Chapter 1 #3
“I don’t know. You don’t want just anyone.
You want someone who speaks to your soul and listens to your heart.
” Her eyes were gleaming with just a touch of mischief, like she might already have someone in mind.
“In the meantime, you could head on over to Josie’s—” Everyone still called it Josie’s even though Josie was gone “—for some …company.”
“Josie’s? But I’ve never…”
“For someone to just talk to,” Lucy clarified.
He was surprised that Lucy suggested he find ‘companionship’ at the local parlor house.
But Lucy was a most unusual woman. She’d made several matches with people he knew, including her aunt, not to mention his own mother, and they were good, the couples happy and so much in love, which is what he wanted—or, at least, told himself he did.
He rose from his seat, picking up his hat and coat as he did so. “Thank you.”
“Give me some time, Wyatt.” She led him down the hall to the front door, pausing at the study doorway where Ben sat at his desk, a pipe stuck between his teeth as he wrote in a journal.
“Good night, Ben.” He shrugged into his coat
Ben removed the pipe and gestured with it. “Good night, Wyatt. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Wyatt felt his face flush. His jaw clenched for a moment before he forced himself to relax. Who cared what Ben knew? Or anyone else for that matter? He turned to Lucy as she opened the front door. “Thank you again.”
She grasped his hand and squeezed. “Come see me in a few days. I should have some potential matches for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He left and walked down the walkway to the gate where Brigadier was tied.
He climbed into the saddle and squeezed the horse’s sides.
It was as if Brigadier knew exactly where he was supposed to go.
The horse stopped in front of a big house on the east edge of town and refused to go any further.
“Smart ass,” Wyatt mumbled and dismounted. He knew of Josie’s parlor house—everyone in town did— and he’d met Josie a few times, even joined the posse to hunt down her killer, but he’d never availed himself of the services she offered.
It was a nice house, he supposed, what some would consider a mansion, though he couldn’t see it quite clearly in the darkness. Light spilled from the edges of the drawn curtains on both the first and second floors. He heard muffled laughter, too.
“I shouldn’t be here.” And then he heard it.
Beautiful music played on a piano and a woman’s voice—soft, sweet, pure—joining in to accompany the delicate strokes of the keys.
The words were French, which he understood quite well.
It was a song of heartbreak and hope sung in such a way, he felt the melody as well as the emotions.
He found himself walking up the porch steps to hear better, almost hypnotized.
After a moment, he opened the door and let himself into the house.
He didn’t see anything except the woman at the baby grand piano, her back to the wall, her face in profile.
Her golden blonde hair was artfully arranged and flowed down her back in a waterfall of curls.
A gold and peridot earring dangled from her delicate earlobe and moved as she played.
He watched her, unable to take another step, struck by her beauty, her poise, the sound of her voice.
Her long, slender fingers lightly pressed the black and white keys with ease, as if she was born to play and the music came directly from her heart.
He removed his hat and held it in his hands, then continued to just stand there. She wasn’t quite what he expected when he walked through the door.
The song came to an end, and he took a step closer. “That was beautiful.”
The woman at the piano turned her head and looked at him, surprised. “Thank you.”
He was unsure of the protocol, since he’d never been in a parlor house before.
Saloons, sure, but they were different than the women who provided a service here.
Josie’s was…fancy. Upscale. Definitely out of place in quiet, peaceful Serenity.
It belonged in New Orleans or Savannah or a dozen other bigger, fancier places he could think of.
Much like her. He licked his dry lips. “How much?”
“How much for what, Mr.—?” She had impossibly long, dark lashes and the color of her eyes wasn’t just green, but the green of new leaves in spring, matching the peridot hanging from her earlobe.
“MacLean. Wyatt MacLean.” He took another step closer to the piano. “How much to…uh…go upstairs?”
A blush covered her smooth, pale cheeks. “I guess that would depend on what you want, Mr. MacLean.”
Oh, he loved the sound of her voice. It was cultured and honeyed and held an accent that reminded him of sultry summer nights and mint juleps. He couldn’t help the smile that spread his lips.
She nodded toward the wall behind her where a placard posted prices along with the names of the girls who worked there.
He glanced at it, reading the services available, surprised to see that a drink or dinner and simple conversation could be had, which didn’t seem quite right for a parlor house.
Perhaps, not all men came to Josie’s to bed a woman, but to simply socialize in the company of one.
Sometimes, a man just needed to hear a soft, gentle voice instead of his own or that of his male companions.
He turned around, his gaze scanning the room.
There were two other women in the parlor—one, a stunning redhead who was deep in conversation with Mr. Crandall, the butcher.
The other was a brunette, who seemed quite comfortable with her feet tucked under her in a wingback chair, reading a book.
Both were dressed in the sheerest of unmentionables.
He glanced again at the placard and came to a decision. “I want number four,” he said, which was an hour upstairs with one of the women and the whole experience. There was another option for considerably more money, which was an entire night, as opposed to just an hour.
She rose from her seat behind the piano, revealing just how tall and slender she was as well as how stiff. She seemed out of place and not the least bit comfortable. She gestured to the brunette reading in the corner. “I’ll let Barrie know.”
He turned his attention to the woman, who was beautiful, then shook his head. “I don’t want Barrie. I want you.”
She inhaled deeply, the action making her chest expand beneath the fabric of her gold and crimson dress, showing her charms to full advantage—and she did have charms—magnificent ones.
His gaze moved from her breasts to her face.
Color shaded her pale cheeks, as crimson as her dress, and her eyes opened even wider, if that were possible.
Even her delicate ears turned red as her mouth opened and closed several times before she spoke. “I beg your pardon?”
Wyatt frowned at her obvious discomfort. And anger? He hadn’t intended to upset her, but the effects were stunning. In this moment, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “I want you,” he repeated as his gaze slid over her, though he didn’t understand her apparent offense.
She clasped her hands tightly in front of her and seemed to struggle for control. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sir. I do not go upstairs.”
Every muscle in Wyatt’s body grew tense as heat infused his face.
Had he made a mistake? Her reaction to his request had him thinking maybe he had.
“I’m sorry. I thought—” The heat on his face seemed to grow hotter.
He felt like a fool now. A great, big fool.
“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. ”
She swallowed, drawing his attention to the smooth, pinkening skin of her throat as her blush deepened, encompassing not only her face and ears, but her neck and the expanse of flesh revealed by her décolletage as well.
“It’s not a mistake,” she said, then straightened, as if she’d finally gotten over her initial shock. “You may choose any of the other girls, all of whom would be more than happy to accommodate you.”
He leaned a bit closer and caught the scent of her perfume.
It was faint, yet hypnotizing, prompting him to inhale slightly.
Jasmine? Hyacinth? Lily of the Valley? He couldn’t place it, but it called to him, just like her voice had.
He studied her, seeing how she struggled for control, for poise, and he had a moment of regret.
In another time and another place, things may have been different. “Again, my apologies.”
He turned and walked away, but stopped at the door, his hand on the knob, then turned toward her once more.
She hadn’t moved. She stood tall, her hands still clasped in front of her, her knuckles white, as if every ounce of her irritation was concentrated in her fingers. “You do play beautifully.”
He smiled as she huffed out a breath, her eyes gleaming, the redness on her cheeks growing a bit brighter. He let himself out of the house, closing the door softly behind him and just stood on the front porch for a moment, feeling more like an ass than he did before.
Who was she? Why was she at Josie’s if she didn’t go upstairs? And why had he made a complete fool of himself? Lucy must have sent him to Josie’s to practice his rusty skills, and he’d failed completely.
Damn!