2 October

As she approached the telegraph office, Eloise hoped that she wouldn't see Myra. Since the incident at the saloon the week prior, the other woman had very much kept herself away from public eyes and, for that, Eloise had found herself grateful. It wasn't that she blamed Myra for what had happened as, if she really had been sleepwalking, there was nothing she could have done to prevent her actions, but the whole encounter had given her some serious pause for thought.

Was it natural to assume that when a person was in such a state of vulnerability that their true wants and desires might come to the forefront? Myra's subconscious had clearly led her back to Hank, to what she had known before marrying Horace, and Hank had gratefully accepted her. Whenever she thought back to the sight of him pulling Myra close to him and enjoying her misplaced affections, she felt a sickness in her gut.

Of course, the whole thing was ludicrous in any event, she knew that. She had no business being irked by it at all. It was a marriage of convenience, nothing more and nothing less. There was no suggestion, no expectation, no requirement of anything beyond that of two people, friends, who had entered into something to solve a specific problem. It had never been her intention to stay longer than necessary, to prolong a legal situation which, once the problem had been remedied, was no longer required, to feel…anything…

She hadn't returned to the bar that night and Hank had made no effort to speak to her at any further point that evening. He was seemingly oblivious to any effect what happened might have had on her and, instead, appeared more concerned by the fact that she had, perhaps, been seconds away from drawing her weapon on a customer.

"Weren't that kinda situation," he had told her the following morning as she came upon him watering down the whisky. "Just cause he took hold of ya don't mean ya gotta try and shoot him, 'specially since I had already gotten him to leave. Ya didn't even know if he was armed and, if he weren't, could have found yerself up before a judge if ya'd wounded him, or worse."

"I don't think I would have actually done anything," she had replied.

"Maybe's not, but still. Ya only use a weapon when ya got no other choice, understand me?"

"Of course," she had replied somewhat dutifully and had then taken herself to the saloon garden to check on her flowers and shoot some tin cans. Seeing the first sprig of green shoots and hearing the sound of each can as her bullet struck it, made her feel momentarily better, but it did nothing to quell the heavy sensation in her stomach.

Horace looked up from his desk as she approached, and she fixed as pleasant a smile on her face as she could. "Morning Horace."

"Oh, morning Eloise," he replied cheerfully. "Weather's taking a bit of a turn, ain't it?"

"Yes," she agreed, looking out at the leaden sky. "I suspect we might have rain later."

"And the rest. What can I do for you anyways?"

"Well, I need to have this package sent on to Manitou." She set it on the counter. "How quickly would it get there if you sent it today?" Sales at the store continued to be brisk and she had previously received a telegram from a woman in the next town whose sister had spoken highly of her designs, asking if one could be hastily made for her due to an upcoming wedding.

"Next stage isn't for another two days, I'm afraid, so the weekend at the earliest."

"The weekend?" Disappointment flooded her. "No, this customer wants it before then. It's a hat for a wedding," she added quickly on his look, "and she specifically wanted it before the 5th of the month."

"Reckon you'll be cutting it fine for that," he replied.

She paused, annoyance shooting through her at her miscalculation of the time it would take to send out the finished product. In San Francisco, such problems never arose due to the ready availability of wagons to deliver goods whenever required, and whilst part of her was minded to accept the limitations of her new situation, another part of her knew that if she intended to try to increase custom, for whatever time she remained in Colorado, she needed to ensure that those who purchased from her could rely on her.

A sudden thought came into her mind. "How far is Manitou from here?"

"Oh, bout fifteen miles."

"Is it a straight road? I mean, would it be easy to navigate?"

"Easy enough," he peered at her. "Why?"

"Well, perhaps I could take it there myself."

"You wanna ride all the way to Manitou?"

"Well, you just said it was only fifteen miles and a straight road. I know I'm not exactly the most proficient horsewoman in Colorado, but Willow's steady enough. I'm sure she would get me there and back safely."

"I don't know…" he said doubtfully, "don't you wanna ask Hank?"

"Ask Hank what?"

"Well, if you should go or not."

"You mean, ask his permission?"

"Sure," he said, "He is your husband, even if it ain't real. I know there's no way I'd be happy about Myra riding out all that way and back on her own just to deliver some hat…not that she'll be doing anything like that for the foreseeable future."

"Oh?" she asked, curiosity piqued. "Why's that?"

"Well, we spoke to Dr Mike, you know, about the sleepwalking and all the other little things that have been happening of late? Turns out there's a real good reason for it." He beamed at her. "Myra's pregnant!"

"Oh…well that's…that's wonderful," she said, "you both must be so pleased."

"Can't hardly believe it. Never thought for one moment I'd ever be a father and…and Myra…after everything we went through trying to get her away from Hank…" he paused, his expression faltering slightly. "Sorry, I don't mean to…"

It was another nugget of information, something more for her to ponder about on the true nature of the relationship between Myra and Hank, but though tempted to ask more, she simply nodded. "Don't worry about it, Horace," she reassured him, "after all, as you said, it's not real. I'm very happy for both of you. Please give Myra my best." Picking up the package again, she turned to leave, suddenly spying a mound of crates sitting neatly in the corner. "Is that the whisky order?"

"Sure is."

"I'll tell Hank it's here, thank you."

Turning, she made her way out of the office and back towards the saloon, her mind whirling. A marriage was one thing, but a pregnancy almost made things more final, more secure in a way. If there were any latent feelings on Myra's part, the impending arrival of a baby would put paid to them. No sensible woman, carrying her husband's child, would consider leaving him for another man and from what little information she had gleaned, both from others and from Hank himself, Myra had wanted to leave the saloon, loved Horace, wanted a new life away from Hank's control.

But why then…?

"Stop it," she whispered fiercely to herself. "It's got nothing to do with you."

Olivia was lounging on the porch of the saloon, her gaze when it fell upon her, almost somewhat mocking in quality and she suddenly felt a desperate reluctance to go back inside.

"Olivia, can you please tell Hank that the whisky order is ready to be collected?"

Without waiting for a reply, she kept walking, head high, past the saloon and towards the livery.

XXXX

He could see the blush creeping up Myra's cheeks before he even entered the telegraph office, and he couldn't help but smile at her obvious discomfort. When he replayed the scene over in his mind, which was often, he felt rather smug at the fact that, not only had she returned to the saloon in her sleeping state, but she had returned to him. It had been like a sprig of hope, one he had very nearly lost forever in his acceptance of her marital state. Clearly, she still felt something for him, even if she wanted to continue to deny it and he knew that if things hadn't turned out as they had…

"Myra," he greeted her as he stepped through the door.

"Hank," she replied carefully. "If ya've come for the whisky order, it's over there." She pointed to the corner.

"Course, why else would I be here?"

"Well, we don't have any mail for ya, and unless ya've got something to send…"

"Nope," he shook his head, his mind flitting back briefly to the letter from his grandmother and the reply he intended to send, with Eloise's help. "Ain't seen ya around much these last few days."

Myra blushed again, "I ain't been feeling too well."

"That…uh…sleepwalkin' ya did the other night…" he grinned.

"What about it?"

"Somethin' yer gonna be doin' often? I mean, must have bin a bit embarrassing havin' it happen in front of everyone in the saloon. If ya thought it was gonna happen again, I could always fix it so that…"

"It ain't gonna happen again," she interrupted him, her tone firm. "I saw Dr Mike and it's all been sorted."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really."

"Well, can't say as I ain't disappointed, Myra, seein' as we've always bin close…"

"I'm pregnant. Baby's due in May."

Her words brought him up sharp and he found himself staring at her, taking in her expression of defiance, mingled with fear, mingled with pride and finding himself completely at a loss as to how to feel at her news.

"Yer…pregnant." She nodded silently. "Well…uh…congratulations, Myra."

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Bin checked out by Michaela and all?"

"Yes, she says everything looks fine, so far."

"Then it's definitely a baby, not a tumour like last time."

She paused, her eyes softening, and he knew she too was remembering the operation Michaela had required to perform when the baby Myra thought had been fathered by a customer had turned out to be something far more serious. "No, it's definitely a baby."

"Well…that's…uh…that's good." The sound of footsteps behind him caused him to turn as Horace entered the office. "Yer wife's just bin tellin' me yer news."

"Oh, she did, did she?" Horace replied, shooting Myra a look before moving around the counter beside her and putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah…congratulations." He wasn't sure how he had it in him, but he held out his hand to Horace who momentarily stared at it, before slowly shaking it.

"Well, uh, thank you."

Nodding, he glanced back over at the crates of whisky waiting patiently for his attention. It would take at least three or four runs to carry them all back over to the saloon and, in the wake of Myra's news, he knew that he couldn't bear to be watched by either of them for that length of time. "I'll…uh…be back for this later."

Before either of them could say anything, he turned and hurried out, back towards the saloon, his mind in turmoil. She was pregnant. Myra was pregnant, truly pregnant this time, with Horace's child, her husband's child…it wasn't as though he had never considered that it might happen, but they had been married but a few months…it seemed so soon…

Pushing open the saloon door he strode inside and over to the bar, uncorking a fresh bottle of whisky and pouring himself one shot, then another and finally a third. As the liquid seared his throat, he raised the bottle to pour again and then paused. How long had it been since that incident in Grace's café, where he had drawn his gun on Myra, threatened to kill her and been rewarded with Sully striking him? In some ways, it felt like only yesterday and, in others, so much had happened as to render the memory more distant. He had accepted that they were going to be married, watched it happen, congratulated her...and then Eloise had come into his life, albeit in the guise of a woman who would never be anything more to him than a friend and yet something about her presence, about their marriage, for all of its fakery and convenience, had given him something else to focus on, just when he had needed it the most.

Myra would never come back to him, not now. Even if he offered her a completely different life, one free from whoring, her future was sealed. Wife to Horace Bing, mother of his child. The dye was cast, the future assured. He thought he'd accepted it before and then, when she had walked into the saloon...

He shook himself. It was over now. All over. She had made her final choice and somehow…some way, he was going to have to live with it.

XXXX

As predicted, the sky had continued to darken during the course of the day and by the time Eloise was heading back towards town, the rain had started to fall. The ride to Manitou had been without incident. Although the air had been fresh, she had actually quite enjoyed the solitude, the wind helping to clear her mind. Willow had proved to be as reliable as expected, trotting nicely when asked and she even attempted a canter or two, which had started and ended well, though she knew she still had some work to do on her seat.

Her customer, a Mrs Henderson, had been delighted at the fact that she had made the journey and had immediately insisted that she stay for hot sweet tea and freshly baked buns. Once sat by the stove, the other woman had regaled her with tales of life in Manitou, her thoughts on the upcoming wedding and about how she was confident that her new hat was going to certainly outrival that of a Mrs Moore, a woman it appeared to Eloise that Mrs Henderson was in frequent competition with.

"San Francisco!" the other woman had exclaimed when she had provided true, but scant, details of her early life. "Wait until folks hear that my hat was made by a lady from San Francisco! And you're living in Colorado Springs now?"

"Yes," she had replied, "for now at least."

"Well, I'm torn between telling everyone and telling no-one," the other woman had laughed and they had passed a good few hours together before Eloise had insisted that it was time to leave. " The fact that you rode all the way here," she shook her head. "It's too kind, too kind indeed."

"Not at all, it was my pleasure."

Now however, heading into the wind and rain, she was beginning to re-think her actions. Willow didn't seem too keen on the change in the weather conditions either, snorting and tossing her head. "It's alright girl, it's alright," she said, trying to sound soothing. "Come on, won't take us long to get home." Pushing her into a trot and then a canter, she felt the slash of the rain against her face, the wind whistle painfully in her ears and she tried to estimate how long they had been travelling for and how much further it would be until they reached home. But the landmarks around seemed unfamiliar and the sky was rapidly darkening. "Come on girl, come on," she urged as Willow strode across the ground, "almost there, almost there."

Suddenly, and without warning, the horse stumbled heavily, letting out a whinny of protest and Eloise found herself half sliding, half falling towards the ground, letting go of the reins as Hank had once taught her, but finding her foot caught in the stirrup. Hitting the ground with a thud, Willow continued on for a few paces more, dragging her behind, before coming to a halt.

For a moment, she lay winded, the rain pouring down on top of her, pain shooting through her back, before finally managing to reach up and free her foot from the stirrup. Gasping, she rolled onto her front and then slowly made her way to her feet, relieved that she seemed able to put pressure on every area of her body necessary for movement and made her way slowly over to where Willow stood, one front leg raised in the air, nostrils flared.

"Woah…" she said, as she approached her, gently stroking her neck. "It's alright…we're alright…" Taking hold of the reins, she attempted to walk the horse forward, but Willow took a few steps and stopped, tossing her head and, once more, snorting in what she could only assume was pain. "Alright girl, alright…"

It was clear that Willow could go no further, that there was something seriously wrong with her leg and, as she looked around once more at her rapidly darkening surroundings, Eloise suddenly realised that she had no idea what to do.

XXXX

Sat on his bed, Hank stared at the bottle of perfume in his hand, wondering not for the first time why he had kept it. He remembered the look on Myra's face when he had found her packing her belongings to leave him and she had told him she didn't want it, that she would never wear it. He had been hurt by that, far more than he'd ever been willing to admit, given that he had taken the time and expense to purchase it for her. Somehow, holding onto it, keeping it secreted away had been tantamount to holding onto the possibility of her realising the mistake she had made, that life as Horace's wife would never be as exciting or fulfilling as being with him would be. He'd hoped that one day, she might come and ask for it back.

But that would never happen now.

Gripping it tightly, almost to the point of pain, he realised what he needed to do with it. Ten bucks or no ten bucks. Rising from the bed, he left the room and made his way down the corridor to where Eloise slept, her door closed tightly over. "Ellie?" he knocked softly and when there was no answer, tried the handle. To his surprise it opened easily and, stepping inside, he saw that the room was empty, the bed clearly still made from the morning. Frowning, he made his way into the bar where the evening was in full swing. "Where's Ellie?" he asked Olivia as she moved past him, carrying a bottle and two glasses.

"No idea. Ain't seen her since this morning." She stopped and turned back. "What's that?"

"What?"

"That."

He glanced back down at the bottle, poised for a brief moment to let her have it, only to quickly realise it would give her ideas above her station. "Nothin'," he said, finally, moving over behind the bar and dropping it into the waste that would be removed later that month. A brief questioning of the other girls elicited information that no-one appeared to have seen Eloise since that morning and so, braving the night wind, he stepped out of the saloon onto the porch, shivering in the cold air.

She'd been in a strange mood since the incident in the bar the previous week which, when he thought back on it, still confused him. From everything he had tried to teach her, she knew better than to simply pull out a gun like he had considered she had been about to, but there had been something in her expression when he had stopped her that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Hank!"

Turning suddenly, he saw Robert E hurrying his way towards him, "Evenin' Robert E. Don't suppose ya happen to have seen my wife on yer travels?"

"That's what I came here to ask you. She ain't brought Willow back and after a thirty-mile ride, specially in this weather, that horse is gonna need a rub down. I figured she might have been tired and just tied her up here, but there's no sign of her."

"Thirty-mile ride? The hell ya talkin' about?"

"She came to the livery this morning; said she was riding out to Manitou to deliver a package but that she'd be back by this afternoon." Robert E paused. "Saying she ain't come back?"

As the enormity of the other man's words sunk in and he cast his gaze back towards the threatening sky, a sense of panic started to engulf him. Turning, he rushed back inside the saloon, grabbing his coat, hat and saddlebags before emerging back outside as the rain started to fall.

"The hell you think you're doing?" Robert E asked as he hurried past him towards the livery.

"What does it look like I'm doin'?!"

"You can't go out there in this weather! You won't be able to see anything in the dark! Wait til first light, then a bunch of us can come with you!"

"And leave Ellie out there all night on her own?!" he shook his head as he tightened Hurricane's saddle. "She ain't from round here, Robert E, doesn't know where she's goin', hell she barely knows how to ride a damn horse! Would you do that to Grace?"

"Well, no, but…"

"No, but what?"

He met Robert E's gaze, and the other man nodded. "I'll come with you."

"No, be faster on my own. Straight road to Manitou. If I ain't back by noon tomorrow, ya can send out a search party."

"Noon! But…"

The other man's words were mere mist behind him as he mounted Hurricane and pushed him forwards into the rain. The horse protested at first, then found his stride, cantering down the thoroughfare, passed the saloon, and out towards the edge of town and the road to Manitou.

"Gonna kill ya Ellie Lawson," he muttered to himself. "If ya ain't dead already, I'm gonna kill ya."