Rebecca Hagan Lee - [Borrowed Brides 01] (34 page)

“Forget the damned rules, Harris. Just bring another blanket!” David barked out the words before turning his attention to the small cloth buttons on Tessa’s dress. He moved a couple of steps closer.

She moved with him, the top of her head bumping his chin. David backed away.

“The deputy is bringing another blanket.” He raised his voice loud enough for the words to carry back to the deputy. “A clean one. And some warm water.”

Tessa nodded.

David stared at the locks of heavy red hair that had escaped her bun and hung down her back. His fingers itched to touch it.

He forced himself to return to the task at hand.

David moved aside the thick mass of hair to undo the tiny satin-covered buttons on her gaudy costume. It was a first for David. He’d never undressed a client before. But he’d never represented a woman before, or rushed to a jail to save one. He had her dress half unbuttoned before he realized she wasn’t wearing a corset. The dress was cut too low and too close to her body to accommodate one. He felt the chill of her skin as he opened her dress, smelled the cheap flowery perfume used by the women at the Satin Slipper. But it didn’t smell cheap on Tessa. It was light, floral, intoxicating. David shook his head as if to clear it as Deputy Harris arrived with a fresh blanket. He could feel himself going through the motions, knew he was awake, yet everything still seemed unreal. Like a dream.

He finished unbuttoning her gown, then handed her the blanket as she slipped it off, along with her stockings. “Comfortable?” David asked.

“Not very.” She sat huddled on the cot, the blanket wrapped around her. Beneath it her underclothes clung to her skin, but Tessa kept them on. Removing her dress with him there had probably been bad enough; removing her undergarments would surely be unthinkable. She hoped the night wouldn’t hold too many more humiliations. “But I’d rather wear this”— she lifted a corner of the blanket—“than those.” She nodded toward the blue dress and the black net stockings.

David shoved the discarded clothes through the bars, and Deputy Harris quickly removed them. Minutes later the deputy brought two mugs of steaming hot coffee along with the water without being asked a second time. He even threw a few more scuttles of coal into the stove, but the heat barely penetrated the cold of the hallway and the cell.

David grinned as he watched Tessa Roarke sipping her coffee. It was remarkable how quickly rules, even city council rules, could be broken, to soothe a distraught woman. He studied her as he sat across from her in a straight-backed wooden chair. She appeared calm.

David cradled his own cup of coffee in an effort to warm his hands. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Tessa fixed her gaze on him. “I could.”

“Well?” David waited.

She answered him with a question of her own. “What about Coalie?”

“What about him?” David took a sip of coffee.

“Is he all right? Was he hurt?”

“He’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now it’s your turn,” David reminded her. “I answered your question. You’re supposed to answer mine.”

“Who are you?” she asked. “Why are you here?”

“That’s two more questions.” David shifted his weight on the uncomfortable chair, then stood up. “My name is David Alexander. I’m an attorney. I’ve come to offer my services.”

Tessa snorted in disbelief. It was a tiny, elegant snort, but a snort all the same. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Maybe,” David answered.

“No, thank you. I’ll keep my own counsel,” Tessa replied, not wanting to admit she didn’t have the money to pay him. She didn’t want to admit the pittance she earned at the Satin Slipper barely covered room and board.

“That wouldn’t be wise.” David looked at her closely. She obviously didn’t want him as an attorney. And he certainly didn’t need the aggravation. He studied the dark bluish rings under her eyes and the way her teeth bit at her bottom lip. She might not want him, but she
needed
him. And for some reason he wanted to help. “You’re going to need a good attorney, Miss Roarke.”

“Are you a good attorney?” The musical lilt in her voice was very pronounced.

“My clients think so.”

Tessa stood up and took a couple of steps toward him. “What about you, Mr. Alexander? Do you think you’re the
best?
”

“Not the best,” David answered. “But good.”

“Good enough for a saloon girl accused of murder?”

“Yes,” David told her.

“At least you’re honest.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the cot, carefully stepping around David’s coat. “I hope you’re right.”

Deputy Harris spoke from just outside the cell. “I’m gonna have to cut this short, Mr. Alexander.”

“I’m conferring with my client.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to come back later,” the deputy said. “I gotta make my morning rounds through town, checkin’ the windows and doors. I can’t leave you in the jail by yourself.”

David turned to face the lawman. “Afraid she’ll escape?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I ain’t takin’ no chances. I’ve seen her kind before,” Harris commented. “Cold-hearted murderess.” He motioned for David to step forward as he turned the key in the lock and swung the heavy iron door open. “You can come back during business hours. A few hours in a jail cell will probably do her good. Help reform her.”

Narrowing his dark gaze at the deputy in a scathing look, David stepped through the opening.

“You’re leavin’ your coat,” Harris pointed out.

David glanced to where his coat lay on the floor next to her cot. “She can keep it.”

“But it’s cold out there. The wind is biting.”

“I don’t have far to go,” David reminded him. “I’ll manage without it for now.”

Even as he said the words, David planned to return. His jacket gave him an excuse. It was foolish, and he knew it, but despite his experience with duplicitous women, David felt drawn to the jail and the exasperating woman locked inside it. The look she’d given him just wasn’t that of a murderess. He was convinced of it. And he knew what it was like to be misjudged.

He paused outside the cell, glancing back at Tessa. She remained seated on the cot, the line of her back impossibly rigid. “Will she be all right?”

“Sure. She’s got the place to herself. For today.”

David suddenly realized the jail was empty except for Tessa Roarke. “Where is everyone?”

Harris chuckled. “We let all the drunks go home before breakfast. Saves the citizens the cost of feedin’ ’em. She won’t have to worry about company until the saloons fill up again. Then I don’t know what we’ll do. Can’t put anybody in with her, and we do lots of business on Friday nights.” There were only three cells in the entire jail.

“I’ll find someplace for her to stay,” David promised.

“How you gonna manage that? She’s a damn murderess.”

“She’s an
alleged
murderess,” David snapped at the deputy. “And I don’t know how I’ll manage, but I’ll find a place for her to stay.”

The lawman looked skeptical.

David couldn’t blame him. He found it hard to believe his own words. Nothing made sense. He had plenty of cases to keep him busy. Business cases. Deeds, wills, contracts, and land plats were stacked on his desk awaiting attention. They were all clean, uncomplicated, predictable cases. But this…

“Mr. Alexander?” Her soft voice reached him as he opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Can you get me out?” She paused. “Coalie needs me.”

David inhaled deeply. He was crazy to take her on as a client. This whole night had been crazy. David hoped he was still sleeping. If he was lucky, he’d wake up soon and realize this had all been a fascinating dream.

Keep reading
Harvest Moon

Book 2 in the
Borrowed Brides
Series

Something Borrowed
, Book 3 in the
Borrowed Brides
Series

Enjoy a Special Bonus Sneak Peek at
A Wanted Man

(Coming August 6
th
2013)

A thoroughly English girl raised in Hong Kong, Julia Jane Parham has spent her entire life walking the line between two worlds. When her closest friend, Su Mi, becomes the victim of an arranged marriage gone horribly wrong, Julie travels to San Francisco in order to buy back her freedom and soon finds herself in over her head.

On a rescue mission of his own, Will Keegan uses his saloon, The Silken Angel, as a front to whisk Chinese prostitutes away from the city’s ruthless brothel owners to a life of freedom, risking his own hide in the process.

Sparring with a spirited British lady is the last thing Will Keegan needs, but he isn’t about to let lovely Julie throw herself headfirst into danger. And as the urge to protect her turns into something more, Will knows he must coax Julie into trusting him, or risk losing her forever…

San Francisco, California

February 6, 1875

Will Keegan opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom in the Silken Angel Saloon. His head ached from the pall of bluish smoke that lingered in the saloon, produced by the hundreds of cigars and cigarettes his customers smoked each night. The half bottle of brandy and the pot of coffee he’d drunk, the loud conversation, and the music from the slightly out
-
of
-
tune piano also contributed to the pounding behind his eyes.

He’d dreamed the dream again. Dreamed that he was back in Hong Kong with Mei Ling, whose features blurred, merging once again with Elizabeth’s.

Will squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth against the splintering pain in his brain. It was early. The soft light of the Saturday morning barely penetrated the heavy fog, but the clouds of moisture hanging over the city did little to muffle the noise.

Today marked the beginning of the Chinese lunar year. In a few hours Dupont Street and the streets along the waterfront would be filled with more discordant sounds—parades, fireworks, bells and horns, bamboo flutes, cymbals, drums, including the hundreds of toy
bolang gu
, the pellet or rattle drums sold by street vendors, as well as the squeals of live pigs that would be paraded through the narrow city streets as the residents of Chinatown welcomed another Year of the Pig.

Will hoped that a mug of the strong, scorching-hot brew that passed for coffee and a heaping spoonful of willow bark elixir would ease his head enough to allow him to grab another hour or two of sleep despite the drum banging and the cymbal crashing…and the amazingly clear mezzo-soprano voice growing closer and louder by the minute.

“Not again.” Will sat up, raked his fingers through his hair, grabbed the silk dressing gown at the foot of his bed, flipped the bedcovers aside, and stepped into his boots.

She was inside the building. Inside his saloon…

Will didn’t know who had let the crusader slip through the doors of the Silken Angel, but there would be hell to pay when he identified the culprit.

He didn’t mind religious fervor. He’d grown up with missionaries and had been surrounded by it. His father was minister of the First Presbyterian Church of Hong Kong, his mother had preached the gospel according to John Knox on her deathbed, but a little religious fervor went a long way, and Will was rapidly reaching the end of his patience.

The construction of the Silken Angel Saloon had become a clarion call for every follower of William Booth’s philosophy in San Francisco—and their numbers seemed to be multiplying daily. A year ago, you could count the San Francisco Salvationists on one hand, but the past few months had brought boatloads—all looking to save the city— particularly the Barbary Coast—from itself and eternal damnation.

Will didn’t object to the goal, but he certainly objected to the methods. Between visits from the Salvationists and the Women’s Suffrage and Temperance League, he’d had to replace three bar mirrors, two plate-glass storefronts, a case of whiskey, two tables, and half a dozen chairs. All of that in addition to the breakage caused by the usual assortment of rowdy customers.

He’d nearly reached the bottom of the stairs and was in the midst of shoving his arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown when the soprano reached the refrain.

“’Bringing in the sheaves. Bringing in the sheaves. We shall come rejoicing, bring—’”

He hurried down the remainder of the stairs and collided with the figure standing at the foot of them. The girl looked up, widening her eyes in surprise at the force of the impact. He recognized the look of astonishment and fear as her ugly black boots lost purchase on the polished oak floor and she wobbled backward.

Reacting instinctively, he reached out, grabbed the girl around the waist, and hauled her against his chest. The air left her lungs in a whoosh of warm breath.

“Oh!” came her muffled exclamation. Her hat had been knocked askew and her face was buried in the hair on his chest, revealed by his open robe.

Will held her fast until he was certain she was in no danger of falling, then set her down on the floor and released his hold.

She sucked in a breath.

“Please…” Will held up his hand. “Don’t sing anymore.”

A startled look crossed her face. “I wasn’t going to sing.”

“Thank God,” he murmured beneath his breath.

“I was going to scream.” She didn’t look up, but continued to stare at his bare chest as if mesmerized by the sight.

Staring down at the top of her head, Will pulled the silk edges of his robe together and knotted the belt. “Don’t do that either.”

“I most certainly will!” she warned, still staring at the bit of flesh left exposed by the wide lapels of his dressing gown, a frown marring the area between her eyebrows. “If the situation warrants it.”