Page 109 of Charlotte's Reckoning
His face flushed purplish-red, eyes narrowed, a vein throbbing in his forehead as he glared at her. Baiting him was foolish, but she couldn’t bear another minute of his presence. Besides, she was armed and was certain that if she drew, as Fenton always warned, she would have no problem pulling the trigger.
He wore only a waistcoat, its tight fit revealing every curve and bulge, offering no place to hide a weapon. This bolstered her courage, and she glared back, ready for a silent standoff, however long it lasted.
As bullies often did when challenged, Quentin blinked first, a nervous tremor running through him as the tension between them grew.
“I’ve had enough of your squalid existence,” he grumbled, backing toward the steps. “Think about what I’ve said, but not for too long. This deal expires in twenty-four hours.”
“Some deal,” she bit out. “You expect me to do all the work and spread my legs while you sit back and rake in the lion’s share of the profits.”
“That’s 10 percent more than the other sluts in my employ.”
“You mean formerly in your employ, don’t you? You need me. Because without me and my girls, you have nothing but a saloon serving cheap whiskey. Fen refused every decent piano player I suggested, so you don’t even have that to fall back on. Men expect ladies to entertain them or will seek them out elsewhere. So, without me, there is no Red Eye Saloon.”
Red-faced, he sputtered. “I can find another madam.”
“Know a few in these parts, do you?” She shrugged with an air of indifference. “My advice—be careful who you choose. We had one last year kidnapping girls off the street and dosing them with opium. Another skimmed from the till and bankrupted the owner. Both establishmentspermanently closed, thanks to them. But you do what you must. I’m sure you’ll do fine, a stranger in town, and all. Unless…”
“Unless what?” he snapped.
“I was thinking, since you are Fenton’s only family”—which she still strongly doubted— “out of respect for him, I’ll make you an offer. Deed the saloon solely to me and become a silent investor. I’ll get my girls back and have the place turning a profit again in short order. I’ll even give you the exact percentage you offered me. Thirty, wasn’t it?”
“That paltry sum is an insult. I saw Fenton’s books. That place is a gold mine.”
Charlotte tugged on her ear, frowning. “Maybe my hearing is going, but only minutes ago, I could have sworn you said it was a generous cut.”
His scowl deepened, and he spun on his heel, stomping down the steps into the yard toward his horse.
She watched him struggle onto its back, grimacing when the waistband of his trousers dipped in back and showed more of Quentin than she ever wanted to see. Once he was on his way, trotting with jowls jiggling down the lane, Charlotte went inside, making sure to engage the new latch Seth had installed.
Shaken by the confrontation, she rested her head against the stout pine panel, wishing he were there. She’d held her own against Quentin, an unarmed, rotund man at least fifteen years her senior. She could easily outsmart, outrun, and—thanks to Wisteria’s lessons—probably out-shoot him. But someone younger and stronger could easily overpower her.
Seth offered security and sound advice—a woman alone in a backwoods cabin was easy prey. Perhaps she should let him woo her. Having his presence in her home, the sound of his laughter at her dinner table, his arms around her in the tub, and in her bed holding her close these past three nights made it mighty tempting.
She grabbed the shotgun, the metal cool in her hands as she checked the load. After making sure the back door was secure, Charlotte retreated to her bedroom, armed with two guns—she’d never had to carry one before. The quiet of the cabin seemed to close in on her, making her feel very much alone.
Chapter 27
Impeccable Timing
“Who does she think she is saying no to me, the fucking queen of England?” Quentin muttered as he burst through the swinging saloon doors in a rage. They slammed against the wall, knocking several louvers loose, but he didn’t care, nor about the grimy barroom with its week-old beer stench. Living in that dilapidated shack should have humbled her, but she remained haughty, condescending, and insulting. “She dared to call me a bitch,” he said, seething.
He needed a drink to cool his outrage, but when he reached the bar, there was no one to serve him. The bartenders had walked out days ago.
“I do it myself,” he muttered as he stalked around the bar. “Like everything else around here.”
When he saw the empty shelves, he let loose a string of curses and cleared the dirty glasses on the top of the bar with a sweep of his arm. He glanced around the filthy room with its broken furniture and stained fabric-covered walls. How had it gotten this bad so quickly?
It was only a saloon with an upstairs brothel, but it had a certain sophistication when he first saw it. Now, its grandeur was gone, and they weren’t even open for business. Without work or pay, the staff had gradually left, but not before consuming every crumb of food and, obviously, helping themselves to the liquor. Two whores had stayed, but only because they were past their prime and no other whorehouse would have them.
The bitch was right; it would take money to reopen, not to mention time and effort. And without Fenton or Miss Charlotte, who seemed to be part of the attraction, it may never get back to what it was.
He could sell. The building would bring in some money, but the real prize he was after was the fortune Fenton had amassed. That’s why he’d come here, not to be a whiskey-and-flesh peddler in a barely civilized railroad town, and he wasn’t about to let a disrespectful light skirt snatch it out of his hands.
He’d already met with the bank manager, but there was no budging him—even claim his right to it as next of kin.
“We have rules we must follow, Mr. Sneed,” Quentin mimicked.
He’d considered stealing it. Not him, specifically—he was the brains, not the muscle—but the outlaws he employed to carry out his plans. Upon seeing armed guards at every exit, with the manager and tellers also carrying guns, he’d quickly changed his plans. He had no love for his men, but their survival was essential for the delivery of his money.
