Ravening wolves could not have dragged Sister Bridget into such a place, and even Sister Agatha would have been horrified at the thought of Ashleen being exposed to such wickedness as must lurk beyond the Double Eagle's doors. If Ash were not already traipsing along the path to hell, such rash actions would most certainly nudge her toward the devil's domain.
Still, what other choice did she have? She couldn't wander aimlessly around the town all night. Couldn't leave the children alone much longer. Neither could she break her promise to the old man who had given her so much.
She looked at the slice of room visible over the swinging doors, revealing a melee of inebriated men and the feather-plumed headdresses of women of ill repute wreathed in smoke from dozens of cheroots.
How much harm could it really do if she just slipped into the establishment and asked one simple question? She'd not darken the saloon's door for more than a few moments, and she might learn where to search for the elusive Garret.
She nibbled at a fingernail, uncertain. What would Garret MacQuade's reaction be if he ever discovered that she had sought news of him in such a place? No doubt he would be filled with well-bred disgust. But there was no help for it.
Mustering all her courage, Ash thrust her chin at a defiant angle, stalking across the street with as much dignity as her burning heel would allow her.
Steeling herself inwardly, she shoved the swinging door with such force that it careened wildly on its hinges, the crash of it against the inner wall sounding like cannon fire. Not that anyone within the stifling room would have noticed if the whole Mexican army held the saloon under siege.
Ash thought she had prepared herself for what would be revealed within, but as the stench of whiskey and cheap perfume assailed her the reality of what she was doing struck her with daunting force.
It was as if she had stepped into another world. A world she had never even suspected could exist.
Men sprawled on chairs, playing cards held lazily in their hands as they wagered enough money to feed and clothe the children for a year on a turn of the cards.
Ladies—only in the loosest of terms—clung to the men's muscled arms, their feminine charms all but poured into tawdry garments so tight every curve was displayed to shocking advantage. Feathery trim accented necklines that plunged scandalously low, and Ashleen's cheeks fired when she glimpsed the rosy crest of one girl's nipple as a spindly youth sporting his first set of whiskers ogled it hungrily.
The woman beckoned him with a carnelian-painted smile, leading him up a steep staircase.
Ashleen cringed with a sudden sharp perception of what must be transpiring in the chambers above her head.
But at least the youth and his... partner were seeking some semblance of privacy, Ash thought as her gaze turned to a man sitting at the end of the highly polished bar. Obviously he didn't care if all of West Port witnessed his debaucheries. The man was all but obscured from Ashleen's view by not one, not two, but four fawning women—women who, even to Ashleen's innocent eyes, were obviously the most beautiful the Double Eagle had to offer.
One woman was perched upon each knee, one draped against his side, feathering kisses along his neck, while the fourth brushed full breasts against his back, her fingers threading in erotic patterns through hair black as sin.
Ash tried to swallow, tried to tear her gaze away from the decadent wretch, but at that moment he turned to look at her. And in that frozen instant she was assailed by the same dizzy sensation that had swept through her when she had been eight years old and had fallen off the ridgepole of the convent's stable.
Features rugged, yet almost agonizingly sensual were set against the foil of longish dark hair. A wide, firm mouth seemingly shaped for secret pleasures twisted in a smile that screamed of lazy arrogance. The man's square jaw jutted in a line of such pure stubbornness, Ashleen was certain he'd had countless people try to break it for him.
A small scar upon the curve of his chin attested to the validity of Ashleen's insight into the despicable rogue's character.
But it was his eyes that made her forget to breathe. Eyes hard as gunmetal, burning with a raw animal intensity that made her take a step back, her whole body seeming afire at his bold appraisal.
"Enjoying the show, darlin'?" His voice was like black velvet, seductive, tempting, yet concealing a jagged edge of cynicism that surprised her.
Ash looked away hastily, certain her face must be redder than the dance-hall girl's gown. "Yes—I mean no! I—"
"Don't worry, honey, you still have plenty of time to impress the hell out of me. I haven't made up my mind yet."
"Mr.—whoever you are," Ash sputtered, indignant, "I couldn't care less who you... you... well, do whatever you're going to do with! I—I've come here on—on business, and—"
"I just bet you have," he drawled, words only slightly slurred from the contents of the empty bottle of whiskey in front of him as he shed his layer of women like a buckskin jacket and walked unsteadily toward her. "I'm real interested in any, er, business proposition you might want to make me, pretty lady." He stopped bare inches from where she stood, blocking her path.
Ash squirmed inwardly, knowing how a rabbit must feel when cornered by a badger.
"I've been a long time without a woman." The man's breath heated her skin, the smell of his whiskey mingling with the heady scent of leather and the unmistakable tang of danger. "But be warned," his voice rasped, beguiling in her ear, one beautifully shaped hand rising to trace her cheek. "I plan to examine all my options real closely before I take my lucky acquisition upstairs."
"Of all the—the pompous, arrogant—"
"Not arrogance, honey. Just fact."
"Leave me alone," Ash choked out, desperate to break whatever spell the man had woven about her. "I—I'm looking for—for someone."
"Honey, you've already found him."
