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Violets. He sniffed the air again. Devon Violet te Eau de Toilette, to be more precise, his trained nose told him. Grinning, he sat up and began whistling the tune he'd been singing earlier. Little Miss Jewel, whoever she was, couldn't resist bathing in her favorite perfume no matter what manner of dress she donned. She'd been here all right, he thought to himself. And if he didn't miss his guess or the strength of the aroma, she hadn't yet left.
    Bouncing off the edge of the bed, Brent continued whistling as he crossed the room. Just before he reached the door, he dropped his pocket watch and bent down to retrieve it. A quick glance under his bed confirmed his suspicions. If he strained, he could just make out the heel of a lady's shoe near the edge of the burgundy coverlet.
    Coughing to hide a sudden burst of laughter, Brent stood up and removed his jacket. Now what? He ought to just march across the room and drag her out from beneath his bed. He could have her arrested for trespassing. He had every right to threaten to expose her and the old man for what they were and demand they leave town. There were lots of things he could do, but as he rubbed the spot on his inner thigh where her knife had left its mark, he decided none of those things came close to what she deserved.
    Grinning broadly, Brent settled on a plan. Before the night was over, this little Jewel with the emerald eyes would think twice before she tried to rob him or stick a knife in him again. Brent opened the door to his room and rang the bell hanging on the jamb.
    A few minutes later a young lad appeared at the opening. "Yes, sir, Mr. Connors. What kin I git for you?"
    Brent dropped several coins into the boy's hand. "I'd like a bottle of chilled champagne and two glasses. And make sure," he tossed in as he added more coins to the pile, "that the prettiest little gal you can find working in the saloon brings it up to me. Tell her she'll be staying awhile."
    "Yes, sir, and thanks." The boy shoved the coins in his pocket and ran down the hall before Brent could get the door closed.
    Beneath the bed Jewel stifled a groan, thinking, Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? She listened to the sounds of fabric rustling as the gambler removed some of his clothing and made himself comfortable for his female visitor. She heard him open a drawer of the chiffonier, followed by several sharp slaps. Shortly the essence of bayberry drifted under the bed and assaulted her nostrils. It promised to be a very long night.
    When a light tapping sounded in the room, Brent smoothed the sides of his hair and opened the door wide. "Do come in," he said pleasantly to the dance hall girl.
    Balancing the tray on one hand, she brought the other to her mouth and giggled. "Evening, sir. Is this what you ordered?" She was clearly referring to her body, not the spirits.
    Brent smiled at the girl and said, "You'll do just fine." He closed the door and relieved her of her burden. After crossing the room, he deposited the tray on the side table, sank down on the mattress, and patted the spot beside him. "Come on. Join me, won't you, sugar?"
    "'Course honey." The girl skipped across the room, all bouncing breasts and flame-red curls. As she neared the bed, she sprang onto the coverlet beside Brent.
    The mattress sagged, coming within an inch of Jewel's nose. She began praying: Just let me out of this one, God. Let me out of this room before they do... it, and I swear I'll never ask for another thing as long as I live.
    A loud pop, followed by hysterical girlish giggles cut into her desperate thoughts.
    "Oh, honey," the girl cried through her squeals of delight. "If you're near as lively as this here bubbly, you and me are gonna have us some good time."
    "I've never had any complaints, with or without the champagne," he said as he filled the glasses.
    Then you've never been with a woman you didn't have to pay, came an unbidden thought from beneath the bed.
    Brent held up two glasses of