Charlotte fished a couple of coins from her reticule, hoping it was enough. The barkeep looked at the money she placed in his hand and raised his eyebrows at it before pocketing both coins.
“I appreciate your time, sir. I’m hoping you might tell if you’ve seen . . .” She trailed off as the man turned his back and made his way to the far end of the bar, where a fellow who looked as if he hadn’t bathed in months had raised his empty glass.
Charlotte sighed and dropped her hands to the edge of the bar, only to quickly remove them once her gloves touched the sticky surface. Now what? The barkeeper was clearly going to be of no help, and the railroad conductor she’d spoken with on her journey here seemed to think that was the sort of person who would know just about everyone in town. Perhaps she could locate another saloon—
“Collier’s not the friendliest sort,” a male voice said from next to her.
Charlotte nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. She’d been so focused on gaining the barkeeper’s attention that she hadn’t even noticed the man who had slipped in beside her. She looked him over quickly now. He wasn’t particularly well-dressed, but he was clean and had a friendly smile, and that alone was enough right now. Perhaps he could be of some help.
“Good afternoon,” she said as the door behind them opened and let in some much-needed daylight. “I’m Miss Montgomery. I don’t suppose you know many people in this town?”
His smile grew broader, accentuating his bony cheeks. “Name’s Roger. And I do know some folks. You planning to drink that?” He nodded at the glass in front of her.
“I most certainly am not, Mr. . . . Roger.”
He grinned again and reached for the glass. After downing the whiskey in one gulp, he asked, “Who are you looking for?”
Charlotte’s hopes buoyed. “A woman by the name of Miss Lee. Ruby Lee. Although she may be Mrs. McNab by now. Her fiancé’s name is Bertram McNab. They came here together from Baltimore a couple of months ago.”
“McNab,” the man repeated. It looked as if he was thinking, and so Charlotte waited, hoping he might have run into the Montgomery family’s former maid and her fiancé—or husband.
“Yes. Mr. McNab was coming here to go into business with a friend. I don’t know what sort of business, exactly, or the friend’s name, but Ruby said the man was doing well.” Charlotte paused, trying to remember the details of Mr. McNab’s appearance from the one time she saw him paying a visit to Ruby in the Montgomerys’ kitchen. “Mr. McNab is a tall man, dark hair. He has a winsome smile.”
Roger wrinkled his forehead. “There are any number of men in town by that description. I can’t say I’ve met him by name.” He paused and took a small step closer to her. “But let me think a bit more.”
The distance between them was less than polite—or comfortable—and Charlotte took a step backward. Roger chuckled.
“How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-two?” he asked, his eyes scrutinizing her face.
Before Charlotte could voice her indignation at his rude question, he continued on.
“And what’s a sweet girl like you doing walking into a place like this?”
Charlotte’s irritation rose like high tide back home, threatening to spill over. “I told you. I’m searching for someone. Now, do you know them or not?”
Apparently Roger found that question particularly funny, because he laughed. Then, in the blink of an eye, he’d stepped forward again and laid a hand over Charlotte’s.
Charlotte yanked her hand away. “How dare—”
At that very second, another man shoved himself between her and Roger, placing his back firmly in front of Charlotte’s face and forcing the offending man to stumble backward. She caught a whiff of tobacco and soap as she stepped around him.
“Leave the lady alone,” the new man said in a low voice that left no room for questions or excuses.
The man was familiar. Charlotte tilted her head, her encounter with Roger all but forgotten as she took in this man’s presence. Hair an unnameable shade between blond and brown, sharp green eyes, a face that was somehow both young and weathered, clean shaven, strong jaw, hands that were unmistakably strong . . .
She swallowed. It was the handsome but confused man from the depot. The one from whom she’d obtained the reference for a boarding house.
What was he doinghere?
“Look now. You’re interrupting a perfectly good conversation I was having—” Roger’s voice went slightly shrill as he defended himself. And as much as Charlotte wished she could have slapped him across the face as she’d intended to do before this man stepped in, she had to admit she enjoyed the man looking cowed.
“That was no good conversation, and you know it,” her rescuer fairly growled. He abruptly turned away from Roger, those green eyes landing on her. He extended an arm, as if he intended to escort her out of this place. “Come.”
The word rankled Charlotte. She’d had more than enough of men telling her what to do, and despite the man’s gallant actions, she was hardly about to follow his directives. She hadn’t come all the way across the country on her own to be told what to do.
Instead, she fixed him with the strongest glare she could muster, turned on her heel, strode to the nearest empty table, and sat down.
