To Bed A Montana Man (Montana Men) (4 page)

Sissy’s chatter abruptly ended when TJ returned from putting his son to bed. He clapped his hands twice, and Sissy jumped from the floor and ran into his arms. After kissing his cheek, she turned to Allison.

“Good night, Miss Allison,” she said, and clamored up the stairs. TJ cringed and Allison nearly laughed. Sissy blew her father a kiss at the top of the stairs. He shook his head, but Allison saw the hint of a smile tilt his lips.

“She’s sweet,” Allison said. TJ watched her without actually looking. She could feel the weight of his stare, but when she glanced at him, he turned away.

With Sissy gone, Allison became uncomfortable with the silence. TJ crossed the room. He had his back to her as he poured himself a drink at the marble-topped liquor counter stocked with glass decanters filled to various levels.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Allison had never wanted to drink before, but somehow the offer from TJ enticed. The flicker of the fireplace reflected off the crystal glass he held in his hand. The amber liquid swirled and hypnotized. She didn’t hear TJ repeat the question.

He turned to her. Those blue eyes caused her to flush. “Thank you, but I don’t drink,” she stammered.

“You can have water, or there’s milk in the kitchen.”

“I suppose with two kids you can never have enough milk,” she said.

Allison was uncomfortable. TJ was a married man with two children, not to mention a stranger, and they seemed to be the only two adults in the house, all good reasons to feel uneasy sitting alone with him in the firelight on a cold and stormy night. Her stomach pitched and rolled. The long ride, coupled with the loneliness she’d been feeling since the onset of her journey, came to an apex. What else offered an explanation to why her body tingled under his watchful gaze?

“I appreciate your kindness. I realize now what an inconvenience I’ve caused. I assure you, it wasn’t my intention. I’m simply desperate for a way to earn money.” Allison folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from her skirt.

Maybe she never should’ve left Boston. At some point, after she’d given Henry children, marriage to him would’ve become bearable. Money equaled power; the Oakdale’s had both. But still… “I never should have come here.”

“You’re no different than anyone else. We all need to make our way somehow. You’ll think more clearly in the morning after you’ve slept.”

She didn’t want to explain Boston, Henry, or the direness of her predicament. Tomorrow TJ Bester would barely be an acquaintance. What benefit would there be in sharing her burden? “Actually, I am tired.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “And I suppose if I’m to be honest, I knew it was unlikely you’d have a position for me.”

“Don’t worry about it. It takes a lot of mettle to take a chance. If you were a man, I’d probably find a place for you.” He swallowed the last of his drink. “I’ll build a fire in the guest room so you can get some sleep.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t want to impose any more than I have. I can sleep without a fire.” She started to follow him out of the room.

“Stay put. I’ll be a few minutes and it’ll take some time for the room to warm.” Without a sound, his stocking feet took him up the stairs.

It was several minutes later when TJ touched her shoulder, startling her. “Ready?”

Allison leapt off the couch. She didn’t want to admit TJ made her heart skip a beat. Handsome men had spoken with her before, and she had never felt weak in the knees. Of course, there was always the exception, such as at the train platform with this very same man.

Here was a man with a wife, a family, and a successful ranch. Yet, alone with him, this large room closed in on her. Wherever he stood, the warmth of his body touched hers. Never had she been so keenly aware of a man.

Allison picked up her bag and followed him up the stairs. “Your home is beautiful.”

“My wife’s responsible for that. She told me what she wanted and I built it.”

“You built this house?” The arched ceilings reminded her of the smooth underside of a boat. “I’ll be sure to tell her what lovely taste she has.”

“We get up early around here.” He opened the bedroom door. “I don’t know who’ll be driving you back to town. Be ready by sunup because whoever gets the privilege is going to want to get an early start.” There was a note of sarcasm to his tone.

Allison walked into the room. “Mr. Bester?” She stood a few feet in front of him holding her bag. “Are you sure there’s no work around here that would be suitable for me? Perhaps your wife would like help around the house. I love to do laundry and clean floors.” If she couldn’t change his mind, tomorrow she would definitely be in a new line of work by sundown.

“My wife doesn’t like other women in the house. Good night, Miss Lake.” He softly closed the door.

Chapter Three

The following morning, back in Copper City, Allison sat in a restaurant across the street from a large brothel. Business appeared to be a booming at the Dusty Rose. Men entered with alarming regularity. Was the work split between many women at the establishment or just a few? Her head spun with the severity of her situation. Granted, the money would be better if a girl stayed busy, but the amount of men overwhelmed if there were only a few whores. How many men could a woman service in a day? Didn’t she get tired?

Could she do it? Could she lay down with men for money? Since she didn’t have a place to stay, didn’t have much money left, she was out of options. Trying to look as pleasing as possible, she left the top button of her blouse undone. With an awkward sway of her hips—
is this really how women entice men?
—she crossed the street to do the unthinkable. “I will not cry. I will not cry,” she repeated softly to herself, walking into the building.

Smoke hung heavy in the air. Men milled about. Some sat with women in comfortable looking chairs covered with red and royal purple velour. Breasts overflowed from corsets. One man had his hand on the exposed flesh of a woman’s calf as her legs draped across his lap. Bronze statues of naked woman adorned small square tables set in each corner. Wallpaper with an ornate pattern of vines and leaves had turned from a blend of copper and gold, to a mustard yellow and rust. It was beginning to peel around the ceiling and window edges.

Enticing women flaunted their bodies while serving drinks to men sitting at tables smoking cigars and laughing loudly. A girl made her way upstairs. How long before she’d be back for another customer? They didn’t pay whores to talk.

A pretty, blond girl tossed her head back and laughed when a man, dirty from the mines with a wiry black beard, slapped her on the fanny and pushed her toward the stairs. “See to my needs, little lassie,” he said with a thick Irish accent. Several men had thick drawls. Their laughter rumbled around the room.

“Can I help you?” a raspy voice asked. “You look like you’re in the wrong place.”

Allison caught her reflection in a large sconce mirror hanging on the wall. She gasped at the pasty image. Now that she was here, she wanted to be home married to Henry having his arrogant children and living a miserable life. She couldn’t do this.

Never did she imagine life in the West would be a disappointment. Of course, there were jobs. Cooks, seamstresses, librarians, and schoolteachers. But alas, more people were coming into town than there was work for them to do. She was a few weeks away from turning eighteen, without any experience. And if she wasn’t careful, she wouldn’t have this as a possibility either.

“Honey? Are you looking for someone?” the woman asked. “Hello, you do talk, don’t you?”

“I don’t…” Allison looked around wildly. “I…” She broke into tears.

“Oh dear, come with me.” The woman took her by the arm and led her down a long hall and into a private room. “This is the third time this week I’ve had a girl break into tears in my parlor at the thought of becoming a whore.”

The room had a large desk sitting in the center. In contrast to the parlor, in this room the walls were covered with beautiful paintings and satin cloth. The effect was very elegant. Black, oriental cabinets inlaid with designs of birds and plants lined one wall.

“My name’s Sandy.” She handed Allison a hankie. “Dry your eyes. Tell me your name and what you’re doing here.”

Although Sandy was older than most of the women sitting in the parlor, she was still very attractive. Hair the color of a setting sun in the fall was piled high on her head. Her ample bosom barely contained in a red corset. Black fabric cascaded over the curves of her hips draping to the floor. A sheer robe, belted at the waist, wrapped around her shoulders and fell open at her legs.

Allison sniffed a few times. “I came to Copper City about a week ago. I didn’t expect it to be so expensive. But I couldn’t stay in Boston and now I just want to go home.” She started to cry again.

Sandy
sat on a heart-shaped sofa with heart-shaped throw pillows. “And you’ve come to ask for money? I’m a business woman, honey. Why would you think I would give you anything?”

“Oh no,” she said, horrified. “I would never beg for money.”

“Then what do you want?” Sandy stood, causing her silk robe to balloon and sway as she retrieved a cigarette off the desk.

Allison had never smoked tobacco. Sandy licked her lips, puckered her mouth drawing attention to the thin wrinkles, and inhaled deeply. The tip glowed red. Sandy held the smoke momentarily, finally exhaling on a sigh.

“I need a job.”

Sandy
burst into raucous laughter, causing her milky brown eyes to sparkle. “And what would a prim little girl like you do in my brothel? You don’t look like you have any experience with men.” She walked a wide circle around Allison looking at her from every angle. “You’re pretty enough, but men who come in here don’t require a woman to be beautiful as long as she’s attentive.” Her smile, filled with mirth, caused her to cough.

Nervous under Sandy’s scrutiny, Allison’s fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her dress.

“What’s your name?” Sandy asked.

“Allison.”

“So Allison, you want to be one of my girls?” Sandy sat behind her desk. Slipping on her reading glasses, she said, “I think you ought to know what I’ll expect.” She extinguished her cigarette into a polished copper ashtray. “We’re busy and not just in the evenings. Sometimes the girls do more business during the day than they do at night. My doors never close. If a man comes in and wants to see you at four in the morning on a Sunday and you’ve only been asleep for an hour, wake up. You’re going back to work.”

She leaned back in the chair and stretched like a cat. Allison remained standing in the center of the room. “Sit down. You’re making me uncomfortable,” Sandy instructed and then continued. “It’s hard work, Allison. Maybe you think it’s glamorous. It’s not. Most of the men are not knights in shining armor. Some are dirty and most of them stink from the mines.” Her deep, whiskey intonation lost all trace of humor.

Allison finally found her voice. “Or maybe most of the girls in here are just like me. I didn’t have a choice when I left home. Now I’m here, and I have nowhere else to go. Does anyone choose this profession?”

“Surprisingly, yes. A few are like myself and enjoy men. I could never be a farmer’s wife. I’m a preacher’s daughter. But you’re right, most of the girls are uneducated, and then they find themselves here, and aren’t quite sure how it happened.”

Allison sat in the chair across from the Sandy. “I know exactly why I’m here, to have sex with men for money. Every girl has a first time. I’m sure mine will be no different. I knew when I walked through the door that this was a brothel. I’m fully aware that I’m asking you to give me a job as a whore. Will I like doing it? I hope not,” she said, disgusted.  

 “All right.” Sandy held up her hands. “You’ve sold me. I want you to watch the other girls tonight. This might not be something you can do.”