Kitabı oku: «Montana Legend», sayfa 3

Chapter Three

“I t’s gonna be trouble, that I can guarantee you.” Seated at the kitchen table, Milt slurped the last of the coffee from his cup. “Heard in the saloon last night that Buchanan sold his land to some drifter. For nothin’ more than a song.”

Sarah heard Pearl exhale in frustration. She didn’t know what had gone on with old Buchanan, but she knew her uncle. Milt wasn’t a man of high moral fiber.

Half listening, she finished wiping dry the last of the baking dishes and cracked the oven door to check on the pies. Golden and bubbling. Perfect. She donned the oven mitts and carried the pie plates to the windowsill to cool.

“Surely not to a drifter!” Aunt Pearl was beside herself. “We can’t have someone like that for a neighbor. What was the old man thinking?”

“Hard to say, and after all I done for him. All I know is that no drifter is gonna take what’s mine.” Milt’s chair screeched against the wood floor as he pushed away from the table. “Sarah, you bring me out a slice of that pie when it’s cool enough to cut.”

She nodded, turning her back as she put away the mixing bowl. A chill curled around her spine and she shivered. What did Milt mean? Would he cause trouble for Gage Gatlin?

Gage’s image filled her thoughts—tough, capable, everything a Western man should be. By the look of him, he could handle Milt.

Then again, it never hurt to have a little warning just in case. Sarah considered the four pies cooling on the sill of the now open window.

“Ma, I’m ready.” Ella deposited Baby Davie into his settle. “Got my shoes on and everything.”

“Good. Help me pick which pie looks the best.”

“That one.” Ella pointed. “Oops. I gotta find my sunbonnet.”

“Quick, before Aunt Pearl discovers something else she wants done.” Sarah slipped the chosen pie into the prepared basket. Why was she so jumpy? Surely not over the prospect of seeing Gage Gatlin again. And where had the pie cutter gone to?

She yanked open the top drawer. There. She cut Milt a generous piece of still steaming pastry and set that in the basket, too.

“It’s a waste to welcome a drifter as a neighbor.” Pearl appeared with the ironing basket on her hip. “I hope you’re not taking that extra pie to him.”

“He’s a horseman, not a drifter.”

“A horseman? You mean a wrangler? Or one of them hired men paid to clean out barns?” Pearl wrinkled her nose. “Either way, he won’t be here long. Not if Milt has anything to say about it.”

Sarah held her tongue and headed for the door. “Do you need anything from town?”

“A spool of brown thread. Milt tore the knee in his trousers again. Don’t dawdle too long. I need you to get supper tonight.”

“I’ll be back in time. Ella, are you ready?”

“I found it.” The little girl breezed through the small, cramped front room dragging her sunbonnet by the strings. “Are we gonna cut through the fields?”

“It’s nicer that way.” Sarah let the screen door bang closed behind them, grabbed a spare shawl, and tied on her bonnet. The brim shaded her eyes as she headed out into the sunny fields.

The earth stretched brown for as far as she could see, but there at her feet were new green shoots struggling up through last summer’s tangled stalks. Like hope. She wished the same for her life. For new opportunities to come her way.

Surely this spot of bad luck she’d been caught in for the past year couldn’t last. At least it was easy to think she might be in for a turn of fortune with the sweet breezes snapping in her skirts and the robins swooping through the fields.

After giving her uncle his slice of pie from her basket, she let Ella skip ahead. Prairie dogs popped out of their dens to scold them, their sharp chatter blending with the music of the plains.

A creek gurgled through the fields. A white-tailed deer bolted from the bank as Ella hopped from one rock to the other.

“Look at me, Ma!” Her twin braids flew as she leaped. “We don’t have to get mud on our shoes.”

“You usually like getting mud on your shoes.” It was easy to laugh when the sun was shining and her worries felt so far away.

Midstream, Ella continued to jump from rock to rock. Then her arms shot out as she fought for balance on a slippery-looking rock. Her skirt swirled around her knees. “Look! I didn’t fall.”

“You’re doing great, sugar.” Sarah held her breath as her little girl made one mighty jump and landed safely on the grassy bank.

It was like a gift, seeing her like this. A year ago Ella had been bedridden, suffering from illness, her future uncertain.

Now she was skipping across the field like any healthy little girl.

Every sacrifice, the long work hours and everyday hardship had been worth it.

“That wind is still a little cool.” Sarah took the shawl hung across her arm and laid it over her daughter’s too thin shoulders. “I don’t want you to pay any mind to what Aunt Pearl said about Mr. Gatlin. He’s no drifter. Look, there’s his wagon.”

“Maybe he’s got kids?”

“He didn’t tell me if he does. And if he doesn’t, then you’ll make friends when you start back to school.”

“Oh.”

How one single word could hold so much sadness, Sarah didn’t know. She ached for her little girl. “Remember how much you loved school?”

Ella nodded slowly, her braids bobbing. “I wasn’t behind then. A whole year, Ma.”

“It won’t take long for you to catch up.”

“Yeah.” But the fear remained.

Sarah wrapped her arm around Ella’s shoulders and pulled her close. “We won’t be stuck living with Uncle Milt forever. Things are changing, even though you might not know it. Pretty soon we’ll be living somewhere else, and all these worries about school will be behind you.”

“And maybe I could get my own horse?”

“In the grand scheme of things, maybe.”

“Look, someone’s comin’.”

Sure enough, there were two riders—Gage Gatlin, strong-shouldered and tall, and at his side a little girl, her face hidden by the brim of her sunbonnet. Her twin braids bounced in time with the small mare’s gait. Could it be? Was Gage Gatlin a father?

“Hello, Miss Redding.” He tipped his hat. “Don’t tell me you brought baked goods. I can smell that cherry pie from here.”

“I thought it might be the neighborly thing to do. And it’s ‘Mrs.’” She lifted the basket lid to show off the pie’s golden crust. “Fresh from the oven.”

“Yum.” The girl rode closer. She was button-cute and lean, her neat braids as black as ink. She had Gage’s sparkling eyes and his quick smile. “You brought a whole pie just for us?”

“That’s right. To welcome you as our neighbors. We live on the other side of the creek.” Sarah lifted the basket so the girl could see. “I’m told I’m not a bad baker, so I hope you enjoy it.”

“I bet it’s real good. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Call me Sarah. And this is my daughter, Ella. When I met your father earlier, I didn’t know he had a little girl. That’s a very pretty mare you have.”

“Thanks, I’m Lucy and I’m a great horseman like my pa.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Lucy.” Sarah held the handle so the girl could grasp the basket—it wasn’t too big or heavy for the child to carry.

Ella took a step closer, unable to take her eyes off the mare. “What do you call your horse?”

“Her name is Scout and she’s an Arabian. Wanna take this to the shanty with me? Pa says it’s a real eyesore.”

Ella nodded, and Lucy dismounted. The girls headed off across the prairie, side by side. Sarah felt warm clear through watching them.

“So you’re a missus and a mother.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Considering you told me you weren’t married.” Leather creaked as he dismounted.

“I’m not anymore.” She steeled her heart, but it still made her sad to remember.

He looked sad, too. “Lucy’s mother died when she was three. Scarlet fever.”

“I’m sorry. Ella and I have been through a tough bout with diphtheria, so I can only imagine.”

He fell into stride beside her. “I suppose that’s why you’re living with your uncle.”

“For now. I had to give up my housekeeping job when Ella became ill. In these hard times, it was difficult finding relatives who would take us in.” She fell silent, feeling his gaze intent on her, and she blushed. She’d said too much. “Now that Ella is stronger, we’ll be moving on soon.”

“Is that so? Where to?”

“I have no idea, but I’m certain the right opportunity is waiting for me. I only need to find it.” Sarah swept a grasshopper from her skirt and noticed Gage’s jaw tighten.

His mouth became a hard frown. “Opportunity?”

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t talking about marriage.”

“You got me nervous.” He winked, knuckling back his hat. “A man can’t be too careful.”

“You’re safe from me.” She liked the way his mouth curved in the corners, not quite a grin, but enough to make the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’m looking for love. That’s an entirely different thing.”

“You’ll be lookin’ a long time.”

“You don’t believe in love?”

“Let’s just say I believe in something more practical.”

The shanty came into sight over the rise, and Gage could see Lucy’s mare standing in the shade. The two girls burst through the shadowed doorway and into the sun. Gage’s daughter held the reins while her new friend petted the mare.

Sarah looked happy watching them, lit up from within. “Our girls seem to be getting along.”

“Sure do, with their heads together.” He was glad to see that.

Lucy was quick to make friends; she had to be, always moving from place to place, always the new girl. Now was her chance to make lasting friendships like other kids her age. That was one of the reasons he was here.

Marriage wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t deny his great relief to know the pretty woman at his side was only being neighborly. “It was thoughtful of you to bring the pie.”

“That isn’t the only reason I’m here.” The gray brim of her sunbonnet shaded her soft face, and she blushed as she kicked at the bunch grass at her feet. “There’s something you should know. Milt isn’t happy you bought the place.”

“He’s about to lose his stolen water supply.” Gage hadn’t met Mr. Owens, but he’d asked around enough to know the kind of man he was. “I can handle your uncle.”

“I know you can. But it’s always better to be prepared. He said something about making sure you weren’t here long.”

“Then I’ll have to show him how wrong he is.”

“Good.” Her chin came up and it was easy to see the strength in her. The steel.

He could imagine how well she’d cared for her daughter, all alone, and endured hardship to do it. And yet it hadn’t embittered her. He admired that about her and something else—the way she walked. She was all gentle beauty. He couldn’t help noticing how her pale cotton dress skimmed her slim, very attractive curves—and that troubled him.

Of all the women he’d come across over the years, why was he noticing this one?

Just lonely, he figured. Last night in his bed at the inn, he’d felt alone. Endlessly alone. Maybe it was simply being in town—he hadn’t stayed in one for years—where all those houses were spread out in orderly rows, windows glowing cozily in the dark.

Memories of better times had sailed over him. Of how good it felt to come home to find baby Lucy crawling across the polished floor and his wife smiling a welcome.

For one instant it was easy to want that again. The comfortable companionship after the supper dishes were done, joining his wife to read in front of the fire until bedtime.

Nice memories, but they came hand in hand with the bad. The evenings that hadn’t been pleasant. The woman who’d looked at him with hurt in her eyes, with anger and resentment. Remembering how hard he’d tried to make things right and failed, put to an end any wishing.

Loneliness ached hollow and cold, but it was a better state than marriage.

As they neared the house they could hear the girls’s happy chatter, bringing him back to the present. To the woman standing before him.

“If there is some trouble between me and your uncle, will it cause problems for you?”

“No. I’ll be fine.” Her problems weren’t his, after all.

They’d reached the shade of the shanty, where stacks of new lumber glowed like honey against the earth. A handsaw was tucked safely in the back of a battered wagon.

He was an industrious man, by the looks of it. He’d probably been up at dawn working to accomplish so much. “You plan to repair the shanty?”

“Repair it? More like demolish it and start from the ground up. It’s likely to tumble over any minute.” He tossed her a wink that made her miss a step.

His hand shot out to steady her. His fingers seared her skin. Even though she was upright and both feet were square on the ground, she still felt as if she were falling. There had to be something wrong with her—and now she knew why she’d been jumpy earlier.

Attraction for Gage Gatlin tingled through her like a fever.

“I’d best collect Ella and be on my way,” she said as an excuse. “I can see you’re busy, and we have errands to run.”

“You’re walking to town? It’s a long way. If you’d care to wait, I’ll be heading back in a couple of hours.”

His offer was kindly spoken, neighbor to neighbor, but he’d done enough for her. “I can’t wait that long, thank you just the same.”

Behind her, she heard steeled horseshoes clomping on the earth. She turned around in time to see a sleek black mare, neck arched and mane flying in the breeze, pulling a polished buggy along the rutted driveway. Sarah recognized the two young women perched on the shaded seat. The banker’s daughter and the daughter of a well-to-do neighbor.

“Good morning, Mr. Gatlin.” The young woman holding the reins set the brake and held out her gloved hand. “I’m Susan Lockwood. My father owns the bank in town. He told me that you purchased this charming piece of land.”

Gage tipped his hat and took a slow step forward. “Yes, miss. Is there some problem? Did your father send you?”

“Oh, no. We only wanted to welcome you.” Susan pressed her hand on his and allowed him to help her from the buggy. “This is my dearest friend, Louisa. Louisa, hand me the welcome basket.”

“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Gatlin,” Louisa said with a rare pleasantness, giving her new lawn skirt a flick. “I hope meeting our poor Widow Redding hasn’t given you the wrong impression of our community. Why, I’m practically your neighbor.”

“How lucky for me.” Gage quirked one brow.

Sarah felt out of place and took a backward step, thinking of her home-baked pie as she spotted the fancy tins piled at the top of Susan Lockwood’s fine basket.

She didn’t belong here. Next to the well-appointed banker’s daughter, she felt as plain as the earth beneath her feet. Better to leave before she embarrassed herself, so she took one last glance at Gage, standing bold as the sun. He tossed her a look as if to say “Help!”

She shook her head. There would be no rescue for him. It served him right for being so handsome—and for not believing in love. What had he said? He believed in something more practical.

She did feel sorry for him.

“Come on, Ella, it’s time to go.”

Huddled close to Lucy, Ella gave the mare one last pat. How wistful she looked, just wishing. Her eyes were so big in her pale face. There was so much Ella deserved. So much Sarah wanted to give her.

The first chance I’m able, I’m going to buy her a horse. New towns were cropping up all over the West as the open prairies became more settled. There had to be a job for her somewhere out there. She was sure of it.

“Sarah?” Lucy dashed over to her and peered around the corner of the shanty. “Who are those women?”

“The blond one lives down the road.”

“So she lives real close?”

“Yes. The other lady is her friend from town.”

“Ladies come up to my pa all the time.”

“I’m sure they do.” Sarah felt foolish—at least she knew she wasn’t alone in her attraction to the handsome horseman. She was lonely, after all, and wishing for a better life. For someone to love. It never hurt a woman to dream.

“Can Ella come to play sometime?”

“Anytime.” Sarah took her daughter’s hand. “If you need anything, Lucy, our house is just over the creek and down the rise. It’s the first shanty you see.”

“I’ll tell my pa that you said that.” Lucy squinted in the direction of the fancy buggy gleaming in the sunshine.

A movement caught Gage’s eye. Sarah was leaving? She couldn’t leave him here with these girls. He tried to call out to her, but Sarah was too far away, waving goodbye. Her skirt snapped around her shoe tops, and he remembered her small pale feet, bare and smudged with soft dirt.

Louisa cleared her throat to grab his attention, but nothing was likely to do that.

“Excuse me, ladies. My daughter will enjoy your gifts.” He tipped his hat, taking the basket only because handing it back would be rude. He didn’t want to offend the banker’s daughter—at least, not too damn much. Yet.

He left them standing there, turning his back on their huffs of disapproval as they left. That had been a waste of his time, but at least he knew the banker couldn’t be trusted.

He’d bet the only reason those girls were here with their fancy basket and simpering smiles was because Mr. Lockwood had revealed the size of Gage’s bank account.

“I see the welcomes have started.” Sarah didn’t hesitate on her way down the road as he caught up with her. “Remember what I said about my uncle.”

There was something about her. As he let her go on her way, Gage felt a thud in his chest, a foolish thud, because he knew darn well where listening to his heart led.

“Ella’s ma is really nice.” Lucy’s hand slipped into his, her fingers warm and small. Trust glittered in her dark eyes and something else.

Longing.

“Mrs. Redding told me she isn’t looking for marriage. In case you have any ideas.”

“Aw, Pa. I already got ideas.” She leaned her cheek against his arm, all innocence and dreams.

She’d been too young to remember how it had been, so he didn’t blame her for wishing, but he had to be honest with her. Maybe in time she’d understand.

He wouldn’t be walking down the aisle a second time.

Lucy took the basket from him and lugged it into the shanty. Her footsteps faded away, and he was alone on the windblown prairie, staring after a woman in a simple checked dress.

She grew smaller with distance and still he watched. Her blue skirt became nothing more than a dot on the brown plains, and he could not turn away.

One thing was sure. When it came to Mrs. Sarah Redding, he’d be wise to keep his distance.

Chapter Four

L ate-night weariness tugged at Sarah like a cold north wind as she wrung water from the mop. Droplets tinkled in the bucket and the soap sudsed, sending up tiny bubbles to pop in the candlelight.

Over the past year she’d washed this floor so many times, she didn’t make a sound or need more than the single flickering light as she bent to her work. A board squeaked beneath her foot, the only sound in the silent hotel.

Earning her keep at her aunt and uncle’s homestead left her little time to earn the money she needed. There was always an expensive new medicine to pay for or new shoes to buy, for Ella was always growing. What was left of her salary went to pay the doctor.

It was times like these when she was exhausted from a long week of working days and half the nights and when living with her aunt and uncle seemed unbearable, she didn’t know how she could keep going.

Her small weekly payments seemed to make no difference; the debt she was in seemed insurmountable. When she was falling asleep on her feet and her hands bled from lye soap, it seemed her life was never going to improve.

She was simply tired, and she knew it. Tomorrow, when the sun was rising and the breeze brought with it the sweetness of the morning prairie, she would feel differently. She always did. She took heart in that. Today had been an especially difficult one.

Uncle Milt’s mood had not improved by suppertime, and he grew into a rage when told of the latest gossip concerning their new neighbor, Gage Gatlin. Sarah shivered, remembering the look in her uncle’s eyes when he spoke of the man he believed to be a drifter, the man who’d taken cattle that Milt had decided were his.

A shivery sense of foreboding that sat deep in the pit of her stomach stung worse than her hands as she dunked the mop into the pail and wrung the excess water. She had a bad feeling about this. Milt wasn’t the most kind or honest of men. How far would he go? Would he steal those animals? Or worse?

Sarah’s chest felt tight with worry as she gripped the mop handle more tightly and accidentally banged the side of the bucket.

A metallic clank shot through the silence like a gunshot. She froze, listening to the echo fade in the long corridor. Wincing, she gently eased the mop back into the water, hoping beyond hope that she hadn’t startled anyone awake.

The door in the shadowed hallway flew open and a man’s broad shape emerged as dark as the night, only a silhouette against the pitch-black room behind him.

Sarah felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. With water dripping onto the floor, she carried her mop with her as she dared to step toward him. “I’m truly sorry I woke you, sir. I—”

There was a metallic click that echoed eerily through the night. Sarah froze when she realized it was the sound of a revolver being uncocked and lowered. The man was armed. She didn’t know what to say as he jammed the Colt into the leather holster he carried and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. I guess that sounded too much like a gunshot to a man sound asleep.” He lifted one sculpted shoulder in a shrug.

Gage Gatlin. The mop handle slipped from her grip and clattered on the wet floor. She jumped when the noise bounced down the hallway like cannon fire. Oops. That wasn’t helping her job any. “I suppose that sounded like a band of road agents taking over the hotel.”

Before she could kneel to rescue her mop, he was there, bending down and into the light, his dark hair tousled handsomely, his jaw rough and his eyes weary.

So very weary. Sarah could only stare, mesmerized, as he straightened, only wearing his trousers, unsnapped and unbuckled, the faint lamplight caressing the span of his bare chest and abdomen.

A very fine chest and abdomen. Sarah swallowed hard, feeling heat burn her throat and sear her face. It was entirely indecent to notice the light dusting of fine dark hair that splayed across his chest and arrowed down his firm, toned abdomen to where his silver belt buckle winked in the shadowed light from downstairs.

“I didn’t know you worked here.” He held out the dripping mop, his stance open, a crook of curiosity arching his brows. “Your uncle and aunt don’t keep you busy enough?”

She blushed harder, but for a different reason. He’d said his words kindly enough, although it didn’t stop the shame from creeping through her.

Remembering how lovely the banker’s daughter had looked this morning when she’d visited Mr. Gatlin, Sarah felt plain indeed. Small and mousy and as dull as the patched dress she wore.

She didn’t want to be attracted to Mr. Gage Gatlin anyway, so it didn’t matter what she looked like. Gathering her pride, she straightened her spine, looked him in the eye and took possession of her mop. “Living on the homestead has become rather dull, so I spend my nights in town seeking one thrill after the next.”

“You strike me as that sort of woman. Far too bold for propriety’s sake.”

“That’s what everyone always tells me.” As if to prove her point, she dunked the mop in the bucket and knelt, her soft skirts swirling around her, and wrung the excess water with a twist of her small, delicate hands.

Gage swallowed. “And you spend your free time roaming the halls of this hotel, I take it. Causing trouble wherever you go.”

“That’s right. I’ve even been known to be so brash as to scrub pots in the kitchen, if it’s been a late night for the cook.”

“Ma’am, with your reputation I’d best stay clear of you.”

That made her laugh, light and quiet, and how that made his pulse surge through his veins. Fast and thick and hot enough to make him take notice of the way her apron clung to her shape as she swished the mop across the floor between them. He was a man and couldn’t help noticing the soft nip of her waist and the gentle sway of her breasts as she worked.

Gage tamped down a hotter, more primal response. He was tired, that was all, and troubled by the nightmare that had torn him awake tonight. By the remnants of a dream that had been shattered when he’d heard the pop of metal in the corridor.

Memory was a strange thing, making the past so real he could taste it, smell it. He wondered if there would ever come a time or a place where he felt safe. Had he come far enough? Would he find peace in this small Montana town? On these high, desolate plains?

Sarah Redding wiped at the floor with determined strokes, leaving tiny soap bubbles popping in the air above his bare toes. She was looking awfully hard at the floor, and now that his head was clear and the nightmare gone, he could see why.

Half naked, with a holstered gun in one hand. Now, didn’t that beat all? “Guess I’d best apologize. Next time I hear a commotion in the hallway, I’d better pull on a shirt first. If you come here often, that is.”

“Five nights every week.”

He reached into his room and found his shirt hanging on a peg by feel. “It’s two in the morning. When does your wild night on the town end?”

“When I reach the end of the hall.” Her mop dove playfully at his feet.

Being a wise man, he backed into the threshold. “So, you work half the night, and then you’re up before dawn to feed the chickens.”

“Sure. It keeps me busy. Out of trouble.”

He heard what she didn’t say. When you have a child, you do what it takes to provide for her. He knew all about that. And he’d had his share of seeing what happened when parents didn’t. Or worse, for that matter.

He closed his mind against the memories he didn’t want. From a time when he’d worn a silver badge on his chest.

“As you can see, I get into my fair share of trouble.” Her mop bumped the wall, scrubbing the last of the floor. “Banging my bucket in the hall, waking up paying guests. I hope you’re not angry with me.”

“I would have woken anyhow.”

“A light sleeper?”

“A troubled one.” It surprised him to admit the truth, but the low-spoken words escaped from his tongue and he shrugged, bashful at revealing so much.

“The life of a widow. Or widower.” Her voice softened and she straightened, turning to gaze up at him with understanding alight in her gentle blue eyes.

It had been a long time since he could look on the world and see goodness in the people in it. And it touched him right in the center of his chest, in the place where his heart used to be.

Where he hoped it still was.

“Don’t tell me you ride home alone this time of night,” he said as he lifted the bucket for her.

“All right, I won’t tell you.” She lifted her chin a notch as she stole the pail from his grip. “Now that I know you’re a light sleeper, I shall try harder tomorrow night not to wake you.”

A frown furrowed a disapproving line across his brow. “Your uncle thinks so little of your protection that he would allow this?”

“The countryside is safe.”

“No countryside is that safe.” He passed a hand over his eyes, looking troubled, looking weary. “Let me grab my boots and I will see you home.”

“No, that’s not necessary—”

“I’m not going to sleep at all if I let you go alone.”

“I have done so hundreds of times,” she reassured him, touched that he—nearly a perfect stranger—would care for her welfare when her kin cared so little.

Still, she was not his responsibility and she’d been independent far too long to lean on a man now. “Go back to your room, Gage Gatlin, and rest well. I’ll be fine on my own, and besides, what are you going to do? See me home every night?”

“Well, now, I admit I haven’t thought that far.” He flashed that grin at her, softened by sleep, edged by the dark shadow of a day’s growth.

He was a charming man. “You’ve got a child to look after,” she reminded him, because it was the practical thing to do. It wasn’t as if he was attracted to her, the way she was to him. He was simply being neighborly. Gentlemanly. Polite. That was all.

She clutched her mop close as she headed down the hall. “Good night to you, Mr. Gatlin.”

He didn’t answer as she swished down the stairs and into the lamplight of the lobby.

Someday, she thought wistfully as she stowed the broom in the back hall closet and carried the bucket out the side door and into the alley. One day she would no longer be alone. Someday she would have the warm embrace of a man holding her close through the night. Know the welcome comfort of a good man’s love.

“Done for the night, then?” Mrs. McCullough asked from the front desk, her knitting needles pausing as she looked up, squinting through her spectacles. “You sure do look tired, Sarah. These late nights are too much for you. I can get you a morning shift in the kitchen—”

“I wish I could.” Sarah sighed, trying not to think of the work that awaited her each day at her aunt’s shanty. “See you tomorrow evening.”

Sarah stowed the empty bucket in the small closet and her coat sleeve brushed her shoulder. As she lifted the garment from the hook, she tried not to think of the long walk ahead. Weariness weighed down her muscles as she tripped down the crooked board steps and hurried down the dark, narrow alley.

Piano music from the nearby saloon rang sharp and tinny on the icy wind. Random snowflakes drifted through the shadows and clung to her eyelashes and the front of her cloak as she shivered, walking fast past the lit windows where rough men drank inside.