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There was no chair. No old-timey hair dryer.
Had this really happened? Had I really gone back in time?
I focused on the music. It sounded like piano music. And the player was making a fine mess of whatever it was they were playing.
I’d played piano in college and had been top in my class.
I stood up and straightened my gown.
Then I peeked inside the purse Brooklyn had given me.
It was stuffed with paper money and coins.
I couldn’t go walking around with this much money.
I used to watch old westerns with my grandfather and if what I’d learned from the movies was correct, I’d probably be robbed.
Lifting the mattress, I stashed the purse deep beneath it.
Satisfied that no one would notice it, at least not anytime soon, I put my hand on the doorknob.
This was it. I was about to discover if I really had gone back in time.
As soon I turned the doorknob, a young lady dressed in a scantily clad outfit walked past.
“There you are,” she said. “Albert has been asking for you. He needs you to serve the customers.”
“But… I…
The girl didn’t listen. She just kept walking.
“I’m supposed to be a wealthy widow.” I finished the sentence to myself, my voice dropping to a whisper.
I stepped out of the little room and walked toward the music.
Oddly enough, I had started out downstairs in my time, and now I was upstairs.
I stood at the stop of the stairs and looked down at the activity below. There was a woman, a feather in her hair and a low-necked top, playing the piano. Two men stood across from her, leaning across the piano, drinks in hand.
There were two tables also on that side of the room with men playing poker. And on the other side of the room there was an elegantly dressed couple sitting across from each other at a table. The woman was dressed in a high-necked gown, much like mine.
It was like two different worlds.
Just as Brooklyn had warned me.
I’d just never expected it to be so starkly evident.
And then right between the two sides, half a dozen or so men sat at the bar. Most were cowboys, but there was a formally dressed man on the other side.
Not sure what I was expected to do at the moment, but certain that I needed to do something, I made my way downstairs.
CHAPTER 11
HARRISON
I never had spent a lot of time hanging out in saloons.
Back home, I’d had responsibilities around my father’s plantation. My social activities had consisted primarily of attending formal balls and bar-be-ques. But usually smaller soirees.
I’d gambled some with friends when I was younger, but, especially now, I didn’t have spare evenings to waste sitting around at the gaming table.
Even now, I was thinking through all the things I could be doing back at home.
But this pursuit of a wife was an important investment of my time.
It would be nice to have someone around in the evenings to have conversations with.
Something besides my own tortured thoughts.
A well-dressed young lady came through a back door, carrying a tray.
Her brow was creased and the tray of food was a bit unsteady in her hands.
She most certainly did not look like a server.
Maybe the wife or daughter of the saloon owner?
She carried the tray of food over to the couple sitting at the table and set it down on the table.
Definitely not a regular server.
As I watched, she managed to get the plates in front the man and women.
Then she slid the tray off the table and pressed a wrist against her forehead.
That’s when I noticed she was wearing white gloves. Dark brunette hair flowed down her back and a blue ribbon that matched her dress was tied beneath one ear.
What was a lady doing serving tables?
She was obviously out of her element.
After speaking to the couple for a moment, she turned, the tray in one hand.
Standing about three yards away, she froze when she saw me staring at her.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from hers.
I had never seen a woman as lovely as this.
She stood straight and tall, but was lithe as a deer. Flawless skin with a flush of color across her cheeks. Full slightly parted lips.
Her wide round eyes seemed to hold a wealth of knowledge as she looked right back at me.
I pulled my thoughts back together and motioned her my way.
When she didn’t move, I smiled and tried again.
She walked toward me, moving confidently now that she no longer balanced the tray full of food.
“Are you the server?” I asked when she stood in front of me.
She looked at me blankly for a moment. Blinked with dark lashes momentarily smudging the area beneath her eyes.
She glanced down at the tray she carried at her side.
“I suppose I am.”
I nodded once.
“What’s your name?”
“Ashlyn,” she said after a moment of hesitation as though she couldn’t remember her own name.
“Well, Ashlyn, can I get a plate? Two plates, actually?”
She nodded back and I watched as she walked away.
Good Lord.
I had obviously been without a woman in my life for far too long.
And now I was in a bit of trouble.
My fiancé was to arrive tomorrow by coach.
Yet.
I’d just met the woman I wanted to marry.
I smiled to myself and slid the empty whiskey glass across the bar.
A girl named Ashlyn.
CHAPTER 12
ASHLYN
I went back to the kitchen and slid the tray onto the large wooden table in the middle of the room.
The cook, a tall dark man with a quick smile, glanced in my direction.
“So you’re the new girl?” he asked as he pulled a loaf of bread out of a round, iron oven.
“I must be,” I said.
“Do you have a name?” He picked up a knife and began to deftly slice the bread.
“Ashlyn.”
“I’m Theo.”
No one seemed surprised or concerned that I was here. Not the saloon girl who had pressed the tray in my hand with directions to serve the table by the window while giving me a lecture about the importance of being on time for work.
Not Theo here who sliced and buttered bread like a pro.
And not the man at the bar. The one who had looked at me like he might just want to scoop me up and have me for dinner.
A handsome rugged man. Not like the other unshaven fellows wearing cowboy clothes and boots with spurs.
This man was dressed like a gentleman and smelled clean like soap.
He had a smile that had scattered my already fragile thoughts.
“Any orders?” Theo asked, setting down the knife and wiping his hands what had no doubt once been a white apron.
“What?”
He nodded toward the saloon. “Any customers ask for anything?”
Right. “Yes,” I said. “Someone at the bar asked for two plates.”
I hope he didn’t notice the way my face heated. It was almost like I’d been caught thinking about the handsome man.
“Very good,” Theo said, filling the first plate and setting it on my tray. “Put some of that bread on the plate.”
The bread was still warm and smelled good enough to remind me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.
He set the second plate down and I added two slices of bread to it, too.
“You’re good to go,” he said.
I’d never waited tables. Not once. My part-time college work had consisted of working as a receptionist and a file clerk at a bank.
The offending tray wobbled as I lifted it.
Theo laughed. “You’ll get used to it, ma chérie.”
I seriously doubted I would ever get used to it.
Something in Brooklyn’s plan for me had gone awry.
I had been instructed to play the part of a wealthy widow.
Yet somehow I was serving food in a saloon.
I didn’t mind.
As long as I wasn’t mistaken for a woman of “Ill-repute” or forced to live on the streets, I could manage.
As I approached the handsome man at the bar, my heart skipped a beat.
But this. This was another matter entirely.
CHAPTER 13
HARRISON
I tapped my fingers against the cool wood of the bar as I waited for Ashlyn to return.
Another girl, one of the saloon girls, went over to the table with the nicely dressed couple and asked if they needed anything.
It could have been a fluke that Ashlyn had brought their food. I imagined all sorts of reasons that could happen.
As the owner’s daughter, maybe she had just been helping out. She was obviously not practiced in the art of serving. She’d not only walked slowly, but the tray had been wobbly in her hand. And I just happened to be here at the right.
I was fully prepared to go in search of her if she didn’t come back posthaste.
“Need anything?” the bartender asked.
“Just waiting for my supper,” I said. “Ashlyn? Is she the server?”
The bartender scowled. “The new girl. Didn’t know her name. I’ll get onto her. She needs to shape up.”
“No.” I stood up and stretched a hand across the bar to stop him. “How much?”
He looked at me a moment. “I don’t think she’s a prostitute. But I can ask.”
“No,” I said again. “How much for her to have dinner with me?”
The bartender nodded. Asking for female companionship wasn’t unusual. Men did it all the time.
“Ten dollars,” he said. “for one hour.”
That was steep. He knew he had me. I sat back, knowing I would have paid five times that.
“Take it or leave it,” the bartender said. “Got to use my girl to pick up the slack.”
“Two hours,” I said. “For fifteen dollars.”
The bartender held out his hand.
I pulled some bills out of my pocket and pressed them into his hand.
He stuffed them into his own pocket. I didn’t trust him. But I needed some time with Ashlyn.
Needed to find out who she was so I knew what I was dealing with. To know what I needed to do to take her home with me.
But for now I had her for two hours.
That was a good start.
I waited impatiently for another five minutes before I caught sight of her walking toward me, slowly, a tray with two plates in her hands.
I jumped up and took the tray from her. “Let me carry this,” I said.
Her eyes darted to the bartender. “I think it’s my job.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve taken care of it.” I set the tray on a table next to the window, as far away from everyone else I could get.
Ashlyn hesitated as though remembering that she was supposed to be the server, moved forward and unpacked the tray, putting a plate at each place.
“Drinks?”
“I’ll get them,” I said, pulling out one of the chairs and sweeping a hand across it. “Please. Sit.”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “I’m not supposed to do that.”
“It’s customary here in Rio Vista Pass for the server to sit with the customer if requested.”
The confusion that crossed her features was charming. And my words had the effect I’d hoped for.
The bartender had called her the new girl. So as I reflected on that, I determined that she wasn’t someone’s daughter, but actually a traveler not from here. Much like me.
And like me, how was she to know what the customs here actually were?
I held her chair as she sat.
“What can I get you to drink?” I asked.
“Water please.” She laced her gloved hands in her lap and waited while I went to the bar to order two glasses of water and a whiskey for myself.
Leaning an elbow against the bar, I watched her while I waited.
Though she sat perfectly still, her eyes never rested.
She constantly scanned the room. The door. Even movement outside the window.
If she were a man, I would have thought that she had been in the war.
She carried the same wariness about her as men who had seen battle.
Mon Dieu.
This only made her more interesting to me.
More intriguing.
CHAPTER 14
ASHLYN
My world had been turned upside down and sent spiraling out of control.
I was completely confused and out of my element.
The customer, the handsome man, had turned things around so that he was serving me.
He said this was customary in Rio Vista Pass.
I thought this was some kind of nonsense, but I couldn’t afford to risk making a scene.
The last thing I needed was to have attention drawn in my direction.
Some of the men playing poker laughed loudly, their voices carrying over the lively piano music. The game looked a lot more peaceful than the way they were depicted in the movies. Perhaps peacefulness didn’t make good fiction.
There was a haze of cigar smoke, but it didn’t bother me.
After he set the glasses in front of us and sat across from me, I smiled.
“I don’t even know your name,” I said.
He returned my smile. “Harrison Monroe,” he said.
“Well.” I picked up my glass of water. “Thank you Mr. Monroe.”
“I insist that you call me Harrison.”
I nodded once. “Harrison.”
He was drinking something that had to be whiskey.
“Please. Eat.”
I took a bite of the bread and ate some of the potatoes. Both were better than I expected.
I avoided the chunk of pork on my plate. Was I the only vegetarian in the 1800s?
It was probably a little late to worry about something like this. Perhaps no one would notice. I was also able to find something to eat without eating meat.
My glove was getting damp from the condensation on the water glass.
I look around. The lady at the other table was not wearing her gloves. In fact, it looked like they were in her lap.
Well, it was too late to fix it this time. I would remember next time, though, to take my gloves off before eating.
“Is the pork not to your liking?” Harrison asked, setting down his fork. “I can see if they have something else.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Please don’t. I can’t eat another bite.”
Relaxing back against his chair, he watched me over his whiskey glass.
Someone, a cowboy, came through the saloon door and my gaze automatically shifted in that direction.
“Are you okay?” Harrison asked. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Are you hiding from someone?”
My eyes widened. Was it so obvious then?
I was supposed to be a wealthy widow, but at the moment, I didn’t much feel like a widow, much less a wealthy one. I wasn’t even quite sure how a wealthy widow would handle this situation.
I did, however, know what it was like to hide from someone.
And Brooklyn wasn’t here to guide me. I was on my own.
“Yes,” I said and lowered my gaze.
But I was in 1869 and Jeremy couldn’t find me here.
CHAPTER 15
HARRISON
Ashlyn hadn’t removed her gloves before drinking or eating.
A tell-tale sign.
She was lying.
A lady always removed her gloves before eating or drinking.
Ashlyn didn’t seem to know this.
Yet she was dressed as lady of substantial wealth.
It was a disconnect I was having a hard time sorting out.
She removed the glove from her right hand with some difficulty.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
She just looked at me. As though she didn’t know what to say.
“East,” she said, turning her glove right side out and settling it in her lap.
A vague answer that covered just about everyone here. Everyone was from the east in one form or another unless they’d been born here.
“I’m from Birmingham,” I said, hoping to put her at ease.
“Oh,” she said.
The next question people usually asked was about the war. But she didn’t ask it.
“Are you from the north?” I asked. She didn’t sound southern, but definitely sounded educated.
“Boston,” she said softly, with a quick glance around.
“Your secret is safe with me.” I decided to stop asking her questions. I didn’t like making her uncomfortable.
As she sipped her water, I noticed that her fingernails were painted a deep red.
I’d never seen a lady with painted fingernails. It added another level to her mysteriousness and oddly enough, made her seem even more elegant.
“I should probably clean this up,” she said.
I shook my head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve paid for your company for two hours.”
Her eyes widened and she froze with her glass halfway to her lips.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That isn’t how it’s supposed to work.”
“What do you mean?”
She set the glass down and slid her chair back.
She met my gaze for just a moment before looking away again. “I can’t do this.”
Before I knew what she was about, she’d stood up and, gathering up her skirts, darted to the door leading outside.
I raced after her, but she was already out the door and down the street before I caught up with her. The girl could move fast.
The early evening moon was bright and large, illuminating the craggily rocky mountain tops.
