Grow Wild

by K. M. Penemue

  Table of Contents

  Grow Wild

  Book Details

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Grow Wild

  K.M. PENEMUE

  Josie has been drifting from town to town for years, surviving on whatever work she can find. When she rolls into Rio Plato, however, it's not work she's hunting, but an old enemy.

  Dahlia Wheeler owns the Sentimental Lady saloon and brothel, where Josie stays. But though Josie feels the pull between her and Dahlia, she refuses to get involved and risk dragging Dahlia into her plans for revenge and the aimless life she leads—assuming she doesn't wind up with a noose around her neck.

  Book Details

  Grow Wild

  By K.M. Penemue

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Amanda Jean

  Cover designed by Aisha Akeju

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition March 2015

  Copyright © 2015 by K.M. Penemue

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781620044919

  Chapter One

  Rio Plata sure was pretty in the summertime. The sun overhead shone off the river that twisted its way alongside the town and gave it its name. Oceans of grass rippled between the buildings, dotted with yellow and white swaying flower heads. Even as Josie was mopping the sweat out of her eyes, she had to admit the city made a dreadfully pretty picture as she rode in.

  She passed by the church, the building somber and silent, its shadow falling over her. It'd been a sight longer than fifteen years since she'd been inside one, and seeing this one didn't rekindle the urge to attend. Next to it was a dressmaker's shop, colorful bolts of fabric on display in the windows, and on the other side, the general store.

  That was what she had been looking for. She climbed off of her horse—it was as tired as she was—and walked it the last few feet to the hitching post, tying it fast. Dust shook free of her coat as she pushed open the door, and the clanking of a brass bell announced her presence.

  Behind the counter stood a thin man in a faded vest, taking inventory. He turned around, glanced at her, then took a closer look. She didn't flinch; the trousers and duster had thrown off more than one person.

  "Lookin' for a few things," she said, approaching the counter, spurs jingling. As she drew near, she could see a small girl sitting on the floor in one corner, playing with a rag doll. The girl looked up at the sound of her voice, blue eyes wide.

  "Yes'm," the man said, hurrying over to her. "Just ride into town, Miss—?"

  "Josie. Just now. Tobacco, rolling papers." She glanced over the jars that lined the shelves and nodded. "I'll take two of those peppermint sticks, too. I'm also in need of a place to stay with a bath, and some work."

  "Well, Miss Josie," he began, busying himself with bagging her purchases, "there's a hotel just down a piece from here, but it's a mite expensive. If you head towards the end of town, the Sentimental Lady—that's the brothel, ma'am—has rooms."

  Her face hardened and she turned just enough that the shotgun butt over her shoulder was more visible. "Say that again."

  He paled—more likely from the sight of her gun than the expression on her face. "Not—not that I'm implying anything about your character, ma'am. Just that Miss Wheeler—that's the Lady's owner, ma'am—rents out rooms regular-like, besides for her girls, if'n you don't mind the presence of soiled doves. Serves food there, too."

  "Whores never did me wrong." She dug in her pockets for coins, laying them flat on the counter. She was running low on money—maybe staying in the whorehouse wasn't such a bad idea.

  "Can't tell you much about work. No offense, Miss Josie, but I don't know much for a woman to do 'round here. You don't look like the school teacher type." He handed her the crackling paper packages.

  She took them and opened the one with her candy, taking out one of the red and white sticks. "For your girl," she said, handing it back.

  The shopkeeper's thin face melted into a smile. "Mighty kind of you. Laura, come here."

  The little girl set down her doll and trotted up, her eyes already fixed on the sweet. "Thank you," she said, her voice high and clear, taking it from Josie. "Why are you wearing men's clothing?"

  "Be still," he scolded.

  "Easier to ride a horse in trousers," she told Laura. It was one of the more polite ways she'd been asked. Tipping her hat slightly, she walked back out on the street, aching for a smoke, but she put the peppermint in her mouth instead. The sweet taste helped to wash the dust from her tongue.

  "Come on, crowbait," she murmured affectionately to the horse, climbing up onto its back. It had been a long ride over the Texas hills, and both of their bones were aching. She idly watched storefronts as she rode by. Their paint was faded, wood weathered and grayed.

  Rio Plata was a town younger than it looked. The nearby silver mine that provided the other half of the town's name caused a swell of miners, and with miners came business. Soon as most of that property had been bought proper, the excitement dried up. Josie knew the story as well as she knew the man's name that bought it.

  That was why she was here. The thought of that same man made her blood frost.

  Josie was nearly out of town again when she finally found the Sentimental Lady. The sign looked newer than most, painted emerald with the cameo silhouette of a lady's head between the words. There was a yellow rosebush growing near the stairs, lovingly tended and with healthy blooms.

  She tied up, removed her pack from behind the saddle, and climbed the stairs. Even during the day, there were men drinking at the bar; they and the tender glanced at her, watching as she walked in. They looked away when she moved her coat enough to display the Roger & Spencer .44 at her hip.

  The inside of the Lady was prettier than expected. The wallpaper was the same rich green as the sign, gold-framed mirrors reflecting the sunlight from outside, making the room all the brighter. The tables and chairs were gleaming black wood with plush green seats.

  "Lookin' for a room," Josie said, approaching the bar. "And a bath."

  "How long you staying?" the tender asked, resting his broad, hairy hands on the bar top.

  "Dunno yet. Week, maybe two. I'll take a whiskey, too."

  He poured her a shot from an unlabeled bottle, setting it before her. "Miss Wheeler charges four bits a night. Now you can stay at the hotel if you want, ma'am, but they was chargin' two dollars a day last I heard. And the Lady is as pretty as the hotel, if I say so myself."

  "I ain't worried about how pretty it is, just if you got a bed for me or not." Josie picked up the glass, sloshing whiskey when the man next to her grabbed her arm.

  "You can stay with me, darlin'," he leered, breath fit to strip paint. He was slender as a weasel, with the same sort of sharp face."I got a place just a piece over."

  She shook him off, tossing the drink back. "I'd rather go to hell across lots."

  "Suit yourself, whore," he snapped, and slammed a half dollar on the bar, stalking out.

 
; "Sorry about that, miss. Slink's a real curly wolf, 'specially when he's been drinking," the bartender said.

  "Been called worse by better." She slid the glass back.

  He nodded at the gun behind her shoulder. "I'd keep that close, in case he decided to take offense."

  "He knows where to find me. So, a room?"

  The tender turned away to pick up a key and the register. "By the way, ma'am, I'm Henry Lockwood, and I have a hand in running this establishment. You need anything, you give me a holler."

  Josie took the key and signed the register with just her first name, slipping the key into her coat pocket. "I got a horse, too. The paint out front."

  "We have a small stable out back. I'll send our girl for it. You'll be up the stairs, ma'am. Hang a right, and keep walkin' till you see the room next to a window," Henry said.

  Removing her hat, Josie headed upstairs. It was just as elegant as downstairs, in greens and blacks still. A vase of flowers with cut yellow roses sat near the door at the left end of the hall. She turned right, passing by a red-haired whore in her chemise who didn't glance her way twice. That suited Josie just fine. Being ignored was a sight preferable to being stared at.

  Chapter Two

  The room was small, but that suited Josie fine. The bed was sturdy—she figured it would be, considering what it was used for—and there was already a copper tub behind a closed door. All it needed was water.

  Josie hung her hat and coat on the bedpost, leaning against the wall to take off her boots. Whorehouse or not, she wasn't going to sit on the bed yet, dirty as her clothes were. She should have asked about laundry. As she was unbuckling her belt, she heard singing floating down the hall.

  "My own love is sweetly dreaming, Her beauty beaming;

  Come with a lute, come with a lay, Come

  Come with a lute, come with a lay, Come."

  It wasn't exactly the sound of the angels, but it was cheery, in a trilling female voice. The sound was also coming closer—right outside her door now. It stopped at the same time a knock echoed in her room.

  "Who is it?" Josie asked, her hand going to the gun still at her hip.

  "Dahlia Wheeler." Her speaking voice held some of the light sweetness of her singing voice.

  Putting the gun aside, Josie opened the door. And stopped still.

  Dahlia was a petite woman, with a heart-shaped face and a rosebud mouth. Her honey-colored hair was done in spiral curls, pinned up behind her head to trail down her neck, so long they brushed the off-shoulder neckline of the apple green gown she wore. A teardrop pearl choker nested in the hollow of her pale throat.

  "Aren't you going to invite me in?" Dahlia asked.

  Josie turned away, realizing she was staring, and walked back towards the bed. "Something wrong, Miss Wheeler?"

  "Not at all! Just wanted to give you a proper welcome to the Sentimental Lady," Dahlia said as she walked in. Her accent was pure Georgia—Josie would've put a dollar on it. "I am Dahlia Wheeler, proprietress of this fine establishment. I just can't imagine you're looking for the company of my girls, but we serve three meals a day, and there's faro and poker in the evening, if you're so inclined."

  "Can't say I got much of a head for cards, Miss Wheeler, but I might sit in for a hand or two," Josie said, unable to take her gaze off of Dahlia's face. Her eyes were blue as dayflowers.

  "I'll look forward to your presence, then, Missus…?"

  "Josie. Miss."

  "Miss Josie, then." She started to walk away, then tapped her lips and turned. "My stars, I nearly forgot! Dinner will be served soon—there is a hearty mutton stew and sweet corn tonight, if you're hungry."

  "Right hungry, ma'am, but I really need a bath first," Josie said. "I ain't presentable for your table like this. Could use my clothes laundered, too."

  "Leave what you want washed by the door. French Pete runs the laundry here in town—we'll have your things taken to him," Dahlia said with a smile. "He charges ten cents an outfit."

  "Good thing I only got two, then," Josie said, setting her belt on the dresser. "Your hospitality's appreciated, Miss Wheeler."

  "Anything I can do for you, Miss Josie, just let me know." Still smiling, she stepped back out into the hall, gently closing the door behind herself. "My own love is sweetly dreaming—oh, drat! I've lost my place!" She switched to humming, her voice drifting off down the hall.

  Josie shook herself, unbuttoning her shirt and untucking the tail. "I must be goin' soft in the head, starin' like that," she murmured, tossing it to the floor. An old scarf was wound tightly around her breasts, to keep them from jostling every which way while she rode. Might as well wash that, too; she had another scarf in her pack.

  She was stripped to the waist by the second knock at her door. "Who is it?" she asked, reaching for her gun.

  "I have your water, ma'am," a young girl's voice said.

  Throwing her shirt back on, Josie held it closed to let her in. The girl wasn't much bigger than the washtub she was hauling, walking slowly to not spill a drop.

  "You can set that down, kid. I got it from here," Josie said, gesturing to the floor. "Go on, now."

  The girl did was she was told, setting it down with a grunt of effort and scrambling out of the door.

  "Ain't ten if she's a day," Josie muttered, taking the shirt back off. The thought of a girl that young working as a whore made her fair sick. She picked up the washtub and poured the steaming water in, tossing her trousers into the pile.

  Before sinking into the copper tub, she sat nude on the bed to roll a cigarette, lighting it with one of her last few matches. She would smoke while she bathed, then head down for dinner.

  Chapter Three

  It felt good to walk without dirt rubbing on her skin, Josie reflected as she tamed her dark hair back enough that she could tie it with a leather thong. After dusting her hat as clean as it was going to get, she set it on her head and went down the stairs.

  There were men sitting around the tables, eating, some of them talking with the whore of their choice. Dahlia herself sat at a table near the back, the girl that had carried the water sitting by her side.

  "Miss Josie, I'm so glad you could join us," Dahlia said, gesturing to the seat beside her. "Please, sit down."

  Josie did just that, removing her hat and setting it on her lap. "I hope I'm not too late for dinner."

  "Why, not at all! Bit, go and get Miss Josie a plate, would you?"

  The girl pushed out her chair and ran back towards the bar and undoubtedly the kitchen beyond.

  "Bit?" Josie asked.

  "Elizabeth is her Christian name, but she's just a little bit, so that's what we call her," Dahlia said. She was drinking what looked like coffee, and picked up her delicate cup. "Would you fancy a cup, miss? I'm afraid there's no milk to be had, but there's sugar."

  "No, ma'am, I'll have a beer," Josie said. Her expression closed. "I know it ain't my concern, but it sure does give me the blue devils to see a girl that young working in a place like this."

  Dahlia gasped and set her cup down. "Why, I declare! You don't think I have a girl her age servicing men, do you? That's downright dreadful! No, Bit just helps with cleaning and the like. She and her mother came off the stage, but the poor thing was taken by consumption. Bit takes schooling, just like any other child. I'm not raising her to be a whore; I look after her like my own."

  "It does my heart good to hear that, Miss Wheeler. Beg your pardon for the misunderstanding," Josie said, the ill feeling in her belly disappearing.

  "When she's a little older, I'm sending her to a girl's school in Boston. She'll have a proper education," Dahlia said, picking up her cup again.

  Josie nodded, folding her hands on the tabletop. "I was wondering, ma'am, if you knew where a body could pick up some work in town."

  "Well, Miss Josie, I don't rightly know where a woman can find work, to be honest, unless it's the kind of work my girls do," Dahlia said, sipping her coffee. "But I can't imagine that's what you me
ant. What sort of work are you looking for?"

  "Doesn't much matter. I rode shotgun messenger with Wells, Fargo and Company for a spell. I've worked on ranches, on cattle drives. I might not be a man, but I'm as strong as any you can name," Josie said.

  "I believe that! Riding with the coaches is a dreadful dangerous job; I'm shocked they allowed you to work at all," Dahlia said, setting down her cup again.

  "Too many men complained about just that, so I moved again. I just keep moving," Josie said.

  Dahlia fixed her eyes on Josie's face. "What moved you to Rio Plata?"

  Josie looked away; it was loco, but she had the feeling like Dahlia could see right through her. "Something I gotta do. Just don't know how long it's gonna take."

  "You could go to Mister Walters for work," Dahlia said, but she hesitated and took Josie's hand.

  She started—Dahlia's skin was as soft as fine silk. "Ma'am?"

  "Don't go repeating this," she said, urgently, "but Bill Walters isn't any kind of decent man. He practically owns the town, what with him buying up most of the silver mines, but I tell you, he is the lowest kind of snake."

  Josie already knew, but she asked, "What's he done to earn your ire?"

  "He comes sometimes to visit my girls. Always asks for the youngest one—the younger the better." Dahlia's eyes flashed with blue fire. "I've caught him looking at Bit in a shameful manner—I won't let her anywhere near him. No kind of decent man casts eyes at a child like that. I don't wish harm on any soul, but I tell you I won't shed a tear when he passes."

  She patted Dahlia's hand, knowing that her own must be as rough as straw. "Don't worry, Miss Wheeler. I wouldn't cross the street to spit on him."

  With a smile, Dahlia released her grasp. "I'm frightfully glad to hear that," she said, and then abruptly added, "I hear tell there's another saloon being built on Johnson Street. I'm not sure if they'll welcome you, but you could certainly try your luck."

  Bit was back at the table then, setting a fine, gold-edged plate before Josie. There was a bowl of stew in the center, with a biscuit to one side and a half ear of corn to the other.