An Unexpected Widow (The Colorado Brides Series) (12 page)

I could tell he had turned towards me. “Oh, Nathan.”

“You’re driving me insane. I can’t be in the same bed with you. Just marry me.”

“It’s unseemly to marry so soon. I haven’t even started grieving yet. Frank’s body isn’t cold in the ground. It’s…far too soon.”

He touched my face; his hand felt rough. “I…oh, never the hell mind.” He sounded angry again. “Go to sleep.”

“Are you leaving?” This thought alarmed me.

“No. I’ll stay cause I like torturing myself like this.” He lay down, turning towards me.

I rolled into him, finding the happy spot that was his chest. “Oh, good. Night, Nathan.”

He grumbled in reply.

His mention of marriage managed to stick in my mind, like an annoying stone caught in a shoe. I knew what his intentions were, but that hardly changed a thing. Frank had been refined and educated; he knew all about science, arithmetic, and politics, and he had read extensively. I wasn’t even sure if Nathan knew how to read. He did have a point, though. I would most certainly think about my reputation, as it was the only thing I had to recommend myself.

I’d taken on the task of milking the cow in the morning, which was exasperatingly tedious, but it was enough to get me out of bed, otherwise I might have seriously considered sleeping all day, every day. A melancholy had descended upon me, a constant reminder that I had suffered trauma. I was a long way off from making peace with my new situation.

As the days wore on, I sometimes succeeded in being productive, and at other times I failed. After church on Sunday, I went for a walk, but I was overcome with grief, sitting against a tree at the end of one of the fields, weeping for a long time. When I returned to the house, supper had been waiting, and later, bed. Nathan wasn’t in my room, and I expected him to arrive, wondering what was taking so long. He was always with me at this time of night. Irritation and curiosity propelled me to my feet, as I left the bed. I wore slippers, and I thrust my arms through the robe, tying it at the waist.

In the hallway downstairs, I strode to the door, opening it a crack. Nathan sat on the porch, holding his head in his hands. “What are you doing?” The moon shone overhead, offering muted illumination.

“Go to sleep.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Oh, that again?” I went to him, sitting on the top step. The night air was cool against my face. “Please, come to bed.”

He glanced at me, his expression earnest. “How long do you think is proper before you can marry again? A month? Two?”

“Oh, my goodness. That would be far too soon. Six months at least, but I’m not ready to do that. I can’t even think of being with man in that regard, and it’s going to take forever to find the right one.”

“And what would that look like?”

“Someone educated, with a good job.”

“Like a doctor or a merchant or a miner?”

“Not a miner.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I’m not marrying a miner.”

“What if you fell in love with a farmer?”

“Frank was a farmer, but he was also a clergyman.”

“What if it were a miner who struck it rich? Would that be good enough for you?”

There was anger in his voice. “Nathan.”

“I’m not gettin’ into that bed with you again, unless you marry me.”

I stared at him, my stomach sinking. “Please, Nathan.”

“No. You’re using me like some type of security blanket. It’s not proper to be in bed together all night long, especially when I want to touch you like a man touches a woman, and I can’t. I’m about to lose my ever-loving mind.”

Our eyes locked in that heated, breathless moment. “I can’t marry you.”

“I’m well aware of that. I can’t sleep with you.”

“Just one more night?”

“It’s always one more night.” His gaze drifted to my mouth. “Are you pouting? Is that a pout?”

“No.”

“Your lower lip is protruding. That’s an honest to God pout.”

“I…wish we could be together—”

“No!” He got to his feet. “I’m hitting the hay, and it won’t be in the house. Good night, Hannah. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

He walked to the bunkhouse, slipping inside, closing the door behind him. I stared for ages, feeling tears prick the back of my eyes. It was some time before I stood and went to my room, but sleep was hard to come by that night…and the night after.

Chapter Twelve

I wasn’t looking forward to this trip to town, because my emotions had been in turmoil for days. I’d hardly slept; the tiredness felt like I was trapped in a dark tunnel, my mind struggling to focus. I’d collected more than two-dozen eggs to sell at the mercantile; the delicate cargo was nestled within cloth at the bottom of a basket.

Nathan and I barely spoke these days; our relationship was strained. I resented the fact that he held the threat of marriage over my head, when all I wanted was the comfort of his arms and a good night’s sleep.

Clamoring into the wagon, I held the eggs in my lap, waiting for Nathan to return from the privy. He strode towards me wearing a striped shirt beneath a dark satin vest. His clothing was frequently mis-matched, as he bought his things second hand. A wide brimmed hat shaded his features; his beard was trimmed, as he hadn’t shaved in a week or more. It was a thrill knowing I would be with him for hours, but he gave off a hostile aura, his jaw firmly set.

“You got the eggs?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He took up the reins, calling to the horse, while the wagon jerked forward, ambling from the house.

“What will you do in town?”

He shrugged. “I’m planning on having a hog-killin’ time at the saloon.”

“Must you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Haven’t been on a bender in weeks. I’m itchin’ for a good, stiff drink.”

I pursed my lips. “Whiskey will rot your gut.”

He glanced at me, one eyebrow arched. “Is that so? What do you know about it?”

“I’ve heard they cut whiskey with ammonia and turpentine. That sounds perfectly awful to me.”

“Good thing you’re not drinking then, eh?”

I was certain my disapproval of his afternoon activities was plainly visible. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared out into the prairie, listening to the Franklin dogs barking, as we neared their property.

“Somebody oughta shoot them pesky animals.”

“They’ve always been annoying.” I yawned, my hand covering my mouth.

“You tired?”

“Yes. I don’t sleep much.” I could tell this bothered him, as his face shifted towards me instead of watching the road. “I toss and turn all night long. Can’t remember when I last slept.” For good measure, another yawn appeared, my mouth opening wide.

“Well, maybe you need a nip of brandy at night. That might help you sleep.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll see about getting a bottle.”

“Oh, what a hardship that’ll be for you.” I was teasing, but it sounded petulant. He glared at me with stony, pale blue eyes. Oh, dear. I had hit a nerve.

Once in Denver City, Nathan tied the horse to the hitching post; his expression was downcast, while his posture was tense. After he helped me from the seat, he said curtly, “I’ll see you in an hour.” He stalked away, heading for wooden steps that led to the boardwalk and the saloon.

I stared after him feeling miserable. Not only did I mourn his companionship, but I also missed Frank horribly. Instead of getting better, things seemed to be worse. My throat tightened, as tears threatened. Hating that people stared, I moved from the wagon, my foot catching a rock, which caused me to stumble. The basket of eggs fell from my hands, landing in a cracked heap on the dusty ground.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” said a toothless miner, who leered. “Those looked good too.” Several men laughed, while one spat on the ground.

“You might be able to pick it up, honey. Some of ‘em might be all right.”

My hand trembled, as I snatched the basket from the ground, leaving it in the bed of the wagon. It was imperative that I get away from these strangers. The bonnet hid my unhappiness, and I was grateful for it. Not having a direction to go in, I began to walk the boardwalk, passing the saloon and catching a glimpse of Nathan at the bar, holding a drink and laughing. I plodded along, as men tipped their hats to me. I crossed a thoroughfare wandering towards the parlour house. I stared at the door, as it was painted red.

“Hey, sweet thing,” called a man in a passing wagon. “You want a ride?”

Nathan enjoyed coming here, but I had never been inside, nor did I ever expect to cross the threshold of such an establishment. A morose thought entered my mind, leaving me shaken. If I could not procure a husband, I might end up here, selling myself to survive. Stunned by the direction my thoughts had gone, I felt the pull of curiosity propelling me towards the door. If this were my future, shouldn’t I go in and have a look around? Without preamble, I closed my fist over the knob and turned it, the door flinging inward easily.

Stepping into an elegantly furnished parlor, I glanced at my feet, seeing a plush black carpet in a flowery pattern. Plants hung before the windows, which were draped in frilly curtains, and the smell of incense burning left a musky, fragrant aroma.

“May I help you?” A woman dressed in a satin gown approached. She was possibly the prettiest female I had ever seen. Her hair was done up in an elaborate design, and her eyes were darkened over the upper lids.

“I’m…thinking…I might have to work here one day. I wanted to come in and see what it looks like.” I could hardly believe I had said that.

Her mouth fell open, startled eyes taking me in. “I’ll be with you in a moment. Please wait here.” She disappeared through a side door.

“Of course,” I said to myself. The furniture was lovely, and it shone from polish. A red velvet sofa stood against the wall flanked by matching chairs.

“Hello, dear,” said a female voice with a slight southern accent. “I’m Ruby Wallace.” I turned, astonished to find a redheaded woman in a pair of denim pants. She seemed to recognize me, her expression faltering. “I know you.”

“You do?”

“I went to your husband’s funeral.”

“Oh.”

“What on earth are you doing in my establishment?”

“I might have to work here one day. I thought it best to find out what I was getting myself into.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Candy, honey. We’re gonna need some tea. Can you get that started for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mrs. Clark, would you kindly follow me into my private quarters? We should have a talk.”

“We should?”

“Yes, we should. I need to set you straight on a few things, and I don’t want to do it out in the open.”

“All right.”

I followed her into a dimly lit hallway. She opened a door, exposing a small parlor with a set of windows covered in sheer curtains. The furniture looked functional, yet elegant; a sofa and chair occupied the space.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” She moved about the room, her figure plainly outlined in the tight-fitting pants. It was scandalous for a woman to wear such things, but she seemed entirely at ease in this ensemble. A calico shirt was tucked in, with a leather belt around a trim waist. “I know you’re in the process of grieving, Mrs. Clark. I’m not sure what possessed you to come in here today, but you’re clearly not in your right mind.” She sat on the sofa, crossing her legs, which was something a lady would never do. Lighting a cigarette, she took a long drag.

“I might end up here. I don’t have much money.”

“Your husband’s only been gone a few weeks. It’s a bit too early to be thinking doom and gloom, isn’t it?”

“Not really. I have to be practical.”

“As I remember it, you’ve a crop coming in soon, don’t you? Why not wait until after the harvest to declare yourself bankrupt.”

“I doubt a bit of corn will cover all my debts.”

“You’d be surprised what corn brings in. I’m sure you have more than that growing out there. It’s been a while since I’ve taken a trip out of town. I should go more often.”

“Mrs. Wallace—”

“Ms. Wallace, but, please, call me Ruby.”

“Ruby, I…could I have a tour? I’d like to see…what things look like.”

A swirl of grey smoke lingered before her face. “Oh, lordy, honey. You’re crazy if you think I’m taking you from room to room. I’ll tell you what you want to know. It’s just bedrooms. Each room has a bed and a dresser with pitcher and bowl. It’s as decorated as the downstairs. That’s all.”

“How many girls work here?”

“Ten to fifteen, depending.”

“Depending on what?”

“I lose girls every week.”

“Where do they go?”

“They marry their customers. Occupational hazard.”

The door opened, and Candy brought in a silver tray with a gold trimmed teapot. There were matching cups. After she poured the fluid into one, she handed it to me.

“Thank you.” When she left, I asked, “How long have you been doing this?”

“Five years.”

“Is Ruby your real name?”

“No, of course not.”

“I’ve heard you charge $250 dollars a night for one girl.”

“You heard right.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

“You’ve taken a huge risk coming here, Mrs. Clark. Quite a few people saw you enter this house. They’re probably in hysterics about it, the little gossip mongers.”

I sipped the drink. “I guess.”

“You don’t care?”

“I do. I don’t know why I came here. I dropped all the eggs, and then I lost my mind.”

“I don’t think you’re destined for the whorehouse, Mrs. Clark.”

“You never know. I was supposed to be happy here. I’ve only been married since last year. I should be pregnant right now.” Tears filled my eyes. “I don't recall any plans for being a widow.”

“No one plans that.”

“What happened to you? Were you married once?”

“I was married a couple of times.” She inhaled her cigarette, the smoke exiting a few seconds later. “The last man beat me. I shot him.”

“Is he dead?” I sat straighter, alarmed.

“No, the bastard didn’t die. I divorced him.”

“Did you get in trouble for shooting him?”