Jake tipped his hat. “Ladies?” He picked up his cigarette from the railing and took another drag. “What can I do for you?”
They looked a bit flustered. Jake knew women well, and he didn’t doubt this bunch felt he was the worst sinner who ever walked the face of the earth. They likely saw him as nothing but a gunman who’d been raised by whores. Maybe they thought he still ran with women like that. After all, he was standing in front of a saloon, and everyone in town knew what went on upstairs. He didn’t doubt they prayed for his soul in church on Sundays, so what in hell would such women want with the likes of him?
One of the oldest stepped forward, her huge bosom straining at the bodice of her black dress. “Mr. Harkner, we…we need your services.”
Jake took another long drag on the cigarette and leaned against a support post, thinking of all the very embarrassing answers he could give to that poorly worded statement. He imagined they felt very nervous standing in front of the saloon, and he knew they didn’t even realize the connotations of what they’d said. He forced back an urge to burst out laughing.
“My services? What kind of services would those be?”
“Well, we—”
Laughter came from inside the saloon, and the four women glanced at the doorway and seemed flustered.
Jake tossed his cigarette into the dirt street. “You ladies shouldn’t be standing in front of a place like the Silver Saddle.” He put his hand to the big woman’s waist, and she gasped an “oh my!” as he escorted her and the others farther away to stand before a hardware store. “Now, what can I do for you?”
One of them blushed, and they twittered nervously. Jake braced himself against a wooden railing, watching the women. But now that cloud of dust in the distance was getting closer. He took a quick look and realized it was men on horseback. More of his old senses came alert, outlaw and lawman alike.
“Mr. Harkner, I am Hilda Conklin,” the bigger woman told him. “My husband is the minister at the Methodist church a few blocks down. This lady beside me is Betty Stable, a banker’s wife. Linda Tackas is a teacher, and Sara Baker, on the end there, is a lawyer’s wife.”
They smiled, Sara Baker twisting a pair of gloves in her hands. Hilda continued her speech. Jake found himself somewhat distracted by her bosom, wondering if the bodice of her dress might split open at any time. Even the upper sleeves looked stuffed and ready to burst.
“Mr. Harkner, perhaps you have heard about Chautauqua?”
Jake nodded. “I have. Sounds like a rich man’s project and not something that interests me.”
“Boulder is becoming quite popular for its wonderful weather, and we’ve become a civilized town, with an opera house and nice restaurants and churches and such. Soon all the streets will be bricked. We’ve realized we are the perfect place for another Chautauqua. These resorts started in New York State, but have been springing up all over the country, you know.”
Jake frowned. “You chasing me out of town because a fellow like me doesn’t belong in your fine community?” He leaned closer. “I promise I’m a law-abiding man.”
The four women laughed and blushed again.
“Quite the contrary, Mr. Harkner!” Mrs. Conklin fanned herself, her bosom straining at her dress again.
Jake wondered if the woman was deliberately wearing a dress that used to fit her in an effort to convince herself she hadn’t gained weight. He gave them one of his best smiles, the one that always undid Randy when he thought there was something to forgive. “What is it you want, ladies?”
“Well, we are having a fund-raising fair in two weeks and are thinking of activities we could put on to raise as much money as possible. We thought perhaps… Well… Would you be willing to put on some kind of a show?” She glanced at the famous guns he wore low on his hips. “With your guns—either a shooting contest or something to show people how fast you can draw those”—she hesitated, glancing at the guns again and actually backing away, as though they might jump out of their holsters and attack her—“those guns and perhaps shoot bottles off a fence or something like that…something for the men. It’s hard to find something at these things that interests the men. These fairs always turn out to be more an event for women, and we thought—”
“No.” Jake glanced at the riders again, then turned back to address the women. “Ladies, I appreciate your hard work, and I hope you come up with a lot of ways to raise the money. I’ll even help if I can, but I’ll not use these guns like a circus act. I’ve taught my son and grandsons that guns are not entertainment. They’re something to be taken very seriously.”