Page 72 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

He didn’t trust her.

Temperance wasn’t surprised. Not really. It was the hurt that surprised her. The ache of thinking she had earned Owen’s belief in her only to have that rug pulled. It also meant Virgil didn’t trust her. He would never hire her, and she could resign herself to saloon work for the rest of her life.

The evening was excruciating. She had to pretend she was her cheerful self while she felt judged and found lacking. She was never so relieved as when Owen sent her to bed and stayed in the saloon to drink with Virgil.

The next morning, the men were up early to take the wagon out. They came back with a strongbox made of cast iron that Owen lowered into the cellar with the sling.

“Cecil Dudley walked by while we were outside and yelled, ‘Are you becoming a bank now too?’” Owen told her with a chuckle when he and Virgil came up from the hole. “I should have told him it’s for our whiskey recipe. Virgil brought instructions from Pearl.” He waved a slip of paper. “You’ll help me with that?”

“Of course.” She gave a wan smile.

“Speaking of banks, I have to run and clear my debt. Care to walk with me, Virge?”

“Give Madame Beauville my regards, but I would prefer to remain married. Let her know you bachelors will cash out any promissory notes in the future. I’ll visit the trading post to see if there’s anything Marigold and the children can use.”

Both men left, and Temperance got back to her chores, hoping to run out to see Jane before the saloon opened.

Virgil returned before she left. He came in the back door within the half hour, holding a porcelain doll in an elaborate blue satin gown. In his other hand was a small, warm jacket.

“For my children.” He self-consciously set his purchases on a chair.

“Oh? I presumed you bought them for yourself.” She wrinkled her nose, immediately regretting her smart mouth. “That was a joke.”

“Uh huh. Is there any coffee in that pot?”

“Yes. And cabbage soup if you’re hungry.” She set clean dishes on the table for him, then picked up her gloves. “Did you have other errands? I want to walk over to see my friend Jane. After the horseshoe incident, we don’t like to leave the building empty.”

“Owen told me about that.” Virgil used a towel to hold the coffee pot and filled his mug. “When I asked him why he replaced the window instead of scraping and repainting it.”

She assumed he had seen that expense in the ledger books, otherwise he couldn’t have known about it at all.

“He also said you want to write the railroad report that your father proposed.” He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup.

This was her chance. She smoothed her empty gloves across her palm, nervous and conflicted.

“How much did he tell you about my reasons for coming here?” She peeked up at him.

“He said your father was ill and had to go back to Chicago, but that you’ve been his assistant for years.”

“That’s true. I have.” She tucked the gloves under her elbow and folded her arms defensively. “Papa has always had tremors. His handwriting is terrible. I do more than transcribe his notes, though.” She explained all the ways she had helped in writing his lectures and how she furthered his research when she had the chance. “I may be a woman, and I may be working as a saloon girl, but I have a good sense of what’s needed in a report like this.”

“And that’s why you want to write it? Because you think you can?” The weight of skepticism that had radiated out of Virgil’s silence as she spoke made it hard to breathe.

“I know I can,” she said without hesitation. “I want to do it for the same reason my father would have done it. To be paid for honest labor. And for the same reason Owen tells me you all came here to mine gold. You know that if you aren’t here to do it, someone else would be. For that reason, I’ve started working on the report regardless of your support. If you don’t hire me, I hope to find someone else who will.”

“How much are you expecting to be paid?”

“Not as much as my father. I don’t have his credentials, but I’m well-suited to write it. By living here, I have access to the latest information concerning population and trade. Men walk right into the saloon and tell me which new business has opened and how much gold was pulled from which valley. They know how much snow fell and how much the river rose last year.”

“How long do you think it would take you to write it?”

“It depends on the scope. In the interest of speed, I thought to keep it lean and focus on what’s here in town with a general mention of other minerals rumored to be in these mountains. I’m confident I can fund the printing by selling advertisement for the local businesses. If I can raise enough to cover printing and a ticket back to Chicago, I could sell them once I’m there, to provide myself an income.” It would take all winter to write it and collect the advertising sponsors, given her days were so busy, but having a goal kept her hopes up.

“You’re going back to Chicago?” His brows went up. “Does Owen know that?”

“He does.” The bottom of her heart always seemed to drop away when she thought about going back there, but where else would she go?

“You’re saying if I fund it, you’ll expand it enough to make a case for a railroad. You’ll add in more details about the deposits of silver and iron and coal. That sort of thing?”

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