Page 40 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

“Is this a true story?” His gaze fixated on her, as though he was arrested by her tale.

“It is.” She nodded. “I don’t remember everything that happened, only that cold powder was in my nose and mouth. I couldn’t scream or move and snow came in on top of me, so it went dark, but gray, not black. Thankfully, it was right before breakfast. My father came to wake me and saw what had happened. He ran down to the parlor and had to break a window. Then he dug all the snow onto the floor until he found my foot. He and Mr. Henry pulled me inside. They thought I was dead, but they set me in front of the fire and gave me a sip of brandy. I started to cough and cry, then I was fine.”

“Jesus Christ.” Owen blinked. “That’s a helluva story. Where was your mother?”

“She died when I was three. Childbirth. I don’t know much about her except that she was Métis. My father tried to find her family while we were in Montreal, but they were all gone from there by then.”

He made a noise of sympathy. “It’s just you and your father, then?”

“No. He remarried when I was eight. I have four half-siblings. Thirteen, ten, and the twins are five. They’re in Chicago.” Papa was on his way to them, she recollected with a pang.

This journey was supposed to provide for all of them as well as prove to Adelaide that Temperance still had a place in their family—as if she ever really had. Now she was alone and had nothing and was in bed with a man. Mr. Fritz’s dismissal last night crashed back over her, destroying the last of her warm, reminiscent mood.

She rolled onto her back and released a small sob of suffering, throwing her arm over her eyes. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to help me open a saloon.”

“What?” She was so startled, she dropped her arm away and sat up.

“I want y— Oof!” His breath rushed out as the dog jumped onto the bed, landing on his stomach. “Goddammit, Clarence.”

Apparently, it was time to get up.

“Leave your things here,” Owen insisted. “We’ll have porridge downstairs, then we have an appointment.”

Temperance eyed him with suspicion, but she left the rolled blanket containing her worldly possessions in the room and accompanied him to where the corral owner made a cauldron of lumpy oatmeal every day, offering a bowl for two-bits. There was no coffee to go with it, no molasses or even a dribble of milk to thin it down. The best Owen could say was that it plugged the hole, but when he didn’t have time to walk to the flapjack tent, it served its purpose.

A handful of men were sitting on the tailgates of wagons and overturned buckets, shooting the shit while they ate. They all stood when Temperance appeared.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said with a polite nod.

“Ma’am,” they murmured, casting speculative glances at her while she accepted a bowl from the owner.

The men’s interest fed an irritation in Owen that was a new color on him. He was mostly a man who ducked responsibility—which invariably followed when you brought a woman into your life. That’s why he didn’t have one.

One kiss didn’t oblige them to each other, but that’s not when this annoyance with other men had started. No, it had begun to spark from nearly the minute he’d met her. It had been properly kindled the night at Dudley’s, when he’d inserted himself between her and a drunk intent on walking her home. Last night, it had grown to a proper flame. He hadn’t confronted Sureshot for Virgil’s sake. That settling of a small grudge was a silver lining that had come about after he’d felt compelled to protect her from a drunken man’s wrath.

Owen had always done what he could to keep a woman from being mistreated, but this was different. It wasn’t because he’d kissed her, either, although that was definitely becoming a piece of the puzzle. When Fritz had turned her out, Owen had only wanted to be sure Temperance wasn’t freezing to death and haunting him after, but as much as the frigid walk to the corral had turned his cock inside out, that affliction hadn’t lasted. He’d lain awake for ages, hard as a rock with the feel of her against his back, dying to roll over and at least cradle her in his arms.

He’d distracted himself by thinking of all the things he wanted from her that weren’t of a physical nature, then they’d kissed this morning, and he was back to wondering how her nipple would feel against his palm.

Damn, that had been one helluva kiss. He’d felt it with his whole body and would have stayed all day in that bed with her, if she’d been obliged. He wished he was there now, doing all manner of wicked things with her.

He gave his eyebrow a scratch, recognizing there was wanting a woman and there was wanting a particular woman. He was in danger of growing particular because he liked her. She was funny and paid her debts and wasn’t stuck-up about talking to rough-looking miners and other travelers. She was listening politely to a man who had some unsightly sores on his face who was droning on about his collection of animal teeth.

One of the men who regularly brought in supplies from Leavenworth sidled up to Owen and waggled his brows. “You had company last night, huh?”

Owen had never wanted to elbow a man in the face so hard in his life.

“Mind your manners, Nestor, or I won’t let you drink in my saloon.”

“You got a saloon? Where?” Nestor’s shock was loud enough to make everyone stop talking and look his way.

“You’ll hear soon enough. Temperance will be serving for me, so you’ll want to be nice to her. Otherwise, you won’t be served at all.” He would stand by that. “Shall we go?”

“I—” She blinked. “You are the most irksome man. Do you know that?”

“I’ve been told so many times. Never so politely, if you want the truth.”