Page 37 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

Her hands were shaking as much from upset and fear as the cold. She didn’t know where she would go. Even if Mrs. Pincher would have taken her back, she wouldn’t answer the door at this time of night. How much would the hotels charge, she wondered? Her last few coins might get her a night or two. Then what?

She firmly tied her bonnet into place and said a final, “Bye Mavis.” When she stepped outside, the wind nearly cut her in half.

As she came toward the street, a dark shadow peeled itself away from the side of the saloon.

“I’m armed, sir,” she lied in her most threatening voice.

“With what?” Owen asked. “A spare petticoat and a bar of soap?”

“You. Why are you so determined to ruin my life?”

“Last I checked, I keep saving it. Come on. I’ll take you to my room.” His silhouette turned to start across the front of the saloon where light spilled from the window.

“That is very presumptuous.” She stood her ground. “We are square. I owe you nothing.”

“I was under the impression you felt I owed you something.” He turned so the light from the window slashed across his face, illuminating his mouth while leaving his eyes in the shadow of his hat. “Do you really want to stand in this wind and argue about it? Clarence is there. He’ll play chaperone.”

“That animal? After what he tried to do to Mrs. Greenly’s dalmatian?” For some reason, the memory of Woodrow Greenly spinning around, trying to keep his dog from begetting pups by Clarence, gave her the strongest urge to laugh when she actually wanted to cry herself into a heap.

Owen’s teeth briefly flashed in the frame of his stubbled beard.

Her heart took a dip and twirl while the rest of her felt terribly shy all of a sudden.

Then the harsh wind slapped her face.

What a terrifying predicament to be cast out on a night like this. Hugging her roll of, yes, a spare petticoat and not much else, she ducked her head and practically ran along beside Owen, only thinking she wished to survive until morning.

Her eyes and nose were running, her lips were numb, and her toes were aching by the time they crossed the bridge into Denver. A few more blocks and they were at the corral where wagons could be stored and animals stalled and fed. They each used the john, then he lit one of the discarded candle nubs from the shelf at the bottom of the stairs to light their way up.

When he closed the door, Temperance was firmly trapped in a smaller room than the one she’d shared with Jane and Mavis. It smelled of the livestock below and the dog who picked up his head and tapped his tail silently into the blanket on the bed.

The very narrow bed.

Clarence had the sense to stay curled up where it was warm, but where would he stand if he came off the bed? The tiny space was taken up by a wash stand that held a basin and jug and a chair. There was a rag for a curtain and a couple of hooks on the wall for hanging clothing, but nothing else, not even a stove for warmth.

“How much are these rooms?” Her words were slurred by her frozen lips.

“I paid ahead, but on a night like tonight, they’re five dollars and all full.”

She didn’t even have an entire dollar after paying him out. At least she was out of that infernal wind, but she continued to hug her roll as though it was her childhood ragdoll. As though it was one of the twins who had snuck into her bed after waking from a nightmare.

“I suppose I’ll take the floor.” It had a blood stain on it and didn’t look as though it had been swept since the walls had gone up.

“We’ll share the bed. It’ll be tight, but at least we’ll be warm.” Owen removed his holster and hung it from a hook. He set the other pistol on the wash stand.

“I don’t think sharing the bed is appropriate.”

“Let’s save arguing about that until morning.”

Such a vexing man. She was too overwhelmed to fight his warped logic, though. And too cold to remove a stitch of clothing. In fact, she carefully unrolled her blanket and set her small bundle of clothes on the shelf under the wash basin before she wrapped her blanket around herself.

“Top to toe?” she suggested as she took stock of the way Clarence was hogging the center of the straw-filled mattress.

“I would love to say that dog will stay on the floor if I put him there, but he won’t. You take the wall, I’ll take the edge. We’ll use him as a foot warmer. Come on, Clarence.” Owen snapped his fingers near the foot of the bed. “Come on down here. Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

Owen had to pick up the dog, so Temperance could pull the blanket free from under him. She threw down her thin pallet across the straw mattress as a little extra padding, before Owen set Clarence on the bottom of the bed. They both removed their shoes. Temperance crawled to the inside, still wearing her blanket like a cape. She turned her face to the wall.

Owen draped the blanket over the whole bed, including the dog. He topped it with his jacket, then blew out the candle before he came in under it, turning his back to her. The ropes groaned and his weight sagged her into rolling backward into him.