An Outlawed Heiress and Her Duke

by Denise Daye

  He would deal with it later. For now, he would need a room for the night. On their way to Denver, Esther had told him that there were many different types of saloons, some more respectable than others. According to her, his best chance of finding a clean room was at the restaurant saloons. But how the bloody hell would he find one in between all those billiard saloons, gambling saloons, drinking saloons, dance hall saloons, and opium dens? He looked down the street in front of him that was nothing short of a war zone. How could there be so bloody many of them? Discouraged, he started reading some of the saloon names: “Tanglefoot,” he mumbled to himself, “Forty-Red, Tarantula Juice, Red Eye, Coffin… Coffin?” He stopped and rubbed his face with his hand in impatient annoyance. This was a nightmare.

  “Kayun ah help thuh faahn Mister?” a young man in a dirty suit and missing a front tooth asked.

  He was wearing a melon hat above his black frizzed hair and was trying to look like a trustworthy gentleman—which he clearly failed at miserably. Like everyone else, the stench of booze was on him, as if he had bathed in liquor. George did not trust this man as far as he could spit, but it couldn’t hurt to ask which one of all these places was a restaurant saloon.

  “I need a room,” George tried to lose his British accent. The man’s face lit up, exposing his missing tooth in a huge grin.

  “Alone, no women,” George clarified much to the disappointment of the man whose grin didn’t vanish but diminished.

  “Well ya came to thuh right man they-n.” He slapped himself on the chest.

  “You came to me,” George clarified, narrowing his eyes. The man tapped his hat with his index finger in some sort of howdy gesture. “No need t’ be so suspicious. Wer all friends hair,” he said in a far from trustworthy tone.

  “Hair,” he pulled some sort of ticket out of his jacket and held it up to George, who didn’t move an inch. The man kept holding it up right in front of him anyway. “It’s a ticket for a free heyrcut at Bob’s. Awn thuh howse.”

  George was truly puzzled. Had this man just offered him a free haircut?

  “Did you say haircut?” he asked, eyebrows raised high.

  “Yes, Sir. At Bob’s,” the man confirmed with a smirk.

  George shook his head. This was absurd. He almost wanted to accept the ticket simply because he was curious to see if indeed it really was the ticket he claimed it to be, so bizarre was the whole situation. But just as he was about to accept the offer, he heard an all too familiar voice coming in from behind him.

  “Get out of here you, saddle bum!”

  George turned to find the brave, incredible woman he had left less than two hours ago. She was still dressed like a man, one hand holding the reins to a brown horse, the other in a white makeshift sling. The sun was shining right behind her, almost like a knight coming to his rescue—from a haircut.

  The swindler, who obviously did not appreciate her interference, changed his oh-so-helpful and friendly demeanor in a matter of seconds, his face now grimacing like an angry wild cat.

  “Git out awf hair, ya purty puss!” he spat on the dusty ground, reaching into his pocket while taking an abrupt step toward Esther to threaten her. George had had enough of this theater play and lifted his coat just enough to expose a glimmer of his gun in its holster.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he cautioned. The man instantly shot both of his hands up, stumbling backwards.

  “Easy now,” he nervously smiled. “Was jus’ about to cut a path anyways.” And just like that he turned on his heel and was gone with the wind, the ticket slowly tumbling onto the dusty ground. A heavy silence took the stage where a moment ago this jester had been preforming.

  “The good ol’ heyrcut trick,” Esther nervously joked at George to break the silence. But George still didn’t say a single word. He didn’t have to. His whole being had a glum of displeasure around him, quite likely visible from space.

  “They do that one in New York as well. Lure you into the barber shop with a free haircut. Then the barber feels out your wallet and cuts a mark into the back of your head to let the thieves know if you are worth the trouble,” she babbled nervously, stepping closer, acting as if there was nothing unusual about her riding here on a horse, with a gunshot wound, to continue this treacherous journey to Chama.

  “Rather daring, wouldn’t you agree?” he finally said, crossing his arms.

  “Well, the barber and the thieves all are—”

  “I am referring to you,” he interrupted her, winning that round as Esther slowly let her gaze sink to the ground to avoid his judging eyes. She bit her lower lip, something George had noticed she did often when she was nervous. He knew why she was here, but it would rain pigs before he would let her tag along and put herself in danger—again.

  “You are not coming with me… Esther.” Hearing him say her name seemed to have struck something in her as she instantly jerked her head up to meet his gaze.

  “I know I wasn’t quite honest with you…”

  “I saw that,” George countered in his usual calm and composed voice before realizing that this statement didn’t sound right. A brief image of her perfect curves flashed into his memory, flooding his thoughts in a short burst of elation. “I—I mean—I know… I know that,” he clarified, rubbing his neck and blinking his eyes away from the image in his head. How could he even think about her like that? Here… Now? Rather unlike him, but Esther thankfully didn’t pay it much attention.

  “Please, George. I really need to get to Chama,” she begged with her big deer eyes that were more beautiful than ever. Had any man ever managed to turn those begging eyes down, he wondered?

  “Well, not with me you won’t. You need to rest and it’s too dangerous. Please go back to Alamosa and wait for me there.” George stepped back into the carnival-like mingle of the street when he heard Esther shout:

  “Jones is my friend!”

  He froze, then turned to face her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He has been my father’s lawyer and friend of the family since I can remember.” She urged the horse to slowly move closer. “He vanished in Chama, just like your friend Billy. A few weeks before my father passed away.” Esther looked away as if she were trying to shake off the very notion of a sad memory, a memory she had no time for right now. “He is the only one who can save me. Please, George.”

  She sounded desperate, which instantly drove a dagger into his heart. He stepped closer, gently putting his hand on her arm that was holding the horse.

  “I promise you I shall find him. But you have to wait for me in Alamosa. It’s too dangerous for you to come with me.”

  “It’s not safe there for me any longer. Who knows, people might already be looking for me as we speak.” She argued a good point. Alamosa might not be safe any longer. Emily Wayne, in her endless hatred for Esther, had most likely already telegraphed to New York that she had seen her on the train to Denver. If that Morris guy was smarter than a three-year-old, he would add one and one together and know that she was on her way to Chama to find Jones.

  Suddenly Esther turned around and started to walk off. George followed her, kicking dirt and sand as he trudged behind her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To Chama,” she lifted her chin. He let out a frustrated, sharp breath.

  “Please stop.”

  She didn’t.

  “You mustn’t blame yourself when they find my dead body in the desert,” she calmly remarked, getting all the dirty tricks out of her toolbox.

  “That’s not fair, Esther,” he yelled after her, trying to keep up.

  “If…they find my body,” she shouted back over her shoulder without slowing down. “The desert has swallowed many souls before. Just tell the kids I love them for me, will ya?”

  She had played the winning card in this poker match. George stopped in his tracks, bitterly speechless. He had to give it to her. As mad and frustrated as he was, never, not in his wildest dreams,
could he have ever imagined meeting a woman like Esther. She was incredible, amazing, and stunning without a doubt. Something told him that she would do just as she had threatened and ride off to Chama all by herself on an old horse…with a gunshot wound. Of course, he could not let that happen.

  “Wait!” He took his hat off, dragging a hand through his now sweaty hair. But Esther kept going without even bothering to look his way. Gosh darn it this woman was as stubborn as she was smart. She had set him up yet again, and he’d fallen for it like a mouse following a trail of cheese. But everything she said was not without merit. As things stood, nowhere was safe for her right now. It made sense to be on the constant move. It was her only chance. Finding Jones had to happen now, not later. And George was determined to do whatever it would take to help her. At least she’d somehow managed to keep Milton somewhere safe this time. Unless—

  “What about Milton? How do we know he hasn’t already followed you? Is he here somewhere? Gambling or handing out tickets for free haircuts?”

  Esther laughed, but it was more of a giggle. Her brief smile glinted in the sun that highlighted every soft curve on her face, from her flushed brows to her reddened lips—gosh she was beautiful.

  “I told him that it was important for him to stay behind at Alamosa with the doctor’s family so he could telegraph us as soon as the sheriffs started looking for me.”

  George was not convinced.

  “It’s the truth so he believed it,” she added. “Milton wants to protect me, and he can do so best from Alamosa.”

  George put his hat back on, relieved to hear at least some good news. He would only have to protect a wounded, outlawed woman, not a child on top of that.

  Esther nodded down the road. “This way.”

  “Where to?”

  “We need a room.” She led the horse around drunken soldiers and cowboys who paid her no attention with her boyish outfit. George followed closely just in case. “Did you forget what I told you about saloons?” she asked, eyebrows raised high as they walked.

  “No, but I was rather taken with all of them… I mean, Coffin, Red Eye, Tarantula juice… Who could resist?”

  Esther grinned at him. “The answer lies in the façade.” She stopped in front of a brick building called ‘Desert John’s’ and tied her horse up to a hitching post. “Brick…,” she smiled, “to be able to afford brick walls you must have good business and have been around for a while.”

  With a faint smile on his lips, George watched her enter the saloon, wondering if there was anything he wouldn’t do for this hell of a woman. He wasn’t surprised to find that he couldn’t think of anything…

  Chapter 11

  E sther felt a bit of relief when they walked into Desert John’s and it was indeed a restaurant saloon with rooms for rent, just like she had told George it would be. She was raised in the West; however, there was still a big difference between growing up as a privileged heiress on a secure ranch and actually surviving the harsh life in a frontier town. Her father had moved both of them to New York when he thought it was time for her to become a lady, so her exposure to the lawless frontier was limited to accompanying her father on the occasional, heavily guarded, business trips out West or the colorful tales from the cowboys working on her ranch.

  Desert John’s was a typical saloon with a long mahogany bar that was polished to a sparkly shine. Steer horns, saddles, and a few taxidermied mountain animals decorated the walls, staring at the arriving guests with glazed eyes. There were several tables with somewhat decent looking folks eating and drinking, giving the saloon an overall tamer atmosphere, which didn’t seem like the norm in this town.

  “Kay-yun I help ya?” the short, overweight bartender asked while cleaning a glass with a white rag. He had an enormous curled mustache that swallowed parts of his voice and was wearing a white shirt with black stripes. Esther and George stepped up to the bar which seemed to also operate as the reception, as indicated by the room keys located on a wooden shelf in between all the liquor bottles.

  “We need a room,” George said.

  The owner placed the glass aside and studied Esther and George from underneath his mustache. “Eend two firewaters to wet the throats,” Esther added in a cowboy accent. The bartender placed two dirty glasses in front of them and was about to pour whiskey out of an unlabeled bottle, when Esther grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him right in his tracks. “Not the rotgut, the good stuff.” Her eyes narrowed. The bartender growled something from under his mustache and replaced the unlabeled bottle with a bottle whose label read ‘Old Grandad’ and finished his pour. Esther swung down the whole contents at once. She almost gagged, burning up from the inside, but put all her strength into her poker face before signaling George, who was about to sip on it, that this is how it’s done here. George looked around the room and noticed a few pairs of eyes on him, so he pounded the whole thing as well, his iron face not giving away for a second that he too was on fire from this hundred-proof attacker.

  The bartender now nodded in approval, turning around to grab one of his room keys.

  “That’s all ah gawt.” He slammed the keys onto the counter in front of them. Esther stared at them for a brief moment, her heartbeat racing. George sneaked a glance at her from the corner of his eye. They would sleep in the same room again. But this time without Milton and as man and woman. So, what? Is this seriously all you concern yourself with right now?

  “That’s faahn.” Esther grabbed the keys, trying to play it cool in front of George. The bar tender’s direction to the room was nothing more than a dry, short nod up some wooden stairs at the end of the saloon. Esther responded with a hat nod and was about to head to the wooden stairs, when George grabbed her by the arm to stop her.

  “The military…,” he directed at the bartender who was now filling empty whiskey glasses for one of the saloon girls.

  “What’s with thuh blueskins?” he growled from under his beard.

  “Would you happen to know if their commanding officer is here?” George inquired, asking for another glass of that hellish whiskey by tapping his finger next to his empty glass. Esther was somewhat surprised how fast George had learnt the talk of the West. The bartender mumbled something that was hard to understand, filling George’s glass just to watch him swig it down again, like a real cowboy. George was looking over to Esther for a translation, but she simply shrugged her shoulders.

  “You get better at reading his mustache after a few weeks of being trapped here,” an elegant, strong male voice addressed George from a table in a corner of the saloon. George and Esther walked around the bar to discover an older gentleman dressed in a spotless, blue military uniform. His balbo beard was combed to perfection, a sign that he was one of the finer folks. And unlike all the other soldiers they had come across so far, this man was covered in medals and had two golden stars on each shoulder, revealing him to be higher up there on the military ladder. He was not looking up but continued to use his knife to finely cut the meat in front of him.

  “I was rather hoping to stay a day at the most.” George instantly changed back from a whiskey pounding cowboy into his duke persona, noble accent included. There was no doubt in neither his nor Esther’s mind that this commanding officer would respect a man of society by more than what the rest of the town judged folks by—how they ordered and drank their whiskey. The officer now leaned back in his chair and gazed at George in curiosity.

  “And who if I may ask do I have the pleasure with?” the major general now inquired, tapping his mouth with a napkin.

  “George Astley, Duke of Aberdeen. Delighted to make your acquaintance.” He lifted his hat a little in a formal greeting despite it being a cowboy hat. The major got up from his chair and pointed toward the seat across from him to invite George to sit down.

  “Major General Patterson.” He sat back down at the same time George did. Esther wondered if she had heard that right. What in the hell was a major general doing here? None of the forts within h
undreds of miles could produce such military nobility. She could only hope that George knew that. Unfortunately, she had no place at this table or even in this conversation to help him. The commander would not bother with a poorly dressed guide, so she had to let George win this battle for them. She stepped a few feet back, just enough not to be a bother but still close enough to hear their conversation.

  “You’re far away from home,” Patterson remarked, waving the waitress over to refill his glass of water. He wasn’t a drinker…a family man then? Perhaps forced to be here?

  “So are you, it seems,” George remarked. For a brief moment, Major General Patterson’s gaze darkened and drifted off wherever his mind took him, perhaps to his family and home he missed dearly? Esther almost smiled… She had to give it to George, he was as clever as he was handsome and kind.

  General Patterson shook himself back from his tender memories to the dusty, devilish town he was in.

  “All the way from Maryland. They were hoping to avoid a massacre of the Indians, so they have sent something more civilized.

  “I can see that,” George joked sarcastically nodding toward downtown Antonito. The Major laughed.

  “You can only tolerate the whining for permission to go to the saloons for so long. At a certain point, the begging becomes more insufferable than actually witnessing your men giving in to flesh and sin.”