SPOV
I knew as soon as I saw him that he would be trouble. I was taking a break, leaning against the mahogany bar and toying with a glass of deep amber colored whiskey, when he walked in. I wasn't drinking, I never drink when I sing, but it looked better to have a shot of whiskey in front of me than my preferred water. There I was, leaning against the bar, chatting with Sam, the barkeep and owner, when the double doors swung open.
Like always, I looked over, ever curious about who would stop in the Lucky Sevens Saloon. Most of the time it was just cowboys passing through on their way to find work at one of the numerous ranches or on their way south. Or it was one of the men from town. Not that those upstanding gentlemen would lower themselves to sample the...wares available, but they did stop in for a drink. No, it was the out of town cowboys that used the ladies that worked the saloon.
Dust rolled in, stirred up from the passing wagons and horses. Since it was dusk, the figure that stepped through was cloaked in shadows, making it hard to see any defining features, such as the cut of his jaw or how many times his nose had been broken and reset. I learned quickly that you never had to ask if the men who stopped by had had their noses broken —it was a question of how recently and whether a doctor tended to it. A hat, worn and dusty, was pulled low over his eyes, concealing his upper face more than the shadows. His boots made a soft thud against the hardwood. There was never a doubt in my mind that our new visitor was a male, after all, the good women of this town stayed clear of this fine establishment. As he stepped into the low hanging light, and his features became clear, I forgot how to breathe.
He was tall, much taller than any of the men in town. There was a rugged look, one that didn't just come from the dusty buckskin pants and dust stained white shirt he wore, one that came with knowledge of the real world and a rough life. The shirt reminded me of the ones that pirates wore — or at least the pirates I read about in the penny novels I sometimes bought from the general store. Over the shirt he wore a vest, again made of buckskin, with fringe over the chest. Slung low on his waist was a wide belt and tucked into a holster attached to the belt was a ivory handled Colt Peacemaker. I eyed the gun with caution, nibbling on my lower lip. The ease with which he walked, one hand hovering just above the gun, spoke in volumes. This was a man who spent a lot of time on his own, just him and his horse, and who knew how to use a gun.
My study of the stranger was interrupted by Sam, who moved in front of me. "Miss Sookie, it's time for you to sing again."
I started, my hand clenching around my glass. I blinked up at him. "Oh...sure thing, Sam. Thanks."
I pushed the still full glass back at Sam, gathered up my skirts and started for the small raised platform off to the side that served as a stage. Hoyt Fortenberry, the only one in this town who had an idea of how to play the piano, nodded at me from his spot at the glossy black piano. The piano was the only nice thing that Sam had bought in the recent years, so at least the music that went along with my singing didn't sound too bad. I stepped up on the platform and looked out at the scattered tables, noted that there weren't many patrons yet tonight. I had tried to convince Sam once that when things were slow, I shouldn't sing, but he said no, that if there were any patrons, I would sing.
I hated my life just about as much as one could. I wasn't made for this, it hadn't been my intention coming out west to sing in a saloon. If my family knew what I was doing to earn money, they'd be scandalized, even if I wasn't selling my body like some of the other girls here. They'd blame Bill Compton, and they'd be right.
I was a young idealistic 18-year-old when I met Bill Compton back in South Carolina. I had spent a majority of my life growing up on the plantation my grandparents owned, Bon Temps. When they died, my Daddy, a gambler by trade, lost the plantation in a big poker game. We Stackhouses went from being one of the richest families in Sweetwater, South Carolina to being one of the poorest. I had taken a job with the laundrywoman in town to earn a little extra coin for the family when I met Bill Compton.
He had swaggered into the laundry one day with a bag full of dirty clothes and a charming smile. He wooed me as much as possible in the short week he was in Sweetwater. He wore rich clothes and was always flashing money around. Said he did business out West and that was were he got his money. I had believed him. Tired of the poor life, longing for the decadence I had once had, I let him sweep me off my feet, ignoring the warnings from my momma and brother, Jason.
When Bill left, so did I. I married the man in a quick ceremony by my pastor, Archibald Green. Momma had come and was the only one of my family who did. I still remember the sight of her weeping as we left, the worn cotton of her gown covering her face. I wished I had listened to her when she said that Bill would give me nothing but heartache.
I learned quick enough that Bill's business was gambling. Two years after running off with him, we arrived in Desire, Colorado. I learned then something I should have realized sooner. Bill won so much because he cheated. He might have gotten away with it, except he forgot that he had been to Desire before and cleaned up at the poker tables at the Lucky Sevens. Sam, and a few others he'd swindled, remembered him and not so fondly. Our first night here, Bill was down on his luck and tried his old cheating bit to win. He lost, not just the game but his life. Sam shot him when he caught Bill with a card up his sleeve. Not even the sheriff blamed him.
When I learned that as his widow, I was responsible for Bill's debt I was beside myself. I had no money because all that we had Bill had lost at the game. So Sam gave me a choice: I could either sing at the saloon or I could earn the money on my back. I was a lady born and bred so I chose singing. It was the lesser evil. Sure I had to dress like a tart in low cut dresses that threatened to spill my ample bosoms out at the slightest movement, in vivid colors that no lady would wear, and face paint that I hated, but at least singing was honest. I had been here for two years now. No longer the naive 18-year-old, I had matured into a nicely jaded 22-year-old woman and I was looking for a way out. My debt was paid off, but I still worked as a singer to save the money needed to take a stagecoach to San Diego, California, where my brother Jason had relocated. Last I heard of him, thanks to my mother, he had purchased a farm with orchards and worked as a farmer.
As Hoyt warmed up on the piano, I scanned the room one last time. As my eyes landed on the bar, I saw the stranger glancing at me. It was unnerving the way his eyes, the color of the sky on a clear day, never drifted from my face. It was if he was memorizing every inch of my body and I shifted nervously. Then in a gesture that surprised me, he tipped his hat to me and smiled slowly. My knees went weak at the sight. A tingle in my belly, one that I hadn't felt since I first met Bill, scared me.
I forced myself to look away from him, to focus on what I was getting paid to do. Without the money I earned tonight, I'd never get out of Desire. I nodded to Hoyt, took my position, smiled my prettiest smile at the other men in the room, and at the first chords from the piano, opened my mouth and started singing a little ditty about a man named Coleman Smitty and his six-shooter he called Honey.
EPOV
I was tired and more than ready for a nice shot of whiskey and a bath. After three days on my steed, I rode into Desire with little more than finding a steady stool and the slow burn of whiskey down my throat on my mind. I got that and a whole lot more, all wrapped up in the delectable body that was Sookie Stackhouse.
My back hurt, my ass hurt, and my horse was tired. If it was one thing I couldn't tolerate it was letting Sheriff, my horse, getting tired and weak. I need that shot of whiskey, a room, a bath, and a card game. I found a place where I could get two out of four and it was my first stop.
Though I came to the saloon with whiskey on my mind, I knew a card game was in my future. I was low on greenbacks and if I wanted to make that big poker game in California, I'd have to make some more. Desire, from what I could see riding in, wasn't much of a town, but then again, nothing was much of a town. The Colorado Gold Rush had little towns popping up all over the place. The only good thing about these towns was the gamblers. They poured in looking for a quick score and then left. I figured I could settle down here for a few weeks, raise some cash, then be on my way, just like any other traveling gambler.
I rode down what must have been the main street and glanced at the storefronts. It was pretty much what I expected. A general store, a dressmakers, a post office, and a hotel lined one side of the street. The saloon, the jail, and a diner sat opposite. There were more buildings further up the street, but my attention was solely focused on the saloon.
I brought Sheriff to a stop in front of the saloon, dismounted, and tied him to the post located there. I shook the dust from my coat, adjust my belt, making sure that the handle of my gun was where I could grab it easily, and strode through the swinging double doors. The smoke and smell of alcohol hit me first, the smell of every saloon I'd ever been in. I scanned the room with sharp eyes, picking out each exit and where each table was. Then I looked at the bar and saw the woman that would change everything.
She was dressed in red and black velvet that dipped low over her breasts and cut high in the skirt, revealing a long expanse of creamy white leg, leaned against the bar, playing with a glass of whiskey while talking to the barkeep. She had long blonde hair the color of wheat turned gold in the sun that spilled over one shoulder in tight ringlets. Kohl lined her eyes, making the deep blue color vivid against her porcelain skin, and red stained her cheeks and lips.
Just like every other woman in every other saloon. Except… There was something about her that didn't belong. The way she stood, aloof and distant, setting herself apart from the working gals. I watched as her eyes landed on me, darted down to look at my gun. Caution was written all over her face, from the way her eyes flicked between my face and my gun and how she nibbled on her lower lip. She reeked of innocence, which made no sense for a woman who was in a saloon, dressed as a temptation for men like myself. A temptation I wanted to sample.
The barkeep, a husky man with tousled hair that was neither red nor blonde, but a mixture of both, spoke to her and she nodded, pushing away her glass before making her way to the platform by the piano. So she was the singer. This should be interesting. I took off my hat, slapping it against my hip to shake off the dust as I made my way to the bar. I eased into a stool, motioned to the barkeep and ordered a glass of whiskey. It was served up quickly and I took it. The first sip burned its way down my throat and I shuddered. Looking at the amber liquid in my glass, I glanced at the barkeep. "Quality stuff."
"Only the best for the Lucky Sevens," answered the man with an easy smile. "Nice gun you got there."
I ran a thumb over the handle. "Yes, it is. There ain't no law against carrying a gun in this town is there?"
"Nope, just don't go shooting up the townsfolk and you'll be fine," the man said. "Just passing through?"
"Maybe." I replied slowly. I gestured towards the poker tables. "The games good here?"
"Mostly. You a gambler?"
I nodded. "Yes, mostly. The hotel good?"
"Well it ain't fancy, but it's decent. I'm Sam Merlotte and I own this place." Sam offered his hand.
I took it and gave it a polite shake. "Northman."
I was going to ask some more questions when I heard the piano. I spun to watch the woman. I wasn't expecting much. After all, most songbirds who sing in saloons weren't that good, but I was surprised when she opened her mouth. It was like listening to an angel. I held my glass and leaned back, just listening.
"She's good," I said absently.
"Yes, she is. She's one reason why the Sevens does good business. Best investment I've made in years, even if it was unintentional," Sam said proudly.
I shrugged. "Whatever you say, friend. She just sing, or does she do more?"
He gave me a narrowed look. "She sings. Sookie there is a lady."
I gave a disbelieving snort. "Right, a lady working in a saloon. That's the best joke I've heard in weeks."
"No jokes, but if you don't believe me, ask her yourself," Sam said with a wry smile.
I looked at him questioningly and got the feeling that he was setting me up for something. I sipped the whiskey again, noting that in the time that passed while talking to Sam, the tables had filled up and several games were going. The woman on stage, Sookie he called her, had sung several songs and was now singing something with some bounce in it. The whores had come downstairs and were making their rounds.
Night had fallen completely and the saloon started to get busy. I finished my whiskey, slapped a coin on the bar for payment, gave Sookie one last look, and left. I wanted to get a room at the hotel and a bath before coming back and getting a feel for the poker tables. Outside, I noticed some torches burning for light and untied Sheriff. Leading him I headed to the hotel. I figured that I'd be about an hour before making it back to the saloon.
I got my room, paid for a week and ordered a bath. While that was being prepared, I took Sheriff down to the blacksmith and paid for his stabling for a week as well. When I got back to the hotel room, a large metal tub was waiting for me, filled with steaming hot water I bathed quickly, even though I wanted to relax and let the warmth sooth away the aches in my muscles. I changed into my more dressier clothes — black pants, crisp white shirt, black neck tie, and black leather boots—, and made note to take my dirty ones to the laundry tomorrow. I checked my gun, which I always carried loaded, fastened the belt around my waist once more, and headed back to the saloon. Not only did I want a card game, I wanted a woman, one woman in particular. Sookie.
Sam might have said that Sookie was just a singer, but I knew better. He probably said that just to drive up her price. If she was as good in bed as she was at singing, it would be worth the extra gold. I was feeling pretty confident as I strolled back into the saloon, not at all surprised to see that it was busier than it had been when I left. Several card games were going on and I gave the players a quick glance, judging their skill. None of them were professionals, as I was, and it seemed that they played more to pass the time than to make money. I'd have to be careful here when I did play. Didn't want to stir up trouble with the locals.
I made my way to the bar, giving the stage a glance to see if Sookie was still there. She wasn't so I scanned the room again to locate her. I don't know why I fixated on her, except for out of all the loose women in the saloon, she was the prettiest. I found her leaning over a table where a poker game was being held, singing to an old man with a long beard. Her blue eyes twinkled as she sang about a pretty lass who lost her way home to the old man and I could tell from his grin that he appreciated her attention.
I leaned against the bar and waited patiently for the barkeep to make his way to me. As I looked up and down the bar, taking in the faces I saw and memorizing them, I saw something that startled me just a bit. At the end of the bar, a petite woman was chatting with Sam. She had long honey blonde hair she wore pulled back in a braid. A worn hat sat on top of her head, giving her a mannish look. She wore what seemed to be the standard wear for cowboys, buckskin pants, white shirt, and a worn jacket. Strapped around her waist was a gun belt, with the gun angled for easy grabbing should she need it. It wasn't that she was a woman that surprised me. Out here in the wild you often saw women who dressed like men. It was the shiny silver star pinned to her shirt that startled me.
She was the law? When Sam made his way down to me, I ordered a beer instead of whiskey. Lifting the glass when it was served, I gestured towards the woman at the bar. "Whose that?"
Sam followed my gesture and grinned. "That there is Pam, our sheriff."
I blinked, astonished by this news. "You have a woman as sheriff?"
Sam nodded and mopped up a spill with the towel that had draped over his shoulder. "Yessir we do. Pam there took over the office when her brother, the previous sheriff, was shot by a gang that rode through about two years ago. She's a good sheriff and we are lucky to have her."
"But she's a woman." I protested.
"She gets the job done." was all that Sam said and I saw that he was offended by my remark. I've learned that sometimes, in small towns like this, the locals defended each other fiercely to outsiders. I didn't care to see a woman in a position such as the Sheriff, but I'd keep my mouth shut, for now. It paid to get along with the locals.
"Sam, a whiskey please." came a melodic voice from my side.
I stiffened just a little. I knew that voice, though I had only heard it when she was singing. I turned to see the singer standing right beside me, fanning herself with a intricate lace fan. I stared at her for so long, memorizing the curves of her body, that she turned and gave me an arched look. "Something I can help you with, sir?"
Yes, you can allow me to take you up to one of the private rooms and show you what it means to be with a real man, not some wayward cowboy whose only interest is seeing to his own needs. You can let me lick you, suck you, touch you until you liken me with God. You can scream my name over and over until it is the only word you remember. You can promise to be mine, and only mine, until I get tired of you, if I ever get tired of you. I had no idea where that last thought came from, except I wanted it to be true. I wanted Sookie like I'd never wanted a woman before. I wanted to brand her as mine just from hearing her sing.
I tilted my hat back and gave her a charming grin that has never failed me before when it came to women. "Well, I think there is. How about you and I take a trip upstairs to your room where I can find out if you sing as well under a man as you do on stage?"
I knew almost immediately that I had made a mistake by the way Sookie's face turned bright red from embarrassment and anger. Sam was laughing behind the bar and it seemed all activity in the saloon had stopped when I made my offer. A dainty white fist plowed into my face before I could make another offer, one that wasn't so crude. My head snapped back and pain exploded, centering on my nose and spreading outward.
I yelped and cupped a hand over my nose, which had begun to bleed. Sookie was glaring at me hotly as the blood poured between my fingers. "What the hell was that for?" I demanded, my words coming out garbled.
"For the insult, sir," Sookie said tartly, snatching up the glass of whiskey Sam offered. "If you want a whore, go buy one. Disgusting pig."
With that, she turned, the whiskey sloshing over the rim of the shot glass, and stalked off. I was left there, bleeding and bewildered, to watch as she went back to the poker game she had been watching. I looked at Sam, who offered me a cloth to staunch the bleed.
"What did I say?" I inquired, much to the amusement of those around me. Instead of answering, Sam just laughed, as did all the other patrons who were at the bar, including the lady sheriff. I held the cloth to my nose and watched Sookie as she flounced back to the poker table. It occurred to me that Sam had been telling the truth. Sookie might sing, but she did not take part in any other traditional saloon girl activities. That presented a challenge and I loved challenges. Suddenly I was glad that I had stopped in Desire, it was going to be an interesting couple of weeks.
