by E. E. Burke
“Matchmaker! Thief!”
Penny turned with Genevieve to see who was shouting.
A disheveled woman staggered across the street, her silken skirts dragging in the dirty snow. She clutched a bottle in one hand and shook her other fist at them. “A pox on both of you!”
“Good heavens, that’s Madame Bonheur!” Rather, Betsey Smith, which was her real name. Penny hadn’t recognized her at first, as the madam of the town’s most popular fancy house didn’t generally wander around looking like a common strumpet.
Her cloak hung open and her gown’s plunging neckline was positively scandalous, even for a loose woman. Her ebony hair, always perfectly coiffed, hung in disarray, as if the pins had come out and she wasn’t aware, or didn’t care. Gone was the fake French accent, as well as any attempt at decency.
“Ignore her. Maybe she’ll leave,” Penny whispered. The last thing she needed was to be drawn into a public argument with the town’s notorious madam.
The drunken wretch threw the empty bottle and stumbled this way and that, weaving across the road, barely missing being struck by a passing wagon. The few people on the sidewalks had started to take notice.
“You ruined my business!” the madam yelled. “Boum Boum ran off with that despicable miner, Angelique and Jolie packed their bags last night after the wedding and moved on. Jolie said if you could catch ‘the bear,’ they could snag husbands too. Bah! They’re whores!”
Penny latched onto one particular word. She inquired in a side comment to Genevieve: “What wedding is she talking about?”
“Mine.”
“You’re married?” Penny gaped in astonishment.
A faint blush stained Genevieve’s cheeks and an uncertain smile hovered. “I hope you don’t think I— That is to say, I realized I knew him and I… Well, that’s the news I wanted to share. I wed Mr. Kinnison last night.”
Kinnison? Hadn’t Charlie mentioned his name?
“The hairy trapper?”
“He’s not so hairy.” Genevieve’s blush deepened. She put her arm around Penny’s shoulders. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm and we can talk.”
“Don’t you turn away!” the madam yelled. By some miracle, she’d made it all the way across the street without being run down. “You ain’t no better than me, just more expensive.”
“I’ve had enough of this.” Genevieve whirled around and stepped off the boards into the street. The anger flashing in her friend’s eyes alarmed Penny. Genevieve needed to be careful; the mean-spirited madam was far too unpredictable, and it was bad enough that they’d drawn everyone’s attention.
Even the shopkeeper’s wife and the madam’s daughter, Avis Fulton, came out of the store, perhaps having heard Betsey’s obscenities. The young woman had traveled out here to locate her mother, and this was what she’d found—a remorseless harlot. Her sad expression was enough to break Penny’s heart.
Genevieve faced off with her sneering tormenter. “You, Miss Smith, are inebriated. I suggest you go back to your room and sleep it off.”
“Go diddle yourself.” The whore’s face twisted with hatred as she turned on Penny. “Wasn’t enough your friend here sank her claws into the trapper, but you ran Silas off, then went after the Mayor. Yer stealing my best customers!”
Appalled, Penny could only shake her head.
“Now see here, you uncouth woman…” Genevieve straightened to her full height, which was still a few inches shorter than the madam, although Penny about the same size. Right now, the woman’s bloodshot gaze was trained on Genevieve, and there was murder in her eyes.
“Uncouth? I’ll show you uncouth.” The drunken woman rammed her hand down her ample cleavage and pulled out a small pistol.
“Betsey don’t!” Avis yelled. “Look out, she’s armed!”
Penny’s instincts took over and she batted the gun, which went spiraling into the air. At the same time, Genevieve shoved the madam backwards.
With a furious howl, Betsey lunged forward and grabbed Penny’s hair, yanking hard, which in turn caused Penny to fall against the drunken harlot, and down they went into the cold, dirty snow.
Sprawled on top of the madam, anchored by her hair, Penny struggled to free herself. The pain of having her hair pulled was nothing compared to the humiliation of being dragged into a public wrestling match with a whore.
Chapter 9
As Charlie rounded the corner to the main road through town, he began to hear shouts and jeers. A crowd had gathered in front of Fulton’s store, which meant a fight had broken out—nothing new— and everyone had gathered to watch, which was even less surprising.
“Let me go!” A woman’s cry grabbed his attention. That sounded like Penny.
He took off running toward the mob. Who dared to lay a hand on her? “Get out of my way!” Men who didn’t move fast enough got heaved aside.
Charlie jerked to halt. What the devil?
Two women grappled in the dirty snow. The town’s madam hung onto a hank of Penny’s hair like a determined bitch with a bone, at the same time heating the air with a stream of curses. Penny hollered and pulled at the other woman’s hair, while walloping her with one fist. Even though it looked as though Penny was holding her own, this wasn’t a situation she was likely to find herself in.
The matchmaker and Mrs. Fulton had waded into the fray. They had a hold of the madam’s arm, but every time they yanked, the motion pulled at Penny’s hair. At this point, it was questionable who was helping whom.
“I’m takin’ wagers,” one of the mule drivers told him.
“Put your money on the lady,” Charlie replied. He was tempted to let said lady pound the whore into the dirt, but for Penny’s sake it was time to intervene.
The other women stepped aside as he strode over.
“That’s enough.” He grabbed the madam’s free arm and jerked her to her feet. Once she let go of Penny, she tried to scratch him, but he was quicker and locked his fingers around her wrist.
The sheriff ambled over with three other ladies trailing behind, all of them talking at once in a frantic babble.
“Take this one.” Charlie pushed the drunken whore toward the sheriff, who caught hold of her before she went face first into the slush. Wouldn’t make much difference, she already looked like she’d been wallowing with pigs, and had a well-deserved bloody nose.
“Here, let me help you.” He offered Penny his hand, and when she grabbed hold and he brought her to her feet. She was breathing heavily, her hair had come down, she had a smear of dirt on her cheek and muck down her skirts, and her cloak had gotten wet.
He tightened his grip, drawing her closer so he could brush back her hair to get a look at a row of scratches on her neck. That had to hurt. “If it’s any consolation, your opponent looks worse.”
Penny glared at the madam, whose arms were being held in Draven’s tight grip.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” the whore snarled. She touched her face and then stared at her bloodied fingers. “She broke my nose!”
“An improvement, believe me,” Charlie drawled, earning another blast of curses.
“That wicked woman tried to shoot us!” The matchmaker, who also had a fair amount of mud on her skirts, marched over to the sheriff and held out a small pistol, which Draven took and pocketed.
“Let’s go, Betsey. You need to cool off.” The sheriff hauled the madam in the direction of the jail. “Show’s over folks. Break it up,” he called over his shoulder.
One man in the crowd whooped. The one Charlie had urged to put his money on Penny. “Come on, pay up boys!”
Penny stunned expression shifted to one of horror. She seemed at a loss as to what to do, and when she took a step in the deep slush she nearly lost her balance.
Charlie didn’t hesitate to grab her, and he scooped her up into his arms. “I’ve got you.”
“What are you doing? Put me down!” She smacked him on the chest.
“Here now, the fight’s over. I’m
on your side.”
“You’re embarrassing me.” She dipped her head as if she didn’t want anyone to notice her, though it was a little late to be acting like a wallflower.
The matchmaker moved in front of him and put her chin up, reminding him of a bantam hen. “Mr. Hardt, you are creating a scene and causing Penny distress.”
He wasn’t about to turn Penny loose, not now that he’d caught her. “I appreciate your concern, ma’am, but I’m taking Mrs. Jackson somewhere warm, where I intend to have a private word with her.”
He shifted to get a better hold, and Penny wrapped her arm around his neck. At least she’d stopped fighting him.
“It’s all right, Genevieve. Arguing with him is a waste of time, believe me.”
The matchmaker gave him a look, which told him she was taking his measure. “Have a care for her reputation, Mr. Hardt.”
“You can depend on it.”
Penny’s reputation wouldn’t be a problem for long. He figured she ought to be ready to marry him by now, if for no other reason than to put an end to wagging tongues.
Penny’s teeth rattled like loose rocks in a tumbler. In the midst of the latest humiliating episode, she’d suddenly taken a chill. Then Charlie had decided to play the part of Galahad. What more could go wrong? She’d sent Genevieve away because she couldn’t bear to look her friend in the eye.
Granted, the madam had vexed her beyond what any sane person could bear. But the punch she’d landed had given her pure satisfaction. She had truly stood up for herself, perhaps for the first time in her life. On the other hand, she hadn’t been standing.
As Charlie set off, she peeked up from where she’d buried her head in his shoulder. It appeared he was headed for the saloon. That wouldn’t do. No, wouldn’t do at all.
“Where are you going?”
“You need to get warmed up before you take ill.”
“If I can change clothes, I’ll get warm.”
“The bag with your clothes is still at my cabin. I’ll borrow a wagon and take you up there.”
An enticing image popped into Penny’s head: being in his bed, wrapped his arms. “No!”
“Then stop fussing and trust me.” He kicked open the door to the saloon and carried her inside.
The assorted miners and ranchers who stood at the bar turned and stared at them; this wasn’t surprising. She was a woman, and a scandalous one at that.
“You fellas clear out while I get Mrs. Jackson something to help her warm up.”
At his order, the men moved away from the bar and filed out the door, all the while continuing to cast curious glances over their shoulders. Finally, the only other person left in the saloon was the barkeep, who turned his back to them and started cleaning the back counter, whistling softly.
Oh, why had Charlie brought her in here, of all places!
“I can’t imagine what they’re thinking,” she murmured.
“They’re wishing they’d put their money on you.”
Betting on her, like they would a cockfight.
She dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I need some strong, hot coffee.”
“Best thing for a chill is a shot of whiskey.”
“No, thank you. I rarely drink more than a sip of wine.”
Besides, who needed whiskey when she had Charlie’s arms to warm her? Sadly, it was past time to pretend that she could remain hidden in a safe cocoon.
“Put me down, please.” She tried not to sound too reluctant.
He carefully lowered her into a chair at the table closest to the potbellied stove. After feeding it more wood, the fire inside began to crackle. “Sit tight. I’ll get you that drink.”
Seeing as it was pointless to debate him, Penny unhooked her damp cloak so the warmth could penetrate her clothing faster. She scooted closer to the stove and leaned forward, relishing the heat on her face, and removed her ruined gloves so she could also feel it on her hands.
As soon as she warmed up, she would tell him she intended to leave town. What choice did she have? Her luck hadn’t improved. If anything, she’d made her lot worse. If she’d fleetingly entertained any thoughts of staying, she had just ruined it. He might even want her to leave. The thought put a knot in her stomach.
Charlie handed her a glass. “Sip this.”
Maybe it would help, as he claimed.
She took a drink, and grimaced. Firewater, the Indians had aptly named it. Awful stuff. But Charlie was right about how quickly it warmed her insides.
He pulled a chair up next to her and sat. He’d gotten himself a glass, too, except he didn’t drink it, and instead, withdrew a handkerchief and dipped it into his glass, then leaned closer and cupped his hand around the back of her neck. His palm diffused more warmth than the whiskey. When he dabbed the damp cloth over the marks on her neck, she sucked in a sharp breath.
“Ow! That stings!”
Charlie’s frown conveyed regret. “Need to clean these scratches so they don’t fester. Betsey’s got claws…but you have a better right hook.”
Penny closed her eyes as heat overtook her face. After he finished cleaning the scratches, she took a few more sips of her whiskey. It seemed not to burn so much as it went down this time.
He leaned back and set the cloth on the table. The tenderness in his expression put a lump in her throat. “So what happened?”
Penny sighed and shook her head. “I was talking to Genevieve. She’s married!”
“So I heard.”
“Yes, well, she was telling me about Mr. Kinnison, and that woman accosted us. Madame was very inebriated and we had words, then she pulled out a gun. When I knocked it out of her hand, she grabbed my hair and somehow we ended up on the ground.”
Charlie rubbed his hand over his mouth.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“No, I’m not laughing.”
“Yes, you are.” She hadn’t yet reached the point where she found the incident amusing, and wasn’t sure she ever would.
Something the madam had said still niggled at the back of her mind. She didn’t really want to know the answer, but the irritating question wouldn’t go away until she’d resolved the matter. “She accused me of stealing her customers—you, for one.”
Charlie’s humor faded fast. “I can’t lie and say I’ve never been there, but I’m not a customer; more like a landlord. Though considering her behavior today, I won’t be renting to her again.”
Penny didn’t feel the satisfaction she thought she would. “I wonder where she’ll go?”
“Are you concerned?”
“I hate to think of any woman being homeless and without a means of support, however distasteful.”
He sat back in his chair and his mouth quirked in a half-smile. “Lady, you have a merciful heart. I admire you for that. It’ll serve you well in a town with lots of sinners.”
Penny finished the remainder of the whiskey in her glass. She had to tell him she was leaving. Tomorrow. “Charlie, I need—”
“What?” He leaned forward, and his blue gaze intensified. “Tell me what you need. If it’s in my power, I’ll give it to you.”
“May I have another whiskey?”
Chapter 10
Of all the things Penny might’ve asked for, whiskey wouldn’t have been Charlie’s first guess, but he took her glass and returned to the barkeeper. Maybe plying her with liquor wasn’t such a bad idea. It might calm her down. “Half a shot for the lady.”
Seamus arched a bushy eyebrow as he poured a splash of whiskey. “Should I keep the boys outside a while longer?”
Charlie glanced at Penny. She’d been shaken by this latest incident, and it might not be the most ideal place, but he had to get her consent now and tie the knot as soon as possible. They were already here, so he could send for the preacher immediately after she said yes. Given how she’d responded to his kisses, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get past her objections.
“Give me a few more minutes, then you can open the doo
r.”
Seamus winked. “You got it, boss. Good luck.”
Charlie took the whiskey back to the table and sat down. He had a strong hunch Penny would turn him down flat if he again blurted out that he intended to marry her. He had to think of a way to get past her fears, which seemed mostly to be rooted in superstition. Assuring her he didn’t believe in bad luck hadn’t worked, so maybe it was time to try a different tactic.
He reached under his collar and took a leather cord from around his neck. When he held it out, the pendant flashed in the light. “I had that made from the first gold we mined here on this mountain.”
Although it held a special meaning to him, it didn’t hold any kind of power, other than what the wearer believed it did, but he hoped that be enough.
Penny took the gift and studied it, rubbing her thumb over the lump of gold. “It’s still warm from your skin.”
His skin was getting warmer watching her rub that thing and imagining her wearing nothing but the necklace. Distracting thought, to say the least. “Wear it for me. For good luck.”
Her eyebrows shot upward in a look of pure panic, and she thrust the necklace back at him. “No, I can’t take your good luck.”
He closed her fingers around the gold nugget. “You won’t be taking it. I’m sharing it. Why are you always so certain bad things will happen?”
She gazed down at his gift with a pained expression. “Because bad things always do happen. When I was thirteen I came down with a fever, then my brothers took ill. I recovered, they didn’t. My parents died less than two months later. Even my aunt was afraid to take me in, and made me stay in the servants’ quarters, but she passed away too, right before the Colonel offered for my hand. He was older than me by some twenty years, but he was still hale and hearty—at least he was until our wedding night. I didn’t marry again for another five years, and my second husband was a younger man who owned a successful factory. He said he was lucky too.” She looked up and her eyes were dark with despair. “He died in a fire.”