Page 83 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot
She shook her head. “I’m falling in love with you, Owen. If you don’t feel the same and you don’t want a life together, then I have to stop pretending it’s possible. I have to make a life without you.”
His response was a long, painful minute of resounding silence.
Then he said, “I’ll sleep in the parlor tonight.”
Owen barely slept.
His chest was on fire yet felt scraped hollow at the same time. His mind raced, searching for the words to keep her here, but he couldn’t find them. He couldn’t ask her to trust him and stay, because what happened when he let her down? What happened when loving her wasn’t enough?
Did he love her? He didn’t even know what that looked like beyond the sense that it didn’t matter how much you loved someone if you were negligent and a profound disappointment. If you were bad at it. And when you let them down in such a permanent way, you were no longer worthy of being loved.
When he heard her rise and put the dog out, he went into the kitchen, and they silently went about their chores. They ate breakfast, then she packed her things into her carpet bag, taking only the things she’d brought or bought with her wages—her hairbrush and the novel by Jane Austen that she’d been reading to him when time allowed.
“If it doesn’t work out, and you need a place to sleep, you have one here,” he insisted. “Always.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed. “I’ll come back each week to catch up the books. Feed Clarence,” she reminded with a faint smile and left.
On Mavis’s request, Mr. Fritz rehired her.
Mavis lived in back of the saloon with him, but she had had Mr. Fritz make improvements to the lean-to. The holes in the walls had been mudded, and the window had a proper pane of glass. The snow on the roof provided a layer of insulation, so it was reasonably snug now.
With Mavis’s influence on her husband, the clientele in the Bijou had improved too. Mavis had educated him on how demeaning some of the men behaved, and Mr. Fritz was now on the lookout for it, telling men to leave if they were growing too drunk to be respectful.
“They’re not ‘my girls,’” Temperance heard him grumble to one man. “They’re my wife’s friends. Mind how you speak to them, or get the hell out.”
That was enough for Temperance to warm to the old grump herself.
It was still hard to work here, though. Men were not shy about asking, “What are you doing here, Rosie? Aren’t you and Owen livin’ married?”
“He was my employer,” she insisted, but no one believed her. Why would they? It was a lie.
“Well, if you want a husband, you come see me first, all right?”
“I will, thank you.”
She wouldn’t. Given how the men in her life had fallen short of taking care of her, she was determined to move forward on her own terms.
To that end, she offered to set up Mr. Fritz’s ledger book which was a very haphazard box of paper scraps and scribbled notes of debts owed from different camps, similar to the promissory notes that Owen’s company issued. The other camps weren’t as diligent about paying them out as Owen and his partners were, though. Once Temperance made a list for Mr. Fritz, he started refusing to extend the credit, insisting on cash until those companies settled up.
It worked. He was over the moon at receiving so many outstanding payments. Mavis was excited to learn how to stay on top of the expenses and income, and Jane said, “You’ll show me how to do that when I open my shop, won’t you?”
“Let’s not wait until you have a shop, Jane. Let’s call your inventory a business and operate it as one,” Temperance insisted.
Jane bought herself a book. Then, with Mick’s permission, put up a notice advertising ‘Ready-made articles of clothing for men and women. See Jane at the Bijou.’
The very next day, a woman from the cathouse turned up, asking for a gown ‘that will get some attention.’ Apparently, the seamstress and her tailor husband at the clothing store were not of a mind to fashion a gown that showed off the wearer’s petticoat and shoulders.
While Jane calculated her supply costs and labor, so she would be sure to earn the profit she deserved, Temperance began visiting other businesses in Auraria and Denver, letting them know the kind of assistance she could offer. Many turned her away, uninterested. A handful asked her to set them up and teach them to do it themselves. Three asked her to come by once a week to handle writing out their invoices and tracking outstanding payments.
She had a suspicion Owen had something to do with that. She dropped by the saloon regularly to catch up his ledger and smother Clarence in love. During one visit, she had mentioned that she was trying to drum up business in the field of accounting. He had seemed impressed and had told her he would put the word out among his customers.
The Lucky Horseshoe was thriving, but her visits with him were stilted. He showed her that he had built a loft area and invited her to use it. She thanked him and trudged back out into the snow, because she was due for a shift at the Bijou.
Her days were long, but she had a little more in her purse at the end of each one. She was finally nudging herself from destitute to providing for herself and that felt very good.
“Temperance,” Emmett greeted her one day as he came into the Bijou. “Exactly the person I was looking for.”
“Emmett. It’s good to see you.” She smiled, but it faltered as her thoughts leapt to Owen. “Is everything well? Why are you looking for me?”