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“Because it will be an adventure,”he replied, with a grin that could melt the bloomers off a nun.

“Your idea of fun and mine are a world apart.”

“Truth is, I’m bored. Not with you,”he quickly clarified.

“That would never happen, but I’m tired of the same old thing day in and day out.

Besides, those boys won’t be bothering anyone else.

The ranchers took it upon themselves to do something about it.

They slapped a star on one of ’em’s chest, he deputized half the men in town, and together, they stormed the saloon for a trio of lynchings. ”

“It sounds like something right out of a dime novel.”

“Huh?”

Apart from perusing the headlines in the newspaper, Fen had no interest in reading. “Never mind,”she replied. “So, how did you end up with a saloon hundreds of miles away from here?”

“By drawing a gutshot straight over his full house,”he quipped with a slow, disarming grin.

“What did you bet?”

“All I had with me at the time—twenty thousand.”

She gasped for two reasons. First, because she could live out her life comfortably in a cozy cottage in a quiet town with that amount of money.

Second, his audacity amazed her. Fen had taught her a great deal about poker.

To hit a gutshot straight, he had to draw a specific cardinthe middleofthe five-card series.

It was a long-shot wager, high risk, high reward—if you considered a saloon in the western territories a reward.

His grin said it all. The thrill of the gamble was the win for him.

“After the place changed hands at least a half dozen times in a year, the owner couldn’t find another fool to buy it. He gave up and was heading back East when our paths crossed.”

“Why did it have so many owners?”

“I mentionedit’s a roughtown, but I could tell from his stories he had no clue what he was doing.”

“And you do?”she asked, immediately regretting it whenhe scowled ather.

“You insult me, woman. When have I ever failed at anything?”

Sex and whiskey loosened Fen’s tongue. At least twice, he’d bet enough to buy Eldridge House and lost it all, starting over from nothing each time. She thought it best not to bring up either case now and risk provoking him further.

“I’m worried for you,”she said, switching topics to one of his favorites—himself.

“I cantake care ofmyself. Besides, the prior owner oftheBucket ofBloodsaid things have calmed since the outlaws aren’t running the town anymore.”

“Gads, what an awful name,”she exclaimed.

The images it prompted weren’t much better, of rough-and-tumble men with pistols on their hips and no law to contain them.

It would be worse than St. Louis ever thought to be.

At least the city had a full-time police force.

Although they usually avoided the river district, with all the bars and brothels, unless a riot or murder demanded their attention.

“Are you going to employ women at your saloon?”

“I doubt I’d have many customers without ’em.”

“What kind?”she asked, an idea taking shape. “Dancing girls? Barmaids for serving drinks? Or do you intend to run an upstairs business?”

“I had thought all three.”He quirked a brow and asked teasingly, “Why? Are you looking for work?”

“Yes.”she said without hesitation.

“Ah, now I know what this is about.”A devilish grin overtook his features, and she could hear the smugness in his voice.

It forewarned her to prepare for Fenton to do one of three things—be at his most arrogant, vulgar, or insensitive.

“You’re going to miss me, aren’t you, Lottie?

While it’s true, you’ll never find another to match what I’m packing, a pretty little whore who’s as good a cock sucker as you won’t have a lick of trouble filling my spot. ”

And with that, all three combined into one offensive statement, he outdid himself. Adding the hated Lottie was the cherry on top.

Charlotte closed her eyes as the insult washed over her.

Fen wasn’t stupid, but his tenant farmer father believed schooling was a waste of time and young Fenton’s strong back.

He’d been cast out at ten when his mother revealed that Fenton, Sr. wasn’t his father.

As such, he lacked the most rudimentary of the social graces.

To him, a spade was a spade, a whore, a whore, and a bastard was a bastard, just like him.

By his way of thinking, praising her looks and the ability to get him off with her mouth was a compliment. On that, they strongly differed.

“Safe travels,”she said coolly on her way to the door. “I’m going down to the kitchen for a snack. You can let yourself out.”

He bolted upright on the bed, shocked. “That’s my goodbye? After a year?”

“I’m only a good little cocksucker. What do you expect?”

“Aw, Lottie. You know I was teasing.”

“And you know I don’t care for that nickname, Fenny.”

Off the bed and in front of her in a blink, he barred the door with his body. “Don’t go. We’ve still got the evening ahead of us.”

Clasping her hands in his, Fen pulled her back toward the bed. “I’ll be good. We’ll talk. You can read to me.”

With an unenthusiastic sigh, she wondered aloud, “Why does a slice of apple pie sound so much better than that?”

“Name it,”he cajoled, the charm and grin reappearing. “What do you want to do?”

“To strike a bargain with you.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and guided her between his thighs. Looking up at her, he stated, “Lay it out for me.”

“What I’m suggesting is that we form a partnership.”

He blinked in surprise, obviously not expecting her to ask such a thing. “I thought things were good for you here. Is there a problem with Elise?”

“Never. She’s a good friend.”

“Then, why leave civilization behind? The railroad isn’t finished yet, and the town hardly counts as one with little more than a feed store, a mercantile, and a jailhouse. From what I hear, it’s growing, and, one day, it might be civilized, butit’s still a roughplace, as are the men thereabouts.”

Why was an excellent question. When he left in a few days, would she miss him?

The loss of income from his patronage would be felt.

Without it, the cushion she had every month, most of which she put into savings, would vanish and, with it, any hope of getting out of the trade one day.

Her weekly rent bought her more than a room.

Elise oversaw everything: crisp linens, spotless rooms, a chef to prepare all her meals, and Arthur, a gentle giant of a security guard who provided unwavering protection.

Despite the amenities that far exceeded the Pleasure Palace and were worlds away for those poor women trying to eke out a living on the street, Charlotte was exhausted.

Not only physically but emotionally. With only two months until her twenty-second birthday, she felt used up.

At this pace, with her persistent melancholy, she would likely be dead before she reached thirty.

Never had she expected her life to turn out like this. Things had to change. Perhaps Fenton could be the catalyst.

“There has to be more to life than this.”

“You’d miss old Fen, and I don’t mean just my big cock. We’ve become more than that. Admit it.”

“I’ve grown fond of you, of course, and I enjoy our time together.”It was something she had told all her customers at some point, but with him, she meant it.

“Then I say yes. Come with me. You’ll be my best girl like you are here.”Before she could set him straight, he stretched out on the bed and pulled heron top ofhim. “Let’s seal our bargain with another round.”

He planted a hard kiss on her lips and then rolled them until he was above her.

“Fen, wait,”she said, pushingagainsthis chestandturning her head to the side to avoid his mouth smothering her words. “I don’t want to be an upstairs girl anymore. I’m done with it.”

“And you wouldn’t be at the Bucket of Blood?”

She grimaced. “That’s a horrible name and should be the first thing you change, but you don’t understand. I’m not suggesting I work as one of your girls. I want to manage them for you.”

He pushed up on both arms and stared at her, clearly never having considered it. “I’d thought to do it myself,”he replied.

Charlotte pleaded her case. “You can’t possibly want to wrangle a gaggle of women.

If you plan an operation half as large as any of them here, that’s twenty, at least. Imagine dealing with their troubles every…

single…day. The complaining, the drama, and the jealousy over customers who fall in love with them, and vice versa.

Then there are the mood swings and the baby scares. ”

By the time she finished with her laundry list, his black brows were so furrowed they appeared to be one, and she knew she had him. She pushedagainsthis chest, andhe rolled off her, stretching out on the bed, arms crossed behind his head ashe scowledatthe ceiling.

She scrambled to her knees to drive her argument home. “Why do you think women run brothels? Most men don’t have the fortitude or the patience and turn it over to one of them, anyway. I’d be saving you those headaches from the beginning.”

When he looked at her, eyes narrowed, his suspicion resonated when he asked, “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I want to be paid, of course. Either a decent salary ora percentage ofthe profits. As long as there’s a minimum. A girl has to eat, after all.”

“And a maximum,”Fenton countered. “No whore,no matter howpretty or how sweet her pussy, is going torob me blind.”

Over the years, she’d learned not to react visibly to the battery of demeaning names—trollop, slattern, and harlot were a few that came to mind. Some of her more refined clients used flowery euphemisms, calling her a painted lady or fair belle. Whatever the term, it meant the same thing.