Author's Note: In this series, the goal was to keep as many of the guest stars and regulars in the storyline as possible and see what happens. The story is set in Sweetwater . . .
"I don't rightly know how to thank you, Marshal," Rachel murmured. "You've saved my life."
Sam pulled at his hat, embarrassed. "Just doin' my duty, ma'am."
"No," Rachel said firmly. "Most lawmen would've just run me in when they saw that wanted poster. You took the time to find out the truth, and I'll always be grateful." She moved slightly closer. "And if you ever need a return favor, don't hesitate to knock on my door."
Though it was a cool day, Sam felt a sudden warmth come over him as Rachel sidled up to him, looking up admiringly with big green eyes, smiling a brilliant smile. "Yes, ma'am," he stammered, just as a throat cleared behind him. He turned and saw Emma standing with one arm on her hip and the other holding a basket full of groceries.
"You comin' along, Sam?" Emma asked sharply. "I got to get the stew on if we're going to eat before dark at this rate." She thrust the basket into his arms. "If you're done with your business here, of course."
Sam hurriedly introduced the two women, looking as guilty as a fox with one end caught in a hen house.
"Our business is done, ma'am," Rachel said coyly, treating herself to another admiring look at Sam. Lord knew, her heart was still sore over Henry and their baby, who she'd lost almost a year ago now. But she could appreciate a fine specimen of manhood when she saw one just the same.
"I imagine you'll be wantin' to catch the stage and move on someplace, then," Emma observed, slipping her hand possessively into the crook of Sam's arm.
"Oh, I don't know about that," Rachel said archly. "I've got to get a stake together before I settle down anywhere, and this town looks as likely as any to do that. If you could direct me to the nearest card table, I'd appreciate it, Marshal."
"Well, there's only the two in town, ma'am. The Wild Horse, that's a mite rough for a lady like yourself," Sam said, while Emma bit her lip to keep in the retort that rose up. "Then there's Grace's place. That's even worse, that's . . . uh, for men-folk only, if'n you know what I mean."
"I see," Rachel said thoughtfully. "A whorehouse, you mean?" She clucked her tongue. "Well, a card game's a card game, I reckon. I'll have to make do with what's available."
"Just be careful, Mrs. Dunne," Sam said, concerned. "Grace may be a woman, but she's nobody to run afoul of. Watch yourself."
"I will, Marshal. And thanks again, I hope I have a chance to show my gratitude to you sometime real soon," irrepressible Rachel smiled, moving past him with a sway in her hips. "And nice meeting you too, Miss Shannon," she said, her eyes wide and innocent, before sashaying out the door and down the steps.
"Let's go," Emma said shortly, jerking the door open after Rachel and stomping out the door. She got into her buckboard without waiting for Sam to help her, and then sat stiffly while he got in next to her and slapped the reins on the horse's back. They rode past Rachel as she crossed over toward Grace's establishment, and Emma's face darkened with disapproval as she watched a group of men turn and gawk at the beauty as she went by.
"So what's on the agenda tonight, Emma?"
She turned her head forward irritably. "Dinner. Maybe some coffee and cake after," she said, her heart sinking inside her as she said it. Turning around and watching Rachel again, she saw the taller, fuller-figured woman pausing at the door of Grace's house of ill-repute, before flinging the door open and making a dramatic entrance.
"I suppose that ain't much excitement for you," she muttered. She recalled the last time she and Sam had kept company, and how quickly he seemed to get bored. And that was before someone exciting and beautiful like Rachel landed in town.
"I don't want excitement, Emma. I want you."
She turned a wrathful eye on him, and he quailed down in his seat visibly. "Now Emma, that came out wrong - - I meant - - I meant - - "
"I know what you meant, Sam Cain. It's as plain as day. You meant I'm a boring, staid old - - "
He dropped the reins and grasped her by the back of her bonnet and pulled her to him, kissing her mouth to stop her rampage. She pulled back, breathless.
"You convinced yet?" Sam said smugly, gathering up the reins.
"Gettin' there tolerable," Emma admitted, her face beet red inside her bonnet as another group of shiftless-looking townsmen grinned at them while crossing the street in front of the wagon.
"After dinner . . . and coffee . . . and cake . . . maybe you'll let me try to convince you again," he asked slyly, ducking his head to look at her under her bowed bonnet.
"If it'll make you feel better, maybe I will," she said, smiling finally and leaning against his arm.
Grace looked the newcomer over with a practiced eye, her expression much like a rancher's when he appraises a new plow horse before he buys it. Even from across the room, she saw this was a woman who could make her a lot of money. The blonde woman was comely, and probably had been around plenty in her day. But despite the unseemly cut of the other woman's clothes, and the brazen way she walked through the establishment, something was wrong with the picture, Grace thought, shaking her head slightly. .Grace recognized at a glance that the other woman was, like her, in charge of any situation she found herself in with a man. She's no common whore, 'less I miss my guess, Grace mused. Wonder what she's here for.
Rachel found an empty seat at the card table and stood behind it. "Room for one more, gents?" she purred. When Jack Devlin looked the other woman up and down appreciatively, Grace bristled. Jack was her special benefactor, and Grace didn't take kindly to competition, particularly competition with measurements like that. Swiftly, she moved from behind the bar, black taffeta rustling.
"This table's got a twenty dollar minimum to play," Grace informed Rachel. "So unless you got twenty dollars to spare, or are here about a job, move along."
"Oh my, twenty dollars," Rachel said, seemingly flustered. "I don't have any money like that."
"I'd be glad to spot you," Devlin interrupted, just as Rachel had known one of the gentlemen might. "Here, Grace. Get the lady some chips." He handed Grace a twenty dollar coin.
"Why thank you, sir," Rachel smiled, sitting down, before looking up expectantly at Grace, who suppressed her jealous anger and set down twenty dollars' worth of chips before her rival.
Over the next two hours, Grace, watching from the corner, noted that the table was crowded with appreciative customers, standing one or two deep to watch and listen to Rachel. The liquor was flowing while they sat there, even at her exorbitant prices.
When one of the seats was empty, its owner staggering upstairs with Sparrow, Grace took the chair opposite Rachel and beside Devlin.
"Deal me in, Jack," she said, smiling at him.
He nodded, shuffling the cards.
"You ought to consider hiring this lady on permanently, Grace. She'd be great for business," he remarked idly, enjoying himself. He figured Grace could use a reminder that she wasn't the only game in town.
"How about it, Mrs. Dunne," Grace said smoothly. "You interested in a job here?"
"Depends what it is, and what terms," Rachel shrugged. She picked up her cards and glanced at them, expressionless.
"You'd make a lot of money as one of my gals. Lot surer money than cardsharping. I'll take two cards."
Jack dealt her two cards, then looked at Rachel.
"One, Jack," was all Rachel said, but her voice was like a soft caress and Jack flushed as he dealt her the card. Grace clenched her fist around her cards. She had never seen Jack Devlin blush in the year she'd been with him.
"Dealer takes two," Jack said.
"The bet's to you," Grace said through gritted teeth at Rachel.
Rachel had done fair at the table, and about a hundred dollars in chips lay in front of her. "I'll bet twenty-five," she said, her eyes fastened on Jack's.
The other two players folded, but seeing Rachel and Jack's eyes transfixed on each other, Grace bristled even further. "I'll see you. And I'll raise you fifty," she said.
Glancing only slightly at his lover at the table, and then back again at Rachel, Jack saw her bet.
"I'm feeling mighty lucky tonight," Rachel said, almost idly. "I'll see you and raise you another twenty-five."
"I'll see that, and raise you twenty-five again," Grace bit back.
Jack smiled and saw the bet, and Grace looked triumphantly at Rachel, knowing she couldn't match the bet. But Rachel reached into her pocket and took out a pair of cameo earrings. "These are worth one hundred," she said, tossing them on the pile. But her hand shook a little when she did it, and Grace saw it. She saw Rachel's bet, and Jack shook his head, smiling.
"You ladies are too rich for my blood," he joked.
Grace's smile faded when the cards were turned over. Rachel drew the pot toward her, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Grace was about to order Beau to show her out, but a look at Devlin indicated there was a strong possibility he would follow the beautiful cardsharp out if she did.
"Another round, Jack?" Rachel asked, her voice husky but sweet. She gestured toward the bar. "Another drink for my friend Jack, to thank him for giving me my starting stake tonight." Rachel picked up twenty dollars' worth of chips from the pot. "I always pay my debts," she started, but Jack, already drunk, gallantly refused.
"It wasn't a loan, and if it were, I'd think of a better way for you to repay me," he slurred. The play continued until finally, four thousand dollars of Jack's money had found its way from his pocket into the pot, and then across the table into Rachel's stash. And the worst of it was, Jack seemed to be enjoying it.
Grace snatched up the deck.
"The deal is to Rachel," Jack protested.
"No cardsharps deal in my establishment unless they're on my payroll," Grace demurred. She dealt the next hand, and when she turned over her cards, her heart leapt, though her face remained immobile. Three jacks and a pair of threes. Full house. If that wasn't a sign, she didn't know what was.
Rachel took two cards, Jack three, and before the betting was over, the other players had dropped out yet again.
The entire establishment was now gathered around the table, where Rachel, Grace and Jack were the only three still betting. When Rachel pushed the last of her winnings into the middle of the table, with a defiant look at Grace, the whores and customers drew their breath, looking over at Grace.
Grace was outwardly calm, but inwardly furious at this woman who had come into her establishment and latched on to her best benefactor. This little upstart needed a lesson, needed it badly. She looked Rachel in the eye and said, "I'll see your bet." She threw the last of her chips into the center of the table.
"That ain't enough to cover the bet, ma'am."
Grace watched again as significant looks passed between Rachel and Jack.
"I'll see you the deed to my place," Grace said, finally. "If you agree to get on the next stage out of town if you lose, and stay out of Sweetwater."
Rachel's eyes met Grace's over the table. "Fine," Rachel said, evenly. "Let's see the deed first though."
Grace knew, in her heart of hearts, that she should fold. But she just couldn't resist the temptation to put this proud beauty in her place. She snapped her fingers and ordered Beau to get the deed from the desk in her office.
"Let's see what you got, then," Grace said, laying her cards down. "Full house."
Rachel blew out slowly, in relief. "Me too. But mine's three ladies and a pair of kings," she said, pulling the winnings toward her.
Grace sat dumbfounded, scarcely realizing what she had just recklessly done. Coolly, Rachel stood up and pocketed the money and placed the deed in front of Grace. "Sign it over," she ordered.
"I - I won't. You cheated - "
"You dealt the cards, Grace."
Grace started to protest again, but the men in the establishment were murmuring indignantly. She slumped down, defeated. If she reneged on the bet, she was done in this town. Sighing, she signed the deed.
"That'll be all, I reckon," Rachel said, checking it over. Taking pity on her rival, she put fifty dollars on the table in front of her.
"Here," she said kindly. "Us ladies got to stick together."
Emma, Sam and Teaspoon were walking along the sidewalk the next morning, making idle chatter, when Teaspoon's eyes lit up at the sight of Rachel Dunne coming along from the direction of the whorehouse.
"Ma'am," he said, lifting his hat.
"Good morning," she said brightly. "Miss Shannon, Marshal Cain."
"Good morning, Mrs. Dunne," Emma returned. "May I introduce you to Teaspoon Hunter. He's the station master out at my Pony Express station."
"It's a pleasure makin' yer acquaintance, fer sure," Teaspoon said, kissing Rachel's hand gallantly.
"Well, thank you, Mr. Hunter-"
"Please!" Teaspoon interrupted. "It's Teaspoon to a lovely lady like yerself. Any time I can be of service to you, don't hesitate."
"Well, now that you mention it, you can let me know where the bank is. I have a rather large deposit to make, and I'm anxious to do it."
"Made out all right last night at the tables, did you?" Sam said, amused.
"I did at that, Marshal. Won over five thousand dollars, and the deed to the whorehouse too. It'll be 'Miss Rachel's place' from here on out."
Emma looked disgusted.
"That certainly is a good haul, Miss Rachel. We'd better walk you to the bank, though, you shouldn't be carrying that kind of money on your person alone."
Emma found herself somehow walking behind Rachel, who had Teaspoon on her right and Sam on her left as they ushered her to the bank.
On the steps, Rachel turned to the men. "Well, thanks so much for makin' sure I got here all right."
"No trouble a'tall," Teaspoon said, lifting his hat again.
"The whorehouse'll be closed for a short time while I make some renovations, but when I reopen I hope to see you and your boys there. I'll treat you to a drink on the house."
Emma rose up like a small fury in pink calico. "You will not see any of my boys there, Miss Rachel. And if the two of you have any decency, you won't set foot in that den of - - of - - "
Rachel put a hand on Emma's arm. "Emma, don't worry. It won't be that kind of place when it reopens. Just a saloon, and a more refined one than the Wild Horse, I hope."
Looking up into Rachel's eyes, Emma paused, seeing something there she hadn't before. The other woman may not be plain and sensible like she was, but . . . there was something decent and kind in her face and sad eyes. And a silent plea for friendship. Emma thought back to some of her own past, her own bad reputation and some of the things she had done to survive before Evan Crandall had married her. She was suddenly ashamed of judging another woman before getting to know her. She sensed that despite their outward differences, Rachel had also known hardship and loss, and might be more like her than it seemed.
"Maybe next time you're in town, you and I could meet for tea, and have a good talk," Rachel continued. "I hope . . . I hope you and I might be friends."
Emma nodded, "I think that'd be nice, Rachel." Rachel smiled broadly and waved goodbye to the three new friends, before disappearing into the bank.
Emma shook her head and tucked her hand into the crook of Sam's arm, drawing him safely away from her new friend and down the street.