“Of course. I’ll start supper.”
“I thought maybe we could take her to the Occidental for dinner.”
“Oh, dear. Might that be a little risky? All the patrons there know you’re the bartender. They might ask you for a drink. Or at the very least, a chat. She might get suspicious.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sam said, his chin falling into his hands as his elbows rested on the table.
“I’ll ask your mother what she’d like to do, depending on how tired she is. It’s a fairly rigorous trip.”
“That’s true. She just might want to have an easy night.”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.”
“I’ll just put something together for supper. I have several options,” Meg said, rolling over in her mind what she’d like to make. She certainly wasn’t as good a cook as her mother had been—no one was, but Tripp—but she’d learned a fair amount and could put something together that she thought Mrs. Allen would enjoy. She had yet to cook for Sam, as there hadn’t been time, and she looked forward to the opportunity to please him, too.
“Thank you, Meg. You are truly a help in all this. I couldn’t do it without you.”
As Sam took his coat and hat from the rack and opened the door, Meg sighed, happy for Sam’s gratitude but also hoping that they were getting to know each other better, and that he would see they were the perfect couple—just as she’d known all along.
As Sam left for the Occidental, she carried the pail of hot water upstairs. She knocked quietly on Mrs. Allen’s door and twisted the knob as she heard, “Come in.”
Meg couldn’t help but stare as Mrs. Allen sat at the vanity, brushing out long, beautiful black locks, her hat on the peg and hairpins on the vanity. She suddenly wished she’d had more time with Clara to learn how to do more than brush and plait it, with the one exception being the simple style Clara had taught her.
Mrs. Allen had unpacked her suitcase and hung several lovely, intricately sewn dresses in the wardrobe. She followed Meg’s eyes and said, “I think I may be a little over-dressed here. I hope not. I wasn’t at all sure what to bring.”
“Oh, no, your dresses are lovely. They are perfectly appropriate in Tombstone. So many new people come every day as the mine grows, and they wear dresses like that.”
“But you don’t?” Mrs. Allen said, and Meg glanced quickly down at her simple, blue cotton dress and apron.
“I suppose, for more special occasions. Gathering eggs and milking cows calls for a different type of dress.”
“My, do you and Sam have cows and chickens?”
Meg opened her mouth, then shut it as she realized that she had been referring to her previous life—all of three days ago—and that now, she did not, in fact, do those things.
“Oh, no, my sisters have taken that task over for me at the ranch. I work mostly now at the mercantile, and even there we have a bit of physical labor to do. Satin doesn’t suit the job.” She laughed, hoping that Mrs. Allen thought her story plausible, and she poured the pail of hot water into the bath so as not to give her any more cause for suspicion.
“That certainly makes sense. I love a practical attitude like that. In fact, when Sam’s father…” She turned quickly back to the mirror, not finishing her sentence. “Let’s just say that I had to have several different types of dresses at the ready at all times. For my different duties.”
Meg wasn’t sure what she was referring to, as Sam had told her that his father worked much of the time, and when he wasn’t working, he was practicing—at what, she didn’t know. Not wanting to pry, she turned toward the door.
“There are clean towels over there for you,” she said.
“Thank you, dear. You’re taking very good care of me and I’m grateful.”
“I’ll be working on supper, and won’t disturb you in your rest. Feel free to come downstairs when you’re up to it.”
“Thank you. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to rest much. I’m terribly anxious to get to know you better, and see what you both do here in town.”
Meg forced a smile and a nod, then closed the door behind her, falling back to lean against it as she let out a big breath.
Another close call. She thought it would be easier than this—it was already a bit harder than she’d expected. What was she thinking? Would they ever be able to do this? Shaking her head, she walked down the stairs of her home—Sam’s home—hoping that nothing else would throw her off balance tonight. At least for one night.