Scandal. Molly Ann Wishlade
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She lifted her head from the saloon table and absently wiped cigar ash from her cheek.
“Ellen, there’s a man here to see ya.” Joanna, one of the Gem’s new girls pointed towards the front of the saloon.
Ellen blinked, trying to clear away the whisky haze. Once she’d packed her meagre belongings and seen to the whores one last time, she’d joined Kacey and Al for a farewell drink. But one drink had turned into five or more and now her head ached and her tongue was thick and furry.
Yuck…
“Who is it, Joanna?” Ellen frowned.
“No idea,” the girl shrugged, “but he sure is handsome.” She grinned, revealing a set of teeth that would make an old man blush.
“Okay, sweeting,” Ellen nodded. “Go tell him to come on through.”
Ellen shifted in her seat as a tall figure dressed head to toe in black followed Joanna. He stopped just in front of her and removed his dripping Stetson. She looked up from his muddy boots to his raised collar then into the darkest eyes she had ever seen. A shiver ran down her spine like a lazy finger.
“Excuse me, Miss Finch,” the man fingered the brim of his hat. “I’m mighty sorry to disturb you at this time but…ah…um…my name is Clayton Kile, ma’am. And I uh…”
Ellen watched him. His face was covered with a few days’ stubble. His dark hair flopped over his forehead and it was long enough to hang over his collar at the sides. He had a generous mouth and a strong, square jaw. Joanna was right. He was handsome…if a little unkempt. But there was nothing unusual about that in a mining town. And he was young. Clearly younger than her by at least five years.
In fact, he seemed familiar. As if she’d passed him in the street a few times…or even served him a drink or two. But wouldn’t she remember a man as easy on the eye as he was? She shrugged. Maybe…maybe not. Men were men. She didn’t take that much notice of them. Not even the handsome ones.
“Yeah, what is it?” She leant back in her chair and watched his expression change.
He stared at her like he’d never seen a half-naked woman before. Ellen wore the typical chemise, corset and bloomers of a Gem saloon whore. Even though she didn’t lie with the customers any more, she still accompanied them for drinks and shows, so it made sense to dress to maintain their interest. Like most of the girls, her clothes were shabby and worn but she’d be darned if she was going to waste her hard-earned money on new under garments to make Al Swearengen more money. Hell no! She was saving every dime towards her new life. And she wouldn’t be needing fancy undergarments just for herself to look at.
Besides, she was never short of admirers. With her generous curves she was well sought after and the state of her garments didn’t deter the men who clambered to buy her drinks in the hope that she’d weaken and choose to offer them a flop.
Take Samuel Foxdale, for instance. That man knew she’d been off the menu for two years, yet he persisted in trying to get her to surrender. He kept on and on about the last time she’d let him fuck her as if they’d been proper sweethearts and him her intended. As if! Surely two years was time enough to get over it?
Damn fool. They were all damn fools these men.
But now…the young man who’d appeared in the dead of night, in the middle of a storm, was gazing at her like she had a pot of gold tucked into the top of her corset rather than two large creamy bosoms. Men looked at her all the time. She was used to it. But this one…his interest was arousing her curiosity and it uncurled from deep inside her like a lazy cat and began to stalk around her edges.
“What’s the matter?” She scowled at him. Best to seem cold and hard. No point encouraging the young fool. “Ain’t ya ever seen a whore before?”
She swept her long black hair over her one shoulder and combed her fingers idly through it. He followed the movement of her hands, his eyes hungry.
“No I…I mean yes I…but not like…” His face filled with colour as he stammered. Ellen’s defences relaxed. He seemed harmless enough. Sweet enough.
“It’s okay, sugar,” she soothed, adopting the seductive tone that she’d honed over the years. She grinned inwardly as his eyes darkened in response. She bet his cock was hardening right now and pressing against his rain dampened pants. She pouted slightly, just to complete the effect. She couldn’t help herself. There was just something about him that made her feel playful. More kitten than cat. “Now why in the hell are ya here at this time of the night? Surely you should be home in bed with a pretty young wife?” At the thought of him snuggling into someone, Ellen felt a surge of something unsettling. It finished in a hot, sharp pain that pierced her core and took her breath away.
Was she jealous? Of what? The idea of lovers holding one another close? Or was it the idea that this particular young man was already taken?
“I was wondering,” he sniffed as a raindrop plopped off the end of his nose, “I was hoping, Miss Finch, ma’am, that you’d come with me. I’ve heard that you’re as good a midwife as any round here and I’m in desperate need of your help.”
Ellen chewed at a jagged fingernail.
So that was it. His wife was in labour and she needed help. Was it the thought of a long night ahead that made Ellen feel so disheartened or that not only was this handsome stranger married but he also had a babe on the way?
She shrugged. Well, that was the way of the world. Men and women got wed then had, or tried to have, children. Sometimes it worked out and sometimes it didn’t. For whores like Ellen, most of their good years were spent trying their best to avoid getting with child. She felt the familiar tug at her heart. Even after all these years, she couldn’t shake off the warmth that the thought of being a mother could bring. Foolish for a woman in her position and at twenty-nine she should know better.
“I…I’m leaving in the morning.” Ellen got to her feet then lifted her right leg to adjust her stocking. As she rested her foot on the chair beside her, she heard the young man’s sharp inhalation of breath. She looked down and realised why. He could see right up the leg of her bloomers to the ebony curls at her groin. She smiled. It was kind of nice to have such an effect on this man. The fun she could have with this one.
Most of the regulars at the Gem weren’t much to look at and they didn’t smell too good neither. There was something different about this interloper. Her body sensed it. Her heart knew it. He had her feeling tense and alert. Unless it was the whisky still running through her veins, of course.
Ellen’s inner muscles twitched and her clit tingled. Sensations she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It must be her excitement at the thought of her future freedom. Surely. But she suspected that being close to such a handsome young man had something to do with it. A whole lot more to with it.
“You’re leaving, Miss Finch?”
She looked at him and compassion washed over her at his crestfallen expression. It was as if he’d been given a brand new house then told he had to share it with his hogs.
“Yeah, I’m quitting Deadwood for good.”
“Oh…I see…” He curled the edge of his hat between his fingers.
Ellen’s heart leapt as she looked at his strong, masculine hands. Hands that would be able to cradle even her ample bosoms. Her nipples tightened.
“But I’ll come with ya tonight and see if I can help.”
What are you doing? Fool! Weakened by a good-looking face and a woeful tale.
“Oh thank you so much, Miss Finch!” he exclaimed, his expression lightening. “I’m mighty grateful.”
He was even better looking when he smiled and the cloak of solemnity fell from his features.
Ellen scowled at her own weakness and at