seemed to think they were in good taste. He didn't figure he'd ever earn enough money as a lawman to put such things in his own home, so he didn't pay them much attention.
A handsome black man in a porter's suit walked up to him. "Good evening, Mr Evans." Jack nodded in response and removed his hat and coat. The porter bowed as he took them, then vanished through a side door. A few of the house's ladies lounged on overstuffed couches, wisps of hair draped across their faces. Bosoms strained against corsets of red and white and black while thick dresses covered dark stockings. Their red lips smiled at him, but he only answered with a polite nod. Each girl had her charms, but none were for him. He was here for Annabelle.
The porter returned, his smile wide and white. "If you'll follow me, Mr Evans."
Jack nodded, trying to keep a silly grin off his face as he followed the porter. It was all he could do not to shove the man aside, take the stairs two at a time, and gallop down to Annabelle's room. The porter's footfalls were slow and deliberate, as if he knew of Jack's mounting excitement and wanted to make him sweat. Jack took a few deep breaths to calm himself.
When they finally reached Annabelle's door, the porter bowed with another smile before taking his leave. Jack stared at the door, listening to the sound of the porter's retreating footsteps. His stomach felt like it was going to jump out of his mouth and go flopping down the hall. Closing his eyes, he gave his head a shake, then turned the knob.
The aroma of perfume and scented candles filled the steamy air, inviting him into the room. He stood in the doorway instead, wishing he'd kept his hat so his hands would have something to do. He let them fidget around his ammo belt for a moment before shoving them in his pockets.
He could hear the sound of splashing coming from the room, and although he couldn't see the bathtub from where he stood, he knew exactly where it was. He could picture Annabelle in that tub, soapy bubbles climbing up to perch on her bare shoulders. Hot blood flooded his cheeks at the thought, and he looked down at his boots.
"Is that you, Jack?" Her voice floated out to greet him.
"Yep, yessir, it's me," he said.
"Well, why don't you come on in?"
"OK, then." Shutting the door behind him, he walked down the short hallway, his boots sounding to his ears like a herd of buffalo. When he came around the corner, his foot caught on the floor, tripping him up. He recovered himself before he fell, but he could feel his cheeks burning. The burn grew hotter when he looked up to find her blue eyes watching him.
A smile played about her full lips. "You might want to take them boots off."
He nodded and sat down in the nearest chair. His feet, still cold from the walk through the snow, throbbed in protest as he wrenched his boots off. The sour tang of his sweat cut through the sweetness in the air. He shoved his feet as far as they would go under the chair, hoping she wouldn't notice.
"Are you going to stop there?" she asked, her smile lingering. "You're welcome to, of course, but you might not enjoy yourself quite the same." She rose to her feet and stepped out of the tub, water running down her white sides. "Come on, let's get you out of them clothes."
Jack's gut lurched in excitement at the suggestion, but he just stood to his feet and walked over to her. Up close, she smelled clean, like fresh water from a mountain stream. He was all too aware of his own stink, but she didn't seem to notice as she began working the buttons of his shirt. She untucked it from his pants, pulled his arms through the sleeves, and tossed it on the floor. She gave him a coy smile as she stepped behind him and reached her arms around his body. Her palms pressed into the coarse hairs on his chest.
"You smell like a man ought to," she said, her fingers tracing tiny circles on his skin. He blushed again, glad she couldn't see.
Soon, he was seated in the bathtub. Annabelle knelt by the edge of the tub, cupping water in her hands and pouring it over his head. The warmth made his skin