She got off the stagecoach one afternoon and you couldn't help but notice her. She was tall and lithe, built like a woman that would attract all manner of men, with dark black curls and startling blue eyes. She came with only one small suitcase, and she came alone. The desk clerk at the Little Bend Hotel looked up to see her standing in front of him and was sure he'd died and gone to heaven. It wasn't just that she was pretty; a lot of pretty women had come and gone in this town. There was something about her, something delicate and fragile, but with a backbone of steel. And when she smiled, a man didn't know whether to fall in love or get out of her way.
"Yes, I'd like a room, please," she told the clerk, who had to remind himself to close his mouth before he tried to speak.
"Yes, ma'am. And will your husband be joining you?"
"I have no husband, sir, I am a widow."
How sad, he thought. A creature so lovely, and so young, to already be a widow. He watched her sign the register. Mrs. Josephine Whitlock. "And how long will you be staying, Mrs. Whitlock?"
"Indefinitely, sir."
"I have a lovely room upstairs in the corner, with a view of the entire town. It comes with a sitting room. Would that be sufficient for your needs?"
"Quite sufficient, Mr. . . ?"
"Green, ma'am. Herbert Green. That will be room two-zero-one, and if you will allow me I will take your bag upstairs and unlock the room for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Green, that shan't be necessary." She took the key from his hand, picked up her suitcase and climbed the stairs. He watched her until she disappeared. He'd never seen anything like her in his entire life, and he couldn't wait to tell Betty Lou when she came by to pick up the outgoing mail.
Mrs. Josephine Whitlock unlocked the door to room two-zero-one and was surprisingly pleased with the accommodations. The two small rooms were bright and airy, much nicer than she had expected in a Texas town that was growing by leaps and bounds. Yes, this would do. It would do nicely.