Gretta pouted, stepping back. “How about that son of yours? He available?”
Jake set the cigarette aside again. “Lloyd is also happily married.”
“Woe is me,” Gretta joked.
Accustomed to women like Gretta, Jake had no qualms about removing the new suit pants in order to pull on his denim ones.
Gretta gladly studied the way Jake’s knee-length long johns snugly fit firm thighs. She took a deep breath at the bulge between his legs that suggested a well-endowed man. He handed out the suit pants, and she took them as he picked up his denim pants.
“Maybe you can help me some other way,” Jake told her as he pulled on his pants.
“How’s that?”
He tucked his shirt into his pants as he answered. “Let me see your hands,” he said after buttoning the pants.
“My hands?”
He reached out. “Your hands.”
Gretta obliged, enjoying the soft way he touched her hands and rubbed the backs of them. He felt her fingers, studying them. “Where’s the best jewelry store in town?”
“Bush and Company. That’s where the snobs of Capitol Hill shop.”
“Come there with me. It’s our thirtieth anniversary, and I want to buy my wife the wedding ring she should have had all these years. Your hands are the same size as hers, so you’ll need to try on whatever I pick out.”
She squeezed his hands, leaning in close. “And you know every inch of her body, I’ll bet.”
Jake grinned. “Every inch. Intimately.”
“If you want me to help you, you owe me a kiss. Just one kiss, Mr. Jake Harkner.”
He leaned down and only kissed her cheek before pulling away and grabbing his gun belt from where it hung on a hook. “The only woman I kiss the way you want to be kissed is my wife. Believe me, if I kiss you like that, she’ll know, and she won’t unlock that hotel room door.” He strapped on his guns.
“So, those are the infamous .44s.”
“They’re just guns.”
“Not when they belong to Jake Harkner.”
Jake tied the holsters to his thighs, then pulled on a suede jacket he’d purchased at another store earlier. He put out his cigarette in the sand-filled ashtray. “Where is that jewelry store?”
“Seventeenth Street—just a block over.”
“Let’s go then. I’ll have Henry fold and pack these clothes, and I’ll pick them up on the way back, along with my horse and my other belongings.”
“So you’re going to be seen walking the street with me…Gretta MacBain, who runs one of the fanciest brothels in Denver? It’s called the Range Club, by the way.”
“I know all about it.”
She shook her head. “Of course you do.”
Jake put on his wide-brimmed Stetson and took her arm. He started to lead her out of the dressing room.
“Wait,” she told him, pulling back. “There is something you should know.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
Gretta glanced at the curtained doorway, then pulled him farther back into the dressing room. “I had a visitor a couple of weeks ago,” she told him, her voice lowered. “He’s the real reason I followed you in here.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “He called himself Mike Holt.” She watched Jake’s whole demeanor change. The charming smile was gone.
“And?”
“And he bragged about…about being freed from prison and about…” She looked down, hating her next words. “About…your daughter…and about how he was going to kill your son for shooting his brother in the back.” She looked up at Jake and was startled at the complete change in his demeanor. “I’m so sorry, Jake. I thought you should know he’s probably still in town somewhere. He knew you’d be coming in with cattle. You need to be really careful.” She watched Jake’s jaw flex as he obviously struggled with repressed anger. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
“I’d already received a wire from Guthrie some time back, telling me he’d been there boasting about coming after me and Lloyd. It helps knowing for sure he’s been here.” He looked her over, stepping closer and putting a hand to the side of her face. “I appreciate the warning, but that man is an animal. Did he hurt you?”
Gretta’s eyes widened in surprise. “Good Lord, you care?”
“Of course I care. After what those men did to my daughter? Men like that have no respect for any woman, and in my book, prostitutes aren’t any different from any other woman when it comes to a man hurting them.”
Gretta felt an urge to cry. “Well now, aren’t you something, Jake Harkner?” She took a deep breath and blinked back tears. She pulled the bodice of her dress down enough to show him a bruise on her left breast. “He likes to bite.” She re-covered her breast. “I kicked him out and told him never to come back and that none of the other girls would do business with him. Same with his friend.”