The saloon was exactly how Hank liked to see it, bursting at the seams with customers drinking whisky, gambling and partaking of the entertainment. Poker games always attracted a good crowd, and whisky sales were already impressive, judging by the cash box. The smell of cigarette smoke and beer filled the air and the only outlier in the familiar operation was Eloise, loitering in a far corner like a spectre at the feast. She had yet to formally respond to his proposal of marriage and as he watched her, he found himself wondering if the look of consternation on her face was in relation to his suggestion or the poker game going on at the table in front of her.

Her expression when he had suggested marriage would forever be burned into his brain. One of shock, mixed with derision, mixed with something almost akin to hope. He had watched as the wheels in her head had turned, processing the idea and everything it would entail, finally resting on the one aspect that he should have known it would and yet which he found himself irritated at, namely, the assumption of the assertion of his marital rights.

It had been different with Myra and the other girls. They legally belonged to him, bound by a contract to provide services and, as their employer, he had every right to ensure the quality of those services were maintained, whether they wanted it or not. Of course, marriage to Eloise would also be legitimised by contract, but one that was very different in nature, despite the rights it would bestow. Looking at her again, as she peered over Jake's shoulder, her eyes narrowing to read his cards, he suddenly realised that if there were ever a time when he found himself in her bed, he needed it to be because she wanted him there.

Not that it was ever likely to happen.

"Hey Hank," Jake said suddenly, his tone brimming with irritation. "Can you get your girl here to move? She's putting me off."

"She ain't my girl," he replied, loping his way over to the table. "And she ain't doin' nothin' 'cept watchin'."

"Feels like she's reading my cards."

Eloise stepped back, a guilty look crossing her face. "Ain't like she's tellin' anyone what hand yer holdin'."

"Don't matter, she's still putting me off."

"Customer's prerogative. Might be best if ya move along," he said, turning to her.

"But it looks like this game could be getting exciting," she replied with a child-like enthusiasm that amused him. "The man opposite Jake…he keeps touching his ear every time he takes a card and…"

"Keep yer voice down," he warned her, moving his body into her personal space, propelling her to the back of the room away from the table. "Folks git the idea yer spreadin' their plays around, yer not gonna be the most popular person in here."

"Oh…I'm sorry, I suppose you're right."

"Course I'm right. 'Sides, best to keep Jake sweet. We're gonna need him later."

"How so?"

"Given he's the mayor, he can marry us."

"Well…" she looked away, her face colouring. "I haven't accepted your…proposal yet. But I suppose I thought...well…the Reverend…"

"Reverend ain't gonna marry us."

"Why not?"

"He's a man of God, ain't he?" She nodded. "Well, far as I know, Bible says marriage oughta be between a man and a woman who love each other with the purpose of procreatin'. Somethin' tells me he ain't gonna be keen on officiatin' over a fake marriage that's bein' done for convenience."

"I hadn't really thought about it that way." She paused. "But Jake would marry us, under those circumstances?"

"He ain't gotta answer to the Lord. And he can do it anywhere at any time."

"You seem to know a lot about this."

"Stands to reason." Taking a bottle from the bar, he poured the whisky into a glass. "So, ya gonna accept me or not?"

"I don't know…" she sighed. "It still seems like a fairly drastic thing to do…"

"No more drastic than ya bein' hauled away in leg irons to marry yer Lewis fella," he said, smiling at the horrified look on her face. "Not that I'm sayin' that's what's gonna happen." He raised the glass to his mouth, only for her to reach out and take it from him, downing it herself in one fell swoop and smacking the glass back on the bar. Laughing, he refilled it, only for her to empty it again. "Startin' to git a taste for whisky. Perhaps yer a woman I could love after all."

She paused, slowly placing the glass back down and let out a long breath. "You can tell me it's none of my business if you want, but there has to be more behind you offering to do this for me than simple…boredom."

"Boredom?"

"Well, why else would you offer to marry a woman you barely know? You gave me your word that you wouldn't claim your marital rights so what other reason could there be other than for some sort of amusement?"

"Told ya, I got my reasons," he replied, pouring more whisky, and draining the glass before she had a chance to pilfer it from him.

"And I'm not allowed to know what those reasons are?"

"No." He moved away before she could say more, hoping that she wouldn't be stubborn and follow him. Fortunately, when he reached the other side of the room and turned back, she had gone, hopefully to her room where she could avoid causing trouble.

His reasons…how could he even attempt to put them into words? Moreover, why should he for the benefit of a woman, as she had said, that he barely knew? She knew nothing of his life here, of Clarice or Myra or his son or any of it.

As he stood near the door, his attention was suddenly drawn outside and he watched as Horace and Myra walked down the street, arm in arm, laughing together. She looked so different now, not the same woman he had known. Her hair was always neatly tied up in a bun, her dresses up to the neck, her face free of makeup. It was almost as though she had become a different person altogether since bearing the title of Mrs Bing. She thought she had done better for herself, left behind the terrible life he had made her live, met the man who truly loved her and was now destined to live a life of pure unadulterated happiness.

He often wondered if they talked about him, alone at night in their bed. Did they pity him? Talk about what a shame it was that he would never know what it meant to love like they did? Well, he didn't need their pity, nor Horace's superiority. The other man thought he had won, taken away something that belonged to Hank, something that he hadn't been able to keep and would never be able to get again.

A woman like Eloise agreeing to marry him, for whatever reason, would soon show them.

XXXX

The sensation of whisky still burning her throat, Eloise paced the floor of her bedroom, her thoughts swirling one way and then another. Despite the fact that Hank had refrained from telling her the rules of poker, watching the game unfold in front of her, she had quickly found herself picking up on the strategy that was being utilised, particularly by Jake, whose cards she had been privy to and it irrationally irritated her that she had been prevented from seeing how the game would end. Gambling, real gambling, was sinful and certainly not something that a lady should take any enjoyment in. Neither was whisky, but having drank more of it in the last few days than she had in her entire life, she couldn't help but somewhat enjoy the warmth it filled her with. Perhaps it was that very thing that led men, and some women, to their ruin; the enjoyment of it. She would have to refrain from partaking in future. By barely being able to recognise herself, and her actions, since leaving home she worried that there was some terrible demon lurking inside her, demanding to be set free.

Her thoughts were mainly dominated however by one thing and one thing only, that being Hank's proposal of marriage. When she considered it properly, it was really the most ridiculous suggestion she had ever heard in her life. A man she had known for barely three days, a man she didn't love who owned a saloon and ran women…this was the man she was considering wedding herself to? A short laugh escaped her throat as she continued to pace. It was nonsensical. Despite the fact that something within her trusted him, how could she possibly take such a drastic step? There had to be some hidden agenda that, in her naivety she couldn't see. What man, with legal rights to a woman, would ever agree to forego those? And if he did insist, she would have no way of refusing and then the whole concept of an annulment would be lost.

But, on the other hand, what could she possibly say or do to prevent her parents from forcing her into marrying Thomas? Despite the fact she was weeks away from turning thirty years old, she was still indebted to them and would never want to willingly cause pain. If enough pressure was to be applied, how could she stop the inevitable, unless it was legally impossible?

And Hank…what were his own reasons for offering to do this and why wouldn't he tell her? Didn't she have a right to know?

Her head was starting to hurt from too much contemplation, not to mention the whisky and cigarette smoke and so, leaving the room, she made her way back into the bar, intending on getting some fresh air that might help clear her mind and focus her thoughts. The atmosphere had grown more raucous even in the short time that she had been absent and at the far end of the room, there was clearly disagreement escalating between two patrons, with Hank attempting to diffuse the situation. Though she knew she should simply keep walking, she stopped, watching as the scene unfurled before her, oblivious to the man approaching her from behind until he had pressed himself against her back, his hands going to her waist.

Instinctively, she pulled away, whirling around to face him as he moved slowly towards her, his gait hampered by drink. She stepped backwards, behind the bar, as he continued to move towards her and dropped some coins.

"I'll pay that for you," he slurred. "More than I'd pay for any of them others."

Her heart thudded in her chest. "I'm not for sale."

"Sure you are. Every woman in here is." He made to reach for her, and she stumbled back, slipping on whisky that had been spilled onto the floor and landing unceremoniously on her behind, causing him to laugh. "Good of you to get into position for me." He moved closer to her, blocking the already dim light above her, his hands going to his belt.

Panic flooded her. Even in this crowded room, who amongst the drunken patrons would notice or care if he were to take her right there? Hank was nowhere in sight, and she was hidden on the floor with nothing to defend herself with but her own wits.

Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she spied the hilt of a gun, resting on the shelf beside her and despite never having had cause to so much as look closely at one in the past, she felt herself hurriedly reach for it, momentarily surprised by its weight, and point it at him.

"You gonna shoot me, little lady?" he asked, guffawing. "I'd like to see you…" He broke off as she cocked the hammer and lifted his hands slowly. "Ain't got to do that." Grabbing hold of the bar, she pulled herself to her feet, the gun still trained on him, her entire body trembling, the noise around them quietening as others finally realised what was happening.

"I told you I wasn't for sale," she said, her voice shaking over the words.

Seconds later she first felt, then saw Hank beside her, the gun pulled from her hands. "Give me that! The hell ya think yer doin'?"

She opened her mouth to explain, to defend her actions, reckless though they might have been, when she realised that his comment was directed to the perpetrator, rather than her.

"Didn't mean no harm," the man said, gesturing to the coins sat on the bar. "Paid money for her."

"She told ya she ain't fer sale. Now git the hell out of my bar."

The man's face darkened. "Gonna make me?"

"Sure," Hank pointed the gun at him. "Ya want it in the leg or the arm? Or maybe I's just go for the head and save us the bother of needin' to git ya fixed up. Yer choice." Their gazes remained locked for what felt like an eternity, until the man's lip curled in an admission of surrender, and he reached for the coins. Before he could take them, however, Hank had procured them, sliding them along the bar out of his reach. "Reckon ya owe her that, for the trouble caused." The man said nothing, then turned and lumbered towards the door.

Hank turned to face her as the chatter in the room started up again. "Ever shot a gun before?"

"No," she shook her head, still trembling.

"Then ya don't ever touch one til ya know how to use it, ya hear me" She nodded. "Ya a'right?"

"Yes I'm…ow…" a sliver of pain suddenly shot through her and, lifting her arm, she saw blood running out of a gash extending from the back of her wrist halfway to her elbow. "I must have caught it on some glass when I fell."

"Best git ya over to Michaela's to stitch ya up, unless ya wanna take yer chances with Jake."

Glancing over his shoulder, she watched as Jake sank yet another whisky, and grimaced. "I think Michaela might be the more sensible option."

XXXX

"Well, it doesn't look too deep," Michaela said, examining the offending injury. "I don't believe it needs stitched, so a bandage should suffice. How did it happen?"

"I slipped on some whisky," Eloise replied. "There must have been some broken glass on the floor."

"In the saloon?" She nodded. "From what I could hear earlier, it sounds like there's a lot going on in there today."

"Big poker game, Michaela, can't really expect much else," Hank said.

"Safe working conditions for your employees might be a start."

"Ellie don't work for me."

"Ellie?" Michaela glanced between them and Eloise looked at the floor. "Well, even if she doesn't you have women in there who do. Broken glass can be a serious hazard, as we can see here. I'm sure you wouldn't want any injuries caused to those that do work for you."

"Plannin' on startin' some sort of union, Michaela?"

"Perhaps someone should," Michaela said, as she finished cleaning the wound and then lifted the strip of bandages. "Keep this dry for the next few days if you can, then the bandage can come off. You shouldn't be left with any permanent scar."

"Thank you," Eloise replied, watching as the bandage was wrapped around her arm. As she reached into her money purse, he stepped forwards and dropped some coins onto the bed,

"Best let him who caused it pay fer it," he said, raising his eyebrows as Eloise opened her mouth to protest. "Only fair."

"Thank you, Michaela," she said, getting to her feet. "Sorry to have caused you trouble."

"I'm more concerned about the trouble you've been caused. This is my job, after all." Moving to the door, Eloise opened it, and he was about to follow her outside when Michaela called his name and he turned back. "This is the second time that Eloise has been hurt since she arrived here. First her eye, now her arm…"

"Hope ya ain't blamin' me fer that."

"Well, you could hardly have foreseen the first incident, I'll give you that, but what happened today…"

"She slipped on some whisky. Could happen to the best of us."

"Why are you encouraging her to stay there? Don't you see how inappropriate it is?"

"She's a grown woman, Michaela. She can make up her own mind. Fact is, if she wanted to come and stay at the clinic, I ain't gonna stop her, but she's the one who told me she preferred to stay at the saloon." He spread his hands. "What do ya want me to do?"

Michaela sighed, "Something is going on with her. Something more than her just deciding to come to our town from San Francisco with no real purpose."

"There is. Fact ya don't know what it is, and I do, probably says more about Ellie than ya want to admit."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe she ain't like ya. Just cause yer both well-bred women from big cities don't mean ya got anythin' in common." He raised his eyebrows at the look of indignation on her face. "Thanks, fer fixin' her up." Turning away, he made his way back across the street to where Eloise was waiting on the porch steps.

"Can you teach me how to shoot?" she asked, as he approached.

"A gun?" She nodded. "Plannin' on shootin' yer way out of this marriage to Mister Lewis?"

"No…but based on my experience here so far, it seems likely I'll need to use one at some point."

"Ya've been unlucky."

"Is that what you call it?" She snorted, turning away from him.

"Yeah." Taking her arm, he turned her to look at him. "Folks lived here their whole lives and never had to use one to defend themselves."

"I suppose it must just be something about me then, something that screams that I'm there for the taking. There were plenty of…women…in the saloon today. He could have chosen any one of them and they wouldn't have put up a fight."

"Some men like a challenge."

"A challenge?" she shook her head. "I suppose you think that what he did, what he wanted to do, what that other man wanted to do…that's just all part of what I have to expect as a woman."

"This ain't San Francisco."

"I'm aware of that." Turning away from him again, she stepped closer to the saloon door, then stopped and he could tell she was afraid.

"Woman alone in a town like this…always gonna have to watch herself," he said, coming up behind her. "Might not be somethin' ya wanna hear or think about, but it's the truth."

She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping, then turned to look at him again. "I should have said thank you, for coming to my rescue…again."

"Ya had the situation pretty well under control by the time I got there. Reckon ya'd have hit him somewhere on his body if ya'd pulled the trigger."

"Or I might have shot someone else, someone completely innocent."

"If it'll make ya feel better, I can give ya some pointers on how to shoot a gun."

"I'd appreciate that, thank you. I can't always rely on you being there to save me every time some drunken excuse for a man wants to lay hands on me…even if you are my husband."

He watched as her gaze flitted from his face to the ground and then back again. "That mean yer sayin' yes to me?"

"I suppose I am."

"Well…ain't exactly the enthusiasm I might have expected in response to a proposal of marriage, but I guess it'll have to do. Best let Jake sober up in the mornin' before we talk to him. Assumin' he ain't got an issue with it, can git the deed done by the end of the week. Then yer folks and Mister Lewis can just turn around, git right back on the stage and leave ya alone."

"Yes," she said, her face paling slightly. "I suppose they can."

"And don't worry," he leaned in close to her, "I'm a good actor."

"Actor?"

"Gonna have to make it look real somehow."

"Oh...yes..." she turned back to the door again just as two large men came tumbling out of it, locked together in a determined show of aggression, and she stepped back quickly, bumping against him as she did so.

His arm moved instinctively to curl around her waist, moving her quickly behind him, even though the threat was at a distance. He thought briefly about getting involved, but the fact that they were outside the saloon meant the concern really was no longer his.

So he turned back to the one that was.

"Long as yer here, under this roof as my wife, I'll protect ya. Have my word on that." She looked at him wide eyed and then nodded slowly. "Long as ya ain't pointin' no gun at me. Ya do that and all bets are off, ya hear me?"

"As long as you don't do anything that might make me want to point a gun at you," she replied, the hint of smile on her lips.

Can't say fairer than that," he nodded, holding out his hand. "Deal?"

Reaching out, she slid her fingers around his, cool to the initial touch, then quickly warming as she met his gaze again. "Deal."