To Love a Scoundrel

by Sharon Ihle

  "Allow me this small indulgence, my sweet." Without waiting for her reply, he reached beneath the sheets and slid his hand along her nude body. After gently coaxing her fleshy thighs apart, he whispered, "If I recall, one of us was reciting a little rhyme... This little piggy went to market—''

  "Oh, Harry," The countess giggled.

  "And this little piggy stayed home. But this little piggy went whee, whee, whee... all the way home."

  The countess gasped, then groaned, "Ohhhhh, Harry."

  * * *

  Standing above them in the hallway on the third floor, Jewel trembled at the door to her suite. She rapped against the wood again, calling as loud as she dared, "Mac? Wake up and let me in."

  The second a space appeared near the jamb, Jewel pushed her way inside the room and slammed the door shut behind her. "Holy hell if I haven't had myself a night."

  Trying to rub the sleep as well as the guilt from his tired eyes, Mac said, "Where have you been all this time? I looked for you, but—"

  "I know you did. I recognized your shoes," she joked, finally able to relax a little. Pulling off her glasses, Jewel crossed the entryway and headed for the sideboard. "Have we got anything to drink in here? Some brandy or cognac? I could definitely use a belt."

  "Sure," he said, joining her. "You sit down. I'll get it for you." As he worked, he continued his interrogation. "So you were under Connors's bed?"

  "Uh-huh." She groaned as she eased her aching body down onto the soft couch. "For hours and hours. Now I know what it feels like to be stretched out in the morgue."

  "We'll get you warmed up in a minute here," he said, studying the row of bottles. "How did you get out of his room? Peach brandy all right?"

  "Sounds wonderful, and through the window."

  "The window?" Mac wrinkled his nose, then poured two large snifters of liqueur. Balancing the drinks, he walked back to the couch, his head cocked. "Pretty steep drop from the second floor, wasn't it?"

  "Not if you crawl along the ledge and duck into the first open window you come to, it isn't." Jewel accepted the drink. Without waiting for Mac to join her, she took a long, slow pull on it. Then she leaned her head against the back of the couch, closed her eyes, and waited for the brandy to loosen the tight knots her muscles had become.

  From beside her, Mac's kind voice inquired, "Did he ever see you or realize you were in his room?''

  "Who?" she said lazily as the liqueur spread its fire through her system. "Brent Connors or the unfortunate fellow I woke up?"

  Mac laughed. "Both."

  "We'll start with the stranger," she said, laughing along with him. "He most assuredly knew I was in his room. I passed myself off as hotel security, but God knows what he thought when I waltzed across his bedroom and swept out his door. He'll probably wake up in the morning and think he had a really strange dream."

  Through a chuckle, Mac said, "And Connors? Surely the experience was a little more... disturbing than a gay stroll through the room."

  Jewel inched her eyelids open, her green eyes darkening along with her thoughts. She lifted her glass, drained the contents in one large swallow, then held the empty snifter out to Mac. "Again, please."

  "Jewel, I don't—"

  "Please, Mac?" she pleaded. "I'm beat, and I figure I've got maybe two hours before I have to report to my new exciting job. I intend to sleep the sleep of the dead for those two little hours, and Mr. Peach Juice here is going to see that I do. If you won't get it, I will."

  "No, no. You stay put." Mac grabbed the snifter, then hurried back to the sideboard. As he refilled the glass, he said, "I saw the girl Connors had in his room. I hope you weren't subjected to, you know, too much—"

  Jewel laughed out loud, cutting off his words, unraveling the last of her tension. Mac approached her, his brow drawn, and gave her the drink. "Sorry," she said, still laughing, "but our handsome, cocky Mr. Connors was—how shall I say it?—unable to perform."

  Instantly sorry he'd even broached the subject, Mac looked away from his partner. He cleared his throat and said, "Maybe he realized you were in his room. Is that possible?''

  Jewel hesitated, closing her eyes again as another swallow of brandy trickled through her veins. The thought had occurred to her, especially when Brent had been telling the girl about his experiences with the "dance hall gal from Chicago." She knew that if she studied his behavior from every angle, she would most likely conclude that he'd known she was there all along.

  The trouble was, she would also have to accept the fact that he'd bested her. If he had left her to rot under his bed while he slept the night away, his actions would warrant an elaborate act of revenge from her at the very least. Jewel thought back to the things he'd said, remembered his condescending attitude at the Harvey House, and decided it didn't much matter if he'd known or not. In either case, she owed him one.

  Jewel tossed the rest of the brandy down, then struggled to her feet. "That's it. I'm off to bed. Good night, Mac—or should I say, good morning?''

  "Try to fool yourself and say good night." Mac collected the empty glass, then caught her attention one more time before she disappeared. "What time would you like to get up?"

  Hesitating at her bedroom door, she looked back over her shoulder. "Mr. Harvey likes his girls plain and unattractive. I don't need to spend much time getting ready for this job—six-thirty ought to do it."

  * * *

  At one minute before seven Jewel passed through the depot waiting room and into the Harvey House restaurant. Fred Harvey stood by the door, holding his watch fob in his hand.

  "Good morning, Miss MacMillan," he said as she approached. "Just go on into the kitchen and report to Mrs. Jahner. She will show you what to do."

  "Thank you and good morning to you, Mr. Harvey." Jewel made half curtsy as she passed by the man, then bit her lip and forced herself not to yawn as she reached the kitchen.

  She stood in the doorway, trying to look interested in her new surroundings, and studied the assortment of chefs and helpers as she glanced around for her supervisor. When a large, thick woman elbowed her way through the workers, then stomped in her direction, it was all Jewel could do to keep from spinning around and running out through the front door.

  "I'm Maggie Jahner. You looking for me?"

  Jewel nodded and produced a shy smile. "I'm Jewel MacMillan. Nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand, but the big woman ignored it and went on with her speech.

  "In the future be in this kitchen at ten minutes before the hour." She stood back, gripping her own pointed chin between two meaty fingers, and examined her newest charge. "Hmm," she grumbled. "I s'pose you'll do, but don't forget that Mr. Harvey expects perfection from everyone who works for him. If you get so much as a speck of egg on that white apron, have someone watch your station while you come in here and change it immediately." Maggie lifted a slablike arm and twirled her finger. "Let's have a look at your skirt and blouse."

  Still fighting the urge to yawn, Jewel did as she was told and turned around in a slow circle.

  "Guess that'll do, but don't be sitting around getting all wrinkled up. Just 'cause you got on a black skirt don't mean the creases won't show. Come, I'll show you to your station." As they walked, Maggie glanced at her watch. "The first train arrives in about a half hour. You got till then to acquaint yourself with the other waitresses and find out the best way to do things, but once we get some customers in the place, not another word between you—understood?"

  "Between who? Me and the other waitresses or—"

  "'Course, you and the other girls. Nary a word—hear?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Jewel managed to resist the urge to salute, but she opened her mouth, sucked in a huge gulp of air, and yawned instead.

  Maggie leaned her bulk forward and stared at the dark rings under Jewel's eyes. "You make it to bed before curfew last night?"

  "Oh, yes, ma'am," she lied, blinking in an effort to moisten her tired eyes. "I didn't sleep too well in my new surroundings, th
ough. I'll be perkier tomorrow."

  "See that you are." Maggie looked away from her and pointed to a section of the dining room. "Those tables are yours, and it looks like you got your first customer. Here—take him this menu and keep his coffee cup filled. You got to learn sometime, might as well be now."

  Jewel straightened her shoulders, nodding to her supervisor, and marched stiff-backed to the table where a man sat reading the newspaper. "Good morning," she said sweetly. "Welcome to Harvey House. May I get you some coffee?" The paper fell to the table, revealing the man's features.

  "Morning," Brent Connors said through a broad grin. "I appreciate the offer. Make it two cups. Looks like you could use one yourself."

  Jewel bit her lip and closed her eyes. Not this morning, she prayed silently. Please, God, not this morning. Grumbling to herself, she took a deep breath and stared down at him. "What do you want?"

  "Breakfast—like most folks who stop by here. You have some kind of problem with that?"

  "I've got a problem with you," she spit out.

  "Tsk-tsk," he said, his dimples carved into his cheeks. "You're a bit on the testy side this morning. Lose some sleep last night?"

  Refusing to be baited, even though she now knew he had realized she was under his bed, Jewel gave him a smile that was little more than a grimace and said, "I slept just fine, if it's any of your business. Here. If you can read this, decide what you want." She tossed the menu on the table, adding as she walked away, "I'll be right back with your coffee."

  Laughing to himself, he watched her retreat, taking particular delight in the stiff back and angry gait. But then something about the way she moved, the way her round little bottom effortlessly guided the bustles beneath her plain skirt, caught his attention and cut off his breath. Damn, he thought to himself, acknowledging a spurt of desire, too bad the little lady's a thief.

  Brent shifted in his chair and reached for a toothpick. Knowing she'd broken into his room was one thing, he thought, admiring her ingenuity, but getting her to admit it was going to be quite another. Suddenly looking forward to the diversion, the challenge, Brent spread his linen napkin across his lap and picked up the menu just as his quarry returned.

  "Sugar and cream are on the table," Jewel announced as she poured steaming coffee into the fine china cup. "Have you decided what you'll have for breakfast yet?"

  Brent looked up from the menu, through her octagonal glasses, and into her tired green eyes. With a lopsided smile, he said, "I believe I'll have some, ah..." He squinted, pulling the toothpick from his mouth. "A pair of fried eggs. Please make sure they're fresh."

  "The only thing fresh around here is you." The knowledge that she was very close to losing her temper, her control, and even worse, her job wasn't enough to help Jewel muster up the necessary calm. In a voice much louder than was proper, a tone lacking any respect, she demanded. "Make up your mind you two-bit gambler. Just what is it you want?"

  Brent raised his eyebrows and cocked his head as he began a slow perusal of her body. "It was easier to decide that when we met in Chicago. I liked that dress a whole lot better than this frigid spinster getup."

  Jewel banged the pot down on the table, splattering the fine linen with coffee, and shook a finger in his face. "Listen, you overblown puffed-up dandy. I've had just about all I'm going to take from you."

  From behind her, Jewel heard a distinct ahem! She lifted her chin, turned around, and was not surprised in the least to find Maggie Jahner jabbing her with a pointed gaze.

  The stern-faced woman approached. "Is there some problem here, Miss MacMillan?"

  "Oh, ah, the coffee. I, ah..." Jewel sputtered, chagrined to realize that she'd put her job in jeopardy. "I seem to have—"

  "It's my fault," Brent offered. "I'm afraid I stuck my boot out at an inopportune moment for the young lady. Please forgive me"—he looked straight into Jewel's green eyes—"sugar pie."

  Sucking in an angry breath, she glared back at him, but somehow managed a sweet sigh and a breathless "Don't give it another thought. I'll just bring you a clean tablecloth. Would you like anything with those eggs besides fried potatoes? Bacon perhaps? Or ham?"

  "Oh, no question about it—I'll have the... ham."

  Her smile forced, Jewel said, "Right away, sir. Excuse me, Mrs. Jahner?" She curtsied and bounced off toward the kitchen as if she didn't have a care in the world.

  As Jewel gathered the fresh linens, she cursed the fact she'd ever laid eyes on Brent Connors, then made herself a promise. She simply could not allow that insufferable man to draw her into any further conversation, nor could she let him jeopardize her job again. From now on, she would draw on her considerable acting talents whenever he was near, and behave as if she were a mute.

  Her mind made up, Jewel glided back into the dining room and began moving the china and fine silver to one edge of his table. Although she kept his outline in the corner of her vision, she did not make eye contact with the gambler.

  Amused by the sudden change, challenged by this new stoical exterior, Brent pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his legs. "How's your debonair father this morning?"

  Jewel pulled the soiled cloth off the table and rolled it into a ball. Her mouth was set and determined.

  Brent persisted. "What do you suppose your father's up to while you're slaving away in here? Robbing hotel rooms?''

  Jewel spread the new tablecloth. She raised the corner of her upper lip just the slightest bit, but she remained calm.

  "Perhaps he's robbing little old ladies of their egg money," Brent went on, "or marking a fresh deck of cards for tonight's big game."

  Jewel replaced the silver and fine china. The freckles on the tip of her nose wriggled as she frowned, but she remained silent.

  Brent leaned forward and sniffed the air. "Hmm, violets, isn't it? A lovely scent. I seem to recall it from... Where was it I recently... Why, I believe it was in my own room, just last night."

  Jewel gasped as she reached for the coffee pot, and in spite of her vows, chanced a look into his warm brown eyes. So that was it, she thought, almost laughing out loud. She smiled, offering a silent 'that's one point for you, Mr. Bayberry Cologne,' then quietly refilled his coffee cup.

  Touched by what he saw in her eyes, more confused and more interested in her than ever, Brent played out his hand. "By the way, darlin, you snore like a grizzly in hibernation."

  "I do not," she snapped, all vows forgotten. "If anyone snores, it's you. You sound as if—" Again banging the coffee pot down on the table, she blanched and spun around, partly to ensure the safety of her job, but mainly to avoid admitting she'd fallen into yet another of his traps. Maggie was nowhere in sight. The few customers sprinkled throughout the restaurant seemed unaware of, or uninterested in, her tantrum.

  Jewel turned back to Brent and went on with her tirade. "Good Lord, Mr. B. S. Connors, you really ought to go by your initials. They certainly say a lot about your character. You are the most—" The shrill whistle of the approaching train cut off her words and reminded her of the job she had to do. Furious with herself for the lapse in her professional demeanor, Jewel pressed her lips together and turned to walk away.

  Brent reached out and caught her wrist. "Not so fast." He cocked his head, listening as the train chugged into the depot. "You may have been saved by the whistle this time, but you and I are going to have the rest of this conversation soon."

  "Let go of me," she insisted, tugging at her arm.

  Brent tightened his grip. "I'm not through with you yet. I've got a warning, and you'd better hope your dear sweet daddy has enough brains to rob someone besides me today. I don't cotton to uninvited guests in my room. Next time it happens, I intend to prosecute."

  Her green eyes flashing, Jewel ground her teeth. "I don't know what you're talking about. Now for the last time, let me go."

  "And for the last time—if you want to visit my room, just ask. I promise you'll be a lot more comfortable." He winked, raking his gaze acros
s her bosom, then lower. "I might even let you lie down on top of my bed."

  "Oh, that's it." She tore her wrist out of his grasp and stomped off to tend the passengers filing into the restaurant.

  "Welcome to the Harvey House," she forced herself to say over and over, even as the sound of Brent's laughter rang in her ears. "And how many coffees here?"

  Jewel fell into the routine then, grateful for the rush of customers, and traded Brent's table to one of the other waitresses. She kept pace with the more experienced girls, serving countless plates of biscuits and gravy, mopping up spills of honey and grits, and running from table to table with a full pot of coffee. When at last a lull seemed to settle over the crowd, when all were at some stage of filling their bellies, Jewel wiped her brow with the back of her hand and looked around the room. Brent, she noticed, still lingered over his breakfast, his face buried in the newspaper. All of her customers seemed content.

  Her glance skipped to the other stations. Jewel dropped her waitress mien and began to study the patrons like a detective. As her gaze roamed the room, eager to settle on someone, anyone who might resemble Harry Benton, the familiar features of Jesse James suddenly filled her vision, stopping the search quicker than he could fleece his victims.

  Slicked back, greasy-looking brown hair, close-set muddy brown eyes, stubbly days-old beard. She could have written the wanted poster. The man was most definitely the leader of the James gang. Slowly inching her way across the room, Jewel glanced at the other men at the table. The outlaw sat with his brother Frank; Jewel didn't know the three other gang members. All of them appeared to be close to finishing their meal, she noticed with alarm.

  Mary Elizabeth, the waitress for the James table, emerged from the kitchen carrying two platters of sausages and biscuits, and Jewel settled on a plan. Feeling a twinge of regret, but lacking the time to seek another solution, she grabbed a pot of coffee and headed into the unsuspecting girl's path.

  "Oh, my Lord," Jewel gasped as she collided with Mary Elizabeth, spilling the contents of the plates all over the poor girl's crisp white shirtwaist and apron. "How terribly awkward of me!"