Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Winter; Part 5 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson Sunday, January 28, 1872 "I gotta tell you, little missy, you are one fine singer." The speaker was a tall, dapper-looking man in a dark blue frock coat. Jessie dimpled. "Thanks, and, please, call me Jessie." "All right... Jessie, and I'm Randolph... Randy, to you. And Randy _for_ you," he added with a wink. "You are as pretty as an ace-high straight." "Well, now, thanks for that, too." Her smile grew even broader. She liked being told she was pretty, even if it wasn't Paul doing the telling. "Yes, sir, damned beautiful. What do you say we go upstairs, and you can show me just how beautiful." "I'm sorry, Randy... Randolph, but all I do for Lady Cerise is sing in her parlor." "A woman as pretty as you, in a place like this, and all you do is sing?" He raised an eyebrow. "Surely, that can't be true." He looked at her closely. "Or do they just charge more for something as special as you?" Herve stepped between them. Randolph was tall, but Herve was just as tall and much more muscled. "Ma'm'selle Jessie told you, sir. She is here to sing -- and _only_ to sing." Randy took a step back. "Which she, ah, does very well. I just thought... _hoped_ that there was more, that just she had to be coaxed, perhaps. That was all. I meant no harm." "Except for the last part," Jessie told him with a forced smile, "I took what you said as a compliment." She wanted to keep things friendly, so Cerise wouldn't lose any business on her account. The man grinned back nervously. "I'll just take my leave of you then." He hurried over to talk to Mae. She smiled at something he said and led him out of the parlor and towards the stairs. "This is getting to be a habit with you," Cerise said, joining Jessie and Herve. "Last week, it was Max and today Randolph. I hope it has not put you off the idea of singing at my establishment." Jessie shook her head. "No, but I didn't expect I'd get propositioned so often. I'm just glad that Herve came over when he did." "It was my pleasure to rescue such a fair damosel," Herve replied, bowing low with a broad sweep of his arm. "Thanks, Herve, but I didn't really need rescuing. If Randy there _had_ tried anything..." she smiled mischievously, "...what I'd'a done with my knee would've put _him_ off." * * * * * Whit Whitney took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair. "This is really good scotch, Shamus." He grinned. "Better than what you serve downstairs, I think." "I have a bottle of it down in me bar, and I'll be serving it t'any man willing t'pay me what it's worth." Carmen was sitting on Whit's left in the parlor of the two-room apartment that Shamus and Molly kept on the second floor of the Saloon. "Shall we get down to business finally?" she asked, shifting the cloth bag on her lap. "Please." Ramon was on Whit's right. Shamus, Molly, and Maggie sat across from them. "All right then." Whit took a final sip. "Normally, Ramon's parents and his godfather would handle this, but, well, his parents're dead, and, these days, Juan Ortega's too old and sick to leave his house. That leaves it to Carmen and me to ask." Molly took Maggie's hand in hers. "And what would ye be asking, Mr. Whitney?" She felt Maggie's hand clench as soon as she said it. "They call it a 'petici?n de mano', a request for a lady's hand," Whit told her, "and, normally, Ramon and Maggie wouldn't be here, but --" Ramon interrupted. "But I wanted to be here, to be the one to ask." He looked across at Maggie. "Se?or and Se?ora O'Toole... Margarita, will you give me the greatest gift any man can ever receive, the hand of the woman he loves in marriage?" "Ramon, I..." She looked rattled. "You know that I cannot --" Molly jabbed Shamus in the ribs. "Very well said, Ramon," Shamus quickly interrupted. "Now, as I understand it, the girl's parents -- which'd be Molly and me in this case -- are the ones who answer the boy's family -- which would be ye, Whit and Carmen. Ain't that right, Maggie?" "Si," she answered, "but I..." "We answer for ye, Maggie dear," Molly interrupted this time. "'Tis our answer that counts, so be a darling and leave it to us." She gave Maggie's hand a gentle squeeze. "Trust us, dear." Maggie sighed. "I do, but..." "We'll talk about it later." Molly gave a reassuring smile and patted Maggie's hand before she turned to face the others. "Carmen told Shamus and me how this petition thing works, and we've given some thought about how t'best be answering the question." She tilted her head towards Shamus for a moment. "We'll talk about what ye asked," Shamus continued, "aye, we'll be thinking long and hard on it, and we'll be giving ye yuir answer a week from today, if that's all right with ye?" Whit stood and reached out. "That's fine." He took Shamus hand and shook it. "We'll be back then for your answer." "His answer?" Maggie said, sounding almost angry. "Custom or not, should _I_ not be the one to answer?" Carmen smiled. "Only if it is the right answer. In the meantime..." she opened the bag. "...custom calls for a _sabucan_... a gift of food and drink to celebrate that our petici?n is so well received." "Uncle Juan -- our godfather -- could not be here, but he sent this bottle of madeira, and I brought _rosas_, a bouquet for the... bride." As she spoke, Carmen took the bottle and a stack of flower-shaped pastry swirls sparkling with pink sugar out of the bag and laid them out on the table. She smiled and handed out the rosas, while Shamus opened the bottle and poured everyone a drink. Maggie sat quietly, not knowing what to do or say. Or what she _wanted_ to do or say. * * * * * "Cream and sugar, Phillipia?" Kaitlin asked. "Just sugar please." Phillipia Stone was Yully's mother, a slender woman whose olive skin and curly black hair proudly showed her Greek ancestry. She waited while Kaitlin added the sugar and passed her the cup. "I've spoken to several women -- discretely, of course -- and they've agreed to bake for the dance." "Wonderful, Phillipia." Kaitlin had put two spoons of sugar in a second cup and was handing it to Trisha. "Could I have some milk, too, please," Trisha asked. Kaitlin added the milk to Trisha's tea, while she continued her conversation with Mrs. Stone. "And will you be making those little layered honey cakes of yours?" She passed the cup to Trisha. "My baklava? Of course," Phillipia said. "And you'll make the mint tea?" "Yes," Kaitlin answered. "And Martha Yingling will bring the big punchbowl and the glasses and plates that belongs to the church. They're all kept at her house." She took a sip of her own tea. "I also spoke to Nancy Osbourne about decorations. She'll have the school children make paper chains and paper lanterns as a craft project." "She'll need a lot of paper for that," Trisha said thoughtfully. "It really isn't fair to ask the school to pay for it. I'll... I'll talk to Roscoe Unger about donating some when he comes in to see about my store's advertisement for next week's paper." "You should ask him to give us space in the paper to promote the dance," Phillipia suggested. Trisha nodded. "That's a good idea; I will." She thought a moment. "I'm sure he will. He's a nice... a good man, and the church gives him a lot of business." "It certainly sounds like we're ready," Kaitlin said. "All we need is for the board to approve the whole idea of holding a dance." "They... _we_ will," Trisha replied. "That is, I think we will. We've got the votes." Phillipia nodded. "My papa used to say, 'don't sell the fish until the boats come in.' It sounds better in Greek, but you get the idea." She sipped her tea. "Do you think Mr. Styron knows what we're trying to do?" "No." Trisha shook her head. "If he did, I'd have heard of it -- probably from him directly. Still... there's still more than a week left until the meeting." "Can he do anything?" Phillipia asked, "If the votes are there, I mean." "He could try," Trisha replied. "Rupert, the Judge, and Dwight all said that they liked the idea, but..." "But what?" Kaitlin asked. Trisha continued. "But if enough people raise an objection at the meeting, any one of them _could_ change his vote." "Then it's your job to see that they don't," Kaitlin said, a determined look in her eye. "Yes, ma'am," Trisha answered quickly. * * * * * Maggie watched Shamus walk Ramon, Carmen, and Whit down from the apartment. She and Molly were left to clean up and put things away. "Why did you not let me answer when Ramon proposed?" she asked Molly. Molly looked at her carefully. "And what answer would ye be giving him?" "I..." she sighed. "I do not know." "And that's why we didn't let ye answer, 'cause ye don't know." She waited a half-beat. "Don't ye want to marry him?" "I... I love him, and I so very much want to be with him." "Aye, only thuir's a 'but' ain't there?" She looked at Molly, her eyes beginning to glisten. "But... but I promised Lupe, my Lupe, that I would take care of our children. I... I cannot put my happiness ahead... ahead of that promise." "Maggie, dear, ye've been saying that t'poor Ramon for months. Ye've been caught, caught like that dog in the manger, between love and duty." "And I still am." "Then ye couldn't be answering him today, could ye?" "I couldn't," she admitted, choking on the words. "And it will be the same next week, when he comes back for his answer, the one you and Shamus promised him." She stared down at the floor, unable to look her friend in the face. Molly gently lifted Maggie's chin with her hand. "No it won't, Maggie, dear," she said smiling. "We've got us a week, me, ye, and Shamus, t'be figuring out a way for ye to give Ramon the _right_ answer. We'll find that way, ye'll see." * * * * * "And where the devil have ye been?" Jessie ignored Shamus while she tied on her apron. "Where I said I was going, over t'see Wilma. What's the matter with that?" "She did say she'd be going over there, Love," Molly added, trying to keep things calm. "And it wasn't like we was so busy this afternoon." "That ain't the point, Molly," Shamus answered stubbornly. "We're never busy on Sunday afternoon. What I'm wondering is, was she visiting with her sister or was she singing for all them men over there at Lady Cerise's?" Jessie glared at him. "I'm not saying that's what I did, Shamus, but what if it was? You don't have me singing in here on Sundays, so why can't I sing over there if I want to?" "If she pays ye to, ye mean. Sam Braddock was in here an hour or so ago, and he was telling me how ye was singing there, singing 'Collee's Ride', too. The song I told ye not t'be singing." "You pay me for singing in here two days a week -- three, if you count the times I sing at the dance on Saturday. That's all. You never said I couldn't sing nowhere else." She took a breath. "And _I_ decide what I sing. I don't sing 'Collee's Ride' in here because Molly asked me not to, _not_ because of anything you said." Shamus looked over at his wife. "Molly? Because _she_ asked ye..." "I was just trying t'keep the peace, Love," Molly told him. "I couldn't stand t'see the way it hurt ye t'be hearing that song." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Please don't be mad." Shamus reached up and put his hand over hers. "I'm not mad, Love. Not at ye, anyhow. But this one..." "Look, Shamus. I wasn't here this afternoon, so don't pay me for it. As far as what I did do, that's my business. It ain't like we got a contract. We shook hands on my singing for you two nights a week, and that's the end of it." Shamus let out a deep sigh. "It is for now, Jessie. It is for now. Go wait on me customers." * * * * * Teresa Diaz looked over at the couch where Arnie was stretched out. "Arnoldo, are you asleep?" It was after 10, and her younger children were all in bed. "No, Mama." He turned his head to face her. "Just thinking." He paused a beat. "Dolores is leaving tomorrow. I thought that, after we see her off, I would go look for another job." "What about your old job? Maybe Se?or Shamus would give it back to you if you asked him." Arnie sat up quickly. "No! I will not ask that old bas -- that old man for my job." "But you always said that he was a good jefe." "A good boss would not have fired me like he did, for no reason." "But you _stole_ from him, Arnoldo. You told me so yourself." "One time, Mama, one time, and it was only thirty cents." "If it was only the one time -- only a mistake -- then he will forgive you. You must ask him." "You mean I must _beg_ him. I _will_ _not_ beg some Apache-loving son of a bitch -- yes, son of a bitch -- for a job." "But... but who will hire you if they find out that Se?or Shamus fired you? He is a man of importance in this town." "I'm a man of importance, too. You just don't see it." "What I see is a boy, a boy trying hard -- maybe too hard -- to be a man." "Then you see nothing." He stood up. "And we have nothing to talk about." He turned and walked towards the front door. "Arnoldo!" Teresa started after him. He ignored her and kept walking, slamming the door hard behind him. She shuddered at the sound as if struck and sank down into a chair. "Arnoldo!" she moaned. "Why do you have to be so much like your papa?" Dolores had heard everything through the half-opened door of the room she shared with her cousins. She was beside Teresa almost at once, her arms around her. "He just lost his temper," she told the grieving woman. "He will be back, and you two will be able to talk it out." "Si," Teresa answered, "he will be back, but I will be no better at talking to him than I was just now. He would talk to you, but you... you will not be here to help me." She put her head on Dolores' shoulder and began to cry. * * * * * Monday, January 29, 1872 "You awake, Jessie?" Jessie opened one eye. "Jane, it ain't morning yet. Go back to sleep." "I can't. I been trying and trying." She sounded mad about something. "What's the matter?" "Milt. I-I can't figure him out. Sometimes, he acts like he really likes me. And sometimes... sometimes it's like he can't stand t'be around me." "Did you ask him why?" "I did. He said he couldn't explain it t'me. You think it's 'cause I'm... I'm too dumb?" 'Don't answer that,' Jessie told herself. Aloud, she asked, "Did he say you was dumb?" "He... he said he couldn't figure it out for himself, but that don't make no sense t'me. What d'you think?" "I-I don't know." Jessie yawned. "It took me a long while t'figure Paul out." "Well, you musta got him figured out now. You two are together so much." Jane giggled. "'Specially at night." "Jane!" "It's true, ain't it? Fact is, I can't see why you spend any nights over here." Jessie felt her body warm at the thought of being with Paul every night. But she couldn't. "Paul says -- and I agree with him, I guess -- that there room of his over t'the jail is like a fishbowl." She sighed. "It'd be too much if I was t'move in with him." "He could move in here. There's lotsa room." "Sure, and put on a show for you every night? Go to sleep, Jane." "I can't. I still don't know what t'do about Milt." "I'll tell you what; you think about what I'm gonna do about Paul for a while, and I'll think about you and Milt. How's that?" "You will? You promise?" Jessie stifled another yawn. "I promise." "G'night, then." Jessie heard Jane shifting on her bed. She lay still, there in the darkened room, until they both were asleep. * * * * * Teresa stirred the eggs in the skillet. "Constanza," she called to her younger daughter, "please go tell Dolores that breakfast is almost ready." "She is not here, Mama," Constanza answered, putting the dishes in place on the table. "She went someplace early this morning." Teresa looked over at the door. Dolores' luggage, two large carpetbags, was still waiting there. "Do you know where she went?" Dolores had said nothing while they had talked the night before. 'Of course,' she added to herself, 'I was so busy worrying about Arnoldo last night that I --.' Her eyes started to fill with tears. 'No, I will not get upset this morning. Let Dolores see me smile when she leaves.' She wiped her eyes quickly, hoping her children would not notice. Ysabel was pouring milk for everyone. "Maybe she went to say goodbye to Se?or de Aguilar," she suggested, giggling at the thought of how they might be saying their goodbyes. "She had better get back here soon from wherever she is," Teresa said. She took the scrambled eggs off the heat and folded in a mixture of onions, tomatoes, and shredded beef she had cooked earlier. Setting the skillet down, she continued, "Otherwise, she will not have time to eat before Arnoldo and I take her to the stage." "Can we go with you, Mama?" Enrique asked, "or do we have to say goodbye here and go to school?" Teresa thought for a moment. "I think that you can be late this one time, but you will say short goodbyes and run to the school as soon as the stage leaves." She walked around the table spooning portions of the egg and meat mixture onto everyone's plates, including some for her missing cousin. "Something smells very good," Dolores said, choosing that moment to come in. "I made machaca con huevos," Teresa told her. "I wanted you to have a good meal before you left." Food at the stations along most stage routes was notoriously bad. "You had best hurry, though." Dolores sat down at her place and took a forkful. "I have plenty of time. I am not going -- not today, at least. I was just at the depot turning in my ticket." The younger children cheered, and Ysabel gave Dolores a hug. "I am so glad you are staying." "As am I," Teresa said, "but I have to ask why?" Teresa felt embarrassed. She knew that she needed help, but was Dolores staying out of pity? Dolores looked at the children and shook her head. "For now, let us only say that I decided last night that staying here in Eerie might be just as exciting in its own way as Carnival back home." "Last night... you mean when I..." Teresa's cheeks felt warm. It _was_ pity. Dolores hugged Ysabel back and reached out to gently put her hand on Teresa's arm. "I mean that I decided that I love my cousins -- _all_ of my cousins -- here in Eerie too much to leave yet. I will spend Carnival right here." She looked over at Arnie's empty chair. He had eaten earlier, not wanting to be around his mother. It was a feeling she reluctantly shared. At the moment, he was out back getting Teresa's small laundry wagon ready to carry Dolores' luggage to the stage. "I am sure," Dolores added, "that there will be some interesting fireworks hereabout." * * * * * "Ramon," Aaron called from behind the counter, making a broad motion with his arm. "Come over and join us for some lunch." "Why?" Ramon answered. "I do not mean to be rude," he added quickly, "but do you not always say that we should not all eat at the same time, so there will always be someone to wait on any customers that come in?" Aaron chuckled. "Ma nistana ha-yom hazeh? Sorry, that was a joke, sort of. It means 'why is this day different from every other day?' That's something we say as part of the seder, the special meal we have for our Passover holiday." "And I'm sure he has at least four questions," Rachel interrupted her husband. Without any explanation of what she'd just said, she continued, "Please come join us, Ramon. And if it bothers you so much, you can turn the sign on the door around, and we'll be closed. It's quiet now," she said with a shrug, "closed for ten or twenty minutes-- feh! -- what can it hurt?" "In that case, I will be happy to join you." Ramon walked over to the door and reversed the sign before taking a seat at the small worktable they had set up for the meal. "Especially for some of Rachel's brisket." He put two slices of meat on a slice of the bread. Rachel handed him a small jar filled with a very pungent, grayish-brown paste. "Try some of this horseradish on it, but not too much. It's strong." "I know." Ramon used a knife to spread some of the paste -- as strong as any chili paste he'd ever eaten -- on the second slice of bread. He topped off the sandwich with a slice of lettuce, added the bread, and took a bite. "Delicious," he said truthfully. Then he turned to face Aaron. "What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" "Always to the point," Aaron said, laughing. "When Fortune calls, as the Sages say, get her a chair quick. Since you ask, I'll tell you. Better yet, I'll ask you. Ramon, how would you like to be a partner in the store -- one third share each to me, Rachel, and you?" Ramon's eyes went wide. "Partner? I had thought, perhaps, a raise, but this... I am very flattered, Aaron.... Rachel, but should it not be your sons that are your partners?" "You mean like Michael Goldwasser -- excuse me, keineh horah, _Goldwater_ -- and his boys over in Phoenix?" Aaron said, a sarcastic tone in his voice. "Being partners with my sons would be nice, but do you see them standing around here anywhere? Shmulie, my oldest, is a rabbi in San Francisco, working with Rabbi Belinski, the chief rabbi of the city, no less. Yitzchak, my other boy, has his own store -- and it's doing well, he tells me -- up in Denver. And my daughter, Tuva, her husband works in San Francisco, too, for the Port." "Don't be so hard on Moische," Rachel scolded. "Not after he and Tuva gave us that pretty granddaughter two years ago." "I'm not mad, Racheliebe," Aaron said, taking her hand in his. "I'm just saying they aren't here to be partners with." "And so you are stuck with me," Ramon said wryly. Aaron shook his head. "Stuck? Gottenu, no. _Lucky_ is what I am with you. You're a good boy, a real mench, as we say, and a hard worker. I'll be proud to have you as my partner." He held out his right hand. "If you'll take my offer?" "I will be proud to your partner, Aaron, my friend." He shook the older man's hand. "And yours, as well, Rachel." "A handshake is good," Aaron told him, "but where there's room for a question, something is wrong. I'll have Milt Quinlan draw up papers to make everything kosher. We can sign by Shabbos." Rachel smiled contentedly. "Now that we've settled that, Ramon, try one of these pickles." * * * * * Cerise looked up from her paperwork at the sound of the knock on the office door. "Entre vous, come in." "Morning, Cerise," Wilma said, stepping into the office and closing the door behind her. "How you doing today?" "Bien, mon brave, and you?" "Just dandy." Wilma grinned. "I think I got an answer t'what I should do about Rosalyn and Beatriz." "Tres bien; what is it that you are going to do?" "Nothing. _You're_ gonna do it." Cerise frowned. "I 'ave told you, Wilma, that it is you that must solve this problem if you are to truly be my second." "And I have. Lemme ask you something, what you do t'them two for getting tea over all those ledgers of yours?" "I... I scolded them for their impertinence, of course. What else would you have me do?" "Seems t'me they oughta be put t'work replacing what they ruined. Then... long as they're working on them books anyway, they can enter all the expenses since." "It will take them hours to do all of that. They will..." Celeste's lips curled into a wry smile. She nodded in approval. "I see what you mean, and... I think that it will work." She gave a deep, hearty laugh. "And they will work." Wilma joined the laughter. "I thought you'd like it." "I do; I very much do like it. Brava." She clapped her hands in a brief applause. "I shall call them in this very afternoon." "Exactly. They wouldn't do it if I asked, but they'll have to do it for you." She thought for a moment. "But I'd wait till Wednesday t'have them do it." "Why? There will not be that many more bills to enter by Wednesday." "No, but I just remembered that Beatriz said Sebastian Ortega's coming over here Wednesday afternoon." She pretended to look sad. "Be a real shame if she was too busy doing the work in here, and he went and picked somebody else t'be with." * * * * * "Be careful as you bone the fish," Maggie warned Jane. "We could not get as much of the fresh Gila trout as I would have liked." "I done this before," Jane answered. "Mr. Mckechnie's wagon's've brought 'em up more'n once." Before Maggie could reply, Ramon burst into the room, a broad smile on his face. "Margarita, I have news." "Ramon, what is it that is so important?" He rushed over to Maggie. "Wonderful, wonderful news. I-I had to come over and tell you. Aaron, just now he... he offered to make me a partner in the store." "An equal partner in his business? That is good news." Jane slapped him on the back. "Yeah, congratulations, Ramon." "Actually, Aaron, Rachel, and I will all be partners," he continued. "They asked me to sit with them for lunch. He made me the offer, and I... I said yes. Milt Quinlan will write something legal, and we will all sign." "I am proud of you, Ramon," Maggie told him. "What did Whit and Carmen say when you told them?" "I have not told them yet." He took a step closer. "You -- oh, and Jane -- you are the first ones to know." "Me?" Maggie felt a warm tingling run through her. "Who else would I want to share this news with?" He nudged up close to her, very close. "Ramon, I have fish all over me. " She tried to push him away with an elbow that was reasonably clean. He took hold of her waist and held firm. "Something to remember you by," he said with a smile and kissed her. Maggie shifted from pushing him away to encircling his neck. Their bodies flush, they held their embrace until breathless. And time and Jane and the fish all went away for a while, lost in the depths of the couple's feelings, like a school of fish lost in the depths of the ocean. Ramon reluctantly broke the kiss. He drew in a deep breath, stepped back and brushed some bits of fish and skin from his shirt. "Not your best perfume, but a memorable one." He looked at his pocket watch. "I must go. I promised my... partners that I would not be gone too long." "And a promise is a promise," Maggie said with a sigh. "I should know. Goodbye then." Ramon turned to go, but then he glanced at his shirt and brushed another small scrap of fish away. "What is this that you are cooking?" "Grilled trout with salsa verde," Maggie answered. "That and fried chicken will be the menu tonight." "May I join you then for dinner -- with Ernesto and Lupe, of course -- I want to tell them the good news, too." He paused a beat. "I will get a bottle of wine from Shamus, and we can all toast my becoming a partner." "You are welcome, of course." She tried not to seem _too_ happy at the prospect of dinner with him. "But what about Carmen and Whit. Should you not tell them?" "I will, and I will drink a toast with them, also. Whit has a very good wine cellar." He took her hand. "And on Sunday -- I have every hope that -- we will be drinking a toast to another, and much better partnership." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Maggie trembled, but before she could answer, could say anything, he released her hand, bowed low, and was gone. * * * * * Tuesday, January 30, 1872 Dolores was writing a letter, to explain to her friend, Perdita Moralez, why she would not be coming home for carnival. Arnie watched her for a bit, then sat down across from her at the table. "While Mama is out delivering laundry, I wanted to thank you for staying for a while longer. You made her very happy." She put down her pen. "You are welcome. I enjoyed my visit, and I decided that it would be more fun to spend carnival here with all of you than to go back to Mexico City. I _know_ what the festival is like there." "Just the same, it was good of you to do it for her." "You are a good... son, Arnoldo, to care so much for your mother's happiness." "What sort of a son would I be if I did not think of my mother?" "What sort of son would you be if you thought even more of your mother?" "What do you mean?" "She is very worried about you." "I know. I am trying to find a new job." "And I am sure that you will." She studied his face for a moment, then added, "but your job is not the only thing that worries your mother." He tensed. "What do you mean?" "Your papa's pistolas, are you still trying to learn how to use them?" "No, I..." he looked down at the table top. "I decided to stop for a while. I will use the time to..." His mind raced. "...to find a job." "That sounds like a good idea. Have you told your mother this?" "No." He sensed a trap. "Then do so. Better yet, give her the pistolas to hold while you are not using them." She put her hand on his. "do it for me... and her. Show us that she does not need to worry, that you are the _man_ I know you to be." He thought for a moment. 'Jessie will not give me lessons, and I have no money for bullets. Why not let Mama think I am doing it for her?' He nodded. "Very well, I will do it. I will give them to Mama as soon as she comes home." "Maravilloso!" She came around to his side of the table and hugged him tightly. 'And I will talk to the people at the saloon. Maybe I can help you to get your old job back.' * * * * * Rev. Yingling stood up as Trisha walked into his study. "And how are you today, Trisha?" he asked as she sat down opposite him at his desk. "Hopeful, Reverend," she answered, as he took his seat. "Hope is a truly blessed state. Are your plans for a building fund progressing that well?" "I think they are, but that isn't what I'm hopeful about right now." "And what is it that you are so hopeful about?" "I'm hopeful that I can get you to change your mind on what you said about Kaitlin and me." Yingling shook his head. "I fear that is not possible, Trisha." "But --" "Please let me finish. When we first talked last week, you asked me to think about what your relationship with Kaitlin was and what it ought to be. I did. For three straight days, I thought of almost nothing else. I had to rush to finish last Sunday's sermon." "It didn't seem rushed to me. You talked about repentance and trying to follow G-d's Will." "I'm glad you were listening." "I always listen to your sermons, Reverend." "Really, tell me, just as a guess, how many times I've spoken on the subject of repentance in the past year?" "I... I never kept count... umm, a dozen times, at least." "And how many times would you say I've spoken on understanding our Lord's Will or on following his Laws?" "Are you saying that this..." She gestured at her body. "...is His Will?" "Who can say what is or isn't His Will? That isn't my point." "What is your point, then?" "Have you ever heard me change my position on repentance... or on any other topic I've spoken of in my sermons? Even when such a change might seem warranted because of something that was happening to a member of my congregation?" He stared directly at Trisha, as if daring her to answer. "No... no, I-I haven't." "Then why... how can you expect me to change my mind on this? I am sorry to say it, but say it I must. Your marriage to Kaitlin ended the moment that your body changed. Woman cannot be married to woman, _that_ is Holy Writ." "I wasted my time -- and my hopes, then." She sighed. "You can't -- or won't help me." "I most certainly can help, Trisha. I can help you -- you and Kaitlin, both -- to find solace in our Lord and to come to terms with what has happened to you." He gently placed his hand on hers. "Please let me try to help the two of you in this, help you to find the peace that lies in His Love." Yingling's hand on hers bothered Trisha. She pulled hers away and shook her head. "Someday, maybe, Reverend. Today, all I feel is hate, a hate for what Shamus' potion did to me." "I am of several minds on Mr. O'Toole's potion, but I remind you that it did save your son's life." "No, it ended it. Based on what you said before, it ended mine as well. Patrick and Elmer O'Hanlan are dead and gone. What happens to what's left, to Trisha and Emma O'Hanlan, remains to be seen." "All things are in the Lord's hands. Pray with me. Ask Him for His Blessings and Mercy." "Not today, I think." She stood up. "I do thank you for your time, though." * * * * * "Can I talk to ye for a bit, Maggie?" Molly asked, walking into the kitchen. Jane answered first. "Sure you can, Molly. We was just taking a break before starting on tonight's supper." "I was talking t'Maggie, Jane," Molly said patiently, "and I'd like t'be talking to her alone if ye don't mind?" "Can't I stay? I'll be quiet." Jane sat down at the worktable. "I'll just sit here and not say a word." Maggie put a hand on her helper's shoulder. "Please, Jane. I know that you want to stay, but this is something... something just between Molly and me." "Oh, all right." Jane frowned but she did stand up. "I'll go sit out front and hope that Milt'll come in t'see me." "I hope that he will," Maggie said, "I truly do. And thank you." Jane was almost to the door. She stopped and turned around. "Don't thank me, Maggie. You owe me one for this, and don't you think I ain't gonna collect." She winked and walked through the door and into the saloon. "She's a good girl," Molly said, watching the door close behind Jane, "but sometimes..." She let the words trail off. Maggie poured Molly a cup of coffee. "I do not think she knows how important this is." She poured herself a cup and sat down. "Have you thought of anything?" "Aye, dear. I've thought of a question." She added sugar to the cup and stirred. "What exactly was it that ye promised that wife of yuirs?" "I..." Maggie looked surprised. "I promised what I said, that I would take care of Ernesto and Lupe." "D'ye remember yuir exact words when ye made the promise?" "Remember?" she sighed. "I remember it too well. Lupe... my wife, had a hard time giving birth to L... to our daughter. We thought that she was getting better, but a few months later, she woke up in pain and with a terrible fever. There was no doctor, just Father Telles and the midwife." Maggie stopped and closed her eyes. "It's all right, Maggie." Molly gently laid her hand on Maggie's right arm. "It's all right. Ye don't have to be telling me." Maggie's left elbow was on the table, her arm bent and her hand covering her eyes. "Si, I-I do. They did all that they could, but it was... it was not enough. Even I knew it, though I did not want to admit it, even to myself." "Late in the afternoon, Lupe asked to see the children. My sister, Juana, was taking care of them, and Mother Gracia, the midwife, went for them. Then Lupe asked Father Telles to let us be alone. My... my heart beat so hard that it hurt. I feared that she was saying goodbye to me." Molly could feel the tears in her own eyes. "And was she?" Molly asked softly. "She was, in her way. 'Miguel, mi coraz?n' -- my heart, she called me. 'You must promise me something.' I said that I would promise anything. I would have. I would have sold my soul if it would have made her well." Maggie continued. "She tried to sit up, but she could not. I shifted some pillows behind her. 'Thank you,' she said. 'You have always been so good... so good..." Maggie sobbed, holding her head in her hands. Molly hurried around the table and took the younger woman in her arms. She began a gentle rocking motion, trying to calm Maggie, as she might try to calm a suffering daughter. It seemed to work. Maggie' voice grew steadier. "I am... better," she finally said. "Thank you." "D'ye think ye can be telling the rest of it?" Maggie nodded. "Lupe was saying, 'you have always been so good to me, Miguel. You must promise to me that you will take care of our children, mi coraz?n.' We will take care of them together, I said. I knew it was a lie, but I could not say the truth." "Lupe shook her head. She smiled and kissed my hand. 'We both know...' she stopped. She could not say the truth any more than I could. 'Just promise, mi coraz?n, promise that you will care for them as we would have if we... I were there to care for them with you." "I closed my eyes, so that she would not see the tears. I will promise, I said, but you will be there with me, you will see." "Before she could argue, there was a knock on the door. Mother Gracia was back. 'Good,' Lupe said, 'I know that you will keep that promise.' Then she called for Mother Gracia to bring the babies in. She... _we_ played with them for a while. She even nursed Lupe one last time. Then she said that she was feeling tired." "Mother Gracia took the babies back to Juana's. Lupe asked for Father Telles. We prayed together, the three of us, for some hours. I could hear Lupe's voice getting weaker. At last, she... she asked the padre for the last rites. He gave them to her. She thanked him and took my hand. 'Mi corazon,' she said, 'remember your promise.' I said that I would." Maggie began to cry again, and Molly held her. "Lupe and I... we held hands like... like the lovers we were. I-I held her until... until she slipped away to the world be-beyond." Maggie's voice fell away into a moan and she laid her head against Molly. She didn't try to speak again; she was sobbing too hard. "So that's the size of it," Molly whispered. She held Maggie in her arms, even as tears ran down her own cheeks. * * * * * Horace Styron calmly watched Dwight Albertson as the older man re-read the loan application. "Everything in order, Dwight?" "It is. Are you certain that you want to borrow this much?" He set the form down on his desk. "I am. I need those funds to restock for the spring. Between the miners coming down from the mountains to get supplies and the farmers looking to put in their crops, I have to have a bit of everything in my store." Albertson signed and carefully blotted both copies. "And you will." He handed the papers to Styron, who also signed them. "And your bank'll get the payments, same as we do it every year." He folded his copy and slipped it into a pocket in his suit. "Can't argue with success." Albertson put the bank's copy in a folder. He paused, trying to change the subject. It was never good to let a customer dwell on a loan. "You ready for the church board meeting next week?" "I am. It'll be nice to have a quiet meeting, even if it's with... Trisha still on the board." Albertson fidgeted with his pen. "A... ah, quiet meeting, yeah, that... that'll be nice." "What's going on, Dwight?" Styron asked, sensing trouble. "Nothing, nothing." "Dwight, you just approved a $7500 loan without batting an eye, but you start twitching like a scared little boy when I mention the board meeting." He stood and leaned over the desk. "What aren't you telling me?" "The... uh, budget. I was just thinking that we have to start working on next year's budget." "No, you weren't. You never worried about the budget before. This is something else. This is... Trisha! Yes, it has to be." He looked at the banker and knew that he'd guessed right. "All right, Dwight, what is that bitch up to now?" * * * * * "Mind if I join ye, Jessie." Jessie was sitting at a table, nursing a fake beer, and killing time until her next show by sorting the money her audience had tossed at her earlier that evening. She gestured at the chair opposite her. "Sit yourself down, Shamus." "Thank ye." He pulled out the chair and settled down into it. "That was a good set of songs ye was singing t'night. The men enjoyed it, too, judging from all them coins ye got there." She shrugged. "It ain't bad, but I'd've gotten more if you'd've let me sing 'Collee's Ride.' They keep asking for it; you heard 'em tonight." "I heard. I also heard the clapping -- just as loud, it was t'me thinking -- when ye sang that 'Jimmy with the Light Brown Hair' instead." "Maybe they's clapping as loud, but they ain't throwing as much money as they do when I sing 'Collee's Ride.' Are you offering t'make up the difference?" "No -- 'cause ye can't be proving t'me that there _is_ a difference." "They want to hear 'Collee's Ride', and they're getting tired as a tomcat walking in the mud of me not singing it." "Aye, and I'm getting just as tired of arguing with ye about it." "Then let me sing it." "All right, then. Ye can sing it in yuir room upstairs or when ye're doing chores. Ye can sing it when ye go walking with Paul Grant -- or whatever else it is the two of ye is doing. Ye can sing it wherever else ye want t'be singing that blasted song, but ye'll _not_ be singing it on me stage as part of any show ye do for me. Understand?" Jessie's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I understand, Shamus; I really do." * * * * * Wednesday, January 31, 1872 Sam Duggan was sweeping the boardwalk in front of his saloon. He could have had one of the help do it, but it was a chance to, as he said, "To get a look-see at what's going on in the world." "Mr. Duggan..." He turned to see... "Jessie Hanks, what brings you over to the Long Branch? Good news, I hope." "Can we go inside?" Jessie looked around nervously. "I ain't got much time, and I'd just as soon we wasn't seen." Duggan pushed aside the swinging door to the saloon and gestured for Jessie to go in. "After you then." She walked through, and he followed her inside. "I told Shamus I was going out to get some air," she told him. "Is your offer still good?" "Sure is. When can you come over here?" "Now, I ain't quitting Shamus -- not yet anyways, but I don't sing for him every night." Duggan frowned. "So... you'll sing for him some nights, and me other nights. Is that how it works?" "For now, anyway -- _if_ I like working for you. How 'bout I try it on Friday, and see what happens?" She offered her hand. "Okay?" "No, but if it's the best I can get..." He shook her hand. "...I'll take it." "We got a deal then. And, by the way, Shamus pays me $7.50 a night, so that'll be $8.50 from you." She smiled. "A dollar more a night _was_ your offer." * * * * * 'Wish I could practice some card tricks,' Bridget thought as she shuffled the deck. 'Just to do something different with my time.' She sighed, feeling out of sorts. 'Yeah, girl,' she told herself, 'and if any of your regular players see you doing them, they might get to wondering if you're doing sleights like that _during_ a game. And then it's _goodbye_ players.' She sighed again, and began dealing out the five hands for yet another hand of Maverick solitaire. She looked around. "Maybe I can get R.J. to play a game with me. We could make another bet and --" A finger gently tapped her on the shoulder. "May I speak with you, Bridget?" A moment later, Dolores stepped around into view. "Sure, sit down," Bridget said, glad for anything to break the long afternoon monotony. She gathered up the cards while Dolores took a seat at the table. As she did, she looked carefully at the other woman. 'Her tells say she's nervous about something,' she noticed. "I thought you'd gone home a couple of days ago," Bridget continued, trying to make Dolores feel more comfortable. "I guess I heard wrong." Dolores shook her head. "No, I... I was going home. I changed my mind at the last minute. Teresa -- my cousin -- needed my help." She took a breath. "And I need yours." "I'm not promising, but... what do you need?" The two women had occasionally talked on the Saturday nights when Dolores had worked as one of Shamus' waiter girls. They weren't exactly friends, but Bridget liked the tall Mexican. She admired loyalty, too, and that seemed to be why Dolores had stayed. "Teresa -- and I -- we are worried about her son, Arnoldo --" "Arnie, the boy who worked here?" She saw Dolores nod. "I saw you talking to him, now and then, but I didn't know you two were related." "Si, Teresa's mother and my mother were sisters." "What can I do for you two, then?" "You know what happened to Arnoldo?" "He and Shamus had a big fight. Shamus caught him drinking, I think, and he called Shamus some nasty names --" "He stole some money from Se?or Shamus, also." Bridget raised an eyebrow. "No wonder Shamus fired him." She hoped that very few people knew the truth. Arnie would be disgraced. "Si, but now... can he hire Arnoldo again? Arnoldo is not really a bad boy; he is a boy straining hard to be a man. So hard that he does foolish things." "I don't know. Shamus was awful mad, and us Irish are a stubborn bunch." "I understand, but Shamus... the boy looked up to him. Arnoldo is angry that he was fired, angry at himself, I think, but he won't admit it." Dolores took a breath and continued. "I thought... if he could get his job back..." she let the words trail off. "And you want me to talk Shamus into hiring Arnie again after what happened?" "His mother is so afraid that he will come to harm if he does not settle down. You would be saving his life as far as she was concerned." She looked straight at Bridget. "Just as he once saved yours, or so I understand." Bridget's expression soured. "_That_ was low, but you made your point. Arnie's too young to get his life ruined for one dumb mistake." She knew about such things from her own life. And he _had_ jumped on Bill Hersh, when Hersh and Parnell tried to rob her at gunpoint. She owed him, she had to admit, and she set great store in paying such debts. "I'm in, Dolores. Heaven knows for what, but I'm in. I think you'd better ante up some more into this game, though." "What do you mean?" "I'll work on Shamus, and I think I can get Molly to help, but three of a kind beat a pair any day. Long as you're staying around, why don't you ask Shamus for a job, too?" "Dancing with the men? I had thought about that. It was... interesting." Bridget shook her head. "No, I mean full time, waiting tables during the week. Shamus is shorthanded with Jessie's singing and Jane spending so much time in the kitchen. That's why he hired Arnie to begin with." "Then why should he hire both me and Arnoldo?" "Because he's going to get more shorthanded as Laura gets closer to having her baby." She let her voice drop down to a whisper. "And because, even if he won't admit it, I think Shamus is sorry he had to fire the boy." There was sense in what Bridget was suggesting. Teresa hadn't said anything, but Dolores could guess how much it her cost to feed another mouth. Teresa wouldn't take charity, but she would accept being paid room and board, and this job would give her the money to do that. "I... I will think about what you have said." "And I'll think about what you have asked." She glanced towards the kitchen for an instant. "Just make sure that the only boy you're trying to help is Arnie. Maggie's my friend, and I won't help you get Ramon away from her." Dolores sighed. "You do not need to worry. Ramon made it very clear. He still would like to be my friend, but he _wants_ Margarita." * * * * * "January 23, 1872," Beatriz said in a tired voice. "Euler Brothers Brewery... one barrel of dark beer, $23." "Dark beer, $23," Rosalyn repeated the information, as she wrote it in a column in a dark green ledger book. The two women were alone in Cerise's office, sitting at her desk, which was piled high with ledgers and bills. "Same date and name," Beatriz continued. "Barrel of ale, also $23." "Ale, $23." They heard a cough from the door and looked over to see... "Daisy," Rosalyn scolded. "How long have you been standing there, spying on us?" "Spying?" Daisy answered, indignant at the thought -- even if it was true. "Well, I like that. You two's been in here all afternoon, and I was just thinking I'd bring you in some tea." She turned and picked up a tea tray that she has set on the chair in the hall. Rosalyn sighed and put her pen back in the inkwell. "I... I'm sorry, Daisy. A break for tea would be lovely. Thank you." She saw the maid walking straight for the desk and quickly pointed to a small table in the corner. "Set the tray over there, if you please." She tried to make it sound like an order. Daisy smiled innocently and did as asked. "There you goes, Miz Rosalyn. Don't blame you none for being careful. If anybody'd know what this tea could do t'them papers, it'd be you and Miz Beatriz." "How long have we been at this?" Beatriz kneaded the muscles on the back of her neck. She turned and looked at the small brass clock on the corner of Cerise's desk. "Madre de Dios! It is almost 5. Sebastian Ortega will be here --" Daisy chuckled. "That gentleman, he been here for a while. Miz Mae tole him you was busy in here. She give him your best." She giggled. "Then they went upstairs, and she give him _her_ best. They was still up there when I came in with this here tea." She waited while her words sank in. "Oh, and Miz Rosalyn, that Mr. Ritter that come here sometimes..." "Yes, what about him?" Rosalyn tried not to sound anxious. "He and Miz Wilma, they's upstairs, too." "That little bitch," Rosalyn hissed. "Who told her she could just step in and take the attentions of one of my gentlemen?" "Lady Cerise done that," Daisy told her. "She says she knows how long it was gonna take you and Miz Beatriz t'get that there work done, and she wasn't gonna close her doors just 'cause you two was busy." "Thank G-d, then, that we are almost done," Rosalyn answered. "You ain't done; you'se just finishing up for now. That's what the Lady tole me." "What!" Beatriz protested. "You do not mean that she planned for us to do this work from now on, do you?" Daisy nodded. "No, ma'am. She planned for Miz Wilma t'do it, but she says that if'n you and Miz Beatriz was gonna be messing up Miz Wilma's work, then the pair of you could take it over from now on." She chuckled heartily. "And when Miz Wilma, she heard that, she says that she'll be glad t'take over doing whatever..." She chuckled again. "...or _who_ever you been doing." * * * * * Dwight Albertson walked slowly into O'Hanlan Feed & Grain. "Good afternoon, Liam. Is... is Trisha around?" "She's in the office, just now," Liam told the banker. "Working on the books, as a matter of fact." He cupped a hand to his mouth and called towards the half-closed door. "Trisha, you've got company." Trisha came out a moment later, a lead pencil tucked into her hair above her left ear. "Dwight, what brings you over here?" "Bad news," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Horace Styron was at my bank yesterday for some business. Afterwards, we... uh, we got to talking about the board meeting next week. I-I guess I got nervous, and he -- he spotted it." "How much did you tell him, Dwight?" Liam asked. "What makes you think I said anything?" Albertson tried to sound indignant. Trisha scowled. "Because you wouldn't be over here hemming and hawing if you hadn't." "I-I'm sorry." The banker took a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his brow. "He took me by surprise when he started talking about the board out of the blue like he did. I-I reacted before I had time to think about what I was saying." "You're the president of the bank," Liam told him. "It shouldn't be that easy to take you by surprise." "It isn't. He... all right, he did. I admit it. He caught me off guard. We'd just... he came in to take out a big loan -- he does it every year, so he can get a cash discount when he orders all the hardware and equipment for spring. We'd just signed the paperwork. You... ah, give a man all that money -- I won't say how much; it's his business -- you give it to him; you're in a frame of mind to trust him." Liam shrugged. "Much as I hate to say it, that makes a certain amount of sense." "No, it doesn't." Trisha glared. "You shouldn't be spouting off like that. It's irresponsible. It's foolish. It's likely to --" "And it's done," Liam cut in. "Let's find out how bad things are." He looked at Albright. "What did you tell him, Dwight? Give me -- us -- every detail." "He was saying how much he was looking forward to a quiet meeting, even..." He looked at Trisha nervously. "...Even if Trisha still was on the board." "What!" Trisha yelped. "Why that dirty son of a bitch. What'd you say to that, Dwight?" "I'm afraid that was when I gave the game away. I don't expect the meeting to be quiet, not when you spring that building fund idea on him. I... I started stammering. I do that sometimes." "You do still support the idea, don't you?" Trisha looked Albright squarely in the eye. He nodded. "I do." He took a breath. "And I didn't tell him too much. Honest, I didn't." "How much did you tell him?" she asked suspiciously. "I said that you had some... some new ideas about the budget and... about fundraising. You were going to bring them up at the meeting, so they could be a part of the new budget." Liam cocked a wary eyebrow, as Albright continued. "No, honest. I said that I was working with you on the financial part -- that was how I knew you had something planned. He tried, tried hard, to get me to say more, but I told him that I didn't know all the details, and he'd have to ask you about them." He put his hands on the lapels of his coat and tried to strike a pose. "I admit that I may have slipped up -- a little. But now that I think about it, I think that I recovered rather well, don't you?" "Not really," Liam said, a wry look on his face. "But the damage doesn't seem too bad." He shrugged. "We can handle it." * * * * * Molly set a tray with an empty pitcher and three almost empty glasses down on the bar. "Here ye go, Love," she told Shamus. "These is from table three..." She took a five dollar gold half-eagle from a pocket. "...and this here's what they owe us for it." "Thanks, Molly." Shamus put the glasses and pitcher in a tray sitting on the counter behind the bar. The coin went into the register. "I'm sorry ye had t'be doing the heavy lifting again." "They wasn't that heavy, though I'd be glad t'be seeing Arnie busing the tables again." "I'm afraid that won't be happening. He shouldn't've been talking like he was, drinking on the job, and stealing from me, too. He didn't give me much of a choice, now did he?" Molly shook her head. "No, he didn't, but I'm thinking that maybe ye went too far." "Maybe I did, but there ain't no going back now." He waited a beat. "If ye're going to be trying to help somebody just now, ye might t'be working on solving Maggie's problem." "I have been thinking about that, but I ain't come up with anything." "Seems t'me Maggie's problem is Maggie. She made a promise, that's for sure, but I ain't never seen a promise that couldn't be... 'finessed', as they say." "Shamus! This ain't no poker bet Maggie has t'be paying off. This is a deathbed promise t'her wife." "I know that, Love. She swore that she'd take care of those two youngsters, and she's bound and determined t'be keeping that promise." He gave a sympathetic sigh. "They'll get the care she promised, even if it she has t'be throwing away her own happiness t'do it." "I know, and what bothers me the most is that I'm sure there's a way out for her. I can feel it as sure as I'm standing here. I just can't see it yet." Shamus gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I know, Love, and I know, sure as I'm standing here besides ye, that ye'll keep looking till ye find it." * * * * * Bridget looked up from her cards and saw Cap walking towards her table. "See your dime and raise another," she told Stu Gallagher, the only one still in the game with her. As an afterthought, she added, "We'll deal you in next hand, Cap." Gallagher scowled. "Fold." He laid his cards on the table, but when Bridget reached for the pot, he shook his head. "Not till I see what you beat me with." "Six... seven... eight... nine..." She put the cards face up. "Jack." She smiled sweetly and raked in the money. Gallagher turned over his own cards. "Two pair, the best hand I drew all night, and she bluffs me out of the pot." He smiled in defeat and shook his head. "She surely did." Fred Norman said, as he gathered in the cards. Bridget gave the three men at her table a smile. "That's the way the game's played, gentlemen. Of course, there's always the next hand." She motioned towards Cap, who was still standing. "There's room at the table, Cap. Sit yourself down." "Thanks." Cap sat down. "Before we start, could I take care of some business?" The others agreed. "It's the end of the month, and I came for my uncle's money." He held out his hand towards Bridget. "Could I have it now, please?" Her smile looked strained. "Don't you trust me, Mr. Lewis?" "With my life, Bridget." He tried to smile but saw that it was wasted on her. "I just thought that I'd take care of it now. I have to leave --" "Don't let me stop you." He ignored her tone. "I have to leave by ten. I thought that I'd get the business out of the way now, so I could have the pleasure of playing... playing _cards_ with you." "I think you and your uncle are playing with me more than enough." She opened the tray she kept her cards and chips in and took out an envelope. "But never let it be said that I welshed on a debt." She put in on the table in front of Cap. "I have my account book here, too," she added. "In case you didn't trust my word that this is the amount your uncle is due." He took the check without looking at it and put it in his shirt pocket. "I've never looked at your records before, and I don't intend to start now." "You sure a woman with my past can be trusted?" "I trust you. I always have." He tried smiling at her again. Norman shuffled the cards. "Can we just play some poker? You two can fight this out on your own time." Enoch Ryland put a hand on Bridget's arm and gently squeezed. "I trust you, too, Bridget." "But can she trust you, Enoch?" Norman handed the cards to Enoch. He cut the deck and handed it back. Norman began dealing. "Game is seven card elimination. Everybody ante up." * * * * * "So you're going to do it?" Paul asked. "You're going to sing at the Long Branch." "I said I was, didn't I?" Jessie answered. They were sitting in the Sheriff's Office, Paul behind the desk and Jessie across from him. Tor Johansson, the new deputy, was on patrol, and he wasn't due to check in for at least an hour. Paul shook his head. "Shamus isn't going to be very happy about it." "That's part of what makes it so much fun. T'tell the truth, though..." She grinned mischievously. "...he told me I could -- sorta." "He didn't?" It was more of a question than a statement. Jessie sat up straight in her chair and gave her head a sort of a shake. "He did. 'Ye can sing it in yuir room upstairs or when ye're doing chores,' he says." She had lowered the pitch of her voice so it was closer to Shamus's tenor and was doing a passing imitation of his Irish brogue. "Ye can sing it when ye go walking with Paul Grant -- or whatever else it is the two of ye is doing." "I shoulda socked him one for that." She smiled and continued. "Ye can sing it wherever else ye want t'be singing that blasted song, but ye'll _not_ be singing it on me stage as part of any show ye do for me." "Maybe he did say that. It sounds like him. But I don't think that your doing it in Duggan's place is quite what he had in mind." Jessie cocked an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. "You trying t'talk me out of it, Mr. Grant?" "No, ma'am!" Paul held up his hands in mock surrender. "I don't spit into the wind. I know better than to try and talk you out of anything." Jessie suddenly stood up. "Good, 'cause I'd hate t'have you spoil what I got planned for tonight." She picked up her reticule, a large one that seemed to be stuffed with something. "You gimme 'bout fifteen minutes, then come knock twice on your door, okay?" She started towards the storage room that was Paul's -- and sometimes her -- bedroom. "What're you up to now, Jess?" "Fifteen minutes. You'll find out then." She gave a wink and disappeared into the storeroom, closing the door behind her. Paul spent the next quarter hour looking at the clock. Finally, the time was up. He went over and knocked on the storeroom door. He knocked twice, just as she had said. "You ready, Jess?" "On-tray," a voice from inside called. "Kawm inn." He did. "Why're you talking so -- _holy_ _shit!_" Jessie stood before him in a blood red corset that lifted her breasts so that they seemed even larger and white silk drawers that hugged her lush hips. Her left hand was on her hip, her right knee bent. Her hair was piled high in some elaborate hairdo that framed her face, with a single, long curl hanging down over her forehead. She wore a dark red lipstick and had a small, heart-shaped beauty mark on her right cheek. Her smile hinted at mischief and lechery. "Very nice, Jess. Very nice, indeed." As Paul came closer, he caught the strong scent of lilacs. The room had a pink tinge from the red kerchief she'd draped over his lantern. She shook her head. "No, no, m'syur. Ah emm Giselle, zee finest -- 'ow you say -- zee finest whore in zee Ahri-zoona Terra-toory. You have paid zee moonie, and Ah emm yours for zee night." "A whore?" He shrugged, a bit surprised but willing to go along with her game. "Why not? But do you have to talk like that?" She gave a pretty pout. "M'syur, Ah emm zee _Fronch_ whore." "How about, if we're pretending you're a whore, we pretend you're talking with that funny accent, okay?" "But zis is 'ow Giselle tawk." In for a penny, in for a pound. "I _paid_ for you, Giselle," he said firmly. "I'll tell you how to talk." "But I wanted..." She pouted, caught in her own game. "Oh, all right, _m'syur_." She wouldn't use the accent, but he hadn't said anything about the occasional word. She could still pretend. "Good." He pulled her to him. "Besides, I have better things for that mouth of yours to do than argue with me." He steadied her head with his hands and, before she could say another word, kissed her. Jessie let out a soft moan and pressed her body against his. Her arms went around him, palms against his muscled back. Her lips parted, and her tongue met his, then slipped backwards, inviting his to follow into her mouth. The kiss continued, feeding on their mutual need. Their hands freely exploring each other's bodies. Finally, for lack of air, they had to separate. "Mmm," Jessie said, "m'syur is a danged good kisser." "You aren't too bad either, Je... Giselle. Now what've you got in mind." She smiled and licked her upper lip. "Whatever m'syur wants. Maybe... this." She began to unbutton his shirt. When she finished, she pulled it out from his pants and slipped it off him. He hadn't worn anything under the shirt, and she paused for a moment to run her fingers through his thick chest hair. Paul reached for her, but she stepped back. "No, I'm your whore t'night, bought'n paid for. Lemme do the work." "Who am I to refuse an offer like that?" He stood still while she undid the buttons on his pants and, with on quick yank, pulled them down past his knees. He'd loosened the laces on his boots while he waited for her to get ready. Jessie knelt down and held each one in turn as he stepped out of boot and pants leg at the same time. She looked up. Paul was in only