Lonesome Bride

  She peeked through the doorway of the small building to see an immensely tall, incredibly thin man with the palest skin she had ever seen, including her own. His hair was an inky, oily black that seemed to shimmer in the dim light of afternoon. He was sitting, bony knees drawn up, behind the desk at the front of the room. The schoolmaster, then. He was very clearly bored, listening to a lisping boy of about ten read his lesson.

  "Hastings, sit down,” the schoolmaster suddenly thundered, slamming a thick ruler along the edge of the desk. “Your incompetence astounds me."

  Caite watched the next student, a carrot-topped little girl with her two front teeth missing, rise from her desk. In a clear, halting voice, the child began to read the words scrawled on her chalkboard. When she had finished, she made a little curtsey and sat down, clearly relieved to have made it through the lesson without complaint from the schoolmaster.

  There would be ample time tomorrow to interview with the man running the school. Caite was not very hopeful, however. There seemed to be hardly enough students to keep one teacher occupied. The chances the town would need another seemed slim indeed.

  "There you are,” Jed declared when she entered the hotel lobby. “Our room is all ready."

  His words stopped her in her tracks. “Rooms, you mean."

  Jed came over, grasped her by the upper arm, and steered her toward the rickety looking staircase to the left of the front desk. Smiling heartily at the desk clerk, who was looking at them suspiciously over his spectacles, Jed remarked in a loud, carrying voice, “Yes, darlin', our room is ready."

  "What are you talking about?” Caite tried to wrest her arm away from him without success.

  By this time they were ascending the stairs to the hotel's second floor. Tugging her down the hallway lit intermittently by foul-smelling oil lamps, Jed hushed her. Finally, they stopped in front of one of the doors, and Jed pulled a key from his pocket.

  "They only have one room left,” he explained, opening the door and pushing her inside. “They'll only rent it to married couples, Caitleen. Unless you want to spend the next two nights in the stable, you'll shut your yap and play along."

  "Oh, no you don't,” Caite exclaimed. “I won't have it, I tell you! I know exactly what you are trying to do, and it will not work!"

  "Caite,” Jed said wearily, shutting the door behind him. “Believe me, this is not what I had planned.” At her dubious look, he amended himself. “All right, I had planned something like this, but that was before."

  "Before what?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

  The look he gave her made her feel suddenly small and shrewish. “Before this afternoon."

  Before she had unmanned him, she could almost hear him saying. Before she had rejected him yet again. Well, poor Jed Peters, Caite thought vehemently, angry he might be trying to make her feel guilty. She was the one being rejected over and over, not him.

  "What do you propose we do about this?” Her eyes raked the well-worn room from top to bottom and found it severely lacking.

  "We make the best of it,” Jed replied.

  "The best of this?” Caite found herself laughing. “This is the sorriest excuse for a room I have ever seen, Jed. Even worse than your cabin."

  At the mention of the cabin, each fell silent. She could remember what had happened the last time they had been forced to share a bed, and she knew he could, too. She did not think it was something either one of them was likely to forget.

  "I'll sleep on the floor,” Jed declared gruffly, as if he were reading her thoughts.

  "Good.” Caite moved to the tiny washstand and poured some water into the basin. “I don't know about you, but I think I'd like to wash up."

  "Go ahead,” he replied, walking over to the tiny, grimy window and peering out.

  Caite stared at him pointedly. “I'd like to do so privately, if you don't mind."

  He turned to look at her, amusement tinged with annoyance in his clear green eyes. “As a matter of fact, I do mind. If you want to get washed up, then go ahead. But I reckon I paid for this here room, and I'm not going to spend my time standing outside in the hallway."

  Caite blushed. “For modesty's sake, Jed, please."

  He guffawed incredulously. “Caitleen, I've seen you naked as the day you were born! You've got nothing to hide from me."

  "Please. At least turn around.” She must have looked as miserable as she felt, because he suddenly looked chagrined.

  "All right,” he grumbled, throwing his hands into the air to show the world what a fool woman she was being. “I'm going out anyway. I might as well go now."

  "Where are you going?"

  He looked levelly at her. “To the saloon. To have a good time."

  Oh, she understood the good time men had in saloons, all right. It was her father having that kind of good time that had landed her in this mess in the first place. Caite laughed harshly.

  "To drink, you mean,” she said spitefully. “To drink and to gamble."

  Jed looked at her, cocking his eyebrow in the expression she had come to imitate so well. “I reckon I might do some of those things."

  How easy it was for men to do as they pleased! Caite clenched her fists in sudden anger. Men could get themselves stinking drunk, if they wanted. They could gamble away everything they owned, and even what they did not, and no one would condemn them—because they were men. Suddenly, Caite was sick to death of men and their selfish pastimes.

  "How common of you,” she sneered, tears sparking against her eyelids. She saw Jed's face pinch in anger, and was almost glad of it. She wanted to drive him away, wanted him out of this room with her. Out of her life! “How just like a man. Go and drink, then, Jed! Go and gamble away the money you take from working your father's land. Go and lose your dignity in liquor so you can stumble back singing your own praises and the praises of every man on this earth who is just like you!"

  "You forgot one other thing men go to do in saloons, Caitleen,” Jed answered coldly, his eyes snapping like pine knots in a fire.

  "Tell me, Jedson,” she snapped meanly, emphasizing his full name. “What else do men go to do in saloons?"

  "We go to whore,” Jed replied stonily. He slammed the door behind him, and he was gone.

  CHAPTER 12

  Macintosh's Saloon was alive with activity, despite the sun barely having gone down. Jed slammed through the batwing doors, strode to the bar and plunked down enough money to keep him swilling good, hard booze for the rest of the night. Caite's accusations were still rankling in his gut. He didn't know where she got off lumping him in with every rowdy cowboy in the world anyway. Before she'd blown up at him, he'd only intended to have a beer or two and catch up on the latest news. Now, instead, her words had pushed him to want to do everything she had accused him of, and more.

  "Keep ‘em coming as long as I can handle ‘em, Mac,” Jed announced to the gap-toothed bartender.

  "Yes sir, Jed!” Mac grinned, filling a shot glass with three fingers of his finest rotgut.

  Jed downed the drink in one gulp, feeling the fire fill his belly and sting his eyes. The sensation was nothing compared to the ache in his crotch. He shifted uncomfortably, willing the alcohol to dull the pain there as he knew it would everywhere else.

  "Got a game starting directly, Peters."

  Hal Overton clapped Jed hard on the shoulder and pointed him toward the table in the back. As tall as Jed, but with a few more years and pounds on him, Hal dug deep into his pocket to show Jed the handful of money he was carrying. With the other hand, he drew out a deck of well-worn cards.

  "You in?"

  Jed nodded. “Yeah, I reckon I am. Get ready to lose that wad of yours, Overton."

  Hal laughed, clapping Jed on the back again. “So you say every time, Peters. So you say."

  "Maybe I feel lucky tonight.” Jed slid into an empty chair. The whiskey was starting to make him feel good. He raised a finger to Mac, indicating he wanted another shot.

  "Lucky?”
a sweet voice asked from behind him. “Did I hear Jed Peters say he felt lucky?"

  A plump derriere suddenly found its way onto his lap, and Jed found himself staring straight into the ample bosom of Staghorn's resident fancy woman, Petticoat Frey. Petty cooed at him, running one long fingernail over the edge his jaw to tickle his lips. She smelled of talcum powder and cheap perfume. She most definitely did not smell of lilacs.

  "I reckon I do.” Jed shifted Petty's abundant charms slightly. Petty was a nice-sized gal.

  "I reckon you and me might have something to talk about!” Petty giggled, her painted mouth pursing in a way she thought was attractive.

  Sober, the offer would have made Jed shudder, but the booze had already begun to warm his insides. Besides, he liked Petty, who was a good-natured woman. He didn't want to hurt her feelings. He patted her arm.

  "Maybe later, Miss Petticoat,” he said. “Let me win a few hands at poker first."

  Petty frowned prettily, but she heaved herself off his lap. “It's always maybe later with you, Jed,” she complained.

  Jed downed his third shot of whiskey, thoughtfully provided by Mac. “I reckon I'm just that kind of man, Petty."

  Petticoat flounced away to try her business someplace else. Jed watched her go with unconcealed amusement. He had only told her he was going out to whore to rile Caitleen. If she could see just what his options were...

  He shook his head. He wasn't going to think of that Irish hothead anymore. With any luck, by the time he stumbled back to the hotel, she'd be asleep and he'd be drunk. Too drunk to think about her sleeping in that big, soft bed clearly made for loving.

  "You in or not, Peters?” Stan Smith, another of the men at the table, interrupted his thoughts. “Or maybe you're thinking about joining Miss Petty over there."

  The rest of the men at the table roared at Stan's comment. “Naw, he ain't that drunk yet,” Danny Wallace snorted, dealing out the cards.

  "Ain't nobody gets that drunk,” added Mick Harvey. As if to prove his point, he slugged down the rest of his beer and called for another. “Not even me."

  "I'm in.” Jed took up the hand Danny had dealt. He downed his fourth shot of whiskey, relishing the way the liquor spread from his chest to his belly. Getting drunk would never take the place of getting laid, but it sure as heck beat dental surgery any day.

  "Heard Buck up and married that Sally Miller he been courtin',” Hal put in, lighting up one of his stinking cigars.

  "Buck ain't no fool,” laughed Danny. He looked at his cards, saw Hal's bet and raised him by five. “A woman built like that could make any man happy."

  Jed narrowed his eyes at all of them. “You're talking about my step mother,” he warned. The words rolled loosely off his tongue. He was getting drunk already.

  Stan grunted, throwing in his cards. “So? That jest means you don't get a turn with her. It don't mean none of us can't talk about it."

  Jed reached out and grabbed the pock-faced man by the front of his shirt collar, nearly pulling him across the table. “She's my father's wife. I'll thank you to show her some respect!"

  Stan raised his hands, extricating himself from Jed's none-too-steady grip. “Sure, Peters, whatever you say."

  "Gentleman, is there room in this game for one more?"

  The familiar feminine voice made Jed's stomach lurch, just as it made every head at the table whip around to see to whom it belonged. Caitleen stood in front of them, smiling charmingly. She had changed into a white, high-necked blouse and a dark serviceable skirt. She had pulled her hair back into a tight bun, emphasizing her clear, lovely eyes and high cheekbones.

  "Gentlemen?” She smiled around the table once again, then took a small purse from beneath her arm and jingled it. “I asked, is there room at this table for one more?"

  * * * *

  Seeing the look on Jed's face had more than made my appearance worthwhile, Caite thought, still smiling and waiting for one of the goggling men to reply.

  She had debated all of five minutes before deciding she would follow him to the saloon. Just to show him she had no intention of letting him talk to her like that, not to make sure he didn't get the chance to whore, as he had so indelicately put it. Not that she cared one way or the other whose arms he wrapped himself in tonight, as long as they weren't hers.

  "No, Caitleen,” Jed declared. She heard the whiskey in his voice and saw it in his eyes. “I forbid it."

  She raised her eyebrow at him. “You do not forbid me anything, Jed Peters. You don't own me."

  "Caite,” Jed continued warningly. “This ain't no place for a lady. Get back to the hotel room."

  "Just who is this fine young filly, Peters?” Danny asked in admiration.

  Caite stuck out her hand. “My name is Caitleen, sir. And I have come to play poker."

  "And she's with me,” Jed growled.

  Caite ignored him and set her bag of coins on the table. “Am I in the game or not?"

  "No!” Jed shouted, ignoring the laughter of the men around the table.

  "Aw, let the little lady play,” Stan said, making sure he stayed well back from Jed's reach.

  "Yeah.” Hal snorted. “If she's got money to lose, I reckon we can take it just as easy as we can take yours!"

  Caite looked around the table coolly, fixing her gaze lastly on Jed. “I have no intention of losing, gentlemen. Now may I play or not?"

  Jed downed another shot, clearly in disgust. The other men at the table had turned to look at him, presumably to see what he said. He shrugged, glaring at Caite.

  "Be my guest.” He sneered. “Just don't come crying to me when you lose your shirt."

  Caite fought a blush as the poker players guffawed and poked each other at his comment. To her relief, while it was clear what they were thinking, none of them made a joke about the sight of her shirtless. She took her place across the table from Jed and folded her hands in front of her.

  "I'm ready when you are, gentlemen,” she announced. They did not realize the game had already started. She was going to play her trump card. “If you'll just tell me how to play, that is."

  She was pleased to see she caused complete silence around the table. Jed was still glaring at her. She ignored him, favoring the rest of the players with a look of calculated, wide-eyed innocence. “Gentlemen?"

  "Aw, now, this ain't right,” Danny complained, pausing in the middle of dealing the fresh hand.

  Hal rolled the cigar around his mouth. “She don't know how to play?"

  "We cain't rightly let her play,” Stan said. “I don't feel right about taking money from a lady who don't even know how to play."

  Jed snorted. “Let her play, if she wants to. You didn't have any doubts about letting her in the game a few minutes ago."

  "But we thought she knew how to play!” Mick put in.

  Jed slapped his hand down on the table, making the coins and cards jump. “I say let her play!"

  Caitleen smiled sweetly at him. “Why, thank you, Jed."

  He narrowed his reddening eyes at her. “It's only to teach you a lesson, Caitleen."

  It took all her will not to snap at him, but she managed. She favored him with another sweet smile and fluttered her eyelids. “Whatever you say, Jedson."

  The other men at the table hooted, and Jed cast another round of glares at each of them. “Are we playing poker here or not?"

  After a brief round of introductions, the men quickly settled into the business of the game. Settled quickly into the business of drinking, too. She supposed the first very rarely ever happened without the second. She had watched her father enough times to know that. She glanced coolly at the two face down cards Danny had dealt her.

  "Now, see here, Miss Caitleen,” the man sitting to her left said. Mick, she remembered. A slight man with a pronounced overbite and a wayward eye. “What we're playing here is called seven card stud. To start, we each gotta put in a bet."

  "All right.” Caite took two bits from her purse and laid them in
the center pile. Mick nodded approvingly.

  "One-eyed jacks wild,” added Danny, slapping another round of cards, this time face up, in front of each player.

  She had in her hand the ace of hearts and the ten of spades. The card Danny had slapped in front of her was the five of diamonds. Blast. Nothing so far. Caite turned her wide eyes to Stan, who was sitting on her right.

  "Mr. Smith,” she said in a voice so sugary sweet it could rot teeth. “I do know winning at poker requires a certain grouping of cards. Could you please tell me what ranks the highest?"

  Good Lord, I made the man blush. She could get used to this feminine wiles business, after all. She barely listened as Stan carefully described to her what constituted a royal flush, straight flush and so forth. She had only asked to throw them off track. She had known a full house from a straight since she was old enough to tell the difference between red and black cards.

  "Oh my,” Caite remarked, suddenly realizing Stan had finished his lecture. “It all sounds so complicated."

  "Place your bets,” Jed broke in. He was downing whiskey as if it were going to be outlawed tomorrow.

  Danny continued dealing the cards, face up and one at a time, until every player had two cards face down and four face up. Caite made sure to giggle a lot and to ask a lot of advice on how much money to bet. As she had figured, the men took pity on the poor little lady they thought she was, and allowed her to bet only half as much as they did.

  "Just until you get the hang of it,” Stan had told her, patting her hand. “'twouldn't be rightly fair of us to take all your money right away."

  "I certainly do appreciate that,” Caite simpered. Danny had dealt her the ace and ten of clubs and the ten of hearts. “Oh, look! I have two of a kind."

  "It's called a pair,” Jed muttered. “And I'd say you have a pair, all right."

  Caite ignored him. She was above responding to some drunken cowpoke's lewd comments. She smiled brightly at Danny, who was now dealing the final card. It came face down in front of her, and he patted her hand as Stan had. As if she were a child! It took all her will not to haul off and punch him in the face.