“I’ve taken quite the fancy to your saloon, Mrs Reynolds,” he continued. “I’m of the opinion I would make a fair saloon owner. Can you not see me behind the bar, serving rough beverages to your clientele?”
Unable to speak, she watched him as he eagerly told her his plans, her fingers tapping against the folds of her skirt.
“I’ve been in this rather marvellous country of yours for almost two months, Mrs Reynolds, and your glorious town for two weeks, and I’ve not seen an establishment quite as delightfully…I believe the most appropriate description isauthentic.” A wave of distaste flowed across his expression, dimming his zeal. “If you will allow me to be vulgar, price is no object.”
See, too English. Only an Englishman would find the discussion of price too crass.
“I do so love Ironwood, Mrs Reynolds. The acquaintance of not even three handfuls of days has convinced me of its worth, and I believe it to be a fine place to put down roots. The purchase of the town’s saloon would go a ways to doing so, wouldn’t you agree?”
Still she stared, and not a word crossed her lips. Well, there was one flaw in his plan. She wouldn’t sell the Diamond.
She had never even considered it. The saloon was Seth’s legacy, his home. He may be gone, but his presence was still felt.Shestill felt it.
Llewellyn didn’t seem to be affected by her lack of response, sitting there with eyes too wide and a fool’s grin on his face.
Abruptly, she’d had enough. She stood. “I regret to say I won’t part with the Diamond. I appreciate your consideration, and thank you for your words, but the Diamond will remain under my ownership.”
His face fell. “Are you certain, dear lady? It cannot be an ease, for you to be here without husband or family. I’m certain neither would have meant for you to languish alone, and I’ve no doubt running a saloon is burdensome for a woman.”
Nothing else he could have said would have got her back up more. She’d run this saloon successfully for five years—her, and her alone. She’d started the Spectacular and made it so people journeyed from as far as Cheyenne to attend the show. She didn’t need some fancymantelling her she needed one of his sex to lessen a non-existent weight. “Mr Llewellyn, I will not sell my saloon: not to you, not to anyone. I thank you for your visit, and hope we will see you return to the Diamond soon, maybe even for our monthly Spectacular in afortnight’stime.” In truth, the Spectacular would occur in a little over a week, but she couldn’t resist the dig.
A frown creased his brow. “Oh dear, have I said something amiss?”
“Not at all.” Making her way to the door, she held it open.
Hesitantly, he rose from his seat and followed her not-at-all subtle hint, placing his silk hat on his head. Halting in the doorway, he turned. “I do so like your saloon, Mrs Reynolds. I shall ask again.” He offered her a smile weak-willed women no doubt found charming. She, however, was made of sterner stuff.
“You can ask,” she said flatly.
Something flickered in his dark eyes, something that didn’t fit with the air-headed fool, but then he smiled his dazzling smile again. “Well, Mrs Reynolds, I shall leave you be for the moment. If you require me, I am at Bartel’s Boarding House.” Tipping his hat with a jaunty air, he bowed again afore departing.
Alice closed the door behind him. That had been...strange. The man himself appeared to be as she’d expected—naïve, dim-witted and something of a fool. He was also extremely pretty, there was no denying that, and while she enjoyed looking at him, he’d had all the depth of a puddle...but then there had been that flicker in his eyes, a flicker that told her more than all his chattering combined.
That, and his knock. That forceful, cocky knock. Both spoke of an intelligent man, one who understood when he was being refused and what was more, could calculate on how to change an unfavourable outcome.
Sliding behind her desk, she picked up her fountain pen. It could be she should discover more of Rupert T. Llewellyn. Setting her pen to paper, she sketched out a telegram to a bounty hunter. Jacob Wade might advertise his services as such, but the man was also skilled at collecting information. Besides, none would guess her suspicions if she contacted him instead of an inquiry agent. It would hurt nothing but her purse if she were wrong in believing barely more than flicker, but if she were right…
Pen digging into the paper, she paused. If she were right, then Mr Rupert T Llewellyn of London, England meant to play a completely different game.
***
SHAKING HER BLACK SKIRTS, Alice descended the Diamond’s stairs. She’d neglected the saloon too long already, and she would have no one say Alice Reynolds didn’t care about her patrons: she cared about each and every one, and she cared even more that the cash weighing heavy in their pockets made its way into the Diamond’s register.
Satisfied she looked somewhat decent, she walked onto the floor. The front bar of the Diamond had to be the prettiest for a hundred miles around. She’d decorated with an eye that veered toward elegance, knowing even a two-bit hack could charge more if a thing looked fancy. The curtains surrounding the windows were the finest she could afford, and she was replacing the basic wall lamps with more ornate ones as extra money came in.
An intricately woven carpet covered the bare pine slats of the floor, something she’d picked up on one of her first trips to San Francisco in search of supplies. The second-hand dealer had wanted a sum both ridiculous and unfair, no doubt thinking her a rube with no sense of an item’s worth. In the end, he had been persuaded to her way of thinking, and over the years she’d purchased from him many items now adorning the Diamond. It was now something of a tradition for him to inflate the item’s worth, a grin on his face she returned as she set a price far less.
A smile tugged at her. She had a need to return to San Francisco, and soon. Perhaps she and the dealer would spar again…and perhaps also she would finally have the funds to replace the central ceiling light with a crystal chandelier she’d seen in a French magazine a while back.
She frowned. She could easily afford the chandelier if the parcel of land outside Ironwood’s limits that had been part of Seth’s estate finally yielded the substantial seam of coal Seth had been convinced it held. It had taken a few years before she found the funds to employ a surveyor, but Garrett had been at work a four-month now and swore up and down he could have a working mine on the claim within a year. Soon, she’d have to decide what to do—she could use the funds a mine would bring, but it would split her focus from the Diamond and the Spectacular and she wouldn’t give up the thing she loved for any amount.
But that was a problem for another day and right now the Diamond demanded her attention.
The raucous cheers signalling someone’s win caught her attention. The gaming tables took up most of the floor, comprising the roulette wheel currently fascinating most of her patrons, a craps table, and three consisting of poker placed about the room. The green baize on the blackjack table was starting to wear—another thing she needed to replace upon her trip to San Francisco. The Diamond may look rough to passersby on the main street of Ironwood, but she deserved to wear finery underneath.
As Alice passed by the craps table, she spied Sally draping herself over the man holding the dice. He looked to be a fur trapper, probably in Ironwood to sell his pelts and blow off a little steam. In any event, he had a decent pile of winnings, and Sally seemed most appreciative of the fact. Curling one arm around the man’s shoulders, she rubbed his chest as he held out the dice. With a saucy wink, she blew upon them.
With a shake of her head, Alice made her way to the bar, taking up residence next to a woman dressed all in red, matching the scarlet curls piled atop her head. The woman stared at Sally and her mark, a coin dancing over her knuckles.
