Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Winter; Part 9 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson Sunday, February 25, 1872 As soon as Mass ended, the congregation hurried out to the courtyard beside the church. Two long tables had been set up beside the fountain. At the first, R.J. Rossi and Jane Steinmetz were pouring sparkling red liquid from bottles into a pair of large crystal bowls. Arnie Diaz was arranging rows of glasses near them. Trays of yellow cake were already set at both ends, and a crowd was forming, eager for a taste. More people gathered around the other table. Ramon stood by the left end, trying to smile. Standing with him were Sebastian Ortega and Arsenio Caulder. Whit and Carmen were there as well, the representatives of Ramon's family. Carmen held her year-old son, Felipe, in her arms. The older boy, Jose, held his father's hand. Maggie was at the other end of the table with Lupe and Ernesto. Lupe was smiling and holding something half-hidden in her hands, while her brother fidgeted with his collar. Shamus and Molly, acting as Maggie's family, stood nearby. Shamus was looking over at the preparations, while Molly held Maggie's left hand. Laura Caulder stood next to Maggie on her right. Ramon and Maggie kept sneaking glances at each other. Father de Castro took his place standing at the center of the second table. "Shall we begin?" He nodded towards Whit. Whit took a step forwards. "Margarita Sanchez. Standing in, as I am, as the head of the de Aguilar family, I ask your family again, what do you say to Ramon de Aguilar's peticion de mano?" Shamus was acting as Maggie's father. In a way, he _was_ her father. "Well now, I'll have t'be asking her. Maggie, do you --" "I accept it." Maggie beamed with joy. "I accept it with all my heart." She thought of Gregorio and his objections. 'I will save those things for tomorrow,' she told herself. 'Today is for happiness.' Shamus repeated her answer. "She accepts." "With all her heart," Lupe added happily. She handed Maggie the small, green cloth drawstring bag that she'd been holding. Maggie cradled the bag in her hands, as she walked to the center of the table. She stopped in front of the priest. Ramon walked out to join her, and they stood, facing each other. "And I give you this cross as a token of my pledge." She took a small silver cross inscribed with the image of the Lady of Guadalupe from the bag. "And of my love." The cross was on a chain. Ramon bent at the waist, and Maggie looped the chain over his head. As she let the chain fall onto his neck and shoulders, she leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. Ramon straightened up. "As I give you this, your muhul, with all of _my_ love." He made a slight gesture with his left hand, the signal for Sebastian and Whit to bring forth the muhul, his wedding gift to Maggie. The two men moved a step apart to reveal a two-foot wooden chest with brass fittings. Each picked a handle and carried the chest forward, setting it on the table beside Ramon. He unlocked it with a brass key that he then placed in Maggie's hand. Sebastian pulled back the lid of the chest. "Two silver rings with turquoise gemstones." He lifted out a small jewelry box, opened it, and held it up for all to see. After a moment, he set it down on the table. "Five yards --" Whit began. Sebastian interrupted. "_Vara_, not yards. That is how the cloth is measured." A vara was an old Spanish measurement, about 33 inches. "Sorry," Whit apologized. "Five _vara_ of blue cotton cloth and another five vara of white satin, with buttons and lace trim to match each." The two bundles of cloth joined the jewelry box on the table, the satin atop the cotton. The smaller bundles of lace and buttons were placed next to the fabric. Carmen joined the men. "Two hair ribbons and a handkerchief, all of silk." She displayed the items for the crowd before they, too, went on the table. The ribbons were the same blue color as the cloth. The handkerchief was a lighter shade of blue. "There are other, smaller gifts, as well," Ramon continued, "but _this_ is the most important." He took a length of thin, double- looped gold chain from the chest and handed it to Father de Castro. The priest held one end of the chain and passed the rest of it behind's Ramon back. Ramon took the chain with his right hand, letting it play out around his waist. He handed the end to Maggie, who was still facing him. She took the chain in her left hand and passed it behind her back to the father. "You have promised yourselves to each other," De Castro said, taking the end of the chain from Maggie, "here in this holy place, before your friends and family and in the presence of Our Lord." He pulled gently at the chain, shortening the circle around Maggie and Ramon and forcing them to take a step closer together. "The chain that binds you now is a symbol of the love that brought the two of you together and that will keep you together for the rest of your days. May those days be many and filled with all of the joy that you feel here today. In nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritu Sancti..." He crossed himself as he spoke the Latin, as did Maggie and Ramon. "I declare that you, Ramon de Aguilar and Margarita Sanchez, are betrothed." The crowd began to applaud. Ramon cradled Maggie's head in his hands. He gently turned her face upward and leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss. Maggie sighed as a warm, happy feeling flowed through her body. Her arms reached around Ramon, and she returned the kiss with all the passion and promise that she could in public and in a churchyard. 'With all my heart,' she told herself, as she was lost in the kiss. "While they are... preoccupied," Father de Castro began. He stopped for the laugh he had expected, then continued. "They have asked me to announce that the wedding will be here -- of course -- on the 31st of March, the Sunday after Easter. They have also named Arsenio and Laura Caulder as their padrino and madrino." Laura and Arsenio walked out to stand beside the priest. He looked closely at the pair, who were still kissing. "Now, let us see what Se?or O'Toole and his people have prepared for us to celebrate this joyous occasion. We will toast Ramon and Maggie whenever they are ready to join us." * * * * * "One final announcement," Reverend Yingling continued. "I have been asked to remind you again that the dance, which is intended to commence our project of raising money for our new building fund, will be held here next Saturday night. I am certain that the wives of the other married men in his congregation have been as diligent in reminding their husbands as my own dear Martha has been in reminding me." He looked down at Martha Yingling who was staring up at him from her seat, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. He smiled at her and continued quickly. "And I am equally sure that, like me, the rest of you have been waiting eagerly for the event." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two tickets. "I purchased my tickets weeks ago. If any of you have not purchased yours, Dwight Albertson and other members of the board are still selling them at their respective places of business. Tickets will also be available at the door. I look forward to seeing many of you there, enjoying an evening of frivolity towards the good end of supporting our congregation." * * * * * Dolores stood by the low wall in the front of the church. People were gathering around Ramon and Maggie, congratulating them. 'I should go over,' she told herself. 'But I cannot.' She felt a tear at the corner of one eye. "Here you go, Dolores," a voice said. She turned. "R.J." "The same." He was standing besides her, holding a drink in each hand. "I thought you might want something." He handed her a glass. "I don't know if you're ready to go over and talk to them." He pointed to the couple with the hand that still held some of the punch. "But I thought that you might be able to toast their future happiness from over here." She managed a small, sad smile. "Yes... I think I can do that." "Good." He clinked her glass with his own. "You, know, you're much prettier when you smile." He winked. "Just don't tell Bridget I said that." * * * * * "Well now," Wilma said, looking up from the magazine she had been looking through. "Look what the cat done drugged in. G'morning, Bridget." "Good morning, yourself." Bridget smiled and sat down in a chair near Wilma. The contrast between the two women, the only ones in the parlor at _Le_ _Parisienne_, went beyond Wilma's rich Creole coloring and Bridget's bright red hair and pale complexion. Wilma was wearing what she called her "working clothes", a lavender corset, silky white drawers, and matching stockings, all intended to draw attention to her lush curves. Bridget was in a dark green, floor-length dress with pale green lace at the collar and cuffs. Her own figure was apparent but understated. "What brings you over here?" Wilma asked. "I ain't seen you in -- what is it? -- a couple of weeks, at least." "I'm sorry about that. I like to sleep in most mornings, seeing as I have to be at my table, ready to play poker, from noon till when Shamus closes. Today, Maggie and Ramon got betrothed over at their church, so I went to that." "How was it? I thought 'bout going, but churches 'n' me..." She shook her head. "...we just don't get along." "It was a nice ceremony. They traded gifts, and the priest blessed them. Shamus and Molly set up food for after. I stayed for a drink, then took a chance and came over here." "Took a chance? Well, I like that." "C'mon, Wilma, more than once when I've come over, you were..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced towards the ceiling. Wilma frowned. "You ain't gonna start giving me a hard time 'bout working here, are you?" "It's not exactly the way I'd have expected Will Hanks to end up." "The hell it ain't. You know how much fun I had when we was hold up at that cat house over in New Orleans." She paused a moment. "Come t'think on it, you wasn't too unhappy about the accommodations there, neither." "Poker -- and sex -- whenever I wanted; how could I be unhappy with that? Let's just say that I never thought you'd be _working_ in a place like this." Wilma gave a sleek, feline stretch, a smile on her face. "I ain't working here, Bridget; I'm playing -- at least, it seems like that most of the time." "Besides," she continued, "ain't you got even better than what you had back there in N'Orleans? You're running your own game, and you got R.J. and Cap on hand whenever you feel like playing something other'n poker." "Wilma!" Bridget felt an embarrassed flush in her face. "I've done nothing of the sort." Wilma cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Still nothing? Not with either of 'em?" "N-no." Bridget shook her head nervously. "Never." "Hell's bells, gal, have you even kissed 'em?" Bridget chewed her lower lip. "Umm... yeah. I-I've kissed both of them -- and more than once, if you really must know." "I'm glad you ain't letting those two go _totally_ to waste. I won't ask you just how far you let that kissing get. It probably ain't near far enough." She looked closely at Bridget. "You do _like_ kissing 'em, don't you?" "Uh... uh huhn," Bridget admitted, shifting uneasily to avoid Wilma's gaze. She had been surprised of late at how very much she did like kissing both men. "Next time you're alone with one of 'em -- Cap or R.J. -- you take his hand and put it right here -- on your tit." Wilma took her friend's hand and placed it on her own breast. Bridget pulled her hand away, as if from a rattler. "Wilma!" "Don't worry." Wilma giggled. "I'm not trying to get you into bed - leastwise not with me! Besides, it feels a lot better when a man does it to you than when you do it to another gal." Now, she grinned. "You let R.J. do it. He's got them nice _big_ hands." Bridget felt her face warm again. This time, her body felt warm, too. Her tits -- bosom! 'A lady says bosom, or even just chest,' she thought -- tingled, and her nipples felt stiff. There was a tingling down in her crotch, too. "Can we change the subject?" the redhead pleaded. "Are you still having problems being Lady Cerise's second?" "No, I told you 'bout how I settled things with Rosalyn and Beatriz. They still ain't too happy about me getting the job -- 'cept when I gotta do some work for the Lady, and I can't be around to play with any men." She pouted for a moment. "Truth t'tell, I don't like that too much neither." She leaned forward and whispered. "'Course, some of that time it's just for show. Me 'n the Lady sit around for an hour and just chew the fat to keep them other two happy. Then there's that painter fellah." "Painter?" Then she remembered. "Oh, yeah; he came into the Saloon the other day and asked about doing a painting of Jessie." Wilma laughed. "Won't that be a kick? The Lady brought him to town t'do one of me. Me 'n Jess getting our pictures up on the wall again, it'll be just like old times." "Maybe. I'm not sure that Jessie'll do it." She shrugged. "I don't think I would." "Would what, pretty lady?" a voice asked from the door. The women turned to see a tall man in an ill-fitting suit standing in the doorway. "I'm Jack Reilly, by the way." Wilma rose from the chair in a sensuous motion. "I'm Wilma, and I am so very pleased to meet you... Jack." She glanced over at Bridget. "This is, Bridget, a friend of mine, and what she was going t'do was to say, 'Goodbye.' Wasn't it, Bridget?" "Oh, uhhh, yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Reilly. I'll see you later, Wilma. Have a good day." She stood up, trying not to show her disappointment. Wilma took the man's arm. "Oh, I'm very sure _we_ will." Her voice was low and husky, full of promise. "You remember what I said, now, Bridget." "I'll think about it." Without looking back, she walked quickly out of the parlor. 'And I'll be back to talk to you about the poker game in a day or two,' she added to herself, 'and when I do, I won't let you distract me like you did today.' * * * * * Jessie was awakened by the delicious sensations flowing through her body. Paul was behind her, kissing the side of her neck, while his one hand reached over her shoulder to play with her nipple. "Mmm, you are the best damned alarm clock I ever had," she told him. "Thanks. Much as I enjoy just being here in bed with you, I thought that you might want to get downstairs before Maggie stopped making breakfast." Jessie glanced over at the small clock ticking away on her bed table. "It's well after 10. I figure she stopped more'n an hour ago t'go to church, same as always on Sunday. 'Cept today, her and Ramon is getting hitched -- promising t'get hitched, anyway. Molly and Laura and Jane were gonna go over with her. There ain't no breakfast t'be had. Come t'think of it, Shamus told me he wasn't gonna open the place down till they all get back." "So why aren't you over there, too -- not that I mind." "'Cause I told Maggie I wanted to spend the morning making up with you." Jessie giggled. "She said she understood. 'Course, she blushed a little when she said it." "I guess I'm stuck up here with you, then." Paul started playing with her nipple again. Jessie shifted, so she was facing him. "Is mon-suer sorry t'be alone weeth Giselle?" She pouted prettily. "How could any man be sorry to be in a spot like this... Giselle?" He gently kissed her on the lips, then set a trail of kisses down her cheek, her neck, and on to her breasts. He ran his rough tongue across her rounded flesh before he began to suckle. Jessie shivered from the sparks of sexual fire shooting through her, especially down from her breasts to her groin. She began to feel very warm down there, and wet, and... empty. "Oh... oh... mon-suer iz so very good weeth h-his tongue." She knew how bad her fake accent was and used it only enough to suggest the "Fronch 'ore" she was pretending to be. "Let me show you just how good," Paul told her, a mischievous grin on his face. His head slipped below the blanket. Jessie felt his lips moving down her bare skin towards her stomach. She moaned as his tongue darted in and out of her navel. She reached down, wanting to hold his head there a while longer. But he moved his head away before her hands could reach him. He kept kissing her, moving ever closer to her nether curls. Kisses alternated with teasing nips on her aroused flesh. She was ready, more than ready to succumb, but when she tried to speak, to tell him of her needs, all that she could manage was to softly moan, "P-Paauul." His tongue moved slowly, _agonizingly_ slow, until it reached her clitoris. It slathered the tiny nub. Then it began to pluck at it the way Natty Ryland sometimes plucked the strings on his fiddle. Jessie's world exploded in a burst of exquisite joy. She arched her back, which only pushed her groin closer to Paul's mouth. She yowled and let her head fall back. Her fingers clutched at the blanket, as she rode her orgasm the way a rafter rides wild water. After too short a time, it was over. She felt herself calming, like a horse after a long ride. But that was only until his tongue began its magic again. It was like a man working a pump handle -- up and down and... and up and -- ohh! -- Up and... UP! The second time was even stronger than the first. It seemed like she even felt it in her eyelashes. She screamed and bucked, and her legs squeezed together to hold his head in place. The incredible sensations began to settle into a blissful afterglow. She found that she was able talk again. "Mmmm," she said in a breathy whisper, "mon-suer... Paul, that was... was..." Her voice failed as he began yet again. The only thing her mind could focus on was that wondrous tongue and... and the way he was continuing to suck on her clit. He was trying to make her come again, the devil! Her passion built even faster this time. When the orgasm burst upon her, it raced through her like a prairie fire. She felt, as if from a distance, her body writhing on the bed, heard her voice screaming in delight. The prairie fire settled down, eventually, to blissful embers. Jessie was sprawled on the bed, a sated grin on her lips. She felt as if all her bones had melted in the heat of her pleasuring, and she didn't care one little bit if they ever grew back. "That mon-suer was the most wonderful..." she gushed, at last. "I feel as happy as a pup with two tails. I don't..." She fell back into character, "Giselle, she does not know how to thank the mon-seur for what he just done." Paul's head came out from under the blanket. As he settled back down, he gently reached over and kissed her forehead. "Sure you know, Giselle; sauce for the goose, sauce for the gander, as they say." Still dazed, she didn't quite understand. "Ahh - what?" "Your turn. You do it now - please." She blinked. "You mean you want me to... to --" Was that why he'd done what he done, to fix things so that she couldn't say 'no' without feeling like a skunk? 'He ain't exactly being fair,' she thought. "I mean, I'm asking -- and just _asking_ -- for you to use that sweet mouth of yours on me like I just did to you." He gave her a self- satisfied grin of his own. "You certainly can't say that you didn't like it, not the way you were yelling." Jessie smiled wryly. "No, I gotta admit, I did like it. A little." She certainly had liked it. Did that mean that she owed him the same? It was a little like being given a gift, and then being asked to pay for it. "You liked it only a little? Then let's see how you like _this_." He pulled her to him and kissed her. There was an added flavor to this kiss, though, sweet and salty at the same time. 'I'm tasting m'self,' she realized. "That help you decide?" Paul asked when they broke the kiss. It hasn't tasted bad like she'd expected, but Jessie still wasn't sure. Fair was fair and, to her surprise, part of her thought she ought to ante up, but part of her didn't even want to think about it. This was the sort of thing had always seemed to separate the whores from the decent women in her mind. "Uhh... can I stop if I-I, uhh... don't like doing it?" "I promise." He reluctantly raised his hand as if being sworn in. "You can stop if you don't like it." "And you won't ask me again?" "I won't ask you again about it." His hand was still up. "I promise that, too." The second promise was the clincher. If he was going to be like that, it was only fair that she at least _try_. "How do we do it, then?" "Like this, maybe." He propped the pillows against the headboard, shifted, and leaned back against them. He was almost sitting up. "I want to watch you," he explained, as he tossed the blanket aside. Jessie had seen -- and enjoyed -- his manhood many times. Now it was pointing up toward her, erect in anticipation. "This is so different from the way I've usually done things," she whispered, still unsure. He just smiled, not wanting to scare her off with an ill-chosen word. 'Well... sooner begun, sooner done,' she told herself. She'd try, if only to settle accounts, but she didn't expect to enjoy the act. She intended to quit as soon as she could without having him feel that she was cheating him. She rose up on her hands and knees, looming over him. As she leaned forward, trying to decide just how to start, her long hair fell down from her shoulders and brushed across his groin. She saw his member twitch at the sensation. 'Like he was ticklish,' she thought. 'Maybe I _can_ have a little fun before I decide t'quit.' She moved her head, so that her hair swept back and forth over his manhood. He gasped. "Jessie, what _are_ you doing down there?" "This." She kissed the tip of his manhood. She'd kissed it before, but always while he still had his drawers on. This time, he was naked. His flesh was warm to her touch, and he smelled of their lovemaking. She suddenly felt a twinge of panic, but it was too soon to quit. She wanted to give the experience a decent chance , to do it to him as long as he had done it to her. That would be fair. Afterwards she could tell him that it just wasn't right for her. When she was still a man, Jessie, Will, and Brian had spent almost a month hiding out from the law in a brothel in New Orleans. Jesse had been in such places before, but that one was the fanciest house he'd ever spent any time in. The robbery loot had made it possible. She remembered what her male self had liked those whores to do to him. Now, she was going to use those memories as a guide. "And this." She carefully took his balls in her hand. He shivered at her touch, but he didn't try to move away. She squirmed in close. The musky smell got even stronger, but it was pleasant... almost. Her tongue, curved between her lips, ran over his jewels. There was that salty-sweet taste -- 'the taste of sex', she decided -- even as she heard his voice catch in his throat. "She hadn't expected to like the taste of his skin, but even her first, uncertain efforts had made her shiver, like tiny fireworks were going off under her own skin. Jessie took one testicle into her mouth, sweeping her tongue over it as she did. Paul moaned again. She let it out of her mouth, glistening with saliva, and shifted to take in the other. She could hear him groan and see his member twitching. It seemed enormous. Was it still getting bigger? It certainly was getting _redder_, almost purple, from the urgency of his need. The larger it grew, the more intimated she felt. Giselle, her fantasy self, was braver than her about this sort of thing. Thinking like she _was_ Giselle gave her courage enough to continue. Her mouth opened, letting the testicle slip free. She paused, listening to his breathing. It began to sound a little more regular, as he fell back from the brink. "Oh, Jess," he said, trying to catch his breath, "that was incredible." "If I stopped now, you'd think you'd been gypped," she answered playfully. "Sauce for the gander, remember?" "I - I surely would," he murmured through his grin. Her mind was racing, remembering . That Cajun gal back in New Orleans, Yvette, what would _she_ do next? Jesse must've been with her a dozen times -- maybe more. Guided by that experience, she took his member and gently stroked it up and down with her hand. "J-Jess." Her partner took a quick breath, as the intensity of what he was feeling rose. Jessie giggled, watching him shiver, feeling his firmness in her hand. She kissed the tip again, then ran her tongue along it, covering it with saliva. When she got back to the tip, she licked a droplet of his nectar that had formed. She felt him tense in her hand and eased off. Paul lay there, breathing hard. "Whoa, J-Jessie. That... uhh... that was so... uuuhh... so damned... good. I n-never... uuhh... thought you'd..." His voice trailed off. "Do this?" Placing herself deeply into the role of Giselle, she took him into her mouth. She had expected to feel demeaned pleasing a man this way, but the reality, it turned out, was quite the opposite. She felt a surprising degree of control - control enough to bring her stronger companion to the brink again and again. Her tongue moved along his length, and she could feel him twitch in reaction. He managed to reach down. His fingers twisted among her curls, grabbing her head and holding it there. If Jessie's mouth hadn't been so full, she would have gasped. As inexperienced as she was, she knew what was coming - and with Paul holding her in place, she wasn't going to miss it. Paul's member pulsed once, twice, then it spurted, flooding her mouth. Jessie took it bravely and somehow she didn't choke. The taste was -- she couldn't really describe it, but it... wasn't _too _ bad. She surprised herself by not gagging. She swallowed, just like Yvette used to swallow. She swallowed almost all of it; just a few drops slipped out the corner of her mouth. After a time, he stopped, let go of her head and rested back. She felt him soften and relaxed her jaws to let him slip out. For a moment she didn't know what to do next, but she had reached this point with Yvette more than once. Carefully, she took him in her hand again and, to his great joy, licked him clean. Satisfied, almost proud, she lay down beside him. "So, mon-seur," she asked with a giggle, "did you like it?" * * * * * "A beer... _boy_," Pablo said with a sneer. He pulled a Liberty half- dollar from his pocket and casually flipped it onto the table in front of Arnie. The betrothal ceremony had been over for almost an hour, but people were still milling about, congratulating the happy couple and enjoying Shamus' punch and the cakes Molly, Jane, and Laura had baked. Arnie ignored the coin. "This is a party. We have no beer." He used a ladle to fill a glass from the punch bowl. "Besides, I think that this is more your drink, anyway." He reached across the table to hand the drink to his rival. "Who are you to say what a man like me drinks?" He took the glass anyway and drank deeply. "Sugar water." He spat the drink on the tablecloth. Arnie laughed. "I was not speaking of what a _man_ drinks; I was talking about you. This is the punch for the children." "And that's me best tablecloth, I'll have ye know," Molly said. Her hand snaked out to grab the coin. "The drinks is free, lad, t'celebrate Maggie and Ramon's betrothing, but I'll be thanking ye for paying for the cleaning of the cloth." Pablo protested. "That ain't fair, Se?ora." "Well... if ye're going to go hungry tonight..." "I've got the money, more'n he has by a long shot." He sneered. "Keep the coin. Give it to the _boy_, there for all I care. It's probably more than he makes in a week." Arnie took the bait. "I make plenty. Give him back his money, Se?ora Molly. I do not need it." He glared at Pablo, ready to leap over the table. "Maybe ye do and maybe ye don't, Arnie, but he gave that money t'be paying for a drink. That makes it mine and Shamus', and I already told the both of ye that I'd be using it t'be paying for the washing of these tablecloths." She smiled at Arnie and pocketed the coin. Pablo smiled scornfully. "You see, Arnoldo, the coin belongs to her. _You_ belong to her, her good little lapdog. It was worth the money to see this." He turned and walked away. "Bastardo." Arnie muttered under his breath, as he watched Pablo disappear into the crowd. He did earn more than fifty cents a week, but not a great deal more, and it truly galled him to have Pablo remind him of the fact. * * * * * Monday, February 26, 1872 Bert McLeod used a twig to measure the distances between the stick they were using as a marker and two of the pennies. "Stephan and Jorge are closest. Jorge beats Yully by a quarter inch or so," he announced. "Looks like Stephan and me're the captains," Jorge Yba?es said, cheerfully. Jorge's twin brother, Hector, and Bert had been captains the week before and weren't eligible to try again. Stephan looked at the crowd of boys. "My penny was closest, so I pick first." He pointed "Yully." "I'll go with my brother." Jorge told the others. "It'll be good t'be on the same side this week." "Bert," Stephan said, "you're pretty fast. You get over here." The chosen boys lined up behind their captains. "In that case..." Jorge thought for a moment. "Emma, you're on my team this week." "Me?" Emma answered, not a little surprised. "I didn't think you even liked my playing ball." "I ain't sure how I feel about girls playing," Hector told her. "But you're good enough that -- if we gotta let you play -- I want you on my team." * * * * * Ethan Thomas opened the door at the second knock. "Good morning, Wilma," he greeted her cheerfully. "Welcome to my studio. Please, do come in." "Thank you, Mr. Thomas." She walked in, smiling, deliberately brushing her body against him as she did. She was wearing a lavender dress, the top three buttons open to give a clear view of her cleavage. The way he reacted would give her an idea about the sort of approach to take with him. Wilma, like Will before her, liked to have the upper hand. He closed the door and turned to face her. "Ethan... please. After all, we'll be working together for some time on your painting." "Mmm, I hope that won't be _all_ we'll be doing together." She was watching for his reaction. She got one, just a flash of one, but she couldn't quite read it before he beckoned her to follow her and turned toward his working space. Instead of following him, Wilma walked around slowly, exploring. There was a faint smell that she recognized as turpentine that got stronger as she passed by a work table covered with tubes of paint, small jars of colored powders and larger one labeled "linseed oil." A gray pot filled with brushes was next to a can of turpentine. Next to the can was a flat, oddly shaped piece of wood. She picked it up for a closer look. "What's this... Ethan?" "A pallet." He carefully took it from her and set it back on the table. "I use it to hold the colors while I paint." "Really?" Wilma took his hand. "I never been in a painter's workshop before. I am _so_ looking forward to this." "Shall we get started then? I'll be painting you upstairs if you don't mind." She was studying his eyes as he spoke. His talk was all business, but the intensity behind his appreciating glance interested her. Wilma was still holding his hand in hers. "I thought this here was where you worked, -- not that I mind going upstairs with you. I do my best... _work_ upstairs over at Cerise's." She smiled and, again, watched for a reaction. Ethan returned the smile smoothly. "I paint by natural light -- daylight -- as much as I am able. That requires the curtains to be open. I can't really do that in this room, not for _your_ painting. People would be walking by on the street outside, and they would, of course, look in. You... ah, you won't exactly be dressed for that." Wilma giggled. "You think it'd bother me t'have people see me in my unmentionables? Why Ethan, that's what I do for a living. That's how men _want_ t'see me." She looked up at him, her eyes wide, lips pouting. "Wouldn't you wanna see me that way, Ethan?" The man gave a shrug. "If people can look in and see you, they'll gather at the window and block my precious light. The _women_ won't care to look or, at any rate, they will say that they don't care to. In any event, they most certainly won't want their men to look. They'll demand that I close the curtains, and, if -- no, _when_ I am forced to do that -- I lose my light and then we'll have to move upstairs anyway." He pointed towards the ceiling. "On the second floor, no one will be able to look in, problem solved, q.e.d." Wilma stroked his cheek with one hand. "Ain't you the clever one, though?" She let go of his hand. "I'll just go upstairs and get ready. You can come up with me and watch me strip outta these clothes, or you can wait down here till I'm done." She winked. "Or you can help. Your choice." "Actually, I had not intended to have you pose today. We haven't even discussed your wardrobe as yet." "Then why'd you have me come over here?" She looked confused for a moment, then smiled broadly. "Or do you something else in mind for us t'do today?" "Wilma, lest this go any further, you should know that I never have relations with the women I'm painting. I asked Cerise to send you over this morning, so I could observe your skin tones, especially your face, in natural light. Also, I wanted to discuss the pose you'd take, perhaps make a few rough sketches of possible poses." "That's all?" She barely managed to hide her disappointment. "I'm afraid that it is. I apologize if this spoils whatever... plans... you might have had." Instead of pouting she smiled. She was intrigued by his declaration that he never had relations with the women he painted. Wilma took that as a challenge. * * * * * Hector Yba?es took a bite from the beef empanada his mother had packed for his lunch. "What was you doing telling Emma she played so good?" He and his brother were sitting together alone under a tree a few feet from the school building. "You keep doing that, and all the girls'll want t'play." "She really ain't that bad, you know," Jorge replied. "Besides, most of the girls'll never want t'mess up their pretty dresses." He made a very feminine gesture. Hector laughed. "You're right about that." He chuckled. "I can just see 'Whiny Hermione' running around like that after a ball." "Or Lallie Mckecknie," Jorge added. Then he thought for a moment. "Yullie's sister, Penny, though, she'd probably be a better player than Emma." "She might. That still don't mean we gotta make her want to try." "No, I don't want a bunch of girls getting in the way. We'd get into trouble if one of them skinned her knee." "Then why'd you tell Emma she was so good? Why'd you pick her for your team?" "'Cause Stephan picked Yully for his team. In case you didn't notice them two like each other." "What about it?" "Yully's probably the best player in school. You think he's gonna enjoy playing against his girlfriend? You think she's gonna like playing against him for that matter? It'll throw 'em both off their game." "I see." Hector grinned. "This week'll be an easy win for sure." * * * * * ` "Long Ike and Sweet Betsy got married, of course, ` But Ike, getting jealous, obtained a divorce, ` While Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout, ` 'Goodbye, you big lummox, I'm glad you backed out!'" Most of the men in the Saloon joined Jessie in the last line. They broke into applause when they were finished, and more than a few tossed coins at her. "Thanks, boys." Jessie stood up and bowed low. "That's the end of this show, but I'll be singing again in a couple hours. You're welcome t'hang around till then, and I know Shamus'll be more 'n happy t'sell you a beer or three while you wait." That brought a laugh from the crowd. Some were already at the bar, and more headed that way. Jessie stayed by the stool, talking to Mort Boyer and Milo Nash for a while before she came to the bar. Shamus had a beer ready for her. "Oh, I need this." She took a long drink. "Have ye decided, Jessie lass?" Shamus asked. "About the painting, I mean." "I still ain't sure, Shamus. Maybe... you think that painter man'd give me some more time t'think about it?" The "painter man," Ethan Thomas, was sitting a few feet away, finishing his own beer. "If you need the time, I should be happy to give it to you, but might I show you something first?" "I suppose." She cocked an eyebrow. "What is it?" Ethan pulled a tablet from one pocket of his frock coat and flipped it open. "It was premature, perhaps, but I made a few sketches while you were singing, to get some idea of how to have you pose... should you agree, of course." He paused and handed her the tablet. "That's me, ain't it," she said in a surprised voice. His sketch showed a woman -- showed _her_ -- sitting on her stool, guitar in hand. Next to the picture, he'd written a few notes about her dress and hair, as well as drawn stick figures to represent some different poses. "Keep going," he told her. "I did a few detail sketches, too." Jessie looked. "My hands," she said, flipping the page to one that held several stick figure drawings, and a more detailed close-up of Jessie's hands on the guitar strings. The next page was an oval, a head with lines for the eyes and mouth and the hair up or down. "You done all this while I was singing tonight?" "I'm a quick study. I thought that these might help to persuade you." "What do you think, Shamus?" she asked the man looking over her shoulder. "After all, you'd be paying for it." "I think that if we hung a picture of you over the bar, dressed all plushy and holding yuir guitar, a lot of the men who'd be just passing through wouldn't pass through so quickly." Jessie smiled. "I'm tempted, painter man." "Ethan, if you please," he said quickly, "Ethan Thomas." He offered his and. "Go ahead, lassy. What harm can it do?" urged Shamus. Jessie nodded resignedly. "All right, _Ethan_, I'll let you paint me." She accepted his hand and pumped it two or three times before letting it go. * * * * * Milt Quinlan glanced down at the papers on his desk for a moment before he spoke. "Trisha, the final item we have to discuss is your business." "What about it?" she asked nervously. "I already agreed to give Kaitlin money each month for her and Emma." "Yes, but as your wife, she has a stake in your store. If you died today -- heaven forbid -- it'd be hers automatically as your widow." "Only half of it; my brother, Liam, is my partner. He owns the other half." "Exactly," Milt continued, "if something happened to you after the divorce, the store would most likely go to him. The law would make some provision for Emma, as your child, but Kaitlin would have no claim." Tricia winced, as if in pain. "It's bad enough that we have to talk about the divorce. N-now, you're going on about me d-dying." Kaitlin reached over and took Trisha's hand. "No one's talking about you dying. Milt is just trying to explain things." "That's right, Trisha. The law says that all your assets have to be considered, and you did tell me that Kaitlin put some cash into your business." Trisha nodded. "She got some money from her pa, but we--we paid him back years ago." "Nonetheless," Milt told her, "she did put money in." She sniffled. "So now I have to give her half of my share of the business. That doesn't seem very fair. Liam'll own most of it, then." "I don't want a lot," Kaitlin said. "How does... umm, twenty percent sound?" Trisha looked relieved. "Not as good as ten percent, but Milt _is_ right, I guess. You should have a share. Liam and I can give you that much, and we'll each have a forty percent share." * * * * * "A pitcher of beer, please, Shamus." Laura tossed a gold half-eagle coin on the counter. "Fred Norman just won a big pot, and he decided to celebrate and buy a round for the table." "Bridget'll have that money back in no time, I'm thinking. Still, she likes her players... happy, so she don't mind losing a hand now and then." He got a glass pitcher out from under the bar, checked to make sure that it was clean, and began to fill it from the tap. While she stood waiting for him to fill the pitcher, Laura noticed that the man sitting two barstools down was staring at her. "Can I help you with something, mister?" she asked warily. Ethan blinked, surprised to have been caught. "You're pregnant, aren't you?" "And if I am? I don't see it any reason for you to be concerned about it." "I am sorry." He held out his hand. "I am Ethan Thomas, Mrs..." Laura decided to be friendly. "Caulder, Mrs. Laura Caulder." "Charmed. I did not mean to stare, but I saw you here no more than ten minutes ago, and you showed no sign of your..." He looked down at her gravid stomach. "...ahh, current condition." Laura laughed. "That's because it wasn't me. You saw my... my sister, Jane." She looked around the room for a moment, then pointed. "There she is, talking to Red Tully and Norm Osbourne." "Amazing how much the pair of you look alike." "Almost magic, ye might say." Shamus gave Laura a wink, as he carefully set the pitcher on a tray. "Be easier t'be lifting that heavy thing if ye use both hands." Laura picked up the tray. Before she could walk away, Ethan asked, "Please come back if you would and bring your sister, as well. I'd like to discuss a proposal with you." Laura looked back at him curiously, then nodded and started towards Bridget's table. She was back quickly with Jane in tow. "Thank you, Mrs. Caulder," Ethan stood as they approached. "I am Ethan Thomas," he told Jane, who, in return, introduced herself as Laura's twin. "And I am most pleased to meet you, Jane. I asked your sister to bring you over because I wanted to discuss something with you." "What you got in mind, Ethan?" Jane said, sitting down on a stool, giving Laura an excuse to sit down next to her. "I am a painter, Jane, a portrait artist mostly, although I have done a number of landscapes -- one can't help it out here in the western expanses. But I digress. Lady Cerise, who you may know, has paid me to come to this place to produce a portrait of her associate, Wilma Hanks. Our agreement allows me to seek other work, as well. In fact, your employer has just commissioned me to do a likeness of Miss Jessie Hanks." Both women nodded, but their expressions told him that they still didn't grasp what this conversation was about. "Allow me to get to the point, I have long thought of doing a portrait of 'The Three Fates', the women that Greek mythology claims control the circumstances of every man's life. Some of those myths describe them as a... uhh, maiden, a mother, and an older woman. One reason that I have not done the work is due, to a large part, to the unavailability of suitable models." "When Laura -- may I call you Laura? -- pointed Jane out to me, I realized that the problem had been solved." "Laura's fine," she replied, "but there's only the two of us?" "That should not be a problem -- ah, yes, I can see the ribbon on your blouse, now. Either of you can pose for the third woman. I need only 'age' her as I paint." He took the tablet from his pocket again and made a quick sketch, more of a line drawing, actually. "I see the older woman, the 'wise woman', if you will, seated on a throne, and flanked by the maiden and the mother." Laura considered the image. "I see what you mean. Each one has different hair, different clothes, but it'd be the same face, right?" Ethan nodded. "How long do you think this would take?" "Assuming an hour a day for each of you -- I don't expect Mr. O'Toole to allow more than that -- I should say... six weeks at the most." "Let's do it, Laura," Jane said. "It sounds like fun. I ain't never had nobody paint my picture before." Shamus cut in. "And who'd be paying ye for this great work of art?" "I won't expect you to pay, sir. You'll be contributing enough by allowing the ladies to pose. In fact, if you're still interested in commissioning me do a portrait of your lovely wife -- or the pair of you -- I'll happily consider dropping my price should you allow the ladies to pose for me." "I'll be happy t'be dickering with ye over the price, Ethan," Shamus told him, "_if_ I decide t'have ye do that picture of me Molly. But I'll leave it to Laura and Jane to decide if they want t'be posing for ye." "Yes, yes," Jane said happily. "I wanna do it." Laura was far less certain. "And _I_ want to think about it. Do you mind if I give you my answer in a couple of days?" "I'd just as soon know sooner, Mrs. Caulder, but I can understand your reticence. After all, you'll make a better model if you're happy about posing. Shall we say Wednesday evening? I can come over after dinner." "Why don't ye come over here _for_ dinner," Shamus suggested. "They have a good bill of fare over at Cerise's place -- so I've heard -- but we've a fine restaurant here, too. And Maggie's cooking is a treat that no man who passes this way should be denying himself." * * * * * Tuesday, February 27, 1872 "What's the matter, Laura?" Arsenio asked. Laura shifted in their bed, so she could face him. "What do you mean?" "You've been tossing around, slamming your pillow like you were trying to settle down for the night, and I've heard you moaning and mumbling under your breath about something. I'd like to know what's bothering you." "Jane... sort of." "Now what'd she do?" "It's not really her. A man came into the Saloon tonight, a painter. He's staying at _La_ _Parisienne_, doing a picture of Wilma of all things. And Shamus is going to have him do a picture of Jessie, too." "Sounds simple enough. What does it have to do with Jane -- or you?" "He saw the two of us. Shamus told him we were twins." "And...?" "And now he wants to do _our_ picture. We'd be the 'Three Fates', something out of the Greek legends. Jane and me would take turn posing for the third Fate." "I can see wanting a painting of you -- I would -- but why the two of you, and why as these Greek Fates?" "He said that, in some of the stories, one of them is a young girl, and another is a... umm, mother." "So when he sees a pair of pretty twins, one of them pregnant, I can see where he'd get the idea. But who's gonna pay for it, not Shamus?" Laura caught the look in his eye. "No, and neither are you, Arsenio. I'm not sure I want a picture done of me, especially not now, when I'm like big this." "Big _and_ beautiful." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Maybe he won't find anybody to pay, and you'll be off the hook." "He might do it anyway, 'on spec' he called it. He'd paint it and ship it back east to be sold." "Is he any good? Would it sell?" "I'm no judge. He made some sketches to show Jane and me how he'd want us to pose. I thought they looked pretty good." "Any picture of you would." "I want to pose, and I _don't_ want to pose. What should I do?" "I don't know. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you." "Well, thank you very much." "Laura, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, especially now." He reached down and gently touched her extended belly. "And I'd be proud to have everybody else see just how beautiful you are." Now it was her turn. "And..." "And it would be you that they'd be looking at. If you aren't comfortable with the idea of your picture being looked at, then I don't want you to do it. You think about it some more. I'll be here to talk to you about it whenever you want. And _whatever_ you decide, I'll back you up." Laura slid in close to him. "I'm just glad that you're here for me right now." Her hand reached down to touch his erect member inside his drawers. "But I don't think we'll talk." She kissed him hard. He returned the kiss, and they were soon too happily busy to talk for a while. * * * * * Liam looked around. The store was empty, as it often was mid-morning. "So, Trisha," he said, turning to her, "how'd it go yesterday when you and Kaitlin met with Milt Quinlan?" "Not too bad, I guess." She shrugged and made a sour face. "I put her name on the deed to the house -- I'll still be living there after we divorce. I'll keep giving her money each month to run the place and for her and Emma." She sighed. "I gave her a check, too, so she could set up her own bank account instead of using the one we shared." "Sounds like you've got everything in order then." Trisha chewed her lip a bit. "Umm, not quite. She... she wants a share in the store, too." "Sounds fair. She did put in some of the money we used to set up the business." "I'm so glad that you agreed." She sighed in relief. "I thought we'd give her twenty percent. That'd leave forty percent for each of us." Liam gave Trisha a sharp look. "You expect me to give her part of my share?" "Of course. Milt's drawing up the papers. He said that they'd be ready to sign Thursday or Friday." "Why should I give her anything? I'm not the one divorcing her." "Because I said so, Liam," she answered firmly, her hands balled up on her hips. "Why should you own half the store, when I have to give part of my half to Kaitlin?" "That's not going to work, Trisha." Liam crossed his arms in front of him. "I probably would have gone along in deference to my big brother, Patrick -- I usually did, but I'm _not_ going give away a big chunk of my share of the business just because my little sister, Trisha, tells me to." Trisha made a long face. "Now you're just being mean." "No, practical, one of us has to be." He thought for a bit. "The last time I looked at the books, the Feed and Grain was worth about... $5500, more or less. That about right?" "Figure in stock on hand and accounts receivable, I'd say closer to $6,000," she answered warily. "Are you asking me to pay you for your share?" "Of course, I am. Ten percent of $5,500 is... $550, but you are my little sister, so I'll let you have the share for half, just $275. Do you think you can afford that?" "If... if I have to, but it-it isn't fair. It just isn't fair." Liam shook his head. "No, it's business." To himself he added, 'and it's just what Patrick would do if things were the other way around.' Trisha gave a deep sigh. "All right, _brother_." She spat the last word. "I'll pay. I'll tell Milt to say in the paperwork that I'm paying for your share." * * * * * ` "My Sweet Gregorio, ` I been meaning t'write you for a while, now. I was sure unhappy that you ` left town without stopping in to say, 'Goodbye' to me. ` I like goodbyes. Especially the _long_ ones where there's time for us to ` snuggle while we rest up for the next go-'round. ` You was so much fun to be with; I just _know_ you can do great goodbyes. ` I can feel it in my bones, and in a few other places of mine that you said ` _you_ enjoyed feeling when we was together. You know the ones I mean, ` and, if you don't, you come by here, and I'll show them to you again. ` Sebastian Ortega said you was gonna be back this way in a couple of weeks. ` I hope you'll stop by and say, 'Hello.' I'm even better at helloes than I ` am at goodbyes. ` You say, 'Hello.' And I'll say, 'Hello.' Then we'll go upstairs, and we ` won't say much of anything 'cause we'll have better things to do with our ` mouths. And our hands. And all them other fun parts that we got that fit ` together so nice. Then, later on, we get to say more than 'Hello.' ` We get to say, 'Good morning.' ` So don't you keep me waiting, you big, darling man. ` Your loving, _eager_, ` Wilma" Wilma put down the pen. "Is this what you wanted, Sebastian?" She handed him the letter. "I am certain that it will be." He examined the letter, stopping twice to consider a particular sentence. "It is excellent," he told her finally. "More than I had hoped. I am hard from reading it, and the letter is not even written to me." Wilma's eyes stared at his crotch. "Mmm, you surely are," she purred. "Why don't you 'n' me go upstairs and do something about that?" "_I_ will attend to him." Beatriz had been standing nearby. She walked over and took his hand. "You just finish with that letter he had you write." Sebastian nodded, looking sheepish and handed back the letter. "Do as you said you would, mark it with your lipstick and your perfume. When Gregiorio sees it, I want him to want you as much --" "As much as Sebastian here wants me," Beatriz interrupted. "Don't you, Sebastian?" Her hand snaked down, and she ran a finger over the bulge in his pants. Sebastian put his arm around her waist and pulled him to her. "But, of course, Beatriz, just as _you_ want me." He leaned down to kiss her, but he managed a wink at Wilma as he did. "Then why don't you two head upstairs," Wilma said, slipping back into her role as the Lady's second. "You're getting t'be a damned distraction." She smiled and watched them head out the parlor and towards the stairs. "That Sebastian's one slick hombre." She pressed the letter to her lips, leaving a bright red cupid's bow when she took it away. "If Gregorio's half the man he was in my bed, this'll bring him back for more." She put the letter in an envelope and sprinkled on some perfume from a bottle sitting on the writing desk. "Mmmm, that'll be _soo_ nice." She closed her eyes a moment, remembering just how much she'd enjoyed her time with the man. "And if he still wants me -- and he will -- then he can't be saying it's wrong for Ramon t'want Maggie." * * * * * "My little sister, Trisha." Liam's words echoed over and over in her head all morning until she finally decided, 'If that's what he wants, that's what he'll get.' "So long, Mike," she told one customer, a farmer with a small spread east of town. "I'll be looking for you at the dance on Saturday." He looked surprised and not a little flustered. "Umm... ahh... likewise." "My little sister, Trisha." "Have you bought a ticket to the church dance yet?" she asked Isaiah Logan a while later when he came in for his weekly feed order. Isaiah shook his head. "No, ma'am. I haven't." "Oh, but you should," she answered, pouting prettily. "Aw, who'd want to dance with an old stick-in-the mud like me?" "But there's lots of girls who'd want to dance with a nice man like you." She gave him a shy smile. "I know I would." "In that case, where do I get one of them tickets?" Trisha took a small green box out from under the counter. "Right here. They're two dollars each." She smiled at him again. "They're worth it." "I bet they are." He fished two silver dollars out of his pocket and tossed them on the counter. When she tore a ticket off the roll and handed it to him, he added, "And we'll just see _how_ worthwhile this one is on Saturday." Trisha watched Logan walk out of the store with a jaunty step. Her brother was fixing a display, glowering at her. "Perfect," she told herself and giggled. "I get to annoy Liam _and_ have some fun besides." "My little sister, Trisha." Liam was talking to Sebastian Ortega late in the day, when a tall, barrel-chested man walked into the Feed and Grain. "'Scuse me, Mr. O'Hanlan," he interrupted, holding out a clipboard. "I'm from Mckecknie's Freight Service, and I got that shipment of seeds you ordered." "I'll take care of this," Trisha said, stepping over to the man. "After all, _I_ was the one who ordered the seeds." She looked up at the man. "Shall we go check the order... Rhys, isn't it?" "Yes, yes it is ma'am, Rhys Godwyn." The man beamed. "And I am surely pleased that you remembered me." He followed her out the door. Once they were outside, she looked back. Liam was glaring at her, but he was discussing a big order for the Ortega farm, so he had to stay put. "Shall we?" She offered Rhys her arm. "I don't know that it'd be proper," he replied. "You being married and all. A man can get in a lotta trouble taking the arm of some other man's wife." Trisha tried a shy smile. "My brother was just trying to protect me when he told you I was married. I assure you that there is no man in my life -- except for my brother, of course." "Well, now, I am even more glad t'hear that." He took her arm and led her over to his wagon. He smiled back at her, as they walked. Then his eyes drifted down to her breasts, pushing out the front of her starched, green blouse. "Maybe -- after we unload this..." He pointed to the three large crates with "O'Hanlan Feed and Grain" printed on large labels on their sides. "...me and you can go someplace, have a drink, 'n' get to know each other better." The invitation sent a delicious shiver through Trisha's body. "That would be nice, but I... I have to stay at the store till closing time. Then I'm expected straight home to help with supper." She gently touched his hand. "I... I am sorry." "So am I... Trisha. Me and Zeb -- he's my swamper -- we got to be on the road tonight. We're taking a big load t'Prescott, and we won't be back this way till Saturday." "Oh, but that would be perfect. There's a church dance Saturday -- I'm selling tickets here at the store. You can come and we could... get to know each other there." She wasn't sure why she was encouraging his attentions, but she couldn't see any reason not to. 'Besides,' she thought, 'it's sure to annoy Liam.' * * * * * "Good evening, Jane." Milt put his arm around her waist and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Are you on waitress duty tonight?" She returned his kiss. Her hand was atop his, resting on her hip. "Matter of fact, Dolores is the waitress tonight. Why?" "I just thought it would be pleasant to have dinner with you this evening. If you don't mind, of course." "Mind? 'Course not. I was hoping you'd come in. I got something t'tell you." She looked around. "Shamus is over talking to Otto Euler. Lemme go see if I can take my supper break now." Otto was Hans Euler's brother and his partner in the town's only brewery. Ten minutes later, Jane and Milt were seated at one of Maggie's tables. Milt waited until Dolores had taken their orders before he asked Jane, "Now then, what did you want to tell me?" "I'm gonna have my picture painted, me and Laura together." "Painted?" When Jane nodded cheerily, he continued, "How did that happen?" "Lady Cerise, she hired this painter, Ethan Thomas, his name is, t'paint a picture of Wilma Hanks. While he's in town, he's hiring out t'do other pictures. He's doing one of Jessie -- maybe one of Molly, too; Shamus ain't decided for sure, and he'd be the one paying for the both of 'em." "Would he pay for one of you and Laura, also?" "No, that's the funny thing. He saw Laura 'n' me, saw we was twins, and he asked if he could do a picture of us. He didn't say nothing about who'd pay for it. He did say something 'bout doing it for a speck, whatever that is." Milt tried not to smile. "_On_ _spec_... speculation. That means he'd paint it now and try to sell it later. He must have something special in mind, if he's willing to take a risk like that." He saw her expression wilt. "Of course, any picture of you would be special. At least, it would be to me." "Why thank you, Milt, but I know what you meant. It did sound like it'd be fun, though." She brightened. "Maybe _I'll_ buy it. I got all that money just sitting in the bank, after all." "It isn't 'just sitting', Jane. Dwight Albright's investing it, using your money to make you even more money. From what he's told me, he's doing rather well, and his investments are a lot safer than buying a painting you wouldn't be able to re-sell for a profit anytime soon." "Maybe I don't wanna re-sell it. Maybe I just want a picture of me 'n' Laura t'hang in my room upstairs. What'd be wrong with that?" "Nothing really, I suppose. I just think that you'd do better to keep your money in the bank and let Dwight decide how to use it." "You gonna keep trying t'talk me out of paying for that painting?" She frowned and crossed her arms in front of herself. "I'd like to." He looked at her expression. "But I've got a feeling that it wouldn't do much good, would it?" Jane almost smiled. "Nope. I ain't decided yet if I wanna buy it, but I'm just stubborn enough that you telling me not to might just make me go ahead and pay for that there picture just to show you up." * * * * * "I do not think that man likes you, R.J.," Dolores said. She was sitting at the bar waiting for someone to signal that he wanted to order a drink. R.J. looked around. "Which man is that?" "Him." She pointed at a ruddy-faced man in a green work shirt. "He has been sitting there -- how do you say it -- nursing his drink, but every so often, he looks over at you. When he does, he looks very angry." The barman shrugged. "I suppose he's still mad from when I stuck my knife in his arm." "What?" She looked shocked and stood up as if to move away from him. "I guess Arnie didn't tell you the story." "Arnoldo? What did he have to do with it?" "He was... let me start at the beginning. The man's name is Parnell. He and his partner, Hersh, were cheating in Bridget's poker game. She caught them at it, and he pulled a gun. He was going to shoot her when I... ahh, distracted him with my knife." He stood back, so she could see the knife in a dark, leather scabbard at his belt. Then he continued. "Hersh was ready to draw his own pistol, when Arnie knocked him down and sat on him till the sheriff got here." Dolores gasped. "Arnoldo... he jumped a man with a pistola?" "He did. Of course, he's always had a thing for Bridget." "Si, but he is still a hero." R.J. nodded. "True enough. That's part of the reason why Shamus hired him back. He figured Arnie had earned a second chance." "He is a good man, Shamus O'Toole. But how is it that Parnell and Hersh are not in jail for what they did?" "They were. They each got six weeks for pulling their guns and threatening people. Unfortunately, it's not against the law to cheat at poker. They came back here after their time in the county lock-up. They tell everybody that they're trying their hands at prospecting. Bridget won't let them back in her game, of course, but Shamus, like I said, he believes in second chances, so we let them drink here." "Do you think that they are honest?" "I haven't seen them try anything, but they do spend a lot more time here in town than most of the men looking for color in the rock. Shamus and I are watching them, just in case." Dolores looked over at Parnell. He wasn't looking at her or R.J., now. He was watching at Arnie, who was busy cleaning up a table at the far side of the room. He wasn't frowning at the moment, but he did seem interested in her cousin. 'Perhaps I shall keep an eye on him as well,' she thought to herself. * * * * * Wednesday, February 28, 1872 "Are ye all right, Laura?" Molly asked. Laura grimaced. "No. No I'm not. My feet, my legs haven't hurt like this..." She carefully rubbed her left leg. "...since I had my first monthlies. The cramps are -- ahh! -- horrible." She winced. "They are, and there ain't a lot ye can do for it 'cause it's yuir own body that's doing it, getting ready for that wee babe that's