Kyra and the Saloon Boss

1889, Wylde, Texas

“Honey, you lost?” A handsome woman of middle age, with hair as black as soot with loose curls about her shoulders, descended from the stage with a confidence that made the worn saloon floorboards creak in submission. She had the kind of presence that commanded attention, dressed in a worn ruffled hoop skirt, a style which had gone out with the war, twenty years ago.

Kyra checked the crumpled letter in her gloved hand and swallowed over the dust that had clung to her since she boarded the stagecoach in Oklahoma City.

“Is this the Bluebonnet Hotel?” Her voice was almost drowned out by the relentless twang of a fiddle and the rhythmic stomp of boots. The warmth of the Texas spring, so unlike the chilly Maine she’d left behind, trickled sweat down her back, making her wool dress feel more like a punishment than proper attire.

Kyra had entered the humble hotel through the lobby but when no one was there to greet her, she’d followed the music into the attached saloon.

“You found it, honey. Though I’m guessing this ain’t quite what you expected.” The woman’s eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, flicked over Kyra, taking in her disheveled state.

“I’m looking for Sarah Bailey.” Kyra glanced at the four young women on the stage, but none of them could be her aunt.

They were far too young, their cheeks flushed with a youth that seemed foreign to the hard edges of this town. They were dolled up with bright rouge and scandalously short skirts.

“Name’s Scarlett.” The woman’s fingers dug into Kyra’s elbow and pulled her to the far side of the stage, rougher than Kyra felt was necessary. “Now, who might you be?”

“Kyra Anne Hadley. Sarah’s my aunt. On my mother’s side.”She hoped the explanation would be enough to stop the woman’s scrutiny, and it may have worked. Scarlett’s gray eyes widened with delight.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Scarlett said, a slow smile curving her lips. “You’re Sarah’s kin, alright. Follow me, sugar.”

They walked to the long, weathered bar, empty of patrons at this midday hour. Scarlett pulled out two stools and placed two cloudy glasses in front of them and expertly filled them with a clear liquid.

“Drink up.” Scarlett held up the small glass and shot back the liquid.

Kyra lifted it, sniffed, and dropped it back to the bar, her nose burning. “Do you have any lemonade?”

The woman laughed, fine lines crinkling the sides of her eyes. She reached into an icebox and poured the yellow liquid on top of the alcohol. “That’ll take the edge off.”

Kyra took it and drank, puckering her lips at the bitter taste.

“Do you know my aunt?” Kyra asked, squirming on her seat, her backside sore after four days of sitting on trains, carriages, and coaches.

Scarlett’s eyes twinkled with something like amusement. “Oh, I know her alright.” She leaned back, hiking up her skirts as she settled into her stool. “Now, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this? Your aunt’s the madame here. Do you know what that means?”

“I’m aware of my aunt’s vocation. It’s why I came.” Kyra wiped her cheeks roughly. She knew she looked a mess—blonde hair gritty and mussed, dirt on her dress and face, gloves stained—but adrenaline shot through her body hoping the long and arduous journey had not been for nothing.

“I’m here for a job. My husband’s run out on me, and I’m left with nothing. If working here is good enough for Aunt Sarah, it’s good enough for me.”

Scarlett’s smile faded slightly as she poured herself another drink. “You sure about that, darling? This ain’t no place for a lady.”

Kyra hardly felt like a lady. She’d played the part of a professor’s wife but she never fit in with well-mannered, polite society that came with her position. She often found herself in the lecture halls of the university, soaking in the knowledge and pretending she were one of the students.

Not that this dusty town fit her any better. Kyra didn’t know where she fit in in the world, but she certainly knew it was no longer as a wife to Henry Hadley.

“I understand your meaning and that’s why I’ve come. I can’t re-marry. My husband may have disappeared but technically I’m still bound by our marriage. I won’t work in a factory making my hands bleed for pay that won’t even cover rent in a hovel. If working here is mymeans to independence, I’ll do what I must to survive.”

Kyra took the bottle and slugged a gulp from it and slammed it down, making her point. “I’m not some delicate flower. I understand what it means to be a Bluebonnet Belle.”

Scarlett quietly assessed Kyra. She didn’t blame the woman. It probably wasn’t often, if ever, a lady walked into a brothel and demanded work.

Scarlett watched her for a long moment before letting out a hearty laugh that echoed off the saloon walls. “You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. Not the innocent little girl I remember. Naive as a newborn calf, but there’s fire in you.”

Kyra blinked, the realization hitting her like a runaway coach. “Aunt Sarah?”

“That’s right, girl. But everyone calls me Scarlett here. No one’s called me Sarah since—”

Kyra flung into Scarlett’s arms, theembrace so forceful it sent them both tumbling off their stools and onto the floor in a tangle of skirts and laughter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Kyra untangled her limbs from her aunt, but their skirts and ankles were caught up around each other.

“Roll left dear.” Scarlett tugged the crinoline of her skirt and Kyra rolled roughly across the sticky floor,only to bump into a pair of polished boots, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her ribs.

“You alright down there, darlin’?” A deep voicedrawled above her, rich with a Southern lilt.

Kyra rolled to her back and slung her gaze upward. Towering over her was a manas out of place in this saloon as she felt. Tall, with a tailored suit and a bowler hat perched at a rakish angle, he exuded an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. His spectacles glinted in the low light as he bent down to offer her a hand.

“I… I’m fine,” she stammered, scrambling to her feet and dusting herself off, all while avoiding his outstretched hand. She could feel his eyes on her, assessing, as she awkwardly scooted back toward Scarlett.

The man bent forward and scooped up Kyra’s bonnet. “I believe you lost this.”

“Thank you,” Kyra mumbled, yanking it from his hand and shoving it back onto her head.

The man glanced around the saloon as if he were sizing it up, taking note of every nook and cranny.

Scarlett, the picture of composure, slid back onto her stool with a graceful ease that belied their undignified tumble. “May I help you, sir?” she purred, her voice all honey and charm. “A drink, perhaps? Or something a bit more… satisfying?”

The man’s lips pulled into a frown. “I’m not here for pleasure, Miss Scarlett. That’s my brother’s vice, not mine.”

Kyra’s mouth hung open, but Scarlett smiled wider. “My girls are clean as a whistle that’s never been blown.”

The man raked his gaze over Kyra’s rough appearance.

“She’s not one of my girls,” Scarlett said, pouring a drink for the stranger. “She’s my niece, fresh off the coach from…”

“Maine,” Kyra filled in.

“All the same, I’m here on business.”He took off his hat, revealing light brown hair, slightly damp with sweat, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I need to speak with the manager.”

“You’re looking at her,” Scarlett smiled. “Miss Scarlett Bailey. You may call me Scarlett. No formality here.”

The man blinked, clearly taken aback. “You run this place?”

“Disapprove of a woman running things?”

“No,” the man said, taking Kyra by surprise. “I’m only shocked my brother didn’t.”

Scarlett’s smile vanished. “Who’s your brother?”

“Clive Kent.” He adjusted his glasses, reminding her of the professors she used to watch and admire. But there was nothing she found to admire about this man.

“That scoundrel’s your brother?”Scarlett asked, her voice steel beneath the sweetness.

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Declan Kent.”

“Well, I’ll be. Your brother’s been missing for weeks. Had to step in and keep things running.” Scarlett crossed her arms over her chest, matching his grit. “Why are you here, Mr. Kent?”

Declan’s expression hardened. “To inform you that my brother is no longer owner of the Bluebonnet. I am.” He slammed the shot back without losing eye contact with Scarlett. “And I’m shutting this place down.”