Betting It All

by Cate Masters

  “Agreed.” He appeared to school his expression to remain serious, but the crinkles around his eyes gave him away. Unabashed happiness, despite her sternness. Infuriating and delightful at the same time.

  When he winked, it further unnerved her, but she let him lead on.

  ***

  Dusk cloaked the streets, making the colored lights of the rides reflect in Norah’s eyes, wide with fascination. It did Mac’s heart good to see her laughing like a lass as she rode the merry-go-round, or the round car suspended by chains whirling them above the water. Rose tinged her cheeks, and her giggles put him in mind of fairy’s bells, enchanting him.

  His hearty laughs felt good, too.

  The whirling cars slowed, descending from their orbit. He helped her out, though her strong grip in his surprised him. Not a swooning female, unlike others.

  She glanced around eagerly. “I always wanted to go to the county fair. This is so much better.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “No one to go with. Mama was always busy.” She turned away.

  From her sudden change of attitude, he knew better than to ask why Daddy hadn’t brought her. “You must have had plenty of friends.” And suitors, he imagined, more than one girl could handle.

  Her smile grew wistful. “No. I’ve always been on my own.”

  Like him. He’d never have guessed.

  She brightened. “Let’s walk through the zoo.”

  “All right.” He stopped to buy a bag of popcorn, and popped the kernels into his mouth as they walked. “Want some?”

  She reached in. “Thanks.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t thank me. It’s your money.”

  Her tone turned shy. “I mean for today.”

  “My pleasure.” A bit too much pleasure, though he wouldn’t mind a bit more. That thought snuffed the good feeling out.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He walked on. “Look, the orangutan’s swinging through the tree.” With as fool a grin as his own.

  “We should go. You must be tired.”

  “Me? No.” Ah, but she’d use it as an excuse for her own weariness. “But if you want to, we’ll go.”

  “Yes, I suppose we should.” She glanced back, girlish with excitement and regret. The colored lights of the distant Chutes and Zoo played softly across her face. Breathtaking, heart-achingly beautiful, she was.

  He hated to see her so disappointed. “We’ll come back, maybe next month.”

  “By then, we’ll be open for business.” She halted. “A Touch of Class.”

  The words she spoke swirled through his head, and an image taunted him, of her splayed naked, the same beckoning expression inviting him to stalk above her, nipping and teasing her soft skin.

  A blink, and her brow furrowed.

  He mentally shook off the image. “Pardon?”

  Keeping him in her sights, she sauntered ahead. “I’ve decided on the name.”

  Ah, the saloon, she’d meant. “I see.” Not quite what he’d imagined.

  “You don’t like it?” She sounded a bit angry.

  “It’s fine.” Perhaps too obvious, but if she wanted it, then fine.

  “I’ll have it painted in gold on the windows.”

  “Very nice. I could do that for you.” Save her some extra money.

  “Could you? In script?”

  “Or, if I painted it in a bolder script, perhaps customers wouldn’t mistake the meaning.”

  “Mistake it how?”

  No mistaking the challenge in her tone. He wouldn’t ruin the day. “I can make it appear however you want it.” Nothing like making himself indispensable.

  Or fencing yourself in. He’d never spent so much time alone with one woman. Rather than inciting the urge to run, a sense of ease permeated Mac. It shouldn’t feel this good walking along with Norah, other gents nodding at him in approval. Protectiveness rising up, prodding him to take her arm as a signal to the leering fools. No, he shouldn’t get used to it.

  ***

  Unbelievable. Norah stared at the freshly painted letters, golden script just as she’d imagined. Was there nothing Mac couldn’t do? She’d scoffed when he’d called himself a man of many talents, but he’d proved her wrong. Again.

  He stood back with her to examine his work. “Well?”

  His smile told her he already knew his work was perfection, but beneath it, a boyish need for approval. The midday sun drew beads of sweat on his forehead, creating a tantalizing musky scent mixing with the clean fragrance of soap. His gaze held her entranced as he waited for her answer.

  She hardly knew how to reply, or how to act. Every day, she trained herself not to give in to the urges creeping up on her. Sweeping over her. Simple things, such as mopping the glistening beads from his brow. Straightening his collar. Melting into his embrace.

  She’d come to depend on him too much, relied on him to do her bidding, and her success teetered in the balance.

  Not a good thing. From now on, she’d have to keep their relationship strictly business. No more trips together, especially not to Chutes and Zoo. At night, she lay awake, remembering his laugh as they rode the whirling car, his adorable bow and tipping his cap to her, in jest of course, but not mocking her.

  She nodded. “Nice work. Let’s hope it brings in some customers.” She walked inside with a brisk step.

  Behind the bar, she pretended to scan the shelves, fully aware of his every movement—entering the bar, closing the door with a gentle click. The sound ratcheted the tension in her chest and the echoes fluttered her heart faster. She imagined him padding up, placing his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. To face what, neither of them acknowledged aloud, but had become undeniable.

  “What happens now?”

  She whirled. “Now?” Had he read her thoughts?

  “Yes. Everything’s ready, isn’t it?” He glanced at her mouth, a habit he’d acquired. A contagious one, apparently, because she always did the same. And then her thoughts scattered, awhirl with wondering how his lips would feel against hers.

  Her bones seemed to liquefy, and she braced against the counter. “Nearly. I have to inventory.” Anything to keep busy, take her attention off him.

  “I’ve already inventoried supplies twice.”

  Don’t be a simpering fool. “And you made a record of it all?” Easily said, but not so easy when his presence filled the aisle.

  “The ledger’s in the drawer.” He blocked her exit.

  Intentionally? Should she ask him ‘what happens now’? She’d never made herself so accessible to any man, and had no experience, though she knew well enough where it would lead. Upstairs, in her bed. Or maybe right here.

  Don’t act like Estelle. She straightened. “The bar’s fully stocked. Do we have enough extra in the back?”

  “Plenty.” He stepped closer, and turned on the sink to wash the gold flecks from his hands.

  Too close for comfort. She needed breathing space. “Good. I’m off to see Mr. Abernathy.”

  He dried his hands on the towel and tossed it under the counter. “Shall I come, too?”

  “No.” She sounded too hasty. “I’d rather you stayed here to watch over things.”

  “As you wish.” Confusion knit his brow, but resignation sounded in his tone.

  Yes, she wished. Not only to protect her investment, but her heart. A little distance would provide better perspective. Dry business details would help reorient her. She gathered her purse and hat, and set off.

  The walk should have worked off frustration, but instead, she missed his easy stride and easy smile.

  Don’t be a fool, Norah. The only man she could depend on, she’d left in Trenton. Dan Jamison. Guilt infused her when she realized she hadn’t written to him since that first day. Nor had she written Estelle.

  Thinking of Mama bolstered her. Norah would end up like her mother in only one respect: she’d make her own way in this world, independent of any man. Though, like her
mother, Norah would depend on men to fund her success. An oddly reassuring thought. Maybe she was more like Estelle than she cared to admit.

  After conducting the final business with the attorney, Norah headed for City Hall for the necessary permit. She didn’t mind spending the money on it. If she had to bet on a dream, this one was well worth the cost.

  Chapter Five

  Hours later, Mac stood behind the bar, mired in frustration. Something bothered Norah today, but what? The trip to the Chutes and Zoo had eased their tired bones, and Norah had fun for a change.

  Fun, apparently, didn’t agree with her. She’d been nothing but testy since. Typical woman. Use a man up and toss him aside. Not even sneaking in a tune on the piano eased his nerves as it usually did.

  The door opened. Two men entered, scanning the room. Slowly, they approached the bar.

  Mac took down two glasses. “What would you gents like?”

  The taller man spoke. “To speak to the owner.”

  Odd. Mac didn’t like the looks of these men, like weasels in overcoats. “She’s not here.”

  The two exchanged glances. “Too bad. We’re with the Vice Squad.”

  “The Vice Squad,” Mac repeated. Holy shi-te. And he’d offered them a drink before the place had officially opened.

  From the back entrance, Norah walked in. “Is there a problem?”

  The shorter man chuckled. “Not yet.”

  The other frowned. “Thought you weren’t here.”

  “I’ve just returned from City Hall, where I obtained the business permit.” Spying the glasses on the counter, she shot a glare at Mac. The law disapproved of operating a business without the proper permit. She’d warned him. He hadn’t seen the harm. Until now.

  The taller man held up the empty glass and studied it. “See, Miss Hawkins, we have an arrangement with other places such as yours.”

  “What sort of arrangement?” She tacked the permit to the wall behind the bar.

  “For a small fee,” the man raked his gaze across her, “We’ll ensure your operation runs without any hitch.”

  Wiping her hands, she put away the unused glasses. “I’m not expecting any sort of hitch. We’re ready for business.”

  The taller man shot her a cold smile. “What about, say, an unexpected closure?”

  Her confusion plain, Norah looked from one man to the other. “Why would I close, when I’ve just opened?”

  “Because.” He sneered. “We’re sworn to protect the public. But if you make it worth our while, we’ll turn a blind eye.”

  Recognition lit her face. “My business poses no threat to the public. It’s a drinking establishment, nothing more.”

  The taller one set the glass atop the bar harder than necessary, its resounding slam like a slap. “The name implies it’s more than a saloon.”

  Alarm in her eyes, she squared her shoulders. “You’re mistaken. A Touch of Class means exactly that. I expect only gentlemen to patronize my establishment.”

  She emphasized gentlemen. Mac took it to mean she wanted them to understand she excluded them from that definition.

  The shorter man winced. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I think she is.” The other sent a look of disbelief to his cohort. “We’ll go, for now. But rest assured, we’ll be back, and watching for anything out of the ordinary.”

  She drew to her full height. “I’m sorry to have to disappoint you.”

  On the way out, they murmured things like is she serious? and doesn’t stand a chance.

  Her expression blank, Norah rested her arm along the counter and stared out the window.

  “Don’t worry,” Mac said. “They’re simpletons. Hucksters.” But Mac knew how she felt. The men had such a sniveling, animal-like appearance. They reminded him of the stories his grandmother told in front of the fireplace at night, stories of nasty bog-dwellers and screaming banshees, child-stealing trolls, and mischievous brownies.

  The Vice Squad visit seemed like an omen. Of doom.

  ***

  The next day, Norah officially opened A Touch of Class for business. And waited.

  Pacing in front of the window, she glanced at Mac. “Where is everyone?”

  His shrug infuriated her. She knew what he wanted to say, that they all went to the Barbary District. It couldn’t be a fact that no true gentlemen lived in the city. “I should advertise in The Call.”

  Mac pointed at her. “Yes. Excellent idea.”

  She walked to the bar, wishing she could indulge in a stiff drink. “Don’t patronize me, Mac.”

  “I agreed with you.” He spoke fast and in a shrill tone. “It’s a brilliant idea. No one knows you’ve opened a new place to drink and find sanctuary.”

  Good thing he had no political aspirations. She glared at him but said nothing.

  He leaned on the counter. “You have to announce you’re here so they’ll know where to find you.”

  He had a point. “But what can I do right now?”

  “Post signs downtown. Or hand out flyers.” His fingers traced through the air. “New saloon. No—gentlemen’s club,” he corrected. “And list the name and address.”

  More good points. “You’re right. I have to spread the word.” Oh, but it meant buying more supplies, spending more money when she’d hoped to begin making it instead.

  Mac snapped his fingers. “Maybe advertise the grand opening.”

  “Not so grand, is it?” Though he was sweet to pretend.

  He winked. “It will be. You’ll see.”

  If only she shared his confidence. But he was right. She couldn’t quit before she’d tried everything. No business found success without hard work, and more hard work.

  “Meantime, let’s toast.”

  She hated to ask. “To what?”

  “Your success.” He set two glasses down, tossed in a splash of whiskey, and handed her one. When she took it, he clinked his glass against hers. “Slàinte.”

  “Here’s to you.” She remembered the Irish word from one of Sal’s more rowdy customers, who loved to toast anyone.

  “No, to you.” He knocked back the drink and exhaled.

  Three men entered, and aimed their leering smiles at her.

  Hope fluttered in her belly. “Hello. Good evening.” She slid the untouched whiskey away. “Welcome to A Touch of Class.”

  Wearing suits and top hats, the men appeared to be about Dan’s age, mid-forties or so. True gentlemen. They’d found her saloon after all, without advertising.

  “Please make yourselves at home.” She wrung her hands, then stopped as soon as she realized it gave away her nervousness. “Mac will help you whenever you’re ready.”

  One glanced at the other and chuckled. “We didn’t come for Mac.”

  “Oh?” Unease settled over her.

  “No. We came for a ‘touch of class’.” He nudged the man beside him.

  “I don’t understand.” Norah refused to acknowledge the possible meaning, and lifted her hands. “You’re standing in the middle of it.”

  “How much are your services?”

  Services? She moved back to the bar. “Prices are on the chalkboard. Buy a drink and relax, gentlemen. Consider this place a sanctuary from your cares.”

  One scowled at her. “We don’t want a sanctuary. Where are your girls? Or are you the only one?”

  Another hastened to add, “If you are, that’s fine with me. But I’d like to be first.”

  Refusing to give in to embarrassment, Norah strode to the door and opened it. “We sell alcohol and ambience. If you don’t want either, I can’t help you.”

  One of the men affixed his hat on his head. “What a pity.”

  The trio shuffled out again.

  Norah leaned her head against the door. “This can’t be happening.” Would she never escape her old life?

  Mac rounded the bar and approached her, arms open. “Norah….”

  The thought of falling into his arms erased all else from her mind. W
rapped in his embrace, she’d feel loved. Secure.

  At the last moment, she backed away. “I’m going out. If anyone else comes in, offer them drinks.”

  “Where are you going?”

  The disappointment in his voice snapped her focus to him. The pleading in his eyes almost made her run back to him.

  No. She had to stand strong, on her own. “For supplies to make flyers.” She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  For hours, Mac painted poster after poster. When it neared ten o’clock, he stretched. “How about a drink?”

  Norah swept hair away from her face. “A small scotch. I can’t waste the liquor.”

  “We’ve earned it. Me, more than you.” He laughed.

  She frowned at her work. “Your flyers are nicer.”

  A compliment? His stomach clenched. Mistakenly, he poured whiskey instead. Fool. Pay attention.

  He downed it, poured two scotches, and carried them to the table. “M’lady.”

  Her wry smile unnerved him.

  “What?”

  “I believe you’re the first to call me that.” She lifted her glass in cheers.

  A lady? Had she been less of one before? Petty thievery aside, she’d behaved properly ever since stepping off the train. Too much so, for his liking. “Others simply thought it, then.”

  Sullen, she stood and walked to the window.

  He followed, careful not to stand too close. “Quite the city, isn’t it? Do you regret leaving home?”

  Her mouth quivered, but she never quite smiled. “I had no reason to stay.”

  “No family? Or suitors?” He still couldn’t believe her departure hadn’t left some men bereft.

  “No. I’m never going to marry.”

  Ho now. Quite a revelation. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t believe in love.” Her bold stare held a challenge. And sadness.

  “You must.” His insistence surprised himself as much as her.

  Heat flashed in her green eyes. “Why must I?”

  Had he angered her? Or something else? “It’s the only real treasure on earth.”

  “Oh come now, Mac. Fleeting love is not real.”