The Damnation Affair by Lilith Saintcrow Page B

digging in her skirt pocket. “We can pay you. We want it all respectable-like.” A handful of rolled-together bills came up, and Gabe noticed a stain on Mercy’s gloved wrist. Looked like whiskey.
    Maybe she’d needed it to brace her. He kept his mouth shut, and winced again when he thought of Tils’s likely reaction to this. And the money—often, saloon girls didn’t see actual cash. More of Mercy’s nervousness seemed downright reasonable, now.
    Miss Barrowe did not even bat one sweet little eyelash. “I see. Please, Miss Tiergale, put that away and come inside. As I am engaged to teach in this town and my salary is paid by the town itself, I s [n i toee no need for you to—”
    “We’re saloon girls, ma’am.” Flung like a challenge. “Six of us. In the afternoons before the real drinkin’ starts, that’s when we have time.”
    Miss Barrowe nodded briskly. “Then after I finish with my other pupils, I shall be glad to help you and your fellow…ladies educate yourselves. Are you quite certain you won’t come in and have some tea while we discuss this?”
    “No ma’am.” Mercy’s arm came up, rigid, and she proffered the bills. “Wouldn’t want you to miss church. Do you take our money, and I’ll be on my way.”
    Miss Barrowe’s glance flickered to Gabe’s face again. Her curls were expertly arranged, and that dress looked soft enough for angels to nest in. A faint breath of rosewater reached him, under the tang of cigar smoke and spilled drink, sawdust and sweat from Mercy. He was suddenly very aware that Mercy had his arm, and that Miss Barrowe might draw a conclusion or two from that.
    I don’t care. But it had a hollow ring, and it was maybe the wrong time for Jack Gabriel to start lying to himself.
    “I believe it might be best for Sheriff Gabriel to hold your money.” Miss Barrowe straightened slightly, her shoulders going back. A touch of lace around the neckline of her dress was incredibly distracting; he found he couldn’t look away. “You shall engage my services as a teacher for a certain length of time—a month, perhaps? Then we shall again address the question of payment, if you are satisfied with my methods and your progress.” A slight curve of her lips. “That would make every aspect of this eminently respectable, since Mr. Gabriel is a representative of the town that engaged me.”
    Well, now. “Seems a right fair idea,” he offered, but neither woman appeared to pay much heed. Mercy’s lips moved slightly as she worked this around in her head, and Miss Barrowe held the saloon girl’s gaze. Invisible woman-signals flashed between them like charmgraph dots and dashes, and finally Mercy relaxed a trifle.
    “I b’lieve that’ll do.” She let loose of Gabe’s arm long enough to roll the wad of bills more tightly, and offered it to him. “Will you hold this, Gabe?”
    “Be right pleased to,” he mumbled. Why were his cheeks hot?
    “Very well.” Miss Barrowe closed her front door with a small, definite snick . “Are you accompanying me to church, Miss Tiergale?”
    “No ma’am.” Mercy stared at the ground now, Miss Barrowe’s dainty boots clicking on the steps as she picked her way down to the garden path. The marm opened her parasol with an expert flicker and flutter, and—surprisingly enough—offered her own arm to the saloon girl. “It ain’t proper. Leastways—”
    “That,” the schoolmarm said decisively, “is a great shame. Would you care to walk with me at least as far as the Lucky Star? I believe it is upon my route.”
    Mercy almost flinched. “No ma’am. There’d just be trouble if…well.”
    “Don’t you worry.” Gabe’s cheeks would not cool down. He had the attention of both women, now, and he hadn’t the faintest idea why he’d spoken up. “Tils gives you trouble, you come right on over to me.”
    Mercy actually laughed, cupping one gloved hand over her mouth. There was, however, little of merriment in the sound. She knew as