Much Ado About Madams Read online

  Just as she shook the wrinkles out of a clean dress and hung it on the wall, someone tapped on the door.

  “Your bath’s ready, Miss.”

  Lucinda nearly ran to open the door. She hadn’t been clean in two very long weeks. Besides, there was nothing like a hot bath to improve one’s disposition and decision-making abilities.

  A tall, burly man with a mop of blond hair carried a tub into her room, and another man, who looked exactly like the first, hauled two large buckets of steaming water. Lucinda shook her head, thinking she saw double.

  The first man plunked the tub in the middle of the floor. “Howdy, ma’am.” He straightened to his full height, nearly to the ceiling. “I’m Midas,” he pointed to his twin, “and this here’s Titus.”

  “You’re always getting’ it wrong. I’m Midas and you’re Titus.” Titus poured the two buckets of water into the tub. Lucinda had never seen twins before. She couldn’t tell them apart. Both stood there twirling their blond handlebar mustaches.

  “I’m the good-looking one.”

  His brother elbowed him. “I got the brains in the family.”

  Lucinda looked from one to the other. For the first time since she’d arrived in this horrid town, she laughed.

  “Let’s get out of here so’s the lady can get her bath.” By then, Lucinda had no idea which was which. She watched them clomp out of her room.

  “Thanks, fellows!” Her spirits lifted just looking at the bath water.

  Fingers flying over dress buttons, hooks and ties, she could barely hold her patience to sit in the tub. Just as she touched her toe to the water, another knock sounded.

  “Let me in, Miss Sharpe. I have rinse water fer your hair.” She recognized Fannie’s voice.

  With a sigh, Lucinda put on her wrap and opened the door. Fannie charged in lugging another bucket.

  “You shouldn’t be carrying that!”

  “You want your hair washed, or not?” Fannie plunked the bucket on the floor and a little bit of water sloshed onto the plank floor. “Shuck down and sit in the tub. I’m going to give you a good head scrubbing.”

  Lucinda hadn’t been naked in front of another person since she was a little girl, nor did she intend to take off her wrapper now. “I’m perfectly capable of bathing myself.”

  Her definitive statement fell on deaf ears. Fannie pushed up her sleeves and pulled out a bar of soap and a sachet from her pocket. She poured rose petals in the bath water. “In you go.”

  Lucinda turned away, took off her wrap and stepped into the tub. The hot water nearly scalded her skin, but she sank in as low as she could get in order to cover as much of her body as possible. Fannie handed her the bar of soap and a washcloth.

  As soon as she washed her face and body, Fannie took the soap and washed her back. Lucinda found it impossible to relax. She hated for anyone to see her naked.

  Then Fannie started laving her hair. Lucinda’s troubles vanished as Fannie’s fingers massaged her scalp. “Ain’t nothing quite so comforting as a good head scrubbing.”

  Lucinda had to agree. Her modesty flew out the window as she sat in the tub, enjoying the serenity of the moment—until tepid water gushed over her head. Her reverie rudely interrupted, her mind seized upon her dilemma again—how to get out of this place. A most unladylike growl came from her stomach.

  “Sadie’s got food fer you down in the kitchen.” Fannie produced a towel. Lucinda hastily covered herself as she climbed out of the tub. “If’n you need help doing up your dress, I can help with that, too.”

  “No, thanks.” Lucinda waited for Fannie to leave, but she didn’t. “I’ll join you in fifteen minutes,” she said, hoping Fannie would get the hint. She didn’t.

  “Since you’re not at ease here, I’ll be taking you down this time.”

  Lucinda swore under her breath. What would Miss Hattie do in this situation? How did one maintain one’s aplomb in such an establishment? Too tired and demoralized to argue, she took a clean pair of drawers and a camisole out of her trunk and put them on as fast as she could manage. She was somewhat mollified that Fannie had the decency to look elsewhere.

  Fannie helped her lace up her corset and after Lucinda tied her petticoats, Fannie motioned to a chair. “Sit here. I’ll brush out your hair.”

  Lucinda did as Fannie bade. When Fannie started brushing, Lucinda swore the woman had a magic touch with hair. She didn’t pull, even though its waist-length had a horrible tendency to curl and tangle.

  “I used to have hair this color, too. ‘Course, on me it was called dishwater blonde. On you, we’d call it dark honey. It suits you fine. Don’t never change it.”

  Lucinda wondered why on earth Fannie thought she’d want to change her hair color. Then she realized Fannie spoke of more than the disadvantages of hair dye. A respectable lady would never color her hair. “Thank you. I don’t intend to.”

  Fannie waited, arms crossed and tapping her toe, while Lucinda finished dressing and tying her wet hair into a bun.

  “Let’s go. Your dinner’ll be stone cold.”

  Lucinda balked, not wanting to face the ladies again. Still, her rumbling stomach reminded her that it had been a long time since she’d attempted to eat stale bread and watery stew at the stage stop the evening before.

  “We have roast beef, taters ‘n gravy, and fresh beans from the garden,” Fanny said, tempting Lucinda.

  That’s all it took. Brothel or not, she needed to eat.

  In the kitchen, Sadie placed a plate heaping with food before Lucinda. The aroma of the roast beef made her mouth water, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to bow her head and give thanks, rather than to dive in and devour. Even after she finished with her abbreviated prayer, her stomach struggled with Miss Hattie’s etiquette lessons to take slow, ladylike bites. As a schoolteacher, she must be respectable at all times, she vowed, even half-starved in a brothel.

  Finally satisfied, her stomach was full for the first time since she’d left home. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said, dabbing daintily at her lips with a stained napkin. “That was a wonderful meal.”

  “It’s easy to cook when you have all the best. The boss makes sure we do, not like some other whor—uh, houses I been in.” Sadie bent her plump body over the table to pick up Lucinda’s plate. “Would you like a nice piece of berry pie?”

  Lucinda stifled an impolite yawn. Travel-weary but full and clean, she needed a nap. “Pie sounds wonderful, but I think I’ll go to my room now.”

  Sadie scooped a huge piece on a saucer. “You look a might scrawny.” As Lucinda rose, Sadie handed her the pie. “Take this here with you. You can eat it later.”

  It looked delicious, and Lucinda thanked Sadie as she left for her room. If Sadie cooked like this every day, she thought, she wouldn’t be able to fit into her clothes before a week had gone by.

  She closed the door to her room and placed the pie plate on the dresser. Not to worry, she wouldn’t be here over a day or two. Surely the school district wouldn’t house their schoolmarm in a whorehouse!

  Lucinda slept the rest of the afternoon and into the night. She awakened to the tinkling of a honky-tonk piano. All too familiar rhythmic grunts in the next room took her back eight years, when her mother had hidden her in the whiskey room while the ladies “entertained.”

  Her throat tightened and tears came to her eyes as she remembered the little girl she once was. Shunned or taunted by the school children by day, and hiding in the stench of the whiskey room at night, her only respite had been found in books. She had escaped to Shakespeare’s time, and cried with Ophelia and swooned with Juliet.

  By the time she’d been sent to live at Miss Hattie’s School for the Refinement of Young Ladies at the tender age of eleven, she’d read all of Shakespeare’s works, the only books available. Miss Hattie, while disapproving of Lucinda’s lack of manners and personal hygiene, had marveled over her reading and comprehension abilities, and her insight into characters. In Miss Hattie, Lucinda
found her very first friend.

  Now, after nearly eight years of hard work, Lucinda could call herself a lady. She could walk down the street with pride. She deferred to no man or woman.

  A masculine roar of relief echoed from the next room and coins clanked into a dish. Cigar smoke filtered through the walls. She buried her head in the pillow to avoid the sickening smells and noises. The suffragists had it right, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

  Men were truly vile creatures.

  * * * * *

  Reese McAdams felt pretty damned lucky as he rode up to the Comfort Palace. He’d been able to conduct all his business over the wire and hadn’t needed to go to Wichita after all. Thanks to the full moon, he’d ridden late into the night to make his way home with money in his pocket and arrangements for a herd of cattle to be delivered to his new ranch.

  Ranch land. Somehow, he had to find the time to build a bunkhouse, at least, so he could hire some cowhands. They’d need a place to stay, but he could live in the Comfort Palace another year before he built a house.

  He dismounted, legs wobbly after the twelve-hour ride, and led Buster to the stable where he fed the exhausted roan stallion an extra ration of oats. Even though Reese’s fondest desire was to soak in a hot bath and crawl into his soft bed, he took extra care rubbing Buster down. The old boy deserved a little special attention.

  With one last effort, Reese threw his bulging saddlebags over his shoulder. They were loaded with small things for the women—cheap jewelry and a few lotions—and the freight wagon due in the next morning would bring the other things he’d bought for the ladies.

  He’d hated his father’s gambling and whoring, and hated more that he’d ended up inheriting a brothel. His first inclination had been to sell it, but he couldn’t bear to see the faded whores turned out. Where would they go? More than likely most of them would end up in the cribs. Instead, he vowed not to take money from their labors, except for selling the building when the time came.

  Reese willed his tired legs up the back stairs that led directly to his room. Guilt nagged at him for not greeting Fannie and the girls before he went to his room, but they’d just have to forgive him this time. The need for sleep nagged at him more.

  Even though he’d often cursed the noise of the brothel for robbing him of sleep, tonight it seemed a blessing. No one would hear him come in. He slipped quietly into his bedroom, felt his way to the dresser, and gently laid the saddlebags on the chair beside it, his hat and gunbelt on top of them.

  In one motion, Reese yanked off his sweaty shirt and tossed it on the floor, then leaning against the dresser, pulled off his boots and pants. He peeled off his overripe long-handles and threw them in the farthest corner of the room so he didn’t have to smell them all night. That he stank of sweat and horse didn’t bother him, though. A hot bath was a good way to start the day.

  He felt his way over to the bed. Knowing he’d be asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, he lifted the down comforter and crawled in. He bumped into a lump, tried to pat it out.

  It jumped.

  Then it screamed. “Get out of my bed, you filthy whoremonger!”

  A crazy woman pummeled his head with her fists. Reese tried to dodge the blows, but not before she’d whapped his nose a good one. Leaping out of bed before she could do more damage, he stubbed his big toe on the leg of the bed.

  “Stop it!” he bellowed as he hopped over to the dresser. His nose ached and his toe throbbed. “What the hell are you doing in my room?” He pounded his fist down, propelling something gooey onto his chest.

  “Your room!”

  Chapter 2

  Reese lit the lantern. As the flame rose, he saw an irate woman with tousled blonde hair and blazing mad eyes. She clutched his comforter to her neck like armor.

  “Yes, my room.” He made a swipe at the pie sliding down his chest and licked his fingers. Sadie’s berry pie was his favorite, but not mixed with chest hairs. “Who the hell are you and why are you in my bed?”

  The strange woman turned her head and spoke to the wall as if she were too good to speak to a lowly rancher. “I’m the new schoolteacher, and Fannie told me I’m supposed to stay here. In this room. Alone. Without a naked man.”

  Oh hell! Reese grabbed his duster and wrapped it around himself, berry pie and all. “Schoolteacher?”

  “Yes.”

  Dickshooter didn’t have a school. She must have stopped for the night. Fannie, in her infinite wisdom and the kindness of her heart, agreed to put her up. He’d wring her neck. He’d wring both their necks.

  “I’ll get this mess straightened out with Fannie.” The berry pie stuck to his chest and adhered to the duster. “Damn!”

  “There’s nothing to straighten out. You need to find another place to sleep.” She sniffed daintily. “And please don’t curse in front of a lady.”

  “The hell I will—er, won’t! Oh, hell!” He charged out the door, swearing at the righteous woman in his bed, saving a few choice words for Fannie, and, for good measure, all females in general.

  * * * * *

  Lucinda hurled her pillow at the closing door. Who did he think he was, invading her bed like that? He didn’t even apologize for giving her the scare of her life. The vile man. Beast.

  And he had stood in front of her naked as the day he was born with no shame whatsoever. Had he no pride? Yes, plenty. Probably an overdose. She had to admit, she’d seen few men who could compete with him in the looks department. Of course, she hadn’t looked below his waist.

  Maybe just a little peek.

  Were she the romantic type, which she wasn’t, she’d have thought him very handsome, indeed. Those dark eyes with the little smile wrinkles at the corners had probably coerced many woman out of anything without him saying a word. His long black hair looked rakish, and it seemed in keeping with the patch of black hair sprinkled on his chest and . . . well, other places she hadn’t looked.

  Lucinda fanned herself.

  She got out of bed and dragged her trunk in front of the door. She’d had all the unexpected company she needed for one night.

  * * * * *

  Fannie planted her fists on her hips and looked Reese straight in the eye. “I rented her your room, thinking you’d be out of town for a few more weeks. You’ll have to sleep out in the barn tonight.”

  Reese knew Fannie could be stubborn as a starving dog with the last scrap of meat when she had her dander up, and her dander was up. She squared her jaw and continued to glare at him. Damn it all, he owned the place. He had a right to sleep here.

  “You can sleep in the barn. I’m sleeping in your bed.” He started for her room but she grabbed his sleeve.

  “Not unless you want to blow the stage driver, and Gus after that.”

  Reese swore. “I’ll sleep in the barn.”

  Owning a brothel had its disadvantages.

  * * * * *

  Lucinda awoke at dawn to the crow of a rooster and the sweet songs of birds. The new day, full of sunshine, would surely bring an answer to her predicament.

  The man who’d crawled in her bed had given her quite a start, and epitomized another reason she needed to escape this den of horrors. She couldn’t deny he was a fine specimen of a man, even though she’d only taken a peek—or two. Looks or not, he surely had a weak character. Men who frequented brothels weren’t much better than the owners.

  She poured water from the pitcher into the basin for her morning ablutions. Miss Hattie had taught her that a strong woman could deal with anything, and Lucinda was strong. She splashed cold water onto her face and toweled dry. No man would ever get the best of her. Especially that man.

  While wiping up the remnants of the berry pie that smeared the dresser and floor, she giggled at the memory of berry glob stuck on his chest. Served him right. A little thrill quivered in her abdomen. She sucked in a deep breath to rid herself of unseemly thoughts. He wasn’t worth thinking about.

  She didn’t want to face her lack
of funds, either, but had to address the issue. Miss Hattie had urged her to buy a round-trip ticket, just in case, but Lucinda had been so sure of herself and proud of her new position as schoolteacher, she’d thought Miss Hattie pessimistic instead of practical. No time for regrets.

  Lucinda dumped the contents of her coin purse onto the bed. She’d spent nearly all her remaining funds on food, foul as it had been. Her situation looked even more desperate after counting her meager funds—forty more dollars to buy a ticket, and that wouldn’t even allow for a morsel of that expensive, putrid food.

  No one would be awake for several hours, so she opened her trunk and rummaged around until she found a well-worn book. Shakespeare had always made her feel better. The Comedy of Errors, complete with the twins Dromio of Ephesus and Dromio of Syracuse, seemed appropriate with Midas and Titus on the loose. She’d make her plans after breakfast.

  A few hours later she heard the banging of pots and pans, then smelled the enticing aroma of bacon. None too soon, either. Three weeks of scanty meals, most of them unpalatable, had left her with a powerful appetite, even for brothel food. She adjusted her bonnet and grabbed her shawl, prepared to meet the challenges of the day—and the day promised to present quite a few.

  Before opening the kitchen door, Lucinda swallowed hard, straightened to her schoolteacher posture, and put on her best ladylike face. No one needed to know how she truly felt, and she called on every bit of bravado she could muster. She grasped the doorknob to hell, and entered with all the dignity of a queen—she hoped.

  “Good morning, Sadie.”

  Sadie stood at the fanciest stove Lucinda had ever seen. She must have been more distracted than she thought not to have noticed it the previous evening. The cook wore a freshly starched white apron over a clean purple calico dress, and she was frying a mountain of potatoes. Lucinda realized that this brothel, and those she’d called home so many years ago, had a few big differences. All the ladies here wore new clothing, the furniture seemed in excellent condition with no stains or worn places, and the food was the best she’d ever eaten anywhere.