It had been a terrible day so far. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and she still had the hectic night to work through. She had a headache, and her eyes were burning from peering too long at her ledgers, trying to make her numbers match the bill's for the latest whiskey shipment. There was a disparity of only $4.38, but she would always remember when that amount of money could make the difference between being her own woman or being dependent on others for her food and board. She prided herself on her perfect bookkeeping.
"Mmm…" she moaned softly, and shifted in the hard wooden chair as she worked at the table in the quiet saloon. Her usually gentle mare Magnolia had thrown her yesterday, uncharacteristically spooked by a windblown, empty flour sack. "She must be having spring fever, too," she thought, as her own eagerness to get out in the fresh, warming air had made her not as careful of a rider as usual. Matt had seen the beginning of the large area of technicolor bruising that night and been very sympathetic while gently brushing her hair. Putting down the brush after a few minutes, he cleared his throat.
"Kitty," he began, carefully considering his words, "Kitty, I wish you wouldn't go out riding alone. What if you'd hit your head…"
Kitty was all set to indignantly retort about being able to take care of herself, but remembered how upset and worried he'd been two summers ago when that exact thing had happened. If Matt had not been riding with her, she would have lain out in the prairie unconscious, and more than likely would have died.
When she didn't reply, Matt let out a relieved breath and began to knead the tight muscles in her shoulders the way she loved, as she lay on her stomach naked. After a few minutes, he could feel the tenseness relaxing.
"That feel better, Honey?" he whispered in her ear.
"Yes, but that's not where I hurt!" she exclaimed as she put her hand on her left buttock, and turned her head to look at him with a frown. She could see him trying his best to suppress a laugh, his face turning red, and tears in his twinkling eyes as he pressed his lips together. Suddenly she erupted in a loud laugh, put her arms around his big neck, pulling him down, and they lay together, laughing and hugging. As they wound down to a few giggles, his ice-blue eyes stared deeply into her sky-blue ones, and without a word, their lips and open mouths met hungrily as he rolled on top of her. Her welcoming arms pulled him closer.
She daydreamed about last night for a few moments until the crashing sound of shattering glass jolted her back to the present. Her startled eyes met Sam's and he threw down his towel and hurried towards the basement door. Kitty scraped back her chair, painfully stood up, hobbled over and stood in the open doorway, peering down into the dimness.
"Sam?! What is it? What happened? Are you all right?" she anxiously called. She was about to start down the steps when she heard Sam's heavy footsteps heading up.
"I'm fine, Miss Kitty. Sorry to say half of that last shipment of whiskey isn't. The shelf collapsed and about twenty bottles or more slid off and broke. It's a real mess! I'll get to work cleaning it up."
"No, Sam. Just close the door and we'll deal with it tomorrow. Maybe we can pay Mooney Yates to clean it up. He's always eager to make a little money." She sighed, went back to her chair, eased herself down, and entered the cost of the lost whiskey in red ink on the debit side of the proper page. The ache in her head was now a throbbing.
Holding her head in her hands, she looked over at the boarded-up, large front window where drunken Ab Grand had thrown equally drunken Tip Crowder shortly before closing last night. Unfortunately, after so many broken windows, Kitty knew the replacement cost to the penny and carefully made another entry in red ink. Hopefully, the Marshal would be able to get some money from Ab once he sobered up from his snoring stupor on the cot in his cell.
"Miss Kitty? Here's some fresh, hot coffee. Might make you feel better." Sam had brought over a tray with a blue and white patterned porcelain carafe and two matching cups. He set it down and smiled at his employer whom he respected and loved. He could always tell what her mood was and did his best to anticipate her needs.
"Thanks, Sam." She gave him a warm, grateful smile and poured a cup, hoping the strong, black drink would give her a jolt of much-needed energy. Closing her weary eyes, she felt the brew begin to work.
"Erm…Miss Kitty?" a young voice asked nervously.
Kitty's eyes opened and she focused on twenty-year-old Gladys Vine standing in front of her, holding her arms behind her back. Gladys was young, but had been an excellent saloon woman for Kitty for almost six months now. Her sweet, dimpled face seemed to bring out the gentleness in the most rowdy cowboys, perhaps resembling a kid sister to them. She was always cheerful and friendly while keeping the men content to drink and talk with her. Now she looked like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"What's wrong, Gladys?" Kitty asked in a kind voice. She hated to see the young woman so upset.
Gladys brought her right hand around from her back and held out a shiny, pale green dress. With her left hand, she pulled it open to show that the ripped, soiled skirt was hanging from the bodice by only a few threads, and one cap sleeve was missing. It was one of Kitty's favorite dresses that she had let Gladys wear last night when the young woman's scant wardrobe had not returned from the laundress in time for work. The regular laundress, Ella Reed, had taken a rare vacation, traveling back east to stay with a friend.
Kitty took in a deep breath, and smiled even more broadly. "Oh Gladys. Come sit down and tell me what happened. Did you get hurt at all?" Seeing tears in her employee's large hazel eyes, Kitty handed her a hankie as she sat down, then patted the young woman's shaking hand. "Honey, it's only a dress…a thing!"
Gladys dabbed at her eyes and tentatively smiled at her understanding boss. "Two drunken cowboys started arguing over me, and quick as a wink I was in the middle of a tug of war! Before Sam saw that I needed help, THIS happened! And," she gulped, "one of them grabbed my…YOUR…earrings from my ears! I didn't realize that until long after Sam had tossed both of those awful men out into the street."
"Like I said, Honey, the dress and earrings are only things. As long as you didn't get hurt, that's all that matters. Now dry your eyes, and you enjoy your night off tonight. Kitty squeezed Gladys' hand and smiled as the relieved girl smiled back and went upstairs, leaving the beautiful tattered dress on the table.
Rubbing her temples, Kitty closed her eyes for a moment, then picked up her pen and dipped it in the bottle of red ink on the table.
"One dress. One pair of opal drop earrings."
Sadly balling up the dress, Kitty got up slowly again, feeling even more sore after sitting for so long, and headed for the cellar door. There was a wooden box for rags at the bottom of the stairs, and that seemed the fate of her dress.
"Wait! Maybe Ella Reed can fix it when she gets back! She can work miracles." Kitty had stopped and was pondering the balled-up dress when she was suddenly and soundly slapped hard on her left buttock, causing her to cry out in pain and fall to her knees.
'WOO-EEE! Hiya Miss Kitty! Ain't seen ya fer ever!" The lean, thirty-ish trail cowboy, Johnny Craig, was already drunk and had staggered into the Long Branch looking for his buddy. Swaying a little, he looked down in confusion at the young woman now bent over and grimacing. The next thing he saw was Sam's enormous right fist coming at his face.