She heaved a sigh. “Culture? Harry, the men of Fortune are farmers who need their money to purchase seed and tools—”
“I’m not referring to the men of Fortune. I’m talking about cattlemen. In spite of the hardships we endured, I believe cattle will one day be a booming business in this state. Cattle to the south of us will need to be moved north. It makes sense that they would follow the nearby Brazos River. We simply need to give the cattle drivers a reason to route the herds through this town. We won’t make great profits all year long, but for a short time, we shall reap the rewards.”
“And just how are you planning to let all these cattlemen know about your saloon?”
“I would think the answer was obvious. Magpie. Word of mouth. He’s searching for cattle, crossing paths with others searching for cattle.” He waved his hand magnanimously through the air. “Let’s give them something to talk about. The Texas Lady shall become a legend before we’re finished.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Harry, I thought I was a dreamer.”
“You are, my love. Who do you think taught me?”
Damn him! He was appealing to all her soft spots. How could she stay angry with a scoundrel who spewed forth such sweet words?
“Hey, Mr. Bainbridge, I’m done with the sign,” Johnny announced proudly, edging his way past Jessye to shove the plank in front of Harry’s face.
Harry pressed his finger to the boy’s arm and gently moved it back. “Excellent, Johnny. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.” He leaned over so he could see around the boy. “Gray, help Johnny and Jessye hang the sign outside, will you?”
“Certainly.” Grayson strode over and took Colton from Harry. “I think the whole family should see this.” He hesitated. “Did you want—”
“No, no,” Harry murmured. “Have too many details left to go over. Can’t leave anything to chance.”
“Right,” Grayson said quietly, and Jessye saw sympathy in his eyes. “Chin up and all that rubbish.”
“Right. Now get everyone out to watch you. I could use a few moments of quiet to ponder some of the remaining tasks. Jessye, go with him and see that he hangs it straight. I don’t trust him with a hammer and nail.”
“But you trusted him with my chandelier,” she pointed out.
He smiled. “Touché. But be a good sport and oversee the hanging of the sign. For Johnny’s sake. He’s quite proud of it.”
How could she refuse to give a child his moment in the sun? Yes, sir, Harrison Bainbridge was a manipulator, a cheater if she ever saw one.
By the time she stepped onto the boardwalk outside the saloon, nails were already in place, and Grayson held the ladder steady while Johnny reached up to hang the sign. She took several steps back to get a good look at the boy’s efforts. Her gaze fell on the window, and she peered through it to see Harry.
He sat rigidly, his head bent, one hand gripping the table, while the other rubbed his right hip and thigh.
“Move away from the window, Jessye,” Grayson said quietly.
She snapped her attention to him.
“Pity doesn’t sit well with him,” he said, his voice low.
She walked to the railing, wrapped her fingers around the coarse wood, and stared at the dusty street. “I don’t pity him. I just hate to see him suffering.”
“He’s making progress.”
She glanced up at him. “I haven’t seen him walk using those crutches—”
“I don’t imagine you will. He’s a crafty fellow and too proud for his own good.”
“He was already sitting at that table when I came down this morning—”
“And he’ll probably be sitting there when you go to bed tonight.”
“He needs to move around some.”
“What he needs is to feel that he has some control over something. I have no doubt that you’re angry at the manner in which he came to own this establishment, but for his sake, try and put your anger aside…at least for a while.”
Putting her anger aside was damn near impossible as she glared at the gaudy dress he’d had someone sew for her. She couldn’t deny that in the three weeks that he’d owned the saloon, business had been brisk.
She wasn’t surprised that he had plans to set himself up as the faro dealer as soon as Grayson finished making the table. She had little doubt that his enterprise would make considerable money. A shame he hadn’t thought of it before he became obsessed with herding cattle.
She touched the dress as though it were a snake. It looked more like a corset with a skirt that might graze her calves. She thought if she sneezed, her breasts, small as they were, would pop right out of the thing. The man was loco if he thought she was going to wear that as she served drinks.
She snatched it off the bed and headed down the stairs. Harry sat at his usual table, a young man she’d never seen sitting across from him, leaning forward slightly as though listening intently. The man’s black craggy hair was in dire need of a haircut.
She tromped to the table. Harry slid his unnerving gaze to her while the young man snapped his head around. She almost staggered back with the shock of seeing such old eyes on a young face. She should be accustomed to seeing the wary look in the men returning from the war, but it always caught her off-guard.
The young man jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair. With one hand buried deep within the pocket of his jacket, he righted the chair with the other before looking at her as though he wished he’d died on some godforsaken battlefield.
“Jessye, this is William Vaughn.”
She smiled warmly, hoping to put him at ease. “Mr. Vaughn.”
“B…Billy. My friends call me Billy.”
“Billy then.”
“He’s going to work for us, cleaning the saloon.”
She smiled with gratitude at the young man. “I can certainly use the help.”
“He’s not going to help you,” Harry explained. “He shall do all the cleaning. Your obligations to the Texas Lady end at midnight after we’ve sent the last drunkard out the door and closed it behind him.”
She jerked her gaze to Harry. All her life, except for the time she’d herded cattle, she’d scrubbed, cleaned, and polished the saloon. She knew its surfaces as well as she knew the feel of her own skin. “I’ve always cleaned the saloon.”
“And you’ve done a remarkable job, but it’s taking a toll on you now that we are attracting more customers. You’re losing weight and look exhausted.”
She couldn’t tell him that she looked tired because she wasn’t sleeping well at night. She tossed and turned with thoughts of him, hating him one moment, loving him the next. Loving him weighed heavily on her mind, because her head warned her that she should despise him. “I appreciate the consideration.”
“As well you should,” he told her smugly, and she balled her hands around the green dress to stop them from slapping him.
He nodded toward Billy. “You’ll find an empty room at the top of the stairs, last door on your left.”
“Yes, sir. I appreciate it. You won’t be sorry.” Billy turned to leave.
“William,” Harry snapped. The man glanced over his shoulder. “The first time I find you drunk is the last night you work for me.”
Billy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Jessye watched him walk up the stairs. “Can we really afford to hire him?”
“I’m only paying him a dollar a day plus room and board. He struck me as a man who did more than squat in the shade.”
She returned her gaze to Harry. “You’ve never forgiven me for saying that, have you?” She thrust the dress at him. “Is that the reason for this?”
He gave the dress a passing glance as though it were of no consequence. “The dress will entice men to stay longer, purchase a few more drinks, and will no doubt result in them slipping you an extra coin or two—which you are welcome to keep.”
Her jaws clenched until her teeth ached. “You’re generous to a fault, Harry. I am not wearing this in
decent dress.”
He arched a dark brow. “Some would say that you were dressed indecently while we trailed cattle.”
“At least I had everything of importance covered.”
He chuckled. “Ah, yes, and it was nicely covered. Do you realize that I knew the exact shape of your rounded bottom before I ever held it?”
If her mouth hadn’t gone suddenly dry, she thought she might have spit at him. “And now you want to gawk at my bosom? Well, I ain’t gonna wear it.” She spun on her heel.
“You will wear it,” he said with a deadly calm that sent icy chills rippling up her spine.
She swung around.
“You will wear it,” he repeated, “because I own the saloon and you work for me. So you will do as I say or you and your father will find yourselves on the street.”
She clutched the dress, her fingers digging through the fabric into her palms. “I always knew you were a scoundrel, but I never realized until now that you were such a pitifully small man.”
Chapter 19
The pitifully small man tipped the bottle, poured himself another glass of whiskey, and cursed his brilliant ideas.
He’d been right. Tonight the saloon was packed—men stood, backs against the walls, because every chair was occupied. Barely keeping pace with the customers’ demands, Jessye looked like a rag doll, ready to fall into a heap at any moment. He’d need to hire another serving girl, perhaps two.
Men were doing what they’d never before done as she served their drinks: trailed their fingers over her bare arm, slapped her on the rump, leered at the small swells of her breasts revealed by the low cut of the dress.
The rage surged through him because he’d placed her in this embarrassing predicament and was in no position to protect her. What in God’s name had possessed his mind when he’d ordered the damn thing?
He’d wanted control, to feel like a man again, whole and complete.
Instead, he felt like cow dung.
The last thing he’d ever wanted was to harm her, but since the encounter with Milton, he’d taken all his frustration out on her…he’d tried to force her into hating him because he thought only then would he stop loving her.
He squeezed his eyes closed. Oh, God, he wanted her, but how could he expect her to accept him: a man crippled of body and, more, crippled of heart?
Opening his eyes, he grabbed the bottle and slammed it against the wall, spewing liquor and glass. The saloon fell into an eerie hush, and all eyes turned on him. At least they no longer were focused on her breasts.
Her brow furrowed, she rushed over, and the pain of regret stabbed him deeply.
“Harry, what are you doing?” She sank to the floor and picked up shards of glass.
“Leave that for Billy,” he ordered. “Bring me another bottle of whiskey, then go change out of that damnably annoying dress.”
Defiance and victory shot into her eyes as she slowly rose. “Thought you wanted me to wear this dress.”
“I changed my mind.” He arched a brow. “That is not a prerogative limited to women, you know.”
He watched her raging battle: defying him, against running upstairs to rip off the hated garment.
“Please,” he offered with genuine contriteness, “go change into something better suited to your…temperament.”
As though recognizing that she may have won more than a battle, she gave a slight nod. She went to the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and returned it to his table before stomping up the stairs.
With a weary sigh, Jessye closed the saloon doors and locked them. Habit forced her to place the key into her skirt pocket. Tightening her fingers around the metal, she withdrew it, charged across the saloon, and tossed it onto the table where Harry sat. She pivoted.
“Sit down,” he commanded.
She spun around. “Harry, I’m tired and I got cleaning to do.”
“Billy will handle the cleaning.”
As though waiting for a summons, the young man emerged from the back, on hand stuffed in his coat pocket as he carried a bucket of water. “Thought I’d get the floor done first, then them dishes.”
“Whatever works best for you,” Harry said. “Now, Jessye, sit.”
“I’m not a dog to follow commands—”
He sighed in exasperation. “Please.”
She angled her chin. “Pretty please?”
She watched his jaw tighten. “Pretty please with sugar on it.”
She dragged back a chair and plopped down, relishing the small victory.
Leaning over, he grabbed her calf. She jerked free, suspicion lurking. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I am going to remove your shoes and rub your feet. As much as you ran around tonight, they must hurt.”
The man was gifted with understatement, but the impropriety…
She glanced over her shoulder at Billy, who was on his knees scrubbing tobacco juice stains from the floor.
“He’s too busy to notice,” Harry said quietly.
“I oughta show him how it’s done. He’s gonna be here all night. He needs to scrub the floor with both hands—”
“I rather imagine he would if he had two hands to use.”
She snapped her gaze to his. “I thought—”
He shook his head. “He prefers to keep his lack of a hand hidden so it appears he has it shoved in his pocket. In truth, he left it on some battlefield. This bloody war your country fought seems to have left few men whole.”
An image of Gerald Milton flashed through her mind.
“Don’t think of Milton—”
“How did you know?”
“The sadness, the regret that touches your eyes. Did you purchase the doll?”
She nodded. “Haven’t found the gumption to mail it yet.”
“You will in time.”
“I’m just not sure it’s the right thing to do. Madeline invited me to visit them anytime, but I told her I couldn’t. It about killed me to say good-bye.”
Harry leaned forward. “When you said good-bye before, in both cases, you thought it was forever. You’ve been handed a gift, Jessye my love. The chance to say good-bye, knowing another day will come when you can again say hello.”
The temptation to visit her daughter was greater than anything she’d ever experienced. Just a time or two. To watch her grow, to see her happy. Harry was right. She had been handed a gift. She’d given her daughter over to strangers, and two Englishmen had crossed an ocean, and their paths had brought her past back into the present. Fate was an intertwined tapestry that she should accept rather than question. She nodded. “I’ll send the doll and see what happens.”
“Good.” He patted his thigh. “Now, give me your feet. You’ve rubbed more than mine. Let me return the favor by easing your hurt.”
The heat suffused her face as she studied him carefully. “Give me your word that your hands won’t wander above my ankles.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me with your distrust—”
“Your word.”
He smiled slightly. “You have it.”
Lifting her feet, she carefully placed them in his lap, grateful she sat to his left. She didn’t know if his right hip could bear the weight. She watched, mesmerized, as his deft fingers untied the laces to her shoes and slipped them off. When those fingers kneaded the soles of her feet, she thought she might turn into a pool of hot wax and slide to the floor. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back. “This is gonna go a long way toward earning my forgiveness.”
“What do you have to forgive me for?”
She squinted at him. “Stealing the saloon, making me wear that gawdawful dress.”
He grimaced. “Regarding that dress…I’m going to say something to you that I have never said to anyone else in my entire life.”
She angled her head thoughtfully, waiting expectantly. She watched him swallow.
“I apologize profusely for treating you badly.” The raspy words sounded as though
he’d pushed them through clenched teeth. He pressed his fingers into her feet, then relaxed.
“Why did you do it?” she asked.
“Stupidity. Arrogance. A gamble.”
“What were you gambling on?”
“That you would leave.”
“Who did you make the wager with?”
“My heart.”
Her chest tightened as he looked away, but his fingers never ceased their movements. She imagined his tender kneading making its way up her calf, to her thigh…she had been no stranger to pleasures of the flesh, but Harry had taught her things she’d never dared to dream.
She heard the shuffling gait and tried to pull her feet from Harry’s lap. With a wicked glint in his eyes, he held fast. Her father stepped out from the back.
“Books are done. We had a hell of a night.”
Harry nodded. “Gray should have the faro table finished in another week or so. Business should improve considerably once we get it set up.”
“Well, I always knew the old girl would do good,” he murmured, patting Jessye’s shoulder. She watched him amble slowly toward the stairs and climb them as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
She jerked her feet from Harry’s lap before he could grab her ankles. “I’ll forgive you for the dress, but never for taking the saloon from him.” She started to rise.
“Care to win it back?” he asked, his offer a low, seductive caress.
She sank into the chair. “What?”
He shuffled a deck of cards, his gaze holding hers. “A small game of chance, and I’ll give you the opportunity to win back the saloon.”
Her heart pounded as she scrutinized him. “You’re gonna put the saloon in the pot?”
He slapped the deck onto the table, right in its center. “Yes. Two cuts of the deck. You first. Me second. High card takes the stakes.”
“So if I cut to the higher card, I get the saloon back?”
“That’s right.”
“And if you cut to the high card?”
Never Love a Cowboy Page 23