Thank you for your continued support.
So, as I said, there were mixed feelings about Sam in the last chapter. I too, was torn, but if we read between the lines, Sam is wholeheartedly in love with Mercedes and she is with him.
He did go about things the wrong way, but I will do my best to make him repentant.
He's still a bit heavy-handed at the start of this chapter, but it's different and mild, compared to how the book has the character he's based off, written.
Again, I had to change it up so much, it's going in a slightly different direction. Thank you for sticking with me.
Shout out to my guest reviewers, and to shamelesswalkinthronesfan85, thank you for giving the story a try. To everyone else, THANK YOU.
Standard disclaimer
Sam sat staring down into Mercedes' sleeping face, trying to rein in his emotions.
He had accomplished what he'd planned to do. So why did he not feel triumphant, or pleased with himself?
'Because I lo…'
He caught himself and shook his thoughts out.
"Since when are you developing feelings, or a conscience?" He muttered to himself.
Just then, Mercedes let out a delicate, snore, almost ladylike and he smiled.
She seemed so human now and still so innocent. He couldn't leave her here, for Carmen, or one of the girls to find in the morning.
He carefully swung her into his arms and very quietly, he went down the hall and up the stairs to her room.
He laid her on her bed, re-dressed her and pulled the sheet up over her.
There wasn't anything he could do about her underwear, they were ruined. However, he folded them and put them into his pocket.
Before he left, he leaned over, brushed her hair from her forehead and softly kissed her lips.
She smiled in her sleep and for a moment, he wondered what she was dreaming about.
"Sweet dreams, darlin'," he whispered.
He turned out her lights, looked her way once more and left.
With a dejected look on his face, he entered his room and threw himself across his bed. Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.
In his mind, he'd made love to Mercedes, over and over, and remembered it was the best he's ever had. But in reality, he'd taken her virginity…done something terrible he could not undo, and she would hate him in the morning.
His thoughts were so conflicted.
Although he'd done the unthinkable, this wasn't like with other women.
With those women, there were no feelings involved, there were a classic hit and run. But with Mercedes, she was special.
He didn't want to admit it, but he knew it. Knew it the day he met her.
He scolded himself audibly and internally.
'She shouldn't have been so naïve…Oh, can it Evans! You're at fault here, not her,' his thoughts screamed at him.
He tossed and turned for hours and finally, towards dawn, he drifted off into a troubled sleep.
Mercedes awoke with the first rays of dawn, making light patterns on her bedroom wall.
She sat up and groaned aloud.
Her head hurt. It felt like a train was rushing through her brain.
She looked at herself, realizing her clothing was in disarray. Why wasn't she wearing a nightgown?
She searched her memory and gasped.
It told of Sam Evans, the bottle of champagne and his kisses.
Besides the first kiss, she couldn't remember much, except wanting more, from him.
But how had she ended up in her bed? Maybe she had gotten up and walked out of the morning room, before things could have gotten any further. Looking at her wrinkled clothes, she didn't think so.
When she stood up, her head hurt even more, and her nether regions were paining like never before, plus, she felt naked under her skirt. Her stomach roiled and hot, fat tears leaked from her eyes, as realization hit.
"I've been such a terrible fool," she wailed.
She leaned on the bedpost for a long moment, fighting to control her emotions. She, who had always been so frosty and reserved with men, had obviously gotten roaring drunk and acted like a trashy tart, with a no-good gambler.
'Why didn't I remember my mother's warning? Because his kisses had tasted so good.'
What was she to do now? She couldn't bear to face him, but she knew she must.
Already, downstairs, she could hear Carmen and the girls, setting the tables and preparing breakfast for their hotel guests. And as hostess, she had responsibilities.
She stumbled to the shower and stared into the mirror there.
Her complexion looked rosy, but her face looked sad, and her lips appeared to be swollen, as if they'd been kissed and kissed.
"Oh my God!" she said and splashed water on her face.
She felt like going back to bed and staying there for the day, or forever. But instead, she took a long bath, combed her hair and put on a nice, flattering yellow strapped dress.
The little bow on the side of the dress, just under her left breast, made it look girly and flirty, but she felt anything but that.
She looked around for the shoes she'd worn the night before and couldn't find them.
"Now, where are they?"
A sudden thought hit her. Had she ended up in Sam's room? Are they under his bed? She imagined Carmen, or one of the girls finding them while cleaning.
"I can't let that happen," she said.
She went charging down the stairs and looked around, to see if he might be at the dining table, so she could sneak into his room. No such luck.
Still bare-footed, she tiptoed down the hall and opened his door as quietly as she could.
He lay sleeping in his bed, still in his clothes. She crept over to peer down at him. He was sleeping with a small smile on his lips.
'Dirty villain. I should crack you skull open,' she thought.
She looked around for a vase, or something to hit him with, but found nothing.
She eventually got down on her knees and began to crawl around his bed, looking under it.
"What in God's name are you doing down there?"
Surprised, Mercedes glanced up, to see him sitting up in bed, staring down at her.
"Uh…nothing."
She got to her feet and headed for the door.
'Maybe he didn't even remember last night,' she thought, hopefully.
Sam blinked and caught a glimpse of her bare feet, for the first time.
"Morning room."
"What?"
"Your shoes are in the morning room, Mercy."
She wanted to cry and scream and throw things at him, but her mother had taught her, it was both impolite and unwise to show emotion.
Impolite? She was dealing with the biggest rotter in Texas.
"How dare you?" she seethed. "How could you have done such an…?"
"Mercy…" he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Don't you 'Mercy' me, you scoundrel. I can't stop thinking about last night."
"Me either."
She held herself stoically, trying not to break down, in weak impotent tears. She picked up one of his boots and threw it at him, narrowly missing his head.
"Are you crazy? Stop that!" He came off the bed and before she could move, he was across the room and had her by her wrists.
"You…you…there are no words low enough for what you did."
She fought to get away from him, but he held on to her, looking down into her face. She turned her head, so he would not see her tears.
"Come wash you face, Mercy. We can talk about this later. We have hotel guests…this is no time for a fight."
"Fight? I want to kill you. Where's your gun?" she broke free and ran over to his bureau, pulling a drawer out, and it hit the floor with a bang.
He leaned against the bed post and watched her.
"I want to kill me, too. Believe me."
"Where is it?"
"Do you even know how to shoot a pistol?"
"No, but I'm mad enough to learn."
"It's not in there," he calmly said. "Let's go have some coffee and then we'll talk about this."
"I don't want to talk. I want to murder you," she shouted and pulled out another drawer.
"You've changed from the person you were, when you first arrived in Texas. Last night…"
"I don't want to talk about last night, you damned scoundrel."
"I thought you said, ladies don't swear." She whirled on him.
"Have you no shame?"
"None…but when it comes to you, yes, I do." She tried to hold back her tears, as she glared at him, but they were streaming down her face, anyway.
"Mercy," he started gently. "Wipe your eyes and get your shoes, before anyone else find them. We can talk after breakfast." The thought of food made her sick.
"How can you even think about food at a time like this?" she asked.
"Men always think of food," he started, trying to lighten the situation. "It's our second most favorite thought. Now, go find your shoes and at least come to the table for some coffee."
"You are a cad and a rotter," she shouted.
He tried to hold her, as she brushed passed him, but she pulled away and slapped his face, then left.
Sam rubbed his stinging cheek, wanting to run after her and apologize, but he didn't.
He had won, but at what cost?
"She's right. You are a scamp," he said to himself.
He went into his bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. Then he shaved himself, which was difficult, because he didn't want to look himself in the eye.
He'd never felt bad about bedding a woman before and this one had been the most enjoyable, ever.
But he did her wrong and he could freely admit that.
Half an hour later, he went to breakfast.
Mercedes sat at the table, with the other guests, nursing a cup of coffee. She didn't look too well, and she didn't look at him.
Sam pasted a smile on his face and sat.
"Morning, all." The guests spoke to him, but Mercedes didn't.
He wondered if she had found her shoes and was tempted to lift the tablecloth and check her little feet. But he decided it was a bad idea.
The girls bustled about, serving breakfast, as usual.
Mercedes waved them away, when Elaine tried to put a plate of scrambled eggs before her. She just sat and said nothing.
Sam ate, sparingly, his usual appetite had waned.
He chatted politely, with the two guests and the girls, and every now and again, Mercedes raised her eyes and glared at him.
He pushed back his plate, after a while and said,
"I think I'll go out on the porch and have a cigar. You gentlemen want to join me?"
Both declined.
One had to get ready to catch a flight and the other had business in town.
Sam went out on the porch and sat down on the creaky swing.
It was going to be a typical first day of July, in Texas…hotter than hell, with the lid off.
He lit a cigar and thought about the mess he'd made.
Minutes later, Mercedes came out on the porch and stood there.
The tension, was as tight, as a hangman's noose.
Sam couldn't think of what to say to her. Finally, he blurted,
"I see you found your shoes." He berated himself internally, as he put his head in his hands.
'Could I have sounded any more stupid, or more heartless?'
"Is that all you have to say to me?" she asked.
"I'm sorry…it was pretty dumb, considering…"
"Are you going to tell everyone in town?"
"Come on Mercy. Do you think I would do that?"
"I think you're an unmitigated bastard, who would do anything to get what you want."
"I think you know me very well. Won't you sit down?" He patted the empty space next to him on the swing.
"No. I don't ever want to get close to you again."
That was a lie and she knew it, she thought with growing horror. Even now, she wanted to sit down on the swing next to him, throw her arms around his neck and let him kiss her breathless.
"You…you must know…I can't let Buford find out about this."
"He won't." She breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm not finished. There is a condition," he said.
"What?"
"Break off your engagement with that idiot. Your taste ain't that bad. Let him go back to Philadelphia." Her face went ashen.
"You dirty, rotten…"
"I know what I am, Mercy. You don't have to tell me."
Mercedes couldn't keep the tears, from overflowing her brown eyes. She had lowered her guard and let him make love to her, now he was even more rotten, than she could have possibly imagined.
"You planned this…to blackmail me." He didn't look at her. He couldn't. His heart hurt and he felt like crying, as he listened to the pain in her voice.
"Yes."
"You no-class Texas scum! I thought there might be something good in you, but you're so low, you could crawl under a snake's belly."
She fought to hold back her sobs.
He kept his eyes to the ground, when he spoke to her. His voice was so soft, she had to strain to hear him.
"I don't want him around you, or the Lily. It's a dog-eat-dog world…only the toughest survive."
"I hate you!"
She turned and ran back into the house, blinded by tears. She raced up the stairs and into her room, closing the door. She couldn't believe she had felt something for this rascal of a gambler.
Outside, Sam crushed his cigar in his hands, hating himself for what he had done.
He'd never had any scruples before, about how he won…never had any qualms about doing whatever it took to win, but now, he felt a new unfamiliar emotion…shame.
Carmen came out on the porch.
"What's wrong with Miss Mercedes? She brushed passed me and ran up the stairs. Looks like she's been crying."
Sam winced at the thought of Mercedes weeping, because of him. He stood up and tossed the crushed cigar and said,
"Who knows? Tell Josiah to bring the car around. I need to confab with some people, about how we're gonna stage this fight for the politicians."
Carmen nodded and went back inside.
After a long moment, Sam went inside, too.
He stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up at Mercedes' door. She was up there crying, and it was all his fault.
That prissy Lieutenant Fortenbury didn't seem like the forgiving type. He wouldn't like it, if he knew his fiancée had given her innocence to a gambler. So, of course, Mercedes will knuckle under and get rid of him.
Sam should feel triumphant, but he didn't. He felt rotten.
"It'll take some time, but she'll be alright," he said to himself. He said it, but right now, he wasn't so sure.
Upstairs, Mercedes washed her face and struggled with her disappointment and the decision she had to make.
She had always been a strong person, who never let her guard down with anyone. Last night, she had and look where it had gotten her.
She had a choice now, back way like a scalded dog, by giving up her half of the Lily to that scoundrel and leaving with Buford, or breaking her engagement to him and staying at the Lily, with that rascal.
If she left with Buford, she'd probably have to tell him. She wasn't sure he loved her enough, to be understanding and forgiving.
But she decided she didn't have to make a choice right now. Sam wouldn't want to create a ruckus, until this trouble with the politicians had passed.
All that was important right now, was saving the fort.
She would avoid Sam Evans, as much as possible, for the next several days.
She squared her shoulders and went downstairs.
Carmen met her, as she came out of the kitchen and asked,
"You lookin' for Mr. Sam? He went up town. I sent Josiah with the other car, to pick up more guests." Mercedes managed a smile.
"Thank you, Carmen. I don't know what I would do without you."
"Miss Sue used to say the same thing. You alright Miss Mercedes? You don't look so good."
"I…I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," the old woman muttered and returned to the kitchen.
Mercedes sighed.
She had work to do and couldn't worry if her eyes were swollen and red. She could always claim dust or smoke got into them.
Over the next hour, she supervised getting fresh linens out and getting rooms ready for the new guests.
She even made sure there were clean tablecloths on all the tables.
Josiah returned with five new guests, for her to check in and make comfortable. Then she took the car and went into town, to speak to the ladies about organizing the Fourth of July festival.
Everyone's biggest worry, was whether the fight between the soldiers and the cowboys would be authentic enough to fool the politicians.
"Honey," Mrs. Bottoms started. "You get both sides liquored up and it'll be authentic enough. There's nothing a Texan likes better than a good fight. Oh, by the way, your lieutenant said, he would come by later tonight."
That wasn't something Mercedes was looking forward to, knowing the gambler intended to tell Buford everything.
That night at supper, Mercedes got through the meal, by simply ignoring Sam. It was as if he didn't exist.
She made charming small talk with the new guests and Sam seemed to get grumpier and grumpier.
"If you'll excuse me," she started and stood, making all the men scramble to their feet. "I have a gentleman caller coming. Please, take your seats, gentlemen."
She motioned for them to sit back down.
"You can enjoy coffee, or maybe you'd like to have cigars and brandy in our gentlemen's lounge." Sam glowered at her.
"You're going out?" he asked. She flat out ignored him. Carmen came into the room, to pour more coffee.
"Carmen, Lieutenant Fortenbury is taking me for a ride. I may not be back until late," she said haughtily.
"You'd better watch out for your reputation. Young ladies shouldn't stay out too late unchaperoned," Carmen warned with a frown.
Mercedes glared at Sam, although she was speaking to Carmen.
"Don't worry about my reputation."
She sailed out of the room, leaving everyone staring at each other, in puzzlement.
Once again, Buford had borrowed the major's car and now, as Mercedes went out in the moonlight, he exited and came around to help her in.
He was so wimpy, compared to the gambler, she thought.
She scolded herself internally. She must stop thinking like that and concentrate on Buford's good points, which were… well…of course he had some.
He was respectable and from a fine family.
Then why was it, her mind kept returning to Sam, who was not as respectable and came from a poor white trash family?
In her mind, she was in his arms again, as he kissed and made love to her. She sighed at the memory.
"Are you alright, Miss Jones? You're awfully quiet."
"I…I'm fine," she assured him and struggled to smile and make conversation with him. Which turned out to be difficult, because there didn't seem to be much to talk about, with the prim officer, unless she wanted to discuss the tuba.
"Why don't we pull off the road somewhere and look at the moon?" Buford asked, scooting closer to her.
That meant more of those wet, smacking kisses. She shuddered in distaste.
"You know, Buford, dear, that might put my reputation at risk. Perhaps we shouldn't be alone, until after the wedding."
In the moonlight, she could see the displeasure on his pasty features.
"You don't seem too worried about your reputation, while you're living in a bordello and sharing quarters with that slimy scoundrel."
"Woah! Buford," she said and blinked in surprise. "We're only sharing a building and you know what the situation is. Of course, I could sell out and let him have full ownership of the place…"
"No, no, I wouldn't want you to do that. I think you're a brave independent woman, to take on that rogue and give him tit for tat. It's just that, well, some women find the rascal attractive and I wouldn't want you…"
"I don't find him the least bit attractive," she lied, looking upward, hoping God wasn't listening tonight to her bare-face lie.
"Of course, you don't. You have too much class, Mercedes, to even think about him that way."
"What way?"
"Uh…you know…"
"Certainly not." For a split second she tensed, waiting for the lightning bolt to come out of the clear sky and burn her to s crisp. In her mind, she was back in Sam's arms, sharing a heated passion that she'd never known could happen.
She took a deep breath, remembering the taste of his lips and the way his fingers had felt under her panties, as they stroked and teased…and the sheer ecstasy of her ultimate surrender.
"…then maybe I'd better take you home."
"Uh…what did you say Buford?" She glanced over at him, guilty, that she hadn't heard anything he'd said for the past few minutes. He frowned.
"Honestly Mercedes, are you sure you're alright? You seem so vague and disconnected."
"I…I'm distracted with this thing, the town is trying to pull off, to keep the fort form being closed."
"Oh, that." He snorted and continued, "Frankly, I think I'd be glad if they closed it."
"Why? What about all those people who depend on the fort for a living? What about all the soldiers, like you?"
"Who cares about a bunch of rebel Texans? And what do I care about the other soldiers? They'd probably all get sent to Arizona, to fight spiders, rattlers and any lingering Apaches."
He shuddered visibly.
"But...I do care, that it would impact on the Lily, since we'll own it."
'We'll own it. Was Sam right about Buford? But then, why would I believe the rascal who seduced me?'
"Uh…Buford, we'll only own half of it. I think I'm getting a headache. Would you please take me home?"
"Alright."
He glanced towards her, his voice full of sympathy,
"I do hope you're not coming down with something contagious. I have a very delicate constitution and I wouldn't want to catch anything."
"Then, you'd better not get too close to me…it could be something catching."
He scooted back over in his seat, immediately.
When they pulled up at the Lily, he hesitated.
"Do you mind, seeing yourself out? Just in case you're carrying something contagious?"
"Sure." She drew a quick breath of relief and clambered out of the vehicle. "Good night," she called and fled up the steps and into the house.
Buford watched her flee.
He'd seen her reluctance to his embraces and his kisses.
Once he made her legally his, he'd teach her all about lust. She'd be his wife and she'd have to submit, to anything he wanted her to do. Things that he couldn't even get the whores at the Bucket O' Blood to do.
But to take over, he was going to have to do away with Sam Evans.
He'd been a poor shot the last time, but he'd do better this time. He smiled at the thought and drove away.
That damned old billy goat, was out in the front lily bed, next to the big bird bath, chomping away.
As the car passed, the goat lifted its head and seemed to glare at him.
"Just you wait, you hunk of meat. When I own this place, the first thing I'm going to do, is plow up these common old lilies and have a big grand opening celebration, of the new Texas Lily. I'll serve you up, as some of that slop, Texans call barbecue."
The goat appeared to understand, because it lowered its head, as if to butt and bleated at him.
But Buford drove along, his thoughts going to the pin he had given to Mercedes.
'Maybe I shouldn't have given it to her, considering how I got it…then again…maybe no one would recognize it.'
He couldn't ever remember seeing Sue Sylvester wearing the pin, when he had been a Texas Lily regular, banging first one whore and then another.
"I wonder if the stories are true, about money being hidden in the house?" he muttered, as he drove along.
Maybe, the gold was hidden in big trunks in the attic, or even in the walls. Once he owned the Lily, he could search for it at his leisure.
He winced at the memory of that fateful night in April.
"I didn't mean to kill Sue, it was an accident," he mumbled to himself.
He had sneaked in the back way, on the pretext of laying with one of the whores upstairs.
That damned Sam Evans, had forbidden him to come to the Lily, because, he'd caught him cheating at cards.
It had been an exceptionally busy Saturday night, he remembered, with lots of noise and lots of people.
Len was at the piano playing away. The women were laughing and singing, and the poker tables were full.
As quietly as he could, Buford sneaked up the back stairs.
Sue was downstairs, he could see her circulating from table to table, laughing and joking with the patrons.
His mind was set on her hidden treasure. Maybe it was in a very ordinary place, like her bureau, or under her bed, he thought. He paused in the hallway outside of her door, looking around. There was no one around. He switched of the light in the hall and went into Sue's room.
There was only a dim light in there. He would have a look around for the money and when he came out in the dark hall, no one would notice him, with the light off.
His heart was pounding hard. He began to rummage through the drawers of her bureau and the suitcases under her bed. Nothing.
He noticed a jewelry box over on her nightstand, so he went over to it and began to search through it. Most of the stuff inside didn't look valuable and he was just about to give up, when his fingers landed on the diamond lily pin.
He picked it up and held it up to the dim light and watched it sparkle.
"This is exquisite and probably very expensive. I can take it and she'll never know. I can sell it, in one of the other towns for a pretty penny."
He slipped it into his pocket, with a smile on his face.
His back was turned to the door, and he didn't hear when Sue came in.
"What the hell are you doing in my room?" He whirled. Sue Sylvester, dressed in purple, stood in the doorway, staring at him.
"I…I was just looking, that's all."
"You're a damned liar, and a thief. That's why Sam told you, never to come to the Lily again. I'm gonna call him."
"No!"
Buford had run at her and grabbed her, putting his hand over her mouth.
Sam would beat him up for entering the Lily and for taking her jewelry, so he must not find out. He had to keep her quiet. She was tall and strong, for a woman almost fifty years old.
The two struggled, as he tried to keep her from calling out. They stumbled out onto the opened balcony, overlooking the big poker room downstairs.
The noise and music from downstairs was still loud and no one seemed to notice their struggle in the dark hall.
Sue bit the hand that was clasped over her mouth and screamed, as she pulled away from him, losing her balance.
She crashed against the balcony rail and it gave way. She screamed once more, as she fell onto the billiard table below.
Buford panicked.
He hadn't meant for this to happen…he was only trying to keep her quiet.
Girls and their half-dressed customers, had run out of adjoining rooms, yelling all types of questions.
The noise and the music from downstairs gradually ceased.
With the others, Buford tiptoed to the edge of the landing, where the rail had broken away and looked down. Sue had landed on a billiard table, breaking it down.
She laid there staring up, with her mouth opened, in that final scream.
All of the women started to scream and men gathered around the table, including Sam Evans.
With their attention riveted on the dead woman, Buford slipped back down the back stairs and out into the night.
He smiled now, remembering.
He hadn't found the treasure, but he had gotten away with a fine diamond pin.
Ironic maybe, but now, Sue Sylvester's jewelry, was going to adorn her naïve, old maid niece.
Then all Buford needed to do, was to figure out how to get rid of Sam Evans.
Grinning to himself, at his own cleverness, he headed to the Bucket O' Blood.
He was going to celebrate his bright future, by having a few drinks and buying a night in Quinn's bed.
Now, who is the real scoundrel? I can't stand Buford. Only two more chapters left.