The gambler frowned. “You’re sure?”
“I’m certain.”
Cleve shrugged. “It’s your house.”
He tucked the gun away under his coat and disappeared through the door, which he left open behind him.
“Are you going to let me go?” Jessie asked Preacher, her voice cold with scorn.
“That depends. Are you gonna sic more of your men on me?”
“No. Not unless you cause more trouble.”
Preacher still had hold of her wrist, so that her arm was doubled behind her back. He released it and stepped away from her. She turned to glare at him as she used her other hand to rub the wrist he’d been gripping.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?” She had green eyes, Preacher saw now, and they were flashing with the emerald fire of anger. “This is a respectable neighborhood. I can’t have people brawling on my front lawn.”
“Wasn’t my idea,” Preacher snapped. “Your darky grabbed me and threw me in the flower bed, and that seemed to make him go loco.”
“Brutus takes great pride in his flowers,” Jessie said with a nod. “What were you doing coming to the front door, anyway? Tradesmen are supposed to go to the back.”
“I’m not a tradesman. I’m a customer.”
Jessie smiled. “Dressed like that? I don’t think so. You couldn’t afford to be a customer here, Mister . . . ?”
“Donnelly,” Preacher said. “Jim Donnelly.”
“Well, Mr. Donnelly, this is the most exclusive, and might I add, expensive house in St. Louis. Unless you’ve saved everything you’ve earned from your farm in the past, say, five years, I seriously doubt that you can afford to pay us a visit here.”
“But you don’t know that, and neither did he.” Preacher nodded toward Brutus.
Before Jessie could respond, two more men came out of the house and hurried across the lawn. They were white, and although they weren’t as big and burly as Brutus, they looked plenty tough. One of them asked, “You want us to run this varmint off, Miss Jessie?”
She shook her head. “No, just help Brutus inside and make sure that he’s all right. I can deal with Mr. Donnelly.”
“Are you sure?” the other man asked.
The angry look she gave him at the question made him step back and hold up his hands.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he muttered. “Come on, Terence, let’s do what the lady says.”
Together, they helped Brutus to his feet. He seemed to be regaining his senses to a certain extent. He sent a murderous scowl in Preacher’s direction as the two men helped him into the house.
“You’ve made an enemy,” Jessie commented.
“Wasn’t my intention. But I wasn’t gonna let him toss me around like a rag doll and stomp me, neither.”
She ignored that and continued in a haughty tone, “I think we’ve established that this isn’t the place for you, Mr. Donnelly. Why don’t you just move on? There are places down at the riverfront—”
“Yeah, I know. I ain’t interested in those soiled doves. I want somethin’ better.”
A chilly smile curved her full, red lips. “We can’t always get what we want, Mr. Donnelly.”
“Why don’t you let me talk to the fella who owns this place?” Preacher shot back at her. “We’ll see what he says about it.”
Her face remained cool and unperturbed, but he caught the flicker of surprise in her eyes. “I’m the owner,” she declared. “That’s why it’s called Jessie’s Place.”
Preacher snorted. “Women don’t own businesses. Not even whorehouses.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken. And you’ve just become even more offensive. I have to ask you to leave now.”
Her hand came up from the folds of her dress gripping a little pistol that must have been stashed in a hidden pocket. The barrel was short but big enough around to tell Preacher that the gun still packed a potent punch despite being undersized. Jessie thumbed back the hammer as she raised the weapon.
“I assure you,” she went on, “at this range, this
Preacher didn’t doubt that for a second. He was also aware now that she had been armed the whole time and could have pulled out that pistol and shot him any time she wanted to. That made a cold finger go down his backbone.
“All right,” he said with ill grace. “I’m leavin’. But you remember my name. It’s Jim Donnelly.”
“I’m not liable to forget it soon, after all this commotion you’ve caused.”
“And remember somethin’ else,” Preacher went on. “That big fella Brutus, who I reckon is supposed to handle any trouble around here . . . I beat him. Whipped him good. Maybe what you need is somebody tougher.”
Jessie’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re talking about yourself, I suppose?”
