Preston Stone stormed down the boardwalk, barely nodding to those he passed as they greeted him. His boot heels beat a tattoo on the wood planks to match his anger.

I have to get married!

With the plans he had for his life, a woman was the last thing he needed. Especially now. But apparently, if he wanted to continue with his dream to become a respectable businessman and not just the whore’s kid who owned a saloon and gambling hall, he needed a wife.

A respectable wife.

With the shortage of women in Santa Fe, where in hell was he going to find one? The only women he ever came in contact with were saloon girls and whores. Not exactly what the town council had in mind when they told him to get a wife…and then they would consider his plans to build a hotel and restaurant.

“What’s got you all fired up?” Crystal, the woman who managed the saloon part of his business, The Silver Palace, greeted him as she continued to deal cards to three other girls. It was still another hour or so before they opened for the day. She narrowed her eyes against the smoke coming from the thin cigar clamped between her teeth. “Y’all came barreling in here like your tail was on fire.”

“In my office. Now.” He strode past her and hurried up to the second floor where his office and living quarters were.

Damn. His plans were all in place. He’d already had the land cleared on a corner lot close to where the new train station would go. The lumber had been ordered and was due to arrive in another week. He’d arranged for the furnishings to be shipped in another month. And now this. It had never occurred to him he would be turned down.

He was a successful businessman, a contributor to the community. No whores in his saloon and bouncers at the door to keep the rowdiness down. His bills and taxes were paid on time. But now this.

A wife!

“What’s wrong?” Crystal settled in the chair across from his desk, watching him carefully as he paced.

“I need a wife.”

“Well, don’t look at me, honey. I’ve already had three husbands, and I ain’t about to do that nonsense again.”

He waved his hand in the air “No. Of course not you.”

She regarded him with a frown. “I’m not sure if I’ve been insulted or not, but maybe you ought to sit down and explain what this is all about. You’re making me dizzy with that running back and forth.”

Preston collapsed into his seat and raked his fingers through his hair. “I just came back from a meeting with the town council. I thought it would merely be a quick outline of my proposal, and they would give me the go-ahead for the hotel and restaurant.”

“That didn’t happen?”

“No. They said since I come from an ‘undesirable background’ and own a saloon and gambling house, they preferred to give the permit to someone else.”

“What?”

He spun in his chair and looked out the window at the busy street below. He was trying desperately to shed his “undesirable background.” He’d built his business up from a tent pitched in the mud to a two-story building that provided decent entertainment to the town. In fact, several of the members of the town council were regular customers. He was good enough for them to spend their money with, but not up to their standards to attach his name to a hotel and restaurant in the fair city of Santa Fe.

His liquor wasn’t watered down, and there was no cheating going on by the house at his poker tables. The girls who served drinks were forbidden to “entertain” customers on his premises or on his time. As far as gambling houses in this part of the country, his was clean and respectable.

“So, where does the wife come in?”

Preston turned back to Crystal. “They said if I had a respectable wife and kept my lodgings away from the business, they might reconsider.”

“Might?”

“When I pushed them, they agreed to give me a week to find a wife. If I do, I’m almost guaranteed to get permission to move ahead.”

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the head.”

Desperate to get his project moving, he asked, “Are any of your girls wife material?”

“You mean those saloon girls?” She shrugged. “I don’t think so. I mean, they’re good girls, but I’m sure that’s not what the town council had in mind. If they’re looking for respectable, they want a preacher’s daughter type woman, I’m sure. Or a schoolmarm.”

“What am I going to do? I can’t just drag a woman in off the streets and marry her.”

Crystal rose and patted his cheek. “You’ll think of something. I have to get my girls ready. If I don’t poke them every once in a while, they’d sit around on their bottoms for the rest of the day.”

Preston’s lengthy stride closed the short distance between his office and his rooms where his bath awaited. He made it a habit to bathe and dress in a starched shirt, wool trousers, a vest, string tie, and jacket every day before The Silver Palace opened for business. He’d worked hard all his life to rise above his poor beginnings and to shed the label that he’d dealt with all his life.

The whore’s kid.

The hotel and restaurant were going to be his step up. Eventually, he would sell The Silver Palace and become a respectable businessman. That was when he’d planned to find a wife. A woman from a good background, who had manners and knew how to run the big house he planned to build. Someone who would pave his way into Santa Fe society. That sort of woman would then find him appealing as a husband and see him as more than his beginnings.

Now he was forced to find a woman right away. He shook his head as he ran the brush through his dark hair in front of the mirror. If having a wife was what he needed to do to get the okay from the town council, then, like everything else in his life that stood in his way, he would overcome this, too.

* * *

“I can’t give you much more time, Miranda. I’m under strict orders from Marshal Jones to make sure all you gals get married right away. We’ve been here for more than three weeks, and you’ve had several offers that you turned down.”

“I know. I’m trying, really I am. It’s just that none of the men who’ve proposed suit me.” Seeing Miss Nellie’s raised eyebrows, Miranda hurried on, “Not that I’m being particularly fussy, it’s just that I would prefer a husband who is at least not more than twenty years older than me and has all his teeth.”

In the time they’d been in Santa Fe, Miranda had been out all day, every day, trying to find a job. She’d hoped Miss Nellie would let her be if she found work and perhaps give her more time to choose a husband. There was no need for her chaperone to know that Miranda’s plans were not to marry but to save enough money to head west.

She wasn’t stupid, and neither was Woody Smith. Once he showed up at his house and learned she’d killed Frankie, he would be on her tail like a duck on a June bug. As sad as the realization was, marriage wasn’t for her. Not here, this close to Dodge City. She had to go to California and get lost in one of the goldmine towns.

There, if she was lucky, she would find a respectable husband who would treat her like her daddy had treated his wife. That was her goal. To be a happy wife and mother to a strong, wonderful man who appreciated her. This was not the time or place.

Later that evening when Miss Nellie had gone to visit with Becky, Miranda pulled on her wool wrap and headed to The Silver Palace. She’d sworn she wouldn’t work in a saloon, but she was desperate. If she didn’t find a job soon, Miss Nellie would really put the pressure on her to choose a husband.

It hadn’t been so bad when Becky had also been holding out, hoping the local sheriff, who Becky was madly in love with, would step up and wed her. But she’d finally worn him down and they were now happily married, and Miss Nellie had turned all her attention to Miranda.

She scurried along the dark streets, hugging her arms close to her sides. Santa Fe was certainly more decent than Dodge City, but she still felt a twinge of uneasiness at being alone on the streets at night. Becky’s husband, Sheriff Janson, had warned her many times to not venture out, especially near the saloon area, by herself at night.

The noise from the saloon and gambling house reached her ears from blocks away. It was an impressive building with oil lamps bright enough to light up the street in front of the place. Music from a tinny piano made her smile, and the warbling voice of a young girl was almost drowned out by shouts from the gamblers and drinkers.

Miranda rubbed her sweaty palms down the front of her dress and took a deep breath. She had to do this. She needed a job, and this was the only place left—besides the brothels—that she hadn’t tried. Holding her chin up, she walked to the batwing doors and entered.

Not sure what she was expecting, it certainly wasn’t as horrible as her preacher father had proclaimed in sermons when she was a little girl. While not a strict man, he did have quite a bit to say about men wasting their time and spending their family’s money on drink and gambling.

The Silver Palace was clean and tidy, with smoke from the many cigars casting the room into a somewhat misty haze. The long bar running along one entire wall was occupied by several men who rested their booted feet on the rail attached to the bar. A large mirror took up the space behind the bar, although shelves of liquor bottles blocked the mirror from the rest of the room. A dozen or more tables held men playing cards.

Young women in scanty dresses wandered among the tables, dodging groping hands as they served liquor. Miranda studied their outfits, wondering if she could actually put something like that on and work in it.

She shuddered, but determined to go through with it, walked up to the bar and waved at the giant of a man behind it. “Excuse me, sir, may I speak with the manager, please?”

He grinned as he swished glasses in a tub of water. “What ya want with the manager?”

“I would like to apply for a job.”

Three men at the bar turned and looked at her. The looks they gave her could only be called leering. She swallowed and ordered her shaky legs to hold her up. She could do this.

“Hey, Crystal,” the giant shouted. “Someone to see ya.”

Miranda followed his gaze to a tall woman in a long blue satin gown. Her red hair was piled high on her head with a blue feather curling from her bun to her ear. She studied Miranda as she walked toward her, looking her up and down, making her feel as though she had crawled in from the alley.

“You lookin’ for me, honey?”

Miranda was surprised at the depth of the woman’s voice. But her blue eyes sparkled and a slight smile teased her lips.

Miranda licked her lips and nodded.

“Darlin’, you look a little out of place. Suppose you follow me to the back, and we’ll chat.” With that, she turned, swishing the train of her gown behind her and walked gracefully across the floor, weaving in and out of the tables, patting this man on the shoulder, tossing a remark to another player, giving a gentle warning to large cowboy as she dodged his hands.

Miranda had never felt so frumpy in her life. All the women in the saloon were dressed in either bright red or emerald green satin dresses. They were cut low in the neckline and high in the front, rising above their knees. Most of them wore face paint, and they all had feathers in their hair.

The woman named Crystal showed her to a room at the back of the saloon. Once the woman lit two oil lamps and closed the door, the quiet calmed her a bit. Miranda looked around the space that must have been used for storage. In the darkened shadows, barrels of liquor were stacked against one wall. Women’s fancy dresses hung on a rack near a window covered in black tar paper.

Round tables were piled one on top of another in front of shelves holding decks of cards, poker chips, and glasses.

The manager sat in the chair behind a desk and waved to the one across from her. Laying one slim, well-manicured hand over the other, she nodded. “Have a seat. My name is Crystal Lennox. Who are you?”

“Um, Miranda Beamer.” She smoothed her skirt and patted her hair, trying to appear not quite as dowdy as she felt.

“Well, Miss Miranda Beamer—I assume it’s miss?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What can I do for you?”

Miranda cleared her throat and crossed her fingers hidden in her skirts. “I would like a job.”

At first, it appeared as if Crystal was going to laugh. Then she grew serious and studied her closer, a slight, mysterious smile on her face. “Stand up.”

Miranda stood, and Crystal came around her desk and took her hand, drawing her away from the chair. She waved her index finger in a circle. “Turn around.”

She turned slowly, feeling like a slave she once saw on an auction block when she was a little girl.

Crystal broke into a bright smile. “Well, goddamn, honey, have I got a job for you!”