by Marie Piper
If she’d been a betting woman, she’d put odds that more injuries occurred in the confines of Porter’s Saloon than anywhere else in town. The beloved drinking establishment was always busy. Men drinking and squabbling, with the addition of guns and knives, frequently led to bad choices and blood on the floorboards.
That Hank Porter had been the man with the wound had been a surprise, and not at all an unwelcome one. Far as Haven could figure, Hank was the most handsome man in all of Cricket Bend. Likely, Hank was the most handsome man who’d ever stepped foot inside Cricket Bend. Strikingly tall, with black hair and green eyes, Hank walked with the swagger of a man who’d been around the world a few times. He’d caught Haven’s attention with a sly smile and a wink the very first day he’d arrived in town to take over the saloon. Even the most uptight of the women in town had noticed his charms, even if they only tittered about it in hushed voices over tea. Even though Hank was older than she, likely approaching thirty, and she and Matthew getting married was a sure thing, Haven couldn’t help but notice Hank. Heck, a blind woman would have noticed him.
“He gonna live, Miss Anderson?” Hill Hilton asked as he and his two friends continued to watch. The way they stood side by side at the bar armed with beers in their right hands, Haven could almost imagine them twenty years earlier, dressed in their uniforms, fighting the war with mugs of brew in place of muskets.
“He’ll live, and what’s more, he’ll be able to play cards again in no time.”
“Well now, that’s a damn shame. I had hopes of maybe winning a game for once.” Hill grinned at her over the top of his mug, a little foam sticking to his walrus mustache.
Hank shifted in his chair and called back, “If you ever decide to actually join a game, you’ll have to give me some warning. I’ll need to enlist someone else to do the important work of holding up my bar for the evening.” He adjusted his position to make holding the cloth easier, then straightened his black brocade vest and loosened his clean white collar. Haven knew he was trying hard not to show the lingering pain of the wound, which she imagined hurt something awful. “The sheriff will have my arson-loving cattlemen in the jail by now, I presume.”
“I’d presume you’re correct.”
“I offered a round of drinks as a token of my appreciation for the swiftness of his response, but he declined. He’s a hard man, your father. I have attempted countless times since taking over this establishment to get him to come in and partake of my house of delights, but he flat-out refuses.”
“Papa doesn’t drink. You know that.”
“He also does not gamble or spend time in the company of loose women, unfortunately for me.”
“He is the sheriff.”
“Sweetness, in many towns all across this great country, sheriffs do those things and much, much, worse.” That got a good chuckle from the boys at the bar, and Hank met Haven’s eyes across the table. The way he smiled at her made her feel like he knew some soul-deep secret of hers.
If he thought he could make her blush with hints of impropriety, he was mistaken. She would never give him the satisfaction. She looked right back at him, her expression unchanging.
Hank nodded. “Yes, ma’am. You and your father. Two of a kind.”
Haven knew what he meant. Her father’s attention to the law, and her attention to her work, frequently led people to assume they were hard cases, and dull. Hank Porter, however, saw them simply as challenges to be overcome.
Scheduled days filled her life. Haven woke and made breakfast for herself and her father, then rode into town and worked at Doc Gray’s clinic in the mornings while Cornelius rode out on house calls. Afternoons were for household duties, and her list of tasks was lengthy. Nights she spent at home, reading or sewing after preparing and cleaning up dinner. Like her father, she did not drink or gamble, and she guessed that everyone in town probably knew she was as pure as the proverbial driven snow.
There were no secrets in a town like Cricket Bend.
“Are you sure you won’t have a drink, Miss Anderson?”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, no thank you.”
For the three months she’d known Hank Porter, the rascal had been trying to lure her into what he considered more entertaining pursuits. He wanted her to come to the saloon and drink and gamble, and he never missed an opportunity to suggest such a thing. Haven always declined, but in truth she didn’t mind him trying.
Strands had come loose from the tight twist she used to keep her hair away from her face; she took a moment to pin them back. When her attention turned back to her patient, she saw Hank watching her.
“I suppose congratulations are in order.” He attempted a smile she knew he didn’t mean. “I must say, the deputy is one lucky son of a bitch, if you’ll pardon my language. Though it seems a shame to waste your good looks on a man like that.”
“A man like what?” Haven replied and folded her arms over her chest.
“Now, sweetness, there’s no call to get defensive. I just think a beauty such as you belongs with a man who understands how to handle a strong woman. Instead of marrying him, you ever think of running away with me?”
His teasing was a hallmark of their friendship. She never backed down from it, especially when there were folks around listening in.
“No, but running away from you crosses my mind once in a while.” The boys at the bar laughed; Ed Dean slapped his hand on it in appreciation. Given that Ed only had the one hand, Haven felt mighty proud of herself and confidently raised an eyebrow at Hank. “Now shut up and let me focus on these stitches, unless you want an ugly jagged scar for the rest of your life.”
She held up the needle she planned to use, and saw Hank’s face go a little pale. The bar boys whistled practically in unison. Haven rolled her eyes. Men and needles, just the same as men and pain.
“I presume you’ve put stitches in someone before.” Hank sat forward in his chair.
“Fifty times or so. Mostly children. I trust you’ll squirm less.”
“Let me get a drink first, and I promise I'll be the best behaved patient you’ve ever had. Ben!”
The bespectacled bartender quickly ran to assist, pouring two shots of whiskey into glasses and rushing them to the table. He set one in front of Haven and one in front of Hank.
Hank raised his glass to her. Haven recognized it as a challenge.
“You really want me to drink before I stick you with a needle?” She shook the needle she still held in her hand as a reminder.
“A valid point.” He downed his own drink and then hers. “All right. Do it before I lose my nerve.”
She went to work. After she cleaned out the wound, Haven moved closer to him to focus on the stitches. Feeling it would be a shame to mark Hank’s smooth skin with a scar, Haven deliberately made the stitches small and close together so the wound would heal evenly. As she held onto his arm with one hand to steady herself, she could feel the heat of his skin against her fingers. It became harder to keep her attention on the needle. She wondered if the rest of his body was as tanned as his arm, or if it was just a product of his sleeves always being rolled up. Leaning in a little closer, she shook the sinful thought out from her mind. “Though I’m sincerely happy for you and the deputy, I must say I am sad to be losing my favorite caretaker,” Hank spoke in a quieter tone, shifting a bit closer to her.
Haven noticed the bar boys were no longer listening to their conversation. “Why would you lose me?”
“Come now,” Hank said, “let's not pretend the good deputy will allow his wife to work. And even if he does, I highly doubt you continuing to come to my den of sin and depravity will be met with much appreciation.”
It had never been suggested that Haven would stop working after the wedding. Her work, and the pride she took in being able to help the people of Cricket Bend, had been the most important thing in her life for as long as she could remember. More than anyone, Matthew understood that. Surely he wouldn’t expect her to give it up, would
he? How much did she really know about what he wanted out of a wife?
Hank must have noticed her thinking because he changed the subject. “However, the offer I made your father extends to you as well, my dear. Any time you want to cast off your dull death shroud of respectability and spend a lively evening in my establishment, all of your drinks will be on the house. I’ll even personally see to your poker tutelage.”
Glancing up, she saw a soft pleading in his green eyes. In the time they’d been friendly, she’d seen that look before.
It dawned on her that Hank Porter wanted her.
“I will remember that,” she answered.
“Make sure you do,” he muttered, and the slight drawl of his voice pulled at parts of her she’d never known could listen.
Of all the women in Cricket Bend, he wanted buttoned up, boring old her. The realization thrilled Haven, which made her immediately feel guilty. Hastily bringing her attention back to his arm, she snipped the thread and tied off the stitches, wrapping a clean bandage around his arm and tying it tight. As an engaged woman, she should not have felt exhilaration at realizing he desired her.
As she stood up to leave the table, he caught her hand in his. It was only a moment that their fingers touched, but Haven felt a pleasant shiver run through her entire body.
“Hey, Jasper!” Ed’s voice boomed through the room. “You having a late night or an early morning?”
Haven looked up with a start and saw a young man with bright red hair standing on the stairs. Jasper Tanner was a lifelong friend of Matthew’s, and Haven hadn’t known he was spending time upstairs at the saloon. She wondered if Matthew knew. Jasper worked the night shift at the jail, and she wondered if her father knew about his indiscretions. Would Luke even be bothered? It was probably expected that a young man would get up to mischief, if given the chance. The whole town could find out about Jasper being upstairs, and it was likely no one would care.
Yet if Haven was seen with her fingers linked with Hank’s, the scandal would be enormous. Quickly, Haven pulled her hand from Hank’s. Of all the impertinent things to do, taking the hand of an engaged woman in public was among the worst.
Jasper laid his eyes on Haven. Then he adjusted his hat, nodded to the gathered few, and made a quick beeline for the doors, faster than was necessary. Jasper didn't look at Haven a second time.
Haven felt herself turn red. She hoped Jasper hadn’t seen Hank holding onto her hand. That would be terribly hard to explain away, as would her flirting with the biggest rascal in town.
“My dear?” Hank stood up, his voice concerned by her sudden change in attitude.
“I’ll be by in a few days to check on your wound,” she answered. Then she packed her things back into her bag, and bid the boys in the saloon a fast but polite farewell.
CHAPTER THREE
Cricket Bend had one straight main street lined with businesses, and a body could see out to the fields at both ends of it, if they stood in the middle and peered hard enough in either direction. High in the clear sky, the midday March sun created an unseasonable heat that hit Haven hard as she stepped out of the shaded saloon. Every person and horse that passed by in the street kicked up dust that hung in the air and didn’t come back down again. It hadn’t rained in weeks.
Haven watched Jasper hustle down the street away from the saloon. She hoped he wasn’t worried she’d say anything to anyone. It was none of her business who he spent his time with; she’d keep his secret.
A wad of spit fell from the sky and hit the ground with a splat right next to her boots.
Rolling her eyes, Haven looked up to see a prettily painted face, surrounded by waves of blonde hair, laughing down at her from the balcony above the saloon doors.
“Don’t look at me like that, Nurse Uppity. If I wanted to hit you, I would’ve.”
Haven held a hand up to block out the sun. “Am I supposed to say thank you?”
Callie Lee waved a lacy fan next to her face and sat sideways on the wooden railing of her balcony. She kicked a bare leg in a high-heeled boot up, showing off her limb's shapeliness. “Hank’s not dying today, I presume?”
“Not unless he decides to jump in front of a bullet.”
“Good. Jeepers, those cowboys were a pain. All pushy hands and no money. I swear I hate spring and summer down here. All these damn drives bringin’ those boys to town all riled up. And it’s so damn hot all the time. It was never this hot back when I worked in the Dakotas.” Haven always noticed that Callie never said a little when she could say a lot. Still, she was right about the heat.
“Feel free to pack up and head back there, if you liked it so much.”
Callie laughed out loud as she waved and winked at a man who passed by. “Lordy, girl, aren’t you hot in all those clothes? I can’t imagine wearing any more than this. I’d melt into a puddle in a dress like that.”
Haven’s high collar rubbed at her skin even as she sweated beneath it. Women’s fashions seemed determined to cause fainting spells from heatstroke and an inability to breathe freely. Haven often detested her dresses. She found herself jealous of Callie’s near-nakedness even as it embarrassed her, and her subsequent embarrassment made her grumpy. “At least a puddle would talk less.”
Callie laughed hard and loud, the sound of a free woman who didn’t give a fig for what folks thought of her. The Upstairs Girl with the blonde tresses had obviously decided Haven was a prime target for teasing since she’d arrived with Hank to take over the former Cricket Bend Tavern. If Jasper had spent the morning upstairs at the saloon, Haven would have bet anything he’d been spending his time and money on Callie Lee.
“Hey there Deputy Frank,” Callie called in a sing-song tone as she leaned forward to give a full view of her cleavage to the approaching lawman. Haven forcefully exhaled, trying to ignore Callie’s flirting with Matthew right in front of her.
Matthew sauntered toward where the women were talking, his hands resting on his guns. He adopted a stern tone. “Miss Lee, please remember the new ordinance about lewd behavior on the street.”
“Why, I’m not on the street, darlin’. I’m all the way up here in heaven. You should come see for yourself sometime.”
Matthew turned to Haven. “Hot one, ain’t it?”
Haven understood he was ignoring Callie. Sometimes it was the only thing to do. “Sure is.”
Callie cackled again. “Oh, look at the two of you. Pretty as a damn picture, all righteous and stuffy. Hallelujah! Mister and Missus Uppity!”
Haven blushed, and closed her eyes for a moment with a sigh. Matthew turned up to face Callie, and his voice took on more authority as he said, “Miss Lee. Don’t think I won’t put a woman in jail. We got a whole cell just waiting for you.”
“Oh, jeepers. A girl can’t even have a little fun without breakin’ a law in this town. Blast you both.” In a huff, she went back inside and closed her windowed doors behind her with a dramatic slam.
“I’m sorry if she embarrassed you.” Matthew stepped toward Haven.
Haven shook her head. “Callie doesn’t bother me. I’m kind of used to her.”
“I didn’t realize you two were acquainted.”
Haven held up her doctoring bag. “I have been called to the saloon on more than one occasion to fix someone up after a rowdy evening. She and I have met.”
Matthew frowned. “Come get me next time you need to go there. The saloon ain’t a place for a woman like you.”
“Like me?”
“Good women don’t belong in there.” He said it like it was the simplest truth on earth, and the highest form of flattery.
“Are you worried folks’ll think I’ve gone scarlet?” Haven let a little tease come into her voice.
He chuckled. “No one could ever think that of you.”
Though he’d meant his words to be a compliment, Haven felt burned. Perhaps she was uppity and stuffy like Callie had said. Matthew hadn’t blushed or stammered at the idea she could be thought scarlet,
as if the idea was so wild it wasn’t even worth getting flustered over. He probably thought she’d make a good, strong, reliable wife, but he'd likely never imagined she could feel passion.
When Haven thought of scarlet women, even the obnoxious Callie Lee, she thought of freedom and sensuality. Visions of women wearing fine gowns of beautiful colors spending their time in the arms of men—who didn’t judge them solely based on their ability to bake bread—filled her head. When she thought about it, being a scarlet woman didn’t sound so bad. In five weeks, she and Matthew would marry, and he would be the only man she would ever kiss for the rest of her life, but he didn't seem interested in doing any such thing. Twenty was old to be getting married in Cricket Bend. Though Haven felt relief that she and Matthew were engaged at last, she realized she was likely to die an old woman with a hundred grandchildren, but no great stories to tell.
Matthew nodded toward the balcony. “The ladies of Mrs. Harper’s sewing circle have a mind to pass a resolution to not allow women like Callie to ply their trade within the town limits, so she might be out of your hair before long. Lord knows, Mrs. Harper knows how to throw her weight around.”
“Do they want to shut down the saloon?”
“Naw, folks know it’s a draw and it brings money to town. I reckon we’re stuck with Porter’s for the rest of our lives. Or Henderson’s. Or Zoster’s. Or whatever it’ll be called next when Porter decides to take off.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Men like him don’t stay long in a place like this. Ain’t much excitement around here other than that saloon. Bigger cities. Greener pastures.”
Haven went silent, thinking about life without the charming presence of Hank Porter, and even without the annoying presence of Callie Lee. Life before them had seemed so much quieter. Whether it would be good for Cricket Bend or not, she didn’t want things to go back to being quiet.
