Page 79 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

“No.” He smacked his hand on the table, making her blink and jerk back. “I want to make love with you, Temperance. I want that all the time, but not if you’re hating yourself for it. That’s insulting.” He straightened, hurt. Conflicted about many things, but not about that. He sighed. “But I want to understand. Life is so damned hard, Temperance. So cruel. Who are we hurting when we share that bed? No one. So why do you want to hurt yourself over it?”

“It hurts either way, Owen!” She rose and paced away, flinging out her hand. “It hurts if we make love, and it hurts if we don’t.”

His stomach pitched. “It hurts you when we make love?”

“Not—” She made a noise of frustration, hugging herself as she looked to the rafters. “Not physically. It hurts here.” She touched her chest. “You don’t love me. And I don’t expect you to,” she rushed on. “Not when I’m the kind of woman a man only wants for that.” She waved at the bed. “I did this to myself. I know that. That’s what hurts.”

He threw back his head, astonished by what a blow those words were and how deeply they cut.

“I care about you.” He dredged the words from deep in his tight chest. “You must know that.”

“In the way you care about Clarence,” she choked. “You’ll make sure I’m fed and that I don’t have to sleep outside in the cold.”

“For God’s sake, Temperance.” Now he was offended.

“Oh, are you ready to make some sort of commitment to me?” she challenged. “Do you want me here forever? Or just as long as it takes to warm up beneath the covers?”

His teeth clenched themselves together too hard for him to speak through them.

The only sound in the silence was the snap of the fire and the small, pained noise that resounded in her throat.

“It’s fine, Owen,” she insisted in a jagged voice. “I understand why you don’t want to take responsibility for people. Why you don’t let yourself really care. I accept that, but it means I have to look after myself. If I don’t care for myself, if I don’t respect myself, who will?”

That was another claw across his face that turned his head to the side, he was so stunned by the pain.

“See? I’m not angry. I’m sad. I don’t know how to fix my future, but I know that climbing into bed with you isn’t the answer, even though it feels good for a little while.”

“What do you want me to say?” he charged, stinging and hot all over. “That I’ll buy you a ticket to Chicago? First of all, you’d be lucky to survive the trip, and what are you going to do when you get there?”

“I’m going to tell people I’m widowed.” She lifted her chin. Her cheekbones were bright with a flush of defiant anger.

“I see. And that will fix everything? Your stepmother will open her arms to you, Mrs. Stames?”

“I wouldn’t dare take the name of your gun,” she scoffed, eyes bright. “And what do you care what I do?”

“Because I need you,” he said begrudgingly. Did she forget that he couldn’t do this without her? “Maybe you don’t think this is respectable work, but it’s important to me.”

The tendons in her neck seemed to flex as though he’d said something that struck her hard, but she looked down at the floor, hiding her expression.

“I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” she said in a hollow voice. “I appreciate that you pay me an honest wage for honest work, I do. But I think it’s better if we only work together and don’t...” The bed received another fluttering wave. “Do that.”

“Fine.” It was an absolute stake through the heart, but fine.

The following day dawned so bright, Temperance winced as she opened the curtain and squinted against the glare.

“Let’s hope this holds and the wagons start moving,” Owen said as he stamped into his boots.

People were venturing out, at least. Temperance could see someone was digging out, throwing snow.

Owen did the same for an hour before he left to collect his horse and go hunting. She suspected he was avoiding her since they still had venison from his last hunting trip. He’d sold half of that buck to the butcher for credit, so they could pick up sausage and scraps for Clarence as needed. He’d brought home the rest, all neatly wrapped. It was stored in the locker outside, where the winter temperatures kept it frozen.

The fact was, if he hadn’t left, she would have walked over to see Jane, so she could avoid him.

Thankfully, Jane came by for a visit.

“I was feeling cooped up,” Jane said. “I didn’t even see Mavis outside of cooking myself a meal, and I didn’t want to intrude when they were enjoying a few days to themselves without the saloon taking up all their time. I sewed up some pieces for the clothing store, though. That’s why I’m out this morning. I went to ask if she’d sell them for me for a small commission.”

“That’s great, Jane!”

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