An Unexpected Widow (The Colorado Brides Series)

by Carré White

  “Oh, my goodness. That would be far too soon. Six months at least, but I’m not ready to do that. I can’t even think of being with man in that regard, and it’s going to take forever to find the right one.”

  “And what would that look like?”

  “Someone educated, with a good job.”

  “Like a doctor or a merchant or a miner?”

  “Not a miner.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, I’m not marrying a miner.”

  “What if you fell in love with a farmer?”

  “Frank was a farmer, but he was also a clergyman.”

  “What if it were a miner who struck it rich? Would that be good enough for you?”

  There was anger in his voice. “Nathan.”

  “I’m not gettin’ into that bed with you again, unless you marry me.”

  I stared at him, my stomach sinking. “Please, Nathan.”

  “No. You’re using me like some type of security blanket. It’s not proper to be in bed together all night long, especially when I want to touch you like a man touches a woman, and I can’t. I’m about to lose my ever-loving mind.”

  Our eyes locked in that heated, breathless moment. “I can’t marry you.”

  “I’m well aware of that. I can’t sleep with you.”

  “Just one more night?”

  “It’s always one more night.” His gaze drifted to my mouth. “Are you pouting? Is that a pout?”

  “No.”

  “Your lower lip is protruding. That’s an honest to God pout.”

  “I…wish we could be together—”

  “No!” He got to his feet. “I’m hitting the hay, and it won’t be in the house. Good night, Hannah. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

  He walked to the bunkhouse, slipping inside, closing the door behind him. I stared for ages, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes. It was some time before I stood and went to my room, but sleep was hard to come by that night…and the night after.

  Chapter Twelve

  I wasn’t looking forward to this trip to town, because my emotions had been in turmoil for days. I’d hardly slept; the tiredness felt like I was trapped in a dark tunnel, my mind struggling to focus. I’d collected more than two-dozen eggs to sell at the mercantile; the delicate cargo was nestled within cloth at the bottom of a basket.

  Nathan and I barely spoke these days; our relationship was strained. I resented the fact that he held the threat of marriage over my head, when all I wanted was the comfort of his arms and a good night’s sleep.

  Clamoring into the wagon, I held the eggs in my lap, waiting for Nathan to return from the privy. He strode towards me wearing a striped shirt beneath a dark satin vest. His clothing was frequently mis-matched, as he bought his things second hand. A wide brimmed hat shaded his features; his beard was trimmed, as he hadn’t shaved in a week or more. It was a thrill knowing I would be with him for hours, but he gave off a hostile aura, his jaw firmly set.

  “You got the eggs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He took up the reins, calling to the horse, while the wagon jerked forward, ambling from the house.

  “What will you do in town?”

  He shrugged. “I’m planning on having a hog-killin’ time at the saloon.”

  “Must you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Haven’t been on a bender in weeks. I’m itchin’ for a good, stiff drink.”

  I pursed my lips. “Whiskey will rot your gut.”

  He glanced at me, one eyebrow arched. “Is that so? What do you know about it?”

  “I’ve heard they cut whiskey with ammonia and turpentine. That sounds perfectly awful to me.”

  “Good thing you’re not drinking then, eh?”

  I was certain my disapproval of his afternoon activities was plainly visible. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared out into the prairie, listening to the Franklin dogs barking, as we neared their property.

  “Somebody oughta shoot them pesky animals.”

  “They’ve always been annoying.” I yawned, my hand covering my mouth.

  “You tired?”

  “Yes. I don’t sleep much.” I could tell this bothered him, as his face shifted towards me instead of watching the road. “I toss and turn all night long. Can’t remember when I last slept.” For good measure, another yawn appeared, my mouth opening wide.

  “Well, maybe you need a nip of brandy at night. That might help you sleep.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll see about getting a bottle.”

  “Oh, what a hardship that’ll be for you.” I was teasing, but it sounded petulant. He glared at me with stony, pale blue eyes. Oh, dear. I had hit a nerve.

  Once in Denver City, Nathan tied the horse to the hitching post; his expression was downcast, while his posture was tense. After he helped me from the seat, he said curtly, “I’ll see you in an hour.” He stalked away, heading for wooden steps that led to the boardwalk and the saloon.

  I stared after him feeling miserable. Not only did I mourn his companionship, but I also missed Frank horribly. Instead of getting better, things seemed to be worse. My throat tightened, as tears threatened. Hating that people stared, I moved from the wagon, my foot catching a rock, which caused me to stumble. The basket of eggs fell from my hands, landing in a cracked heap on the dusty ground.

  “Oh, that’s a shame,” said a toothless miner, who leered. “Those looked good too.” Several men laughed, while one spat on the ground.

  “You might be able to pick it up, honey. Some of ‘em might be all right.”

  My hand trembled, as I snatched the basket from the ground, leaving it in the bed of the wagon. It was imperative that I get away from these strangers. The bonnet hid my unhappiness, and I was grateful for it. Not having a direction to go in, I began to walk the boardwalk, passing the saloon and catching a glimpse of Nathan at the bar, holding a drink and laughing. I plodded along, as men tipped their hats to me. I crossed a thoroughfare wandering towards the parlour house. I stared at the door, as it was painted red.

  “Hey, sweet thing,” called a man in a passing wagon. “You want a ride?”

  Nathan enjoyed coming here, but I had never been inside, nor did I ever expect to cross the threshold of such an establishment. A morose thought entered my mind, leaving me shaken. If I could not procure a husband, I might end up here, selling myself to survive. Stunned by the direction my thoughts had gone, I felt the pull of curiosity propelling me towards the door. If this were my future, shouldn’t I go in and have a look around? Without preamble, I closed my fist over the knob and turned it, the door flinging inward easily.

  Stepping into an elegantly furnished parlor, I glanced at my feet, seeing a plush black carpet in a flowery pattern. Plants hung before the windows, which were draped in frilly curtains, and the smell of incense burning left a musky, fragrant aroma.

  “May I help you?” A woman dressed in a satin gown approached. She was possibly the prettiest female I had ever seen. Her hair was done up in an elaborate design, and her eyes were darkened over the upper lids.

  “I’m…thinking…I might have to work here one day. I wanted to come in and see what it looks like.” I could hardly believe I had said that.

  Her mouth fell open, startled eyes taking me in. “I’ll be with you in a moment. Please wait here.” She disappeared through a side door.

  “Of course,” I said to myself. The furniture was lovely, and it shone from polish. A red velvet sofa stood against the wall flanked by matching chairs.

  “Hello, dear,” said a female voice with a slight southern accent. “I’m Ruby Wallace.” I turned, astonished to find a redheaded woman in a pair of denim pants. She seemed to recognize me, her expression faltering. “I know you.”

  “You do?”

  “I went to your husband’s funeral.”

  “Oh.”

  “What on earth are you doing in my establishment?”

  “I might have to work here one
day. I thought it best to find out what I was getting myself into.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “Candy, honey. We’re gonna need some tea. Can you get that started for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mrs. Clark, would you kindly follow me into my private quarters? We should have a talk.”

  “We should?”

  “Yes, we should. I need to set you straight on a few things, and I don’t want to do it out in the open.”

  “All right.”

  I followed her into a dimly lit hallway. She opened a door, exposing a small parlor with a set of windows covered in sheer curtains. The furniture looked functional, yet elegant; a sofa and chair occupied the space.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable.” She moved about the room, her figure plainly outlined in the tight-fitting pants. It was scandalous for a woman to wear such things, but she seemed entirely at ease in this ensemble. A calico shirt was tucked in, with a leather belt around a trim waist. “I know you’re in the process of grieving, Mrs. Clark. I’m not sure what possessed you to come in here today, but you’re clearly not in your right mind.” She sat on the sofa, crossing her legs, which was something a lady would never do. Lighting a cigarette, she took a long drag.

  “I might end up here. I don’t have much money.”

  “Your husband’s only been gone a few weeks. It’s a bit too early to be thinking doom and gloom, isn’t it?”

  “Not really. I have to be practical.”

  “As I remember it, you’ve a crop coming in soon, don’t you? Why not wait until after the harvest to declare yourself bankrupt.”

  “I doubt a bit of corn will cover all my debts.”

  “You’d be surprised what corn brings in. I’m sure you have more than that growing out there. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a trip out of town. I should go more often.”

  “Mrs. Wallace—”

  “Ms. Wallace, but, please, call me Ruby.”

  “Ruby, I…could I have a tour? I’d like to see…what things look like.”

  A swirl of grey smoke lingered before her face. “Oh, lordy, honey. You’re crazy if you think I’m taking you from room to room. I’ll tell you what you want to know. It’s just bedrooms. Each room has a bed and a dresser with pitcher and bowl. It’s as decorated as the downstairs. That’s all.”

  “How many girls work here?”

  “Ten to fifteen, depending.”

  “Depending on what?”

  “I lose girls every week.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “They marry their customers. Occupational hazard.”

  The door opened, and Candy brought in a silver tray with a gold trimmed teapot. There were matching cups. After she poured the fluid into one, she handed it to me.

  “Thank you.” When she left, I asked, “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Five years.”

  “Is Ruby your real name?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I’ve heard you charge $250 dollars a night for one girl.”

  “You heard right.”

  “Oh, my goodness.”

  “You’ve taken a huge risk coming here, Mrs. Clark. Quite a few people saw you enter this house. They’re probably in hysterics about it, the little gossip mongers.”

  I sipped the drink. “I guess.”

  “You don’t care?”

  “I do. I don’t know why I came here. I dropped all the eggs, and then I lost my mind.”

  “I don’t think you’re destined for the whorehouse, Mrs. Clark.”

  “You never know. I was supposed to be happy here. I’ve only been married since last year. I should be pregnant right now.” Tears filled my eyes. “I don't recall any plans for being a widow.”

  “No one plans that.”

  “What happened to you? Were you married once?”

  “I was married a couple of times.” She inhaled her cigarette, the smoke exiting a few seconds later. “The last man beat me. I shot him.”

  “Is he dead?” I sat straighter, alarmed.

  “No, the bastard didn’t die. I divorced him.”

  “Did you get in trouble for shooting him?”

  “I spent a little time in jail.” She smiled slightly. “That’s where I learned the ins and outs of this profession. They’d housed me with a notorious madam. I picked her brain for four days.” There was a twinkle in her eye.

  “That’s amazing.” I couldn’t help feeling a smidgeon of awe for her and the things she had been through.

  “It was long ago.” She stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. “But, getting back to the point, you don’t belong in a parlour house, honey. You’ve got plenty of options that don’t require you to sleep with strange men every night.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Do you mind me asking you a personal question?”

  “You can ask whatever you want. You’ve been kind enough to answer my questions.”

  “I don't expect us to be lifelong friends now or anything, but if you happen to see me on the street, would you be willing to say hello to me?”

  This left me staggered. “Yes, of course.”

  “I enjoyed listening to your husband’s sermons. I really got something from his preaching. He had a way of putting things…I could understand what he meant. The message was always about being good and doing good. I know I’m a harlot. I’ve seen myself in the mirror plenty of times, but I felt better about things after church. I sure do miss him.”

  I hadn’t been prepared for my reaction to those words, tears filling my eyes. “I miss him too.”

  “That Bailey fella is all right, but he’s no Frank Clark.” She pointed a finger at me. “And he’s no Nathan Weaver either.”

  “W-what?”

  “He’s out at your farm, right? Working for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s one hunk of a good man right there.”

  “If you say so.”

  Her look was contemplative. “It must be a comfort having him on the property. Bet you feel safer with him.”

  “I suppose. I have a woman with me too. Her name is Maria Hermosa, and there’s Jerry Pratt. They all work for me.”

  “I see you in town with Nathan a lot.”

  “He drives the wagon.”

  “I’m gonna stick my neck out and say something I probably shouldn’t. When you’re done feeling sorry for yourself and stumbling into establishments you have no business being in, you might want to look around and take stock.”

  I gazed at her in confusion.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sakes! That man’s in love with you. Is that plain enough?”

  “H-has he told you that?”

  “He don't need to tell me anything, honey.”

  “Does he come here often?”

  “Not anymore. Not since he took up with you folks.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know you’ve suffered a loss. You’re obviously struggling, or you wouldn’t be here. No woman in her right mind wanders into a whorehouse in broad daylight.” She sat up, her eyes narrowing. “When you’re done grieving, you need to take a good look at that man. He might not be the type of person you thought you’d end up with, but he’s a good man. Those baby-blue eyes are as honest as they come. That’s a man you can count on.”

  “I’m still grieving. I can’t think about that right now.”

  She got to her feet. “Well, it was nice of you to stop by, Mrs. Clark. I don't usually offer my advice for free. I sure hope some of what I’ve said has sunk in.”

  “Thank you for the tea. You’re not how I thought you’d be.”

  “Come again?”

  “You’ve been far kinder to me than I might’ve been to you, had I met you under different circumstances. I…had judged you pretty harshly. I won’t do that again…and, if I see you in town or at church, I’d be happy to say hello to you.”

  “That’s mighty generous of you.” Her grin revealed dimples on either side of h
er cheeks.

  “C-can I ask something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is that your real hair color?” The startling quality of the red took my breath away.

  “No, honey.”

  “You’ve got a dark shadow on your eyelids.”

  “Make up.”

  “You sure are pretty, Ms. Wallace.”

  She laughed, “It’s smoke and mirrors. If you saw me first thing in the morning,” she shook her head, “oh, never mind. I shouldn’t spoil the illusion. Now, you best run along. You’ve probably got the entire town wondering what you’re doing.”

  “I suppose. I don’t really care what they think.” She escorted me to the door, as I glanced at the parlor one last time, seeing a man seated at the far end.

  Her look was suddenly stern. “I appreciate you trying to point out the error of my ways, Mrs. Clark, but all your morality preachin’ is lost on me, honey.”

  I realized this declaration was for the customer, who stared at us transfixed. “I…you really ought to consider another line of work…er…your eternal soul’s in jeopardy, if you continue down this path.”

  “Oh,” she laughed bawdily. “If you only knew. Now, shoo. I’ve got work to do. Good day, Mrs. Clark.”

  “Good day, Ms. Wallace.”

  Out in the street, I raised my chin to find Nathan sitting in the wagon, his expression furious. “What in the blazes were you doing in there?”

  Oh…dear.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He helped me to the seat. “I…I was…talking with Ms. Wallace.”

  “What happened to the eggs?”

  “I dropped them.”

  Grabbing the reins, he called to the horse, while the wagon creaked into motion. “You’re going to explain this to me, Hannah. What on earth are you thinking?”

  “She’s a nice woman. Did you know she colors her hair?”

  There was a tick in his cheek; his expression was stormy. “Are you trying to ruin your reputation or have you lost your mind?”

  “I’ve lost my mind.”

  He glanced at me. “What’s the matter? Why would you go in there like that in broad daylight?”