Wild Fire (Book II)

Tricks Of The Trade

Warning*-Violent forceful scenes w/sexual themes (yes folks, the evil has returned.) Read at your own discretion

      Standing outside the door, Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had never seen a man naked. A little secret she had selectively decided to keep hidden. Oh sure, there was the occasional smooch or courtship growing up, but unlike Lilah, the thought of having men in her bed night after night disgusted her. Ok, maybe disgusted was the wrong word. Frightened her.

     She had heard this story or that of the first-time experience. Both from Lilah and the other girls, and it was never a very pretty one. There had been more than one cowboy that had come through the saloon to catch Emma's eye, but it never failed, she would always run. A shy smile or blushing cheeks perhaps, and she was off up the stairs to hide in her little makeshift room until time to tidy up after the more experienced women.

     Now she stood outside the door of this strange man with the steam of the bath floating under its crevice, and she felt she may stop breathing. "You can do this..." She mumbled to herself lifting her balled fingers and tapping on the door gently. Maybe he wouldn't hear her, and she could just go away. "You need any help in there?" Emma called with uncertainty. She closed her eyes tight, pressing trembling fingers to the warm wood. Where was Lilah? It had been days, maybe weeks. She missed her friend's strength in situations like this. Not to mention, she had become beyond worried about her.

     A deep grumbling voice wavered again from behind the door. "Come on in lil' darlin." Emma felt herself wince at the welcoming coo. She pushed through the entrance, her eyes cast down from the naked cowboy in the tub. Thankfully the steamy suds of the water hid the most private parts of him from her. A thick sense of relief washed over her as she moved forwards.

     He was a big man. His body was muscular and defined, dotted with various scars from wars she knew nothing about. A "T" of curled hair rippled across his chest trailing down to his slim waistline beneath the murky liquid. His thick nasty hair was nearly black, laying in spidery tendrils over his damp shoulder.

     He looked up at her through the steamy room, his eyes sparkling a confused looking gray among the mist. Emma remained frozen to the ground. It was like she forgot how to move at all with those piercing eyes boring into her. She watched the man smirk under his full beard that traveled surprisingly neat along his sharp jaw. He was almost handsome, but the cruelty within him peeked past his penetrating eyes and settled in the trickling sweat that dripped from the angle of his hard chin. Emma could see evil in those smokey orbs. But when he waved her over his voice was soft as silk. "Come on over here lil' lady. I ain't gonna bitecha." He gave her his most promising smile and patted the edge of the stained porcelain. "You're new aren't cha darlin?" he eased his back against the basin, quietly observing her and waiting for her to begin. "Yes sir. But I'll take real good care of ya." She knelt like a milk maid on the little three footed wooden stool beside him.

     Carefully she swept the pretty dress behind her and took the sponge about to lather it, when the man's hand struck out snatching her wrist. "Hair first please." He gently commanded, looking at her sidelong over his shoulder. The enjoyment of her sudden fear flickered across his face in the form of a pleased sneer. "Uh..of course." She dropped the sponge and walked behind him. Her hands closed around the tin cup atop the little table nearby. She dipped it in the water letting it run over the greasy hair of... "Clayton, they said your name was sir? Are you just visiting Valentine?" She tried to make small talk as she lathered his hair pulling her fingers through the trail of dust and dirt ground within from his travels.

     Emma looked around the room that had been so foreign to her as she waited for him to speak. Its dark wooden walls and low lamp light gave the air a sultry feeling. To her right sat a small table speckled with colognes, perfumes, and a splatter of soaps and shampoos. All arranged in a pretty circle for incoming clients. She noted a tray must have been across the basin at first, holding sponges and silver combs and brushes, but it now swept its contents across the floor as if tossed in a rage.