Deed to Damnation

Undone

The day she arrived back in Solstice in her Victorian nightgown under a fur coat feeling ridiculous, Ireland couldn't hide the fact that she had been crying. She had been inconsolable the entire ride home even though Marley had done his best to make sure she was comfortable. The only time the tears dried up is when she slept that night.
"He'll be back." Missy said, when she brought her tea to soothe her. "Mr. Henry is in love with you. I don't think he knows how to handle it. Hell, he probably can't even admit it to himself."
This only made Ireland sob harder.
"I don't know how to explain it. A part of me is glad to be home and without him. I thought it would be what I wanted. But now..." Ireland began, but then burst into tears again.
"It's because you love him." Missy replied, stroking Ireland's hair. "The only thing you can do is run this business the way you see fit. Henry Delarue knows a lot of things but hospitality ain't one of them. We got some issues."
"Issues? What issues?" Ireland asked. "I've only been gone not even a week."
Missy let out a sigh.
"Jordan got her arm broke."
Ireland's eyes widened.
"How?"
Missy was reluctant to say what happened. She never liked getting anyone in trouble. But Ireland was technically her boss now, a direct extension of Henry himself.
"Hustling a cowboy." She admitted.
"That dumb girl!" Ireland barked.
Gone for the moment were any thoughts of Henry.
"Doc set it. She's in pain but she shouldn't have tried to pick his pocket when he was in the water closet after they were done." Missy confessed.
"She did that!?" Ireland exclaimed. "What did Brendan do about it? It was his job to look after you all!"
Henry banishing her from the homestead was completely pushed from her mind now.
"Well..." she hesitated. "He bought him a drink for his troubles."
"What?!" Ireland bellowed.
Her reaction made Missy jump. It was outrageous! There was no doubt she didn't like Jordan for a myriad of reasons but it was unacceptable for any customer to put their hands on any woman, even one as shifty as that spoiled runaway.
"Well, tonight I'm going to take care of that nonsense." She proclaimed. "Take me to Jordan."

When she entered Jordan's room, the girl was in her bed sitting up, her arm in a bandage and she began pouting as soon as she laid eyes on Ireland.
"You tried to steal from someone?" Ireland asked.
Jordan didn't answer. She simply turned her head and faced the wall which did nothing for her case. Ireland expected a lame excuse at least.
"Very well then. I'll have the doctor make sure you have the proper medicine to control your pain." She informed her. "I'll have your meals sent up to you until you're ready to work again."
She saw the slight smirk on Jordan's face.
"And when you are ready, I'll be choosing your clients for you." Ireland stated coldly. "I'll be sure they are warned and that their pockets are empty when they bed you. They can pay me directly."
Jordan's head whipped around at that piece of news and her mouth dropped open.
"It's a lot better than what Mr. Henry would have done. I can guarantee that. Your actions will give all our girls a bad name." Ireland said, leveling a chilly glare.
She left Jordan to sulk and decided to confront Brendan that evening.

Despite everything that was going on, Henry was never far from her thoughts but she pushed them back as best she could. Focusing on her plans without him had to be at the forefront because she had absolutely no idea when he was going to return.
He had said 'if ever' but she knew he would come back eventually. There was money here in Solstice after all, and it was apparent he loved that over all things with power running at a close second.
The first night back as mistress, she chose the purple velvet dress Henry had gifted her and wore the teardrop amethyst necklace that rested atop her deep cleavage. There was a little something extra beneath her billowing skirt as well. The small revolver he gave her was strapped tightly to her thigh, secured beneath a lacy, silk garter. It was the perfect size, discreet and deadly if need be.
The piano chimed from downstairs and Ireland made her way to the parlor, her eyes sweeping the room. There was a decent crowd despite the wicked cold that had swallowed the territory in a wintery grip and no sooner had she appeared at the top of the staircase, Missy met her halfway.
"The ranch hand that broke Jordan's arm is here." She informed her. "He brought a few friends too."
Ireland glanced towards the bar where a group of loud, cantankerous men were sitting. It appeared they were already drunk even though the saloon hadn't opened but ten minutes ago.
"Where's the whore who tried to steal my poke?" A man with greasy, black hair demanded. "Hope she serves as a lesson to all you thieving cunts!"
Ireland bristled at his vile words. Apparently, there was no guessing at who the perpetrator was. She looked to the girls. Even Robyn seemed unnerved and she was downright fearless most times. They were gathered together doing their best to ignore the cowboy.
"I'll take care of it." Ireland said gently. "Go get Jordan."
"Be careful, Miss Ireland." Missy warned.
"Obviously, Brendan doesn't know his job. I told Henry that leaving was a mistake." She retorted, and made her way towards the group.
Before long, Missy had dragged Jordan down the stairs by her good arm. The girl looked miserable. Her brows were furrowed and her lips pursed in a juvenile pout.
"Is this the girl you're looking for?" Ireland hissed in his ear.
The cowboy whirled around in his seat, clearly startled by the woman standing behind him.
"Hey, darlin'!" He exclaimed, his eyes drifting over her lasciviously. "Haven't seen you here before."
"No you haven't." She answered, with a small grin. "But I'm sure you remember Jordan."
He gave a contemptuous glare towards the girl.
"Sure do." He sneered, an ugly scowl marring his face. "How's that arm? It sounded like a twig when I snapped it."
His buddies laughed as if it was the funniest thing they ever heard.
"I'm sure it did." Ireland responded sweetly. "Jordan owes you an apology."
A loud, angry gasp escaped Jordan's throat. It may be true that she had tried to pickpocket her customer but she had already paid for it with a broken arm. She did not like Ireland Delarue already but now she loathed her completely.
"Do it." Missy urged the girl quietly.
"I'm sorry." Jordan snapped.
"See? She's sorry." Ireland reassured him. "Miss Jordan is new here and hasn't quite realized that my girls are reputable working girls. That's why they have a hefty price tag for their services."
"Well she learned that day, didn't she?" He grinned.
"You can go now, Jordan." Ireland ordered, dismissing her with a flick of her wrist.
The man watched her go with a self satisfied smirk and turned his full attention to Ireland.
"Your girls, huh? How much for the house mistress?" He asked tauntingly. "You teach them girls personally?"
"Miss Ireland ain't for sale!" Missy chimed in.
Ireland patted her friend on the arm.
"It's quite okay, Missy. The gentleman couldn't afford me." Ireland purred.
The cowboy narrowed his eyes and then rolled them.
"Pffft...ain't nothing worse than a stuck up old whore." He sneered and turned back to his drink.
His lips had just touched the rim of his glass when he heard a click and then felt the cold steel of a gun barrel stuck against the back of his skull. He froze.
"Not only can you not afford an old whore like me, you're done making any purchases of any kind in this establishment." She whispered in his ear.
A hush fell over the saloon and Ireland's heart was pounding despite her cool demeanor. And even though she was frightened inside, her hand was sure and steady.
"Brendan!" She yelled. "Get over here and do the job Henry paid you to do!"
The gangster lumbered over, gun drawn and his eyes wide with astonishment. He would have never expected Henry Delarue's demure, spoiled wife to make such a bold and dangerous move. Even more, she looked quite comfortable with a pistol in her hand.
"Escort these gentlemen outside please. No consolation drinks either." She said. "You only get one of those if you break someone's arm."
"Yes, Miss." He answered sheepishly.
He grabbed the main offender by the nape of his neck and moved him towards the door with Ireland escorting his companions at gunpoint. People parted as they moved them through and out onto the porch.
"Don't let me see your faces around here again!" She called out.
The man who had roughed up Jordan looked over his shoulder and muttered something Ireland didn't understand. Brendan looked on in shock as she leveled the gun and fired, hitting the ranch hand squarely in his left ass cheek. He collapsed to the ground with a howl that could have rivaled a fighting alley cat.
"Don't let me see your asses either! The next time I see you I'm just going to start shooting and consider it self defense!"
She watched the other two scramble to collect their friend and hoist him over his saddle. It was going to be a long ride home for him, Ireland thought with satisfaction.
"And you!" She barked suddenly. "You are to go to the ranch and have Henry send your replacement. Get the wages you've collected over the last six days and so help me everything better add up!"
Brendan looked nervous and had every right to be. No one wanted to tell Henry Delarue they screwed up a job but right now he was more afraid of getting shot by his woman.
"Yes, ma'am." He answered and went to retrieve the earnings.
The parlor was still subdued when she entered, tucking the pistol back against her thigh. She looked at the patrons and announced that all firearms were to be turned in upon entering the building from here on out. It had been Henry's original rule on card nights and she felt it was only appropriate. These women were more valuable than card games involving money. Maybe not to the smelly fools who came here but to her they were. And with Henry gone, there was no one to tell her otherwise.
From upstairs, Jordan watched through the bedroom window, still seething from humiliation.
Apology? How dare she make her apologize to a man that injured her so! In her opinion, she had been entitled to more than what he had tossed at her when he had had his fill. He had been extremely rough and the sex had been painful. He had even called her pig as he made his way to clean himself up in the room's private water closet. He deserved to have his pocket picked. She just didn't realize that most men checked their breeches after an encounter. All of this was still so new to her.
She saw the three men ride away, the perpetrator draped across his horse's saddle like an ugly blanket. She didn't care that the house mistress had shot a man for her. In her opinion, Ireland did not deserve to be house mistress nor the wife of a man that was as rich and enticing as Henry Delarue.