![]() ![]() Victoria let her gaze slide down, wander, then come back to her hands resting on the bar. The tiny, fragile-looking blonde leaning over the rail and fanning her nearly bare breasts confirmed her suspicions. ![]() ![]() There must be a whorehouse in here, too, she thought, then slid her gaze to the door marked private, then up the long staircase behind her and to the left, leading to a balcony, with several doors lining the walk. He shrugged her off and she huffed indignantly and moved away, finding another tired soul to tease. A man wearing a derby and garters on his white sleeved arms played an upright piano with more excitement than necessary, and several extravagantly dressed women loomed in the backĀground, one smoothing her hand over a gambler's shoulder. Smoke hung in a gray haze at eye level, fighting with the dim light of chandeliers and the gleaming gilt of the framed paintings lining the walls. Most of which were occupied with gamblers, cowboys, and dirty miners with tiny sacks of silver dust. Round tables filled the room, polished to a bright shine and ringed with green padded chairs. ![]() The noise was deafening, laughter and conversation beating a hum around her. Pushing through the bat wing doors, Victoria saddled up to the bar in her best cowboy walk, propped her foot on the rail and tried not to gawk. ![]()
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