Chapter 19
“Do you want me to do that to you?”
Owen froze where he was bent over the wash stand splashing icy water from the basin across his face, rinsing her essence out of his beard.
“What?” he asked, hoping like hell he wasn’t misunderstanding.
“Taste you.”
He wanted that so badly, his cock was ready to split.
“I don’t think you’re fully prepared for the consequences of that. I’m going to fuck my hand.”
“Can I watch?”
Was she trying to kill him?
“Is it bad that I want to?” she asked hesitantly into the potent silence.
“No.” Maybe? Hell, what did he know?
He flicked a match and lit the candle they’d left on the table, then skimmed his drawers and trousers off before joining her on the bed.
She never took her eyes off his cock, which was kind of funny and kind of cute and definitely very erotic.
He settled on his back and squeezed himself, so ready he could have popped off in two rough strokes, but now he wanted to hold back and let her do whatever the hell she wanted to him.
“Can I...?” She started to reach out.
He dropped his hand away and watched her face, barely able to keep his eyes open as she closed her hand around him and lightly stroked. All her attention was on what she was doing. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to fuck her. But he let her play and explore, tickling his tight balls then returning to clasp him and pull back his foreskin. It was pure, delicious torture.
“I want to see what it feels like to hold you in my mouth.”
“Temperance, I can’t?—”
“Cannot? Or may not?” she asked with a wicked grin curving her lips. Her hair swept forward against his stomach and thigh. The soft shape of her breast brushed his waist.
“Do it.” She was definitely going to kill him.
Slowly, slowly, she bent closer until the wet heat of her breath bathed him. Her fist tightened around his root, then her damp, velvet mouth closed over his tip. She rolled her tongue around his head, learning his shape. She very lightly sucked.
Orgasm rang like a bell deep in the well of his pelvis.
“Fuck!”
She released him and jerked her head up.
He managed to get his hand in the way, but then he was lost, spilling into his own palm and across his stomach and chest with uncontrolled bucks of his hips, aware of the ragged noises resounding from his throat, but lost to the pleasure and power of his release.
“Am I bad?”Temperance couldn’t help asking in a whisper when the candle was out, and they were spooned under the covers. She had put on her chemise, he wore his drawers, but she had never felt so naked. So sated, yet uncertain.
“No.” His lips touched the rim of her ear, and the arm around her pulled her tighter into the curve of his body.
“But we’re not married,” she whispered. “We’re not planning to. We’re not in love.”
He seemed to grow still behind her. “Is that what you want?”
“No.” Maybe? She wanted to feel safe and secure and wanted and—yes. Loved. That was the real reason she had allowed Dewey to have his way with her. She had wanted him to love her. She wanted someone to love her forever no matter what, not promise to look after her, then leave her fending for herself hundreds of miles from home.
“There’s nothing bad about wanting to feel good. We’re not hurting anyone.”
She nodded, but even though she felt very good right now, it took her a long time to fall asleep.
Things grew busierover the next few days. They got their morning chores done— washed the glasses, replenished the bottles, made stew, and brought in firewood, then opened in the late afternoon, when men were finishing up their own chores and errands. They closed when it emptied out, usually around midnight.
Light snow blew across one day, making for a cozy evening in the saloon, but this morning had dawned surprisingly mild and bright.
It was their fifth day of business. Temperance was glowing from their recent lovemaking. They’d taken to ‘snuggling’ in the middle of the day, when their work was done, but it was too early to open.
Owen would ask, “Want to warm up?”
She did. She always did. He was wildly inventive, teaching her things she hadn’t known people did.
Then they dressed, and, feeling mellow, entered the parlor where he turned the sign and unlocked the door. She brought their dinner to the table where they’d taken to eating it. Here, the late day sun came in the front window, and they could greet any early customers who happened by.
“This is good,” Owen said after a few bites. “Better than any gruel I’ve eaten at a saloo— What are you thinking about?” His tone lowered to the intimate one he used when they were in their bed, caressing each other in broad daylight.
“Nothing,” she lied, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that played against her lips.
“Did I turn the sign too early? Because if you need a little more attention, I’m very happy to oblige.”
She was seriously tempted, but the door opened, letting in a whoosh of fresh air and a man with a heavy step who looked like he ate children for breakfast. He was tall and wide-shouldered, and his clothes were spattered with flecks of mud from the trail. His beard was scruffy and did little to hide the livid scar that ran down his cheek. He didn’t remove his hat, only shut the door and barely met each of their gazes before he swiveled his head to take in the rest of the room.
“What the hell am I looking at?” His glower returned to Owen, then crashed into Temperance’s surprised blink. His antagonism nearly knocked her out of her chair.
“What the hell am I looking at?” Owen set his spoon back in his bowl. “I’m trying to attract a higher class of clientele, not unwashed riffraff.”
The stranger lifted a brow, offering the sort of take-that-back look that should have had Owen reaching for his pistol. Temperance was afraid to breathe. Even Clarence was staying on his blanket near the stove, only holding his head up as he tried to figure out if approaching this stranger was a good idea or a death wish.
“Temperance, the man you’ve been waiting for.” Owen tilted his head toward the newcomer.
“Mr. Gardner?” she realized with shock. “Oh. Hello. I’m Temperance Goodrich.” She rose and hurried forward to offer her hand. “You were corresponding with my father.”
“Uh huh.” He took her measure then swallowed her hand with his, giving it one heavy, abrupt pump.
Temperance had been waiting all this time to speak to him, but now that she had her chance, she was completely tongue-tied. She wasn’t sure what intimidated her more, his unreceptive manner, or the fact she knew how much Owen valued his friendship, which pressured her to make a good impression. She could already tell that Virgil Gardner was judging the hell out of her for sitting here in such domestic bliss with Owen. She was sure Emmett had told him they were living together, unmarried. She wasn’t sure if she was ashamed of that or inclined to suggest he carry his judgmental opinions to hell.
“Would you like a bowl of stew?” She waved at their half-eaten bowls.
“I would.” He nodded. “Thank you. But I should look after my horse first. I came straight here.” He looked to Owen.
“We’ll put him in the wagon house.” Owen scraped the last of his stew in three quick bites. “I’ll meet you out back.”
“You didn’t bring Marigold?”Owen asked when he opened the door of the wagon house. He left the door cracked, so he didn’t have to light the lantern.
“She didn’t fancy a long, cold day in the saddle.”
“I didn’t ask how your honeymoon was going.”
“I honestly don’t know how you still have all your teeth.”
Owen’s gelding, Cobalt, nickered a greeting as Rusty walked by. Rusty gave him a small toss of his head but stood well-mannered as they removed his tack.
“Besides, I’m carrying enough that I didn’t want to lose my partner’s gold to save my wife,” Virgil muttered with a dour look over the horse’s back.
“Thank you for bringing it.” Aside from asking Elmer outright if he’d been responsible for the window, Owen hadn’t spoken to him, but he wouldn’t rest easy until he had cleared the debt with Madame Beauville. He’d told her to put the mine’s takings against it, if necessary. “The strongbox is ready at Pollock’s, by the way. I had a thought to put it down in my cellar. Then we wouldn’t have to walk around with so much on us when we’re in town.”
“Not a bad idea,” Virgil said gruffly. He was a squirrel who liked a hoard in different trees. “We’d have to cement it in. And that doesn’t help us next year, when you’ll be in camp and not here to guard it.”
“True,” Owen agreed.
While Virgil finished drying and brushing Rusty, Owen poured out grain for him, then offered a handful to Cobalt so he wouldn’t feel left out.
“That was a real question, you know. What the hell was I looking at in there?” Virgil asked.
“What? Temperance? It’s the same arrangement you had with Marigold.” Owen started pitching straw into the empty stall.
“She’s your housekeeper and looks after your children?”
“She’s my bookkeeper and looks after my customers.”
“And happens to share your bed while she does that.”
“Whatever Emmett thinks he saw?—”
“Oh, don’t bother. I know when you’re full of shit,” Virgil grumbled. “Who the hell is she, really? All you’ve ever wanted is money, and you finally have some. I’m not going to watch you throw it away on a skirt.”
A sting rose in Owen’s nostrils. “Did I get my nose in your crotch when you brought home the wrong woman from the Express office?” He appreciated Virgil’s concern, he really did, but he was also insulted. “I’m not stupid, Virgil.”
“I didn’t call you stupid. I called you horny. If you’re wanting a woman in your life?—”
“See, you are calling me stupid. I’m not taking Pearl off your hands,” Owen said flatly.
“Is that why you’re here fucking around with this enterprise? Don’t marry Pearl. I don’t care. This isn’t practical. What are you going to do come spring? Leave the running of it to a woman you don’t even know?”
“Damn it, you have always known this is what I want.” Owen pointed to the saloon, aware that Temperance was inside it, relying on him. Which was not what he wanted. Not really. That part was gnawing at him, but he was leaving it alone for now. “If the mine goes bust, or if I get hurt and can’t break my back with a pickaxe anymore, I’ll still have a plot of land and a business to support me. Are you not carrying enough responsibility with your wife and children that you want to keep worrying about me too?”
“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t be trusting a stranger with the future you’re trying to build for yourself.” Virgil led Rusty into the stall and left him there.
“Rest assured, I’m never going back to having nothing but lint in my pockets,” Owen said as they stepped outside. “Check my books if you want to. Then we can both be sure she’s not robbing me blind.”
Clarence trotted up to them.
“He shouldn’t be out—” Owen glanced to the back door and realized Temperance was standing in the open doorway.
“He knew you were out here and kept whining. We have customers.” She closed the door.
Had she heard what he’d just said to Virgil? Shit.
He didn’t trust her.
Temperance wasn’t surprised. Not really. It was the hurt that surprised her. The ache of thinking she had earned Owen’s belief in her only to have that rug pulled. It also meant Virgil didn’t trust her. He would never hire her, and she could resign herself to saloon work for the rest of her life.
The evening was excruciating. She had to pretend she was her cheerful self while she felt judged and found lacking. She was never so relieved as when Owen sent her to bed and stayed in the saloon to drink with Virgil.
The next morning, the men were up early to take the wagon out. They came back with a strongbox made of cast iron that Owen lowered into the cellar with the sling.
“Cecil Dudley walked by while we were outside and yelled, ‘Are you becoming a bank now too?’” Owen told her with a chuckle when he and Virgil came up from the hole. “I should have told him it’s for our whiskey recipe. Virgil brought instructions from Pearl.” He waved a slip of paper. “You’ll help me with that?”
“Of course.” She gave a wan smile.
“Speaking of banks, I have to run and clear my debt. Care to walk with me, Virge?”
“Give Madame Beauville my regards, but I would prefer to remain married. Let her know you bachelors will cash out any promissory notes in the future. I’ll visit the trading post to see if there’s anything Marigold and the children can use.”
Both men left, and Temperance got back to her chores, hoping to run out to see Jane before the saloon opened.
Virgil returned before she left. He came in the back door within the half hour, holding a porcelain doll in an elaborate blue satin gown. In his other hand was a small, warm jacket.
“For my children.” He self-consciously set his purchases on a chair.
“Oh? I presumed you bought them for yourself.” She wrinkled her nose, immediately regretting her smart mouth. “That was a joke.”
“Uh huh. Is there any coffee in that pot?”
“Yes. And cabbage soup if you’re hungry.” She set clean dishes on the table for him, then picked up her gloves. “Did you have other errands? I want to walk over to see my friend Jane. After the horseshoe incident, we don’t like to leave the building empty.”
“Owen told me about that.” Virgil used a towel to hold the coffee pot and filled his mug. “When I asked him why he replaced the window instead of scraping and repainting it.”
She assumed he had seen that expense in the ledger books, otherwise he couldn’t have known about it at all.
“He also said you want to write the railroad report that your father proposed.” He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup.
This was her chance. She smoothed her empty gloves across her palm, nervous and conflicted.
“How much did he tell you about my reasons for coming here?” She peeked up at him.
“He said your father was ill and had to go back to Chicago, but that you’ve been his assistant for years.”
“That’s true. I have.” She tucked the gloves under her elbow and folded her arms defensively. “Papa has always had tremors. His handwriting is terrible. I do more than transcribe his notes, though.” She explained all the ways she had helped in writing his lectures and how she furthered his research when she had the chance. “I may be a woman, and I may be working as a saloon girl, but I have a good sense of what’s needed in a report like this.”
“And that’s why you want to write it? Because you think you can?” The weight of skepticism that had radiated out of Virgil’s silence as she spoke made it hard to breathe.
“I know I can,” she said without hesitation. “I want to do it for the same reason my father would have done it. To be paid for honest labor. And for the same reason Owen tells me you all came here to mine gold. You know that if you aren’t here to do it, someone else would be. For that reason, I’ve started working on the report regardless of your support. If you don’t hire me, I hope to find someone else who will.”
“How much are you expecting to be paid?”
“Not as much as my father. I don’t have his credentials, but I’m well-suited to write it. By living here, I have access to the latest information concerning population and trade. Men walk right into the saloon and tell me which new business has opened and how much gold was pulled from which valley. They know how much snow fell and how much the river rose last year.”
“How long do you think it would take you to write it?”
“It depends on the scope. In the interest of speed, I thought to keep it lean and focus on what’s here in town with a general mention of other minerals rumored to be in these mountains. I’m confident I can fund the printing by selling advertisement for the local businesses. If I can raise enough to cover printing and a ticket back to Chicago, I could sell them once I’m there, to provide myself an income.” It would take all winter to write it and collect the advertising sponsors, given her days were so busy, but having a goal kept her hopes up.
“You’re going back to Chicago?” His brows went up. “Does Owen know that?”
“He does.” The bottom of her heart always seemed to drop away when she thought about going back there, but where else would she go?
“You’re saying if I fund it, you’ll expand it enough to make a case for a railroad. You’ll add in more details about the deposits of silver and iron and coal. That sort of thing?”
“Exactly. The report would also have your company name front and center, mentioning the steady employment you offer.”
“Hmm.” He finished his coffee, mouth pushed to the side. “All right. Show me what you have so far.”
He set aside his mug with a clunk.
“Really?” She abandoned her gloves and hurried to fetch her book.