Stay With Me (19 page)

Now the tears ran down Suzanne’s battered
face. Sarah felt her own tears threaten. When Fred reached forward,
gathered Suzanne’s body in his arms, and rocked her, back and
forth, back and forth, Sarah swallowed hard. She sat her lamp down
on the bedside table, walked around the end of the bed, and grabbed
her blankets off the floor. “I’ll just be outside,” she said. “Take
your time.”

Neither Fred nor Suzanne answered. Sarah
opened the door and walked out into the dark hallway. She reached
out for the wall and felt her way over to the stairs. She wrapped
the blanket around her, sat down on the third step from the top,
and twisted her body around so that she could rest her folded arms
on the top step.

All in all, it was the most comfortable
position she’d slept in for two nights. She didn’t wake up until
Fred lowered his body next to hers. The wood floor groaned under
his weight.

“Thank you, Sarah,” he said.

“No problem.” When she stretched her body,
she discovered new aches and pains. “I thought you might appreciate
some privacy.”

He nodded. “I don’t mean just for that. I
want to thank you for being here. For helping her.”

“You love her, don’t you?”

He nodded. “I think I do. I just don’t know
what to do about it. If it were just me, it would be easy. But I
got the children and Franny’s pa to think about.”

She smiled at him. “I’m sure the children
would adjust and Pastor Dan seems like a pretty tolerant man.”

Fred looked miserable. “People in this town
know what she is. They won’t let her forget. I can take it and she
can probably take it. But I don’t want people whispering behind my
children’s backs. I don’t want them shunned. I don’t want Pastor
Dan run out of town, separated from his grandchildren, by a hoard
of angry church members.”

Sarah slipped her arms under his and wrapped
them around his broad back. She hugged the big man. “It’s always so
darn complicated,” she said.

They heard the click of the front door. Sarah
and Fred looked up just as Morton Turnip walked in the door,
lantern in hand. He saw them on the steps and frowned at them. He
took another eight steps toward them.

“What’s going on here?” he asked. “What are
you doing, Fred Goodie?”

Sarah felt Fred’s big body tense. Not knowing
what else to do, she lifted her face up and brushed her lips across
his. “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.”

When she saw the pure relief in his eyes, she
knew she’d done the right thing. She stood up, wrapping the blanket
around her with a flourish. “I think I’ll get some sleep now.”

“Well, well,” she heard Turnip say as she
reached her door. “Fred Goodie, you surprise me. I’d have thought
you had more sense than to get mixed up with that little
bitch.”

It was the second time in less than eight
hours that she’d been called a bitch.

“Shut your mouth, Turnip,” Fred said. “Or
I’ll shut it for you.”

Turnip laughed.

Sarah knew it would be all over town by
breakfast time. No doubt Turnip would embellish. It didn’t matter.
In less than a week, she’d leave. Fred would endure the whispers
and the sly looks. They’d chuckle about how poor Fred got suckered
in by the evil Sarah Beckett.

Still, it was better than the alternative.
Better to be fooled by a bitch than in love with the town
whore.

When Suzanne got up on Tuesday morning and
washed her face and brushed her hair, Sarah thought they might have
turned the corner. “How are you?” she asked.

“Better,” Suzanne said. She sank down on the
bed, pulling at the neckline of her cotton nightgown. “I can’t
believe Fred came to see me.”

“He likes you.”

“He’s a wonderful man. He loves his children
so much.”

“You’re gushing. That’s sweet.”

“I’m not gushing. It’s hard on him being
alone.”

“I imagine it is. Kids that age can be a
handful. He’s big enough though that when they act up, he probably
just picks them up, throws them in a sack, and shakes them up.”

“Oh no,” Suzanne protested. “He’s never
mean.”

“I know,” Sarah tried to clarify. “I
meant—”

“You’d think he would be,” Suzanne
interrupted. “Most big men are. They can hurt you really bad. You
know, in bed.”

“Oh.” Ouch. Sarah squeezed her legs together.
“That makes sense.”

“Sometimes,” Suzanne said, “when a man takes
off his trousers and you see him, you know it’s going to hurt. You
just have to shut your eyes and do whatever you can to make sure it
gets over as fast as possible. When I saw Fred, I almost ran out of
the room. But he’d paid his two dollars so I lied back on the bed
and spread my legs.”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Sarah
said.

“I have to tell someone. I can’t tell anybody
else.”

Great.
“I’m listening.”

“I closed my eyes and kept waiting for him to
rip me apart. But he just sat next to me on the bed and he asked me
what he should do. No man’s ever asked me what he should do
before.”

Sarah nodded.

“I didn’t know what to say. I was so
surprised that I told him he should kiss me. I never kiss my
customers. That’s the one thing I won’t do.”

Kind of like Julia Roberts in
Pretty
Woman
. “Did he kiss you?”

“Yes. For a very long time. Then he
left.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes at Suzanne. “Before
he…?”

“Yes. He buttoned his trousers back up and
left.”

“What did you do?”

“I told him to take his two dollars
back.”

“Did he?”

“He just shook his head. I didn’t think I’d
ever see him again. But two nights later, he showed up with two
more dollars. I wasn’t a bit scared this time.”

“Did he…?” Sarah raised an eyebrow.

Suzanne nodded, a wide grin spreading across
her face. “Did he ever. Twice.”

“Okay. Too much information.” She reached
over and patted her friend’s hand. It was good to see Suzanne smile
again. “You two are a good match.”

Suzanne’s smiled faded. “We don’t match at
all. He’s a good man and a devoted father. I’m a two-dollar saloon
girl.”

Sarah didn’t think she had the time or the
energy to dance around the issue. “You are,” she said. “You’ve
probably slept with most of the men in this town.”

“Yes,” Suzanne whispered.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I don’t have to enjoy it. I…I’m good at it.
It’s probably hard for you to understand.”

She didn’t understand. Nor did she judge.
“Try me,” she said.

Suzanne slid her legs over the side of the
bed. She got up and paced around the small room. “I grew up in Lone
Tree, Iowa. We were poor, really poor. My ma got sick after she had
my little sister. My pa worked hard but we had to raise ourselves.
I sold myself to my first man when I was thirteen.”

Sarah wrapped her arm around Suzanne’s
shoulder, stilling her. “That must have been horrible.”

Suzanne shook her off and resumed her pacing.
“Not as bad as being hungry. I did it again the next week and then
the week after that. I’m only twenty-four years old and I can’t
even remember how many men have paid for me. All I know is that I
haven’t been hungry since then. I make enough to support myself and
to send a few dollars back to my sister. She still lives in Lone
Tree. She’s got three babies now and she needs all the help she can
get.”

“How long do you think you can do this? How
long before your body wears out?”

Suzanne shrugged. “I don’t think about the
future.”

“Maybe you should,” Sarah said.

“I don’t think so. If I think too hard about
it, it just makes me sad.”

Sarah didn’t doubt that. Just hearing about
it depressed the hell out of her. “I want breakfast. Let’s go.”

Suzanne shook her head. “Not yet. Just one
more day. That’s all I need.”

Maybe they hadn’t quite rounded the corner
yet. “I won’t take no for an answer tomorrow,” Sarah said.

“I’ll be ready by tomorrow. I promise.”

Tomorrow was Wednesday. Stage Day. Was it
possible that she could still make it? Could she be on her way back
to her life by noon tomorrow?

She might have seen John for the last time.
She might not have a chance to say goodbye. After all, he thought
she was staying for another week. He didn’t have any reason to come
to town tonight.

She tried to ignore the pain in her heart, to
pass it off as hunger. Sadly, she realized, that’s exactly what it
was. She hungered for John Beckett. For his lips, his arms, his
strength, his soul. She would leave a starved woman and in days
they’d be centuries apart.

She hoped. Right?

After all, there was no guarantee that she’d
make it back to her own time. She might get to California, walk
along her beach, and nothing. The only thing that would be
different is that she’d be in 1888 California rather than 1888
Wyoming Territory.

Would she come back? Would she take the train
the opposite direction and once again knock on John Beckett’s door.
Would she tell him the truth this time? Would it matter?

She couldn’t even contemplate the other
alternatives. What if she got to her beach, stepped in some
footprints, and was whisked further back in time. Knowing her luck,
she’d land on some ship sailing to the New World and everybody
would have scurvy. The possibilities, ones that once she would have
thought unfathomable, now loomed all too real.

There was something else too real to ignore.
She’d come all this way and she’d leave with just the memory of his
kisses. She yearned for more. She wanted to feel his warm, naked
body up against hers. She wanted to wrap her hands around him, to
hold him. She wanted to press herself against him and make love to
him all night.

What she wanted didn’t really matter.

“Sarah?”

She grabbed her shawl and wrapped it around
her shoulders. “Yes.”

“Where were you? You looked like you were
about a hundred miles away.”

Not really. Could have been a set of sweaty
sheets just down the hall. “I’m going to get breakfast,” Sarah
said.

She walked out of the hotel and lost her
appetite. Mrs. Beckett stood there, arms crossed over her chest.
“Why, Sarah. I hear you’ve been busy.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Beckett,” Sarah said,
trying to step around the woman.

Mrs. Beckett tapped her foot. “That’s it?
Just good morning?”

“How are you, ma’am?”

“I’m rested. Something I imagine you are not.
It’s hard to be when you’re entertaining men in your room at
night.”

Bless Turnip and his big mouth
. “I
have to be going.”

“On your way to the saloon? To your job? It’s
not enough to ruin poor Fred Goodie’s life? Perhaps there are a few
happily married men that you can destroy their marriages by noon?
Shouldn’t be difficult for a woman with your talents?”

Sarah desperately wanted to tell her the
truth. She didn’t want Mrs. Beckett thinking those terrible things
about her. But she wouldn’t do that to Fred or to Suzanne. They had
to stay in this town. She’d be leaving in days.

“You make me sick,” Mrs. Beckett said. “I
can’t believe I ever thought you could be a part of my family. I
can’t believe how hard I tried.”

Sarah bit her lip. “I guess it must be
gratifying to have been right all along,” she said.

As if she’d been slapped, John’s mother
jerked her whole body back. Sarah used the opportunity to slide
past her.

“Stay away from my son,” the woman called
after her.

Sarah didn’t bother to turn around, she kept
walking, her stride long, her pace measured. When she got to the
restaurant, she grabbed the handle and winced when she saw that her
hand shook. She walked through the doorway, keeping the palms of
both hands firmly planted against her skirt. Three tables had
customers. To a person, each one put down their fork and stared at
her.

A woman in a gray dress covered by a long
white apron with the name
Rosie
embroidered on it walked by
her so fast that she chilled the air. When she made a return sweep,
Sarah reached out an arm. “I’d like to place an order,” she
said.

“For you or for that friend of yours, the
whore?”

Sarah clamped down on the impulse to punch
the woman. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. We don’t like people who poke
their noses where they don’t belong. She deserved whatever she
got.”

Sarah couldn’t breathe. How could someone
think that? How could one woman think that about another woman?

The woman stuck her arm out and pushed
against Sarah’s shoulder, sending her a step backwards. “Nothing to
say? Too busy thinking about Fred Goodie?”

She’d had it. These people had pushed her
over the edge. She leaned forward, her face just inches from the
other woman’s. “You are a stupid cow. And you’re ugly, too.”

The woman turned as white as her apron. “Why,
you…”

“Bitch. I think the word you’re looking for
is
bitch
.” She turned, walked out the door, and kept walking
toward the church. She might as well face Pastor Dan now. He’d no
doubt heard the gossip about her and Fred. Somebody would have made
sure of that.

When she got to the church, she walked past
it, instead going to the small house next to it. She knocked on the
door. Within seconds, Pastor Dan opened it, a bible in his
hand.

“Good morning,” she said.

He smiled at her. “Come in, Sarah.”

She hadn’t expected that. “It might be better
if I stay here.”

He shook his head. “Nonsense. I’ve just made
a fresh pot of coffee and one of the ladies brought me rolls this
morning. We’ll enjoy them together.”

Was it possible that the lady had brought
only rolls or had she served up a full plate of gossip as well?
Sarah sat down on the worn couch and waited while Pastor Dan filled
two cups of coffee and put the fresh rolls on a plate. Her mouth
watered as he carried them toward her. Maybe everything would be
better once she had coffee.