“No.”
“Maybe she’s looking for a job,” the woman at the bar said. “A person can’t hold body and soul together on what this town pays a schoolmarm.”
The woman was attractive in a blowsy sort of way, but not welcoming. Petunia straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch.
“I’m not looking for a job.”
The woman met her gaze squarely, and took a bite of egg. “A bit of excitement, then?”
Petunia took another step into the room. A drunk she hadn’t noticed at the table to the left eyed her from hat to boot.
“I’d take a turn on her.”
She arched her brow at him. “You would do better to lay off the drink and indulge in a bath, rather than to speculate on a fornication that I doubt you’d be able to perform anyway.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he said looking at her askance, or maybe he was just trying to focus.
The woman at the bar laughed and sat up straighter. The wrapper slipped open exposing an amazing amount of white flesh. “I think you’ve just been accused of not being able to get it up, Jimmy.”
Jimmy huffed. “Hell, there hasn’t been a day since I’ve been born that I haven’t been able to get it up. Hell, I’ll prove it.” He stood up, knocking the table back and shoved his suspenders off his shoulders. When he reached for his belt Petunia decided it was time for her to take charge before the man bared all in an effort to prove something she couldn’t care less about. But just to be safe, she stepped out of his reach.
“I do apologize for interrupting your afternoon, but I’m looking for Ace Parker.”
“Hey, Acey!” A woman leaning over the railing at the top of the stairs screeched. “You’ve got company waiting downstairs.”
The woman looked as tired and as worn as the blonde woman at the bar. But her lung capacity assured Petunia that Ace knew he had a guest. Folding her hands in front of her, she waited. Patiently. For three minutes. But the longer she stood there feeling everyone’s eyes upon her, the more she became excruciatingly aware of the tendrils of hair she tucked behind her ear trying to come loose, the tightness of her bun, the difficulty of keeping a smile on her face and the utter lack of response on Ace’s part.
The blonde at the bar waved a forkful of egg at her. “Doesn’t look like he’s coming.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Does he often ignore company?”
The bartender kept wiping glasses. The blonde popped the bite of egg into her mouth.
“Ace pretty much does what he likes, and it doesn’t look like he wants to do you.”
The edges of Petunia’s temper started to fray right along with her patience.
The drunk from the table by the door shuffled over. Thankfully, he still had his pants on. “I can keep you busy, honey.”
She put her gloved hand over her mouth and nose as he got closer. He reeked of alcohol and other things she didn’t care to identify.
“Could you please call him again?” she asked the lady at the top of the stairs.
“Ace! The lady doesn’t fancy cooling her heels waiting for you any longer.”
Still no response. The woman leaned over the rail, her breasts all but spilling free as she shrugged. “Sorry, honey, doesn’t look like it’s your lucky day.”
“No, it’s definitely not.” Sighing, she gathered up her skirts. “But sometimes you just have to make your own luck.”
When her foot landed on the first stair, the woman at the bar gasped.
“Honey, you don’t want to be doing that.”
Petunia spared her a glance. “No, I’m sure I don’t.” But she kept climbing.
“Ace, you’d better get out here,” the woman at the railing yelled when she reached the halfway point. Whether it was repetition that inspired it or that half octave increase in the woman’s pitch, this time there was a response.
“Stop your caterwauling, Bess. I’m not expecting anyone.”
Petunia reached the landing. Bess blocked her way. This close Petunia could see she was older than she’d thought, maybe in her midthirties, but still pretty in an overdone sort of way.
“Excuse me, please.” The please was a courtesy. One way or another, she was getting down that hall.
Instead of moving, Bess caught her arm. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s not worth your reputation. If you don’t leave now, no decent man will touch you.”
The genuine concern in the woman’s gaze kept Petunia from rolling her eyes. “I’m twenty-nine years old and well and clearly on the shelf. If a decent man was going to touch me, he likely would have done it sometime in the previous thirteen years.”
Bess took her measure, sighed and shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Stepping around Bess, she nodded. “Oh, I know what I’m doing.” To herself she muttered, “It’s the results that are in question.”
Bess caught her arm again, drawing her up short. “He’s had a lot to drink.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Honestly? It could go either way.”
Petunia set her shoulders. “Well, if it can go either way, then it might just as well go mine.”
The woman sighed. “It’s the third door down.”
“Thank you.”
Determination kept her feet moving. When she reached Ace’s room, the door was ajar. She knocked.
“Go the hell away, Bess.”
Petunia pushed the door open. Ace was lying on his stomach on the bed in a decadent sprawl, his muscled back, broad shoulders, and lean hips and strong legs were dark against the white sheets.
“I’m not Bess but if I were, I’d take offense at the language you just used.”
Ace went very still. His fingers tightened on the pillow. On a “What the fuck?” he rolled over, grabbing the sheet and pulling it over his lap. His front was just as mouthwatering as his back. The light sprinkling of hair across his chest made her fingers tingle to follow it down over that hard ladder of muscle across his stomach. To follow it beneath the sheet to see where it ended...
“I repeat. Language.”
“I’ll talk any way I want.” He shook the hair out of his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“You can’t be up here.”
She rather enjoyed his discomfort. “Apparently, I can.”
“Turn around.”
She did, listening as he got out of bed and yanked on his pants. “Of all the idiotic things you’ve done, Pet.”
“My name is Petunia, and to you, Miss Wayfield.”
“Since you’re standing in my room, on the upper floor of a saloon, in what technically is a brothel, I’ll call you any goddamn thing I want.”
“I’d appreciate it if you cleaned up your language.”
“I’d have appreciated it if you’d let me sleep.”
“May I turn around