PROHIBITED PASSION
by Alyssa Linn Palmer
Ruth wants to escape the boredom of Bandit Creek and the strict expectations of her father, the local pastor. Her life changes the day she meets CeeCee, a world-wise flapper, and an irresistible attraction develops between them. She’ll be disowned and shunned if anyone discovers their prohibited passion, but can they keep their growing affection a secret?
CeeCee is drawn to Ruth, but things become complicated when her gangster companion disapproves of their liaison. He’s in town to broker a deal with the owner of the local speakeasy, and he’s not above using them to further his own plans. Can CeeCee protect Ruth and their budding relationship?
As Ruth gets drawn further into their world, she must decide between her familiar life and a new, dangerous path with the woman she loves.
Prohibited Passion
Alyssa Linn Palmer
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 by Alyssa Linn Palmer
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To Carol Mehew, for sparking my interest in Prohibition
Table of Contents
Excerpt from Shafted by Kymber Morgan
Chapter One
Bandit Creek, Montana
August 1929
Ruth thought her father looked ridiculous with his eyes closed and his hands raised to the heavens. His thinning hair had already gone grey and it fell untidily over his ears. A growing paunch strained the fabric of his clericals. She knew she would have to make him new ones. Just another task she couldn’t escape from.
Escape. She thought of little else. She wanted to leave Bandit Creek behind but today, she’d satisfy herself by leaving the service. While the congregation followed her father’s lead, she rose silently from the end of the pew and crept from the church.
She had an excuse or two all ready if he asked her over dinner why she’d left the service.
I needed some air. I felt ill.
Not that he’d ask. As long as she had dinner on the table when he wanted it, kept the house in order and washed his clothes, her presence went unnoticed. If she had been a boy, he would have taken her under his wing and taught her to follow in his footsteps. His sycophants hoped she might choose one of them to marry, and thus receive his blessing and the church’s leadership after he was gone. She disappointed them all. The thought of any of those young men - or any man - left her cold. She never understood why the other girls fawned over the attention from boys. She couldn’t feel an ounce of attraction to any of them.
Ruth turned at the corner and strolled down to the small rail station, slowing her steps in the hopes of seeing strangers on the platform, hoping for a glimpse of the world outside. The platform was barren and the ticket office shuttered. She continued on to Main Street, where most businesses were closed for the Lord’s Day. She scuffed her toes in the dust as she crossed over in front of the hotel, the only building showing any signs of life.
If only she could go inside, just for a while. If she had money, she could order lemonade and sit at one of the tables in the tiny restaurant, pretending to be a lady on an exciting trip, waiting for her maid to finish packing. She never pictured herself with a husband or a chaperone; she wanted to experience the world on her own.
The lace curtains fluttered in the open window and Ruth lingered outside, carefully peering into the restaurant without seeming to peep. A woman sat alone at a table, a glass and a dirty plate in front of her. A napkin lay crumpled by her elbow and she rotated her tea cup in its saucer. She seemed lost in thought.
Ruth stared. The woman had her dark hair cut into a stylish bob, with Marcelled finger waves. She wore a dress that left her arms bare to the shoulder and gave little shape to her form. Ruth fingered the end of her long, ginger braid and looked down at her homely and serviceable dress. The women of town would shun her if she dared wear a flapper’s dress or cut her hair, but she couldn’t help her attraction for the delicate and gorgeous woman. Ruth’s mouth had gone dry. A tremor went through her. From where she stood, the woman’s skin looked pale and soft and Ruth wanted to touch her hand or run a finger down her bare arm.
Ruth remembered the grocer’s wife gossiping about the easy women she had seen in Missoula last fall, wearing shorter skirts, showing their arms and legs, and acting without a care in the world.
“Thank the Lord none of that sort would ever come here,” Mrs. Williams had said. But yet, here was one of those women, in this very hotel. Ruth smiled to herself. She so wanted to meet this woman.
She heard footsteps on the boardwalk, the loud thumping of a man in a rush. A tall, dark-haired man in a dark suit strode by her on the boardwalk, almost brushing her arm. He went into the hotel.
“CeeCee!” His voice carried through the open window.
She saw the woman lift her head and push back her chair. Before CeeCee could move any further, the man had come into the restaurant and taken her by the arm, lifting her to her feet. He said something else, but it was muffled.
For a moment, CeeCee’s gaze met hers, eyes wide in surprise. Ruth gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. The last thing she wanted was to be caught staring. Ruth backed away from the window and down the boardwalk, hovering by the side of the building.
The man reappeared, CeeCee in tow. A long shawl, draped over her shoulders, hid her bare arms, but her dress rose to just above the knee and Ruth gaped.
“I told you to be ready earlier,” the man growled at CeeCee. “You’re going to make me late. I expected you to meet me.”
To Ruth’s relief, they headed away from her, crossing the street, walking swiftly toward the warehouses at the edge of town. Ruth burned with curiosity and she wanted to follow them, but the bells of the Catholic Church pealed and she knew she had to get home.
* *
“Sher, slow down. Please?” Cecilia scurried to keep up with Sheridan, her patent leather shoes sliding on the gravel road. He slackened his pace and she smiled at him.
“They won’t leave the warehouse before we get there,” she said, hooking her arm through his. If she hadn’t complained of her boredom the evening before, she could have stayed at the hotel. After seeing the girl at the window, she wished she had stayed.
“I need this partnership, Cecilia,” Sheridan said seriously. He rarely called her by her full name, preferring her nickname which rolled off his tongue more easily as it had done since he first met her. “This town could easily be a link to the trade out of Whiskey Gap - I can’t overlook it.”
“I know.” She patted his arm. He’d told her his ideas as they rode the train across several states, each stop taking them further from home. “But this town doesn’t seem like the type to support the trade. Everyone I’ve seen so far looks like they should be part of the temperance movement.”
“According to Erickson, my contact in Missoula, there’s enough interest here. And when the rail line opens across the border to Canada, we’ll be rolling in dough.”
They certainly weren’t rolling in dough now. Sheridan had money from his boss in Chicago, but traveling across the country added up quickly. Sheridan had sold the remainder of her Chanel perfume - her favorite - when they’d arrived in Bandit Creek. She’d tucked the cash away and if she could, she would buy it back from the shopkeeper before she left. It had been a gift, but not from him.
She tried not to think of Nell, but seeing that woman peering in the window, her red hair so much like Nell’s, was a painful reminder. Nell presented her with the bottle one night as they lay in bed, a mischievous smile on her face. CeeCee had been startled and then surprised. Then Nell had kissed her again and the bottle was forgotten. She’d never kiss Nell again. She could only visit her grave.
Sheridan came to a stop and Cecilia almost stumbled. The warehouse door opened and a middle-aged man with sandy hair and spectacles gave them a genial smile. He looked more like a teetotaler than a rumrunner to her.
“Mr. Henderson?” Sheridan inquired.
The man nodded and waved them inside. Cecilia let go of Sheridan’s arm. He’d expect her to spend time with the other men and charm them into agreement. It had worked in other towns. Men always wanted to be confident and decisive if it meant impressing a woman.
Henderson led them through to the small speakeasy he’d set up in a section of his warehouse. It was crude by Chicago standards, but Cecilia supposed it would do for a small town. Two other men were present: a broad shouldered younger man, whom Henderson introduced as Mr. Dyer, his assistant, and a raggedy old wino that sat crumpled at a far table.
“Don’t mind Jack,” Henderson said, waving away Sheridan’s concerns. “He’s harmless. I doubt he even remembers what he was up to yesterday.”
Cecilia noticed Mr. Dyer smile at that, but his gaze took her in before looking coolly at Sheridan. She hoped he wouldn’t make a play for her. Sheridan protected her against all others, and she loved him for it, but she didn’t want this complication. The sole complication she wanted was back in town, with a long red braid and grey eyes, her plain dress belying the girl’s beauty.
“Get Miss Mills a drink,” Henderson told Dyer. “Now, Mr. Sheridan, let’s talk.”
* *
No matter how long she lay in bed with her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of her father going through his evening routine, even to the sound of snoring penetrating the thin walls, Ruth couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, punched her pillow, curled up into a ball, and then stretched out fully. Nothing worked. Finally she sat up, dangling her legs over the edge of the bed.
She thought about making a cup of tea, but that wouldn’t do. An idea whispered in her mind and her heart fluttered in her chest. She set her feet on the floor and tiptoed across the room, pulling her everyday calico dress from its hook. A walk. That’s what she needed.
She shed her nightgown and pulled the dress over her head, hurriedly doing up the buttons. She picked up her shoes in one hand and crept from the room. Pausing by her father’s door, she leaned in to listen, but his snoring continued unabated. In the kitchen, she put on her shoes and took her coat from its peg. Nights were often cool, even in the height of summer, so close to the lake and the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. She eased open the back door, keeping to the edge of the wooden steps, away from the creaking centers.
Ruth kept to the shadows as she walked. Growing up in Bandit Creek, never once in her nineteen years did she fear for her safety. She feared being spotted. If her father found out about her midnight jaunts, she would have a sore backside and weeks of extra prayers and penitence. It didn’t suit for his daughter to be wandering about in the middle of the night when she should be in bed.
Usually when she reached the center of town, she would head for home, but tonight she crept up to the hotel as she had done earlier. The restaurant lights were dark and nothing stirred. She heard footsteps on the boardwalk and drew back into the shadow of the wall. Two men passed by, smoking cigarettes and talking.
“Where is it again?” one man asked the other. “I need a drink. And a woman.”
“Just follow me,” his friend said, flicking his cigarette ash into the street. “Even this small town has one. And I heard from Erickson that Sheridan was in town. Maybe his girl can help you out.” He chuckled.
Sheridan’s girl? Did they mean CeeCee? Ruth followed the men at a careful distance. When they led her to the warehouses, she stopped, uncertain. Nothing happened here at night; surely they were mistaken.
“Are you sure this is it?”
The men disappeared through a door and into the warehouse, their next words cut off as the door swung shut. She paused a moment before placing her hand on the cold metal doorknob. She eased the door open, peering into the dim space. The sound of muffled voices came to her and she froze. When they didn’t get any louder, she eased the door open a little further and slipped inside.
Light gleamed from underneath a door a few feet away; a portion of the warehouse had been sectioned off and walls built in. The noise came from there. She started forward, keeping close to the wall and a line of crates stacked nearby. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. Too late to turn back now.
She reached for the door, but a meaty hand barred her way. Mr. Dyer loomed over her, his burly shoulders blocking the light from the single lantern hanging on the wall.
“What are you doing here?”
She stared at him, speechless.
“Good little girls like you shouldn’t be here.” He chuckled. “What would your father say? The pastor’s daughter!” He put a hand on her shoulder and started turning her away.
“Oh, leave her be, Fred,” said a husky, feminine voice.
Ruth gaped in surprise to see the woman from the hotel. Her face had been dramatically made up, with darkened eyelids and vibrant red lipstick. She held a cigarette casually and smiled at Dyer, who released his hold. “Sheridan wanted to see you anyway. I’ll make sure she leaves.”
Dyer frowned, but offered no complaint. He opened the door and the voices were suddenly unmuffled, a wall of joviality. Ruth heard the clink of glasses and the sound of a Victrola broke through the noise with a brisk dance tune.
The woman shut the door, dampening the noise again. She gave Ruth a once-over, her thin-plucked eyebrow rising. “You’re not very well dressed for a night out,” she commented, taking a drag from her cigarette.
“I wasn’t expecting to find a speakeasy.” Ruth made herself sound affronted, even though she really wanted to go through the door and see what she was missing. The woman laughed, the sound low and teasing.
“What’s your name?”
“Ruth. What’s yours?” Ruth crossed her arms.
“Ruth, the pastor’s daughter. How appropriate. Everyone calls me CeeCee.” She held out a slender hand, her nails shiny with red polish that matched her lipstick. Ruth shifted and uncrossed her arms, taking CeeCee’s hand.
“Where are you from?” she blurted, trying to ignore the thrill surging through her at the touch of that delicate hand. The skin was as soft as she had imagined. The scent of CeeCee’s perfume enfolded her, musky with a hint of some sort of flower. Her eyes were lined with kohl and their depths seemed...
CeeCee dropped her hand and Ruth started. “I’m from Chicago, but I go wherever Sheridan goes.” CeeCee smiled. “Beats taxi dancing, most times.”
Taxi dancing? Mrs. Williams had mentioned it once in an undertone to her sister-in-law, thinking that no one in the grocery could hear, remarking that only loose women were taxi dancers. Ruth thought CeeCee was far too beautiful to be one of those.
“I’m not the sort you should be spending time with,” CeeCee remarked, seeing Ruth’s hesitation. “Go home, Ruth. Back to your safe bed.”
“I don’t want to.” The words popped out before she could stop herself. “I’d rather be here.”
CeeCee took a final drag on her cigarette and crushed it under her heel. She exhaled, making wavering smoke rings. Ruth smiled.
“All right then.” CeeCee held out her hand. “Come with me and I’ll show you the other side.”
“I’m ready.” Ruth clasped her hand.
“No, you’re not,” CeeCee retorted, not unkindly. “But when I say it’s time to go, you need to go. No questions.”
“Why?”
CeeCee tugged on her hand. “Because you do. Come on.”
She opened the door and they were inside. The smoke burned Ruth’s sinuses and the noise hurt her ears, but she kept on, following CeeCee to the makeshift bar set up along one wall. The men gave them appreciative glances and she saw a few staring as they recognized her. She recognized them in turn. Even Jack was there, slumped on a stool, clasping a mug of beer.
“Two champagne punches,” CeeCee said to the bartender, a stout and balding man in a crumpled waistcoat.