TGTBTU friend and one of our favorite authors, Maureen McKade, had pity on our poor readers and has given us not just one but TWO, count ’em, two! excerpts of her new Forrester Brothers Trilogy book, A Reason to Sin. Read on for excerpt one of two…
Excerpt from A REASON TO SIN Maureen McKade…
Rebecca threw open the single window in room number three and although the late afternoon air was cool, it was infinitely better than the mustiness that permeated the enclosed area. She sniffed, already noticing a difference in the moving current. Even as a child she’d never been able to abide stale air and would crack her window open at night after her parents had kissed her goodnight.
Tears burned her eyes, as abrupt as the invasion of the bittersweet memory. How she’d fallen these past two years, from a canopied bed with frills and ruffles in an elegant home to a single mattress with coarse bedclothes above a saloon. Of course, that loss was inconsequential to losing her mother and father in one cruel instant. She drew out of the past, afraid to tarry long or she might lose what will she’d been forced to gain this past year.
She removed her bonnet and coat, and draped them on a wall hook. Crossing her arms, she inspected her new home and was pleasantly surprised to find it clean and cozy, better than many of the boarding houses and hotels she’d stayed in on her journey.
Someone knocked on the door and she cracked it open. The woman’s bright red dress caught her eye immediately and she reacted with a downturn of her lips. However, the realization that she was now one of them softened her mouth. And her condemnation.
She swung open the door and greeted her visitor in her best hostess voice. “Hello.”
The dark-haired woman’s gaze swept Rebecca’s figure, making her feel like a mare on the auction block. “So you’re the new girl.” She sallied into the room, forcing Rebecca to step back.
She closed the door and faced the painted woman, noticing the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the creases beside her mouth. However, she suspected the woman was only a few years older than her own twenty-two. “Miss Glory Bowen,” Rebecca said. “And you are?”
“Cassie. We don’t go by long fancy names around here,” she said, her scorn obvious. “I’m in charge of the girls here at the Garter.” She lifted her chin as if expecting Rebecca to challenge her sovereignty.
Both annoyed and uneasy in the woman’s company, Rebecca realized she couldn’t afford to get on her bad side and forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassie. I was hoping someone would stop by so I could ask some questions.”
Cassie shrugged as if she didn’t care one way or other what Rebecca hoped. “Andrew said you might need some help.” She snorted. “He didn’t say anything about you being a school-maid.”
Rebecca bristled at the description. “And he didn’t say anything about you at all.”
Cassie’s flinch turned to a scowl. “He’s a busy man.” She glanced around then went to the window and slammed it shut. Placing a foot on Rebecca’s bed, the woman raised the hem of her knee-length dress.
Rebecca tensed, suddenly aware she was ignorant in this world of saloons and easy pleasures. However, Cassie only withdrew a cheroot from her garter and placed it between her red lips. Shocked, Rebecca watched her lean over to light it with the lamp’s flame then exhale a long stream of smoke.
“Never seen a woman smoke, have you?” Cassie asked, leaning back against the window frame.
Cassie’s amused tone swept aside Rebecca’s distaste and she met her mocking eyes. “As a matter of fact, I have.” She didn’t add that it had been a newspaper picture of an infamous madam in St. Louis.
Cassie studied her a moment. “You said you had some questions.”
Regaining her composure, Rebecca nodded. “Mr. Kearny said there would be dresses to wear. Can you tell me where I can find them?”
“At the end of the hall there’s a room without a number. It’s got dresses and some other things you might be needing. You take what you want and return it to the room when you’re done.”
“So everyone wears the same dresses?” Although the idea appalled her, she was in no position to criticize.
“Every Sunday all the dresses are taken to the Chinese laundry and last week’s brought back.”
At least they were washed once a week.
“What time do we start, uh, working in the evenings?”
“‘Bout three on Saturdays and Sundays. Five the other days. If you want to make some extra money by selling yourself you can go down earlier. At night you work until there aren’t any more men to dance or they’re all too drunk to stand up.”
Rebecca reeled. “What of days off?”
Cassie held her cheroot between two fingers and laughed scornfully. “You need a day off, you ask me. I ask Andrew.” Her expression turned more thoughtful, less cynical. “Lucky for us, he’s not crazy or mean like a lot of ’em.”
A shiver slid down Rebecca’s spine. What had she gotten herself into?
“Look, I don’t know why you want to work here, but I do know you ain’t got a chance if you’re going to act all prissy like some snooty-nosed lady.” Cassie paused and added with more understanding than Rebecca expected. “This is your life now, Glory, and you’d best get used to it.”
Her matter-of-fact tone strengthened Rebecca’s flagging resolve. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just all so different.”
Cassie’s time-hardened expression lost some of its cynicism. “You’ll get used to it soon enough. Let’s go to the dress room and I’ll pick you out something to wear. When it’s time to go downstairs later, I’ll walk with you.”
Panic clawed at Rebecca’s chest. “Mr. Kearny said I’d start tomorrow night.”
Cassie shrugged. “That’s fine, but I though you might want to spend an evening watching to see how it’s done.”
In spite of Rebecca’s plan to stay in her room that night, the woman’s suggestion made sense. “That might be a good idea.”
Cassie’s smile was almost friendly. “Let’s find you a dress before the best ones are taken.”
Rebecca followed Cassie down the hall, aware of the contrast between them. Cassie with her shockingly short red dress and she with her proper drab-colored dress. Yet Rebecca was about to become Miss Glory, a woman with more similarities than differences to Cassie.
The older woman, still smoking her cheroot, opened the door at the end of the hall and allowed Rebecca to precede her in. A variety of colors hanging from hooks on the walls caught her eye and she stared in consternation at the dresses with far too little material around the bosom and hem.
Cassie critically studied Rebecca for a moment then retrieved a sky blue dress with yellow piping along the hem and neckline. She held it up against her. “This should fit and the color will look good with your hair and eyes. Try it on.”
“Now?” Rebecca squeaked.
“You afraid someone might see your fancy drawers?” She snorted. “There ain’t nobody here at the Scarlet Garter who ain’t seen a woman’s legs.” She winked. “And more.”
Her face flaming yet again, Rebecca removed her dress and petticoats. She pulled the blue dress on over her head and tugged it down as far as she could without pulling it off her breasts. The hem came to a couple inches below the knees, longer than Cassie’s, but it still revealed her ankles and most of her calves.
Cassie fussed with her neckline, drawing it this way and that until she was satisfied. Rebecca glanced down to see fleshy slopes leading to the shadowed crevasse between her breasts and nipples straining to pop out. She flattened her palms over her exposed chest. “I can’t wear this.”
Cassie merely took a last puff of her cheroot and ground the end out on the window sill. “You’ll wear it or you’re back on the street. Your choice, Glory.”
For the first time, Rebecca truly understood the ramifications of her decision to work at the Scarlet Garter. Hadn’t she told herself it didn’t matter what she had to do, that she would do it without question? There was someone more important than her reputation and even her life.
Squaring her shoulders, she nodded brusquely. “What time should we go down?”
“Quarter of five.”
Rebecca’s stomach growled, reminding her she’d eaten only a piece of bread for breakfast and nothing for dinner. “What about meals?”
“Tent next door serves dinner and supper. Tell them you work here and they’ll put your meals on Mr. Kearny’s bill, just like the rest of us.” Cassie opened a drawer of a scarred dresser and pulled out a red garter. She handed it to Rebecca. “If it breaks, don’t worry. Mr. Kearny always makes sure we got enough. You got black stockings and fancy shoes?”
Rebecca nodded.
“Make sure your shoes fit good or you ain’t going to be working long,” Cassie advised. “Go on back to your room for now. Any time you want supper, go ahead and eat. But be ready to go downstairs when I come get you.”
As Cassie brushed past her, Rebecca touched her arm, halting her. “Thank you.”
Cassie squeezed her cool hand then quickly released it and hurried out as if she were embarrassed by her action.
Her head swirling with too much information, Rebecca grabbed her discarded dress and petticoats and hastened down the hall to her room. It stank of cheroot smoke and she threw open the window. In a flurry of motion, she removed the blue dress and replaced it with her staid one, yet it did little to calm her nerves.
Digging into her carpetbag, she pulled out a tiny swatch of white material. She pressed the pristine christening gown to her cheek and sank to the floor by the window.
I’m coming back to get you, Daniel. I promise.
#
Too embarrassed to wear her working dress to the dining tent next door, Rebecca went to eat supper soon after Cassie had left. The other women in the tent were attired in clothing more suited for saloons and brothels than dining. Rebecca felt their curious gazes on her, but couldn’t meet their eyes. Although starving earlier, she could barely force down the venison and potatoes that were surprisingly tasty. When she was done, she scurried back to her room.
Keeping her mind blank, she dressed in her new “uniform” and brushed her hair then gathered it into a bun at the back of her neck. Looking in the small mirror at her face, Rebecca could almost convince herself that she remained respectable. However, one glance downward disposed of that notion. Once she descended the stairs, her fate was cast. No more afternoon soirees with the crème de la crème of society; no more waltzing in a ballroom beneath shimmering chandeliers; no more hat tips from gentlemen.
Her lower lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth. What did any of those gentilities mean if she broke her promise? Besides, she was already ruined in the eyes of her former acquaintances.
A rap on her door dispelled her bitter memories and she opened the door to Cassie, still dressed in her red gown.
“I thought I told you to be ready when I came,” Cassie said.
Rebecca lifted her outspread arms. “I’m ready.”
Cassie shook her head in disgust, spun Rebecca around and plucked the pins from her hair. The long, silky waves spilled across Rebecca’s shoulders and down her back. Before she could object, Rebecca found herself being tugged by her wrist down the hall. Cassie ushered her into a room much like Rebecca’s, but heavy with cheroot smoke and perfume. Underclothing was thrown across the dresser and bed.
Cassie pressed her down on the unmade bed. “Sit. You need color in your face.”
Horrified, but recognizing Cassie’s expertise, Rebecca nodded numbly. Keeping her spine stiff, she closed her eyes. Soft bristles brushed against her cheeks then rouge was painted on her lips.
“Done,” Cassie said.
Rebecca opened her eyes and Cassie led her to the dresser’s mirror. The woman who stared back at Rebecca had familiar golden-brown eyes but everything else bespoke a stranger–the loose flowing hair, pink cheeks and sinfully full red lips.
“What do you think?” Cassie asked.
I don’t know who I am.
“I’m, uh, different.”
Cassie shrugged. “You’re Miss Glory.”
Hearing the name she’d chosen to use, Rebecca nodded at her reflection. No longer was she the daughter of the St. Louis Bowens. “Yes, I am.”
She followed Cassie down the front stairs, the ones leading into the saloon. Unaccustomed to cool air eddying around her exposed calves, Rebecca shivered and the tips of her breasts hardened. She was afraid to look down, afraid to see the stark outline of her nipples beneath the blue material.
Kearny met them at the bottom of the steps and Rebecca kept her gaze on him, although she was aware of the leers directed her way.
Her employer’s gaze swept across her, pausing on her chest. “You’re a vision of beauty, Miss Glory,” he said gallantly.
Despite the heat that blossomed in her cheeks, she met his gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Kearny.” She lowered her voice. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”
Kearny shrugged. “If you do half as well as I think you will, I’ll be the one thanking you.”
Listening to Kearny’s cultured drawl, Rebecca could almost imagine she was in a drawing room in St. Louis. But the gruff laughter and smell of sawdust and stale alcohol dispelled the image.
“You want me to take her around, Mr. Kearny?” Cassie asked.
He shook his head. “I’ll do it.”
Kearny threaded her hand through the crook of his arm and Rebecca felt a wave of déjà vu of her former life. However, as he introduced her to some of the customers, the reality of her position mocked those memories. As the men made a show of touching the brim of their hats, their gazes latched onto her chest and she had the urge to wave her hands and shout, “I’m up here.” But other than their impolite ogling, she found them to be unlike the groping rabble she’d expected and some of the tension eased from her muscles.
However, she felt a prickle of unease as Kearny led her to a table in the far corner. She recognized the same man who’d been shuffling cards earlier that day when she’d come looking for a job. She watched his well-formed hands and agile fingers manipulate the cards with amazing dexterity. A fleeting memory of Benjamin doing the same flickered through her mind.
“Miss Glory Bowen, Mr. Slater Forrester,” Kearny said by way of introduction.
His motions unhurried, Forrester gathered the cards and lifted his head. Extraordinary blue eyes and hair the color of a raven’s wing made Rebecca’s breath catch in her throat. She’d met her share of handsome men, but not even Benjamin had made her feel as if her corset was too tight.
“Miss Glory,” he said with a lazy drawl.
“Slater is one of the house dealers. That means–”
“He works for the gambling establishment and the largest percentage of his winnings are the property of the establishment,” Rebecca finished.
“That’s correct,” Kearny said, obviously surprised by her knowledge.
She glanced down, wishing she’d kept silent.
“You’ve worked in a gambling establishment,” Forrester said, his expression giving away nothing of his thoughts.
“No,” she replied but didn’t offer an explanation.
She was relieved when Kearny smoothed over the awkward silence. “Miss Glory will be singing a few nights a week.”
“Can you sing?” Forrester asked.
“Slater,” Kearny reprimanded.
He shrugged indifferently.
Rebecca started to cross her arms but realized it would only maximize her cleavage. She settled on a glare at the dealer. “You can be the judge tomorrow night.”
Forrester inclined his head. “I’ll do that.”
Kearny withdrew his timepiece from his vest pocket and glanced at it. “Slater, would you mind introducing Miss Glory to Simon? I’m expecting a wagonload of supplies any time now.”
Rebecca didn’t miss the annoyance flash across Forrester’s face and opened her mouth to tell him she could introduce herself. But Forrester spoke up first.
“It’d be my pleasure,” he said to Kearny but his eyes were on her.
“Thanks.” Kearny turned to Rebecca. “He’ll take care of you.”
Rebecca gritted her teeth, holding back her retort, as Kearny traversed the saloon to disappear into the back.
Forrester rose, smoothed a hand over his tailored suit, and held out his arm. He gazed at her, and she noted that his gaze remained on her face and didn’t dip down to her chest. Oddly reassured, she linked her arm with his and rested her fingers on his firm forearm. The smell of soap and the faint aroma of peppermint, scents much more palatable than what permeated the saloon, wafted from him.
As they neared the piano, the player stood and turned around. Rebecca had to tip back her head to see his face but it wasn’t his size that appalled her. It was his color. He was a Negro.
Growing up in St. Louis, she had seen her share of slaves but had little to do with them. Her parents didn’t own any, but nor did they speak out against the practice of slavery.
“Miss Glory Bowen, I’d like you to meet Simon Richards. Simon, this is the singer Andrew hired,” Forrester said.
Simon smiled broadly and his brown eyes twinkled with pleasure behind his round spectacles. “Please to meet ya, Miss Glory.”
Rebecca clamped down on her outrage and managed a brittle smile. “Mr. Richards.”
“Call me Simon. Ev’rybody does.”
“Of course.”
Frowning, Forrester said, “I believe Miss Glory needs a drink before discussing a selection of songs.” He led her to the bar where Dante was working. “Bring Miss Glory a special.”
Rebecca drew away from him. “I don’t want a drink.”
“You’ll have one any way.” Forrester’s eyes glittered with anger.
As she glowered at the gambler, Dante returned with a shot glass filled with amber liquid.
“Drink it,” Forrester ordered her.
Rebecca debated defying him, but the furious glint in his eyes stopped her. Bracing for the harsh burn of liquor, she was startled to find it was cold weak tea. She set the empty glass on the bar but didn’t meet Forrester’s gaze.
“What was that about?” Forrester demanded in a hushed voice.
Rebecca didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “He’s a Negro.”
“He’s a free man. And if you want to work here, you’ll give Simon the same consideration you give Mr. Kearny and everyone else in this saloon.”
“Including you?”
Forrester leaned close and his peppermint breath washed across her. “Yes.”
“You’re not my boss.”
Abruptly, Forrester smiled, but the expression was grim and forbidding. “No, but Andrew and I have known each other a long time.”
Her thoughts raced, with long-held beliefs, her reaction to Simon, and Forrester’s threat. If what he said was true, she couldn’t afford to antagonize him. “I’ve never talked to a black person,” she admitted.
“Other than their skin color, there’s no difference between them and us.” Forrester paused. “If you can’t get past your narrow-mindedness, you need to find a job elsewhere.”
Rebecca quaked inwardly. It had taken every ounce of will she possessed to get this job. Besides, the other saloons she’d seen while searching for Benjamin were far less clean and their clientele coarser.
“It’s your decision, Miss Glory,” Forrester said.
And with that, the gambler strode away. She watched him in the mirror as he returned to his table and picked up his cards. If she hadn’t known how angry he was, she wouldn’t have guessed from the bland expression he now held.
“Another?” Dante asked, holding up a bottle labeled champagne.
“No, thank you.”
Dante shrugged and set the bottle aside. He picked up a towel and wiped the bartop. “Slater is correct.”
Rebecca’s head recognized the truth of Dante’s words, but she couldn’t change the way she felt. “Where I grew up, Negroes were not recognized as equals.”
“Eastern Missouri.”
“How did you know?”
Gentle understanding filled Dante’s expression. “Your accent, my dear. It’s charming, but indicative of your origins.”
Disturbed by his perceptiveness, Rebecca asked sarcastically, “And what else do you know about me?”
Dante didn’t seem bothered by her tone. “You were raised in relative wealth and received the finest education, wrought with upper class ideals and mores. However, because of some folly on your part you lost both your wealth and your family, which brought you here, to the Scarlet Garter.”
Rebecca looked away as her eyes burned and she blinked rapidly so tears wouldn’t form. “You’re half right, Dante,” she said hoarsely. She took a deep breath and turned her head to gaze at Simon. Could she work with him?
“‘No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear,'” Dante quoted.
Rebecca searched her memory. “Edmund Burke.”
Dante smiled, pleased. “It’s a gift to have an educated person such as yourself grace our presence.”
Rebecca couldn’t help but laugh at his overstated gallantry and some of the ice in her stomach thawed. She considered Dante’s borrowed words. Was she afraid of Simon? Is that why she acted so horribly toward him?
Impulsively, she clasped the bartender’s small hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Dante.”
Taking a deep, steadying breath, but not so deep as to expel her breasts from her dress, Rebecca rejoined Simon who sat by the piano, sheets of music in his large hands. She looked over his exceedingly broad shoulders and recognized the top sheet. “‘No Home, No Home.’ That seems appropriate to start with,” she said.
Simon turned to give her a puzzled look. “Miss Glory?”
She forced herself to pat his shoulder and found the contact wasn’t nearly as frightening as she expected. A genuine smile lifted her lips. “Someday I’ll tell you a story, but for now, we have a repertoire to arrange.”
#
If Simon suspected Rebecca’s discomfort around him, he didn’t show it. He treated her with courtesy and friendliness as he spoke in a rich baritone that she found soothing to listen to.
“Do you sing, Simon?” she asked curiously.
He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. “No, ma’am. I tried one time but even the chickens squawked.”
Rebecca laughed. “Whoever said chickens have an ear for music?”
“They was right, ma’am. I can’t hold a tune at’ll, but I can make this piano sing.” He ran a big hand across the wood, his affection for the instrument obvious.
“Hopefully, between the two of us, we can keep the chickens from squawking too much.” Rebecca shuffled through the music they’d chosen. “Mr. Kearny wants me to start singing tomorrow night. Would you be able to practice with me tomorrow, before the saloon gets busy?”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday so men’ll be coming in by noon. We’ll have to practice early.”
“What time will the saloon close tonight?”
Simon shook his head. “Depends on how many folks is in here. Sometimes Mr. Kearny locks the doors at midnight, sometimes not ’til three or four in the morning.”
Rebecca’s feet ached just thinking about dancing until the early morning hours. She gnawed her lower lip, tasted the paint, and grimaced. “I hate to ask you to practice after only a few hours of sleep.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Miss Glory. I can get by on three, four hours of sleep.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she murmured then asked more clearly. “How about eight a.m.?”
“I’ll be here,” Simon promised.
The sound of women’s voices caught Rebecca’s attention and she spotted two saloon ladies coming down the stairs. Her face heated as she recognized the one who was being fondled earlier in the day, but the other one surprised her in the same way Simon had.
“She’s got it,” the black-haired woman said and charged toward Rebecca. “You’re wearin’ my dress.”
Rebecca stiffened and glanced down at the clothing in question. “I was under the belief that the dresses were shared by us all.”
The woman’s dark complexion took on a dusky hue. “That’s the one I always wear. Everybody knows that.”
Rebecca noticed Cassie, with a smirk, standing back with the men who were watching the proceedings with eager anticipation. Obviously Cassie had known what would happen when she’d chosen the dress.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Rebecca managed the apology in spite of her anger and humiliation.
The woman made a grab for Rebecca and Simon insinuated himself between them.
“Now hold on there, Miss Georgia. Miss Glory’s new here and you ain’t giving her a very nice welcome,” Simon said.
Georgia scowled at the tall Negro. “Don’t you be taking her side, Simon.”
“I ain’t taking anyone’s side. It’s just that Miss Glory didn’t know any better.” He paused. “You was new here once, too.”
Some of Georgia’s wrath faded in the face of Simon’s quiet voice. “I guess it’s all right just this once.” She shook a finger at Rebecca. “Just you remember next time.”
Unable to speak, Rebecca nodded.
Cassie joined them and glanced around meaningfully at the disappointed men who’d been hoping to see a hair-pulling, fingernail-scratching brawl. “Let’s get their minds on drinking and dancing.”
Simon sat down and dived into a lively tune. Georgia and the other lady were jerked into the arms of two men and pulled onto the floor.
Humiliated but knowing she couldn’t back down, Rebecca stepped closer to Cassie to be heard above the piano’s tune. “Did I pass the initiation?” she asked, her voice rife with sarcasm.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Cassie said, her expression saying the opposite.
Rebecca smiled with an edge of warning. “I won’t be scared off.”
Cassie’s feigned ignorance melted away. “I don’t want no simpering lady upsetting the other girls. I want to make sure you got some backbone so you can do your share of work around here.”
Twenty-four hours ago Rebecca would’ve been pushed to tears by Cassie’s callous words, but she’d undergone a transformation in the past twenty-four hours. Miss Glory wasn’t about to sob like a schoolgirl. She lifted her chin. “I’ll do my share and I’ll expect you to treat me just like anybody else who works here.”
“You prove to me tomorrow night you can do your job then I’ll start treating you like the other girls.”
“Fair enough.”
Cassie flounced away, to be caught by a burly man who spun her onto the floor.
Red garters flashed and the women’s high-pitched giggles mixed with low laughter as the men spun the girls around in a dizzying parody of a jig. Tomorrow Rebecca would be among them and although she remained anxious, she also felt a flutter of excitement.
#
“That’s it. I’m out.” The cattleman tossed his cards into the middle of the table and shoved back his chair.
The other two men shook their heads, finished their beer and ambled out of the saloon.
Alone, Slater shrugged and gathered the deck in his skilled hands. The pile of coins in front of him didn’t add up to much, but for a Friday evening, it wasn’t bad. Rubbing his nose against the stench of tobacco smoke, Slater glanced over at the cleared area that served as a dance floor. The saloon gals were being swung around by men with more enthusiasm than skill. However, the girls didn’t seem to mind. He figured it was a lot like dealing cards in that it was simply a job.
His gaze strayed to the piano where Simon’s fingers flew across the keys. Somewhat hidden beside the piano Miss Glory watched just as she’d done most of the evening. A couple of men had asked her to dance earlier but she’d smiled and shaken her head. Fortunately, the men didn’t press the issue. Dante’s efficiency with the sawed-off shotgun behind the bar was well-known.
With no players in sight and his mouth dry, Slater sauntered up to the bar. Dante brought him a cup of coffee without prompting.
“Thanks.” Slater took a sip. “Quiet night.”
“Everyone is preparing for tomorrow night’s debauchery,” Dante said.
Slater smiled crookedly, appreciating the diminutive man’s wit. “How’s Miss Glory doing?”
Dante glanced over at her and smiled. “She and Simon are getting along splendidly. And I believe she passed her first test.”
“Yeah, I noticed she was wearing Georgia’s usual dress. I expected a cat fight.”
Dante’s smile faded. “Miss Glory’s not your characteristic daughter of joy.”
“If you’re trying to tell me she isn’t a whore, I’m withholding judgment.”
He eyed Slater closely. “You’re a cynical man, Slater Forrester.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Dante’s gaze softened. “Yes, I suppose you have.”
The bartender’s comment sounded too much like pity and Slater’s irritation made him curt. “Think she’ll work out?”
Dante accepted the change of subject gracefully. “I don’t believe she has any other options.”
Most of the women who worked in places like the Scarlet Garter did so because they didn’t have a choice. However, Slater had known a few who preferred that type of life rather than being bound by society’s stringent rules or dominated by a husband. He couldn’t blame them. He, too, preferred to remain free.
Miss Glory glided away from the piano and joined them but she kept her gaze on the bartender. “Could I please have a special, Dante?” she asked, her cultured voice both annoying and alluring.
“One special coming right up, Miss Glory.”
She accepted the weak tea with a tired smile. “Thank you.”
With a flourish, Dante bowed at the waist but was called to the end of the bar, leaving Slater alone with Glory. He deliberately stared at her but she continued to ignore him. However, the pulse in her slender neck betrayed her awareness of his scrutiny.
Slater waited with the patience he’d been forced to learn. Finally he was rewarded and she turned toward him, her eyes flashing.
“Is it me or my breasts that you find so fascinating?” A charming red flush covered her face and spread down her neck and chest.
Slater’s gaze lingered on her breasts, wondering if the rosiness colored them, too. He raised his head and smiled lazily. “Both.”
Although her blush deepened to scarlet, she didn’t look away. “Look all you want. Why should you be any different than the rest of them?” She waved an arm, encompassing the saloon’s occupants.
For some reason it bothered Slater that she thought he was no better than the men who were so starved for female company that they bought overpriced drinks to dance with them. “Is that what you think?”
She propped a hand on a deliciously rounded hip. “What else should I think?”
He kept his features bland even as his blood heated. Although he made it a rule not to bed the women he worked with, he was tempted to make an exception with Glory. “I don’t need to buy time with a lady.”
“You have an inflated opinion of yourself.”
“Maybe I deserve it.”
Her lips twitched. “You obviously think so.”
Slater took a sip of coffee to hide his unexpected amusement. “What about you? Are you too good to be dancing with them?”
Melancholy seized her features and he saw the effort it took her to force a laugh. “Not anymore, Mr. Forrester.”
Her bitter reply made him study her, this time without any preconceptions. Even if Dante was right in his assessment of her, Miss Glory had chosen to work in this place. However, his conscience reminded him that often times a person didn’t have a choice in this life.
Andrew strolled out of the back office and came to stand beside Glory. “Have you and Simon worked out some songs?”
“After they worked out their differences,” Slater remarked.
Glory shot him a glare. Andrew, confused by their byplay, arched a brow at Slater. However, Slater merely shrugged a shoulder. If Glory couldn’t work with Simon, Andrew would know soon enough.
“Simon and I have picked out some songs. He said we could practice tomorrow morning,” Glory answered Andrew. “Is that all right with you, Mr. Kearny?”
Slater gnashed his teeth. With Andrew her voice was honey sweet, but with him she buzzed like an angry bee.
“That would be fine, Glory.” He rubbed his brow.
“Have you been working on the accounts again?” Slater asked.
Andrew nodded wryly. “When I started this place, I never expected to spend most of my time in the back with those damned books.”
“I might be able to help you,” Glory said.
Andrew chuckled. “This isn’t simple addition and subtraction.”
Glory’s eyes narrowed. “I realize that. I’ve worked on account books.”
“Where was that?” Andrew asked.
Curious in spite of himself, Slater wanted to hear her answer, too.
Her gaze skittered away. “St. Louis.”
“Is there someone I can contact who can give me a reference for your work?” Andrew asked.
Glory shook her head too quickly. “No. Please forget that I even mentioned it.”
Slater wanted to push her, but Andrew was more sympathetic. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on your offer one of these days,” the older man said. “Why don’t you get some sleep, Glory? It’s already midnight and if you plan to practice in the morning, you need your rest.”
“Thank you,” she said in obvious relief. “It’s been a long day.”
“They’ll get longer,” Slater said.
She flashed him an irritated look then took Andrew’s suggestion and climbed the stairs to retire for the night. As he watched the gentle sway of her backside, he noticed Andrew, too, was eyeing the new girl.
“Do you think she really knows how to keep accounting books?” Slater asked. An illogical sense of possessiveness wanted Andrew’s attention diverted from Glory’s figure.
Andrew drew his gaze away from her but did so reluctantly. “It’s possible. She’s definitely had an education.”
“Because she talks fancy?”
Andrew chuckled. “We both know a whore can learn how to talk like a lady. No, I knew Glory was the real thing when she first came in here looking for some fellah named Colfax.”
Slater turned Andrew’s words over in his head. “It could have been her intended who left her at the altar.”
“She didn’t say and I didn’t ask. I figured it was her business.”
“So why’d she decide to get a job here if she’s trying to find this Colfax?”
“I got the impression she was low on funds.”
“Like all of ’em.”
Andrew turned to face Slater and rested his forearm on the bar. “Do you have something against Glory? You’re usually more sympathetic to the women.”
Outwardly, Slater remained dispassionate but inside, an unaccustomed uncertainty seethed. “Maybe I just can’t stomach a woman who feels that anyone working in an establishment like this is below her station.”
“Has she given anyone problems?”
Slater thought of her reaction to Simon, but he couldn’t honestly say she’d treated him badly. Not after he gave her her options. He shook his head. “Not that I know of. Did you notice what she was wearing?”
Andrew thought for a moment then chuckled. “I’m surprised Georgia didn’t make a scene.”
Slater grinned. “Oh, she did, but Simon stopped her before it got bad.”
“How’d Glory handle it?”
Slater shrugged. “I saw her say something to Cassie afterward. Cassie didn’t like whatever she said.”
“I’m staying out of the middle. Cassie knows her job and Glory has a lot to learn. But Glory’s smart and she’s got spirit. She’ll do all right.”
Slater lifted his coffee cup but before taking a drink, he silently toasted Miss Glory.
