Jessica Read online

  Jessica

  Women Betrayed Series

  Book 6

  By

  Award Winning, Best Selling Author

  Margaret Tanner

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  JESSICA – Women Betrayed Series

  Book 6

  First edition. 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Margaret Tanner

  Written by Margaret Tanner

  Cover Art by Susan Horsnell

  Acknowledgement: Thank you Susan Horsnell for your on-going help and support. Couldn’t have done it without you my friend.

  Heat Level: Adult theme, but only mild sexual scenes depicted.

  Acknowledgement: Thank you Susan Horsnell for your on-going help and support. Couldn’t have done it without you my friend.

  Please Note: Jessica was previously part of the Soiled Dove Series, which has now been disbanded, and each of the authors involved have had their stories returned to them. Jessica has been revised, and is now going to form part of my new series – Women Betrayed.

  Chapter One

  South Dakota 1870’s

  Jessica Smith huddled in the corner of the small back room of the Lawson Bank. Her hands trembled and she was having heart palpitations. The moisture in her mouth dried up. Fear curdled her stomach. How much more bad luck could she endure? How low would she be forced to sink before she died?

  Life had always been tough, but she didn’t want it to end at eighteen. Her quest to see the Bank Manager, regarding the notice in the window advertising for a cleaner, had got her into this predicament - caught in the middle of a hold-up.

  What had possessed her to try to see the Bank Manager dressed in an oversized man’s coat that reached her knees, but couldn’t hide the black, lace trimmed frills of her bright blue skirt? What kind of fool would do that? A desperate one.

  On hearing the commotion of masked men crashing through the door of the bank, she had ducked in here without being seen. There was nowhere to hide in this small room with barred windows. A steel door, leading to God alone knew where, had been bolted.

  A mahogany desk was open at the front and back. Nowhere to hide there, either. She surveyed the rest of the room, empty except for a large safe secured to the wall.

  If the robbers didn’t venture in here, she would escape detection. If they did? Shudders shook her slight frame – she was dead.

  A couple of women screamed. A man’s gruff voice ordering everyone to sit against the wall was followed by an ominous silence. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  The door was flung open with such force it bounced off the wall. A masked man entered. He raised his gun. “What’s a saloon gal doing skulking in here? Get outside with the rest of the hostages.”

  He grabbed her arms and pushed them behind her back. Desperately she kicked out at him, twisting and turning, all to no avail. He dragged her out into the main chamber of the bank where several people cowered against the wall. Without a word, he bound her hands tightly behind her back. A shove sent her hurtling into the lap of a man who sat in the corner.

  “Sonofabitch.” The man kneed her in the back and she rolled off him.

  “Ethan!” Shock made her voice shrill.

  “Well, if it isn’t Jessica.” He savaged her with one glare from his piercing blue eyes. “You thieving little whore.” She inwardly cringed at the loathing and revulsion on his face.

  “Shut up,” the robber snarled.

  When he moved away she lowered her voice.

  “I’m sorry I stole your coat…”

  “Where’s my money?” Ethan hissed.

  “What money?”

  “The money you stole.”

  “I didn’t, only the coat.”

  “What about the sixty dollars in the pocket?”

  “Shut up, I won’t tell you again.” One of the robbers took a menacing step toward them.

  Jessica turned her head and mouthed, “I didn’t.”

  Never in her worst nightmare would she have thought she would meet up with Ethan again. A man she had lied to, tricked and robbed.

  She closed her eyes to block out his anger and contempt. Her life suddenly flashed before her eyes.

  ~*~

  From as far back as Jessica could remember life had been tough. Dumped on the steps of an orphanage she had somehow survived the harsh routine of minimal food and clothing, cruel discipline and hard work.

  She was eight years old when a rich be-jeweled lady handed out woolen caps and mittens to the forty or so children. Matron smiled benignly as each child received their gift. The moment the lady left, the hats and mittens were snatched out of each child’s hand by the staff, never to be seen again.

  Charlie Porter fought to keep his gift. “It’s mine. It’s mine.” A stinging slap across the face and several blows around the ears eventually felled him. He crashed to the cobblestone floor, banging his head with such force it killed him.

  No-one outside the orphanage knew or cared what happened there. He would be buried in an unmarked grave in a paddock adjoining the orphanage. Charlie’s body was dragged away by two of the older boys who worked as grave diggers.

  Jessica stood motionless inwardly trembling, trying not to show her fear. Only the strong would survive. She had learnt that lesson quickly. Fortunately, she was small for her age, weedy from lack of nourishment. The bigger kids always got the heaviest work to do both inside and outside, and many died because of it.

  “Let that be a lesson to all of you.” Matron glared at the assembly. “You are all orphans, dumped here because no-one wanted you. Remember, nobody cares whether you live or die. You will do as you’re told or suffer the consequences. There will be no supper for anyone tonight.” She minced off.

  Jessica’s stomach rumbled with hunger, tears sprang to her eyes but she hurriedly blinked them back. Lunch had been a slice of bread and a bowl of watery soup. How would she endure having nothing until breakfast next morning?

  Glancing around, she saw the hunger and desperation on the pinched faces of the other children. It was somehow comforting to know she wasn’t the only one suffering.

  “Separate into your work parties,” Gerda, a hard faced woman ordered. Jessica had overheard one of the other staff saying she had once been a prison guard.

  From the age of four, the children were expected to work, even if it was out in the garden picking fruit and vegetables, or tending the chickens. Not that they ever tasted any eggs.

  “Jessica, rose garden.” She walked down the hallway and out into the garden, all the while praying Olaf would be there. She was small and nimble and had got the job picking rose petals so the orphans could make the scented water rich ladies liked to use.

  The one bright spot in her miserable existence was working with Olaf, the big blond man from Sweden. He had once said he and his wife had tried to buy her from the orphanage, but couldn’t afford the price matron wanted. He always had a piece of candy or a cookie in his pocket to give to her if they worked together.

  “Please God,” she whispered desperately. “Let him have something for me today.”

  She was smart enough not to let anyone know how much she enjoyed working out here. Had matron known, she would have banished her to another part of the orphanage to work. Purposely, she used to sometimes get thorns in her fingers, and screamed when Gerda used to roughly dig them out with a needle, so everyone would think it was a bad place to work.

  Furtively she glanced around to make sure no-one would hear her. “Olaf, Olaf.”

  He came out of the shed carrying pruning shears so he could cut off the dead rose blooms.

  “Ah, my little munchkin.”

  “Olaf, do you have anything to
eat?”

  The big man frowned. Her eyes filled with tears as she started to tell him what had happened.

  “Come zis way.” He grabbed her by one arm and shook her several times as he dragged her toward the hothouse. He also tended the orchids, and other exotic flowers that grew there.

  From the corner of her eye she glimpsed Gerda standing on the back porch. Olaf shook his fist at Jessica and she could almost see the gleam coming to Gerda’s mean, horrible eyes. Other than dishing out punishment herself, the woman liked nothing more than to watch someone else inflicting pain on one of the orphans.

  Once out of sight, Olaf reached for the bag he always hung on a nail at the back of the hothouse. He gave her his lunch, a piece of brown, almost black foreign looking bread and a chunk of cheese. Jessica wolfed half of it down then reluctantly offered him the rest.

  “You eat.” He pushed her hand away. “Olaf eat at home.”

  She gobbled it down before he changed his mind.

  “We work in here today, too cold outside.”

  Evil peoples he always called the staff. He knew what went on, but could say nothing for fear of losing his job and the small cottage provided for him. They would be homeless and destitute if they ever left here. She knew this and understood the position he was in. If only matron had let her go to live with him and his wife.

  Even at such a young age she knew the orphans made a lot of money with their various ventures. Matron sold most of the produce grown here. They had a large herb garden, and sold flowers and perfumed rose water as well. The older girls did embroidery and sewing, yet most of the money went into Gerda or matron’s pocket, even though the orphans made up most of the workforce.

  Jessica crawled under the bushes collecting any fallen petals or spent blooms Olaf trimmed off. He explained about roses becoming diseased if anything falling on the ground around them wasn’t cleared away.

  Chapter Two

  It was Jessica’s fault, damn her to hell for it. Ethan glared at her, wishing he could grab her by the throat and shake her pretty head off her slender shoulders.

  If it hadn’t been for her stealing his coat he wouldn’t be here. On his way to report the theft to the sheriff of this awful town, he had been shoved through the door of the bank by a gang of robbers. His guns had been confiscated, and he had been tied up and pushed against a wall inside the main chamber of the bank.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, the woman who had caused him all this trouble had just landed in his lap. Lady luck had certainly deserted him.

  In normal circumstances the situation might have been comical. A man’s coat – his coat, about five times too big for her, reached her knees. It only covered the top half of her low cut saloon gal gown, leaving the blue skirt trimmed with black frilly stuff on display.

  Why should he care about the hurt and shock springing to her eyes when he had virtually told everyone in the bank she was a thieving whore?

  He closed his eyes. Sonofabitch, he had a throbbing headache, and his mouth felt dry as a dust bowl.

  Women – all of them were lying, deceitful creatures. He wouldn’t be in this mess if it hadn’t been for them.

  Harriet had betrayed him. For three years they had exchanged letters. He had sent her money because he thought they were betrothed, even though they hadn’t actually met. She kept putting off their wedding, but he was thirty-two now and anxious to wed.

  His ranch was isolated, miles from the nearest town. Loneliness plagued him. He wanted a woman’s warmth in his bed, a mother for the children he had always dreamed of having.

  “Sonofabitch.”

  “What did you say?” Jessica asked.

  “Nothing,” he snarled. He couldn’t even brood in peace.

  What a gullible fool he had been to believe Harriet’s honeyed lies. She had even sent him a photograph of herself. Young and attractive, his hopes had soared along with his libido on seeing it.

  Yes, she would make him a fine wife he had thought. Finally, he tired of her excuses to postpone their wedding. He had made the long, arduous journey to Montana, only to discover she had moved to Fort Benton to live with her new husband.

  All the lies, deceit and treachery, he would never get over it. Maddened with grief, angry beyond anything he had experienced before, he had started the long trip home.

  When he stepped off the coach at the stage depot it was late in the afternoon. Instead of collecting his horse and heading home straight away, he decided to stay the night at a hotel in Lawson. Too late to start his journey now he had thought. Having been away from the ranch for so long, what was another few days? His men were more than capable of running the place without him.

  He collected his horse from the gal at the livery on the outskirts of town, paid his bill and left a generous tip because the gelding had been well cared for. “Thank you, he looks well.”

  “I aim to please, he’s a nice horse.” She patted the gelding’s neck.

  He touched his hat and nodded before mounting. Why would a gal want to work in a place like this? He rode down the long main street. A few drinks at the Raging Bull saloon, and if he was in the mood, he would spend a couple of hours in the arms of one of the soiled doves who worked on the second floor. High class and expensive his traveling companion had said. Tarnation, after what he had been through he certainly deserved a bit of fun and he aimed to have it.

  On occasion, over the years, when his need had become too great, he had used the local cathouse. Well, he considered it local as it was only ten miles from the ranch. Lilly, the owner, ran a clean establishment where a man could get a decent meal and buy a woman to relieve his need. She only had about six whores, so there wasn’t much variety, still, they were pretty enough, more importantly, healthy and clean. Lilly was very protective of her girls, and this appealed to him.

  An establishment like the Raging Bull, well he hadn’t visited a place like that in years. He still had a pocket full of dollars, so money wouldn’t be a problem even if the women were expensive.

  It would take him three or four days to ride to Lilly’s place and it was too long to wait. His need was urgent and he wanted to appease it straight away.

  He drew his horse to one side of the street to let a wagon pass by. It pulled up near the Raging Bull and a dark, swarthy complexioned man hurried over. The driver jumped down and rolled up the side canvas. Several pretty gals wearing bright red lip paint and quite heavy make-up, sat along one side. Low-cut gowns, exposed half their breasts. The rest of their bodies were hidden from view by a wide board draped with red and gold material stretching along one side of the wagon.

  Heat fired his groin, he was tempted to join in the wolf-whistles and hollers of a few milling cowboys. They had obviously been waiting for this very moment.

  “When will those gals start work, Sol?” A man wearing a sheriff’s badge asked, as he ogled the women.

  “As soon as they’re unloaded out back,” said the man called Sol. If yer got the money, choose one now.

  “The red-head.”

  Shock had Ethan rocking back on his heels as the red-head slowly ran her tongue across her lower lip. The sheriff looked ready to drop his pants right there and then.

  Ethan cast his eyes over the women, all young and attractive. His gaze lingered longest on the youngest one who was dressed in a bright blue gown. She had blonde hair, huge, pale blue eyes, and under the heavy make-up he sensed her skin would be milky white like her breasts. Virginal looking, but of course, she wasn’t. A man could fantasize, couldn’t he?

  She stared straight ahead, ignoring the couple of men who stepped up for a closer inspection.

  “What’s ya name, gal?” a young cowboy asked.

  “She’s Jessica,” the red-head said. “Don’t talk much.”

  “It’s not her voice I’m interested in,” he said to his snickering friend.

  Ethan kneed his horse closer. “I’d like the blonde gal.”

  “Got money?” Sol snapped.

 
“Yeah.”

  “All right, stranger. Come to the saloon and buy yerself a couple of drinks, and she’ll be waiting upstairs for yer.”

  Ethan stared at. Her eyes blazed, her face was expressionless except for the glare she cast his way. A smile or a word of gratitude for saving her from a filthy cowpoke, was that too much to ask?

  He was suffering from one hell of a hangover from the liquor he had consumed last night at one of the stage coach stops. I’m clean, which is more than I can say for most of the other men, even if I do need a shave. He ran a hand across the stubble on his cheeks and chin.

  After he released his pent up need with Jessica, he would have supper somewhere, then get a hotel room for the night, and leave Lawson first thing tomorrow morning. How much would it cost to taste the delights of Jessica for the whole night? Unbidden, the thought jumped into his head.

  The wagon disappeared down a side street, obviously leading into the backyard of the Raging Bull. Rutting Bull would have been a better name he thought with a chuckle. He was feeling happier already.

  Dismounting, he tied his horse to the hitching rail, stepped over to the saloon and pushed open the door. Music, female laughter and male voices greeted him, not to mention the smell of sweaty bodies.

  The long bar was made of dark wood, mahogany most probably. It was intricately carved and had fancy brass fittings, and a large painting of a black bull hung on the back wall. Several spittoons were placed around the bar area and tables. A sweeping staircase obviously led to the upstairs bedrooms where the gals worked.

  A giant of a man, who dwarfed his own six feet height, stood guard near the entrance to keep any troublemakers at bay.

  Copper lanterns with tinted glass, a huge eight branch crystal chandelier, attested to this place being classy. He was beginning to wonder whether he could afford it.

  “Check in ya guns.” The giant came up to him. Ethan unbuckled his gun belt. If it hadn’t been for the fact Jessica would be here, he would have gone up the road to the other saloon. The town obviously had plenty of money if they could afford to run two saloons.