The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

Chapter 1

October 11th, 1859, Denver City, Territory of Kansas

She was a fallen woman.

As if she hadn’t already been one before she walked in the doors of The Dudley Saloon. No, the only difference now was that the good people of Denver would know it, same as they had in Chicago.

Having come to an agreement with the saloonkeeper, Mr. Cecil Dudley, Temperance Goodrich turned to confront the curious stares of the half dozen miners gambling and drinking at the tables.

A fresh scald of shame burned her throat. She didn’t know how to be a saloon girl.

I dance and talk with ’em, bring ‘em their drinks, her friend Jane had said earlier today. It pays much better than trying to get in at the shops.

Jane had asked her employer at the Bijou to hire Temperance, but he already had two girls. If it had still been the height of summer, he might have taken her on, but the whole town was quieting as men gave up on finding gold to travel home before winter arrived.

Also, the Bijou was in Auraria, across the creek. The Dudley was a quick walk to where Temperance was staying and was reputed to be the best in town—so good that it didn’t need saloon girls as enticement. It had brass wall sconces that cast golden light over the polished bar and into the mirror behind the bottle shelf. There was a cast-iron stove taking the chill off the evening air and an abandoned piano.

Darkness had been closing in outside when she had entered. Temperance had no other means to bring her father to Denver or to pay her rent. Whatever redemption she had thought she could achieve with this trip had been lost along the trail like so many shoes and wagons and lives.

This was her one chance to pull herself back from the brink of penniless ruin, so she had better get to it.

“Gentlemen.” She put on her church smile and made herself approach the least intimidating pair.

“Ma’am.” The young fellow with bright red hair and a chipped tooth tipped his hat. He gave her an up-down glance that was both too familiar and boyishly hopeful. He was probably about her age of twenty-three but looked older with his untrimmed beard and gaunt face. “Are you new here?”

“I arrived at the end of September. I’m—” She faltered. Temperance? In a saloon? “My name is Rose.” It was her second name, so not a lie.

“I’m Rufus. This is Frenchie.” He indicated the man beside him who had a pipe sticking out from his scraggly gray beard.

“You got news from back east?” Frenchie asked with a heavy French accent.

“I left two months ago, so my news is stale. Let me see.” She tapped her chin, having become familiar with these inquisitions while she stood in line at the Express office, hoping for a letter from her father. The miners were lonely and homesick and cut off from the rest of the world. Many lacked the funds to buy a newspaper or the ability to read it. They had to pump a newcomer like a fire cistern.

“Did you hear about the rustling in Julesburg?” she asked. “I went through there the day after it happened.”

They both frowned and nodded, murmuring, “Shame.”

“Are you traveling alone?” Rufus asked, shy and hopeful again.

“With my father,” she prevaricated. Papa was still in Fort Kearney. Almost here. She just needed to earn his stage fare. She tried not to despair over the math of reaching that goal. Today’s wages minus what she owed Mrs. Pincher were less than zero, so...no. It was too depressing.

She made herself keep a bright smile on her face.

“What brings him here? Business? Or diggings?” Frenchie asked.

“His occupation is survey work. Mapping and cataloguing minerals and such.”

The two men blinked at her then turned puzzled looks toward each other.

“That’s prospecting, ain’t it?” Rufus said.

Behind the bar there was a commotion between Mr. Dudley and his wife. They hissed like a pair of cats by the woodpile, but Temperance could make out what they were saying.

“I thought you liked having another woman here,” Mr. Dudley said, with exasperation. He was wiry in every way, including the fringe of hair that ran around his bald crown. “You said it brought in business.”

“Marigold was different. We don’t know this one.” Mrs. Dudley had a matronly appearance but speared Temperance with a look made of icicles.

Temperance’s heart knew that look. She’d been raised by it.

“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?”

“More like, I could tell straight away that you’re a woman who will scold me into behaving myself.” He folded his arm on the bar, so his face was closer to hers.

Her stomach rose and fell as though she were in a carriage traveling over a dip in the road. She held his gaze a little too long, aware of the heat that tinted her cheeks. Aware that he could not only see it; he understood it.

“Those bibles must be heavy,” she said with a very deliberate drag of her gaze to his muscled shoulders and upper arms.

“Not as heavy as my conscience. Care to save me from my sins?”

“If it were Sunday, I would be in a position to help you atone.” She batted her lashes, allowing that word ‘position’ to linger between them. She held his gaze until her heart nearly battered itself out of her chest. “Being a Thursday, I can only offer holy water and a collection plate.” She slid her gaze to her tin tray.

“Ha.” He dropped a half dollar onto it with a clink. “I’ll take salvation where I can find it.”

“I thought you were delivering.” She cocked her head.

“I deliver,” he assured her with a confidence that gave her that slippery, out-of-control sensation again. “Have you not found it here?” His lashes tangled together as he looked through them at her. “When did you arrive?”

“About an hour ago.”

His mouth twitched. “In Denver,” he clarified.

“Recently.” She was deliberately cryptic to keep him intrigued.

“Where’s home?”

“Chicago. Have you been?” She resisted the urge to draw back so she could draw a full breath and tried to keep the conversation on him. She was fascinated by him. His eyebrows and sideburns were bronze. His lips were full and smooth and seemed to naturally rest in a secretive smile. He smelled of fresh air, leather, and soap.

“I hear it’s cold in Chicago. I don’t like to be cold.” He was looking at her mouth which made her aware she’d been staring at his. “I could be persuaded to visit, though. If I knew a warm welcome awaited me.”

Oh. Heat kindled in her middle. It licked like flames upward in her chest, past her throat and into her cheeks.

No, no, no.

“I was hoping for the same thing here.” She was barely clinging to her air of nonchalance as she struggled to breathe.

“What brought you here?” His eyelids returned to being weighted. His tone was laconic but held a note that sounded like real interest.

Don’t fall for it.

“Seeking a warmer climate, obviously. You?”

“Bible sales. Obviously.” His mouth paused in its slow smile that stalled as he looked past her. “Excuse me one minute. Business.” He shot his drink and straightened to move around her to the far end of the bar where Mr. Dudley signaled him to go into the room behind the bar.

Temperance released the tension from her chest with a subtle exhale. Who on earth was he to affect her so profoundly? This was worse than Dewey’s effect on her. That had been fueled by flattery and her own hopes. This was visceral. Uncontrollable.

A man called out to her, thankfully pulling her from her daze.

When Owen reappeared, he was placing a wallet in an inside pocket of his jacket.

By then, Temperance had been commandeered into shaking dice for one of the men at the gambling table. She did her best to pretend she hadn’t noticed his return.

Owen stayed for one more drink. She felt his eyes on her for a full quarter hour, but when she looked for him after that, he was gone.