Becoming Miss Becky Read online

  Or unabashed…something. Rebecca found her eye drawn to the oil painting hung over the dressing table. The voluptuous nude reclined on a settee, her head thrown back in abandon as she fondled her own very ample breasts. Rebecca’s fascination and curiosity kept her gaze on the seemingly rouged nipples peeking through the woman’s fingers until she realized the sheriff was watching her.

  His dark gaze was so intense, almost devouring her, and she felt a rush of heat through her body she’d never felt before. She knew the burn of her cheeks must be visible to him, but she prayed he wouldn’t guess the turmoil his look caused.

  His eyes flicked to the portrait, then back to her. Without uttering a word he set her trunk down with a thump, tipped his hat and fled the room. Rebecca heard the front door slam a moment later.

  “The sheriff don’t care much for whores,” Fiona explained, “and he ain’t well-mannered, so don’t mind him. I’ll go start your bath.”

  Just like that Rebecca found herself alone with her thoughts overwhelmed and her body besieged by new sensations in a den of iniquity that now belonged to her.

  Adam hadn’t gone ten feet down the sidewalk before he ran into Will Martinson.

  “Was she on the stagecoach?”

  “She was.” Adam kept on walking, forcing the doctor to turn and keep up. “Which you’d have known if you’d been here.”

  “Had to check on the Robbins boy.”

  Adam caught a whiff of peaches and leaned closer to the doc. “You lyin’ son of a bitch. You were in the bathtub with Eliza Jane. Again.”

  And he didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed of it. “Got the buggy stuck on the way back and we had to clean up before meeting Rebecca. Didn’t want her thinking the town doctor’s a slovenly pig.”

  “Oh, he’s a pig, all right. Just more of the randy, newlywed variety.”

  Will only grinned at the insult, the way content and sexually-sated men were apt to do. “How did it go?”

  Adam stopped walking. “I asked her to marry me.”

  Will stopped, too. “Hellfire, Adam, I know I told you to make her feel welcome, but you didn’t have to go that far. What did she say?”

  “That’s she’s too tired and overwhelmed to make any decisions on her future just yet.”

  “She said no.”

  “She didn’t say no. She just didn’t say yes.”

  And Will was still grinning, damn him. “What the hell made you go and propose marriage to her?”

  “I don’t know.” And that was the God’s honest truth. “My brain got all addled and not all of her is plain, and then when I heard she’s a virgin, I—”

  “She told you she’s a virgin?”

  “It just came up in the course of conversation.”

  “And all this time I’ve been thinkin’ conversing wasn’t one of your finer skills.”

  Adam started walking again, eager to get back to his office. He could lock the door and peruse the most recent batch of wanted posters. Lethal and lawbreaking men made a sight more sense to him than dimpled, dark-eyed women, that was for damn sure.

  “What are you going to do if she decides to take you up on your offer?” Will asked.

  “Put a ring on her finger and pray she can cook, I reckon.” A couple of gossiping old biddies across the street caught Adam’s attention, causing him to give his friend a stern look. “Don’t go telling anybody I proposed to the woman. Since only you and her know, if word gets out, I’ll know who to shoot.”

  “I don’t think you can shoot a woman you’ve proposed marriage to.”

  “Reckon not. I’ll just have to shoot you twice.”

  He and Will parted ways at the Mercantile, the doc heading in with a mile-long list from that wife of his. Adam continued on to his office, where he flung his hat on his desk and pondered whether he’d left his brains in his other boots that morning.

  What the hell was he thinking, offering to be tied until the day he died to a woman he didn’t even know? Dimples or no, that was just plum crazy. And now that he was thinking of crazy, that damn old woman popped into his head.

  Back when he was a boy, a group of families with strange accents and painted wagons had rolled into town. He supposed now they were Gypsies or the like, but at the time he’d just thought they were the most exciting thing to happen since his older brother got caught ripping the women’s foundations page out of the Sears, Roebucks & Co. catalog. He’d begged and pleaded for five cents to get his fortune told until his pa gave in just to shut him up.

  The old woman, who reeked of tobacco and liquor, perused his little hands for a good long time. “You are going to grow into a fine, strong man. Many will fear you.”

  As the youngest of four boys, the idea of being strong and feared had lit a fire in his belly.

  Then the woman had shaken her head and clucked her tongue. “Yes, you will stand tall among men. But a painted lady will be your downfall.”

  Well, his ma had lit right into that fortuneteller for mentioning painted ladies around her sweet little boys, and those fancy wagons rolled on out of town the next day. Even as young as he was, Adam knew what painted ladies were—they had one right in town who’d let the boys see her bare nipples for two nickels—but he didn’t see how one could be the downfall of a strong and fear-inspiring man.

  Nevertheless, that old woman’s warning had taken root and Adam had never done any business of an intimate nature with a whore. He’d been shown the pleasures of the flesh for the first time by a lonely widow, and widows had suited him just fine ever since.

  But being the new owner of the Chicken Coop didn’t make Rebecca Hamilton a painted lady by his reckoning. Hell, she was a virgin, even.

  Adam grabbed the sheaf of wanted papers and propped his feet up on his desk, feeling a sight better. Though Miss Hamilton might have gotten his brain addled and his cock riled, she wasn’t the painted lady who would be his downfall.

  Chapter Two

  Rebecca sat at the kitchen table, watching the light peeking through the back window grow stronger and nursing a cup of tea.

  Never before had she been so thankful for her habit of rising before the sun. In her old life the schedule had allowed her to have the household in order and a hot breakfast on the table when her father came down the stairs. Now it would allow her the time to compose herself before she had to face the chickens.

  The slightly fantastical feeling of being a plain doll invited into a grand and glamorous dollhouse had faded with the first cowboy to walk through the door the previous evening. As soon as Holly smiled and led the man up the stairs, presumably to her bedroom, Rebecca had fled to her own.

  Even with her eyes scrunched shut and pillows over her ears, she couldn’t block out the knowledge of what was going on in the house—in her house. Every time she worked up enough courage to sit up, Aunt Adele’s paintings assaulted her with sensual, nude women pleasuring themselves in some way.

  That in turn would turn her thoughts back to the sheriff’s hasty departure yesterday and she would bury her head in the pillows again, trying not to associate the feelings he’d stirred within her with the paintings or what the other women in the house were doing with men at that moment.

  As a little girl she’d often been harshly criticized by her father for taking after that woman Adele, but she must have outgrown that because a natural born madam she wasn’t.

  Considering the late hours they kept, Rebecca assumed the chickens would stay late in bed, so she decided it was time to meet the town she would call home. Between nerves and meeting Adam Caldwell, she’d paid very little attention to Gardiner during her walk from the stagecoach to the Chicken Coop, other than being aware it was hot, dusty and not the most attractive town she’d ever visited.

  With her hair pulled severely back and pinned, and wearing her best gray dress, Rebecca almost felt like herself again as she stepped out onto the sidewalk and quietly pulled the door closed behind her. First she wanted to visit her Aunt Adele’s grave,
something she’d sincerely meant to do when she arrived. Finding out she was now the proprietor of a whorehouse had distracted her, and she tried not to feel guilty about that.

  With no idea which direction to go, she simply started walking. There were more people out and about than she’d expected, all giving her appraising looks, some accompanied by polite nods. She noticed a newspaper office, a restaurant and a doctor’s office. She did try not to let her gaze linger on the sheriff’s office but, after spending half the night entertaining scandalous thoughts about him, she couldn’t help herself.

  So intent was she on the barred windows of his office, she nearly tripped when a female voice called out her name. Turning back, she saw a very tall woman with ebony hair and beautiful skin waving to her while pulling the door to the doctor’s office closed behind her.

  The woman picked up her skirts and rushed across the street, deftly avoiding the unpleasantries deposited by passing horses. “Rebecca! What a pleasure to finally meet you!”

  Rebecca smiled politely, wondering who, besides the chickens, would be eager to make her acquaintance.

  “I’m Eliza Jane Martinson. Will Martinson’s wife.”

  That name was familiar to her, at least. Aunt Adele had mentioned the doctor in her letter, and she’d gotten the impression he was not only a very good friend of her aunt’s, but was expected to be a friend to her as well.

  “A pleasure,” she replied. “I’m sorry, Aunt Adele didn’t tell me Doctor Martinson was married.”

  “We married after she passed. I’m so glad I got to know her before then. She was an amazing woman and we miss her so very much. She was like a mother to Will. Anyway, I want to apologize for not being in town to greet you yesterday. We had some buggy problems, and then…well, we don’t call at the Coop once the chickens start entertaining.”

  Rebecca looked up at the woman, trying to digest all she’d said. “That’s quite all right. I was a little overwhelmed as it was. I didn’t expect…I didn’t know… Actually, Mrs. Martinson, I was hoping to visit Aunt Adele’s resting place, if you could direct me there.”

  “Call me Eliza Jane. I insist. And I’ll walk with you. She’s buried in the church yard.”

  “Gardiner must have a much more open-minded reverend than I’m accustomed to.”

  Eliza Jane laughed and shook her head. “Lucy Barnes, the overbearing, very unpleasant woman in charge of the Gardiner Bible Brigade, allowed it in exchange for Adam escorting her daughter to the town social.”

  It seemed Rebecca couldn’t pass five minutes without Adam Caldwell poking into her thoughts. But she wasn’t going to confide her unsettled state to a woman she’d just met, no matter who she was.

  When they arrived at the church, Eliza Jane hung back and allowed Rebecca a few moments of privacy, but it would hardly have mattered. She was there to pay her respects, but not exactly to grieve.

  She had hazy memories of her aunt visiting when Rebecca was a very young girl. Adele had seemed brash and loud compared to Rebecca’s parents and she had adored the woman. More than anything she remembered how much they’d laughed together.

  Her aunt’s visits had come less frequently after a while. Her mother’s funeral was the last time Rebecca had ever seen her, so it seemed as though she’d lost both women she’d loved at the same time. Gazing down at the white cross, she felt sadness and a sense of loss. But there was also a hint of anger her aunt hadn’t prepared her for inheriting a house of ill repute.

  Lest she succumb to uncharitable thoughts while standing over the woman’s grave, Rebecca said a short prayer and returned to Eliza Jane. “Thank you for bringing me here. I’m sorry I couldn’t arrive in time to be reunited with her before she passed.”

  A shadow passed over the other woman’s face, but she smiled warmly. “She was in some pain toward the end, so her passing when she did was a blessing. She took comfort in knowing she’d given you a chance for financial security. Now let’s go have breakfast at the restaurant so you can meet my Will.”

  While she didn’t usually eat a morning meal, having always been too busy seeing to her father’s needs, Rebecca decided a nice breakfast and conversation with friendly people would be restorative after the night she’d had.

  “Marguerite makes the most amazing biscuits,” Eliza Jane told her as they entered the small, cozy restaurant.

  Rebecca followed the woman toward a table for four, only to freeze when she recognized Adam Caldwell’s back. And when the man sitting across from him rose and kissed Eliza Jane’s cheek, leaving no doubt as to which party they were joining, she almost turned and fled.

  “Gentleman, look who I convinced to have breakfast with us!” Eliza Jane announced.

  The sheriff had risen when the doctor did, but now he turned and Rebecca braced herself for making eye contact with him. While on the inside she blushed like a schoolgirl, she did her best to show him nothing but a polite smile.

  Judging by the arched eyebrow and tightened jaw, she didn’t do quite as well hiding her reaction to him as she’d hoped.

  “Good morning, Rebecca,” he said in a low voice that made her shiver.

  She nodded, unsure of her voice. Because Eliza Jane naturally took the seat next to her husband, Rebecca had no choice but to take the chair beside Adam’s. Sitting there next to him reminded her of his size, making her feel small. Not an insignificant kind of small, but rather a delicate and feminine kind.

  They made small talk for a few minutes, pausing to order their food, and Will Martinson shared a few humorous stories about her aunt. It was obvious to her he had loved Aunt Adele very much and that, along with his friendly air, made her take an instant liking to him.

  But his personality emphasized how quiet and dark the sheriff tended to be. The two men seemed quite the opposites, though their friendship was obvious.

  “You look tired,” Adam said abruptly, and she looked up to find him studying her.

  “I found it difficult to sleep,” she confessed. “I imagine it was being in a strange room.”

  “Ain’t many stranger, I reckon,” he responded with a snort.

  “You know,” Will said, “you don’t have to live at the Chicken Coop. Fiona’s more than capable of dealing with the hands-on part of the business, so to speak, if you spend some time each morning seeing to the financial aspects.”

  Though she knew these people had been friends to her aunt, she couldn’t help blushing at the idea of discussing such affairs over the breakfast table.

  “We’ll rent you a room at the hotel until you find something more agreeable,” Adam said. “Maybe get you a little house of your own built.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I believe I’ll stay at the Chicken Coop,” Rebecca said firmly. “It would be financially irresponsible of me to expend money on lodging when I already have a room, no matter how…red that room might be.”

  “There you have it, gentlemen,” Eliza Jane said. “A woman who knows her own mind.”

  “Damn women’s libber,” Adam grumbled before shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

  Rebecca was shocked, but Eliza Jane only laughed at the sheriff’s insult. “Yes, I am. Have you ever been involved in the suffrage movement, Rebecca?”

  “I’m afraid not. My father would never have allowed me to take part in such activities.”

  “Oh dear. An oppressed woman.”

  When both men sighed and turned their full attention to their plates, Rebecca realized Eliza Jane might be about to launch into a lecture they’d both heard before.

  “I suppose I’m not oppressed anymore,” she said lightly. “I am a whorehouse madam now.”

  Will laughed first, then Adam and Eliza Jane. Rebecca joined in, surprising herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d really laughed out loud. Probably not since her mother passed away.

  It felt good. It felt very, very good.

  Adam wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand sitting next to Rebecca Hamilton.

&
nbsp; She looked good and she smelled better, but it was her laugh that almost made him come undone. It was even lower and huskier than he’d imagined it.

  And he’d spent pretty much the whole damn night imagining her laugh, among other things. The fact that during those imaginings she was naked on red satin sheets only added to his present discomfort.

  Maybe if he’d had a few hours between waking up from a sweaty dream of Rebecca and having to sit there, smelling her hair and hearing her laugh, he wouldn’t be itching to do something mighty inappropriate.

  As it was, he still felt like a jackass for leaving the Coop they way he had. But the way she’d been staring at that painting—knowing as a virgin she was likely wondering what that might feel like—had heated his blood to the point he was afraid of the words that might come out of his mouth. Will, being a particular friend of Adele, probably wouldn’t have taken kindly to him offending Rebecca her first hour in town.

  “What do you think of the chickens?” Will was asking Rebecca, and Adam jerked his attention back to the conversation.

  “They’re very sweet. I wasn’t sure what to expect, honestly. But they’ve worked so hard to make me feel welcome. I’m getting to know them a little. Fiona seems to do most of the talking. Holly’s shy around me, but smiles a lot. Sadie and Betty are wonderful, too.”

  Eliza Jane nodded. “Did you know Dan O’Brien, who owns the hotel, asked Sadie to be his wife?”

  “Yes, Fiona told me Sadie’s nervous about his future if he marries her and that she wouldn’t make a decision until I arrived.”

  “She’d be a fool to pass it up,” Adam said. “Any woman who chooses whorin’ over marriage ain’t got the sense God gave a mule.”

  He wasn’t sure which of them kicked him under the table because all three were glaring at him.

  “Perhaps,” Rebecca said, “some women would rather see to their own business than wed a man just to have a husband.”

  “Sadie wants to marry Dan,” Eliza Jane said before Adam could point out whorin’ wasn’t exactly like being a railroad tycoon. “She’s worried about how he’ll be affected. And, quite frankly, I’d like to see Fiona, Holly and Betty give up prostitution as well, even without husbands.”