went on to build a prestigious university. Of course, there had also been a passel of customers identified only by bawdy nicknames like "Long Owen," "Handy John," and "Quick Pete." Despite vigorous appeals from the crewcutted crowd, Kitty, as usual, refused to speculate about such nicknames.
"While they aren't original to The Burning Rose," she commented instead, "the furniture, wall coverings, and curtains are in keeping with the period. They're similar to those described in letters the Hot Water Preservation Society has in its collection."
As she suspected, the rugby team didn't seem much interested in the bedrooms' decor, only in the bedroom doings. For herself, Kitty liked to imagine that Rose, the first madam, had possessed better, less obvious taste than the red velvet bed hangings and matching, gold-embroidered curtains. But the committee in charge of decorating had, when it came to The Burning Rose, opted for sex over subtlety.
From the corner of her eye, Kitty caught sight of her OSM exiting one of the rooms and heading straight for her. Her voice squeaky with anxiety, she immediately urged the young men to follow her back to the parlor. To hasten them along, she grabbed the nearest brawny forearm and dragged the young man attached to it downstairs with her.
In minutes they were all back in place, Kitty standing on a stool up front, the man in black in the rear, and that comforting, wide buffer of beefy college boys in between. Just a moment more, she thought, and the tour would be wrapped up.
She risked another glance at her OSM, and though he still appeared steely, she decided he didn't look stormy. Regardless of that, her quivering sense of danger in the offing didn't entirely disappear. Not until she got through the good-byes and got him out of here would she know her secret was one hundred percent safe.
"Well, that's it." Kitty pasted on a smile. "Unless there's anything else I can tell you, I'd like to thank you and - "
"What's that?"
Her here's-your-hat-what's-your-hurry speech was interrupted by a rugby team member she hadn't noticed before. Understandably, because he was a spider monkey to their standard King Kong size. His hair was styled in the prerequisite crew cut, but apart from that, he was short, skinny, and wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He took them off, using one stem to point at a gilt-edged frame sitting atop the player piano.
"That?" Kitty repeated. Inside the frame was a needlework piece dated 1852. She thought it really belonged in her great-aunt's house, preferably buried in a box in the attic, but Aunt Cat always insisted it be displayed in the brothel parlor.
"Yes, that," the young man said. "What is it?"
Kitty cleared her throat against a tide of rising nervousness. She was so close, so close. "It was stitched by one of the original owners, named Rose," she answered quickly. "She was the older of a pair of sisters who came to Hot Water from New Orleans."
Her heart started banging harder against her breastbone as all eyes swiveled to read the words stitched on the square of buff-colored linen. In precise and delicate embroidery, they stated: Wilder Women Don't Wed And They Don't Run.
"But what's that saying mean?" Mr. Persistent asked. "They 'Don't Wed'?"
Kitty didn't dare look toward the back of the room as she carefully picked her words. "The miners were desperate for wives." No reason to mention how desperate, or the little custom they'd devised to lure women into matrimony.
"And, um, despite their reputation as 'soiled doves,'" she went on, "the women of The Burning Rose received their share of proposals. Marriage, though, would have meant surrendering their lucrative livelihood and their independence. So Rose indicated right up front how things stood."
The room went silent and Kitty held her breath. Then, as the silence continued, she started to relax. If her OSM had been planning to say anything ... awkward, that would have been the perfect opening.
Finally, the forehead of the young man next to Mr. Persistent pleated. "That doesn't explain the 'Don't Run.'"
"Oh. That." This part was even easier to explain. "As the West became more stable, the miners' mothers and sisters arrived from the East. They weren't as enamored with Rose and her sister as the men were. Several times they tried to run the ladies of The Burning Rose out of town. Apparently Rose had a definite opinion about that too."
And both opinions had been passed down, daughter to daughter, until they'd taken on the weight of