Undesirable

  Undesirable

  By

  Laura Stapleton

  Undesirable

  By Laura L. Stapleton

  Text Copyright © 2014 Laura L Stapleton

  All Rights Reserved

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. Any resemblance to real individuals is purely coincidental. No reproductions in any form may be made of this story.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Other books by Laura Stapleton

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Can’t you go get Mrs. Warren?” Samuel Granville asked while scanning the sea of covered wagons from his horse.

  “I don’t have time for her games today. I’ve already been to the fort.” Charles Warren crumpled the paper. “Do you know anyone who needs to go again?” He glanced around as if searching for his own answer. “Maybe they can find Marie in the saloon and tell her to come back here.”

  Shocked, Sam asked, “She’s where?” He stared at the man, not sharing his calm demeanor. There was no telling what sort of trouble the fur traders passing through would give a nice, proper woman like Mrs. Warren. His heart pounded at the thought. He didn’t like losing people to accident or sickness. Death by mischief, though, he could prevent or stop. Looking at the sun, he judged enough time remained in the day to get across the river to Laramie and back. Some patrons might be drunk, but not enough to harass her, he hoped.

  “If you can think of someone to go get her, I’d appreciate it. On the other hand, I ought to leave her there all night. It would teach her a lesson about trying this sort of thing again further down the road.” Charles leaned against his wagon, arms crossed. “Now that I think about it, I like the idea of her spending all night in a saloon. It would serve her right for leaving camp.”

  The very idea angered Sam, so he adopted his betting face from the force of habit. He smiled at the man and thought how the attractive face of the older gentleman must not extend the handsome past the skin. While his brown eyes seemed friendly and trustworthy enough and the silver white hair suggested wisdom, Sam suspected otherwise. “No need for that, I’ll visit the fort.” He wanted the instructions where the man was to meet his wife. No telling how long she’d been expecting her husband. “Does her note say if she’s in the saloon proper or in one of the hotel rooms?”

  “Here,” Warren said as he passed the wadded paper to Samuel. “If you’re sure about bringing her back, this is what she wrote.” He shrugged, “I’m too busy and too tired to fool with her. Marie is lucky I don’t just leave her there for good.”

  Sam looked at him, angry. Warren couldn’t know what had happened to his sister-in-law, Beth, in this area. How she’d been left here. Alone to die. The man didn’t know the fear-filled days of waiting to hear from Sam’s brother, Nicholas, as he searched for either her or her grave. Yes, their story had a happily ever after, but the same might not be true for Mrs. Warren. He couldn’t let her stay there overnight alone. She waited in a place known for its harassment. He gritted his teeth and forced a grin. “Again, no need for that. I’ll make sure she’s back here before dark. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Not happy with the entire situation, Sam went to his horse. He sat atop Scamp before rereading the message. She wanted Warren to meet her at the 101 Tavern, room four as soon as possible. He took a deep breath of the dusty air, glad she didn’t wait in the main bar but in a private room instead. Knowing this, he didn’t fear as much for her safety.

  She’d written “Love, Marie,” and kissed the paper with rouged lips. Mrs. Warren had interested him far too much from the moment they’d met. He’d worked to keep his distance from her in the last couple of months since they’d left Independence, Missouri. When Sam had learned her last name, he’d hoped she was anything but the man’s wife, but eventually, he’d pushed aside the lingering regret over it. Glancing again at her lip print, he grinned and folded the note, putting it in his shirt pocket. Warren may be blasé about his wife’s lips, but he couldn’t be. Nothing wrong in treating another man’s trash like his own treasure.

  He clicked at Scamp and headed south. Having been at Fort Laramie and this particular establishment a time or two, Sam knew exactly where to find her. She waited for him, or rather, her husband, in one of the buildings adjacent to the actual fort. As he neared the fort, he paused for the lowering of the American flag for the night. Sam removed his hat for the ceremony, and once the last bugle notes sounded, he put his hat back on and continued to where Mrs. Warren waited. Reaching the saloon, he tied his horse to the railing and went inside.

  Sam tried to pass by the bar, but the bottles of whiskey looked awfully inviting. He paused, considering her reaction to his appearance instead of her husband’s. Smiling, he’d found his justification for sitting a while. He needed the liquid courage to tell a woman her husband didn’t want to be seduced. Maybe a drink or two might soften the pain she’d inflict on him. He’d not seen her angry so far. In fact, now that he thought back, Mrs. Warren seemed like a good natured woman. Looking again at the selection behind the bar, he thought it prudent not to take any chances. Sitting on a stool, Sam put down two bits. “I’ll need a shot of your best.”

  The barkeep grabbed a bottle and hollered to be heard above the piano and rowdier customers. “You’re in luck; we just got a fine whiskey in today. One of the wagons headed west had this and someone traded a bottle for a room tonight.”

  He recognized the label and frowned as the bartender poured. Sam had seen the brand in the Warrens’ personal wagon. It seemed Marie had traded Warren’s best for tonight. “That’s interesting.” He sipped the whiskey a little to taste the flavor.

  “Yep, I’d have given two nights, but the person said they only needed one.” The man lifted his chin at a customer’s raised glass. “Wanted me to be discreet.”

  Sam tipped his head back, drinking down the remainder of the whiskey in a gulp. Stifling a laugh at the man’s lack of discretion, he lifted the empty shot glass. “Well, I’m going to need one more, please.”

  “Two bits covers two shots,” the man replied and refilled the small glass before attending other customers.

  He downed the drink in a gulp. A shame to not savor the smooth, liquid heat, but he had a member of his party to retrieve. The alcohol swam through his veins, warming his body. The sensation was as pleasant as the taste. Tonight, his money had bought far better than the usual rotgut common on the plains. Setting the glass down, he stood, wanting to get on with the chore.

  Working ladies called out to him as he climbed the stairs, earning him catcalls from the other patrons. He fought the urge to deny why he was there. He didn’t know anyone and no one would believe him, anyway. Continuing on to the hallway, he counted to the fourth room but then hesitated. What if this hurt her feelings, he wondered, instead of making her angry? Sam often saw the affection she held for Warren by her expressions, words, and actions. The woman seemed to be a devoted wife. He dreaded the wounded look he might see in her eyes after telling her of her husband’s refusal. He took a deep breath and knocked, determined not to put off the task any longer.

  “Come in, please.”

  Marie’s request through the closed door took him aback. She expected her husband, but how did she know for sure who was at the door? Shame on her, he thought, for being so careless with her safety. He’d need to give everyone yet another lecture once back at camp. Sam opened the door, stepped in, and closed i
t with one quick and fluid motion so no one observed who he met in the private room. When he saw her, his pulse pounded in his ears right along with her shriek.

  Mrs. Warren’s hair, released from the usual French braid, fell over her shoulders in ebony waves. Her dark eyes glittered in the lamplight, the same light giving her skin a golden glow. She wore a dancing girl’s dress that Sam figured was likely brought from New Orleans. Her black bustier pushed her breasts high and together, and her short red skirt left most of her legs bare. Not completely undressed, he noticed. She also had black stockings that nearly reached the bottom of her ruffled skirt. With two steps and a shove, she’d be back on the bed with him following. A thin sheen of sweat broke out over his skin. “I don’t think this is right.”

  Her lips pressed together, her chin quivering, Marie turned to a decanter. She replied, “Of course it isn’t. I thought my note was very clear. Where is Charles?” After pouring a liberal amount of whiskey, she drank it like water.

  “Who?” When she glared at him, Sam remembered why he was there. “Mr. Warren remained at camp. And is busy. Or so he says. He asked that someone tell you. I needed to visit the fort one last time. So he asked me. I mean, asked for me to attend to you. Um, I mean, retrieve you.” He paused, unsure of what he’d just said to her. The woman glared at him, unsettling Sam with her intensity. He didn’t want her angry at him, so he continued, “That’s why I’m here. And to bring you back to our camp. Tonight.” He babbled, of course. What else could he do in such close quarters with a woman dressed so provocatively? His throat too dry to swallow, he asked, “Might I have a drink as well?”

  Marie sighed. Pouring another glass with hers, she asked, “So he won’t be here at all, and I’ve wasted my time? And yours as well?”

  Sam didn’t want to mention how her words echoed her husband’s, not when seeing how angry tears shimmered in her eyes. Instead, he responded, “No, I don’t think he will be here after all. I’m supposed to bring you back for him.” While Sam spoke, Marie swirled the liquid before gulping it down as before. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw such a small woman drink so much at once. “Mrs. Warren, you might not want to imbibe all your whiskey tonight.”

  She laughed and set down the glass. “Oh? Will it make tomorrow more unpleasant than it already will be?”

  Putting himself in her place, he’d not like such a personal rejection from a spouse, either. “I know you must feel embarrassed, but I won’t tell anyone.”

  Marie gave him a smile not reaching her eyes. “You can’t know how I feel. Embarrassed is the least of it.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead for a moment until she began braiding her hair. “I’m sure Hester knows by now. Both she and Charles, I assume, are already chattering about it in their twin speak.”

  “I’ve heard them talking and wondered at the language,” he said, glad she’d explained a little of the mystery Sam noticed between the brother and sister.

  Marie sighed, saying, “Most children outgrow it, but not them. They’ll reassure me they don’t gossip about me, but I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “You don’t believe them?” he asked, taking a drink.

  “Not when they talk, look at me, and laugh.”

  “I see.” Sam felt the need to reassure her and offered, “Your husband didn’t know how you’re dressed. He might be amused in my place, but not laughing.”

  She looked at him as if taking in every detail. “You’re very kind.” Marie sat and patted the bed next to her. “Since you’ve been sent on a fool’s errand, I feel I must explain to you why I’m here. Come here and have a seat.”

  Sam didn’t want to pull away, but to be near anything comfortable with her worried him. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  Frowning at him, Marie retorted, “Stand, then, if you’re afraid I’ll attack you like I would have Charles.”

  He smiled, surprised she didn’t see the problem with her request. The examination Marie just gave him must have reassured her of his honor, and he felt an odd urge to be the man she thought he was. Taking off his hat and putting it on the bedpost, Sam sat next to her. “Now, then, what did you want to tell me?”

  “Just so you know, I never need constant rescue from places of ill repute.” She drank the remaining alcohol in her glass before continuing. “But that doesn’t answer why I’m here in this dress. To please Charles, since he was, or is, older than I am, I befriended some ladies in New Orleans.”

  Sam kept his face expressionless. If Warren frequented these women, no wonder Mrs. Warren felt the need to go to such lengths to interest him. In an even tone, he asked, “They knew him?”

  “Not him, personally, but they knew men. I would go to various brothels, in a back way, of course, and pay them to tell me their professional secrets.” She faced him, eyebrows raised, and added, “Now mind you, this was only for my husband’s benefit.”

  Thinking of how Marie knew things most ladies didn’t, Sam took a deep drink before asking, “These women told you what they did with their clients?”

  “When I paid them for their time, they did, yes.” She shrugged. “As a result, I know everything, but Charles being the way he is, I’ve not been able to practice anything. So I hardly know if what I’ve learned from the women I consulted is useful or a farce.”

  “I see.” He wondered if her husband knew of her skills. Most likely not, else how could Warren remain indifferent to her current request? In his place, Sam might have moved mountains to honor an appeal from Marie. He glanced at her, seeing how as she looked down at her empty glass, the middle part in her hair mirrored the cleft of her bosom. Desire began coursing through him like the warmth of his drink. Indicating the whiskey, he asked, “Could you pour me more, please?”

  “Of course.” Marie gave him a generous amount. “I’d rather hoped he’d be here tonight, and I could ensure us some privacy.”

  Yes, Sam thought, she had indeed provided some privacy. She added more to her own glass, and he looked at her. He felt her body heat from her arm through the fabric of his shirt. Marie reminded him of the tropical flowers in Panama. He’d always expected, with her exotic looks, for her to smell like anything but the traditional rose perfume of her skin. The subtle scent urged him closer to her. She intoxicated him far more than any alcohol. Sam stopped his examination at the thought. “Mr. Warren is a very fortunate man. If my wife had arranged such a meeting for me, I’d move heaven and earth to attend.”

  She laughed, saying, “Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to tell him so”. Marie blinked a couple of times as if her eyes were cloudy. Tilting her head as if getting an idea, she suggested, “You might help me with something since you are here, and we’re alone.”

  Feeling himself close to the edge of a cliff, he asked, “What might that be, ma’am?”

  A pink blush spread across her face as she responded, “This may sound odd, but I would like an impartial opinion and possible accounting of something.”

  He grinned. Opinion and accounting? The words seemed safe enough, and he responded, “Certainly. It sounds simple, what do I need to assess?”

  Marie turned to face him, and looking into his eyes, she said, “I need you to kiss me and let me kiss you back. When we’re done, you can tell me what I’m doing wrong and how to improve.”

  “You want me to do what?” His heart thudded, desire giving way to fear. Sam searched his mind for clues he might have given of interest in her. She seemed so earnest and sweet, yet, had this all been an odd game? “No. Out of the question.” He stood, adding “I need to get you to camp right now. We must leave in the next few minutes.”

  Her eyes glistened as if tearing. “Very well. In fact, you go ahead. I’ll follow later, so there’s no talk or suspicions.”

  “You’ll be directly behind me?” At her nod, he took his hat from the post. “Thank you ma’am, and I’ll check to make sure you arrive soon after I do.” Sam left the room, careful to close the door behind him. He waited for a moment, ho
ping to hear her lock it. When hearing a reassuring click, he turned for the saloon. Various girls standing in their own doorways hollered at him, teasing. He ignored them, his pulse still hammering. He had already faced enough temptation for one day.

  Passing by the first barstool, he wanted to drink the place dry. Anything to numb the dull ache from seeing the shame and hurt in her eyes. “Barkeep?” Sam sat down and put two bits on the bar, gaining the man’s attention.

  “Couple more fine whiskeys, or will four of the rotgut do ya?” he asked, wiping out a glass.

  “Two of the fine. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”

  The man palmed the coins, placed the sparkling glass on the counter, and poured. Most times, Sam liked starting a conversation with people he met. Asking questions intended to draw out a man or woman’s interests seemed to be his forte, he thought. But right now? From the moment he entered Mrs. Warren’s room until the second he left had been an ordeal. He took sips, enjoying the tingle of alcohol. Her face had shown anger, curiosity, amusement, sadness, and at last, hurt. Staring at the remaining swallow of amber liquid, he knew he had been short, maybe even cruel with her. Mrs. Warren didn’t know Sam had reacted more to his own desires than her request.

  After waving off another inquiry for a refill, Sam left the saloon. He refused to be impaired at any time during the journey between Missouri and Oregon. Sam liked the taste much more than the effects, and once outside he took a deep breath, letting the fresh air clear his head. He untied his horse and sat in the saddle, gazing out toward his camp. A line of fires flickered in the distance, some his responsibility, many others not. He sighed and shifted in his seat. Sam wanted to hurry through this part of the trail. The next few days promised to be difficult due to the overcrowded campsites, skimpy creeks, poor grass for the livestock, and little rain.

  Overall, he considered this trip a good one. Two months in the journey and only a couple of people had died. He’d heard of entire companies gone before reaching Fort Laramie. Unless something catastrophic happened, he’d have nearly everyone alive at Willamette Valley. He looked back at the fort, seeing if Mrs. Warren followed. Spotting her off in the distance wearing one of her work dresses, Sam went on north and into their camp.