1888

Eliza wiped her hands on her apron and stood upright from cleaning a spill on a table. Amidst the sparse lively noises of a weeknight at Peroni's saloon and with wet rag in hand, she eyed the bar counter and wondered if she could get there before Peroni barked at her to wipe it, as he usually did about this time. She decided to make a rush for it and swept around behind the counter in time to hear him grumble, "Eliza, get—" When he looked over, she was already there. She looked at him and smiled. He raised his eyebrows and continued about his business.

As she proceeded to wipe the counter, she noticed the single patron sitting at the bar, looking lonely and forlorn. He seemed young, but not too young. She guessed late twenties, maybe early thirties. He was brawny and sturdy, but lean, and the material of his shirt was taut around his shoulders as he hunched over his drink. Something about him was ragged and wild—in a way that was unusual for the town of Misty Willow.

She tried not to watch as he thumbed the rim of his shot glass. That was her first clue he was different. Shots were for getting down, not lingering and thinking.

When he looked up at her, she was stunned by the color of his eyes: vivid blue with a ring of green—or was that golden amber?—around the center. She quickly looked away.

As she went back to work, he rested his knuckles against his temple and moved his eyes with her. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Eliza."

"Eliza…" he said. "That's a nice name."

"Don't think I've seen you in here before."

"No, you wouldn't have. I'm not from…around here."

"In town long?"

He shook his head. "Just for the night. Back on the road tomorrow."

"What is it you do, mister?"

He threw back the shot and set the glass on the counter, then returned to the stein of stout he had nearby. "That's privileged information."

"Ah," she smiled. She could tell he had no idea how easy he was to size up. "Well, you don't look like a farmer or ranch hand, and you're certainly not the professional type." She dried her hands on a rag and gestured to his belt. "So judgin' by that iron on your hip, that leaves either some kind of a law man, or an outside-of-the-law man."

He looked down to where she'd pointed, then quickly looked back up and squinted at her. "You're a perceptive one, I'll give you that. Very sharp kid. I'll leave you to decide which it is." As she bent for something under the counter he followed with, "Although—law man and outlaw man—sometimes, they're not so clear-cut, you know. Sometimes, the two kinda blend together."

"Ah, so outlaw it is then," she smiled brightly as she came back up.

His brows scrunched together for a moment in frustration at having given himself away, and he grumbled and went back to his drink.

"No self-respecting law man would ever say such a thing." She couldn't help but grin at his reaction to her ability to peg him perfectly. "Don't worry," she chuckled. "I won't tell anyone, mister. Your not-so-secret is safe with me."

"Ah, you don't got a nice beau you can tell so he can come in here and try to whoop my ass?" he said taking another swig.

She laughed and bit her lip, trying not to blush. "No. No beau," she said quietly. It wasn't as if the regulars hadn't teased her about whether she had a beau. She never paid them any mind. But somehow this one was getting to her.

"Oh. Too bad," he said looking off into distance. "I might've enjoyed whoopin' his ass." He looked back at her with a quick wink.

She smiled and shook her head as she continued wiping the countertop.

"You don't have to call me mister, by the way. Name's Arthur," he said, sipping from his stein.

Arthur… She smiled and tried not to dwell on the way she was feeling under his gaze. It felt like there were quiet embers glowing in her chest. When she looked back up at him, his bright eyes and relaxed smirk were nothing but kindling to the flame.

A strand of her blonde hair fell out of her bun and into her face. She tried to brush it back, but it was no use.

"So what's a young kid like you doin' workin' in a place like this?" he said.

"I'm not so very young. Nineteen," she said with a dip of her chin and a smirk as she took his empty shot glasses. "Oh," she sighed, "I shouldn't be here."

"What, is this not your shift?"

"No, no. You just asked why I'm workin' here, didn't you?" she chuckled at him. "No, I mean, I shouldn't be stuck in this position, workin' in this saloon," she said, feeling her familiar sense of loss and frustration bubble to the surface.

She watched him raise the stein and press the cool glass to his right temple as he listened to her.

"This is not the way my life was supposed to turn out," she said. "I had big plans: dreams of going to college," she smiled, "studyin' somethin'. Maybe music so I could be a grand singer, or literature so I could teach all them books. Or maybe medicine so I could become a nurse. I never got so far as decidin' which." Her smile slowly fell. "But—"

"Fall on hard times?"

She nodded and looked down.

"Ain't we all," he said as he drank from his glass. "Where are your parents?" he asked.

"Dead and gone," she said, fighting the gruesome memories of failing to nurse them back to health. "Just last year."

"Mm. Sorry to hear that," he said. "So you're on your own. Now I understand why you're workin' here."

"Just doin' what I can to get by. Turns out I ain't half bad at that."

Having already picked up the debris on the counter, she vigorously pulled her rag back and forth across the countertop in quick sweeping motions, knowing her face would never shine back at her there.

"No," she heard him mumble on the tail-end of a sigh, "you ain't like any other waitress, are you?"

She looked at him as he raised the glass to his mouth. "What's that supposed to mean?" she scoffed. "Do you always speak your thoughts aloud when you're drunk?"

"You should hear me when I'm sober. And I ain't awfully drunk. Not yet, anyway. I plan to have still another of these after this one." He took a big gulp and set the glass back down. "Naw, it ain't a bad thing," he tried to reassure her, raising his eyebrows as he got back to the subject. "Every waitress I've ever come across has her bosoms half spillin' out and only wants to get in your pants, both pockets and…otherwise."

"Oh, god." Her eyebrows came together as she shook her head at him. ""You really must be sober."

He pointed at her. "Darlin', I just paid you a compliment," he said matter-of-factly. "Learn to know one when you get one."

She caught sight of a man at a table waving her down to order drinks. "I'll try to remember that," she laughed. "Very nice meetin' you, Arthur," she smiled brightly. She noticed him sit up straight and watch as she walked away.

"Yeah," he said hazily. "Nice meetin' you too."

When Eliza took the man's order and turned around to head back to the bar, Arthur was standing in front of her. She jumped and gasped.

"You know…" he began, "you never asked me if I had a beau. Er—a sweetheart, I mean."

She tried not to smile. "Ain't my place. I just serve the drinks, mister."

"Ar—"

"Arthur," she caught herself before he could correct her.

"Well ain't you just the least bit curious?"

"Don't get paid to be curious," she said, turning to carry empty glasses back to the bar.

He followed her. "Well if I were you I would be."

"Well good thing I ain't you," she chuckled as she went behind the counter and unloaded her glasses.

"You talk a lot of bluster, but I think you are curious."

She turned to face him. "Look, Mr. Arthur—"

"Drop the 'mister,' would you?" He waved a hand, his expression briefly annoyed. "No need for formalities. And I know I might not look it, but I ain't more than a handful of years older than you."

"Don't matter. I got a job to do. If you've got a brain in that skull of yours, you can see that. I don't need you distractin' me."

"Oh, I'm distractin' you, am I?" he said with a grin. "So it's workin'."

She rolled her eyes at him and fought a grin as she left the bar with rag in hand. Delia, the only other waitress in the saloon and the one who'd gotten Eliza her job, caught up to her as they passed each other.

"You've got a lonesome little pup followin' you around tonight, looks like," she whispered with a smile. "Never seen one follow so close. He's a looker under all that rough and tumble."

Eliza's voice caught in her throat. She reached up and pulled a tiny feather out of Delia's bright red hair, something that must've fallen on her when she was outside. She blew it and twirled it between her fingers.

"I'm just sayin'," Delia continued, "For once I wouldn't mind that attention. Tonight the night, Eliza?"

Her eyes went wide, and she bit her lip at the sound of Delia's giggle as she turned and walked away.

"'Do you have a sweetheart?'" she heard Arthur's gravelly voice as he came up behind her. "It's a simple question. I'm just waitin'. I'm just waitin' on you to ask me!"

She scoffed as she wiped an empty table. "Seems to me it wouldn't make no difference if you did have one." She turned at the sound of trickling laughter and realized the two of them were now being watched by some of the saloon patrons, making their conversation partly an exhibition. She tried to continue about her business, going to the bar to retrieve the drinks Peroni had made and bringing them back to the table.

"Come on, honey, ask me," Arthur said, standing at the other side of the table. "Ask me if I got a sweetheart."

"No need. I doubt anyone like you could get one," she said, prompting a round of low oohs from the men at the table.

One of them piped up: "Aw, come on, hun. Look at the poor bastard. Put him out of his misery. One quick little peck couldn't hurt."

"Yeah…right," she said as she set the drinks one by one on the table. "Give 'em an inch, and they take a mile," she said glaring at Arthur.

"Jesus! She's a tough one, ain't she?" Arthur said to the men at the table.

"You got no idea!" came a holler from another table. "You picked the wrong waitress, partner. Ain't nothin' doin'. She's got it sewn up tight."

She felt her face go hot. She was used to men trying to get handsy, and he wasn't. But this was almost worse.

He rushed to her side, and the scents of tanned leather and whiskey filled her nose. She looked up and found herself eye-to-eye with him, and was shocked to find that as he'd said, he was nowhere near as drunk as she'd thought he was based on his behavior. His eyes were bright and crystal clear. Her breath caught when she realized that as deeply as she looked into them, they could look right back. She couldn't hide her own eyes.

She quickly looked away and briskly headed to the hallway in the back for a moment alone.

Arthur smirked at the gents sitting at the table. "Should I go back there, ya think?"

They all laughed heartily, and he nodded.

"Hey," one hollered as he made for the back. "Grab her by the waist and plant a sloppy one on her for me, would ya?"

Eliza leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath, holding her waist. She was terrified by how attracted she was to him.

When she saw him come down the hallway, her stomach jumped. But he simply came and leaned against the wall beside her.

He got close but never touched her. "Come on, darlin'. You're the prettiest gal in the place."

She couldn't help but smile at him. "There's only one other gal in the place."

He looked up, catching himself and dipping his chin. "Well, you're the prettiest gal on the block."

Her smile brightened as she watched him struggle to come up with something charming.

"If the place were full to the brim with—with…opera…s-singers…"

Her brows came together, and she let out a laugh.

"You'd still be the prettiest."

She gave a chuckle through her nose. "I don't think you'd know pretty if it stepped on your boot." She shook her head at him.

"Oh, come on!" he said. "Quit horsin' around."

"Oh, you of all people would know about that, wouldn't ya, cowboy?" She grinned at him, and a wide smile grew on his face signaling his hopes were buoyed. The curve of his mouth was like a hook, and she was the unfortunate fish.

When their hands brushed, she swallowed hard. Her breathing hastened when she saw him lean in for a kiss. "You-you just stay a foot away from me," she said pointing to the other side of the hallway. "Please. Please, I'm serious," she begged.

"Okay, all right," he said with his hands up, taking a step back. "I can do that."

"This job is all I have," she said. "I can't…I just can't do this here."

"I understand," he nodded, letting his hands drop. "Well do you work all night?"

She shook her head. "I'm off in about half an hour," she said quietly.

"Well I'll walk you home then. There's…folk of all kind with dubious morals, come out at night, you know. Can't be too careful. You'll let me walk you home, won't ya?"

She nodded slowly, unable to open her mouth. "Mm…mm-hmm."

When she left the hallway and went back into the main bar area, she kept her eyes down but felt her face go warm when the men started whooping and hollering, teasing her mercilessly.

"Well that was fast!" one of them shouted when Arthur followed behind her.

"All right, all right, that's enough for one evening, gentlemen," he said lifting a hand a patting the air to defuse them. "You are gentlemen, ain't ya? Let's let this little lady get back to work in peace. She does have a job to do."

She looked back at him and he winked at her, prompting a smile she couldn't hide if she'd tried.

He sat and kept his eyes on her while she worked, and half an hour later he grabbed his jacket as she headed for the door.

He cleared his throat as she pulled her coat close against the evening chill. "Off we go then," he said. "After you."

She stepped off the porch and headed in the direction of home, and she was pleased to find he didn't tail behind her like a stalker, but rather fell in step beside her. A thought crossed her mind, and she paused. "Um, you should know…I live in a boarding house," she said timidly.

He nodded. "Okay. Well, still gotta get home safely, don't you?"

She smiled and nodded, turning to continue walking.

"He didn't get on your case, did he? About the scene I made earlier…" he mumbled, rubbing his neck.

"Who, Peroni? Ah, he turns a blind eye to teasing. I think he figures it draws business."

He cocked his head to the side. "Well I'm glad I didn't cause no trouble for you."

"So…" she sighed and cleared her throat. "Do you have a sweetheart?"

He chuckled. "You know, I had a real Casanova comment prepared for whenever you finally got around to askin' me that, and for the life of me I can't remember what it was." He shook his head. "No. No sweetheart. Wouldn't have thought you'd ever actually ask."

"A girl oughtta know something about her bodyguard, don't you think?"

He laughed and looked at her. "That's right."

She smiled, enjoying the sound of his laugh.

They turned down a few more streets, and she said, "This is it. Mrs. Kessler's Boarding Home for Young Women." She looked at him and chuckled as she unlocked the front door. "A real treat to look at, ain't it?"

"It's…simple. Very…brown," he said, and she laughed.

"Yes, those are the nicest words for it. But it's home. Warm and dry," she said as they stepped through the front door. She looked up the staircase to their right that veered straight ahead. "My room is just there, at the top of the stairs," she whispered. She looked back at him. "I guess…I don't need a bodyguard anymore."

He scrunched his eyebrows and sighed, eyeing the staircase. "It's my thinkin' I better see you all the way up. Spiders and whatnot…"

She smiled and bit her lip. "Okay."

They quietly ascended the staircase, the wooden steps creaking underfoot, and she thought about how Mrs. Kessler would wring her neck and kick her out on her bum if she knew she'd let a man step foot inside the house. She took a deep breath as she watched his hand follow hers up the bannister.

Once at the top of the stairs, she took a few steps to the left, passing the two doors on the right and the two on the left, and unlocking her door out of muscle memory. She left it closed when she remembered she wasn't alone.

"Well…here we are. Safe and sound," she said, looking at him as he came and stood before her. She wondered for a moment about how she got here, late in the evening with a man at the mouth of her bedroom.

He smiled. "Safe and sound indeed," he nodded. He watched as she looked down and a wisp of hair fell in her face. He reached up and brushed it away, causing her to look up at him, but he concentrated on tucking the hair away. "You know…you should try to keep your hair out of your eyes. Try to show 'em off. They're nice."

"I always thought they were a pale, dull green," she said quietly. "Mama was the one with the bright amber-green eyes."

He shook his head. "No." He caught himself and nodded. "I mean, I'm sure. But yours are nice too."

She'd wanted to say 'I could say the same about you,' but her breath caught when he came close. She looked up into his eyes for a moment before he kissed her, and she felt herself kissing him right back. He wasted no time beating around the bush, and it was no chaste peck. She leaned back against her bedroom door, actually disappointed when it didn't release behind her. She reached down and twisted the doorknob, and they nearly fell back when it gave way behind them.

They pressed up against the open door, and she brought her hands to the top of his head, accidentally knocking his hat off.

She felt his hand trail up under her skirt and press behind her left thigh, and she realized he was asking her to raise it. As soon as she complied, he lifted her half off the floor.

She finally caught her breath when he broke away from her mouth. "Oh, God. Oh, dear God," she breathed and closed her eyes as he kissed her neck and chest. "Oh, God, please forgive me."

He kissed her on the mouth, and she returned his passion in kind, grabbing a fistful of his hair. They stumbled into the room and closed the door behind them.

He lowered her onto the bed, and she briefly considered asking him to be gentle, since this was her first time. She immediately thought better of it, both out of curiosity and sheer embarrassment at the thought of telling this strong, gruff outlaw she'd never been with a man.

The next morning when Arthur opened the bedroom door to leave, he was met by the sounds of whispers and hushed giggling. He bent to pick up his hat, trying to ignore the gaggle of snickering, chatting women that had accumulated in the hallway. When their ruckus gave way to silence he realized they were staring at him, and he started towards the stairwell, his boots falling heavily as he went.

.

"Baby, baby, baby, baby, you're fine.

You got me…walkin' on the ceilin'

and bouncin' off the walls.

Baby, baby, baby, can't you hear me when I call?"

-Steve Earle The Dukes, "Baby Baby Baby (Baby)"