Western Ways

by Tysche Dwai

  His eyes swept appreciatively over her petite frame. “I see you had a productive day.”

  “I most certainly did,” she said, a small smile tilting up her lips.

  “Hopefully you were discreet about us?”

  “Of course.” She frowned. “It was my idea in the first place to pretend we were engaged.”

  “Yes, you were very quick on your feet about that.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

  He raised his brows. “What? You’ve been in similar situations before?”

  “Not that particular one. I mean at the gambling tables. One must be quick on the draw, so to speak, in order to come out ahead.”

  “I see.” Idly, John rubbed the rim of his glass. “Do you enjoy gambling?”

  As though sensing a trap, John noticed her hesitation. Finally, she said, “Yes, I do. But I’m able to stop whenever I like.”

  “Why do it then? Why not find respectable work?”

  “I’ve already told you I have no skills. For a woman, there aren’t all that many types of work to do that afford decent pay. Besides, it’s temporary.”

  Deciding against pressing her further, he said, “Good. I’m glad.” His mind turned to an item of greater importance; convincing Grace of the necessity to marry him.

  “John, I really must return to St. Angel’s Home. I’m worried whether, after having been gone for over a day and a half, Mrs. Couture will even allow me back inside.”

  “You don’t have to return there. You’re marrying me, remember?”

  She leveled her gaze on him. “No, I’m not.”

  “But you reciprocated my kisses yesterday, and didn’t you just admit it had been your idea, after all?”

  “That was a ruse of the moment, that’s all.” She sighed. “I realize now I should never have done it.”

  The serious expression in her eyes was colored with guilt, as well it should be. After all, he’d helped her, hadn’t he? If he hadn’t shoved her out of the way of the oncoming traffic, she’d be dead. The least she could do was marry him—even if it would be temporary. Somehow, that idea of temporary instead of permanent didn’t sit well with him.

  He took her hand in his. “I’ve already acquired the license. And don’t forget about my position at the college.”

  She slid her hand from his and crossed her arms across her bosom. “Perhaps President LaFoy will understand sometimes things don’t work out between people.” Her expression turned eager and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head as a story developed. “Yes! That’s it. You could tell him we broke off the engagement. And you may put the full blame on me.”

  “I didn’t want to press you on this but, simply put, you owe me Grace.” Grace’s jaw gaped as he continued, “All I’m asking for is a temporary marriage.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll give you an annulment once I’ve proven myself to President LaFoy.”

  “So, we wouldn’t consummate the marriage?”

  He shook his head, chagrinned to see her cloudy expression clear.

  “And what’s in it for me, pray tell?” she said.

  Leaning forward, he stared into her eyes, trying to see what lay behind them. “Haven’t I already saved your skin more than once? Like I said, you owe me.”

  After a long moment, she said, “You are right.” She appeared deflated as she continued, “But as soon as Sunday is over I’ll be leaving for San Francisco. I’ll leave it to you to explain to President LaFoy my leaving. Understood?”

  “Yes. But why must you leave so quickly?”

  “I have an aunt and young brother waiting in Atlanta for me to send money enough so they may travel to San Francisco, which is our final destination.”

  John sank back in his chair. “Good reason I must admit. What about your parents?”

  “They died a year ago, and I’m the sole provider for my brother and aunt.”

  Ah! Now this answer made sense to him. Still he asked, “Why San Francisco?”

  “More opportunities.”

  “For gambling?”

  “True, there is that.” She sighed. “But I promised my aunt I would stop gambling once I’d saved enough money to send for them.”

  “And then how will the three of you live?”

  John noted the flash of red in her cheeks and she worried her bottom lip.

  “Remember ‘the penny dreadful’ I was reading on the coach?”

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “I was reading my competition.”

  A slow grin crossed his lips. “You were? Ah, I think I know where this is heading. You did say you wanted to attend school for writing and literature, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but I’ve already published three.”

  “Three what?”

  “Penny dreadfuls,” she murmured.

  John opened his mouth in amazement. “You are telling the truth, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t let anyone tell you there’s a fortune to be made as an author. There isn’t, and I’m proof of it, otherwise I wouldn’t be gambling.”

  “I would never have guessed. You hardly seem the type of woman to sit still several hours a day penning a novel, that’s all.”

  “Why do say that?”

  “Because of the chances you’ve taken in your life. Dressing as a man, gambling which is a man’s game, taking up residency in a home for unwed mothers, asking me to climb trees. You are full of mischief, sweetheart,” he said with a laugh.

  She shrugged. “I admit I have always been a mischief-maker, but you are wrong about my being inattentive. I am quite able to sit for hours at a time and write the story ideas that keep spinning through my head. Why, I’ve written so long my hand has gone numb.”

  “My, Lord! Do you mean to tell me you write in long hand?”

  Her brows went up. “How else would I write my stories down?”

  “With a type writing machine, of course.”

  “Oh, how I’d love to own one, but I can’t afford it. Some day, perhaps.”

  “Marry me, Grace. I promise you this. I cannot give you the money you require immediately. I won’t be receiving my pay for a month, but I will help you once I do.”

  She groaned and said, “I can’t wait a month! Already my family has been waiting six months for me to send for them. They have little income but what my aunt earns working as a seamstress, and my brother’s small earnings as a blacksmith’s boy.”

  John sighed and rose from his seat. He dug some bills from inside his jacket pocket and laid them on the table. “Come, then. I’ll escort you to St. Angel’s Home.”

  Chapter Six

  “Get out,” were the only words a frosty Mrs. Couture uttered upon allowing Grace to enter St. Angel’s Home.

  Within quarter of an hour, Grace found herself, and her luggage, being loaded into a wagon once more. When she’d gone gambling the previous evening, she’d left behind her outer coat. Now she dug around in the pocket—the one with the small hole in the lining—stunned to discover her money earned in past cities was missing! Mrs. Couture, or someone else in that household, had taken it, she surmised. Having to start over again filled her with dismay. How she wanted to go back and accuse the woman, but who would believe her? Thankfully, she had the money she’d won the night before. She would need to spend another night gambling in order to have enough money to send for her brother and aunt. She kept her plans to herself, guessing John would put up a fuss about it.

  At least she had a home to return to at the Lafoy’s. Now, standing outside President Lafoy’s home, Grace was right; John lectured her as he walked toward the Lafoy’s front door.

  “No more gambling. Just sit still until after we’re married and I receive my first pay. Then I’ll give you money to send for your family. You may pay me back once you sell another book.”

  Scowling back at him, she said, “You can’t order me about, John. I’ll be leaving for San Fran
cisco Monday morning since I’ve already purchased my coach and train tickets. I don’t need your money, much as I appreciate the offer. She gave him a tentative smile, reached out and grasped his hand. “Thank you, though, for thinking of me.”

  Reaching up on tiptoe, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek then stepped inside before he could say another word. She was thankful she didn’t run into Margaret or LaFoy. Once she reached her room she sank down on the bed and couldn’t help the tears seeping from her eyes and sliding down her cheeks.

  Would she ever find such a kind, chivalrous man like John in her life again? She should marry him! But then, she knew the reason he’d proposed; he couldn’t afford to lose his new teaching position—not because he was madly in love with her. She couldn’t blame him a bit. Guilt overwhelmed her when she thought about the possibility of him losing his position at the college, and she came to a decision.

  She’d gamble tonight and, if her luck held out, she’d win as much money as she had the first time. Then she’d marry John—long enough for him to prove his worth to President LaFoy. Within a few weeks, she had no doubts he’d establish himself, then she’d leave for San Francisco and send for her aunt and brother.

  John was correct; she owed him for his help. A small voice inside her said, liar! She was falling in love, pure and simple. But she couldn’t allow herself to get sidetracked from her goal of securing a home for her family. Then she could tend to her own happiness.

  An hour later, Grace sat at a table, dressed in her menswear, playing a final round of poker. Her heart beat a quick staccato as excitement roared through her. She’d won again, every hand, and now, with this one hand, she knew it would be her last. She had more than enough money to send for her family, and buy a house in San Francisco for the three of them.

  The man to her left threw down his cards. “Shit!” he exclaimed and left the table.

  One by one, she called each man’s bluff and they tossed in their cards. She collected her winnings and jauntily left the saloon. She could hardly wait to tell John she would marry him after all, providing he stuck to the agreed few weeks of marriage followed by an annulment.

  At the corner, she started across the road when suddenly her arms were taken in a hard grip. Her head snapped up to look at the man on her right—one of the men she’d won against this evening. The man on her left, though, made her go dizzy with fright. Gus Parker! The man she’d won so much money playing against the night before last.

  “Where you goin’ so fast, little man,” he said, his lips turned up into a near toothless smile.

  She recoiled, trying to pull her arm away, but he kept a firm grip on her.

  “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, mister, but around the corner here so we can have us a little talk.”

  “I got nothin’ to say to you,” Grace said, lowering her voice to a baritone-pitch.

  “He’ll change his mind, won’t he, Rufus?”

  The man on the other side of her laughed raucously by way of reply.

  Night had fallen, and now Grace started sweating and struggling harder as they reached the last building, then turned a corner and went around to the back of it. Gus stopped. “Just hold him for me, Rufus.”

  “Whatcha gonna do?” the other man asked as he jammed a hand against each of Grace’s shoulders, slamming her against a building.

  Gus sent an evil grin at Grace, which she caught beneath the moon’s rays beaming down on his raw, grisly face. “Just gonna show him a bit of Montana hospitality, is all.”

  She nearly lost her supper when she felt Gus rub his chest against her body. My God! Had he guessed she was a woman after all? Grace struggled for release to no avail. Rufus had her shoulders pinned against the building. Gus unbuttoned her suit coat and she kicked out, connecting with his shin.

  “Damn it!” Gus cursed. “Didn’t I tell you to hold him still?”

  “How?” Rufus demanded. “I can’t hold all of him. Just watch out for his legs. Geez, he’s just a little mite of a guy, for crissakes!”

  “Kick me again, you bastard, and I’ll shoot you where you stand,” Gus growled at Grace.

  When his hand went to her belt buckle, she kicked him again.

  “Fuck!” Gus growled. “He gave me a bloody nose!” he wailed. “Turn him around!”

  Rufus let go of Grace. She took two steps but was grabbed from behind once more. Rufus slammed her against the building and her nose struck the wood. She bit her lip, not wanting to scream, for then they’d know she was a woman and it could go even worse for her. For certain, she decided, she was in for a beating, at the least. She had second thoughts though when her belt was ripped from her pants and her pants pulled down, followed quickly by her long johns.

  “Bend him over that there horse trough, Rufus,” Gus growled.

  Grace screamed a long piercing howl that rent the night when she was pulled away from the wall and tossed across the empty trough, flailing her arms. Her feet didn’t quite touch the ground and she kicked at the air with her bare legs, screaming again at her untenable position.

  “Hear that, Gus? He squeals like a girl!”

  “Yeah, ain’t that somethin’? Get him away from the gambling halls and he’s nothing but a cowardly, wimpering woman, ain’t he? Here’s what we do to little boys like you who think they’re too big for their britches,” Gus warned.

  She screamed again—louder this time when she felt a finger shoved ruthlessly between her buttocks.

  “Why, he’s tight as can be. What do you think about that, Rufus?”

  “What you talkin’ about? You ain’t plannin’ on sodomizing him, are you?”

  “Sure do. That’ll teach him.”

  “What if he ain’t clean,” Rufus warned.

  Gus grumbled, “Yer right, damn it all. Well, a beatin’ will have to do.”

  Her arms were ruthlessly pulled behind her back and tied together, her shoulders aching from the confinement. Grace shrieked at the top of her lungs when she heard someone shouting her name, the sound coming from around the front of the building.

  Astonished, Grace realized the two men hadn’t heard the voice and she screamed louder.

  “Shut him up, Rufus!”

  Her stomach hurt when a knee jammed into the middle of her back, and a ball of fabric was stuffed inside her mouth and held in place with another piece.

  “Grace!”

  John! Her mind screamed. Help me!

  Tears of anger, frustration and fear slid down her cheeks when the first lick from what she guessed was her belt crossed her ass. It struck again and pain tore through her body as she struggled furiously to escape.

  Suddenly, a roar unlike anything she’d ever heard before rent the air. Thuds and grunts sounded, first on one side of her, then the other. She heard more grunts and groans as she struggled to gain her feet. When she couldn’t she turned her head far enough to one side to see John standing nearby, hands curled into fists at his sides, his position a fighting one as he stood over one of the men who’d assaulted her. The other man appeared to be unconscious on the ground.

  John was a big man with a scholarly bent, but she never doubted his strength for a moment. He’d been raised on a farm, and done hard, physical work. Rufus and Gus hadn’t stood a chance. He must have realized the men were not going to rise for he dropped his fists and in a few strides came to her side and helped her to her feet. Bending down, he gently eased her undergarments and pants up. She nuzzled her nose against the softness of his chambray-clad chest as he eased the buttons of her pants through the holes.

  He stepped back from her, took her shoulders in his hands. She peered up at him and saw the worry on his handsome face. “Grace! You all right, honey?”

  She nodded and then closed her eyes in grateful silence as she slipped into darkness.

  The two men who’d assaulted her were thrown in jail, yet it didn’t give Grace the comfort and ease she expected. John reassured her with time she’d forget about the attack. She hoped so yet had
a feeling she’d suffer nightmares for years to come. Never had she felt so defenseless. She must do something about that condition, she decided, knowing she couldn’t always count on John or any other ‘knight in shining armor’ to come to her defense.

  As she lay in her bed at the LaFoy’s with her eyes closed, she felt the warmth of the rising sun filling the room. She stretched luxuriously, loathe to rise except one thought giving her the impetus to do so; on this bright and clear autumn Sunday, she was getting married.

  John had gently questioned her about the attack. She’d managed to give him a coherent reply, though she’d felt cold inside. He’d been furious when she’d told him why she’d gambled again; that her money had been stolen at St. Angel’s Home. She discouraged him from confronting Mrs. Couture about it, nor would she allow him to report the incident to the town sheriff.

  The only good thing was she still had the money she’d won last evening—enough to send for her aunt and brother.

  When John left her at the LaFoy’s last evening, he’d reminded her about their marrying the next day. She’d agreed, surprised to see the joy creasing John’s face, followed by blazing heat of desire in his eyes. Was it possible he wanted her for another reason, aside from the need to maintain his position? For one fleeting moment, Grace imagined what it would be like to be married to him in truth. Shaking the nonsensical idea from her head she reminded him that their marriage would be one in name only—and temporary at that. She’d heard the reluctance in his voice, but he’d agreed.

  She rose and bathed in the bathing room at the end of the hallway, dressing in a cream satin gown that her mother had worn on her wedding day twenty years ago. Grace hadn’t packed it at first, since she’d had no one to marry her, but then found she couldn’t leave it behind. Breakfast with the LaFoy’s was filled with chatter from Margaret. “Why, I can’t recall when we had a marriage in town, can you, dear?” she asked her husband.

  President LaFoy said, distractedly, his eyes on the front page of his newspaper. “Can’t recall, sweetheart.”