Two Brides Too Many by Mona Hodgson

paused to draw in a breath. “In the meantime, may I have a word with you?”
    After a quick glance at her sister, Miss Kat Sinclair nodded in his direction. “A moment.”
    Miss Nell Sinclair extended her hand to Miss Taggart. “You and I can go see about helping Miss Hattie.” When Miss Taggart didn’t move, Miss Sinclair moved toward her. “Follow me.”
    When they left the room, the sister with the auburn hair walked to the hearth and turned to face him, a storm brewing in her brown eyes. “You wanted to speak to me?”
    “About our first meeting, I want to apologize for our misunderstanding.”
    “It was not my misunderstanding, Doctor.”
    She wasn’t going to make this easy, and he didn’t blame her.
    “It was completely my fault. I made a mistaken assumption. I later learned that you yourself had been a patient. Dr. Hanson said you have stitches. How is your shoulder faring?” He hoped that wasn’t too personal a question.
    “I’m—”
    Suddenly he pictured Miss Sinclair standing on the porch on Myers Avenue, and a rolling heat singed his ears.
    “My shoulder is fine. Thank you.”
    “You’ll have the sutures removed on Wednesday?”
    “Is that all, Doctor?”
    Morgan cleared his throat. “Miss Sinclair, I am truly sorry about our misunderstanding. But as a Christian person, I feel it’s my duty to warn you of the evils of certain men in this town—the type who might frequent establishments ladies of your apparent caliber shouldn’t fall prey to, no matter what kinds of frills they display.” Morgan looked away and took a deep breath before continuing. “I was walking past Myers Avenue today, and saw you speaking with such a man.”
    The force of her gasp nearly knocked him off his feet. “You, Dr. Cutshaw, think I was talking to that man on purpose?” She stepped back. “You are an infuriating man. A mistaken, assuming, maddening man. I am not a fool. Nor am I drawn in by satin and lace and…free liquor! Believe me when I tell you, sir, that I know what kind of certain men live in this town.”
    “Kat?” Her sister rushed into the room, carrying a full tea tray. “Is something wrong?”
    Kat looked over at him, her jaw set in a tight frown. “This…man saw me this morning and had the audacity to…just never mind.” She turned, her skirt swishing in the rush, and stomped out of the room.
    Listening to the young woman’s deliberate steps up the stairs, Morgan couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like if the two of them got along.

F IFTEEN

    L ewis P. Whibley tucked the folded faro table under his arm and strutted down the hallway to the narrow stairs above Japanese Charlie’s Saloon in Colorado Springs. Three days had passed since that mousy old maid in Denver sent him packing, penniless. He’d barely escaped her robust brother.
    Squaring his shoulders now, Lewis straightened his bolo tie. The sound of chinking glasses and bottles brightened his spirits. It meant a crowd was gathering below. He had an adequate take here last night, but he needed a few good nights for train fare and a hearty pot of seed money. A night or two at the table with that daft miner in Cripple Creek, and his luck would change. He’d win back his silver flask and his home. Why, he might even settle down and take himself a wife.
    Lewis felt his blood boil. In one stupid night, he’d doled out everything he had to that cheat Paddy—all his winnings. That louse had even lured the saucy redhead away from him. Still made his gut burn.
    His daddy was fond of saying that greed was like a dark pit full ofangry snakes. Well, it wouldn’t bite him again. He would outwit the miner this time. Outlast him too, until he had won back what was his. Might even see about that redhead again, if he had a mind to.
    Tonight would be good practice—that is, if he could get to the table. Two upstairs girls stood between him and his seed pot.
    “Ladies.” He tipped his hat. The one with the ruby red lips and long