Frederick followed her across the saloon floor, by the bar, and up the stairs to her beautifully decorated room. He walked over to the washbowl, and the cool water felt good as he splashed it on his face.
“My name is Emma, cowboy.”
“I am Frederick McIntosh, ma’am.”
Frederick sat in a chair as Emma danced. Emma twirled around, her dress swirling like a painted spinning top.
“Do you want me, Frederick McIntosh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How old are you, boy?”
“Eighteen, ma’am.”
“Stop calling me ma’am, I’m your age.”
“Ok.”
After the dance, they sat on the bed, and she found him to be an intriguing young man. Emma couldn’t understand what was happening. She felt confused, never having felt this way about any customers. She felt giddy and nervous, like electricity pulsating through her body, ov
