Most women would have avoided going by the saloon at all, but Sister Ruth wasn't most women, and she didn't alter her path.
Hank was leaning against the doorway as if he had been waiting to ambush her, an impression that was confirmed when he reached out and grabbed her arm.
"Can I help you, brother?"
"You and me are going to have ourselves a little chat," he said, pushing her through the swinging doors into the saloon. "No Kid Cole around to get in my way this time," he taunted.
The words cut. She couldn't pretend they didn't. Just being in the saloon again sent a sudden wave of pain sweeping over her as it brought back the bittersweet memory of her first real meeting with Kid Cole. She remembered how her heart had beaten faster over the gentlemanly protection he had shown, making her feel young and attractive again, and even then she had felt their lives beginning to intertwine.
Coming back to reality when she smelled the strong stench of cigar smoke, unbathed men, cheap liquor, and cheap perfume all rolled into one, she replied, "I've still got the Lord's protection, brother, but it seems like then you were trying to keep me out, not in. What's this all about?"
"Sit down and find out," he said, gesturing to a table in the corner.
Knowing if she didn't sit down she would probably be pushed down, she took a seat.
He used a hand to put two empty glasses on the table and the other to pour the whiskey from his bottle. The casual front he was showing belied the anger seething just below the surface. "I know I told you I don't normally serve women, but I feel like making an exception today." The amber liquid swished over the top as he pushed it toward her.
"Well, I still don't drink," she said, pushing the glass back. "No exceptions."
"There's nothing like a little whiskey to help cure you of your troubles," he said with a catlike smile, as he sat down with her. "You must be hurting right now. It'd help you before you could get to the bottom of the glass, Widow Cole."
For just a second, she could feel the temptation. How wonderful would it be to erase the pain even for a night, but there would be no joy in the morning. If anything, she would feel worse. "'Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine'," a verse she repeated more to herself than to Hank. "God's the only lasting cure. You didn't get me in here to talk about Kid Cole or to try to get me drunk, so what is it?"
Pushing his own glass away after draining it and letting the façade fall, he said, "We got enough filthy Indian lovers around here already."
"I thought that's what it might be about," she said, easing back into her chair. "Why should it worry you?"
"Because they're going straight to hell every last one of them, no matter what you do. Trying to give them our religion is like giving a bottle of fine wine to a dog, it's wasted and you desecrate it in the process. The only such thing as a good Indian is one that's rotting in hell."
Her eyes full of sorrow, she said, "They're not the only ones on the road to hell right now."
Flipping his hair back, and all too aware of who it was she meant, he said with humor, "Maybe I am, but it's a fun road to be on."
Sister Ruth set her Bible onto her lap, so that she could lean closer to Hank. "What puzzles me is that you've made it clear where you stand with God. If you're not one of the flock, why do you care if some of the lost lambs find their way back to the Shepherd?"
With deadly calm, he answered, "I'm just thinking of all the innocents they've murdered, women and children they've slaughtered and scalped, who would be repulsed at what you're trying to do. Didn't you almost find yourself in their number on one Thanksgiving? Well, even an old sinner like me can find time to execute some justice when I'm not busy enjoying my sins. No telling what might happen to you if you get in the way of some of that justice."
"You're not really enjoying being a slave to sin, leastways not in the times when it's quiet, and it's just you and God," she said matter of factly. "You think I can't see it, but I see your misery, brother."
He glared at her murderously in response. "If you weren't a woman, I'd drive my fist right into your nose for that comment."
"If I wasn't god-fearing, I might have already beat you to it for some of your earlier comments."
He let out a dry chuckle. "Not as holy as you claim, are you?"
"No one's holy but God." She looked him boldly in the eyes in a way that made Hank squirm and lose his amusement. It didn't help that the saloon had stilled to an eerie quiet to hear the conversation. "God's still calling your name patiently and lovingly, Hank Lawson, missing you something fierce, but one of these days, the calls are going to stop. You better find out what it is you're missing before then." She got up and escorted herself out before he could do a lot of reacting.
"Too many pigheaded women in this town," Hank grumbled, as he made his way back to the bar.
"Them evangelists is funny to listen to even for all their hell and brimstone preaching," one customer said with a chuckle.
"She sure gave Hank a run for his money. You have to give her that," his companion said, laughing with him.
"Shut up," Hank said with a snarl. "Another snicker out of any of you drunks and you'll find this glass bottle shattering down around your ears."