Wild Is the Night (24 page)

Luke thought he was losing his mind with anger. This couldn’t be happening. Yet even as the Reverend arrived with Pop Finnegan, bringing help in the form of a wagon and a horse, he couldn’t take his eyes from Amanda.

She didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong. In her simple, matter of fact manner, she informed the trail boss of Luke’s injury and what she had done to treat it, then she climbed out of the rain and into the back of the wagon, and reached for her carpetbag. By the time Luke had joined her, after Pop had checked the bandage and the wound, she was scribbling happily into her journal, barely aware that he existed.

No woman had ever treated him this badly. Raised in South Carolina in the genteel life of a wealthy plantation owner, he had been accustomed to women who were gentle and sweet, who looked up to their men and let them know how much they appreciated them. And Luke, who had been told he was handsome since the age of thirteen, warranted a great deal of feminine attention—all of it positive. Even the Hamilton twins, with their ripe red lips and rich dark hair, followed him around from the time they could walk. He was used to them hanging on his every word, blushing when he so much as touched their hands or ruffled their hair. Later, when he returned from the war and was branded a deserter, the women still made a place for him in their parlor, despite the fact that he was socially ostracized and shouldn’t have been received. Their fathers and husbands didn’t acknowledge him, but his warmth and his charm had won him a place in the hearts of the women that was not easily destroyed.

Yet Amanda had cut him to the quick. He sent a glare in her direction, but she was oblivious of him, her pencil scrawling across a sheet of paper, filling it with her blunt observations of life. She was a cold woman, Luke thought, prim and without the slightest consideration of his feelings. His face reddened as he thought of her appraisal of his love-making. Christ, he was actually blushing. He should leave as soon as they returned to camp. No one more deserved such ungallant treatment, and it would make him feel great to see her surprised expression when he rode out of camp, this time for good. Nothing was worth this, not the ranch or even his desire for revenge. Haskwell he could get on his own. He really didn’t need Amanda.

But even as he decided to do just that, his mind rebelled. He couldn’t let her get away with this. Leaving would be too easy. For the sake of all mankind, he couldn’t unleash Amanda on the rest of the world. He had to triumph over her, had to prove to her and to himself that she was wrong. He would make her take everything back that she’d said to him—not just for tonight, but for all the rest of the times she’d slighted him. His male ego demanded it.

As if reading his mind she glanced up at him, and at least had the decency to look away when she saw him glaring at her. She returned to her books, but her hand trembled as she wrote. Luke gritted his teeth.

Amanda Edison had challenged the very heart of him. And he had to win, no matter how dirty the methods he used or how unethical his tactics. It had become a matter of pride.

“Pull up your skirts, let’s see your legs. We paid our money—let’s see your legs,” Honey sang to the group of men, her voice warbling with fear. The men came to their feet in thunderous applause as the showgirl stepped out onto the stage, her scarlet plume dipping over one eye enticingly, her matching dress hiked up to expose an indecent length of black stockinged thigh.

The dress had been Haskwell’s idea, as had been the stockings. Honey lifted her dark head and sang, her soft brown eyes searching out the crowd for one man, praying that he wouldn’t be there, that something had intervened and taken this man out of her life….

She saw him a dead second later, seated at a poker table, his white shirt sleeves rolled up and his face thoughtful. He scanned the cards in his hand, then threw several chips onto the table and sat back with a smirk. A few minutes later, he was scooping up the chips, laughing in an Irish brogue that was filled with sinister menace. Then his eyes met hers.

Honey choked. She felt impaled as Sam smiled, his eyes fixing her like a pin through a specimen. Continuing to sing, she removed one long white glove, then laid it over the hat of a lounging cowboy. His companions barked their laughter, even as she scanned the room, looking for an escape.

The front door. Honey’s eyes turned toward it hopefully, knowing that her dressing room door was watched at all times—for her protection, Sam had told her. There was no other way out through the rear of the building, but here she had a chance. Perhaps, when Haskwell was distracted enough, she could enlist the help of one of these cowboys. She could then walk right out of here, with no one the wiser.

Relief flooded through her and she belted out the lyrics to the racy song, gratified to find all the men’s eyes on her. God, why hadn’t she thought of it before? It would all be so easy, and she’d be rid of this man who held her captive in such terror; who showered her with gifts, then made love to her in the crudest possible ways. Her fear was an aphrodisiac to him, and she shuddered to think of what he would resort to next, just to see the terror in her eyes. She had to get out of here, and tonight she would do just that.

A young, gangly cowboy grinned up at her, his soft blue eyes telling her that he thought she was pretty, and that he wanted her. Sending a seductive smile through the room, Honey paused by the man, then dropped her other glove onto the floor beside him. The men roared as the cowboy blushed, then dipped down to retrieve her offering. As he lifted his head, he found his face close to hers as she whispered quietly.

“Follow me out of here in about five minutes, sweetie.”

Honey pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, leaving a red smear of lipstick. The cowboys guffawed, then slapped the young man’s back, congratulating him on winning the lady’s favor. The cowboy’s face was beet red, but he nodded and smiled, good naturedly wiping away the lipstick even as Honey sashayed away from him toward the door.

The poker dealer nudged Haskwell. Sam glanced up from behind the cards and saw Honey remove a glass bracelet, then drop it teasingly into a cowboy’s lap. She wiggled and cooed, breathlessly whispering her song while making her way through the crowd. Every man watched her, every man wanted her.

“I’m in for five, Tommy.” Haskwell tossed in a chip, his black eyes never leaving the young girl. Honey leaned over another man, her breasts nearly brushing his face, her little bottom thrust out in a suggestive pose. Haskwell grinned. She was doing what he had taught her, and working the crowd well. The little strumpet had turned into a virtual gold mine, in more ways than one. He watched her ruffle another man’s hair, then slip a proffered gold piece down the bodice of her scarlet gown.

“Looks like Honey’s got herself an ardent admirer,” the dealer remarked, indicating the young cowboy who got to his feet. “He’s been watching her for the last half hour.”

Sam’s smile vanished even as Honey turned and gestured quickly to the cowboy, all the while keeping an innocent smile on her face. She glanced at Haskwell, saw that he was involved with his cards, then nodded quickly toward the swinging doors at the front of the saloon. The cowboy, unable to believe his good luck, followed the beautiful woman with the flashing dark hair and the sparkling red dress.

“Put him out, Tommy.” Haskwell never lifted his eyes from his cards, though his voice was filled with rage. “And then bring her to me.” He indicated the seat beside him. “A beautiful woman always brings luck, don’t you agree?”

The other men chuckled and nodded. Honey barely reached the door when a man grabbed her, then another brought his gun crashing down on the cowboy’s head. Thinking it all part of the act, the cowboys slammed down their beers and roared. Tommy slung Honey over his shoulder, her lacey legs kicking in outrage, her little bottom in the air, then carried her to the poker table. He deposited the showgirl into the seat beside Haskwell, then brushed off his hands and grinned.

“She was heading for the door all right, boss. Was gonna meet her little boyfriend later. But we took care of him.” Tommy indicated the cowboy, who was still lying in the center of the floor.

Terrified, Honey turned to Haskwell, her breasts heaving inside the low cut dress, her feathers drooping. Haskwell smiled coldly.

“That was not a nice thing you did, me darlin’. Were you thinking of leaving me now?”

“No!” Honey gasped, fighting for breath. “I was just—”

“Flirting with the boys,” Haskwell finished for her. “Isn’t one man enough for you?”

“Please,” she pleaded with him. Her dark eyes looked like brown glass, shimmering with panic. “Just let me go. I won’t…”

“Take her upstairs, Tommy.” Haskwell returned to his cards, dismissing her as he threw away a deuce. As the dealer rose and took the young woman’s arm, Haskwell glanced up once more. “And when I return tonight, I’ll see that you never want another man again. Do you understand me?”

Honey gasped, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please, Sam, I didn’t mean it, don’t do this—”

“Get her out of here, Tommy.” Haskwell waited until the dealer had forcibly escorted the sobbing young woman away, then he turned back to his cards, surveying his hand with a huge grin.

This time, he held all the aces.

“…and then they tied us up and left us here. Thank God the Reverend didn’t come right back but set out to look for you, or you still might be there. I can’t believe those men were after you! And you don’t even know why?”

Amanda shook her head in the negative.

Aileen sighed, then continued chattering. “Jake found a penknife in his pocket and managed to get us untied, though it will be lucky if none of us get pneumonia, after being out in the rain and hail all that time. Amanda, are you all right?”

Amanda glanced up, her strange ocean eyes distant and deep in thought. Aileen shivered, then swallowed a mouthful of whiskey from Jake’s flask. The rain had thankfully stopped and the campfire burned cheerfully, but all of them were in a melancholy mood. The cattle were gone. None of them looked forward to the round-up job that awaited them come morning, when the frenzied Herefords lost their terror and would be wandering the prairie in confusion.

“Aileen.” Amanda tapped her notebook with her pencil, allowing Aesop to perch on her arm. She nuzzled the little owl affectionately, then turned the full force of her curious stare back to the woman before her. “When you were a saloon girl, and you were with a lot of men…”

“Yes?”

“Well,” Amanda glanced at the religious men who were gathering into a prayer group, then continued bluntly. “Did you ever get pleasure out of the act?”

“What?” Aileen wiped her mouth and stared at Amanda in disbelief.

“Well did you?”

“Sure.” Aileen chuckled, then her smile faded as she noticed Amanda’s disturbed look. “Why else do you think we’d do it? It’s not for the babes, I can tell you that. Why are you asking?”

“It’s nothing.” Amanda sighed, returning to her books. “I was just formulating a theory.”

Aileen watched her closely, observing the way Amanda bit her lip and the tremor of her fingers. There was more to this than a scientific theory. Aileen would have bet her life on it.

“I have to admit though, I used to think only the men got something out of it,” Aileen continued, noticing Amanda’s interest perk up. “The first few times for me were terrible, but that was when I lived in Philadelphia. He was a handsome man, Johnny was, and a carpenter at that. But he could do more for a woman with his hands—”

“But you said it was terrible,” Amanda interrupted.

Aileen nodded. “At first. When a woman’s never been to bed with a man, the first time isn’t always great. For the woman, that is. The man thinks he’s the cock of the walk.”

“Why?” Amanda’s brow wrinkled.

“Well, it’s a conquest.” Aileen shrugged. “Men like to be the first. It makes them feel special.”

“Hmm.” Amanda chewed on her pencil, then absently brushed her hair out of her eyes. “That really is appalling. You mean it is always pleasurable for a man? And that they put a value on something that can only please them? Interesting.”

“I don’t know if I explained it right.” Aileen didn’t like the look on Amanda’s face. “I mean, a man doesn’t like to think that his woman has been with a lot of other men.”

“Yet he is praised by his peers for doing just that,” Amanda mused. “This sounds like a double standard to me. You know, I have a feeling this is related to the unfortunate connection between mating and procreation.”

“What?”

“Man’s insecurity is due to his doubts about his own prowess, and the legitimacy of his heir,” Amanda explained. “The first one I can understand, if not applaud. The second is more complex. In ancient Celtic times, a woman could take as many lovers as she desired—once she produced an heir. This satisfied the man’s fear of paternity, yet did not preclude the relationship to a monogamous state.”

Aileen’s nose wrinkled. “Then you are saying…”

“Perhaps the ancient Celtic men were more sexually secure,” Amanda concluded. “Either that, or the same value wasn’t placed on sexuality. I’ll have to ask Luke.”

Aileen glanced toward the man seated across from them at the campfire. Something had happened between them, of that Aileen was sure. Luke had been glowering at Amanda all evening, and the eccentric woman beside her hadn’t even noticed the displeasure directed her way. And Amanda had been even more preoccupied than normal. Judging from their conversation, Aileen had a very good idea of what had happened, and what hadn’t.