Much Ado About Madams (12 page)

After Lucinda had dressed, and what relief to wear her own clothes again, Fannie pulled the wooden chair from the secretary in the corner and patted it. “Set yourself down and let me brush out them tangles for you."

Fannie’s previous comforting ministrations made Lucinda all too willing. “You know,” she said as she sat down, “you could start a hairdressing salon. You work magic with hair and you know how to run a business.”

Fannie gave a sharp laugh. “I s’pose you think working with women would be easier than working with men, but you’re dead wrong. Men want business taken care of. Women have to tell you ever mean thing about ever mistake anyone’s ever made. And usually, truth be known, the one opening her yap has more dirt under her sheets than anyone else in town. No ma’am, men don’t care about no one but theirselves. Get what they want and leave—they don’t have no time for pissin’ on someone else’s parade.”

Lucinda took the mirror Fannie handed her and watched while she made a stylish chignon. No stray hairs, no lumps, and the bun was perfectly centered. She sighed. Why couldn’t she arrange hair like that? Hairdressing was a skill that a respectable woman needed, and one in which she was decidedly deficient.

“
There,” Fannie said as she planted her hands on her hips and surveyed her work. “We’ve made your hair all pretty for Reese.”

Reese! First of all she didn’t want a man, especially Reese. Suffragists didn’t need men. Most particularly Reese, who stirred unwelcome tingles in her spine, and elsewhere, every single time that handsome face of his flashed through her mind.

Fannie took a dress from a hook on the wall. A fancy dress, indeed. “And look here,’ she said, displaying it in all its glory. It was beautiful—royal blue with tiny intricate flowers tastefully embroidered on the bodice. It could have jumped right off a page of the latest
Godey’s
. “Trinket sized it for you from your brown calico. She’s a handy one with a needle.”

Lucinda longed to wear such a fine garment. It would be very flattering to her honey-blonde hair and fair skin. She’d never owned a dressed nearly so fine. Sorely tempted, but recalcitrant for reasons she knew not, she started to shake her head to refuse the offer. She simply couldn’t accept such an exquisite gift, especially when she was leery of the motivation behind it. The ladies seemed quite interested in keeping her in proximity to their boss, and now they wanted to clothe her, too.

Still, Trinket had worked hard on the fitting and design. Lucinda didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and it certainly was a beautiful dress, prettier than anything she’d ever owned.

“
Trinket thought it was a might plain, so she embroidered these here flowers for you,” Fannie pointed out.

The fine stitchery compared to the best she’d seen. Trinket could definitely compete with the best seamstresses in St. Jo. If Lucinda could persuade Fannie to go into the hairdressing business and get Trinket set up in a dress shop, she’d only have to find respectable positions for Chrissy, Petunia, Felicia, and Holly. Holly, young and eager to learn, wouldn’t be hard to train. Sadie could use her magnificent cooking skills anywhere. The other ladies—well, they presented more of a challenge.

The suffragist ladies back in St. Jo would certainly be impressed with her work for the down and out. She could hardly wait to outline her successful endeavor for others to implement. Soiled doves everywhere would benefit. Maybe she could call it
Sharpe’s Academy for Fallen Ladies
. But shook off the thought. Such grandiosity would be sinful.

“
Come on down to dinner,” Fannie instructed as she buttoned Lucinda into the gorgeous dress. “It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes or so.”

Lucinda’s stomach took the opportunity to emit an unladylike growl as Fannie left the room. “I’ll be down shortly.”

A glance in the mirror proved quite a pleasant shock. She raised her chin and stood most graciously. The woman staring back looked sophisticated, educated, and most of all, respectable.

Yes, Sharpe’s Academy had quite an appealing ring to it.

* * * * *

Descending the stairs in a most regal fashion, or so she hoped, Lucinda controlled the urge to run up to Fannie and Trinket and twirl prettily like a schoolgirl would to show off her new dress. Her perfect hairstyle and silk gown of the latest fashion made her feel stunning, ready to enter the most fashionable ballroom in St. Joseph. My, how those society ladies who’d snubbed her would drool.

But she was only going to dinner in a whorehouse.

“
Good gracious, Miss Sharpe!” she heard Trinket call, and turned her head to return the greeting.

Distracted, she tripped on her hem and fell down the last step into a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Strong arms lifted her. Mortified but determined to save face, she looked into the smiling eyes of none other than Reese McAdams.

Chapter 6

“
Well, well,” Reese said, looking Lucinda straight in the eye. “You’ve gone from hoyden to princess in less than an hour. Must be some kind of record.” She fidgeted under his scrutiny, but stopped when his grip around her waist grew tighter.

So much for her newfound dignity, especially when the heat from his touch brought tingles to her middle. And other unmentionable places. His eyes taunted her with I-can-make-you-feel-better-than-you’ve-ever-felt-before. Her sensibilities abandoned her when she tried to respond to his left-handed compliment.

“
Don’t she just look plumb beautiful?” Trinket gushed. “I knowed that dress was hers. Why Reese, I bet you could just eat her up!”

Lucinda tried to look away from Reese’s penetrating gaze, but could not. He licked his lips. She wanted to touch them. His arms tightened around her waist again and held her close. Too close. She tried not to inhale his bay rum aftershave. Bay rum should be outlawed, she decided.

“
Put her down, Reese, and set yourself down to dinner,” ordered Fannie.

Only then did Lucinda realize that that she had wound her arms and legs around him in a most unladylike way. She straightened her legs and pushed at his chest. Her fingers wanted to linger and examine him, but this was not the time nor the place, and certainly not the right man. No respectable woman would even have such thoughts. She pushed harder.

“
Please, let me down.” Her schoolteacher command sounded more like a little girl’s plea, but it was the best she could do. He must never know how he affected her.

Reese lowered her and waited for her to catch her balance before he released her. Her body still fluttered, though. Her heart thumped like a rabbit’s and her face flushed with heat, knowing she longed for him to hold her again.

“
Are you unhurt?” he asked.

No, she hurt. Ached rather. Such a good ache, too. He seemed to know that hot oil coursed through her veins instead of blood. His eyes, dark with invitation, beckoned her, and she remembered the previous night when he’d held her so tight and made her safe. No, not safe.

She blinked in a pointless effort to remove her inappropriate thoughts. “I’m perfectly fine.” Her voice had strengthened, thank goodness. “Let’s sit down to dinner.”

Scanning the room, she saw six prostitutes and a cook staring at her, mouths agape. They knew! Every single one of them knew. Were there no secrets with this ragamuffin bunch? She willed her legs to walk to the table.

Never would she succumb to a man who’d stoop to own a brothel, no matter how kind or how handsome. She’d show them.

* * * * *

Reese couldn’t remember ever seeing a more beautiful woman. Those emerald eyes of hers could almost make a man forget—anything. Her tiny waist, trussed up in one of those gawdawful corsets, reminded him of her soft curves that nearly made him lose control the night before. The curls brushing her neck invited him to take a little nibble. And when she’d wrapped her legs around him…he couldn’t think about that or he’d embarrass himself in front of half a dozen women who’d know exactly what he wanted to do.

Lizards would sing
The Battle Hymn of the Republic
before he’d have anything to do with her. She was a suffragist schoolteacher, for cryin’ out loud. He’d seen what happened when a man, caught up in the detestable world of selling women’s favors, hitched up with a decent, God-fearing woman.

He knew the grief of growing up with a father who had more interest in his low-life gambler friends and high-flying women than in his family. He remembered his mother’s dignified silence when she’d been snubbed by the other ladies in town, and he remembered the taunts from his classmates while he’d dodged the rocks and horse biscuits thrown by the boys who knew what his father did for a living.

A woman deserved a proper home and an honorable husband. And he couldn’t give the first and could never be the second, now that his illustrious father had saddled him with a whorehouse and a stable of soiled doves.

Miss Lucinda Sharpe posed more danger to him, and herself, than Hannibal Hank or any gun-wielding desperado.

She walked straight and proud to the table, seated herself, and placed the napkin on her lap. He reveled in her grace and refinement, and how out of place she looked sitting at a table with a bunch of whores. Hell and damnation, how he wished things had worked out differently!

“
Get your ass over here and sit down so’s Miss Sharpe can say grace,” ordered Fannie.

All the ladies looked at him expectantly.

“
The food’s getting cold,” Sadie reminded him tersely, holding a large platter of steaming beef roast.

His stomach rumbled and he walked to the table and took his seat. Trinket threw him an I-know-what-you’re-thinking glance.

They bowed their heads in prayer.

“
Lord,” Lucinda began, “thank you for your blessings and the food Sadie has worked so hard to prepare . . .”

“
Amen,” all the women said in unison as they reached for the nearest dishes. Reese stifled a chuckle as he watched them leap for the platters of food and heap up their plates. The ladies had all followed Lucinda’s lead in placing their napkins on their laps, and they’d bowed their heads for the prayer right on cue, but they certainly weren’t into long discourses with the Lord.

Lucinda looked horrified, then resigned, but always beautiful. The powerful need to escape from her spell grabbed him like a vise. He nearly inhaled his meal, planning his departure line with each bite. The ladies chattered like magpies, but the schoolteacher studied him like he was a new scientific specimen.

He scooted his chair away from the table, the legs making a loud and conspicuous squawk. The women stopped chattering and watched him stand. He knew they knew, and they knew he knew, but he’d be damned if he’d look at Lucinda to confirm it. “I’ll be working in the barn if you need me.”

He grabbed his Stetson and jammed it on his head as he stomped out of the room to the sound of muffled giggles. Women were such a bother.

* * * * *

Lucinda scrounged through her trunk, hoping to find at least one more piece of paper. When she’d left Dickshooter, she hadn’t expected to be stuck in a brothel with only the school supplies she’d brought with her. A store would have been nice too. A real store, not the feeble excuse of a general store that took up a corner of the saloon. Of course, she’d expected a real town.

Finding no paper, she stood straight, stretched her back and sighed, then caught sight of herself in the mirror. Knowing that vanity was sinful, she nevertheless couldn’t resist feeling quite pleased with the exquisite dress and the proper coiffure she wore.

Reese had thought her dress pretty, too, although his opinion didn’t matter in the least to her. She only wished she hadn’t stumbled down the stairs. How mortifying! She could still sense the warmth of his hands about her waist and the look of approval in his eye. She looked away from the mirror as if to dash his image from her memory.

Then the thought struck her—Reese should be the one to provide school supplies. After all, how did he expect her to teach if she had no supplies with which to do so? He probably would disagree—she’d never heard of a brothel owner who wanted to educate their women and doubted his veracity on the subject.

In fact, he had probably changed his mind about the whole notion of school by now. Well, she’d not allow it! She pulled her gloves on and pinned on her hat. She’d seek him out right this very instant and demand that he purchase a substantial amount of supplies. She marched out of her room and down the stairs.

Trinket lounged on the settee in the parlor.

“
Have you seen Mr. McAdams?’ Lucinda asked her.

“
Still out in the barn, near as I know.” Trinket giggled. “You sure know how to truss up a man.”

“
Hmmph!” Lucinda hurried out to the barn, taking care not to raise any more dust than necessary. She should have changed to her brown calico, but she wanted to savor the look and feel of the beautiful clothing before she returned it.

Reese sat on a stump and rubbed soap into a saddle. She had never seen anyone soap leather so vigorously and wondered if he needed to change the brand of soap he used. Even more curious, the saddle didn’t look like it needed tending at all. He must be a fastidious man, although he didn’t seem so.

“
Mr. McAdams,” she called in her schoolteacher voice of a most stern calibre.