Bound For Eden (5 page)

O'Brien laughed awkwardly. ‘I'm afraid I'm not as useful as a dentist. I'm a Doctor of Philosophy.'

‘You're a philosopher?'

‘English literature. I wrote my thesis on Milton.'

‘Milton?'

‘
Paradise Lost.
“Who would not, finding way, break loose from Hell . . . And boldly venture to whatever place Farthest from pain . . .?”' he quoted, smiling wanly.

Luke grinned at him. ‘You're talking to an uneducated man, doc.'

Ned smiled back. ‘And you are talking to a man “Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself.”'

Luke gave him a puzzled look and watched as he finished the glassful in one gulp.

‘So what does a doctor of Milton do?'

‘I was teaching at the university back home.'

‘We need a teacher too.'

‘Is there anything you don't need?'

‘A horse breeder, a cattle rancher and a logger.'

Ned laughed.

‘Whose party have you joined?' Luke refilled the doc's glass.

‘None yet, although I was talking to a Mr Hennick today.'

‘Abel? Ah, don't go joining up with him, his compass is off. Last year he ended up in California. I know another party you can join. It's a little more expensive but well worth the price.'

‘Who's the captain? Would I know of him?'

‘Reckon so.' Luke gave him a wink. ‘Charming man, and a damn fine horse breeder.'

Ned looked startled. ‘You?'

‘Ned O'Brien?' A sultry voice interrupted them and they turned to see a buxom brunette with brightly-rouged lips. Her breasts spilled over the top of her corset.

Ned flushed scarlet. He cleared his throat again.

‘My wife died last year,' he said apologetically to Luke.

‘You don't need to make excuses to him,' the whore laughed. ‘Luke and I are old friends. Hopefully, he'll be coming up after you.'

‘I don't think so,' another voice disagreed smoothly as a luscious redhead sashayed up to Luke and rested a possessive hand on his neck.

‘Hey, Seline,' Luke greeted her, hauling her onto his lap. ‘What took you so long?'

‘Honey, if I'd a known you were here I would have been down hours ago.'

Ned watched uncomfortably as the redhead kissed his companion full on the mouth, pressing her lush body hard against him.

Luke stood and swept the whore up into his arms. She squealed happily as he took the stairs two at a time, bearing her off to the closest bed.

Six

‘You don't look like you at all,' Adam said.

‘I should hope not. You remember what we talked about?'

‘You're a boy.'

‘That's right.'

‘Even though you're a girl.'

‘But no-one, apart from you, me and Vicky, knows I'm a girl.'

‘I like you better as a girl.'

‘I'll be a girl again when we get to Oregon.'

‘Promise?'

‘Promise. By then I'll be desperate for a bath,' she said dryly, regarding her filthy skin. ‘But for now we need to get organised. I'll meet you both downstairs.'

‘Where are you going?' Victoria asked sharply.

‘I'm going to get the name of that wagon maker off Mr Slater.' Victoria's lips thinned in disapproval, but Alex ignored her. ‘Don't forget to keep the gold with you,' she told her sister, ‘put it in your bodice, where it'll be safe.' Alex had divided the gold into smaller bags. The bag with the most money went to Victoria, one was squirreled away in their bags, and the other was hidden under a loose floorboard beneath the bed. Victoria wore a padded bodice (she didn't have much up top and was sensitive about it) and so the outline of the bag was well disguised. Alex didn't carry one herself. If the Gradys found her, she had to be ready to run, and she had no intention of taking the money away from Victoria and Adam. She jammed the hat on her head. But if she had her way that wouldn't happen. Not if Slater pointed her in the direction of a strong wagon and a competent captain.

Alex couldn't deny that she was excited at the thought of seeing Luke Slater again. Deep down, she knew she could find a wagon maker without his help; she was simply fabricating a reason to seek him out.

She all but skipped down the stairs to the front desk, where Ralph Taylor sat with a cup of burned-smelling coffee and a two-week-old paper that had just arrived on the riverboat. ‘I need to speak to Luke Slater,' she announced in her best low-pitched boy-voice. The hotelier didn't bother to look up from his paper.

‘He didn't come back from Dolly's last night. I dare say you'll find him there.'

‘Dolly's?'

‘At the end of the street turn left, go three blocks, make a right, and you won't miss it.'

‘Thanks. Could you tell my sister where I've gone when she comes down?'

He grunted, which she took for an assent.

Outside, it was a spectacular spring morning of pale blue and yellow-green. Even the dusty street looked pretty in the fresh golden sunlight. Alex put on the battered brown hat and shoved her hands deep into her pockets.

It was mighty odd being out in the world as a boy. At first she felt dreadfully self-conscious. It was like being out in public in her underwear. Except that the layer of filth made her feel safely anonymous, and after a block or so she found herself loosening up. Her gait changed, becoming less of a glide and more of a stride. She looked around and gained even more confidence when she realised that no-one was taking any notice of her.

She liked not having to worry about keeping the hem of her skirt out of the muck and she liked the way she could take deep breaths without her stays. All in all, being a boy wasn't too bad.

She stopped dead when she rounded the corner and caught sight of Dolly's. It was impossible to miss the sprawling two-storeyed building that was more than a little crooked. There was an eye-catching sign out the front: ‘Dolly's – Girls! Girls! Girls!' If Alex hadn't already guessed that she was looking at a cathouse, she did the moment she saw the women sunning themselves on the porch.

They were in their underwear! Or less. There were bare shoulders and bosoms and legs wherever she looked. Beneath her mask of soot and dirt, she blushed with shame for them.

‘Morning, honey,' one of the women called suggestively, catching sight of Alex standing in the street open-mouthed, staring at them. ‘Fancy a tickle?'

There was a burst of laughter.

‘Oh Flora, he ain't old enough to know how to use it yet.'

‘Don't listen to her,' Flora called down to Alex, winking. ‘You don't have to do anything – just let nature take its course.'

‘Which at your age won't take long at all!' another woman hooted, setting them all off squawking.

Alex was mortified.

‘Leave him be,' the oldest of them said, fanning herself lazily. ‘You looking for someone, honey? Your pa maybe?'

The thought of Pa Sparrow in a place like Dolly's made Alex blanch. He wouldn't have gone within a stone's throw of such an establishment, and he would have been scandalised to think that his foster daughter was talking to a whore. Imagining his disapproving scowl, she felt she should turn on her heel and leave. But, to her own astonishment, she didn't.

‘I'm looking for Luke Slater.' The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was doing.

There seemed to be a collective sigh among the whores. Certainly there was a wave of white flesh rising and falling.

‘Just go upstairs and wake him, honey. He's asleep in Seline's room.'

Go upstairs? Into the house?

Alex's skin burned at the thought . . . at the same time she was deeply curious as to what the inside of a whorehouse looked like. For some reason she pictured thick carpets and chandeliers, velvet and satin and mirrors.

She was bitterly disappointed.

Dolly's was as raw as the rest of the town – fresh-hewn unpainted timber, where the nail heads glinted, still bright silver and new. And it was a pigsty. No-one had bothered to clean up after the night's entertainment: the spittoons were full and there were empty glasses on every spare surface. The whole place smelled of stale sweat, cigar smoke and something else she couldn't name.

She picked her way through the scattered chairs and made her way up to the second floor, where she paused, nervous. The woman hadn't mentioned which room he was in. Seline's room. Which one was that? There were more than half a dozen doors along the landing and down the corridor.

Gathering her courage, she knocked on the first one. When there was no answer she poked her head in. It was empty. Even more nervous now, she tried the next.

‘Let a girl get some sleep!' a woman moaned, pulling a pillow over her face. ‘Ain't it enough that you're at me all night, do you have to be at me all day too?'

‘I'm just looking for Seline's room,' Alex stammered.

‘Two doors down.'

‘Thank you.' Alex closed the door hurriedly.

When she reached Seline's door she paused. Her heart was thundering in her ears and her chest felt tight. It suddenly occurred to her that they might not be sleeping . . .

Before she could chicken out she knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again. Silence. Should she look in or not? Did the silence mean that the room was empty, or that they were asleep, or something else altogether?

Swallowing hard, she eased the door open and peered through the crack.

He was in there alright. She'd know that broad back anywhere.

Didn't the man ever wear clothes?

He was sprawled on his stomach, with his face buried in a pillow. Slowly Alex's gaze traced the contours of his body beneath the sheet.

There was a moan and Alex's heart stopped. A tangled mass of red hair rose from the other side of Luke.

‘Whaddya want?' the whore complained, rubbing tiredly at her face. Her rouge was smudged and there were black rings around her eyes where the paint had run.

‘Uh . . . him,' Alex admitted, nodding at Luke and twisting the brim of her hat between her fingers.

The woman struggled to sit up and look Alex up and down. Alex was horrified when the sheet fell free, exposing the whore's large breasts. Her gaze flew down to her boots and she felt her face burn. She'd never blushed so much in her life as she had in the last twenty-four hours. Did no-one in Missouri have a sense of common decency?

And if it was this rough here, what would it be like on the frontier?

Seline leaned over Luke, her breasts brushing his bare back as she ran her fingers through his thick black hair.

‘Darlin'? You've got company.'

‘So I feel,' he said sleepily.

Alex stole a peek and saw him roll over with a bleary but wolfish grin, his eyes lingering on Seline's exposed flesh.

‘Not me,' the whore teased, and Alex was sure she heard the hint of a giggle in her voice, ‘him.'

Luke blinked and followed Seline's gaze to the door, where Alex shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

‘Well, if it ain't Al Alexander. Aren't you a little young for a whorehouse? You don't look more'n twelve.'

‘Mr Taylor said I could find you here.'

‘And you did.' One of Luke's hands was rubbing lazy circles on Seline's back. Alex wished he'd stop. She couldn't help wondering how it would feel to have that large hand caressing her back instead . . . judging by Seline's expression it would feel pretty good indeed.

‘You said you knew a wagon maker?'

‘You sure are in an all-fire hurry, aren't you?'

‘I just thought you might be able to point me in the right direction,' Alex said lamely.

Luke gave her a good-natured grin. ‘Sure I will. But maybe a little later. I've got my hands full at the moment.'

He certainly did.

Alex mumbled an apology. She felt absolutely ridiculous. What had she been thinking? The man was in a whorehouse, for heaven's sake. He was hardly going to be in the mood to talk wagons with a scruffy boy.

‘I'll find you at Ralph's around noon,' he called after her.

Alex could hear Seline giggle as the door clicked closed behind her.

Seven

Luke was half expecting the tears. He seemed to have that kind of effect on women.

‘I'm sorry,' Seline sniffled, ‘I shouldn't have asked.'

Luke sighed and stopped buttoning his shirt. He took the girl in his arms and gently stroked her back. Why did it always end this way? He thought the whole point of hiring a whore was that there were no strings attached, but here she was asking him to take her with him. ‘I'm so miserable here,' she'd whispered, looking up at him with her big moist eyes.

Last time it had been Gracie weeping into his shirt. And the time before that Margaret had actually wrapped herself around him and begged him to marry her. Marry her! Much as he liked these girls, he wasn't looking to keep them.

‘You're too much of a knight in shining armour,' Dolly scolded him every time he left. ‘You need to treat it like a business transaction. And for pity's sake, stop spending the night!'

‘I thought you liked my money.'

‘I do, but I'm not fond of the miserable whores you leave behind. They mope for days after you leave town.'

He sighed again now, thinking of the look that would be on Dolly's face when she saw his wet shirt, with its telltale kohl stains.

He did his best, he really did. He never slept with the same one two nights in a row. He never sweet-talked them. Well, not intentionally. It wasn't his fault he was a friendly guy.

‘You don't hate me, do you?' Seline asked in a small voice.

‘Ah no, darlin'.' Damn. That right there was his problem. At the word ‘darlin' ' she gave a shivery sigh and burrowed into his chest. He wondered how he was going to get away.

‘You don't want to come with me, dar—' He caught himself mid-word and cleared his throat. ‘A pretty town girl like you has got no place out there in the wild.'