arguing with Morgan and avoiding her brothers, she wasn’t
in the best of moods. She’d been worrying over this ridiculous marriage idea
all during her ride into town. One thing for sure, she wasn’t going to see the dressmaker.
She headed for the long, currently spotless wooden bar
and plopped her elbows on it with a heavy sigh. “I need a drink something
awful.”
Ham hadn’t said a word in response, didn’t appear to
be his usual jovial self. It worried her, causing her to put aside her own
problems to find out what was going on with her friend. Finally he looked up
into the big mirror behind the bar and met her gaze. He looked like he hadn’t
heard a word she’d said. His forehead was furrowed.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, straightening,
considering going behind the bar to get her own drink.
As if he read her mind and had actually heard her
before, he turned to face her and shook his balding head. “Your brothers would
skin my hide if I gave you a glass of red-eye. But I’ve got some tea back here
that Maybelle made earlier.”
She heaved a put-upon sigh but nodded. Few people in
town would go against her brothers and she knew it. They didn’t approve of
either her or Brandy partaking of liquor of any kind. “Fine. Tea it is. My
throat is parched and I need something to drink.”
It only took him a minute to pour her a glass of tea
and set it on the bar in front of her. He still didn’t say anything, just
leaned back against the shelves by the mirror. He seemed to be thinking,
wrestling with something.
Taking a quick drink, she pressed him. “Tell me what’s
troubling you, Ham. Can I help?”
He looked at her for a few seconds, opened his mouth
to speak, and then closed it again, shaking his head.
Her two friends, Maybelle and Abigail walked up behind
her and she smiled at them in the mirror. She’d met the women near her age when
they’d came to town on a stage several years ago. They’d become friendly almost
immediately, even though the more proper “ladies” in town didn’t approve of
them, especially when they had quickly gone to work for Ham. Dance
hall ladies were shunned by many of the town’s women, but not by all. As
for her, she didn’t care a bit what the old, pompous biddies thought about her
friends or about her. She befriended who she wanted to and that was that. Even
her brothers’ meager attempts to change her mind hadn’t worked, and they’d
given up. Truth was, Keno and Taos liked Maybelle and Abigail.
Abigail appeared to have had trouble containing her
wildly curly reddish-orange hair today. She had it tied back in a ponytail of
sorts, but it was trying hard to escape being confined. She grinned at Whiskey.
“It sure is good to see you here, to see a smiling face.” She glanced at Ham.
“He’s been fretting over business lately.”
That surprised Whiskey. Usually the Varieties did a
lot of business, almost as much as Keno’s place. She set her glass down and
studied the forty-something man. “What’s the problem, Ham? I thought your place
was packed most nights.”
His shoulders slumped beneath his white shirt. “It has
been until recently. The regulars still show up, but fewer newcomers are
dropping in. I hear grumbling about the men wanting something more.”
A bar was for drinking, playing poker, for getting
rowdy at times with a man’s friends. At least that’s all she’d ever witnessed
in Keno’s saloon, on those rare times she’d gone there at night. He frowned on
her being there more and more. “It’s not
proper for a woman like you to be here.” And he didn’t listen to her arguments
on the matter.
“What kind of ‘something more’ do they want?” She
couldn’t figure it out.
Maybelle moved beside her and answered before Ham
could respond. She looked worried as she said, “They want Abigail and me to do
some new fancy dance they’ve heard of. Some kind of leg-kicking dance.”
Whiskey raised an eyebrow. She’d heard her
in the best of moods. She’d been worrying over this ridiculous marriage idea
all during her ride into town. One thing for sure, she wasn’t going to see the dressmaker.
She headed for the long, currently spotless wooden bar
and plopped her elbows on it with a heavy sigh. “I need a drink something
awful.”
Ham hadn’t said a word in response, didn’t appear to
be his usual jovial self. It worried her, causing her to put aside her own
problems to find out what was going on with her friend. Finally he looked up
into the big mirror behind the bar and met her gaze. He looked like he hadn’t
heard a word she’d said. His forehead was furrowed.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, straightening,
considering going behind the bar to get her own drink.
As if he read her mind and had actually heard her
before, he turned to face her and shook his balding head. “Your brothers would
skin my hide if I gave you a glass of red-eye. But I’ve got some tea back here
that Maybelle made earlier.”
She heaved a put-upon sigh but nodded. Few people in
town would go against her brothers and she knew it. They didn’t approve of
either her or Brandy partaking of liquor of any kind. “Fine. Tea it is. My
throat is parched and I need something to drink.”
It only took him a minute to pour her a glass of tea
and set it on the bar in front of her. He still didn’t say anything, just
leaned back against the shelves by the mirror. He seemed to be thinking,
wrestling with something.
Taking a quick drink, she pressed him. “Tell me what’s
troubling you, Ham. Can I help?”
He looked at her for a few seconds, opened his mouth
to speak, and then closed it again, shaking his head.
Her two friends, Maybelle and Abigail walked up behind
her and she smiled at them in the mirror. She’d met the women near her age when
they’d came to town on a stage several years ago. They’d become friendly almost
immediately, even though the more proper “ladies” in town didn’t approve of
them, especially when they had quickly gone to work for Ham. Dance
hall ladies were shunned by many of the town’s women, but not by all. As
for her, she didn’t care a bit what the old, pompous biddies thought about her
friends or about her. She befriended who she wanted to and that was that. Even
her brothers’ meager attempts to change her mind hadn’t worked, and they’d
given up. Truth was, Keno and Taos liked Maybelle and Abigail.
Abigail appeared to have had trouble containing her
wildly curly reddish-orange hair today. She had it tied back in a ponytail of
sorts, but it was trying hard to escape being confined. She grinned at Whiskey.
“It sure is good to see you here, to see a smiling face.” She glanced at Ham.
“He’s been fretting over business lately.”
That surprised Whiskey. Usually the Varieties did a
lot of business, almost as much as Keno’s place. She set her glass down and
studied the forty-something man. “What’s the problem, Ham? I thought your place
was packed most nights.”
His shoulders slumped beneath his white shirt. “It has
been until recently. The regulars still show up, but fewer newcomers are
dropping in. I hear grumbling about the men wanting something more.”
A bar was for drinking, playing poker, for getting
rowdy at times with a man’s friends. At least that’s all she’d ever witnessed
in Keno’s saloon, on those rare times she’d gone there at night. He frowned on
her being there more and more. “It’s not
proper for a woman like you to be here.” And he didn’t listen to her arguments
on the matter.
“What kind of ‘something more’ do they want?” She
couldn’t figure it out.
Maybelle moved beside her and answered before Ham
could respond. She looked worried as she said, “They want Abigail and me to do
some new fancy dance they’ve heard of. Some kind of leg-kicking dance.”
Whiskey raised an eyebrow. She’d heard her
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