Chapter 18
Even before the horseshoe had been thrown through the window, Temperance had been wondering if she was off her rocker for taking this job.
Now she was even more worried, but what were her options? Mr. Fritz wouldn’t have her back, and, considering her association with Owen, she doubted any other saloon would hire her. She would likely be hard pressed to get hired as a housekeeper or childminder, given Ivy Greenly’s influence and disdain for her. .
No, this was the only work open to her, and now the threat of further sabotage hung over them.
Owen had slept beside her for a paltry few hours before he rose and put on his boots and coat again.
“Where are you going?” She sat up.
“To see the marshal.”
“Mr. Cranston?” He’d only been on the job two days, having been elected on Emmett’s first morning here. “Do you think he’ll be any help?”
“No. But I’ll make a report then visit Elmer and the rest, see if anyone looks guilty.”
“Do you want breakfast first?”
“I’ll eat when I get back.”
She’d never seen him so humorless. He didn’t even take Clarence with him.
She rose but gave Owen a head start before letting the dog out. While the oatmeal was cooking, she bundled up and went into the parlor to give it a second sweep, mindful of the dog’s unprotected paws.
The room was frigid and dark. Owen had pulled down one of the black drapes from the side doors and pinned it over the window, but the draft was still coming through. Temperance hurried to gather up the few shards she’d found, then went into the kitchen for a hot bowl of porridge.
As she sat there, she was so frustrated on Owen’s behalf, she took out her writing paper and wrote in large letters: Reward – One quill of gold dust is offered to the person who identifies the criminal who broke this window.
She used a piece of firewood to prop it against an unbroken section on the inside of the glass. Then, feeling marginally better at having done something constructive, she went about her morning chores.
Owen returned with the dissatisfying news that Sureshot, who he considered the most likely suspect, was unaccounted for. Some said he’d gone back to Horsefly the day after Owen had relieved him of his pistol. Others said they’d seen him at the brothel.
Everyone else Owen had questioned swore they had been fast asleep when the window had been smashed.
Owen didn’t let the incident deter him from his goal. If anything, it seemed to have lit a fire in him. When the new window was installed, he had it painted with the name, Lucky Horseshoe Saloon.
“That’s almost as audacious as calling it The Undertaker’s,” Temperance said. Was he trying to provoke whoever had thrown it? At least he’d come around to realizing that people showing up with bodies would be bad for business.
“Now they know how concerned I am about their threats, don’t they?”
He spent the rest of the week closing in the doors behind the drapes before he installed shelving and a mirror against that wall. He built up the polished top of the coffin table into a bar height, keeping lots of space behind it for glasses and bottles. Then he fetched in everything else he’d ordered—furniture, glassware, and, with great ceremony, his first barrel of whiskey.
Temperance went outside to help him guide the barrel in its sling from the wagon to the hole into the cellar, but she wound up standing by while he and his horse did all the work. When the barrel of what he’d taken to calling ‘liquid gold’ was safely on the ground in the hole, they both gusted out a breath, sharing a look of rueful amusement and relief.
Owen was letting his beard grow in for winter. His thick bronze whiskers caught the sunlight as it cut between the buildings, so it glinted with sparks of gold. His hair was ruffled by the wind, and his pleased smile made him look so handsome, she caught her breath again.
His eyes were as intensely blue as the sky. As she gazed into them, she was accosted by the memory of their delicious fondling the other night. They hadn’t talked about it. They’d seemed to have agreed to pretend it hadn’t happened, but the silence was suddenly thick with all those unsaid things.
“I’ll unhook it so we can close these doors. That draft will be going straight up the stairs.” She didn’t wait for his reply, only rushed around the house to the back door.
By the time she was down the ladder and standing next to the barrel, Owen had hooked the end of the hauling rope on the outside wall and closed one of the cellar doors. She unhooked the sling, and he pulled the rest of the rope up.
“I’ll put the horse and wagon away while I’m out here.” He shut the second door, plunging her into the dimness of the cellar where only a thin line of light came through the crack in the ground-level doors.
She blinked to adjust her vision and made her way back up the ladder, moving into the kitchen where she poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot that she kept warm all day for Owen.
A short time later, he came in and removed his leather gloves to rub his hands. He stole her half-full cup, wrapping his long fingers around it. “Thank you.”
“I can pour you one of your own.” She lifted her brow at him.
“No, this is enough.” He knocked it back in a couple of careful gulps, then winked.
“You’re happy,” she noted.
“I will be, if that’s actually whiskey.” He nodded toward the parlor. “Where are the serving bottles?” He set her cup on the table.
“There.” She nodded to the bench where she kept her washing basin and peeled whichever vegetables were going into their nightly stew. “Do you need help?”
“No. Ol’ Murray had a good setup.” He took the bottles and picked up the candle from the sill on his way to the parlor where he opened the trapdoor.
She couldn’t resist following.
When she came down into the cellar, he was working by candlelight. The barrel was still in its sling, but he had moved the hook to another contraption, one that swung the barrel toward the worktable.
Temperance stayed out of his way but circled him to close and lock the doors to the outside portion of the cellar hole.
He guided the barrel into the cradle he had prepared for it, and, when it was securely in place, he removed the sling and put it away on its hook. Then he patted the barrel as though giving a horse an affectionate rub.
“Let’s see how it tastes.” He tapped the barrel, then filled one of the bottles a quarter way with amber liquid. “Ladies first?” He offered it to her.
She hesitated. Aside from wine at Christmas lunch, she rarely tasted alcohol, but she would feel churlish if she refused. She sniffed, thinking the fumes were sharp, but oaky and intriguing.
Very gingerly, she tilted the cold mouth of the bottle against her lips. The wetness hit her tongue and bit into it, then scorched a trail down her throat. She choked slightly and immediately offered the bottle back to him.
A glow of warmth arose in her, but she wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or the flash of his teeth that caused it. He took his own generous gulp and hissed out his breath when he lowered the bottle.
“I thought it would taste worse,” she admitted.
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “It’s a helluva better than Dudley’s. I’ll finish filling these while you change.”
“Into my gown?” she asked with shock. “You want to open?”
“I was going to wait until the piano gets here, but what the hell.”
“When did you order a piano?” she cried.
“I haven’t. That’s why I don’t want to wait for it.” He was wearing his innocent face, and that was a terrible joke, but it was the first one he’d made since the horseshoe, so she couldn’t scold him.
“Good thing,” she said. “I need time to learn how to play before it gets here.”
His teeth slowly appeared in a grin of appreciation. “Now you’re just being silly.”
She was, and why did she enjoy it so much when she coaxed a grin out of him? Why did that one smile make her think that maybe everything would turn out fine?
While he finished filling the bottles, she hurried upstairs to change and fix her hair.
Despite all her misgivings leading up to this day, she was excited. They’d been working really hard, and she knew this meant a lot to him. It meant a lot to her. She wished Jane was here to see it. She’d managed to see her once in the last few days, only long enough to tell her about the broken window.
Jane wasn’t getting much sleep with Freddie in the cabin, but Mavis was moving in with Mr. Fritz as soon as they married, which was happening any day now.
When Owen came upstairs, Temperance went into the parlor, so he could have privacy while he changed. It was freezing in here, so she started the fire in the stove. She was nervous, but excited.
Owen appeared a moment later with his hair combed. He wore clean trousers and the shirt he had bought and saved for this occasion.
“You look nice,” she said shyly.
“So do you.” He let his gaze linger on her until she started to blush.
“I thought I’d let you put the sign in the window,” she said with a flick of her hand toward the front door. She had painted it yesterday. It read:
Good Whiskey – 35￠
Good luck – Free
Owen was pricing his drinks a little higher than the rest of the saloons, counting on men to be curious enough to pay the extra. He set the sign then walked outside to see how it looked, sending a friendly wave at someone down the street while he was out there.
When he came back in, she asked, “Did you tell Mick when you picked up the barrel that you were going to open today?”
“No, but it only takes one man walking by and noticing. Word will get around quickly enough. There you go.”
“Are you open, Owen?” Skip poked his head in.
“We sure are, Skip. I’ll even buy your first drink since you’re my very first customer.”
“I’d appreciate that, Owen. Well, hello.” Skip closed the door and bent to greet Clarence who padded toward him. He gave the dog a few pats on the head. “That’s a nice touch, offering a friendly face to greet a man.”
Temperance and Owen looked at each other in bemusement. Were they not wearing friendly faces?
“How are you, Rose? You look fetching,” Skip said as he limped toward the bar.
“I’m well, Skip, thank you,” Temperance replied. “How are you?”
“Better than that rap scallion who broke into the storehouse at Fortune City.” Skip always had a story, so she wasn’t surprised when he took his drink to one of the chairs near the stove and sat down with a sigh.
“Oh? What happened to him?”
“He was caught red-handed,” Skip assured her with a grave nod. “And tried by the miners out there. Some wanted to hang him, but they decided on giving him a few days rations and told him to get walking.”
“In this weather?” She lowered into the other chair. “What will happen do you think? Will he make it to one of the other camps? Or turn up here?”
“I don’t think he’ll make it far a’tall. If the wolves don’t eat him, some hungry miner will.”
“No!” She recoiled, then canted her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “Are you pulling my leg?”
“That’s what he’ll be asking, once the men are helping themselves to his frozen drumstick.”
“Skip.” She covered her mouth, unable to help laughing.
They had a nice visit and Skip bought a second drink, saying with a frown, “You’re charging more than I like to spend, Owen.”
“You want to visit a real undertaker, you keep drinking the cheap stuff,” Owen said without apology.
“You ever find out who broke your window?” Skip asked.
“Nope. But I hung the horseshoe over the door for extra luck.”
“You didn’t!” Temperance went outside to check.
Sure enough, there it was above the door, heels up so it would gather all the best luck.
It must have done the trick, because two more passersby came in with her. As the evening wore on, a handful of men came in to gamble for a few hours. Temperance wound up with a silver dollar from the pot when the happy winner shared his newfound wealth.
When Owen locked the door, he’d sold twenty-two drinks, and Temperance had almost two dollars in tips.
“I’d call that a success.” He closed the drapes on the window while she blew out the kerosene lamps, except the one in the sconce by the door to their quarters. “Wouldn’t you?” he asked as he came toward her, beaming with pride.
“I would. Congratulations!” She felt pride of her own, happy to be part of what had put such a wide smile on his face.
He released a noise that was half exuberance, half abandoned discipline as he swooped to grab her around the waist. He hugged her and spun.
She squeaked out a noise of surprise and laughter, clinging her arms around his neck, too happy for him to be offended.
“I couldn’t help it,” he said as apology when he set her on her feet. He gave her one more bear hug, then released her but kept hold of her hands, squeezing them. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
She was deeply moved by that. She’d never heard anything like it from her father or Adelaide, no matter all the ways she had pitched in, trying to prove her value to them.
“I’m really glad for you. Well done.”
His brow flexed, and she thought he might be equally moved by her praise.
Her gaze became all tangled up with his, trying to read what else he might be thinking. Or feeling.
“I know we said we wouldn’t, but, ” he cradled the side of her face, “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“I want that too.”
A strangled noise left him as he drew her closer and gently crashed his mouth over hers. She brought her hand up and set it against his whiskered cheek, delighting in the texture even as his hot kiss stoked all the thoughts from her head. He was in no hurry, and that was perhaps the most dangerous part of this kiss. He made her feel heavy and sluggish—as though she were melting. She wanted to sink to the floor beneath him.
His hand slid from her face down to cup her neck while his mouth parted over hers, becoming more purposeful. Hungry and possessive and generous. Her heart felt as though it fluttered outside her body.
She moved his hand to her breast, and a growl rumbled in his chest. He shaped the swell through the layers of chintz and muslin while his tongue stole between her lips to tag her own. A thrust of heat went deep into the pit of her belly. All of her was so hot she twisted in delicious agony, wanting to touch all of him.
“I want to do it,” she admitted.
He stilled. “What?”
“Lovemaking,” she said shakily, clenching her eyes shut at being so blatant about it.
“So do I,” he groaned. His lips grazed her cheek, her jaw. “But I don’t want to get you pregnant.” He took her hands from around his neck and trapped them behind her while he backed her toward the door into the living area. “What if we do something else?”
Her mind blanked. “Like what?”
“Like I take off every stitch you’re wearing and taste every part of you.”
She gasped, coming up against the closed door, so his body squashed into hers, letting her feel the thickness of his arousal through the layers of their clothes.
It sounded like pure debauchery, but she was in such a grip of sensuality, she thought she might die if he didn’t do something to her. Anything.
She nodded.
He reached up to douse the lamp while she turned the latch on the door.
“Sorry, pal. You stay in here for now.” He blocked the dog from entering. They’d brought his blanket into the parlor earlier. He’d be fine.
Owen closed the door behind them, cloaking them in the darkness of a room lit only by the faint moonlight breaking through the window.
They kissed again. Urgently. Freely. She let her thoughts fall away, giving herself over to the swell of desire rising with each beat of her heart.
His hand searched all over her, drawing slow circles and pressing her skirts into the crease of her bottom and pausing to lightly clench, as though he suffered his own waves of intense want.
When he began to unbutton her gown, she helped, then lifted her arms as he peeled it up and floated it over the back of the chair.
“This is all I think about,” he whispered as he pressed her to the edge of the bed. “Touching you. Feeling you. Tasting...” His mouth was stealing to her collarbone as he followed the square neckline of her chemise.
The soft prickle of his whiskers stole her breath. She cupped his jaw and tried to bring him back to kiss her, but he only took one brief sip of her lips before he turned his mouth against the inside of her bare arm.
This was new to her. She wasn’t being driven by curiosity and a need to prove her feelings for him. He was raining pleasure upon her, truly seducing her by soaking her in need.
“Take off your shirt,” she whispered, wanting to feel his skin.
His hand moved between them, unbuttoning his vest while he turned his head to open his teeth against the swell of her breast.
She gasped and he pulled back, chuckling softly. “Wait until I do that when you’re naked.”
Naked. Yes. She unbuttoned her petticoat. It was discarded along with his vest and shirt. He shifted her on the bed and pressed over her. They kissed again and again while his wide hand stole into the neckline of her chemise and captured her breast.
“Ah, that’s nice,” he murmured, cradling her shape with great tenderness, drawing patterns with his fingertips that made her breast swell and ache. When his thumb flicked across her nipple, she flinched at the sharp sensation that pulsed into her loins.
He made a soothing noise and shifted so the heat of his mouth opened over her nipple. His tongue moved the thin muslin against it, creating a dull friction that had her curling her arms around his neck to draw him closer, wanting to both escape and succumb to his torture.
Her hands couldn’t resist coasting all over his naked back. Despite the chill in the air, he was hot. Smooth. She tugged at her chemise between them.
“I want to feel your skin with mine.”
His breath rattled in his chest, and he pulled back to skim away the final layers of cotton.
She shivered, but it wasn’t really a chill, more an awareness that she was being wicked while wanting it to happen anyway. At least he couldn’t really see her in this near total darkness, reaching for him as though he were her savior.
He gathered her in, and the brush of their skin pulled a pang of joy from her throat. She filled her hands with him, arching, frustrated that he’d kept his trousers on, so they abraded her leg as she coiled it around his.
He really did want to kiss every inch of her. He was pressing his mouth to her shoulder and her breast and rolling her onto her front so he could pool his hot breath against her spine. He nuzzled from her nape to her lower back, making her squirm. Making her ache between her legs in a way that filled her with wanton yearnings.
He stroked the backs of her thighs and shaped her backside, sapping her strength, so when he rolled her onto her back again and pressed his damp kisses on her belly, she only threaded her fingers into his hair and shook with need.
“Will you please...” She clenched her eyes tight, deeply embarrassed to ask. “Do what you did...the other time?”
“This?” His lazy fingertip tickled along the line of her sex, the caress so light, she barely felt it, but he drew forth a hard pulse beat anyway, making it the worst possible tease.
“Yes,” she gasped. “But more.”
“Oh, Rose,” he groaned. “I’m going to give you so much more than that.” He shifted both of them, so he was half off the bed. He lifted one of her legs to his other side, so she was splayed open before him.
As the dim shape of his head started to duck, she cried, “You can’t!”
He froze. “Cannot? Or may not?”
His breath was stirring those fine hairs and making her desire pulse all the harder between her thighs.
“It’s not right. Is it?”
“Let’s try. See if I get it right.” He sounded as if he was laughing at her, but she felt his touch on her, exploring, parting.
His head ducked, and he painted a hot lick across her most vulnerable flesh. It was so startling and intense, her legs instinctually tried to close, but his brawn was in the way.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, thighs jerking with reaction as she fought her reflexive shyness.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” she said on a mortified sob, throwing her arm over her eyes.
“Then lie still and enjoy it.” He took hold of her legs in strong, hugging arms and set about sliding and swirling his tongue against her in ways that made her groan and rock her hips and bite her lip.
“There,” she gasped. “Do that there— Oh. Oh. Owen. Owen.”
He released one of her legs, and his fingers slid deep into her with no effort whatsoever, she was so wet and welcoming. His head rocked, and his fingers plunged deep.
She screamed as her world exploded.