Lydia: Book One

By D.M. Imbrunone

Historical Western Romances
Book One- Lydia

19th century Colorado territoryCody Butler has his eye on newcomer, and saloon gal, Lydia Larson. She is an innocent duped into a world of an unpleasant profession and he knows he needs to rescue her. It isn't until after he saves her that he realized she is harboring a secret; one that will make for a ready made family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.M. Imbrunone
• Release date: May 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310891731

Book preview

Lydia

Book One ~ Historical Western Romance

~ Dedication ~

To Dan

For loving me, supporting me and being you

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Published by D.M. Imbrunone at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 D.M. Imbrunone

Lydia

Book One

D.M. Imbrunone

Chapter One

Northeast Colorado

1898

Lydia Larson stood at the top of the wooden staircase of the Willow Creek Saloon, her hands bracing her body on the spindled railing so she could observe below as the cowhands, ranchers, miners and drifters flooded in for the evening. Dressed in everything from scratchy wool trousers to mud-ladened chaps, the men jovially celebrated the end of another hard work week. Tomorrow being Sunday would be a day of rest for most. A day of family and church. A day to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

But until then, it would be an evening filled with men looking for sexual release. No words exchanged. Only bodies. Flesh on flesh. No emotions or attachments, just a release of the carnal animal from within men's bodies.

Lydia sighed, wishing for the hundredth time that she had chosen a different life, town and attitude. She knew it would be like any other Saturday night. Hard working men looking for a soft body. Quick, rough at times and no bond.

From across the smoke-filled room she shifted her gaze to the saloon owner, Madam Love, Flora Love to be exact. The woman was ruthless when it came to business. Satisfy the customer, make money, but first and foremost, keep your mouth shut unless he asks you to suck his cock. But even then, no words could be spoken.

Madam Love was in her normal Saturday night attire. A full-length ruby Victorian dress with a black lace bodice, her hands covered with a pair of enticing elbow length silk gloves and her mahogany hair pinned up to perfection in its typical twist with a few locks strategically curled and dangling on her shoulders.

Lydia's clothing paled in comparison to her boss'. Whereas Madam Love's fashions were imported and handcrafted, Lydia's were hand-me-downs from a previous saloon gal. Glancing down at her clothing, Lydia saw an average, worn out beyond repair, saloon dress. The coloring in its heyday had probably been a spectacular sapphire. After years of wear, the sapphire hue was nothing more than a dingy indigo. The lace around the bodice was coming off and in need of stitching. The neckline should have been higher but after years of fitting over women's different sized bosoms, the material was stretched out. Luckily Lydia was well-endowed and could fill out the upper half the dress well enough. Her stringy blonde hair was in need of a washing but that would have to wait until tomorrow.

Sunday was the day of cleansing at the Willow Creek Saloon. While proper residents and families sang hymns in the church across town, all of Madam Love's girls spent the day cleaning the saloon, their rooms and themselves. Hours were spent on their knees scrubbing, causing them to have raw knuckles and finally earning them a nice warm bath to soothe their tired and achy muscles.

Lydia returned her gaze to Madam Love who stood at the head of the oak paneled bar laughing with one of her regular customers. Lydia knew him by sight but could never remember his name. Not that she cared. She cared about nothing at the moment. Not even the upbeat tempo of the song, A Hot Time In the Old Town, could change her maudlin mood.

She eyed Madam Love. Her booted foot was resting on the brass foot rail and every so often she'd laugh at something her gentleman friend said and brush her hand on his forearm or shoulder. Intimate touches would lead to an evening romp upstairs with one of Madam Love's girls. Which one, Lydia didn't know. Nor did she care, as long as it wasn't her.

She was waiting for Cody Butler to arrive. Her Saturday night regular. Always on time. Nine o'clock on the dot. The thought made Lydia glance at the clock hanging over the player piano in the corner of the saloon.

Seven minutes and counting.

Cody was always her first caller of the evening. The way they both preferred it.

He treated her with kindness. And more times than not, he preferred her company instead of coupling in her lumpy bed. He'd talk about his dreams, his hopes and what he wanted his future to hold. She had aspirations right along with him. She dreamed of living on a ranch like his, having a family and settling down. They shared the same ambition of working hard for what they had, striving for more and enjoying life.

That's what she wanted. A quiet peaceful life. Instead, she got loud saloon music from the player piano, strange drunken men ogling her and a night of passionless sex.

She sighed again and caught Madam Love giving her the eye of contentment. Lydia straightened her shoulders, smoothed down the front of her wrinkled dress and held her head high as she descended down the staircase towards the hungry men.

She could feel their eyes gazing over her voluptuous curves, making her skin crawl with dread of who she'd be paired with. Normally Madam Love chose the men each of her girls would be with, but when Cody Butler arrived, she knew to let him go with Lydia. If Madam Love’d had her way, Lydia would've never have had the opportunity to meet Cody. Madam Love's resentment and hatred toward Lydia was as obvious as any man's prominent hard-on in the saloon.

Despite all of her loathing towards Lydia, she always allowed Cody to go with her. The Butler family practically owned Willow Creek and Madam Love owed her life and business to Cody's father, Bertrand. Call it a peace offering that his son got his choice of women. Call it a favor owed. But whatever it was, Lydia was grateful.

Over the past few months, ever since she’d met Cody, she'd come to appreciate his visits. She adored his manners and attributes. If she’d believed in love, she would honestly say she was in love with him. But Lydia had stopped believing in, or expecting, love in her life. She was just a saloon girl. A girl who gave her body to any man willing to pay the price.

She’d never thought she would be a fallen woman. She cringed, thinking of all the dirty ways men had touched her over the past few months. Bile rose in her throat as she recalled the men clawing over her body, their grubby dirt-sodden hands touching her delicate skin. The way they grunted and groaned as their stiff male appendages violated her womanly areas.

Clearing the thoughts from her mind, Lydia sauntered down the stairs, her hand sliding along the wooden banister while her eyes remained empty, not making eye contact with a soul. She was in her own world, slowly heading down, with hopes that Cody's arrival would be seconds away.

As she reached the final step, a blast of cool air filtered into the saloon. She turned her gaze towards it, knowing who had arrived.

As her eyes met his, Cody smiled. His dark brown hair in dire need of a cut, his face prickly with a week's worth of growth and his cheeks were