Free Tabitha by Vikki Kestell Page B

Spurs Bawdy Hall .”
    ~~**~~

Chapter
7
Denver, 1909
    “She’s ’bout as mean
as a snake, but with regular, ah, persuasion , she’s a good little
money-maker. Ain’tcha, Red?” Jock rolled his chaw around in his mouth and spit
into the general direction of an ornate brass spittoon. As usual, he missed his
mark and failed to notice— or care —that the disgusting wet blob had
landed shy of its mark and had splattered, instead, upon the expensive carpet
nearby.
    From under my lowered gaze I watched the large man sitting
at a desk in front of us: He, too, noticed Jock’s miss. His jaw flexed and his
expression stilled.
    Jock gripped my arm tighter and growled. “I said, ‘ain’tcha,
Red?’ You answer me, now. I don’t want Mr. Judd here t’ think you’re
unmanageable.”
    But I refused to answer and fixed my eyes instead upon the
stain overspreading the carpet’s floral pattern; I studied a cream-colored tea
rose as it turned a nasty shade of rusty red-brown.
    When I did not answer, Jock pinched my arm. I flinched yet
remained stubbornly mute. Jock, concerned that his sale was going south, dug
his fingers into my arm until his nails broke skin.
    I cursed Jock inside, but I would not give him the pleasure
of answering. I was determined to sabotage Jock’s “sale.” I do not know what I
thought I would do if I did ruin his sale—given Jock’s threats.
    The man behind the desk smiled and tapped a finger on the
desk’s blotter. “Tell you what I am going to do, Mr. . . .”
    “Jacobs. Jock Jacobs at ’cher service, Mr. Judd.”
Jock preened and added, “Like I said b’fore.”
    Judd’s eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon, Mr.
Jacobs.”
    In the same way that Jock had not noticed Judd’s reaction
when Jock’s stream of tobacco juice missed the spittoon, he now failed to
discern the way Judd’s eyes narrowed and glittered with disdain.
    “No ’fense taken, Mr. Judd,” Jock replied.
    A brighter man than Jock might have perceived the decided
chill in the other man’s manner, but Jock was not bright. Nor was he observant.
    I, however, was nothing if not observant. I lifted my eyes
to Judd’s and allowed him to see the anger smoldering there. My bruises were
fading, but the beating had done nothing to shake me from the old anger. It had
utterly taken hold of me.
    Amused, Judd smiled at me in return. Cal Judd’s complexion
was ruddy; his eyes a striking pale blue. Something flickered in those pale
blue eyes. Something dangerous. I swallowed and allowed my eyes to drop.
    “Tell you what I am going to do, Mr. Jacobs,” Judd said
again. “I’ll take— Red , did you call her? I’ll take Red off your hands. I
am certain I can provide suitable . . . persuasion if it
is required.”
    “Well, well. I’m right glad t’ hear it, Mr. Judd. M’ asking
price is two hunnert dollars.” Jock’s hands twitched. He was already counting the
bills, counting how he would spend them.
    “I’ll give you one hundred.”
    Jock frowned. “Well, now, m’ price is two hunnert. She’s
worth ever’ dollar, and tha’s a fact.”
    Judd flicked open a small knife and proceeded to trim the
nails on his left hand. “Two hundred dollars, Mr. Jacobs? Why, Red here runs a
little long in the tooth, don’t you think? What is she? Twenty-eight?
Twenty-nine? Not exactly in the first blush of womanhood. Certainly too old for
you to be asking prime rate.”
    Jock flushed. “But she’s ’sperienced. Good little whore, she
is! An’ the men love thet red hair. Ask fer her by name.”
    Judd slowly stood up. From his seat behind the desk he’d
given the impression of mild, gentlemanly decorum, but now he towered over
Jock. His chiseled features hardened and he leaned forward—just enough for Jock
to, finally, take notice.
    “Ninety dollars.”
    Jock’s mouth opened in dismay, the wad of chaw peeking out
from between his cheek and lower jaw. “But-but-but you just offered a hunnert!”
    “Yes, and every moment that