Page 74 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

“I’m just concerned she’ll be too busy working for you that she won’t be working for me.”

“Is that what you’re concerned about?” Virgil snorted.

“I don’t see why you would come all this way worried I’m throwing my money away then get in the way of my making any.”

“You’re the only person allowed to make money? She’s not?”

“Oh, you did bring Marigold,” Owen said facetiously.

Virgil tugged his own ear, starting to wear a smirk of his own. “You could just admit you’re growing sweet on her.”

“Growing sweet on someone gets in the way of making money, so, no, I will not be doing that.”

“The admitting? Or the growing?”

“Both,” Owen insisted.

“Not all riches come from having money.”

“Christ, Virgil.” Owen looked to the rafters. “You’re happy with Marigold, and I’m happy for you, but you’re worse than a preacher. Lay off trying to marry me up.”

“Fine.” Virgil surrendered with open hands. “But you always said you didn’t want a wife, because you weren’t sure you could look after one. You can, so, what’s left to be afraid of? Having someone cook for you? Having a warm body in bed next to you? I guess you already have that, don’t you?”

Owen started to say, You know what I’m afraid of. Virgil was one of the few people besides Temperance who knew about Linus. But the note of challenge in Virgil’s tone pinched his conscience in a different way.

Virgil was accusing him of taking advantage of her, but that wasn’t what was between them. It was something generous and equal and pure. Wasn’t it?

Or was he telling himself that to justify sleeping with her without offering a wedding ring?

“If she wants to go back to Chicago, she can go back.” He rubbed the middle of his chest as he said it, trying to erase the prickling itch that rose there. “I have to get ready to open up,” he muttered and went to change.

Dear Papa, Temperance wrote the morning after Virgil left.

I hope you have arrived home safely. I want to reassure you that I am also safe and well. After some delay, I have made an arrangement with Mr. Gardner whereby I will write a simplified report for him in exchange for his financing my secure transport to Chicago.

She paused to trace her lips with the end of her pencil as she tried to imagine making that long journey only to arrive at a place she wasn’t wanted.

Am I welcome? she wanted to write but was too afraid of the answer.

I wish to ask you a favor on behalf of Mr. Gardner’s business partner, Mr. Owen Stames, who has lately opened a saloon. Do you still have connections in Peoria? Mr. Stames would be grateful for an introduction to distilleries there. If you are able to secure an immediate and direct shipment of their best product to the Lucky Horseshoe Saloon in Denver, Mr. Stames has proposed to give you an agent’s fee of ten percent.

She paused again to consider whether to tell him she worked here.

I’m enclosing a letter to the children. As we are heading into winter, you may not hear from me again soon, but I miss you all terribly and cannot wait to see you again.

With love, your daughter,

Temperance

She did miss them, but she wasn’t as desolate as she’d been when she had first arrived. She had a suspicion that when she left, she would miss the friends she’d made here just as badly: Jane and Mavis and...

Her throat ached as she blew on the ink to dry it. She carefully folded the letter into an envelope and addressed it, then looked up to find Owen watching her. Could he read the yearnings in her eyes?

“I asked Papa to arrange a shipment of whiskey,” she told him, voice dry.

“Thank you,” he said absently.

“Was that not what you were waiting to hear?”

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