Prologue

November 12, 1867

Florrie bit a corner of her bright, red-lined lip. The paper she held in her hand trembled slightly as she read of the six family members who had been killed or injured in the stagecoach accident. There had been a malfunction in the handles of the doors, making them only able to be opened from the outside. And so, when the driver had suffered a heart attack out in the wastes where no one was around for hundreds of miles, the family had been trapped inside.

When a traveler had finally found them, two children had succumbed to the elements, and their elderly grandmother had gone along with them. The other adults were nearly starved and well on their way to madness.

It was horrible, but that was the way of the world, wasn’t it?

Florrie looked around the Silver Eagle Saloon; the view from her favorite back table always gave her the best place to watch the scores of people who passed through each night. Not to mention it gave her a defensible position from the men who would no doubt try to fondle her once their alcohol intake reached its limit and went to their heads.

Yes, the world was that way. It was bleak, horrifying, and left no soul unscathed. At least, that was how it seemed to her.

From where she sat, she could see Sheff polishing glasses behind the huge mahogany bar. The long, twisted points of his mustache twitched as he kept an eye on the rowdy group of newcomers stepping over the threshold. They were clearly already in their cups, staggering around and holding onto each other, but Sheff put down three fresh mugs of beer in front of them regardless. Their state was of little concern so long as they could still pay their tab at the end of their revelries.

At the other end of the smoke-lined room was a wall of mirrors, an attempt by the owner to make the place look bigger. However, the numerous bar fights and thrown glasses had left a series of cracks and fissures, giving reflected images a strangely disconnected, almost dreamy appearance.

She kind of liked what it did to her appearance. It put waves in her long, straight hair, making her brown locks look completely different. The reflection of her green eyes and thick brows made her look rather sinister, which made her giggle. And it made her nice curves look much more generous. She liked that, too, because with her height, her curves were okay, but she would have liked more.

Her fake appearance was interesting, she supposed. But considering the way patrons ogled her, she must be somewhat attractive, even without the distortion to enhance things.

In front of the glass was the stage, and though it was empty now, it still had a comforting presence to her.

From down here, Florrie was at the same level as the drunks and the low men. She was at the same level as the girls who came to make their dirty money off those low men. But she was above it all when she climbed onto that stage. And when she played her music, it lifted her even higher, closer and closer to Heaven.

Until, of course, her performance ended, and she came crashing back down to Earth.

No, not Earth. Deeper than that. This place was as far from Heaven as you could get.

But she was going to get out of here one day. And if she could keep saving her pennies like she had been, that day was coming soon.

“What’s a pretty filly like you doing reading?” a man’s voice slurred to Florrie’s left.

She turned toward the man, folding the paper neatly, to find him leaning over the table beside hers. He smiled at her, revealing rows of yellowing teeth. Inwardly, she recoiled, but that reaction wouldn’t do to deflect the attention of a man such as this one. She’d dealt with men like him before.

Instead, she smiled coyly. “Just looking for my next husband. Why don’t you write me an ad, handsome?”

The man’s friends laughed and slapped him on the back, just the kind of reaction she’d hoped for.

His grin grew, but before he could reply, she stood and slapped the paper on his table. “Ah, ah, you’ve gotta put it in writing.”

She turned, leaving him to be teased and jostled by his friends.

A life here in the saloon had taught her all she needed to know about men. Most of them were more afraid of women than they were of men. But the ones who weren’t afraid—those were the ones you had to watch out for.

Florrie was about to head to the bar and ask Sheff when she should start her set when feet pounding down the stairs at the back of the room caught her attention.

“Florrie!” Dawn shouted as she reached the landing, her long blonde hair flying in her face as she skidded to a stop. She looked frantically around at the faces of the saloon’s occupants until she found Florrie at the bar. The skinny girl ran to her and took her by the arm. “Florrie, it’s Judy! The baby’s coming!”

Florrie’s heart stopped in her chest for half a second; then, it resumed at twice its normal pace.

The baby’s coming!

Warmth filled her, but before she could embrace the feeling, her stomach twisted into knots. While babies were a blessing from the good Lord Himself, there was no guarantee their entry into the world would be without difficulties.

She let Dawn pull her back toward the stairs, ignoring the blatant stares the two women were receiving from all corners of the room. She gathered up her skirts in one fist as Dawn tugged her up the staircase with her other hand.

Judy had been about to burst for the past few days, and the midwife had told them she’d be lucky to make it to the weekend in her state. Now, it was Friday, and it seemed the woman was right.

Dawn crashed through the doorway to the room upstairs: Judy’s bedroom. Florrie stopped at the threshold. The past months had been filled with laughter, conversations about the baby, and sweet thoughts of tiny clothes and little fingers and toes. Now, there were no cute thoughts. Now, there was the reality of a baby coming into the world.

The hand gripping her skirts actually hurt as she clutched the fabric with all her strength. She loosened her hold, and the fabric dropped from her hand. And with it went the reality of time.

Suddenly, it was Florrie in that birthing bed. And her screams that split the air. It was her body that dripped sweat and shook with pain, feeling like it was being ripped apart.

“Florrie!” Dawn hissed from where she was clutching Judy’s hand.

It shook her from the memory, though the awful pit of loss and grief settled heavily in her stomach and threatened to remain there, perhaps for all time.

Her friend groaned, and Florrie was moving, by her side in the next instant.

“You’re doing great, Judy. Breathe, hun. That’s it,” Florrie said, comforting Judy, who looked back at her through squinted eyes. “I know the pains are awful, but you can do this.”

Florrie brushed a bit of damp red hair from Judy’s brow.

“How long has she been in labor?” Florrie asked.

“A few hours,” Dawn said. “One of us has to go fetch the midwife.”

It was Judy’s first child, so there was no reason to expect the baby to come for a while. Still, the midwife should be there soon.

“I’ll go get her,” Dawn said. “You can stay with Judy and keep her company.”

Florrie pulled the single chair up beside Judy’s bed and sat beside her best friend.

“Thanks for sitting with me,” Judy said.

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t let my best friend wait alone.” She smiled and continued to swipe Judy’s pretty red hair back from her sweaty face.

“Oh, no, here it comes again.” Judy grabbed Florrie’s hand as another contraction seized her. She panted until the pain abated.

“I know, it’s no fun,” Florrie said. “But it’ll be worth it when you’re holding your beautiful baby in your arms.”

Judy nodded as she panted, her head bobbing frantically.

“Just breathe and think about the day we walk out of here and get away from Mark. You, your baby, and me. We’ll get on the train and go as far as we can. Then, we’ll start a new life.”

“That sounds so good. I never want to see him again,” Judy said through gritted teeth.

“You and me both.” Mark was just too horrid for any woman. “Did you ever pick out names?”

“No…” Judy started, only to groan as another contraction gripped her. “God, how long is this going to last?”

“Probably a long while since this is your first.”

“First and only,” Judy round out.

Unless they got the money to get out of there, Judy couldn’t say that for sure because Mark didn’t take no for an answer. If he wanted a girl, he simply took what he wanted.

As the minutes dragged by, Judy’s contractions worsened, and it wasn’t too long before she shoved the edge of the quilt into her mouth each time a contraction hit to keep from screaming.

Where was Dawn and the midwife? They should have been back at least a half-hour ago, maybe longer. What if the baby came sooner than normal? What if she was there alone with Judy?

She couldn’t deliver a baby. And she wouldn’t trust any of those drunken losers down in the bar to help. What if something had happened to Dawn and the midwife?

Florrie sat beside Judy and held her hand for what seemed like forever. Finally, Dawn’s voice filtered through the door, and a moment later, she and the midwife rushed in.

The midwife immediately went to check on Judy.

Florrie stepped away with a silent prayer of thanks.

She went over to talk to Dawn and see what had happened.

“Sorry,” Dawn said. “She wasn’t home when I got to her place. So, I just waited for her to get home.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. Thank heavens. Everything should go pretty smooth now,” Florrie said.

***

Judy was shaking, and from between her spread legs, the midwife frowned up at Florrie. She felt the blood drain from her face at the sight of the woman, covered up to her elbows in blood.

Florrie turned her attention back to Judy, smiling with lips that felt tight with tension as she frantically searched Judy’s face. Florrie wasn’t sure she could even move. Her feet felt stuck to the floor, and her insides seemed to have turned to water.

Dear God, her beautiful friend wasn’t doing well. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. All that blood couldn’t possibly be normal.

“I can’t do it. I can’t, Florrie,” Judy panted the words, squeezing Florrie’s hand so tightly she thought the bones would snap.

Florrie knelt beside Judy and turned to look at her. “Yes, you can, Judy. You must.”

Judy threw her head back again and screamed as another contraction wracked through her body. Florrie watched in horror as the muscles tightened and released along Judy’s abdomen.

“Push, Judy! I can see the head!” the midwife said, firmly and kindly in the way only women could in moments of desperation.

Judy let out a terrible sound of pain and grunted as she pushed.

From downstairs, Florrie heard a man shout for quiet, but Dawn wore a sour expression and cursed at the saloon below them.

For a moment, there was no sound in the room, which was oddly unnerving.

Judy fell back heavily against the stained bedsheets.

Then, the midwife let out a startled little laugh, and the unmistakable sound of an infant’s first utterance in this world came from her arms.

“Oh, Judy,” Florrie said, tears filling her eyes. “You’ve done it, Judy. You’ve done it.”

The midwife placed the child on Judy’s chest. She put a weak hand around its tiny body and pulled herself up just enough to see it.

“Look at her, Florrie. She’s perfect.” Judy’s voice was weak and thin.

“Sure is,” Florrie replied through the hard lump in her throat.

She fought back the awful, unfair feelings of jealousy and guilt that rose in her. She had no right to feel anything but thankfulness that Judy had brought a beautiful and seemingly healthy baby into the world. And guilt? What did that help? She’d done nothing wrong, nothing to cause a loss. Regardless, she felt suddenly inadequate—like she hadn’t been enough to bring her own sweet babe into the world alive, and so, she was somehow less than Judy in that moment.

She pushed the thought away, pushed it deep down within herself as she sat on the bed beside her friend and stroked the child’s perfect cheek.

“Don’t let him have her,” Judy whispered, again taking Florrie’s hand and squeezing it desperately, perhaps more desperately than she had while birthing. “Don’t let him so much as touch her, Florrie.”

Florrie’s throat nearly closed.

Judy didn’t need to explain further; no one knew better than Florrie what she meant by her words. This child’s father had also been the father of the child Florrie had lost only a few weeks ago. They’d both been unfortunate objects of the wretched man’s attention.

“Don’t talk like that, Judy. We’re all getting out of here soon. We’ve almost got enough to buy those tickets for us both.” Florrie’s voice shook as she watched Judy’s eyes fading, the light leaving them bit by bit.

“She’s losing too much blood. Dawn, get more linens,” the midwife said sharply, trying her best to staunch the bleeding.

Florrie could see she was failing, so she said a prayer, desperately holding her friend’s hand as she clung to life.

“Promise me, Florrie,” she whispered hoarsely. “Promise you’ll keep her safe.”

“I will, Judy,” Florrie breathed as Dawn returned with an armful of linens, her face going white when she saw the amount of blood that had poured from their friend in the time she’d taken.

Florrie silently prayed to Heaven, hoping against hope that she might still be saved. She had so little in this world; it seemed so unfair for Judy to be taken from her, too. The only real comfort she had in this godforsaken place was Judy’s friendship.

“And I promise you, I’ll watch over your little one, too. Until we’re all together again,” Judy said; each word sounded more painful than the last—for her to speak and for Florrie to hear.

Tears flooded Florrie’s cheeks as Judy took one final, rattling breath.

A wretched sob wracked her chest, and Florrie carefully took the crying infant from Judy’s limp arms as her best friend slumped against the bed. Gone to Heaven, as had everything else she’d loved in this life.

Chapter One

November 16, 1867

“There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens,” the preacher read, standing at the front of the small, one-room church.

She still couldn’t believe Judy had left her all alone.

Florrie barely heard the minister. Her head was all over the place. All she could think about was losing Judy and the infant in her arms. And escaping Mark.

The tiny babe in Florrie’s arms fussed but quieted down quickly as she adjusted the wool blanket that kept her from the chill November air penetrating the thin walls of the church. The words resounded off the wooden walls and rows of pews; most were empty save for the saloon girls and the few men who were virtuous enough to join them. It was fine with Florrie; Judy would have wanted it that way. She’d hated false shows of affection, and she’d rather anyone be true to their feelings toward her, even if they were negative.

At least twice, the damned man who had brought this grief on both Florrie and Judy hadn’t bothered to show his face. And Florrie was glad for it. She hadn’t seen him since before Judy had given birth and her death. That was for the better; she wasn’t sure she could restrain her overwhelming anger if the foul man had the audacity to show his face at Judy’s service.

“…a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal.”

The words were rehearsed and clipped, void of any of the emotion Florrie felt rushing through her as they were uttered. There sure was a time to uproot. And that time had come for her and for little Judy, the babe she clutched tightly to her breast. She was going to fulfill her final promise to her friend, and the only way to keep Judy’s daughter safe from her father was to take her far, far away from there.

“A time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance….”

Florrie wouldn’t be dancing; that was for sure. But maybe there would be laughter once the tears dried. If she could forge a life for the two of them somewhere better, even if it wasn’t hers, maybe there would be laughter.

On her forehead, she kissed the tiny girl. She was all Florrie had left of her mother, all that mattered to her in this world.

Beside her, Dawn dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

It hurt Florrie to leave her behind, but she had more fire in her heart than the rest of them. More than a few times, she’d sent a man running from her room when he’d crossed a line. She could care for herself, but someone needed to care for Judy.

Dawn turned to Florrie as if she could hear the thoughts in Florrie’s head. Subtly, she drew something out of her purse and slid it across the pew to her.

Florrie glanced down and had to catch the gasp that rose in her throat. Dawn had revealed a handkerchief; wrapped in it were three gold and silver chains, each bearing emerald or ruby pendants, and one ring with a large emerald set in gold.

She had seen that ring before, on several occasions, and she knew exactly where it had come from. And there was no way the owner of that ring had given it to Dawn. Her friend had assuredly stolen it. And the necklaces, which she assumed had come from the same person.

She shouldn’t take it. Florrie had never stolen anything in her life. Her mother had instilled in her that stealing was wrong. And she would never have taken them herself. But she recognized what she was being offered. She also realized that maybe Dawn had taken them for no other reason than to give them to Florrie.

She looked up at Dawn, hearing the preacher’s words as if from a great distance as the organ began to play.

“Take it,” she whispered. “Get her out of here, whatever it takes. Take Judy and run away from this awful place. If she stays here, you know what will happen when she’s older.”

Florrie did know what would happen, and she wasn’t going to let it.

Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded and slipped the kerchief into her own purse. If Dawn was caught, she would be punished. No doubt about it. What she’d done was a selfless act that could come back on her in a harsh manner.

She’d almost saved enough to get out, having just the amount for a train ticket, but with this….

With this, they could leave today. They could leave at this very moment.

Florrie forced herself to sit through the remainder of the service. She’d already mourned her friend on her own. She hated showing any kind of emotion in front of others, and so, in the late of the night, in the few hours when she was truly alone, she’d allowed herself to feel it all. Allowed herself to drain the tears and then harden her will in the space the grief had left in her heart. Her grief was private. Now, it was time to act.

As the coffin was brought from the room and the mourners followed it to the graveyard for the final burial rights, Florrie took little Judy and slipped out the back door. Dawn gave her a sad smile and a nod as Florrie glanced at her.

Florrie returned the gesture, wishing she could take Dawn with them and knowing she would likely never see her again, no matter how things turned out.

***

Florrie gathered up her few things in the rooms she shared with the other saloon girls above the bar. It wasn’t much, but carrying the tiny bundle of Judy and the leather bag was a bit of a burden. Still, as she slipped down the stairs for the last time, she’d never felt lighter.

“And where are you off to?”

Florrie’s heart stopped dead in her chest at the familiar, hideous voice.

Mark leaned against the stairway, his eyes glazed from drinking and his shirt disheveled, as if he’d just left some poor saloon girls’ bedroom. And, in fact, he probably had.

Florrie swallowed, forcing herself to be smart. She needed to react correctly here; he’d never let her leave if he suspected what she was about to do. The best course of action would be pouring more drinks for him until he couldn’t see straight, but she didn’t have time for that. The baby would be hungry soon, and the last train left in only an hour from the station downtown.

She gave him what she hoped was a disarming smile and adjusted the child in her arms. “Hello, Mark. We’re just heading back to the graveyard; I forgot the child’s milk, and she was getting fussy.”

Florrie moved to walk by the man, but he put out his arm.

She flinched away from it.

He was as likely to strike her as he was to caress her, and she was just as averse to either touch.

“Let me look at my daughter,” he said gruffly, pulling the blanket down to reveal the child’s little pink face. She squirmed at the sudden invasion, letting out a few pathetic sounds. Mark laughed and flicked her nose with a dirty thumb. “She’s got my good looks; strong seed I’ve got, you know. You see any one of my spawn, they’ve all got my nose and cheekbones.”

It was true. All the children he’d sired looked like him. And he was devilishly handsome. With blond hair, deep blue eyes, and high cheekbones, he could turn almost any woman’s head. But the ugliness inside him made his physical attractiveness a secondary feature. That internal ugliness was bone deep, and even looking like a carved angel couldn’t make up for who he truly was as a person.

Florrie carefully pulled the child away from him, loathing his hands on her and loathing even more the way he spoke of her, of all his children. He’d gotten a number of the saloon girls pregnant over the years; it was some sick pride of his to have so many children with so many mothers. Not that he ever cared for them or visited, but perhaps, that was for the better.

Since he’d inherited the saloon from his father, it had fallen further and further from grace. Of course, it hadn’t been particularly high-end when her mother had worked there in her youth, but at least there had been some standards then, some modicum of protection for the girls. Now, it was no more than his own personal whorehouse, and his girls were no more than his property. Things to be owned, used, and discarded.

Florrie fought against the rage that nearly blinded her and gave him another tight smile before trying again to walk past him to the back door. His arm went up again, this time tightly gripping her wrist.

Her heart sank.

So, this would not go easy, then.

“You think that baby’s yours now that its mother’s gone and died, don’t you? You think it’ll replace the son you went and lost on me?” His words cut her, each one like another knife thrust into her core. Then, his voice dipped, going gruff as his eyes dipped along with it, his fingers tracing the neckline of her blouse. “If you wanted a baby so bad, I’d have been happy to give ya another chance at one.”

The heat in her cheeks had to be bright red. It rose to her eyes, and soon, it was all she could see—all she could feel or think. Usually, she’d let him do what he wanted with her. It was easier than fighting and left fewer bruises. But not today, not when little Judy was in her arms, and not when her mother was being laid in the ground because of him.

With all Florrie’s strength, she drove the pointed toe of her boot up between his legs. His hand fell away from her as he doubled over with a sharp yelp.

“If we’re lucky, you’ll never have the chance to give anyone another baby,” she hissed before darting out through the backdoor as quickly as her legs could carry her.

“You’ll regret that, girl!” Florrie heard him shout after her as she ran from the hallway toward the door. “You’re mine, you hear? You belong to me. And I always keep what’s mine!”

She shoved the door open and raced through, letting it slam shut behind her. Florrie didn’t turn back; fear and adrenaline drove her forward. Judy fussed in her arms as she was jostled about. Florrie hushed her as gently as she could while she waved down a carriage from the side of the road.

“Where ya headed, miss?” the driver asked, looking Florrie over as if trying to get her entire life story out of the clothes she wore, the bag on her arm, and the tiny bundle of blankets.

“Just to the train station. Would you mind, good sir?” she asked with a sweet bat of her eyelashes.

She was surprised she still had it in her to charm men after everything that had happened. But the man smiled, opening the door for her with a tip of his hat.

“I wouldn’t be able to call myself a Christian if I left you two out here in the cold, now would I?”

“Oh, bless you, sir,” Florrie said as she clutched his hand and stepped into the small, covered coach.

She tried her best not to think of the accident she’d read about a few days earlier. But then again, there were worse fates to suffer, which Florrie knew very well.

The wind howled outside as the kind stranger took Florrie’s bag and struck off toward downtown. She tried not to constantly look over her shoulder for the man she feared more than any other to come stumbling after her.

She had one thing to do before she could buy their train tickets, but she didn’t anticipate any difficulties. Though she would have to work fast, as time was against her now. There was no turning back, not after the way she’d left the saloon. She knew exactly where she needed to go and what she needed to do before they could be free of Mark forever. She had to sell the ring before she’d have enough money to buy two tickets. There was a shop that bought all manner of things just a few buildings from the train station. They would buy the ring. She wouldn’t get what it was worth, but she would get enough for two tickets to their freedom. That was all she needed. Then they would be free of Mark and the saloon forever.

The coach moved much too slowly for her liking, but with each inch toward freedom, she felt the smile on her lips spreading, bit by bit.

She was on her way. She and little Judy were only a short distance from escaping the evil behind them.

If only she’d been able to take Judy’s mother with them. But she could do right by her now. She could raise her best friend’s daughter as her own.

Florrie looked at the perfect little sleeping infant in her arms. She would keep her promise, whatever it took.