew there’d be precious little of that.
Unable to fall back to sleep despite having a real bed instead of a blanket on the hard ground, Laurel stared up at the ceiling. She’d heard Creede return from his walk a couple of hours ago and was more relieved than she wanted to admit when he didn’t stumble or curse.
She’d chastised herself numerous times for being so inconsiderate with her earlier comment about sons and fathers. She suspected he’d gone back to Miss Fancy’s to forget his troubles for a little while with Lacy’s willing body. Laurel felt the same rush of heat and jealousy when she imagined the two of them together. But it was no business of hers whom Creede Forrester bedded. It surely wouldn’t be her so there was absolutely no reason to experience envy.
But it wasn’t her head that had trouble accepting the explanation…
Knowing she’d not fall asleep soon, Laurel rose and pulled her skirt on over her nightgown and threw a shawl around her shoulders. She decided not to slip on her shoes since she didn’t plan on leaving the porch.
She tiptoed downstairs and out the door, closing it quietly behind her. The air was still warm and damp, but it was cooler than the day had been and Laurel breathed deeply of the crispness. The town was silent; even the east side, which housed the saloons and Miss Fancy’s bordello, slept.
She leaned a shoulder against a porch post and stared into the darkness. In the peace and quiet of the night she could almost believe the last few years were all a nightmare, and when she returned to her bed Robert would be waiting for her.
Robert. She tried to picture his face and although she could make out the shape, the details were fuzzy. He’d had brown eyes. She remembered that. But his mouth, nose, chin, and jaw were all a blur.
Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the man who’d been her husband for three years, but whom she’d lived with for little more than one. So little time to get to know a man. She thought she’d had a lifetime, only Robert’s lifetime had been shorter than either one of them had imagined. And her lifetime stretched out before her, bleak and indistinct. She had a goal for now, but what then? She could see nothing beyond delivering the messages.
Her thoughts strayed to Creede, first a widower, then losing his only child. What gave him a reason to continue? Was it his home in Texas? Or did he simply possess more courage than she?
A horse neighed shrilly from the livery. The sickening stench of rotting meat suddenly assailed Laurel’s nostrils and her stomach lurche
d. The darkness evaporated, leaving the vision of dead and dying horses and mules scattered across a battlefield drenched in blood of both man and beast.
Part of her knew it wasn’t real and she tried to draw away from the onslaught but couldn’t escape. Looking down, she saw mud covering her feet, but it was mud made of blood and dirt. She opened her mouth to scream but it stuck in her throat, choking her.
“Laurel?”
The voice, low and gentle, drew her out of the hideous waking nightmare. The rotting carcasses disappeared and the reek drifted away, replaced by the heavy scents of damp earth and green trees.
Creede touched her shoulder. “Laurel, are you all right?”
Regaining her composure, Laurel turned and lifted her gaze to his shadowed face. “I’m fine.”
He brushed his fingertips across her cheek and held up his damp fingers. “You’re crying.”
Was she? She didn’t remember crying. “It’s nothing.”
Neither one moved and an expectant hush rose between them.
“What’s wrong?” Creede asked, his voice full of concern. “Why were you crying?”
She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t confess her deepest fear. But his tender solicitude made her feel guilty for having to deceive him. “I-I was thinking about my husband, Robert.”
Creede drew back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Unable to bear his remorse, she reached for his hand so he couldn’t leave her. “No. It’s all right. I’m glad you did.” More than glad that he’d chased away the ghosts.
Creede glanced down. “After I lost Anna, I had trouble sleeping. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and reach for her but she wouldn’t be there. Then I would remember she was dead, and it was like having to say good-bye to her again.”
“How long did it go on?”
“A long time.”
Laurel wondered if he was aware he was stroking her knuckles with his thumb. It had been a long time since a man had held her hand, and the intimate touch played havoc with her heart.
She cleared her throat. “I should get back—”
A meow interrupted her and Laurel peered into the darkness.
A Reason To Live (The Forrester Brothers) Page 7