She let out her breath. “I’m hoping to convince him to buy the business.”
Mrs. Gallagher didn’t respond for the longest time, but disappointment shone from her wide blue eyes. “I suppose if that’s what you want to do.”
“It is. You know, as well as I do, that I shouldn’t own this house.”
Again, Mrs. Gallagher held her own counsel, perhaps knowing that she couldn’t argue the point. She poured hot water from the kettle over the loose tea leaves in the teapot and slowly nodded, as if accepting her decision. “You know, you could rent a horse from Mr. Yancy at the livery.”
“I would,” she glanced down at the narrow skirt of her town dress. “But I wouldn’t be able to ride it in this dress.”
Mrs. Gallagher placed the teapot on the stove then turned toward her. “He has buggies for rent as well.”
Sheridan shook her head and smiled. “Unfortunately, while I know how to ride, I’ve never learned how to drive a rig. I’m afraid I would be a danger to every pedestrian on the street.” She finished buttoning up the cape. “No, a nice brisk walk will do me good.”
“If’n you say so.” There were certain phrases Mrs. Gallagher said where her Irish accent really came out. This was one of them. “Don’t be surprised if this is a complete waste of your time. Mr. Steele never sees anyone, as far as I know.”
Sheridan slipped the scarf over her hair and twisted it around her neck. “It’s my time to waste.” She pulled on her gloves. “And besides, I’ll never know if I don’t ask.”
It was colder than she expected when she stepped outside. She could see her breath as she strolled through the town at a brisk pace, her focus on the house high up on the hill, passing people who, she assumed, were quick to conduct their business and go back to the warmth of their homes. She did notice that more people now smiled at her than not, and that made her feel good.
By the time she made it to the top of the hill, she was slightly out of breath, and her hands were cold, despite the warm gloves. Her feet were cold, too, but at least her ears were not, the scarf she’d slipped over her head and around her neck keeping her warm.
She knocked on the big, fancy door with its panels of etched glass, covered by thick draperies, then turned around to look at the view while she waited for someone to answer. From up here, it was magnificent. One could see almost the entire town, though not as far as Josie’s, which was at the opposite end.
When no one came to door, she knocked again. And waited longer. She noticed a small turnkey doorbell and turned it. The sound it made seemed very loud in the silence, but maybe Mr. Steele hadn’t heard her knock. He’d certainly hear this. After a moment or two, she saw the drapes covering the window beside the door fall back into place before a gruff voice demanded, “Go away.”
“Mr. Steele.” She spoke through the closed door. “My name is Sheridan DuBois. I?—”
The draperies twitched again. “Go away!”
“Please, Mr. Steele, I’d only like a moment of your time.”
“No,” and that was the last thing she heard except for the odd, shuffling footsteps walking away.
Sheridan stared at the closed door, hoping he’d change his mind and come back, but as the minutes ticked away, she realized he wouldn’t. Both Lucy and Mrs. Gallagher had been right. Mr. Steele was not sociable at all. Her shoulders slumped with disappointment. She so needed to sell Josie’s business, but it didn’t look like Mr. Steele was going to be the answer to her prayers. Disappointed but still determined, she left the house on the hill and started the long walk home.
The sign swinging from an iron bar attached to the side of the building simply read “Conrad’s”. As she approached, she could hear music from within the building as someone played a piano—badly. It made her cringe the way the player pounded the keys. That person could obviously use a lesson or two. She had half a mind to push through the door and offer that very thing when the batwing doors were pushed open.
Sheridan stepped back as three men exited the saloon, only one of whom seemed to have no trouble walking. The other two swayed, then laughed because they did so. From the looks of them, and the fact that one of them had to lean against the doorjamb to remain standing, they’d spent a great deal of time inthe saloon, drinking. Probably gambling, too. And whatever else men did in such establishments.
She quickened her step, hoping to pass them by without so much as a glance. She wasn’t quick enough, though. One of the men noticed her, a big, slovenly creature who looked like he hadn’t seen the benefit of a bathtub in months and the only one who didn’t seem as in his cups as the other two.
“Well, well, will ya look at who it is!”
She ignored him and tried to walk past him, her head held high, her focus straight forward.
He took a step in her direction, then grabbed her arm and swung her toward him, his smile filled with bad intentions. Fear skittered up her back as she tried to free herself. “Take your hands off me!”
“Come on, sugar, give us a little kiss.” The grip on her arm tightened as he pulled her closer. She could smell his rancid breath. It made her stomach rebel as much as her fear did.
Too startled to scream, Sheridan struggled to get away from him. She nearly managed to get free, but he just dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her arm, then wrapped his other arm around her, drawing her closer still until she was pressed up against his belly. The smell of his unwashed body was almost as bad as his breath.
His companions did nothing but laugh and encourage him. Neither one of them would be of any help. Besides, they could hardly stand up straight, even if they were so inclined.
“Leave me alone!” she managed to yell as his embrace tightened even more. She could feel the strength in his arms. She was no match for it.
“Don’t be so mean, sugar.” His mouth came perilously close to hers. “I jes’ wan’ a kiss. Jes’ one little kiss.”
She tasted bile in the back of her throat as her stomach roiled. Panic pressed down on her almost as tight as his grip.
