Free Remember Me (Defiant MC) by Cora Brent Page B

of shiny black hair.  “My full name is Desiderio.  You don’t look like a teacher.” 
    “I don’t?”
    “No,” he said honestly.  “You’re too pretty.” 
    Annika blushed and James chuckled.  “Well I thank you for the compliment.  And I hope your parents will soon enroll you at the school.  We can discuss where you are in your studies when the time comes.” 
    Desi frowned and looked at James with obvious uncertainty. 
    James cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “We’d best be getting on our way.  Mrs. Swilling won’t take kindly to holding supper on account of our lateness.”
    After bidding the de Campo boy a pleasant evening, they drove for a few moments in silence.
    Annika thought about the expression on the child’s face when she mentioned his education.  “Why won’t Desi be attending the school?”     
    James shifted in his seat, looking uneasy.  “Carlos de Campo and Alvi Garcia have been seeing about land for the building of the Mexican school.  For Desi and the other children.”
    “Mexican school?” she exclaimed.  “The child spoke perfect English.” 
    James nodded, focusing on the road.  “He does.  He was, after all, born in the Territory.” 
    “Are you telling me that boy will not be permitted to sit in my classroom?”
    James Dolan turned to her then with a frank expression.  “Is it so different back east, Annika?”
    She recalled the stories of her parents, who had been among the earliest of the waves of Scandinavian immigrants.  They had faced their share of hardships and prejudices.  Even after her father had bled for Union blue there were still those in Crawford who referred to him as ‘that damn Swede’.  But as far the Larson children went, they were Americans.  They were never forbidden from participating in the usual activities of life.  Annika was not foolish; she knew what the difference was.  Over two decades after her country had torn itself to pieces in large part to settle the question of who had rights and who didn’t, there was still this divide over the color of people.  Perhaps there always would be.
    She sighed and settled into the buckboard, not caring if her posture was incorrect.  James gave her a sympathetic look but chose to leave the subject alone. 
    Autumn was far different in the desert.  Instead of the smoky descent of a colorful season, the land remained rugged and largely brown.  Shadows of the approaching evening fell across their path as bawdy laughter punctuated by furious shouting rang from the saloons on Contention Way. 
    They passed an establishment which appeared even more crowded and raucous than the rest of them.  The crudely drawn words ‘The Rose Room’ hung above the door which swung outward as they passed, discharging two dusty men with pistols hanging unabashedly from their hips. 
    A flutter of fabric caught Annika’s eye and she looked up, realizing that the building was unique in that the second floor was not a façade.  A flimsy staircase spiraled up the side and a shallow balcony extended across the length.   It looked to be unfit for human occupation but the three women who stood on it were unperturbed, cooing and calling ribald words into the street as they flaunted their indecent attire. 
    “Bordello,” James explained softly, seeming embarrassed. 
    “Yes,” she answered with a trace of wonder in her voice.  “I assumed so.”  After all, she was twenty two and not completely unworldly.  She had realized such places existed.  Furthermore, she knew they were popular with men, even those who had wives at home keeping their beds warm. 
    A few seconds later James responded to Annika with alarm, reigning the horses in and reaching for her elbow.  She had gasped out loud, a common response when confronted with the unexpected.  There, lounging casually in the shadow of the bordello, stood Mercer Dolan.  He tipped his hat and offered her a grin, visibly entertained at the sight