Wed To The Montana Cowboy. Carol Arens

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СКАЧАТЬ the Sullied Gully and showing her what her future would be might save her life.

      He reached for her hand.

      She reached for the kettle.

      * * *

      The hand reaching for her was nicely formed, the fingers long and rugged.

      That did not in any way mean that she was going to allow them to touch her.

      Hadn’t she learned at her aunt’s knee and by her mother’s example, that virtue, once given away, could not be regained?

      “You,” she said with her fingers solidly gripping the handle of the kettle, “will not show me a single thing unless you want a matching lump on the other side of your skull.”

      “What if I pay you? I’ll give you a dollar, just like any other man, for half a day of your time.”

      It would take far less time than that for her to mend his shirt. But that would mean him removing it and his attitude was far too familiar as it was. Besides, her needles and thread were at the bottom of her trunk and she did not want to turn her back on him for the time it would take to fish them out.

      It was becoming clear that the men of the mountains were a greater danger than the wildlife. Tom had shown a severe lack of judgment. Mike was a thief. And this man whose name she didn’t even know wanted to show her what there was about her life that was going to lead to ruin and death.

      He might be delusional from the blow...or he might be insane.

      She would be much better off on her own.

      “Kindly take your beasts and your goods and leave my campsite.”

      “Two dollars then.”

      She stared him down hard.

      “Three dollars and not a penny more,” he added.

      Now he was beginning to tempt her. Three dollars to repair a rip in his shirt...one that was too small to even be seen? And she with not a cent to her name?

      “Four dollars and we have a bargain.”

      “I’m being robbed.”

      “Be that as it may, if you want my services, you will set four dollars beside Screech’s cage and take off your shirt.”

      “I’ll keep it on if it’s all the same to you,” he said then dug into his pocket and withdrew four one-dollar bills. He set them beside Screech, who eyed them with flashing eyes.

      “How do you expect me to do my job with you still in your clothing?”

      “All I want is your time...to help you understand the life a young lady like you can expect to lead if you continue on the way you are.”

      “You don’t make much sense. I’m sorry. Your confusion is my fault and I do apologize. Won’t you see a doctor about your head? Here, take back one dollar. It’s only fair since I’m the one who injured you.”

      She stood up, brushed a leaf from her skirt and went to fetch the needle and thread. It wouldn’t be easy to find among the many skirts, blouses, petticoats and stockings that Melinda had insisted she bring.

      At length, she found a needle and selected a color of thread that, surprisingly, matched his shirt. She threaded the needle while she walked back to her client.

      This was not going to be an easy job with him still in the shirt. She only prayed that the rip was not in an inconvenient spot.

      “I may have to touch you,” she warned him. “Just keep in mind that this is strictly business. Once I’m finished you will go on your way and I’ll go on mine.”

      He gazed at the needle and thread looking perplexed. Had he never had a garment repaired for pity’s sake?

      She sat down beside him, running her fingers over the arm seams of his shirt. Not even a loose thread to be worried about.

      Clearing her throat she began to yank the shirt from the waistband of his pants. Truly, this could not be more uncomfortable.

      “You misunderstand,” he said, his breath seeming to come short and fast. “I only want to talk to you.”

      The only decent thing to do was humor the man. Perhaps by talking, he might become more sensible.

      She pinned the threaded needle through her collar so as not to lose it.

      “Do you often pay for conversation, Mister...?”

      “Walker,” he said. “And no, I’ve never paid for it.”

      “It’s the blow to your head making you do so, no doubt.” She folded her hands in her lap, ready to do her duty and listen to whatever nonsense he had to spout. “Please, feel free to have your say.”

      “Ladies of the night,” he began then cleared his throat. “They lead a hard life...a short life.”

      “No doubt that’s true.”

      “They meet up with brutal men. If a woman is lucky enough to survive the harsh treatment, she rarely survives the syphilis, gonorrhea and other sexually transmitted diseases.”

      Now he had her blushing. How could she not when he spoke so boldly of inappropriate matters?

      She half wished she had not accepted his money...and certainly that she had not walloped him in the head.

      “I’m sure that’s very sad,” she agreed, hoping that this conversation would turn to a more respectable subject.

      “You don’t seem overly worried, but I can assure you the danger is very real.”

      “Maybe you’d like to talk about something more pleasant,” she urged.

      “I’d like to convince you to earn a living in some other way.”

      “Mr. Walker, I’ve never heard of anyone becoming ill over a needle prick... Well, there was Snow White’s mother, she died, but that was a fairy tale.”

      “You make light of the problem, but it’s very real.”

      She sighed. How could she not? “Sometimes a body just needs a dash of humor. Don’t you agree?”

      “I do not. In fact, I’ve got a mind to tie you to a horse, haul you back to town and show you how funny a sick whore is.”

      She slid the needle from her collar and pointed it at him.

      “I know how to use this. Lay a hand on me and I’ll stitch your fingers together.”

      “Damned Hippocratic oath,” he mumbled.

      He stood up. From where she sat gazing up, it looked like his head skimmed the treetops.

      “What an odd thing to say,” she mumbled back.

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