Sometimes, Margaret Green could be as narrow-minded and bull-headed as they come.
"Now, look, Shelby, all I'm saying is that perhaps if you put in a little effort now and then – "
Shelby snorted. "Effort? What for?"
Margaret pursed her lips and took a deep breath to maintain her patience and composure.
"It's important for a lady to present herself well in society."
Shelby guffawed. She swept her arm toward the saloon.
"These is our pickings around here, Margaret. Take a good, long look. Ain't exactly high society out here." She jabbed a finger in her chest. "I've kept this saloon runnin' all by myself for years. Didn't need no man tellin' me what to do and I certainly don't intend to get me one now."
"That's not what I'm saying, Shelby."
Shelby sighed and propped her elbows on the bar. "Maggie," she said, her voice lower, attempting a little softness this time. "I did the Ladies Choice Dance last year. I wore that pretty dress of yours and I will forever be grateful to you for it." She bowed her head, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she deliberated what to say next. "I'm just…I ain't no lady. I appreciate the schoolin' you gave me – being all proper, working to smooth out my rough manners and everything. But that just ain't me. Never was."
She shook her head and straightened up.
"Besides," she added. "After Frenchy, I ain't really been interested in hitchin' my wagon to no man anyway. Seems like an awful lot of work and no good trouble to me."
Margaret plucked at her shawl in dismay, rearranging the folds over her arms. She wouldn't call Shelby one of her dearest friends, but they'd been through a lot together as they made Eagle Station their home. And women out here were few and far between. Shelby might be rough around the edges, but Margaret was certain that Shelby could truly be happy and settle down if she simply took the time to court a man properly.
"Shelby, you can't really mean that," Margaret said. "It…it can be very lonely."
Behind the bar, she heard Shelby's footsteps stop. Shelby reached over and placed her hand atop Margaret's hand. Shelby's fingers were calloused and her touch a little too heavy, to brusque. Dirt was embedded beneath her nails and there were tobacco stains between her fingers where she usually held her cigar.
But Margaret's heart inexplicably stutter-skipped at the touch. Apart from Tess, she preferred to keep people at arm's length. Losing her husband had been impossibly painful and the grief could be suffocating. There was a private sort of comfort by wearing her grief in solitude and she preferred it that way.
So, she could count on one hand the times that someone had patted her shoulder in comfort or offered an embrace of consolation. And yet, here was Shelby, forging through the cold, cold walls Margaret had built out of bereavement and loss as if it took no effort at all.
"You're right," Shelby said. "It can be lonely out here. But only if you let it. I know I've got people who care about me."
She offered Margaret that lop-sided, roguish grin that was pure Shelby and entirely unladylike. But it was perfect just the same.
"A husband would care about you, too," Margaret said, the words spilling out before she could think better of it.
Shelby rolled her eyes. "Christ Almighty, you are like a dog with a bone when you get an idea in your head!" She leaned in, bringing with her a cloud of sour alcohol and bitter cigar smoke. "I don't need or want a husband, all right?"
Shelby was very close now. Closer than was entirely proper. But she continued to grin at Margaret with that mischievous, tomboyish look in in her eye that Margaret had grown rather fond of.
Then a squabble broke out at one of the tables. Shelby pulled away, bellowing.
"Hey! No fist fights in my saloon unless you plan to be on yer knees scrubbin' the blood out of my floor!"
The moment Shelby was no longer close, it was as if a spell had been broken. Margaret suddenly took a breath as if she'd forgotten how to breathe. She put a hand to her chest, her pulse shuddering beneath her palm like a trapped butterfly.
The last time she'd felt this way was the first time her husband requested permission to court her...
Oh.
Margaret bolted to her feet as the realization blazed in her head. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Not…not Shelby of all people.
Feeling scattered, Margaret plunged out of the saloon doors.
"Maggie?" Shelby called, her voice twisted with concern.
Margaret didn't slow, didn't stop. She kept going, kept moving away from that saloon.
But Shelby came after her. She caught Margaret's arm and pulled her into a nearby alleyway.
"Hey, whoa, slow down. Are you all right? You took off outta the saloon like a rabbit with its tail on fire. Did one of the men say something to you? If they did, you just tell me which one and I'll knock his teeth out – "
"Shelby," Margaret pleaded, putting her fingers to Shelby's lips.
She'd only intended to stop the flood of Shelby's words. But with the softness of Shelby's lips beneath her fingertips, she found she really wasn't thinking about Shelby's chatter at all.
"Shelby," Margaret whispered.
She dragged her gaze up to Shelby's face, her stomach all in knots at what she expected to find in Shelby's eyes. Disgust. Horror. Revulsion.
Instead, she found…
Relief. Not even understanding. It was relief.
Shelby cast a furtive glance at the street, searching to see if anyone might notice them alone like this. Then she pressed Margaret deeper into the shadows and when she cupped Margaret's face in her hands – calloused, rough, too brusque – Margaret gave a little whimper of longing and closed her eyes.
"You have any idea how long I've waited for you to come to your senses?" Shelby said. "Been battin' my eyes at you for months and you never noticed a damn thing."
"I…I…" Margaret shook her head. It was hard to think. "We can't," she finally managed to say.
Shelby clenched her jaw. But her gaze remained unwaveringly locked on Margaret's face.
"Why?" she said. Always blunt. Always right to the point. Shelby never pussy-footed around anything.
"Well, because we're…" Margaret fumbled, at a loss how to finish that. Wasn't it obvious?
For a split second, Shelby said nothing. Then she cracked a grin.
"Because we're ladies?" she said.
Margaret laughed, a brief, strangled sound mingled with relief and hope and something she thought she would never feel again after putting her husband in the ground.
Then Shelby kissed her, surprisingly soft and gentle for a woman who Margaret had only known to be brash. She curled her fingers into the fabric of Shelby's shirt. And when Shelby's hand cupped the back of her neck, drawing their bodies flush together, Margaret let herself sink into the touch with a sigh of pleasure.
For the first time in a long, long time, Margaret finally felt warm all over.