Page 2 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

“Are you men ready for another round?” Temperance nodded at the men’s near-empty glasses. “Is that beer?”

“I’ll buy. Thanks, Rose.” Rufus offered her a quarter. “You keep the change.”

“Thank you, Rufus.” Was it really that easy to earn half a dime?

She checked with the other table then came to the bar for two glasses of beer and two shots of whiskey.

Mrs. Dudley had taken herself into the couple’s home, in back of the saloon. Mr. Dudley was red-faced as he poured and set the glasses on a tin tray so she could deliver them.

Temperance died several small deaths at being so clearly unwanted by the lady of the establishment, but her stepmother had been exactly as hostile, so she did what she’d always done. She pretended it didn’t bother her. She served the drinks and asked the card-playing men how their game was going.

She’d been mingling for an hour and had just pocketed another dime when Rufus called out, “Owen!”

“Howdy, boys.” The man who entered touched the brim of his hat and sauntered to the bar. He set his elbow on the ledge and took a reading of the room. “And girl,” he added with a nod of deference toward Temperance, allowing his gaze to linger on her.

Goodness, he was handsome. Tall and wide-shouldered, clean-shaven with a fading tan, indicating he’d been outdoors all summer. His jaw was smooth and shiny, as though he’d come straight from the barber. Like the rest of the men in here, he carried a pistol in a holster on his hip, but unlike the weary-looking miners, his jacket was brushed, his shirt and trousers freshly laundered. His boots were not falling off his feet from wear. His blue eyes pierced into hers with a sensation that pulsed so deeply within her she felt stabbed in the chest.

Do not let that happen again, she chastized herself. Her eyes grew hot with betrayal every time she thought of Dewey and all the intimacies she’d allowed him, all the promises she’d believed, only to wind up spurned. Cast out. Ruined.

“Hello, Owen. You settling up?” Mr. Dudley poured a bourbon from what Temperance had already discerned was his ‘good’ whiskey.

“I sure am, Ceece. And might I say, it’s nice to see you prettying up the place.”

There was a sputtered noise of indignation behind Mr. Dudley. Mrs. Dudley had started to come into the saloon, but pivoted and went straight back into her home, slamming the door.

“What’d you go and say that for?” Mr. Dudley groused to Owen.

“Oops.” Owen tucked his chuckle of culpability into his neck. A devilish grin pulled his mouth to the side. “Tell her I didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll come settle up as soon as she puts down her kitchen knife.”

Mr. Dudley went after his wife, and Owen turned his attention to Temperance again. He waved an invitation for her to join him at the bar.

“Come introduce yourself. I don’t think I know you.”

I know you. That’s what jolted into her mind and lurched in her heart and sank into her blood and bones as she started toward him. He emanated the same confidence that Dewey had—that his charm and good looks were keys that would grant him passage wherever he cared to go.

Panicked bees and butterflies and birds all took flight inside her. She had an urge to run, but she also had a terrible urge to crash her fist against his chest and call him all the worst names she could think of. Who do you think you are?

She had been shunned from society and forced to take work as a saloon girl because of a man like him. She hated him on principle.

But she was working, she reminded herself. Jane had said a man had given her a silver dollar as a tip last week. Temperance couldn’t afford to throw away either her very new job or its potential earnings simply because she longed to kick this man in the ankle.

“I’m Rose.” She walked without hurry, doing her best to hold his attention in those small ways she had barely begun to master. She allowed the skirt of her gown to swish as she moved and made herself smile with her whole face, which wasn’t as hard as it should’ve been. The sparkle in his eyes invited her into a place of laughter and heat, sending a fresh pulse of intrigue into her belly.

When she arrived next to him, she deliberately stood a half-step too close while silently daring, Do your best to charm me. For the sake of her pocketbook, she’d pretend it was working, but it wouldn’t.

“Otis, was it?” She offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Owen.” The indent in his cheekbone was a dimple that winked as he suppressed a grin. He swallowed up her hand with his, making her pulse trip.

Don’t. She kept her expression nonchalant while he slowly released her, even though the slide of his fingertips against her palm seemed to reel her heart out of her chest, taking her breath with it.

She cleared her throat and dropped her hand into the folds of her skirt to surreptitiously erase the sensations.

“I assume you’re so well known because you’re a bible salesman?” she asked with faux innocence. He was the opposite of a church goer. He was walking temptation.

“Door to door, every day.” He didn’t miss a beat. “And you’re the new Sunday school teacher I’ve been hearing about?”

“What gave me away?” She resisted the urge to touch her hair or lick her lips, but she felt very self-conscious under his regard. Drawn. “Let me guess,” she tapped her lip, feigning contemplation. “Is it my obviously pious behavior?”

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