He frowned. “Is everything all right? Did you get the job? Do you have a place to stay?”
Sarah nodded. “I’ll be fine.”
She was lying. It was evident in the rigid set of her shoulders and the rapid blink of her eyes. She was struggling to hold back tears and barely succeeding.
“Sarah...” He hesitated. How could he help her if she refused to admit she needed help? It would be so much easier to take her at her word and walk away.
“Goodbye, Luke.” She lifted her chin bravely, taking the matter out of his hands.
He stared at her for one long minute, telling himself again that she was none of his concern. “Goodbye, Sarah.” Then he clicked his tongue and headed the team back up the mountain.
Sarah bit her tongue against the urge to call Luke back and throw herself on his mercy. Everything had gone wrong, and she couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to tell him she was all right.
She opened her reticule with shaking fingers. A few coins rattled around in the bottom, all that stood between her and complete destitution.
Stupid, stubborn pride. After the cost of a night in a hotel and a meal or two, she’d have nothing. What in God’s name would she do then?
* * * * *
LATER THAT NIGHT, LUKEstared at the blank canvas in front of him, his frustration building to a fever pitch. He took a deep swig of whiskey straight from the bottle and then made two angry black slashes across the mocking expanse of white.
It was no use. He’d been sitting here for hours in his makeshift studio, trying to tap into the creative energy that had once been so much a part of him. But it was gone, lost with the rest of his hopes and dreams.
There had been a time when painting had been as easy and natural as breathing. His father had sent him to a military boarding school to purge him of the affliction, but it hadn’t worked.
No cruel, biting comment of his father’s had ever managed to dissuade him from his goal of being an artist. The war had been yet another excuse to polish his craft. He’d sketched the horror and the occasional beauty, and dreamed of returning home to his fiancée, Christine.
When he’d returned, sick in body and spirit, minus a limb, he’d thought Christine’s gentle touch would heal him. But she’d fainted upon seeing his damaged body and had sent his ring back by messenger the next day, along with a trite little note of apology.
That was when he’d lost his joy in creating. Hell, that was when he’d lost his joy in living.
He would have put his service revolver to his temple and pulled the trigger long ago, if his brother Matt hadn’t stepped in, coaxing him to leave his ravaged home in Virginia and join him in the Colorado Territory. The two of them had struck it rich with silver, and Luke had bought this ranch with his half.
He had hoped he’d be able to find some peace and inspiration in the natural beauty of the mountains, but it hadn’t happened. In the two long years he’d lived here, he hadn’t so much as sketched a leaf.
Who would have thought his inspiration would come in the form of a lovely, green-eyed girl? The urge to paint Sarah had come upon him with frightening intensity.
It was strange and disconcerting to feel so strongly about something after so many years of apathy, but he’d known enough to grab hold of the emotion with both hands. Painting Sarah might lead to other things, and he desperately needed to find a reason to drag himself out of bed every morning.
He cursed and struck out, sending the easel toppling to the floor. Who was he trying to fool? The artistic ability he’d once taken for granted had vanished.
Sinking into a nearby chair, Luke took another long swallow of whiskey and closed his eyes, searching for calm. It didn’t work. All he saw when he closed his eyes was Sarah.
* * * * *
SARAH STARED AT HERreflection in horrified fascination. The flame-red dress revealed the tops of her breasts almost to her nipples. She was afraid to move lest they pop out of the plunging neckline, leaving her completely exposed.
Dear God. Every man who saw her dressed this way would think she was a prostitute. Jack Clark, the man who’d hired her, had promised the job only entailed serving food and drinks to the customers in the saloon. She hoped he kept his word.
“Damn,” she whispered, trying out one of Luke’s swear words. She turned away from the smudged mirror and sank to the edge of the narrow bed. Her skirts settled around her in a swish of scarlet satin. For some reason, even that soft sound seemed vulgar. She’d dreamed of a new dress for years, but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.
Her gaze was drawn to the rusty lock on the scarred wooden door. It was all that stood between her and the attentions of the drunken men who roamed the upper floor of the building. The other girls, who slept in the rooms on either side of the small chamber Mr. Clark had given her, did a lot more than serve drinks.
How long would Jack Clark give her to get used to the idea before he started expecting her to do the same? She buried her face in her hands, praying for the strength to get through this. She couldn’t bear the thought of some stranger putting his hands on her body, gagging her with his stench as he thrust painfully between her thighs...
Sarah brushed away an angry tear and squared her shoulders. Someday she would find a man who was good and kind, who would love her no matter what. Her first marriage had been like that. Though her sweet William hadn’t been with her long, he’d treated her with the utmost love and tenderness, and she was determined not to settle for anything less.
Despite the passion that had flared between them, Luke Chandler was not the husband she’d hoped for. But she refused to give up. Somewhere in this town, there had to be a man who was worthy of her respect.
She’d already received two proposals of marriage. The first had come from a huge, ugly man who seemed to be looking for a mother to take care of his half-dozen children. The second came from a widower old enough to be her grandfather.
She’d refused both, but her attempts to find honest work had met with complete and utter failure. During the last three days, she’d had a dozen doors slammed in her face. Everyone in town thought she’d been intimate with Luke. Worse yet, the general consensus seemed to be that he’d found her lacking and that was why he’d sent her away.
This morning, she’d run out of time. Her money was gone, and the stern woman who owned the boarding house wouldn’t let her stay another night. She’d been left with two choices, either accept Jack Clark’s shady offer of employment or run back to Luke Chandler and beg him for help.
Luke was her first choice, of course. She’d hoped to see him again, prayed he’d drop by to see how she was faring. He had to have known she was lying to him that day in front of the bank.
But he hadn’t come, and there was no reason to expect that he would. He’d told her he didn’t want a wife. It was foolish to keep hoping he’d change his mind.
She was utterly alone in the world. No dashing prince was going to come save her. She had to make it on her own. She had no other choice.
