Page 54 of Charlotte's Reckoning
“Fired. And his top deputy got promoted to territorial marshal when Aaron Jackson was elected mayor,”Violet explained. With a sidelong glance, she asked, “Where have you been? The girls have been buzzing about it all week.”
“I feel like I need a scorecard to keep up with all these changes,”she remarked, not really answering. She didn’t get sucked into gossip like some of her ladies did. “Why is he here? There’s no cause to be. It’s surprisingly calm after—”
“After what happened in the alley?”Violet suggested, lowering her voice. “That just might be the reason. But look no further than me; I volunteer to get answers!”
“Thank you.”
“If his face is as fine as the rest of him, it will be my pleasure.”
She smoothed her hair, licked her lips, and adjusted her bodice so that her generous breasts plumped up over the low neckline. Then, with a bright smile, she ventured forth to greet the mysterious new sheriff.
***
Before Seth reached the entrance, the clanging of a poorly tuned piano spilled out onto the boardwalk. He pushed through swinging doors, barely noticing the shriek of the hinges because the off-key banging didn’t get any quieter inside the saloon.
He stood just inside the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Expecting the usual dingy, sawdust-covered barroom with its smell of stale beer and cheap whiskey, Seth was surprised by what he found. The air was thick with the scent of tobacco smoke and alcohol, and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the room—all typical. But the burgundy fabric on the walls and the crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow on the gleaming unmarked furniture and floors were far from ordinary.
Men in faded dungarees and worn bowler hats occupied the stools at the bar that stretched along the back wall. Groups of four played poker at the tables. Off to the side was a dance floor where couples swayed and twirled, the women’s satin dresses shimmering in the flickering candlelight.
Seth’s presence didn’t go unnoticed for long. One by one, heads turned his way. Conversation ceased, and the piano player, mercifully, stopped his banging as silence encompassed the room.
A curvaceous blonde approached with a welcoming smile.
“Good evening,”she said in a husky, flirtatious tone. “I haven’t seen you in here before. I’d remember.”
“I’m new to town.”
“With a new job,”she remarked, pointing to his badge. “I’m Violet. What can I call you besides Sheriff?”
“Seth Walker, ma’am.”
“How can we help you celebrate, Seth? Whiskey? Cards? A tour of the upstairs, perhaps?”
He couldn’t deny her beauty. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman, but he declined her invitation.
“I’m afraid I’m here for business, not pleasure.”
“I’m crushed,”she exclaimed with a pretty pout.
“What sort of business?”a booming voice asked. It belonged to a man who seemed to materialize from thin air. He looked vaguely familiar, but Seth couldn’t place him. Maybe it was his flashy clothes. His brocade vest matched the wine-colored walls, and the crisp white of the shirt beneath it, with loose flowing sleeves, stood out among his more rustic customers.
Over his shoulder, Seth spotted a doorway to a sitting room. Inside, men lounged on velvet wing chairs, openly flirting with women perched on their laps.
“I’m Fenton Sneed, the owner of the Red Eye,”the man announced, refocusing Seth’s attention. “Is there a problem, Sheriff?”
“I’m afraid there is, Mr. Sneed.”They were the same height, and he fully met the man’s gaze head-on as he explained. “I’ve had a complaint from a citizen who says one of your saloon girls shot him without cause in your alley. He’s demanding justice.”
“Is that so?”Sneed said, bristling with anger. “Then I have a counter-complaint. He assaulted one of our ladies. She’s bruised all over, with an eye swollen shut and too sore to move.”He extended his arm toward a set of steps leading to the second floor. “She’s upstairs in bed if you’d like to see for yourself.”
“I would,”he replied, glad the man was making this easy. “I’d also like to speak to another one of your employees, the one he claims shot him. Charlotte, I believe, is her name.”
“That would be me,”a voice throatier than Violet’s declared from behind him. “I was the one who fired, and I’d do it again in defense of an unarmed woman being brutally attacked. If I hadn’t intervened, the man would have raped her. I’m sure Prudence will attest to that fact.”
As he turned, he thumbed back his hat. In an instant, he recalled where he’d seen the man. In Omaha, with the redhead standing before him. He tried to reconcile her with the soot-smudged, ash-covered girl from over a decadeago and questioned his memory. But if he lived to be 100, he’d never forget her unusual moss-green eyes.
“The rotter also threatened you, didn’t he, Charlotte?”Sneed prompted. Before she could respond, he argued on her behalf, “I’m unaware of any law that criminalizes defending oneself against a violent man.”
Her voice broke slightly, giving away her alarm as she asked, “Are you here to arrest me?”
