Page 25

Slings and Arrows

Tired before the night started, Charlotte sat at her dressing table gazing at her reflection.

Instead of putting the final touches on her hair and makeup, her mind wandered back to her childhood and her father’s study—a favorite retreat.

Tales of adventure in far-off, exotic places filled the shelves.

Back then, she planned to accomplish everything on the pages she read.

The sky was the limit for a wide-eyed dreamer, and her doting parents never suggested otherwise.

“I didn’t get everything wrong, Mama and Papa,”she said, a soft, humorless laugh escaping. “Although Laramie’s not exactly exotic, I got the far-off part right.”

An insistent knock interrupted the quiet moment. “Mr. Sneed is looking for you, Charlotte. Best hurry,”one of the girls called through the door. “He’s being his usual impatient self.”

“I’ll be right down,”she replied, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. Couldn’t she take a few moments for herself—ever?

As the footsteps in the hall faded, Charlotte stared at the woman in the mirror.

Any signs of the dreamer were long gone.

Leaning close, she traced the delicate skin beneath her eyes and along her temples.

Although she’d turned thirty-two this year, there wasn’t a hint of a wrinkle, her complexion as creamy white during the sunniest days of July as it was in the dead of winter.

The explanation was simple. She rarely ventured outside, avoiding the harsh glare of the Wyoming sun.

Her fingers traced the skin around her mouth.

Fine lines, often from laughing, betrayed a woman’s age.

She didn’t have that concern. With no reason to, she rarely smiled.

Life certainly hadn’t turned out the way she planned it.

She’d seen more hardships than she could have ever imagined and learned the hard way that dreams were for children and fools.

With a heavy sigh, she told herself as she picked up her rouge pot, “No sense dwelling on what can’t be changed. Focus on what you can control. Like getting downstairs before you’re late, and Fenton gets his suspenders in a twist.”

The sweet scent of strawberries and beetroot filled the air as she swirled her pinkie in the thick, pink concoction then lightly dotted a hint along each cheekbone.

“Charlotte! Get your ass down here!”

Fenton’s bellow carried up the stairs,down the hall, and through her closed door. Her impatient partner, not known for subtly or manners, was never shy about making his displeasure known.

Hurriedly, she took another swirl and applied a heavier layer to her lips.

Rising, she strode to the door, stopping to check her appearance in the full-length mirror one last time.

She had pinned her painstakingly curled auburn hair at her crown, leaving several coils free for a softer look.

The white feather she always wore listed to the right a bit, so she quickly adjusted it, as well as the neckline of her off-the-shoulder satin gown.

The crimson fabric was garish, but the dress didn’t come cheap.

Neither did the pearls at her throat or the white leather lace-up boots visible beneath the elevated hem at the front of her gown.

Her carefully constructed image—seductive beauty, and, with the pearls, a touch of class—resulted from years of effort.

It was all a facade, though.Miss Charlotte wasas much a womanof ill reputeas the two dozen working girls who plied their trade nightly on the second floor.

Once painted with that brush, it was impossible to wash off.

There was one significant difference, however.

As co-owner of the Red Eye Saloon, Laramie’s finest drinking establishment and brothel, the days when she made her money on her back were far behind her.

That didn’t stop the drunks, randy ranch hands, and glass plant workers from making their offers.

Her answer consistently since they’d opened their doors was no.

Some of her more persistent customers wouldn’t accept being denied by an“uppity whore.”But she had Fenton or one of their burly guards to explain how it was, for which she was eternally grateful.

When she opened the door and stepped into the upper hallway, she heard another booming shout. “Charlotte!! For fuck’s sake, we opened for business five minutes ago.”

She rolled her eyes. Even though Fen cussed like the cowboys and bellowed like the rail workers, he still expected his tea every afternoon at four o’clock and for her to be at his side when their guests arrived—men aiming to gamble, drink themselves senseless, and bed a pretty saloon girl.

If they were smart and wanted to get their money’s worth, not in that order.

In a voice half his volume that didn’t rattle the window glass but would still carry to the bottom of the stairs where he so often stood when he bellowed, she called, “I’m coming.”

Her choice of words was deliberate. Echoing from the upper floor of a whorehouse, they drew laughter and bawdy comments from the patrons below and hopefully would ease the tension of her volatile business partner.

As shedescended the stairs, she raised her skirt several inches to show off more of her white stockings and a hint of the garters at her thighs.

“If you weren’t so damn beautiful, I wouldn’t put up with your shit,”Fenton grumbled when she reached the lower landing where he stood.

Charlotte reached up and patted his smooth, recently shaven cheek.

“Yes, you would. Because without me, you’d have to put up withthe ladies.

Andwe both know you can’t stand the arguing over borrowed hair accessories and dresses that aren’t returned or the cattiness while competing for the younger, better-looking customers, not to mention the pregnancy scares.

And you’d rather be strung up by your toenails than have one of them come to you, sobbing and broken-hearted because one of their regulars, who has made promises they never intended on keeping, up and marries one of the ‘decent’ women in town, instead. ”

As she spoke, Fen’s face paled, the scowl replaced by an expression of horror.

“That’s what I thought. You need me more than I need you,”she said, with a huff of breath,as close toa laugh as she ever got.

After making her point, she should have left well enough alone. Male pride was a fragile thing, especially Fenton Sneed’s. But women had pride, too, even one who’d endured what Charlotte had, and she couldn’t resist that little dig at the end.

His fingers encircled her upper arms, pulling her up on her toes.

“Your face might be prettier and the road far less traveled, but you aren’t the only cunt at the Red Eye who can handle female drama.

”With bruising strength, his grip tightened.

“If you don’t watch your mouth and start respecting me, you’ll be on the street peddling pussy instead of enjoying the nice, cozy setup you have thanks to me. Hear what I’m saying?”

“I was teasing you, Fen,”she swiftly replied in a far less smug voice because the man with the bulging vein in his forehead, which only appeared when he was truly furious, frightened her a lot.

“I’m not,”he said softly. “Watch yourself, Lottie .”

She flinched at the deliberate use of the despised nickname. After ten years with him, she thought there was some affection between them, friendship at least. But he proved occasionally, like now, that he saw her the same way everyone else did, as a whore putting on airs.

Instead of being cowed by his anger and disdain, it fed those emotions within her.

“I apologized for the remark, but you can’t throw me out,”she snapped. “I’m half-owner of the Red Eye. We’ve got signed papers stating as much.”

“You mean the unregistered papers up in my room?”

If he had kicked her in the stomach, she would have been less surprised. “You said you’d file them. I trusted you.”

Fen released her, and she suppressed the urge to rub where his fingers had dug into her flesh. If she looked beneath the cap sleeves of her gown, she was certain there would be bruises.

“Trust no one. I thought I’d taught you that lesson years ago.”His anger somewhat diffused, he continued. “It goes double for a man, especially if he’s horny, which is why you always get payment in hand before sucking his dick.”

He was referring to the night they struck their bargain. There was no pen and paper, not even a handshake, but a lot of sex.

“We had a verbal agreement, which is just as good!”she insisted. “Are you saying you’re going back on the deal?”

If he said yes, she was grabbing someone’s gun and shooting the scoundrel.

Instead, he stroked her cheek, like she’d done to him a moment ago. “No, Charlotte. I’m not going back on it. I’m saying you need to mind your tongue.”

“I will, I promise, if you register that deed at the courthouse first thing Monday.”

“You’ll do it regardless,”he snapped. “I can’t have you disrespecting me in front of the customers.”

“I swear, Fen, I’ll guard my words, but I need the security of that deed.” Her voice hitched at the end, and even though she despised showing weakness, her eyes burned with unshed tears.

She’d told him of her time at Heloise’s and how she had ended up at Elise’s.Sherefused togoback to the fear and the threats and the abuse. Of an uncertain future, not knowing if she would eat or havearoof overherhead from one day to the next.

It was that same fear he’d used just now to control her—the bastard. Sensing her vulnerability, which was his goal all along, Fen’s face softened, and he took her into his arms.

“I can be a real son of a bitch sometimes,”he murmured into her hair,as closetoan apologyas he ever got. “You can count on me to take care of this, Charlotte. You can even come with me if you’d like.”

“I…uh…”

Leaning back, he frowned at her. “You can’t hide in this saloon forever.”