by Cyndi Raye
“I’m sorry, you had me mesmerized. I am trying to be gentlemanly now.”
“Maybe I don’t want a gentleman.” Did she just admit that out loud?
His brow shot up. Daniel made a sound low in his throat as he swooped down and crushed his mouth to hers. Her hands went around his neck.
“Not in the middle of the street, for cryin’ out loud!”
Daniel reluctantly broke the kiss, but not before stirring a passion within her she had never in her life felt. “We were just married!”
“Don’t matter. We’s got to get a sheriff in this town, get rid of the riff-raff.” The old man wore dirty pants, a raggedy vest over top a long sleeve shirt and a ragged hat. He shuffled down the street, a bottle in his hand, zig-zagging a bit before disappearing around the corner.
“Is he for real?” Charity asked, stepping away from Daniel to pull herself together. She kept forgetting their business arrangement. How impossible this was turning out to be! Perhaps she needed to remind him of their promise.
“That’s Nate Jones, the official town drunk. Every night he staggers up the street with a bottle in his hand, hollering and yelling at anything that moves. I can see him from my desk through the big window in the newsroom. He never fails to pass by here.”
Charity didn’t realize they were so close to home. “We better get inside before someone else comes along.”
Daniel helped her in, showing her the newsroom and his desk. He pushed aside some of the papers before offering her a seat.
“Thank-you, but I would like to turn in for the night. It’s been a long day.”
“Indeed.” Daniel checked to make sure her trunks were upstairs, then led her up the steps to the second story apartment he told her was his quarters. She began to shiver half-way up the stairs.
“Dang-it, I forgot to close the window.”
Charity looked around. It was a small apartment, the walls barren. A few pieces of furniture were haphazardly scattered around the room. A small table big enough for two was against the wall. She cocked her head to find a small flower in a single vase sitting in the middle of the table. The blood red rose was the most colorful thing in the place. It made her smile.
“You like my humble abode?”
Charity had to be honest. “It’s in need of a woman’s touch. Although the flower is a start.”
He grinned. “Courtesy of a beautiful lady you will get to meet sometime. Mrs. Fisher takes care of her four grandchildren. She cleans to earn extra money. The flower was her doing. I’ll still have her come each week, she needs the money.”
Charity went to the cook stove sitting in the makeshift kitchen. The ashes were cold by now but there was a dish on the top, still warm to the touch. “Another of Mrs. Fisher’s doings?”
“She had made dinner for us. Then the baby came, so we didn’t get a chance to dine.” He shrugged. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Let’s eat.” Charity took over, taking two plates from the shelf on the wall, setting them on the table. She found the silverware and placed them on a cloth napkin. Then before she had a chance to take the casserole dish from the stove top, Daniel reached out to help. His large hands picked up the dish and set it in the middle of the table.
“Thank you, sir.”
“My pleasure. May I call you Charity?”
She set the cloth napkin over her lap. “I suppose so, but, only if I may call you Daniel.”
“Of course. We’re married, you know.”
“Yes, a business arrangement. When do I start my job as your top reporter?” She grinned at the look of surprise on his face.
“Top reporter, eh? We’ll see. Here, try some of Mrs. Fisher’s casserole.” He scooped a large spoon on to her plate and did the same for himself before lowering his head for a brief silent prayer. Charity dropped her chin as well.
When she looked up at him, Daniel was staring with those devilish hazel eyes. It took her back a moment and she swallowed. This had to stop. She was all business as she said sternly, “Daniel, you must stop giving me those looks.”
“What looks?” he asked, his face so serious she wanted to reach across the table and touch his cheek.
“The one that tells me you want more than a business arrangement.”
He sat back. “Things may be changing as we speak. I wasn’t expecting you.”
A shiver ran down her arms. She was having the same conclusion. Never in her life had she expected him to be so handsome, so forward and so, so, brutally honest with her. Most men she had met in the newspaper industry were out for one thing, themselves. She saw in the last few hours a man who cared about the town and the people who lived here. This was a whole new situation and she had to rethink everything now. “That works both ways, Daniel. I am pleasantly surprised myself.” She had to be honest with him. “However, I am here to work.”
“As I promised, you will be my partner in our business.”
“Well, then, we must abide by our obligations. It’s late. I would like to retire.” She stood up quickly. His eyes were boring into her own.
“Perhaps you’re right. This way.” Daniel opened a small door to the bedroom where her trunks were lined up against the wall. He lit an oil lamp that sat on the table next to the large bed. By far it was the most plain and simple bedroom Charity ever witnessed. She would have to add a few touches here and there.
“I’ll leave you now. Good night, Charity.”
After removing her shoes and dress, Charity slipped a nightdress over her tired body. It felt so good to get out of her clothing and in something comfortable. Slipping under the covers, she leaning over and doused the oil lamp. Staring at the ceiling, sleep evaded her. Perhaps closing her eyes and counting sheep would do but every time she tried, all she saw were those hazel eyes burning into her own.
It was going to be a long, sleepless night.
<><>
Daniel tossed and turned on the makeshift chair he used as a bed. He had waited until she turned out the lamp before he headed back downstairs to sit in his oversized office chair. As he watched the light dim from under the door of the bedroom, there was a bit of hope she would call for him.
She hadn’t.
Charity was his wife in name only. She said that was what she wanted even if her words didn’t correlate with her actions. A business relationship only. What had made him ask for something so stupid now that he realized she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on. In just a few hours he had decided she was honest and to the point, beautiful, and there was a desire to hold her in his arms and never let her go.
He stood up. This wouldn’t do. How was he going to have a business only marriage to a beautiful woman who stopped the air from circulating when she was in the same room? Every single nerve ending would shatter if he had to spend too much time alone with her.
He needed a drink, even though he didn’t drink. Daniel gazed out the large picture window to see the dim lights of the saloon still on. He checked his stop watch and realized it wasn’t all that late after all. Closing the front door, he made his way to the saloon, needing to get out of there before he went stir crazy.
“What’s your poison, newspaper man?”
Salem Nightingale polished a glass with a rag while he eyed Daniel. It wasn’t too often he came in here but he knew Salem well. They had both been on the mercy train that night long ago. Salem didn’t even know his real name. The two of them made it up on the long train ride west from signs that were pounded in to the ground on a long post. Kinda came close friends ever since, getting dropped off at Wichita Falls with two different families.
“Sasparilla.”
The bar keep already had the glass ready for Daniel, knowing he wasn’t a drinker. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the taste of liquor. Daniel was told his parents were both drunkards who left him on the porch of the old church long ago. It gave him a strong dislike of the stuff. But he liked to come her
e late at night when he couldn’t sleep to talk to his friend.
Salem leaned his elbows on the wooden bar. “Got somethin’ on yer mind, friend?”
“Seems so, Salem. Got married today.”
“No kidding!” Daniel grunted when his friend looked around the saloon to see how many people were left this time of night. A half dozen men, along with one girl waiting tables were all that filled the room. “Next drink is on me,” Salem shouted. “It’s a celebration. The newspaper man, here, he done and got hitched!”
A hoop-hoop-hooray rent the air as Daniel laughed at the patrons making a rukus. He took a long swig of his drink while the others worked their way up to the bar for their one free drink.
<><>
Charity heard the soft sound of a door close. She threw the covers off and got to the window in time to see Daniel strolling down the street and disappear through the doors of the saloon. He seemed to be in a foul mood the way his shoulders were hunched down. Even so, he was a fine specimen to look at. Tall and handsome, why, any lady here in Wichita Falls would find him to their liking. Except she had to remind herself he was taken. Even if the marriage was a business arrangement, she wasn’t about to share him with anyone. Why would a married man be out and about this time of night? Was there a story he was after? She wasn’t about to let him get it all by himself. Not if she were to become the top female reporter in the territory. She’d have to be on her toes day and night apparently.
She found herself pushing the lid back to her trunk and digging through the container until she found her special disguise. As a reporter, she sometimes had to go undercover. Well, this was perhaps one time it paid off to purchase the things she did before packing her trunks.
The soft cotton material of the britches brushed against the skin on her legs. It was the first time she had to dress as a cowboy but in all fairness, Charity heard stories of how the west was wild and fearless and there was no way she could get around to the places she wanted to report on without hiding behind the pretence of being a man. The proprietor at the men’s fine clothing store in Chicago told her that the britches, shirt and vest would help her fit in with everyone else. After donning the clothes, she grabbed a pair of gloves to hide her delicate hands and stuffed her long dark hair underneath a wide brimmed cowboy hat.
Charity worked her way downstairs, almost tumbling down the wooden steps several times. She wasn’t used to wearing men’s boots. They were bulky and with that spur on the heel made it hard to balance herself. She pushed the office door open and practised walking back and forth before leaving. At last realizing if she dipped her knees a bit, she could have better control of her walk. She had to look like a real cowboy.
Taking a deep breath, Charity made her way to the saloon. She bent down, picked up dirt from the street and began to rub it all over her face, trying to hide her womanly features. She brushed it over her gloves and pants, making it look as if she were a working cowboy.
The only thing she didn’t have was a gun belt and pistol. Seemed like a bad idea anyway, since she didn’t have a clue how to use a gun. With a giggle, she headed towards the saloon door. Charity wanted to experience the same things a man did. The fact Daniel was already there made her feel a lot braver than she was. The stories of the low-down dirty dealings in saloons made all the gossip trails even as far as Chicago.
Her boots hit the wooden porch. The soft strumming of a guitar seeped through the front door. Charity stood listening, her spur digging the soft wood and catching as she lifted her foot to take a step closer. A single thought occurred to her it may be a bad idea. Was she doing this as a reporter, to get the scoop on what it was like in a saloon? Or was she spying on her husband?
A little of both, she reasoned. He was her partner now, and yet she had absolutely no reason to doubt he was an upstanding citizen. He had proved himself earlier today at their wedding when they all ran to help while the baby was being born. It spoke volumes to his character.
Face the facts, Charity Johnson Ashwood. You are down-right curious what it’s like in a saloon, a place where women are not welcomed. At least honorable women. Now, take yourself inside and be the brazen reporter you claim to be!
Those thoughts moved her through the door. The darkness of the room hit her square on and made her blink a few times until she could discern the figures inside. A few men played cards at a table in the rear. She looked to her left where a man sat by himself, his chin nodding towards his chest. A bottle teetered in his hand but each time she thought it would drop to the ground he jerked, lifted his chin and squinted.
Another man leaned against a far wall talking to the saloon girl. She had her hand on his chest making Charity unsure if she was pushing him away or holding on. A lone man sat on a stool strumming an old guitar. So far nothing major was taking place. This saloon was nothing like the stories she had read about. It was rather, demure, boring. She was here for the truth and took another step forward.
As she walked towards the bar she noticed a man leaning against it, his elbow on the top, his booted foot on the rail at the bottom. Charity eyed those familiar boots and worked her way up his tall body to stare at his back. It was Daniel, talking in quiet tones to a tall, muscular man leaning over behind the bar.
She steered away from Daniel, reminding herself to dip her knees a bit as she stopped further down, far enough away she wouldn’t be recognized. She had kept the hat tilted low over her eyes in case anyone recognized her. Not that they would, she hadn’t been in town more than a day at the most.
The bar-keep looked up. “What’s yer poison?” he asked as if he said it a hundred times. Charity peeked out from under the brim of her hat as best she could. The tall man waited patiently, leaning with his elbow on the bar. She looked around. How was she supposed to know what to drink?
She tried to keep her voice low enough to sound like a man, yet it still back-fired, sounding more like a young boy who was going through the change. The high-pitched sound even caught the attention of the card players, who looked her way for a moment before their noses went back to the serious game at hand. “I’ll have whatever he’s drinking.” She pointed to Daniel’s glass.
“You sure about that?” He leaned closer to see under the brim of her hat. She tucked her chin against her chest even more.
“Yes, sir.”
“Does your Pappa know you’re out this time of night?” Salem asked.
Charity bit her lip so hard she winced. She wasn’t fooling anyone but at least he didn’t think she was a woman, but a young boy. “My Pa’s dead.” There, that should quiet his curiosity.
The bar-keep laughed in a low monotone. “What do you make of this one, newspaper man? Kid wants what your drinking.”
Daniel slowly turned his head to stare at the cowboy. He didn’t blink once or say anything for some time. Charity could feel those eyes on her, could imagine how he was looking at her outfit, sizing her up, staring at the cowboy boots on her feet. When he did look away, she released the air from her lungs. He didn’t know.
She relaxed as he said, “By all means, give her what I’m drinking.”
The bar-keep grinned and pushed a glass in front of her. Charity almost had the brim of the glass to her mouth when it occurred to her what he said.
She set down the glass. Turned her head to find Daniel staring with the biggest grin on his face. Anger reeled from under the brim of her cowboy hat all the way to the tips of her pointy boots. He knew! How was she supposed to investigate anything if she couldn’t even fool a man who was practically a stranger? Her face fell as she turned away.
Had the newsmen in Chicago been right about her skills all along? Was she going after something so far out of her reach she was making a fool of herself?
Before she realized what happened, Daniel stood beside her, his boot on the rail below, a forearm on the bar. He fingered a coin, then she heard him say, “I’ll bet your own by-line in the next paper you can’t fool the men at the poker table.”
Charity, shocked, didn’t move a muscle. Was he going to give her a chance to prove she could get a story? It was a dream come true. Tilting her head slightly, she looked in his eyes to make sure he wasn’t making fun, teasing her. “Anything I want to write about?”
He nodded once, his face serious.
“You’re on,” she told him, picking up the glass and downing it in one long gulp. Her eyes widened when she realized he was a fraud, too. A large grin covered her face. She shook her head before pushing away from the bar. “This won’t take long.”
An hour and a half later, Charity put a dainty glove-covered hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. To everyone’s amazement, she kept winning, one hand after another as if she were an expert. It wasn’t really surprising to Charity, she had interviewed a man once who claimed to be a famous poker player. The report was never published but Charity learned a few card tricks which helped her with several winning hands tonight.
The others were disappointed the youngster was winning. All three of them kept pushing their luck, betting higher stakes than usual. “What did you say yer name was, boy?”
“Char, Ch, Charlie,” she told them, yawning again. It had been a long night. Her lids were starting to droop at great intervals.
“Well, Charlie, don’t be fallin’ asleep. We plan to win some of our money back. I got me a fancy watch here I can put in the till if you all agree. Won it in Kansas City.” After several murmurs from the others, he stared at the watch before relieving it from his wrist and set it in the pile.
Charity looked at Daniel, who was leaning on the bar, watching the game. Hadn’t she proven herself yet? Not one of the men at the table thought she was anything more than a kid. That’s what they’d say when she won a hand. Look at that will ya, the snot-nosed kid won again.
It was late, she wanted to go to bed. Then the thought occurred to her if she wanted to be a great reporter she would do whatever she had to for a story.