Town Social Page 9

  She started for the door, pausing to turn partially around when she didn't hear anyone following her. "Are you coming, Ranger Cameron? If you've got other things to do, I'll just go on by myself. You are so busy, keeping that chair across the street warm."

  Ruth choked on a giggle, but instead of the annoyance Sunny expected to see cross Jake's face as he pondered the audacity of her words, he grinned straight back at her. Grabbing his hat from the countertop, he slapped it on his head and strolled towards her.

  "I wouldn't miss this for the world," he drawled.

  He held the door for Sunny, and she lifted her chin as she walked past him and on down the boardwalk. He started whistling a song when he fell in beside her, and she thought she recognized the melody, though it was a recent addition to the programs in St. Louis. Thinking she must be mistaken, since she couldn't imagine that song already being a common melody this far west, she decided not to address it with him. After passing two other buildings, one of which Sunny thought must be Evaline's dress shop when she glanced in the window, Jake took her arm and steered her towards the steps to the street.

  "That's Ginny's place down there — the last one on the block," Jake told her, nodding his head. "Make sure you lift your skirts."

  "Lift my . . . !" She quickly clamped her mouth shut, before he could realize she'd mistaken his comment as a double entendre, and gathered her dress skirts.

  She studied the building as they angled across the street. Freshly painted a clean white, it sported a red trim. The sign over the door only said "Ginny's", in red letters matching the trim. Wondering why Jake started across the street so far in advance of where they needed to cross to reach Ginny's, she turned slightly. What could he have been avoiding?

  The batwing doors on the building directly across from Ginny's place sprang open, and a man flew through them, sliding across the walkway and into the street. A second later, another man emerged, sauntering to the edge of the walkway and staring down at the man groaning in the dirt. The second man wore a black suit, complete with vest, despite the heat of the day. He dusted his hands together, than yanked the cuff of each sleeve back into place. The sun glinted on the pomade slicked over his black hair.

  "I've warned you about trying to mooch drinks in my place, Collins," Sunny heard him say. "You keep your ass out of here until you've got your own money to pay for the booze you wanna drink. And there's also the matter of your outstanding bar tab."

  Jake tugged on Sunny's arm, and she realized she'd came to a halt, gawking at the scene. The sign over the other building indicated it was another saloon, simply called "Saul's Saloon." Under his tapered suit coat, the man who had tossed the drink moocher out the door appeared adequately muscled for the task he'd accomplished although, from what Sunny could see of him, the man moaning in the street was thin and wiry. Before she could respond to Jake's urging to move on, the man in the suit noticed them and headed in their direction.

  "Hey, Jake," he called, striding past the man still lying in the street without heed. "Who's the pretty lady?"

  Jake's fingers tightened on her arm, and he muffled an oath. He didn't appear to be rude enough to disregard the man's greeting, since he stood waiting, and Sunny examined the approaching man as he walked toward them.

  He was shorter than Jake, though Sunny had no idea why she made that comparison rather than measuring him against other men of her acquaintance. His clothing was spotless and well tailored, speaking of his close attention to his appearance. She'd always felt a stab of distaste for men who used that messy oil on their hair, but beneath that, his face was clean shaven. He did have a faint touch of jowliness around his jaw line, but his arresting eyes detracted from that flaw. They were almost black and could probably be as cold as the eyes of a lizard, though now they held a hint of appreciation — appreciation clearly focused on Sunny.

  When the man got close enough to make conversation without straining his voice, Jake introduced the two of them. "Saul Cravens, Sunny Fannin. Miss Fannin is Cassie Foster's niece."

  "Completely delighted," Saul said in a smooth voice, reaching for Sunny's politely extended hand and carrying it to his lips. He attempted to hold her hand after he kissed the back of it, but she firmly pulled it free, fighting the urge to wipe it on her dress skirt.

  "Mr. Cravens," she forced herself to respond.

  "And where are you headed this beautiful day?" Saul asked.

  Loathe to countermand the training in manners her mother had drilled into her, Sunny said, "We're on our way to talk to Miss McAllister."

  "Why, Miss Fannin," Cravens replied. "If you have a desire to see the inside of a saloon, I'd be extremely pleased to show you my own establishment. And I can promise you I wouldn't allow another mishap to mar the loveliness of your face while you were in my company."

  "Forget it, Saul," Jake snapped. "We're seeing Ginny on business, not for a tour of her place. If you'll excuse us, the middle of the street isn't the place to carry on a long conversation."

  Sunny complied with the pressure of his touch this time, nodding her head briefly at Cravens before whisking along beside Jake again. His brisk steps carried them across the street and up to the red batwing doors on Ginny's place in far less time than it had taken them to stroll the previous distance. He started through the batwings without pause, but Sunny pulled free, remembering Cravens' reference to her injured face.

  "What's wrong?" Jake grumbled.

  "Perhaps I should have gone by the house first and picked up a hat with a veil," she said.

  "It's too danged hot to wear a veil," Jake said with a sigh of impatience. "Come on."

  "Bossy know-it-all," Sunny muttered, sweeping past him with a haughty sniff. Her impaired vision caused her to misjudge the opening when she tried to avoid touching him in passing, and her shoulder grazed the side of the doorway. She gritted her teeth when her dress sleeve caught on a splinter of wood and ripped. Not pausing to examine the damage, which couldn't be remedied anyway, she walked on into the saloon. Immediately she forgot her blemished face and less-than-perfect attire, eagerly gazing around at the first gaming and drinking establishment she'd ever entered.

  It looked exactly as she'd imagined from reading the dime novels her mother had never known she hid in her room. A bald man with a drooping walrus mustache ran a polishing rag across a bar on the right side of the room. A huge mirror covered the wall behind the bar, reflecting the multitude of bottles and glasses on the shelves, and at the far end of the room there was a small stage, with a piano in one corner. On her left, a staircase led up to another floor.

  Spittoons were placed in scattered piles of sawdust beside the tables and along the bar, and stale smoke smell lingered in the air. Once she had eavesdropped on two of her male acquaintances, who were talking about various saloons in the bawdier district in St. Louis. They were having a friendly argument about the attributes of the different nude women in the pictures over the bar. Sunny somewhat hesitantly — somewhat eagerly, though she would die before admitting it aloud to anyone — scanned the room, but was a tad disappointed to find only some rather dismal pictures of flowers decorating the walls. One table was occupied, and she recognized the woman who had attended the funeral of Teddy's father as she stood and eagerly came forward.

  "Jake!" the woman said. "What brings you here so early in the day? Not that you're not always welcome, but there won't be a poker game going on until later on."

  She avidly scrutinized Sunny when she stopped in front of them, and held out her hand, not waiting to Jake to answer her. "I'm Ginny McAllister, Miss Fannin, and please don't be surprised that I already know who you are. This is, after all, a very small town. I'm very pleased to meet you. What on earth happened to your eye?"

  Sunny flushed as she took the extended hand. Normally she didn't greet another woman with a handshake, but Ginny appeared to be easy with that type of greeting. Then she saw Ginny glance down at her bandaged finger, and the other woman released her hold before she squeezed
too tightly.

  "Oh, dear. You've injured your finger, also," she murmured. "Jake Cameron, I hope you didn't have anything to do with poor Miss Fannin's injuries. She looked perfectly fine when I saw her the other day at the funeral."

  "Hell, no, I didn't cause her to get hurt," Jake denied. "Look, Sunny wants to talk to you about some hairbrained idea she and Ruth have cooked up."

  "Hum," Ginny said. "Every once in a while one of your remarks does remind me how nice it is that some poor woman's not shackled to you as a wife, Jake. If it's something you consider hairbrained, I'll bet I'm going to love it." Sharing a conspiratorial look, she took Sunny's arm and led her toward the table where she'd been sitting. "Would you like some tea, Miss Fannin? I'm a late riser, since the evenings here do tend to go on late, and I'm just finishing up my breakfast."

  "Please, it's Sunny." Sunny's steady voice covered up the strange stab of elation flashing through her quite well. The exhilaration she felt was just the prospect of having her craving for tea satisfied, she told herself with a mental chastisement — not the lessened guilt feelings for thinking she might have actually responded to a possibly married man. "And I'd absolutely love some tea. If I'd known how unavailable it is out here, I'd have packed some in my bags."

  "Then we'll just have to share what I have," Ginny said with a nod. "Perry," she called as she indicated for Sunny to take a seat, "please fix up a package of tea for Sunny to take with her when she leaves."

  "Yes, ma'am," the bartender replied.

  When Sunny glanced at the bar, she saw Jake standing there instead of joining them. He propped a booted foot on the brass rail running the length of the lower portion of the bar, leaning against the surface and speaking quietly to Perry. The bartender pulled a lever on a nearby barrel, then set a foaming glass of beer in front of Jake.

  "Humph," Sunny said. "Isn't it rather early in the day to be imbibing?"

  "Oh, Jake never gets drunk," Ginny assured her. She pushed a beautiful china cup filled with tea across the table. "Now, I can't decide which to ask you about first — the idea you and Ruth have or the reason you're sporting that black and blue eye. But I truly don't want to embarrass you."

  Sunny giggled and shook her head. She'd already begun to feel a rapport with Ginny when the other woman supported her hairbrained idea without even knowing what it was. She explained her bumps and bruises, while Ginny finished a plate of ham and eggs.

  "This tea is delightful," Sunny said after completing her tale.

  "I'm glad you're enjoying it. It's also delicious with ice, so feel free to drop in anytime you need a cool drink."

  "Ice? Here in this town?"

  "Yes. You could use some on that eye," Ginny told her with a chuckle. "My bartender, Perry, is quite resourceful. He used to work in that new ice plant in New Orleans, and he built me a tiny model for my own use. We can even keep the ice for quite a while in the zinc-lined box he built to go with it. Saul Cravens is fit to be tied because he didn't think of that idea first, and he's offered time and time again to pay Perry to make one for him. Perry adamantly dislikes Saul, though, because Perry found his cousin, Marg, working over there when he first came to town."

  "Ah . . . working over there?" Sunny asked.

  "Yes," Ginny said with a sigh tinged with resignation. Then she brightened somewhat. "But Perry soon heard I was in desperate need of a bartender, and he agreed to come work for me if I'd also hire Marg. He told me what a wonderful singing voice his cousin had, and he was right. Marg draws a lot of Saul's former customers to my place now, for a completely different reason."

  Ginny's openness in discussing a subject that would have horrified any one of her mother's friends back in St. Louis — or any of Sunny's own friends, for that matter — brought a slight flush to Sunny's cheeks. There was quite a contradiction between the western women and the eastern women, yet she already felt a kinship with the women in Liberty Flats and a deep respect for what Ginny had done. She looked around her with new eyes, realizing the pictures on the wall were actually oil paintings and fingering the delicate china cup holding her tea. Ginny's own place setting was of the same china, and it sat on a hand-woven mat edged with lace.

  "It's the women who will eventually tame the west," Ginny said, evidently noticing Sunny's appraisal of the divergent furnishings in the room. "My paintings are some I bought on the only trip I ever made to France, which I practically had to beg my father to let me take when I graduated from finishing school. I went with my aunt, who lives in Boston and whom I stayed with while I went to school. The piano's a Chickering and my aunt gave it to me when she took it into her mind to order one of those silly Fourneaux player pianos she saw at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition in 1876."

  "I took lessons on a Chickering," Sunny said. "But I've never had a musical aptitude myself. I do love to listen to music, however. Your aunt must think a lot of you."

  "She did. She would never even have thought of coming out here to see her brother, but my father did let me visit Boston. And when my aunt died last year, a few weeks before my father was killed, her will directed that I get her things."

  "You never thought of going back there to live?"

  "Heavens no!" Ginny laughed gaily. "That life's much too stodgy for me, since I was raised out here. But it did make me appreciate a few of the finer things in life, and I enjoy having them around me. Even though I do have to take into consideration the habits of my male clientele and their disgusting habit of needing spittoons, not one of my customers would dare miss the mark when he spits. If they're a little tipsy and do, they clean up the sawdust and spread more under the spittoons themselves. I don't mind providing a masculine atmosphere for them to do their drinking and gambling, but they know better than to walk close to my piano with a lit cigar and take a chance of dropping a burning ash on it."

  She leaned back in her chair, a pleased smirk on her lips. "Now, satisfy my curiosity and tell me of what possible use the infamous owner of Ginny's could be to you and Ruth."

  "I think the infamous owner of Ginny's is exactly the person Ruth and I need," Sunny said with a determined nod.

  ***

  Chapter 7

  "Jake Cameron, if all you're going to do is make negative remarks about this building, Sunny and I will finish exploring and discus possibilities ourselves!" Ginny tossed her red-gold curls in frustration and propped her hands on her slim hips. "We've got eyes. And even if we're women, we can recognize this place will need some remodeling to suit our purposes."

  "Remodeling?" Jake stared through the dim light in the empty building next to Ginny's saloon. "Hell, it's gonna need a major overhaul. The roof's even been leaking. Look over here."

  Ginny tromped towards him, and Jake slipped an arm around her waist to assist her past a pile of rubble on the floor. Sunny started to follow, but halted when Ginny reached up and patted Jake's cheek, cooing coquettishly, "Oh, my, my. It's so nice of such a big strong man to help poor little female me keep from stumbling on her face. I just don't know how I've managed to walk all by myself for so many years."

  "Damn it, Ginny. You and your outlandish ideas that a man's overstepping his bounds when he's just trying to be a gentleman. I suppose you expect me to apologize for taking liberties with your person!"

  "Why, Jake, honey," Ginny drawled. "You take all the liberties you want. It's such an honor for poor little me to have a brawny protector looking out for her. But you really should watch your language. You don't want to hurt my delicate ears, now do you, honey?"

  Jake snorted in skepticism, and Sunny felt a different stab of emotion this time — jealousy, maybe — when Ginny giggled and ruffled Jake's black hair. The easy camaraderie between the two of them spoke of either long acquaintance, or perhaps something deeper. She turned away, focusing on the building around her in an attempt to blot out the sound of Ginny's teasing banter and Jake's chuckled responses, though she had no earthly idea why they should bother her.

  Ginny had said the two build
ings were part of the deal when her father bought the saloon. He had anticipated expanding the saloon, but it never came about. The two front windows were covered with dirt so thick barely any light filtrated through. A few broken tables and chairs littered the floor, probably the result of some bar room brawls from next door, and perhaps they could be salvaged for furnishings. She didn't know much about carpentry, but maybe Ruth's husband could advise them.

  The place would never even begin to compare to the opera house in St. Louis, but she could envision a few nicely placed tables, covered with snowy cloths and vases of flowers. They wouldn't even need to build a stage at first, since the length of the room appeared conducive to them having plenty of room for the performer at the far end.

  She decided a lot of the work would be basic cleanup. A broom and mop bucket would work wonders, along with a ladder to reach the spider webs draping the rafters and inundating the corners. Given her own unexplained clumsiness lately, however, she made up her mind right then and there not to be the person on the top of the ladder.

  Something brushed the back of her head, and Sunny whisked at it, expecting to pull her hand back full of distasteful spiderwebs. Swiping only at air, she turned to find a rope hanging down from the ceiling. Evidently someone had built an upper floor partially over the rafters, because the rope was attached to an iron loop on what looked like a trap door.

  Hum, she mused, reaching for the dangling rope. That might make a good storage area.

  She tugged, expecting the hinges on the trap door to be rusty from disuse and hard to open. Jake's shout startled her so badly she jumped, thankfully to one side. A jointed ladder tumbled down through the trap door, landing on the floor with a resonant crash and missing her by only inches.