Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

J onah opened the saloon door, and a rush of stale, smoky air met his nose. Still, he stepped inside, his brother at his heels. Maybe bringing Sampson back with him when he'd gone to the ranch to retrieve Anna's necklace had been a mistake. Sampson was the second to youngest—barely a man—but he'd been hankering to get off the ranch a few days, so Jonah had agreed. But he'd not expected to bring him straight into this saloon.

He'd gone to the hotel first when they arrived back in Missoula Mills, but the clerk said Miss Whitman worked at Jackson's saloon.

The idea churned in his belly.

During all those months he'd searched, he'd thought about every possible situation Anna's aunt could be in. Saloon girl or brothel worker had certainly been on the list. But deep down, he'd not actually believed a woman related to sweet Anna would succumb to that kind of life.

He scanned the dim interior as he kept his breathing shallow against the stench. Since dusk had fallen, the place was filling up. Plenty of miners ready to spend their small earnings lined the bar and the tables in the middle of the floor.

To the left, a rowdy cluster of men gathered around a larger poker table, their voices rising and falling with each turn of the cards.

A flash of red caught his focus, and he homed in on the spot.

Miss Whitman, her hair piled in a becoming mass of curls. She held a hand of cards, just like the others. He couldn't help but stare. Was this how she spent her free time? Gambling? Or was she drumming up business for…her work?

He started forward, his boots thumping on the wooden floorboards.

Sampson trailed close behind him. Maybe he should have insisted he stay outside, but it might help to have his brother at his back. And besides, Sampson might be a little naive, the way Jericho had kept them all on the ranch these past years. It would be good for him to see the ways of the world. The ugly side. To know how truly distasteful getting mixed up in this lot could be.

They were halfway to the table when a shout sounded. One of the men across from Miss Whitman leapt to his feet. Light from the chandelier flashed on metal in his hand. A pistol.

The barrel was aimed straight at Anna's aunt.

"You cheatin' little—" The man's shout slurred, but his words were discernable even across the tables between them.

Jonah didn't wait for the rest. His rifle was in his hands before he even realized he'd drawn it, the stock solid against his shoulder. "Put the gun down." He spoke loudly enough to be heard above the voices, not that anybody was talking now. He leveled his tone, lacing it with steel as solid as the lead bullet in his Winchester. "Put the gun down and walk away."

The man looked over at Jonah, his eyes fierce and his nostrils flaring. He still kept his revolver aimed at Miss Whitman. Then he darted a wild glance toward the woman. For a moment, it looked like he might actually pull the trigger.

Jonah spoke a little louder. "You shoot and your body will fall before hers. My rifle carries a lot more power than that handgun. She'll be fine in a week, but your carcass'll be buried outside of town tomorrow. Or picked clean by vultures tonight."

The tension in the man's shoulders eased a touch.

Jonah gave him an out. "Drop the gun and you can walk out with your head high."

The man's eyes darted between Jonah and Miss Whitman. His hand wavered slightly, the muzzle of the revolver dipping.

For a long, tense moment, nobody in the saloon moved or spoke.

Then, with a muttered curse, the man lowered his gun and tossed it onto the poker table with a clatter. He raised both hands, palms out. "I'm done here anyway." He shot a venomous glare at Miss Whitman before turning on his heel and stalking toward the exit.

As he passed by Jonah, he slowed and sent a hateful leer. "You'll regret the day you ever stuck your nose in someone else's business, boy." Then he strode the final distance to the door and slammed it behind him.

Jonah let out a slow breath, lowering his rifle. Only now did he realize that Sampson had moved along the windows to a position where he'd been behind that scoundrel, his revolver in hand. He gave his brother a nod, and Sampson tucked the gun back in his waistband.

The saloon remained eerily quiet, the patrons shifting their gazes between him and Miss Whitman, who sat perfectly poised, her expression unruffled as if she hadn't just had a gun pointed at her heart.

With a smile, she passed the deck of cards to the man on her right. "If you gentlemen will excuse me a moment, I have some business to attend to. Please, continue playing, and I shall return shortly." Her voice was smooth as honey, her smile dazzling .

The spell broke, and the men mumbled their assent, some casting curious glances at Jonah as they picked up their cards.

Miss Whitman rose and glided toward Jonah, her skirts swishing. She stopped in front of him, looking him up and down with an appraising eye. "Well now, it appears chivalry is not entirely dead after all. Though I daresay I had the situation well in hand." Her green eyes sparkled with amusement tinged with…annoyance?

Not exactly the reaction he'd expected from a woman who'd just been threatened at gunpoint. Where was her fear? "I brought the necklace. To show you I'm telling the truth about Anna."

At the mention of her niece's name, Miss Whitman's playful expression faltered. Real emotion flashed in her eyes before she shuttered it away. "I see. Well then, let us discuss this matter somewhere more private, shall we?"

She turned and headed toward the back of the saloon, not waiting to see if Jonah and Sampson followed. They had little choice but to trail after her, weaving between tables. She led them through a door into a hallway, then outside to the alley behind the building.

The cool night air offered a welcome respite from the smoky saloon. Miss Whitman turned to face him, arms crossed. Gone was the flirtatious poker dealer. This was a woman who knew her own mind and would not be cowed.

Anger simmered in her stance, her eyes flashing with a defiant fire. "I had it under control in there. If you had let me handle him, I could have smoothed things over so he didn't leave bearing a grudge."

Jonah flinched. The woman didn't offer even a hint of gratitude after he'd risked his life to save her. "How exactly would you have done that?" He wanted to cross his arms to match her stance, but he would keep his cool.

"I've been dealing with men like Douglas for years." She dropped her hands, blowing out a breath as if he'd frustrated her. "What's done is done now. Show me this supposed proof."

Jonah bit back a retort and shoved his hand into his coat pocket to pull out the necklace. She had a lot of nerve being irritated with him after all the work he'd gone through to find her, to prove he was telling the truth, and then to save her sorry behind, not to mention his family was keeping her niece safe while she sat here whiling away her life playing poker.

He didn't say any of that though, just pulled out the necklace. It glinted in the moonlight as he held it out to her. "Your mother was wearing it when we found her and your niece."

Miss Whitman's eyes widened, the toughness falling away from her like the dried shell from a pecan. She reached for the string of beads, then cradled it in her palms. "My mother treasured this. Her mother-in-law gave it to her when she and my father were married."

She looked up at him then, her eyes shimmering. She didn't seem to know what to say.

"Will you come with us to Anna now?"

She hesitated, conflict warring in her eyes. Did she still not believe him? Or did something else hold her back? Regrets maybe? He could well imagine so, but surely not so much that they would separate her from family. Not anything that she would hold against an innocent little girl.

Then, with a shaky breath, she nodded. "I'll come. But I...I need to work out some things first. I'll meet you at the hotel at noon tomorrow."

Relief washed through him. "Thank you. I'll have a horse for you." A thought slipped in. "Or would you rather a wagon?" Maybe she didn't know how to ride. Though if that was the case, she'd better learn the skill soon if she was to survive in these parts.

She shook her head. "A horse is fine." Then she took a step backward, toward the door to the saloon. "Good night, Mr. Coulter."

Before he could answer with the same, she disappeared through the doorway, closing it solidly behind her. He let out a long exhale. He'd done it. Two days from now, he'd have Miss Whitman to the ranch and reunited with her niece.

He turned toward the hotel, but realization stopped him dead. Sampson. Where had his brother gone in all the chaos?

P atience stepped inside the saloon the next morning, her boots clicking against the worn wooden floorboards, breaking the stillness as she made her way to the bar. Her chest had turned to lead with the weight of the decision she had to make.

Should she bring Anna back here to Missoula Mills, where she already had lodging and a well-paying job? Or set off with her niece to find the home Patience had always dreamed of?

A little white cottage nestled in a wide valley with a creek running through. When she'd found the little painting in a curiosity shop when she was a girl, it had been labeled with a tiny gold plaque that read Indiana . That meant there must be a stretch of land in Indiana that looked just like that painting. Hopefully many such places. She would have the cottage built, if needed. Yet the peace that painting exuded…would she find the peace when she re-created the scene?

She didn't know. She only knew she had to choose her path now, for that decision would determine what she told Mr. Jackson in just a few short minutes. He wouldn't be happy to see her leave, but she'd paid her dues the last two months, more than earning back the money he'd put out for her transportation to Missoula Mills. Money she'd allowed him to pay under false pretenses, the weasel.

She wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating him again. She couldn't give him the upper hand. Maybe it was best she cut ties completely. But she only had half the money she'd need to buy that property. She'd checked on the cost of land as she traveled upriver on her way to Missoula Mills. Plus she'd need funds to build the house.

Behind the counter, Billy looked up from the glass he was polishing, his weathered face creasing into a smile. "Mornin', Miss Patience. You're here early."

She forced a smile. "Is Mr. Jackson here yet?"

The bartender's eyes clouded at their employer's name. "Back in his office, last I saw." Though Billy was tall and broad enough to make most men cower, even he knew it was better to steer a wide berth around Jackson.

She should march to his office and get the conversation over with. But maybe she needed another minute to gather her strength—and courage. She settled on one of the stools at the bar.

He studied her as he wiped another glass with his beefy hands, then placed it in the slot where he could quickly grab it tonight and moved to the next. "Somethin' weighin' on your mind?"

She sighed. "I'm trying to decide if I should leave Missoula Mills for good."

Billy's eyebrows shot up. "Leave? Where would you go?"

She took a folded towel and the next glass to be dried. "I just found out my sister and her husband died. Left a little girl behind—my niece Anna. She was staying with my mother, but now Mama's passed too. I'm going to go bring my niece to live with me."

"I'm sorry to hear that." The tenor of Billy's voice dropped. He set the cup and rag down, giving her his full attention. "What's holdin' you back?"

How could she explain her reluctance? She should be eager to put this place behind her. "I've got a good thing going here. Money coming in steady. If I leave..." She shook her head. "It'll be harder to provide for a child. Especially if I give up the gambling."

Billy considered her words. Finally, he spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "Miss Patience, you're one of the sharpest poker players I've ever seen. But just 'cause you're good at something don't mean it's where you belong forever."

Her gaze drifted to the empty poker tables, the green felt worn and faded. How many nights had she spent there, building a reputation, gaining respect? But now, with Anna waiting for her, everything felt different. Was this life too dangerous for a child?

"You think I should go for good? Leave all this behind?" It felt scary, starting over again. Even though she wanted desperately to finally start building her new life. But…leaving something she knew she could do well…

Billy's gaze held steady. "Miss Patience, if anyone can make a fresh start, it's you. You've got grit and smarts in spades. Don't let fear hold you back from reaching for something better."

He rubbed another glass dry. "And forgive me for being forward, but this ain't no life for a lady. Especially not one raising a little girl." He gestured around at the empty saloon, his focus shifting to the poker table she usually manned.

Then he met her gaze again. "You gotta leave it behind. Find that fresh start you been dreamin' about." The lines at the corners of his eyes creased.

The image of her dream slipped through her mind. Rich green grass. A pretty white house with curtains in the windows she'd sewn herself. It would be a while before she made it happen, though. She'd have to fight hardscrabble to earn the rest of what she'd need.

Billy's gaze homed on her, his head tilting. " You said your mama just passed. Is there…? Would there be any kind of inheritance?"

The question hung in the air, raising memories of the last time she had seen her father. He'd refused to look at her. Just kept his nose in the morning paper, pretending she didn't exist at all. Fresh hurt burned her throat.

She brought her focus back to reality. She wrinkled her nose to lighten the tension in her tone. "I wouldn't bet on it." The irony of her words slipped in, considering her current profession.

But even as the words left her lips, a new thought slipped in. "Although…" She worked the notion through all the possible reasons it might not be true. "He would have left his estate to Mama. If I'm one of her last two living relatives…" Her and Anna. Patience wouldn't touch Anna's portion, but unless her father's business had taken a sharp decline… Even half of the estate would be more than enough to buy land and build a house, and there'd be plenty to set aside to live on for years.

Hope flickered in her chest, small but stubborn.

"There you go. Seems to me the answer is clear." Billy patted her hand. "You gotta go get that little girl. Bring her someplace safe and green where she can grow up proper."

She blinked back the sudden sting of tears. "Thank you, Billy. You're a wise old soul, you know that?" She squeezed his hand, and his cheeks reddened above his thick whiskers. She rose from the stool. "I'm gonna tell Jackson I'm leaving today. He won't like it, but that's too bad." Her jaw firmed as she started toward the hall. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck. You got gumption and then some. Go on and give Jackson a piece of your mind." He winked. "I'll be here if you need backup."

Patience took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She would give her notice, collect her pay, and set her eyes on that distant horizon—on home.

Her and Anna's bright new beginning.