Page 64 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot
“Go back to bed,” he urged her. “I’ll sweep the other room.” He had his boots on and was too keyed up to fall asleep, despite what they’d been doing right before this happened.
Perhaps she was recalling that too. She searched his eyes in the dim light for an answer to an unasked question.
He didn’t know what to say about that. They probably shouldn’t have done it, but he didn’t have any regrets that they had.
“It’s going to be all right. Don’t worry about this,” he said.
Beneath her apprehension, an expression flickered across her face that he was all too familiar with. It was part disbelief, part disappointment, wondering if he was serious or deluded. She wondered if he failed to comprehend the stakes, or if he didn’t care they were this high.
He could hear her reminding him yesterday that she was relying on him. He was relying on her too. Did she realize that? Yes, he could find someone else to draw numbers in a ledger, but he wouldn’t trust anyone else as much as he trusted her.
He scratched the back of his head, not sure why that was, but it was true.
“I’m going to make this work for both of us, Temperance. I promise you that.”
“You don’t make promises,” she reminded him softly. “And please don’t ever make any to me that you can’t keep.”
With tight lips, she moved to the bed.
Chapter 18
Even before the horseshoe had been thrown through the window, Temperance had been wondering if she was off her rocker for taking this job.
Now she was even more worried, but what were her options? Mr. Fritz wouldn’t have her back, and, considering her association with Owen, she doubted any other saloon would hire her. She would likely be hard pressed to get hired as a housekeeper or childminder, given Ivy Greenly’s influence and disdain for her. .
No, this was the only work open to her, and now the threat of further sabotage hung over them.
Owen had slept beside her for a paltry few hours before he rose and put on his boots and coat again.
“Where are you going?” She sat up.
“To see the marshal.”
“Mr. Cranston?” He’d only been on the job two days, having been elected on Emmett’s first morning here. “Do you think he’ll be any help?”
“No. But I’ll make a report then visit Elmer and the rest, see if anyone looks guilty.”
“Do you want breakfast first?”
“I’ll eat when I get back.”
She’d never seen him so humorless. He didn’t even take Clarence with him.
She rose but gave Owen a head start before letting the dog out. While the oatmeal was cooking, she bundled up and went into the parlor to give it a second sweep, mindful of the dog’s unprotected paws.
The room was frigid and dark. Owen had pulled down one of the black drapes from the side doors and pinned it over the window, but the draft was still coming through. Temperance hurried to gather up the few shards she’d found, then went into the kitchen for a hot bowl of porridge.
As she sat there, she was so frustrated on Owen’s behalf, she took out her writing paper and wrote in large letters: Reward – One quill of gold dust is offered to the person who identifies the criminal who broke this window.
She used a piece of firewood to prop it against an unbroken section on the inside of the glass. Then, feeling marginally better at having done something constructive, she went about her morning chores.
Owen returned with the dissatisfying news that Sureshot, who he considered the most likely suspect, was unaccounted for. Some said he’d gone back to Horsefly the day after Owen had relieved him of his pistol. Others said they’d seen him at the brothel.
Everyone else Owen had questioned swore they had been fast asleep when the window had been smashed.
Owen didn’t let the incident deter him from his goal. If anything, it seemed to have lit a fire in him. When the new window was installed, he had it painted with the name, Lucky Horseshoe Saloon.
“That’s almost as audacious as calling it The Undertaker’s,” Temperance said. Was he trying to provoke whoever had thrown it? At least he’d come around to realizing that people showing up with bodies would be bad for business.