Chapter 2
Sheridan stared at the now closed mahogany door. She inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth, something Aunt Estelle had taught her years ago to maintain control of herself.
But the action didn’t fulfill its intended purpose. Her irritation didn’t dissipate at all. Indeed, the feeling grew unchecked.
She’d suspected someone would assume that simply because she was here, she participated in the things that went on behind closed doors.
This was a brothel.
I shouldn’t be here. I should just go back to New Orleans. But even as the thought popped into her head, she knew she couldn’t. She had to stay—for now—if only to learn about the mother she had been denied knowing.
“Are you all right?” Barrie Hinton approached her. She liked Barrie, who was kind and sweet, as were all the ladies who worked there, which had surprised her, too. She never would have expected that, though what she knew of brothels and parlor houses could fit in a thimble.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She looked away from the door. “Who was that man?”
“Wyatt MacLean? He’s a rancher.” Barrie lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug, her skin shimmering beneath the lamplight.
“He has a small spread on the outskirts of town. Stone Creek, I think it’s called.
I’ve seen him around, but I don’t know him.
He’s never come in before, at least not to my knowledge, and I’ve been here going on four years now.
I have heard he’s a very nice man, though, if a bit lonely.
” Her soft smile widened as her deep brown eyes crinkled at the corners.
“And very handsome. You ever see eyes like his? Like a tiger.”
Yes, he probably was lonely. She understood that better than anyone.
One can be lonely in a crowded room, as she had encountered herself on more than one occasion.
And yes, he was handsome, too, with chestnut brown hair slightly longer than she thought appropriate, full lips that spread into a generous smile, and light brown eyes the color of amber—tiger’s eyes, like Barrie said—that held hints of humor.
Was that why her heart was beating much too fast?
And her palms were damp? Because he was handsome?
Or was it because he had assumed that she would go upstairs with him?
Sheridan stared at her. “He wanted to go upstairs.”
“Well, of course, he did. Why else would he have come in?” Barrie laughed. “I would have gone upstairs with him.”
She shook her head. “He didn’t want you. Or anyone else. He wanted me.”
Barrie laughed again and squeezed her arm. “And why wouldn’t he? You’re a beautiful woman.”
Sheridan flinched at the light touch. “Thank you for the compliment, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“Why don’t I make you a nice cup of tea to settle your nerves?
Mrs. Gallagher says things always look better after a cup of tea.
Or maybe you’d like a glass of brandy. Or whiskey.
” Barrie glanced around. Valentine and Mr. Crandall had already gone upstairs and there was no one left in the parlor aside from themselves.
“It’s a quiet night—Wednesdays usually are.
Why don’t you just have a seat right here and I’ll be back in a minute or two with some tea? ”
She gently pushed Sheridan toward a grouping of comfortable looking leather chairs.
Still struggling, she settled herself in one of the chairs.
The leather was buttery soft and seemed to cushion her entire body.
After a moment, though Odette would have reprimanded her for doing so, she brought her legs up and folded them beneath her and picked up a magazine from the table.
Strange to find a Ladies’ Home Journal in a brothel, but there it was.
She opened the magazine, but the words didn’t seem to make any sense. She uncurled herself from her position and started pacing the parlor, too upset by her confrontation with Mr. MacLean to sit quietly.
Barrie entered the parlor shortly after with a silver tea service on a silver tray. There was a bottle of fine whiskey on the tray as well. She placed the tray on a low table in front of the settee then took a seat. “Come. Sit.” She patted the cushion beside her.
Sheridan did as she was asked and Barrie poured her a cup of tea.
“I’m sorry if Mr. MacLean was rude.” She poured tea into her own cup. “Most of our customers are polite and know the rules. Maybe he just didn’t know the rules.”
“He wasn’t rude. He just…assumed things he shouldn’t have.”
“Why? Because he wanted to go upstairs with you for a little horizontal refreshment?”
Sheridan’s face heated. For someone who had spent all her growing-up years, from the age of six, at Bouchard’s School for Girls, where she’d been taught comportment and manners, as well as all the correct rules, the things the girls said and the terms they used, still made Sheridan’s ears burn.
‘Horizontal Refreshment’ was one of them, and that was tame, compared to some of the other things they said.
To say it was eye-opening was an understatement.
Sheridan knew the basics of what went on between a man and a woman.
To hear some talk, sex was like nothing else in this world, especially if it was done right, which she didn’t quite understand, either.
She’d been told, for as long as she could remember, that sex was wrong and simply a duty a wife had to perform, whether she wanted to or not.
And those women who liked it were contemptible—according to her grandmother and Aunt Estelle.
“And the way he looked at me.” Sheridan added cream and sugar to her tea while Barrie poured a huge dollop of whiskey into her own cup.
“How did he look at you? With desire? Like he wanted you?” When Sheridan didn’t answer, Barrie laughed softly.
“You must be used to getting looks like that. As I said, you’re a beautiful woman.
Men always look at beautiful women. It’s just who they are.
And there’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t think they can help themselves, and frankly, it’s a lot better than some of the other looks you’ll receive.
” Barrie took a sip of her tea then added a little more whiskey.
“There are some here in Serenity who frowned on what your mother did. On what we do. They’ll frown at you, too, now that you own this house. ”
Barrie told the truth—the townspeople would frown at her. Some of them had already started. It was something she’d have to get used to…until she was able to leave.
“Men can’t be trusted,” Sheridan said, believing what she’d been told for so many years.
Barrie studied her for a moment. “That’s true.
Some can’t, but there are a lot who can.
Take Marshal Goodrich, for instance. He’s a good man, Sheridan.
He loves his wife and daughter. He helped us when Josie got hurt, going after the man who hurt her.
He comes by often just to check on us.” She drank more of her tea then reached for her hand and patted it, making Sheridan flinch once again.
“Then there’s Doctor Ben. Another good man.
He makes sure all us girls are healthy, and never once does he look down on us because of what we do.
As for Mr. Wyatt MacLean, I’ve always heard he was a good man, too.
Kind. Decent. Hard-working.” She let out a sigh, but her smile was still bright.
“Why, I can list a whole lot of men who are good and decent.” She stopped speaking, her smile suddenly fading.
“Someone must have hurt you to make you think men can’t be trusted. ”
Sheridan shook her head. “I should never have come to Serenity. It was a mistake.”
“Don’t say that.” Barrie patted her hand once again.
Sheridan pulled her hand away under the guise of picking up her teacup.
“Give yourself some time. Stay here for a while. Get to know us and the town. It’ll be all right.”
Sheridan didn’t believe her. She placed her still full teacup on the tray, then rose. “Thank you for trying to help.”
“Sure thing, honey.”
Sheridan took the grand staircase upstairs to her room and closed the door, which did nothing to drown out the sounds of what the men and women were doing in the other rooms up and down the hall.
She stuffed wads of cotton in her ears, as she’d done on her first night, but that didn’t help.
Not at all. She could still hear everything…
the giggles, the moans and grunts, the springs of the beds squeaking, the startling shouts of triumph.
She placed her hands over her ears, then stepped outside onto the second-floor veranda that ran the length of the house, knowing she would find not peace, but a little quiet.
She picked up a blanket from the chair and spread it around her shoulders, then sat down and stared into the darkness, counting the stars that winked in the black-velvet sky.
So much had changed in the past few weeks—almost too much.
She felt undone, no longer in control of either her emotions or her circumstances, which was unusual and very disconcerting.
Unbidden, Mr. MacLean’s charming smile, and it was charming, flashed in her mind as did his unusual tiger’s eyes.
He was a handsome man, even if he had been arrogant, and maybe, that’s how everyone was in this small town.
Or maybe, she simply assumed he was arrogant because she had no experience with men. At all.
Bouchard’s was run by women. The teachers were all women, too.
Her grandmother never spoke about her late husband.
As if the man had never existed, except to leave her with his fortune when he passed, and giving her two daughters.
Aunt Estelle had never married and had no intention of doing so.
It was no secret they didn’t like—or trust—men, as they’d made abundantly clear, warning her to stay away from them.
Her mother seemed to be a different story, though. She, apparently, liked men and knew what they wanted and needed, judging solely by the popularity of her parlor house.
She shivered and pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders, then shook her head, trying to dislodge Mr. MacLean’s smile from her mind, and concentrated on solving her problem, which was her mother’s business.
The only thing that would help would be to sell, so she could go back home to New Orleans, and yet, she couldn’t leave, not yet.
There was so much she wanted—needed—to know about Josephine DuBois.
But she could still try to find a buyer for the house.
That would take time. Hopefully, not too much time.