Page 18 of A Star in the West

“Well, we’ve no time to waste, gentlemen.” Stella, babe in arms, strode across the churchyard toward the street. “Let’s be off.”

An invisible hand clutched his heart with a ferocious grip as a single thought pulsed through his brain.

Stella is not to go to Sherod’s. Send her home another way.

Frank could not explain the phenomenon, but his soul vibrated with undeniable urgency.

“Stop!” He jogged up to Stella and circled around in front of her. “You can’t go to the brothel.”

She bristled. “If you think I care one whit about my reputation when a child’s life hangs in the balance, Frank Stentz, you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

Frank stood his ground. He had to. “I don’t know if it is your reputation that needs protecting or if it is your life or the life of the child, but the moment you marched past me, a warning sprang to life inside my spirit. One that insisted I send you home another way. I won’t ignore that, Stella. Not when every instinct I have tells me it came from above.”

Her expression softened, then grew uncertain. She bit her lip as she glanced down and snuggled the child closer. “I hadn’t considered it might be dangerous for the baby.”

“Muir and I will go to Sherod’s. I promise we will do everything in our power to find the babe’s mother and get her away from there. We’ll bring her to your father’s house straightaway.”

“No. Bring her to Norman’s house.”

Frank’s brow scrunched. “The carpenter?”

“Yes. He lives two blocks down on Fifth. Small house. White picket fence. There’s no telling how long your search might take. If the babe gets hungry or needs a change, I’d have no way to care for him at my home.”

But Norman’s wife would be well supplied. Having her own infant, she could serve as a wet nurse and provide diapers and clean clothes should the need arise.

“Good thinking.” Frank turned to Goldstein. “Will you escort her there, Isaac?”

He dipped his head. “It would be my privilege.”

Reassured that Stella and the babe would be safe, Frank motioned to Muir and spoke five words he’d never imagined would pass through his lips.

“Let’s go to the brothel.”

Chapter 10

If it wasn’t for the inconspicuous sign half hidden by the rocking chair on the front porch, Sherod’s Sporting House would have looked like any other slightly rundown home in the area.

From the outside. The inside was another matter.

A hard-faced man with bulging muscles and an impressively curled mustache showed Frank and Randolph into a parlor decorated with thick red draperies, fringed lamps, and paintings of scantily clad and not-at-all clad women.

Heat engulfed Frank’s face, and his gaze immediately dropped to the carpet. Not only to avoid looking at any of the inappropriate artwork but to avoid making eye contact with any of the other gentlemen in the room. What if someone recognized him and assumed he was here for . . . entertainment? The thought made him ill. Until he recalled Stella preparing to march over here to storm the castle herself.

Courage, man. You and the Good Lord both know why you’re here. Just do what needs to be done and quit worrying about what others might think of you.

“Well, hello, gentlemen.” A middle-aged woman with rouged cheeks and kohl-rimmed eyes sauntered over to greet them, her gaze carrying a calculating gleam. “Welcome to Sherod’s.” She coiled her fingers around Muir’s arm, then leaned close and patted Frank’s lapel. “First time, honey? No need to be nervous. My girls’ll be gentle with you.” She laughed softly, a husky sound that was likely meant to entice, but it accomplished the opposite effect.

“I’m not here for . . . that,” Frank murmured in a low voice as he stepped backward and crinkled his nose against the cloying scent of the madam’s perfume. “I’m looking for a woman who works here. One who gave birth recently. Could you arrange an introduction? I just want to talk to her.”

Muir was working to disentangle himself from the bold female when Frank’s words set off an unpleasant reaction.

The madam’s smile tightened, and anger flashed in her gaze. “This ain’t a talkin’ house, boys. It’s a sportin’ house. And if you ain’t gonna pay, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” She motioned to the large fellow at the edge of the room.

“We’ll pay,” Frank blurted in a desperate attempt to stave off the advance of the muscled doorman currently cracking his knuckles and stretching his neck as if preparing for a physical altercation.

Frank fumbled for his billfold and pulled out a few dollars. He handed them to the madam, who raised an eyebrow at the sight of the money. She snatched the bills from his hand, folded them, and tucked them into the neckline of her dress.

“Fine. You can stay, but only for entertainment purposes. If I catch you askin’ anyone else your insulting questions, Hastings will show you out. With extreme force. Do I make myself clear?”