Chapter Four
THE MAN WHO WANTED to buy her saloon occupied a table all to himself, watching the roulette wheel as he toyed with the whiskey before him. Though the table regularly sat four, none had joined him, and it looked as if none would. He seemed to suffer no injury from their disinterest, merely continuing to observe the roulette wheel,the lamp set upon his table lighting a foolish grin on his face.
Leaning on the balcony’s wooden balustrade, Alice watched him. For over half an hour, Llewellyn had sat at his table and played with his whiskey, raising it to his lips every so often but not drinking a drop. Instead, his avid gaze took in the activity surrounding him, and his eyes had sharpened every now and then as if he were noting something in that empty head of his. Although, it couldn’t be too empty if he had the smarts to observe and catalogue, now could it?
She placed her chin in her hand. Mr Rupert T. Llewellyn made no sense. From all appearances, he was an English idiot—touched in the head, as her momma used to say—one with too much money and too little sense. He thought it proper to offer for a saloon, and insist where such insisting wasn’t wanted, regarding one with eyes too wide and too bright. Then his accent would slip from something refined and English-like to become something she’d never heard, a lyrical cadence that played along her spine and into her bones.
She blinked. What a fancified notion, a voice shivering along her bones. Next, she would be thinking his dark eyes soulful and imagining he had a decent reason for deception.
“Still staring?” Taking up the balustrade beside her, Pearl cast her gaze on the Englishman. “Has he done anything of interest as yet?”
“Nope. He just sits there nursing his drink, watching the world turn.” He was a study in contradiction, but before too long she would have Wade’s report, and she would know one way or the other. Glancing her friend’s way, she said, “Did you get Sally to stop her whoring?”
Pearl set her jaw. “We talked some. I don’t think she got any notion what she’s doing just ain’t right, nor fair to the other girls. Still, she’s got one last chance, and there won’t be another.”
She jostled the singer’s shoulder gently with her own. “It had to be done.”
“I know. I hate it though.” She exhaled. “Distract me. Tell me of your fancy-man down there.”
“Not much to tell. As I said, he sits there all quiet and eating the room with his eyes, and I would venture he’s had less than two fingers of that whiskey he’s pretending to like.” What was it he was looking at? What could be so interesting about the Diamond that he had a powerful need to justsitthere? “He’s a puzzle, make no mistake.”
“One you mean to solve?”
She blinked. “Pardon?”
“Since when do you care if a man sits at a table by his lonesome all night? What is it about this one that has you so riled?”
Alice scowled. “He means to buy the Diamond. Why shouldn’t I watch him?” Turning, she found her friend regarding her with a grin that appeared a mite too gleeful. “What’s that look for?”
Pearl’s grin widened. “You like him. Mr English Handsome Man down there.”
“So? What’s that got to do with anything?” In the interest of prudence, and to prove she damn well could, she deliberately pushed herself from the balcony and turned her back on the saloon. Crossing her arms, she regarded her friend. “Did Garrett come in today?”
Pearl’s grin fled. Mutely, she tipped her chin toward the bar.
Ethan Garrett sat with his hand curled loose around his whiskey, his hat placed on the bar beside him. Straight blond hair brushed the collar of his shirt and a short blond beard covered his cheeks and jaw. His brows were a darker blond, and she knew they framed bright blue eyes. A leather vest covered his broad back, the muscles of his bicep pulling at his well-worn shirt as he lifted his glass to his lips. He was a fine-looking man, was Garrett, and for some reason Pearl absolutely loathed him.
“Has he said anything?” Alice asked.
Pearl scowled. “He came in, grunted something, and sat himself at the bar.”
Her lips twitched. “And did he, perchance, grunt anything approaching English?”
Pearl’s scowl grew fiercer. “He said he was wanting you and that he had things to speak of.”
“There. Now was that so hard?”
“There is a special place in Satan’s hell for you people like you.”
Grinning, Alice mock-curtseyed before making her way to Garrett. He looked at her as she approached, his gaze sliding past her a moment to where she’d left Pearl. His brows drew, but he said nothing as she seated herself beside him. “What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey, ma’am. Your finest,” he said in his soft-spoken tones. A faint smile touched his mouth. “Your barkeep wouldn’t give me anything else.”
“I’ll have one, too. Keep you company, while you’re telling me what needs to be said.” She flagged down Henry, who set the same whiskey before her. Her bar staff had instructions to only serve Garrett the best of whatever he asked for, no matter what he said. Her surveyor was a kind man whom she was certain had underquoted her and spent more time on her claim than he was contracted for. If she could repay that kindness a little with fine whiskey, it would go some ways to balancing the ledger between them. “What news do you bring?”
He turned the glass of whiskey in his hands, as if considering his words. She waited. She had learned Garrett spoke little, but every word carried weight as if he deliberated thoroughly on each thought. “It ain’t good, Mrs Reynolds,” he finally said.
Something inside her clenched. “The claim?”
