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  "Just thinking about something foolish." Josie looked at the floor. "You must be tired. I should let you get on to sleep."

  "I am tired." Dahlia stood then, the fabric of her dress whispering against the sheets. "Good night, Josie. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Good night." When the door closed, Josie flopped back onto the bed. "You damned fool," she said to herself. "You're gonna get yourself thrown out."

  She turned down the lamp and looked out the window, into the night sky. The stars were out, but the moon was gone, making everything that much darker below, like the town was lost in a river of ink. Josie rolled away. She had to hurry and leave Rio Plata before she was lost in it, too.

  Chapter Ten

  Over the next few days, Josie didn't so much find herself lost in a river as sinking in quicksand. She went to work for Mr. Sing and Wei, went home, played cards with Dahlia or chatted with Henry, then went to bed. Some days Dahlia would come talk to her at night, some days not. It was becoming familiar. Comfortable. Josie found herself wanting for it not to end.

  On Saturday, as she walked to work (the sky was threatening a storm and she didn't want to leave her horse out in the open all day), Josie happened to glance in the window of the dress shop. She hadn't noticed before, but now she could see that there was jewelry on display in the widow.

  A cameo on a lace choker caught her eye. It was black with a white carving of a lady's head, the opposite of the Sentimental Lady's sign. Josie couldn't help but to think about how pretty it would look on Dahlia's pale throat, and before she could think about it, walked inside.

  "Good morning." The woman behind the counter was wearing a blue gingham dress, a matching bonnet on the counter. She eyed Josie's clothing dubiously. "What can I do for you?"

  Josie removed her hat. "Mornin', ma'am. I was wondering about that cameo you had in the window."

  The woman moved out from behind the counter and to the window, moving the fabric aside and looking at the jewelry she had on display. "Do you mean this one?" she asked, holding up the one that had caught Josie's eye.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "You have good taste. This is ivory set onto jet, hand-carved by one of our local artists," the woman said, holding it between her hands for Josie to look at.

  She took it and looked it over, taking in the delicate lines of the ivory before handing it back. "It's beautiful. How much?"

  "Because of the expert workmanship and the time taken with it, we charge ten dollars."

  Josie whistled low, her mind working. At fifty cents a day, it would take her weeks to be able to afford it, while keeping some for herself. It would be a foolish purchase to give to a woman she would never see again after she left town, but still, she couldn't stop thinking about putting it around Dahlia's neck.

  "Don't suppose I could make payments on it?" Josie asked. She had a dollar in her pocket.

  "Certainly. You won't be able to take the necklace until you've fully paid for it, but I can hold it for you." The woman made her way back to the counter and took out a book. "Your name?"

  "Josie. Just Josie."

  The woman paused but wrote it down. "And how much would you like to put down today?"

  She handed over the dollar. It was there for buying tobacco; she was going to have to go without a cigarette for a few more days.

  "Thank you, Miss Josie. I'll keep it behind the counter for you."

  Josie thanked her and headed to the undertaker's, a few doors down. She was already nervous just from the idea of giving the necklace to Dahlia. Hopefully, work would take her mind away from it.

  *~*~*

  Work had to be cut short that day. The storm started early, and Mr. Sing scolded Josie and Wei, saying that carving and smoothing wood inside would make too much of a mess. To her surprise, she was still paid for a full day and was sent out into the rain.

  Lightning was streaking across the sky. Josie ducked her head to try and keep the driving rain out of eyes. She stiffened as she passed by Bill Walter's house, as she had done from the first time she found out it was his. Usually, there was no one around.

  This night, Foster and Slink were waiting outside the gate.

  Josie ducked her head and kept walking. She had left her shotgun in her room under the bed, thinking she didn't need it. She was cursing herself now.

  "Hey, we wanna talk to you," Foster called after her. When she didn't stop, Josie could hear the sound of two sets of footsteps following her.

  "We're telling you to stop," Slink yelled.

  Josie walked faster, drawing her pistol and turning on her heel in one motion. Foster's forearm caught her across the nose, the pain so sharp that she dropped her gun. She stumbled back, but it didn't save her from a knee to the stomach from Slink.

  "You wanna dress like a man, you can fight like one!" Slink grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back. "Come on, bitch!"

  She spat blood in his face and drove her fist into his mouth. Slink let her go, but Foster kicked her in the side, making her fall to the ground. She curled up to protect her chest and face, grunting when Foster kicked her in the side again.

  "Mr. Walters doesn't take kindly to being bad-mouthed, 'specially by some bitch that don't know him from Adam," Slink said, and delivered a second kick to her stomach.

  Josie gasped, all of the air pushed from her, and curled up all the tighter. She heard something scrape along the ground and then hit her in the back; Foster must have kicked her gun at her.

  "You watch what you say from now on, and be happy that Mr. Walters is a nice man—if I'd had my way, I would have shot you."

  She lay where she was, not moving. Josie wasn't a coward, but she was in no state to fight both of these men. Slink got a last kick in—this one to her leg—and then they both walked away, leaving her in the mud.

  Chapter Eleven

  The distance between Bill Walter's house and the Lady, for Josie, seemed like a hundred miles. She stumbled as she walked, her stomach and ribs aching, blood only partially washed away by the rain as it dripped down her face. Her pistol was full of mud, and she let it dangle from her fingers as she made her way.

  She didn't want to alarm Dahlia, but there was no way in besides the front door; the back way through the kitchen was always locked. Her plan had been to sneak up the stairs and clean up the best she could, but she was stopped by Bit even before she had both feet inside.

  "You're bleeding!" she said loudly, and dropped her broom.

  Josie sagged against the doorframe. "It's not so bad," she lied after swallowing a mouthful of blood so she wouldn't spit it on the floor.

  Dahlia rushed over to her, the blue ribbons on her white dress fluttering. "Oh my goodness! Henry, bring hot water up to my room," she said, grabbing Josie's arm.

  "I'll wreck your dress," she coughed, trying to pull away.

  "Don't worry about that now!" Dahlia ducked under Josie's arm. "Come on."

  Josie leaned against Dahlia, walking up the stairs with her. She took her sopping wet handkerchief out of her pocket with her other hand and coughed more blood into it. "It's from my nose," she assured her.

  Dahlia led Josie to the room with the vase of roses outside of it. It was much larger than Josie's own, with a little sitting area to one side. A few of Dahlia's gowns were on wooden stands, and there was another vase of flowers by the bed.

  "Stay here," Dahlia said, leaning Josie against the wall. She grabbed one of the chairs from the sitting area and dragged it over.

  Josie sank into it and began to struggle out of her wet coat. Dahlia pulled her boots off and set them aside, stockings next.

  "I can undress myself," she said, coughing again.

  "It will be quicker with another pair of hands. You can't sit around in wet things; you'll catch your death!" Dahlia rose and unbuckled Josie's belt. "Stand up again."

  Rising, Josie finally shrugged out of her coat. While Dahlia pulled down her trousers, Josie pulled her shirt off, struggling to unwind the soaked scarf
around her breasts. She felt Dahlia pull down her drawers as well, and suddenly felt the awkwardness of standing naked before her.

  "We'll get you washed up when Henry comes with water," Dahlia said. She took the wet clothes and piled them up in a corner, then disappeared behind a screen, returning with a towel.

  Josie took it and dried her hair first, patting the rest of her dry as best she could. The towel still came away muddy. She dabbed her face, nose throbbing, and did the best she could to not get blood on it, but that was a futile effort.

  "Let me have that," Dahlia said, and took the towel, vigorously wiping mud off of her. When she was finished, she dropped the towel on the floor as well, and took Josie by the arm, leading her to her bed.

  Uncertainly, Josie lay back against the pillows. She was shivering, and Dahlia pulled a blanket over her. "I need a handkerchief for my nose."

  Dahlia handed her one; it was edged with lace and smelled like her floral perfume. "Now, tell me what happened to you."

  Josie held the handkerchief against her nose gingerly. "Mr. Walters objected to the things I said to him," she began, then paused to take a breath. Her ribs still ached. "So he sent Slink and Mr. Foster to express his feelin's."

  "That son of a bitch!"

  Hearing the cussing in Dahlia's sweet voice made Josie give a wheezing laugh. "I was thinkin' the same."

  "Josie." Dahla sat down on the bed beside her, and Josie dismayed to see the mud on her dress. "You've not had a high opinion of Mr. Walters since you arrived. I can't blame you for that, but I somehow doubt you've heard about him by reputation."

  "No, I didn't," Josie said quietly. "But I don't want to have you mixed up in all this, Dahlia."

  "I want to help you," she said, her hand on Josie's arm.

  She closed her eyes. "I came to town to kill Bill Walters, and then I'm going to leave. But I… don't know if I can. I've been running from this man for years. I feel like I'm going to keep running."

  "Killing in cold blood is cowardly, Josie. It's murder," Dahlia said softly.

  "Some things are worse than murder. Might make me a coward, but I'm already too much of a coward to face him."

  Dahlia was so quiet that Josie had to open her eyes to see if she was still there. Finally, she said, "Did he hurt you?"

  "Not just me." Josie closed her eyes again and took a painful breath.

  There was a knock at the door, and Dahlia rose. There was the sound of heavier footsteps, then water being poured. The footsteps walked away, then the door closed again. "Let's get you into the bath."

  With her help, Josie was out of the bed and behind the screen, sinking into the shallow water. It was steaming hot, but it bought feeling back into her rain-cold skin. As Josie tried to get comfortable, Dahlia poured her a glass of whiskey.

  Josie drank her whiskey until the glass was gone, saying nothing. She washed what dirt she could feel, and carefully cleaned dried blood from her face. Both the hot water and the alcohol were numbing the pain, and she almost drifted off to sleep before Dahlia touched her arm again.

  "I don't want you getting sick sitting in water all day. Come back to bed," Dahlia said, helping her to stand. She wrapped Josie in a towel and led her back to the bed.

  Josie got under the sheet and lay down on her back again. "… Thank you for caring for me. I'll go back to my own room once I feel up to it."

  Dahlia gave her a stern look. "You'll do no such thing. You're going to rest here until I tell you that you're fit to get out of bed."

  "Yes, ma'am," Josie said with another breathy laugh. Her mind sure wasn't tired, but her body was exhausted, still throbbing dully. This certainly complicated things. Maybe Bill Walters remembered her—maybe he didn't. Either way, it was going to be a lot more difficult to get close to him.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was dark when Josie heard the bedroom door open. She automatically reached for the headboard, where her holster would have been, but she wasn't in her own room. Her pistol was still on the floor, probably full of mud. She needed to get up and clean that.

  Dahlia turned up the lamp on the bedside table.She was wearing her green dress now. "How are you feeling?"

  "Better," Josie replied. "Still hurts, but I feel better."

  "Let's have a look at you."

  Josie was still uncertain about Dahlia seeing her undressed, but she let her pull down the sheets, crossing her arms over her chest.

  "You have a dreadful bruise on your side," Dahlia said, gently touching her skin.

  A grunt answered it. "I'm not surprised; that's where Mr. Foster kicked me."

  "Well, we'll have to be glad tomorrow is Sunday, so you can rest." Dahlia sat down on the bed and said, "Will you unlace me?"

  Grunting, Josie forced herself to sit up. Dark green ribbon was laced down the back of Dahlia's gown, tied in a bow at the bottom. She untied it and pulled the ribbon loose, rolling back over.

  "Thank you kindly. Oh, and don't you worry about the dress I had on earlier—I sent it to French Pete to try and clean. I'm sure it will be just fine." Dahlia pulled the dress off over her head, carefully putting it on one of the wooden stands. Her crinolette was next, standing against the wall.

  Dahlia was left standing in only her drawers. Her breasts were small and looked soft. Josie turned away, onto her bruised side, to keep from staring.

  "You seem uncomfortable with being unclothed around me," Dahlia said.

  "Not just around you. No one's seen me unshucked since I was a little shaver," Josie grunted, her weight on the bruise making it ache all the more.

  "I won't look, then," Dahlia said, her tone light. She was quiet after that, and Josie could hear soft metal tinkling—she was probably taking down her hair. The bed dipped then, and Josie's heart began to hammer.

  "Good night, Josie," Dahlia said from behind her. Josie could feel Dahlia's bare leg against hers now; she must have taken off her drawers too. "Would you be good enough to turn off the light?"

  Josie did just that, then pulled the sheet up to her chin. She never would have dreamed of being so close to Dahlia with so little clothing on them both. She crushed the sheet against her chest and tried to make herself calm down.

  "Josie," Dahlia said. Her voice was so soft that it could barely be heard over the rain pounding on the roof. "That night I came to you, after you started working for the undertaker."

  "Yeah?" she asked. Her voice was shaking.

  There was a pause before Dahlia said, "You looked like you wanted to kiss me."

  Josie said nothing. In a way, this was more terrifying that getting bushwhacked by Slink and Foster. Her body still ached from that, but the thought of being rejected by Dahlia scared her more.

  Dahlia's cool hand was on her back. "Don't be afraid if you were," she said quietly. "I was hoping that you would."

  All of Josie's fear left her in a deep breath. "… I've never kissed a woman before, but I've wanted to."

  "I have before. One of my girls didn't favor men, either, and we… well, we comforted each other for a while," Dahlia said, lightly stroking her skin. "It was enjoyable."

  "Is she still here?" Josie asked, picturing Dahlia and Snapdragon in each other's arms, even though she knew it couldn't be her. It wasn't entirely terrible to think of, even if it did make her feel unreasonably jealous.

  "No; she left for California." The hand stopped. "Josie, would you still like to kiss me?"

  Slowly, Josie rolled over. It was too dark to see Dahlia's lovely face, but she could feel the eyes on her. "We're not supposed to, are we?" she asked.

  Dahlia laughed. "You're not supposed to wear trousers. I'm not supposed to own a whorehouse. You're the last person I'd expect to worry about propriety!"

  "That's true enough. I just..." Josie slowly reached out. She could feel Dahlia's curls resting against her face; she brushed them aside to touch her cheek. "I don't want any harm to come to you."

  "There's no harm in a kiss," Dahlia said and, to prove her point, turned her h
ead enough that she could kiss Josie's palm.

  A sigh, and Josie moved her hand away. Her heart was thundering again as she moved in. It was just a kiss, she shouldn't be so nervous, but she still had to exhale a jittery breath before her lips touched Dahlia's soft mouth.

  It was wonderful. Awkward but enjoyable, as sweet as she'd ever hoped it would be. She wrapped her arms around Dahlia and pulled her close, the feeling of bare skin against her own this side of overwhelming. "You looked like an angel when I came in, in that white dress."

  "Horsefeathers," Dahlia said, but Josie could see her smile now, with their faces so close. "I know you're hurt, but I'd like to hold you for a time."

  "I'd like to kiss you again," Josie said. And she did. One kiss became two, then many, the feel of Dahlia's mouth against hers becoming familiar.

  "You're so beautiful," Dahlia murmured against her mouth, her clever fingers unbraiding Josie's still-damp hair so she could stroke through it.

  Josie had been called beautiful by men before, but their opinion had never much mattered to her. Hearing it from Dahlia made her heart warm. "Not half as pretty as you."

  "May I touch you?" she whispered.

  Josie's belly tightened with a mix of nervousness and longing. "Yes," she whispered back.

  Dahlia was slow, gentle, running her hands up and down Josie's back before moving out of her embrace, fingers tracing her collarbones. "You can touch me too, if you want to."

  She did want to, but Josie didn't know where to start. She started with Dahlia's stomach, touching the flat softness of it to get a feel of her skin. It drew a giggle from her.

  "That tickles," she said, drawing a finger down between Josie's breasts.

  "Sorry," Josie said with a smile, some of her nervousness fading. She let her hands slide up to Dahlia's small breasts, feeling their shape against her palms. The hard press of her nipples made Josie's breath catch. "My hands aren't too rough for you, are they?"

  "They feel wonderful."

  While Josie had never shared her bed with another, she had certainly used her hands on herself, so she tried to think of what she enjoyed. She squeezed Dahlia's breasts, thinking that they fit perfectly in her hands, and massaged them with tight curls of her fingers.