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 Douglasfor 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 stepbackward, 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?
Patience 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 readIndiana. 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."
