Occasionally he thought of himself as a bit jaded. As a young man he'd traveled the world, sown a good deal of his wild oats and found nothing that in any way surpassed the beauty of his home. While not ostentatious, it was comfortable and that's all he needed. He raised horses, ran a few head of cattle and enjoyed a day spent in the saddle now and then. If the need for adventure struck him, he traveled, returning home when it suited him. There was no one in his life who couldn't survive without him, and no one he pined for while he was away. All in all, his life was exactly the way he liked it, or it had been until a dirty little half pint of a girl wandered into The Red Petticoat a few days ago.
Now he had a niggling suspicion his days of peace and solitude were over. Marrying the girl would most likely be something he would have done in haste and repented at his leisure. In fact, he had no idea why he'd brought it up in the first place. Probably some form of misplaced sympathy for her dire circumstances. Hopefully, when she returned from her bath, she would be honest with him. If at all possible, he would help her and then plan a nice long trip to New Orleans for some feminine company and riverboat action. Pleased with his common sense approach, he settled into the chair to wait.
***
Clementine stayed in the scented water as long as she dared. The afternoon sun was beginning to wane and the other girls would want their turns. While she'd managed to avoid breakfast and dinner, not showing up for supper would surely raise eyebrows and have someone checking on her. Jewel might insist she take the night off and Clem wanted to be in the thick of things if Whiskers showed up.
Stepping out of the tub with a sigh, she dried off and pulled on her robe wishing she'd brought some clothing in with her. The thin satin clung to her damp curves revealing far more than she felt comfortable with, but putting on her dirty britches and shirt was unappealing. Surely Mr. Montgomery would not display undue interest especially since he already knew every inch of her body.
Clementine drained and rinsed the tub. She hurried back to her room half expecting him to be gone as she'd tarried so long, but there he was. His long body perched on her window sill as he studied the street below.
"Are you decent?" he asked, not turning around.
"I used to be," she responded in a crude joking way.
"Not funny, Clem."
"Sorry." Taking up a shawl she wrapped it around her body. "All right, I'm good. It's not like you haven't seen it before."
"That's beside the point. Those circumstances were different. Today I'm here as a gentleman caller, not a customer," he scolded. "I also hope you will come to regard me as a friend."
"I'm willing to try," she agreed, sitting down at her dressing table and picking up her brush. Slowly she began to untangle her long hair. Speaking softly, she told him about her life in West Virginia, her father's gold fever and their trip west.
Jasper listened intently, saving his questions and mesmerized by the way the fading light turned her curls to gold.
"Did you want to come west, Clementine?" he asked gently.
"Not particularly, but I had nothing to keep me from it. There was my teaching job of course, but no beau or anyone special. I always had an itch to travel, but our income didn't support that kind of thing. I guess some of his excitement rubbed off on me in the end and I got caught up in the idea of maybe striking it rich."
"Go on, honey," Jasper encouraged gently.
"He drank on the journey, much more than usual. He was full of dreams and overly high spirits, foolishly anticipating we would arrive and simply find gold lying on the ground for the taking. I worried he was heading for a grave disappointment," she said, pausing and looking at her lap. "I just didn't expect him to end up in a grave."
"I'm sorry about your father's death, Clem. Was the trip too much for him?" Jasper asked kindly as he approached her and took the brush from her shaking hands. Carefully he began to run it through her hair, smoothing the remaining tangles.
"My father didn't die from natural causes," she whispered, raising her head and meeting his eyes in the mirror. "He was murdered in cold blood, right before my eyes," she continued, her voice growing stronger with rage. "Like a dog," she hissed, "As though he was of no importance to anyone."
"Clem, I'm so sorry. Do you know why or who would do something like this?" he asked, placing his hand on her shoulder for support.
"For our mine, Eliza's Dream, of course," she spat. "It was showing promise and someone wanted it enough to kill him and run his son off. At least they thought they were running his son off. That gives me the edge, don't you think?"
"I don't understand. In what way does it give you an advantage?" he asked, his voice deepening. "Did you see who shot him?"
"No, I only heard his voice," she admitted shaking her head, "but it's a voice I'll remember till the day I die. So polite, so cordial, so deadly."
Jasper's hands resumed brushing, but he was ominously quiet for a few minutes as he watched her in the mirror. She saw his lips tighten, felt the tension in his hands when he laid the brush on her vanity and took her shoulders pulling her to her feet. Spinning her around to face him, he shook her once and Clem knew it was with great restraint.