the polished mahogany bar with its brass railings were the ones who looked out of place. One of these days, if she had her way, there would only be men in suit coats and hats lined up in here. But the saloon wasn't hers yet, and she couldn't treat it as if it were.
Still, she had an interest in the girls under her command, and giving the cowboy at her side a light buss to the cheek, Starr whispered a few promises and set out after Tyler.
She literally cut him off at the pass, accepting the drink he was offering to Rose and sending the other girl back to a customer needing attention.
Tyler sipped his drink and eyed the garish blonde who had intercepted his questions. Starr had a good head on her shoulders, and some other more unique assets. He let his gaze drift down to admire them as she expected, then returned to watching her face.
"I don't like men, Monteigne," Starr informed him with a smile that said otherwise. "They're a passel of lying, cheating bastards with only their own self-interest in mind."
Tyler admired the performance. She was almost as good as Evie, but Evie lied with a cheerful insouciance that made you want to believe her. He just wanted to smack Starr. He waited politely.
When she didn't ruffle him, Starr gave him a look of annoyance. "You're a smug bastard. I don't know what that schoolteacher sees in you. She certainly deserves better, but I guess she's not likely to find anyone else out here, unless it's those Harding men. They're a bit tough for a young girl like that."
Tyler felt his earlier irritation growing with leaps and bounds. "I'll thank you to keep Mrs. Peyton out of this."
"Mrs. Peyton, is it? Is that what you call her when you've got her in bed? Get out of here, Tyler Monteigne, and go do the right thing by that poor widow woman so she won't have to be selling her gowns to eat." With that pronouncement, Starr slapped her glass down on the bar and walked away.
The effect was the same as if she had thrown the whiskey in his face. Tyler stood, stunned, watching as Starr found a new customer and left him standing there. He glanced around to see if anyone else had heard, but the bar was too rowdy and no one was paying him any mind. Sick to his stomach, he paid his tab and headed for the door.
The air outside didn't serve to cool his head any. After the rain, the weather had returned to its normal sun and heat, and there wasn't a sign that it had ever been anything else. Even the nighttime held the hint of the summer to come.
It didn't make any sense, but he turned his feet in the direction of the livery and the little house behind it. Evie was surrounded by children, and he couldn't talk to her. She was probably asleep. There wasn't anything he could say. He had thought her wealthy. She and the boy were always tricked out in expensive clothes and carried a fortune in whatnots with them. But he felt like the biggest jerk alive and kept walking.
She was selling her gowns to whores. He would wring her neck for that. He was her husband, damn it. She should have come to him first. She had no business even talking to women like that. The memory of that night when he had found her coming down the stairs of the saloon still rankled. Evie was too innocent to have to deal with the likes of that.
The house was dark when he arrived. Tyler knew they were all asleep. He stopped in the shadows of the hotel and tried to decide what to do. He knew what he ought to do: he ought to get the hell back to the hotel and sleep it off. But that wasn't what he wanted to do.
While he was standing there contemplating which dark window might conceal Evie, Tyler caught a furtive movement at the side of the house. He thought his eyes tricked him at first, but then the shadow moved again, and its bulk was discernible. Even half-drunk as he was, he could figure out what a shadow of that size represented.
He reached for the six-gun he carried in these hostile environs. He hadn't wanted to wear weapons ever again, but it hadn't taken him long to discover why these Texans always wore enough