Much Ado About Madams (13 page)

Startled, he stood, knocking the wet saddle into the straw. “Damnation, woman!”

Determined, she held her most dignified stance. “That is no way to speak to a lady, Mr. McAdams.”

He plopped the saddle back onto the sawhorse and brushed off the straw. “You’re right—there
is
no way to speak to a lady, so go back into the house.” He started soaping again, pointedly ignoring her.

She refused to be dismissed until he agreed to provide the books and supplies she needed. “We have an issue to discuss.”

“
No, we don’t.”

“
Yes, we do.”

“
Make it short.”

“
Very well, you need to purchase school supplies since we have none.”

He didn’t even look up at her when she made her request. She prepared to chide him about his responsibilities. He
had
hired her to teach the women, and she would insist that he allow her to do so.

Just as she started to tell him so, he answered, “Tell the stagedriver what you want when he stops this afternoon, and he’ll bring it next time through.”

Surprised, she had to take a moment to compose her response. “I’ll prepare a list for your perusal right away.”

“
Don’t bother. Just give it to the driver.” He picked up the saddle and carried it into a stall.

“
How will you know how much money to give him if you don’t know what you’re purchasing?”

“
Just give the list to the driver. I’ll take care of the rest.” He sounded more impatient than before. She waited for him to come out of the stall, but he didn’t.

“
All right, if that’s the way you want it.”

“
That’s the way I want it.”

Lucinda stood a moment, deciding whether to question his motives. Probably not. He had agreed to purchase supplies and she didn’t want anything else from him. She certainly didn’t want him to voice his appreciation of her ensemble.

“
You’d better scat before that dress of yours gets dirtied up,” he said without even looking up.

He sounded quite curt, too. All he was concerned about was Sadie’s laundry duties, not the ladies’ education. Well, she’d show him! The Comfort Palace would have the most finely stocked schoolroom west of the Mississippi.

She nodded and forced a finishing-school smile. “Thank you for your generosity. You won’t regret it.” Ah, but he would. She drew up she skirts and exited the barn with utmost dignity—or as much as she could muster in her piqued frame of mind.

She’d see just how dedicated he was about the education of his stable of women.

* * * * *

Two days later, Lucinda handed each lady her slate as they filed into the office. Still feeling a bit guilty about agreeing to take money from both the ladies and Reese for doing the same job, she had lengthened the class time from an hour to two hours. Fannie had met with Reese to request that the brothel open at five instead of four.

He had approved the change of business hours, probably knowing why. She’d be interested to know what Fannie had told him. The loss of revenue would be minimal, since most customers arrived after five anyway. Still, it seemed odd that he didn’t appear the slightest bit concerned about the possible decrease in profits.

No one seemed to question him when he’d brought in a blackboard to hang on the wall, either. It was for announcements and reminders, he’d explained. Mr. McAdams simply didn’t act like a brothel owner.

Trinket seemed impatient during the arithmetic session, but when they started the spelling class, her hand shot up. “How do you spell ‘sheriff’?”

Lucinda wrote the word on the blackboard and sounded it out aloud for the class while she printed the letters. She turned toward the class and asked, “Can you think of some rhyming words?”

Trinket raised her hand again. “Whiff and sniff.”

Impressed, Lucinda said, “Very good!”

“
Not good at all,” Fannie contradicted, glaring at Trinket. “You better not be whiffing and sniffing around Sheriff Tucker if you know what’s good for you.”

Trinket jumped up and planted her hands on her hips. “I am not!”

“
Please be seated, Trinket,” Lucinda reproved.

“
It’s
Trina
,” she muttered as she sat.

“
Pardon me, Trina.” Lucinda vowed to remember to call Trinket, “Trina,” and Petunia, “Patricia,” during class. She made a mental note to call the two ladies by their preferred names during the rest of the non-business hours, and she hoped the other ladies would comply as well. The transformation from soiled dove to respectable professional women would be tough, but it could be done. They might as well start with names.

“
Today, we’ll learn about the sound and spelling of the letter
R
.” She wrote ‘Her first nurse works early.’

The rest of the class went well. They seemed especially interested in the history lesson, when Lucinda had told them that a woman, Queen Elizabeth I, had been one of the strongest and most important monarchs English ever had.

“
Yea, but she was a virgin. We ain’t,” retorted Chrissy. “No one wants us.”

“
That ain’t right,” contradicted Fannie. “I saw Midas sparking you last night. You turned him down flat, like you have been for nearly a year.”

Chrissy blushed, a sight Lucinda had never seen. Maybe these women thought differently of their customers and men in general than the opinions they voiced. “Why did you turn him down?”

“
He don’t really want me. You all know that. All he wants is a free poke, and I ain’t giving it to him.”

Lucinda heard the underlying pain in Chrissy’s cavalier statement and made a mental note to talk to Midas. These women had little enough self-respect without the brothel workers making it worse.

“
Your homework for tomorrow is to read the story of the Spanish Armada. If you have trouble with the words, come to my room and I’ll help. I know this book is a bit difficult for new readers.”

Chairs scraped on the plank floor and the ladies all started chattering at once as they exited the room. All except Chrissy.

Chrissy stood beside her chair and fluffed her hair—the fidgeting kind of fluffing.

“
I could like him if’n I wasn’t a whore, you know.”

Lucinda had no reply. Being the daughter of a soiled dove lynched for murder, she knew just how Chrissy felt, but she could never tell.

Chapter 7

Lucinda quickly neatened the room so she could confront Midas. Chrissy had to be protected from his baser intentions. She collected the slates and put them in her schoolbag. After cleaning the blackboard, she moved the chairs out of the middle of the room. There was no way around it—she’d have to confront Midas and find out his true intentions. These ladies were too vulnerable to be trifled with. If Midas’s intentions weren’t honorable, she’d go directly to Reese about the matter.

Not that he was any more honorable. In fact, he could make her forget about honor altogether.

Not true, she argued with herself. She’d done her best in the most trying of circumstances, and she’d resisted the urge to bury her face in his broad chest while he wrapped his arms around her. She shivered.

She grabbed her schoolbag and started for the stairs, when she ran headlong into a man wearing a red vest. Her throat tightened and her heart raced, while memories she’d worked so hard to forget carried her back to the brothel in St. Jo. A scream lodged in her throat.

“
Whoa, there, little girl,” he smirked as he held her arms.

She struggled to get him to release her, but he held firm. He reminded her of someone . . .

“
If it ain’t Pansy!” He shot her a thin-lipped smile but it faded quickly. “Christ, it can’t be . . . You’re Pansy’s daughter, Lucinda, aren’t you?”

He was the one! The one who’d hurt her mama and made her cry so long ago. He gripped tighter. Lucinda’s heart pumped even harder. She could hear him slapping her mother’s face and see the red handmarks on her cheeks. His cigar smoke nauseated her. All she wanted to do was get away from this viper. Once she came to her senses, she grabbed his arms and removed them from her person. “Unhand me, sir!”

She ran for the stairs, his wicked laugh following her. The sound made her legs weak, but she climbed the stairs as fast as she could manage.

“
You can run, but I know you’re Pansy’s daughter. I see you’re following in your mother’s footsteps.” His laugh faded as she ran down the hall.

She ran into her room, slammed the door, and leaned against it, fighting unwanted tears that trailed down her face.

Hannibal Hank!

Lucinda needed air. Her mind raced while her muscles tensed in shock. Hannibal Hank had been half-owner of the last brothel where her mother had worked when the lynch mob came to her room, dragged her out by the hair, and hanged her while her ten-year-old daughter watched.

They said her mother had murdered Fast Hands Stuart, Hannibal Hank’s partner and lifelong friend. Lucinda didn’t know whether her mother had been guilty or not, but Hannibal Hank had been there that night and had beaten her. Lucinda had hidden in the whiskey storeroom during the screaming and shouting. All she knew for sure was that the lynch mob had killed the only person she loved, and then the town preacher had fetched her.

Her throat constricted at the devastating memories of times best forgotten. The preacher had taken her to Rev. and Mrs. Hurndall’s house. Mrs. Hurndall had been kindly, but the reverend had hated everything about her, calling her “spawn of the devil.” Saying he couldn’t stand the sight of her, he had sent her Miss Hattie’s School for the Refinement of Young Ladies.

She clasped her hands in front of her and straightened her back. That frightened little girl seemed like a different person in some other world, dead and buried with her mother. The new Lucinda was educated, confident, and most of all, respectable. And she would mold the Comfort Palace ladies into respectability, too, no matter what Rev. Hurndall claimed or Hannibal Hank did.

* * * * *

Gus poked his head through the doorway of Reese’s office. “I got the last of your belongings moved in. The door’s cut in—looks just like the outside so no one will mistake it for the entrance. You don’t have a latch yet, though, so I nailed it shut.”

Reese appreciated the timely completion of the addition of his bedroom, and he could do without the latch for now. Sleeping in the barn was bad enough, but he sure as hell didn’t want to sleep in the barn with Hannibal Hank. “Thanks.” He motioned for Gus to come in. “Sit for a spell.”

As Gus sat down, Reese counted out the money he owed for the carpentry work, then handed it over.

“
Obliged,” Gus said as he took the payment and stuffed it in his vest pocket. “I bought a few acres about a mile down the road. This’ll come in handy.”

“
Are you planning on putting up a house and populating it with a certain pretty lady we know?”

“
I’m planning on it, but she ain’t. So I’ll wait.” Gus raised one eyebrow. “How are you gonna get rid of that vermin sleeping in the barn?”

Reese leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “That asshole’s a blight, all right.”

“
So Fannie says. By her account, he’s beat up plenty of women.”

“
So I hear.” Reese damned well didn’t need any reminders about Hank’s unsavory character—and that his own father had been just as bad, or worse. “That’s why I told the twins to be on security duty twenty-four hours a day.” He stood and walked to the window. Sadie was washing sheets while Holly hung them on the line. Everything seemed normal and deceptively peaceful.

“
I heard tell they worked secret missions and such.”

“
Yep, more than soldiers. Warriors—the best I’ve ever seen. We’d have had a lot more casualties at White Bird if it weren’t for those two.” Reese turned to face Gus. “I put Midas on duty from noon to three in the morning, and Titus will take over at four in the afternoon and guard until seven in the morning. I can cover the rest of the time in the morning—Hank’ll probably be passed out anyway. But I can’t take any more time than that away from my ranch work. I’ve got cattle coming in from Denver any day now.”

Gus grunted his agreement. “So what you’re getting at is you want someone to fetch and carry for the ladies, since the twins won’t be doing it.”

“
Yes, if you don’t mind. I know that you’ve got your own work, but I’d sure appreciate it if you’d help the ladies out. I’ll pay the same as for your carpentry.”

“
Double the money wouldn’t make up for Fannie’s bossing.” He chuckled. “I’ll help keep an eye out, too.” Gus slapped his leg and stood. “When do I start—now?”

“
The sooner, the better.”

Gus was already headed out the door, bellowing, “Fannie! I’m yours, woman, waiting for orders.”

Reese watched as Fannie dragged Gus over to the bar. She didn’t pause for a second before she started issuing instructions. If she had been in the Confederate Army, they’d all be flying the stars and bars.

Titus strode into the office with conviction of purpose, shut the door and stood in front of the desk looking mad, exasperated, and determined.