Chapter 4

Cheyenne, Wyoming 1867

Róisín tilted the tarnished hand mirror a bare fraction, angling it to better catch the weave of her long chestnut braid as it snaked down the curved plane of her back. With a weary sigh misting the looking glass, she reached up to fumble for a stray hairpin, dull fingers working the curved metal free of the strands...only to hesitate, then yank it loose entirely. Her dark plait unraveled, individual curls springing free around her face and shoulders.

Noticing a flicker of movement in the mirror's smudged reflection caught her eye - the door creaking open a bare sliver she met Haddie's gaze a warm smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Though just a few months her elder, and despite their initial acquaintance being a rocky one, the bawdy redhead had managed to become an unlikely yet welcome friend.

"Well, come in then," Róisín laughed, as Haddie practically flung herself through the door in a tangle of gauzy skirts and frantic limbs. The rickety door slammed shut behind her with a resounding thud that reverberated off the low ceilings of the cramped room.

"Róisín, yer hair is simply gorgeous spilled loose like that," Haddie blurted in a breathless tumble.

With ease, she set to work separating and smoothing the rich, sable tresses, nimble fingers expertly coaxing the tumbling waves into soft, undulating ripples that caressed the fine-boned curves of Róisín's face and throat. "'Tis a shame to keep it confined in them braids all the time when the good Lord clearly intended it for admirin'!"

"Ye flatter me too as always, Haddie," Róisín demurred, ducking her head bashfully. A hesitant pause before she asked with an anticipant lilt, "Have you given any more thought to...our discussion?"

Haddie's lips curved in a beaming smile that crinkled the dusting of feckles spanning the bridge of her nose, her lined eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine warmth. "Oh Róise," she crooned in a conspiratorial burr, "A whore doesn't need to know how to read."

"I don't imagine you'll always want to be a wh—" Róisín stopped herself as the word stuck in her throat. "You would have more opportunities if you knew how to read."

"Well," Haddie twisted Róisín's hair up loosely and pinned it securely before adding a ribbon for decoration. Smiling happily at her work, she sat on the bed. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to learn."

A surge of breathless exhilaration and pride lanced through Róisín's breast at her friend's words. Twisting around on the battered little stool to better face Haddie directly, she cried, "Of course! There's a whole world just waitin' to be discovered between the covers of books, Mrs. Haddie - history, philosophy, tales of far-off lands and peoples more wondrous than you can fathom!"

Her smile faltered slightly, her green eyes searching Haddie's sky-blue ones beseechingly as her voice softened to an impassioned murmur. "You mustn't think that just because of...of your circumstances here, that you must remain...confined to such a harsh life forever."

For a fleeting instant, Haddie's own grin seemed to waver, her ruby lips compressing into a tight line as her expression underwent a myriad of subtle changes.

"Well," Haddie said at last in a subdued tone, her rowdy earlier exuberance dimming to a solemn watchfulness. "The God's honest truth is, I never reckoned on endin' up in a place like this no-how, neither. Surely never imagined traipsin' off west from Kentucky would lead me to...well, this sort of 'employment', if you take my meanin'."

Róisín's breath caught, her brows drawing together in dismayed confusion. "How did you find yourself here then?" She blurted out, unable to contain her curiosity a moment longer.

But Haddie's expression had shuddered closed, her expression hardened into cool detachment as she continued twisting a loose thread on her hem. "Pa was killed durin' the war - Confederate skirmishers caught his brigade off-guard. Cousins of Pa's took me in for a few years after, though there wasn't much in the way of prospects or opportunity once the war was done. Just another mouth to feed and the crop yields sufferin' from lack of hands to work the fields."

Then, with a glacial stillness she met Róisín's stricken gaze in the blurred mirror and stated with brutal finality, "I was twelve when them cousins shipped me off west, said I had to make my own way in the world from then on..." Another pause, as she took a deep breath. "Men...men pay a high price for innocence. Some relish the...novelty...of it all the more if the girl ain't never even been..."

"Oh, Haddie..." Róisín breathed heavily. In one convulsive movement, she twisted around on the battered little stool, hands shooting out to clasp her friend's in an achingly tender grip. "You were just a child..."

But the words withered to dust on her tongue, strangled by the truth reflected in Haddie's features - that loss of maidenly virtue at such an unforgivably tender age, a sacrifice bartered for mere survival in this ruthless, untamed land. A sacrifice no child, no matter how dire her circumstances, should ever have been forced to pay.

Swallowing against the lump of revulsion and pity rending her throat, Róisín squeezed Haddie's hands in a sudden grasp, quietly willing what little comfort and strength she could muster to flow between their joined fingers.

"For all the... the evil in the world, your brother's a good man. He's more than fair, it's safe, or relatively safe here."

A melancholy sigh escaped Róisín's lips as she drew in a resolute breath. Reluctantly, she released her friend and rose to her feet, smoothing the coarse fabric of her faded gingham apron.

Descending the creaking stairs Róisín emerged into the dimly lit saloon, her feet padding softly across the well-trodden planks. The pungent aroma of stale whiskey and tobacco smoke mingled with the musty scent of sawdust that coated the floor. Absentmindedly, she swiped a rag across the scarred oak countertop, her gaze drawn to the pendulum clock that ticked away the seconds.

It would be at least an hour before the first customers began to trickle in from their day's labors, seeking solace in the bottom of a glass. Róisín grimaced, recalling the unkempt, sweat-stained figures that would soon populate the saloon, their unwashed bodies exuding a rank odor that seemed to permeate every crevice. She could only pray that some would have the decency to douse themselves at the water trough before entering, though she harbored doubts if the water would actually help the situation or just renew the stench.

In the three weeks since her arrival Róisín had yet to experience a moment of true cleanliness, a fact that weighed heavily upon her with each passing day. The saloon's batwing doors swung open with a creak, admitting a burst of golden sunlight that momentarily banished the gloom. Róisín squinted against the harsh rays as a familiar figure stepped across the threshold, the spurs adorning his polished boots jingling with each purposeful stride.

"Good day, Miss Brannigan," Carson greeted with a respectful nod, settling his solid frame upon a battered stool at the far end of the bar.

"Hello, Carson," Róisín replied, offering a polite smile as she retrieved a glass from beneath the counter. "The usual, I presume?"

"Thank you ma'am."

She filled the tumbler to the brim with the amber liquid, sliding it towards him. "You're in here rather early this evening."

Carson's eyes crinkled at the corners as his grin widened. "I wanted to ask you…." He cleared his throat, his gaze holding hers with an unmistakable intensity. "If you would join me for lunch this Sunday...after services, of course."

"Oh, that's...that's very kind of you, Carson." A delicate blush tinged Róisín's cheeks as she averted her eyes, suddenly aware of the weight of the whiskey bottle clutched in her trembling hands. "I shall have to seek my brother's approval."

The man inclined his head in understanding. "Of course, Miss Brannigan."

The saloon's rear door banged open, admitting Lochlan with a crate cradled in his long arms. "Róise, what is it you need to ask me?" He inquired, depositing the crate upon the weathered countertop with a thud.

Her mouth opened, but no words emerged as her gaze flickered between Carson and her sibling. "I...we can discuss it later," she mumbled, her flush deepening.

Lochlan's brow furrowed, but before he could pursue the matter further, Carson interjected. "I've just invited your sister to join me for lunch after services this Sunday...provided you've no objections, of course."

A knowing smile spread across Lochlan's rugged features as he turned his scrutinizing gaze upon his younger sister. "Objections? By no means, Carson." He clapped a calloused hand upon the foreman's shoulder. "You have my blessing, to be certain."

Róisín's stomach twisted into a leaden knot as Carson drained the last of his whiskey and rose from his stool. "Then I shall eagerly await your company this Sunday, Miss Brannigan," he declared with a courteous bow before taking his leave.

The moment the doors swung shut, Larkin rounded on his sister, his expression stern. "What was that hesitation about, eh?" He demanded, snatching the whiskey bottle from her slackened grip and depositing it alongside the others. "Lucy, love, would you mind tending the bar for a spell?"

Without awaiting a response, he seized Róisín's arm in a vice-like grip, propelling her towards the cramped office at the rear of the saloon. He thrust her into the solitary chair, his jaw clenched as he leaned against the door, regarding her with a mixture of bewilderment and reproach.

"Mr. Carson is respected in these parts, Róisín," Larkin began, his tone measured yet laced with an undercurrent of admonition. "A man of considerable means and influence. You'd do well by his side."

Róisín's eyes widened in a mixture of innocence and trepidation. "But...I don't feel that way about him, Lochlan. He is kind, to be certain, but—"

"Feelings?" Her brother's bark of cheerless laughter cut her protestation short. "This has naught to do with feelings, you daft girl."

Squatting before her, he grasped her hands in his calloused palms, his expression softening as he met her guileless gaze. "I know it seems unfair, but things are different here than they were in Boston. You must learn to adapt, Róise...for both our sakes."

She nodded mutely, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as the weight of his implication settled upon her shoulders like a shroud.

"This is about your survival girl. You need to marry well," Larkin continued, giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Any one of these women here would trade places with you without a moment's hesitation."

A solitary teardrop traced a glistening path down Róisín's cheek. "I...I cannot simply pretend—"

"You don't have to love the man right now," he urged, his thumb brushing away the errant tear. "Spend time with him, let him court you properly. Perhaps your heart will awaken to him."

Róisín regarded her brother in silence for a prolonged moment before offering a scarcely perceptible nod of agreement.

"That's my brave lass," Larkin murmured, rising to his feet and pressing a tender kiss to her brow. "Have faith, Róisín. The Almighty would not have delivered us to this harsh land without reason."