Two Brothers by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online

darkness. The night was a thrumming cacophony of saloon music, one or two barking dogs, a braying mule, the celebratory whoops of cowboys and even the occasional gunshot—she knew a moment’s piercing fear for the marshal’s safety—but underlying it all was the weeping, sorrowful and hopeless.
    Far below, in the narrow space between the hotel andthe general store, a small figure crouched. Aislinn started to call out, then decided that would be a bad idea, for the girls sharing the room with her worked hard all day, and needed their rest. Exasperated, she pulled on a wrapper and made her way down the rear stairs in cautious haste. In the kitchen, now empty, she lit a lantern and unlatched the back door.
    The brindle dog was taking a noisy supper from the scrap pail; he looked up at Aislinn and then went on lapping up leftovers. Hoping no one would come along and fasten the door behind her, she moved carefully around the corner of the building.
    “Who’s there?” she called softly, holding the lantern aloft in an effort to make out the other person’s identity.
    The figure was a small, trembling bundle, garishly dressed in purple and red taffeta and young, judging by her voice. “Go away and tend to your own business.”
    Aislinn crept closer. “I’m afraid I’ve never been very good at that,” she said. “Are you hurt?” She had an impression of fierce, glittering eyes and terrible fury, barely held in check, and was reminded of a small animal, struggling in a trap. “Shall I fetch the doctor?”
    “I told you, just go away. There’s nothing you or that rummy old sawbones can do for me.”
    Light spilled over the tumble of taffeta and feathers and fear, and a small thrill of excitement went through Aislinn as she realized that the young woman was one of the dancing girls from the Yellow Garter Saloon. Her curiosity was overwhelming, and exceeded only by pity. “I’m not going to leave you. It’s obvious that something is wrong.”
    The woman gave a hoarse, despondent laugh and wiped her nose with one hand. “You’re one of those women who pours coffee and serves flapjacks in the hotel restaurant, aren’t you?” she challenged.
    It occurred to Aislinn that if she and the others could wonder and whisper about the soiled doves at the YellowGarter, the reverse might be true as well. “Yes,” she answered, crouching down beside the fallen woman. “My name is Aislinn Lethaby. What do they call you?”
    Another bitter laugh. “You don’t want to know what they call me,” she said. “It would singe your pretty little ears.” She paused, then went on with a sort of forlorn defiance. “My mama and papa called me Liza Sue, but I’ve been somebody else for a long time. What kind of name is ‘Aislinn’? You a foreigner or something?”
    Aislinn smiled, set the lantern down, and reached quickly to steady it when it tilted. “My mother took the name from a book. It’s Irish, I think. I was born in Maine, and so were both my parents.”
    Liza Sue sniffled. “That’s a whole lot more than I asked you,” she said. In the dim, wavering light, Aislinn could see that the other woman’s face was badly bruised, as were her upper arms. Her cheeks were streaked with kohl, and the feather on her hat bobbed with a sort of pitiful gaiety. “Listen, I got beat up by a drunken cowboy. Are you satisfied? I’ll be all right by tomorrow.”
    Aislinn gaped at her, horrified. “We have to go and complain to the marshal. Whoever did this should be arrested!”
    The prostitute shook her head, marveling. “If I did that, I’d just get beat up all over again.”
    “Surely the marshal wouldn’t—”
    Liza Sue’s smile was grim. “It isn’t Shay McQuillan I’m afraid of—he’d throw the feller in jail right enough. The next day, he’d get out, and come after me again, only it’d be a whole lot worse the second time. No, ma’am. If Marshal McQuillan asks me how I got myself all black and blue, I’ll tell him