Page 1 of 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.