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Authors: Gina Robinson
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Watching her little white hand with its long slender fingers slide up his leg was downright erotic. Then she made that comment about hanging, and he sure as hell wasn't hanging. He was pointing like an Irish setter and hoping against hope that she didn't notice as she surveyed the tight fit of his pants!
He'd been too long without a woman, but he wasn't about to pay for pleasure like Tetch. No, for now he was content to wait. Since Miss Sheridan had decided it wouldn't be necessary to land a husband right away, he had time. He had a plan again. There wasn't anything he couldn't do once he had a plan.
He hummed a little louder as he turned into his office.
Chapter 4
Fayth sat at her desk with her business ledger spread open in front of her. Even the midafternoon sun shining in on her didn't lessen her ominous, solemn mood. Her landlord was pressing for a decision. Was she going to buy the small two-story frame building she shared with two other tenants, or not? He had a buyer from California ready to purchase it at a moment's notice. Serious one. Rich, too. So the landlord said. No doubt he meant to intimidate and pressure her.
The ledger pages ruffled in a strong northwesterly breeze blowing in off Elliott Bay through her half-open window, the fluttering paper as transitory as her convictions. Business had been brisk and steady since she'd set up shop in February. Given one more good year she could comfortably buy. But using her cash reserves now made her uneasy.
She sighed and stared blankly out at the dusty streets. Next to her ledger sat a list with two columns, one with reasons for buying the building, the other against.
The list for buying was long and punctuated with the words building sound, no place else to go . The Captain's man had been in just yesterday and pronounced the building sturdy, fit to occupy, and fairly priced. And she had checked the local papers. There were no notices for other shop space available to rent.
Printed in full capitals under the negative column glared the single damning word—location. She resided on what locals called The Line . It ran east to west down Washington Street between Lou Gramm's parlor house at Third and Dexter Horton's bank at Commercial. It was the line of respectability.
Lou Gramm proved her business savvy, positioning her house of ill repute on the very verge of decency and commerce. Just blocks to the south of Fayth's store, near the tide flats, the tough and dangerous Tenderloin District rambled toward the water. Wildly populated with thieves, ruffians, pandering pimps, and whores who did not occupy stylish houses, but serviced men out of rough-hewn cribs, the area deserved its low reputation. Up the street to the east from Fayth, the infamous Billy the Mug's Saloon attracted its share of raucous customers. On Saturday nights, she heard its bawdy rumble from a full block away. The very reasonable rent she paid allowed her to do business, and accounted for her dubious location.
If only she possessed Drew's quick, don't-look-back decisiveness. Or the Captain's. She smiled. The Captain was indeed quick with a decision. Too quick.
She turned to stare at the calendar that hung on the wall. Thursday, June 6. She must make up her mind by tomorrow noon. A clock chimed the quarter hour. Two forty-five. She slammed the ledger shut, at last deciding to lock up and go make a counteroffer on the place.
Fayth had barely turned her sign to Will Return Soon, stepped outside, and locked the shop door when the shrill call of fire whistles sounded. Mr. Wylie, the merchant from next door, stepped out onto the boardwalk with her. In unison, they scanned the horizon in search of flames.
"There. To the north." Wylie pointed as she caught sight of smoke. "Bad day for a fire. The wind's up and everything's dry as kindling."
She nodded and coughed on her first breath of the sickly bitter, smoke-laden air that billowed in. From the direction of the wharves, steam whistles added
He'd been too long without a woman, but he wasn't about to pay for pleasure like Tetch. No, for now he was content to wait. Since Miss Sheridan had decided it wouldn't be necessary to land a husband right away, he had time. He had a plan again. There wasn't anything he couldn't do once he had a plan.
He hummed a little louder as he turned into his office.
Chapter 4
Fayth sat at her desk with her business ledger spread open in front of her. Even the midafternoon sun shining in on her didn't lessen her ominous, solemn mood. Her landlord was pressing for a decision. Was she going to buy the small two-story frame building she shared with two other tenants, or not? He had a buyer from California ready to purchase it at a moment's notice. Serious one. Rich, too. So the landlord said. No doubt he meant to intimidate and pressure her.
The ledger pages ruffled in a strong northwesterly breeze blowing in off Elliott Bay through her half-open window, the fluttering paper as transitory as her convictions. Business had been brisk and steady since she'd set up shop in February. Given one more good year she could comfortably buy. But using her cash reserves now made her uneasy.
She sighed and stared blankly out at the dusty streets. Next to her ledger sat a list with two columns, one with reasons for buying the building, the other against.
The list for buying was long and punctuated with the words building sound, no place else to go . The Captain's man had been in just yesterday and pronounced the building sturdy, fit to occupy, and fairly priced. And she had checked the local papers. There were no notices for other shop space available to rent.
Printed in full capitals under the negative column glared the single damning word—location. She resided on what locals called The Line . It ran east to west down Washington Street between Lou Gramm's parlor house at Third and Dexter Horton's bank at Commercial. It was the line of respectability.
Lou Gramm proved her business savvy, positioning her house of ill repute on the very verge of decency and commerce. Just blocks to the south of Fayth's store, near the tide flats, the tough and dangerous Tenderloin District rambled toward the water. Wildly populated with thieves, ruffians, pandering pimps, and whores who did not occupy stylish houses, but serviced men out of rough-hewn cribs, the area deserved its low reputation. Up the street to the east from Fayth, the infamous Billy the Mug's Saloon attracted its share of raucous customers. On Saturday nights, she heard its bawdy rumble from a full block away. The very reasonable rent she paid allowed her to do business, and accounted for her dubious location.
If only she possessed Drew's quick, don't-look-back decisiveness. Or the Captain's. She smiled. The Captain was indeed quick with a decision. Too quick.
She turned to stare at the calendar that hung on the wall. Thursday, June 6. She must make up her mind by tomorrow noon. A clock chimed the quarter hour. Two forty-five. She slammed the ledger shut, at last deciding to lock up and go make a counteroffer on the place.
Fayth had barely turned her sign to Will Return Soon, stepped outside, and locked the shop door when the shrill call of fire whistles sounded. Mr. Wylie, the merchant from next door, stepped out onto the boardwalk with her. In unison, they scanned the horizon in search of flames.
"There. To the north." Wylie pointed as she caught sight of smoke. "Bad day for a fire. The wind's up and everything's dry as kindling."
She nodded and coughed on her first breath of the sickly bitter, smoke-laden air that billowed in. From the direction of the wharves, steam whistles added
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