Page 55 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot
“The elections tomorrow. I told Virgil if they don’t want me to vote, they can say so to my face. It means all the votes I’ve brought from the mine won’t be counted, but Virgil reckons that sends a message to these men who want to form our government that they lose more than just one man’s vote when they exclude me.”
Owen swore under his breath. They’d voted against the last constitution because it hadn’t included voting rights for all men, only white ones. The vote to form the Territory of Jefferson had passed anyway. Tomorrow the provisional government would be elected.
Owen decided to go with Emmett, to be sure no one else decided to send any messages.
He gave the coffee pot a wiggle and a half cup sloshed in the bottom. “You want more?”
“No, you have that.” Emmett lifted the cup he held and tipped it against his lips.
Owen poured the dregs into a cup then sat down on the chair by the fire.
“So? What do you think?” He kicked out his legs and nodded an invitation for Emmett to take the chair Jane had vacated.
“Been in the saddle. I’d rather stand,” Emmett said with a shake of his head, staying where he was, with his shoulder propped against the wall. “I’m wondering why you didn’t marry Pearl if you were ready to set up housekeeping. Put the rest of us out of our misery.”
“Is Virgil still at it?”
“He pointed out there was a good spot for building a house upstream from his. He seems to think we could mill the lumber through the winter and get it built before break up.”
“With snow on the ground?” Owen scoffed. “Having so many women in his house has really turned him into an optimist, hasn’t it? Did you suggest he build a house for his sister-in-law and leave the rest of us out of it?”
“I didn’t discuss it at all. I waited until he wasn’t looking then got the hell out of camp. I was afraid he would insist I bring her with me.”
Owen snorted. This was the sort of harmless drama that cheered him right up.
Until he realized Emmett’s gaze had drifted to the wide mattress, rolled up against the wall every morning so Clarence wouldn’t step onto it when he came in with muddy feet. There was a question in his friend’s eyes that he didn’t ask aloud.
“It’s not like that.”
“No, it sounds like you’re keeping things professional,” Emmett said deadpan. “The way Virgil and Marigold did.”
“We are,” Owen insisted. Especially now that Owen knew how badly Temperance had been treated by her lover. He was trying not to think of that because it put such an ugly knot of anger in his gut. Still, he couldn’t resist saying, “Where are you staying? The corral? Let’s walk over and fetch your things. You can sleep here with us.”
Emmett choked on the last of his coffee.
Owen had worded it that way in hopes of getting that reaction, but he could also use the buffer against temptation.
“You and I will sleep in the parlor. We can sample the little whiskey I’ve been able to procure,” Owen continued. “No use spending money when you don’t have to. Tomorrow, you can help me build a bed frame.” He nodded to the rolled mattress.
“But it’s not like that,” Emmett mocked.
“You sleep with a dog and tell me how romantic you feel.”
“That’s another thing. Since when do you have a dog? It’s always something with you, isn’t it?” Emmett straightened off the wall and shook his head with exasperation. “What do you mean you can’t get any whiskey? This is a temperance saloon, is it?” He used his chin to indicate the women’s low voices chatting in the parlor. “I’ll grant you that’s an angle no one’s tried before.”
“It’s not the angle I was planning, let me tell you.” Owen’s disgruntlement returned in a heated rush, but Temperance bustled back through the door, interrupting what would have been a small tirade.
“Poor Jane having to walk out in that. I didn’t mean to take so long with her, but I wanted her advice on how to cut the panels for my gown. You’ll eat dinner with us, Emmett? Owen brought a pork hock back from one of the farms yesterday.”
“Thank you. I’d like that,” Emmett said after sliding a glance to see Owen’s nod that he wanted Emmett to accept.
In camp, they mostly lived on whatever Gristle made in the cookhouse and any baking Marigold chose to share. Owen had decided he would keep Temperance on his payroll for her cooking alone. His friend deserved a decent meal for a change too.
“The farmer was willing to sell me pig, but not whiskey,” Owen explained, shifting out of the way as Temperance took up the heavy iron pot she cooked in. “The cooper didn’t want to sell me any barrels. I had to claim I wanted them for pickling,” he told Temperance.
“We’re a popular pair, aren’t we?” she said with a tsk.
“Do you need me to fetch water?” he asked her.