Tides Of Passion

By Therese A. Kraemer

Alisha Gibbons, a prostitute's daughter, escapes being raped by the tavern owner after the murder of her mother.
On the stagecoach, she falls in love with a young man, but the boys father, Quincy Salvador, 
a wealthy rancher takes an instant dislike of Alisha and forbids his son to marry her because of her past.
Determined to marry the young man, Alisha slips into his darkened room to seduce him, only to realize, the next day, 
that she had seduced the drunken father instead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spangaloo Publishing
• Release date: Jul 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536574043

Therese A. Kraemer

Because I am dyslexic, I find writing a challenge, but my love of writing has inspired me to write more than sixty children’s stories, over two hundred poems and thirty-seven Romance Novels. I have also illustrated two story books used by primary teachers and students as a part of a vocal hygiene program at University of Arizona’s Department of Speech and Hearing Sciences. My credits also include four stories published by McFadden Publishing Co. in NYC. I wrote, illustrated and published two books of poetry used as fund-raisers by the Leukemia and Multiple Sclerosis organizations. I wrote illustrated and published in one book, forty-two children’s stories. I had an exhibition at the King Center for the Performing Arts in Melbourne, Fl of my pen and ink drawings of animals. Recently, I have had three E-Book Romance Novels and a book of short stories published on the Spangaloo.Com website and another on the Smashwords.Com website. I make my home in Melbourne, Florida where I continue to write and illustrate

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Colorado Springs, Colorado. 1855

Alisha Gibbons sat in the heated coach trying to feel relieved. The changing shadows of dusk crept into her soul leaving her anxious. She felt somewhat safe now that she was a distance from that awful town and place, and filled her lungs with a long needed sigh. Visions of recurring, horrible thoughts kept her from relaxing completely. She needed sleep; her body craved it but her nerves refused to settle resulting in fear.  If she closed her eyes they would only open again to find her thoughts were still in the tavern.

Her weary eyes downcast, through thick dark lashes, Alisha studied the other passengers. At first, she and another female were the only two occupants of the stage. Under the mask of heavy powder, the woman was pretty in her dark blue dress. She had fine-lined cheek bones that were rose-tinged; catlike eyes were the shade of spring grass. Her nose was wide but perfectly straight, shadowing her full painted lips. The lady’s square jaw gave her the look of determination and spirit. Alisha guessed the lady to be merely a few years older than her, but she liked the woman even though she wore too much make-up, making her feature’s appear older.

Albeit, Alisha was only seventeen, she felt as old as the hills they were passing.

The two sat in silence except for a friendly smile and nod when they both sat down on the hard seats. After that, there was no other commutation between them. Alisha was content not to have to answer questions or partake in idle chatter. She was afraid that if she had to hear endless prattle of another human being, she would break down and cry.

As the coach bounced along the blemished dirt road, red dust wafted through the windows making Alisha and the other passenger cough constantly. She rubbed the burning particles from her sore eyes. Was there no end to her torment? Would she ever feel clean again?

And it wasn’t only her body she worried about, her soul felt as soiled as her flesh, though her past life was something she had no control over.

A bitter sigh escaped her dry lips, all she wanted was to get to Texas and start anew.

The stage picked up two men at the next stop. One gentleman was dressed as a business man. Alisha noticed he spent most of his time wiping his sweaty brow with a damp, soiled handkerchief and constantly tugging on his tight collar. This made her wonder why he just didn’t remove his tie and open the top button of his shirt. She wouldn’t have objected if he had removed his damp jacket or sweat stained hat. He looked ill-at-ease, as if he rather be any place but here. He wasn’t alone in his wishes. The other man was the complete opposite. He wore buckskins and looked and smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in his lifetime. Fine wrinkles crisscrossed his weather-beaten face making his skin look like an old rawhide jacket. His nostrils were a wide as his lips were thin and Alisha thought his look was comical. A bitter grin moved across his crusted lips as he leered openly at the painted lady.

The woman huffed with indignation and starched her spine. The man chuckled and winked at the offended lady adding insult to his rudeness. If that weren’t enough, he twisted his long tobacco-stained mustache sensually, grinning, only to display brown and missing teeth. Alisha heard a loud gasp from the lady as she bristled averting her eyes from the insulting man. Moving closer to the window, Alisha tried to make the best of the situation, but that horrible man made her more nervous.

The stage continued to jar her spine against the hard seat. Alisha and the other female never uttered a complaint, as did the gentleman, but the crude man cursed and muttered under his breath. The last two days of Alisha’s travel had taxed her more than she could have realized. She didn’t know where in Texas she was going or what she’d do when she got there, as long as it was far away from where she had spent her young life. When she had purchased a ticket on the last stage heading west, the clerk informed her that the coach only went to Denver, but she could make a connection from there to Texas.

Involuntarily, her eyes began to close; sleep was taking its toll on her resolve to stay awake. Her body seemed to be drained and her stomach rumbled from hunger. She did have silver coins but she needed to stretch the twenty dollars as far as possible. A biscuit and coffee at each station was all she allowed herself. The only thing she possessed of any value was her mother’s diamond broach. To part with the only memento would buy her clothes and food and a new start but she hated the thought. She prayed that she could find work at the end of the line; something respectable.

Alisha could make money with her body, as did her mother but that life disgusted her. How many times had she begged her mother to find another way to make a living? Rita Marie Gibbons would only cry and say she had no other means of support for her and her daughter. Her mother’s silky voice could be heard in her subconscious mind. Ma chérie, you know your mama has no other way, ma fille.

Alisha thought her mother had argued with more conviction than she actually felt and was never at a loss to point out how Alisha should be thankful for the food in her belly and the roof over her head. Grateful! She snorted inwardly. Living anywhere else would have been more preferable then the back room of that noisy tavern. Many hours she had to be subjected to listening to the loud voices of the drunken men and the high pitched laughter of the whores. On the nights when her hands over her ears didn’t suffice, she would go into the kitchen. The noise of the clanging pots and pans was music to her ears.

The Dark Horse Tavern and Horace Miller would always hold dreadful memories for her. Horace not only owned the bar, but also the women who sold their bodies. They had to give him most of the coin they made leaving themselves with barely enough to live on but that’s how he wanted them, totally dependent on him. The bastard believed he was generous to a fault because he didn’t charge for room and board but if the girls wanted to drink on their own time they had to pay. The drinks were not only watered-down but were doubled in price. For this, Alisha was grateful because her mother would have been drunk in half the time it took her to swallow away her depression. And depressed she was.

Alisha knew all the lectures her mother gave about how they should be thankful that Horace allowed her to earn a living by selling her body to men was for her mother’s own benefit. Her mother needed to convince herself more and more as years passed. Alisha wasn’t fooled by such words, she loathed such activity.

It seemed for many years her only bed time story was her mother’s sad tale of how she became Horace’s mistress at seventeen when Alisha was a few months old. How her mother earned a generous amount of gold when she young and beautiful with smothering dark eyes and ash-brown hair. She was also told at a tender age how Horace couldn’t get enough of her mother’s voluptuous body. Her mother had fallen hopelessly in love with Horace and was happy to find a man who would take care of her and her bastard daughter. The only other man she loved was her father, who was killed in a gun fight before they could wed.

Alisha fell asleep wondering how a woman could couple with a man for anything but love. She understood at first why her mother succumbed, she loved Horace. When he started treating her poorly, making her sell her body to strangers, she thought her mother should have protested. Her poor mother had taken so much abuse from that horrible man; she wondered if love was worth so much pain. Did loving someone so dearly make you lose all reason? She understood what men and women did behind closed doors. Many nights she had to cover her ears to block out the cries of passion, sometimes her stomach churned at the screams. Some men liked to be rough with the whores and many times Alisha promised herself that she’d not allow any man to treat her like that.

Quickly brushing away tears that lay heavily on her lashes, she vowed again never let any man treat her badly. She may not have been educated in school or refined like the respectable ladies of the town, but she was a person who believed women should be treated with respect. She wasn’t stupid; her mother taught her how to read and write whenever she could find the time. Whatever books Alisha could get her hands on, she spent many hours in that small room reading. One of the women took an interest in her and regretted the life she had to endure and occasionally loaned Alisha books when she went to the dry goods store for supplies. When she turned ten, Horace made her work in the kitchen. She didn’t mind, except it left her less time to read. At eleven she became a woman and her mother told her that she would develop early. Like herself, Alisha was on her way to becoming well endowed.

Alisha squirmed in her seat and remembered now how her mother looked every time the man gazed seductively at her. She wished she knew then what her mother had suspected, that without a doubt one day Horace would rape her. She was positive it was that thought that made her mother ill and only heavy drinking could dull the awful picture from her mother’s mind. But it was on sober days her mother would tell her it was time to get away from Horace and The Dark Horse. Oh, mama you should have listened to your own advice....

CHAPTER TWO

She may have had a life of hardship, but she’d soon discover that she was still naive to the world around her.

The stage came to a quick stop jarring Alisha from her painful reverie. Her eyes snapped open to see the reason for the abrupt halt; it seemed they reached a station for fresh horses. She yawned, noting the well-dressed man leaning out the window surveying the situation and their whereabouts. Though groggy, she didn’t miss the grin on the uncouth man’s face. The wolfish smile was for the other woman but her stomach turned, she knew all too well the lustful gleam in his dark eyes. Alisha believed the lady was a well-paid prostitute, unlike the ones who worked for Horace Miller. She sensed this high priced lady didn’t want anything to do with that varmint. She could not blame the lady in green; she had grown up with too many of his kind.

Everyone out! yelled the driver. One by one, passengers piled out of the stuffy vehicle. Alisha was glad to be able to stretch her cramped legs and aching back. She also had to use the privy and was certain the woman had to tend to her needs as well.

Let’s find the outhouse, she whispered into the woman’s ear. The painted lady nodded and they walked ahead happy to distance themselves from the repulsive man. After seeing to their needs the woman extended a small gloved hand. I’m Dana Dale Russell. My friends call me Dee Dee. She dimpled.

She took the hand offered and smiled liking Dee Dee despite her suspicions and was shocked when she told Alisha that she was on her way to be married. This news surprised her; she could not believe she was so wrong about anyone. But then, she’d been around only one type of female all her life and she just relied on her experience. She was on the verge of telling Dee Dee she wore too much make-up, sending the wrong signals, but she swallowed her advice, it was none of her business. Maybe her first impression was correct, prostitutes have been known to get married. Wasn’t this her own mother’s plan.

Jacob Smith, a local miner had promised to take her mother away from The Dark Horse. Every time he visited her, he vowed that when he struck the mother load, he would return and marry the woman he loved. His promise was sealed with a silver dollar and she was able to store away a little nest egg under her mattress.

The stage arrived at the next stop before night fall. Although weary, Alisha marveled at the beautiful sunset. The pink and yellow sky danced in the horizon from the day’s heat. During the meal of a tasteless stew, the two men monopolized the conversation. This was fine with her, she could barely stay awake. The well-dressed man, Mr. Clayton ate like he had been starving for days. And, Mr. Rivers, the motley dressed man insisted they call him by his nickname, Match Sticks; a name he earned as a child. Alisha could only guess. The women were given one room to share while the men slept on cots in the large eating area.

The next morning a different coach arrived from another part of the country. They all joined a handsome young man, who introduced himself as Eric Mc Bride. The stagecoach departed as the sun rose to greet the new day. Again, Alisha and Dee Dee shared a seat while Mr. Clayton and the young stranger occupied the opposite bench. To her relief, Match Sticks rode on top of the coach with the luggage, making the excuse that he didn’t like to be confined in a stuffy box on wheels.

There is a God!

As time passed, Alisha tired not to stare at the young man sitting across from her but failed. He was so handsome that his close presence caused her heart to flutter. She assumed he wasn’t much older than she and she had noticed how tall he was when he helped her and Dee Dee into the coach. But then most people rose above her small five feet, two inch frame. His eyes were clear gray, like crystals with flecks of blue. Coffee-brown wisps of hair curled round his collar and a lazy curl lay on his highbrow, tempting her to finger it. His strong chin was capped with a deep clef. A thin but slightly bent nose showed his finely shaped lips which were instilling thoughts that never before entered her mind.

Alisha, aware she was making the young man uncomfortable, could not control her eyes from drinking in all his comeliness. Never had someone attracted her so. She would make it her business to know him better by the time they reached their destination.

Eric Mc Bride was half Scottish and part Spanish and Chirichua Indian. His mother and stepfather were both born in Scotland; his biological father was born in America. Because of his dark complexion the kids at school often teased him, calling him a half-breed mutt. The bullies stopped their harassment when he began sprouting in height before them and cutting words were no longer heard. He never met his father and had no real interest in doing so. But before his mother died, she made him promise to go west and live with the man. He hated his father and if it weren’t for his grandfather, he would have never heard the truth. His mother, Anna Mc Donald and his father, Quincy Salvador never married. It was told to him that when his mother discovered she was pregnant, Quincy ran off. Broken hearted, she and her family moved from Texas to Virginia. A year later she married Scotty Mc Bride and Eric was adopted by a man whom he loved as much as his mother. His stepfather died two years ago.

Eric sat stiffly on the bench, the memories of his deceased mother floated through his mind like the tumbleweed that drifted on the dry plains. He believed his mother secretly loved his biological father until the day she died. She never said a negative word about her first love; it was his grandfather who confessed the facts about the man who sired him. It was his grandfather’s bitterness that kept Eric’s hatred alive all those many years. He never acknowledged to his mother that he knew the truth. How could he argue with the love he saw in her brandy eyes when she spoke of Quincy on her death bed? Her words were still clearly on his mind.

I wrote to your father a few months ago, she had said, her voice barely audible. I was hoping he still lived in the state of Texas; a small town near the border of Mexico called Rio Rojo.

His mind’s eye recalled how his mother took a labored breath and coughed painfully. Her beautiful face was pale with dark smudges beneath the clear golden-brown eyes that still held their youthful beauty. He had handed her a glass of water but she gently pushed his offering aside and shook her head. His mother knew she was dying and she said she wanted to speak her peace before darkness erased her thoughts.

It’s important my son that you know Quincy, she had insisted. I have to assume your grandfather, Shaw, filled your heart with poison no matter how much I begged him not too. My father’s bitterness was like cancer. I could understand his hatred for Quincy Salvador after he deserted me, but I’ll never understand why my father hated Quincy from the day I met him. Your grandfather had forbade me to see him.

His mother was right in her assumption but he didn’t reveal this to her and he had taken her delicate, cold hand pleading that she be still, but she insisted in continuing. Licking her cracked lips, she smiled weakly at him.

Eric I want you to live with Quincy and find out the reason why he never met me that night we had planned to elope. She sighed, a tear escaped from under her lashes. I had waited for him until before dawn. The next day I went to the ranch, guessing that perhaps he was hurt, preventing him from carrying out our plan. Another tear escaped and this time she accepted the water. Most of it dripped down her chin. She continued after a deep breath. To my dismay, I was told that he left earlier on a cattle run. He wouldn’t be back for a month. Broken hearted I had no choice but to tell your grandparents that I was carrying his child. You my son, she smiled weakly.

As I suspected, my father was enraged and if it weren’t for my mother’s intervention, your grandpa would have beaten me severely, she rasped. I had been warned many times to stay away from that half-breed? My father had told me that Quincy wasn’t good enough for his daughter. Though he did this out of love, I regret I hadn’t insisted that my parents stay longer so I could find out for myself what had happened. She sighed. I never forgave myself for leaving Texas not knowing the truth.

Handing Eric a letter, she rasped, It took a while but eventually my letter reached your father. It seems he still lives at the ranch he originally worked on when we were... She closed her eyes tight trying to stop the tears but they fell on their own will.

Mama, please do not tax yourself anymore, he had insisted.

No, I must go on. She blotted her face with a lace handkerchief. He answered my letter by saying he now owns the Red River Ranch, and he is willing to permit you to live with him. Now do not scowl at me, you look so much like your father it breaks my heart. As you know, I was only fifteen and Quincy sixteen when we fell in love.

His own tears fell and Eric believed his mother was dying. Only thirty-two, she was carrying all her pain to the grave. Again she told him that no matter what happened that night, Quincy had the right to see and know his son. Eric was trying to understand why his mother never asked the man what happened when she written her letter. He cursed under his breath. Damn, I’ll find out the truth!

He shrugged, rethinking his vow. What difference did it make now? His mother was dead. But it made a difference to him and while he promised her to live with Quincy, he didn’t promise to like the man or stay with him forever. He had read the letter and found no mention of why he left his mother in trouble. As far as Eric was concerned, Quincy was not a man.

It took a sudden bump of the coach’s wooden wheels to snap his eyes to open into the present. The quick shifting of the stage coach caused him to collide into the man next to him. Grunting an incoherent apology, Eric moved back to his own corner of the seat. Embarrassed for the involuntary collision, he regretted he wasn’t being more alert instead of being caught day-dreaming. He looked around hoping no one else saw his uneasiness and was mortified to see the beautiful young girl smiling at him.

So deep in his disturbing thoughts he wasn’t aware that the female with chocolate colored eyes had been gazing at him. He forcefully cleared his throat and turned to glance with feigned interest out the window. As the scenery passed, his eyes only saw the face of the girl who sat across from him. She had the biggest dark brown eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of a deep well he had peered into back at his grandparent’s homestead. They were ledged by finely carved brows and lashes were so long and dark they framed her orbs like little fans.

Although, he glanced quickly when helping her into the vehicle, Eric had noticed her hair resembled the color of caramel taffy that he and his mother pulled at Christmas time. Her face was heart shaped, framed by a widow’s peak and a narrow chin. But it was a strong chin, nevertheless. Her nose was small, turning up slightly with pride. It was her mouth, he noticed this time; naturally pink and full, making Eric wonder if they were as soft as they appeared. At eighteen he never kissed a girl, on the mouth that is. He wouldn’t mind making this little beauty his first, and his last.

She might be the one who could change your life.... 

CHAPTER THREE

The stagecoach arrived at its destination as the sun reached the end of the day. The connection vehicle to Texas wouldn’t arrive until the next day, so Alisha spent her last few coins on a room for the night in the small cattle town, Amarillo. It was there she said goodbye to Dee Dee and it was the first time in many nights she slept soundly. When the crowing of a rooster awoke her, she stretched lazily, wishing she could spend a few more days in the crude bed. Lumps and all, her troubled mind rested with sweet dreams of the handsome young man and his cool gray eyes.

The stage rattled on its way by midmorning. Alisha smiled at Eric as he sat across from her. Shyly, he returned her generous gift flashing perfect white teeth. She knew if she wanted to know him better, it would be up to her. Never had she met such a quiet and closed mouth man before. But then all the men she had any contact with were regular customers at The Dark Horse; a breed of men she had no interest in knowing better.

I see we’re the only ones traveling to Texas, she commented with her most fetching smile. She extended her hand. I’m Alisha, Alisha Gibbons.

Momentarily, the young man blinked looking uncomfortably at her friendly gesture. Then he shook her hand limply as if it were a wet rag. She withdrew smiling.

Finally finding his voice, he said, Yes, it seems so. Are you visiting someone in Texas? She studied her hands for a moment wondering what to say.

I didn’t mean to pry—-

Oh, no, I mean, it’s okay. I... she faltered, feeling her cheeks heat. It’s just that your question remained me of something, she fibbed. How could she tell him she was running from a horrible life? Who would believe she was still a virgin living in a house of ill-repute? Why did it matter what people thought? But for some strange reason, it did matter what he thought of her.

Sorry, he murmured.

Alisha smiled. Oh, it’s really nothing, she lied again. Regretfully, the bad habit came very easy for her. And no, I’m not visiting anyone. In fact, I’m all alone in the world and was hoping to find a job in Texas. She sat back against the hard seat feeling her bruised spine.

Eric studied her for a moment. After the butterflies in his stomach settling somewhat, he felt brave enough to expand the conversation. "I wondered why a