Matthew had been in the saloon well over an hour, and Lillian could hear the tinny sounds of the piano and the raucous laughter even though her window was closed. Through narrowed eyes, she watched Morgan enter the Duchess and turned away.
“I swear, Mead,” she said, “I have no idea what has gotten into your brothers. Your mother should put a stop to it,” she insisted.
“Put a stop to what?” he asked absently from behind his newspaper as he sat on the settee.
“To them treating that saloon like it’s their second home,” she snapped as she paced the small floor, stopping to adjust a knickknack here, a doily there. “It’s disgraceful.”
“They’re grown men, Lilly,” Mead sighed, heartily sick of having the same conversation over and over. “What they do in their free time is nobody’s business, least of all yours. I’ve heard nothing for weeks but Matthew this and Matthew that. Now that Morgan’s come home, you seem to think you have two other men to keep track of.”
“Well, they are going to be my family, once we’re married. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect them to behave like gentlemen. It’s embarrassing.”
“You’ll be a sight more embarrassed when I pull you over my knees and bare your backside for a good spanking,” he warned as he folded his paper and stood. “You’re not marrying my brothers, you’re marrying me, and I’m not going to put up with this every time I come to call. If it bothers you so much, stay away from that damn window and stop watching every customer who goes in and out of The Duchess. I never knew you were such a nosy little thing.”
“I’m not nosy. I’m just concerned about the moral character of this community, where I happen to live,” she shot back, her hands balled into fists. “You should be concerned too. We’re going to raise our children here and the good citizens of this town should not be subjected to the kind of improper goings-on that Callie Mae brought to town.”
“Just what do you think goes on over at The Duchess?” he demanded angrily, planting his hands on his hips as he stared down into her face.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she sniffed, lifting her chin haughtily, “but whatever it is, I don’t approve.”
Mead started to laugh. It began as a chuckle that turned into a deep uproarious bellow of mirth. After several minutes he wiped his eyes and straightened.
“You think it’s a brothel,” he accused, still very much amused. “You and the other ladies in town think little Miss Callie Mae Walker and her girls are running a whorehouse!”
“Mead Whittaker,” she cried, slapping his arm. “Don’t you use such language in my home, I won’t have it,” she insisted.
“I’ll use whatever language I choose to use,” he shot back. “I hope you don’t think that I will allow you to dictate my actions once we’re married. As far as Callie Mae and the girls, every one of them is a good girl, if you get my meaning, and I won’t stand here and let you spout off such nonsense. It’s a saloon, not a brothel. The men who go there want a drink, to play a few hands of cards, or maybe listen to a pretty woman sing a song or two. That’s it, nothing more. The women in this town are fired up over nothing, and I have a suspicion that instead of trying to encourage them to see reason, you—my little bride-to-be—are fanning the flames,” he accused, bending until they were nearly nose to nose.
“I’m not doing any such thing,” Lillian said, stomping her foot. “I just don’t like it, her and those girls over there doing Lord knows what.”
“You don’t like Callie Mae very much, do you?”
“Not particularly.”
“That’s odd,” Mead remarked as he strolled to the window and moved aside the curtain. “As I recall, you liked her well enough when she was mooning over Morgan all the time. Was that because she fed your ego, wanting a man that very clearly belonged to you? You were almost sickeningly sweet to her back when she was poor Callie Mae, loving a man who would never be hers.”
“That’s not true. I never cared for Callie Mae, even when she made a nuisance of herself trailing after Morgan and me. It was so pathetic really, but I tried to be kind. After all, I am a Christian.”
“You were trying to be kind,” Mead snorted, letting the curtain fall back into place before turning to her. “You were gloating and you loved every minute of it. Now Morgan’s back and he doesn’t seem to think much about you. Is that what’s bothering you?”
“I don’t want Morgan,” Lilly said with a shrill laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I want a man like that, chasing after a floozy to the amusement of the town, hanging around the saloon, and being stupid enough to put his life on the line for a few dollars a month?” she asked incredulously. “I’d have to be a fool.”
“I see,” he replied, taking her chin in his hand. “You don’t want my brother; you just don’t want anyone else to have him either,” he drawled, his dark eyes boring into hers.
“That’s just silly,” Lilly said. She knew her face was flushed and could feel little beads of perspiration on her brow. “You know it’s you I want. Morgan can go back to wherever he came from and take Callie Mae with him for all I care. The important thing is we’re getting married. Let’s change the subject,” Lilly suggested, pulling away from him. “Would you like some tea? I have some cookies I made last weekend,” she offered hopefully.
“Fine,” Mead replied thoughtfully. “We’ll change the subject, for now, but at some point they’ll be a few things we’ll have to straighten out between us before marriage. I hope you understand that,” he continued as he took a seat at the small table.
Lilly busied herself setting out cups and saucers and arranging cookies on a pretty plate as she tried desperately to come up with a way to put the benevolent smile back on Mead’s face. The cookies were ones she bought from Mrs. Dixon. In truth she could hardly produce a decent meal on her own, but Mead didn’t need to know that. Hopefully once they were married they would be dining out most evenings. It had always been her plan for Mead to work his way up in the banking business and transfer somewhere more suitable, possibly Wichita or Topeka. Talking him into going east would be difficult at best, but once she produced a child or two, surely he would want what was best for them. A proper education could not be obtained, nor could they achieve a level of social prominence in this disreputable little town. No, once she and Mead were married, she’d figure out a way to make him see reason.
Chapter Twelve
“Good evening, Morgan, I mean Deputy Whittaker,” Fancy said, smiling from behind the bar. “What can I get for you?”
“Good evening, Miss O’Shea,” Morgan replied, tipping his hat. “Have you got any coffee?”
Standing at the bar, Morgan used the mirror to scan the room behind him. Seeing a generally congenial crowd, he let his shoulders relax. There were several card games going on accompanied by good-natured ribbing between the drovers. Marilee glided between tables carrying a tray of drinks. Her blue satin dress, despite being somewhat low-cut, could not hide the fact that she was a lady and the men seemed to respond accordingly. Every now and then her tinkling laughter could be heard over the din of multiple conversations.
He watched Fancy come from the kitchen, carrying a cup of coffee. Her emerald dress swayed with each step, and he noted the wistful expressions that followed her. So far so good, he thought, but it was early yet and he knew just how quickly a crowd of lonely men far from home could get out of hand.
“Here you are,” Fancy said, placing the coffee on the bar. “Things seem to be going well, don’t you agree?” Her green eyes were full of excitement and a touch of challenge as she waited for his reply.
“I believe I’ll reserve judgment on that, Miss O’Shea. Where are the others?”
“Jane is upstairs helping Callie Mae. They should be down shortly,” Fancy snapped before walking away to serve a customer. She’d like to stick a pin in that windbag. Everything was wonderful and she didn’t want to listen to his deep voice hinting at dire things to come. Earlier she’d sung
a couple of songs to thunderous applause. It was thrilling and heady, and she loved every aspect of this place. The admiring glances of the young and old alike made her feel special and important.
She was proud of her beauty, the way her breasts filled out the bodice of her stunning green gown. Her red hair took on a look of flames in the glow of the lamps. Piled high on her head with a few fat ringlets dangling over her shoulder, she felt much more mature than her eighteen years. Freedom was precious, she decided. Free from the depressing orphanage, free from the constraints placed on her behavior, and most of all, free from the disapproving frown of the matron.
Fancy knew she’d always been different and somewhat of a disappointment. Her exuberant personality frustrated their efforts to teach her what they called ‘proper deportment’. Every time she’d spoken to a stranger or a young man on the street, she’d been scolded unmercifully. Proper young ladies do not discourse with others until they’ve been formally introduced. Oh how she wished she had a dollar for every time she’d heard those words.
Well, the new deputy needn’t think he was going to come in here and lecture her, nor ruin her evening. He’d see that they didn’t need his protection soon enough.
Spotting a flash of gold, Fancy looked up and saw Callie Mae at the top of the stairs. Suddenly struck by inspiration, she pulled a stool over and stood on it, clapping her hands.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” she called sweetly, instantly drawing the attention of the room.
“Allow me to introduce your hostess, Miss Walker,” she called, sweeping her hand toward the stairway where Callie Mae stood on the landing.
Morgan looked up and despite the multitude of barely there dresses he’d seen in his lifetime, he still managed to be shocked. Callie Mae paused on the landing, smiling; the room exploded in catcalls and piercing whistles as the men showed their appreciation. Dressed in a tightly fitted gold dress that bared her shoulders, Callie Mae took his breath away. It was much too short in his opinion, even though by the modern standards he was used to, it would be considered knee length and quite modest. Her legs were encased in black stockings and he wondered just how far under that dress he’d have to reach to find bare skin. The skirt flared out, exposing the ruffle of a black petticoat and the cinched waist gave her the perfect hour glass figure. The pale crests of her breasts swelled above the bodice, drawing attention to a Topaz pendent nestled there. Her hair was swept up into an elegant chignon and adorned with a black tipped gold feather. She was nervous, trembling, he could see it each time the fabric of her dress moved and caught the light.
Good, he thought, feeling a touch of satisfaction. She should be nervous. At least that showed she had some sense. He watched as Jane, wearing a red satin gown, descended the stairs behind Callie Mae and put a supporting hand on her shoulder. The volume of the hoots and hollers increased as soon as the crowd saw the pretty young blonde. Callie Mae held up her hands, signaling for quiet, but it was quite a while before the voices in the room hushed enough to hear her.
“Gentlemen, quiet please, I have something to say.” When the room fell silent, Callie Mae began. “Welcome to The Duchess. My name is Callie Mae Walker. I am the sole owner and proprietor of this establishment and as such, I think it’s important to make the rules known.”
“What rules?” demanded a scruffy looking man, sitting alone. “It’s a damn saloon.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. The Duchess is much more than a saloon.”
“Hallelujah!” crowed a young man, making a grab for Marilee who scooted beyond his reach and quickly moved behind the bar with Fancy.
Morgan’s hand inched toward his gun.
“Stop!” Callie Mae shouted. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that we serve more than beer and whisky.”
“Now see, that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” the man grinned from ear to ear and moved to go around the bar. “I want more than a drink.”
“Sit down, sir,” Jane ordered in her most imperious voice, stopping him in his tracks. “Kindly let Miss Walker finish.”
“Thank you, Jane. I am trying to make a point here. We do serve drinks and hope to give you gentlemen a place to relax and enjoy yourselves after a long, dusty trip, but you need to understand a few things. The ladies that work here are just that, ladies. They are not for sale at any price, now or ever! In fact, if you stay in town long enough and are of a mind to attend church, you will see them there. I expect you to treat them with respect.”
“This is not a bordello. We serve coffee as well as drink and there is food, sandwiches and the like if you request it. My girls will serve you, listen to your troubles, entertain you with song, and on occasion share a dance with you, if they choose to, but that is all they will do. Any man who expects more than that may as well leave now and seek entertainment elsewhere.”
“Pardon my saying so, ma’am, but there is no ‘elsewhere’. You’re the only game in town,” a cowboy stated gently, smiling at Jane.
“Yes, I am,” Callie Mae agreed firmly.
“What if we don’t follow your rules?” a deep voice called out from a table in the back.
“Then you will be asked to leave.”
“How you gonna do that? A little thing like you can’t hardly make a man like me do anything he don’t have a mind to,” the man drawled, getting to his feet.
“No, I can’t make you leave,” Callie Mae replied confidently, “but this can,” she continued, reaching into a hidden pocket on her gown and pulling out her small pistol. “Don’t make me use it,” she said decisively, pointing it at the room in general.
There was a general consensus to follow the rules after a number of cowboys dove under tables and turned chairs on their sides for protection from the pretty woman with the small gun.
“Do we understand each other?” Callie Mae called out from the stairs, still holding her gun.
“Yes, ma’am,” several men gave voice to the decision.
“Good. Drinks are on the house. Give the men a round on me, Fancy, Marilee.”
Morgan watched as Callie Mae came down the stairs and made her way to the bar.
“Whiskey,” she said casually, ignoring Marilee’s skeptical expression.
“Really?” Morgan said with a frown. “Don’t you think you’re taking this to the extreme?”
“Not at all.”
“Well then, go right ahead, Miss Fancy Pants, and belt that down,” he challenged, nodding at Matthew who slipped up to the bar, flanking her other side. “You may as well, you’re dressed for it,” he continued, shaking his head in disgust.
Callie Mae picked up the crystal shot glass and stared at the golden liquid before setting it back down as his words sank in.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Aw, don’t mind him none, Callie Mae,” Matthew said kindly. “I think you look beautiful. I’ll have a beer, Fancy,” he called.
“Thank you, Matthew, and I appreciate you telling me what type of dresses I needed to purchase. I really had no idea we needed costumes, for want of a better word,” she said as she smiled up at him.
“So I have you to thank for this, Matthew,” Morgan said, sweeping his hand to encompass the girls. “Smooth move, kid, nothing like false advertising. Whatever possessed you?”
“Come on, Morgan, she asked me. What was I supposed to do, lie? I just told her what the girls wore at some of the other saloons I’ve been in and Callie Mae did the rest. I think she did a heckuva job. They all look perfect.”
“Perfect for what, Matthew?” Morgan asked. “If it was your intention to have every man in a fifty mile radius drooling over them, then I guess they do look perfect. However, if what Callie Mae just said is true and this is going to be a respectable establishment, I’d say they’re a little underdressed.”
“Then I guess it’s just as well nobody asked you, Morgan,” Callie Mae shot back, picking up her drink. With a flick of her wrist she tossed back the shot as Jane, Marilee, and Fancy co
llectively held their breaths.
For a moment, Matthew thought she was going down and he slipped a supportive hand to her back. He felt a shiver passed through her body before she straightened her shoulders, rapidly blinking her eyes.
Callie Mae made a mental note to never touch the vicious drink again as it burned its way down her throat, stealing her breath. Why, why, would anyone pay good money to have a fire breathing dragon lodged in their belly when there were so many more palatable beverages? It didn’t make a bit of sense, she thought, as the strength began to return to her limbs, but this was her saloon and she was damn well going to make a go of it. In the future she’d have a special bottle of her own ‘whiskey’ behind the bar. If a man wanted to buy her drink he could, but it wouldn’t be this.
“Well if there is nothing else, Deputy Whittaker, I have work to do and customers to see to,” she said clearing her throat. “As you can see, there’s nothing that requires your attention here.”
“That’s true, Miss Walker, at least not at the moment, but rest assured I’ll be around and if there’s any trouble, it would give me great pleasure to shut this place down.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Marshal,” she simpered, patting his chest gently and looking up at him as she batted her eye lashes. “But ah feel ever so much better knowing there’s a big strong man such as yourself willing to defend sweet little ole me and mah girls,” she drawled sarcastically as she spun on her heel and sashayed away.
“Well I’ll be,” Matthew laughed slapping his leg. “I do believe you bring out the worst in that girl, Morg. And here I always thought she was such a sweet thing.”
“Oh she’s sweet all right, sweet enough to give you a toothache to go along with the pain in the ass. I’ll see you later, Matthew. It’s time I made my rounds, and don’t give her any more ideas regarding proper ‘saloon girl’ attire. I have a feeling these girls could stir up plenty of trouble dressed as nuns.”
“See you later, Morgan. I’ll hang around here for a while and then I’m going over to check on Miss Laurie, but I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
Callie Mae and the Marine Page 11