Wesley sat with Megan on a beleaguered wooden bench in the garden behind Granny's. Several rows of various vegetables sagged in the heat of the high sun, weeds shouldering their way up for its benefit. A rail fence wandered across the back and down the side of the property, offering the minimum of defense against trespassers. The couple sat chewing silently on sandwiches that Megan had prepared, a concession that Granny had granted, reluctantly.

"I'd sorta planned on buyin' you lunch." Wesley spoke through a mouthful of bread.

"I don't mind. This is kind of peaceful compared to the saloon." She gave him a tender smile, finding his company natural and comforting. "Where are you staying Wes?"

"At the livery. Mister Powser put me up in the barn. I've got a stall right next to Dammit."

"What's wrong?" She gave him a startled look.

"Huh? Nothin', why . . . oh!" He chuckled. "Dammit's my horse. It's a stupid story." They both fell silent again, chewing thoughtfully. Wesley finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on his pants, turning to face her. "Megan . . . I uh, I- I was talkin' earlier with the lady that owns the saloon, Miss Fairweather. She ah, she suggested that you might find a better job in her kitchen." He saw her expression darken and he hurried on. "It's real clean and there's no contact with the customers. There's even a bartender there that's big as all outdoors who takes care of all the employees. I didn't say anythin' about you, she brought it up. She said she saw us together and heard you were starting here." He felt himself squirming on the bench, sweat tickling his sides inside his shirt. "The pay would be better and you'd have your own room."

Megan sat staring at the remains of her lunch. The idea of working in a saloon was not one she entertained lightly, considering the reputation of the other women working there. But Wesley was right, the saloon's kitchen would be cleaner, and a room of her own would indeed be welcome. She set her sandwich down and shook her head. Why was she so nervous in his company? What was this feeling that pushed and pulled at her emotions when he was around? Megan twisted the ring on her finger and gulped back a sob. Oh Karl, I miss you so. Am I being unfaithful? Our future was stolen from us, and now— I have to get on with life. I don't want to live it alone Karl. I can't. If you're listening, please know that nobody could take your place. I'll always love you and keep you in a special place in my heart . . . just try and understand my needs and judge me kindly. She gave a small gasp and knuckled her eyes roughly.

"Megan? Are you all right?"

She showed him a lopsided grin and took his hand in hers. "Just putting away some mental baggage. I'm fine Wes, really."

"I didn't- I wasn't tryin' to—"

"It's all right Wes, and I think It's a fine idea. When can I see. . ? "

"Miss Fairweather, I'll take you over any time you like."

She squeezed his hand and stood up, gathering up the rest of her lunch. "I've got to get back, maybe we could go over tonight? I don't relish telling Granny about this."

"I'll be by tonight for sure, and don't worry about Granny. She was doin' fine before we showed up."

"Tonight then." Megan gathered her skirt and hurried back to the kitchen while Wes stared after her, his heart thumping and his head spinning.

*****

Horace swaggered into the sheriff's office, swiping off his hat and mopping his brow. "Sun's a real devil out there today."

"What did you find out?" Bragg lay back in his chair, feet up on the desk and fingers laced across his eyes.

"Nuthin'. Not a darn thing. There must have been a hundred men up there last night, plus the women and the bunch operatin' the place. The women are mighty scared I'd say."

"With good cause. What about Torrance?"

"He was sittin' out the back of Granny's with that woman from the stage, havin' lunch. I don't quite get that relationship, and he's stayin' in the livery. Powser gave him a stall to sleep in." Horace flopped into a chair and concentrated on balancing it on the back legs.

"She's one of the woman from the wagon train that was headed for Milk River Conserve. I don't know yet what she's doin' here, but they seem mighty close." The sheriff swung his legs down and sat up, watching his deputy's balancing act. "I want you up at Tent City tonight. Mingle with the crowd and keep your eyes peeled . . . and Horace, I don't want you playin' deputy. You see anythin' suspicious, you fetch me right away— no heroics."

Horace waggled his arms, keeping the chair precariously on two legs. "What if—"

"Goddamnit Horace! No what ifs!" Bragg pitched a book across the room, sending the deputy and the chair crashing to the floor.

******

Megan sat at the long kitchen table, sipping coffee and watching Verna Fairweather tear into a rare steak with all the gusto of a trail hand. Almost a week had passed since Wesley introduced them and Megan had accepted the job offer. Her savings began to grow almost immediately and the luxury of her own room served to bolster a rising confidence in her future. The pleasant demeanor and diligence with which she went about her chores, endeared her to everyone. Even Verna's girls found the presence of this centered woman a distracting pleasure. The unexpected benefit of an impartial confidant in their midst, provided a much needed outlet for the pent up frustrations that dogged their vocation. For her part, Megan listened to each of them as her own work allowed, remaining non-judgmental, but aching inside from the beleaguered despondency in their outlook.

"You've become quite popular in a short time." Verna commented, wiping her plate with a slab of bread.

Megan examined her employer's tone before replying. "If you're referring to the girls, they just needed an outsider's viewpoint."

Verna pushed her plate away, smiling. "I hope you're not inclined to crusading for fallen women."

"Hah, no, not at all. My story is not one that's likely to dissuade them from doing what they appear to enjoy doing." She glanced ruefully at the table top, feeling Verna's eyes studying her. "They just wanted ah- ah. . . confirmation of some kind." She gave a slight shrug and looked up. "I've told them all pretty much the same thing. Life guarantees nothing. How you live it depends on what you hope to get out of it. We all share fantasies about how we'd like our lives to unfold, but the reality is that, if you can achieve a decent measure of comfort, contentment and happiness out of each day, doing whatever you do, then do it to the best of your ability."

"That has a ring of bitter sweetness to it."

"I suppose it does. It's certainly an oversimplification of a very complex philosophy."

Verna lit a long slim cigar and leaned back on her chair, shooting a stream of blue haze toward the ceiling. "You come from a background of considerable education, don't you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I was a teacher." Megan picked up the cigar case, studying the intricate scrollwork on its silver face. "That's where I met Karl, my- my husband."

"Have one if you like." Verna said, indicating the cigars. "Was he a teacher as well?"

"No. No thank you. Yes, he was." Megan set the case down, leaving her hands on the table. "We taught in the same school, met, fell in love and came west to offer our services to the new settlers." Megan stopped abruptly, finding the memories difficult to deal with.

"Well, we have a little something in common after all. I'm a product of a very prestigious lady's academy." Verna chuckled and huffed out another cloud of smoke. Megan looked up in surprise. "You're shocked, right?"

"I- I—"

"Well so would my impossibly arrogant family be if they could see little Miss Verna Fairweather as a saloon madam in a dreary western town. You're right Megan. This is what I like to do, to the best of my ability, and I do achieve that decent measure of comfort, contentment and happiness— along with my girls." Verna's eyebrows rose with amusement as she delivered her statement.

Megan felt her cheeks dapple bright pink, scolding herself for sounding so pompously clear-sighted. "Verna, I . . ."

Verna slapped the table hard and laughed aloud. "Don't fret my dear, it does us all good to taste someone else's medicine now and then. Believe it or not, I've tried to encourage my charges to save up and get out of this business. Go and make something better of themselves." She took another puff of her cigar, leaning forward on the table and blowing the smoke across its surface. "June is the only one who doesn't listen. She was born for this life, and believe me, she's living it to the utmost each and every day."

"Verna, I'm not judging anybody, believe me. If anything, I'm thrilled to just be working and earning some money. I'm truly grateful."

Verna tossed her cigar in a spittoon, and taking one of Megan's hands, spoke softly to her. "Are you experiencing guilt over certain feelings for Wes?" Megan opened her mouth to protest, but the tears that filled her eyes answered the question more profoundly than any words she could speak. "I thought so." Verna stroked her trembling hand. "Do yourself a favour dear, take a good dose of your own philosophy."