the ongoing scuffle inside then stepped off the sidewalk. He had no desire to die back shot, no matter how accidental it might be. Moments later the night had swallowed him whole.
It was just shy of sunrise when Caitie bolted for the outhouse. Minutes later she exited, again on the fly. She would have the horses fed and watered before the stable owner showed up, or know the reason why. She wasn’t giving any man a reason to fire her. The security of a regular job at Mudhen Crossing was the first real job she’d had since landing in New York City almost a year ago.
America, land of the free, had not proven to be the place she had dreamed it to be. When she’d gotten off the boat from Ireland, New York City was ankle deep in snow. Within hours of her arrival she’d discovered that women alone in America had the same opportunities as women alone anywhere. Basically, there were two options to keep from starving. Scrubbing floors or fucking for money. That’s when she’d cut off her hair and donned the men’s pants. A week later she’d hopped a train, bedded down in an empty boxcar, and rode it west until they reached something called the Mississippi River where it ran out of track. She made do by her wits until the weather warmed and was on the first wagon train heading west. After that, she’d seen nothing to remember except weird little towns with even stranger sounding names.
She remembered making camp near a small town called Feeny, because she’d once known a green grocer in Dublin by the same name. After that had been Lizard Flats, then Sweetgrass Junction. By the time they’d stopped near Mudhen Crossing, she was sick of wagons and making dry camps. When they moved on, she’d stayed behind. Now here she was, in the middle of nowhere—in constant fear of being found out and living a lie.
Caitie cleaned up the stalls, unaware that Art Bolin was back at the same knot hole, peering through the opening, watching the stable boy hard at work.
Art was a lot cleaner than when he’d left yesterday and only a little bit damp, but this time he’d come alone. Milt had a way of belittling everything he did, so he’d have the facts before he made any more accusations.
Caitie hefted the last fork full of straw into the last stall, sighing with relief. Everything was ready and waiting for the next customer to ride in. Edward Pevehouse, the owner of the stable, had already come and gone, pronouncing everything fit before adjourning to Shirley’s boarding house for breakfast. He hadn’t bothered to offer the stable boy a meal. It didn’t matter. The stable boy would not have accepted the offer if he had.
Caitie stabbed the fork into the haystack then looked around once more to make certain she hadn’t left a chore undone. Her back ached and she would have killed for an all-over bath. Bits of straw tickled and poked at the tender skin on her neck and itched something awful around her waist. The bath she would have to forego, but she could at least shake out her shirt before getting herself some food.
With one last glance toward the open doorway, she darted into an empty stall at the back of the stable and yanked her shirt over her head. The breeze coming through the open windows was cool against her skin. Her nipples pearled as air brushed over them.
She shook out the shirt, popping it twice in rapid succession before pulling it back over her head. Satisfied for the moment that she’d eased her discomfort, she darted across the street toward the saloon to settle the hungry growl in her stomach. She couldn’t afford Boarding House Shirley’s prices, but the bartender always had cold biscuits on hand. It wouldn’t take much to talk him into frying up an egg. She’d slap it between that biscuit and have herself a fine meal.
Meanwhile, Art Bolin was caught between happy and a hard-on. Watching her strip down had been fine. But there was a time for everything, and right now he had a point to prove to his smart-ass brother.
Once the girl disappeared into the saloon, Art set off in the opposite direction to find Milt. His swollen hands and damp pants were forgotten in the delight of being right. A short time later, he burst into the room of Boarding House Shirley and caught his