San Francisco

"It's beautiful, absolutely beautiful!" Regina Winters twirled in the mirror, admiring the creation that sat upon her head and then swifty turned back to the creator. "I want another one. No, another two. One red and one black. How soon could you make them?"

"Oh, well that's very kind, Mrs Winters," Eloise replied. "I'm so glad you like it and I'd be happy to make more, but I have a few orders that I need to complete first. It might take me a month." She couldn't help but feel a sense of profound pride at the other woman's love for what she had made. It made her happy to see others happy and yet, the Lord said that pride was sinful. Sometimes it was difficult to keep herself on the right path.

"I'll pay whatever you want. You have a talent young lady and don't you forget it." She smiled conspiratorially. "Perhaps I might commission you to make me yet another for a more special occasion."

"Oh yes, what special occasion might that be?"

"Come now, don't be coy," she tilted her head to one side, safe in the assumption that an older, married woman such as she had every right to address a younger, unmarried one in such a way. "Am I not to assume that there might be happy news reaching society's ears soon?"

Eloise laughed, "I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea…"

"I'm talking about you and Mr Lewis of course!"

"Oh…oh I see."

"Are you not courting? And have you not been doing so for these last few months?"

"Well, I…"

"Of course you have, and he's a very fine young man indeed. Well, perhaps not so young anymore but then, neither are you my dear." Eloise didn't miss the backhanded smear but chose to ignore it over propriety and the custom that the other woman could not only bring herself but also generate. "Oh, I don't mean to be insensitive, but you are getting older Eloise and, if you intend on starting a family, you'll need to be thinking about it sooner rather than later."

As she carefully wrapped the hat, almost sorry to see it leave the store, Eloise tried to keep her expression passive. It would do no good to argue back on the point, and it was a good one after all. What if she were to marry Thomas and thereafter discover herself unable to bear him children? Though he wasn't the eldest in his family and therefore not in desperate need of an heir, what man wouldn't want to continue his legacy?

"I really do think your parents have been extremely smart in their thinking."

Tying the ribbon tightly around the brown paper parcel, she looked up, curious as to the other woman's comment. "My parents?"

"Of course. Though I must say, they've taken their time about it. Had you been my daughter I would have been scoping out matches for you long before now, perhaps a good ten years ago. You know what they say about when a woman's best season is, and it isn't as she approaches her thirtieth year. But I suppose your mother has had her hands full with your younger siblings."

"I'm sorry…I don't understand."

"Oh, come now Eloise! You didn't think that a man such as Mr Lewis simply happened upon you by chance, do you? He's spent so many years beavering away at that bank that I'm sure his own mother despaired of him ever finding a suitable match. It's hardly surprising that, in conversation with your mother, they realised they had common ground." She carefully placed the money down onto the counter. "Now please, I really do insist that you start work on those new hats for me as soon as possible. They will be all be perfect for the Fall season." Lifting the package, she turned on her heel and walked smartly across the store to the door, pausing only to throw farewell greetings towards Eloise's father, before disappearing into the sunshine.

For a moment, Eloise simply stood, staring at the vacant space in front of her and the words left hanging in the air. Regina Winters was a kind woman, but somewhat of a gossip. Could it be that she was mistaken or, as Eloise had taken from what she had said, had her parents in fact somehow manufactured her courtship with Thomas.

"That seemed to go well," her father said, appearing beside her.

"Yes," she heard herself reply. "In fact, she's ordered another two hats to be completed before Fall."

"Well, that's wonderful."

"Yes, yes, it is."

"You don't seem overly pleased."

"I…" she turned to meet her father's gaze, suddenly overcome with an inability to know what to say or how to react. Would it be wrong to ask him to confirm the suspicions the other woman had raised? Had she no right to know the truth about how her acquaintance with Thomas had come about? Should she simply accept what her parents may have done and been grateful they had found someone for her?

"Lou? Lou, are you alright?"

She realised she had been standing frozen, seeing but not seeing and mentally shook herself. "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry, I'm fine."

"You look pale," he frowned at her. "I hope you're not doing too much, overworking yourself with these orders."

"Not at all," she forced a smile onto her face, "I enjoy my work, you know that."

"Yes, but not to the detriment of your health." He paused. "We don't have to go to the theatre this evening if you'd rather not."

The theatre. She had all but forgotten that her entire family, and Thomas, were due to attend the latest play that evening. It had received rave reviews from those fortunate enough to already have seen it and Thomas had suggested that it might be a very amiable way to spend an evening. But the fact that it had slipped her mind so pointedly….did that in itself say something about how she truly felt about their courtship?

"No, I'm looking forward to it," she heard herself reply. "It's been so long since we were last all out together."

"Splendid," he smiled at her as the store door opened and another customer came inside. "Well, do take a break now if you feel you need one. I'm sure the last thing Thomas would want tonight is his beautiful companion feeling less than her best."

"Indeed," she murmured, as he walked forwards to greet the arrival, taking the opportunity to move back behind her own workbench and sit down. Watching her father interact with the gentleman before him, she quickly realised that any straight answers she felt she might need about Thomas would never come from him. The best person to tackle on the subject would have to be her mother.

Colorado Springs

He never stayed the night with Myra. Not that there weren't times when he hadn't wanted to, but something in her expression and her whole body's demeanour had always suggested to him that she didn't want him to linger once the deed was done. He wasn't a fool. He knew that her thoughts were not the same as his when he was with her. She wasn't thinking about the kind of man, provider and protector he was and could be if she would only allow him to be. She was thinking about Horace, and that angered him beyond belief.

But he had also learned that there was no point in taking his anger on that subject out on her in those intimate moments. There seemed little evidence of her willing to change, willing to accept the fact that she had time left on her contract that she had to honour before she could even consider leaving him, and leave him she would, of that he had no doubt. So he tried to keep himself in check around her as much as possible and just hope that one day she would realise what she stood to lose by walking away from him.

As he finished re-dressing, and headed towards the door, he turned back to look at her. She was turned on her side away from him, facing the far wall, the bedclothes pulled tightly up to her chin. He knew she wasn't sleeping, that her actions were borne out of a need for avoidance, but it stung that she acted as though he had violated her somehow, instead of trying to show her that he cared. He was never rough with her, or certainly not in the last few years at any rate. He was different in bed with her than he was with any other woman and yet she still gave off the impression of being somewhat wounded.

But he would take it. It was better than nothing at all.

Stepping out of her room, he closed the door over softly and made his way back into the saloon, reaching for the nearest whisky bottle and pouring himself a glass before moving over to the door and out onto the porch. The town was quiet, the sensible folk all in bed, and yet there was a light burning in the clinic across the street and, through the window, he could see Michaela sat at her desk, head bent.

She was an enigma that one, someone he'd probably never understand. Why any well-bred woman like her would want to come and make her home in a place like Colorado Springs never failed to amaze him. And yet, here she was. Attractive, alone…well, unless you counted Charlotte's three orphaned children, not to mention Sully. They'd probably end up getting married at some point. That was what most folks did after all.

At that moment, Michaela happened to look up out of the window and meet his gaze, smiling tightly at him. He raised his glass at her in return before turning and heading back inside the saloon in time to see Myra coming into the bar dressed in her nightclothes.

"Lookin for more?" he quipped.

"No," she replied. "Just thought a little drink might send me off to sleep."

"Energised ya, did I?"

"Not exactly."

"Ya planning on stealin' it?"

"No, I knew ya'd be in here." She paused. "May I have a drink?"

Shrugging, he moved back over to the whisky bottle and filled a glass for her. "S'pose we oughta cheers or somethin'."

"Cheers to what?"

"To us?" he held out his glass to her and waited whilst she seemed to weigh up the situation before her. Acquiescing would make him happy, refusing would most likely lead to an argument and yet he knew that, deep down, any acquiescence would never be real.

"To us," she said finally, clinking her glass against his and draining it in one go. "Goodnight Hank."

Before he could say anything, she turned and hurried away back into the depths of the saloon and the sanctity of her room. Not that he couldn't pursue her had he felt the inclination for a second round. It wouldn't be the first time.

But he didn't. Instead, he sat down in an empty chair at an empty table and lit up a cigarette. Blowing smoke out in front of him, he gazed around the room at what was his. This whole place, the women in it, this life…it was his. He had built it, he owned it. He was in charge of everything and everyone and yet, in his dark nights of the soul, he knew that something was missing. A wife? Children? Hell, he'd had that chance with Clarice and Zack and ruined it spectacularly. He should have stopped her whoring, should have raised his son after she died instead of hiding him away…should have put someone else before himself.

Part of him felt ready to do that now, to be able to live all lives in tandem; saloon owner, brothelkeeper and respectable family man. Only the person he potentially felt able to do that with showed no inclination of wanting that too, at least not with him. She'd rather be wife to some boring telegraph operator who'd probably never touched a woman in his life.

Another part of him felt it would probably be better just to bury any latent desire for anything more than he already had, to stick with the persona and life that he had carefully crafted for himself. To be anything else, anyone else, would almost be tantamount to betrayal of himself. He could just see the look on Jake's face, everyone's faces, if he tried to present himself as anything even approaching respectability.

He knew he should go to bed, but the lure of the whisky bottle was too great on nights like these, and the heat meant he likely wouldn't sleep anyway. Glass after glass he poured and drained until the edges of his vision started to blur and there was a slow, dreamlike quality to his movements. When he eventually managed to get to his feet, he stumbled out of the bar towards his bedchamber, pausing ever so briefly at Myra's door. Despite the liquor, he knew he could perform once more. It had never been an issue in the past. But something stopped him and, instead, he lumbered on to his own room, collapsing onto the bed and fallen into a drunken stupor before one boot or button could be removed.

He'd had one hell of a hangover the following morning, but that was tomorrow's problem.