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“However,” Preacher continued, “should you wish to marry again in the future—”
“I won’t.”
“If,”Preacher said, his eyes narrowing at the interruption. “It could cause some difficulties, as a case could definitely be made that you are, in fact, already wed.”
Adam fingered the cross he wore beneath his shirt. He’d never been one for much religion. His mother, on the other hand, was steadfastly Episcopalian and would absolutely consider him married, whatever the actual law had to say about it. And as sinful as he was, he did endeavor to keep his mother from turning over in her eventual grave. He might be a shit of a human being, but he did try to be a good son. Though he had no doubt he was a huge disappointment to her—and every other woman he’d tried to love. He didn’t need to become another woman’s biggest regret. Again.
He blew out a breath and downed the rest of his whiskey. “I don’t plan on ever indulging in matrimony, Preacher. But I’d prefer to be free from any entanglements, religious or otherwise. So if there’s a way to get this marriage, or whatever it is that we’re in, dissolved in everyone’s eyes, I’d appreciate it.”
Preacher nodded, though his expression stayed grim. “I’ll work on it. It might take a few weeks, though.”
“I understand,” Adam said, sighing again before standing. “Good thing I still have a few before Woodson kicks my hide out of town.”
Preacher’s lips twitched, and Adam tipped his hat to him before turning to leave. “Thanks for the company.”
Woodson hadn’t been wrong. Time was short. Adam didn’t have the luxury to keep making the mistakes that inevitably derailed his life. This time, he needed to keep things on track. So what if he’d never managed to do it before in his life? First time for everything, right?
He needed to find work and keep it. And avoid accidentally marrying anyone else, though that one didn’t seem to be much of an issue considering he’d already made that mistake with the one eligible woman in town. Avoiding her might be prudent, since she was both still angry at him and, for some ungodly reason, wanted to stay married.
A twinge of something he didn’t want to identify roiled through his gut at the thought of that mountain of womanly mayhem he’d apparently married. Felt an awful lot like regret. At what, he refused to contemplate.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and wove his way through the tables. There were a couple poker games going on, and Adam itched to join them. But he needed to stay on the good side of everyone in town. Those he hadn’t already angered anyway. Some of those men could be potential employers or coworkers. Cleaning them out in a poker game wouldn’t help his chances, so he’d be better off remaining a spectator.
Thankfully, he had Mrs. DuVere and her builder. God bless the woman. And since he actually wanted this job to pan out, he gave up on the people watching and headed back to his…room, for lack of a better word. Tent? Area? Whatever it was, his best bet was to lay down in it and try and get some rest.
He was going to need it.
Chapter Eight
Nora sank gratefully into the chair Mrs. DuVere offered, glad to be off her feet for a moment. She nodded to Mercy and Martha, then took a long drink from the glass of lemonade Mrs. DuVere had pushed toward her.
“Busy morning?” Mercy asked.
Nora nodded, her bones already starting to relax. They’d begun doing these weekly lunch dates just after Mercy’s daughter, Daisy, was born, when Mercy was a harried new mother desperate for a few moments to herself. While Nora had been reluctant to join the women at first, she’d found it a welcome respite from her burdens.
“I had a few sewing orders to finish up, and then I had to wrangle a rabbit out of my garden.”
“Oh no,” Martha said, her face crumpling in concern. “Did the gate get left open again?”
She meant “did your father leave the gate open again” but was too polite to say it. Nora was never sure if her father was too drunk to remember or just didn’t care enough to. Either way, it was more than just a nuisance. The money she made selling her herbs was half their income.
“Yes,” Nora said with a sigh. “Luckily, I caught him before he did too much damage.”
“I’m just glad it wasn’t Lucille,” Mercy added with a wry grin.
Nora laughed. “Me too.”
Mercy’s goat, Lucille, was a diva who thought she owned the town. She was constantly escaping from Mercy’s ranch and would gallivant about, demanding treats—or taking them—from every person she came across. Despite her spoiled ways, the townsfolk loved her. She had become something of the town mascot.
Nora, however, preferred the goat stay far away from her garden. Lucille enjoyed munching her herbs far too much. Left unsupervised, the goat could demolish her garden in just a few minutes.
“I’m sorry if the sewing kept you up too late,” Mrs. DuVere said, leaning forward to give her hand a pat. “But the new dress you brought is divine! Pearl is going to love it.”
She had commissioned Nora to sew a new dress for Pearl’s birthday. Pearl was one of Mrs. DuVere’s girls, though Mrs. DuVere didn’t run a typical parlor house. While her girls did pay her a fee, they were free to come and go as they pleased, though most were so happy there, they’d been with Mrs. DuVere for years.
Nora flushed, ducking her head to nod her thanks. Compliments always sat funny in her gut, squirming about like they didn’t belong there. Though she was pleased that Mrs. DuVere was happy with her work.
“And where is little Daisy today?” Mrs. DuVere asked Mercy.
