CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Hank remained in bed at the clinic for a week before Michaela would let him go. For once he laid there and did as he was told, feeling somewhat coccooned in the recovery room, safe from having to face reality quite yet. Myra didn't come to see him again and he was glad. Better to start trying to forget about her and not read anything into the fact that she'd sat by his bedside for days, waiting for him to wake up. That was just the way she was. Her heart was often too soft for her own good and she would never hurt anyone unless she was forced to, even if they'd threatened to kill her.

Finally he was well enough to return to the saloon. Dotty and Melinda had been regular visitors for the past few days, bringing him meals from Grace's and filling him in on what had been happening at the saloon. Feeling guilty for helping themselves and dishing out free whiskey before, Loren and Jake had opened up every day, admittedly later than Hank would have done, but they had closed their own businesses at four o'clock and run the saloon instead until midnight.

Now Melinda brought him some fresh clothes and waited to walk back to the saloon with him. It was morning and the place was closed, but a number of people waved or shouted out greetings to him as he crossed the street and Jake emerged from his barber's shop and hurried over.

"How ya feelin'?" he asked, reaching out to shake Hank's hand.

"Stupid," grunted Hank.

"Dr Mike patched you up pretty good. Shame she can't do much with yer common sense," Jake said with a grin.

Hank grimaced. "Mel says you and Loren've been runnin' the saloon," he said. "Keepin' me from goin' outta business."

"Figured we owed ya," Jake admitted. "The day you...uh...went into a coma, we all helped ourselves."

"So I heard." Hank shrugged now. "Don't matter. Least the place is still standin'."

Jake nodded. "Well, I guess I'll see ya tonight. Me and Loren'll be in for a coupla drinks." He left them and returned to his shop.

"Everyone missed ya," Melinda told him as they entered the bar.

"I doubt that," Hank said with a sigh. "Do somethin' for me, will ya?"

"Sure, Hank."

"Get rid of Myra's things. She don't want 'em and they're clutterin' the room up. I'm gonna get a couple new girls in."

"I'll do it now," Melinda agreed and walked off quickly. Hank sat down at one of the tables, but for once he didn't pick up a bottle. He thought about getting on with things, taking a trip to Denver to see Zack and find some new talent, organising another poker game. Things to keep him busy so he wouldn't keep on thinking about Myra.

The following week he took the stagecoach to Denver and spent a whole day with Zack at his school. The boy was doing well, his drawing coming on in leaps and bounds and Hank found himself swelling with pride. At least there was one good thing in his life and he was determined to hold onto it.

He found a hotel room for the night and the next day went looking for girls. The first proved easy to find. An obvious candidate almost ran into him in the street. She was wearing a rather well worn frilly skirt and chemise, carrying a heavy-looking bag, her face pale, tired and miserable. Her almost black hair hung loose and tangled around her shoulders and her brown eyes were wide and appealing.

"Hey!" he exclaimed as she narrowly missed crashing into him.

"Sorry, Mister."

She made to walk around him, but he put his hand out and touched her shoulder.

"What's yer name?"

"Louisa."

"Ya lookin' for work?" he asked.

"That obvious?" she said ruefully.

"I got a saloon in Colorado Springs, a ways from here," Hank said. "Need some new girls. You interested?"

"Sure." Her face brightened.

"Ain't ya gonna ask what the pay is or nothin'?"

Louisa shook her head. "Long as I get somethin'. I got nothin' right now. My boss died last week; I ain't got a roof over my head or money to buy food. I'll take whatever's goin'."

Hank nodded. "Two-fifty a time," he said. "Plus a room, food and clothes when ya need 'em. Who was yer boss?"

"Fella called Red Burrows."

Hank snorted. "Finally bit the dust, did he?"

"Ya know Red?" asked Louisa.

"Yeah, I grew up in Denver. Ya got somethin' else to wear for travellin'?" he asked.

"Nothin' better than this," she sighed, indicating her outfit.

Hank pulled some money out and gave her ten dollars. "Go get somethin' nice. Meet me later for some food; is that cafe still there, on the other side of town?"

"Yeah. Thanks for this!" Louisa looked at the ten dollars in disbelief and stuffed the notes into her purse.

"See ya in a couple hours," said Hank and began to walk away.

"Hey!" exclaimed Louisa.

He paused and looked over his shoulder.

"Gonna tell me yer name?" she asked with a smile.

"Hank Lawson."

"Nice to meet ya, Hank."

By the time he met Louisa later at the cafe, Hank hadn't been successful in finding a second girl, but as the pair of them sat eating meatloaf, another girl caught his eye as she sat down at the next table alone. She had glossy brown curls held back with combs and was wearing a very smart outfit of red and grey striped fabric. She didn't look like a whore, but then Louisa glanced across too and the pair smiled at each other briefly.

"Ya know her?" Hank asked.

"A little. She started workin' for Red a week before he died. Name's Emma."

"She lookin' for work too?"

"I guess. I ain't seen her in the last few days."

Hank got up and crossed to the girl's table.

"Emma, is it?"

"That's right."

"I'm Hank. Ya wanna come and join Louisa and me?" he asked.

She eyed him a little sceptically. "I guess that depends what yer after." She glanced over at Louisa and then looked up at him again.

Hank grinned. "I'm her new boss. Thought ya might be lookin' for work too, is all."

"Oh! Well, then, I'd be happy to join ya." She got up at once and followed him back to the other table.

Hank ordered another plate of meatloaf for her while the two girls exchanged a few words. Then after they all finished eating, he offered Emma a job too.

"I'd be glad to accept," she said.

"Yer dressed like you ain't short of money," Hank commented.

"Oh, I made this," said Emma, indicating the outfit, which looked as if it could have come from the finest dress store. "I'm gonna be a dressmaker some day. Just need to get the money first to get started. No offence, but whorin's not my first choice of work, it's just the best paid."

Hank raised his eyebrows. She was feisty and honest, not to mention attractive. He didn't fancy his chances at getting her to sign a contract, but it wasn't his priority just at that moment. She'd liven the saloon up a bit and he wouldn't mind betting Jake would be first in line.

Hank took the two girls to the old boarding house, intending for them to leave on the stage the next morning. He wondered if Mrs Brady still ran the place and was surprised to find that she did; a little rounder, a little greyer, but otherwise just the same.

"Why, Hank! I never thought I'd see ya in these parts again!" she exclaimed.

Hank quickly arranged rooms for the girls and sent them on upstairs, then joined the woman in the kitchen for coffee and large slabs of cake. She was eager to find out what he'd been doing over the years and prompted him with one question after another.

"What happened to that blonde girl?" she asked after a while. "Clarice, was it? Always thought ya coulda done better."

"She died, five years after we left," Hank said.

"Oh, no, I'm so sorry," Mrs Brady groaned. "And now I've put my foot in it."

"No, ya ain't. It was a long time ago," said Hank. "We had a son, Zack. He's here in Denver, goin' to art school. Doin' real well."

He stayed talking to Mrs Brady for an hour before he finally took off and returned to the hotel, asking her to tell the girls he would collect them at eight-thirty in the morning to catch the stagecoach.

The three of them arrived in Colorado Springs on Saturday morning and Hank lifted the girls' bags down from the roof, then led them over to the saloon and introduced them to Melinda and Dotty. The pair went to settle into their rooms and Hank got to work on some new contracts.

"Ya know what ya can do with that," Emma said when he walked into her room - Myra's old room - with the document. She was in the process of changing out of her travelling outfit and had several buttons on her bodice undone. "I'm signin' nothin'. Ya want me, ya got me, but I told ya I'm savin' for my dress-makin' business. Once I get enough money, I'm off."

Hank frowned. He had always called the shots himself with the girls and didn't like being talked to like that. On the other hand, he knew Emma was going to appeal to the customers, probably more than anyone else since Lissy.

"I guess it depends, Hank..." she went on, shrugging the dress off her shoulders to reveal the finest chemise he'd ever seen; virtually transparent, it was. "...on how much ya want me workin' for ya."

Hank couldn't help grinning. His head might still be in a turmoil over Myra, but he wasn't dead from the neck down.

"Why don't I give you a trial, of say, a month, and see how it goes?" he suggested.

Emma's cheeks dimpled and she turned away from him to take another item of clothing out of her bag, giving him a fine view of her shapely rear clad in silk bloomers.

"That sounds just fine," she said.

Smirking, he left her to it and went to get Louisa to sign on the dotted line. Unlike the others, she could read a little and peered at the document for several minutes while he waited impatiently.

"Five years?" she queried. "Well, I guess that gives me security." She read the rest and apparently couldn't find anything to complain about. She signed her name laboriously in curly writing and gave him the sheet of paper and the pen back. He left her then and went into the bar, looking forward to opening up to see what the locals made of the two new girls. He guessed they were going to be pretty busy.

As expected, Jake couldn't wait to get his hands on Emma. He'd seen them getting off the stage and was actually waiting outside the saloon door when Hank opened it.

"You're keen," muttered Hank. "Fancy the new talent?"

"Where'd ya find 'em?" asked Jake.

"Denver. Where'd ya think?"

"Here." Jake shoved five dollars into his hand and made a beeline for Emma.

All four girls earned their keep throughout Saturday, but on Sunday the saloon was quiet, with few customers in and the girls on their day off. As soon as the last drinker left, Hank headed for Emma's room. She was voluptuous and warm and fun and he enjoyed himself, but he was too aware that he was in Myra's old room and Myra wasn't there. He left Emma an hour later and returned to his own room to sleep, thinking that if he was going to spend time with her in the future, he'd take her to his bed instead of going to hers.

It was another week before he saw Myra again. He was always watching out for her around the town, finding it impossible not to, but it seemed that she spent her days at the telegraph office with Horace and he never seemed to see her walking between that and the clinic, even though the clinic was across from the saloon. However, eventually he ran into her outside Loren's when he went to stock up on cigars. She had just come out carrying a basket of things she'd bought and she stepped towards him at once.

"Hey, Hank, I've been meanin' to talk to ya," she said.

"About what?" He avoided looking at her, surprised by how uncomfortable he felt.

"My weddin', I'm invitin' ya."

He shook his head. How could she think he would want to go and watch her tie herself to someone else? He realised his pretense of getting on with things was just that - a pretense - and he was still hurt, still longing for her.

"Don't ask me to come," he said quietly, stepping up onto the store's porch to move past her.

"But, Hank, you're as close to family as I got here." She put her hand out, touching the lower part of his chest, making him step back off the porch again quickly.

"I can't do it, Myra," he sighed. She looked disappointed and he touched her arm lightly before he made his escape into the store.

"Hank," Loren greeted him.

"Mornin', Loren." He couldn't remember for the life of him what he'd gone in for.

"Well? Ya gonna buy somethin'?" prompted Loren. No one else was in the store and he stared at Hank expectantly.

"Yeah." Hank glanced around, hoping something would remind him of what he wanted. "Cigars!" he exclaimed.

"Well, ya know where they are," frowned Loren.

Hank turned away and grabbed half a dozen from the jar on the shelf nearby, then went back to the counter to pay.

"Are you alright?" asked Loren.

"Yeah." He dropped the coins onto the counter and left the store quickly.

He returned to the saloon and sank onto the chair he always left on the porch, propped his feet up on the railing and lit one of the cigars. It was a long time since he had done that and it was about all he felt like doing at that moment. Myra asking him to her wedding had shaken him and brought back all the pain he had thought he had begun to forget. Now he was far too aware that it was only six more days until she became Mrs Myra Bing.