After the church service with Rosa and her own private worship time, Ruth could think of no better way to spend her Sunday than at the saloon sowing seeds that she hoped would take root. She was making plans to hold a service in Santa Fe because there was no better place to start with mission work than right where you were.

Her eyes surveyed the saloon crowd when she went in. Kid wasn't there. She felt a measure relief and unexpected disappointment at the knowledge of this fact. She'd become rather used to being shadowed by him. Her eyes lighted on a painting of a nude woman that hung on the wall. She hadn't noticed it before, but she'd seen better days as she was riddled with bullets that made it a little less scandalous to look at. Nonetheless, her eyes quickly found a new focal point.

Her mother frequently told her that she lacked tact. Her father said it was born of an honest spirit. Whatever the reason, Ruth knew of no other way to bring people to the Lord but to charge through and say what needed to be said. Above the den of noise, she announced, "I'm holding a revival this Saturday evening to help Santa Fe remember the Lord and His power. If you got any kin that's feeling poorly, bring them and see what the Lord can do for those who trust in Him."

The way the silence fell, one would have thought she had announced she was about to blow the place sky high. Then laughter descended instead.

One man called out, "So you're one of them phony faith healers then."

There were a few murmurs of they wouldn't miss it, but it wasn't because they expected to see any healing take place. They expected it to be a funny display by a fraud.

Her temper rose. "If you don't believe, it's better you don't come. He can't heal you if you don't have the faith for it."

There were more disparaging marks thrown her way, and then 3 men encircled her. She backed up until she stumbled against a chair.

One grinned at her with his crooked teeth. "Not so uppity without your shield, are you, honey?"

"We'll see just how virtuous you are when we get done," another said, his tone implying improper things.

The other didn't say a word but the smirk on his face did the talking for him.

They pressed closer, leaving her no space for escape, but then one of the saloon girls broke through the circle and took her by the arm. "Boys, you've had your fun. I don't think any of you really want to make Kid angry."

Without waiting for a reply, she led Ruth up the stairs to her room. "You'll be safe in here."

"Not that I'm not grateful, but why are you helping me?" Ruth asked.

"You're Kid Cole's girl," she said simply.

"I most certainly am not. I ain't nobody's girl."

"Feisty. No wonder he loves you," she said with a melodious laugh.

"I don't know where you're getting your information from, but he doesn't love me."

"That's not what word around the saloon is. He's not been visiting the girls as much as he used to. What does that tell you?"

"I don't know, but I know we don't even get along when we're together. We generally end up fighting. Really," she insisted when she saw Carla's smile.

"I believe you, but you don't work long in this business before you can spot the difference between love and lust, and trust me the boy's got it for you bad. I don't think he even knows it yet, but he will." Carla moved toward the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, not sure she wanted to be abandoned after the incident downstairs.

"To see if I can go settle some of them boys down. Keep the door locked, and I'll sneak you out the back door when things quiet down."

"How are you going to do that?"

"You'd be surprised how a little leg can calm a man down or at least get his mind going in another direction. Maybe you should try it the next time you and Kid get into a fight. I guarantee you he'll forget why you and he were fighting if you lift your skirt up a bit."

She left Ruth feeling more than a little shocked, but thinking it over she was sure the woman had only been teasing, especially about Kid loving her. She studied the room. Unlike the gaudy saloon, the room was simple: a bed, a washstand, and a trunk. It could have been a room at the boardinghouse except that it wasn't.

Ruth jumped when there was a knock at the door, and she didn't know if she should answer the door or not. It could be Carla returning, but she hadn't been gone but for a minute or two.

The knock sounded again. "Miss Carla, I know you're in there. Open up!" She recognized the slurred voice immediately and went to the door.

"God have mercy, I'm seeing that blasted woman now. What do they put in that whiskey? I know I could taste some chewing tobacco, but it shouldn't bring on a hallucination like this."

She was offended. Was seeing her the nightmare that he was making it out to be? "You need His mercy with talk like that."

"You even sound like her," he said with a laugh. His arms suddenly enclosed her, the smell of alcohol assaulting her nose. She was so stunned that at first she didn't know how to react. Then his hands lowered and Ruth instinctively slapped him.

The sting must have proved that she wasn't a figment his mind had conjured up in place of Carla. He immediately let go of her. "It is you. What the devil are you doing in here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said.

"I think you know what I'm doing in here. The question is what are you doing in here."

Her arms folded and her eyes were flashing. She did know what he was doing here, and it filled her anger, and she wasn't so sure that it was entirely righteous anger. "I'm sharing the gospel."

"To Carla?"

"To as many as will listen. I'm going to have my first meeting Saturday. You coming?"

"No, and quit trying to change the subject. Why are you up here in Carla's room?" he repeated again.

"It got a little rowdy down there," she admitted. "She's letting me stay here until it's safe for me to leave."

He swore under his breath. "Didn't I tell you the saloon ain't the place for a lady?"

"It ain't the place for nobody," she said stubbornly.

"Who was it that bothered you? I'll make sure it doesn't happen again." He reached for his gun, but it clattered to the floor as he tried pulling it out, having lost most of his fine motor control.

"More likely you'll end up shooting yourself," she muttered. "What are you doing to yourself, brother?"

"The name's Kid; I ain't your brother."

"You ain't my kid neither. Don't keep me from worrying about you."

"Well, you got plenty to do worrying about yourself." He intended to leave in a huff, but his stagger didn't quite do the trick.

She clicked her tongue chidingly and shook her head. "You can hardly even stand up."

"I wasn't planning on needing to do a lot of standing."

She ignored his crass remark that she knew was meant to make her leave in a huff instead. "You need to be in your own bed to sleep it off is what you need."

"Who's going to take me there? You?"

"If I have to," she said, opening the door to show she was ready.

He seemed to forget his anger and followed her out. They slipped out the back. Ruth gave a wave to Carla as they passed. No one else noticed them as Carla was providing the distraction she'd promised.

Although he hadn't exactly been stealthy through the building, the outside seemed to free him, and he began belting out a tune.

"Why, fair Maid in every feature,
Are such signs of fear expressed?
Can a wandering wretched Creature
With such terror fill thy breast
Do my brazened looks alarm thee vain
Not for kingdoms would I harm thee
Alarm not then poor CRAZY JANE"

She was sure they made quite a picture, bobbing and weaving across the street with him caterwauling that awful folk song, and she had the distinct feeling she was Crazy Jane.

The alcohol seemed to be catching up with him full force as he was leaning on her heavily by the time they reached the door of his hotel room. "I don't feel too good," he said with a moan.

"You wouldn't, would you?" she retorted with little sympathy. "There's a cure for it, you know: stop drinking." She held out her hand for the key, which he dug for in his pocket and handed over.

"You ever tried drinking, Ruth?" he asked, seemingly forgetting his pain.

"Can't say that I have," she said distractedly as unlocking the door was harder than it should have been with him hanging all over her.

He giggled sounding very boyish. "You don't know the fun you're missing."

She looked at his reddened eyes, his unsteady posture, his sweaty sheen, and knew he was probably moments away from relieving his stomach of its contents. "Yeah, you sure look like you're having a whole barrel of fun."

Having successfully opened the door, she led him over to the bed. He flopped onto it. She wasn't about to undress him. He'd just have to sleep in his clothes. She pulled the blanket up to cover him.

He grabbed her hand when it got close enough for him to reach. "You're beautiful, you know that? You look like an angel. You are an angel."

"And you really are drunk," she muttered half with amusement and half with irritation.

She didn't think he heard her because he had shut his eyes and fallen into a deep sleep.

He had thrown his jacket onto the floor on his way to the bed. She picked it up and reached into his inside pocket to get the silver flask she knew he kept there. It was still half-full.

She opened the window and let the liquid from the flask hit the dusty road. Then she did a thorough search of his room and found 2 more bottles. She emptied those too.

He would be angry when he woke up in the morning and found his liquor gone, but it was for his own good. Too much drink made people say and do things they wouldn't normally do, immoral and dangerous things, and it destroyed lives. And besides that, if people really drew on him as much as he said they did, he had no business being in an intoxicated state because even the fastest draw in the west wasn't fast when he was drunk. Just let him be angry. He didn't scare her one bit.