Page 41 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

She shook her head, then scraped a last bite from her bowl before setting it on the ground for Clarence to polish.

“I haven’t agreed to work for you,” she reminded him once they were out on the street, arms crossed against the wind, Clarence trotting beside their hurried step.

“That’s all you’ve wanted since you arrived,” he threw back at her. “Just yesterday, you traced all your troubles to the fact that I haven’t hired you. Now I will.”

“Trust me, all of my troubles can be traced to my father’s reluctance to explain womanhood to me. He married Adelaide, so she would do it, and nothing has been going well for me since.”

“This is the mother of your four siblings? I’ll go out on a limb and suggest he was more interested in her understanding of womanhood than yours.”

“But why her? Why then? We had a perfectly idyllic life, just the two of us. Then, only a few months after our housekeeper left— Oh.”

“Oh,” he said with speculation, finding it cute that she had never leapt to any conclusions about that arrangement. “Why did the housekeeper leave?”

“To be with her husband. He came home from the navy.” She wrinkled her brow. “That was obtuse of me, wasn’t it?”

“You were a child. But now I’m thinking this returning sailor is the source of your troubles. My conscience is clear.”

“Oh, good. I was worried about that,” she said with a pithy cast of her gaze upward.

He touched her elbow to take her across the street toward the building he wanted.

The closer Owen got, the more certain he became. The location was excellent, the exterior a well-crafted weatherboard. It was only a plain, one-story rectangle with a half-built fence as tall as he was, but it had a boardwalk out front and a recessed door that would be suitable for batwings when the weather was fine. All it needed was a handsome false-front and it would be perfect.

Elmer was hunched out of the wind on the stoop, looking owlish.

“I thought you might have changed your mind,” Elmer groused, but brightened with a smile for Temperance. He tipped his hat. “Did we meet last night?”

Temperance was standing in the street, reading the words painted on the plate glass window. She sent Owen an appalled look. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” he assured her before turning his attention back to Elmer. “This is Miss Goodrich.” Owen curled his lip as he noted the speculative way Elmer looked her up and down. “She’s acquainted with your parents.”

“Goodrich? Right. The railway company.” His gaze on her altered slightly, trying to figure her out. “My father mentioned it. But your father’s not here yet? Is that right?”

“Soon,” Temperance said, absently. She was also studying Elmer. She had figured things out with the Greenlys yesterday, and now she was putting the rest together. “When he arrives, I would be happy to introduce you,” she said smoothly. “And please excuse my not speaking to you last night. I was in a hurry to say goodbye to my friend Mavis. You might remember her from the Bijou. She’s leaving soon with her beautiful son, Freddie.”

Temperance held Elmer’s gaze in a ruthless, unblinking stare.

Elmer looked as though he had accidentally squeezed a turd into his drawers and was afraid to breathe, lest it cause the nugget to drop out his pant leg.

Owen knew right then and there that he could fall in love with Miss Temperance Rose Goodrich if he wasn’t careful.

Problem was, he’d never been a careful man.

Chapter 12

“Shall we take this inside, out of the wind?” Elmer turned to open the door.

Clarence rudely shoved his way past all of them into the cold, empty room where he began sniffing into corners.

The first thing Owen noted was the ornate parlor stove piped into a brick chimney. That would take the bite out of the air, once it was lit. There were four wall sconces for kerosene lamps and heavy black drapes on the right-hand wall. A hefty table stood before the drapes, likely used to hold the coffin for viewing.

“Now there’s a bar.” Owen slapped the thick slab of cherrywood. He would have to raise it up and put a front on it, but it would be the prettiest in town.

Looking around the room, he judged there was enough space for at least two gaming tables where the benches would have sat for the grieving.

“What, um...” Temperance hesitated. “What happened to the undertaker?”

“The one from Auraria took him,” Owen said glumly. “It’s not a good story. We’ll have to think of something better.”