The Last Hire

TEMPERANCE

1869, four years after the Civil War

“There she goes again.” I heard the man leaning against the saloon’s wall mutter, spitting tobacco at my feet, but I gave him no heed.

I punched through the swinging doors like a dust storm. “Hey! Sinclair! Ashby! Jackson!” Every patron looked my way as I stomped over to the three no-good, rotten, sons-of-a-bitches.

Including the sleezy bar owner, Caleb Brooks. “Goddammit! This is the second time this week. Why do ya think you can just barge in ‘ere hollarin’ like a fucking wounded coyote, Miss Walker!”

I shot a glare at him. “’Cause my hands waste their wages here on the nightly. And if you still want to collect, then you’ll mind your business while I handle mine.”

There was everything from curses to whistles thrown out at the way I mouthed off, but I didn’t give a damn at the moment. Caleb shuffled around, muttering under his breath behind the bar, but I ignored that too.

Some large drunk turned around too late, and I gave him a shove, making him miss his mouth with the shot glass. He swore under his breath, calling me a ‘lightskirt,’ as if I’d willingly choose to work in this dump and under its patrons. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve paid for the drink, seeing as he was wearing Union colors, but I was seeing red.

“Here to give us our two weeks’ pay, Miss?” Jackson smirked, blowing out smoke from his cigarette, knowing damn well that was not the reason. “Mighty kind of you to come down ’ere to deliver it.” The other two chuckled, their eyes carving dangerous paths down my body.

I flipped some of my dirty blonde locks behind my shoulder that had fallen loose, placing my hands on my hips. I felt more like a mother than a boss to these cowboys. “No, gentlemen, I’m ’ere to inform you that ya breached our agreement, and therefore, your wages are forfeit until I get two full weeks of work outta y’all.”

By their vacant expressions, I assumed they didn’t understand. The men around them did, though, quietening to hear the argument sure to come. They had listened to my rants for four years now.

I huffed. “I’m. Keepin’, Your. Pay.”

That got through, and the expressions around their table tumbled like a rockslide.

Ashby stood, the squeal of his chair on the rough wooden floorboards reminding me of the size of the room filled with men and their opinions. Like the fact that I didn’t belong in their space. No respectable woman did, and certainly not the daughter of the largest ranch in Dayton. Or the whole Utah Territory, for that matter.

The dust-covered cowboy clicked his spurs on the floor as he towered over me. “Wud ya say?” There was a dangerous glint in his eye, not taking them off me even while spitting into a nearby spittoon.

Now Sinclair stood, flanking me. “I think she said she ain’t gonna pay us.” His hand went to his belt and holster.

My jaw clenched because I was gonna push the issue come Hell or high water. “You’ll get your pay when you get your asses back to the ranch, and I get my full two weeks outta y’all.” I heard my heartbeat in my ears, but I was too damn tired of being pushed around by my own ranch hands.

I’m Temperance Walker, and Walkers never fold.

It was Jackson’s turn to rise from his seat, making the three of them like an impenetrable wall of leather. The sound of a rusty revolver’s hammer being cocked and the press of a barrel to my bodice stole my breath. He smiled wickedly. “Ain’t so tough now, eh, boss?”

I swallowed, and the room around me held its breath. There was nowhere to run. No one here would save me. Not when I just mouthed off to a bunch of men too far into their cups to care. Even Caleb just looked on indifferently, polishing a glass.

“You have the money with ya?” Jackson asked with frightening calm.

I shook my head, lying because my stubbornness thought of this very scenario, but somehow conjured me walking out of here triumphantly with them in tow.

“Well, then, it looks like we’re goin’ for a walk.” He leaned into my ear, brushing some stray locks aside. “I’ll expect interest.” His free hand grasped my chin hard, his dirty hands leaving streaks on my rosy skin. “So will the boys, and we’ve been watchin’ ya turn your backside to us for too long.”

A tremor shot down through my body. What had I gotten myself into?

I tried to pull away, but Jackson held me tighter. “You’re hurting me,” I seethed, more angry at myself for being so stupid.

I shouldn’t have come alone. I should’ve asked some of the other hands to back me up, but I couldn’t trust them—not like my father’s old hands who’d abandoned us after my brother died. Only a few remained, but they were too old to intimidate the younger hands. They were true cowboys, the kind that live for sleeping under the stars. But when I took over for the sake of the ranch’s survival, they quit, not able to take orders from a woman. Now, I was lucky to get any hires—hence my current predicament.

The three laughed low and cruelly. Ashby ran a finger along the lace trim of my collar, rubbing it between his fingers. “No one here cares, darlin’.”

I jerked back enough to slip away from him, at least. “That’s Miss Walker to you. My father—”

“Your father ain’t the man he was. We all know it.” Sinclair gestured around the bar to the apparent like-minded audience. “Your brother at least had the stones to fight in the war. Would’ve worked for him, but all we got is you. And you ain’t worth the shit on my boots.”

A hot, feral rage bubbled over me. My fist clenched, nails biting into my palm as I swung it back, only for it to be caught. A large, warm hand tucked my fist away, swaying casually between me and the gun. My mouth opened in quiet protest, but for once I willed myself to shut up.

Looking up, I realized the man I was pressed against was the same one I spilled whiskey on when I first came in. He smelled like smoke and the ripeness of a man who went too long without a proper wash. I stared at a round hole in his Union jacket, shivering at the thought that a bullet could’ve made it.

“Seems everyone in this saloon has forgotten their manners.” His voice was so masculine and deep that it was impossible to ignore. “The girl said you were hurtin’ her. If y’all feel like pickin’ on someone, I reckon you ought to pick on someone your own size.”

I peered around my protector to see Jackson jab the gun at him now.

“Someone like you?” His smile was as greasy as his dark hair. “It’ll be a shame to have to put down a veteran.”

Ashby nodded in agreement with his friend. “She ain’t worth it, man, trust me.”

My human shield turned his head, looking down at me. My eyes met his—they were a beautiful prairie sky blue.

His brown, overgrown hair curled slightly at the ends, and I heard his beard scratch against his jacket collar as he faced the cowboys again. “That ain’t the point,” he slurred. “The point is that you’re pointin’ a gun at an unarmed civilian. It also sounds like you haven’t held up your end of the contract with the little lady, so don’t expect to get paid.”

I glared at the boys, happy to have someone on my side.

“And you,” he rounded on me, and I shrank back. The man was a mountain. “You can’t just come in ‘ere, makin’ demands. Not of men that way.”

I blinked up at him, astonished that I was getting a fucking lecture. “Excuse me?”

He pinned me with a scolding look that sent gooseflesh up my spine. My cheeks flushed, further adding to my public mortification.

To my surprise, Jackson holstered his gun. How this drunk had gotten through to him was beyond me. “What’s your name?” he asked the soldier.

The man seemed to think about it for a moment, weighing the risks. “Levi Barrett.”

The three nodded like they were chewing it over, sharing shifty looks. “At least now we know what to carve on your tombstone. Get ’em!” Jackson shouted, and all hell broke loose.

I ducked under the punches, rushing over to the bar. “Caleb! You gotta stop this!”

He grunted. “You started it. You stop it!” Bets began flying, dollars slapping onto the bar as Caleb and his girls sorted wagers. “Or don’t. Let ’em fight!”

I huffed, rolling my eyes, watching the stack for the three sons-of-bitches grow taller.

Turning back to the brawl, Sinclair was already out cold on the floor, giving me an odd sense of justice. The men around me cheered, bets still weighing heavily against my savior, Mr. Barrett. Yet the man seemed in his element as I watched him take a punch to the gut, laughing it off as if it tickled.

When Ashby charged him, Barrett grabbed him by his mop of hair like a troublesome child. With his other hand, he blocked a glass bottle hurled at him by Jackson. It shattered on contact, some of it ripping his tattered uniform further. I flinched, like I had taken the hit personally—and in a way, I did.

It was that damn uniform. The same one my brother wore proudly when he told us he was “volunteering.”

“Don’t worry, Tempie. I’m just goin’ to help protect the telegraph lines and mines. It’s not like I’m goin’ into battle,” he said.

Until he ended up dead in Jackson, Mississippi.

“A hundred on Mr. Barrett!” I heard myself say, slapping the bills down as they all eyed me. “Money is money, even from a woman. If y’all don’t want it, I’ll take it back.” There was a chorus of approval at the amount, all wanting a bigger payout when I lost.

A grunt from Barrett made my heart leap. Jackson had him in a hold, rendering his arms useless, while Ashby walloped him with his fists. Each strike made me wince. How could a man endure such a beating? His eye was already bruising, and his lip was split, dribbling blood down his chin into his beard. Barrett’s head swung, the tension in his body loosening to a worrying degree.

I had to do something—not for money, but for the sake of the man who tried to save me.

“Jackson!” His glare met mine. I placed my hands on my hips, shaking my head. “I knew it. You’re all hat and no cattle! Too afraid to take a hit and make it a real fight?” The whole bar let out some ‘Ooes.’

At the insult, he gritted his teeth. “When I finish soldier-boy here, you’re next! I’ll be showing you how much of a man I am!” He looked over at the crowd egging him on. “What do y’all think? Wanna see what’s under that pretty dress?”

The sea of grins turned to knives as they eyed me, nodding, and I swear the shadows of the dim room deepened. I backed up slowly toward the saloon doors, but some of the other men grabbed my arms. They sniffed me and felt up my dress, humming with hunger.

Damn, my mouth.

Panic rose in my throat as I fought against their hold. I should pray to God, but He clearly had vacated this den of iniquity long ago. So, I yelled the name of the only other power that could save me…

“LEVI!”