“Mama said I should take your order.”
As he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders blocked the wooden spindles on the chair’s back. He nodded toward her, those mesmerizing eyes of his gleaming. A lazy smile hovered on his lips. In an instant, those ever-present butterflies in her stomach took flight to leave a strange, but not unwelcome, warm fluttering. And once again, she couldn’t help thinking he was one of the most ruggedly beautiful men she’d ever met.
“What will you have?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say “you,” but she kept the surprising word to herself and instead ordered a stack of hotcakes. His grin widened when he turned to Serafina and asked for huevos rancheros.
The girl nodded and rushed off, moving quickly between tables, which were beginning to fill up for the breakfast rush. Stevie watched him as his gaze took in the other patrons, then settled on her.
He didn’t speak but that was fine. She’d gotten used to his long silences, though she still preferred to hear what he thought. He’d spoken only once about his brothers and his parents and she could see glimpses of him as a young boy, roughhousing with Kieran, Teague, and Eamon, laughing as the four of them found mischief and adventure. She wished she’d known him then, when he was young, when his eyes glistened with humor and not pain.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of their meal.
Brock remained silent only until Serafina was out of earshot. “Heriot said he hadn’t seen Logan, and I trust the man, but there’s always the possibility Logan slipped in and out of Taos without being seen by the law. In fact, I’m certain he wouldn’t be seen. He wouldn’t want to be.” He dug into his eggs. After chewing and swallowing, he said, “I’m going to ask around.”
“I’ll go with you.”
He paused in the middle of bringing a forkful of seasoned rice to his lips. Stevie almost laughed at his expression.
“Where I’ll be going is no place for a lady.”
Stevie did laugh then. “I’m well acquainted with painted ladies, Brock. Remember, I used to travel with my father when he saw patients. That included soiled doves.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Trust me. I’ve seen people in all walks of life. The good—” She cut a small section of fluffy hotcakes and drizzled syrup over it. “And the bad. Speaking to a scarlet woman or visiting a brothel will not shock my sensibilities. I’ve been to a bordello before.” She grinned as the heat of a blush warmed her face. “And at this point in my life, I really don’t care what people say.”
“As you wish. Be ready by two o’clock.” His gaze drifted over her features, warming her even more. Stevie Rae stilled, the fork with the hotcakes coming to a stop halfway to her mouth. She hardly dared to breathe until he smiled, then dug into his huevos rancheros once more.
• • •
Brock MacDermott was not a man used to waiting. This came as no surprise to Stevie Rae as she stood on the second floor landing and watched him pace to the window, hat in hand, peer into the street through the etched glass, then strut back to the fireplace over and over again, his body rigid with tension.
“I’m ready,” she said as she came up behind him, hooked her hand into the crook of his arm, and allowed him to lead her outside. “Do you know where we’re going?”
A flush stained his face as he glanced at her, a crooked grin spreading his lips ever so slightly, and she knew, without a doubt, he knew exactly where to go.
Many towns had a section or a street where painted ladies plied their trade. Even Little River had a house of ill repute. She remembered being fascinated with the women who lived there and the men who visited them.
Taos was no different. The houses on Dona Luz looked like any other. Nothing special adorned the solid structures to proclaim them for what they were. Occasionally, one caught a glimpse of a scantily clad woman through sheer draperies or a gentleman leaving the abode, a bounce to his step, but that was all.
Brock led the way up the walk of the first house and opened the door, then ushered her through. Stevie Rae stopped short in the parlor. Her mouth dropped open of its own accord at the scantily glad girls lounging on various pieces of broken or much-repaired furniture. She had lied to Brock. While it was true she’d been to a brothel, she’d only been to Ruby’s and only as far as the kitchen, where Ruby herself plied her with milk and cookies while her father tended to the women of the house.
This was a whole new world and she tried not to stare, but it was next to impossible, although she was able to close her mouth. She had never seen so much exposed flesh in her life. She caught a glimpse of a nipple, which had most assuredly been rouged, before the woman adjusted the strap of her chemise. Another woman, a redhead with gleaming green eyes, reclined on a crimson sofa. She crooked her finger at her and winked just before she spread her knees, showing off her thighs—her bare thighs—beneath her slightly worn petticoat. A wicked grin twisted her lips as she hiked the undergarment higher, revealing more of her pale skin, an open invitation in her expression—one definitely not meant for Brock as the woman didn’t so much as look his way.
The lace edge of the petticoat traveled another inch higher as the woman’s gaze held her spellbound. Stevie Rae drew in a startled breath.
She’s not wearing anything under her petticoat!
She swallowed hard and averted her eyes, her face aflame. She wasn’t so uneducated she didn’t know what the woman was suggesting and she almost bolted. Maybe she should have stayed behind while Brock visited the cathouses and asked his questions.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, beyond mortification, her gaze searching his face.
“If you’re uncomfortable, you can wait for me outside,” he said, his voice light, his eyes warm as he moved a little closer to her. His expression did not scream “I told you so.” Instead, his features conveyed his concern for her discomfort. He wouldn’t think less of her if she waited for him on the street.
Before she could make her escape, an older woman approached from the back of the house, smoothing her faded blond hair away from her face as she came closer. She, at least, wore more clothing than the others. Indeed, she seemed almost prim and proper in her stylish plaid skirt and jacket. Stevie Rae stopped, unable to move as she found herself on the receiving end of a thorough inspection beneath the madam’s shrewd, calculating eyes. The woman waved her hand, setting the thin gold bracelets around her wrist to tinkling. The girls roused themselves amid grumbles and giggles and left the room.
When they had gone, the woman grinned. “I ain’t looking fer a new girl, but yer quite a looker.” The frank appraisal of her person continued, from the tips of her boots to the top of her head.
Stevie Rae felt sullied and somehow less of a human being under the woman’s heartless, almost cruel, evaluation and she couldn’t help wondering how many other girls had gone through this kind of inspection and felt the same sense of degradation she did.
“Little older than I usually take. Take off yer hat, girl, let me see what I’m buying,” the woman ordered and then, without a by your leave, reached out in a vain attempt to grab the hat.
Brock moved so quickly, Stevie Rae didn’t have time to react. Neither did the madam. He grabbed the woman’s wrist in a tight grip and pulled her forward. “That’s enough.” His voice lowered to dangerous levels as he pinned the woman with a hot, intense glare. “She is not for sale.”
The woman nodded, fear flickering in her dark eyes as Brock released her. “Well, then, if she ain’t fer sale, what are ye here fer?” One thin brow cocked over her eye as she rubbed the circulation back into her hand. “Ye one of them girls?”
Stevie Rae shook her head and stepped behind Brock, her entire body shaking with indignation, her face not just warm, but burning. “I beg your pardon. We’re here to—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Brock pulled the folded Wanted poster from his shirt pocket and opened it, nearly shoving it in the woman’s
face. “Have you seen this man?”
The woman hardly looked at the poster. “Ain’t seen him,” she said, anger making her voice a little shrill.
“Look again.” There was steel in Brock’s voice and the gleam in his gray eyes warned of consequences.
Spots of color now adorned the madam’s pale, white cheeks and her body stiffened. “I tol’ ye, I ain’t seen him. Now get out!”
Stevie Rae couldn’t leave the house fast enough. She turned so quickly, she nearly lost her balance, but then she righted herself and raced for the door. Once outside in the warm sunshine, she gulped fresh air and held on to the door frame to quell the tremors rippling through her.
Brock joined her a few moments later, his eyes as dark as granite. He said not a word as he reached out and grasped her chin gently between thumb and forefinger, raising her face just a bit so their gazes met. “Are you all right?”
Stevie Rae took a deep breath and let it slip out between her lips. “What just happened?”
A sad smile crossed his lips. “She assumed I wanted to sell you. That’s how a lot of girls end up in places like that.”
“How horrible.” Stevie Rae couldn’t help the shiver that raced through her. “Why?”
“Too many reasons to list, Stevie Rae.”
He continued to hold her chin, his eyes peering deeply into hers, the warmth in them easing her jangled nerves.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He released her, his hand traveling down to settle on her shoulder. “You can go back to the hotel.”
“No, I’m all right. I promise.” She straightened, feeling the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of her shirt, the concern in his eyes touching her. Pulling air into her lungs, she took a step away from him and adjusted her hat on her head. “Let’s just do it and get it over with.”
The second house they stopped in was nearly the same as the first, just populated by different girls, although the experience didn’t leave her shaken. The madam hadn’t given her the once-over, nor made any notion that she was interested in buying her, for which Stevie Rae was grateful, but again, no one claimed to have seen Zeb Logan. The scenario repeated itself in the third house. Stevie Rae could see as well as feel Brock’s frustration. It matched her own. Tension built in his shoulders, making them seem broader, and the smile he had gifted her with earlier was nowhere to be seen as they entered a fourth home along Dona Luz.
“Can I help you?” A young woman, maybe sixteen at the most, greeted them. Her fresh-scrubbed face screamed innocence and yet, there was knowledge in her dark brown eyes. And she was fully dressed in a simple skirt and blouse, much to Stevie Rae’s relief. As a doctor’s daughter and a former medical student, she was no stranger to the human body; however, she really didn’t need to ever see a rouged nipple or pale thighs again. Three times in a single afternoon had been more than enough, thank you.
“We’re looking for the owner of this house.” Brock removed his hat and held it in his hands. He stood beside Stevie Rae, so close she could see the rigid set of his jaw and the muscle twitching beneath his whisker-shadowed skin. So close, she could smell the soap he’d used to wash earlier in the morning.
“Miss Angie isn’t in right now. I’m Dottie.” She grinned as she opened the door a little wider. Though this might have been a house of ill repute, Dottie seemed well cared for. “You can wait if you want. Miss Angie should be back any minute.”
Stevie Rae drew in a deep breath, the tension in her body slowly receding. This house seemed to be cleaner, the girls a little more refined. And a little happier, she noticed as Dottie led the way from the foyer into a warm, comfortable parlor. A number of girls were there, but none of them were lounging about in corsets and pantalets, arms, legs, and bosoms exposed. Indeed, all of them were dressed like Dottie, in clean skirts and shirts, all fresh faced and so incredibly young. Several of the girls were reading quietly. A sweet-faced young woman with a mane of glorious blond hair arranged flowers in a vase while yet another practiced scales on the piano.
“My name is Brock MacDermott.” He pulled the poster from his pocket for the fourth time and unfolded the paper. “I’m looking for this man. Has he been here?”
Dottie took the paper and studied the picture, her dark brows furrowing. She shook her head slowly, then turned to the other young ladies in the room. “Girls, come take a look at this. These nice people are looking for this man.”
Almost as one, the residents of Angie’s house rose from their places and crowded around Dottie. Each perused the poster of Zeb Logan, but none admitted to seeing him. Stevie Rae thought they were telling the truth. For some reason, these young ladies seemed honest to her though she wasn’t sure why.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t help you,” Dottie said as she handed the poster back to Brock. “But you might want to talk to Lily Boudreau. She used to be here with us until one of her favorite customers left her money in his will. She opened her own house on the other side of town by the river. Nice house, too. Real high-class girls.” The girl’s eyes held a wistful gleam and a long sigh escaped her as she fiddled with one of the buttons on her blouse, making Stevie think the girl would much rather be at Lily’s house than here. A higher class of clientele, perhaps? A higher percentage of the profits for the girls? Whatever the reason, the girl wished she was someplace other than where she was.
“Thank you, Dottie. You’ve been most kind.” Brock dug into his pocket and pulled out a crisp bill. The girl’s face lit up, her dark brown eyes shining. “For your time.”
“Thank you,” she murmured and raised her gaze from the money to Brock’s face. Stevie Rae watched, fascinated, as the young woman changed, in an instant, from charming innocent schoolgirl to a woman experienced in the arts of pleasing a man. The grin on her fresh scrubbed face disappeared, replaced with a sultry smile meant to draw attention. A slender hand reached up and twisted a curl of dark chestnut hair lying over her shoulder and she fluttered her thick lashes as she stared at Brock, the invitation clear.
Much to Stevie Rae’s amusement, a blush rose to Brock’s face as he stammered a quick thank-you and made a hasty exit. She almost laughed as she followed him outside, closing the door behind her. She could have teased him about his reaction to Dottie’s open invitation, but chose to let it pass. “Are we going to Lily’s house?”
“I think we should,” Brock said but wouldn’t look at her. The blush still colored his face as he stared into the street. “We could stop and get the horses at the livery unless you’d like to wait for me at the hotel.” He finally turned to face her and Stevie Rae stifled the laughter bubbling up from her chest. Brock MacDermott, fearless hunter of dangerous criminals, had been frightened by a sweet-faced, though experienced, soiled dove.
“No, I’ll come with you.” If only to protect you from painted ladies and their come-hither glances. “It’s been an interesting afternoon to say the least.”
He did not respond as she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and they started down the street toward the main thoroughfare. A low, two-wheeled, closed carriage waited at the corner, the driver polishing the brass fittings while he waited for a fare. Brock glanced at her and nodded toward the carriage. Stevie Rae gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Why not?”
The grin flashing across his face stole her breath and she couldn’t help admiring the way he moved as he stepped away from her to approach the driver. “Are you for hire?”
The man rose from his stooped position, wiped his hands on the piece of flannel, then tucked the rag into his pocket. “If ya got the coin, I’ll take ya anywhere ya want ta go.” He bowed slightly, his mouth stretched into a grin. “The name’s Cushing.”
Without waiting for an invitation or for the transaction to be completed, Stevie Rae climbed into the seat and sat back against the cushions. She just didn’t feel like getting on horseback so quickly after spending so many days in the saddle. Brock chuckled, then gave directions to Cushing. The carriage dipped a
moment later as Brock took his seat, then dipped again as the driver scrambled to his perch.
Neither one of them spoke during the ride, which didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her was that he slipped his fingers between hers and held her hand. She still didn’t speak, afraid of ruining the moment, but she did stare at their clasped hands in wonder as warmth flooded her. Once again, he had managed to touch her heart with his small gesture.
A short time later, Lily Boudreau’s house came into view. Partially hidden by tall trees and trimmed bushes, it was not at all what Stevie Rae expected. Built of wood rather than adobe, the house had three stories, all painted white except for black shutters and a bright red front door. A proper porch ran the length of the house with groupings of wicker chairs and small tables.
The carriage rolled to a halt in the drive. Brock climbed out of the conveyance, then reached inside and entwined his fingers with hers to help her down as well.
Cushing spoke from his perch. “Ya want me ta wait?”
“Yes, please. We shouldn’t be long.”
The man shrugged as he pulled half a cigar from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Don’t matter ta me. Take as long as ya want,” he said, his fingers fishing in the same pocket until he produced a match, struck it against the sole of his shoe, and brought the flame to the stub of twisted tobacco.
“Are you ready?” Brock asked as he turned to her. His gaze held such warmth, heat pooled in her belly. At this moment, with his eyes meeting hers, with their hands clasped and the closeness of his body to hers, she was more than ready for another taste of his lips, even though she knew that wasn’t what he meant. She swallowed hard and pushed away her heady thoughts. This was not the time nor the place, but soon, she would follow through on her desire to kiss him.
“Yes,” she whispered and allowed him to lead her up the porch steps. Brock twisted the bellpull. A buzzer sounded within the house.
The door swung open a few moments later to reveal a young woman dressed in a starched uniform, a frilly mobcap atop her light hair. “May I help you?”
A Kiss in the Shadows Page 10