T
DODGE CITY, 1880
HE TOUSLED-HEADED boy eased the door open a crack, then ducked inside, looking loose-limbed and trail-weary. He hadn’t even been to the barber shop to be shorn like the rest of them always did. He did look fairly clean, though. That was something, anyway, but he was still wearing his old trail-beat boots and trousers. Most of the boys driving those animals to the railhead went for new boots and trousers first off. So, this boy must be mighty eager. He fumbled to snug the door tight, then turned his gaze to her. Sophie lazed back on her cot. A candle flickered and puddled on an up-turned wooden box. Its sputtering flame made shadows dance. The boy stepped closer. “I can’t hardly….” He cleared his throat. “Coming in from sunlight, it’s dim as a root cellar. Ain’t you got a lamp? Can’t even see your face.” Sophie cut him a sidelong glance. She lay her stare down hard on him, then sat up, pressing her knees tight together, sitting prim as a preach-
er’s wife, though powder caked her face and paint rouged her lips and sharp-boned cheeks. She tugged at a ragged ruffled skirt. “I doubt you come for my face.” She sneered and crossed her arms. He hauled his gaze away, working his mouth, likely struggling to find a clever word. “I’m supposed to come see one of you.” He shrugged and threw her another quick glance. “You know.” He thrust out one hand and uncurled his fingers. “I got a silver dollar and was told it’d be enough. It’s a whole day’s pay for me.” She stayed silent for a while, but when she spoke, her words came low and slow. “I guess I know I’m a whore, and you’re here with money. Ain’t no mystery but seems like you can’t even say it. How you going to be doing it?” She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling bone-weary. “Go on, unbuckle and unbutton. Let me get at it. I been told how. Guess I have put worse things in my mouth.” He stumbled back a pace, knocking up against the creaking door. “Girl, you are like some slinking animal. A weasel, maybe, or a fox. Like you’re holed