Abby did her best to look brave as she made her way down the sidewalk toward the Lucky Penny. Before long, Sam would see that she could fend for herself, even in a place that he and Cookie disapproved of. And what was wrong with attending the grand opening of one of San Francisco’s new eating establishments, after all? Surely half the town would be there.
As they approached, she gave the Lucky Penny a closer look, her gaze landing on the rough-hewn facade and wooden boardwalk. The hitching posts were all in use, the horses content to rest while their masters took a meal inside. A watering trough for the horses was dry as a bone. Abby was tempted to stop and tend to the poor animals, but found herself distracted by the goings-on inside the restaurant.
The noise level greeted her long before she walked through the double doors. She decided that half the town had shown up, after all. Judging from the sound of the voices, mostly men.
Neville put his fingers in his ears and she could read the alarm in his eyes. “Sounds like a brawl. I say we turn back, Miss Abigail. Too risky.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just the crowd, Neville. Everyone is celebrating the grand opening of this fine new eating establishment, that’s all.” Voices raised in song—and argument—barely edged out the rowdy piano music. She thought about what it would be like, to sit at that piano and entertain the guests. She could never play songs with that much gusto, even if she gave it her all.
She brushed through the swinging doors and was greeted at the door by a couple of the older fellas, who let out a whistle as she came through. “Well, lookee here, Joe!” One of them elbowed the other. “We got us a real lady with us tonight.” He pulled off his Stetson and gave a bow. “Purty as a picture.”
“A real lady, eh?” One of the saloon girls—a pretty blond—pushed her way past the man and approached Abby. She turned up her nose and then doubled back around to where she’d come from. “She ain’t so much.”
Abby entered the room and looked around, overwhelmed. She’d never had all of her senses accosted at once like this. The smell of liquor hung thick in the air, as if ready to ease its way into her pores. The fellow at the piano banged out a song—if one could call it that—his forehead dripping with sweat. To her left, several of the men hollered at each other, one of them punching the other in the jaw. That, coupled with the smell of men who hadn’t bathed in many days, if not weeks, was almost more than she could bear. Would these folks consider it rude if she pinched her nose?
Abby swayed and thought she might go down. Instead, she managed to lean against the long mahogany bar, where she did her best to catch her breath.
“What’s your pleasure, folks?” a man behind the bar called out. “Drinks on the house tonight, thanks to our new proprietor.”
“I’m looking for Mr. Denueve, actually,” Abby called back to the bartender. “Have you seen him?”
“He’s around.” The edges of the man’s mustache tipped up in a smile. “Now, what can I get you?”
“Nothing at the moment,” Neville hollered from behind her.
“Yes, nothing at the moment,” Abby echoed. She rested the toe of her boot against the brass foot rail that encircled the base of the bar and her gaze shifted to the row of spittoons spaced along the floor. This place looked nothing like a restaurant. Along the edge of the bar, she noticed towels hanging. No telling what those were for.
The man on the barstool next to her took a swig of his beer and used one of the towels to wipe the suds from his mustache. Ah. So that’s what they were for.
Abby found herself completely distracted. She wanted to find Marcus, but was scared to move away from her current spot. Only when several of the men surrounded her, their whistles piercing the air, did she get the urge to bolt.
“Who have we here?” An older woman with bright-red hair stepped into place next to Abby and ran her finger over Abby’s blue silk skirt. “Nice dress. Where’d you get it, anyhow?”
Abby shrugged off the woman’s forward conversation and glanced around one more time in an attempt to find Marcus. A couple of other ladies—if one could call them that—pushed through the crowd and stepped into the spot in front of her. One of them grabbed Abby by the hand and gave her a spin.
“You the new girl?”
“Oh, well, I …” Abby didn’t know how to respond to that question.
“Marcus said you was pretty, but he didn’t tell us you was a debutante.” The brazen woman stretched the word, bringing a laugh from the others. “Highfalutin duds you got there, honey. Not that you’ll stay dressed in ’em if you hang around here.” A high-pitched laugh followed. “Get it? Clothes don’t last long around here, less’n they’re on the floor at the foot o’ the bed.”
Abby gripped the edge of the bar and eased her way down onto a barstool. The pianist changed tunes to something even rowdier than before. The women grabbed men and took to dancing across the floor. One of the women even hopped up on a table and did some sort of a jig, her skirt swinging this way and that. The feathers in her hair bobbed up and down, and her low-cut dress threatened to reveal far more than Abby cared to see.
She found herself torn between wanting to watch the ladies with their satin dresses and wanting to look away.
The blond woman, probably about Abby’s age, tapped Neville on the shoulder and hollered, “Dance with me, honey.”
The look of panic in his eyes shared his thoughts on her suggestion. She pulled him onto the dance floor and pressed herself against him. On the opposite side of the room, one of the dancers did a cartwheel, showing off her undergarments. This led to a rousing cheer from all the men. Well, all but Neville, who looked as if he might be ill.
Fear and anger knotted inside of Abby at the sight of all this. Surely Marcus hadn’t begun the transformation process yet. If he planned to turn this place into a restaurant, he would have to fire these women at once. Then again, maybe all of this was part of his plan. Maybe Sam and Cookie were right about him? Their concerns found root in her heart and she felt like a fool for coming.
What had made her think this place would be acceptable? It didn’t look like any restaurant she’d ever seen before. Abby’s stomach clenched tight as she glanced around one last time for Marcus. If she didn’t find him soon, there would be no choice but to leave. Judging from the daggers coming out of Neville’s eyes as he tugged himself away from his dance partner, he was more than ready already.
“Miss Abigail, I insist we leave at once.”
“But I’m here to look for Mr. Denueve. He invited me to dine with him.”
“I’d just as soon you dine with the devil himself. Any man who would own and operate such a place does not deserve to be sought out by an innocent young woman like yourself.”
“Innocent, eh?” The blond sidled up next to Abby. “I remember when I used to be innocent too.” She slung her arm over Abby’s shoulder and laughed. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll teach you my ways in time, and you’ll never look back. Welcome to the fold, by the way. I’m Katie. I remember what it was like to be the new girl. Wasn’t so long ago, actually.”
The forced smile was overshadowed by pain in her eyes, and Abby was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness for the woman.
She slipped out from under Katie’s grasp and stepped backward. “No, thank you. I’m not here to work, just to spend the evening with Marcus Denueve.”
“Aren’t we all?” Katie laughed. Just as quickly, her expression shifted to one that could only be construed as jealousy. “You’re not his type, honey.”
“I didn’t claim to be his type. I’m only here to discuss a business transaction.”
“Business transaction.” The girl laughed and clasped her hands together. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Where. Is. He?” Abby spoke through clenched teeth, the woman’s words grating on her last nerve.
“Upstairs. With Molly.” The woman gave her a knowing look. “But I wouldn’t interrupt them right now, if I were you. You know how testy he can get when you bother him in the middle of a business transaction.” She emphasized the words, as if they were laughable.
“I came in response to his invitation to dinner, thank you very much.”
“Dinner? Well, why didn’t you say so? If Marcus invited you to dine with him, let me show you to a table. I’m sure he won’t be long.” These words were followed by a sarcastic laugh. “He’s quick on his feet, or off of them, if you get my meaning.”
She led the way to a table where some men were playing some sort of card game. “Up and at ’em, fellas. This here lady needs a place to sit.”
“We ain’t even halfway into our poker game, Katie,” one of the men responded. “Get ’er another table.”
“Nope.” Katie grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over, knocking the cards out of their hands. Instead of responding in anger, one of the men gave her a kiss on the cheek and another swatted her on the behind.
“Gracious.” Abby shook her head. She wanted to bolt.
Katie turned the table right side up and slapped it with her palm. She gestured for Abby and Neville to sit. “Now, what’s your pleasure? Rotgut?”
“Rotgut?”
“Tanglefoot, honey. Red Eye. Liquor, of course.”
She’d like to give the woman a red eye, for insinuating that she was a drinker.
“Our Tequila’s the best in the territory,” Katie added. “That’s my favorite.”
Abby nearly gagged, just thinking about it. “Nothing, thank you. Could I see a menu, please?”
“Menu’s on the board.” Katie gestured to a large slate overhead as she walked away. Someone had scribbled the words steak and oven fried potatoes.
Abby turned to face Neville. “What was all that business about rotgut?”
“Saloon owners like to stretch their profits by adding turpentine or ammonia to their whiskey.”
“What?” She put a hand to her chest. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Sometimes they even cut in some gunpowder or cayenne.”
“For pity’s sake. And no one has died?”
“People die all the time in San Francisco, girl.” An older woman’s voice sounded from beside her. “Ain’t no one blamed it on the Tanglefoot yet. Don’t be blamin’ the drink for the fellas round these here parts keelin’ over. They’re more likely to die from brawlin’ or from lack of bathin’.” She laughed and stuck out her hand. “Name’s Lottie. What brings you to the Lucky Penny?”
“Just stopped in to have dinner with Mr. Denueve.”
“Oh, I see. Guess you’re the new girl, then. Was told you’d be showing up soon. We’ve been waiting on you. You’ll be bunking with Donna Sue.”
“Oh, I’m not … I mean, I won’t be working here. I could never do that.”
“Why not?” The woman looked her up and down. “Oh, I get it. Prim and proper sort, eh?”
“I suppose those words would fit, but I … I …” Abby shook her head and pushed her chair back from the table, convinced this whole thing had been a huge mistake. “I think it’s time for me to go.”
Sam slammed the door to the restaurant and leaned against it, his head throbbing from the noise outside. “They call that a grand opening? I’m about to go deaf in both ears.”
Cookie entered the room from the kitchen and groaned. “I hope they’ll pipe down sooner rather than later. My blood pressure’s rising.”
“I somehow doubt it. This is liable to go on all night.”
Cookie swiped at her brow with the back of her hand. “Sounds like quite a party going on over there.”
“I can’t picture Abby in the throes of it, not at all.”
Cookie laughed. “The one I’m having the most trouble picturing is Neville. Poor guy. But he’d do anything to look after that girl.” She paused and a reflective look entered her eyes. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You travel to the ends of the earth for them, go places you never thought you’d go.”
“Like you did for me.” Sam took her hand. “You came all the way to San Francisco, just to make sure I was taken care of.”
“And to make sure your belly was full.” She winked at him. “Someone had to do it.”
“Don’t know if I’ve ever told you how grateful I am, Cookie. San Francisco might not be my idea of the best place on earth, but as long as you’re here with me, it’s certainly more tolerable.” He paused. “Can’t imagine how I would’ve survived without you.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, honey.” Cookie threw her arms around him and gave him a motherly hug.
The strangest feelings came over Sam in that moment. He remembered, if for just a few seconds, what it felt like to be wrapped in his mother’s arms. To smell her perfume. To hear the sweet, calming voice of reason.
“You all right?” Cookie pulled back and put both hands on his shoulders.
“Yes. Thinking about Mother tonight. And thinking about what you once said about me.”
“What did I say?”
“That I was a perfect little boy.”
“Ah. Yes, I remember that conversation.” She pulled her hands off his shoulders. “And I remember the boy. He grew into a man who traveled to San Francisco. Wasn’t very happy to be there, away from everything he knew and loved.”
“True.”
“He longed to go back home to Independence, to pick up where he left off.”
“Yep.”
“But I suspect that same young man is now finding his heart twisted up over a certain girl who’s also traveled the miles to land in the same spot. Am I right?”
Sam fought the temptation to laugh. “Cookie, as much as it pains me to admit this, you’re always right.”
“‘And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’” She gave him another wink and added, “John, chapter eight, verse thirty-two.”
As Abby tried to bolt from her table, she caught a glimpse of Marcus through the crowd. He walked down the steep wooden stairs with a woman on each arm. The buxom brunette to his right looked rather unkempt, as if she’d just tumbled out of bed. The woman to his left wore her ruffled dress off one shoulder. Something she said must have been funny, because Marcus laughed.
Then he glanced Abby’s way and his expression shifted. He shook off the women and finished the flight of steps alone. Moments later, he arrived at her table. “Miss Effingham.”
“Mr. Denueve.” She hardly managed the two words.
“Glad you could come.” He spoke above the music. “What do you think of our opening night celebration?”
She fought to come up with words that wouldn’t offend. “I’ve found it very … colorful. And loud.”
“Indeed.” He gestured for the pianist to lower his volume. “You can see our need for a true musician, no doubt. I know I promised not to talk about it, but I would be honored if you would consider—”
“I am not the right one for the job, I assure you.”
“Don’t be so hasty, Abigail. I can call you Abigail, yes? Surely by now we’re old friends. Let me woo you over a lovely meal.”
She could picture just how he would woo her. It would start with enticing her to play the piano. Later, after he’d won her confidence, he would woo her right into the same job the other gals in this place had.
No thank you.
“Our chef is in the kitchen, even now, preparing the most wonderful steaks you’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t believe so, Mr. Denueve, thank you. I need to go. It’s getting late and Neville is tired.”
“Your butler scolds you as if you were a schoolgirl?”
“He’s more of a fatherly figure to me, you see.”
“Hmm.” Marcus looked over his shoulder at Neville. “He needs to find a new pastime. You’re a grown woman, Abigail. Every angle shows it off. You certainly don’t need a nanny.”
Why the words stung, she could not say, but Abby decided she’d had enough conversation for one night.
“I’m tired, Mr. Denueve, and we’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Breakfast is served at six.”
“Ah, yes. Always working.” He tried to slip his arm around her waist, but she pulled away. “Well, go get some beauty sleep, though you certainly don’t need it.”
His flattering words make her sick to her stomach.
He reached over and placed his hand on her backside. She jolted, and yanked away.
“Skittish, eh?” He laughed. “I like a girl who makes it hard on me. Cat and mouse games are fun.”
“See if you think this is fun, my friend.” Neville reared back, doubled his fist, and delivered an unexpected wallop to Marcus Denueve’s jaw.
Abby gasped and her hand flew to her mouth as she saw a trickle of blood rolling down Marcus’s chin.
“Let’s get while the gettin’s good, Miss Abigail.” Neville gestured with his head that they should leave.
Abby turned, her hands clenched stiffly at her sides. Before she could think twice, she hiked her skirt and bolted toward the saloon door, ready to put this whole evening behind her.