Emily raised her chin one more notch, sucked in a breath and made her way to the bar. She knew the exact moment that the men in the saloon noticed her presence. There was a heartbeat of excruciating silence followed by an explosion of voices. The crowd in front of the bar parted to allow her access. She marched directly forward, looking neither left nor right, until she could press her hands against the arm rail, then cleared her throat.
“Mr. MacIntyre, may I have a word with you?”
At the sound of her voice, the crowd grew quiet again. Lucas MacIntyre stood with his back to the room, polishing a freshly washed glass. In the time it took him to turn to look at her, she was able to surreptitiously glance about, noticing that while the smell of liquor and cigars was most unpleasant, the saloon was much tidier than she had imagined. The floor appeared to be freshly swept and the glasses were clean. Perhaps Mr. MacIntyre was a man with whom she could reason.
He turned slowly, first putting down the glass then taking the two steps to the bar. It was only when he reached the polished wood that he settled his gaze on her.
She knew the man by reputation but wasn’t sure she’d ever actually seen him around town. Or if she had, she’d never really looked at him. He was tall and broad shouldered, which she already knew, but he was also handsome. Sinfully so. He had strong features with large, dark blue eyes and a full-lipped mouth topped by a silky brown moustache.
He looked her up and down, as if she was some kind of horse for sale, then he smiled.
“I’m going to guess you’re lost, ma’am. Because you don’t look like you’re from Miss Cherry’s and no other female would dare set foot in a saloon. Maybe you’re looking for the Ladies Social Club. They meet on the first and third Wednesday of the month, over at the church.”
Emily heard the sounds of male laughter. She felt her face grow hot and her limbs begin to tremble more. But she couldn’t speak, nor could she move from her spot on the wood floor. It wasn’t his words that kept her firmly in place; it was his smile.
Lucas MacIntyre’s smile had transformed his face from just handsome to impossibly attractive. Tiny lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and there was a hint of a dimple in both his cheeks. He looked teasing and irreverent at the same time. Emily knew she should be outraged and insulted, but all she could think was that she’d never seen a man smile quite like Mr. MacIntyre.
“I…” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to remember what she’d wanted to say. In all her twenty-six years she’d never been as affected by a man. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid it was going to jump right out of her chest.
“Mr. MacIntyre, I assure you I am not lost. I wish to speak with you for a moment.”
Lucas gave her another smile, this one not quite so bright. “No offense, ma’am, but you don’t look like the type to be bringing a man good news, so I’d rather say good-afternoon and suggest you go on your way.” Then he turned and walked to the far end of the bar.
Emily practically sputtered. How rude! How ungentlemanly of him, although she shouldn’t be surprised. Manners were a rare commodity in the West, as she’d learned in the nearly two years she’d been in Colorado. She was also used to being dismissed and ignored by men, although that unpleasant activity had begun long before she’d left Ohio. Emily was a realist. She knew she wasn’t a pretty woman, nor was her appearance the kind to command attention or respect. She’d had to struggle to make herself heard more times than she liked to remember. Most of the time she no longer even bothered. But this was different. This was her future and her dream and she wasn’t about to let this bear of a saloon owner upset her perfect plan.
“Mr. MacIntyre,” she said in as loud a voice as she could manage, then headed for the far end of the bar.
The crowd was thicker there, and the men less likely to let her through. She found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to push between people when her polite “Excuse me” was ignored.
Conversation spilled over her. She ignored the swear-words, the calls of the gamblers on the far side of the room and the odor of too many unwashed bodies. Fortunately Mr. MacIntyre was tall enough that she could easily see him over the heads of his patrons. She moved steadily toward him, only to have him suddenly move back the way she’d come. She was forced to stop and turn herself.
“Excuse me,” she said, trying to squeeze past two miners drinking beer.
Before she knew what was happening, they’d trapped her neatly between them, their heavy bodies pressing against hers. One of them put down his drink and grabbed both her arms.
“Not so fast, little lady,” he said, his voice slurred from the alcohol. “Seems to me if you want to keep brushing against a man the way you are, you have to be ready to accept the consequences.” The last word broke on a hiccup.
Emily turned her head from the horrible stench of his breath. “Unhand me, sir,” she demanded, not exactly afraid but not comfortable, either. She didn’t like the way the man’s fingers seemed to be squeezing her arm, or his nearness, not to mention the closeness of his friend behind her.
“Don’t you sound real uppity,” the man said, his narrow eyes squinting at her. “What’d you think, Bill? She’s got a mouth on her, which I ain’t fond of with any woman. And she’s skinny and ugly.”
Emily gasped as a hand settled on that part of her she didn’t even like to think the name of. That place where she sat. She tried to speak, but all that came out of her mouth was a high-pitched squeal.
“You know,” the one named Bill said, “if we wait until dark, we won’t have to see her face anymore, and if we’re drunk enough, we won’t care that she’s as bony as an old mule.”
Emily didn’t have time to think or react. Suddenly a large hand settled on the shoulder of the man in front of her. The man looked startled, then he was flying through the air, landing on a table and crashing into the ground. She caught a glimpse of Mr. MacIntyre turning toward the one called Bill. That miner went sailing across the room, as well.
Emily couldn’t catch her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say as she started to thank her rescuer. But before she could speak, a different man threw a punch toward Mr. MacIntyre and the fight was on.
Fists flew, bodies tumbled, men grunted, yelled and cursed. And Emily was trapped in the middle of the fray. She told herself she needed to get out of the saloon as quickly as possible, but the swinging doors seemed so far away. She huddled close to the bar, trying to stay out of the way. But when a strange man reached for her, she reacted instinctively. She grabbed a bottle from the bar and crashed it over the man’s head.
At that same instant, she saw a flash of movement. Something hard and horribly painful connected with her eye. She yelped in pain. Stars appeared in her head. She felt her lower limbs starting to give way when she suddenly recognized the man she’d assaulted with the bottle. Her last thought before the blackness reached up to grab her was that she’d accidentally cracked a bottle over the head of the local deputy.
* * *
Lucas didn’t remember ever visiting a woman in jail. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering now. Miss Emily Smythe—former schoolteacher and spinster—had gotten herself in plenty of trouble without any help from him. It wasn’t his fault she’d hit Deputy Wilson over the head with a bottle of Lucas’s most expensive Scotch. Hell, he wasn’t even going to make her pay for the liquor. And he was sure
