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The Madam Takes a Mate
by Sarah Winn
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Erotica/Romance

Copyright ©2004 by Sarah Winn

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

THE MADAM TAKES A MATE

by

Sarah Winn

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

*Published by

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

PO Box 51052

Casper, WY 82605-1052

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Copyright ©

2004 by Sarah Winn

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN 1-59374-140-5

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter 1

“Where's the bitch that runs this place? I wanna see Sally Sweets."

In the hallway just outside the card room, Sally listened to the raucous voice and pressed her lips tightly together in irritation. Since Buford had gone to the icehouse, she had no choice but to handle the loudmouth herself. She gave her bodice a hitch to be sure her cleavage was properly displayed, plastered a smile on her face, and swept into the smoked-filled room.

“Is someone asking for me?” she said in a voice that dripped honey.

It wasn't hard to spot the unhappy customer. The card room was brightly lit and only two of the four felt-covered tables were occupied. A ruddy-faced man, at a table full of men whose clothes and complexions identified them as Texas cattlemen, glowered at her. “Well, it's about time I got a gander at the famous Sally Sweets."

She walked near enough to lay a friendly hand on his shoulder. “What's the matter, sweetie? Haven't my girls been treating you right?"

He pushed back in his chair and looked her up and down. “Ain't your girls I'm interested in. You're the one I've heard so much about. I wanna find out if the talk is true."

From his flushed face and the slight swaying of his body, Sally could see the man was well into his cups. She hoped Buford would be back from the icehouse soon. Broadening her smile to make sure her dimples showed, she said, “What's your name, sweetie?” It never hurt to call a drunk by his name.

“Jessup. Luther Jessup from Brazos County, Texas.” He rose from his chair. “Now let's find us a bedroom, Sally."

“I'm sorry, Luther, but as hostess of this establishment, I have to see that all my guests are satisfied, not just one. If Francine or Stella,” Sally gestured toward the two other women in the room, “don't tickle your fancy, I have others. I pride myself on having a type for every taste."

Luther leaned toward her and steadied himself by bracing one hand against the table. “You saying you don't put out for the customers?"

Sally continued to smile despite the unpleasant blast of Luther's whiskey-laden breath. “That's right, but if you'll come with me to the parlor I'll fix you up—"

Luther waved his hand impatiently. “You calling Tom Branson a liar? He's told everybody who'll listen that he gets under your skirts every time he comes to Kansas."

Sally lost her smile and propped a fist against her hip. “Tom and I are old and dear—"

“You do him for free?” Luther sneered at her.

She'd taken all the abuse off this loudmouth that she could stand. Bringing her other fist to her hip, she glared at him. “What I do or do not do is none of your—"

“How much?” Luther roared as he reached into his pants pocket and drew out a large roll of bills. One of the other men at the table tried to restrain him, but Luther shook free. “I just sold the biggest herd to hit this town this season. Name your price."

Sally didn't want to do this fat braggart, but if she could separate him from enough of his money, she would. Of course, the best way to get the price up was to continue playing hard to get. “Some things aren't for sale, Mr. Jessup."

“But that don't include whores.” Jessup pulled out a one hundred-dollar bill and held it up for everyone to see. The room grew quiet. The players at the other table fastened their attention on the scene.

Sally merely raised an eyebrow.

Jessup fumbled for a moment then held up two bills.

Sally twitched the corners of her mouth.

Jessup again reached into the roll of bills.

“Luther, don't be a fool,” one of his card-playing partners said.

Jessup ignored him and added a third bill to his offer. There were gasps around the room. “Three hundred dollars, bitch. Is that enough for your high and mighty ass?"

If he hadn't called her a bitch, Sally would have taken the offer. But after that, she decided to hold out for five hundred. That would definitely seal her reputation as the highest priced madam in the West. She smiled her refusal at him.

He crumbled the extended bills and hurled them at her. They bounced against her chest and fell to the floor. “How much, bitch? Name your price."

A chair scraped behind Sally. “Hey, Mister, that ain't no way to treat a woman."

Sally glanced over her shoulder and saw a lanky man with a shock of black hair falling across his forehead lurch unsteadily to his feet. Oh God! Two drunks. Where in the hell was Buford?

“You mind your own damn business, cowboy. This is between me and this whore,” Jessup said loudly.

The cowboy struggled to push his chair back so he could turn toward Luther. “Don't care what she is, a man don't hit a woman."

One of the cowboy's companions grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back. “Don't get mixed up in this, Jake."

The cowboy flung the restraining hand away, almost toppling over from the effort. Sally barely managed to get out of their way as the two men lunged toward each other. Luther threw a punch that barely grazed Jake's jaw. Jake shoved his fist into Luther's fat gut with so little force that the man merely grunted.

As unsteady as they were, the fight should have been over quickly, but chairs scraped around the two tables and the room turned into a cauldron of swinging, swearing men. Francine squealed and climbed on the settee in the corner. Stella darted out the door with amazing speed for a woman her size. Sally yelled for Buford at the top of her lungs.

Jake managed to get his hands around Luther's throat and held on with the tenacity of a snapping turtle. Not wanting it to get back to Texas that a cattle owner had been killed in her place, Sally grabbed one of Jake's arms and pulled with all her might. The violent movements of the men almost jerked her off her feet. One of Luther's friends saw what was happening and brought a chair crashing down on the cowboy's head. He crumpled to the floor and the shattered chair rained over him. Damn! It was one of the velvet-covered chairs Sally had brought from St. Louis.

Luther, the miserable ingrate, gasped a few times, and then grabbed Sally's wrist and began dragging her toward the doorway. She dug her heels in, but was no match for the overgrown ox. He'd almost reached the exit when Buford suddenly appeared, roaring in anger when he saw Sally being manhandled. Grabbing Luther by the front of his shirt, Buford's big fist quickly reduced the man's face to a mass of blood and bruises.

Luther squawked in pain and terror. Sally saw his hand fumbling under his coat and screamed a warning to Buford. He didn't hear her above the other noises in the room.

A snub-nosed revolver appeared in Luther's hand and barked the room into a sudden silence. Buford looked down at the red stain growing in the center of his white shirt. He sat down on the floor with a thud that shook the room. Sally rushed to his side. Kneeling, she threw her arms around his enormous shoulders.

He looked over at her. “I'm sorry, Miz Sally,” he said softly. A big swoosh of air left his body and he slumped so heavily against Sally that she had to let him drop to the floor. “Buford. Damn you. Don't you die.” She slapped his cheek and shook his shoulders. He didn't respond. Something akin to terror flowed through Sally. She couldn't lose Buford, her faithful servant, her fearless protector, one of the two men in this world she trusted.

Pallor crept over his crooked nose and pock-marked cheeks. His unseeing eyes stared past her. He's gone! What will I do?

Sally knelt by his side, ignoring the noise and confusion around her until Francine gently pulled on her arm. “Come away, Sally. You're getting blood on your dress. It'll never come out of that satin."

She looked down at her dress and wet spots appeared as tears splashed off her cheeks. Sally prided herself on the fact that she never cried, but now she didn't care. “Buford liked my satin dresses. He said they made me shine like a star in the sky."

“Yeah, yeah, but you gotta get up. Sheriff Mooney is here. He's asking questions."

Sally glanced up at Francine with hostility. She'd never liked Buford and probably didn't even care that he was dead. Then Sally's gaze moved to the hallway where the sheriff talked to Luther who held a handkerchief over his bloody nose. No doubt he was lying through his loose teeth.

Suddenly filled with resolve, she pulled up on Francine's arm and walked toward the sheriff with fire dancing on the tip of her tongue. “Arrest that man! He murdered Buford in cold blood."

The sheriff looked over at her with a tired expression. “That ain't exactly the way I been hearing it, Sally."

“Of course not. He and his friends are lying to save his miserable hide. You ask some of the men from the other table. They can tell you what really happened.” She glanced around the room. Aside from the two bodies on the floor, the only men present seemed to be the ones that had been sitting at Jessup's table.

The sheriff pointed at Jessup's face. “Plain to see the man took a beating. He said he fired in defense of his life. Buford could beat a man to death."

“But he never did,” Sally insisted.

“This fellow didn't know that."

Sally suddenly regretted that she'd never paid the sheriff for the “additional protection” he'd offered. Of course, with Buford around, she hadn't needed to. “What about that cowboy?” She pointed to the body near Buford's. “He was so drunk, he wasn't a real threat to anybody."

“He ain't dead. The doc is coming to look at him. But everybody says he was choking Mr. Jessup."

“Oh, it's Mister Jessup is it? Did you get orders from the town council to protect these cattle owners, or is this your own idea?"

An angry scowl covered the sheriff's face. “You just watch your mouth, Sally. I'm in charge here, and I'm closing your place until this business is settled."

“You can't do that, Mooney. I'm licensed to operate a business in this town."

“The council will probably want to rethink that license after they hear about this ruckus."

Sally took a deep breath, preparing to tell the stupid man just what she thought of him. An insistent tug from Francine made her remember that she couldn't afford to fight with the men who ran the town. There were seven other women in this house who depended on her for their livelihoods. She had to get control of herself.

Fishing a handkerchief from a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt, she began to dab at her tears. “I'm so upset, I don't know what I'm saying. Of course, you must investigate this terrible fight, Sheriff. And I'll want to close down for a day anyway—for Buford's funeral.” She turned a sigh into a near sob.

Peeking over her handkerchief, she saw that the sheriff was still stony-faced. “You keep this place closed until I say different,” he ordered and then turned toward the others. “You men come to my office. We can finish up there."

The cattlemen moved toward the doorway. The smug smiles on several faces showed that they were well aware of which way the wind was blowing. The business interests in Dodge City wouldn't let the death of one brothel bouncer jeopardize their profitable relationship with these cattle barons.

As they left, Doc Fraiser hurried into the room. He took a brief look at Buford and moved on to the cowboy. Francine followed him. Sally turned away. She couldn't bear to look at those bodies for another minute. Seeing her other girls and a few customers watching from the hallway, she told herself to get a grip on her emotions and do what had to be done.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward them. “You heard the sheriff. We gotta close down. Stella, please see these gentlemen out. Somebody check the bedrooms. Be sure they're all clear. Has anybody sent for the undertaker?"

She saw the cook standing in the shadows. “Lizzie, you go for Mr. Utley."

Lizzie didn't move. “I done sent that boy Danny."

“Good.” Thank goodness somebody around her was thinking sensibly. Then she noticed the stricken look on Lizzie's chocolate-colored face.

“What we gon’ do, Miz Sally? Can't run no house like this without a man."

Sally couldn't bear to think about that now. “We'll be all right,” she murmured.

“We be done for,” Lizzie said emphatically.

Fear swept through Sally. Was this the disaster that would destroy her? No! She mustn't think that. The others were watching her. She couldn't show fear. “Go fix some coffee,” Sally snapped at Lizzie. “People need coffee at a time like this."

* * * *

Sally sat at the large table in the kitchen, sipping gingerly from a steaming cup. Stella's portly figure filled the doorway. “Mr. Utley's here. Says he's gotta speak to you."

Too drained to move, Sally said, “Ask him to come in here, will you?"

Stella stepped aside and revealed the skinny undertaker who entered the kitchen. With his black bowler hat in his hand, he nodded to Sally. “So sorry for your loss, Miss Sweets. Just need to know what you want for the laying away. Buford was such a big man, it's gonna take a special-made coffin for him. ‘Fraid I'll have to charge you extra for that."

Her head snapped up and she glared at the man. “Don't worry about the cost. I want Buford laid away in style."

Mr. Utley nodded eagerly and began writing in a little notebook. “Do you want a service and a procession to the graveyard?"

“Yes. Have two horses pulling the hearse, and be sure they're wearing plumes. And a satin pillow—put Buford's head on a—” Her voice cracked and she couldn't go on.

“Don't you worry about a thing, Miss Sweets. It'll be a real fine funeral. I've got some boys coming to pick up the body. We'll be outta your way in just a few minutes."

Francine appeared in the doorway with men's clothing draped over her arm. “This is Buford's best suit, ain't it?"

Sally nodded.

Mr. Utley took the clothing from Francine. “Would two o'clock tomorrow afternoon be all right for the service?"

Again Sally nodded.

“If you want to come for a private viewing beforehand, I'll have everything ready by noon."

“You're damn right I'll come,” Sally said, “and everything better be first class."

“It will, Miss Sweets. It will.” He rushed from the room.

Francine walked over to the stove and poured herself a cup of coffee. “You think it's wise to spend so much money on Buford's funeral when we're closed down and don't know when we'll open again?"

“It's my damn money. I'll spend it any way I want."

Francine came to the table and stirred a heaping spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Sure, Sally, sure. I was just thinking about you. You're always talking about expenses eating up all your profits."

“And we're gonna serve food and drinks after the funeral. Invite everybody who attends,” Sally said.

“But the sheriff said we had to stay closed,” Francine objected.

“It'll be free. I can entertain guests as long as you girls keep your skirts down."

Stella reappeared in the doorway. “The doctor says we oughta move the cowboy while the men are here to pick up Buford. What should we do with him?"

Sally felt her lip curl in distaste. “I'm not paying for his laying out. If he'd kept his nose out of it, none of this woulda happened."

“But he ain't ready to be laid out,” Stella said. “The doc says he could linger on for several days."

“And how is that my problem?” Sally asked indignantly.

“Oh, come on, Sally,” Francine said in a coaxing voice. “He did get hurt trying to protect you."

“Like hell. He was just looking for a fight, and as far as I'm concerned, he got what he deserved."

“So you want us to throw him out in the street. Let him spend his last hours laying in the gutter?” Francine asked in a belligerent tone.

“Where are his friends? Let them take care of him."

“They scattered before the sheriff got here. Besides they're only drovers. They got no way to care for him,” Stella added.

“That's another thing,” Sally said, finding an outlet for her rage. “Why in the hell was my card room full of common drovers? There are plenty of card tables in the saloons for the likes of them. I've told you girls that we cater to owners and buyers. Can't any of you tell the difference between a twenty-dollar-a-month cowboy and a man with full pockets?"

“They've all got full pockets at the end of a drive,” Stella said.

Sally glared at her and huffed in disgust. If she hadn't given Stella a job, the woman would be a two-bit crib girl.

“What about Buford's room?” Francine asked.

Sally shook her head in confusion. “What about it?"

“For the cowboy,” Francine explained.

“No! Absolutely not. There's a cot in the storeroom. Put him on that. And I don't want you girls wasting your time playing nursemaid."

“Why not?” Francine shrugged. “Doesn't look like we'll have anything else to do."

“I'll get us opened up again.” Sally gave her words emphasis with a self-assured nod of her head. “Don't you worry about that.” Sometimes Francine took advantage of their long relationship. If she didn't watch her step, Sally would send her packing.

Francine didn't seem to notice Sally's glower. “I'll go see if they need any help moving the cowboy."

“Yeah, he is a big drink of water,” Stella said and followed Francine out the door.

Sally watched them go, knowing she'd better get back into business soon, or she'd lose the best crew she'd ever assembled. Dammit! Another couple of good years and she'd have enough money put back to get out of the business. Now, without Buford's protection, the vultures were sure to move in on her.

* * * *

The mood around the breakfast table the next morning was sullen. The girls usually didn't eat breakfast. But Sally had roused them all and was now handing out assignments for the day.

“Teresa, I want you and Stella to help Lizzie lay out the buffet in the main parlor. And don't throw the food on the table any old way. Use those silver platters I keep in the hutch. I'll give you the key."

Teresa's black, almond-shaped eyes narrowed for a moment, but she nodded her agreement. Because of her Mexican ancestry, she often took offense when asked to do chores. Evidently, Sally's practice of always assigning someone to work with her had again salved her pride.

“Lizzie will stay here during the funeral, but I want the rest of you there and dressed right. I know you don't all have black dresses, but at least wear dark colors and cut down on the jewelry and feathers."

The ostrich plume rising above Josie's dark red curls began to vibrate. “And what's wrong with feathers?"

Since Josie almost always wore ostrich feathers in her hair, Sally wasn't surprised by her question and she answered in a calm voice. “Nothing's wrong with them, except at funerals. I don't want the uppity women in this town laughing at the way we lay out Buford."

Sally's answer obviously didn't satisfy Josie for the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks grew more vivid. “Maybe I don't have anything else to wear on my head. Maybe I won't even go,” she said and twisted her lips into a pout.

Sally took deep breaths to control her temper. “Who saved your ass when that customer accused you of stealing his wallet last month?” she asked in a deadly calm voice.

Josie stared down at her plate. “Buford."

“He protected us all. He died protecting us, and we're going to show our appreciation by putting on the finest funeral this town has ever seen. You'll all go, and you'll look sad. Don't make eyes at the men in the crowd. If you can't cry real tears, fake it. I know you can all do that."

“Are we gonna leave the cowboy here alone?” Stella asked.

“Has he opened his eyes since he got hit?” Sally replied.

Stella shook her head.

“Well, it won't make any difference to him whether anybody's here or not, will it?"

Stella looked mournful. “Without anything to eat or drink, the poor thing won't last long."

“He drank enough yesterday to last him a while. That pad I put on him last night was sopping this morning,” Francine said.

Lucy, the youngest member of their group, looked at her with wide eyes. “Did you put a diaper on a man?"

Francine shrugged. “That's what they did to my paw after he had the apoplectic fit."

“How's the cowboy hung?” Stella asked and arched her eyebrows.

“Looks like he could have shown a girl a real good time."

Teresa shook her raven tresses. “Too bad none of us had a chance at him before he got killed."

Sally threw her fork down on the table in disgust. “You girls stop talking trash and get to work. Buford's gonna get the respect in death that he never got in life."

Chapter 2

Sally swept the black veil back from her face, pulled out the jet-tipped hatpin, and placed her hat on the bedside table. Nobody could say she hadn't given Buford a good send off. And the girls had done their parts. In fact, Josie had cried a little too much. Sally hoped she hadn't started using laudanum again.

She heard the rumble of voices coming from the direction of the parlor and knew the promise of Lizzie's buffet and an open bar was drawing half the town—the male half. She should be out there greeting them, but she needed a few moments to herself.

A soft knock sounded on her bedroom door. At Sally's call, Francine came in carrying a tray holding a decanter of sherry and two glasses. “Thought you might need this,” she said, setting the tray on the round table near the window.

Sally gratefully sank into a chair beside the table. Francine might overstep her bounds at times, but she was still the closest thing Sally had to a friend. After pouring the golden liquid, Francine handed Sally a glass and took one for herself. Then she elegantly arranged her willowy frame in the chair across from Sally's.

Sally held her glass up. “Here's to Buford. The truest friend,” her voice wavered, “I ever had."

Francine lightly tapped her glass against Sally's before taking a sip of the sherry. Then she pursed her lips in a thoughtful expression. “I never understood what you saw in that big lummox."

“Buford couldn't help being slow. At one time he was the leading prizefighter in St. Louis, but he took too many blows to the head."

“You knew him when he was still in his prime?"

“No. When I first went to St. Louis, I tried to make it on my own, but you know how that goes."

Francine rolled her brown eyes. “I'll say. Without somebody backing you, half the damn customer's don't pay up."

“Or the police rob you,” Sally added.

Francine's sable colored curls bobbed as she nodded her agreement.

“Anyway, I finally went to work at Finney's Saloon. That's where I met Buford. He hadn't been out of the ring long and was working as bouncer and clean-up guy. Finney treated him like shit, but then Finney treated everybody like that. The other girls made fun of Buford. Played jokes on him.

“I always treated him well.” Sally shrugged. “Probably because I was afraid not to. Then I realized I never had to worry about the customers mistreating me as long as Buford was around. He even pulled Finney off me one night. Of course, Finney fired both of us, but that turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me."

She smiled a little as she remembered herself as a scared, seventeen-year-old girl promising the hulking brute that she would find new jobs for both of them.

“I spent every dime I had on a new dress and went to the fanciest house in town. The madam liked my looks and my spirit and hired me. Within a week, I'd talked her into hiring Buford. She treated him decent, and he stayed there until I went into business with Sean Kelly. Kelly and Buford were the only two men I ever trusted who didn't end up treating me wrong."

Francine took another sip of sherry. “Buford was as loyal as an old hound dog, but...” She stared into the liquid remaining in her glass. “But he was also as ugly as a back fence. How'd you get around that?"

“What's inside a man is a lot more important than how he looks on the outside."

Francine looked at her with disbelief. “Oh, yeah? What about Kelly? Don't tell me you never paid any attention to his great-looking outsides."

“Sean and I were business partners."

Francine's eyes opened widely. “You mean you and he never slept together?"

Sally drew back in offense. “Even though you've worked for me longer than any of the other girls, you don't know me at all! I never mix business with pleasure. Besides, nothing ruins a friendship between a man and woman quicker than sex."

“Wasn't Buford part of your business?"

Sally's mouth dropped open in surprise. “Buford had the mind of a little child. He wasn't even interested in that sort of thing. How could you think I'd—"

Francine raised a hand defensively. “We all figured that's why you quit sleeping with the customers."

Sally drained her glass and angrily set it back on the tray. “I thought you were a little smarter than the rest of the fools, Francine. I still sleep with a few select customers and make more from one man than you girls do from twenty.

“If that cowboy hadn't butted in, I'd have gotten that idiot, Jessup, to offer me five hundred dollars in front of a room full of witnesses. That would have made me the most famous madam in the West, and every braggart in Texas would have been begging for my services. The money would have rolled in. I'd have had enough to retire in one more season."

Swiftly rising to her feet, Sally smoothed the lines of her black dress. “I've got to get out there and shake some hands before the free-loaders drink me into bankruptcy."

* * * *

The parlor had nearly cleared out, just a few hangers-on hoping to get around Sheriff Mooney's order to close. Sally had halfway expected him to voluntarily rescind that order today. After all, some of her best customers were important businessmen in this town, but so far she'd seen no sign of him. She'd never known the sheriff to stay away from free booze. That could only mean somebody was paying Mooney more that he could reasonably expect to squeeze out of her. Who was it, and what did they want?

After nodding farewell to another guest, Sally watched Francine and Stella help Lizzie clear dishes from the buffet table. Lucy and Teresa chatted with a couple of men in the corner. Sally had forbidden the girls to take anyone to their rooms, but she knew she couldn't stop them from leaving with a customer if they wanted to do a little business on their own. Josie had already disappeared. She'd been talking to that shifty Pete Lewis and had probably gone off with him. Of course, Josie was so sweet on Pete that she'd undoubtedly do him for free. Sally just couldn't get Josie to accept the fact that men don't value what they get for free.

Betsy's black-clad figure appeared in the drapery-trimmed archway that led to the rest of the house. Next to Sally, Betsy had the best mourning outfit of any of the girls. Of course, she wore dark colors all the time anyway. Sally never had understood why some men would come to a whorehouse and pick a woman who looked and acted like a schoolmarm, but they did.

The gratitude Sally felt over Betsy's attire evaporated when she saw a man just behind her. My God, had Betsy, who'd made obedience her specialty, disobeyed Sally's order? Give Mooney half an excuse and he'd really come down on them. Sally quickly moved to intercept the couple. “Betsy, didn't I tell you nobody was to go beyond the parlor?” she hissed in a low voice.

Betsy's ramrod straight back grew even stiffer. “This is Willie, I just took him back to see his friend, Jake. I didn't see any harm in that."

“Oh. The dying cowboy?"

The middle-aged man with Betsy nodded mournfully. “Yes, ma'am. Him and me have made a couple of drives together. Sure is a shame for Jake to end up like this, though I ain't surprised. That man just couldn't seem to get a handle on his life."

“Have you come to take him away?” Sally asked hopefully.

The man's eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly. “No, ma'am, I'm fixin’ to get on back to Texas. Got no way to take Jake back. Anyway, from what I've heard, he'd never make it. But I want to thank you fer givin’ him a dry place to die. I brought his saddle and his pack and gun. Thought you could sell ‘em for enough to put him away proper."

Sally stared at the man as it occurred to her that she'd overlooked some practical considerations about that cowboy. “Is that all he has, a saddle and guns?"

“That's all I know of. But his gun is nice. He was real proud of it. Course, he never wore it when he went to a town. I guess he feared shootin’ somebody while he was likkered up. Jake don't have a mean bone in him, but he can't stay away from saloons and such."

“When did you two get to Dodge?” she asked.

“Oh, we got the herd near here a couple of weeks ago, but they sold ‘em and paid us off two days back. Some of the crew is stickin’ around, but those of us with families are ready to head home."

“How about Jake what's-his-name? Is somebody waiting for him back in Texas?"

“His name's Wallace—Jacob Wallace—and there ain't nobody waiting for him. While he was off fightin’ in the war, his whole family was massacred by Indians, even a baby son he'd never seen. He's been a rover ever since."

“My, my, how sad,” Sally said while her mind focused on an opportunity to make up for some of the money she was losing due to the closedown. If that cowboy had been paid just two days ago, he couldn't have spent it all. Since there was no family waiting, Sally figured she ought to have whatever was left.

She remembered the morose man standing in front of her and smiled sweetly. “Don't you worry about a thing, Willie. When the time comes, I'll see that he's put away proper. Betsy, where did you and Willie put Jake's gear?"

Betsy looked surprised by Sally's sudden change of attitude. “Ah—we put them in the storeroom, near the cot."

“Well, thank you for bringing them, Willie. You are a true friend."

Willie tipped his hat. “Least I could do, ma'am."

Sally watched the man leave and then turned to Betsy. “Guess it's time I looked in on our guest. Is anyone with him now?"

She shook her head. “There wasn't anybody when me and Willie left. We girls just drop in whenever we feel like it."

With a curt nod, Sally headed for the storeroom.

She stood for a moment staring down at the face surrounded by white bandages. He had a straight nose, a strong jaw, and a chin with a stubborn tilt. Beard stubble darkened his cheeks. Black eyelashes curled below the eyes, and dark hair jutted out from the bandages. The blanket had slipped down leaving his chest half exposed. Hair curled between the relaxed muscles of a man used to manual labor.

Sally tried to remember what color his eyes were. The glimpse she'd had of him before the fight started had been too brief. Judging by his hair and complexion, she guessed they were brown. Too bad he was dying. He didn't look much more than thirty, and he had a kind face. What the hell, most sleeping men looked kind.

She reminded herself of what Willie had said about him. It must have been terrible to survive the war only to come home and find his family murdered. But the war had messed up a lot of people's lives—hers included.

She had fought back. He'd become a rootless drover, risking his life to drive cattle from Texas to Kansas so he could drink and gamble away his pay at trail's end. He'd been throwing his life away for a long time. It was just rotten luck that he'd thrown in his chips at her place.

Kneeling beside the bed, she pulled the blanket up around his shoulders before she began rifling through his clothes and saddlebags. She didn't find one dime! Stepping over to the doorway, she yelled, “Francine, come in here."

Sally gestured for Francine to close the door and then pointed at the cot. “Where's his money?"

“I don't know,” Francine said with a toss of her head. She tried to look innocent, something Francine never did well.

“He got paid just two days ago. No way in hell he's spent it all."

Francine shrugged. “Well, maybe the doc or those men who moved him—"

Even though Francine was nearly a head taller, Sally established her authority with an angry glint in her eye and rock-hard determination in her voice. “You're the one who put the diaper on him. That means you took his clothes off. I've undressed enough of these cowboys myself to know most of them have money belts. Where's his?"

Francine's gaze wavered. “Aw, me an Stella undressed him. We didn't see no need for that money to go to waste."

“What about me and all the expenses I'm having to bear because of what that stupid cowboy did?” Sally vigorously jabbed toward her own chest with her thumb. “If anybody deserves that damn money, it's me."

“We're losing money because of this closedown, too,” Francine said defensively.

“Just you and Stella? What about the rest of the girls?"

Guilt spread across Francine's face.

Sally knew she had her now. “Besides, this fella ain't dead yet. Suppose he wakes up and wants his money. Sheriff Mooney would just love to jail us all for thievery."

“But the doc said—"

“Doctors don't know everything. You give me the money, and I'll keep it in the safe. After his funeral expenses are deducted, we'll split it with everybody.” Sally intended to keep the lion's share, but she didn't go into that.

Francine sighed. “Okay, I'll go get it."

“I'll go with you,” Sally said.

Looking offended, Francine asked, “Don't you trust me?"

“Francine, you're always saying you want to run your own house someday. Well, the first thing you have to learn is to never trust a whore."

* * * *

Sally had just closed her safe, when a light knock sounded on the office door. At her invitation, Josie stuck her head into the room. “Mr. Beasley wants to see you. Should I send him back?"

“No, I'll meet him in the parlor.” She didn't want to give her esteemed landlord a chance to corner her in the little office.

As soon as she stepped into the parlor, she smelled him. Willard Beasley always wore an overabundance of heavily perfumed hair tonic on his plastered-down hair. His little head, resting on an unusually long neck, turned in jerky movements when he saw her. Privately, the girls called him “Weasley Beasley,” and the name did fit.

Sally stood and stared down at him for a moment before speaking. “So nice of you to come by, Willard. The foods all been put away, but can I offer you a glass of brandy?"

“That'd be real nice, Sally,” he replied in his nasal twang.

She poured the drink, handed it to him, and sank into a chair across from his. “Aren't you going to join me?” he asked.

She smiled tightly and shook her head. “I'm really not much of a daytime drinker."

“With all the trouble you've had lately, I thought you might need a drink or two.” He gulped the contents of the snifter down. She hated to see good brandy wasted like that. Why hadn't she remembered what a clod he was and served him rotgut whiskey?

“So nice of you to come by and express your sympathy."

“Yeah, well, anything I can do for you?"

“You wouldn't know who's behind this silly business of closing me down, would you? There've been shootings in every saloon in this town, and none of them were closed."

“Maybe the town council doesn't think a woman can run a house like this without a man to keep the peace."

“Surely they realize I'll hire someone to take Buford's place."

“Maybe the council thinks a business like this needs more than a muscle man. Maybe they wanna see a man with a vested interest making the major decisions."

Sally arched her eyebrows. “And pocketing a major share of the profits, I suppose?"

His gaze turned meaningful. “If a man had the influence to get your license back and supply protection for you and the girls, he'd deserve to be well paid for his services."

She took a deep breath and forced her clenched jaws to relax. Apparently, Willard Beasley wasn't content to be the largest property owner in town. Now he had his eye on her profits. “You wouldn't happen to be such a man, would you?"

“I do have friends on the council. If I could assure them that your business was under my supervision, I think they'd come around."

“Just what kind of supervision are you thinking about?"

“That could be up to you.” He smoothed his thin moustache with several strokes of his index finger. “When you first came to see me about leasing the top floor of this building, you were mighty friendly. I figured that once we were neighbors that friendship would grow. But every time I came around you, Buford was in the way. Well, he's gone now, and I mean to take his place."

Sally's back stiffened. He wanted more than her profits! How could she rebuff him without making a powerful enemy? “What about your wife?"

His upper lip curled. “She understands that my business interests keep me away from home a lot."

“How fortunate for you."

He gave her another oily smile. “It could be fortunate for you, too."

She shook her head. “I don't think so, Willard."

The weasel looked like he was about to bite. “You forgetting that I own this building? I can throw you outta here."

“I've still got six months on my lease."

His mouth twisted into a snarl. “They'll be six lonesome months. I'll have the sheriff padlock this place so tight the sunlight won't get in. Without customers your girls won't stay around long. Face it, being nice to me is the only choice you've got."

“There are always other choices, Willard.” Sally stood and literally looked down her nose at him, knowing she couldn't allow the bastard to see how his threats had shaken her. “I might prefer blowing my brains out to going to bed with a greasy little man like you."

With the quickness of a striking snake, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her down onto his lap. “You smart-mouthed whor—” His words died when he felt the barrel of Sally's derringer pressed against the tip of his nose.

“Or I might blow your brains out and make your wife a happy widow.” Sally yanked her wrist free and quickly got to her feet. Keeping the small pistol trained on Beasley, she said, “You know where the door is. Don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out."

His beady eyes narrowed to pinpoints as he got to his feet. “You'll be sorry for this,” he hissed as he rushed for the door.

As soon as he left, Francine ran into the room. “Have you lost your mind?” she screeched at Sally. “He could have solved all our problems. Why not sleep with him? He's just another man."

“No, he isn't.” Sally tucked the derringer into the secret pocket beneath the front drape on her skirt. “He wants to take over. He'd squeeze every dollar he could outta this place. Any trail bum could get in and Beasley would bring crooked dealers into the card games. In no time, we'd be just another two-bit cat house."

“Isn't that better than being closed?"

Sally splashed brandy into a snifter, cupped the goblet in her hand and swirled it gently under her nose. After deeply inhaling the fruity aroma, she said, “Beasley isn't the only game in town. I know men on the town council, too, and I've got something to offer them that Beasley doesn't."

“'Scuse me, Miz Sweets,” a soft voice sounded behind her.

Sally turned and saw the orphan boy who ran errands and took out the garbage. “What do you want, Danny?"

“Man at the telegraph office asked me to give you this.” He held up a folded piece of paper.

Sally opened the paper, scanned the message. Her snifter crashed to the floor. “Oh, no,” she moaned.

“What is it?” Francine asked in alarm.

“My ... my father..."

“Did he die?"

“No. He got well."

“But I thought he was at death's door."

“He was. That's why I went to see him and told him I was married and running a hotel in Dodge City. Now he's had a miraculous recovery and is coming to meet my husband. What am I going to do?"

“If I was you, I'd pack a bag and get outta town."

Chapter 3

Sally joined the girls at the supper table only because she didn't know what else to do with herself. All of them knew of her latest catastrophe and picked at their meals while giving her nervous glances. Except Stella who attacked the cold supper Lizzie had prepared with her usual gusto.

With her elbow on the table and her head in her hand, Sally thought of giving Stella another warning about her spreading figure but concluded why bother. The fatter Stella got the bigger her bosom got, and some men thought the bigger the better. Besides, it looked like Sally was about to stop being the boss here, one way or another.

“I never knew a person to have so much bad luck at one time.” Teresa's Latin origins sounded in her accent.

Lucy nodded in agreement, her childish face etched with concern. “Did you break a mirror or something?"

Impatiently, Sally tapped her spoon against the table. “If you girls can't say anything to make me feel better, just don't say anything."

“Well, it's good the sheriff closed us down,” Lucy said with a self-satisfied smile. The others looked at her in disbelief, so she added, “There won't be any customers here when Sally's daddy arrives."

Francine chuckled. “Yeah, You can tell him we're guests of the hotel."

Stella snickered around a mouthful of cornbread.

Sally stopped tapping the spoon. “I could pass this place off as a hotel or at least a boarding house. There are enough bedrooms."

“What would you do for a husband?” Betsy asked.

Josie's expression brightened with an idea. “You could hire someone to pretend for a few days."

Sally turned to look at the partially opened doorway of the storeroom. “Why hire someone?"

“Are you thinking what I think you are?” Francine asked with a look of amazement.

“He'd be the perfect choice. Wouldn't say something stupid and give himself away.” Sally's hopefulness evaporated, and she threw the spoon down in disgust. “Of course, the first man in this town Papa spoke to would tell him that the cowboy and I weren't really married."

“So, why don't you marry him?” Francine asked. “He's gonna die anyway. For a few dollars, that old drunkard, Judge Boston, will do it even if the cowboy is unconscious."

“Hell!” Crumbs of cornbread exploded from Stella's mouth. “For enough money, he'll marry you to a dead man."

Betsy looked at them dubiously. “But the Judge tells everything he knows."

“So much the better,” Francine said. “He'd spread the word and nobody would tell Sally's papa that she wasn't married."

Sally shook her head in regret. “He'd surely hear it was a last minute wedding."

Stella shrugged. “So—this is the West. A lot of folks don't make it legal, right off. You could say that you wanted to marry in the eyes of God before he died."

Teresa frowned at her. “Judge Boston is no man of God."

Stella waved the objection away with her hand. “You know what I mean. She could make up a real romantic story."

Sally desperately wished the wild scheme would work but she had to admit, “This is no where near the story I told Papa."

Francine looked at her levelly. “Sally, your old man's in for a shock, no matter what. If you don't soften the story up a bit, you're gonna have to tell him the flat-out truth."

Sally had lied to her father in the beginning to spare him pain. She didn't want to hurt him now anymore than she had then. “If the cowboy dies at just the right time, I could keep Papa's attention focused on the funeral and such."

Francine gave a sarcastic grunt. “Yeah, we're getting pretty good at putting on funerals."

“Maybe we can go to work for Mr. Utley,” Stella said and grinned.

While the girls laughed and made naughty suggestions about how they might assist the undertaker, Sally mulled over the merits of this wild plan. A million things could go wrong. Even if she succeeded in fooling her father, she'd still have Willard Beasley's threats hanging over her. But Sally had never meekly accepted fate and wasn't going to start now.

“Can we move the cowboy into my bed without killing him?” she asked the others.

“I can get Pete Wilson and some of his friends to do it,” Josie volunteered.

Sally shook her head. “We can't let any outsiders know what we're up to. If Beasley gets wind of it, he'll stop the Judge just for spite. In fact, keep the door that leads to the saloon locked. From here on, anybody who goes out must use the back stairs. I know you all have special friends on the outside,” she said and gave Josie a hard look, “but keep this just among us until I'm a married woman."

Josie nodded meekly.

“If we put the cowboy on a blanket and all grab hold of it, we oughta be able to carry him,” Francine suggested.

“If we leave him on that thin mattress and roll up the carpet in the hallway, we can drag him most of the way.” As usual, Stella had come up with the easy way to do something.

Sally stood and squared her shoulders. “Okay, first we clean him up and move him into my bed. I'll need a nightshirt for him."

“I've got the one Horace Johnson wears whenever he pays me a visit,” Betsy hesitantly suggested.

“That will do,” Sally said. “Then we'll need the Judge and a sign painter."

Lucy wrinkled her nose in confusion. “A sign painter?"

“To turn this place into a hotel. And all this has to be done before the train arrives tomorrow afternoon."

Like a general directing a battle, Sally assigned her troops. Betsy went for the nightshirt. Teresa and Josie got the water to bathe the cowboy. Stella, who could shave a man smoother than most barbers, honed her razor.

Sally paid Danny a whole nickel to accompany Lucy to the sign painter's home. The boy would coax the man from his dinner table with a note and a dollar. Then, out of sight of his wife, Lucy would explain the bonus he would earn if the desired sign arrived before the afternoon train.

Sally and Francine huddled to discuss the best way to shanghai a judge. Fortunately, Judge Boston's habits were well known. Apparently, he thought folks wouldn't notice how much he drank if he had only had one drink in each saloon. This led to a nightly ritual of parading from one bar to the next.

Since there were so many saloons in Dodge, he seldom made it home without the help of a sympathetic passerby. Sally and Francine decided their best bet would be to catch him between saloons, after he'd gotten a rosy glow, but before he became a stumbling drunk. The few times the judge had pursued a vice other than alcohol, he'd shown a liking for Francine's willowy frame, so she would be the perfect one to waylay him.

First, of course, the scene had to be properly set. Sally went to the storeroom to check on progress there. The unconscious cowboy lay with the blanket down around his hips and his head in Stella's lap. She scraped lather and whiskers from one cheek with feather-light strokes of the razor. Holding his chin, she turned his head to expose the other side of his face and the cowboy made a soft sound somewhere between a moan and a grunt.

“What was that?” Sally asked.

Stella shrugged. “He does that sometimes when you move his head."

“Well, be careful, I'd don't want him to die yet. Can we move him soon?"

Stella took a few quick swipes at his other cheek and then patted his face with a towel. “I'm through. Now we gotta get that nightshirt on him."

Betsy held out the long shirt made of white cotton with broad red stripes.

Sally wrinkled her nose at the sight of the gaudy thing. “Why in the world does Horace Johnson like this?"

Betsy shook her head. “I don't know, but he can't get it up without it."

Francine laughed. “Men never cease to amaze me."

Sally took the shirt. “Stella, roll him over enough so we can get the sleeve on his right arm."

After the sleeve was in place, they slipped the opening over his heavily bandaged head and the cowboy groaned even louder. “I think it's his neck that hurts,” Stella said.

They assigned Stella the task of keeping his head as stationary as possible while Sally, Teresa and Josie struggled to get the other arm into a sleeve and edge the shirt down over his body. As the blanket slipped out of the way and exposed his private parts, Teresa said, “Oh, he is a big hombre."

“You girls quit ogling my future husband,” Sally said but couldn't stop herself from smiling over the obvious truth of Teresa's statement.

“Wait a minute.” Sally remembered more practical matters. “Let's get a diaper back on him."

“The one we took off was dry,” Josie said. “I guess he's all peed out."

“Put it back on him,” Sally insisted. “I don't want him wetting my bed."

They rolled him on his side. Teresa held up one leg and Josie placed a folded sheet between his legs. Finally they were ready to move him. With three of them standing on each side of the small cot and grabbing hold of the thin mattress, they easily lifted him. However, the narrowness of the storeroom made it impossible for the girls on the far side of the mattress to get around the cot.

“Why don't we just slide the mattress off the bed with him on it?” Francine suggested.

Sally nodded her agreement. “Let's start at the bottom."

The three women in front of the cot tugged the lower end of the mattress and the women on the other side tugged on the upper end until they turned it crosswise on the cot. When they lowered the cowboy's feet to the floor, his entire body started sliding downward and Stella hooked her arm under his chin.

“Careful,” Sally yelled. “Don't choke him."

Betsy started pulling on the lower end of the mattress. “Let's just yank him off real quick. He don't feel nothing."

As his body stretched over the side of the cot, the cowboy groaned loudly.

They all started at the unexpected sound.

“He must be feeling something,” Sally said. “Let's ease him off real slow."

Stella grabbed the upper end of the mattress with one hand and hooked her other arm under one of the cowboy's arms, steadying his upper body so the others could inch the mattress off the cot. When he was in a sitting position, Sally and Francine held him in place so Stella could release him and come around to help with the final lowering. They all sighed in relief when his body rested flat on the floor.

Dragging the mattress by the foot end really didn't require all of them, so they took turns, three at a time. Nobody thought about the doorsill and the cowboy groaned as his head bumped over it. Since Josie was far more agile than Stella, she was assigned to steady his head for the rest of the journey.

As the body slid across the kitchen floor, Lizzie watched and shook her head sadly. “Lord have mercy. Y'all won't let the poor man die in peace."

The kitchen was in the front corner of the building. Sally's room was next to the card room in the opposite back corner, but with the carpet removed, the mattress slid easily down the long hall.

Getting into Sally's bedroom was another story. The front third of the room had been partitioned off to form her office. That small room was crowded with furniture that rested on a thick carpet. The carpet couldn't be rolled back without first moving the heavy mahogany desk.

Sally stood in the doorway, surveying the situation and catching her breath. “I don't think we can drag him through here."

“Gonna be harder to pick up the mattress from the floor,” Stella said.

“Why don't we just pick him up?” Francine suggested.

Sally looked over her crew, judging their strengths and widths. It would be a close call to get the cowboy and two bearers through the doorway at one time. “Josie, you go turn down the bed. Francine, you and Betsy each take a leg. Teresa and I will take his arms. Stella, you take his head but don't smother him with your breasts."

They picked him up and edged through the doorways to the office and then the bedroom. A chorus of moans from the cowboy testified to Stella's inability to keep his head and neck steady. When they finally got him on the bed, Sally anxiously looked at his chest to be sure he was still breathing. He took a deep breath as though relieved to be on a soft surface again.

“That's that,” Josie said cheerfully.

“That's just step one,” Sally said. “Next comes the judge."

* * * *

After sending Francine out to waylay Judge Boston and stationing Betsy in the parlor to warn of his arrival, Sally announced her intentions to change her gown. Even though this wasn't a real marriage, it might be the only one she would ever have, and she didn't intend to wear black.

Rather than make fun of her notion, the others all decided they'd like to change as well. Teresa stayed just long enough to help Sally into a peach-colored satin dress. Then she, like the others, rushed to find suitable wedding attire. Sitting at her dressing table, Sally smoothed one of the corkscrew curls that fell onto her forehead around her finger.

The cowboy moaned softly. Looking over, Sally saw that his head had rolled to an awkward angle. Going to the bed, she gently moved his head until his neck was straight, and punched up the sides of the pillow, hoping to maintain that position.

Noticing a little dried lather in the crease beside his nose, she went over to the washstand, dampened a corner of a cloth and came back to sponge away the spot that Stella had missed. As she searched for more, she saw how dry his lips looked, almost as if they were about to crack. That didn't surprise her. He'd had no liquids in the last twenty-four hours.

After pouring water in a glass, she dipped a clean corner of the rag in the water and dabbed it against his lips. A small opening formed between the lips, and she squeezed a little water from the rag. As the moisture disappeared, it suddenly occurred to her that he might choke, and she watched him apprehensively. Finally his Adam's apple bobbled, so she knew he could swallow.

She squeezed water into his mouth several times, hoping to make his last hours more comfortable. When she stopped, his lips opened a little wider as though begging for more. Sally lightly patted his cheek. “That's enough for now. Don't want you to wet my bed."

There was a tap at the door. “The judge is here,” Betsy called.

* * * *

Sitting on the parlor sofa, Sally leaned toward the man beside her and looked earnestly into his eyes. “So, Judge Boston, I was finally reunited with my true love after all these years, and looking forward to a life of happiness, when fate dealt us the cruelest blow of all. While trying to defend me, my sweetheart was struck down and now lies at death's door.” Sally paused and sighed loudly.

Judge Boston blinked back at her. Then he glanced over at Francine as though he hoped she would rescue him.

Sally grabbed his arm to regain his attention. “My ... our last hope is that we can be united in wedlock before my sweetie leaves me forever. Can you help me, Judge?” Sally sniffled and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Ahhh, I heard the fella was as good as dead already,” the Judge said, finally finding his voice.

“He is very low,” Sally said softly, “but there is a small spark of recognition left, and I know he'd die a happy man if he knew we'd been joined in marriage."

The judge twitched his nose and looked perplexed. Apparently, he wasn't quite as drunk as Sally had hoped he'd be. “I'd like to help you out, Sally. But I can't just marry an unconscious man. I gotta know it's his wish and get a signature on the certificate."

Sally thought franticly. “He's not totally unconscious. He can give you a sign."

Francine and Betsy both gave her startled looks. But Francine overcame her surprise enough to ask, “What about a marriage by proxy? Couldn't somebody else sign for him?"

The judge scratched his chin. “I suppose that would be legal—if I can be sure it's the groom's wish."

“Come along with me, then.” Sally led the others from the parlor and across the hall. In her office, she paused long enough to hand Betsy a key and whisper, “Bring a bottle of the good brandy.” Then she entered her bedroom where Stella, Josie, Teresa, and Lucy, all dressed in brightly colored gowns, stood watch around the still figure on the bed.

The room was so crowded Sally had trouble making her way to the bedside. Finally, she nudged Stella aside so she could perch on the edge of the bed. She leaned over the cowboy's head, looked at him with a mournful expression, and stroked his cheek tenderly. “The judge is here, sweetheart. He can make us man and wife.” She raised the volume of her voice. “Is that what you want? Do you want to marry me?"

Sally gripped the cowboy's chin and turned his head sharply toward herself.

“Uhh,” burst from his lips.

Sally looked up at Judge Boston. “Did you hear him? He does want to marry me."

The judge's mouth opened, but before he could say anything, Betsy entered the room with a bottle of Sally's French brandy on a silver tray. His eyes immediately fastened on the bottle and a yearning expression came over his face.

“Oh, good. Betsy has brought the judge a little refreshment while we're deciding who'll serve as the proxy."

He tore his eyes away from the bottle just long enough to mutter, “A man, it's gotta be a man."

Sally frowned in exasperation, as the judge followed Betsy out into the office where she placed the tray on the desk and opened the bottle. Sally turned to Josie. “How about your friend Pete Lewis? Can you find him in a hurry?"

Josie smiled smugly. “He's downstairs in the Horse Opera Saloon waiting for me."

“Will he do this?” Sally asked.

Josie's smugness increased. “He will if I ask him."

Sally nodded. “Go get him, but get him out of the saloon before you tell him what we want."

* * * *

By the time Josie returned with Pete, the judge had drunk two brandies and was showing far more enthusiasm over the wedding.

Pete didn't seem eager to play his part. “Let me get this straight, Judge. I say the words, but I ain't the one gettin’ married?"

“That's right,” the Judge replied. “You're just speaking for the other fellow."

Josie playfully batted his arm. “Silly, do you think I'd let you marry another woman?"

“Just wanted to be sure.” He smiled, showing a gold tooth. “I hardly know you, Sally."

A satisfied grin covered Josie's face. Apparently, she took his reluctance as a sign of his devotion to her. To Sally, it seemed he just had a general dislike of marriage. She foresaw heartbreak ahead for the hopelessly romantic Josie. But Sally didn't have time to worry about that now.

Somehow they all crowded into her bedroom. She stood on one side of the bed, holding the cowboy's limp hand. The judge and Pete were across from her. Judge Boston read the simple vows with gusto. Sally answered hers, and Pete answered the cowboy's. In a couple of minutes, it was over. They moved out to the office to use the surface of the desk for signing the marriage certificate.

“You sign the groom's name and right under it your own,” the Judge instructed Pete.

“What's his name, again?” Pete asked.

“Jake Wallace,” the Judge said and looked at Sally for confirmation.

She suddenly remembered that she'd told her father her husband's name was “Bob Sweets.” Of course, she couldn't give the judge that name since people here in town already knew the cowboy's real name. What the hell! She'd just add another lie to all the ones she'd already told. “Actually his first name is Jacob."

After signing her name, Sally invited everyone into the parlor. She let the Judge continue with the brandy, but served champagne to the others. Lizzie brought in a sheet cake that she'd baked and iced in the last two hours. With a smirk, Josie asked if Sally wanted Pete to help her cut the cake.

“You cut it, Lizzie,” Sally said and decided that nobody could be more irritating than a whore in love.

Judge Boston held up his third snifter of brandy. “Want to propose a toast.” Then he hesitated and his flushed cheeks grew a little redder as if it had suddenly dawned on him that this wasn't the happiest of weddings. “Er ... er at least these two lovers got together before the end. So, let's drink to that."

Glasses softly clinked together. A loud pounding sounded on the outside door.

Before anyone could move to open it, the door flew open and Willard Beasley barged into the room followed by Sheriff Mooney. “What did I tell you, Sheriff? She's going against your orders. Got two men in this room, no telling how many more in the back."

“This is a private party, Sheriff. It's not business,” Sally quickly said.

“I let you have every man in town up here after the funeral, but now it's near midnight. Can't see no reason for you to have men up here,” the sheriff said, frowning down at her.

Sally delicately gestured toward the judge. “Judge Boston, would you kindly explain to the sheriff what you're doing here."

The judge smiled and nodded at her. “Certainly.” He turned to the sheriff. “I just united Miss Sally Sweets and Mr. Jacob Wallace in matrimony."

“What?” Willard Beasley stepped forward with his teeth clenched in a feral snarl. “What the hell are you pulling now?” he muttered into Sally's face.

The sheriff had a stunned look. “Jacob Wallace? Ain't that the cowboy who got killed?"

“He's not dead yet,” Sally said.

“But he can't even stand up. How can he get married?” the sheriff asked.

“I stood up for him,” Pete Lewis volunteered.

“That ain't legal,” Beasley declared loudly.

“Yes, it is,” the judge said.

The sheriff looked angry but resigned. “Don't guess there's anything I can do here, except to ask you people to call it a night."

“You take the rest of this brandy with you, Judge Boston.” Sally carried the bottle over to him. She stepped close enough to drop a ten dollar gold piece into his pocket as she handed him the bottle.

“Miss Josie, would you be interested in taking a little night air with me?” Pete asked.

Josie simpered, took hold of his arm, and sashayed through the doorway with him.

“Sheriff, would you mind seeing me down those back steps?” the judge asked with the half-full bottle of brandy firmly tucked under his arm.

The sheriff looked at Beasley, shrugged, and went out with the judge.

Beasley eyed Sally up and down before saying, “This don't change nothing between us."

Sally couldn't stop herself from smirking. “But I'm a married woman now."

“Huh! Married to a dead man,” Beasley snarled and stomped out of the room.

Chapter 4

Staring at the closed door, Sally wondered why in the hell Weasely Beasely couldn't be satisfied with the nice monthly rent she paid and leave her alone. He didn't really care about her, and he sure as hell didn't need more money. Like all men, he was power hungry.

She'd lived under a man's thumb enough times in her life to know she hated it. She damn sure wasn't going to meekly let a scrawny-necked man, like Willard, control her.

With a huff of aggravation, she headed to her room. Once she got this visit from her father out of the way, she'd figure out how to handle Beasley and get rid of her unwanted husband.

Barely sparing the unconscious man in her bed a glance, Sally started undressing. After throwing her corset aside, she lightly scratched the pink streaks in her skin caused by the stays. Then she slipped a silk nightgown over her head, sat at her dressing table, and removed the pins from her upswept hair. She had brushed her hair no more than a dozen strokes, when she yawned and glanced at the bed yearningly.

The cowboy lay on one side of the large bed. Sally could easily fit on the other, but she had an uneasy feeling about sleeping with him. That was something she never did with her customers. Even if a man paid for a whole night, she always managed to get out of bed before he awoke. It had been her experience that men tended to take a proprietary attitude toward the women they woke up beside.

Of course, the cowboy wasn't going to wake up, so Sally didn't have to worry about that. Still, he might die during the night, and she didn't like the idea of sleeping with a dead man. After taking a quilt from the chest and dimming the lamp, she curled up on her divan across from the bed.

She'd barely drifted into an uneasy sleep when soft moans awakened her. Is he dying? She rose from the divan and hurried over to the bed. Once again, his head rested at an odd angle. Sally gently straightened it. The moans stopped, but his dried lips opened slightly in what seemed to her to be a silent plea.

She poured water into a glass and again dipped the corner of a cloth in it and squeezed droplets into his mouth. His lips opened and the tip of his tongue appeared. Sally dribbled more water. Suddenly his upper body jerked in a spasm.

He's choking! She threw the rag aside, slipped one hand under his head, the other under his shoulders, and tried to lift him. The small amount of elevation she managed seemed to help, for after another cough, he began to breathe normally.

For a moment, she left her arm under his shoulders, feeling the slight movement and listening to the faint sound of his breathing. His face, framed by white bandages, looked troubled. “Are you dreaming, honey, or do you know your life is ebbing away?"

She'd started talking to a dead man. The strain must be getting to her. She eased him back onto the pillow and took a deep breath. No point in becoming concerned about this drifter. She couldn't save him. No one could. She could only hope he'd stay alive until her father arrived.

As long as she had to tend to Jake during the night, Sally decided she might as well be comfortable. She stretched out on the bed and listened to the sound of his deep, regular breathing while going over all the things she needed to remember tomorrow. For one thing, she had to call Jake “Bob.” She drifted back to sleep repeating the name Bob Sweets over and over in her mind.

* * * *

When Sally awoke and saw sunshine beaming through the crack at the edge of the paper shade, her first thought was of Jake—Bob. Had he died while she slept? Quickly glancing over, she saw his chest rising and falling evenly under the red-striped nightshirt and sighed in relief. Then she remembered that he was the least of her worries. Her father would be on the afternoon train.

She hurriedly dressed and set out to rouse the girls. This was the second morning in a row they'd been forced from their beds before noon. They let her know their displeasure with vigorous and sometimes vulgar complaints.

When they had finally stumbled into the kitchen and gathered around the table, Sally cleared her throat. Knowing the girls would not welcome what she had to say, she decided to butter them up a bit first. “You've all offered to help me in this plan to fool my father, and I certainly appreciate it.

“Since we're supposed to be closed, I have to come up with reasons for all of you to be here. We'll tell papa that Teresa and Lucy are maids."

A scowl instantly covered Teresa's sultry features. “I don’ want to be no maid."

Lucy smiled brightly. “Will we get to wear little hats and aprons?"

Teresa glared at Lucy with disgust.

Sally pressed on. “Betsy and Josie can be waitresses for the dinning room."

Josie looked up from a cup of steaming coffee. “Will I actually have to wait on people?"

“Just my father. No one from outside will ever see you,” Sally assured her.

Betsy gave her head a haughty twist and glared at Stella and Francine. “What about them? What are they going to do?"

“A place this size can't have but just so many employees. I thought I'd say they're long-term guests whom I'm letting stay on even though the place is closed to everyone else."

Francine and Stella both smiled smugly. The mouths of the other girls either flew open in dismay or twisted into tight angry lines. Sally hurried on. “They're gonna be widows of railroad men. Since Francine and Stella are the oldest, I thought they'd be the most believable."

Her reference to their ages, wiped the smiles off Francine and Stella's faces, but Josie's lips pulled into a smirk as she said, “Yeah, they're old enough to be widows."

“I'm barely twenty-five,” Francine said loudly.

Teresa expressed her doubt with a loud, “Huh!"

“Nobody will believe they're respectable widows.” Betsy added.

Stella's henna-dyed curls and her double chins quivered with indignation. “I can act very respectable."

Sally had her doubts about that, but she said, “They have to be widows to be living in a respectable hotel."

“Well, I sure as hell don't intend to wait on them,” Josie exclaimed.

Teresa and Betsy nodded in agreement. Lucy still looked undecided. Sally figured she better do something quick to quell this rebellion.

She pinched her eyebrows together in a pained look. “I know this is very inconvenient for all of you, but my poor father is so frail. The last time I saw him, he was skin and bones and could barely walk. I thought surely he was dying, and I couldn't bear to send him to heaven knowing his daughter would never join him there, so I lied."

Sally fished for her handkerchief and batted her eyelids as though brushing back tears. “I don't know what will happen if he discovers the truth now.” She sighed piteously, “It may be too much for his tired old heart."

Several of the girls shifted in their chairs.

“I guess I can do it for a few days,” Josie said.

Teresa nodded glumly.

Betsy gave Sally a knowing look but kept her mouth shut.

Lucy smiled in relief.

With the actors’ roles assigned, the stage had to be set. After breakfast, they removed all gambling devices from the card room and replaced the green felt table covers with white linen cloths, turning it into the dinning room. All the liquor had to be removed from the parlor so the corner bar could become the hotel's front desk, equipped with a registration book, a pen, and ink well.

Francine climbed on a chair to remove a garter dangling from the chandelier. Teresa and Lucy took down the naughty pictures that lined the hallway walls. The French postcards used to get customers in the mood were hidden away, and Sally cleaned all personal articles out of Buford's room so her father could use it.

The sign painter arrived a little after twelve o'clock and replaced the “Sally Sweets Place” sign that hung over the lower level of the back stairs with one that read, “Sweets Hotel.” He partially covered this with a strip of cloth that had the words, “Temporarily Closed,” hastily scrawled on it.

Seeing the sign gave Sally's confidence a boost, and she began to believe the scheme would work. Of course, anyone in town could spoil it, but Westerners tended to respect other peoples’ pasts since so many of them had secrets in their own.

She hurried back upstairs to get cleaned up. In her bedroom, she saw Stella's rounded back hunched over Jake. “What's the matter? Is he worse?” Sally asked.

“Doesn't seem to be.” Stella turned, holding a razor. “I'm just giving him another shave. For a sick man, he sure grows healthy whiskers."

Sally signed in relief. “Thanks for thinking of that. I do want him to look well cared for. Has Lucy come back with the new nightshirt?"

“Not yet.” Stella made a few more swipes with the razor and then wiped Bob's face. “Without this bandage, he'd be a right handsome fella.” She gathered up the shaving paraphernalia.

“Don't get attached to him,” Sally warned. “He won't be here long."

“You never know,” Stella said as she left the room.

Sally slipped the bodice of her dress off her shoulders, poured water in her washbowl, and began to wash her face and neck.

Francine's head popped through the doorway. “Here you are. I thought Stella and I could meet your father at the train station. What does he look like?"

“I'll meet him."

Francine glanced at the silent figure on the bed. “How will it look if the distraught wife isn't hovering at her husband's bedside?"

“Oh,” Sally said. “I hadn't thought about that. Maybe you should go. The last time I saw Papa he was very thin and had a gray mustache and goatee. He dragged one foot when he walked, but he may not do that anymore."

The thought of Francine and Stella being alone with her father increased Sally's nervousness. “Have you got your story straight? You and Stella are both widows of railroad men who where killed in train accidents. You're living off money the railroad paid you. I let you stay here after closing the hotel because you're long-time residents and didn't have anywhere else to live."

Francine looked annoyed. “I remember."

“What are you going to say about how my husband was injured?"

“A drunken guest caused a commotion in the dining room. Your husband tried to throw him out. The drunk picked up a chair and hit him over the head. Jake's been in a coma ever since,” Francine recited in a singsong voice.

“Wrong!” Sally nearly shouted. “My father thinks his name is Bob—Bob Sweets."

Francine grimaced. “Sorry, I forgot."

“Just bring him back here as quickly as you can. I'll probably have to make up a lot of things as I go along, so I don't want you girls all telling him different stories."

Francine nodded. “Okay, I'll pass the word along to the others. By the way what's your father's name?"

“James Honeywell."

“Is that why you picked the name Sweets? I thought you got it because you're always calling people ‘sweetie'."

“I just wanted to save myself a lot of kidding. Imagine what customers would say about a whore named ‘Honeywell'."

Francine left the room laughing.

Sally had really changed her name in the hope that her father would never learn what she'd become. Were those hopes about to be dashed?

* * * *

When she heard Francine's voice in the parlor, Sally took her place in the little chair beside the bed. She waited with her heart pounding until she heard Francine say, “I've brought your father."

Sally leaped up with a cry she hoped sounded both joyous and tragic. After embracing her father, she stepped back and really looked at him. While he looked better than he had the last time she saw him, he still looked too frail to be traveling around the countryside by himself.

He glanced at the still figure in the bed and back at Sally with a look of pain on his face.

“Oh, papa, I'm afraid you'll won't get to meet my beloved Bob. The doctor says he'll never wake up."

Her father patted her arm. “This is a terrible thing, daughter. Terrible. Can't tell you how sorry I am.” He shook his head mournfully. “Your sister tried to talk me out of this trip, but I insisted. Thank goodness I did, for you truly need family to lean on at a time like this."

With her hand still resting on his back, Sally felt his bony shoulder blades and doubted he could offer anyone much support. The changes that had occurred in him during the eleven years of their first separation still shocked her. During that time, he had turned from a vigorous young man into a sickly old one. She couldn't help but think her disappearance had caused much of his decline.

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you, papa. Thank you for coming.” Holding his hand, she pulled him to the side of the bed. “This is my husband."

The agony on her father's face caused her tears to flow freely.

“Can't the doctor do anything for him?” he asked.

Sally shook her head.

“What happened to the man who hit him?"

“Ah—he left town."

“What? Is the law after him?” he asked indignantly.

“Actually, the law let him go. He's a wealthy cattleman. Since the economy of Dodge depends so heavily on them, nobody wanted to prosecute him."

Her father huffed in disgust. “Ain't that something? You don't even get the comfort of seeing the low-down skunk punished. I wish I was more of a man, daughter. I'd go after him myself."

Sally managed a small smile. “Oh, Papa, you always were my hero."

“Oh, my God!” Francine exclaimed loudly.

Sally had forgotten she was still in the room and looked over to shush her. Francine stared down at the bed with a horrified look on her face. Sally turned to see what had alarmed her.

Bob looked up at her with dark blue eyes. “Who are you people?” he asked weakly.

“Oh!” Sally's breath and her wits deserted her.

“Praise the Lord!” her father said. “He's awake."

Intent on keeping Bob from blurting out the truth, Sally threw herself across his chest, blocking her father's view. “I'm your wife, Sally. Don't you know me, Bob?"

“Is my name Bob?” he asked with a frown.

“Maybe that hit on his head has messed up his memory,” her father suggested.

“Is that what's happened, Bob? Can't you remember anything?” Sally grabbed both sides of his face and leaned down close to it. Perhaps she could whisper an offer of money if he'd go along with the story.

“No, I ... can't,” he said in a baffled voice.

Sally moved back and stared down at him. “Really?"

He started shaking his head, then grimaced in pain, raised his hand, and gingerly felt the bandages. “What hit me anyway?"

“There was a fight,” Sally said, “in our hotel. Someone hit you with a chair."

“Hotel?"

For a moment, Sally wondered if the cowboy was trying to make a fool out of her, but he did look truly confused. “Yes, we own a hotel."

“I believe he's going to be all right,” her father said.

Bob fixed his gaze on her father and squinted as though trying to see him better.

“We've never met, son. I'm James Honeywell, your father-in-law. I just arrived for my first visit. Thought I was gonna see a tragedy, but I'm seeing a miracle instead."

Bob looked back at Sally with a confused expression.

“The doctor said you weren't going to wake up. We've been expecting the worst,” Sally said softly.

“Water?” Bob asked.

“I'll get it.” Francine rushed over to the pitcher and poured water into a glass. She brought it back to the bed with a trembling hand.

“I better take that,” Sally said, although she didn't feel too steady herself. When she held the glass up to his mouth, Bob tried to raise his head, but it fell back against the pillow. Sally slipped her arm under his neck and held his head up so he could reach the glass.

He grimaced as if in pain, but still opened his mouth eagerly.

“Not so fast,” Sally said when he began to gulp the water.

Her position put her cleavage right at his eye level, and as he drank, he stared directly at it. Sally didn't know what to think. Was he putting on an act? If he was, she didn't have any choice but to go along with it as long as her father stood nearby.

He drained the contents of the glass, and Sally lowered his head. He blinked his eyes and squinted as though he couldn't focus. “Who are all these other women?” he finally asked.

Sally looked around and saw that Stella and Betsy had crowded into the room and the rest of her girls were peering in from the office with shocked expressions. “I'll introduce you later,” she said and waved them away.

“You're right, daughter,” her father said and lightly touched her shoulder. “You and your man deserve a little time alone. Ladies,” he gestured toward the staring women, “could one of you show me to my room?"

“Sure thing, Mr. Honeywell.” Francine was the first to snap out of her surprised trance. “Just follow me. One of you employees get his bag,” she added in a haughty tone.

They filed out of the room and pulled the door shut.

Sally stared down at her husband! Dear Lord, what was she going to do with him?

His hand felt along the bed until it covered hers. “What did you say your name is?"

“Sally Sweets."

“And mine's Bob Sweets?"

“Yes."

“I don't remember it."

“What do you remember?"

He frowned as though in pain. “Nothing really. My head hurts so bad, I can't think."

“You close your eyes and try to rest. I've gotta go out for a minute."

His hand closed around hers. “Don't leave me."

She used her other hand to free herself, then patted the back of his hand reassuringly. “I'll be right back. You rest."

She found Josie and Betsy in her office. “Francine told us to stay here in case you needed something,” Josie said.

“Send for Doc Fraiser,” Sally said. “I've gotta know what's going on here."

Back in the room, she found Jake grunting as he squirmed in the bed. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Did I get hit somewhere besides my head?"

“Nothing serious."

“Why is there a bandage around my bottom?"

“That's not a ... well ... that's in case you have to go."

A horrified expression came over his face. “A diaper! I ain't using no diaper. Get the thing off me.” He threw the covers back and struggled to pull his nightshirt out of the way.

Sally grabbed his hands. “Stop that. As long as you can't get out of bed, you have to wear it."

“I can get out of bed."

She let go of him and took a step back. “Okay, do it."

He looked surprised for just a second. Then his lips pinched together with determination. He rolled on his side and pushed his elbow against the bed in an effort to raise himself. His head actually came a couple of inches away from the pillow before his eyes squeezed together, and he dropped back with a groan.

He looked so miserable Sally couldn't help feeling sorry for him. She lightly rubbed his upper arm. “You just rest until the doctor gets here. If you have to go, just go."

“I gotta go,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “but my eyeballs can swim before I do it in a damn rag."

Sally swallowed her temptation to laugh. She'd catered to male pride for too long to make that mistake. “Just hold it for another minute,” she said as she went to the washstand and retrieved the enameled chamber pot. She whipped up his nightshirt, hurriedly pulled apart the knot that held the folded sheet in place, and held the chamber pot in an appropriate position. “Okay, let go."

He sighed in relief as liquid gushed into the pot.

When he finished, she put the lid on the pot and set it under the bed. Then she pointed to the pad still rumpled around his hips. “You want me to remove that?"

“Please,” he replied.

While she pulled the material away and smoothed the nightshirt down over his muscular thighs, he stared at her intently. Finally he said, “It's hard to believe you're my wife, but seeing how free you are with my body, I guess you must be."

Sally smiled sweetly, lightly rubbed his cheek, and asked herself how in the hell would she get out of this?

* * * *

While the doctor examined Bob, Sally paced in her office. Her father joined her and added to her nervousness. She knew he'd come to offer her support, but she feared what the doctor might say when he came out of the bedroom. Would a few probing questions bring Bob's memory back?

Finally Doctor Frasier entered the office. “Took a lot of that bandage off his head. He oughta be more comfortable now."

“Is he going to be all right, then?” her father asked.

The doctor pursed his lips and tilted his head to one side. “Well, it's hard to say with head injuries. Frankly, I never thought he'd wake up."

“I remember you mentioning that,” Sally grumbled.

“Now that he has,” the doctor continued, “the prognosis seems better."

“What about his memory?” she asked.

“That depends on whether the loss is due to pressure from swelling and such or to actual brain damage."

After taking a deep breath to calm herself, Sally asked, “Exactly what does that mean, doctor?"

“His memory may come back, or it may not."

Her exasperation with this know-nothing doctor was reaching explosive heights. “How long before we know?” she demanded.

Her father reached over and took hold of her hand. Sally forced herself to calm down so he wouldn't see how anxious she was.

The doctor shook his head. “Can't say. His memory could start coming back in a matter of days, or it might be weeks. Some of it may never come back."

Sally felt like she was drowning in uncertainty. She glared up at the doctor. If her father hadn't been in the room, she'd have told the quack just what she thought of his medical opinion.

Her father cleared his throat. “What should we do to take care of the boy?"

“He needs plenty of bed rest,” the doctor said. “He'll likely continue to have severe headaches for a while. I'll write you a prescription for laudanum."

That might be helpful, Sally thought. She could keep Bob doped up until her father left. Of course, her father would probably feel that he had to stay until they knew if Bob would recover completely or not. This business of having a caring family was becoming a major bother.

She saw the doctor out. The orphan boy, Danny, was playing in the alley beside the stairs. Sally sent him to the druggist with the doctor's prescription. Having that kid hanging around was a convenience, but Sally didn't understand why the widow who kept the boy allowed it. Maybe the old biddy made him share the pennies he earned.

* * * *

The next day Sally sat in the bedside chair, mending lingerie while Bob slept. Now that he'd awakened, someone had to be nearby at all times in case he needed anything. The fact that he expected her to help whenever he needed something done of an intimate nature was terribly inconvenient for her, but she supposed she should be grateful. Surely that meant he'd accepted her as his wife.

Fortunately, Bob's headaches continued, and he readily accepted the doses of laudanum Sally offered. That kept him asleep, or nearly so, most of the time and gave her a chance to think about what to do next. Everything seemed to depend on his memory. If it came back, he would expose her unless she could pay him to play along until her father left.

If it didn't come back, what should she do? Having a live husband not only helped her fool her father, but also seemed to have stymied Willard Beasley. Could Bob's presence help her get permission to reopen once her father left? If she pretended he now ran the place, would the town council reinstate her license?

But what if he really tried to take over?

Hell, he was just a drover. He didn't know how to run anything but cows. As long as he believed what she told him, he'd be easy to handle. She'd just have to feel her way through the next few days. And most of all keep her stories straight.

Sally had always prided herself on her ability to lie. Her first rule was to keep her stories simple and as close to the truth as possible. She'd already gotten well away from that rule. From here on, she needed to carefully plan what she told Bob.

Chapter 5

Bob stirred. He needed to wake up and figure out what had happened to him. Everything and everybody around him seemed strange, even his own name. Who was he and how did he come to be here? His past seemed like a dark fog. Looking at it too closely scared the hell outta him.

They told him he owned a hotel, and he couldn't remember the first thing about hotels.

And how in the world could a man be married to a woman as beautiful as Sally and not remember her? With golden blonde curls, blue eyes, and a dimpled smile, she looked like an angel hovering over him. She cared for him like one too. No task daunted her. At times, he was embarrassed over the liberties she took with his body. Of course, she was just doing what any good wife would.

A rustling noise attracted his attention. Mr. Honeywell sat beside the bed, holding a newspaper.

The old man leaned toward him and said, “Do you want something, son?"

“No, sir."

“If you're hurting, I'll get Sally to give you some more of that medicine."

“I'm okay.” Bob's head was throbbing, but he didn't want any of that medicine right now. It made him sleepy.

“Would you like for me to read you some of this newspaper, Bob?” Mr. Honeywell asked as he rattled the paper he held. “Might help you remember."

The old man had spent the last two afternoons with him, and Bob knew he was doing it to relieve Sally; still Bob felt a little ill at ease in his father-in-law's presence. Maybe if he got to know him better.... “Could we talk some?"

Mr. Honeywell let the newspaper fall across his lap. “Sure thing. What would you like to talk about?"

“Tell me about Sally."

The old man smiled and his eyes took on a faraway look. “She was always as pretty as a picture, but spoiled. After my wife died, her older sister, Rachel, tried to mother her, but she was just a youngin’ herself, and Sara Jane always wrapped me around her little finger."

“Who?"

“Oh, Sara Jane is her real name. Sally is just a nickname. She took that after she ... after she left home.” Mr. Honeywell shifted in his chair as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Guess she thought it sounded more grown up."

Bob closed his eyes against the steady pain in his head. “How come you and I never met? Didn't you approve of our marriage?"

“I—ah—I didn't know anything about it. Sally was away for a long time. She came for a visit when her sister remarried. That's when she told me about you."

“Where was she?"

Mr. Honeywell coughed nervously. “I guess she'd rather tell you about that herself."

Bob opened his eyes and looked at his father-in-law. The man definitely looked uncomfortable. “Tell me what?"

The older man stroked his goatee. “Well, son, life ain't always kind. Bad things happen to people. You and Sally musta worked out her past before. I think it's best if that stays just between the two of you."

What in the hell was the old man talking about? Did Sally have a dark past? Bob rolled onto his side so he could look more squarely at Mr. Honeywell. “If there's something wrong with Sally, I wanna know what it is."

Mr. Honeywell's spine straightened, and he looked like he'd just tasted a green persimmon. “Don't guess there's more wrong with her than there is with you."

“What do you mean by that?"

“This hotel is yours, ain't it?"

The man seemed angry with him. “What's wrong with the hotel?"

Mr. Honeywell busied himself folding the newspaper into a half, a quarter, an eighth. “Must be getting on to supper time. I'll go see what we're having. Sally will be here soon.” He stood and left the room.

What was that about? Bob wondered as he lay back with a sigh. His confusion just kept getting worse.

In a few minutes Sally breezed into the room. “How's the head? Ready for more medicine?"

“Is something wrong with this hotel?” he asked.

She paused in the act of pulling the stopper from the brown bottle and looked at him warily. “What makes you ask that?"

“Your father's angry about it."

“What did he say?” She carefully measured a spoonful of the medicine into a glass.

“It was the way he said it."

She poured water into the glass and stirred the mixture. “What were you two talking about?"

“I was asking him about you."

She held the glass out to him, her mouth set in a prim line.

He waved his hand at the glass. “I don't want that stuff."

“Is your head hurting?” she asked. Her voice had a harsher tone than he'd heard her use before.

He nodded.

“Well, drink this.” She tipped his head up with one hand while holding the glass against his lips.

Feeling he didn't have a choice, Bob swallowed the bitter liquid.

After she set the glass down, Sally turned back to him. Rosy spots glowed on her cheeks. “My father is an old man who has been very sick. I don't want you to bother him with any more questions. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

“Why did you stay away from your father for so long?” The medicine sent warm rays out from his stomach.

She stared down at him with such a closed expression that he thought she wasn't going to answer. “I became a whore and didn't want him to find out about it,” she finally said in a cold voice.

Bob's mouth dropped open. Had he heard correctly? It didn't seem possible. “Did ... did I know that when I married you?"

“Yes,” she said. “That's how we met."

A roaring noise started in his head. He'd married a whore! What kind of man had he been to do that? “Didn't I care?"

Her shoulders relaxed a bit. “We worked all this out two years ago, Bob. I stopped taking customers after we fell in love."

Sleepiness made his eyelids droop.

“You rest for awhile. I'll bring you some soup later."

Through the gathering mist, he saw that she looked sad. He wished his memory would come back, so he'd know how to talk to his wife without hurting her feelings.

* * * *

Sally sat down at one of the tables in the dining room with a feeling of dread. Her father's shoulders were slumped more than usual, and he didn't meet her gaze. Obviously, he was unhappy about something, and Bob had said it had to do with the hotel.

No need to wonder what had given them away. Stella sat beside him with her corset so tightly laced that it pushed at least five inches of cleavage above the low neckline of her bright green dress. Francine had draped a shawl around her shoulders to cover her neckline, but her lips and cheeks were unnaturally red. They definitely did not look like respectable widows.

Betsy and Josie came into the room. Betsy held a tray laden with bowls of soup while Josie served them. As she placed a bowl in front of Sally, soup splashed onto the tablecloth.

“Watch what you're doing,” Betsy ordered.

“Who died and made you queen?” Josie grumbled.

“Girls,” Sally said in a stern voice. Thank goodness Lucy and Teresa were having their dinners in the kitchen. Why had Sally ever thought she could pass these women off as anything other that what they were? She always told herself that her girls were better than the average hurty-gurty girl, but they were still a long way from respectable ladies. Just as she was.

Now her father not only knew the truth about her but had actually seen just how common she was. It would have been kinder to let him go on believing she was dead.

“How's Mr. Sweets feeling tonight?” Stella asked in a stilted voice.

“He's taking a little nap right now,” Sally replied.

Francine arched one eyebrow. “He really loves that laudanum, don't he?"

Sally fixed her with a steely glare. “The doctor prescribed it for the pain."

Josie and Betsy returned, each carrying a heavily laden tray. While Josie stood and stared down at her tray in obvious confusion, Betsy tried to balance hers on one hand so she could unload it with the other.

Sally gasped as the tray wobbled precariously. Then she hurriedly said. “Josie, put your tray on the other table and help Betsy serve the dishes on hers."

Betsy stopped bobbling the tray and waited for Josie to help her. Sally sighed in relief that another disaster had been avoided.

Betsy and Josie filled the center of the table with bowls of potatoes, corn, and beans, and a platter of fried chicken. When they started to leave with their empty trays, Sally called after them. “Remove the soup bowls."

Josie turned back to her with an argumentative expression. “Mr. Honeywell ain't finished with his."

Her father, who'd obviously been trying to ignore the display of ineptitude, finally looked up. “You can take it. I've had plenty."

As Josie and Betsy picked up the bowls, Betsy said, “I told Lizzie nobody would like that thin soup."

Sally waved her hand impatiently until the bowls had been removed. Except for comments about passing food, the rest of the meal proceeded silently.

Finally Francine cleared her throat. “I guess it's about time for us to leave for our meeting, Stella."

Stella looked up from her nearly empty plate. “Oh, yes.” She leaned toward Sally's father and spoke loudly. “Tonight is the night for the Ladies’ Lit-a-rary Society Meeting.” She smiled proudly, displaying the circles of rouge on her cheeks that were almost the same color as her henna-toned hair.

Sally silently groaned. She wished these two fools would get out and just as strongly hated for them to leave her alone with her father. As they scooted their chairs back and rose, her father stood respectfully. Stella looked at him in confusion. Francine pulled her away from the table.

Sally couldn't believe that he continued to treat those two clowns like ladies. That just showed how much he wanted to avoid facing the truth. Well, she'd gladly continue the charade if he would.

“Do you want to smoke your pipe here at the table or go into the parlor?"

“Here's fine,” he said and dug his tobacco pouch out of his pocket. “Should you be going to see about Bob?"

“Lizzie said she'd see to his supper tonight."

He held a flaming match up to his filled pipe and sucked on the stem. When he was satisfied that the tobacco was lit, he pulled the pipe away from his mouth and took a deep breath. “With all the nursing you've gotta do, you don't need me in your way. I'm thinking I should leave."

Sally felt both relieved and keenly disappointed. “When are you planning to go?"

“Tomorrow.” He took several puffs on the pipe.

“I understand if you wanna go home, but you aren't in my way. I mean you even help out by sitting with Bob some of the time.” Why am I encouraging him to stay?

“Well,” he said and glanced up at the brass chandelier, “he's starting to ask questions about things he can't remember, and I don't know what to say to him."

“You don't have to worry about that. I've already started explaining things to him."

He finally looked directly into her eyes as his shoulders straightened with resolve. “It ain't my place to pass judgment on your husband, Sally. After what you've been through in your life, I can see how your idea of what's good or bad in a man would be a sight different from mine. But I just can't approve of a man who exposes his own wife to these kinds of goings on."

Sally looked at her father in shock. Is he blaming the cowboy for my situation? “Ah—I'm not sure what you're talking about."

“I'm not stupid, child.” His pale cheeks bloomed with indignation. “A blind man can see this ain't no ordinary hotel, and the women you've got here ain't waitresses, maids, or widows. I know it's your husband's business, and a wife is supposed to submit to her husband's will, but this is a bad way to make a living, and you can't help but be tainted by it."

She was a sight more than tainted but didn't want her father to know that. “I ... I don't know what to say, Papa."

He caught one of her hands and leaned forward imploringly. “You and Bob have just escaped a terrible tragedy. Maybe his recovery and the loss of his memory are God's way of giving him a chance to turn his life around. You've got to help Bob use this opportunity to become respectable."

Sally shook her head. “That won't be easy to do."

“Why can't you run a real hotel? You've got a nice place."

“People come to Dodge expecting certain types of entertainment. We can't suddenly stop providing it."

“Then leave Dodge. Start over. While I was visiting in Wichita, I heard your sister's husband talking about a man trying to sell a brand new hotel he'd built in New Mexico. You could sell this place and buy it."

Sally shrugged. “There's not much of anything in New Mexico."

“There's a new railhead in a place called Las Vegas. All the freight bound for Santa Fe and further south passes through there. Sean said it was gonna be the next boomtown."

She nodded thoughtfully. “I have heard something about it. What kind of hotel has the fellow built?"

“Sean said it was a nice place—first class."

“Why's the man selling it?"

“His wife ain't happy there. She threatened to go back East without him. Would you really consider moving?” he asked, his frown dissolved by hope.

“I don't know if I can talk Bob into it, but it's something to think about.” It would be a good way to get away from Willard Beasley's threats. Sally had moved from Wichita when Dodge had opened up. Why not go to the next boomtown? If that fellow really had built a nice hotel, she could turn it into the kind of place she'd always dreamed of—a really elegant brothel.

“Guess I'll stay around for a few more days in case you need some moral support,” her father said.

She smiled, feeling better now that she had a plan. “Good. First thing tomorrow, we'll send Sean a telegram asking about that hotel."

* * * *

As Sally sat at her dressing table brushing her hair, she silently debated the best way to handle Bob. She could still tell him the truth and offer him a few bucks to hit the road. Of course, he was her legal husband. She had stupidly put his real name on the marriage certificate.

Suppose he tried to hold her up for more than a few bucks? If he wanted to be nasty, he could claim everything she owned. She'd be a fool to tell him the truth now. He could ruin her. Of course, if his memory didn't come back, he could help her. That hotel man would undoubtedly double the price if he learned what she planned to do with his hotel. Then she might not be able to afford it.

Hell, she might not be able to afford it anyway. She hadn't quite made back all she'd spent fixing up this place. Then she remembered the cowboy's money belt. Did she dare use that? Why not? He was her husband, and if he went along with her plans, she'd see he got it all back with a healthy profit. What did he have going for him, anyway? He was just a rover with a drinking problem.

“Ah—Sally?"

Jarred from her thoughts by Bob's voice, she turned and automatically smiled. “Do you need something, sweetie?"

“Could you help me?” He pointed under the bed, indicating he needed to use the chamber pot.

She got up and went over to the bed. He began pushing with his arms and grunting as he tried to sit up. “You don't have to get up,” she said.

“I want to."

Seeing his determination, she slipped an arm around him and helped him sit up and turn until his legs hung over the side of the bed. Then she retrieved the pot and held it, letting him do the rest. Strange that all the other men she'd ever known wanted her to touch their privates, while this man, who believed her to be his wife, seemed embarrassed by it.

When he had finished, she helped him lie down again. Then she brought the washbowl over to the bedside table and sponged off his face and hands. Sitting on the side of the bed, she rubbed the cloth over his beard-roughened cheeks. “Guess we'll have to ask Stella to give you another shave."

His upper lip curled in distaste. “Can't I just grow a beard until I can shave myself?"

“Don't tell me you don't like Stella's shaves. I've heard men say she's better than any barber they've ever had."

He looked embarrassed again. “I ... I just don't like her leaning over me."

Could it be that her husband didn't like Stella's super-sized bosom? Sally tried to hide her smile as she innocently asked, “Why is that?"

Apparently Bob saw through her act for he grinned. “I'm afraid she'll pop out of those low-cut dresses she wears and smother me."

Sally started to laugh. She hadn't laughed in days and it felt so good that she threw her head back and gave full vent to her merriment.

Bob watched her, pleased that he had caused her a moment of joy. In this unguarded state with her eyes sparkling and her dimples showing, she looked like a little girl—his wife—the whore. But he could see why he had fallen in love with her despite her scarlet past.

And his love for her must be strong for it was the one thing he did remember. Not exactly remembered, but felt ... a warmness in his heart for one special woman.

She stopped laughing, but looked down at him with a teasing smile. “I thought men liked big breasts."

He reached up and cupped one of hers. “Yours are the size I like."

Her smiled changed, grew tight and controlled. “I'm certainly glad to hear that, sweetie. Are you ready for your medicine?” She casually pushed his hand away.

“My head's not hurting so bad tonight. I don't think I'll take it."

She reached for the bottle. “The doctor said—"

He pushed the bottle away. “Not now. I need to know some stuff."

She slowly sat the bottle back on the table and turned more fully toward him. “What do you want to know?"

He had to know more about this business they were in. “Is Stella a whore, too?"

“Yes. They all are. Francine, Lucy, Betsy, Josie, Teresa and Stella all work for us. I tried to turn this place into a hotel when I heard my father was coming. But we didn't fool him for long. He's figured out what we do for a living, and he isn't happy about it."

“I don't blame him for that, I'm not real happy about it myself."

Sally's brow wrinkled and her lips pursed. “Why do you say that? You were perfectly content before you got hurt."

Bob stared at her in amazement. If he'd been in this business for two years, why was he so uneasy about it now? He shifted uncomfortably. “Letting women do all the work don't seem like the way a man oughta earn his living."

Sally reached over and patted his hand reassuringly. “It's very important to have a man in a place like this. Our business can attract a rowdy element. And there are men who enjoy mistreating the girls."

“Do I protect ‘em?"

“You certainly do. That's why I hired you in the first place."

“You hired me?"

“Yes. I was running a house in Wichita and needed a guard for the place. You'd just arrived after driving cattle up from Texas. I saw you defend yourself one night and offered you the job. We fell in love, and decided to start over here in Dodge."

“So it's really your business?” Bob felt like even less of a man.

As though sensing his feelings, she caressed his cheek. “Since we've been together it's been a full partnership."

“Because we got married?"

She pressed her lips together and stared at him for a moment. She seemed to make a decision about something, and took a deep breath. “I haven't been exactly honest with you. We've been lovers for almost two years, but we didn't get married until after you were injured."

He felt himself frown as he tried to understand her words. “How in the hell could we get married if I was unconscious?"

She caught one of his hands with both of hers and looked into his eyes with a loving gaze. “We talked about marrying but never got around to doing it. When I thought I was going to lose you, I decided marrying you was the one way I could prove to the world how much I love you. I persuaded a judge to marry us by proxy."

She paused and stared down at him silently. The sheen of tears brightened her eyes. “Now that you're going to be all right, you may not want to be married to me. I'll understand, if ... if you want to undo it."

He looked up at her in amazement. “You must really love me a lot to have done that."

“Of course I do.” She let go of his hand and braced herself so she could lean over and place a light kiss on his lips.

He quickly slipped his arms around her and pulled her soft body down against his chest. He felt grateful to be loved by this woman, no matter what she might have been in the past. He moved one hand behind her head and intensified the kiss, wanting to show her his appreciation. Then he felt her pushing against him and released her.

She sat up, looking flushed. “You're in no condition to get all excited, sweetie."

“I just want you to know that I'm honored to be married to you, Sally."

For just a moment, she looked as if she might burst into tears. Then she smiled softly and stroked his cheek. “Thank you, Bob. Now you hurry up and get well, so we can be partners in every way."

She got up and went behind a silk screen in the corner of the room. He could tell by shadows on the thin fabric that she was undressing. “But what do I actually do around here?” he called out to her.

After a short pause, she said, “Supply protection, mostly. A lone woman doesn't stand a chance in this business. Why, as soon as you got hurt, the landlord of this place tried to pressure me into turning control over to him."

“What did you do?"

“I threw him out, of course. Used the derringer you gave me.” She stuck a hand out from behind the screen.

He could barely see the small pistol she held. “I gave you that little thing?"

“Yes, and taught me how to use it. You know all about guns."

“I do?” He shook his head. “I don't remember anything about ‘em now."

She came from behind the screen, adjusting the sash of her robe. Then she went over to a chest, opened a drawer, and pulled out something made of leather. “Here,” she said as she unwrapped the cartridge belt and revealed a holster and pistol. “Maybe you'll remember this."

He touched the grip of the pistol gingerly then eased it away from the well-worn leather. The grip fit the palm of his hand comfortably. “Yeah, this seems familiar."

“I thought you'd remember that pistol. You love it so."

He didn't exactly remember it, the weight just felt right to him. “Am I any good with this thing?"

“Yes. You're very fast. Everyone respects the way you handle a gun."

“Am I a killer?” he asked and waited for her answer with dread.

She smiled reassuringly. “You never look for trouble, but you stand up for yourself and me and the girls. Besides, once people know how fast you are, they behave themselves around you."

Bob sighed. The more he learned about Bob Sweets, the less he liked him. The man lived off the profits of women selling their bodies, and shot anybody who threatened that business.

Sally reached up and gently freed a lock of his hair that had been trapped under the bandage circling his forehead. “Don't try to remember everything at once, sweetie. We'll talk more tomorrow. You get some sleep now."

“Will you sleep with me?"

“I don't want to disturb your rest."

“I'll feel better with you beside me."

“All right.” She took off her robe and moved over to turn down the lamp.

He could see the generous curves of breasts and hips through her sheer gown. He sure wished his damn head would stop hurting. As she got into bed beside him, he slipped his arm under her, so he could pull her against his body.

“Now, now,” she said and tapped his chest lightly.

“I just want to hold you for a few minutes.” He stroked her arm lightly. “It seems like we've been apart for a long time."

“All right, sweetie.” Sally settled against him with a feeling of satisfaction. She'd gotten past the hurdles of telling Bob about her profession and their hasty marriage. Now she wouldn't have to worry about someone else telling him.

He was proving to be easy to handle. If a little snuggling made him happy, why not? Of course, she had to decide just how far she'd let this “marriage” go. She didn't want him to get too attached to her, in case she decided to send him on his way.

She had to admit it did feel better to be pressed against a man as lean and muscular as Bob. Accepting only customers who could pay top dollar had meant the few men she had gone to bed with in the last year or so had been older and softer.

Then she mentally shook herself. Don't start liking this married coziness. Remember that the only way to control a man is to keep your head while making him lose his.

Chapter 6

Sally sent her father to the telegraph office right after breakfast. A boy delivered Sean's answer shortly before noon. “He says the hotel is still for sale,” her father reported happily. “Wants to know if he should tell the man you're interested in buying."

Sally took a deep breath and warned herself not to get excited. A lot of hurdles stood between her and ownership of her dream house. “Can you handle another trip back to the telegraph office after lunch?"

“Sure can,” he replied.

“Send another wire to Sean. Tell him Bob Sweets is interested."

Her father nodded with a satisfied smile on his face.

Of course, Sally hadn't talked Bob into it yet, but after last night's success, she felt sure she could. Leaving her father to have lunch with Francine and Stella, Sally carried a tray to the bedroom.

She found Bob sitting on the side of the bed, with his bare feet flat against the floor. “What are you doing?” she demanded, alarmed by the thought that he might try to get up by himself and fall. “You should have called if you need to use the pot.” She quickly set the tray on a table and went to his side.

“What I need is to get out of this bed,” he said in a grumpy voice.

“Try to get up by yourself, and you're going to fall on your face.” She reached behind him and propped the pillows against the headboard. “Get back into bed. I've brought our lunch."

He sighed loudly but slid back against the pillows. She covered his legs with the sheet, then brought the tray and sat it on the bed beside him. He looked down at the bowl of beef broth and the sliced beef sandwich and frowned. “Guess that soup is my lunch. It's no wonder I'm as weak as dish water since that's all you give me to eat."

She smiled at him. “I've always heard that complaining is a sign sick people are getting well. You must be feeling much better."

He looked a bit guilty. “I don't mean to complain, but I am hungry."

She spread a napkin over his chest. “How about a half bowl of soup and half of the sandwich?"

He brightened and reached for the sandwich. She gave his hand a playful slap. “Eat some of the soup first."

He picked the bowl up and held it near his mouth as he scooped in spoonfuls. She waited until he munched contentedly on the sandwich before bringing up the subject that was uppermost on her mind. “Before he came here, Papa visited my sister Rachel who lives in Wichita. Her husband, Sean, knows a man who's trying to sell a brand new hotel in Las Vegas, New Mexico. Papa thought we might be interested in it."

“You mean a real hotel?” he asked around a mouth full of roast beef.

“That's what it was built for, but we could turn it into the biggest, grandest gambling and parlor house the West has ever seen. Las Vegas is the last railhead on the Santa Fe Trail. Everything headed for Santa Fe and Mexico must go through there, and all the railroad construction people are headquartered there. We could make a fortune."

He laid what was left of the sandwich on the plate and let his head fall back against the pillows.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“I guess chewing is making my head hurt again."

She picked up the bowl of soup and the spoon. “Eat a little more of this."

“I can feed myself,” he said but didn't reach for the spoon.

She held it up to his mouth. “I don't mind feeding you. Open up."

He obediently swallowed the soup. “Won't buying a hotel cost a lot of money?"

“I don't know how much it will cost. We'll have to find out what the seller wants before we'll know if we can afford it.” She gave him another spoonful of soup.

“You think we should do this?"

“Look into it, anyway."

“Yeah,” he said, “I guess that won't hurt anything. But I'd like to get my memory back before I make any big decisions."

Sally stirred the soup. “But the doctor said your memory might not come back."

He looked at her in alarmed surprise. “You mean ever?"

She didn't want to cause him distress, but couldn't let him upset her plans. “He said it depended on how badly your brain was damaged. You just concentrate on getting your strength back. If we do decide to buy, you'll have to make the deal. The seller would certainly try to take advantage of me."

He rubbed the white bindings that ran across the forehead. “How can I make a deal about anything? I don't even know who I am."

She sat the soup aside and patted his hand. “Don't worry, sweetie. I'll tell you everything you need to know."

* * * *

The next morning, they received another telegram from Sean stating that the seller, Mr. Rupert Carswell, would be happy to come to Dodge City and bring all the particulars about the hotel. Sally had been keeping her plans from the girls, but the delivery of telegrams had alerted them that something was up. As soon as her father left to send a reply, Francine and Stella cornered Sally in the parlor.

“How much longer is your father going to stay here?” Francine asked.

“Just a few more days,” Sally replied.

“Are we going to be able to open as soon as he leaves?” Stella asked.

Sally knew they had a right to be worried about reopening, but she resented being questioned like this. “I haven't heard anything from the Sheriff yet."

Francine looked at her with a puzzled frown. “What are you going to do about the cowboy? It's gonna be tough to please Beasley with a husband hanging around."

She might as well let them in on her plans. “I'm hoping I won't have to please Beasley. I've heard about a hotel in Las Vegas, New Mexico, that I might be able to buy.” Sally saw the stunned looks on both their faces and hurried on. “Now that the railroad's reached there, the town is booming. With a larger place I can expand, have a real bar and private card rooms. We'll all make more money."

Francine's chest swelled with indignation. “You said you wanted to retire. Now you're talking about starting another place."

“This won't be just another place, Francine. I'll have a whole building. This is something I've always dreamed about. It can be a palace. In fact, I think I'll name it “The Pleasure Palace."

With fists planted on her hips, Francine angrily said, “What about this place? You said I could take over this place!"

Sally was getting tired of Francine's belligerence. “I'll have to take the furnishings with me. Besides, I said you could buy this place. Do you have the money to do that?"

“I ... I've got some savings.” Francine's face turned red. “I could pay something down. Send you the rest from my earnings."

Sally shook her head. “The first rule of every whore is never do business on credit. You know that as well as I do."

Hearing the rustle of cloth in the hallway, she raised her voice. “The rest of you might as well come in. Hear this firsthand."

Heads peeked around the doorway. Then Josie, Teresa, Betsy and Lucy filed into the room. “As you all undoubtedly heard,” Sally continued, “I'm thinking about starting a place at the new railhead. It'll be bigger, and we won't have to depend on cattle drives for customers, so our work won't be so seasonal. You'll have to lose some earnings during the change, but those of you who stay and help with the move will be rewarded."

Teresa immediately shook her head. “I come from near Las Vegas. I can't go back."

Sally nodded in resignation. She couldn't argue with Teresa's need to hide her present life from her family.

“I don't wanna leave here now,” Josie said. “Pete and me are getting real serious."

Sally looked at her with disgust. That tin-horn gambler had never been serious about anything other than a deck of cards. Poor, dumb Josie didn't have sense enough see it. “Nobody has to make a decision right now. The man who's selling the hotel is coming here in a day or two to discuss the matter. Until then, I won't know what I'm going to do. I just want you to know that if I go, I'll be happy to have all of you come with me."

They looked back and forth at one another with worried frowns. Only Lucy smiled. “I'd love to go with you,” she said. “I've always wanted to see other places."

Sally wasn't surprised by Lucy's loyalty. Only seventeen, she'd come to Dodge from a farm near Wichita after running away from an overly affectionate step-father. Sally had taken her off the streets and taught her the little she now knew about the business.

“Thanks, Lucy. I'll understand whatever decisions the rest of you make, but for old times sake, I'm asking for your help to get through this hotel man's visit."

Betsy and Teresa nodded, Josie shrugged, Stella stared blankly at nothing, and Francine stalked out of the room with angry steps. The meeting hadn't gone too badly, Sally decided. She'd definitely lose Teresa, and maybe Francine, but the rest would probably end up going with her. If she went anywhere.

* * * *

To avoid any more confrontations with the girls that day, Sally cleared off the round table in front of her bedroom window and pushed it over beside the bed so she, her father, and Bob could have dinner together there. Bob wasn't happy that she insisted he stay in bed, but he brightened when Lizzie brought in a tray containing all solid food.

“You mean I don't have to eat soup tonight?” he asked.

“I stewed that beef till a baby could eat it,” Lizzie replied.

“Just so I can pick it up with a fork,” Bob said and smiled.

Sally's father nodded in agreement. “You'll get your strength back a lot sooner with solid food."

Lizzie waited until Bob had chewed a forkful of the beef and nodded his approval before she left the room. Then Bob turned to Sally's father. “Now, if you'd just convince Sally to let me out of this bed, I might start feeling like a human being again."

Her father pursed his lips before looking over at Sally and saying, “Well, a few steps at the time might be good for him."

Sally looked back and forth between the two men. “Don't you two gang up on me. The doctor's coming in the morning. I'll wait and see what he says."

“I really need to be on my feet before that hotel man comes,” Bob said.

Her father smiled at Bob. “I think it's a mighty fine thing, you buying that hotel."

“Well,” Bob drawled, “it won't hurt to look into it."

“You and Sally both will be a sight happier if you get into a different—"

Sally interrupted him. “Now, Papa, let's not get too excited about the hotel. We may not be able to afford it. Tell me about Rachel's new baby. Who does she look like?"

“It's too soon to say for sure, but I think she'll take after her mother. That'll be only fair since little Reilly is the spittin’ image of his pa—except his hair is a brighter red than his father's."

A nameless yearning filled Sally. She'd always told herself that the last thing she wanted was to be around babies, but knowing those two were her blood kin made her feel differently. “I wish I could see them."

“Only a day's ride away. Soon as Bob's on his feet, why don't you go up there?"

“Oh ... ah ... it's so hard to get away from the business,” Sally said, realizing her blunder. While she knew Rachel would welcome her, Sally didn't want her niece and nephew to be tainted by their aunt's scarlet reputation.

Seeking to change the subject, she asked, “What's the new house like?"

Her father began to describe the two-story house Sean had recently built to accommodate his expanding family, giving Sally a moment to relax. Between handling her father, her husband, and the girls, Sally felt like she was running through a stock pen dodging cow paddies. Would her life ever get back to normal?

* * * *

Bob leaned against the pillows and sighed in satisfaction. With his stomach comfortably full, he felt better than he had since he first woke up. Lizzie returned and she and Sally loaded a tray with the empty dishes.

Mr. Honeywell pushed his chair back and braced his hands on his thighs. “That was a mighty good meal. Now if you folks don't mind, I'll go into the parlor for a smoke."

“You don't have to leave just to smoke,” Sally said.

He nodded toward Bob. “The smoke might be a bother."

“No,” Bob answered. “I caught a whiff of your pipe last night. It smelled good."

“Are you a smoking man?” Mr. Honeywell asked.

“I don't know.” He looked at Sally for an answer.

She looked at him in surprise for a second, and then seemed to understand his question. “Ah, you never smoked a pipe. But you rolled your own."

As Lizzie carried the tray out of the room, Sally went to the chest, rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a little cloth bag. “Here are your fixings. The tobacco may be dried out by now."

She held the sack out to him. Bob just looked at it. He didn't know what to do. Sally pulled the bag back and opened the drawstring at the top. “An after dinner smoke might relax you,” she said and removed a small piece of white paper from the bag. Bracing the paper between the fingers of one hand, she sprinkled brown flakes from the bag onto it.

She was rolling a cigarette, he suddenly remembered. With tobacco evenly distributed along the center of the paper, she rolled the edges over and lightly dabbed the pink tip of her tongue along the underside of one edge before pressing it down onto the cylinder. After giving each end a twist to prevent the tobacco from escaping, she held the cigarette out to him.

“You're very good at that,” he said. Of course, she would be. In her former life, she must have done that for a lot of men, or maybe she smoked ‘em herself.

Bob placed the cigarette between his lips. Sally borrowed one of her father's matches and lit it. The first puff burned Bob's throat, and he coughed a little before he said, “Thanks."

She moved a little dish over to the bedside table. “Use that for the ashes."

“What about you? Would you like one?” he asked

She shook her head. “I don't smoke."

So rolling cigarettes was just another way she'd learned to please men. He took another puff. The smoke went down the wrong way, and he coughed violently.

Sally pulled the smoldering cigarette from his fingers as it jerked perilously close to the bed covers. “Maybe you're not ready for these yet,” she said and jabbed it into the dish.

Mr. Honeywell rose and poured a glass of water. “There's too much smoke in here at one time. I knew I shoulda’ gone out.” He handed Sally the water and left the room.

Bob silenced the coughs with a gulp of water, and fell back against the pillows. “Sorry I ran your father out."

“Don't worry about that,” she said and lightly brushed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. “You're getting quite a stubble. Have you definitely decided to grow a beard?"

“I only have a beard when I'm.... “What had he been about to say?

“On the trail?” she finished for him.

“What?"

“A lot of drovers grow beards on trail drives. I thought maybe you did too."

He looked at her thoughtfully. “You know I sorta’ remember riding a horse with cattle all around."

“That's not very flattering,” she said, looking offended. “You remember cows, but not me."

“Aw, honey.” He reached for her hand. “I'm sorry. It's something I've got no control over."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I'm just teasing.” Then she pulled away from him, walked over to the dressing table, and fiddled with her hair. “I've gotta take these pins out. They're giving me a headache."

She sat on the stool in front of the mirror. With both arms lifted above her head, her breasts jutted out from her chest in sharp profile. He wondered how they'd look free of all constraints and realized he'd never seen her without some clothes on, at least not since he got hurt. Considering her past and how free she was with his body, her modesty seemed strange.

As she removed the pins, her hair fell in gleaming strands around her shoulders. She picked up a brush and pulled it through the curly tresses in smooth even strokes. “Your hair is beautiful,” he said.

“It's too late for flattery,” she replied in a flippant voice. “You've admitted you prefer cows to me.” She tied a ribbon around her head to hold the hair away from her face and turned toward him with a sassy grin.

She looked like a playful little girl.

“I guess it's my night for hurting people's feelings. First your father and now you."

She shrugged. “You didn't hurt Papa's feelings. He shouldn't smoke that smelly old pipe, anyway."

“He seems like a real nice man."

“I've always thought so."

“Well, why'd you want to leave home and become a...."

The smile left her face. She stood stiffly and walked behind the screen in the corner. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded hollow. “I didn't want to, but something happened—something I had no control over. And this life seemed like the only road open to me."

He closed his eyes and imagined Sally as a young innocent, spoiled by an indulgent father, and chased after by all the randy bucks in the area. One of them must have ruined her. “Did somebody break your heart, Sally?"

“Something like that,” she replied, her voice muffled through clothing. When she stepped from behind the screen, her robe was tightly tied around her body, and her face set in an emotionless expression. Without a word or look in his direction, she went to the table they'd recently dined on and began to wrestle it away from the bedside.

“Don't try to do that by yourself,” Bob said.

“It's not heavy.” She pulled and yanked the little table until it again stood in front of the window.

Bob sighed loudly. “I feel so worthless. I can't do anything to help you."

She looked over at him, her angelic features marred by an angry scowl. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You're damned lucky to be alive. Think about that."

He stared at her in shock, not over her anger, but over the sudden knowledge that her rage was a defense against a terrible pain she carried inside herself. He held up his arms. “Come ‘ere."

She gave him a you-must-be-crazy look and started toward the door. “I gotta check my finances. I'll be in the office for awhile."

“Sally!” He threw the sheet aside and sat up so quickly that a wave of dizziness swept over him. But she had almost reached the doorway and he couldn't let her go away feeling hurt. He forced himself to his feet and lunged for the post at the foot of the bed.

She turned around. “What in the hell are you doing?"

He held one hand out to her. “Please. Please."

Reluctantly, she moved toward him. When she was close enough, he put his arm around her and pulled her against his body. “No matter what, I love you. Maybe my head doesn't remember, but my heart does."

Her arms suddenly wrapped around him, and she pressed herself against his chest in a hug filled with desperation. He still clung to the bedpost with one hand. The dizziness made his stomach churn, but he knew he was at last giving her something she needed, and he felt good about that.

Finally she took a deep breath, steadied herself, and slowly pulled away from him. She tried to appear stern as she looked up, but her eyes had a suspicious shine. “I think all that food you ate tonight is making you act crazy. Now get back into bed and stop all this foolishness."

She turned so her shoulder rode under his arm and pulled him backward. When he let go of the bedpost, he sagged against her so heavily that her body swayed. Then she stiffened her spine and tightened her grip and edged him back onto the bed.

He had to close his eyes tightly and stifle a groan when he lowered his head down to the pillows.

“You see, you're about ready to pass out,” she said in an accusing voice.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “but I took two steps."

She laughed, a tinkling sound from deep inside her. Her hand lightly rubbed his chest. “You sure did, sweetie. Tomorrow you can take three."

He couldn't open his eyes to look at her, but he knew she'd recovered from the pain his stupid questions had caused. His golden angel was really made of steel, not gold.

Chapter 7

The next morning, Sally ushered Doc Fraiser into the bedroom, hiding her anxiety behind a gracious smile. She had been alarmed when Bob remembered herding cattle. Is all of his memory coming back?

She almost wished it would. Then she could stop this silly play-acting. Sometimes she got so caught up in it she felt like she really was married. She'd actually gotten all misty-eyed last night, just because Bob had said what he thought a loving husband should say. She better keep reminding herself that, if his memory did come back, he'd probably spit on her.

“When can I get out of this bed?” Bob asked before the doctor had even set his little black bag on the bedside table.

Doc Fraiser picked up Bob's wrist and placed two fingers on his pulse. After a moment of silence, he said. “Feel like getting up?"

He had Bob sit on the side of the bed and then slowly rise to his feet. Bob blinked and held out one hand. The doctor took hold of his arm and steadied him for a moment. Standing beside the doctor made Sally aware of Bob's height—a full head taller than the average-sized man.

Doc Fraiser nodded toward the little Victorian chair that Sally used for her bedside vigils. “Think you can make it to that chair?"

“I can make it, but I don't know if that little thing will hold me.” He carefully placed one bare foot in front of the other until he could grab the back of the chair and lower his lanky frame into it. He closed his eyes and held his head very erect.

“Feeling dizzy?” the doctor asked.

“A little."

Sally smiled at that answer. She knew from the awkward way Bob held his head that he must be reeling.

“Well, I'll just examine you while you're sitting here.” The doctor began to unwind the bandage around Bob's forehead. After lifting the pad of cloth away from the crown of his head, he said, “Stuck a bit—but looks good otherwise."

Sally craned her neck to see around the doctor's shoulder. The top of Bob's head looked like a mess to her. A big patch of his hair had been cut away and a purple, spider-web scar ran across his scalp. Black catgut sutures were evenly spaced along the largest line.

Getting scissors and tweezers from his bag, the doctor deftly removed the stitches. “Think I'll leave the bandage off. Let the air get to it.” He glanced toward Sally. “But don't let the scar get wet for another week or so."

Now it was Sally's turn to make a face. “There's a lot of dried blood in his hair.” She didn't want that rubbing off on her pillowcases.

“You can use a wet cloth on that, just don't get water up here where it's healing."

“Okay.” She noticed that Bob had relaxed a bit and opened his eyes. “Are you feeling better, sweetie?"

“It feels better just to get that bandage off,” he replied.

“I had to wrap it tight to keep it from slipping,” the doctor said.

Sally pinched her lips closed. The stupid man had probably cut the circulation off to poor Bob's head.

The doctor probed the back of Bob's head and neck with the tips of his fingers. Bob winced and said, “My neck's still kinda’ sore."

“That's to be expected from a heavy blow like you took."

“What about my memory?” Bob asked.

“Haven't you got any of it back yet?"

“Just general things, nothing specific. My own name still sounds strange to me."

Sally breathed a sigh of relief, even as she felt a flutter of guilt over not telling Bob his real name.

“Well,” the doctor took a deep breath, “in cases like yours, the memory can come back in bits and pieces, or all at once, or not at all."

Bob looked at the man glumly. “In other words you just don't know."

Doc Fraiser placed a hand on Bob's shoulder. “In my opinion, you'd be remembering a lot more by now, if all of your memory was coming back. I'm afraid you'll have to make new memories for yourself, son.” He made a sweeping gesture that included Sally. “But you're in mighty comfortable circumstances to do that."

Alarmed by Bob's woebegone expression, Sally hurriedly asked, “How often should I let him get out of bed, Doc?"

“Let him sit up as much as he wants to. The pain will tell him when to lie down.” Then he pointed his finger at Bob. “But don't try to walk around by yourself until the dizziness goes away. Don't want you falling and hitting your head again."

Bob gave a small nod.

“Has he got plenty of pain medicine?"

Sally picked up the laudanum bottle from the washstand. “There's still quite a bit left in the bottle. Bob doesn't like to take it. Says it makes the dizziness worse."

“That's just as well. Laudanum can get to be a habit.” He gave them a few more general directions, helped Bob back into bed and said he wouldn't be back unless they sent for him.

Seeing Bob's dejection over the doctor's opinion on the return of his memory, Sally decided to risk a ruined pillowcase and let Bob rest for a while. Of course, if the doctor were right, that would remove a lot of Sally's worries. But what were the chances of Doc Fraiser being right?

* * * *

Bob insisted on sitting in the chair to eat his lunch. Sally's father joined them, but left as soon as he'd finished eating, undoubtedly to smoke his pipe. Bob didn't ask for a cigarette, and Sally didn't mention them. If he'd forgotten that he liked the smelly things, she didn't intend to remind him.

“You ready to go back to bed?"

“I'd like to sit up for a while."

“I'll clean your hair up some.” She poured water in the washbowl, dampened a cloth, and rubbed at the clumps of dried blood that dotted the sides of his head. The cloth and the rinse water began to turn rusty brown.

“Don't you feel bad about lying to your father?” Bob asked. “When he starts talking about how glad he is that we're thinking about getting out of this business, I can't look him in the eye."

“He's an old-fashioned man who's lived all of his life on a farm or in a small town. He doesn't understand how life really is,” Sally reassured him.

“But don't you think what we do is kinda—wrong?"

Sally paused to rinse out the rag. She didn't like getting lectures on morality from a man who'd probably spent a lot of his time as a customer in places like hers. “Bob, we provide a necessary service. Men who've been driving cattle through the wilderness for three months need to relax and let off steam when they get to town. We give them a secure place where they can enjoy honest games of chance or women who won't get them drunk and steal their poke.” She rubbed more briskly at another spot.

He frowned and moved his head slightly away from her heavy touch. “But what about the women? This life ruins ‘em."

She stopped what she was doing and stepped around to face him. “I've never ruined a girl in my life, but I have given some who were already ruined a chance at a better life. I give them decent food and a comfortable place to live. I try to keep them free from disease and safe from abuse. I don't, like so many others, feed them drugs so I can steal all the money they earn."

She dropped the rag into the basin with a splash and braced her fists against her hipbones. “I know what it's like to be one of them, to have the whole world looking down its long nose at you, just because you're having to make your own way. When I started my own place, I swore I'd treat my girls right, and you've always gone along with me on that."

Bob seemed at a loss for words. “Ah—well—sure.” He was obviously shocked by her outburst. “I always wanna treat people right."

Sally tried to calm herself. No need in scaring the poor fellow. “When you're better, walk down the streets of Dodge and see what the street women have to go through. Then you'll be proud of our business."

He nodded. She could still see doubt in his eyes, but at least she'd stopped his complaints.

She reached out and touched the only strip of hair on the top of his head that had not been shaved away. It was crusted with dried blood and plastered down to the upper edge of his forehead. “I don't know how I'll get this clean."

Sally squeezed most of the water from the cloth and dabbed at the hair. She walked around his knees so she could get to the hair more easily, but then she couldn't reach the basin to rinse the cloth. Moving back and forth, and watching for winces from Bob when she hurt him, Sally eventually cleaned the hair so that it hung in little strips down on his forehead.

As she bent over him, she noticed his gaze was fixed on her cleavage. Apparently, Bob had been serious when he said he liked her breasts. She went over to her dressing table to get her comb and give his eyes a rest. Then she stood behind him, held a sprig of hair firmly between her fingers and began to comb small clumps of softened blood from it. Finally she could comb all the sprigs into a single shock of hair.

She walked around so she could see his face and pulled the hair to one side with light strokes of her fingers. “My goodness, you almost look normal,” she said. Without the bandage, his wide forehead balanced his squared jaw, and his dark brows and long lashes emphasized his dark blue eyes.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“Are you fishing for a compliment?” she asked in a teasing manner. Then she had a surprising thought. “Or don't you remember what you look like?"

He grinned sheepishly. “I'm not sure."

Sally retrieved her hand mirror and held it before him. Bob changed the position of the mirror to get a better look at himself. Then he said, “Yep, that's me. Guess I was hoping I'd be a better looking fella."

Sally chuckled. “Now I know you're fishing for a compliment."

“Does that mean you like my looks?"

She laid the mirror aside and gave his hair a small flick with her fingertips. “I wouldn't keep you around if I didn't."

Bob slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Tell me what else you like about me."

Sally pushed against his chest and squirmed, trying to free herself. “You're a sick man. I can't sit on your lap."

“There's nothing wrong with my legs."

As she moved around on his lap, she realized there was nothing wrong with another part of his anatomy either. She edged her bottom toward his knees and loudly said, “Now, Bob."

With a devilish grin, he said, “I don't know if I can do it now, honey. I'm still a little weak. But I'll try.” His hands caught the back of her neck and pulled her head down to his.

Their lips met, but she was so aware of his arm and hand holding her prisoner that she hardly felt the kiss. The old impulse to fight her way to freedom rose to nearly irresistible levels, but she'd learned long ago that she could never win that way. She forced herself to lean against him, to caress his shoulder with her hand, to open her mouth to his beseeching tongue. As she expected, his embrace relaxed.

With a mighty shove, she freed herself and bounded to her feet. “Hey!” Bob called. He tried to catch her, but she danced out of his reach. The sudden movement evidently triggered a wave of dizziness, for he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his back against the chair.

“You see,” Sally said, trying to keep her voice at a normal level, “you're not ready for such carrying's on."

“I might be if you weren't so hard to hold on to,” he muttered with his eyes still closed.

“You better get back in bed."

He continued to sit very still. She hesitated, thinking he might be trying to trick her. Finally she moved closer and took his arm. “Come on. I'll help you."

He got to his feet slowly and carefully took the three steps necessary to reach the bed. He felt with one hand as he sat and then braced on his elbow as he lowered his head toward the pillow. Sally guided his legs onto the bed and covered them with the sheet.

“You rest for awhile."

“Okay. But send Stella in here later."

“What?” Did he think he could punish her by asking for another woman?

Keeping his eyes closed, he said, “I gotta get a shave so my wife will let me kiss her."

Sally huffed with impatience but a small smile pulled at her lips as she left the room.

* * * *

Rupert Carswell arrived on the morning train. From the crown of his bowler hat to the tip of his highly polished shoes, he was the very picture of an Eastern dandy. He exuded charm and confidence. A little too much confidence, Sally thought.

Bob had improved enough to put on the man's satin lined dressing gown Sally had on hand for special customers, and to sit at the desk in her office. She'd thoroughly coached him on questions to ask and warned him to remain very noncommittal. Hovering in the background, she played the dutiful wife as Carswell spread the floor plans of the hotel on the desk.

With manicured nails, he pointed out features. “As you can see the downstairs lobby is large enough for the front desk and a small sitting area. There's an office behind the desk and a gentleman's bar across from it. The public dining room is next to the bar and the adjoining kitchen. On the other side, opening into a hallway that runs to the back entry, are four rooms that can be used for multiple purposes, such as, private parties, employee quarters, or storage."

Sally thought they'd make great card rooms.

“At the head of the stairs on the second level is an open area comfortably furnished with a sofa and chairs where our guests can relax and enjoy friendly conversation with each other."

Forgetting her own advice to act unimpressed, Sally blurted out, “Is the furniture already there?"

Mr. Carswell smiled condescendingly at her. “Yes, Mrs. Sweets. All the pieces are upholstered in brocade or velvet and were shipped all the way from Chicago. My own dear wife selected all the furnishings. She comes from a fine family in Boston."

That would be a great place for the customers to select the girls of their choice.

He turned his attention back to Bob. “The guest rooms are on halls leading from either end of this area. There are ten rooms on each hall.” He tapped several little boxes on the drawing. “These are the four suites with a bedroom and small sitting room. All the other rooms are singles, but they're large enough to comfortably contain double beds."

Twenty bedrooms! More than double what she had now.

Mr. Carswell placed another drawing on top of the others. “Now this is the third floor."

A third floor. Sally's hopes sank. This building would surely cost more than she could afford.

“This floor has not been completed. I intended to finish it after opening for business, but then it became apparent that my wife could not adjust to life away from her family. You can see from this drawing, however, that there's space for at least twelve additional rooms."

Bob looked at the drawing and nodded thoughtfully. Sally braced herself against the back of his chair. Three stories and thirty-two rooms. She couldn't possibly afford anything that grand.

“Of course,” Mr. Carswell continued, “building plans only give you part of the picture. Here are photographs of the completed facility.” He spread three large pictures on top of the plans. One showed double front doors with beveled triangles of glass artistically arranged in the upper half. A large plate glass window beside them had the words “Palace Hotel” painted on it with gold letters.

All she'd have to do was add the word “Pleasure” and scrape off “Hotel"!

“That big piece of glass must have cost a lot,” Bob muttered.

“I spared no expense in outfitting the place, Mr. Sweets. Notice the picture of the dining room. There are white linen cloths on every table and that's real crystal in the chandelier."

Sally gasped. That chandelier must be twice the size of the one she prized in her parlor. She felt sick to her stomach with the realization that her dream couldn't be.

As if he read her mind, Bob said, “Looks like this is gonna be a little too grand for us, Mr. Carswell."

“Don't jump to any conclusions, Mr. Sweets. As I said, my wife is most eager to return to the East. Perhaps we can come to some accommodation."

“I'm afraid I have to interrupt you gentlemen.” Sally said. “As I explained to you, Mr. Carswell, my husband is just getting over a serious head injury and needs to rest frequently. If you'll excuse us now, I'll get him back to bed. You can resume your talks after he's rested for an hour or so."

Bob held his palms up and shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. “You know how the ladies are about such things."

Mr. Carswell chuckled good-naturedly. “Indeed I do. You take your rest, my good man. We'll talk later."

“You'll probably find my father in the parlor,” Sally said as she helped Bob to his feet and slipped her arm around his body.

“Don't worry about me, Mrs. Sweets,” Mr. Carswell said. “You just take care of your husband."

With Bob's arm resting heavily on her shoulders, she maneuvered him back into the bedroom and closed the door. When Bob was resting comfortably against the pillows, Sally said, “I didn't expect the place to be that big."

Bob gave her a worried look. “You sure this fella's on the up and up?"

“Of course. Sean had his banker check on Carswell. He owns the hotel free and clear, and it was actually opened for business for a couple of weeks before he left town."

Sean shook his head. “Don't seem likely that a fella would build a fancy place like that and then give it up just because his wife missed her mother."

“She's from a rich family back East. They may have put up the money for the hotel and have old Rupert dancing on their string. His being anxious to sell and not caring about the money might be our only chance to get the place."

He took hold of one of her hands. “From what you told me about our finances, I don't think we've got a chance. I'm sorry. I know how badly you want the place."

Sally gnawed on her bottom lip. She knew he was probably right, but hated to give up on her dream. “We can raise more money. Sean offered a couple of thousand in his last telegram, and since the hotel is already furnished with nice stuff, I can sell what I've got here. We could probably go as high as fifteen thousand. I wish Carswell had given us some idea of how much he wants."

“You might have to leave me alone with him before he'll talk money."

Sally huffed angrily at this bit of male arrogance, but knew Bob was probably right. A lot of men wouldn't talk about money in front of “nice” women. That reminded her that if she wanted Carswell to keep thinking she was nice, she better get out there before one of the girls propositioned him.

* * * *

Bob and Carswell had another session during the afternoon. Carswell talked mostly about the economic prospects of Las Vegas and still did not give an asking price for the hotel. After one of Lizzie's delicious dinners, Sally left the two men sitting at the table with cigars and led her father, Stella and Francine into the parlor.

Francine continued to behave coolly toward Sally. Stella, unaware that Sally's father had seen through their ruse, still tried to play the respectable widow. Burning with curiosity about how the talk in the dining room was going, Sally did not participate in the stilted conversation.

Lucy came to the parlor after she and Teresa had finished clearing the tables in the dining room and softly said, “They're talking money. I heard the dude say twenty thousand dollars."

Sally instantly developed a case of heartburn.

“Is that out of your reach, Sally?” Francine asked with artificial sweetness.

“That's probably just for openers,” her father said. “Men always dicker when they're doing business."

“Yes, my late husband loved to dicker,” Stella said.

If Sally hadn't been sick with worry, she'd have asked Stella if she knew what in the hell she was talking about.

Her father tried to keep the conversation going by launching into some of his experiences selling feed and grain. Lucy quickly excused herself back to the kitchen. Francine yawned in obvious boredom. Sally was tempted to tell her to go to bed if she was so damn sleepy, but didn't want to start a row with Carswell around. Good old Stella smiled and nodded at her father as though hanging on to his every word.

Finally chairs scraped and voices grew louder as the men moved from the dining room into the hallway. “No need to see me out, Bob. You conserve your strength. Hope I haven't worn you out today,” Carswell said before he appeared in the parlor entry.

Sally jumped to her feet. “You gentlemen all through with your talking?"

“For now. Bob has invited me back for breakfast. Hope that won't inconvenience you, Mrs. Sweets."

“No. Glad to have you. Did you gentlemen reach any conclusions?” Sally couldn't resist asking.

“I'm sure Bob wants to tell you all about that.” He shook her father's hand, nodded his thanks to Francine for handing him his hat and left.

Sally rushed into the hallway just in time to see Bob brace his hand against the office doorway. “What happened?” she called to him.

He waved his free hand at her. “Need to lay down a minute. My head's spinning."

Sally rushed over to take his arm and slowly walk him into the bedroom. “You have been up a lot today,” she said as he sank onto the bed with a sigh.

She stood over him and wrung her hands with impatience as he laid his head against the pillows and closed his eyes. After a moment of silence, one eye popped open and a smile pulled at his lips. “He'll take fifteen thousand,” he said.

“What?” Sally shrieked. “Are you serious? Lucy said he wanted twenty.” She sat beside him, grabbed one of her hands and pressed it against her heart. “Thank you, thank you. How did you get him to come down so far?"

Bob smiled at her joy. “Well, first I offered him twelve thousand."

She looked at him in astonishment. “Why did you do that?"

“That's an old horse-trading trick,” Bob said. “A man don't feel so bad about coming down on his price if he thinks he's talked you into going up on yours."

She heard her father's chuckle and remembered she'd left the doors open. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw everyone crowding into the room. What the hell, she couldn't keep any secrets in this place, and right now she was too happy to try.

Chapter 8

Bob sat on the side of the bed and stared at the scuffed boots. Could he put them on by himself? He was damn tired of calling women to do every little thing for him. Not that any of them seemed to mind. They all rushed to do his biding. Of course, Sally did it because she loved him. He guessed the others were just playing up to the boss man.

He bent over slowly and picked up one of the boots. Sudden moves still made him a little dizzy. The worn leather easily slipped over his foot and ankle. Why did a man who ran a whorehouse have boots like these? Sally had said he'd once driven cattle. Maybe these clothes were left over from those days, and he'd kept them because they were more comfortable than suits.

But only one suit hung in the armoire, and it had bloodstains on the back of the collar. Wouldn't a man who did his kind of work wear suits most of the time? Not that he really did much work. Even with this deal to buy the new place, once the price had been agreed upon, Sally had taken charge of all the other arrangements.

He slipped into the other boot and stood. Then he looked at his pistol and gun belt lying in the drawer. Protection was his real job. Did he remember how to use a gun? He wrapped the belt around his hips and fastened the buckle. When he tried to pull the pistol out, the holster clung to it and came away from his leg. Noticing the strips of hide dangling from the bottom of the holster, he tied them around his thigh.

Now the pistol came away from the leather cleanly. He held the gun up and looked at himself in the mirror on the armoire door. He sure didn't feel like a gun fighter. After putting the pistol back into the holster, he shook his hands and raised and lowered his shoulders several times. Then he yanked the pistol out as fast as he could. Had that been a fast draw? He didn't know.

A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door. Not wanting to get caught practicing with his pistol, Bob quickly holstered it before calling, “Come in."

The door opened and Sally's father stood in the doorway, with his hat in his hand. “I'm leaving for the station in a few minutes. Wanted to have a private word with you before I go."

“Sure.” Bob gestured toward the office. “Why don't we move in there? I like to get away from this bed whenever I can."

Mr. Honeywell smiled his understanding, turned, and moved to the chair in front of the desk. Bob took the one behind the desk, even though the ruffled cushions and delicate wood that formed the back and arms made him uncomfortable. “Sorry you're leaving. What with my being sick, we haven't had much chance to get acquainted."

“You seem well on the way to recovery now, and I've got some things I need to attend to back home. I just wanted to tell you that I think you made the right decision about going into the hotel business."

The poor old man didn't know they were really just getting a bigger whorehouse. Bob didn't know what to say to him. “Er ... thanks for your help in setting up the deal."

“I'm happy to have played a part in it. The main thing I want from life now is to see my two girls settled in secure lives. Rachel's husband was a gambling man before they married. Now he's in the cattle business and doing real well. I'm sure you and Sally will be a whole lot happier in an honest business."

Apparently, Mr. Honeywell realized the rude implications of his last remark. He held up his hand in a placating gesture. “Not that what you're doing now is against the law, at least not the laws of man, but this ain't the way God means for women to live."

“Mr. Honeywell, we're giving these women a better life than they'd have out on the streets.” Sally had told him that just the other night.

“I won't argue that with you, but do you really want your wife to be exposed to such carryin's on? It's got to have an effect on her. Why, in the few days I've been here, I've developed softer feelings towards these women, even though I know they're wicked. You and Sally will be much happier once you're free of this life."

Bob shifted in his chair. He didn't know if it was his head injury or guilt that was making him feel slightly sick to his stomach.

Mr. Honeywell stood and stuck out his hand. “Just want to say I'm proud of you, son, and I wish you all the luck in the world."

Bob weakly clasped his hand. “Thank you, sir. And you come back to see us sometime.” But not while I'm running a damn whorehouse.

* * * *

Sally didn't like explaining her financial affairs to anybody, even a husband. But Bob insisted on knowing all the details of the hotel deal, so she took a deep breath and pointed at the column of figures in front of her. “This is the money in the St. Louis bank. This is what I have in the local bank. These are the funds I keep on hand, and this is the money Sean is lending us. The total just meets the selling price. If I can sell this place to Francine for eight hundred, that'll be enough to get the new place opened."

Sitting in the chair he'd pulled up beside her desk, Bob stared down at the figures as if he couldn't decipher them. “I thought you said Francine only had three hundred in savings."

“She's going to borrow the rest."

“Where can a woman like Francine borrow that kind of money?"

“That isn't my problem. If she can't come up with it, I'll find someone who can."

A light knock sounded on the office door. After Sally's call, Stella stuck her head into the room. “Can I—oh—you're busy. I'll come back later."

Sally signed wearily. “If it's about that loan, I told you last night that my finances are tight right now. Can't you hold on until we move to the new place? The money will roll in then."

Stella glanced at Bob with a look of uncertainty. Seeming to come to a decision, she took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Despite her imposing chest, Stella could still manage to look like a little girl at times. Twisting a handkerchief between her hands, she did so now. “Ah, I've decided I'm not going to the new place."

“Why not?” Sally hated to lose Stella. It would be hard to find another bosom as grand as hers. “Haven't I been good to you?"

Stella nodded her head several times. “Sure you have. This is the best place I ever worked, but I gotta stay in Dodge."

“My God!” Sally exploded. “Don't tell me you've fallen in love too! I thought you had better sense than Josie."

Stella stared down at her handkerchief. “It's a different kind of love."

Remembering Bob's presence, Sally hesitated for a moment. Could simple Stella have a secret side to her nature that Sally had never suspected? “What kind?” she finally asked.

“I got a kid."

Sally was truly surprised. “What kid?"

“It's Danny, the boy who does chores sometimes."

“I thought he was an orphan the widow Dickson took in."

“I knew you didn't allow your girls to have kids, so I left him behind until I found someone here to take care of him."

Sally stifled the annoyance she felt over being deceived and smiled up at Stella. “Well leave him here until you find someone in Las Vegas to take care of him. With the money you'll make at the new place, you can do more for him."

“It'll take time to do that, and he's gettin’ older,” Stella said in a very soft voice. “I ain't got much time left with him."

Sally didn't need to ask what Stella meant by that. No teenage boy would want a whore for a mother. She nodded in understanding. “If you ever change your mind, let me know. And good luck."

Stella gave a jerky nod of her head and left the room.

“Damn,” Bob said, “ain't that sad."

Sally glanced over at him. Are those tears on his eyelashes? Men generally didn't give two hoots in hell about a whore's problems. Maybe that blow to the head had made Bob unnaturally tenderhearted.

* * * *

With her father gone, Sally decided her household could revert back to the practice of eating meals around the large table in the kitchen. As they gathered for lunch, everyone pitched in and helped serve the meal, except Bob, of course.

Sally didn't know whether to be amused or irritated over the way all the girls waited on him. Lucy was particularly bad. Her high-pitched voice seemed to be constantly urging “Mr. Bob” to have more pork or potatoes. You'd think Bob really was the boss around here. Maybe the girls just missed having customers to fuss over.

Sally was glad to see that Stella had her customary appetite back, even though she'd made her startling revelation about having a kid barely an hour ago. She still found it hard to believe that Stella had so completely fooled her all this time. Evidently the woman was smarter than Sally realized.

Of course, getting herself saddled with a kid in the first place had been dumb. That was something Sally made damn sure never happened to her. But Danny must be at least ten years old. That meant Stella had to have had him when she was what—fifteen? She had to be smart to have taken care of him all those years.

Oh, well, that's what made this business interesting. Something surprising always turned up.

“Where's Francine?” Betsy asked.

“Probably running around town trying to borrow money,” Sally replied.

Josie halted her fork's progress toward her mouth long enough to ask, “Do you think she'll get it?"

Sally shrugged. She figured Josie was anxious for Francine to succeed so Josie wouldn't have to leave town and Pete Lewis. Sally wanted to shake some sense into the girl, but knew it was useless. Love spoiled more whores than the clap.

Bob finally laid his fork down and pushed his chair back. “As always, that was mighty good, Lizzie."

A smile wreathed her brown face. “Wasn't nothing special, Mr. Bob."

Sally interrupted the pleasantries. “Lizzie, if you've got any favorite pots or pans that you can't bear to part with, better set them aside. Everything else will go in the inventory for the new owner."

“Yes'am."

Bob stood and stretched. “After that meal, I could use a little nap. Was I always partial to naps, Sally, or is that something else my sickness caused?"

Involved in thoughts of all she had to do before they could move to the new hotel, his question surprised her. “Why ... I ... uh..."

Stella smiled teasingly. “You and Sally used to spend a lot of afternoons in the bedroom, Bob. We didn't know if you were napping—or what."

Lucy and Teresa giggled.

Bob looked surprised and then pleased. He extended his hand toward Sally. “I'll be happy to have you join me now."

Sally realized everyone in the room was staring at her—waiting for her answer. She waved her hand at Bob in a dismissive manner. “Don't be silly. I have a million things to do.” She didn't intend to let the girls see their teasing rattled her.

He made an expression of exaggerated disappointment. Showing off for the girls, Sally thought.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember what they say about all work and no play."

After he left the room, Lucy sighed dreamily. “If I had a handsome husband like that, I'd take a nap with him any time he asked."

“Huh,” Teresa grunted. “You don't like to do it with men's who pay. Why would you like it for free?"

“It's different with a husband,” Lucy insisted.

“Is it, Sally?” Josie asked.

“Why are you asking me?"

“You're the only one here who's married,” Josie replied.

“You know my marriage isn't the regular kind."

As mouths around the table dropped open in shock, Betsy managed to say, “Do you mean that you two don't—"

“Bob's been sick—very sick."

“Yeah, but he's getting well fast,” Josie said.

“Won't be able to put him off much longer,” Stella added.

For the first time in a long time, Sally felt as if she might be blushing. Francine entered the room just then and Sally jumped at a chance to change the subject. “Where have you been? We've already finished lunch."

“There're some leftovers,” Lizzie said.

Francine glanced around the room nervously before turning to Sally. “Could you come into the parlor? Somebody wants to talk to you."

Sally didn't like the sly look in Francine's eyes. “Who?"

“Willard Beasley,” Francine replied in a strained voice.

“What in the hell does he want?"

In a rush of words, Francine said, “I went to him about borrowing money, and he insists on talking to you personally."

Sally jumped to her feet. “Are you crazy? You know he wants this place for himself. He'll never let you own it."

A defiant glint came into Francine's eyes. “He'll let me run it."

Sally propped a fist on her hip. “Are you also willing to be his free piece of ass?"

Francine's chin came up. “I ain't as particular as you. One pecker's pretty much like all the others."

With a thoughtful expression, Stella said, “I don't agree with—"

“Shut up,” Francine hissed at her.

“Come on,” Sally said. “Let's see what the Weasel wants.” When she realized everyone in the room was getting up to follow her, she added, “Just Francine. The rest of you stay here."

* * * *

Sally didn't like what she saw when she entered the parlor. Beasley paced about the center of the room like a puffed up bantam rooster while his hired gun, Fred Thacker, leaned against the door jam, examining his fingernails.

Seeing no reason to be polite, Sally briskly asked, “What do you want, Willard?"

He sneered at her arrogantly. “It's come to my attention that you're trying to extort money from poor Francine here, and I don't intend to let you get away with it."

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Sally exclaimed, looking first at Beasley and then at Francine.

Francine vehemently shook her head. “I didn't know he was gonna say that."

“I'm talking about you trying to sell something that don't belong to you,” Beasley almost shouted. “This building belongs to me."

Sally braced both fists against her hips. “I'm selling the furniture and fixtures, you idiot."

“You move out before your lease is up, bitch, and you owe me. So you aren't moving or selling a damn thing until you settle up with me."

Sally stared at him in openmouthed horror. Can the little weasel actually do that to me?

“What's all the noise about?” a quiet voice asked from the parlor entryway.

Sally gasped when she saw Bob. Disturbed from his nap, he hadn't taken the time to put on his boots, but he did have his pistol strapped to his leg. Sally didn't know if he could even use the thing. “I'll take care of this,” she said hurriedly.

Fred Thacker came away from the wall and eyed Bob. “Yeah, let your wife handle it."

Bob leveled his gaze at Beasley. “You must be the landlord who gave my wife a hard time while I was sick.” His gaze shifted to Fred. “But who are you?"

With menacing slowness, Fred pushed one side of his jacket back to clear access to his gun. “I'm the man who sees that nobody gives Mr. Beasley any trouble. If you know what I mean?"

“Do you have a name?” Bob asked.

Fred seemed surprised by that question. “Ah ... Thacker ... Fred Thacker."

The soft swish of metal lightly rubbing against leather briefly sounded before Bob pointed his pistol at Fred's chest. “I don't like to shoot a man without knowing his name,” Bob said matter-of-factly.

Sally's mouth dropped open in amazement.

Beasley made a choking sound.

Fred held his hands out, showing the palms. “Wait a minute, fella. Wait a minute."

Emphasizing his words with little jabs of the pistol, Bob said, “You've got two choices, Fred. Back out that door or get shot."

Fred spared Beasley one nervous glance before his hand began to feel for the doorknob. He quickly found it and gingerly stepped backward. “Close the door behind you,” Bob ordered, “and let me hear your feet hittin’ those stairs."

Fred obeyed.

Bob turned his attention back to Beasley. “You must be a pitiful excuse of a man to bring a hired gun to help you cheat a woman."

“I own the building. She's got a lease. I have rights,” Beasley sputtered.

“It seems to me if we've got a lease, we have rights too,” Bob countered.

“If you move out, you break the lease."

“Not if we keep paying the rent, we don't. I can padlock the place and let it stand for six months."

“I can't wait that long,” Francine said shrilly. “I'll use up all my money."

Willard's beady eyes became beadier as he looked first at Francine and then back at Bob. “Will you stop pointing that damn gun at me?"

Bob looked down as though surprised that he still held the pistol. He moved his hand so the barrel pointed at the floor.

“Now let's discuss this like businessmen,” Beasley said in a calmer voice.

“Okay,” Bob said, “here's the deal. For the furniture, fixtures, and six months left on the lease, we want a thousand dollars."

“A thousand?” Francine trilled.

“You said eight hundred,” Beasley added.

“That was before you called my wife an ugly name,” Bob said.

“I'll never be able to raise a thousand. Please, Bob,” Francine pleaded.

Bob glanced at her tragedy-stricken face. “Okay, for Francine I'll come down to nine hundred."

“Eight-fifty and not another penny.” Beasley said through gritted teeth.

Bob looked at Sally. “What do you think, honey?"

She vigorously nodded her head.

Smoothly slipping his pistol back into the holster, Bob said, “I don't see any need to shake your hand, Beasley, since I want any dealings between us in writing."

“I'll have to see a complete inventory of everything included in the sale before I put down a dollar,” Beasley said, his natural nastiness returning.

Bob nodded in agreement. “I'll insist on that, too, and I'll want to see Francine's name on any papers I sign."

Beasley's mouth twisted into a snarl. “Since I'm putting up most of the money, she only gets twenty-five percent."

Sally had been a bystander for as long as she could stand to. “She'll be doing all the work."

Bob nodded again. “Fifty seems a lot fairer to me."

Beasley's lips quivered in anger. Then he turned and started toward the door, shouting over his shoulder, “Come on, Francine. We've got a lot to discuss."

Francine grinned at Sally, threw her arms around Bob, lightly kissed his cheek, and ran after Beasley.

Lucy's head popped around the entryway. “What happened?"

Josie's head followed Lucy's. “Did Bob outdraw Fred?"

“Fred never even touched his gun,” Sally said proudly.

Betsy stepped into the room. “Fred's supposed to be dang fast."

“So Francine is gonna get the place?” Stella asked.

After Sally nodded, Teresa smiled brightly. “We can stay, then."

Looking between the girls crowding into the room, Sally saw a very white-faced Bob drop into a chair and hang his head. She pushed her way to him and lightly touched his shoulder. “What's the matter, sweetie?"

He took a deep breath, but didn't look up at her. “I guess I moved too quick. My dizziness is back."

She slipped her arm around his shoulder and leaned so she could pull his head against her chest. “Poor baby. Let me help you back to bed.” His arm moved around her waist in a needy hug.

A sudden quiet fell over the room and Sally realized all the girls were staring at Bob and her with sentimental smiles on their faces. He must have become aware of their attention too, for he lurched to his feet. His arm came up around her shoulders as hers went around his body, and they moved to the entryway surrounded by murmurs of encouragement.

Chapter 9

As they entered the hall, Sally realized he wasn't leaning on her so much as holding her close. She couldn't tell if he really needed her support or was taking advantage of an opportunity to get intimate with her. Had he reached the point where she could no longer put him off?

She allowed the embrace to continue through the office and into the bedroom. As soon as they reached the bedside, however, she pulled free of his arms and went to work unlacing and unbuckling the gun belt. Once it was loose, she wrapped the belt around the holster and placed it in a drawer for storage.

She turned back and saw Bob sitting on the side of the bed staring at her. “Why don't you like for me to touch you, Sally?"

“What are you talking about?"

“You say you love me—that we love each other, but every time I get close to you, you move away."

“For heaven's sake, Bob, two weeks ago the doctor gave you up for dead. I certainly don't want us to do anything that will aggravate your condition."

He looked at her with a pained expression. “The condition that's aggravating me the most is how much I want you.” He held his hand out to her.

Sally stared at his hand. What the hell! Bob had certainly earned his keep the past week. She owed him a little pleasure. Taking his hand, she let him pull her between his knees. She placed her hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes. “Can't stand to see my sweetie suffer,” she said in a teasing voice.

She dropped light kisses on his forehead, cheeks, and nose. When she reached his lips, his arms tightened around her and he returned her kiss fiercely—as though he really meant it. Then he broke the embrace and his fingers fumbled with her buttons. “No, no,” she said and stepped back from him. “You let me do all the work this time."

She wished she were wearing something fancier, but guessed Bob had done without for so long that he wouldn't need any special trappings. She finished unbuttoning her cotton wrapper and slowly slipped it off her shoulders as if it were made of the finest satin. Finally she dangled it from one hand, let it float down to the floor, and stood before him in nothing but her corset and knee-length drawers. She arched her back to show him how her corset pushed her breasts up into high mounds, while allowing her nipples to peek above the confinement.

Bob's hot gaze raked over her, and he held his arms out to her beseechingly. As she moved closer, she used one leg to push his knees together. Then she crawled onto the bed straddling his thighs. The center slit in her drawers stretched widely apart.

Bob saw this, drew in a sharp breath, and tried to touch her. She pushed his hand away. “Let Mama Sally take care of you,” she said softly and reached for his belt buckle.

He lowered his head and began to drop moist kisses on the tops of her breasts. She made herself ignore the heat his lips caused and began to work on the buttons of his trousers, pulling on the material far more roughly than the task required. When she finally slipped her hands into his drawers and freed his pecker, it sprang out strong and straight.

“Ooh, that is a big, bad, boy,” she cooed and stroked it with the side of her thumb. “Does that feel good, sweetie?"

“Yes, yes.” His hot breath pulsed over her breasts.

She wrapped both hands around his organ and began a rhythmic massage. He groaned, threw his head back and braced his arms against the bed. She kept massaging as she slowly edged off his thighs and dropped to her knees in front of him. Still holding him with both hands, she lightly kissed the tip of his organ. Then she began to lick.

Through groans of pleasure, he murmured, “You better stop now, Sal."

Ignoring his plea, she sucked his organ deeply into her mouth and felt an instant response.

“Wait! Wait!” he called in a frantic voice. His fingers tangled in her hair, trying to pull her away.

She knew he was ready and increased the force of her pulsing suction. When she slipped a finger under the base of his organ and gently pushed against his balls, he gave a strangled cry, arched rigidly, and she felt the warm spurt and salty taste of his release. After he dropped back on the bed with a loud sigh, she quickly rose, went to the washstand and cleaned her face. Then she took a damp cloth back to her bed and began to sponge him off.

He had one arm over his eyes. “I didn't want it that way,” he said in a strained voice. “Not the first time."

She looked up in shock. Was he complaining? Nobody ever complained about the way she tootled the flute. “What do you mean?"

“I know it's really not the first time, but it's the first I remember, and I wanted it to be good for both of us."

She smiled in relief. “I didn't want you moving around too much. You've already had one attack of dizziness today."

He moved his arm and looked up at her with a mixture of regret and gratitude. “You do so much for me, sweetheart. I want to do for you, too."

“You will, sweetie. You will.” She lightly patted his thigh and stared down at him in wonder. He wanted to pleasure her! Sex really was different with a husband, but she didn't think she'd tell Josie. The girl was already overly eager to get married.

* * * *

Only Betsy and Lucy joined Sally and Bob for dinner that night. Sally knew Teresa had started picking up cowboys on the street and taking them to a cheap, nearby hotel. Considering Stella's need for money, she had probably started doing the same thing. Josie, of course, spent every possible moment with Pete Lewis, and Francine was probably kissing up to Beasley—in every way.

What she had feared when the sheriff first closed her down had happened. Now she needed to recruit new girls. Would she have to go to St. Louis to do it? Could Bob manage while she was away? Lucy would be almost no help. Betsy loved to give orders, but she hadn't said what she was going to do, yet.

Sally decided to settle that right now. “Are you going with us, Betsy?"

Betsy assumed her schoolmarm expression and looked levelly at Sally. “I've been thinking a lot about it. With all the space you'll have in the new place, would it be possible for me to have a special room with special devices?"

“What kind of special room?” Bob asked.

Betsy spoke to him as though she were lecturing a schoolboy. “Well, Bob, some men feel the need for discipline. I think it returns them to a simpler time in their lives when someone else made their decisions. To make the illusion complete, I sometimes use restraints, but tying a full-grown man to a bed frame doesn't always work."

Lucy giggled. “Horace Johnson has pulled the bed down twice."

From his expression, Sally saw that Bob was growing uncomfortable with the conversation, so she took over. “What kind of devices are you talking about, Betsy?"

“Just some sturdy frames. Maybe one for standing and one for kneeling. I don't think they'd even have to be attached to the wall."

Sally nodded. “That doesn't sound too difficult. Could you make some sketches of what you have in mind? We might even paint the walls to make it look jail-like."

“Or like a dungeon,” Lucy said, her eyes wide with excitement.

An uncharacteristically cheerful smile covered Betsy's face. “I've always thought I'd like to have some velvet ropes, too."

“You could use shiny cords like the ones Sally ties back the parlor drapes with,” Lucy suggested.

Betsy considered that and nodded.

“Can I help you make the sketches?” Lucy asked. “I have some paper and pencils."

The two left the table, chatting excitedly about their new project. When they were out of sight, Bob asked, “Are you sure we oughta do that?"

Sally shrugged. “A couple of stout posts and a few drapery ties won't cost much, and they'll keep Betsy with us."

He looked almost pained. “I mean do you want that kind of stuff going on? Is a man who wants a woman to tie him up normal?"

Sally reminded herself that Bob really didn't know the business and kept her voice calm. “What's normal? Different people have different needs. Maybe the men who need somebody like Betsy are guilty as hell about something and a few licks make them feel better. We are, after all, in the business of making men feel better. It's not our job to pass judgment on them.

“In fact, to turn our new place into a real ‘Pleasure Palace,’ maybe we should think up special themes for all our rooms."

A look of disgust came over his face. “I don't have much imagination about things like that."

Sally smiled reassuringly at him. “Don't worry, sweetie, I've got enough for both of us. You know, the West is filling up fast. As it gets more civilized, things will undoubtedly change. Before they do, we've got a chance to create a legend and get rich doing it."

He shook his head as though confused. “I don't know why, but I just don't feel good about it."

Sally decided he was thinking too much and sought to change the subject. “How about helping me inventory the girls’ rooms tonight? This will be a good time with so many of them out."

“Can you go through their things without their permission?"

“I don't care about their personal belongings. Just need to write a description of all the furnishings."

He wasn't enthusiastic about it, but he agreed to help.

* * * *

They worked their way down the hall to Josie's room. Her love of ostrich feathers was much in evidence, with the plumes tucked above her dressing table mirror and around several framed pictures on the walls.

Sally sat in the only chair, and Bob positioned her portable desk in her lap. She'd tried letting him write, but his spelling had been so atrocious, she'd taken over the chore. His ability at describing articles of furniture, however, didn't go beyond calling a rug “a rug” and a chair “a chair.” Mainly, she was just keeping him busy so he wouldn't think too much.

Josie suddenly appeared in the open doorway. Her cheeks were strangely mottled and she held her balled-up shawl pressed against her stomach. “What are you doing in my room?” she demanded.

“Just inventorying the furniture,” Sally said.

A storm cloud of anger seemed to open within Josie. “You're mighty damn eager to get rid of me, aren't you?"

Sally looked at the disgruntled girl and sighed. “This is just for the new owner's records, Josie. Now that Francine is taking over, you probably won't have to move a thing."

“What makes you so sure I'm gonna stay here?"

Giving Josie worried glances, Bob edged toward the doorway. “Are we through in here?"

Sally nodded, closed her inkwell and handed him the desk. She waited quietly until he'd sidled past Josie and out the doorway. “You said you wanted to stay to be near Pete."

Josie hugged her shawl even closer. “Well, maybe I've changed my mind."

“Did you two have a argument?"

“Oh, no.” Josie flopped down on the side of the bed. “When I told him Francine was taking over, he was tickled pink. Said things between us could go on just like they have been."

The poor kid had finally realized Pete had no interest in marrying her. “Well, if you want to come with us, I'll be glad to have you.” Sally decided this was no time to pressure Josie for a decision. “Just let me know before we get the train tickets."

Josie nodded, obviously fighting back tears. Deciding the best thing she could do for her was to let her have a good cry, Sally said good night and left.

* * * *

She found Bob sitting on the side of their bed. “What's the matter with Josie?"

“Trouble with her love life, but it looks like she might move with us after all.” Sally stopped at the dressing table to remove the pins from her hair.

“You act like you're glad about it."

“Sure I'm glad she'll stay with us. We need some girls so we can open right away."

“But what about her being in love?” he asked.

“Aw, Josie falls in love with every guy who sweet talks her. The girl's got to wise up.” She walked behind the screen and began undressing.

“Have you always done that?"

“What?"

“Undressed behind something."

“Look, Bob, you had your fun this afternoon. I've had a long day. I need my sleep."

“I'm not looking to start something, I just think a man ought to know what his wife's body looks like. You've certainly seen every part of me."

Sally stepped from behind the screen stark naked. She held her arms up on either side of her body and loudly said, “Ta-da!” She turned her back to him, twisted her bottom a couple of times and turned back. “Does this refresh your memory?"

He stared up at her with a bemused grin. “I really don't remember seeing you before, lady, but you look mighty good."

She reached for her nightgown. “Don't start with the sweet talk."

“Don't worry about me. I've got a hell of a headache. What did you do with the laudanum?"

“It's on the washstand where it's always been.” She looked over, but the bottle was gone. “That's funny,” she said, but suddenly it wasn't a bit funny. She grabbed up her wrapper.

“What is it?” Bob asked.

She moved to the door. “A while back, Josie got a little too fond of laudanum. I wanna be sure she's not starting that again."

Sally moved quickly down the hallway and opened Josie's door without knocking. The room was nearly dark. She could make out Josie's form lying on the bed. Stepping to the bedside table, she turned up the lamp. The empty laudanum bottle lay on the table.

Even as she turned and ran back into the hall, Sally yelled, “You silly, silly fool!"

She pounded on Lizzie's door, and then threw it open. Lizzie sat up in bed clutching the sheet. “What you want?"

“Josie's taken laudanum, Lizzie. Mix up some salts."

Lizzie's feet hit the floor and Sally turned back toward Josie's room. Lucy stood near the doorway, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What's the matter, Miz Sally? What's the matter?"

“Go back to bed,” Sally barked as she ran past her.

Betsy was leaning over the bed, slapping the sides of Josie's face. “Don't go to sleep. Don't go to sleep,” she shouted over and over again.

Josie suddenly swung her arm, smacking her tormentor with such force that Betsy staggered backward. Sally placed her hands on Betsy's back just long enough to steady her. Then she stepped to the side of the bed. “Help me get her up, Betsy. Lizzie's coming with the salts."

* * * *

Bob was muttering curses at the pounding pain in his head and the damn whore who had stolen his medicine when he heard hurried footsteps, pounding, and excited voices growing louder. Dammit! What's wrong now?

Reaching the hallway, he saw Sally race into Josie's room. Slowly, he started down the hallway, not sure he really wanted to go. Then he saw Lucy, white-faced and shaking like a leaf, and knew something bad had happened.

He stopped in the doorway and stared. Sally and Betsy were beside the bed struggling to hold on to Josie's arms while she fought them hysterically. Someone pushed against his back. “Let me by. I got the salts,” Lizzie demanded.

Bob stepped into the room to get out of her way. “What's happening?"

Sally glanced at him. “She took all the laudanum. Help us hold her."

For a moment he couldn't move. The bottle had been half-full. My God! She's trying to kill herself. There was no room on the side of the bed where Sally and Betsy stood, so he went to the other side. That put him in position to come up behind Josie. He crawled onto the bed, waited until Sally and Betsy had her arms down. Then he wrapped Josie in a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides.

She shrilly objected to her imprisonment and writhed against it, but Bob hung on. He crawled and twisted until he got his legs off the side of the bed and Josie on his lap, so he could hold her more firmly. Lizzie poured liquid from a pitcher into an enameled cup. Sally brought the cup to Josie's lips. Betsy pinched Josie's nose until she gasped for breath and the liquid could be poured down her throat.

She spat and sputtered and choked, but gradually most of two cups of the briny solution went into her. When Josie's shoulders hitched, Lizzie pushed a basin in front of her and Sally held her head while Josie heaved up the contents of her stomach.

Bob turned his head and held his breath hoping the sound and smell wouldn't make him lose his supper, too. Finally Josie's body relaxed. Lizzie carried the foul-smelling basin away and Bob dared to take a deep breath. Sally tenderly washed Josie's face. Then she said, “We have to do it again, sweetie."

Josie weakly protested. Bob fought down the urge to throw her aside and rush from the room. Instead, he held her limp body, and they went through the process again. The second time, she mostly brought up clear fluid, but it still smelled sour. When it was over, Sally took her arm and said, “You've gotta walk around a bit, Josie. Be sure you're all right."

“Please let me lie down,” Josie whined.

“Do you need my help?” Bob asked, hoping with all his heart that she didn't.

“Betsy and I can handle it."

The two women took Josie's arms, hoisted her to her feet, and began to drag her across the room. Accepting the fact that she had no choice, Josie began to walk. Bob continued to sit on the side of the bed, not trusting his own legs at that moment.

“Why didn't you just let me die?” Josie said in a tear-laden voice.

Bob wondered if they'd notice if he got down on his hands and knees and crawled out of the room. Instead he propped his elbows on his thighs and rested his throbbing head in his hands.

“For crying out loud,” Sally said in an exasperated voice. “You knew what Pete Lewis was from the start. His kind never settles down."

“He will some day,” Josie said with tears streaming down her cheeks. “But not with me—not with a whore."

“Quit feeling so sorry for yourself,” Betsy said. “We've all been disappointed in love."

“He never loved me.” There was a hysterical edge in Josie's voice. “He just used me for sex."

“Of course he did,” Sally said in a matter-of-fact voice.

Josie and Bob both looked at her in surprise.

“Men use women for sex, and women use men for money,” she continued. “That's the way life is, whether you're a whore or a housewife. But a smart woman makes sure she gets her due first, whether it's cash or a wedding ring."

“Those are entirely different situations,” Josie insisted.

“The principal is the same. It's just like I've told you girls hundreds of times, a man doesn't value what he gets for free. Ladies make men respect them by withholding their favors. We have to do it by making them pay, and the more a man pays for something, the better he thinks it is."

Bob stared after them in shock as they walked out into the hall and turned toward the parlor. Apparently Lucy fell into step behind them. “I remember one thing you always say, Miz Sally. ‘Never do it for free or on credit.’”

“That's business, Lucy,” Sally said. “We're talking about life in general now."

As they moved away, their voices faded. Bob grabbed the post at the head of the bed and pulled himself to his feet. He stood for a moment to let the dizziness pass. Then he slowly made his way to the door. The women came toward him. Their voices were normal, the tears gone, Lucy even giggled.

They passed him. He steadied himself against the wall and hurried as fast as he could to his room. Yanking his smelly shirt off, he threw it to the floor and collapsed onto the bed. Even with his eyes closed, the light hurt, so he pulled Sally's pillow over his face.

It smelled sweet like her, but she wasn't sweet. She took young women and taught them to be hard and cold and greedy. What sort of creature was this woman he was married to? He heard her moving about in the room, but he didn't move.

Finally the pillow was lifted from his face. He kept his eyes closed. “Is your headache that bad? I'm sorry about your medicine. Let me put cool cloths on your head."

The damp cloth did sooth a bit. Then she put her fingertips at the base of his neck and lightly massaged. “I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in that. But thanks for your help. For somebody who'd just drunk half a bottle of laudanum, Josie put up quite a fight."

“Is she all right now?"

“I think so. Betsy is going to sleep with her."

“Did you mean the things you said to her?"

“I was just trying to make her feel better."

“By telling her nothing matters in this world but money?"

She stopped massaging his neck. “That wasn't what I told her."

He pushed the cloth back so he could look at her. “Wasn't it?"

Despite her small nose, bow-shaped mouth, and softly curving cheeks, the set of her chin and the hard glint in her eyes gave Sally the look of a warrior. She stared down at him as though marshalling her thoughts. “Josie's father didn't come back from the war. Her mother died when she was five. Relatives raised her and worked her like a mule until she got fed up and ran away. She's so desperate for love, that any no-good can turn her head with a few kind words.

“If I can give her something—anything that will cause her to value herself, I might save her life. What do you think I should tell her, that a young girl's dreams always come true?"

He pulled the rag off his head and painfully forced himself to sit up. “I don't know. I don't know a lot of things. But I'm sure of one thing. Your father was right when he said I shouldn't expose you to this life. It's made you hard and bitter. We're getting out of the whore business."

Sally jumped to her feet. “You can't mean that. I've got all the money together. Carswell is coming tomorrow. We can't back out of this deal now."

“We won't, but we'll run the place as a legitimate hotel."

A sound that could only be described as a growl rumbled out of her throat, and she pumped her fists in fury. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had struck him. “We'll never make any real money like that,” she said from between clenched teeth.

He lowered his head back to the pillow. “Money made off of other people's misery only buys misery."

“Ha! Tell that to any banker, and see what he says."

“I don't care what anybody else says. We're gonna run a hotel, and that's final."

Chapter 10

Sally stormed out of the bedroom. She didn't want to disturb Josie and was too angry to speak in anything other than a screech, so she walked. Reaching the dark parlor, she paced back and forth across the center of the room, muttering curses.

She should have known this would happen. Sooner or later, all men start throwing their weight around. Just because they had a little extra meat between their legs they thought they had the right to tell women how to live. Well, she wasn't going to let a stupid cowboy ruin her plans.

Why had she ever put his real name on that marriage license? If not for that mistake, she'd march in there right now and tell him to get out. She'd been as dumb as Josie to think Bob might be different, that they might ... she wouldn't even think about that.

She'd promised herself, if she had to be a whore, she'd be the most successful one the West had ever known. So she'd never bowed her head in shame or shed tears in self-pity. Women who did that turned to whiskey or opium and ended up in the gutter.

Now she had a chance to build something that could be famous from Chicago to Mexico. Hell, they'd probably run excursion trains from the big cities in the East to Sally Sweets’ Pleasure Palace. One know-nothing cowboy wasn't going to ruin that.

She pounded her fist against the top of the bar and then rubbed away the pain the blow caused. That pain reminded Sally that violence wasn't her way. She used smarts to solve her problems. Anyway, since the cowboy had proved to be a fast gun, she'd have trouble hiring someone to take him on. She just had to calm down and think of how to handle him.

But first she had to get some sleep. Carswell would be here tomorrow. The deed had to be signed. Then she'd have to deal with the girls. Oh God! Suppose Bob insisted on telling them his big plans. Then she'd lose everybody. Near panic roiled through her.

She had to calm down. Maybe a brandy. Walking back to her office, she lit a lamp, got the key from her desk, and unlocked the cabinet where she kept the liquor. She listened for a moment, wondering if Bob were asleep. Then she shrugged and poured a splash of brandy into a snifter.

Holding her palm against the glass to warm it, she swirled the contents and sniffed the fragrant fumes. Just the aroma relaxed her. She used to have a brandy almost every night. Why had she stopped? As stingy as she'd become with her booze, it was no wonder the girls were leaving her. Of course, Bob was—

A drunk! That friend of his had said Bob had been working as a drover and drinking up his wages since the war. That was at least fourteen years! If he'd been a roving drunk for that long, he was still one. All she had to do was unlock the liquor cabinet and old Bob would resort to type. He'd stagger off into the sunset, and she could do whatever she damn well pleased.

Sally leaned back in her chair and leisurely finished her brandy. When she went back into the bedroom, she considered sleeping on the divan. But why should she spend a miserable night? She yanked the cover sheet down, jostled the bed vigorously as she got into it, and snapped the sheet back up. If “Mr. Bob” dared to lay a finger on her, she'd tell him where to go.

Bob kept his back to her and remained silent.

* * * *

The next morning, she awoke before Bob and made no attempt to be quiet as she dressed. When she banged the armoire door closed, he rolled onto this back, opened his eyes and said, “Good morning."

She busied herself with the buttons down the front of her wrapper. “We'll have a quick breakfast this morning so Lizzie can devote her time to preparing lunch. The wire Carswell sent said he'd arrive on the morning train and leave on the afternoon one, so we should offer him a nice lunch."

Bob sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “We really don't have to offer him anything but money."

“Perhaps that's the way they do business in Texas, but I'm sure a cultured easterner like Carswell is accustomed to better manners.” Sally ran a brush through her hair.

Bob swung his feet to the floor. “I guess you're still mad about what I said last night."

Sally threw her hands up in a dramatic shrug. “What could I possibly be mad about?” She stomped out of the room before he could answer.

She didn't wake the girls. In fact, she hoped they'd all spend the day in bed. She would serve the damn lunch herself to keep Bob from blabbing his new plan to everybody. After pouring herself a cup of coffee, Sally discussed the lunch menu with Lizzie. As soon as Bob entered the kitchen, she left.

After making the bed, she sponged and brushed Bob's suit into passable condition and laid out the new shirt, collar and tie she'd bought for him the day before. Thank goodness she hadn't bought him a new suit too. No need to waste her money on clothes for a man who wouldn't be around much longer.

He came into the room while she was fixing her hair and stood beside the dressing table. “Sally, we need to talk."

“We don't have time now. You have to get dressed. Carswell's train will be here shortly."

He stared down at her. “We've got to decide some things before I sign those papers."

She didn't like the sound of that. Laying down her comb, she looked up and said, “Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

He went over to the bed, sat on the edge of it, and patted the space next to himself. “Come over here, so we won't have to yell at each other."

Telling herself that she had to play along until the papers were signed, Sally went and sat beside him.

He looked into her eyes. “I can understand why you're upset about us going into the real hotel business. It'll be a big change, and we won't make as much money, but I just can't go on the way we are now. I don't know why I've changed so. Maybe almost dying has made me see things differently.” He paused, as though expecting a response from her.

Sally kept her lips tightly pursed.

Bob gave a little shrug and continued. “Whatever the reason, I haven't lost sight of the fact that this was your business to begin with, and I'm not fool enough to think I can make a go of it with you fighting me every step of the way."

Where is this conversation going? Sally held her breath. He reached over and took her hand. “Maybe being married ain't right for us. If you want to undo it, I won't stand in your way."

She jerked her hand out of his grasp. Was he putting her aside? Her—Sally Sweets? Who in the hell does he think he is?

He placed his hand on her thigh and lightly squeezed. “I don't want to upset you, honey. But we've gotta think this through before we take a big step like buying that hotel."

Oh, God, he's going to back out of the deal! The sound of a train's steam whistle added to her panic. As a married woman, could she even sign a contract without his consent? She needed legal advice, but there wasn't time to get it. She could lose everything—end up working for Beasley and Francine!

Sally threw her arms around his neck. “Don't leave me, Bob. I couldn't bear it.” Real tears over the prospect of losing the Pleasure Palace poured from her eyes. “I am upset over everything changing so suddenly, but I never thought about ending our marriage."

His arms went around her. “Are you sure, sweetheart?"

“You don't love me anymore, do you?” She had to turn this situation around and put him on the defensive.

“I love you enough to set you free, even though you're all I have in the world.” He kissed her almost reverently. Then he cupped her cheek and said, “Dry your tears, sweetheart. I'll stay with you forever, if that's what you want."

A knocked sounded at the bedroom door. “That man's here,” Lizzie called.

Sally's jumped to her feet. “We're not dressed!” She turned and yelled at the door. “Ask him to have a seat in the parlor, Lizzie. We'll be there in a few minutes."

“I ain't gots time.... “Lizzie's voice trailed away.

“Get dressed,” Sally yelled as she yanked her wrapper off and stepped into her skirt. She interrupted Bob's efforts to dress to get his help fastening the buttons up the back of her bodice. That allowed her to finish dressing first, and she hurried off to entertain Carswell until Bob could get there.

* * * *

Carswell had brought all the necessary papers, and Sally had the transfer of funds arranged for, so their business was concluded swiftly. The man coolly declined her invitation to lunch, with a lame excuse of plans to meet an old friend.

He shook Bob's hand, ignored Sally, and left. As they stood in the parlor, looking at the closed door, Bob said, “He went out of here like his coat-tail was on fire, didn't he?"

“Probably rushing to the bank to check on the draft,” Sally said in a hard voice.

He looked at her in surprise. “Why do you say that?"

“Didn't you notice how his attitude changed, as soon as the papers were signed? Obviously, someone's told him what kind of business we're really in."

A thoughtful frown came over Bob's face. “That's just one more reason for us to get out of it."

She sighed over his innocence. “Oh, Bob, do you think people will just forget what we once were? The Carswells of this world will always look down their noses at us, or at least at me. Men seem to be forgiven their sins a lot quicker than women."

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “If we stick together, we can do this, Sally. It won't be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. Now, let's decide how we're going to celebrate the beginning of our new life. As long as Carswell's gone, we can have lunch with the girls and tell them the big news."

“Ah, maybe I better tell them about our change of plans. The ones who were planning to go with us will be upset."

Bob looked down at her with determination. “It was my decision, so it's my responsibility to tell them. I'm not going to make you do my dirty work."

Sally desperately tried to think of some way to stop him. “But think about poor Josie. She's in a fragile state of mind right now. I don't know what another disappointment might do to her."

“Oh!” Doubt clouded his eyes. “For a minute, I forgot about what happened last night. I guess it would be a good idea to break the news to her gently. Do you mind, honey?"

Sally signed in relief. “Not at all. I'll be glad to handle it."

* * * *

Lunch became a celebration over the purchase of the hotel, without any mention of the new owners’ changed plans. Josie looked a little pale and listless, but she had a cheery ostrich feather bobbing on one side of her head. Sally saw that as a sure sign of Josie's recovery.

Of course, they had one more transaction before the deal was complete. Beasley arrived an hour after lunch and insisted on personally checking every item on the inventory. He had Francine running around pointing out fixtures like a dancing marionette. At least he wasn't openly rude to Sally, but she knew Bob's fast gun had won that concession.

It was a shame Bob had gotten so upright on her. He could have been a real help in running the new place. Except, she reminded herself, for his dependence on booze. That made him unreliable on two fronts.

Finally, Sally, Bob, Francine, and Beasley all crowded into the office. As Sally and Bob looked over the agreement he'd brought, Beasley demanded they vacate the premises within the next two days. Sally pretended to think this over just to aggravate Beasley, but she was really anxious to move on. They all signed in the appropriate places, Beasley handed over a bank draft, and he and Francine left.

Sally immediately began naming over all the things they had to pack.

“Have you told the girls about our change in plans?” Bob asked. “They have to know."

She definitely didn't want him around when she talked to the girls. “I was going to do that next. But we need some packing crates. Could you go down to the carpentry shop and arrange for them?"

“Where is it?"

“That's right, you don't remember where things are.” Stella passed in the hallway just then and Sally called out to her. “Is Danny around this afternoon?"

“Yes, I just took him a piece of Lizzie's apple pie."

A few pennies secured Danny's services to act as Bob's guide. Once Bob was out of the way, Sally called Betsy, Josie, and Lucy into the office and closed the door. “I have to tell you something, but don't get excited about it. Bob has decided to run the new hotel as a real hotel."

Tears flooded Josie's eyes. “I ain't working as a damn waitress."

“Could I be a waitress?” Lucy asked brightly.

Betsy shook her head. “I can't give up all my skills—"

Sally held up her hand. “This won't change my plans, only delay them a little."

Josie went from tears to anger. “We can't gamble on you being able to convince him to do it your way,"

Betsy nodded. “As long as you two are married he's got the final word."

“I don't think Mr. Bob likes this business,” Lucy added, “and I really won't mind being a waitress."

“I won't have to convince him,” Sally said. “Bob's a drunk and a rover. I've kept booze away from him so far, but as soon as we get to Las Vegas that will change. In no time at all, he won't know or care what kind of business we're running."

Josie grinned wickedly. “I should have known you wouldn't let a man get the best of you."

Sally smiled back at her. “Not likely."

Lucy's face had drawn into a pout. “Maybe Mr. Bob won't remember how much he loves whiskey."

“The kid could be right,” Betsy said. “You don't know what kind of changes that whack on the head caused."

“Betsy, you heard what that friend of Bob's said. He's been drinking like a fish since the war. His head may not remember, but his body does."

Betsy stared back at her with obvious indecision.

“I've been thinking a lot about that special room you want,” Sally said. “In fact, I'm thinking about giving all the rooms themes.” She directed her attention to Josie. “What about a Turkish harem room with cushions on the floor and lots of those long feathers?"

A pleased smile appeared on Josie's face. “Yeah. I could wear a lot of those see-through veils."

“Do you ever use your feathers on your customers?” Betsy asked.

“Naw, I'm afraid they might break ‘em,” Josie replied.

“Not if you tie the customers down first."

Josie giggled.

Sally knew she had convinced Josie and Betsy, but Lucy looked like she might cry. “Does this mean I can't be a waitress?"

Betsy looked at her with undisguised disgust. “Waitresses make a dollar a day, dummy."

“You help me make this move,” Sally said, “and you can be in charge of the whole dining room."

Lucy brightened.

* * * *

When Bob returned, Sally told him the three girls still wanted to come with them. He looked surprised and then doubtful. “Are they really willing to give up their trade or just looking for a free ticket to a new town?"

“I don't know,” Sally replied, “but if we can offer them a chance to get out of this business, isn't it worth the cost of a train ticket?"

Bob nodded his head with conviction. “You're absolutely right. What's good for us will be good for them, too."

Sally devoted the rest of the afternoon to planning every detail of the move. Personal items such as favorite pictures and knickknacks were set aside. Available luggage was distributed among the girls. Disputes over who owned frequently borrowed garments had to be settled.

Francine roamed from one room to the other, trying to keep an eagle eye on everyone. Sally realized Beasley must have charged her with seeing that none of “his” property disappeared, but it didn't make her mad. Let Francine learn how it felt to be the one in charge.

Of course, Betsy, Josie and Lucy couldn't resist telling the others about Bob's change of heart and Francine, Stella, and Teresa all saw this as a great joke on Sally. Whenever Bob was around, they made comments about how different things would be in the “real” hotel. Then they grinned at Sally for having to keep silent.

Lizzie served a cold supper that evening. As they sat around the table in the kitchen, they began to reminisce about experiences they had shared. “Remember that cattle baron who wouldn't take off his boots and spurs?” Stella asked.

Josie's eyes widened. “I certainly do. I was the one he wanted to ride."

“Sally really told him off,” Francine said with admiration in her voice.

Sally puffed her chest up with indignation. “I wasn't going to let him rip up my bedding."

“Did anyone ever find out why Paddy disappeared?” Betsy asked.

“I heard he lost money he didn't have at the card tables,” Stella said.

Francine smirked. “I heard he was scared of Betsy."

Betsy harrumphed at her.

Lucy stared into space with a dreamy look on her face. “I sure loved the way he could play the fiddle."

Teresa laughed softly. “Yes, he could turn a quiet night into a fiesta."

“I liked his sad Irish songs best,” Betsy said.

“You would,” Teresa replied.

Sally noticed Bob silently watching the girls with a brooding expression. Was he trying to remember people and experiences that he'd never known or had he begun to wonder why none of their stories mentioned him? She didn't want him to start thinking along those lines. “Since this party is turning so nostalgic, we need champagne for toasts to the good old days."

“You can't take any from the bar supplies,” Francine immediately said.

Sally stood and smiled at her. “Don't worry. I'll take some out of my private stock.” She brought two bottles back from her bedroom. After glasses had been filled, Sally held hers up and said, “Here's to the best crew I've ever worked with."

The girls all smiled, some a little misty-eyed, and sipped from their glasses. Sally noticed that Bob wrinkled his nose and made a face over his sip.

Then he stood and held out his glass. “And here's to a new life for all of us."

“Here, here,” Francine called out and clinked her glass against Stella's.

This time the girls drained their glasses, and since there wasn't enough champagne left for another round, Stella suggested they move the party down to the Horse Opera Saloon. Sally didn't want them to be hung-over tomorrow since a lot of packing still needed to be done, so she declined and gave a mild warning to Lucy, Betsy and Josie.

Lucy urged Bob to go with them.

“Yeah,” Francine said with a coy smile, “might be your last chance to have a good time before you get respectable."

Bob waved them away. “Trying to keep up with you girls would bring my dizziness back."

Everyone laughed and the girls left in high spirits. Bob said he was about ready to turn in and left the kitchen. Sally stayed to help Lizzie clear the table. She noticed Bob had left half his glass of champagne. That worried her a bit, until she reminded herself that he'd probably never tasted champagne before. Cowboys drank bourbon and branch water.

When all the food was put away, she told Lizzie goodnight, and carried her glass and what remained in one of the bottles to the bedroom. No need to waste perfectly good champagne. Besides, nothing made a drunk thirstier than seeing somebody else drink.

Chapter 11

Bob wandered into the office and then the bedroom with a feeling of uneasiness. He knew his decision to get out of the whore house business was right for him, but what about Sally? She'd agreed to it, but he could tell she didn't like it. She acted the same way about that as she did about loving him, always holding back. Yet she'd burst into tears when he'd offered to set her free.

He wished he could remember how things had been between them before he got hurt. Had she always been this way? If he'd been happy with her before, why did he doubt her love now? Maybe almost losing him had scared her, made her fearful of the future. His memory loss would certainly add to her insecurity. He had to show her he was still a man she could depend on—still a man, period.

Tonight, with everyone but Lizzie gone, would be the perfect time to give his wife a proper loving. Filled with resolve, he yanked the shiny robe out of the armoire. She seemed to like the funny looking thing on him so that's what he'd wear. He removed his shirt, felt his chin and cheek, and decided on a quick shave. He wouldn't take “no” for an answer tonight.

* * * *

Sally entered the office, poured herself a glass of the bubbly wine, and sat in her desk chair. While lazily sipping from her glass, she let her gaze drift over the things-to-do list she had compiled earlier. She couldn't think of anything she'd forgotten.

Bob entered from the hallway. Sally glanced up and was surprised to see him wearing the satin robe that he'd said felt funny against his skin. Evidently he'd just come from the bathing room because his face was shiny and his feet and legs were bare. The vee formed by the upper edges of the robe showed a patch of black, curly, chest hair. Apparently, he was hoping for something more than a good night's sleep.

He stopped, leaned against the front of the desk, and directed his gaze toward her glass. “Still celebrating?"

“Yes. I didn't bring your glass because I remembered that you don't like wine. Bourbon's your drink.” She brought the rim of the glass up to her lips and took a long swallow. She could almost see his mouth begin to water.

Finally she lowered the glass. “Would you like for me to get some bourbon, so you can celebrate with me?"

He leaned closer. “There's another way I'd rather celebrate with you."

The front of the robe gaped open, showing how his chest muscles bunched to support his body. “Oh?” She couldn't think of anything else to say.

Bob straightened, picked up the champagne bottle, and examined its scant contents. She expected him to put the bottle to his lips and drain it. Instead he poured it into her glass. Then he quickly stepped around the desk, picked up her glass, and extended it to her.

She reached for it. He pulled it just out of her reach. She frowned. He smiled. She stood and reached again. He backed into the bedroom, still holding the glass toward her but keeping it out of her reach. Realizing he was luring her into the bedroom with alcohol, she started to laugh. Talk about turning the tables.

She stopped reaching for the glass, so he stepped closer, slipped his free arm around her and raised the glass to her lips. She took a swallow. He quickly replaced the glass with his lips, slipping his tongue into her mouth while the champagne bubbles were still exploding.

Whoa, the cowboy had actually shown her something new. Well, he'd been a really good boy today. She owed him a reward.

When he raised his head, Sally smiled and said, “More, please.” He put the glass to her lips again, and she took a larger gulp, holding the fizzing liquid in her mouth until his tongue joined hers, and then swallowing and pulling him more fully into her mouth. She heard the glass clunk against the carpet and felt his arms tighten around her.

Men are so predictable.

His fingers fumbled in her hair, pulling out pins and letting them fall to the floor. He's eager tonight. This won't take long.

Suddenly he broke contact, turned her around, and began to work on the opening in back of her dress. “Easy, sweetie, don't pull my buttons off.” She heard him take a deep breath and felt his fingers move more deliberately.

When her bodice opened, she slipped her arms out of the sleeves and let it drop to the floor. She unhooked her skirt and let it drop as well. Then she shook her head and raked her fingers through her hair, making sure it cascaded around her shoulders. Bob undid the tapes to her petticoat and loosened the laces to her corset.

When nothing covered her body but her chemise and drawers, she tried to turn toward him. He held her in place, pressed his chest against her back, and wrapped his arms around her so that his hands covered each of her breasts.

As he gently kneaded her flesh, she cooed, “Oh, sweetie, that feels so good.” She began to twist her bottom and press back until she'd trapped his rigid pecker against his thigh and could massage it with her ass.

He groaned and pulled away from her. The clothes bundled around her legs slowed her movements. By the time she'd stepped free of them, Bob stood on the far side of the bed. “What are you doing way over there, sweetie?"

“I want to look at you,” he said around harsh breaths. The robe barely concealed his excitement.

She smiled and slowly removed the rest of her clothing. Then she moved to her side of the bed and raised her arms toward him. “What do you want now, sweetie?"

He pulled apart the sash and let his robe drop to the floor. He really is well endowed.

“Tonight's for you, Sally. What do you want?"

Damn, he's back to that. “I want to do whatever will make you happy,” she said, keeping the impatience out of her voice.

“Making you happy will make me happy,” he replied.

She didn't think Getting this over with as quickly as possible will make me happy was the answer he wanted to hear, so she said, “I'd like to get on top."

He hesitated for just a second, and then lay down in the center of the bed. She smiled and slowly climbed over his body. Straddling his waist, she put her hands behind her head to elevate her breasts to their maximum fullness. She twisted her torso several times as Bob watched raptly. Then she braced her arms on the bed, spread her legs as widely as possible and began to slowly crawl backward.

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her forward so her breasts dangled just above his mouth. He kissed and licked first one and then the other, teasing the nipples with playful nips of his teeth. Sally found it hard to concentrate on what she was doing. The apex between her legs grew moist. She could do him with ease now.

“Let me go down, Bob!"

He pulled her nipple fully into his mouth and closed on it with firm suction. Tremors began to run through her body. This isn't going right!

She forced herself to concentrate. Trusting him to support all her weight, she reached back between her legs until she circled his pecker with both hands. Then she moved them up and down in short quick jerks. Bob released her nipple and began to gasp for breath.

I've got him now! She moved back, bringing his pecker into contact with her moist opening. Her legs were still on either side of Bob's body, and he raised his thighs to block her movement.

She strained and pushed and lurched her bottom, getting him just inside her, before he shifted his thighs and broke the contact all together. “Let me, Bob,” she demanded.

“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I want you inside me!” she shouted and meant it. His teasing had aroused feelings she usually kept in check.

He lowered his thighs. With a cry of relief, she sank down around him. For an instant that was enough, but her body began to cry for more and she moved against him in ever quickening spasms. She couldn't move fast enough or lunge hard enough to assuage the burning hunger inside her.

With a hoarse shout, Bob suddenly wrapped his arms around her and rolled over. She squealed in fear of losing him, but the contact remained until he was over her and pounding into her as hard and fast as she wanted. She dug her nails into his back. All the pent-up pleasure she'd denied herself for so long traveled through her body in vibrating waves and escaped from her mouth in sharp cries.

She forgot to watch Bob's reactions. She forgot all the little tricks she knew to push a man over the edge. Teetering on a high peak, she experienced the biggest Fourth of July she'd ever known. Then she drifted down onto a fleecy cloud of contentment with Bob heavily on top of her.

With a groan, he rolled onto his back, holding her against the side of his body. She breathed through her mouth, trying to regain her senses. What the hell has happened to me? She didn't even know if Bob had gotten off.

“Did ... did you come?” she finally asked.

He stroked her back. “We came together."

Hell, she'd never done that before—had pretended to plenty of times, but never actually done it.

“Have we ... have we always been this good in bed?” he asked.

She pushed her fingers though the hair on his chest. “Ah, this was special. I guess abstinence made our hearts grow fonder.” She tried to smile, to show him she was joking, but was so shaken by what had just happened between them that her smile felt more like a grimace.

He turned her so he could look down into her face. Seeing his tender expression, she stopped laughing. For a moment he just stared at her, then he kissed her softly, lingeringly. “Beloved wife,” he murmured and again cradled her on his chest.

Sally regretfully admitted to herself that she'd miss old Bob when he was gone.

* * * *

The next morning, Sally got up bright and early, determined that this would be her last full day in Dodge City. After knocking on doors and finally looking into their rooms and seeing how hung over the girls were, she decided she'd be better off without their help.

But she didn't remain alone. Bob soon appeared at her side. Although his knowing looks and frequent touches made Sally a bit nervous, he proved to be surprisingly helpful. He lifted heavier items, brought in the packing cases the carpenter had made, and proved to be handy with a hammer when it came time to nail them shut.

She sent him to the railroad station to get the tickets and arrange for transporting their luggage. While he was gone, she hurried to pack her private stock of brandy and champagne. No need to tempt Bob back to alcohol while she still needed his help with the move, she told herself.

By lunchtime, the girls began to drag themselves into the kitchen looking for coffee. During the afternoon, the hallway turned into a jungle of trunks, hand luggage, and packed crates.

Before dinnertime, the teamsters Bob had arranged for arrived to remove the heavier containers.

By the time they gathered around the table in the kitchen, Sally was confident this would be the last meal she'd have with all of them. She felt a tinge of sadness, but didn't want their last night to turn into a weepy farewell party. That could lead to heavy drinking and make it difficult to get Betsy, Josie and Lucy on the train tomorrow morning.

However, she knew her girls expected farewell drinks. If she didn't furnish something, they'd go elsewhere to get it. She'd saved out a couple of bottles of her French brandy, hoping Bob wouldn't find this too tempting.

To give things a more festive air, Sally invited everyone into the parlor. Her brandy snifters had been packed, so she lined shot glasses on the bar and filled them. When everyone had a glass, Sally held hers up. “Well, ladies and gentleman, I guess this is the last time we'll all drink together. Health and good fortune!"

“Health and good fortune!” rang out from around the room and everyone sipped from their glass.

Francine proposed a toast to the future of Bob and Sally's new hotel, with a sly smirk at Sally. Bob sincerely wished Francine luck in her own business. Stella finally held up her glass, and with tears streaking her rouged cheeks, toasted Sally as the only employer who'd ever treated her decently.

Things might have gotten sticky after that, but Francine announced she had to attend a meeting with her new partner.

“Beasley really keeps you busy,” Betsy said with a small smirk.

Francine lightly patted the fall of curls at the back of her head and adjusted her shawl as she headed for the door. “It's not all business, if you know what I mean."

After Francine left, Stella asked, “I wonder what the weasel's wife thinks about all this business?"

“She's probably glad he's away from home,” Sally replied.

Everyone, except Bob, laughed.

Josie stood and looked a bit abashed. “Ah, I gotta go see somebody, too."

Sally looked up at her and shook her head, but she didn't waste her breath trying to argue Josie out of one last attempt to persuade Pete Lewis to marry her. “Just remember the train leaves at nine-thirty."

Josie nodded.

“You think she'll be all right?” Bob asked after she left.

Sally shrugged. “We can't live her life for her."

Teresa began to refill glasses with brandy. When she reached Bob, he pulled his glass away and looked over at Sally. “We've had a busy day, honey. Don't you think we better turn in?” He tried to keep his face blank, but his smoldering gaze clearly showed he wasn't thinking of sleep.

Lucy giggled.

“Yes, Sally, you and Bob better get your rest. You have a big day tomorrow,” Stella said with a teasing grin.

Bob looked a little embarrassed as he placed his glass on the bar and extended his hand to Sally. She didn't care what the girls thought. She'd thoroughly enjoyed herself last night and knowing she wouldn't have Bob around much longer made her determined to do him every chance she got. She took his hand and stood.

As they started out of the room, she looked back at the girls. “Remember the train and don't stay up late."

“We'll go to bed after we finish the brandy,” Betsy said.

* * * *

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, Bob pulled Sally into his arms and soundly kissed her. Then he raised his head and said, “I hope we have more privacy in the new place."

Sally smiled. “Don't worry about the girls. Nothing we do will shock them."

Bob shook his head. “I don't know. The way you carried on last night might."

She tried to look affronted. “I didn't do anything."

“Pretty near shouted the roof off."

That remark shocked her. Had she really been unusually loud? “If I did, it was all your fault."

His hand began to undo the buttons down the back of her dress. “I'm not complaining, honey. I wish I could make you feel like that every night."

She put her arms around him and leaned into his chest. Her breasts began to burn. It had been so long since any man had wanted to please her, that she wasn't quite sure how to act. But that was the best part, she reminded herself. She didn't have to act, just react. As her dress came open, she hugged him more tightly and said, “Love me, Bob. Love me."

“I do, sweetheart."

He had said he did love her, not that he would. What a great difference that made. She fastened her lips at the base of his neck and licked up the salty taste of him.

He tried to push her back. “Let me get your dress off."

She didn't want to break this close contact. Something might be lost forever. Moving even closer, she forced her leg between his.

Bob staggered a bit. As he regained his balance, he chuckled and said, “Take it easy, honey. We've got all night."

What was wrong with her? Sally Sweets didn't loose control of herself. She relaxed her legs, which were tightly clenched around his thigh. Then she loosened her grip around his chest, took a deep breath, and forced herself to step back. By God, she was acting as silly as Josie.

Slipping her dress off her shoulders, Sally kept her head up and her back arched. Without taking his eyes off of her, Bob started removing his clothes. Occasionally he glanced down, but always his gaze came back to her face, her eyes. What is he trying to see in me?

She turned to let him help her with her corset laces. When that stiff barrier fell away, he brought his hands up to cover and gently knead her breasts. Sally leaned against his bare chest and pushed her buttocks back to do a little kneading of her own.

Bob exhaled heavily, slipped one hand down to grip the apex of her legs and pull her more forcefully against himself. The firm roll of his arousal pressed between her buttocks and she groaned softly. His hand went between her legs, a finger slid into the moist opening.

Sally lost control again. She bucked against his finger and writhed against his arousal. He squeezed her breast, pinching the nipple, and her gasping breaths turned into high-pitched cries until her heat flowed into his hand and she relaxed against his body.

He quickly removed the rest of her underclothing, while she stood as helpless as a rag doll. When he pushed her over to the bed, she gratefully lay down and listlessly watched him remove his underdrawers. As he stretched out beside her, she told herself it was his turn now. She needed to do him, but she couldn't seem to rouse herself.

He bent over her and kissed her. As his tongue moved rhythmically against hers, his knee edged her legs apart. One of his hands roamed up and down her torso. His lips moved from her mouth to her breast.

A restless energy began to build in Sally. Her hands went around his neck so she could pull his mouth more firmly against her breast. He positioned himself between her legs. She felt his flesh entering hers and welcomed him with far more enthusiasm than she would have thought possible just a few moments earlier.

It was indeed Bob's turn. He lost himself in vigorous lunges and guttural groans. But Sally matched him lunge for lunge and groan for groan. No man had ever filled her so completely. As he seemed to grow even larger, she dug her fingers into his back and called encouragement.

Her passions overflowed just seconds before his hot juices gushed into her. He collapsed with a loud sigh. She found it amazing that such a large man could lie completely relaxed on top of her and not feel heavy. Slowly, he levered himself off. Feeling a sense of loss, she let her hand trail after him.

He caught her arm and pulled her over onto his chest. “You are the most wonderful woman I've ever known,” he whispered into her ear.

She wanted to believe him, but commonsense told her this was just pillow talk. “How do you know? Maybe I'm just like all the other women you've known but can't remember."

He twisted his head at a sharp angle so he could look into her face. “I can't remember any other women, but somehow I know there's never been anyone like you.” A frown suddenly creased his brow. “What about me? Am I like the other men you've known?"

“No! Definitely not.” Unexplainably, it became terribly important that he believe her. She crawled on top of his body and held his face tightly between her hands as she looked down at him. “No one was ever like you."

She kissed him as he hugged her tightly. When she finally raised her head and tried to move off of him, he held her in place.

“I'm too heavy,” she said.

“You're just right,” he replied and flipped the sheet over their sweat dampened bodies.

Chapter 12

Sally found the train ride long and boring, just hours of chugging through the barren prairies of southern Kansas and western Colorado. The heat of late summer had turned the grass to a muted yellow. The few towns they passed through were little more than refueling stations for the railroad.

Lizzie dozed in the seat facing Bob and Sally. Sally had always envied Lizzie's ability to sleep anyplace, anytime. Betsy, Josie, and Lucy played a half-hearted game of rummy in seats across the aisle from them.

Then a crew of railroad men riding in the car in front of them discovered single women on board and crowded into their car. The boisterous men filled the seats and even the aisle around the three women. The card game changed to draw poker. The girls insisted they play for pennies. One of the men suggested playing for kisses.

“You fellas gonna kiss each other?” Betsy asked with a sly grin.

Bob sat in the aisle seat, shielding Sally from the ogling men and glaring hostilely at anyone who looked at her too openly. Lucy squealed when an overly eager fellow grabbed her around the waist in an effort to persuade her to move to a private seat with him.

Bob jumped to his feet and yelled, “Take your hands off'a her!"

The surprised man released Lucy and turned toward Bob. “These women kin of yours, mister?"

“They work for me.” Bob pointed his finger at the man for emphasis. “So don't touch ‘em."

Betsy and Josie looked at Bob with their mouths agape. A pleased-as-punch grin stole over Lucy's face, and the railroad men glanced at each other with puzzled frowns. Betsy produced another deck of cards and led part of the men down to the other end of the car. Then she and Josie presided over separate games. Lucy came and sat beside Lizzie, obviously basking under Bob's protection.

After long moments of watching Bob smile at Lucy's silly chatter, Sally was sorely tempted to tell the little baggage to quit batting her eyes at her husband. Then she realized how silly that would sound. After all, she didn't want to keep him—did she?

As the long hours dragged by, Sally found another use for Bob's presence. Wanting to look her best when she arrived in Las Vegas, she had worn an elegant walking suit. Unfortunately, the bustle made riding on the thinly padded train seats extremely uncomfortable. Unable to fully rest her back against the seat, she leaned more and more against Bob.

* * * *

From her vantage point at the far end of the car, Betsy stared at Sally nestled against Bob's chest. She'd never seen Sally cozy up to a man like that before. Of course, Sally had always been syrupy sweet with men, but she'd used her sweetness to control them. She sure as hell wasn't controlling Bob at the present time, and the cries of pleasure that had come from her bedroom for the last two nights had sounded a little too real.

The train slowed to a stop at another water tower, and Sally roused herself. She glanced up at Bob and smiled, the kind of smile Betsy had seen on other women's faces when they looked at the men they loved. Is it possible that the Iron Madam has fallen in love?

Betsy had thought Sally beyond that sort of foolishness. That was one of the reasons she'd agreed to follow her to Las Vegas, that and the promise of finally being able to practice her specialty to the fullest.

She knew the others laughed at what she liked to do. Well, she laughed right back at them. Any fool could make a man happy by becoming his simpering slave. What Betsy did required brains and courage. And she could take a man, the right kind of man, to a level of passion higher than any he'd known before.

Sally glanced up and saw Betsy watching her. For a moment, she continued to wear that sappy smile, then she grew serious and sat up, pulling away from Bob. By God, she is self-conscious.

Betsy swung her gaze back to the robust man sitting to her left. She forced a smile to her lips and pretended to be listening to his dumb talk about building railroads. She'd never known Sally Sweets to be embarrassed by anything she did with a man. Betsy got the sinking feeling that her plans for the Palace Hotel were in danger.

But she didn't intend to surrender her dream easily. Besides, Sally had always treated her fairly. Betsy didn't want to see her ruined just because she'd fallen in love with her husband. Betsy would have to find a way to help Sally get over this temporary lapse in judgment.

* * * *

The train pulled into the station in Las Vegas well after dark. Sally stood on the platform with the other women, while Bob made arrangements for the larger pieces of their luggage in the baggage car.

When he told the stationmaster they were going to the Palace Hotel, the man said, “That place is closed, Mister."

“And I'm gonna open it,” Bob replied with a grin.

“You want me to see if I can get you a hack to transport these women?” the man asked.

“The Palace isn't far, is it?"

The stationmaster squinted and scratched his chin. “Let's see. Railroad Avenue is the street the station is on. Go down that till you reach Douglas Street and turn left. It's about four blocks in all."

“We've been sitting on the train all day. A little walk will be good for us,” Bob said without even looking to see if Sally agreed.

Not wanting to make her entrance into Las Vegas walking, she sighed in exasperation. This was the sort of thoughtless behavior married women had to put up with all the time. She better think about things like that before getting all mushy over Bob's occasional usefulness.

When he suggested they pick up only the luggage they'd need for tonight, she let him know that her reticule and one hatbox, the one she'd hidden her jewelry in, was all she would carry. Josie and Betsy had managed to keep several of the railroad men in attendance and loaded them down with their hand luggage. Bob had to juggle both his and Sally's.

They had no trouble finding their way along the wooden sidewalks and packed-dirt streets. Light spilled from the doorways and windows of saloons, restaurants and stores all open and apparently doing a brisk business. The sound of pianos, banjos, fiddles, and the voices of revelers filled the night air along with the mingled scents of spilled beer, fried food, and sweaty bodies.

Sally nodded in satisfaction. She'd been wise to come here. The town was wide open.

They formed quite a parade as they moved along the sidewalk, and their passage did not go unnoticed. New women arriving in a town heavily populated by men attracted a lot of attention.

Someone yelled, “Ain't that Josie Featherhead?"

Someone else replied, “By Gawd, there's Sally Sweets!"

Suddenly men poured out of saloons, grinning, waving, and calling out greetings. Loaded down as he was, Bob started walking faster and glowering at the spectators. Sally deliberately fell a bit behind him, so he wouldn't see her smile and nod at familiar faces. She didn't want to make him angry, but didn't see any reason to alienate future customers.

Lucy followed so closely that she practically stepped on Sally's heels, but Betsy and Josie trailed far behind, enjoying all the attention.

As they moved farther from the train station, the streets became darker and quieter. Sally recognized the portico, supported by sturdy columns that covered the entryway to the hotel. With curious men still trailing after them, she stopped in front of her new home.

Boards had been haphazardly nailed over the double doors and the plate glass window. Bob dropped the luggage, pulled ineffectually at one of barriers and then turned toward the watchers. “Could some of you fellows give me a hand getting these boards outta the way?"

“Just a minute, Mister.” A tall, thin man in a three-piece suit stepped forward. “What gives you the right to open that door?"

“I got the deed and the key in my pocket."

As the man stepped closer, Sally finally saw his face in the scant light. “Hoodoo Brown?"

He tipped his hat and a grin pulled up one corner of his neatly trimmed moustache. “Nice to be remembered, Sally.” Then he glanced at Bob. “I heard a story about you marrying a dead man. Is this him?"

When Brown had lived in Dodge, there'd been gossip about the source of his income. He'd behaved himself the few times he'd come to Sally's place, however, so she hadn't cared. “Yes, this is my husband, Bob Sweets. We're the new owners of this hotel."

“Let me welcome you to East Las Vegas."

Bob spoke up. “You make it sound like there are two towns here."

Brown nodded agreeably. “As a matter of fact, there are. When the railroad tried to buy land for a station, the biggest property owner in town, Charles Ilfeld, held ‘em up on the price. So they built it here, across the river and about a mile from the plaza. A new town's grown up around the station.

“As the dully elected Justice of the Peace of District 29, and the self-appointed coroner, I'm all the civil authority East Las Vegas has. Anything you want, see me."

Sally smiled, knowing she wouldn't have any trouble getting a license to operate in this town.

“Do you know where I can get a hammer, so I can get these boards down and open this door?” Bob asked.

“That ain't necessary,” Brown replied. “Sam, Wiley, see what you can do about these boards.” He waved two human oxen forward. They stuffed their bulging arms behind the boards that covered the doorway and yanked them free.

As Bob fished the key out of his pocket, he nodded at Brown. “They're real strong fellas."

“Members of our local police force. I picked ‘em myself,” Brown replied proudly.

The double doors opened to a pitch-black cavern. “Let me find a lamp for ya,” Brown said. A match flared and he confidently stepped inside. Obviously familiar with the place, he went straight to a lamp mounted on the wall near the doorway. As light dimly outlined the lobby, Sally stepped inside and gasped. “What happened here?"

Overturned chairs, broken glass, and scattered papers littered the floor. A swinging door that led into the bar hung precariously by one hinge. Most alarming of all, a row of holes, apparently made by bullets, marched across the paneling that formed the front of the registration desk.

“Somebody broke into this place after Carswell left!” Bob said in an angry voice.

“No, sir-re, all this happened before that fancy city man ran away like a scalded chicken,” Brown said.

The two policemen who looked in from the doorway laughed. Brown fixed Bob with a hard-eyed stare. “Carswell didn't understand what it takes to keep law and order out here in the West. Wouldn't support the police like the rest of the businessmen in town. That wasn't very smart of him."

Bob stared back at him with a frown. “What kind of support are you talking about?"

“We don't collect taxes here, just assess businesses according to the amount of protection they'll need,” Brown said, a smug expression on his face.

Anger overcame the shock Sally had been feeling over the state of the hotel lobby. Obviously, Brown was the next son-of-a-bitch she'd have to pay off.

The mantle of conviviality suddenly reappeared, and Brown smiled. “But you folks must be tired after that long train ride. I'll let you get settled.

“You come to see me tomorrow, Bob, and we'll work it out. I got an office over near Goodlet and Brown's Saloon. If I ain't in the office, most likely I'll be in the saloon. Some folks say it's my real office.” He chuckled good-naturedly, tipped his hat to Sally, and ambled out.

Bob watched him leave and then muttered, “Now we know why Carswell really wanted to sell this place."

Sally closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then forced herself into action. “Let's get those bags inside. Lizzie, find another lamp, it's dark as a tomb in here."

As soon as the railroad men put down the bags they carried, she herded them to the door. “Thanks so much for your help, gentlemen. It'll be a couple of days before we reopen. You come back to see us then."

She closed the doors behind them, shot the bolt, and turned back to her subdued little family. “Lizzie, find the kitchen and see if there's any coffee."

“I could use something stronger,” Betsy said.

“Check the bar,” Sally said, “but something tells me the liquor will be missing."

“I don't know what to think about that Hoodoo Brown,” Bob said with a worried frown.

“He was a two-bit confidence man when he lived in Dodge,” Sally replied.

“Did you recognize those policemen of his?” Josie asked. “They were in Dodge too, but on the other side of the law."

Betsy called out from the bar. “There are a few opened bottles left. I guess whoever looted this place didn't want to bother with them. Some of the glasses are still intact, too. Anybody want a drink?"

Just then Lizzie called from the back. “There's coffee in the pantry and wood in the box. I got a pot started."

As Josie and Lucy headed toward the bar, Sally looked at Bob to see what he wanted.

“I'm gonna have coffee. I got a feeling I'll need to be wide-awake when I talk to Brown tomorrow."

Sally sighed in relief. She might really need Bob's masculine presence in the next few days, so she didn't want him to start drinking just yet. She walked over and slipped her arm around his waist. “Yeah. I want to see what's in the kitchen myself."

As they walked arm and arm though the littered lobby, he said, “I'm sorry, honey. You must be real disappointed."

“Oh, we can clean this mess up in no time. And we should have known there'd be somebody here to shake us down. In our line of work, there always is."

“We're not in that line anymore, remember? We're gonna run an honest hotel."

“You convince Hoodoo of that tomorrow."

As they passed through the archway leading into the dining room, Sally was relieved to see all the tables and chairs intact. Lizzie had a welcoming fire going in the kitchen and there was no sign of any breakage there.

“Is there any food in the pantry?” Sally asked.

“Yes'am. Some cans. I can put a supper together fer tonight,” Lizzie replied.

“Good,” Bob said. “I've seen all I want to of Las Vegas tonight."

It occurred to Sally that she wasn't the only one disappointed by what they'd found in their new home. “All the damage seems to be confined to the lobby and bar."

“Guess the police didn't want to completely destroy the place. That would put a dent in their future collections,” Bob said sarcastically.

After Lizzie hastily warmed beans and corned beef, Sally assembled everyone in the kitchen. The girls had healthy alcoholic glows and seemed quite excited by all the familiar faces they'd seen in the crowd tonight.

When they finished eating, Sally herded them upstairs to select bedrooms and make beds. Remembering Bob's wish for more privacy, she picked a suite on the left side of the upstairs lobby for them and directed the girls to single rooms on the right side.

It was nearly midnight before Sally crawled into bed exhausted. When Bob reached for her, she opened her mouth to object and then realized he only intended to hold her. She found nestling in his arms a surprisingly pleasant way to fall asleep.

* * * *

With early morning sunlight peaking around the edges of the paper shade, Sally awoke and shivered. During the night, she'd moved away from Bob. She slid across the bed and pressed her back against his. “Brrr, why's it so cold in here?"

He turned, surrounding her with his arms and spooning their bodies for maximum contact. “Higher elevation, I guess. Cools off a lot at night."

“We'll have to get out extra blankets and start building some fires upstairs."

He began to run his hands along the front of her body. “You sure you want to do that? This seems like a better way to keep warm to me."

Sally smiled and began to wiggle her bottom. Bob chuckled and kneaded one of her breasts. She reached back and pinched his butt. He playfully nibbled her ear. She worked her nightgown out of the way until her bare buttocks could surround his taunt erection.

With one hand still on her breast, he reached under her with his other hand, around to the juncture of her legs. Pulling her upper body completely against his chest, he slid his fingers into her moist crevice. Sally groaned with pleasure. Bob began to massage vigorously and she felt an overpowering desire for more. Why did this man always drive her wild?

She writhed in his arms until she could flip onto her back and pull Bob between her thighs. He sank into her and moved with smooth, rhythmic thrusts. This time Sally heard her own high-pitched cries of ecstasy, but she didn't care. Let the world hear her. For once, she had a man who wanted to satisfy her, and he was doing a damn good job of it.

* * * *

Sally aimed her broom at the dustpan Lucy held, filling it with debris. Thanks goodness, she'd worn a scarf to protect her hair from the dust she and Betsy were raising as they swept. Even though the hotel had been closed, traffic on the unpaved street had sent heavy dust under doors and around windows. Lucy decided she needed to empty the dustbin, giving Sally another excuse to pause in her work.

Glancing up, she again marveled at the tin ceiling. It had diamond designs molded into it and had been painted a soft cream color. The wide staircase beside the office rose majestically with its carved mahogany railings and posts. Brass sconces scattered around the walls held lamps that would make the lobby inviting at night. It really was an elegant place, and it was hers.

“With all the debris gone, there's not a lot of real damage,” Sally said.

Betsy arched her eyebrows and tipped her head toward the registration desk. “What about those bullet holes?"

“I guess we'll have to get a carpenter to replace that front panel."

“Wonder what's taking Bob so long,” Betsy said.

Sally had been wondering that herself. He'd left two hours earlier to arrange for the transportation of their luggage and to talk to Hoodoo Brown. The baggage had been delivered thirty minutes ago.

Apparently Betsy read her thoughts. “Why didn't you go with him? You'd know how to deal with Brown a lot better than Bob."

Sally shook her head. “He wouldn't hear of it. Said this was the sort of thing men settled between themselves."

Betsy huffed impatiently. “How much longer are you gonna put up with this stupid plan of his? We need to get back to work and start making money."

“I know, I know, but I can't get rid of Bob just yet. As wild as this town is, we may need his protection."

“Hell, most of the wild element in this town came from Dodge where we got along very well without Bob,” Betsy said and gave her mouth a disgusted twist.

“But we had Buford, remember?” Sally propped her broom against the wall and bent to examine a chair with a missing arm.

The door opened and Bob marched into the lobby. Sally looked up hopefully, but his stormy expression instantly dashed her hopes. “What does he want?"

He looked at her in silence for a long moment. “It's a good thing you didn't let me wear my gun or I'd have shot the son of a bitch."

Sally rushed to his side and gripped his arm. “What did he say?"

“Three hundred dollars a week."

She gasped and stepped back in alarm. “We can't afford that!"

“Not running a hotel, you can't,” Betsy said in a firm voice.

Bob glared at her. “He doesn't believe we're gonna run a hotel. As good as called me a liar.” He looked back at Sally and his anger changed to regret. “He said some other stuff—about how some things never change—” Fresh anger twisted his features. “Where's my gun? I'll go back and shoot him now."

Sally wrapped both of her arms around one of his. “Don't be foolish. You'd never get close enough to shoot him. Let's go into the office and talk this out.” She started for the room behind the desk, pulling Bob with her. Over her shoulder, she said, “Start sweeping up in the bar, Betsy."

Betsy glanced over at the bar, but waited until the office door closed. Then she pushed her broom over behind the registration desk.

Dipping her head toward the door, she clearly heard Sally say, “I talked to the delivery men who brought our baggage, and Lizzie talked to people at the general store this morning. Brown's got his town tied up tight. Behind his back, folks call his police force the ‘Dodge City Gang.’ There's no way you can go up against him and live."

“We'll be lucky to take in three hundred dollars a week. How are we gonna pay him?” Bob responded.

“We can't if we run it as a hotel. Let's go back to my original plan."

Betsy smiled in satisfaction until she heard a heavy fist strike the desk.

“No! I won't have you going back into that business."

“Aw, Bob, why rent rooms for two dollars a night when you can make fifty off of them? I won't sleep with the customers if that's what's bothering you."

“If it's wrong for you, it's wrong for the others. I can't make my living by selling young women's bodies."

Betsy had no idea he was that sanctimonious. Sally would have a hard time talking a man with those convictions into changing his mind.

“Just because we don't hire women to work as whores, doesn't mean they won't get into the business. Young women have no other way to support themselves,” Sally yelled in an angry voice.

“I want a better life for us.” The statement sounded like a plea.

“We can't always have what we want,” she said in a suddenly calm voice. “If we don't do this Brown's way, we'll lose everything."

After a moment of silence, Bob said, “Not if we convince him that we're really running a hotel. Then he won't ask for so much money. You'll see."

Sally's voice sounded flat and discouraged. “They'll run us out just like they did Carswell."

“I'm not some dude from Boston. If anybody tries to shoot up my place, I'll shoot back. You get my pistol. From here on, I'm wearing it all the time."

Foolish man, Betsy thought. Bob would likely get himself killed and possibly take some of them with him. Why won't men ever listen to reason? She heard the click of Sally's heels and hastily moved away from the door just as it opened.

“Where are you going?” Bob called.

“To get your damn pistol. You're going to need it,” Sally fired back at him. Then she glanced over at Betsy. “The lobby has been swept. Go to the bar!"

Betsy glared back at her. She wasn't some maid to be yelled at. But she knew Sally was really angry with Bob, not her, so Betsy kept her mouth shut. Obviously, Sally still wanted to turn this place into a fancy house as she'd promised, but her feelings for Bob were blunting her usual good sense. Betsy had to find a way to help Sally.

Chapter 13

Bob stayed in the office, feeling guilty for upsetting Sally, but sure he was right about the hotel. He had to find a way to change Hoodoo Brown's mind. He owed it to Sally and the other girls. This might be their only chance to start new lives.

Obviously, sweet little Lucy didn't want to be in their old business and Josie had become so despondent that she'd tried to take her own life. Betsy might not want to change, but that was a decision she'd have to make for herself.

Most importantly, Bob felt a deep conviction that getting away from the bawdyhouse business would save his marriage to Sally. The way other men leered at his wife drove him to the edge of sanity. He didn't understand how he'd endured it during their previous years together.

That blow on the head had evidently done more than just take away his memory. Now, his possessive feelings toward Sally were so strong that he wanted the world to show her the respect a decent married woman deserved. He knew he was expecting a lot. Sally had a scarlet past, but her love for him had changed her.

And he was sure she did love him. The way her body responded to his was no whore's act. She'd even agreed to give up her dream of operating the finest fancy house in the West for him. She wanted a new life for herself just as much as he wanted it for her. He had to give it to her—or die trying.

She rushed through the doorway and slapped his holster and pistol on the desk. After giving him an angry glare, she haughtily marched away. Bob decided it would be best to let her cool down before saying anything more about Hoodoo Brown. He strapped on his holster and went to see how he could help with the repairs.

Finding a hammer, he stepped outside to pull down the boards that covered the plate glass window. He removed the upper boards and revealed the words “Palace Hotel” stenciled in gold letters. Sally's face appeared on the other side of the glass, staring out at him with a worried frown.

He could see she doubted his ability to do all the things he'd said he was going to, and he didn't blame her. After all he couldn't even remember what his talents were. Had he really been part of her business before or just her gun-toting boyfriend? He didn't know. All he could do was go with his gut feelings.

He knew Hoodoo Brown couldn't afford to let him refuse to make any payments. Then the other merchants in town would do the same thing. Bob had to pay the man something, but he couldn't afford three hundred dollars a week.

Surely Brown would rather collect a more reasonable fee than nothing at all. He might be a hard case, but he was also a businessman. As the last board fell away, a surge of renewed confidence flowed through Bob. Once Brown saw that they were operating a legitimate hotel, he'd come down on his price.

During the afternoon, a carpenter fixed the door to the bar and replaced the panel on the registration desk. Although Sally looked worried and Betsy and Josie sullen, they removed all the debris that had littered the lobby and bar area. Betsy kept commenting on the amount of liquor still available in the bar and asking if anyone wanted a drink. Bob began to wonder if alcohol might be another one of her weaknesses.

Lucy excitedly made the dining room hers, dusting everything and placing linens on the tables. She shyly suggested they have the evening meal there and beamed with pride when Bob agreed.

After all the food had been placed on the largest table in the room, everyone, including Lizzie, sat down. As they passed the food around, Bob said, “We've made a lot of progress today."

“We haven't even started on the guest rooms,” Sally replied.

Josie sighed. “That's a lot of beds to make."

“Mr. Carswell said he had Mexican women working as maids. Tomorrow I'll see if I can hire some of them,” Bob said.

“They're probably scared to come back after what happened to Carswell,” Betsy added glumly.

Bob huffed at her impatiently. Betsy never missed a chance to criticize. “That's not going to happen to us,” he assured everyone.

“Why not?” Sally asked in a skeptical voice.

“Once Brown sees that we're really going to run a hotel, he'll come down on the protection fee.” Bob hoped his voice sounded confident.

“I think Brown just wants to make as much money as possible,” Sally said.

“That's what most men want,” Betsy added, her expression leaving no doubt about what she thought of any man who didn't.

Lucy's childish voice interrupted the gloom. “Let's talk about something else. Aren't Lizzie's biscuits good tonight?"

Bob gladly responded to the new topic. “They sure are. I bet there's not a restaurant in this town that serves food as good as this."

A new idea occurred to him and he turned to the cook. “Maybe we could open the dining room first. Just start out with evening meals. Could you handle that Lizzie?"

Lizzie's chest puffed up with her sudden increase in importance. “If the butcher can get the meat I needs, I can."

Bob nodded his head in agreement. “Why don't we both go see him in the morning?"

“There's some boards and paint in the storeroom. I can make a sign to go in the window if we do open,” Lucy volunteered enthusiastically.

Bob appreciated her support. “That would be great, Lucy. If the butcher comes through, we might be able to open tomorrow night."

“Bob!” Sally's voice demanded attention. “What about Brown?"

“I'll handle him,” Bob said, wishing he knew how he'd do it.

* * * *

Betsy paused as though about to enter the saloon. Glancing up and down the street, she saw no one watching and hurried around the corner and into the alley that ran behind Hoodoo Brown's office. She felt guilty for going behind Sally's back, but no longer trusted Sally's judgment where Bob was involved.

To Betsy, love was just another way to make a woman a man's slave. If Sally was in love, she couldn't make decisions with her usual hardheaded business sense. But one day that love would fade away, and she'd realize what a golden opportunity she'd missed.

A real friend wouldn't let that happen. Besides, Betsy had her own dream to protect. Ever since that old, fat man back in St. Louis had asked her to spank him, Betsy's imagination had been fired with erotic ideas for bondage and punishment.

Of course, men in the West were so damn intent on proving their manhood, that she'd had little luck in getting most of them to submit. Once she had her own special place, however, and people knew what she was offering, the customers who liked it her way would come.

She'd read about places in Europe where they put on shows, called circuses, and men paid big money to watch women tie-up and arouse other women. Sometimes at night, Betsy dreamt about Lucy's thin body tied down and writhing as Betsy applied just enough punishment to bring her to a screaming climax.

Her foot kicked an empty bottle that rolled and clattered into the wall. The sudden noise caused Betsy to stop and remind herself of her mission. She stared at the back door of Hoodoo's office, hoping he was inside and not next door at the saloon.

After tapping at the door, she heard a muffled voice and turned the knob. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the front windows, making it difficult to see into the room. She stepped inside cautiously. “Mr. Brown?"

“Hello, missy. What can I do for you?” Brown's voice responded.

Betsy stepped further into the room. Brown sat behind his desk. Another man sat in a chair off to the side. A small sigh of disappointment escaped her lips. “If you're busy, I can come back later."

He raised his hand and waved her into the room. “You're Betsy, aren't you?"

She nodded.

“I'm not doing anything right now but chatting with my clerk. Come on in and sit down."

Betsy glanced at the other man and then stared at him. Blonde hair waved across a broad forehead. Sideburns pointed to a squared jaw and strong chin. His sturdy neck led to massive shoulders that were covered with a custom-made suit that fit him to perfection. She had to force herself to look back at Brown.

“Ah, I was wondering if I might speak with you privately."

“This here's Gentleman Jim Tilson. He helps me keep track of things around the office. Ain't nothing you can't say in front of him.” Then he smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you've got something real private in mind."

Betsy bit her lower lip uncertainly and perched on the edge of the chair Brown pointed to. “I just—just want you to understand how things are with Sally and me."

Brown grinned. “Let me guess. You've decided to jump off that sinking ship and want me to help you find another position, right?"

“No, no. Sally has big plans for her place, and I want to be part of them, but Bob's standing in the way. He really wants to run a hotel. Sally knows she can make a lot more money running a fancy pleasure palace, but her hands are tied because he's her husband. She has a plan to get rid of him, but we need more time and your help."

Brown's mouth sagged open for a moment, then a sly grin pulled at his mouth. “You'd best remember that I'm entrusted with keeping law and order in this town before you tell me about a plot to murder somebody's husband."

Betsy shook her head vigorously. “We don't have to murder him. Before Sally married Bob, he was a drunk. She's kept him dried out since he got hurt, but if we can just get the bar opened in the hotel, it won't be long before he's hitting the booze again. Then Sally can do whatever she wants. She has ideas that will make her place the best in the West."

Brown stared at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Just exactly what is it you want me to do?"

“Bob wants to open the dining room first. Will you let that happen and help us restock the bar as quickly as possible?"

“What's in it for me?” Brown asked.

“Sally will make a lot of money, and you'll be the only man around who can protect her. She knows how to reward her friends."

Brown drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment. “Well, Betsy, I guess we can work something out."

Betsy sighed in relief and smiled for the first time since she'd come into the room. “You won't be sorry, Mr. Brown."

Brown chuckled. “Just call me Hoodoo, honey. How much liquor do you think you'll need to open the bar?"

“Can I get it without Bob knowing it's coming from you?"

Brown shook his head and looked over at Gentleman Jim. “Let this be a lesson to you, Jim. Never get in a woman's way. They're way too smart for us.” Then he turned back to Betsy. “Tomorrow you go to see Harry over at Goodlet and Brown's. I'm supposed to be a silent partner there, but I can get Harry to give it to you at a real good price."

“Thanks, Hoodoo.” Betsy stood and stuck her hand out over the desk.

For a moment he looked surprised, evidently at the idea of shaking hands with a woman. Then he stood, clasped her hand, and smiled warmly. “I think we're gonna get along real well, Betsy."

She glanced over at Tilson. He stared up at her, his hazel eyes opened widely as though he'd been shocked by what she'd said. She nodded curtly at him. Then she smiled at Brown, and headed for the door.

* * * *

After the woman left, Hoodoo looked over at Gentleman Jim. “I knew when Sally Sweets came to town things would liven up."

“Do you trust those bitches?” Jim asked.

“Hell, no,” Brown replied, “But Sally Sweets's place in Dodge drew all the big money men. She knows how to put on airs, make a man think he's getting something more than just another piece of ass. We can make a lot of money off'a her."

Jim looked skeptical. “I heard she ran her own show, didn't let nobody tell her what to do."

Hoodoo shrugged. “She's welcome to run the whores. I'll just tell her what to do with a good part of the money she takes in. I've got a good thing going here, but it ain't gonna last long. Once the railroad lays tracks to Albuquerque, the trade will just pass through Las Vegas. I gotta make all I can while I can, and I think Sally Sweets will be a real money-maker."

“But do you think she can really control her husband?"

“Hell, Jim, I ain't gonna wait around for the man to drink himself to death. A barroom brawl will be a lot quicker."

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Why go to the trouble of staging a brawl? You got boys working for you who'd enjoy gunning him down."

Hoodoo shook his head over his friend's lack of common sense. “We can push the honest folks in this town around only so much. Can't let them think they're threatened or they'll band together and fight back. But Sweets getting shot by some hard case during a fight in his bar ain't my fault. Hell, I may even arrest somebody for it. This could be a good way to get rid of that hotheaded Stuttering Tom."

A grin of understanding brightened Jim's handsome face, but just as quickly faded to a worried frown. “Some of the boys might not like one of their own gettin’ hanged."

“Who said anything about a hanging? People escape from the sorry jails in this territory every day."

“Tom would have to get out of town for sure,” Jim said and chuckled.

Hoodoo sighed through a half-hearted smile. He sometimes wondered how Jim managed to dress himself in such sartorial splendor. He was as slow as a turtle about everything else. Of course, he was as loyal as a hound dog. That counted for a lot, considering the gang of cutthroats Hoodoo had working for him.

And Jim could charm the ladies. Might as well make use of his one talent. “When that dining room opens, you be a regular customer and play up to Betsy. We need to keep her real friendly. You might even get her for free, before she starts selling herself."

Jim didn't look particularly enticed by that suggestion. “She's kinda plain looking for a fancy woman."

“From what I heard in Dodge, she ain't your average whore. Don't let her get you alone with a rope in her hands."

Jim once again looked baffled. “A rope?"

“Talk was she likes to tie men up and whip ‘em."

Jim's upper lip curled in distaste. “What kinda sissy man would let a woman do that?"

Hiding the smirk he felt over the thought of Jim having to play up to that pinched-faced Betsy, Hoodoo muttered, “It takes all kinds."

Betsy definitely wasn't Hoodoo's kind of woman. He liked generous curves and smiles and sweet talk. Like Sally Sweets dished out. Back in Dodge, he'd been a nobody, beneath her notice. Now she had a husband she wanted to get rid of, and she had to come to Hoodoo for help. The situation was full of promise.

* * * *

The next morning, Sally sullenly listened as Bob and Lizzie happily announced that the butcher could supply the necessary meat. Lucy urged them to open the dining room that very night. Bob agreed without even asking Sally's opinion. Then Betsy entered the kitchen and said she'd found someone willing to sell them enough whiskey to restock the bar.

Bob smiled warmly. “That's great. Do you think we could get the bar set up by tonight?"

“Wait a minute!” Sally interrupted. It didn't make sense to her that Betsy was helping Bob succeed with the hotel. Sally's suspicion that Betsy had her own plan to drive Bob back to drink must be correct. “There's no way we can open the dining room and the bar at the same time. We don't have enough help."

“Josie and I could do the bar by ourselves,” Betsy offered brightly.

“And leave me, Lizzie and Lucy to do all the cooking and serving?” Sally replied, making no effort to keep her voice down.

Bob's smile turned into a look of disappointment. “Sally's, right, Betsy. That would be too much work for one day. You help with the dining room tonight..."

The corners of Betsy's mouth turned down in a scowl.

“...and I'll see what I can do about hiring more help. We'll open the bar in the next day or two."

Betsy's expression softened.

“Have you forgotten about Hoodoo Brown?” Sally demanded.

Bob grimaced with irritation. “Of course I haven't forgotten about him, but we can't let him close us down before we even open up."

“Maybe you could talk to him again,” Betsy said in an uncharacteristically sweet voice. “Explain that we're just opening the dining room and offer him a smaller payment. That might satisfy him."

Bob nodded thoughtfully. “That's not a bad idea. I got mad and stormed out on him yesterday. If it looks like I'm giving in, he won't have to worry about trouble from the other merchants."

“You better stay away from that man, Bob. He's got half the hard cases in the territory working for him. You could get back-shot,” Sally warned.

Bob reached over and patted her hand reassuringly. “Don't worry, honey. I know what I'm doing."

She wished that were true. Compared to the Hoodoo Browns of this world, Bob was as innocent as a babe. And if he got killed, it would be all her fault.

* * * *

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of Goodlet and Brown's, Bob saw Hoodoo Brown sitting at a table in the back corner of the large room.

“You looking for me, Sweets?” Brown's voice rang out.

“Yeah.” Bob started walking toward him. A man sitting beside Brown jumped to his feet and Bob tensed, thinking the man meant to challenge him.

Brown waved his hand and said, “I'll talk to you later, Dutch."

With a nod, the other man left.

Then Brown looked up at Bob. “Can I offer you a drink, Sweets?” He raised his voice. “Millie, bring my guest a shot of bourbon."

Following Brown's gesture, Bob sat in the chair across from him. Taking a deep breath, Bob swallowed his pride, and spoke loudly so everyone in the room could hear him. “Nice of you not to hold a grudge, Mr. Brown. I lost my temper yesterday, but after I calmed down, I realized you and I need to come to an agreement."

Brown had the decency not to laugh outright at Bob, but his mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled with obvious merriment. “That's right smart of you, Mister Sweets."

“We're not ready to open the hotel yet, but I've decided to start serving dinners in the dining room. My wife has a mighty fine cook working for her, and I think folks in East Las Vegas will welcome a new place to eat."

Brown nodded. “I ate a meal at your wife's place once. It was tasty."

“I hope you'll come tonight—be our guest."

Brown's eyes narrowed. “Nice of you to ask, Bob, but we haven't settled on police protection for your place yet. I wouldn't want my going there to give folks the impression your place is safe."

A waitress in a knee-length skirt brought a glass of whiskey and sat it in front of Bob.

He toyed with the glass for a second and then took a gulp, barely noticing the burning taste as he marshaled his nerve. It was time to try his big bluff. “Yes, I want to settle with you about that.” Bob leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice. “Of course, one dining room doesn't require the protection that a whole hotel does. I've got fifty dollars in rolled up bills in my pocket. If I hand it to you across the table, everyone will see me paying, but won't know how much."

Brown silently stared at him. Finally he said, “You sure the dining room is the only room your fillies will be working in?"

Bob clenched his teeth and reined in his temper. “Absolutely. Of course, I hope to open the bar later this week."

Brown grinned. “We'll renegotiate your fee next week, then."

Bob couldn't quite believe his ears. He pulled the bills from his pocket and slid them across the table. When Brown picked them up and slipped them into his jacket pocket, Bob sighed in relief and drained the glass in front of him.

The bourbon burned his throat and sent a wave of pleasure to his brain. Bob laughed. “I told my wife you were a man I could do business with."

Brown rose and extended his hand. “I'm always glad to help out a fellow citizen."

Realizing he was being dismissed, Bob stood. He gave Brown's hand a vigorous pump and walked out of the saloon with a spring in his step. Maybe he was worthy of being Sally's business partner after all.

Chapter 14

Sally lifted her feet onto a nearby chair and sighed loudly. Lucy's neatly lettered sign had said dinner would be served from seven to ten, but it was almost eleven thirty and they'd just finished clearing the tables in the dining room. Sally had only intended to be the hostess, but as the lobby had filled with waiting diners, she'd found herself doing everything from taking orders to clearing tables. She was exhausted.

Josie came in from the kitchen and plopped down across from Sally. “I've never worked so hard in my life. My feet are killing me."

Betsy approached the table carrying a tray with a partially filled brandy bottle and empty glasses on it. “How about a snort to pep us up? There's a mountain of dishes to be washed."

Sally and Josie groaned in unison. Then Sally weakly waved the bottle forward and said, “Maybe a drink will give me a little strength. I can't believe I'm so tired so early. We worked a lot longer hours in the other business."

“Yeah,” Josie said, “but we were off our feet most of the time.” She stuck her hand in her apron pocket and jingled the nickels and dimes there. “And the pay was a lot better."

Betsy poured the drinks. “You can say that again."

Sally sipped from her glass and eyed the other women nervously. They had every right to be disgruntled. She just hoped they wouldn't do anything rash, like leave. “Tonight just showed how much business we'll be able to do in this town."

Bob came into the room just then and looked at them with surprise. “What's this? Lucy and Lizzie can't clean up the kitchen by themselves."

“We're just catching our breath,” Sally said. “We'll help."

Betsy pointed toward the tray that still contained an unused glass. “You worked pretty hard yourself, Bob. Don't you need a drink?"

Bob shook his head. “Not until everything's finished."

Sally struggled to keep from smiling at Betsy's obvious frustration over Bob's lack of interest in drinking. He sat at a table away from theirs, opened the cash box, and began to sort the bills. “How'd we do, sweetie?” Sally asked.

“I'll let you know in a minute,” he mumbled.

“We did pull in a crowd,” Josie said, “but most of them were men.” She arched her eyebrows. “I'm not sure food was what they really came for."

“Big-Nosed Kate was here,” Sally said. “I nearly dropped my drawers when she walked in on Doc Holliday's arm."

“Yeah,” Betsy said with a nod. “I can't believe those two haven't killed each other by now."

Bob looked up from the bills stacked in front of him. “Is he a real doctor?"

“A dentist,” Sally said. “He had an office in Dodge."

“He's running a saloon over on Center Street here,” Josie said. “Wyatt and James Earp are in there all the time. Some say Wyatt's a partner."

Bob went back to counting the money.

Sally wanted the girls to appreciate the important role Bob had played in tonight's success. “I was glad to see Hoodoo Brown here tonight. It told everyone we have his approval. Whatever Bob said to him today did the trick."

“Free dinners for a party of six is what brought him,” Josie said indignantly.

Betsy seemed to take offense at this remark. “He tipped me very well."

Josie's pug nose turned a little higher into the air. “I guess so—the way you were fawning all over him."

Sally chuckled. Having the girls quarreling among themselves was like old times. “Josie's just jealous because that good-looking, well-dressed gent in Brown's party kept making eyes at you, Betsy."

A pleased smile played with Betsy's lips.

“Huh,” Josie said, “I got my butt patted so many times tonight that I lost count."

“Eighty three dollars and fifty cents,” Bob blurted out.

Sally and her companions looked over at him.

“That's what we took in tonight,” he said proudly. “If we can take in that much serving dinners, imagine what we can make with the whole hotel running."

Josie sat up very straight and placed her fists on her hips. “I hope you don't expect us to work like this every night."

He looked abashed. “I'm sorry you've all had to work so hard. After I talked to Hoodoo Brown this afternoon, I went over to West Las Vegas. A widow and her three daughters are coming to work for us tomorrow. Señora Gonzales doesn't want her daughters to be around any drinking or—or carrying on, so I figured they could clean the rooms and serve in the dining room."

He paused as if waiting for some comment from Josie or Betsy. They just stared at him.

Bob continued. “I think Betsy's suggestion about you two running the bar is a good one. We'll also need a man working in there to keep order. I'll do that until we find somebody. But you two will be in charge. Sally and I couldn't open this place without the help you girls are giving.” He looked at Sally and smiled apologetically. “I haven't talked it over with her, but I'm sure we can work something out so you can share in the profits, not just draw salaries."

Betsy's shoulders squared with pride and Josie's outrage turned into a smile. Sally marveled at how easily Bob had smooth-talked them out of their belligerence. Then she noted how earnestly he waited for their responses and knew he'd meant every word. His honesty and sincerity had won them over—at her expense.

Josie jumped to her feet. “We'll do a good job for you, Bob. Make the bar something Sally will be proud of. Come on, Betsy. We can make plans while we're working in the kitchen."

Betsy rose more slowly than Josie had and looked at Bob with doubt still showing on her face. Then she followed Josie out of the room.

Bob placed the stacks of money back into the cash box before looking over at Sally. “I hope you didn't mind me making those offers before talking it over with you."

Sally stood and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You have been mighty bossy lately.” She took slow steps toward him, rolling her hips from side to side with every step. “I don't know how I'm going to punish you."

Bob grinned. “Don't ask Betsy for any suggestions, and I'll promise to be good."

Sally slithered into his lap and wound her arms around his neck, reaching up with one hand to run her fingers through his hair. “Oh? Tell me how you're going to be good."

Bob's grin turned into a wicked smile. “You wiggle around on my lap a little more, and you'll feel how good I'm gonna be."

She laughed and jumped to her feet. “Time to wash the dishes. Can't make the help mad."

He groaned and grabbed for her, but she easily moved out of his reach and ran into the kitchen with a burst of new energy.

* * * *

Hoodoo laid down his pen at the sound of a knock on his office door. “What?” he shouted.

Gentleman Jim stuck his head in the room. “You wanna see me, boss?"

“Yeah.” Hoodoo waved him into the room. “How are things going over at the Palace Hotel?"

Jim sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “They opened their saloon last night. But it ain't a big place. No room fer dancin’ or gamblin'. Won't do much business."

“It's a place for gentlemen to have their smokes and drinks away from the ladies,” Brown said.

Jim's puzzled expression returned. “Why would they wanna do that?"

Hoodoo shook his head. “I don't know. Folks back East have some strange habits."

Jim nodded in agreement.

“Who's running the bar?"

“Betsy and Josie work in there. They wear matching dress. The skirts are longer than the ones most saloon girls wear, but the dresses are fancier. They have feathers above their titties and in their hair. Betsy said she didn't like her dress, but Sally insisted they dress alike, and Josie insisted on feathers."

Hoodoo drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently. Is listening to silly chatter about clothes how Jim charms the ladies? “What about Bob? Does he work in the bar any?"

“Yeah, but he keeps running in and out. They're real busy with the dining room and the saloon open. I heard him say they were looking for more help. Betsy said them Mexican women he hired don't like being on this side of the river after dark. They seem to think East Las Vegas is a pit full of sinners."

Hoodoo brought his hands together and tightly clenched his fingers to check his rising temper. Jim gossiped like an old woman. “Will it be possible to pick a fight with Sweets in the bar?"

“Guess so. I already told Stuttering Tom you had a special job for him. What do you want him to fight about?"

“I don't give a damn,” Brown finally exploded. “He's always ready to fight at the drop of a hat."

“But that's when somebody makes fun of the way he talks. I don't think Sweets will do that."

“Make it over one of the women."

“Which one? You don't want him to make Betsy mad, do you?"

Hoodoo buried his head in his hands and huffed loudly. One of these days, he was gonna shoot Jim just for the fun of it. Bolstered by that cheerful thought, he raised his head and began to speak slowly. “Tell Tom to offer Sweets money to fuck the little redhead. If Sweets really means to run a hotel, he'll turn Tom down. Then Tom can get mad and start the fight."

Jim nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, that oughta work. When do you want him to do it?"

“I don't see any reason to wait. Do it tonight after Tom's had a few drinks to settle his nerves, but before he's had enough to spoil his aim. You stay out of whatever happens, but let a couple of other boys know what's up, in case Tom needs help. And tell Tom we'll have to arrest him afterward just for looks, but not to worry, I'll take good care of him."

Jim's head bobbed up and down.

“Now,” Hoodoo said, “is there anything else I need to know about?"

“Well,” Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Some of the boys have been complaining about their share of the take. They're saying it's no wonder there're more crooks in this world than policemen."

It amazed Brown that the other men turned to Jim with all their complaints. They had to know he brought everything he heard straight to Hoodoo. Maybe they figured it was safer to let Jim deliver their complaints for them. For once, the lazy bastards were right.

“I'm paying those boys to keep the peace in town, and since they're the ones most likely to cause trouble, I don't think they're worth any more than they're getting. But I don't give a damn what happens outside of town."

He could tell from Jim's frown that he hadn't gotten the message, so Hoodoo continued. “For instance, the stage to Santa Fe leaves here loaded with prosperous looking passengers. If it gets held up outside of town, that's none of my business."

Jim's face brightened as understanding dawned. “Yeah! You want me to tell the boys they can—"

“You tell ‘em I don't care what they do as long as they keep the peace in East Las Vegas. You can suggest the stage robbery like it's your idea."

“Thanks, boss,” Jim said with sincere gratitude in his voice.

As Hoodoo watched Jim hurry out of the office, he thought how nice it would be to have a woman like Sally Sweets offering him comfort after a hard day of putting up with the idiots he had working for him. Yes siree, he was looking forward to consoling the Widow Sweets.

* * * *

Bob hurriedly explained to Russ, the kid he'd just hired, what his duties would be in the dining room. Then he hurried back to the bar. With Betsy pouring drinks and Josie serving them, the two women managed pretty well by themselves, but with some of the hard cases they got for customers, he didn't like to leave them alone too long.

Aside from an occasional woman like Big-nosed Kate, their customers were still all men. Bob hated to admit it, but the “respectable” people in town, especially the women, were staying away. Sally had told him this would happen. But someday, he told himself, people would see they were running an upstanding business. Then this would be a place for honest, respectable travelers to rest and refresh themselves.

Bob went behind the bar to check on the stock. That fancy-dressed fellow everybody called Gentleman Jim stood in front of the bar gazing at Betsy. He came every night and showered Betsy with attention, but as far as Bob could tell, made no effort to get her alone.

Or maybe he had, and Betsy had turned him down. That's what she'd do if she'd really turned over a new leaf. Bob hoped that was the case.

Betsy pointed out that the flow from the beer keg had gotten sluggish, and Bob said he'd get another one from the storage room. As he stepped from behind the bar, a fellow sitting at a table with two other men got up and moved in front of Bob.

“You th-the man who ru-ru-runs this place?"

“Yeah,” Bob replied.

“Ho-ho-how much for the re-redhead?"

It took Bob a couple of seconds to figure out what the fellow was asking. Then he brushed aside his irritation and said, “All we sell here is drinks. You want a woman, you'll have to go someplace else."

“Oh, yeah?” The fellow clenched his teeth and stuck his chin out.

What in the hell is wrong with this man? Bob didn't think he'd been in the bar long enough to get crazy drunk. Maybe it had something to do with the way he talked. “Look, we're just running a hotel here, nothing else."

“You think I'm a fo-fo-fool. I know what these women are."

Bob's patience was growing thin. “If you don't like the way I run my place, go somewhere else."

A thundercloud of anger covered the man's face. “You ain't throwing me out. D-d-d-draw!"

Bob was astounded. “Are you serious?"

The man went into a partial crouch and edged his hand toward his holster. “Do I look like I'm j-j-j-joking?"

“Naw, but you sound like you are,” Bob said and instantly regretted it as he saw the man's mouth drop open, his eyes widen and his hand jerk toward his gun. Without thinking, Bob yanked out his pistol and pulled the trigger.

Two explosions reverberated throughout the room. The bullet from Bob's gun sped unerringly to its target. The one from the other gun furrowed harmlessly into the floor. The stuttering man silently crumpled. Remembering the two men sitting at the stuttering man's table, Bob instantly altered the direction of his gun barrel. Both men had their hands poised near their hips, but were staring at their fallen friend with stunned expressions.

With a clatter of high heels, Sally ran through the swinging doors. “What happened? Oh, my God! Are you hurt?"

Bob didn't take his eyes off the two men as he held up his free hand and motioned for her to stay back. “Don't get in my way!"

Nobody spoke or moved until the man on the floor writhed and moaned.

“I couldn't help it,” Bob said. “He drew on me."

“That's right,” Josie said.

“What should we do now?” Sally asked.

“Get the police, I guess."

One of the men Bob was pointing his pistol at said, “We are the police."

Bob slowly lowered his pistol but didn't put it back in the holster. “What are you going to do now?"

One of the men picked up the glass in front of himself, drained it, and said, “Guess we'll carry old Tom to the doctor."

His friend nodded. They stood, being careful to keep their hands in plain sight, and went to kneel over the fallen man.

As they turned him over, he moaned piteously. “I'm gut-shot. Gonna die for sure. Lord, help me."

“Ain't in your gut, fool. Went through your side,” one of the policemen said.

“Are you sure?” the wounded man asked and began to pat his abdomen.

“You get his arms and I'll get his legs. No need to wait for a stretcher,” the other friend said.

As they picked him up, the victim screeched, “Be careful. You're killing me."

They had to pause at the doorway for the spectators to move aside. “Damn, Tom,” one of the policeman said, “you've quit stuttering. We shoulda’ shot you a long time ago."

Sally ran to Bob's side and threw her arms around him. “Why did that man try to shoot you?"

Bob holstered his gun, threw one arm around Sally, and braced himself against the bar with the other. He had that strange weak feeling again, and this time he couldn't blame it on a blow to his head. “I don't know what was wrong with him,” he muttered.

“He wanted me,” Josie said, her face flushed with excitement. “When Bob said no, he went crazy."

A shiver ran through Bob's body and Sally tightened her embrace. Customers crowded into the barroom. A babble of voices rose into a chorus of questions about the shooting and eyewitness accounts of it.

Bob didn't look good, Sally thought. His face was pale and his eyes had a far-away look. Someone offered to buy him a drink and Betsy pressed a glass into his hand before Sally could stop her. Bob just stared at it as though he didn't know what it was.

A burly teamster caused some of the liquor to splash from the glass when he slapped Bob on the back. “That was fine shootin', Mister Sweets. Mighty fine."

Bob looked at the man as though he hadn't understood him.

Sally decided Bob needed that drink. She guided the hand that held the glass up to his mouth, “Take a sip, sweetie. You'll feel better."

He obeyed her and his eyes did seem to focus more clearly after he'd swallowed. But when he spoke, his voice was so soft she had to stretch up on her toes to hear him. “It's too crowded in here. I need some air."

“Sure.” Sally used her arm to push the nearest bystanders out of their way. “Bob needs to rest. He hasn't been well."

“Damn,” the teamster said, “I'd like to see him in action when he is."

Keeping one arm around Bob, she pushed and shoved their way through the crowd and led him out into the lobby. “Why don't you go up to our room, sweetie?"

He took several steps toward the staircase and then stopped and looked back at the crowded bar. “I can't. Gotta close."

“Don't worry about that.” She took one of his hands between hers. It felt so cold and clammy that she massaged it. “You've had a shock. You've been working too hard since we came here. I can handle everything down here. You go rest."

He gazed into her eyes. “I would like to be alone for a little while. You sure you can handle everything?"

She forced a smile to her lips. “I've done this for a lot of years. Don't worry about me."

He nodded and turned away. She watched him walking up the stairs with his head down and his shoulders slumped. Why is he so upset? As good as he was at it, he must have shot people before. Of course, he couldn't remember what he'd done before. Maybe that made this seem like the first time for him.

* * * *

Hoodoo Brown stared at the three shame-faced men in front of him in astonishment. “If Tom missed, why didn't one of you two finish the job?"

“There were other people there,” Sam said.

“It all happened so quick,” Charlie added.

“If Sweets drew first, why didn't you arrest him?” Hoodoo asked.

Sam shook his head. “Naw, Tom lost his temper and started drawing. He barely got his gun out of the holster before he was shot."

Charlie raised his palms and shrugged. “By the time I realized what had happened, I was staring down the barrel of Sweets’ pistol."

Jim nodded. “He's a fast draw."

“How in the hell,” Hoodoo shouted at them, “can some damn hotel clerk that nobody's ever heard of before be that fast?"

The sorry trio shook their heads in bewilderment. Then Sam brightened. “There's other ways to get rid of a man besides a shoot-out."

“Sure!” Hoodoo hoped the fools would hear the sarcasm in his voice. “Sweets gets back-shot one day, and I take over his widow's business the next. Nobody will suspect a thing.” He threw up his hands in disgust and then reached to pour himself a stiff shot of whiskey. These idiots were driving him to drink.

The three men silently watched Hoodoo gulp down his drink. Then Jim cleared his throat. “What do you want us to do, boss?"

Hoodoo poured himself another drink, but sipped this one slowly as he turned the problem over in his mind. Something was definitely wrong here. Bob Sweets was no kid. A man that handy with a gun didn't just appear out of nowhere. Hoodoo should have known a woman like Sally wouldn't knuckle under to some hotel clerk.

“For now, do nothing,” Hoodoo said. He had other moneymaking schemes he could attend to. He'd give those damn women a chance to get rid of Sweets themselves while he tried to find out exactly what he was up against.

Chapter 15

As soon as Sally got the front door bolted behind the last customer, she hurried to their suite to check on Bob. The sitting room was dark, but she saw him outlined against the window, slumped in a chair. “What's wrong, sweetie?” she asked as she lit a lamp.

He winched as the lamplight flooded the room. “I just can't get over how I shot that man without even thinking about it. What kind of man can do something like that?"

She walked over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Be glad you can. This is wild country. A good man needs to be able to defend himself."

He stared up at her with searching eyes. “Am I a good man?"

She ran her hand up his shoulder until she could cup his neck. Then she bent and rested her forehead against his. “You're the best man I ever had,” she said, making her voice low and sultry.

He pulled her down onto his lap, but there was no lust in his earnest face. “What was I like before I got hurt?” he demanded. “Was I some fast-gun who killed a lot of people?"

She hated to make-up answers to any more questions about his past. Look how much trouble her telling him he was good with a gun had caused. “Of course, you didn't kill a lot of people. You had a few minor scrapes, that's all."

“Then why do I feel there's something dark and ugly in my past—something you don't want to tell me?"

Sally's heart skipped a beat. Was he starting to remember? “You were in the war, Bob. Maybe that's what's bothering you?"

“Did I kill a lot of people in the war?"

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned in so his head would rest on her chest and she wouldn't have to look into his eyes. “I don't know. You never liked to talk about the war. But a lot of men were killed, and you must have seen terrible things. Can't you be happy with what we have now and forget about the past?"

His arms wrapped around her body. “You're all I have in the world, Sally. Without you I'd be lost. I love you—” his voice cracked, “love you so much. Never leave me."

Oh, God he's crying. Sally pushed his head back and caught his face between her hands. “Me leave you? Where'd you get such an idea?” She lightly kissed his forehead, his damp, salty cheek, his slightly parted lips. “You're my big sweetie pie,” she murmured into his mouth. “I'll never leave you."

He pulled her closer and turned her playful kisses into a frantic declaration of love. When they were both breathless, he cradled her cheek with his hand. “I still have trouble believing a wonderful woman like you loves me."

“Never doubt my love for you,” she said and realized with a shock that she meant it.

* * * *

Hoodoo sat nursing a shot of bourbon at his usual table in the back corner of the saloon. It was still early and the place was almost empty. He thought of going to the cafe down the street, but all they served was fried pork or greasy stew. Why didn't he go over to the Palace Hotel and have a decent meal? Because he still hadn't made up his mind how he would deal with Bob Sweets.

From the reports Jim had brought him, it was obvious Sweets wasn't sinking into alcoholism. If something didn't happen soon, Hoodoo would have to take action himself. But the story about the shoot-out with Stuttering Tom had been built up until Sweets’ ability with a gun was now the stuff of legends. It would cost Hoodoo a pretty penny to get someone else to go up against him.

Gentleman Jim, wearing a sparkling white collar under his freshly shaved chin, came in leading a man with a Colt .45 strapped down low on his hip. They came over to the table. Jim took off his derby. The other man kept his broad-brimmed hat on.

“Boss, you told me to ask around about Bob Sweets,” Jim said. “This here fellow just got in from Dodge. Says he knows a lot about him. Meet Fred Thacker."

Hoodoo looked Thacker over. “You have dealings with Sweets?"

Thacker nodded. “I used to work for Willard Beasley. He owns a lot—"

“I know who he is,” Hoodoo interrupted. “I was in Dodge myself not too long ago. You were Beasley's bodyguard, weren't you?"

Thacker nodded. “He let me go after Sweets outdrew me."

Hoodoo leaned forward with interest. “You actually went up against Sweets and didn't get shot?"

For the first time since he'd approached the table, Thacker's gaze shifted away from Hoodoo's. “He surprised me. I never got a chance to draw,” he mumbled.

Hoodoo huffed with impatience. “Are you slow or is Sweets really that fast?"

Thacker's expression grew intense. “I was good enough to get Beasley to hire me, but Sweets is like nothing I was ever up against. With most men you can tell when they're getting ready to draw. Their muscles start to bunch and a look comes into their eyes, but that don't happen with Sweets, or whatever his name is."

“Sweets ain't his real name?"

“They called him Jake Wallace until he married Sally Sweets,” Thacker said.

Hoodoo moved the chair next to him with his foot. “Have a seat, Fred.” Then he nodded toward Jim. “Get two more glasses. I've got a feeling I'm gonna be real interested in what Fred has to say."

After they were seated and the whiskey poured, Fred took a long swig before starting to speak. “There ain't much to tell, really. Sweets or Wallace was a Texas drover who got hit over the head in a fight in Sally Sweets’ card room. Sally's bodyguard got killed in the same fight, and the doc said Wallace would die. Mr. Beasley tried to take over Sally's business, but she married Wallace, who got well and faced down me and Beasley."

Hoodoo squinted at Thacker in confusion. “So that talk about her marrying a dead man was for real?"

Thacker nodded. “Sally sold old Judge Boston some story about them being lovers for a long time and wanting to marry before he died. But after they left town, some of the women who had worked for her said she'd never seen him before the night he got hurt. She married him because her father was coming for a visit and expected her to have a husband."

Gentleman Jim, who'd been following the story with his usual puzzled look, braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Did Wallace agree to marry her?"

Realizing he had the rapt attention of the two listeners, Thacker warmed to his task, emphasizing his words with gestures. “He was still out cold. They got some fella to stand-in for the groom—called him a proxy. Mr. Beasley was madder than a wet hen when he heard about it. ‘Course we all expected Wallace to die and figured it wouldn't make no difference. But he didn't."

“Wasn't Wallace mad when he woke up and found himself married?” Jim asked.

“That's the funny part,” Thacker said. “When he woke up he didn't remember who he was. So Sally told him his name was Bob Sweets and they'd been together for a long time. Either the man still doesn't know who he is, or else he likes being married to Sally Sweets so much that he don't care."

Hoodoo rested his chin in one hand and stared at Thacker thoughtfully. “Are you sure they're really married?” he finally asked.

“Some of the fellas in the Horse Opera Saloon got in a big argument about that. Judge Boston said if Sweets’ name was really Jacob Wallace, then the marriage was legal and binding. They'd have to die or divorce to put it aside."

“Do you know if Wallace is his real name?” Hoodoo asked.

Thacker shrugged. “All I know is that's what his drover friends called him, and they said he'd been driving cattle ever since the war."

“You want me to do something about this, boss?” Jim asked.

Hoodoo smiled. “Naw, Jim. I'll enjoy handling this myself."

* * * *

Sally rushed about in the kitchen preparing two plates and loading them on a tray. Since the shooting in the bar a week ago, the hotel had been fully opened, and she was busier than she'd ever been in her life. Even though they'd increased the staff, there never seemed to be enough hands to do everything. Now she'd finally found a man she wanted to spend time with but hardly had any time to spend with him.

Russ called to her from across the room. “Can I help you with that, Miz Sweets?"

She shook her head. “It's our dinner.” She and Bob had made it a habit to dine together before the bar and dining room filled with customers. It was a special time for them to discuss problems about the hotel or just to look at each other and hold hands across the table.

She couldn't believe how her life had changed. She rose each morning at the break of dawn, worked until midnight every night, wore dowdy clothes, and bowed and scraped to every paying customer who came in the door. Yet she was happier than she'd ever been in her life.

The hotel was a success. It supplied comfortable lodging to weary travelers, a decent living to a staff of twelve people, and even turned a little profit for the owners. It didn't make nearly as much money as the Pleasure Palace would have made, but money wasn't so important to Sally anymore.

For the first time in her life, she was deeply and truly in love. And the kindest, sweetest man she'd ever known returned her love. Nothing could be more important than that.

After pouring coffee into the two cups on the tray, she picked it up and pushed the door to the dining room open with her hip. Disappointment rushed through when she saw Hoodoo Brown sitting with Bob at their table. But she brushed it aside.

Brown had increased their protection fee by only twenty-five dollars a week. She certainly didn't want to do anything that might cause him to reconsider. So she pasted a big smile on her face as she marched up to the table. “Well, Hoodoo, you're just in time for dinner."

He looked at the two plates on the tray. “That must be your dinner, Sally. I wouldn't dream of taking it."

“Nonsense. There's plenty of food in the kitchen, I'll just fix me another."

He looked at the steaming pot roast and vegetables with hungry eyes. “Well, only if you promise to bring your plate and join us."

Sally set a dish in front of him. “I won't miss an opportunity to have dinner with you, Hoodoo. But you men start eating before the food gets cold. I'll be back with my plate in just a moment."

As Hoodoo eagerly plunged a fork into his food, Sally and Bob exchanged quick looks of regret. Then she hurried back into the kitchen and slapped food onto another plate. Even though Brown seemed to be in a good mood, she didn't trust him. Slyness always seemed to lie beneath his smiles.

When she returned to the table with her own food, the men's plates were already half-empty so she knew she hadn't missed much conversation.

Hoodoo, with his fork in mid-air, finally paused and took a deep breath. “I declare, that Lizzie is the finest cook in this town. What are my chances of hiring her away from you?"

“None at all,” Sally said emphatically.

Brown chuckled. “I'm just joking, Sally. I wouldn't steal your cook, she's a real plus for this hotel."

Bob nodded. “Even when we've got empty rooms upstairs, our dining room's always full."

Brown laid his fork aside. “You know that's something I wanted to mention to you folks. Not that it's any of my business, but I hear things said that you don't."

Bob laid his knife and fork aside and looked at Brown with interest. “Something about the hotel?"

“Yeah, I've heard that some folks won't stay here once they hear the name Sweets. You know how persnickety people can be. Since you're really trying to run a respectable hotel why don't you use your real name, Jake Wallace?"

“Jake Wallace?” Bob stared at Brown, his face suddenly growing pale.

Sally had a mouthful of food she couldn't swallow. Her heart filled her throat.

A friendly smile creased Brown's greasy lips. “That's what a fellow just in from Dodge said was on your marriage license."

Bob turned to Sally with his eyebrows arched in a silent question.

She coughed food into her napkin and took a hurried sip of coffee. “Well—yes, that's his real name, but people in our old line of work usually change their names."

Hoodoo nodded. “I understand that. Ain't many people in this town use their real names.” He chuckled. “My mama sure didn't name me Hoodoo. But after you decided to go respectable, didn't it occur to you that the name Sweets was well-known up and down the Santa Fe Trail?"

Anger stiffened her spine as she realized Brown was toying with her. “My face is well-known, too. What possible good would it have done to change my name?"

“The men know your face, but their wives don't, and the wives are the ones who object to staying here,” Brown said and openly smirked at her.

Bob suddenly grabbed her hand, forcing her attention back to him. He still looked stunned. “Why didn't you tell me what my real name was? I told you Bob Sweets didn't seem like my name."

Sally racked her brain for some excuse. “Well, you were ... were so upset over not being able to remember. If I'd told you your real name and you hadn't remembered, you'd have felt even worse."

“But he might have remembered something,” Hoodoo said in an overly helpful voice.

Sally wished the knife beside her plate had a sharp point so she could plunge it into Hoodoo's chest. She shot him an irate glare and turned her attention back to Bob. “You'd been using Bob Sweets for a long time. If you didn't remember that, you weren't going to remember anything else."

“When had he used that name?” Brown asked. “The fellow from Dodge said Jake had just arrived in town when he got hit over the head in your place."

“Shut up!” Sally hissed through clenched teeth.

Bob stood so quickly that his chair tipped over, the back cracking loudly against the floor. Sally tried to hold on to his hand but he jerked away from her and staggered toward the entrance to the lobby.

“He looks a might upset,” Brown said.

“Why in the hell did you do that?” she yelled at him.

He raised his palms and eyebrows in mock innocence. “I'd been told you wanted to get rid of him. I was just trying to help."

Cursing Brown, she jumped to her feet and raced after her husband. In the lobby, she saw him heading for the front door. “Bob, wait!"

He stopped and turned toward her. “My name is Jake. Jacob. Jacob Wallace."

She reached his side and gripped his arm. “Yes it is. And I'll never call you anything else again.” People were staring at them. She lowered her voice. “Please, come into the office where we can talk privately."

He stared down at her as though she were a stranger. “Talk or lie?"

“I'll tell you nothing but the truth. I swear.” She pulled on his arm and he reluctantly followed. The clerk behind the registration desk watched bug-eyed as she led Jake into the office and closed the door.

She pushed him toward a chair. “You better sit down. You're white as a sheet."

He dropped into the chair and slapped one hand against his forehead as if his head needed support. “I ... I can't believe you've done this to me."

Sally knelt beside the chair and clutched his knee imploringly. “If I made a mistake about the name, I'm sorry."

He pulled his hand away from his face and looked down at her with accusing eyes. “I never heard the name Bob Sweets before I woke up in your bed, and you told me I was your husband. That wasn't a mistake. That was a deliberate, cold-blooded lie. Are we even married?"

“Yes. You heard Brown say your real name was on the license."

“But it's not on the deed, is it?"

In her panic, she was totally confused. “What?"

“The deed to this hotel. I signed that with the phony name. Why did you let me do that? Or was that all part of your plan?"

She could feel her face crumbling and tears splashing on her cheeks. “I didn't have a plan. I just needed a husband because I didn't want my father to find out what I was. The doctor said you were going to die."

Bitterness etched deep lines into his face. “I'm sorry I didn't."

“No, sweetie, no."

“How did you know I didn't already have a wife somewhere?” he asked.

“Your friend told me there was nobod—"

Jake's eyes widened in horror and he clutched at his chest. “Oh, no! No!” He lurched to his feet, took a staggering step, and leaned over the desk bracing himself with his hands as if to keep himself from collapsing completely. “They're dead!” he cried in a voice rent with pain. “Mama, Papa, Jennie, the baby!” He began to pound one fist against the desk until Sally thought the wood would surely split. “My son, I never even saw my son.” A hollow moan that seemed to come from deep inside him filled the room.

Sally rushed to his side and threw her arms around his body. “Let me help you sweetheart. Let me—"

“Get away from me, bitch.” With an angry sweep of his arm, he shoved her aside so roughly that she fell backwards. Her head cracked against the corner of the desk.

She heard his angry footsteps moving away and told herself that she had to go after him, that he needed her. But the sharp pain from the blow to her head blurred her vision and left her floundering on her hands and knees.

“Mrs. Sweets, are you all right?” The desk clerk, Grover, rushed to her side and placed his hands under her arms. “Let me help you up."

He lifted her to her feet. She clutched his arm frantically. “Where did he go? Did you see?"

“Into the bar. He ran into the bar. Oh, Mrs. Sweets, your head's bleeding.” He helped her into the chair. “I'll go for the doctor."

She hung onto his arm. “No, just get one of the girls. Then look after him. Help Jake!"

* * * *

Jake glared at Betsy and slapped his hand on the bar. She quickly poured him a shot of bourbon.

“Leave the bottle,” he roared when she started to take it away.

She paused uncertainly, and he hoped she'd argue and give him a reason to vent some of his terrible rage. But she silently set the bottle in front of him and moved away. He drained his glass and refilled it.

It was like that terrible day happened all over again, the day he finally came home from the war and found nothing but ashes and four graves. Of course, then he'd still had a little hope, because seven people had lived in the house, his parents, his sister, his two brothers, and his wife and child.

It had taken him a week to find his father-in-law, living forted-up with other settlers as their only defense against the persistent Indian raids. Mr. Brewster told him that his parents, his fifteen-year-old brother, Noah, and his wife were in those graves. “I put the baby in her arms,” Mr. Brewster had said through his tears.

Jake drained his glass and refilled it.

Jennie, sweet, little Jennie. He'd fallen in love with her the first time he saw her. She was only twelve years old. Her family had stopped by his folks’ place on the way to their new homestead. Jake had been fourteen and dreaming of the day he'd be old enough to leave home and travel the world, but then he saw Jennie and all his dreams changed.

They married when he was eighteen. Their folks would have liked for them to wait a while, but Jake had decided to join the army, as any good southerner should. So they invited all the neighbors to a celebration and fixed up a little cabin down by the creek where Jennie and Jake lived for a month. Then he rode away.

During the four years he was in the army, he only managed to get home once. The things he'd done and seen while at war had taught him to hate and fear. In the security of his sweet wife's arms, however, the hate melted and the fear dissolved for a little while.

Going back after that respite had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. He'd been sorely tempted to hide in the wilderness, creeping back to his wife's arms only under the cover of darkness. But that would have shamed his family. So he went back. His only comfort came from the news that he'd left his wife with child.

He'd been in Georgia, when the Confederacy finally unraveled, with nothing in his pockets but worthless Confederate notes. He'd started walking, stopping along the way to work, forage, or steal. It took him three months to get home and discover that the people he loved had been dead all the time he was traveling back to them.

Now he had a new wife who was a liar—a cheat—a whore.

Chapter 16

Sally pressed her forehead into the palm of her hand, hoping to stop the ringing in her ears.

A wide-eyed Lucy ran into the office and gasped when she saw Sally. “I didn't believe Grover when he said Mr. Bob hit you. What happened?"

“He's Mr. Jake now, thanks to Hoodoo Brown. And he didn't hit me. I fell."

“Oh dear.” Lucy bent to examine Sally's head. “Can I take your hair down to see where you're hurt?"

Sally nodded and then groaned as a hairpin scraped a sore spot. She sighed in relief, however, when the curls fell free.

Lucy's fingers gingerly probed the injured spot. “You've got a big bump here but just a small break in the skin.” She pulled a napkin from her apron pocket and pressed it against the injury.

“Oh!” Sally shoved Lucy's hand aside and held the cloth in place herself, putting as little pressure as possible against the throbbing bump.

Grover came into the room carrying a glass of water. “Should I send Russ for the doctor?"

“No!” Sally said emphatically. “I'll be all right in a few minutes."

Josie came to the doorway. “What's going on?"

“Close that door,” Sally ordered. “I don't want everybody in town in on this. Grover, you go back to the desk."

He left and Josie closed the door behind him. “Did Bob hit you?” she asked.

“He just shoved me. I fell and hit my head on the desk,” Sally said.

An angry scowl covered Lucy's brow. “Mr. Brown told him who he really is."

“How did Brown know?” Josie asked.

“He said somebody from Dodge told him,” Sally explained.

“So that's why Bob's in the bar drinking like a crazy man,” Josie said.

Sally thought of the terrible pain that had flooded Jake's face when he'd remembered his dead family and knew her deception had added to his pain. She had to let him know her pretended love for him had become real. Reaching for Lucy's arm, she said, “Help me up. I've got to talk to Jake before he gets too drunk to understand."

Lucy and Josie both helped her to stand and steady herself. Sally pulled the napkin away from her wound. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Lucy brought the glass of water Grover had left on the desk, dipped the corner of the napkin in it, and wiped away a thin trail of blood that streaked the side of Sally's face. Josie gently pushed Sally's loose hair back from her shoulders.

Sally walked across the lobby holding on to Lucy and Josie's arms. When they reached the doorway to the bar, however, she shook free of them and stiffened her back as she pushed through the swinging doors.

Jake stood at the far end of the bar, hunched over a bottle that was already half empty. Hearing the swish of the doors, he glanced over his shoulder. Hatred flared in his eyes. Baring his teeth like a snarling wolf, he pointed his index finger at her. “Stay away from me, you lying bitch."

Sally took a deep breath and slowly moved toward him. He straightened and turned to face her. His black eyebrows gathered and lowered, making his eyes look like tiny chips of blue ice.

A tremor ran through her jaw, making her teeth chatter. But she forced herself to speak. “Please, Jake, let me—"

She caught a glimpse of his hand, holding a glass and moving toward her. Then whiskey splashed into her face, blinding her with stinging pain but showing her the depth of his hatred. She heard Lucy screech, “Don't hit her.” Then she felt the girl's thin arms around her and knew Lucy was shielding her from further attack.

“Get her outta here,” Jake roared.

Sally let herself be pulled from the bar. In the lobby, tears finally cleaned the whiskey from her eyes, so she could see again. “I've gotta go upstairs,” she murmured. “I can't work tonight."

Josie was by her side. “Don't worry about things down here. We'll manage. You help her upstairs, Lucy."

Sally nodded and let Lucy shepherd her toward the stairs. Maybe it would be better to give Jake some time. Let him deaden his pain with whiskey. Tomorrow, he'd be so hung over he'd have to listen to her.

* * * *

Betsy wiped up water spots on the bar, staying away from the end where Bob stood. She'd wanted him to start drinking again, but not like this. He just stood and poured one shot after another down his throat, while staring into space as though seeing horrible pictures in his head. She couldn't believe the man was still conscious.

Their customers had begun to slip out right after that ugly scene between Sally and Bob. Betsy couldn't blame them. Nobody wanted to be around a crazy-drunk fast-gun. The only ones who had stayed were a railroad man who'd taken a shine to Josie and Gentleman Jim. But even he had moved to a table away from the bar.

Josie came over to Betsy and leaned toward her so she could speak softy. “Be okay if I leave now? Chet's asked me out."

Betsy and Josie had started taking turns closing and tonight was Betsy's turn, but she didn't want to be left alone with Bob. “It's mighty early for you to go.” She tilted her head in Bob's direction and made a face at Josie, hoping she'd get the message.

Josie brought her hand up to hide her mouth. “Jim's gonna stay,” she whispered.

Betsy wasn't sure she'd understood. “What?"

“When I served him his last drink, he said he'd stay until you closed or Bob passed out. And that shouldn't be much longer,” Josie said out of the side of her mouth.

Betsy glanced over at Jim, who gave her a tight little smile. Why was he volunteering to be her protector—Brown's orders or concern for her? Turning back to Josie, she said, “Yeah, go ahead."

A clinking sound drew her attention back to Bob. The bottle wobbled against the glass as he poured another shot. If he didn't slow down, he'd kill himself. While Betsy wanted him out of her way, she really didn't wish him permanent harm.

She pushed her rag along the bar, slowly working her way toward Bob. Maybe she could talk to him, at least distract him from drinking so fast. Stopping a few feet away, she said, “Can I get you some water, Bob?"

He slapped his glass down on the bar so heavily that liquid sloshed from it. Bracing his hands on either side of himself, he glared at her. “Jake,” he yelled. “My name is Jake!"

He leaned toward her with a fierce expression. Then his hands began to slip along the edge of the bar. His upper body tilted forward. His arms trembled with strain and then buckled. He crashed headfirst onto the bar, sending the bottle and glass flying.

Betsy grabbed his collar and managed to keep him from sliding to the floor until Jim could leap from his chair and catch Jake from behind. Wrapping his arms around Jake's chest, Jim dragged him over to a chair, and propped him in it so his upper body lay across the table.

Betsy ran from behind the bar. “Is he breathing?"

“Yeah,” Jim said. “He's just passed out."

“He drank so fast, I was getting worried,” she said.

“Why do you care?"

Betsy looked at him in surprise. “I've got nothing against Bo—Jake. He's treated me all right."

Jim frowned at her. “But you wanted to get rid of him."

“That was business, nothing personal."

Jim shook his head as if to say he'd never understand women. Then he looked back at Jake. “What do you want to do with him? I can drag him upstairs."

Betsy stared down at the unconscious man. The hard surface of the table had pushed his mouth agape. Saliva trickled from one corner. “I don't think that's a good idea. He might come to and start fighting with Sally again. Let's put him on that sofa out in the lobby. Grover and Russ sleep in rooms on the first floor. They can listen out for him."

Jim once again grabbed Jake under the arms and dragged him. Betsy followed. When they reached the corner of the lobby where a collection of furniture stood, she lifted Jake's feet on one end of the sofa while Jim secured his head at the other.

“You think it's okay to leave him like this?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Why not? He doesn't care."

She noticed Jim glancing around the lobby. Only the lamps near the doorway and the staircase were lit. Faint noises still came from the kitchen, but otherwise, the first floor seemed deserted.

“Thanks for staying,” Betsy said. “I didn't like the thought of being in the bar all alone with him."

“Glad to help. Guess I'd better be going.” He took a step toward the front door.

“Wait!” she called. “You left your hat."

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned self-consciously and started walking back toward the bar.

She hurried to catch up with him. “Let me buy you a drink to show my appreciation."

“That's okay.” He found his hat and held it in front of himself, almost like a shield.

What's wrong with this guy? He came in every night, talked, smiled, monopolized all her free time, and then ran away at closing. She smiled coyly. “What's the matter, Jim? Are you afraid of me?"

His shoulders flew back. “I'm afraid of damn few men and no women,” he said sternly.

This was the first time he'd ever cursed while speaking with her. What had upset him? Was he insecure about his manhood? Swaying her hips seductively, she walked over to the bar and poured him a drink. He obediently came over and accepted the glass.

“I didn't mean physical fear,” she said in a soft voice. “I know a man as big and strong as you wouldn't be afraid of a woman in that way. But there are other ways."

He looked at her with curiosity. “Like what?"

Betsy poured herself a drink. “If a man's had a bad experience with one woman, he might be afraid to let down his guard with others. He'd be afraid to trust or to give his heart."

He took a swallow from his glass. “I've had plenty of women, and I'm the one who leaves them."

She brought her glass up to her mouth, but before she sipped, she said, “Have you ever been in love?"

He shrugged.

She ran the tip of her tongue along the rim of her glass. “Why? Were there just too many women to choose from?"

“I ain't ready to settle down."

“Love usually comes when we least expect it. You must have a great deal of self-control to have avoided it."

He shrugged again.

She went over to the wall where the rope that held the overhead lamps was fastened. Untying it, she lowered the circle of lamps so she could reach them. Then she walked out to the center of the room. Jim turned, leaned one elbow on the bar, and watched as she lifted each chimney and blew out the flames.

With the room engulfed in shadows, Betsy raised the chandelier out of the way. Then she stood beside Jim in front of the bar. Picking up her glass, she lightly tapped it against his. “Here's to self-control,” she said, “although, losing control can be a lot of fun."

He studied her in the dim light from the lobby. “What are you gettin’ at?"

After sipping from her glass, she placed it on the bar and turned fully toward him. “You come in here almost every night. When you aren't talking with your friends, you talk to me, almost ignoring Josie.” She placed one hand on her hip. “I'm getting the message that you like me. So how come you've never asked me out?"

He turned away, placing both elbows on the bar. “I figured you wouldn't want to go out after working all night."

“You see Josie going out all the time, don't you?"

He turned his head and looked at her with a hard glint in his eyes. “You're pushin', Betsy. I don't like women pushin’ me."

She put her other hand on her hip. “Well, I'm a pushy woman. So leave me alone. You've got the other men thinking I belong to you."

He turned toward her, standing to his full height. “What other men?"

She stretched herself upward, trying to look as tall as possible. “All of ‘em. I don't want to go to my room alone every night."

An ugly expression marred his handsome features. “You ain't nothing but a whore, are you?"

“That's right. And everybody knows it. So what's your problem?"

“When I see a woman I like, I wanna chase her, not the other way around."

“Huh, if this is your idea of chasing, you'll never catch anything."

“Oh, yeah!” He threw his arm around her and yanked her against his chest. Instinctively, Betsy tried to push away from him. He grabbed the back of her head and brought his mouth down against hers. As she cursed him, his tongue shot into her mouth, silencing her with brutal force.

Infuriated by his callous treatment, she stomped on his toe. That seemed to make him wilder. He lifted her feet off the floor and with a few staggering steps, plopped her butt on one of the tables. She pounded on his shoulders and head with her fists, but he quickly pinned her upper arms. She couldn't do anything but slap her fists against the sides of his body.

When she realized he was between her legs and yanking her skirt up, she stopped fighting. He obviously intended to go all the way. Fighting would just make it worse on her. She heard a button pop as he yanked at his trousers. His breathing thundered in her ears. He nearly tipped her over as he forced her legs farther apart and pushed into her in a frenzy.

She braced her arms behind herself and concentrated on relaxing and taking deep breaths. As she'd expected, it wasn't long before he groaned and shot into her. Then he placed his hands near hers on the table and leaned over her. Her breasts rubbed against his heaving chest as he slowly recovered.

Finally he stood and began to stuff himself back into his trousers. “There! Was that man enough for you?"

Betsy pushed down her skirt in a gesture of disdain. “Excuse me? I must have missed something."

Looking offended, he stepped back, straightening his necktie and pushing his shirt into his trousers. “I showed you I was a man, didn't I?"

Betsy eased off the table. “Acting like a wild bull doesn't make you a man, Jim."

His mouth dropped open and a hurt look came over his face.

Betsy turned toward the doorway. “Come on, I've got to lock the door behind you.” Without looking back to see if he followed, she led him to the front door. When he was outside, she shot the bolt with angry vigor.

A ragged snore drew Betsy's attention to Bob. She thought about getting something to cover him against the chill night air, but what the hell, he wasn't feeling cold. She trudged up the stairs wearily. This had really been a wild night. First Bob had gone crazy and then Gentleman Jim. What's wrong with men, anyway?

At least she didn't have to wonder about Jim anymore. Tonight she'd learned he was no gentleman, and he certainly wasn't her kind of man. Obviously, he'd only been hanging around to spy for Hoodoo Brown. Jim could find someplace else to do his drinking from here on.

* * * *

Sally slept fitfully, waking and reaching out to the empty half of her bed many times during the night. The distant whistle of the morning train snapped her widely awake and filled her with vague panic. Where's Jake?

She threw some clothes on, tied her hair back, and rushed downstairs. Everything seemed normal. Grover stood behind the desk, Russ set tables in the dining room, and the aroma of fresh coffee came from the kitchen.

Noticing how diligently Grover was studying the registration book, she walked up to the desk. “Do you know where my husband is?"

He looked up, but his eyes shifted nervously. “He left."

“What do you mean?"

Evidently Russ heard her and came running into the lobby. “I found him sleeping on that sofa when I opened up this morning, Miz Sweets. He looked terrible sick. When the bell started ringing down at the train station, he jumped up, ran into the office, and then the bar. He came out carrying a full bottle of whiskey and left. I think he went to the station."

Sally braced herself against the desk. She should have known he'd run. Wasn't that what he'd always done? Grover cleared his throat and glanced meaningfully into the office. Sally followed his gaze and saw the opened cash box on the desk. She forced herself to walk around the registration desk and into the office. Of course, the box was empty.

Seeing the closed safe, she turned to Russ and Grover who stared in from the doorway. “Did he open the safe?"

Russ shook his head. “He didn't take the time to do that."

Sally sat in the chair behind the desk. “Could you bring me a cup of coffee, Russ?"

“Yes, ma'am.” He quickly disappeared.

Grover shifted from one foot to the other. “What would you like for me to do, Mrs. Sweets?"

“Just take care of the guests."

He nodded and turned away.

Sally propped her aching head in her hand. What was she going to do? Hell, no point in moping over the loss of a cowardly drunk. She slapped the mocking cash box shut. So he took last night's receipts. She'd taken more out of his money belt back in Dodge.

Now she could do what she pleased with the hotel—turn the place into a gold mine—make enough money to retire in style. She'd wanted to get rid of Jake all along. That bastard, Hoodoo Brown, had done her a favor.

Sally Sweets didn't need a man. She could take care of herself. She'd started from nothing and now owned a hotel. And she'd gotten it by using men, not depending on them.

She should have known things wouldn't work out with Jake. Every man she'd ever fucked for free had hurt her. He was no different.

A light rap sounded at the doorway, and Russ came into the office carrying her coffee on a tray. “I put the brown sugar you like in it, Miz Sweets. And Lizzie wants to know what you'd like for breakfast. I'll bring it to you here, if you want me to."

Sally wondered why the fool was chattering so nervously. Then she realized she was glaring at him. She told herself not to take her anger out on Russ. He was just a boy, but soon enough he'd be a man. “I don't want any breakfast now,” she snapped. “And close the door when you leave."

When she was again alone, she blew on the steaming coffee and carefully sipped from the cup. She told herself she'd be all right—better than all right. She'd go back to what had always worked for her. Give the bastards what they want most, but make them pay dearly for it.

Soon the money would be rolling in, and she'd be wearing nothing but silks and satins. She'd always wanted the finer things in life, and now she was going to have them.

But, dammit, I want love too! That painful admission brought out the tears she'd been trying so hard to suppress. Sally put her head down on the desk and sobbed.

* * * *

That afternoon, Hoodoo Brown sat at his favorite table in Goodlet and Brown's Saloon and smiled with satisfaction. He couldn't get over how successful last night's little scene at the Palace Hotel had been. He'd expected his revelations to cause trouble, but having that Wallace fellow jump on the first train out of town had exceeded his wildest hopes.

Of course, Sally had seemed genuinely angry at Hoodoo for revealing the truth. Apparently, she really cared about her husband. But Hoodoo didn't intend to let her feelings stand in his way. Whores fell in and out of love at the drop of a hat, or more likely the drop of a ten dollar gold piece.

Gentleman Jim entered the saloon, and deciding it was time to hedge his bets where the Palace Hotel was concerned, Hoodoo waved him over. “Come here and let me buy you a drink."

After Jim sat down, Hoodoo said, “What's the matter with you? You've been moping around all day."

Jim shrugged. “Nothing."

“Good. I've decided you're going to help me take over the Palace."

A guarded look came over Jim's face, and he wouldn't meet Hoodoo's stare. “What can I do?"

“Sally will have to hire a man to keep order in the place. I want you to take that job."

Jim fiddled with his glass. “What about my job with you?"

“You'll still be working for me, but we'll keep that our little secret. Use your romance with Betsy as your reason for wanting to work there. She'll help you talk Sally into it."

Jim shifted in his chair. “We sorta had a falling out last night."

Hoodoo blasphemed the Lord. “You can just get your dumb ass over there and beg her forgiveness. I need somebody inside that hotel."

“But, boss, she's a pushy woman."

Hoodoo leaned forward, braced himself on one arm, and glared into Jim's eyes. “The only reason I hired you was to soften the impression the rest of my boys make on the townspeople. Now I need you to do something real important. If you want to stay in this town, let Betsy push you anywhere she wants until you get a job inside that hotel."

Jim's chin shot out and his lips tightened. For the first time since Hoodoo had known him, he looked as if he intended to say “no". Then the whipped puppy look returned. “I'll try.” He picked up his glass and drained it.

Hoodoo actually felt a little sorry for him. That Betsy must really be a bitch to have frightened a big strong fella like Jim.

* * * *

Betsy cursed under her breath when Jim walked in. He came directly to her and stood on the other side of the bar looking at her with soulful, hazel eyes. She moved away and refilled a customer's glass. Josie came up and ordered two beers. Betsy carefully filled the mugs and set them on her tray.

Josie's gaze flicked between Betsy and Jim. “What's the matter?"

Betsy shrugged. “Nothing."

“Why aren't you waiting on Jim?"

Betsy looked over with mock surprise. “Oh, I didn't see him.” Speaking a little louder than necessary, she called, “Do you want something, Mister?"

Jim's cheeks reddened. “A beer, please."

Betsy let the beer gush into the glass, filling it half full of foam, then slapped it down in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said in a soft voice.

“That'll be two bits, Mister,” she barked.

He laid a coin on the counter. She picked it up and walked away. He just stood there and watched her with a pitiful expression on his face.

Betsy kept herself busy serving drinks, talking to customers, cleaning the bar, washing glasses—anything to stay away from Jim. She thought he'd surely take the hint and leave, but he didn't. Some of his friends came in and called him over to their table, but he stayed at the bar.

The other customers could tell she was cutting him. She made sure of it. He had to be embarrassed. Why didn't he leave? If he expected his little show of remorse to win her forgiveness, he was dumber than she thought.

Maybe he'd gotten in trouble with Hoodoo for losing his inside contact at the Palace. Good! She hoped he'd get fired and leave town.

About ten o'clock, Josie came around the end of the bar. “You can go if you want. Things are pretty quiet now."

Betsy glanced over at the railroad man Josie had gone out with last night. “What about Chet? Don't you two have plans?"

“He's gonna wait for me. You closed last night."

Remembering what had happened to her the night before, Betsy decided it would be best not to stay in the bar alone tonight. “Okay, thanks.” She took off her apron and started for the doorway.

Jim fell into step beside her. She glared at him angrily.

“Can I talk to you for just a minute?” he asked in a meek voice.

She pushed through the swinging doors. He followed closely. She stopped and looked up at him. “I don't have anything to say to you."

She started to move on, but his hand fell on her arm. She stared down at the hand as though it were a varmit's rotting carcass.

“Please, let me tell you how sorry I am for how I acted last night,” he begged.

She couldn't tell him what she thought of him here in the lobby where others might hear, so she stalked to the front door. Outside, she moved to a deserted section of the boardwalk and waited for him to join her. When he stood beside her, looking down expectantly, she said, “What are you sorry about, exactly?"

He looked surprised. “Well—I was a little rough."

“Rough?” Her hands automatically balled into fists and she was sorely tempted to punch him in the gut. “You raped me, you bastard,” she spat out between clenched teeth.

Jim's mouth dropped open and he shook his head vigorously.

“Oh, that's right.” She started poking him in the chest with her index finger. “I'm a whore, so I can't be raped. I'm just a piece of human shit, and anybody can treat me anyway they like."

He took a step back, his eyes wide. “No, no. I didn't mean that."

“What did you mean, big man? Explain yourself."

His gaze dropped toward his derby, which he held with both hands as he twisted the brim. “I ... I wanted you to re-respect me."

“Respect?” Betsy drew her mouth into a sneer. “Do you really think a woman would ever respect a man who treated her like you did me?"

“I'm sorry.” His voice was faint, hard to hear. “I was bad, real bad. Give me a chance to make up for it."

Jim looked like a big kid who'd just been caught with his hand in his pants. A bit of the anger flowed out of Betsy. “How do you think you can make up for the terrible way you treated me?” she asked in a cooler voice.

“I don't know.” He looked up hopefully. “I'll do whatever you say."

She stared at him speculatively. Does he mean that? “Bad boys have to be punished. Are you willing to take whatever punishment I give?"

His eyes widened and his Adam's apple bobbled, but he didn't speak.

She gave her head a disgusted shake and turned away.

He grabbed her hand. “Please, Betsy, give me a chance."

“A chance to what, put more bruises on my butt?"

“Did I bruise you? I'm sorry.” A brief flame of passion flickered in his eyes, showing that he didn't mean that last statement.

So he liked to hurt. How would he like being hurt? “I think I should have a chance to give you some bruises in return. Are you man enough for that?"

His shoulders went back a notch. “I'm man enough to take anything you can dish out."

“If you mean that, go around to the back door of the hotel after the lobby lights are dimmed and the front door is locked. Wait there. I may let you in."

She pulled her hand free and walked away with slow, deliberate steps. Meeting him would be playing with fire. Jim might be a brute looking for another opportunity to hurt and humiliate her. Or he might be searching for a woman to free him from the constant need to prove his male superiority. That possibility excited her as nothing had in a long time.

Chapter 17

Betsy waited a good thirty minutes after she heard Sally's door shut before slipping downstairs. She used her key to open the back door. Jim stood beside the doorway, leaning against the wall. That he'd waited so long seemed a good sign. Maybe he would accept her punishment.

Without a word, she motioned him inside. He followed her down the hallway and up the stairs, obviously trying to be as quiet as possible. Betsy hadn't dared bring a man up to her room as long as Jake had been here. Now that he was gone, she doubted Sally would care. But creeping through the dim light of the few remaining lamps added to the sense of danger she wanted to inspire in Jim.

In her room, the only light came from a half-dozen candles scattered about, giving the room an eerie yellow glow. She turned and faced Jim, wearing a disdainful expression as her gaze raked up and down his body. “Take off your clothes,” she commanded in a low but stern voice.

“Are you gon—"

She interrupted him by holding her finger up to her lips and frowning sternly. When she lowered her finger, she said, “Do not speak unless I ask you a question."

He looked about nervously. Then he laid his hat on a chair and slowly began removing his clothes, draping each article neatly across the back of the chair. When he got down to his long underwear, he paused and looked at her.

She nodded her head curtly. “Everything."

Finally he stood before her stark naked. He held his arms tightly against his body, diminishing his broad shoulders, and covered his privates with his hands.

“Sit on the bed and don't move,” she ordered.

He obeyed.

Standing in front of him, she slowly removed her own clothing until she reached the black silk corset and drawers she'd donned just for him. Then she raised both hands to the back of her head and removed the pins that held her hair in a tight knot.

When it fell free, she fluffed it with her fingers and watched for Jim's reaction. He'd never seen her with her hair down. The thick, wavy tresses that she usually kept under strict control obviously impressed him. Through the partial cover of his hands, she saw his limp pecker straighten a bit.

Moving languidly, she went to her dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a long silk scarf. As she walked back to Jim, his eyes widened with alarm. She held the cloth out. He shook his head and moved his hands behind his back.

Betsy smiled. “This isn't for your hands.” She held the cloth up to his face. “It will stop your screams from disturbing the other guests. Now open up."

His mouth puckered into a tight little line.

Betsy huffed with disgust and stepped back. “All right. Get dressed and leave."

He looked at her with pleading eyes. She twisted her lips in distaste. After a moment's hesitation, he opened his mouth. She straddled his knees and held the cloth up to his mouth. “This is your last chance to leave. From here on, you will do whatever I say without hesitation."

He nodded.

She placed the cloth between his lips, wrapped it around his head so that a second thickness filled his mouth, and then tied the ends securely. Next, she pushed his hands slightly behind his back, pressing until he spread them flat against the mattress. “You must keep your hands in this position."

She crawled onto the bed, placing her knees on either side of his thighs. Curving her fingers, she placed her nails on his shoulders and lightly raked them down his chest. “Now you belong to me.” When she reached his abdomen, she increased her force and raked from side to side, leaving red streaks on his white skin. “I can do anything I want to you."

She ran the back of one nail down the length of his pecker. He visibly shivered. She took the organ in one hand and flicked the nails of the other across the tip of it, just hard enough to titillate. A long sigh escaped from around his gag. He began to move his hips back and forth.

“No,” Betsy instantly released him. Making talons of her fingers, she clamped her nails around each of his nipples, pinching the skin into small peaks.

His eyebrows wrinkled from the pain and one hand jerked forward.

“Don't move,” she hissed, letting her nails sink into his flesh. “Don't move."

As his hand flattened against the mattress and became perfectly still, she reduced the pressure of her nails while still keeping them anchored around his nipples.

He looked up at her with fearful eyes. She caught the tip of his chin between her teeth and slowly increased the pressure until he whimpered.

“Oh, did I hurt you?” she cooed and licked the area she had just bitten. As she continued to lick his chin and then his neck, she lowered her body by spreading her thighs more widely. This pulled the split in her drawers fully open and allowed her to lightly rub her moist lower lips against his fully engorged pecker.

The skin of Jim's belly rippled, and she knew he struggled to hold his body motionless. Then he grunted deeply and thrust upward in an effort to increase the contact between their bodies.

“No!” Betsy clamped her nails around his nipples with full force. “You only move when I say you can."

He stopped thrusting but had to squeeze his eyes shut and bare his teeth to find the control. His breath came from around the gag in short pants. Betsy watched his arms, expecting him to knock her away at any second. He didn't move.

She gradually lessened the pressure of her nails. “A true gentleman always lets a lady go first. Are you a gentleman, Jim?"

He nodded, his face relaxing as the pain lessened.

“Then you mustn't move until I say you can.” She released one nipple, reached down and clasped his organ, positioning it at the opening of her body. “Don't move,” she whispered as she lowered herself around him.

He bit into the scarf, held his breath and pressed his hands more deeply into the mattress. Seeing the effort he exerted to obey her turned the stoked fire in Betsy's belly into roaring flames. Now she wanted him—truly wanted him.

She moved her body up and down, gripping his shoulders to give herself greater control. As her climax neared, she said, “Now. Move now!"

His hands clamped on her hips, and his body jerked with vicious upward thrusts. Betsy tightly wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts into his chest as wave after wave of pleasure ran through her.

Jim began to grunt hoarsely with each thrust. Then his body went rigid, and he growled fiercely as his juices exploded into her. Without the gag, he probably would have disturbed the guests.

His upper body fell back against the bed as his pecker shriveled out of her. Betsy crawled up and quickly untied the scarf so he could breathe more easily.

He stared up at the ceiling with glazed eyes. As she pulled the scarf away, a tremor ran through his body. Betsy lay beside him, slipped her arm under his neck, and pulled his head toward her chest. He began to shake in earnest as she cradled his cheek against the soft skin just above her corset.

Obviously, this was the first time Jim had surrendered control. Betsy knew how shocking the experience could be to these big manly types. “There, there,” she crooned.

In a soft, tear-laden voice, he said, “Do you forgive me, auntie?"

She stroked his hair and patted his shoulder. “Yes, baby, I forgive you. You're a good boy now.” Continuing to stroke and coo, she got the both of them under a blanket and let him cower in her arms like a frightened child.

Gradually his breathing slowed and deepened. He remained so still that Betsy thought he'd drifted off the sleep until he suddenly pulled his head back and looked at her with confused eyes. “It was never ... I've never ... why was it so good?"

Betsy smiled and caressed his cheek. “You weren't in control, honey, so you completely let go."

He glanced down at the red indentations that still showed around his nipples. “But you hurt me. Why did pain turn me on?"

“Accepting the pain proved you had surrendered, that's what turned you on."

He frowned at her. “Nobody wants to surrender."

“We don't want to surrender because we have to. But willingly surrendering—letting go of control—placing our trust in another—is a type of freedom."

His continued frown showed that he struggled to understand her meaning. “Is that what I did—trust you?"

She chuckled. “Not by much. You wouldn't let me tie your hands."

His chin firmed with determination. “No, I'd never let anybody do that."

“If you really trusted them, you would.” She paused, wondering if she dared ask the question that burned her curiosity. Finally she overthrew caution. “Why did you call me ‘auntie’”?

He looked shocked and then defensive. “Did I?"

“You asked ‘auntie’ to forgive you. Did you ever live with an aunt?"

He wouldn't meet her gaze. “My pa left me with my mother's sister when he came west."

“Did she punish you a lot?"

“She was an old maid.” A petulant quality came into his voice. “Didn't have no children of her own. Always tried to make me act like a perfect little gentleman."

She moved a little closer and slipped an arm around his body. “How did she punish you?"

“Put me over her knee and spanked me until I got too big.” The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Then she made me bend over her bed and walloped me with a strap."

Betsy moved her lips against his ear. “And sometimes you felt something other than pain, didn't you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. “It was wrong!"

She pressed her body against his. “It was wrong with her, but it's all right with me."

* * * *

Jake sat on the side of the cot, with his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands. His throat was raw from throwing-up half the night. A sour odor filled the cell. Weren't they ever gonna come and empty the slop jar?

He looked up hopefully at the sound of approaching feet. The jailer and a dude dressed in a suit and a fancy vest stopped in front of his bars. “That's him,” the jailer said.

The dude's face twisted with disgust. “Talk on the street is that you're Sally Sweets’ husband."

“What the hell business is it of yours,” Jake growled.

“If you are,” the man said, “then I'm your brother-in-law, Sean Kelly."

“So, you're the high and mighty Kelly. If you want the money we borrowed from you, see Sally, she's still got it."

Kelly twitched the derby hat in his hand angrily. “Look, Wallace, or whatever your name is, my wife insisted I come and invite you into our home. But if you want to stay in this stinking cell, that's fine with me."

Jake didn't want to have anything to do with a relative of Sally's, but he wanted out of this cell more. He stood and moved toward the door. The jailer unlocked it.

When they reached the street, Kelly nodded curtly toward a buggy. “Our house is a few of miles out of town."

Jake didn't like the idea of being so far from the nearest saloon and considered just walking away. Then he remembered how empty his pockets had been when he woke up in jail. After he'd passed out on the train, someone had stolen every cent he had. He'd have to go with Kelly and butter the man up until he could talk him out of a few dollars.

He climbed into the buggy. Kelly untied the horse and took his place beside Jake. He lifted the reins and then paused and looked over at Jake. “You and Sally are married, aren't you?"

Jake's temper got the better of him again. “Why would a man claim to be married to a whore if it wasn't so?"

Kelly looked offended for a moment. Then he shrugged and lightly flicked the reins over the horse's withers. The buggy started down the street. “Mr. Honeywell came through here on his way home and told us about you. We didn't know if Sally actually married you or just hired you to fool her father."

“I wish to hell that was what she'd done,” Jake replied.

They were passing the edges of town before Kelly spoke again. “So you've left Sally?"

“Yeah! Soon as I got my memory back and realized what a fool she'd made of me."

Kelly exhaled loudly. “What's between you and Sally is none of my business, Wallace. But my wife loves her sister, and she's a mighty tenderhearted woman. I'd appreciate it if you'd watch what you say around her and the children."

That seemed a reasonable request to Jake, so he nodded. “You've got two children, don't cha?"

“Yeah. Reilly's a little fireball. Sara Jane's just a baby."

Jake wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Why in the world did you name your daughter after a woman like Sally?"

“I told you my wife loves her, and Sally was my friend a long time before I fell in love with Rachel."

Now Jake's eyes opened widely in surprise. “After being Sally's lover, you married her sister?” What kind of man was this? Jake was sorely tempted to jump from the moving buggy.

An angry scowl covered Kelly's face. “I said we were friends. Sally keeps her friends separate from her business. You don't know much about your own wife, do you?"

“How could I? She's never told me anything but lies."

With a huff, Kelly fixed his eyes on the road. “Too bad you never got a chance to know the real woman."

“And you do?” Jake asked belligerently.

Kelly didn't answer, and Jake decided that was just as well. The less he heard about Sally Sweets the better. He folded his arms over his chest trying to hold his body heat inside his thin suit jacket.

Even though the sun was shining, there was a decided nip in the air. Winter would be here soon, and he had no place to spend it. Usually he was back in Texas and signed on with a rancher by this time of the year. Now he was stuck in Kansas without money, a horse, or a saddle. All because of that bitch.

The buggy pulled off the road and approached a two story, freshly painted house that boldly stood in the straw-brown prairie surrounding it. As Kelly drove toward the barn, a ranch hand ran to open the door. The earthy smell of livestock and silage filled the cavernous building, making Jake realize how much he missed ranching.

Jake walked a little behind Kelly on the way to the house, but Kelly stepped aside when they reached the front doorway. A slim, straight-backed woman with a babe in her arms waited to greet him. Her serene brown eyes looked at him expectantly.

Since he'd lost his hat, Jake just nodded at her. “Ma'am."

“Rachel, this is Sally's husband,” Kelly said as he entered the house. “They told me at the jail that his name is Jake Wallace, not Bob Sweets."

Jake nodded definitely. “It is."

“Welcome to our hom—"

“Daddy, daddy.” A little boy darted from behind Rachel's skirts and launched himself at Kelly.

Sean grabbed him around his middle and lifted him high into the air. “Don't you know you're not supposed to interrupt your mother?” Then he smothered the boy in a bear hug.

Obviously not bothered by the reprimand, Reilly giggled delightedly.

A lump formed in Jake's throat. His son must have been just about this age when ... Rachel smiled nervously. “Please excuse our rambunctious boy, Mr. Wallace. And make yourself at home. I don't suppose you've had any breakfast yet. Anyway, what they serve at that jail is hardly fit to eat."

Jake wondered how she knew what they served in the jail.

“But I'm sure you'd like to freshen up first.” She paused and looked about with a puzzled expression. “Sean, where's Mr. Wallace's luggage?"

“He's traveling light,” Sean said as he gave his delighted son another swing through the air. Placing the boy back on his own chubby legs, Sean gestured to Jake. “Come on, I'll show you where you can wash up. When you get through, join us in the kitchen."

* * * *

Jake had been shocked when he first saw himself in Sean's shaving mirror. Now, having used a borrowed razor and wearing a borrowed shirt, he looked a little better. These drinking binges seemed to be taking a heavier toll on him. Maybe he'd gotten out of practice—or older.

He stepped out of the bathing room and moved hesitantly toward the back of the house. From down the hallway, he heard voices.

“Did he say why he left her?” Rachel asked.

“No, and I didn't ask,” her husband responded.

“But, Sean—"

“Don't get into it, Rachel. The man was thrown off the train in Wichita for being drunk and disorderly. Word from Dodge and Las Vegas is that he's a fast-gun. Sally's probably better off without him."

Sally is better off without me? Jake let his footsteps sound firmly against the floor as he marched down the hallway. The voices stopped.

He turned into a sunny, aroma-laden kitchen. “I'm not a fast-gun. At least, I wasn't until that bit—Sally convinced me I was. She almost got me killed going up against professionals."

Rachel recovered first from his surprising entrance. She nodded, said, “You see, Sean,” and gestured for Jake to sit down. “How would you like your eggs cooked?"

The thought of eating eggs sent a quiver through Jake's stomach. “Could I just have some coffee and maybe one of those biscuits?"

“You should eat more than that,” Rachel said in an insistent voice.

“Mr. Wallace probably isn't feeling well this morning, Rachel. Give him a glass of milk."

Jake looked at him in horror. “Milk!"

A lazy smile crossed Sean's face. “A trick I learned in my bachelor days. If you can manage to get it down, it coats the stomach, makes you feel better."

Jake seriously doubted that theory, but when faced with steaming coffee and cool milk, he finally decided the milk might feel better on his throat. He sipped cautiously. The taste wasn't bad and the coolness did soothe. Rachel placed a heavily buttered biscuit on a plate in front of him. He started to nibble on that.

“How did Sally turn you into a gun fighter?” Rachel asked.

Sean made a shushing sound at her.

Jake could tell from her undaunted expression that she wouldn't be satisfied until he answered her. “After getting hit on the head, I lost my memory. She told me I was so fast that men were afraid to go up against me. That's why she hired me to protect her business."

Rachel looked genuinely alarmed by his story.

A skeptical sneer curled Sean's lip. “Then you didn't shoot a man in Las Vegas?"

Jake took a hearty swallow of milk. “Well, yes, but that was in self-defense."

“But you did outdraw him, didn't you? How is it you were fast enough to do that?” Sean persisted.

Jake felt moisture on his upper lip and hastily wiped it away with his napkin. “When the war ended, I vowed that I'd never again shoot at a man. Of course I had to be armed on the trail, and I even practiced my draw to pass the time. But I never shot at anything bigger than a rattlesnake until I got mixed up with Sally."

Rachel nodded sympathetically. “You poor man."

Sean still looked doubtful.

Jake looked at Rachel. “I'm sorry, ma'am, if I've said anything to offend you."

“I know Sally's ways are often hard to understand. Just be assured that deep down, her motives are good."

Jake decided he better not reply to that, so he took a large bite of biscuit. Rachel continued fussing over him until she'd coaxed him into eating eggs and bacon and more bread. After finishing his second cup of coffee, Jake felt more like himself.

“I gotta go out and talk to some of the boys. You wanna come along, Wallace?” Sean said, although he didn't sound particularly eager for Jake's company.

“Mr. Wallace might want to rest,” Rachel suggested.

It occurred to Jake that Kelly might be afraid to leave his wife and children alone in the house with a man of Jake's reputation. “Yeah, I'll go. Feels good to be back on a ranch."

Maybe he could talk Kelly into giving him enough work to earn a stake. If Kelly hired him, they could cut out all the brother-in-law foolishness, and he could move into the bunkhouse like any other hand.

After Sean loaned Jake a heavier coat, they headed for the barn. “Need to check on a new herd I just bought to winter over,” Sean said.

“You buying mature steers?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, at the end of the season, the price is lower. Next spring, before the new herds get here from Texas, the price should be higher."

“Ain't there a risk of losing beeves if you have a bad winter?"

Sean shrugged. “Some.” Then he grinned. “I was a gambling man before I settled down with Rachel. I guess the risk scratches my old itch."

They saddled horses and rode out into the rolling prairie covered with dried grass. “We've gotta re-brand the new herd,” Kelly said. “I'm short-handed. You wouldn't be interested in staying on for a few days and helping out, would you?"

Jake looked up at him in surprise. Did Kelly realize Jake needed help, or did he really need another hand? Could he have another motive for keeping Jake here? It didn't much matter. Jake couldn't refuse to work and then ask for a loan.

Chapter 18

The next afternoon, Betsy watched and waited to catch Sally alone in her office. She was tired, having gotten just a few hours sleep after letting Jim out in the first light of dawn this morning, but she'd never felt more alive. Something truly special had happened between her and Jim last night.

Since discovering her talent for domination, Betsy had never considered having a special relationship with just one man. It had seemed to her that forming an attachment to a man would interfere with her ability to properly control him. But after her long night of talking and making love to Jim, she'd changed her mind.

She understood him, and he needed her. He hadn't shown the least bit of jealously when she'd talked of her hopes for a special chamber in the Pleasure Palace. In fact, he'd seemed genuinely interested in her ideas. She felt sure he would soon trust her enough to let her use restraints on him.

The only time he'd looked shocked by anything she said was when she'd suggested he come to work at the Palace. But she quickly won him over to the idea. Now all she had to do was convince Sally to hire him. Just then Sally came out of the dining room and headed for the office. Betsy waited until Sally had been in the office for a few minutes before asking Josie to take over the bar for her.

Pausing at the open office doorway, Betsy knocked lightly, and smiled. “Got a minute?"

Sally glanced up and nodded somberly. Jake's sudden departure obviously hadn't pleased her. That was the trouble with letting a man get too close, Betsy reflected. Even if he did things to make you miserable, you got used to having him around and missed him when he left.

Wondering at the wisdom of cementing her relationship with Jim, Betsy hesitated for a moment. But things would be different between them. He'd be dependant on her, not the other way around.

She stepped into the office and sat in the chair in front of the desk. “We're going to need a man to work the bar and lobby at night."

“I know it,” Sally snapped.

“I said something to Jim about it. He's interested in the job."

Sally's upper lip curled. “Gentleman Jim? He won't make much of a bouncer."

“He's a big guy and handy with his fists, but he could be a lot more than a bouncer,” Betsy said defensively. “He does all of Brown's paperwork, has eastern manners, and makes a good appearance. He could keep order and greet people."

“Why's he wanna leave Brown?” Sally asked as she continued to frown at Betsy.

Betsy lowered her voice and leaned forward with an air of confidentiality. “I think Jim's uneasy about the men Brown's got working for him. He gets along with them, but I don't think he approves of everything that's going on."

Sally arched an eyebrow. “You've gotten sweet on him, haven't you? How's that gonna affect your working together?"

“I told him Josie and I run the bar. He doesn't have any problem with that."

“Have you already offered him the job?” Sally asked in an angry voice.

“I asked if he was interested, but I told him you had the final say. He's coming in tonight to talk to you. I just wanted you to know I'm in favor of it."

“How about Josie?"

Betsy blanched. She'd been so caught up in her own thoughts that she'd forgotten to say anything to her co-manager. “Ah, I'll talk to her about it now."

Sally shook her head. “You send her over here, and let me talk to her before you have a chance to pressure her."

* * * *

Sally glanced around at the nearly full dining room. Not a bad crowd for a Thursday night. The news of her husband's departure had obviously attracted the curious. She supposed everyone was wondering what she'd do now. She was too.

After crying herself dry yesterday, she'd blown her nose one final time and then sat down to go over the books. The hotel was making a profit, not nearly as much as a brothel would, but enough to comfortably support her and her staff. For years, she'd been telling herself that she'd get out of the parlor house business as soon as she had enough money. How much would be enough?

She'd known a lot of whores who promised to quit but waited until they were ruined by disease or an angry customer. Sally was damn tired of smoke-filled rooms and heavy-handed drunks. Did she really want to go back into that business now?

Suppose Jake came back? No, she mustn't hope for that. Jake Wallace hated her and with good cause. But he'd shown her another side of life—another side of herself. Perhaps, someday, if she kept herself clean, she'd find another man who could love her as Bob Sweets had.

With a sigh, Sally left the dining room and headed for the bar. She'd seen Gentleman Jim Tilson come in earlier and decided to get his interview over with. Sally still had reservations about hiring him. His relationship with Betsy could lead to problems, and his ties to Brown worried her. But he did have the kind of polish she would like to have in her employees. There weren't many men in Las Vegas like him.

Jim was leaning on the bar and smiling at something Betsy had just said. When he saw Sally, he straightened and walked toward her in a brisk manner. “Good evening, Miz Sweets. Betsy said you'd like to speak with me."

Sally nodded toward a nearby empty table. “Let's sit over there."

Jim held Sally's chair, something most western men didn't bother with, at least not for women in Sally's old line of work. “Where are you from, Jim?"

“Philadelphia."

That explained a lot. “How long have you been out West?"

He looked confused by her questions. “I left home when I was sixteen. Been traveling around ever since."

That was enough chitchat. “I need a man who can pour drinks some of the time and keep order in the bar and lobby all of the time. Betsy seemed to think you might be interested in the job."

Just then Betsy walked up to the table. She'd brought the drink Jim had left at the bar, but after setting it in front of him, she sank into the empty chair between Sally and Jim. “Have you started talking about Jim's duties yet?"

Betsy's presumption irritated Sally, although Betsy probably thought she had a right to be here since she was one of the managers of the bar. Of course, that had been Jake's idea. Sally might change things. “I haven't offered him any duties yet. We just started talking about the job."

“I really think Jim could do a lot more than work in the bar. With his appearance and manners, he could check in guests, oversee the card room, any number of things."

“We don't have a card room here,” Sally said.

“But as soon as we change over—"

Sally gripped the edge of the table and braced herself. “I'm not sure I'm going to change over."

“What?” Betsy's fists knotted in anger. “You said as soon as Jake was out of the way—"

Sally raised her voice to drown Betsy out. “I also said I wanted to get out of the business one day. Well, I'm out now, so why go back in?"

Betsy jumped to her feet and glared down at Sally. “You promised me. I'm not going to let you—"

Jim grabbed Betsy's forearm and gave it a gentle tug. “We better talk to Hoodoo before you say any more."

Sally's blood began to boil. She'd thought Brown knew a lot about her business, now she knew how. Rising, she placed one hand on her hip and sneered at Betsy. “You can't ride two horses at the same time.” Then she looked down at Jim. “Since you both seem rock-solid loyal to Hoodoo, get the hell outta my place!"

Betsy bared her teeth and took a threatening step toward Sally. Jim jumped up and threw an arm around her waist. “Come on, baby,” he murmured softly. Reluctantly she let him draw her away.

Sally hated to see her leave. Although Betsy was at least four inches taller, Sally was so filled with pent-up frustration that a good hair-pulling contest would have been a great release.

Before Betsy reached the doorway, Josie ran from behind the bar and grabbed her arm, “What's the matter?"

“She's staying in the hotel business,” Betsy spat out in a bitter voice.

Josie looked back at Sally for confirmation.

Sally nodded and then said, “Go or stay, but if you stay you'll keep your damn mouth closed to Betsy and anyone else in Brown's employ."

Josie's gaze shifted back and forth. Sally could see the struggle of conflicting loyalties on her face. Then Josie glanced around at the bar and stepped back from Betsy. Apparently, being in charge of something for the first time in her life meant more to Josie than her friendship with Betsy.

With an angry toss of her head, Betsy left, closely followed by Gentleman Jim. Good riddance, Sally thought.

Of course, that left them short-handed in the bar. Sally pitched-in, pouring and serving drinks and occasionally running next door to check on the dining room. By closing time, her back ached and her feet throbbed, but she didn't care. She'd been too busy to think about all her problems, and hopefully, she was now exhausted enough to fall asleep in her lonely bed.

* * * *

The next morning, Sally stood behind the registration desk, going over the guest list with Grover. Betsy, Gentleman Jim and Hoodoo Brown all entered the lobby. Betsy looked sullen, Hoodoo slightly amused, and Jim, as usual, bewildered.

“I'm gettin’ my stuff,” Betsy said and started toward the stairs.

“Fine,” Sally replied. Then she glared at Hoodoo. “And what are you here for?"

He removed his hat, but his mocking smile clearly said it was not a gesture of respect. “I need to discuss a little business with you."

“Unless you're interested in renting a room, I can't imagine what we have to talk about,” Sally said haughtily.

Hoodoo cleared his throat. “There's the matter of police protection for your business."

Sally's shoulders tensed. “My business hasn't changed. Why should the protection arrangement change?"

“Could we step into your office and discuss this privately?"

Sally realized he was right. If she had to bargain with the man, she didn't want the whole town knowing about it. “All right,” she said as she stepped toward the office doorway. Then she nodded toward Jim. “But leave your puppy out here."

Hoodoo chuckled.

He closed the door after himself. His presumption angered her, but she didn't let it show. She reminded herself that Hoodoo was the man who controlled this town, and she didn't have a fast-gun husband to run interference for her anymore.

Sitting in the chair behind the desk, she waited for him to sit across from her and then smiled sweetly. “What sort of change in the fee are you thinking of?"

Hoodoo settled back in his chair comfortably. “I'll have to go back to the original fee of three hundred dollars a week."

Sally bit the inside of her lip to check an angry retort. “But that was the price when you thought this would be a fancy house. You came down when you learned it would be a hotel. I assure you it's going to remain one."

“I came down when I realized your husband could supply a good deal of the protection this place would need. Now that he's gone, I'll have to allocate a lot more manpower. In fact, with a woman running it, I'll need a man over here full-time. I'm sorry but I have no choice but to raise your fees."

On top of salaries and operating expenses, there was no way in hell Sally could pay him three hundred a week. He had to know that. What's he after? She needed time to think.

With a little gesture of alarm, Sally said, “Oh, where are my manners? I forgot to offer you any coffee."

She rose and walked over to the door. After asking Grover to send for coffee and muffins, she returned to her chair and gazed at Hoodoo for a long moment of silence.

His slightly amused expression and relaxed demeanor only added to her apprehension. Unable to think of anything else, she decided to be direct. “You know a hotel can't generate enough profit to pay what you're asking. Are you trying to run me out of business or into the kind of business I no longer wish to do?"

His smile broadened. Evidently, he wasn't offended by her straightforwardness. “I'd hate to make a pretty woman like you do anything she didn't want to, but I've got to maintain order in this town.” His smile faded. “The business owners demand it. And you know as well as I do that you and the other girls here are magnets for trouble. You've gotta have a man here all the time."

“I can hire someone for much less than three hundred dollars,” Sally said softly.

Hoodoo nodded. “Yes, you can, but you might hire the wrong kind of man. One who would cause more harm than good. What you really need is a man who'd take a personal interest in your business—in you."

“Why, Hoodoo, are you offering to play match-maker?” Sally asked with mock coyness.

His gaze turned steely. “I'm offering a lot more than that, and you know it."

Someone rapped on the door. Thank God, Sally thought, as she struggled for some way out of this new predicament. Hoodoo wants to take Jake's place. Why hadn't she seen that coming? At her call, Russ entered carrying a tray with the coffee and muffins. She nodded for him to put the tray on the desk, and busied herself playing hostess.

Sally stalled by asking Hoodoo how he'd take his coffee. She added the sugar and thoroughly stirred it in before passing him the cup and saucer. Then she slowly prepared a cup for herself. As she sat back in her chair, sipping the coffee, it occurred to her that she might be able to use Jake one last time.

“I'm terribly flattered that a man as important and charming as yourself is willing to help me though this trying time, but I couldn't put you in that kind of danger."

Hoodoo's forehead creased. “Danger?"

“If I allow a relationship to develop between us, Jake will surely kill you when he comes back."

Hoodoo's mouth pulled to one side in a smirk. “Comes back? From all I saw and heard, the man's through with you."

Sally looked him in the eye and spoke calmly. “Appearances and gossip can be deceiving. Jake was angry with me when he left, but once he calms down, he'll come back. He'd go crazy if he found me with another man."

Hoodoo studied her in silence. Finally, he said, “I appreciate your concern for my safety, but how're you gonna run the hotel without my support?"

Sally stirred her coffee. “I could be wrong about Jake coming back. But I'd like to be sure. He is my husband, after all. If we could wait a while? In the meantime, I'll hire someone to help me manage the hotel. Someone you approve of."

Hoodoo scratched his chin. “You've already turned down the man I'd recommend for the job."

“Gentleman Jim?” Sally asked in amazement. “Do you really think he'd make a good manager?"

“Jim doesn't do a lot of his own thinking, that makes him a man who'll do what he's told. I find that a good quality in the people who work for me. Besides, you hiring Jim would solve a little problem of mine."

“What problem?"

“His room's next to mine over the saloon. I'm finding that mighty uncomfortable since he's taken up with Betsy. If you know what I mean."

Sally had to smother a smile. “Why, no. What do you mean?"

Hoodoo frowned. “I try to be open-minded about what other people do, but that Betsy gives me the willies. Last night they made so much noise that I opened Jim's door to see what was going on.” He shook his head and twisted his lips in disgust. “They were both naked as babes. He was on the floor on his hands and knees. She was ridin’ him like he was a horse and streaking his butt with a leather strap. I couldn't believe Jim would let a woman treat him like that."

Sally finally released her smile. “You said yourself that he's a man who likes to be led. But how could my giving him a job solve that problem?"

“You'd have to take Betsy back, too. Let the both of them move in here."

Sally rapidly shook her head. “Oh, no. I demand loyalty from my employees. Betsy betrayed me."

“She only asked me to give you time to get rid of your husband. She thought she was doing you a favor."

“Huh,” Sally said angrily, “she was doing herself a favor. Besides, all she wants to be is a whore, and I'm not in the business anymore."

“From what I've seen, she'll go wherever Jim goes. Just remember, hiring the two of them will be a lot cheaper than paying me three hundred a week."

Sally broke off a piece of her muffin, popped it into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. She didn't like the idea of taking in two of Hoodoo's spies one little bit. But he was right about it being cheaper, and it would give her time to figure out how to rebuff Hoodoo's advances.

She swallowed, smiled at him, and stood. “Shall we tell the happy couple the good news?"

* * * *

Hoodoo left the Palace Hotel a satisfied man. Sally Sweets had just taken her first step into his pocket. He'd known getting himself elected Justice of the Peace of this raw-boned town was a smart move, but he'd never dreamed it would put the highest priced whore in the West within his grasp.

In Dodge, she'd looked down her turned-up nose at him. Soon she'd be on her knees in front of him. That thought sent such a jolt of heat through him that he was strongly tempted to go back inside and just tell the bitch what was what. She was a woman alone and a whore. Who would come to her defense?

But seeing him forcefully take over her business might scare the honest businessmen in town. Besides, it was more fun watching the tricky little bitch try to squirm her way free of him. He'd give her a few days to think she had a chance to escape. It would make the moment when she realized he had her completely under his control so much sweeter.

Then, if she showed enough humility, he might let her get away with spreading her legs just for him. But there was no way in hell he'd let her go on pretending to be a hotelkeeper. That was plain foolishness, like giving away a gold mine.

* * * *

Jake rode into the corral and unsaddled his horse. He was hog dirty and dog tired from a day spent wrestling beeves up to a hot branding iron, but he felt strangely content. Working out in the open with horses, cattle, and men, who did their fair share of the work and expected you to do the same, had been like coming home to him.

He only wished he could continue to share the company of the men in the bunk house, but his sweet sister-in-law wouldn't hear of it. In her soft-spoken way, she'd let him know that he was family and, therefore, must accept the hospitality of her home. So now he'd have to bathe and shave and put on more borrowed clothes to go to her dinner table.

With a sigh of resignation, he started toward the house. He shouldn't complain. Between Rachel and her maid, he had his bed made, his laundry done, and a big breakfast and dinner served to him every day. The fellas in the bunkhouse probably envied him. They didn't know how hard it was for him to talk with Rachel without slipping up and insulting her sister.

He also suspected the boys in the bunkhouse had something stronger than coffee to drink. For all their hospitality, the one thing Kelly had not offered him was any form of alcohol. He'd bet his boots that an Irishman like Sean had something to drink around the house.

His first night there, Jake had laid in bed wondering where it might be and if he could find it without waking the household. The thought of having Kelly catch him was the only thing that had kept him from getting up and looking.

Of course, in the last couple of days, he'd come to realize that his thirst wasn't as great as it had been. He used to drink to forget, and after knowing Sally, he had even more to forget. But somehow things were different now. He was different. What had changed?

He didn't have the sense of shame and failure that he'd had before he knew Sally. Then he'd been haunted by the knowledge that, while he'd been fighting for a losing cause, his family had needed his protection and died without it.

After losing his memory, he'd accepted whatever Sally told him as the truth. She said he could work out business deals and protect her and a houseful of loose women, and he'd done it. He became the man she made up. But it wasn't all illusion. He'd actually done those things.

Her worst deception had been telling him that he deeply loved her. He'd believed that, and for the first time since he'd come home from the war, he'd loved again. Now that he knew it was all a sham, he should feel more alone than ever. But somehow he didn't. Maybe because he had himself back.

* * * *

After another filling dinner, Jake followed Sean into the parlor while Rachel excused herself to put little Reilly to bed. Jake settled comfortably into a padded chair and lit one of Sean's cheroots. “You got a good life here, Kelly."

“Yeah,” Sean replied. “It scares me to think how close I came to missing it."

“How was that?” Jake asked.

“I was so full of doubt about being able to give up my wandering ways that I almost didn't try."

Jake nodded. “I got some of them same fears."

“You're welcome to stay here, if you want. Plain to see you know your way around cattle."

“Thanks but it's past time I went back to Texas,” Jake replied. “I've got land down there. My folks’ old place."

“I thought you were driving other peoples’ cattle?"

“Yeah. Every time I went back to the old place, it was so lonesome I couldn't stay there. So I'd move on and sign up with somebody else. But a man's gotta start building for himself sometime."

Sean nodded in agreement. Then he gave Jake a curious look. “You think it won't be lonesome this time?"

Jake released a stream of smoke and watched it billow through the lamplight. “I hope I can stand it better now."

Sean waited until Jake looked over at him before saying, “You could take your wife with you."

“Ha! I can't imagine Sally Sweets living on a bare-bones ranch,” Jake said.

“You talked her into going into the hotel business, didn't you?"

Jake grimaced and shook his head. “She let me think I did, but she made sure my real name wasn't on the deed. I think she planned to turn the hotel into a fancy bawdy house all along. The woman has no morals."

A sharp huff of indignation sounded from the doorway. Jake glanced up and saw Rachel, her face blanched of color, staring at him. He quickly came to his feet. “I'm sorry, Rachel. I didn't know you were around. Sally's your sister, and I don't want to say anything about her to hurt your feelings, but you've gotta know I have bad feelings toward her."

Sean tried to come to his rescue. “It was really my fault, honey. After telling you not to mention Sally to him, I up and did it myself. What's between a man and his wife is strictly his business."

Rachel stepped into the room and motioned Jake to sit down. She moved to a chair across from him. “Normally, I take your advice, Sean, but this time I can't.” Then she leveled her gaze at Jake. “Sally is the best-hearted woman I know, and if you aren't aware of that fact, you obviously don't know your own wife."

Jake stared at the woman in amazement. “You do know how she makes her living, don't you?"

“Yes, and when I first discovered it, I was mortified and did everything I could to keep our relationship a secret. Then I was accused of my first husband's murder."

Jake's mouth fell open in astonishment. Maybe Rachel wasn't as different from her sister as he'd thought.

“Sally, the sister I'd shunned and denied, rushed to my side and did everything she could to make my ordeal bearable. After Sean and my attorney proved my innocence, I begged Sally to let our ailing father know she was alive. The only reason she tricked you was to spare him more pain."

Jake could see how sincere Rachel was, but he couldn't let her dismiss Sally's wrongdoings so easily. “But if she hadn't chosen the life she did, she wouldn't have had to lie to your father or trick me."

Rachel's nostrils flared in anger. “Did you ever hear of an outlaw named Dirk Dawson?"

“The one they hanged down in Texas?"

She nodded.

Jake couldn't imagine why she'd brought up some dead bank robber. “Heard he was one of Quantrill's bloodiest captain's during the war."

Rachel's lips puckered; she seemed to be fighting some strong emotion. Then she started speaking in a deadly calm voice. “Toward the end of the war, he led a raid on the bank in Mound City. He grabbed Sara Jane and me off our father's wagon to shield the gang from a following posse.

“When the posse attacked, Dawson escaped with Sara Jane. She was fourteen years old. I didn't see or hear from her again until somebody pointed out the notorious madam, Sally Sweets, on the streets of Wichita."

Fourteen years old! Jake recoiled in horror.

“She had been,” Rachel continued in a voice edged with tears, “Dawson's prisoner for over a year until she found a way to turn him in. I can't imagine what hardships she had to endure or how someone so young not only endured, but finally triumphed."

Jake hung his head and blinked away the unusual moisture in his eyes. “Why didn't she go home after she got free?” he asked almost to himself.

Rachel took a deep breath. “Sara Jane's greatest fault as a young girl was pride, but it was no wonder. Everyone said she was the prettiest girl in the county, and all the young men sought her attention. Perhaps she couldn't bear to come back and be an object of pity.

“It's easy to disapprove of the choices Sally made for her life, but what would I have done if the posse hadn't rescued me? I can't honestly say."

After a long moment of silence, Jake looked up, reached over, and clasped one of Rachel's hands between his own. “Thank you for telling me that story. You two are right. There is a lot I don't know about my wife."

Rachel looked deeply into his eyes. “What are you going to do about it?"

Jake released her hand and sighed. “Don't guess there's much I can do now."

Sean cleared his throat. “You know, Jake, if you and Sally are legally married, I don't think it makes any difference whether your real name is on that hotel deed or not. Anything that belongs to the wife also belongs to the husband."

“Is that a fact?” Jake asked.

Sean grinned. “I know a lawyer in Wichita who can tell you for sure."

“Guess I better find out,” Jake said and began to grin to himself. “Don't want to run off and lose something valuable."

Chapter 19

That night, Betsy sat on the side of the bed in her old room and idly wound the sash of her black silk robe through her fingers. Where is Jim? Will he even come to me tonight? He'd so completely thrown himself into being the hotel manager that he'd hardly spoken to her since they came back.

Except to order her to fix drinks for some of Hoodoo's men. She'd bitten her tongue and obeyed, not wanting to embarrass him in front of his friends. The night before, when Hoodoo had barged into their room, she'd seen how sensitive Jim was about appearing unmanly in other men's eyes. But tonight she'd spared his feelings at the cost of her own, for Josie had looked shocked and one of the men had sneered at Betsy's uncharacteristic meekness.

But this was the sort of thing that happened when a woman started caring for one special man. Betsy felt as though she were losing control of the situation. Had she fallen in love with the big galoot? Would love destroy her ability to dominate him?

Whether he would admit it or not, Jim was aroused by her rough treatment. Without it, she doubted he'd even be interested in her. She had sense enough to know he'd paid attention to her in the first place only because Hoodoo had ordered him to do so. If Hoodoo should decide he no longer needed Betsy's help, Jim would probably drop her like a prickly pear.

Finally a soft rap sounded on her door. She eagerly rose to open it, but as Jim stepped into the room and reached for her, she reminded herself not to let her eagerness show and stepped away from him. “Ask before you touch,” she commanded.

He looked disappointed. “You gonna start that again?"

“Start what?"

“Being bossy. Do you have to do that all the time?"

She took a deep breath, trying to appear indignant. “What do you want me to do, whimper and whine and tell you what a big strong man you are?"

“I want—” His forehead wrinkled as he obviously struggled with his thoughts. “I want us to be something more than just two people doing it."

A wave of mawkish feeling flowed through Betsy. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. “I can be anything you want me to, sweetheart."

He met her offered lips with a deep kiss and then pulled back and looked down at her pensively. “I want you to be what you really are."

She chuckled, enjoying the feel of her body vibrating against his. “Who knows what that is? Sometimes I'm really bitchy, and sometimes it's just an act to please the customer."

One of his hands slid down her back and began to knead her bottom. “I ain't a customer,” he said in a husky voice. “Let me please you."

She stared into his eyes, searching for some sign of insincerity. Finally she tugged on her robe until a small seam opened down the front of her body. “Put your hand between my legs."

As he obeyed, she wrapped one leg around his thigh, giving him more room. At first, he just let her move against his palm. Then he slowly worked two fingers inside her. As she pumped her hips more and more vigorously, she kept her gaze fastened on his face. When her panting breaths became small cries of ecstasy, he smiled, apparently enjoying her pleasure. Amazing.

Drained, she clung to him for a moment, and then staggered backwards until she reached the bed. With one hip braced against the mattress, she began to undo Jim's tie and shirt. He'd been a good boy and deserved a big reward.

* * * *

A couple of hours later, Jim got out of bed, put on his underdrawers and then sat on the side of the bed with his socks in his hand. Betsy roused herself from near sleep. “Where you going?"

“Back to my old room. Don't want Sally to think I've moved into the hotel."

“Why not? You're working here, you might as well live here."

He pulled a sock onto one foot. “It'll be easier for me to report to Hoodoo if I keep a room over at the saloon."

“What's to report? He's letting Sally run this place as a hotel."

Jim shrugged. “I don't think he really means that. He can make lots more money if she goes back to her old business."

“So why doesn't he just tell her to do it?"

“He's got to worry about what the other businessmen in town think, so he'll find some way to make her change over without a fuss."

“Like what?"

“I don't know."

Betsy reached over and lightly trailed her fingers up and down his arm. “You're his clerk. I thought he told you everything."

“Hoodoo thinks everything out before he tells it. He's real smart like that,” Jim said, showing his childlike admiration of Brown.

“Sally's pretty smart, too.” Betsy replied. “Hoodoo will have to be extra smart to get the best of her."

Jim looked over his shoulder and frowned at her, obviously displeased with her doubts about his hero. “Why are you taking up for her? I thought you wanted to change back."

“Actually, I'm not as eager to go back to the old business as I once was."

He sat with his hands braced on his thighs and looked back at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Of course, I could make more money that way, but I wouldn't be able to spend evenings with you anymore. I'd miss that."

He looked surprised. Hadn't he considered what she'd be doing when the hotel became a brothel? “Isn't money important to you?"

She got up on her knees and crawled to him, pressing her body against his back. “Some things are more important than money."

He pulled his head away from her touch as she toyed with his ear. “I don't like thinking about you being with other men."

“That's just business, honey. They don't mean anything to me."

“Do I mean anything to you?” he asked in a husky voice.

“Of course, you do. Haven't I proved that?” Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed light kisses against the back of his neck.

He pulled away, and Betsy had to throw herself back into a sitting position to keep from toppling off the bed. Towering over her, he looked down and said in an angry tone, “If you really cared about me, you won't want to do it with other men."

“There's no damn ‘want to’ to it.” Betsy said, her own anger rising to match his. “That's how I make my living."

“You're making a living now without doing it."

“Do you think Hoodoo will let me go on just serving drinks if he turns the hotel into a parlor house?"

Jim's gaze shifted away from hers and his lips tightened. “He might, if I told him I wanted you to."

“Oh wake up, Jim. Making money is all Hoodoo Brown cares about. You're nothing special to him."

He glowered. “You don't know what you're talking about. Hoodoo says I make a good impression on people, and he needs me for that.” She saw as much uncertainty in his expression as anger. Jim's admiration of Hoodoo was a lot more than that of an employee for his boss. Maybe he was still searching for the father he'd lost as a child.

Well, she damn sure didn't intend to play second fiddle to a father figure. Rising in the middle of the bed, she sat on her heels with her thighs widely spread and propped her fists on her hips. “Don't argue with me, you bad boy."

His gaze went to the apex of her legs and she tilted her hips to make sure he could get a good look. “If you want what I've got to give, you've got to show me some respect."

“Aw, Betsy."

She arched her back and twisted just enough to make her breasts bobble. “I let you get on top and this is the thanks I get. Well, you just go on back to Hoodoo, see if he can make you as hard as I do."

His face turned red. “Don't say stuff like that."

Realizing he thought she was casting doubts on his manhood, she assumed a pouty expression. “I let you order me around in front of your friends today, to protect you're feelings, then you treat me like this. You don't care about me.” She pointed toward the door. “Leave now and don't come back."

“You don't mean that.” He reached for her extended hand, but she jerked away from his touch.

“You're just like every other man, mean and selfish."

He fell to his knees by the side of the bed and held his hands out to her beseechingly. “No, I'm not. I do care for you. I'll prove it."

She folded her arms over her chest. “How?"

“I'll let you tie me up."

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Remembering how opposed he'd been to this idea in the past, she didn't want to give him time to think about it. “Get naked,” she said and got off the bed, opening the drawer where she kept lengths of rope.

When she turned back, she saw he'd obeyed her order, but stood uncertainly, with one hand covering his privates, as if to shield them from harm. “Lie down on your back, in the middle of the bed."

Grabbing one of his arms, she yanked it up toward the iron posts at the head of the bed. “This is about more than just punishment, Jim,” she said as she looped the rope around his wrist and then to the corner post. “This is really about trust. I'm tying this with a slip knot, so I can undo it with one yank."

As he looked at the knot, she crawled over his body and went to work on the other wrist. “You're showing me that you trust me by letting me do this, and I'm gonna show you just how much you can trust me by taking you only as far as you want to go. You say the magic word and I'll pull these knots apart.” She finished tying the second wrist and watched as he instinctively yanked against it, proving to her satisfaction that he was now hers to command.

“Wha-what word I gotta say?” He failed to hide his nervousness.

“How about ‘molasses'? That's a word you don't commonly use in bed."

“But ain't you gonna gag me?"

She smiled. “I know you're too proud to scream and bring everyone in to see you in this fix."

She stood and stared down at him for a moment and then went back to the drawer and got out the rawhide lacings she'd bought from a cobbler. The lacings had been intended for a man's heavy work boots, so they were long enough for her to double, grip the folded end in one hand, and leave four strips of foot-long leather dangling free. Standing beside the bed, she lightly stroked the leather tips across the hair on Jim's chest.

“That all you gonna use?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Huh, them little strips of leather won't hurt much."

She suddenly swung her hand back and brought the strips down across his rib cage. He visibly blanched, but pinched his lips together. “It all depends on how I use them,” she said as she got onto the bed and straddled his hips. Then she struck his chest a number of times, sometimes laying the laces flat against his skin and others flicking her wrists so that only the tips of the lacings touched him. When she struck his sensitive nipples, he flinched and hummed expressions of pain.

“Is that enough? Ready for a little molasses?” Before he could answer, she brought her mouth down to his red, puckered nipples, kissing and then licking them. At the same time, she maneuvered her hips until she had trapped his pecker between his stomach and moist flesh between her legs. That turned his grunts of pain into an eager chorus of need, and he began to pump his hips, to increase the pressure on his penis.

“Oh, no.” She leapt to the side of his body. “You haven't earned a fuck, yet.” His pecker shot up, pointing at the ceiling, and she began to slap the lacings across his belly, watching his muscles jump and tense from the pain. The strokes came closer and closer to his pecker, but it didn't wilt as she expected, if anything, it got harder.

“You better say ‘molasses,’ before I get to that big, proud cock of yours,” she teased. Pausing, she glanced at his face, expecting him to call her off. His lips were still tightly pinched together and his gaze locked with hers, telling her he would not speak, that he was, in fact, entrusting his very manhood to her.

And behind his grim determination, she saw the little boy, whose father had abandoned him to the harsh discipline of a cold aunt, still searching for someone he could trust. She dangled the lacings over him, letting the tips just touch his pecker. A drop of white liquid beaded the red tip. Throwing the lacings aside, she licked the salty bead away and then swung her body over his, steadying him with her hand as she slowly impaled herself.

“I didn't say it,” he exclaimed proudly. Then his body leapt in response to hers.

“No, you didn't,” she agreed before gritting her teeth in her determination to give him the ride of his life.

* * * *

Two days later, Sally discussed the menu for the day with Lizzie, and then checked on the dining room, where a few guests still dawdled over their breakfasts. Things were going surprisingly well since she'd agreed to Hoodoo Brown's demands. Betsy had come back with reluctance, but she worked diligently in the bar, and kept her mouth shut around Sally.

Gentleman Jim had applied himself to his duties as though working in a hotel was his dream come true. He not only stayed in the bar or lobby each night until closing but also spent a lot of time at the registration desk. He took her orders politely and listened to her advice respectfully.

Best of all, there hadn't been a speck of trouble since he'd started working here. Of course, the fact that Hoodoo's police force and their friends were now the bar's and dining room's best customers might be the reason for that, although Sally would have expected them, reputed members of the Dodge City Gang, to be likely troublemakers.

Evidently, Hoodoo had warned the men to behave themselves in her place. Sally didn't particularly like being beholden to him but knew she didn't have a choice. At least he'd stayed away since declaring an interest. She should be relieved. Instead, she nervously waited for the second boot to drop.

Stepping into the lobby, she saw Wilbur Roberts standing in front of the registration desk with his luggage piled around him. “Checking out, Mr. Roberts? I thought you were going to be in town for another week."

The Santa Fe trader glanced at her quickly and then at the contents of his wallet. He handed Grover several bills as he muttered, “A change of plans. I've got to get back to Santa Fe."

“Sorry to see you go. Hope you'll stay with us the next time you're in town,” Sally said.

Roberts muttered something unintelligible as he fumbled his change back into his pocket. Then he grabbed up his two bags and left.

Sally looked over at Grover. “Isn't he the third guest to check out suddenly in the last two days?"

“Fourth,” Grover replied.

“All those rooms empty?"

Grover cleared his throat. “Actually the other rooms were filled almost immediately.” He paused and glanced hurriedly around the lobby. “Of course, all of the new guests are on the special room rate."

Sally looked at him in confusion. “What special rate?"

“The special rate Mr. Tilson has started for guests who will be staying with us on a long-term basis."

A tingle of suspicion ran up Sally's spine. “Who are these new guests?"

Grover finally met her gaze levelly and his chin firmed. “They're all men who work for Mr. Brown."

Just then the front door opened and Mike Lobos, another member of the Las Vegas Police Force walked in carrying saddlebags and a Winchester. He came directly to the desk and smiled at Sally. “Hear you folks got a vacancy. I'd like to check in, at the special rate, of course."

Sally arched her eyebrows and spoke firmly. “I'm afraid you've been misinformed, Mr. Lobos. This is a hotel, not a boarding house. There is no special rate."

The man's smile vanished in surprise. “What? Gentleman Jim said—"

Sally interrupted him. “Jim Tilson is only the manager here. I'm the owner, and I say there is no special rate."

“Now, look-a-here, Missy,” Lobos said, shaking his rifle as he spoke. “I done been promised—"

Gentleman Jim suddenly appeared and stepped hurriedly toward the desk. “What's the matter, Mike?"

“This here,” Lobos paused and sneered at Sally, “lady says there ain't no special room rate for men who work for—"

Jim put his arm around Mike's shoulder and turned him away from Sally. “Why don't you go have a cup of coffee in the dining room, and let me talk this over with Miz Sweets? I haven't had a chance to explain the new rate to her. I'll come get you as soon as things are settled."

Mike smirked at Sally before ambling toward the dinning room.

Jim gave her a nervous smile. “I thought people who stayed with us permanently should have special rates since those rooms won't be vacant in between guests."

Sally glared up at him. “You thought that up?"

Jim's cheeks reddened. “Ah, well—"

“Why have four guests who had planned to stay longer, suddenly checked out?” She emphasized her words with jabs of her index finger, coming closer and closer to Jim's chest. “And why have their rooms quickly been filled with men who work for Hoodoo Brown?"

Jim twisted in obvious discomfort. “Let's go in the office and talk about this."

“I don't need to go in the office.” Sally knew she was almost shouting but didn't care. “Answer me right now."

Jim replied in a barely audible voice. “It's what Mr. Brown wants."

Sally planted both hands on her hips and glared at him indignantly. “Hoodoo Brown doesn't own this hotel."

“That's right,” a heavy male voice echoed across the lobby. “I do."

Sally spun around and saw Jake standing in the doorway. He was clean-shaven and wearing a spotless white shirt and a freshly pressed suit. She covered her heart with one hand, trying to still its sudden frantic pounding.

Jake walked toward her, his gaze flicking back and forth between her and Gentleman Jim. “Why are you having to tell Tilson who owns the place, Sally?"

“Ah ... ah ... I hired him as manager while you were away."

Jake fixed Jim with a hard-eyed gaze. “And what does Hoodoo Brown have to do with that?"

Sally's knees were weak and her head dizzy. She wanted to throw her arms around Jake and smother him with kisses and at the same time to scream curses at him for running out on her. Realizing they were attracting a lot of attention, and that she was close to tears, she pointed at the office door and hurried toward it.

The men followed her. When they were all crowded inside and the door closed, Jim said, “I gave some permanent residents a special room rate, and Mrs. Sweets don't like it."

“From here on, you call her Mrs. Wallace, and that wasn't a decision you should have made on your own. The rooms you've already rented at that rate can finish out the week, but don't rent anymore,” Jake ordered in a matter-of-fact voice.

Jim opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned in obvious confusion.

“If you have a problem taking orders from me, you can go look for work elsewhere,” Jake said.

Jim seemed to be thinking that over. Finally he shook his head, “No—no, sir. I got no problem."

Jake nodded. “Fine. Now excuse us. I need to talk with my wife."

Looking relieved, Jim hurriedly left the room.

After the door closed, Jake turned to Sally. “Why in the hell did you hire Hoodoo Brown's right-hand man to be the manager of this hotel?"

“I had to—” she started in a defensive voice. Then the question that was roaring through her mind burst from her mouth. “Why have you come back?"

His shoulders slumped and his air of commanding self-confidence faded. “There are things to be settled between us. And I've decided to stop running away from my troubles."

“Do you consider me part of your troubles?"

A wry smile creased his mouth. “Yeah, the biggest part. But tell me what's going on with the hotel."

She hurriedly told him how Hoodoo had agreed not to go up on protection fee if she'd hire Gentleman Jim as manager. “Now I realize he must be running our other guests off and filling the place with his men."

“What do you think he's after?” Jake asked.

“I think he wants me to go back to the original plan of turning the place into a pleasure palace.” She decided it would be better not to tell him about Hoodoo's designs on her. Jake might think she'd done something to encourage them.

“How did he know about that?"

“Betsy told him."

Jake drew back in surprise. “Why?"

Sally looked away from his searching blue eyes, trying to make up a story that wouldn't include her promises to Betsy. “Ah, she never accepted the idea of this place being a hotel. She asked Brown to find a way to get you to leave, thinking I'd go back to the old business if you did."

Jake stepped closer, caught hold of her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “Why did she think that, Sally?"

“I don't know. I guess she just couldn't give up on that special room we talked about.” She pulled her chin free and tried to turn away.

He grabbed her upper arms and held her firmly in place. “There's no reason to lie to me now. I know who I am, and who you are, and how we came to be married. Tell me the truth."

“All right.” She twisted away from him and stepped behind the desk. “Before we left Dodge, I told her I'd get rid of you after we got here and go on with my original plan."

He didn't seem surprised by the news. “So, why is Hoodoo Brown having to pressure you?"

Sally stuck her chin out defiantly. “I changed my mind. I'd been saying I was going to get out of the business one day, so I decided why not now?"

“Is that the only reason?"

He started around the desk, and she hurriedly sat in her chair, and began to toy with a pen. What did he want her to do—beg? Sally Sweets didn't beg for anything.

He slouched against the edge of the desk. “Do you still want me gone?"

“I changed my mind about that, too,” she said softly.

“What? I didn't hear that."

She looked up at him with an accusing glare. “Yes you did."

He took the pen from her fingers and clasped her hand firmly in his. “Why did you change your mind about me leaving?"

She shrugged. “You'd helped a lot in running the hotel."

He pulled her hand over and pressed the palm against his thigh. “Is that the only reason?"

“I ... I liked having a man around who ... who acted like he cared about me."

“Do you think that's all it was, an act?"

“I guess you thought you loved me, but only because you'd lost your memory.” She looked deeply into his eyes hoping for some hint of his true feelings. “But now you know better."

“Actually, I'm more confused than ever. I met your sister and her husband in Wichita. Rachel told me about Dirk Dawson."

Sally's back stiffened. She absolutely would not accept pity.

“It made me realize how little I knew about my wife, or she knew about me. Before I give up on our marriage, I want to get to know you—to find out if we have a chance to make a life together."

Sally's heart clogged her throat, making it difficult for her to speak. “What ... do you ... want to know?"

He pulled on her hand. “First, can I kiss you?"

Without willing it, she rose to her feet and pressed her body against his. His lips gently touched hers. She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He embraced her and his kiss turned heavy and heated.

A welcoming chorus of sensations sang through Sally's body, telling her beyond doubt how thoroughly she loved this man. But even as she reeled from the joy of it, a small voice warned that he didn't necessarily feel the same way about her.

* * * *

“Sally Sweets’ husband has come back."

“What?” Hoodoo stared at Mike Lobos in disbelief.

Mike's head bobbed up and down. “He walked in the door while Gentleman Jim and Sally Sweets was having it out over the special room rates. He took the two of ‘em into the office. When Jim came out, he said there wouldn't be no more special rates."

Damn, damn, damn. Hoodoo ground his teeth in frustration. He'd have bet big money that drunk wouldn't come back. “How'd he look?"

“Well, Jim looked like he—"

“Not Jim, you idiot, Wallace."

“He looked fine. Dressed all neat and proper."

“Any evidence he'd been drinking?” Hoodoo asked.

Mike shook his head. “Not so far as I could tell."

“What happened between him and Sally?"

“I can't rightly say. They came out of the office a little while after Jim came out and hightailed it upstairs.” A leering smile came over his face. “Probably gonna have a welcome home party."

Hoodoo pounded his fist into his palm. This was bad, very bad. He'd made promises, let people know he had plans for the Palace Hotel. The boys in the Dodge City Gang followed him because they thought he was smarter and more ruthless than they were. If he backed down now, they might change their minds and decide they didn't need him.

Besides, he wasn't ready to give up his dreams of the high times he'd have once he moved into Sally Sweets’ bed. “What did Jim do?” Hoodoo asked.

Mike shrugged. “Nothing. Just went along with Wallace."

“Is he still working at the Palace?"

Mike nodded.

“Good,” Hoodoo said. “For once he used his head. It'll be a lot easier to get Wallace with somebody on the inside."

Mike smiled eagerly. “What are you gonna do, boss?"

Hoodoo interlaced his fingers and squeezed them together. “I gotta think about it. Come up with a good plan. You get back across the street, and tell Jim to keep that job even if he has to lick Wallace's boots clean."

* * * *

Jake watched his wife slip on her drawers with a bemused smile on his face. During the train ride to Las Vegas, he'd told himself he wouldn't make love to Sally until they'd talked everything out, decided where they stood, what they wanted to do in the future. But he'd kissed her just once and then led her upstairs without saying another word.

He reminded himself that he couldn't let the fire that blazed so brightly between them blind him. He had to determine what was in her heart and mind as well as his own. Was she really willing to give up the parlor house business? Could he ever completely trust her? Holding her corset in place, she backed up to him. “Do my laces, sweetie."

He sat up, placed his thighs on either side of hers and began to tighten the laces. “Why are you putting this thing on? You just took it off a few minutes ago."

“More like an hour.” She drew a sharp breath so he could make the garment fit a bit snugger. Then she reached back and took the laces so she could tie them in the front of her body. “We've got a hotel to run, remember?"

“What about that good-looking new manager you hired? Can't he run things?"

She looked over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. “Do you trust him?"

Jake pulled her down onto his thigh and nuzzled the side of her neck. “No, but I'd be willing to risk it for another hour."

She laughed and stroked his cheek. “We'll have plenty of time later."

“Will we?"

She sobered. “If you want us to."

She tried to stand, but he kept her on his lap. “I wish I could give you an answer about that, but I meant it when I said I needed to know more about you."

Her expression became guarded. “I suppose you want to hear all about my life among the outlaws."

He shook his head. “No need for that, but I would like to know about after you got free."

Her lips tightened with anger. “Want to know how a girl from a good family went so bad?"

He didn't want to hurt her, but that was the very question that bedeviled him. “After you were free, didn't you ever consider going home?"

Forcefully pushing his arms away, she got to her feet and walked over to her dressing table. After perching on the stool in front of the mirror, she began to brush her hair. “As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I intended to do. I turned Dirk in for a five hundred dollar reward, thinking I could go home in fine new clothes and tell everyone how I'd outsmarted the notorious bad man."

She laid the brush down and swiveled to look at him, her face creased with bitterness. “Of course, I'd had to keep my dealings with the sheriff secret to be sure Dawson didn't find out. After the capture, when I went for the reward, the sheriff gave me a stage ticket for the next town and told me if I didn't go, he'd put me in jail with the rest of the gang.

“So I went. I was dressed in rags and didn't have two dimes in my pocket. I felt so sorry for myself that I started crying, and a man on the stage asked me what was wrong.

“That's how I met Lester Montgomery. Les was a wiry little guy who'd already started losing his hair, but he wore a suit and had clean fingernails. At the next town he bought me a meal and then a new dress. It didn't occur to me to say no when he offered to share his hotel room with me."

Her voice and her expression hardened. She obviously didn't mean any of this as an apology. “And share he did. He showed me that a woman could enjoy sex, too. After what I'd been though with Dirk Dawson, I thought I'd found my prince.

“He was a gambler, so we traveled from town to town, staying in good hotels, eating in restaurants. But then he had a string of bad luck and needed a new stake, so he brought men up to our room."

The hard set of her face didn't change, but for just an instant, a dark shadow of sadness filled her eyes. Jake wrapped his arms tightly around his bare chest to keep himself from reaching for her. Even though he didn't want to hear more, he knew she needed to finish.

“I'd thought Les was different. I'd even thought we loved each other. Then I realized he'd used me just like Dirk Dawson had, only he'd been more dishonest about it. So I waited until he won a big pot and got drunk celebrating. Then I stole his poke and lit out for St. Louis."

She stood, braced her hands on her hips, and stared down at him defiantly. “That's when I decided it was my turn to make fools out of men rather than the other way around. It took me a few years to learn the tricks of the trade, but I never willingly gave myself away again.” Suddenly her bravado failed, and she added in a small voice, “Until you."

Jake stood and gently wrapped his arms around her. He rested his chin against the silky hair on top of her head, and silently held her. In that moment, he realized he could never understand what his wife had gone through. No man could. So he had no right to condemn her.

Chapter 20

Sally rushed over to help Russ clear a table so a waiting party could be seated. She should have known it would be a busy night. Word had evidently spread about Jake's return, and everybody wanted to see the situation for themselves. She wondered what the people in East Las Vegas had done for entertainment before she and Jake arrived.

After leading a couple of railroad men and their wives to a table, Sally returned to the dining room doorway just in time to see a smiling Hoodoo Brown pump Jake's hand in an enthusiastic greeting. “Glad to see you back, Wallace. Now I won't have to worry so much about the safety of the women here."

Jake returned the smile as though he and Hoodoo were the best of friends. “I heard you'd been looking after them. Thanks, Hoodoo."

Sally couldn't believe those two fakers. And women were supposed to be the deceitful ones.

“Think nothing of it,” Brown said loudly. “Keeping the peace is my job, after all. I hope you can fit me into your dining room tonight. My mouth is watering for some of Lizzie's good cooking."

Sally smiled broadly and stepped into Brown's view. “I'll have a table for you in just a moment, Hoodoo. I certainly wouldn't want to disappoint my protector.” She'd show these men that she could play-act as well as they could.

“Ah—” Hoodoo sighed. “The lovely Mrs. Sweets—or is it Wallace?"

Sally made sure her dimples were showing as she nodded. “I prefer Wallace."

“How'd those names get confused, anyway?” Hoodoo asked genially.

“I was never confused,” Sally replied. “I always knew who my husband was.” She looked up at Jake.

He reached over and lightly touched her hand.

Hoodoo's smile began to look as though it hurt his cheeks. “Well, ain't that nice. Everything's right as rain between you two."

“That's right,” Sally said and wished it were true. A table became vacant. “I'll have that ready for you in just a minute."

Hoodoo watched her walk away, twisting her butt so that the back of her dress shimmied with ever step she took. Thwarted desire burned in his gut. But he wouldn't have to wait much longer. Soon he'd be rid of her damn husband and have her all to himself.

Remembering that her husband stood beside him at the moment, Hoodoo tore his eyes away from Sally and looked over at Jake. “How's Gentleman Jim working out in his new job?"

“He's a hard worker."

Hoodoo didn't want Jake to suspect Jim was still taking orders from him. “Good. Glad he's working out after I talked Sally into hiring him. He's a fine fella, but not cut out to be a clerk."

“So you're not mad at us for taking him away from you?” Jake asked.

Hoodoo slapped him on the back good-naturedly, aware of the number of eyes that were seeing the friendly gesture. “My goodness, no. Now I can hire the kind of man who can sit at a desk all day and keep all those records straight. Records—they're the worst part of my job."

Just then, Sally waved him over to the newly set table.

He nodded farewell to Jake who said, “Enjoy your meal."

Sally hovered over him until the little whey-faced waitress came to take his order and then excused herself. While Hoodoo absently gave his order to Lucy, he watched Sally and Jake talking near the doorway. As Jake bent down to hear her better, his hand casually caressed her back. Hoodoo had to unclench his teeth so he could finish ordering.

In a few minutes, Mike Lobos entered the dining room and made a big show of surprise at seeing Hoodoo before coming over to the table for their planned meeting.

After Lucy placed heaping plates of food in front of them and moved away, Mike said, “Have you decided what to do about him?” He jerked his head in the general direction of the lobby.

Hoodoo frowned at him. “Why don't you just stand up and point?” Once Mike looked appropriately contrite, Hoodoo continued. “In answer to your question, yes. You're going to shoot the gentleman."

Mike grew noticeably pale. “But he's, ah, pretty fast."

“That's why he won't be facing you when you do it."

Mike sagged in relief. “So how am I gonna get him off alone?"

“You're not. If all goes according to plan, you're gonna shoot him right here in the hotel to protect the lives of two unarmed, off-duty policemen that Wallace has drawn on. You'll be a hero."

Mike leaned forward, his mouth slightly agape in amazement. “How's that gonna come about?"

Hoodoo glanced around quickly to make sure no one was in hearing range. “According to Jim, near closing time, Sally puts the day's profits into the office safe. She's very careful to close the office door, and I'm betting, with Wallace back, she'll have him and his gun handy. At the same time, Lucy, the little whore who's risen above herself, makes a big production of seeing that everything in the dining room is in order.

“Sam and Wiley will come into the bar at about ten and start drinking. I want you to station yourself outside that plate glass window. Jim will move between the bar and the lobby. When everyone's in place, he'll let the boys know, and they'll go into the dining room and start roughing up Lucy.

“Wallace will undoubtedly come running to her rescue. If he's got any brains at all, he'll go for his gun when he sees the size of Sam and Wiley. As soon as he draws, you come into the lobby shootin'."

Mike squinted at him for a long moment of silence. Finally he scratched his forehead. “That's a mighty complicated plan."

Hoodoo forced his voice into a harsh whisper as he leaned close to Mike. “What the hell is complicated about shooting a man in the back?"

Mike looked offended by the question. “Suppose everybody don't get where they're supposed to be when they're supposed to be there?"

Hoodoo sighed in resignation. These fools couldn't figure out anything for themselves. “Then Jim won't give the signal, and you boys will wait for another night."

“Oh!” Mike said and nodded as understanding dawned.

* * * *

Betsy didn't know what, but something was definitely up. First Hoodoo Brown had come in to have an after dinner drink. He had smiled and given everyone a big hello. Then he'd corralled Jim over in the corner and had a quick, private talk. Hoodoo had kept on smiling while he talked, but Jim had grown quite solemn. Shortly after that, Hoodoo left.

Now here it was, almost closing time and Sam and Wiley, well known members of the Dodge City Gang, had shown up. Jim had barely spoken to them, but the men seemed to be exchanging secretive looks, and Jim had become downright fidgety. He kept darting in and out of the bar and had told Josie she could leave with that new boyfriend of hers without saying a word to Betsy.

Even though she and Josie took turns closing when business was slow, they always checked with each other first. Up until tonight, Jim had respected their right to co-manage the bar. Maybe he was deliberately trying to make her mad, so she'd punish him again.

Betsy wiped down the top of the bar. She was eager for Sam and Wiley to leave so she could close. Judging by the lack of traffic and noise, she knew the dining room had emptied. Maybe she'd give the last two customers a shot on the house and then run them out.

Jim came into the bar, looked at the two customers and gave his head a funny little shake. Then he came over to her. “Why don't you take off early? I'll close."

Is he trying to be nice or still bossing me around? “I don't mind closing. I've already given Jake most of my cash."

Jim leaned over the bar and lowered his eyelids and his voice. “I wish you'd put on that black corset. The one that lets your titties hang free."

Betsy couldn't suppress a small smile. He was feeling randy tonight. “You like that corset, do you?"

Jim nodded and softly hummed, “Hm-uh."

She threw down her towel, came from behind the bar in a slow, seductive walk. Stopping right in front of Jim, she leaned against him and murmured, “Don't be long."

He whispered into her ear. “As soon as they finish their drinks, I'm throwing them out."

Betsy left the bar with a bounce in her step. Jim just wanted her—that's why he'd been so nervous. He couldn't get enough of her.

As the stairs turned up toward the second floor, she glanced down into the lobby. Jim stood just outside the doorway to the bar, but he wasn't watching her. Instead, he looked over the top of the swing doors and held his hand up in a waiting gesture.

She stopped, realizing all his talk about her black corset had just been an excuse to get her out of the way. Fearing he might glance up and catch her watching him, she ran out of his sight and gripped the post at the top of the stairs. What in the hell's going on? Whatever he was doing wasn't for her, so it must be for Brown.

What could Hoodoo be up to? Jake's return had destroyed his hopes of seeing the hotel turned into a fancy house. Or had it? He'd tried to get rid of Jake once. Would he try again? She thought of Jake putting away the day's earnings in the office. That would offer somebody a perfect opportunity to kill him while staging a robbery.

Poor Sally! Betsy had seen how hurt she'd been after Jake left and how happy his return made her. Since Betsy had fallen for Jim, she could understand Sally's feelings.

She and Sally had been friends for a long time, and Betsy didn't like the way things were between them now. She sure as hell didn't want to see something terrible happen to Sally or Jake. Without another moment's hesitation, she ran over and knocked urgently on Sally's door.

A muffled voice called, “Who is it?"

Betsy leaned close to the edge of the door and softly called her own name.

Sally opened the door. She wore a silk dressing gown and her hair was down around her shoulders. “What is it?"

“I think something might be wrong downstairs."

An irritated frown covered Sally's face. “Wrong?"

“Two members of the Dodge City Gang are hanging around in the bar. They're acting funny. I'm afraid they might be up to something."

Obvious alarm covered Sally's face. “Where's Jake?"

“He's in the office with the door closed."

Sally turned away. Through the open doorway, Betsy saw her run to a chest, take out her small pistol, and slip it into the pocket of her robe. Without saying a word, she rushed past Betsy and headed for the stairs.

There might be gunfire. Suppose Jim got shot! Betsy legs began to tremble and she leaned heavily against the wall. What had she done?

* * * *

Jake had just closed the safe door and given the combination wheel a turn when he heard a high-pitched scream. He ran out of the office and toward the sound of, “Stop it! Leave me alone! No! No!"

At the doorway to the dining room, he stared in shock at two burly men who were holding Lucy down on one of the dining tables and groping her struggling body. As he reached for his gun, the kitchen door burst open and Russ, the busboy, ran in carrying a heavy serving tray. Three steps behind him, Lizzie came with a cast iron frying pan in her hand.

Russ began to pound one of the men on the back and shoulders with the tray. The second man moved to pull Russ away. Lizzie came up behind him and brought the skillet down on his head with a resounding bong. The man reeled before crumbling to the floor.

His pal managed to catch the edge of the tray and yank it away from the much thinner Russ. Then he grabbed the boy by his collar and started punching his face. As Lizzie stood uncertainly over her fallen victim, Jake decided a pistol-whipping would be the easiest way for him to stop the ham-handed assailant.

He drew his pistol and took a step forward when another piercing scream caused him to spin around. One of Hoodoo Brown's policemen stood near the front door. His drawn pistol pointed toward Jake, but the man stared open-mouthed at Sally who ran at him with her two-shot derringer in her hand.

The policeman's pistol swung toward her. Three shots rang out almost simultaneously. The policeman fell, Sally fell, and burning oil spewed from a ruptured lamp near the doorway.

Jake dropped his pistol and raced to Sally's side. Her eyes were closed and blood seeped into her golden hair from a crimson streak near the crown of her head. He scooped his arms around her shoulders and lifted them. Her head dangled lifelessly. A hoarse cry roared from his throat.

He realized people were running and screaming. Flames from the broken lamp were licking the polished wood of the doorjamb. Jim dashed into the lobby and ran to the stairs, yelling for Betsy. Grover staggered from his room with his suspenders dangling around his hips.

“See about the guests,” Jake shouted at him as he lifted Sally from the floor.

Russ staggered from the dining room with Lucy supporting him. Lizzie ran to Jake's side, staring at Sally with horror-stricken eyes.

“Doctor. I gotta find a doctor,” Jake called.

He felt Lizzie's hand on his arm, pushing him toward the back door.

* * * *

Hoodoo tried to look appropriately concerned when he heard the pistol shots he'd been expecting. He moved with the rest of the crowd in the saloon out onto the boardwalk where he stared down the street in amazement.

Flames lit up the inside of the Palace Hotel. Mike Lobos crawled through the doorway with his jacket on fire. A passerby rolled him over to smother the flames and then dragged him from the boardwalk. Mike didn't move again. In the flickering light of the fire, Hoodoo saw a large damp spot on the right side of Mike's jacket.

People came running from all directions, some of them had buckets and started dipping water from the horse trough and throwing it on the flames. The smoke had gotten thicker, making it impossible to see inside the building. A loud noise, like a rifle shot, sounded and a jagged crack appeared in the plate glass window.

Then people started erupting from the alley between the hotel and the mercantile. Judging by the state of their dress, some of them were hotel guests roused from their beds. Hoodoo recognized the burly figures of Sam and Wiley. Sam leaned heavily against Wiley. What in the hell had happened in there?

Then the tall figure of Jake Wallace materialized through a cloud of smoke. He carried a limp body with long golden hair trailing from a blood soaked head. Sally! Is she dead? A curse escaped Hoodoo's lips. Those damn fools had botched everything.

For a second, Hoodoo felt such blinding rage that he almost pulled the gun hidden under his arm and blasted that damn Jake Wallace to hell. Then, as always, he got control of his emotions and started thinking. The first thing he had to do was get over there and organize a bucket brigade before the whole damn town burned down.

Then he'd sort out what had happened in the hotel. To be on the safe side, he better tell Sam and Wiley to go into hiding. It was too bad about Sally, but maybe it was just as well. None of Hoodoo's plans had gone right since that bitch had come to town.

* * * *

The doctor's office was so crowded with patients that Betsy and Josie had to wait outside for word of their injured friends. Lucy finally came out leading Russ, his eyes so badly swollen that he could barely see. She told them that Sally hadn't regained consciousness, but the doctor had said she would recover.

Betsy was so relieved by that news that she burst into tears right there on the street. After she regained control of herself, she and Josie decided to help Lucy get Russ back to the hotel. They all breathed sighs of relief when they turned a corner and saw the building still standing. The flames had been extinguished, but the front entry was a blackened crater. A few people still milled around the scene, including Hoodoo Brown who supervised the nailing of boards across the opening into the hotel. The sight of him caused Betsy's temper to boil.

Jim came running up to them with a concerned look on his face. For once, his clothes were rumpled and dirty, his hands grimy. “How's Sally?"

“The doctor said she'd recover,” Lucy replied.

“A lot you care,” Betsy muttered under her breath.

Jim looked at her with surprise.

“Can we get into the hotel?” Josie asked.

“Yeah, through the back door,” Jim replied. “But the stairs are burned some. Step carefully on the side next to the railing and you can make it upstairs."

“What about the guests?” Lucy asked.

“Some of ‘em left and some of ‘em went back to their rooms. The second floor smells terrible, but it's still there.” He directed his next words toward Betsy. “I gotta help with this boarding up, then I'll come up to see you."

“Why don't you go to your own room,” Betsy said. “It won't smell so bad.” She turned with a flounce and led the way toward the back door.

A sooty Grover met them in the back hallway, carrying a lamp that supplied the only available light. Betsy gave him a report on Sally and then asked about the condition of the hotel. Grover's first floor room was too damaged to sleep in, so he wanted to move in with Russ. Lucy wanted to take Russ up to her room so she could nurse him through the night. Josie pointed out that Russ, who had both arms wrapped around his rib cage and looked like he would topple over without support, probably couldn't make it up the damaged stairs.

Lucy finally agreed to trust Grover to care for him, and led the grateful boy to his bed. While Lucy fussed over taking off his shoes, Betsy looked for another source of light so she could get upstairs and be by herself. She stumbled into the dark kitchen in search of a lamp.

Footsteps sounded behind her and a match suddenly flared. Jim lit the lamp in a wall bracket near the doorway. “Looking for this?” he asked.

She could still hear hammers thudding in the front of the building. “Why aren't you out helping your boss?"

He looked at her with confusion. “There're plenty of men out there to help him. What's the matter, Betsy?"

Her mouth dropped open in amazement. She held her palms up. “Look around, fool. The way I earn a living has just gone up in smoke, and my best friend has been shot.” She moved so she could glare into his eyes and lowered her voice to a growling whisper. “And the man I love caused it all."

Jim gasped and stepped back from her.

Josie stuck her head through the doorway. “Get some of those candles Lizzie keeps in the cabinet, so we can go upstairs without making Grover lead us."

Betsy jerked her head in a curt nod, grabbed two candles from a drawer and lit them from the lamp beside Jim's head. Then she marched out of the room without sparing him a glance. As she and Josie made their way toward the blackened staircase, a third candle came up behind them. Betsy glanced around expecting to see Lucy. It was a contrite Jim instead.

Urging caution, he helped them get up the damaged stairs. Betsy thought of sending him on his way but knew she'd never get to sleep with so much anger bottled up inside her. So she let him come along, see Josie to her door, and accompany her into her room.

After lighting a lamp, she turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I just did what Hoodoo told me to."

“Didn't it bother you one little bit that those men were planning to kill Jake or that other people might get shot?"

He twisted his shoulders uneasily. “I sent you away, and I headed for the storeroom as soon as I gave the boys the high sign. Why on earth did Sally come downstairs?"

Betsy made a fist with one hand and gripped it tightly with the other. “Because I knew something was about to happen and told her."

Jim's puzzled frown changed to an angry glare. “Why in the hell did you do that?"

“Because I knew how much it would hurt her to lose the man she loves. I almost puked when I saw her grab her gun and realized you might get caught in the cross fire."

“Do you really mean that?” Jim asked in a bewildered voice.

“What?” Betsy demanded.

“That you love me."

Betsy's fury boiled over. “You—you—stupid—” She ran at him and rained her fists against his chest. She didn't know what angered her the most, Jim's stupidity or her own.

He grabbed her and pressed her against his chest, smothering her blows. “Why did you fall in love with me?"

As she struggled to free herself, she muttered, “I don't know. I certainly didn't mean to."

He immobilized her with a bear hug. “Nobody's ever told me they loved me before."

Her fury dissolved as she looked up at the lost-little-boy expression on his face. With a sigh, she slipped her arms around his body. “You probably never gave them a chance."

“What are we gonna do now?"

She tucked her head under his chin and leaned heavily against him. “I don't know. Even though I love you, I don't wanna hook my caboose to a train that's going nowhere."

After a long moment of silence, he said, “You're talking about me working for Hoodoo, aren't you?"

“Sooner or later, the honest people will get tired of his double-dealings and run him out of town—or worse. You know that."

After a long pause, he said, “Yeah, but I don't know where else to go. I tried a lot of jobs after I left Aunt Beatrice, but I don't like to get all sweaty and dirty."

“Isn't there any kind of honest work you'd like to do?"

He sighed. “I have thought I'd like to sell things in a store, but that don't seem like manly work."

She tightened her hold around him. “Take it from me, honey, you're as manly as a man needs to be."

* * * *

Sally's head hurt so badly that she didn't dare open her eyes. The last thing she remembered was running down the stairs of the hotel and seeing a gun pointed at Jake's back. Then the world exploded. Was Jake dead?

Tears must have seeped from her eyes for a soft cloth lightly touched her cheeks and Lizzie said, “Don't cry, Miz Sally. You gon’ be all right. The doctor said so."

Considering what had happened the last time a doctor had told her what to expect, Lizzie's assurance didn't make Sally feel a bit better. But she didn't care if she did die. How could she go on without Jake?

A door creaked and the acrid smell of smoke filled the room. “Has she opened her eyes yet?” Jake asked softly.

He was alive. Thank God! Relief, so strong that it made her feel faint, rushed through her.

“Naw, sir. But tears been coming outta her eyes, so her mind must be waking up. What about the others?"

“Nobody was killed, not even that son-of-a-bitch Mike Lobos, but Russ's got a broken nose and cracked ribs, and Lucy's bruised up pretty bad."

“You gonna be in trouble for shootin’ that policeman?” Lizzie asked in an anxious voice.

“A man's got a right to defend his own wife."

“But what about her trying to shoot him, I seen her pointing that little gun of hers."

“No small gun was found at the scene, thanks to Josie's quick thinking. You tell the Justice of the Peace what you saw and you'll cause her trouble, too."

Lizzie shrugged. “I ain't gonna tell nothin'. Them justices don’ believe nothin’ a colored woman says, anyway."

“Thanks."

Sally knew Lizzie would never say anything to hurt her.

“What about the hotel?” Lizzie asked.

“The only thing left of the first floor is the kitchen and a couple of rooms in the back. Of course, everything's smoked up."

The hotel? Had there been a fire? Could they rebuild?

“What you gonna do now, Mister Jake?"

“Now that I've got my memory back, I know I'm a cattleman, not a hotel man. I'd like to go back to Texas and rebuild my folks’ ranch. Do you think Sally will go with me?"

“Hmmm,” rumbled up from deep in Lizzie's chest. “I don’ think Sally Sweets will wanna live on some ranch."

Jake sighed. “I'm afraid you're right."

After a short silence, Lizzie asked, “Can you stay here for a while? I'd like to see what's left of my kitchen."

“Sure go ahead. I wanta be here when Sally wakes up."

Sally heard rustling, footsteps, the door opening and closing. From across the room came the sound of water being poured. Jake must be washing up.

Between the throbs of pain in her head, she tried to sort through all she'd just heard. Evidently, everything she'd worked for all these years had gone up in smoke. Even if the hotel was standing, they didn't have enough money to make a lot of repairs, and Jake wanted to go back to Texas to some godforsaken ranch.

The thought of giving up Jake, of going on by herself, of having to once again fight off men like Hoodoo Brown, filled her with dread. But Sally Sweets on a ranch? Lizzie had been right. That was the last place a woman like Sally wanted to live. It was too bad whatever hit her head hadn't killed her. But maybe it still could.

A chair scraped on the floor and Sally felt the warmth of a human body by her side. Jake's strong hand lightly massaged one of hers. She tried to look at him but the first slit of light through her partially open eyelids intensified her pain. She quickly shut it out.

Jake's hand cupped her cheek. “Honey, open your eyes,” he said in a care-laden voice.

She tried again. At first the face hovering over her was a hazy blur. She blinked until she recognized his clear blue eyes. Could she stop being a hard-hearted madam and become the kind of woman Jake needed? She had to try.

Parting her lips, she dampened them with the tip of her tongue. “Who are you, Mister?"

His eyes opened widely in alarm. “Don't you know me, Sally? It's Jake."

“My name's not Sally. It's Sara Jane. Sara Jane Honeywell."

Chapter 21

Deep creases formed between Jake's eyes as he stared down at her. “Yes, your name was Sara Jane, but you changed it to Sally Sweets."

Sally looked up at him with what she hoped was wide-eyed innocence. “When did I do that?"

“You don't remember?"

She shook her head and instantly grimaced from the burst of pain the movement caused. Jake gripped her shoulder as if hoping his support would lessen her pain.

“Doctor, would you please do something for my headache?” she asked.

He continued to stare at her for another moment before jumping to his feet. “I ... I'll get the doctor."

Sally exhaled in relief after he left the room. Would she be able to pull this off? Could she go back to being the simple farm girl she had been over fourteen years ago? She had to. As long as she was Sally Sweets, people would expect a certain type of behavior from her. Even Jake, whose concern seemed to prove that he did love her, doubted that she could live on a ranch. She had to make people believe Sally Sweets no longer existed.

Dr. Ennis returned with Jake and sat on the side of her bed. He pulled her eyelids up and peered into her eyes. “Do you know where you are?"

“I suppose I'm somewhere in Mound City. This certainly isn't my father's house. Why does my head hurt so?"

The doctor began to poke at the bandage that covered Sally's head. When he came to a spot on the right side of her head, she winced and drew away from his touch. “The only soreness is where the bullet grazed you,” the doctor said. “That's a good sign."

“Bullet? Oh, the bank robbers! One of them must have shot me. Is Rachel all right?"

The doctor stared at her with a perplexed expression.

Jake leaned into her line of sight. “Rachel is fine. That happened a long time ago."

“Really? Who are you, mister?"

“I'm Jake Wallace. Your husband."

Sally widened her eyes. “I'm married?"

Jake looked at the doctor for an explanation.

He shook his head and pulled at his chin whiskers. “Loss of memory sometimes happens after a head injury. Can be temporary, sometimes only a few hours, or it can last forever."

Sally allowed herself to relax against her pillow. This doctor obviously didn't know any more about amnesia than the one back in Dodge City had. She could get away with this.

Jake looked at her with such a tense expression that she felt a wave of guilt for worrying him, but in the long run it would be for the best. Sara Jane was the kind of wife he should have. Eventually, he'd realize that and be happy.

The doctor gave her something for the pain, and she soon fell asleep.

* * * *

Sally stayed in the doctor's treatment room for the rest of the night and part of the next day. Jake and Lizzie took turns sitting with her. After being corrected twice for calling her “Miz Sally,” Lizzie switched to the new name without further question. Sally didn't know if Lizzie really believed the ruse or was just being her usual loyal self.

She had so many questions about what was going on in the outside world that she was tempted to tell Lizzie the truth. But she knew it would be safer to keep up the act with everyone. Lizzie would undoubtedly slip up and say something to one of the girls, and Lord only knew who they'd tell. Before sundown, everybody in town would know.

When Jake was with her, she really had to be careful. Sally had decided that a “nice woman” who didn't remember her husband would not allow him any intimacies. She had to act shy whenever he got close, even though she desperately wanted to feel his strong arms around her.

It had been a long time since Sally had felt real shyness, so she wasn't exactly sure how she should act. Genuine blushing was out of the question. When Jake tried to kiss or caress her, she turned her head away and lowered her eyelids and even held her breath in the hopes of making her face turn red.

Jake finally got so frustrated that he huffed and said, “Sara, I'm your husband. It's all right for me to touch you."

She gave him a sideways look and meekly asked, “Have we been married long?"

“A couple of months."

“Did we get married in Mound City and then come to this place?"

“No, we met in Dodge City and came here after we got married."

“Was I living in Dodge City with my father?"

He gnawed on his lower lip. She knew he was wrestling with the truth and felt a perverse pleasure over his discomfort. “No, we both worked in a hotel there. Then we got a chance to have a place of our own here."

“Was it our place that burned?"

He nodded. “But don't worry about it. Just the first floor was damaged. Besides, we'd already decided to get out of the hotel business. We're going back to Texas where I have some land."

Sally had to struggle to maintain her wide-eyed look. Who's lying now? “Well, aren't we fortunate?” she said in a meek voice.

“Huh?"

“That we'd already planned to give up the hotel before the fire."

His smile looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, real lucky."

Sally had no intention of letting Jake off that easily. “But how did I get shot?"

“Ah, you were shot by accident. A man was causing a disturbance in our hotel. There's a rowdy element in this town. That's one of the reasons we decided to leave."

Jake's lying was improving. Perhaps he'd learned from living with her. But Sally couldn't resist giving the screw another turn. “What were some of the other reasons?"

“What?"

“The other reasons we decided to give up the hotel?"

He looked down at her for a long moment as conflicting emotions flickered across his face. Finally he said, “To tell the truth, I'm the one who wants to go back to Texas. I grew up on a ranch—it's what I know best. You agreed to move to please me.” He seemed to hold his breath as he waited for her reaction.

“I must love you a great deal."

He caught one of her hands, held it tightly, and looked deeply into her eyes. “We love each other—very much."

He hadn't said he loved her since he'd regained his memory. The intensity of this declaration brought a pleased smile to her lips.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked and a suspicious glint came into this eyes.

“Oh, back on the farm I used to dream of falling in love with a handsome man and living happily ever after. It looks like my dreams have come true."

“We haven't had much happiness yet, but we will.” He leaned forward and softly kissed her cheek.

She didn't turn away.

Apparently encouraged by her acceptance of that kiss, Jake moved to her lips for several light pecks. Sally let her lips pucker toward his. Jake slipped his hand behind her head and began to bear down. Fortunately, he moved her head enough to cause some pain and remind Sally she wasn't supposed to be enjoying his kisses quite so much. She demurely pushed him away.

* * * *

When Sally was ready to leave the doctor's office, Jake hired a hack to drive her to the hotel. She gasped at her first sight of the hotel's boarded-up entrance and then reminded herself that she wasn't supposed to remember it. “Is this our hotel?"

“Yeah,” Jake said as the hack turned into the alleyway at the side the building. “We have to use the back entrance now."

“It must have been a very pretty building before,” Sally murmured.

Jake didn't respond. He lifted her down from the hack and started to carry her inside.

“I can walk,” she insisted, embarrassed at the thought of the others seeing her being treated like a helpless baby.

“You sure?” Jake asked as he gently lowered her feet to the ground but kept his arms protectively around her.

Sara Jane would like such protection Sally thought and leaned heavily against his arm. As they went through the doorway, the smell of charred wood instantly stung her nose. The hallway was streaked with smoke. At the far end, she could see blackened timbers.

The door to the kitchen stood open. Lizzie, Lucy and Russ were all staring at her expectantly. Sally stared back, not knowing what else to do.

“You remember Lizzie, don't you?” Jake asked.

“Yes, my nurse. How are you?"

Lizzie nodded.

“And this is Lucy and Russ. They worked in the dining room before the fire."

Russ shyly nodded. Lucy paused uncertainly for a moment and then ran toward her. She reached out, but stopped before actually touching Sally. “I'm so glad you're better, Sal-Sara."

“Thank you,” Sally murmured, fighting a desire to throw her arms around the obviously distressed girl.

“You got hurt protecting me. I'll always be grateful to you,” Lucy said.

“I did?” Sally vaguely remembered hearing Lucy scream, but her sole intent had been to save Jake.

“Yes, those men wer—"

Jake interrupted her. “Let's not talk about that now, Lucy. Sara needs to get upstairs and rest."

Lucy nodded.

Lizzie pulled the girl back. “You take Miz Sara on upstairs, Mr. Jake. I'll bring her a nice cuppa coffee in a while."

Jake led her down the hallway until Sally stopped and stared in shock at the burned-out shell of the hotel's lobby. Only a corner of the registration desk still stood, and the painted tin ceiling was completely blackened by smoke.

The door to the office had been burned away. Sally wondered about the safe and had to fight against the urge to see or at least ask about it.

The arm around her shoulder propelled her forward. “Don't let this bother you. The outside walls and the roof are still sound. We'll get enough money out of it to start up the ranch. That's all we care about now."

It was all he cared about. This place hadn't been his dream come true.

The boarded-up doors and windows allowed only a little light to filter in so Jake had to bend down to see her face more clearly. “Are you crying?"

Sally sniffed. “The ... the smell makes my eyes water."

“Let's get upstairs, then. You can't completely get away from it, but in our bedroom, with the door closed, it's not so bad. Watch the steps. Some of these lower ones got burned, but I had some new boards put in."

The freshly milled lumber, with sooty footprints already outlined on them, glowed in the midst of the charred staircase. Sally felt like blubbering.

In their bedroom, she let Jake remove her dress and get her into a smoky smelling wrapper. Then she crawled into bed without a protest. Jake told her to rest, that he had some things to attend to, and she merely nodded.

The damage to the hotel was much worse than she'd imagined. Even the wallpaper in her suite had been streaked with smoke. It would take hundreds—thousands of dollars to put everything to rights again. She absolutely could not raise the needed money. Why was she so devastated by this? She'd already made up her mind to go to Texas with Jake.

Did she still harbor a desire to stay here? No, Jake belonged in Texas, and she belonged with him. Anything else was out of the question. For years she'd vowed to never throw her life away on love, but now her love for this man was her life. Still, it had been a beautiful hotel.

At least they had a roof over their heads. She sat up and looked around the room. Her closets and chests looked unharmed. A lot of sooty footprints had been tracked across the carpeting. People must have been all over the place after the fire. What about her jewelry?

Sally jumped out of bed and ran over to the chest of drawers. She dug into her lingerie drawer. The velvet-covered box where she kept her best pieces was gone.

“Looking for this?"

Sally whirled around at the sound of Betsy's voice. She had to put her hand against her head to still the dizziness the sudden movement caused.

Betsy stood in the doorway holding the box. “With all the strangers running through here, I took this for sake-keeping.” She grinned wickedly. “But I'm surprised Sara Jane remembered Sally's jewelry box."

Sally sighed in relief that her jewelry wasn't gone, and that she could again be herself, at least for a few minutes. “Shut the door before you say another word."

Betsy closed the door, handed Sally the velvet box and chuckled. “Would you please tell me what in the hell you're up to?"

“Are you still Hoodoo Brown's spy?"

Betsy stiffened and her lips drew into a tight line. “I went to him to ask for more time to get rid of Jake, when I thought you still wanted to get rid of him. I never dreamed you'd get hurt."

Sally wasn't convinced. “But now Jake and I are leaving. You've gotta work for somebody."

“Well, that's another one of Hoodoo's plans that went wrong. He sent Gentleman Jim to spy on me, and we fell in love. Jim finally confessed that his dream is to run a men's haberdashery. He's managed to save up some money. I have too. So we're going to move down to Albuquerque and go into business there."

Sally backed up to the bed and sat down heavily, her jaw slack with surprise.

Betsy opened her eyes widely and shrugged. “I'm as surprised as you about the whole thing. I never thought I'd be satisfied with one man, but now Jim's the only one I want."

Sally shook her head. “I shouldn't be surprised at you. The same damn thing's happened to me. That's why I'm putting on this act, so Jake and I can really start over."

“I always thought you and I were the toughest women around. Now look at us,” Betsy said with a shrug.

“I used to say a woman's need for love is her greatest weakness.” Sally paused and thought for a moment. “Looking at the risks you and I are taking to follow our hearts, maybe it's our greatest strength."

She stood and briefly embraced Betsy. “Here's wishing us both a bushel of luck. We're going to need it."

* * * *

Hoodoo and Dutch were discussing possible ways to arrest Jake Wallace, when the door to the office opened and the devil himself walked in. Hoodoo started, half expecting Jake to come in shooting. After he saw Jake's gun still in its holster, he said “Well, Wallace, have you come to turn yourself in for trying to murder poor Mike Lobos?"

Jake moved into the room but stayed to the side of the desk, obviously watching Hoodoo's hands. “Like I said, it was self-defense. Have you charged me with anything?"

Hoodoo glowered at him. Jake Wallace was a serious challenge to Hoodoo's authority in East Las Vegas and something had to be done about him. Of course, Hoodoo had no desire to see firsthand just how fast Jake could draw. “I'm still looking into it. Poor Mike's not able to talk coherently yet."

“Well, I'm getting ready to leave this town, and I want everything settled between me and the law."

“You can't leave until my investigation is finished,” Hoodoo said loudly. “You shot a law officer."

“After he shot my wife,” Jake replied in a hard voice.

Hoodoo wished to hell that he knew what had actually happened in that hotel lobby. Sam and Wiley had been so occupied by the cook and busboy attacking them in the dining room that they hadn't seen anything. “How do I know he shot her? Maybe you did it, and he was trying to stop you."

Apparently Dutch moved because Jake shifted his gaze and yelled, “Hold it!” as his hand inched toward his pistol. Dutch held his hands away from the sides of his body. “I was just going to sit down.” Obviously he was no more interested in drawing against Wallace than Hoodoo was.

“Fine,” Jake said, “but make it one of those chairs over by the wall."

Dutch nodded and sat in a position that made it easy for Jake to see both men at once.

“Now look here, Wallace.” Hoodoo blustered, irritated at Jake's gall. “You can't come into the office of an elected official and make threatening moves. I can arrest you just for that."

Jake turned back to Hoodoo, his expression clearly that of a man on a mission. “No, you look, Brown. Lobos wasn't the first one of your friends I've had to shoot in self-defense. Then, while I was out of town for a few days, you tried to move in on my wife. When I came back, two of your Dodge City cronies started a disturbance in my place while another one loitered just outside my front door. I'd have to be damn stupid not to think somebody was out to get me, and the hat seems to fit you."

Hoodoo drew his shoulders up indignantly. “That's all guessing on your part, Wallace. You can't prove a thing."

“No, I can't. But if have to stay around town, I'll be telling my side of the story to everyone who'll listen. You've got a good thing going for you here. Do you really want to stir up more suspicion?"

Hoodoo raised his eyebrows, trying to look innocent. “More? Whatta you mean by that?"

“People are starting to wonder about all the robberies happening just outside of town."

“I arrested men for that Santa Fe stage robbery,” Hoodoo said self-righteously.

“Yeah, but were they the right men?"

“Wait until they come to trial, you'll see."

“I really don't give a damn about those men, Brown. All I care about is getting my wife safely out of this town. She's already been caught in cross fire and seriously injured."

Seeing a chance to go on the offensive, Hoodoo pulled one corner of his mouth up in a sneer. “Funny that both of you lost your memories. You sure that ain't just a story you're telling to keep Sally from saying what really happened when you shot Mike?"

Hoodoo thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty in Jake's eyes, but he blinked it away and returned to his angry glare. “You talked to the doctor, didn't you?"

“Maybe you and Sally fooled him?"

Jake balled his fists, except for his index finger, which he pointed in agitation. “I'm tired of trying to reason with you, Brown, so I'm just gonna tell you how things will be. The hotel is up for sale. Silas Albritton, the lawyer over in old town, will handle it. I've given some of our former employees permission to live in the building until they get resettled. You cause me or mine trouble, and I won't waste any more bullets on your pals. I'll come straight to you."

Hoodoo took a deep breath, expanding his lean chest as much as possible. “Is that a threat?"

“No, a promise,” Jake said in a matter-of-fact voice. Then he turned and marched out of the office.

Hoodoo looked over at Dutch. “Well, what do you think of that son-of-a-bitch talking to me like that?"

“You want me to go after him?"

Hoodoo seriously wanted to say yes. He hated like hell to give up his plans for the Palace Hotel and Sally Sweets, but he wasn't a fool. There was a lot of truth in what Wallace had said. Putting the man on trial or attacking him again would only stir up more suspicion against Hoodoo and his boys. What the hell! There were always other cattle to rustle.

He dredged up a weak smile. “Actually, I think him getting out of town would be the best thing for all of us."

Dutch visibly relaxed and nodded. Obviously, he hadn't been eager to go after Jake. But who could blame him? The man had more luck than a gambler playing with a marked deck.

* * * *

As Jake neared the hotel, his long, angry strides shortened. He hadn't meant to lose his temper with Hoodoo, but threats were probably the best way to impress Brown and his kind. Jake just hoped he could get Sally—Sara out of town before there was any more trouble.

Of course, he wasn't sure if taking her back to Texas was the best thing to do. Suppose she suddenly remembered her past as he had. Would she miss the fancy life and leave him? While he wanted to go back to ranching more than anything else in the world, he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

Hoodoo's accusations about Sara faking her illness had stirred up Jake's own nagging doubts. Until he'd lost his memory, Jake never heard of such a thing. Two people in the same family doing it within a couple of months of each other did seem unlikely. But what reason did she have to lie about it?

She was the one who stood to lose, while he was getting just what he wanted. Should he tell her about her past and then let her decide what she wanted to do? What could he say? You became a whore after being kidnapped and brutalized by a mad man. If she'd truly forgotten that, what a blessing.

He paused with his hand on the knob of the hotel's back door. What should I do? He honestly believed getting away from her present life was the best thing for Sara. If he truly loved her, shouldn't he do everything he could—even lie—to make that happen?

* * * *

At dinner that night, Sally looked up in surprise when Jake asked if anyone wanted to leave town with her and him tomorrow. Even though she'd spent most of the afternoon packing what she thought a rancher's wife might need, she hadn't expected them to leave so soon.

Betsy reached over, clasped Jim's hand, and smiled up at him. “We're heading in the opposite direction."

“I done told you what I'm gonna do,” Lizzie said, “and Lucy and Russ gonna throw in with me."

“What are you going to do?” Sally asked.

“Get a little cafe of my own. Mr. Jake's done found me a little building on the other side of the river. Not so much rowdiness over there."

Sally was about to ask Lizzie where she'd gotten the money to go into business for herself, but recalled never seeing the woman spend her own money on anything. Undoubtedly she'd been saving her pennies for years. Then it dawned on Sally that this was probably the last one of Lizzie's dinners she'd ever eat, and she became so choked up she couldn't speak.

Jake looked at Josie. “What about you?"

Josie glanced around the table nervously. “I ... I could ride as far as Dodge with you."

“Why are you going back to Dodge?” Lucy asked.

“Oh, thought I'd go to work for Francine."

Betsy fixed her with a hard-eyed stare. “You're going back to Pete, aren't you?"

Josie lifted her chin defiantly. “What if I am? All of you have somebody to love."

“What about Chet?” Betsy asked.

Josie shrugged and softly said, “He's got a wife back East. Besides, he was just a substitute for Pete."

Betsy looked like she was going to argue with Josie, but Jake cut her off. “You're free to do whatever you want, Josie. We just hope you won't get hurt again."

She smiled slyly. “Maybe I'll be smarter this time."

Sally felt teary-eyed. These people were like family to her, and she was about to leave them—perhaps never see any of them again. But she couldn't get upset about it because she wasn't supposed to remember any of them.

She blinked the tears away and cleared her throat. “I have some dresses—satin—fancy—don't know what I ever needed dresses like that for. Anyway, I certainly won't need them on a ranch, so I left them in the armoire. If any of you can use them, help yourselves."

“Did you leave the pink one?” Lucy asked.

Lucy would ask about that one. It was Sally's favorite dress. “Well, I did pack that one. Even a rancher's wife might need to dress up sometime."

She glanced over at Jake. His frown made her wonder if he suspected her ruse.

Lizzie served big slabs of chocolate cake and refilled the coffee cups. Everyone ate and drank slowly as though they wanted to linger over the meal.

“This cake is delicious. You should be very successful in your cafe,” Sally said to Lizzie.

Lizzie just smiled and nodded.

“I'll miss you,” Lucy blurted as she looked at Sally with watery eyes.

“You ... you take care of yourself,” was the only reply Sally could think of.

Russ, with bruises still showing on his face, straightened and slipped his arm around Lucy's shoulders. “I'll take care of her,” he said proudly.

“We better call it a night.” Jake said. “Have to get up early in the morning."

Sally nodded and looked around the table one more time. Then she quickly rose and walked away.

Jake grabbed a lamp to light their way through the lobby and hurried to catch up with Sally. She seemed upset. He wondered what about. If she didn't remember these people, she wouldn't mind leaving them. Maybe she didn't want to be with him. She'd been mighty standoffish since her injury.

Of course, if she hadn't lost her memory, she'd be upset about giving away her satin dresses and going off to live on a ranch. How could he ever know when she was lying and when she wasn't?

Was he any better? He'd taken advantage of her memory loss the same way she had his. He couldn't look her in the eye and ask flat-out for the truth because he feared what her answer would be. This was no way for two people to build a life together.

In their suite, Jake added more coals to the stove and Sara began to putter among the bags she'd packed earlier. “Winter's almost here,” he said.

“I know. I couldn't find a heavy coat for you. You're going to need one."

“I can pick up something in Wichita."

“Did you send my sister a telegram about our coming for a visit?"

“Yes.” Jake couldn't stand this uncertainty any longer. “Sara, come sit with me for a minute. We've gotta talk."

She continued to examine the contents of a carpetbag. “I can hear you while I'm working."

“No. This is important.” Standing in front of the little Victorian sofa, he gestured toward it and waited for her to join him.

Looking reluctant, she came and sat. “What do you want to talk about?"

He sat beside her and reached for her hand. “I haven't been exactly truthful with you. I've let you think that you agreed to go to Texas with me before you got hurt. Fact is, I hadn't asked you then. I was afraid you wouldn't want to leave a life where you wore fancy satin dresses to go live on an isolated ranch."

She turned her face toward him, but her gaze wouldn't meet his. “Why are you telling me now?"

“Not so long ago, I told you to always tell me the truth, but I can't expect that of you if I don't do the same thing."

Sara sighed loudly and her shoulders slumped. “All right,” she said in a voice that was more petulant than contrite. “I didn't lose my memory. I'm still Sally Sweets. Does that make you happy?"

He stared at her in stunned silence. She'd done it again—told him another monstrous lie. Why?

A worried frown crinkled her brow as she looked up at him. “I heard you and Lizzie talking. Neither one of you thought Sally Sweets could be a rancher's wife. I want to be with you, Jake—no matter where."

She touched his cheek beseechingly. “I'm sorry I lied. I just can't seem to help myself. Maybe I was born bad."

Jake smiled. She'd lied to give them a chance—because she loved him. Hell, he'd done the same thing. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her into silence. He rubbed her back and shoulders, reveling in the feel of her body and the knowledge that she belonged to him.

“A lie's not all bad,” he whispered in her ear, “when it's told for love's sake."

Epilogue

Sara Jane sat in a chair by the window so she could see the patches of deep blue in the meadowland punctuated by spots of bright red. This was her second spring on the Texas prairie and she was enjoying the display put on by the bluebonnets and the Indian paintbrushes even more this year. Opening her bodice, she bared one breast and positioned the baby's head so Jennie could clamp onto the nipple.

As Jennie's fat little cheeks worked furiously, Sara Jane absentmindedly toyed with the red ringlets that covered the baby's head. Somehow, mixing Sara Jane's blonde hair and Jake's black had produced a redheaded baby. Luckily, Jake said the baby looked a lot like his sister had, so Sara didn't have to fear that he doubted the baby was his. Not that he had one damn reason to doubt, but men could be so unreasonable about such things. But that was most men, not her Jake.

The only thing he was unreasonable about was making a success of this ranch. She guessed he felt pressed to make up for all the years he'd wasted, and she knew his efforts would only benefit her and the baby, but she wished he wouldn't work such long hours.

Of course, she intended to add to his workload by insisting that he get started on their new house. She'd agreed to live in this two-room cabin when they first came here, so he could focus all his energy and their resources on the ranch, but the ranch was doing well now. The outbuildings were completed. The herd was growing. He'd even sent a few steers to market this year. The time had come to give her the permanent home he'd promised. Jennie would soon need her own bedroom, and Sally had a crystal chandelier packed away in the barn that she was determined to see hanging in her own dining room.

Not that they would ever have a lot of company to dine with them out here in the middle of nowhere, but that didn't matter. People should still keep up their standards. And their circle of friends had grown.

On her first trips into the nearest town, the squinty-eyed stares she'd gotten from some of the women had told her that gossip about her past had followed her. But since she'd had the baby, the hostility seemed to be lessening. Some of the ladies at church had spoken quite cordially to her after the baby's christening. Maybe the hard-working frontier women had begun to realize that she was living the same kind of life they were, or maybe the Brewster's acceptance of her had quieted bitter tongues.

She found it rather odd that the parents of Jake's first wife had turned out to be her most stalwart supporters. At first, she guessed, they welcomed her because they were so relieved to see Jake settle down to the life he'd been meant to lead. After she and Jake had named the baby Jennifer—after their daughter—the Brewster's affection for Sara Jane had become quite real, and they made over Jennie like she was their own grandchild.

The baby's frantic sucking had dwindled to casual twitches of her lips. Her little tummy must be full. Sara Jane marveled over how having this baby had changed her. The way Jake had taken care of her during her grotesque pregnancy had given Sally an entirely new perspective on the importance of men in general, and her wonderful husband in particular.

Jennie's actual birth had been a hellish nightmare until the midwife had shown her the wrinkled, red baby. The love that had flooded through her at the sight of the wonderful little human she and Jake had created had swept away everything but feelings of wonder. The baby was a miracle, a miracle Sara Jane had brought about.

Even now, watching her breasts furnish nourishment to the baby gave Sara Jane the greatest feeling of accomplishment she'd ever known.

Jennie's eyelids begin to sink, and Sara knew she better get the baby burped before she went to sleep. Spreading a cloth over her shoulder, she lifted the baby up to it and patted her back until a bubble of air rumbled from her mouth. Then Jennie's head dropped against Sara Jane's shoulder and her eyes closed.

Glancing out the window, Sara Jane saw her husband and a couple of ranch hands riding toward the corral. She gave the baby a little bounce and said, “Daddy's home."

Jennie wasn't impressed.

Jake would be disappointed that the baby wasn't awake when he came in, but he'd have a lot of time in the future to lavish attention on his daughter. Maybe now would be a good time for him to pay a little attention to his wife. She glanced down at her exposed breast and considered leaving it that way until Jake reached the house. Of course, she might start leaking milk, and that wouldn't be very seductive.

She shifted the baby down to her lap and fastened her bodice. One of the good things about marriage was that she didn't have to perform silly stunts to attract her man. Lowering her eyelids and giving him a kiss was all it took, unless he was too tired—or she was. That was one of the not so good things about marriage.

But weighing the good against the bad left her with no regrets. Marrying a dead man had turned out to be the smartest thing she'd ever done.

Author's Note

When I first started writing historicals, I decided I would only use real people in my novels as background characters to avoid tampering with historical facts. While doing research for this book, however, I read Wildest of The Wild West by Howard Bryan and discovered Justice of the Peace, Hoodoo Brown. He was such a delightful rouge and fit into my plot so perfectly that I couldn't resist making him an important secondary character.

His real name was Hyman G. Neill, but he frequently used the alias Hoodoo Brown. He got himself elected Justice of the Peace of Precinct 29 in New Mexico even before East Las Vegas was incorporated. Taking it upon himself to form a police force, he hired a number of gunfighters from Kansas and paid their salaries with money he collected from local merchants who needed protection.

The law-abiding citizens of the area did, in fact, become fed up with the lawlessness of Brown's regime, and he left town before a warrant for his arrest could be served. Reputedly, while the law searched for him, Hoodoo followed after the train carrying the widow of one of his policemen who had been killed in the line of duty. Not wanting to leave her husband's body behind, the woman had exhumed it and returned it to their hometown. After reburying the husband, the widow and Brown disappeared from the pages of history.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Born in Kansas, Sarah Winn has briefly lived in both Hawaii and California, but is now firmly settled in her adopted native state of North Carolina. After a thirty-year career in scientific research, she became a full-time writer, leaving facts behind in the pursuit of fiction. Since she's chosen to write mostly historical romance, her research training is still helpful.

Taking advantage of an opportunity to visit a friend who had recently moved to a ranch in New Mexico, Sarah discovered The Land of Enchantment and has written two historicals set in that state. The friend's ranch was near Las Vegas, New Mexico, a town with a wild history that still retains some of its old West ambience. Sarah fell in love with the place and its history and used it as the setting for THE MADAM TAKES A MATE.

Learn more about Sarah's work at www.writerpages.com/sarahwinn/index.htm