Silver Dreams (20 page)

"San Francisco most recently, though I've been so many places I've lost count. I don't like to stay in one place too long."  She waved to the bartender. "Ross, darlin' I need a refill. How about you, honey?"

Elizabeth looked at her glass. Amazingly it was almost empty. Imagine that. "Yes, I'd like one, too."  She'd never batted her eyes at a man in her life, but she did so now. "Do you mind, Max?" she asked sweetly.

"Actually I do," he answered and then lowered his voice. "For one thing, I don't think it's such a good idea, and for another, I agreed to bring you here, but I didn't know I was your date."

The mild flirtation forgotten, she snapped back, "Of course you're not my date. Heaven forbid! But I can't very well order my own, now can I? It wouldn't be at all proper. If you're worried about the money, I'll pay you back tomorrow."

"Do I look worried?"

She leaned down and looked into his face. "Well, frankly, yes."

"Then good, because I am. But not so much about the money anymore."

He narrowed his eyes as if debating whether or not to do what she wanted, and finally raised his hand again. "Bartender..."

Chapter Ten

Elizabeth had never met a woman as unique as Ramona. In a few short hours, she had completely altered her preconceived notions of what a woman of Ramona’s profession was supposed to be like. Ramona was bold and daring, just as Elizabeth herself wanted to be following her dreams to Colorado. Ramona was witty, congenial, and kind, traits Elizabeth fancied for herself.

She certainly had Ross Sheridan wrapped around her little finger. He attended her needs as if she were royalty. He was periodically rewarded with a lingering kiss or a whispered message in his ear followed by a wicked chuckle. Elizabeth had never witnessed blatant public displays of affection, but as the night wore on, and her inhibitions faded with the flow of the whiskey, she found herself perfectly accepting of them. Ramona made such spontaneous gestures seem natural.

Poor Max, Elizabeth thought several times during the evening. He was doing everything he could
not
to have a good time. She tried to draw him into the sparkling circle with Ramona as its center, but he remained coolly on the outside, watchful and anxious, almost disapproving. Elizabeth sipped her whiskey and remained determined not to let Max's glum demeanor spoil her fun. This was the wild west, and Elizabeth wanted to experience all of it.

At midnight Dooley announced he was getting some shut eye.

Max stood and stretched and looked Elizabeth square in the eye. "That sounds like a good idea," he said. "I'm leaving too. Betsy, Why don't you walk back to the hotel with Dooley?"

"Oh, Max, don't go," she pleaded. "It's still early, and I'm not a bit sleepy."

"Good for you, but I am, and we're heading out in the morning, remember?" He waited another full minute, and when she didn't move, he spoke like an impatient father to a stubborn child, "Come on, Betsy. I'll walk you back to the hotel myself."

"I’ll stay here, thanks," she said. “Ross will walk me back.” She looked to her brother for confirmation, but Ramona was pressing little kisses all around his mouth, and his eyes were closed.

“Ross wouldn't know if the Silver Spike was on fire,” Max said.

“So you’ll stay with me?” Elizabeth asked.

She expected him to sit back down, but he didn't. "No, Betsy. It’s now or never. I’m suggesting you leave. You might not feel so well in the morning."

“Alright, then, go,” she said. “I don’t need anyone to watch out for me.”

“Suit yourself.”

As Elizabeth watched him leave the saloon, she felt a totally unexpected shiver of apprehension, almost as if she'd come to think of Max as a sort of security blanket. But that was ridiculous. Ross was still here and she could depend on him. And besides, she was capable of taking care of herself.

But when the niggling anxiety didn't pass, Elizabeth relented. Perhaps Max was right after all. Maybe she should return to the Teller House. The crowd had thinned, and the people remaining in the saloon didn't appear all that respectable at this hour. She decided to persuade her brother to leave with her, but when she turned to seek him out, Ross was gone, and so was Ramona. In fact, all the women who had been in the saloon when Elizabeth arrived had left, even the Silver Spike ladies. Elizabeth went to the bartender. "Do you know where Ramona and the man she was with have gone?"

He nodded toward a narrow staircase which Elizabeth noticed for the first time. It led up to a dimly lit second floor. "Darlin', it's nearly closing time. All the girls have 'retired' for the evening." He made a rude sound with his tongue. "Miss Redbud's
amour du jour
must have been sleepy too, 'cause he toddled on up those stairs behind her. If I was you, I'd leave them be. Ramona don't take kindly to being disturbed when she's working."

The heat of mortification crept up Elizabeth's neck. She avoided looking at the bartender's smug grin, but there didn't seem to be anywhere else in the room she could comfortably focus her attention. Most of the remaining patrons were watching her. She suddenly felt as though she were a sideshow freak whose inappropriateness to her environment made her a laughing stock.

She considered going up to find her brother despite the bartender's warning. But she didn't know which room he was in. So instead, she stood rooted to one spot, her indecision momentarily paralyzing her.

"What'll it be, lady?"

The bartender's voice snapped her out of her stupor. "What?"

"You're standing here at the bar. I figure you must want another drink."

Another
drink, he'd said. How many had she had? Was it three or four?  She didn't remember. All at once she felt lightheaded and sick to her stomach. The Silver Spike which had seemed spacious only a few hours before, now was cramped and oppressive. The decorations which had seemed glamorous then were garish and cheap. The lights were so bright they hurt her eyes. Elizabeth didn't think she could breathe.

"Lady, what do you want?  I haven't got all night."

She turned toward the bartender, felt her knees start to give way and grabbed onto the bar rail to steady herself. "N...nothing," she managed to say. "I don't want a drink. I'm leaving."

"Suit yourself."

That's just what Max had said. Suiting herself had gotten her into this mess. Oh, how she wished Max was here now to taunt her with an 'I told you so.' To urge her to leave, which is what she should have done. To hold her arm and keep her from falling flat on her face. But he wasn't, and she'd have to fend for herself.

She stepped away from the bar and was encouraged to discover that her legs were working again. She'd be fine. All she had to do was get to the table, retrieve her reticule and get out the door. Once she was in the fresh air, all the nasty cobwebs would disintegrate, and she'd be fine.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she fetched her bag, stood straight and walked slowly toward the door, her beacon of safety. When she was within a few feet, she quickened her footsteps and burst into the cool night air. Once outside, she leaned against the exterior wall of the saloon to gather her wits.

"Okay," she breathed. "It's much better out here. You'll be fit in a minute, Betsy." She cocked her head to the side and her eyes opened wide. She had just referred to herself as Betsy. Had to be the effects of the liquor. Either that, or she still had the little traitor, Max Cassidy, on her mind.

She pushed away from the wall and took a few tentative steps. She was a little wobbly, a bit flapdoodled, as her father always called her silly little girl antics, but she would certainly be able to make it a few short blocks to the Teller House.

She looked up at the night sky to get her bearings. There was only a sliver of a moon, but the cloudless heavens were twinkling with a million stars. Here in the mountains, Elizabeth felt close enough to touch them.

With a whimsical desire to do just that, she reached out to the sky, and that's when it happened. A rough, punishing hand clamped around her mouth at the same time a powerful arm encircled her waist. Her feet left the sidewalk, and she instinctively began kicking furiously. She was pulled into an alley where the sky was nearly obliterated.

Her captor's fingers felt gritty against her teeth and left an acrid taste on her tongue. His thick hand not only covered her mouth, but her nose as well. A rising panic engulfed her as she struggled to draw a breath. Twisting her body to break the tight hold the man had on her, she struck at him repeatedly. None of her blows found a target. She was dragged further into the alley until the buildings on either side seemed as towering as the Rockies. Her attacker spun her around and pressed her against a brick wall. But at least now she could breathe through her nose.

His hand left her mouth for an instant, and she croaked out a muffled scream before the calloused palm silenced her again. "If you make another sound, we'll have to shut you up for good," the man threatened. "Do you understand?"

We? Had he said
we
?  There was more than one of them? A tall shadowy figure moved toward her from the other side of the alley. Since she could barely distinguish the features of the man close to her, she could tell nothing about the second man, except that he grew larger the closer he came.

"We have a fancy gal here,” one of them said. “That bag on her arm should be plenty padded.” His head angled to the side as he tried to get a better look at her. "Don't you know it ain't safe for a lady to be out on the streets by herself so late at night?"

The man who held her chortled. "Are you going keep quiet if I take my hand away?" he asked. She nodded and the grip on her mouth slowly loosened.

"Wh...what do you want?" she asked. "Money? I don't have much, but here's my purse."  She held it up for them to see.

The first man handed the bag off to his friend who opened it. He spilled the contents on the ground and looked at her with anger etched in his face. “This is all you got?”

“I...I’m sorry. I never carry cash.”

"We saw you come out of the Silver Spike,” he ground out between his teeth. “I told my buddy that you could be a nice pay day."

“You have to let me go,” she said. “As you can see, I can’t help you. Just give me my bag and I won’t tell anyone...”

The slap came so quickly she barely saw the man holding her raise his hand. Her cheek stung like a thousand bee stings, and she cried out. "Please," she whimpered, hating her own weakness. She looked from one man to the other, hoping to find some measure of mercy in their faces.