by Renee Ryan
Something...anything...
Please, Lord, show me the way.
“All right, Mr. Prescott. I accept your terms.” As if she had any other choice. “You will have the additional fifty dollars by the end of the month.”
“Good enough.”
Not by half. Laney had learned her lesson. She knew better than to walk out of this office with only a verbal agreement between them. Not this time. Not ever again.
“Before I go,” she said, “I want the new conditions of my loan in writing, spelled out in clear language, signed by us both with at least two witnesses present.”
Owl-eyed and motionless, he blinked up at her.
Laney held his stare, boldly, fearlessly, silently calling his bluff as though they were in a high-stakes poker game with both their livelihoods on the line. “I’ll wait while you draw up the document.”
* * *
Hours of walking countless streets and alleyways in the wee hours of the morning had helped Marc’s anger simmer to a low boil. He’d searched the length of The Row—Denver’s notorious red-light district—but had not discovered Miss O’Connor’s brothel or her alternate place of business.
The slippery woman had vanished completely and the suspicion that she was not what she seemed thrashed to life all over again.
Where was she? And more importantly, what could have possibly birthed that look of desperation in those beautiful, expressive eyes? Had she incurred a sizable debt that required quick payment?
A possibility, to be sure.
Perhaps that shifty banker Prescott would have some answers. Not long after moving to Denver, Marc had discovered the man’s uncanny knack for asserting himself into almost every major financial transaction in the city. If Laney O’Connor owed money to someone in town, there was a high possibility Prescott would know the particulars. Or worse, had involved himself in the matter personally.
Marc wouldn’t wish that cruelty on anyone, not even Miss O’Connor.
When he entered the bank, the clerk told him he would have to wait his turn to speak with Prescott. The owner was already conducting business with another customer.
None too happy, Marc thrust aside his impatience and sat in a chair facing the glass-encased office split into three sections by polished wooden planks. The elegant interior of the bank called to mind his youthful days in New Orleans, before the war had destroyed the opulence in which he’d been born. He knew it was a time that could never be regained. Yet the soothing memories of that simpler life flooded his mind, sending a sharp homesickness for family, and what might have been.
He’d lost so much, not just the only way of life he’d ever known, but far too many loved ones as well. Perhaps that explained why he’d been fooled into thinking he could reclaim some of his joy with Pearl by his side.
Pearl. What a debacle their marriage had been.
If only he’d caught up with her before she’d died in that train wreck, he wouldn’t feel such regret, or such disgrace. But after three arduous years of searching, the last two conducted by an overpaid Pinkerton agent, Marc still didn’t know where his wife had hidden the remaining portion of his fortune. All he knew was that she’d spent the bulk of the money in Cripple Creek during the first few months after she’d left him.
Unwilling to allow the melancholy he’d banished years ago to return this morning, he diverted his attention back to Prescott’s office. At the sight of the woman jerking her chin at the banker, Marc straightened in his chair.
He knew that particular gesture, and that defiant angle of delicate female shoulders. The familiar prickling on the back of his neck confirmed her identity more surely than if she’d turned around to face him. “Laney O’Connor.”
Outfitted in a pale pink, really very homely dress, she still managed to catch his attention and hold it fast.
The moment she squared her tiny shoulders and jutted her nose in the air, Marc stood.
No wonder he hadn’t located the woman on The Row. The little con had been conducting affairs of a very different nature this morning. Was she starting her own brothel? That would explain the odd, hushed-mouthed reticence of the madams he’d questioned throughout the night and early-morning hours.
How he wished it weren’t true, but what else would explain the need for such a large sum of money, money she was using to conduct business with the shadiest banker in town? Marc could hardly bear the thread of disappointment braiding through him.
Surprisingly heavyhearted, he continued to watch Miss O’Connor deal with Prescott. She shrugged in response to something the man said, and then turned to look out the office windows. Her gaze roamed the bank in the same cool, calculating manner she’d used to survey Marc’s hotel last night.
He took a step forward, ensuring she saw him when her gaze crossed in his direction. The instant those amber eyes met his, he nodded. Her wide-eyed flush prompted him to add a bit of sarcasm to the moment. He delivered a two-finger salute.
She shifted her stance, shot him a frown and then purposely turned her back to him. Her slight tremble told the true story of her reaction to his presence in the bank. She should be worried.
The time had come to finish their conversation from last night, with Marc the ultimate victor. And he knew just how to orchestrate his triumph.
Chapter Six
After a brief spasm of panic and several long seconds of contemplation, Laney came to the conclusion that she had no other choice than to face the tall, well-dressed bundle of trouble waiting outside Prescott’s private office.
The wisest decision would be to confront Dupree alone, before the banker insinuated himself into the matter. Taking a quick, uneven pull of air, Laney sauntered into the main foyer with the most nonchalant gait she could muster.
For additional courage, she clutched the signed document Prescott had reluctantly drawn up, per her unwavering insistence. All Laney had to do now was come up with fifty dollars and Charity House would be hers.
After she faced Marc Dupree, of course.
Prepared for their upcoming encounter, she almost regretted the anticlimactic sensation upon discovering the man’s absence in the bank lobby.
Capitalizing on her good fortune, Laney turned toward the back door, but thought better of her chosen route after only three steps. She’d seriously underestimated Dupree the night before. He most assuredly would expect her to exit by way of the empty alley again.
Or would he discount the obvious?
Front entrance? Back door?
Decisions. Decisions.
The apprehension she’d previously held at bay uncoiled, making each step a brand-new torture. Insisting her brain cooperate, Laney made her choice. After carefully folding her new loan agreement, she stuffed the document into the hidden pocket of her skirt and burst through the bank’s entrance.
Squinting into the blinding sunlight, she breathed the fresh pine scent so much a part of the bustling city and took her first step toward home.
“Well, Miss O’Connor, isn’t this a happy coincidence?”
She stopped cold. The shiver grazing along her spine had very little to do with the breeze riding on the air, and everything to do with the man standing directly behind her.
“Indeed, it is,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I say, you do get around.”
A choked gasp seemed the most appropriate response, and the only one she could force past her quivering lips.
“You know—” exasperating confidence resonated in the deep tone “—of all the ensembles I’ve seen you wear in our short acquaintance, this one is by far the ugliest.”
Now that wasn’t fair. Her dress might not be as elegant—or nearly as pretty—as the one she’d borrowed for last night’s adventure, but the simple cotton garment was respectable.
Insulted to no end, she whipped around to face the confounding hotel owner. Failing to account for the difference in their heights, her gaze engaged nothing more than gold and black-threaded silk. As calmly
as possible, she looked up. And up farther still.
Dupree was tall, to be sure, with very broad shoulders. The kind a woman could dump her troubles upon and know whatever problem plagued her would be handled with absolute skill.
Shocked at where her thoughts had led and unable to formulate a proper response, Laney scowled at the man.
Dupree’s rumble of laughter locked her voice into further silence. He seemed happy enough to continue their one-sided conversation. “Imagine my surprise when I saw you conducting business with the shiftiest banker in Colorado.”
Shiftiest banker, indeed. Laney could hardly stomach the way Dupree made the scenario sound like two thieves cavorting with one another, as if she were made of the same unethical ingredients as Prescott. Her throat instantly unclogged.
“Rude, unconscionable, mean-spirited—”
“Now, now, Miss O’Connor, I wouldn’t go that far. You do have a few redeemable qualities.”
Sorely tired of the man’s lack of control when it came to vocalizing his low opinion of her character, Laney tilted her head at a wry angle. “Slinking in the shadows again, Dupree? I wonder why that image continually rings true.”
Seemingly amused, a slow smile spread across his lips.
Her traitorous heart skipped a beat, and then another. Why did she find it so hard to think clearly when he looked at her like...like...that?
Still smiling, he devoured the space between them with a single stride. Obviously unconcerned with propriety, he plucked an imaginary speck of dust off her shoulder, then brushed the cloth smooth. “I almost didn’t recognize you in this rather boring dress. The woman I met last night had much better taste.”
Standing so close, she couldn’t help but inhale the masculine scent that wafted off him. Pure male elixir clogged her nose, her lungs, her every thought.
Oh, my.
“The other dress suited your figure to perfection.”
Laney refused to react to his words. Yet the way he took his time assessing her, with that hooded gaze, made her insides turn into nothing more substantial than biscuit dough. “To what do I owe this unfortunate visit? Not to mention your shockingly inappropriate commentary on my attire?”
“You might find it interesting to know I was out hunting this morning. For you, of course.”
“Of course.”
He reached down and tugged on the tendril of hair that had defied cooperation all morning. “Why would anyone hide this lovely hair under such an unremarkable hat?”
“You are offensive, Dupree.” She nudged his hand aside. “The epitome of bad taste.”
“All part of my appeal. But let’s not continue to argue over the inconsequential.”
“And here I thought we were getting along so well.”
“Enough.” Every bit of amusement fled from his gaze. “We have important business still to discuss.”
Of its own volition, her body strained toward him. She snapped her shoulders back. “Do we? I was under the impression we said everything we needed to say last night.”
“Not even close.” He reached for her again, but then dropped his hand and frowned. “You never explained why you chose to meet Judge Greene in my hotel. And why such a large sum of money changed hands between the two of you.”
Laney shivered at the intelligent glint in Dupree’s gaze, the one that told her he would immediately recognize a lie.
If this man found out about Charity House, and if he turned out to be no better than Thurston P. Prescott III...
No, she couldn’t let that happen. “You are becoming redundant, Dupree.”
“As are you. So that we understand one another from this point forward, let me make myself perfectly clear.” He leaned over her, his superior height effectively intimidating her into silence. “Under no circumstances will you entertain men in my hotel. You will not meet them in my lobby, nor eat with them in my restaurant, nor stay with them in any of the private rooms.”
“And we’re back to that?” She silently demanded her mind to concentrate on the conversation and not her uncomfortable awareness of the handsome man glaring down on her. “How many times must I tell you? Last night was nothing more than two old friends catching up with one another after a long absence.”
There. That sounded perfectly misleading and cryptic, with just the right amount of impatience to indicate her frustration.
“What do you suppose, Miss O’Connor, Prescott would say if I told him where you got the money to pay off your loan?”
Everything in her froze. How much did this man know about her business at this bank? Did he know about Charity House, and the children?
He couldn’t know. She’d been careful last night, even more so this morning. That meant it was time to call Dupree’s bluff. “I never said anything about paying off a loan.”
“Then you were making a payment on a loan.”
“You can’t know that I—”
“Don’t bother denying it. Should I go searching for the document Prescott gave you before you left his office? I can only imagine where you’ve hidden it.” He leveled his gaze directly on the hidden pocket in her skirt.
The man was insufferable. “Let’s say I’ve taken out a loan with Prescott’s bank.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You did.”
Shutting her eyes a moment, Laney prayed for guidance. Please, Lord, please help me through this conversation.
“If I did, what business is that of yours?”
“Actually...none.”
At the shockingly straightforward answer, Laney searched Dupree’s face, measuring, assessing. “Then why persist in uncovering my motives behind meeting Judge Greene?”
“Your motives are yours alone.” He waved his hand in a casual manner, as if he was the embodiment of reason. “I only sought you out this morning to extract a promise, nothing more, nothing less.”
“And what would that promise be?”
“I want you to agree, right here and now, that you will never enter my hotel, either alone or with another patron. I won’t leave until I have your word.”
Such an easy request to give. One tiny promise on her part and this whole, ugly affair would be over. Then she could return to Charity House and begin formulating her plan to raise the remaining fifty dollars on her loan.
Simple. Uncomplicated. The end of a sticky situation. Yet she found she couldn’t walk away. Not without first asking, “Why is this so important to you? Why do you consider me such a threat?”
He looked slightly taken aback by her question. Good. He’d pushed her enough this morning. It was comforting to know she’d finally gained a portion of the upper hand.
“I’ve worked hard to earn the reputation of my hotel. I allow no drunkenness in the lobby, or other public areas. I do not tolerate gambling of any kind, not even in the private rooms. I insist there be no lewd behavior from my employees or patrons, behavior which includes...” He touched his finger to her nose. “Prostitution.”
He thought she was a prostitute. A prostitute! If she wasn’t so horribly offended she might be impressed by his dedication to keep his hotel above reproach.
As awful as his opinion was of her, or perhaps because of his terrible assumptions, Laney wanted Dupree to know who she really was. She wanted this man to know she agreed with him, agreed that propriety mattered, and that she was a moral woman, down at her core.
But then she remembered why he thought so little of her. For the sake of Charity House she’d sent him on a merry chase through the most dangerous parts of Denver, with the express purpose of misleading him.
She wanted—no, needed—him to continue in his misconception. But, as much as she believed the Lord’s opinion of her was all that mattered, the woman in her couldn’t bear this man thinking ill of her. Not completely. “I’m not a prostitute.”
“Then there is only one other alternative. You’re a madam.”
Now he was just being mean. The very idea that she would sell other wom
en’s favors—to men—for a large percentage of the price—made her sick to her stomach.
Hurt by Dupree assuming her capable of something so vile she raised her palm, with the notion of slapping his face. But reason returned and she lowered her hand.
This is what you wanted, Laney. For the safety of the children, you wanted him to misunderstand who you are.
“What? No denial this time?”
She curled her fingers into a fist. “You’re so sure you have me all figured out.”
“Enough to know that whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, it can’t be legitimate, not with Prescott involved.” He shook his head at her, and the sorrow in his eyes appeared genuine. “I find it disheartening that a woman with your brains and talent should waste her life on such a lowly profession.”
There was simply no response to that. Other than the slap he so richly deserved.
No longer able to control her outrage, she raised her hand and swung. He caught her wrist in midair. “Stay out of my hotel, Miss O’Connor. I mean it.”
“Or you’ll what? Have me arrested?”
“Well, well. You read my mind.” He pulled her a fraction closer to him, enough for her to feel his anger. “I’d like you to look across the street.”
She jerked on her hand. “What game are you playing now?”
“Do it.”
Laney raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps if you would release my wrist, I could oblige your request.”
“You’ll manage.”
Momentarily beaten, she pinned him with an insincere grin, then shifted to her left.
Unsure what he wanted her to see, she concentrated on the teeming streets of Denver. The mix of cowhands, women dressed in a variety of styles, merchants and even gunslingers made the city the perfect place for anonymity. Often Laney would walk along this very street, or stroll in front of the Wells Fargo office a block away, and never encounter the glint of disapproval she’d endured her entire childhood.
Here, in the richly populated part of Denver, she could almost accept the reality of God’s grace and unconditional acceptance. The Lord had given her a second chance in this city, with her mission at Charity House. She would do anything necessary to honor her God-given blessing.