Slade entered Miss Lily's that night, limping stiffly.Slade entered Miss Lily's that night, limping stiffly. His horse had thrown him on his way back to the ranch this afternoon and he was still stiff. Seeing no sign of his red-headed wench, he leaned against the corner of the bar and ordered a whisky neat. He tipped that one back and ordered another. As he sipped his second drink, he wondered what kept drawing him back to Irish again and again. What made her so different, so special? Was it because she reminded him of Valerie? No, he decided. She wasn't anything like Valerie. She was honest about what she wanted, trading her sexual favors for money, not couching them in lies. And she certainly satisfied him better than Valerie ever had, although at the time, he'd thought Valerie was the world's best lover. It went deeper than that. Something about Irish soothed his soul. |