Chapter 8

The next morning, the warehouse was not only cooler, thanks to a low overcast blocking the sun, but also quieter. Few loads arrived, and fewer wagons required loading, which was good for several reasons.

First, the Marble brothers were absent. Grimley only offered up that they were doing some other chore for the colonel. So, their backs weren’t missed, as Caleb, Silas, and Hiram worked among the stacked crates and piles of sacks.

Second, Teacup. He needed time to process all that’d happened in the darkened hotel room. No hesitation, she’d surged to kiss him and had been insatiable. For his part, flesh stayed hard for far longer than should’ve been possible after witnessing the previous night’s fireplace-lit show at the Andrews farm. When he’d finally rolled from her quivering figure, they’d both been panting.

In the middle of the night, a simple tug on his arm had led to him smiling while moving atop her for a repeat performance. Then they’d enjoyed a third, slower coupling just as dawn broke. That one had not only left her trembling, but him as well.

No promises had been made. After a final kiss, she’d risen from the bed, dropped the gauzy shift over sleek curves still twinkling with perspiration, and headed for the exit. Although silent, the beauty had paused at the threshold to scan him, as if seeking the right words. Knew how that felt; he’d had no idea what to say, either. Like Eliza, she was a whore, albeit a more expensive one, but at least her visit was—friendly, not purchased.

Yet, that left him with more questions ... a good deal more.

At lunch, Helga arrived with a basket. A repeat of the previous day, with a notable exception. When she rose to her feet, readying to leave, Silas also stood. He followed her from the warehouse to return a little later with a smile on his face while buttoning his trousers. Hiram said not a single word.

The afternoon dragged, but the sweltering heat never arrived. Instead, cooler breezes and less cargo requiring movement meant they took breaks under the watchful eye of Grimley, standing by the open doors. Whereas the German kept to himself, the bowler tilted over his face, giving the appearance of sleeping despite the absence of snores, Caleb settled on a bushel of hay beside Silas.

The queries bubbled, about to leave his lips, but a quick glance at the grinning man and they died. Dick emptied into one of Helga’s orifices, the giant held no answers. Once more the absence of Pa struck deep, and ribs clawing tighter, he reclined on the soft stalks and closed his eyes.

Dreams arrived. Pleasant ones. He possessed a large home, lots of land. Trees swayed on the surrounding slopes. In the manicured rear garden, women sat around white metal tables while tittering and fanning themselves. Eliza. Delilah. Susan. Teacup. The quartet of smiling beauties wore the finest clothing and sparkled like the prettiest jewels.

“Wake up!”

The call snapped sleep away. Even as he shot upright, his eyes flew open. He turned to Grimley just as the man waved over his shoulder for them to gather.

“Wagons coming.”

Oh, did they ever. One after another, shipments thundered into view. So many that Caleb came close to asking Silas the purpose of the entire exercise. The town’s main warehouse district lined the rails, where it was easier to transship to the trains. This structure sat on the far side of town, and while he’d not talked with any of the drivers, Grimley had, and overheard snippets said they were coming in from across the high prairie.

At last, with the sun barely a glow on the horizon, the final wagon wheels rumbled into the distance, and their supervisor began closing the warehouse entrance. Hiram whispered something to him, then dodged out before the second door thumped shut. After washing over a barrel of warm water, he and Silas nodded at Grimley as the stiff man dumped a silver coin into each palm.

On the way to the hotel, he slowed at the jaunty music, loud voices, and raucous laughter spilling from the “Blue Dog.” If he stepped inside, what might he find?

“Eliza,” mumbled from cracked lips.

Except she’d be working the tables, selling drinks with soft presses, quiet words, and sneak peeks of what he’d enjoyed, then taking men up and down the stairs. Nah, he couldn’t witness that. Besides, his stomach rumbled, casting its vote.

After a quick change of shirt, one more rinse of his face, and running a comb through his hair, he arrived at the hotel dining room on time. Maintaining a smile, he greeted several other guests as they took seats around a large, round table.

Introductions revealed the Trentons, Dean and Ursula, a pleasant enough elderly couple from St. Louis. After visiting their daughter, married to a guy employed by the railroad just up the line, they were awaiting the eastbound to take them home.