by Nerys Leigh
He nodded towards a couple of young women who stood towards one end of the bar, talking. They were clad in knee-length, low cut dresses with too many ruffles and too little fabric. Four more were in the room, smiling fake smiles at the clientele and pretending to be interested in their conversations.
“So forgive me if I sound uncouth,” he continued, “but if your proposition involves joining them, my answer is yes. You’ll be extremely popular. Every man in this room hasn’t been able to take his eyes from you since you walked in.” His lips turned up in something that wasn’t quite a smile, a gold tooth glinting in the light from the windows. “Me included.”
He put her in mind of a snake stalking its prey, albeit a snake with a large clothing budget and impeccable manners.
“Actually,” she said, “I had another idea. I am here to ask for a job, but not as a...” she cast around for the correct term, “saloon girl.” She knew very well they were more than just saloon girls, but a polite alternative evaded her.
His eyebrows rose. “Well now, I’m not surprised very often, but you’ve managed it. I’m intrigued.”
So far so good. She gave him her most charming smile. “I’d like to work behind the bar.”
There were a few seconds of silence during which Rufus looked genuinely confused. “You’d like to what?”
“I’d like to be a bartender.”
He blinked a few times, as if trying to understand her. “Are you being serious? A woman bartender?”
“Yes, why not?” She nodded towards the bar. “First off, I don’t think your current bartender is exactly attracting customers.”
He looked round at the bartender who had fortuitously chosen that moment to insert his finger into his nose. He wiped it off on his shirt as a man walked up to the bar.
Rufus nodded his head to the side. “I’ll give you, Ralph is a bit rough around the edges. But he keeps a good bar and he doesn’t skim money off the top. Of course, he knows what would happen if he did.”
“But look around. There are,” she did a quick head count, “nineteen men in here, not including anyone who works here.” She assumed the huge man standing by the door doing a fair impression of a statue was an employee. “But only one of them is at the bar.”
The rest were playing cards or being entertained by the girls. One was slumped in a chair in the corner, snoring.
“And your income,” she went on, “other than what happens upstairs, is mainly from selling alcohol. Am I right?”
He regarded her speculatively. “Yes.”
She smiled again. “How many men do you think would be at the bar if I was serving them?”
He turned to look at the bar again, then back at her. His gaze drifted to the side for a good fifteen seconds.
Jo sat back and kept her expression neutral.
“You make a very convincing argument,” he said finally. “I have to say, just the novelty of a female bartender would probably bring in customers. Someone who looks like you, even more so. Have you ever worked a bar before?”
“Yes, back in New York,” she lied. She’d be serving drinks to men who were more interested in staring at her body than what she was doing. How hard could it be?
“I didn’t know they were so broad-minded in New York.” He nodded, sitting back. “All right, I’ll give you a try. Pay is four dollars a week plus a percentage of the price of each drink you sell.”
She thought about that. “Does Ralph get a percentage of each drink he sells?”
Rufus chuckled. “No, but then he isn’t exactly enticing the men to buy them. Anyone walks up to that bar while he’s behind it, they simply want a drink. I’m guessing you will be able to get them buying more. I’m simply providing you with some extra incentive to use your attributes to sell more.” His gaze roamed brazenly down and back up again.
“So I’m guessing Ralph also earns more than four dollars a week then,” she said, hiding her delight. This way she’d be able to earn much faster than she would on a set wage.
“Can’t live on four dollars a week. Ralph has a wife and two kids to support.”
That was a disturbing thought. She pitied the poor woman who’d ended up with the oily lecher. Gabriel was a veritable prize in comparison.
She held out her hand to shake on the deal. “You have yourself a new bartender.”
He took her hand. “You can start tomorrow. I’ll put you on early afternoons to begin with, see if you can perk up the slow hours, then if that works out, I’ll move you to evenings.”
That was disappointing. She only had a limited amount of time before the baby started showing and she needed to have made enough to keep them for a while by then. Still, if she did this right, and she would, she’d be on evenings within a week.
“Thank you, you won’t regret this.” A thought occurred to her. “One thing though, I don’t work Sundays.”
One of his eyebrows quirked up. “A good religious girl wants to work in a saloon?”
She was more surprised at her insistence than he was. “Not exactly, but someone I know... Let’s just say there are opinions more important to me than my own.”
~ ~ ~
Jo returned to the hotel straight from the saloon and went to her room to unpack the trunk Gabriel had brought so she could choose an outfit for her first shift the next day.
Zach appeared in the open doorway after a few minutes. She ignored the little shimmy her stomach did.
“How did it go?” he said. “Everything get done? Silversmith behave himself?”
“I am officially a free, unmarried woman,” she declared with a smile. “And Gabriel was a perfect gentleman. Well, as far as he can be.”
“Good, on both counts.” He crossed the room, stopping within touching distance, if she’d been of a mind to touch him. “I have something to tell you.”
“I have something to tell you too. I have a job.”
His burgeoning smile faded, replaced by confusion. “You do? Did Mr. Vernon already tell you?”
Now she was confused. “Mr. Vernon? No, I got a job at the saloon. I start tomorrow. So you don’t have to worry about finding me a place to stay. I can get a room at the boarding house and...”
“Wait, wait, wait, did you say the saloon?”
She nodded, her smile returning. “I was good, even if I do say so myself.”
His mouth dropped open. “You’re going to... to... be a... a... a...”
Realisation dawned. “Oh! No.” He thought she would be a prostitute? “No! How could you think that of me?”
“That’s what women who work in that place generally are.”
He had a point.
“Okay, that’s probably true, but I’m just going to be tending bar.”
The knowledge that she wasn’t going to be selling herself didn’t have the calming effect she’d anticipated.
“It isn’t safe in there,” he said, frowning. “Bad people go in there. Bad people own it. It’s not a good place for a woman. It’s not a great place for a man.”
“Well, I don’t have any other choice.” She tried to not be annoyed, but being told what to do had never gone down well with her.
His frowned disappeared. “That’s what I came to tell you. I got Mr. Vernon to let you stay in the hotel in exchange for working here part time, helping Mrs. Sanchez. She’s been telling him she needs help with the cleaning for ages, so I persuaded him this would be the perfect solution. You’ll get meals too. All you have to do is go talk to him at the bank today.”
Touched as she was that he’d gone to so much trouble for her, she couldn’t pretend it was the answer to her problems. “But what about money? I need to make money.”
“I’ll work that out too. I just need more time.” His enthusiasm reminded her of an exuberant puppy. “It’s the perfect solution, you’ll see.”
She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “I appreciate that you’re helping me, I really do, and you’re right, working at the hotel in exchange for room and board will help a
lot. It’s a far nicer place to stay than the boarding house and it’ll mean I can keep the money I would have used for rent. But in the afternoons, I’ll be tending bar at the saloon.”
He huffed out a breath, throwing his hands into the air. “But you don’t have to! You have a place to stay and I can get you anything you need.”
Why did he keep trying to help her? Couldn’t he understand she couldn’t rely on him? She needed to make her own way.
“It’s not your duty to provide for me,” she said, a little more harshly than she’d intended. “I’m not your responsibility. I have to do this for myself. Stop trying to fix my life.” Hurt crossed his face and she immediately wished she could take it all back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I know you’re just trying to help and...”
“No,” he said, looking away, “you’re right, it’s not my responsibility. I shouldn’t have assumed it was.” He turned for the door.
She reached out to take his arm. “I’m sorry, Zach. Please...”
Not looking back, he shook her touch away and walked out the door.
A lump rose in her throat and she pressed one hand to her mouth as she watched him go. The last thing in the world she wanted was to hurt him. No one had ever cared about her the way Zach did. They barely even knew each other and he was still the best man she’d ever met.
But what was she supposed to do? He didn’t know, and once he did, that would be it. By the time she could no longer hide her pregnancy, she needed to have made enough money to provide for herself and her baby, because no one else would. Not even sweet, handsome, caring Zach.
Swallowing the thickness in her throat, she turned back to her trunk and tried to ignore her aching heart.
Chapter 17
Jo didn’t see Zach the whole rest of the day. He didn’t come to find her before he started work, didn’t take supper with her in the kitchen, didn’t come to see her after his shift had ended.
She tried telling herself it was for the best. In the end, he’d only be hurt more if he fell for her. And despite her efforts otherwise, she knew she was beginning to have feelings for him. Best to just distance herself from him now, before either of them had a chance to develop any lasting attachment.
She’d learned her lesson with Clive, once and for all. True, Zach wasn’t at all like Clive, but she hadn’t realised Clive was like Clive, until it was too late.
No more men.
Ever.
So when she went downstairs the next morning and Zach wasn’t in the kitchen, she shouldn’t have been disappointed. And yet she was, very much. She missed him.
“Give it time, Josephine,” Mrs. Sanchez said, flipping over the huge mound of floured dough on the table and pressing her fists into the other side. “He’ll be back, whatever’s happened.”
The woman was far too observant.
Jo pulled the plate of eggs and toast Mrs. Sanchez had kept for her from the warming oven and carried it to the table. “I don’t want him to be back. There’s nothing between us.”
“There isn’t? Well, you could have fooled me.” She smiled and kept kneading.
Jo took the butter to the table and sat. “Zach’s a good man. He deserves better than me.”
There were a few seconds of silence before Mrs. Sanchez spoke again. “You’re right that he’s a good man. I’ve watched Zachary grow up from when he was a little boy and he’s never had a selfish bone in his body. Mischievous and crafty, yes, but selfish or bad, never. You should let him decide for himself what he deserves.”
Jo cut into the fried egg, watching the sunshine-yellow yolk seep around the toast she’d buttered. “He’s young. He doesn’t know how bad life can be yet. I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“Does he have to be?”
Sighing, she cut a piece from the toast and swirled it in the egg. “It’s inevitable.”
She ate in silence for a while, grateful that Mrs. Sanchez had dropped the subject of her and Zach. Although the quiet from the normally talkative Mrs. Sanchez was a little off-putting. Jo cast several glances at her, but the other woman was focused on her dough.
“Zach spoke to Mr. Vernon about me working with you in return for room and board in the hotel,” she said eventually. “I went to see Mr. Vernon yesterday and he said it would be okay.”
Mrs. Sanchez glanced at her. “Zachary told me that too. I expect Señor Vernon will come here to speak to us about it.”
“Would you mind me working here?”
“Of course not! I’d love the help. Why would you think I would mind?”
Jo shrugged one shoulder. “I’m working up to not being very respectable in this town, what with my marriage ending and me taking a job in...” She stopped abruptly, grimacing. Maybe Mrs. Sanchez didn’t know about the saloon yet.
“Zachary told me about you getting a job tending bar in the saloon.”
Or maybe she did.
“Oh.”
“It isn’t my business,” Mrs. Sanchez said, “and I’m not one to judge you for doing what you feel you have to. You are always welcome here.”
Jo gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”
Having finished her breakfast, she washed and dried her plate and cutlery and put them away. “Is there anything I can do now? I have to be at the saloon by noon, but I have a bit of time.”
“No, I have everything done for this morning. You relax and get ready. I have a feeling you’ll need all your energy for that place.”
Jo nodded and headed for the door.
“Josephine?”
She looked back.
Mrs. Sanchez stopped kneading. “You do know you can talk to me if you need to. I’m a muy buena listener, and nothing you say would go any further.”
Jo smiled. “I appreciate that. And thank you.”
She was grateful for the offer, but in a few months her secret would be obvious anyway. She preferred to keep Mrs. Sanchez’s respect for as long as she could.
And as for Zach, she wished there was a way to keep his friendship too. But she couldn’t help thinking that if she missed him this much now, how would she bear it once he found out about her and left her for good?
~ ~ ~
Jo stood outside the saloon and drew in a deep breath, letting it out again slowly.
Just another performance. She’d done a thousand of them, this was no different.
It wasn’t actually the job itself that was worrying her, at least not overly. Se could bluff her way through, like always. It wasn’t even the imminent demise of any vestiges of respect she might still have left in this town. What bothered her most was Zach. She shouldn’t want his approval, she didn’t need it, and yet its loss hurt more than she cared to admit.
It was happening again, she was losing herself to a man, just like she had with Clive, and after knowing Zach for less than five days. Had she learned nothing?
Well, no more. She had to do this and no one, Zach included, would stop her.
Lifting her head, she squared her shoulders and walked inside, before she could change her mind.
She was instantly aware of more than a dozen pairs of eyes turning in her direction. She ignored them and strode up to Rufus who stood at the end of the bar, talking to one of the scantily clad girls who worked there.
At Jo’s approach, he dismissed the girl and gave her his attention, his eyes travelling down to her feet and back up. She’d worn a green dress that skimmed her curves and showed just enough skin at her chest to hint at what was beneath, but not so much that it was indecent. She didn’t want any of the men to get the wrong idea. She just wanted them to feel as if the wrong idea might, in some fantasy world, not be completely out of reach. If they bought enough drinks from her.
“You came,” Rufus said, resting his elbow on the bar. “Wasn’t sure you would.”
“After I worked so hard persuading you to give me this job?”
He chuckled. “Truth was, I was ready to hire you the moment I laid eyes on you, no m
atter what you wanted to do.” His eyes sauntered down again. “You look good.”
She flashed him a smile. “Thank you.” It didn’t hurt to have the approval of the boss. As long as he wasn’t too approving.
“Hey, Rufus, aren’t you going to introduce the new girl around?” A man strolled up to them, hoisted his trousers up beneath his sagging belly, and grinned at her. His tongue ran over the gap where his front teeth should have been.
“Put your eyes back in your head, Hiram,” Rufus replied. “Josephine is only going to be working behind the bar.”
The smirk slid from Hiram’s ruddy face. “Well, that’s a downright shame. Are you sure? I could make it worth your while.” He winked at Jo.
“You’re not near rich enough to afford her,” Rufus said.
“But if you’re nice, I’ll give you the good whiskey,” Jo said, winking back at him.
Hiram grinned and Rufus laughed as he guided her around the end of the bar.
“Don’t you dare,” he whispered to her as she passed him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she murmured back.
He nodded to the man already behind the bar and he disappeared through a door in the far corner. “I’m assuming, from our conversation yesterday, that you’ve done this before?”
“I may have exaggerated my experience slightly,” she admitted, hoping he’d overlook that small fact now she was here. “But I know the basics. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
He stared at her for a moment. “I’m going to have to be careful around you, aren’t I?”
She’d been thinking the same about him. “Would you have given me the job if I’d been honest?”
“Probably. All right, since you’re here, I’ll give you a shot. You’d better be as good as you think you are.”
“Don’t worry, I am.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Okay. Well, these are the drinks we sell.” He swept his hand along the rows of bottles lining the shelves behind the bar. “Price list is under the bar. So is the list of customers who have credit accounts. Everyone else pays up front or they don’t drink or eat. The bottles with a red dot on the label are cut with turpentine. Don’t give it to anyone who looks like he’d know. That doesn’t include Hiram, by the way.”
