Abigail stared at the pistol in her hands.
She couldn’t remember drawing it, much less pulling the trigger, yet her ears rang with the report and a gray haze swirled above her head. The man she’d bumped into stared at her, openmouthed, his eyebrows inching toward his hairline with shock.
“All right, back away from the girl. All of you!”
Abigail’s gaze darted to the slender woman glaring down at them from the top of the stairs. Her satin skirt swaying, she sashayed down the steps, one pale arm motioning toward the door. “Move—all of you—’fore that gal decides she’s better off putting a hole through one of your thick skulls instead of my ceiling.”
Amid the grumbling, more than one “Aw, Belle” met Abigail’s ears. She stared in surprise at the woman, hardly recognizing the plain face, devoid of makeup, and brownish hair that hung unstyled down her back.
The pianist took up playing once more, having ceased at the gunfire, and gradually the saloon returned to normal. Belle came to a stop in front of Abigail.
“I assume you’re the reason I was jerked from my nap?”
“I—I—” Abigail stammered.
Belle cut her short with a brisk wave. She turned to the bartender, whose wide smile for the owner spoke of his affection. “Get me some coffee, Matt. Quick. I’m gonna need it.” She eyed Abigail, taking in her plain cotton dress and shaking gun in a glance. “One for my friend here too.”
“Coming right up, Belle.”
Her lips pursed, she tipped her head toward the gun. “You gonna put that thing away, honey, or stand there holding it all day?”
After several fumbled attempts, Abigail finally managed to holster the weapon and then looked up at Belle.
She nodded. “C’mon. Let’s grab a seat.” Rather than wait to see if she followed, Belle turned and headed for a table in the corner that was clearly off-limits to the other patrons. Except for a delicate glass ashtray, the table was vacant and clean. Before she could sit, though, Matt returned with the coffees for Belle and Abigail. He set them down and then pulled out Belle’s chair.
“Here you go. Black, just like you like it.”
Belle’s slender hand looked even paler against Matt’s cheek, as she gave him a pat. She sat down, lifted her cup, and took a sip. “Ah, that’s good. Thank you, darlin’. Now go on back to your duties.”
If he had a tail, it’d be wagging, Abigail thought sourly, taking a seat across from Belle.
Belle spoke first, pulling Abigail’s attention away from the lovesick bartender. “So, Miss Watts, what can I do for you?” She peered at her with a gleam that said she saw much and knew more. Abigail instantly liked her.
“I need a job,” she responded, somehow sensing that the saloon proprietress would appreciate her bluntness. “Needlework. I’m a seamstress.”
“Are you skilled?”
“Yes.”
“What do you sew?”
“Anything, if I have a pattern to follow.”
Belle paused and leaned forward, her lips pursed. Once again Abigail was taken aback by the difference in her complexion. Belle was much older than she’d figured when their eyes had met at the mining camp this morning—and more shrewd than she liked to let on, Abigail realized with a start.
“You given any thought to what folks are gonna say once they learn you’re sewing dresses for my girls? Those church women ain’t gonna take kindly to it, you know. You ready to earn a living for yourself the rest of your days? Give up any notions of marrying a respectable fella?”
All because she needed work? The unfairness of it hit Abigail squarely in the chest. It wasn’t like she hadn’t exhausted other avenues—well, except for the one she absolutely refused to tread—the one that led to the state of Virginia and her aunts. All she wanted was time to prove her father innocent of any wrongdoing. After that…
“Uh-huh.” Belle’s head bobbed knowingly. “I thought so. You ain’t given it a thought.”
“Perhaps not,” Abigail said, a streak of pure stubbornness giving rise to her temper. “Still, a girl’s gotta earn a living, and right now I don’t have many choices.”
“But you have some.”
Nathan’s face flashed into Abigail’s memory and drove the words from her mouth.
Her hips swaying, Belle stood, abandoning the remainder of her cooling coffee on the table. Her slender fingers tapped her shapely arms. “Girl, go home. Think about what you’re doing and those ‘choices’ you’ve been so quick to say no to. Then, if you still think I’m all you’ve got, come back. We’ll see what kind of deal we can work out.”
She walked away, and Abigail found she didn’t have the gumption to call her back. The woman was right; she hadn’t taken the time to properly think through her decision to appeal to Belle for help. In fact, she hadn’t even spoken of her idea to Caroline because of what her friend would say.
Indecision swirled in her head. Did she stay and bear the brunt of the townspeople’s reproach, or go and face the same with her aunts back East? Both were too awful to consider, especially if she added Papa’s feelings to the mix.
Leaving her coffee untouched, she walked to the door. Her shoulders slumped beneath the weight of her despair. Tears burned her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall, at least not while she was still inside the saloon where anyone could see. She’d wait until she got back to the cabin to give in to her bout of self-pity.
With each step the waiting got harder, the hot tears closer to spilling over. She stumbled the last few feet out the door—straight into Nathan’s arms.
Nathan’s hold tightened instinctively around Abigail’s shaking body. She looked like she was about to cry, but she was apparently unharmed. A surge of protectiveness welled up from his middle. He drew back and looked into her face. “I heard gunshots. Are you all right? What on earth were you doing in there?”
She tossed her head and stared as though she couldn’t speak.
“C’mon. I’m taking you home.”
Resisting the tug of his arms, she managed a soft “Lizzie?”
“She’s with Caroline. I took her there the second I heard you scream.”
And then I ran back to the saloon, my heart racing. He left that part unsaid, but the truth of his fear for her still made his blood pound through his veins. A shout rose from inside, and the look on her face tore at his gut.
“Please, Abigail. Let me take you home.”
Not until the words rolled off his lips did Nathan realize how he meant them. It wasn’t the cabin where he wanted to take Abigail. It was the lean-to. That was why he’d felt so pressed to finish. It was as much for her as it was Lizzie.
The knowledge left him weak-kneed. Who was he to think that he could care for Abigail? Was it purely selfishness that made him want to consider her a part of his family? A need for someone other than himself to act as caregiver to Lizzie?
These and a myriad of other thoughts whirled through Nathan’s brain as Abigail surrendered her resistance and allowed him to lead her home—to her cabin. She hadn’t given him permission to take her anywhere else.
Once inside, she unbuckled the gun and holster, dropped them onto a chair, and plopped heavily into a seat at the table. She put her face in her hands, and slowly tears seeped through her fingers—a sight Nathan wished he’d never again have to see.
Grabbing a chair, he scraped it across the floor and sat in front of her. “Want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head.
He took her hands and held them in his. “Would it matter if I told you I already know?”
She blinked, her red eyes mirroring her confusion. “What?”
“Nichols came by to see me.” Though she tried to pull away, Nathan held fast. “He wants to help you, Abigail. So do I.”
“You can’t help. Neither of you can. I have to do this myself, only—only—” More tears washed her eyes. “Oh, Nathan, what am I going to do? I can no more prove Papa’s innocence than I can provide for my own living. I’ve failed him. I’ve failed myself. Maybe the townspeople are right. Maybe it’s ridiculous to think I can stay where I’m not wanted—”
Nathan leaned forward and, mindful of the cut on her face, tipped up her chin until she met his eyes. “You are wanted here, Abigail. You are.”
She fell silent, a strange mixture of fear and hope reflected in her watery gaze.
Suddenly Nathan knew why she had refused his first offer of marriage. She wanted what every woman wanted—a home and family, a place where she knew she’d be safe. And love.
An aching resistance fanned to life in his soul. He’d sworn to never love another woman after Charlotte died. He’d vowed to make the best life he could for Lizzie—alone. Yet Abigail would accept no less than a man’s full love and devotion. Could he convince her of his willingness to at least try?
She stared at him, waiting.
He dropped his hand, no longer touching her, but not moving away, preparing himself for an honesty that would likely saw them both in two. “We need each other. I need you,” he amended, before the shuttered look returned to her eyes. “Abigail, I know I’m probably not the man you dreamed of marrying.” Shame wormed its way up from his belly, but he pushed on. “I can hardly provide for my daughter, much less a wife, but I promise you, I’ll try. You’ll never lack for anything so long as I live. I can give you a warm bed, a roof over your head—and friendship, at least for now.”
Her gaze remained steady, but she said nothing.
At least she’s listening.
He drew a steadying breath, hoping it would somehow quell the pain thrumming inside his chest. “I loved my wife.”
He watched her, gauging her reaction.
Sadness slipped over her face. “I know.”
“There’s a part of me that will always love her. You need to know that.”
She nodded.
“But—I will try to love you too, Abigail, if that’s what you want. I can’t promise anything. You understand that, right?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her lips trembling.
His heart hammering harder and faster, Nathan reached out to claim her hand. “I swear to you—I’ll give you as much of myself as I can. I’ll try to make you happy, and if I fail—” His throat felt thick, but he forced himself to continue. “I won’t hold you to a loveless marriage, Abigail. I’ll help you find whatever it is you decide you need, even if it means your leaving Calico forever.”
She pulled her hands away and darted to her feet, but instead of following, Nathan slid off the chair and dropped to one knee. Her face pale and her mouth slightly open, she watched him.
Nathan knew he had to press on, to ask the question he felt rising, before his determination fled. Licking his lips, he then stretched out his hand and said, “Abigail, will you marry me?”