Page 13 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

Judging by the tendons that came up in her neck, she seemed to have realized Beckett could wilt flowers with a compliment. As much as Owen enjoyed watching someone in an awkward situation, he wasn’t outright mean about leaving them to suffer.

He knocked back his bourbon, then walked across to set two quarters on the table in front of her. “Shall we dance?”

The look she swept upward was one of persecution before she blinked it away.

“Me?” She touched her collar.

“Depends. How’s your gout, Beckett?” Owen asked without taking his eyes off Temperance.

“Pretty bad, Owen. Thanks for asking.”

“I suppose it will have to be you, then, Rose.”

She swept her lashes down, perhaps not sure if she was relieved or dismayed. She offered a warm smile to Beckett as she stood. “Good luck with your horse, Mr. Beckett.”

She led Owen to the small space at the back of the saloon near the piano. Owen gave the man a quarter and asked for a polka.

“It’s your fault,” Temperance said as Owen set his hand behind her shoulder and accepted the press of her palm to his own.

“What is?”

“That I’ve had to take employment here.” Her arm settled along his, and her hand perched like an indecisive butterfly on the top of his shoulder.

He didn’t get a chance to reply. The lively polka started, and Owen led her into the step-skip, back and forth. She followed with perfect timing and leapt when he pivoted, whirling across the space before him. When her feet touched the floor again, her face was flushed, and a lively glimmer had come into her eyes.

The next dance was a jig that she matched with equal enthusiasm.

Owen had forgotten how much he enjoyed dancing. He would have gone four more, but someone cut in. She danced two more with two other men before she was free to catch her breath.

She didn’t come to Owen at the bar, though. A pair of newcomers had wandered in.

Owen knew at a glance they were green as grass, lured to Pike’s Peak despite the smell of winter approaching or the grave warnings from those who’d actually been here.

Saloon owners expected their girls to welcome everyone and do their best to keep paying patrons inside their saloon so Temperance went straight to them.

Owen had his own reasons for greeting fresh faces, so he joined them.

“Oh!” Temperance said with animation, catching at Owen’s arm when he stepped up beside her. “You boys will want to meet Mr. Stames. He’s a partner in the Venturous Mining Company.” She dropped her tone, so she said the company name with hushed reverence.

Owen suspected she was being sarcastic.

“Harry and Darry have been telling me they’ve come to stake a claim of their own. I’m sure you can fill them in on all the best practices,” Temperance said.

Owen dragged his brains out of the fact his elbow was being hugged into the swell of her breast and cleared his throat.

“I sure can.” Whenever he met innocent, misguided clodpolls like this, he saw himself back in fifty-one, nagging at Virgil to come with him to California, convinced it wasn’t too late to find their fortune. God, had it been a mistake. It was one of two profound mistakes that would eat at him until he was dead.

His guilt over taking Virgil from his family was the reason Owen did everything he could to make sure their mining company thrived. He hitched himself into a chair and held up two silver dollars because he wanted the boys to see them.

“Rosie, would you be a darling and fetch us a round of bourbon? Keep the change. Where are you boys from?”

They regaled him with their adventures in getting here. When Temperance returned and dealt out the drinks, Owen swung out his knee and patted his thigh in offering.

She hesitated, then perched her bottom on his thigh.

Oh, hell. He’d been trying to show off to these pups, but now he had a lapful of warm curves he was hard-pressed not to cradle and nuzzle. His arm twitched and tension hardened all his muscles. Everything hardened. Everything.

He swallowed.

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