Deborah Camp (30 page)

He pulled his hand from hers and muscles flexed in his jawline. “Closing saloons won’t shore up moral weaknesses, Regina. You’re looking for an easy solution to a diabolical problem.” He grabbed the glass and drank the whiskey. “You’re just like my mother in that way. She thinks the fish won’t rot if you cut off its tail.”

“Giving men a place where they can drink and gamble and consort with whores doesn’t help anything.”

“Every saloon isn’t a den of sin, Regina.”

“The ones I’ve been in were.”

He shook his head. “Your memory is distorted. My father owned saloons and they weren’t smoke-filled rooms of degradation. Men came there for—”

“Your father owned saloons?” she interrupted,
certain she hadn’t heard him right. “Is that what you said?”

He turned away from her. “Yes.” He went to the sofa and slumped on one end of it. “He was an investor. Saloons were one of the businesses he put money into. Before his death, he owned part of three or four and one outright. The Smiling Lady Saloon in Lawrence. Ever heard of it?”

She shook her head, so stunned she couldn’t speak. When he looked over his shoulder at her, she shook her head again, then sat next to him, feeling like a woman betrayed.

“It was a nice place,” he went on. “I worked there some, sweeping and opening kegs, that sort of thing. Mother didn’t think saloons were a wise investment, but she didn’t have any qualms about the nature of the business. She thought it was fine that I worked in one until I went off to college.”

He stared straight ahead, but even in profile his pain was evident on his face. Regina drew in a deep breath, sensing that he was struggling with his past as mightily as she was with hers. She cautioned herself not to attack him for waiting until now to tell her this.

“What happened to change your mother’s mind?”

Theo rubbed his palms up and down his thighs as if they’d suddenly become sweaty. “Father was shot, killed by a liquored-up outlaw bank robber by the name of Cody Mitchell.”

She smothered her gasp with one hand and felt her eyes widen. “And you
still
defend open saloons?”

“Yes, because saloons didn’t shoot and kill my father.” He whipped his head around to face her and his eyes were darkly blue. “Cody Mitchell could have killed my father in a bank just as easily—or in the street! Hell, it’s not the saloons,
Regina. It’s the basic composition of good and evil in all men that creates havoc in the world.”

“And whiskey brings out that evil. Whiskey fosters the evil. Can’t you see that? Jack was a good boy until he drank, then he became a demon. Mama was beautiful and I wanted to be just like her—until she started drinking. I didn’t even know her when she drank. She was another person entirely.”

He turned sideways, facing her. “Regina, drunks buy bottles of spirits and drink from then until they’re dry. But what about the average man who wants to stop inside a saloon for a drink or two, a game of faro, and some idle talk with his saddle pals? Should we deny him those pleasures just because men like your half brother are whiskey-sick?” He took hold of her hands. “For God’s sake, be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable.”

“No, you’re seeing one side. Yours. The law has taught me that issues aren’t black or white, but gray and hazy. Drunkards are tragic, but every man who lifts a mug of ale isn’t a black-hearted lout or doomed to a life of bottomless bottles.” He dipped his head to catch her wandering gaze. “Would you rather that men get drunk in their homes, or away from them in a saloon?”

That question had too many angles and she refused to answer before she could further inspect it. She pulled her hands from his. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before? Why have you kept this to yourself?” She laughed sadly. “And you accused me of being secretive, while you failed to mention that your mother is Teddy Bea and your father was gunned down in a saloon that he owned!”

He bowed his head. “Guilty as charged, but—” He held up a finger and his eyes took on a sparkle.
“I didn’t know you were so profoundly impressed with my mother at the time and I don’t tell
everyone
about my father’s murder, just as you don’t confess your mother’s shortcomings to every acquaintance.”

“I thought I was more than an acquaintance.”

“You are. Now.” He held her hand, his thumb caressing her palm. “What about me? When you look at me, do you see a man you find
strangely
attractive, or do you see a sinner who should repent?”

“Both.” She smiled, and diffidence swept over her. “I find you
strangely
attractive and I see a bit of the devil in you. However,
strangely
, I find that attractive, too.”

He chuckled and brought her fingers to his lips for a light, brushing kiss. “I’m so glad.”

“Theo, it was terribly kind of you to send those dresses to us. They made us feel young and pretty at a time when we all needed to feel those things.”

“Pretty doesn’t describe how you looked that night, Regina. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

Lamplight played over his flawless features and a weakness stole through her. He’s serious, she thought, feeling light-headed. In his eyes, I’m beautiful. Right now. Right this minute.

“I hope that’s not whiskey talking,” she whispered, and he grinned.

“Sweetheart, I’m far from letting whiskey do my talking or my thinking.” He kissed the back of each finger. She trembled. He pressed kisses against her knuckles. She drew in a shaky breath.

“Theo, I’m not the girl at the Gold Star.”

He raised his head and his expression questioned her.

“You said you liked me back then.”

“I did.”

“Well, that wasn’t me.”

He sighed. “Regina, I
know
it was you.” He released her hand abruptly. “Don’t lie to me. That’s one thing I can’t tolerate. If you’re ashamed for some silly reason, fine, but don’t lie.” He pushed up from the sofa and headed for the sideboard again.

Regina bounced up, realizing he’d misconstrued her meaning. She caught his arm and stopped him before he could reach the whiskey decanter.

“No, no. You don’t understand.” She put herself between him and the sideboard. “What I mean to say is, that girl was an image. I pretended to enjoy singing for those men. I pretended to be self-composed and happy and carefree. Inside, I was miserable. I hated singing in that place. I hated the customers. I hated me.”

“Why?”

“Because when I looked at myself, I saw Mama.”

He frowned. “You weren’t living on liquor back then.”

“No, but it was in whiskey that I found the courage every night to get up on that stage and sing.”

“If you didn’t like the work, why did you do it?”

She laughed, scornfully. “To live.” She spread out her arms, exasperated. “To eat. To buy clothes. To put a roof over my head.” Moving away from him, she stared at the print in the rug under her feet. “You like saloon girls, don’t you?”

“Yes. I’m not ashamed to admit that. I like them a hell of a lot.”

“You like them, but you don’t understand them at all.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she advanced
on him with purpose and didn’t give him a chance.

“Let me enlighten you, Mr. Dane. A girl doesn’t work in a saloon for the fun of it. She works there because there is no other choice for her. She has no family to protect her, no money to tide her over, no skills to provide her a decent living. All she has is her looks and her own desperation. And saloon girls don’t get into the work for the long haul, although that’s usually how it turns out. No, they all hire on thinking they’ll work in the saloons just until they can get together enough money to get out of the work. But money is hard to come by, Mr. Dane, and once they do get enough money, they feel all used up and not good enough to entice a good man or a good job.”

She knew she was lecturing him, but she didn’t care. It was high time he opened his eyes and saw the women he kept company with for what they were—tragic. She took a step closer.

“And let me tell you another thing about saloon girls, Mr. Dane. There isn’t one alive who wouldn’t quit her job in a heartbeat if a decent man proposed marriage. Not a one!” The fury began to leave her and her voice dipped to a low, throbbing tone. “Saloons are a jolly place for
men
, Mr. Dane. For women, they’re prisons that segregate most and keep others captive.” She swept him from head to toe with her accusing gaze. “For a man who sees both sides, who sees through the hazy gray of issues, you are certainly blind to the underbelly of saloons.”

“Was your work in the saloon that bad?”

“It was the most frightening period of my life,” she replied. “But I fooled many a man, including you, it seems, into thinking that I was having the time of my life.”

“You lifted many a spirit and made many a
heart swoon for you,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You owned this heart one night. You sang of a lost love, and I ached and wanted to hold you and make you believe in love again. I was enchanted with you.”

She smiled. “I’m lucky I could sing. Otherwise, I would have been upstairs with a different man every night. You wouldn’t have found me so enchanting then, would you?”

Regret shadowed his smile and he started to turn away from her, but impulse made her lay her hand along his stubbled cheek. Her fingertips danced lightly against the swelling cut under his eye. Her other hand came to rest on his bare chest. Suddenly, she could see nothing but his mouth, feel nothing but his skin, smell nothing but his musky masculinity. Reckless surrender seemed a fine way to top off an eventful day and evening.

“Theo?” she whispered, her shallow breathing matching his. “Theo?” She wanted him to take her, to make the decision for her, but he only closed his eyes. She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his—a crumb of a kiss, when she starved for a feast. “Theo,” she repeated, yearning evident in her voice.

He groaned. His arms came around her and his mouth bloomed under hers. Regina slid both hands under his shirt and stroked his bare chest, stomach, shoulders. She sent her tongue into his mouth and sensed his pleasure, his surprise, his ultimate delight.

“You make me insane,” he murmured, then he rubbed his lips against hers in a raw, unstructured kiss.

When he cupped her breasts, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body firmly against his. Her pulse drummed a visceral beat. He rocked his pelvis against her and she was
made wantonly aware that she not only wanted him, but that he wanted her.

“Feel that?” he asked gruffly. “You did that to me.”

“Theo, Theo, Theo,” she chanted between lustful kisses. “I’ve tried to keep away from you. I’ve tried not to dream of you. I’ve told myself that you will only break my heart, but I’m here and I want you and I want you to want me.” The words tumbled from her, unguarded. “I was so wrong about you, Theodore. I know you tried to help us, but I was afraid to trust you.” She touched her lips to his tender cuts, wishing them well.

He eluded her feverish kisses and pulled her arms from around his neck. In the space of a heartbeat, his mood had changed from lustful to watchful. “Regina, don’t put me up on a white steed just yet. And don’t be so sure I won’t break your heart. If our discussions tonight have proved anything, it is that we don’t see eye-to-eye on most things. Therefore, I’m bound to disappoint you again and again.”

“Don’t you want me? Why are you pushing me away?”

“Because you’ve gone through hell’s fire to keep your reputation spotless and you’re about to drag it through the mud, all in the name of gratitude. I don’t want your everlasting gratitude, Regina.” He stepped back from her. “It’s time decent, single women were in their own beds. I didn’t see a carriage outside. Did you walk here?”

“No, Jebidiah brought me.”

“I’ll saddle my horse and you can ride him back home. I’ll collect him tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to go,” she said, even as he clutched her elbow and guided her toward the front door. “And you don’t want me to go, either. I know you don’t.”

He buttoned his shirt, a tremor evident in his hands. “True, but you have no business being in a bachelor’s den of iniquity at such an hour, Regina.” He opened the door and escorted her onto the porch. “Wait here and I’ll bring Diablo around.”

“Diablo?” she repeated, dumbfounded.

“My horse,” he said, grinning. “That’s ‘devil’ in Spanish.”

“I know that.” She wrenched her arm from his grasp and tried to fight off the pain of rejection. “Now that you understand that I’m no longer that saloon singer at the Gold Star, you aren’t so keen on wooing me, are you?”

“This has nothing to do with that. I’m being a gentleman, Regina. Be glad of it. Besides, if Mrs. Nation or my mother learns of you being here at this hour, there will be hell to pay.”

A buggy, pulled by a white horse, emerged from the shadows and stopped in front of the house.

“Now what?” Theo muttered, positioning Regina behind him so that she’d be shielded from whoever sat in the buggy.

“For heaven’s sake,” Regina said, slapping at Theo’s hands. “Stop pushing me! It’s Jebidiah. He must have been waiting all this time.”

“Thank God. Go on then. Go home.”

At the bottom of the porch steps she whirled around to him. “Why are you doing this?”

He pushed his hands into his pockets. “It’s for your own good, Regina. You shouldn’t have come here so late. It doesn’t look good.”

“I came here tonight to set things right between us,” she reminded him hotly.

“And you’ve done that. Thank you, Regina. Now sleep well.”

She hitched up her chin, her pride stinging. “I shall, thank you.” Then she spun around and
started for the buggy, but she couldn’t let his callous disregard go unpunished, so she faced him again. “Go jump in bed with your girlfriends at the Full Bucket and see if I care!” Then she climbed into the buggy, snatched the reins from Jebidiah, and laid them across Gardenia’s back. The horse and buggy shot forward toward East Mountain.

“You mad ’cause I waited?” Jebidiah asked, on the brink of tears.

She shook her head and her hair fell down her back. “Oh, hell!”