She opened the front cover and pulled out the piece of canvas, stiff from being pressed in this book for so many years. As she stared at the image painted on it, that familiar longing swelled in her chest. The white cottage, the wide green valley with a stream running through it. Indiana. One day she would own a cottage just like this, in a valley every bit this lovely. She would find this place in Indiana and build her own life. Free from anyone who could control her—especially a man.
She was closer than she’d ever been before. Manning the poker room for Jackson paid well, and she’d been saving every penny.
But if she took Anna in, how much longer would she have to wait until she had enough to build this image for herself? She blinked to clear that question away, slipped the canvas back in the book, then closed the cover.
CHAPTER 3
Jonah 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 smallearnings 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 actuallypull 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.
