The Devil of Whiskey Row (6 page)

Olive grinned. “Why not? I have a regular now—James McCollum—he likes to be spanked. Has sex with me too, but always after spanking him. With his razor strap! Pays extra for it, too—ten dollars extra.”

“You're kidding me.”

“I am not. I've been saving my money. I've saving it up and someday I'm going to open my own place—me and Gigi'll work it. You, too, if you want. I'm calling it Spank-a-loons.”

“Wow… When?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. It would kill me to leave Daddy Diggs, and I wouldn't want to compete with him, so I'd have to go somewhere else—maybe San Francisco. Don't tell Daddy Diggs, though, it's just between us.”

“All right, I won't tell.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

* * *

Jake closed himself in his office after spanking Cora. The girl was proving to be more of a temptation than he'd bargained for. She wasn't Eliza, but the uncanny similarity confused him. He'd never been tempted to break his vow of celibacy until now.

He steadied his nerves with a large gulp of whiskey and sat down at his desk.
She wasn't Eliza.
She wasn't Eliza and yet… he felt so close to her. So drawn to her. She felt like a kindred spirit in this sordid world of sex, gambling, and liquor—she somehow reminded him of who he used to be. He wanted to pull her out of Daddy Diggs' and drag her back to a place—nay, a time—when life was simple and easy. They both had had that time in their pasts. Perhaps that was their connection. Or perhaps it was the music. He'd seen real joy in her face when they'd sat at the piano together.

Music was his refuge. The thought of giving her piano lessons cheered him. It was a gift he could offer that might become a bright spot in her day. He pulled out a piece of paper and the new iridium-tipped gold nib fountain pen for which he'd paid a small fortune. Its superiority to a quill that must be constantly dipped in ink was irrefutable, even if the cost was outrageous. He sketched out a grand staff and began by placing notes on it for “Ode to Joy.” Then he wrote out the melody for the lullaby she'd been singing when they'd played together.

A light tap sounded on the door and Olive poked her head in. “We're ready for the dancing if you are.”

“I'll be right out.” He set down his pen and sat another minute before heading out to the noisy hall.

The place was packed and there was a rowdy energy to the crowd. He called out the introduction and sat at the piano, striking up the music for their dance.

As he played, he watched Cora come downstairs. She looked better. It was funny how a good spanking could relax a girl. There was a calm serenity about her now, and when she met his eye shyly, she gave him a small nod. He smiled and winked, watching as she wandered through the room and accepted a coin to sit at one of the tables as a gambler's companion, turning her chair so she could watch the performance.

When the dance concluded, the men cheered and whooped and the girls moved out on the floor. He stood and took a stool at the bar and ordered whiskey. Sam Stryker, the owner of the biggest mine in the area, took a seat next to him. It was he who had pioneered the use of hydraulic mining, pumping water through the canyon to sluice out the gold. He was dressed in his gentleman's finery, as usual, his round belly protruding under his waistcoat.

“Who's the new girl?”

“Cora Underhill.”

Stryker whistled. “John Underhill's daughter?”

Jake gave a single nod, finding the conversation distasteful.

“She turned out a beauty, didn't she?”

His fists clenched and unclenched, but he took a deep breath and exhaled. “Aye.”

“What was it that happened to her father?”

“He was murdered.”

“Oh yes, that, but I mean how did she end up with Smoochy?”

Jake's skin prickled with irritation. “That's between her and Smoochy, I guess,” he said coldly. He wasn't about to drag her family's business out for Stryker's inspection.

“So how'd you get her?”

Could the man not take a hint? Jake threw back his whiskey and looked away without answering. Stryker made a harrumph sound and stood from his stool, sauntering over to where Cora sat. After a few moments of discussion, he offered his hand and she accepted, standing and walking to the base of the stairs as Stryker paid Hank her fee. Jake watched the two of them climb the stairs together.

He ought to be happy. Cora looked comfortable working the floor and she'd already scored her first trick.

So why did he want to murder someone?

Chapter Four

“How was your trick?” Olive asked, plopping down to join her for breakfast. It was a hearty plate of rice and beans with fresh-squeezed orange juice. The Spanish had planted oranges in California and they grew well—producing the most delicious juice. Cora still remembered her first taste of it when they'd arrived from Chicago. There weren't any groves in Dorado Hills—it was barely a town then—but the traders brought oranges from San Francisco and she remembered peeling and biting into that first delicious fruit, the shock of sweetness making her whole body come alive in ecstasy. She'd told her mother it tasted like pure heaven.

She savored the taste of the juice in her mouth now, and then gave Olive a shrug. “He was a trick.”

Olive snorted. “Mine was horrible.”

“What do you mean? How so?”

She snorted again, but a look of amusement animated her face with the promise of a story. “He is a talker. We call him 'The Narrator'. He describes the whole act like he's reading a book. Like, 'You're taking off your stockings' and 'you're holding my cock' then 'I'm grabbing your ass' and 'I'm fucking you so hard'.” She laughed derisively. “Ridiculous!”

Cora giggled. “I saw you, though. You left the door open—was that on purpose? Anyway, you looked like you were enjoying it.”

Indeed, Cora had stopped, riveted outside the door. Olive had been riding on top, her head falling back, hair cascading down to her bottom. Cora had been struck by the look on Olive's face. Her friend had clearly been seeking her own pleasure with the customer. She'd had her eyes closed, her breasts arched high in the air and she was urging him on in a guttural, needy tone.

Never, in the five years Cora had been whoring, had she found pleasure. Nor had she sought it, as Olive clearly had.

Olive grinned. “Well, as long as I can shut my ears to his constant stream of chatter, I can still find
la petite mort
.”

“Find what?”

“The little death. My climax.”

“Ah.” Cora giggled. It was nice to have someone like Olive to talk to about these things. At Smoochy's, she'd learned to speak Spanish and some Chinese, but she'd never really had a camaraderie with the other girls. Sure, they looked out for each other's safety, helped when they could, but there was no laughing—no making fun of the customers. Well, there was no laughing, period.

Gigi joined them. “So how was The Narrator?” she asked with a wicked smile, her French accent thicker on a sleepy tongue. She had long, dark hair that was a little wild and frizzy, a pale face and small eyes that always danced with amusement.

Olive turned her head and Gigi planted an easy kiss on her lips, momentarily shocking Cora, who was trying to sort out whether that was French custom or there was something between the two.

It appeared to be the latter, as Gigi pulled her chair closer to Olive's and they tangled their legs together under the table.

“The last time I had him I simply narrated back. I said, 'Oh, you want my pussy? Now you will lick my pussy.' I made him do all the work and he was so excited he spewed before he could even get it inside me.”

Cora giggled. “You call it a pussy?”

“
Oui. Le chat
. That is what we call it in Paris.”

Le chat. Derrière. Trique.
She was learning all kinds of new words. Yes, the atmosphere at Daddy Diggs’ was an enormous improvement to Smoochy's. Here the women seemed empowered. They laughed about the men. And if what Diggory had said last night was true, they weren't ever required to service a customer they didn't want.

Diggory walked into the room just then, his lanky grace reminding her of the easy, boneless look of a cat. He stopped in the door and beckoned to her. “It's time for your lesson.”

“Oh!” she jumped up so fast she knocked her fork to the floor. “I'll be right there.”

She'd forgotten about her lesson, but her heart danced at the thought of it. She brought her plate to the large tub for washing dishes and rinsed it off, watching the water flow out a hole in the bottom where it was directed outside through a series of hollowed out logs. Daddy Diggs kept a nice establishment, with all the latest conveniences. She was impressed.

She found him sitting at the piano, sheets of music spread in front of him.

“Do you know how to read music?”

She bit her lip. “I used to. Every Good Boy Does Fine, right?”

He chuckled. Good. And the spaces?”

“F-A-C-E.”

“Good girl. Now show me where they are on the keys.”

She placed her hands on the keys the way her mother had taught her and slowly ran a scale, naming the notes as she went.

“That's it, now with the other hand.”

She complied.

“Now together.”

She followed his instruction.

“Very good.”

He placed one of the sheets of music in front of her. “Can you play this?”

She studied the treble notes and plucked out the tune with her right hand, realizing quickly it was Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. She smiled and repeated the song, faster this time.

“How about this one?”

He pointed at the next song. She tried it out, singing lightly to Mary Had a Little Lamb.

“Okay, now this one you already know, right? Just do the treble first.”

She looked at the song and began to find the notes. It was her lullaby. He'd written in a simple part for the bass as well. She tried to add the bass but her brain couldn't hold focus on both hands at once, and the discordant sounds became so disjointed she slammed both hands down on the keys, making a loud, frustrated bleat.

In a flash, she was over Jake's hard thighs, facing the wooden planks of the saloon floor as he delivered several hard swats to her bottom. He pulled her back upright and plopped her back on her stool.

She sat looking straight forward, pressing her lips together to smother a laugh. Catching a smile on the corner of Daddy Diggs’ mouth, she let the giggle erupt and he chuckled, too.

“Are you going to do that every time?”

“Every time you fail to pay attention to my directions.”

Her lips still twitched with amusement. “I'm sorry. I will pay attention, Daddy Diggs.”

“Good. What were my directions?”

“Treble only.”

“Play it for me.”

She played it several times, until she could play it smoothly, and only then did he permit her to add the left hand chords.

By the time their lesson was through, she was able to play the entire song, treble and bass, at the tempo she liked to sing.

“Well done, Cora,” he praised her, and she flushed with pride.

“Where did you learn to play?” she asked him.

He smiled. “It's odd for a man to play, isn't it?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted.

“My mother played the pianoforte and I begged her to teach me. She said I loved music straight out of the womb. My father allowed it because I seemed to have an aptitude.” He gave a wry grin. “Maybe he thought I'd be the next Mozart.”

“Well, you are, practically,” she said, knowing she was gushing, but unable to stop herself.

He threw his head back and laughed, then stood from his stool. “You stay and practice a while longer. See if you can't memorize it by tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. Jake? I mean—Daddy Diggs?” She flushed, unsure what had made her use his first name.

He sat back down on his stool next to her. “You may call me Jake,” he said softly, his eyes intent on her face.

“I, uh—I'm sorry—I didn't mean to be so familiar.”

“I said I'd permit it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, her face still flaming.

He sat staring at her, the magnetic pull of his gaze sucking the breath right out of her chest. “What were you going to say, Cora?” He asked in a low, gravelly voice.

“Oh. I just wondered, ah, if you would play with me again? Like you did yesterday.”

He smiled slightly and nodded. “You begin,” he said, “Treble only.”

She played the song he'd written out for her, and then he joined her, weaving an elaborate harmony of bass, then reaching around behind her, as he had done the day before, adding higher notes to their song. She closed her eyes, enveloped by the song and adding her voice to the tapestry, making it as soft and angelic as she could, the way she remembered her mother singing it. When they finished, Diggory pulled her head to his chest and kissed the top of it, then released her and stood without a word, his long strides taking him out of the saloon.

She sat staring after him, feeling warm all over.

* * *

“No, no, Joaquin. What are you doing? You've messed the whole thing up! Ack. Here, let me.”

He elbowed the boy aside and moved underneath the large wash basin in the kitchen, where he'd fashioned a series of hollow logs to carry the used water to the dirt outside. Josefina had informed him the drain had become clogged, so he and the boy were working on repairing it. He snatched up the little shims he'd been using to change the angle of the drain pipe.

“That's a fine way to treat someone who's trying to help.”

“Eh?” Jake craned his neck around to see Cora standing next to them, her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing. From where he was lying he could see up her dress, a fact which amused him considering the attitude she was giving him.

“You might tell him nicely—you don't have to act like a jackass.”

The room had gone quiet with Cora's first snappy words to him and the air now crackled with tension. No one cursed at Jake. Holding the pipe in place, he looked past her at Joaquin, who had scrambled out and was staring at his shoes, his face a splotchy red. Had he hurt the boy's feelings? It appeared so.