"That's not going to happen," replied Clary firmly. Thorn works for the territorial governor himself and he is an honest man. You can trust him, believe me!"
Mary stopped protesting instantly. "He really works for the governor?" Some of the fear seemed to drop away from her slender frame and her eyes lit up.
Clary wasn't sure why that should make such a difference, but she was glad that something had gotten through to the girl. She nodded vigorously. "Yes, he does. He and my brother both do. They investigate things for him, whatever he wants done." She smiled encouragingly.
Mary smiled tentatively and then stood up. "Well...okay. If you say so, Senorita, I will meet this Thorn friend of yours. Maybe you are right; perhaps he can do something for me." A mysterious look seemed to pervade the depths of her eyes, and Clary could have sworn the girl seemed calculating in that moment. It was only a flash and then the fear and sadness took over, once again.
* * *
The girls were still cleaning up from the night before when Boxcar entered the back door to the Silver Slipper. Some of them were scrubbing the floor and stairway where Sheriff Holden had been shot. Charlie had come in this very same door and knocked their current corpse senseless. As he came upon two girls on their hands and knees, his boots left the carpet and tramped onto the wooden floor behind them. When they jumped up and screamed in fear, he put his hands up in a mock surrender to the dripping wet rags aimed at him. "Whoa, now, ladies, it's only me," he said cheerfully. An appreciative grin lit up his handsome features as their bosoms strained against the fabric of their work dresses, the buttons gaping.
Madame Fanny suddenly appeared with a shotgun aimed at his broad chest, and he hurriedly backed up from the charging beauty with fire in her eyes. Seeing who it was, she lowered the weapon with a sensual smile. "Oh, it's only you, Boxcar."
Boxcar pushed the shotgun barrel gently to one side with a long finger. "Good thing for me, you knew who I was. I'd hate to be a stranger in the Silver Slipper right now," he said softly. "Heard you ladies had a scare last night."
"Yes, it just lucky that no one was badly hurt," declared Fanny, leading Boxcar into the main lounge and up to the bar. "Except for Sheriff Holden, that is, the poor man."
Boxcar nodded yes to the bottle she held up to offer him a drink, and she poured some of the clear amber liquid into a shot glass. Then she poured herself one as well. "Anything you can tell me that you haven't already told the sheriff?" He took a drink and let the whiskey slide down his throat, waiting for the after burn that always warmed him up.
Fanny sighed and rubbed her smooth temple with a slender finger. "Not really. They came here looking for some girl, that's all I know."
When her hand went back to her glass, Boxcar could see a faint shadow across her upper cheek going around to her ear. He frowned. "Did he hit you? That looks like bruising to me." He tipped her chin slightly with a gentle finger and turned her head sideways for a better view.
She stared at him, her eyes that light green color of shallow lake water that you can see through to the bottom. The gold flecks in her eyes could easily have been pebbles gleaming from the sunlight. "I'm not going to lie to you, Boxcar, we were all scared. Some of us got slapped because they weren't getting the answers they wanted to hear. But it's nothing that good makeup can't cover for the most part," she added with a sigh. "I just don't know if there are more coming, and I don't have any new girls." Her eyes dropped to her shot glass, and Boxcar could tell she was worried.
"Why don't you close up shop for a few days," he suggested, his big hand closing over hers and pressing gently. He liked Fanny, she was a good woman. Beautiful and smart to boot. He often wondered why she had chosen the profession she was in but had never asked. Most people minded their own business out here in the territories. It was a wild place, uncivilized and dangerous, and it was a draw to anyone who had something to hide, something to prove, or just running from their past. Out here, it was every person for themselves, and it took a long time for the law to catch up with you if they were looking.
She shot him a grateful smile, a genuine smile this time, not the sensual one he was used to seeing. It was a peek into the real Fanny, and he raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on it. His warm brown eyes smiled back.
"It's mighty nice of you to worry about us, Boxcar," she replied huskily before looking away and taking her hand back. "But I can't afford to close the place down. The girls need their money, and so do I. We all know this is a risky business and, sometimes, one of us gets beat up or killed, but we have to keep going. I've never lost a girl in the Silver Slipper, but I haven't always been this lucky. I like Potluck, though, it's been good to us." She raised her glass in salute, her Madame face back in place.
"If any girls do show up, will you let me or Thorn know? Thorn is playing sheriff while Holden is busted up, and I'm helping him sort this out." His easy grin shot from ear to ear when Fanny burst out laughing.
"Thorn? Sheriff? I bet that request went over well," she said, shaking her head.
Boxcar threw the rest of the shot back, his grin fading. "You do need to be careful, Fanny. The sheriff told us this girl killed a man at one of the bordellos in El Paso. I'm not saying he didn't deserve killing, but if someone wants this girl bad enough, they'll keep coming until they find her. And your place being what it is, it's easy to see why they came 'round here first."
Fanny nodded, the tendrils of her dark auburn hair brushing her cheeks when she moved. "There is one thing I forgot to tell Abednego last night."
Boxcar pounced on the name. "Abednego? Did you say Abednego?"
Fanny chuckled again, a deep throaty chuckle that Boxcar always thought was sexy as hell. "Don't you tell him I told you that," she cautioned. "He's sensitive about his name."
"With a name like that, who wouldn't be?" Boxcar chortled. "I can't believe he even tells anyone that. If it were me, I'd call myself Abe, or Ned, or something else. I sure wouldn't use Abednego!" He stored this tidbit of information for possible future use. It was always nice to have something to hold over a fella's head. He smiled broadly at Fanny, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Okay, so what did you forget to tell—Abednego?" He let it roll off his tongue as he emphasized the syllables and waggled his eyebrows at Fanny.
Fanny couldn't help it, she dissolved into helpless laughter—it was a good feeling after the fear and horror of the night before. "Boxcar, you're a fool, you know that?" She finally got herself under control and lightly kissed his cheek. "I think I feel better just after visiting with you for a few minutes." She dabbed at her eyes with her lace handkerchief. "You make me laugh."
"My dear lady," he replied as he took her hand again. "You are a fountain of information. I believe I must come see you more often." His teeth gleamed in a feral smile and then he kissed the back of her hand again, his mustache brushing against the soft skin.
Fanny snatched her hand away. "Oh, stop, before you have me giggling again," she admonished, but her eyes were soft when she returned his provocative stare. "Anyway, the one who was holding me said the girl had really bright red hair, and you couldn't miss her if you'd seen her."
"Bright red hair—anything else? Does she have a name?"
Fanny shook her head and stood up. "I'm sure she does, but he didn't tell me what it was." Then she froze. "Oh, the one who held me had on a vest and the front of it was red brocade. That's not real common."
Boxcar stood up with her. "No, it isn't. Thanks for the information, Fanny. Do you mind if I talk with some of the girls and see if they might remember anything unusual?"
She picked up both their glasses. "Of course not, help yourself." She waved him away with a smile but kept an eye on him as he chatted up Elise, the pretty blonde cleaning the stairs. When they turned to head up the stairs arm in arm, she wondered what was up with him. He hadn't been upstairs since he and Tilly had been seeing each other. Shrugging her shoulders, she decided it was none of her business. She placed the shotgun within eas
y reach if someone unwanted should come through either door. Protecting her girls was important to her. And if the little red-haired gal showed up, she would hide her until the truth of what happened in El Paso came to light. Then she would decide if she'd turn her over to Thorn.
* * *
Maria groaned painfully when the warm fingers of the sun tiptoed lightly across the bruised flesh of her face insisting that she wake up; when all she wanted to do was sink back into dark oblivion.
Was she really alive?
Her eyes were so swollen, she could barely squint through the slits to stare at the ceiling. She put off moving her head in the slightest, it hurt too much as it was. It hurt to even breathe, so she was guessing she had some broken ribs. It wouldn't be the first time. Off to her right, she heard something, the slight creak of a chair as it shifted beneath someone's weight, and she knew Frank would be there, holding his head in his hands. He was always sorry—later. But when he was furious, there was no stopping him—and he had been enraged.
Maria wasn't even sure what day it was, she just hoped Mary had gotten away. She felt empty inside, devoid of everything but the burning desire for Mary to have a decent life and to be free. Frank had tried to take that away from her girl, and she had stepped in to make sure it didn't happen. She was powerless to keep her mind from taking over and dragging her back to that horrible scene she had no wish to relive.
Her girl had overheard Frank, making plans to sell her for one night to someone who was willing to pay an extravagant amount of money for an untouched young girl. She had burst into Maria's bedroom, crying and shaking, with Frank right behind her. It had been a terrible row that had ended with Frank dragging Mary up the stairs and shoving her into a bedroom, where the client was waiting. Maria groaned as the memories came faster
Frank had promised her that he would never put Mary into prostitution, and he had kept his word—until she turned eighteen. During the horrible arguments, he had told them both that it was now time Mary starting earning her own keep. He had blustered and made excuses that times were hard—that he hadn't intended to do this—but things being what they were, he could no longer to afford to keep and educate Mary for nothing. After all, they owed him, he said. Maria could see the greed in his eyes and knew he was a weak and unprincipled man. And she also knew that whatever amount was being offered, it was too much for Frank to resist, and they weren't going to win. In that moment, she was glad she had held out and never married him. It would leave her girl free to pursue her own life if anything ever happened to her, and Frank had no legal hold over her.
Maria gasped for air, it was getting harder to breath but the torturing memories weren't over yet. When Frank shoved Mary into that room, he hadn't realized that she, Maria, was right behind him with a gun. She had slammed the butt of the gun against his temple when he came out of the room, knocking him to the floor. Then she had raced into the room, where a big, naked brute of a man was ripping Mary's dress off her slender, trembling body. Her screams echoed around the room as Maria took aim and shot the brute right between his lascivious eyes. It was funny the things you notice in the fire of a life trial—like the man's shaft slowly deflating as his dying body slides to the floor. It had brought her a strange sort of satisfaction. "Run, Mary," she had urged her girl. "Run—get as far away from here as you can!" And then Frank was on her, punching her in the face, her stomach, kicking her in a fit of rage, his face mottled purple in his fury. The last thing she remembered was Mary running out the door before she sank into blessed blackness.
And now, she was waking up—she had never expected to wake up again. Vaguely, she could hear Frank at her side, begging her to forgive him, but her eyes had closed and she couldn't quite make the effort to open them again. She didn't want to, anyway. She could taste blood as she tried to pry her tongue from the roof of her mouth where it had dried and stuck there.
But someone wouldn't let her rest. Someone put a hand beneath the back of her head and lifted it slightly, then pressed a water cup against her bruised mouth. When the trickle of liquid made it inside, her tongue worked loose and she was able to swallow. When more followed, her body automatically swallowed greedily, nature's response to the life bearing substance. A wet cloth was gently laid across her eyes, and it was blessedly cooling.
"Is she awake?"
She could hear the hoarseness of Frank's voice as he asked the question of someone else in the room... Most likely, he was worn out and hadn't slept much since she'd been hurt.
"It's bad, Frank, really bad this time. It's going to be touch and go for a while, and I can't make any guarantees."
The voice was Doc Martin's, thick and heavy with disapproval and censure. Doc had tried to get her to leave Frank for years, but where would she go? And when he wasn't angry, which was most of the time, Frank was very good to her. He just had a temper; Doc called it a sickness.
If not for Frank, though, Maria didn't know what she would have done when the mission burned. She couldn't stay with the nuns, they would guess her secret once they found out she was pregnant and had the baby. So she had left the mission and eventually made her way to El Paso, where she had met Frank at a little diner on the south side of town. He'd let her stay and be his cook in his little diner. Frank was a good businessman. When one of the local brothels had lost its owner, Frank had taken it over and built on a kitchen so she could still cook for him and expanded her duties to cooking for the girls. She had gone with him as he changed enterprises, bringing two-year-old Mary with her. He had paid her a small wage, which she had saved most of through the years, but he also had made sure Mary went to school when there was a teacher in town. He had taken in both of them, and she supposed, in his own way, he loved them. The last several years, he had told people they were married, and she hadn't bothered to refute it.
Mary had offered Frank every bit of her savings, trying to keep him from selling Mary to that man, but he had sneered at her, saying the amount he was getting was three times that sum. And it was only for one night. The least Mary could do, after all he'd done for both of them, was to sacrifice one lousy night.
She whimpered at the memories, wishing she could turn off her torturous thoughts. The pain was getting worse and her breath was raspy as she tried not to breathe deeply because of the horrendous pain in her ribs. Just when she thought she couldn't stand it another second, the sickly sweet smell of laudanum wafted into her nostrils and blessed darkness rose up to greet her once again.
Frank Ventermin stared up at Doc Martin, his eyes teary and remorseful. "She's going to make it, Doc, right?" His pathetic whine made Doc sick to his stomach.
He pulled the blanket back up over Maria's breasts and tucked it in gently at the sides. "I just don't know, Frank, it's hard to say. With good care and plenty of rest, her body might recover."
"But she has a chance!" Frank exclaimed eagerly as if the word 'might' was a definite. "I'll take really good care of her, I promise. You'll be back to see her every day, right? Together, we'll make her well again."
Doc didn't bother to remind Frank that it had been almost two days, already, and Maria still hadn't spoken or come fully awake. He had lowered the laudanum dosage this morning, to see if she might come out of it—and she had—somewhat. But he could tell she was in intense pain from the broken ribs, and she had been kicked or hit in the throat, which made breathing even more difficult. There was no way to tell if her brain had sustained damage, but it very well could have. The lump on the side of her head had caused a concussion, but there had been no way to keep her awake with the pain she was in. It would be a miracle if Maria came through this time as a whole person—if she came through at all.
Frank had never beaten her so badly before, and he wondered what it had been about. All he knew was that Mary had run away. He had all kinds of theories, but it wasn't his place to speculate. A man had died, too, and Frank said Mary had shot him in self-defense. Hard to believe little Mary would do something like that, but she didn't h
ave red hair and a temper for nothing.
Clearing his throat, he stood up. "Keep the cold cloths on her face and throat, Frank, try to get more of the swelling down. She's taking small amounts of water, but she will need to take some soup or something soon, to build up her strength."
Frank stood up, his tall rawboned figure and large hands making two of Maria. She was a small slip of a Spanish girl, no physical threat to Frank at all. Doc didn't understand the sick mind of a man who would beat a woman like he did. "I will. I'll go get more ice, and I'll keep putting compresses on her." His head was shaking vigorously, making his slick black hair slide forward on one side of his forehead. The thick mustache matched his dark eyes, and Doc could see pain in the obsidian depths. He believed Frank really was sorry, that was the real hell of it. He shook his head in disgust and sympathy at the same time.
"You hear anything from Mary?"
"No, not yet. I sent a couple of men after her to bring her back. I know Maria will want her here when she wakes up. And she is my daughter, she shouldn't be out there alone."
Something flickered in his eyes, and Doc wondered what he was thinking. From the nervous way his fingers played with a coin, Doc suspected he was hiding something. "Just take good care of your wife, Frank, and I'll be back tomorrow," he finally said, his hat in his hands.
Frank walked around to the end of the bed to see him out. He acted as if he had something on his mind, and he wasn't surprised when he stopped with his hand on the door instead of opening if for him. "Uh, Doc? I...uh...that is...I just want you to know that I didn't do all this to Maria, honest." His voice quavered and the intensity of his expression surprised Doc. He stared at the floor and then back up at his face.
"What do you mean, Frank?"
The Heart of Mary: A Thorn Novel Page 4