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LENGTH: Category
SENSUALITY: Sensual

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2004
ISBN 1-58608-490-9
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Wagon master Luke McDade is, by his own admission, a drifter and a hell-raiser. He likes being footloose and having the freedom to keep discovering what's over the next hill. Then he meets the mysterious and beautiful Lilly Malone who sets his heart spinning even though he suspects from the beginning that Lilly is not who she claims to be. The surprise comes when he discovers not who she is, but what she is.

Rating: Contains graphic and explicit sexual content and language.

CANAAN

By

Barri Bryan

© copyright July 2004, Herb and Billie Houston
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright July 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Prologue

New Orleans--August 1838

"She’s dead, ain’t she Doc?" Minnie Morgan nodded toward the still figure on the blood-soaked bed.

"I’m afraid so, Min." Doctor Bordeaux ran the edge of the sheet through his stubby fingers and slid his sticky hands along the sides of his pants. Answering a midnight summons--no, it had been an order--from Minnie Morgan was not to his liking but he had come because the alternative would have even less to his liking. "I couldn’t stop the hemorrhaging." He turned to put bloody instruments into his bag. "Who was she?"

Minnie shrugged one beefy shoulder. "We called her Annie."

Over the snap of his closing bag, Doctor Bordeaux asked, "Annie who?"

Minnie’s sullen reply held a warning. "Annie’s all I know."

The bitchy old dyke was lying. She knew everything there was to know about every woman in her whorehouse. "Does she have friends, relatives--anyone?"

Minnie’s tone moved from indifferent to threatening. "Let it go, Doc."

"I have a report to make. I need some facts."

"She was a mattress girl. She came in here last winter. I felt sorry for her, so I took her in."

There wasn’t a sympathetic bone in Minnie Morgan’s body. Doctor Yves Bordeaux could testify to that fact. Why, then was she so protective of this dead woman? With swift insight the erstwhile doctor’s devious mind latched onto a surprising truth. This lovely creature had been someone Minnie cared about deeply. "I need a last name for my report."

"Let it go, Doc."

The doctor knew when to back away. "I’ll send somebody over in the morning to pick up the body."

"I’ll take care of all that." Minnie spoke with menacing finality. "Your job here is done. Get your bag and get out."

Slowly the startling truth dawned. This frail lovely dead woman had been Minnie Morgan’s lover and for some reason Minnie didn’t want the news of her death to be noised abroad. Doctor Bordeaux had the instincts of a bloodhound. Maybe if he played his cards right he could turn this bit of knowledge to his advantage. "There’s a look of quality about her." He pulled a bloodstained sheet over the still form. "Makes me wonder what she was doing in a place like this."

Minnie’s beady eyes narrowed dangerously. "She was minding her own business, which is more than I can say for some people."

Doctor Bordeaux lifted a cynical eyebrow. "Min, you know that I have to file a report; to do that I need a last name."

"Make up one," Minnie told him. She pointed toward the tiny bundle of humanity the doctor had wrapped in a swatch of cloth and laid on the far side of the bed. "What about the baby? Is it dead too?"

Doctor Bordeaux flexed his fingers. "She will be soon, if we leave well enough alone."

Minnie’s coarse features softened. "Annie’s baby ain’t dead?"

The doctor reached for his hat with one hand and lifted his bag with the other. "I’m not sure."

"What the hell do you mean, you’re not sure?" Minnie sprang into action. She sped around the bed and lifting the infant by her heels with one hand, she gave its rosy backside two resounding slaps with the other.

The tiny scrap of humanity took a deep breath then let go with an ear-splitting scream. The haphazard knot in the naval cord slipped. A stream of blood spewed toward the ceiling. The baby collapsed in Minnie’s arms.

Minnie held the infant in the crook of one arm and used her other hand and her teeth to retie the knot. Then carefully, deliberately, she covered the baby’s mouth with her lips and breathed in and out.

After several anxious seconds the baby stirred, whimpered, and began to cry.

Minnie heaved a sigh of relief as she wrapped the newborn in a clean cloth and cradled it in her arms. "You’re all right now, little one." She looked up to see the doctor staring at her, his mouth slightly ajar. A rare smile creased Minnie’s broad face. "She looks like Annie don’t she, Doc?"

Doctor Bordeaux paused, his hand on the doorknob. The sight of Minnie Morgan smiling and cradling an infant put him in a state of mild shock. "Now that she’s alive what the hell are we going to do with her?" Minnie’s sudden scowl caused him to add, "I suppose I could try to find someone to take her, or drop her off at the nearest foundling home."

Minnie stared down at the infant with an almost maternal look on her hard face. "Don’t bother, Doc. I’ll take care of her."

That statement was enough to rock the crafty doctor back on his heels. "You can’t keep a baby in a whorehouse."

Minnie pierced him with a stiletto stare. "Sez who?"

"There are laws, even in a city as corrupt and wicked as New Orleans." The doctor paused, obviously not sure just how greatly he should protest. "I can’t afford to get on the wrong side of the law again. When I make my report..."

"You’ll say the baby died." Minnie narrowed her beady eyes in the uneasy man’s direction. "Get out of here, Doc. And if you’re smart that damned report will say both mother and baby died."

"But Min..." Doctor Bordeaux protested.

Minnie Morgan was a huge hulk of a woman. She moved now with a speed that belied her massive size. In two quick strides she was standing directly in front the now frankly frightened physician. Even clutching a newborn infant to her breast she was a fierce sight to behold. "You will say they both died."

Courage was not one of Doctor Bordeaux’s strong points. "Whatever you say, Min." Clutching his bag to his chest, he backed through the door and, turning swiftly, hurried down the hall.

Minnie followed after him, still carrying the whimpering infant in her arms. "I say they both died and you’d better say the same."

The doctor called over his shoulder as he hurried toward the front door. "I can do that, but it will cost me and that means it will cost you, too." He wisely refrained from further discussing a payoff. "I’ll send you a bill."

Minnie was almost stepping on his heels. "One bill, one time, that’s all."

"I understand." The doctor hurried through the door and out into the deserted street.

"And don’t get greedy." Min called after him as he rushed away. As she made her way back down the dark corridor her mind turned to more practical matters. "I have to find a wet nurse, and soon."

Chapter One

April 1857

"What the hell do you mean, Mr. Layton wants more protection money?" Minnie Morgan balled her hands into fists. "Sidney Layton ain’t protecting me. He’s blackmailing me! Go back and tell your boss I ain’t paying him another cent." Her words rang through the stately old mansion’s shabby parlor and echoed out into the adjoining foyer.

Reginald Langford was a little man with shifty eyes and a mouth that hung in a perpetual droop. "Now Min, take it easy. You need Mr. Layton’s protection if you operate a brothel in New Orleans." He shrank even farther down into his chair. "Maybe you should reconsider Mister Layton’s offer to buy your place of business."

Minnie’s heavy brows pulled into a fierce frown. "Sidney already owns half the houses in The Swamp. What does he want, a monopoly?"

Reginald ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. "I’m not privy to Mister Layton’s private thoughts. I do know he’s willing to pay market value for your house." His scanned the threadbare furniture and the worn carpet in the shabby parlor. "Which drops with each passing day. Still, the place has possibilities. Mister Layton could make it into a reputable place for fancy clientele."

Minnie sneered. "Go back and tell your boss I said I’ll see him in hell first."

Reginald flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his velvet lapel. "Mr. Layton is also the police commissioner of this fair city. You shouldn’t speak of the gentleman in such disrespectful terms."

"Police commissioner, yeah," Min snorted. "But he’s no gentleman!" Her venomous words spewed forth like a geyser. "Sidney Layton is a son of a bitch."

"Maybe you should reconsider, Madame," Reginald returned softly. "Mr. Layton is offering you a legitimate business deal."

"Mister Layton is trying to take over my house." Minnie dropped into the chair across from Reginald and hitched it a little closer. "What happens to me and my ladies if he buys me out? Are we good enough to work in a ‘reputable’ whore house?"

Reginald cleared his throat. "Sidney has already looked the girls over. He says some of them can stay."

"Some of them can stay," Minnie mocked. "How generous of Commissioner Layton. There are twelve women in this house, but girls we ain’t got. Does that mean if I sell we all go?"

Reginald moved around in his chair. "Mr. Layton has already chosen the gir ... women he wants to keep, and marked them with his own special brand."

Minnie’s voice was a knife slicing the air. "I think you have some explaining to do, Reggie. What has Sidney done to my women?"

Too late, Reginald realized he’d said too much. "Forget it. It’s not important."

"I ain’t about to forget it." Minnie’s menacing look had frightened braver men than Reginald Langford. He cringed now as she roared, "Speak up, Reggie!"

In a vain attempt to placate her, Reginald whined, "Come on, Min. It’s not like--"

Minnie bellowed like a raging bull, "Now!"

Sheer terror replaced Reginald’s look of doubtful fear. His words tumbled over one another in their haste to be said. "Mr. Layton tattoos a tiny blue butterfly on the right buttocks of each of his gir ... women. Last night he came over while you were," he swallowed, "otherwise occupied, and had the girls he plans to keep tattooed."

Minnie’s massive hands gripped the arms of her chair. Her voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Tell me, Reggie, which women did he honor with his mark?"

Perspiration beaded Reginald’s upper lip. "Mr. Layton will be over later. He can tell you all about it then."

Rage glittered in the depths of Minnie’s beady eyes. "You will tell me. Now!"

Reginald swallowed again. "He likes the tall quadroon. I believe her name is Seraph. Mollie, the buxom redhead stays, and so does the little blond with the big blue eyes."

"There ain’t no blonde with blue eyes here." Minnie’s hand snaked out and grabbed Reginald’s shirt collar. "Unless that bastard tattooed my Coral." Her grip tightened. "If he did, you and him are both dead men."

Reginald’s words struggled to pass the obstruction in his throat. "I tried to tell Mr. Layton that Coral was your daughter. He didn’t believe me."

Minnie pulled more of Reginald’s shirt into her grasp. "Where is my baby now?"

Reginald gasped, "Let me ... go and I’ll ... tell you."

Minnie’s hand twisted, further tightening her hold. "Tell me first, then I let go."

Reginald’s face was turning a sick shade of blue. "Mr. Layton has her. Tucked away upstairs."

"You mean locked away upstairs." Minnie loosened her hold, allowing Reginald to suck air into his tortured lungs. "Get her down here now."

"I can’t." Reginald panted. "Bubba is guarding her."

Minnie’s fingers probed the soft tissue of Reginald’s throat. "I could kill you by pressing here," her hands moved ever so slightly, "or here."

Reginald got the message. "I’ll call Bubba."

In a matter of minutes a tall, lumbering brute of a man appeared in the doorway. "You called, Mr. Langford?"

Reginald struggled to gain some degree of composure. "Bring the young woman you’re guarding downstairs."

The huge and obviously stupid man protested, "But Mr. Layton said..."

"Don’t argue," Reginald rasped. "Just do as I say."

Bubba turned from the parlor and toward the winding staircase, mumbling under his breath as he went.

Minnie wrapped one beefy hand around Reginald’s throat. "If some man has violated Coral, I’ll choke the life out of you just after I slit Sidney Layton’s throat from ear to ear."

Before Reginald could answer, Bubba reappeared with a strikingly beautiful and obviously frightened young woman in tow. Her long honey-colored hair was loose and fell in cascading waves down her back. She wore a transparent scarlet wrapper that revealed every nubile line of her supple body and accentuated the firmness of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist and the rounding curves of her hips. Her dainty feet were encased in high heeled, backless black slippers.

Minnie’s hard features softened. "Baby, are you all right?"

Coral’s eyes were huge in her ashen face. "You found me just in time." She swallowed as if in pain. "Mr. Layton is auctioning me off to the highest bidder. He’s had men coming in since last night to look at me. He says that the highest bidder will have the privilege of spending tonight with me." Remembering the greedy looks of lust she’d endured over the past twenty-four hours made her shudder.

"Lookin’ huh?" Minnie shook with anger. "Has any man touched you?"

Coral struggled to control a flash of panic. "The man who tattooed my backside and the doctor who examined me to make sure I’m a virgin."

Reginald’s eyes bulged, partly from terror and partly from Minnie’s hold on his throat. "I tried to tell Mr. Layton that wasn’t a good idea..." A renewed grip cut his explanation short.

Minnie stood and dragged Reginald with her. "Get dressed, Coral. You and I are getting out of here."

An undercurrent of danger permeated the room as Coral hastened to do Minnie’s biding. She had one foot on the stairs when the front door swung open admitting a grimfaced Sidney Layton. His scurrilous gaze raked over Coral. "What are you doing down here?"

From the parlor doorway, Minnie loomed, tall and fierce. One hand gripped the hilt of the knife she always carried in her boot, the other grasped Reginald’s collar. "You tattooed my Coral!"

"Settle down, Minnie." Sidney jeered. "Or I’ll have you arrested you for disorderly conduct."

Minnie roared, "I’ll cut your heart out!" Pushing Reginald aside, she brought the knife up from her side and lunged across the foyer.

Swiftly, reflexively, Sidney reached inside his coat and brought out a pearl-handled pistol. "Nobody threatens me." He fired, point blank at the exact moment Minnie hurled her knife. The swiftly flying missile became all blade and sure destruction.

The shattering sound of gunfire was followed by a lifeless thud. Minnie fell face down across the foyer. Blood flowed from the gaping wound in her midsection and pooled in an ever-spreading red circle around her still body.

Sidney’s expression moved from angry to agonizing as the whistling knife severed his right ear. Pressing the palm of his hand to his head, he screamed in pain. "Get me a doctor before I bleed to death."

Reginald’s face froze in a mask of terror. A telltale stain appeared on the front of his trousers in an ever-widening circle. Leaning against the parlor door, he swore under his breath.

Seizing the moment, Coral acted swiftly and reflexively. She darted past the two men and raced toward the front door.

Blood dripped from the handkerchief Sidney pressed to the side of his head. "Don’t just stand there, you fool. Go after the girl. She’s getting away and she’s worth a small fortune."

As Coral sped across the veranda, Reginald shouted to Bubba. "Catch the girl. I’ll see to Mr. Layton."

Coral ran down the steps and into the foggy New Orleans night. The pounding of Bubba’s heavy footsteps sounded behind her like some tolling knell of doom. Kicking her feet free from her slippers, she raced barefoot into a darkness that seemed alive with menacing shadows.

Every nerve in Coral’s body leaped and trembled. She had to hide--but where? Bubba knew every back alley and side street in The Swamp. After running aimlessly for what seemed an eternity, she leaned against the side of a dilapidated building and painfully pulled air into her starving lungs. The chill of an early spring night cut through her paper-thin wrapper like a sharp knife. Goose bumps gamboled across her skin. Sinking down on the hard ground, she twined her arms around her waist and shivered as she tried to pull her scattered thoughts together.

Echoing footsteps coming nearer sent her vaulting to her feet. A mocking voice called from the misty blackness. "I know you’re there and I’ll find you girlie."

But for the fog, he would have seen her! Panic gave Coral renewed strength. Taking to her heels she ran as if the devil himself pursued her. She raced past the bawdy houses that lined either side of Gallatin Street and darted into a dark, garbage littered alley. Heavy footsteps behind her gaining in speed and momentum gave her aching feet wings.

Finally, winded and too weary to take another step, she darted behind a pile of garbage and leaned against an abandoned building. The sharp jab of a doorknob pressed into the small of her back. She gave the door a nudge. Miraculously, it opened. A nauseating odor wafted out into the night air. Coral covered her nose with her hand. As terrible as the stench was, the building offered sanctuary. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She scarcely had time to crouch down on the debris littered floor when the hinges on the door creaked ominously. Terror ran through Coral like a forked lightening as the outline of the gross figure of her pursuer appeared in the narrow opening.

Bubba stood there squinting his eyes and sniffing the air for what seemed an eternity. His lewd imprecations shattered the calm of the night. Then he turned and lumbered off into the darkness.

Coral lay down on the filthy floor. By now she was beyond fear. Terror froze her emotions, making it impossible for her to feel anything past the fatigue that pulled at every fiber of her being. She lay down with her head near the door that was now slightly ajar. The outside stench of garbage was preferable to the fetid odor that permeated the building. Her eyes closed, and she fell into a troubled sleep.

She was awakened by the sound of rats scurrying through the debris on the floor. Her muscles were sore, her body was stiff with cold, and her feet were lacerated and swollen. With difficulty Coral pulled herself to a sitting position. The first rays of a morning sun fanning across the eastern sky provided enough light for her to inspect her surroundings. She began to sort through the piles of filth and debris nearest her, hoping to find something--anything she could use to cover her cold, near-naked body. When she found nothing, she decided to explore further.

As she crawled toward the rear of the room, the stench became almost unbearable. Nausea rose in her empty stomach as she felt around under a pile of old rags. She was set to give up in despair when her fingers collided with something cold and solid. She pushed the rags away and lifted the blanket beneath them. A scream rose in her throat. She had touched the putrid flesh of a dead human body.

Her first impulse was to run screaming out into the street. By sheer force of will, she suppressed that urge. If she panicked now, all was lost. She lifted the blanket a little higher. The swollen, putrefying body of a young woman lay stretched out cold and rigid before her. As the haze of numbing terror began to clear away, she realized the corpse had shoes on her dead feet. Shoes! And Coral’s feet were pitifully bare.

For several moments she sat, trying to find the courage to do what she knew she must. After several ambivalent minutes, a resolve born of desperation led her to pull the blanket from the corpse. Fighting paralyzing fear and the sickening smell of death, Coral undressed the dead girl and then with a shudder of revulsion, adjusted the ill-fitting garments on her own body. They were soiled and foul smelling. They were also warm.

She pushed her feet into the coarse heavy stockings that had recently encased the legs of a dead woman and reveled in the warmth they provided. The shoes were too large even for her swollen feet. She pushed parts of an old newspaper into the toes, laced them tightly, and tied the shoelaces around her ankles.

As her body warmed and her senses cleared, she realized she couldn’t stay here. Any minute Bubba might return.

Coral put her hands into the pockets of the apron like garment that covered her long dark dress hoping to warm her cold fingers. They collided with the stiff edge of a folded envelope.

She crawled to the entrance and opened the door a fraction wider. In the early light of a new day she removed a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and began to read.