Scandal at the Cahill Saloon - By Carol Arens Page 0,9

about a table. Leanna sat with a pen in her hand; the other three stood behind her watching over her shoulder.

If Miss Cahill had looked fetching in trousers and a flannel shirt, she tripled the effect by wearing a dress. It was a practical gown of red gingham; nothing so special in that, except that it made her eyes blue as… What? Sky, bluebirds, blue birds’ eggs?

“Mr. Holden!” She stood. Smaller hands than his could span that waistline. And the rest of what nature had given her, well, he wouldn’t get a word out of his mouth if he looked at her chest a second longer. “How nice to see you again.”

He had seen beautiful women before. In his line of work they came and went on a regular basis. As a gambler, he had encountered his share of scantily clad bosoms, but even with her dress buttoned to the neck, Miss Cahill’s was more alluring than the lot of them put together.

She introduced her friends. Her employees, he discovered as the introductions went along. There was no hiding the fact that they were whores, in spite of the respectable clothing they wore at the moment.

It was their smiles that gave them away, something assessing in their glance. He’d been invited away from the card table by many such smiles, but he’d never accepted a single offer.

Each of those broken women had been someone’s daughter…maybe someone’s sister.

“Ladies,” he said in response to the introductions. He removed his hat and turned it in his hands. “A pleasure.”

All four women stared at him in silence for a moment.

Leanna spoke first. “All right, girls. When a gentleman greets a lady, she doesn’t look at him like he’s a dollar in the bank. Remember what we practiced.”

Miss Cahill turned her attention on him. A clear blue lake is more what her eyes resembled. “May we borrow you for our lesson, Mr. Holden?”

“By all means.” What was going on here? Was Miss Cahill teaching them advanced skills? How to entice a man with sophisticated ways?

He’d better state his business and in a hurry! The train was leaving in a couple of hours. Nothing would keep him from being on it.

The whore named Lucinda peered at him with her arms folded about her waist. She was a shade homely about the mouth but had black lustrous hair. She inclined her head an inch. “A pleasure, Mr. Holden,” she said.

Cassie, a green-eyed beauty, straightened her back and copied what Lucinda did.

Massie, who looked too young and fresh even to be out of the schoolroom, presented a bobbing curtsy and a shy smile. “Pleasure, sir.”

“No need to curtsy to a man, Massie,” Miss Cahill advised. “A graceful acknowledgment of his presence will do. Like this.”

Miss Cahill smiled brightly at him. She inclined her head a degree. She made a sweeping motion with her hand and pivoted slightly from the waist. “Welcome to Hearts for Harlots, Mr. Holden.”

What kind of a name for a saloon was that? Not the one over the door.

The rumor about town was that Leanna’s Place would be a den of iniquity that was sure to doom all of Cahill Crossing.

Beautiful beyond her reputation, a gifted card dealer who had made a fortune from her skills and her smiles, were just a few of the things that he had learned about her.

All reasons enough for him to be here.

“Hearts for Harlots?” he asked because he quite honestly couldn’t think of an intelligent thing to say.

“Miss Leanna is teaching us proper ways,” Massie said. “I’m hoping to be able to go home and see my folks. Maybe if they see a lady coming up the walk they’ll think a minute before they toss me out.”

He opened and closed his mouth like a gasping fish. Miss Cahill was running a sanctuary for unfortunate women?

“I wish you luck, Miss Monroe,” he said when he recovered his voice. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything he’d wished for more in a long while. “If I can be of any help…”

“Maybe you can take a glance at the handbill we are going to have printed,” Lucinda said. “The sooner we get it passed around the dirty part of town, the sooner we can open Leanna’s Place.”

Miss Cahill picked the flyer up from the table and handed it to him. Her thumb brushed his in passing. The gash from last night’s splinter was red but not swollen. Given a day or two it wouldn’t pain her a bit.

He looked away from