“Amanda’s nose was already out of joint,” she said. “I couldn’t see the harm in tweaking it.”

  Chuckling, Roen offered his elbow as they prepared to cross the street. “I’m beginning to realize there is a side of you that is just a little twisted.”

  Lily looked up at him sharply as she took his arm.

  Roen grinned and the sometimes dimple on the left side of his mouth appeared. “I like it.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Monday evening came, Lily had doubts about her decision to go to the saloon. “You won’t drink, will you?” she asked Roen as he was helping her on with her coat.

  “I’ll toast you with ginger beer, if you like.”

  “You would do that?”

  “I said I would. You have to learn to take me at my word.”

  “I’ve heard words before. Promises. They’re hard to keep.”

  The front door opened from the outside, and Clay ducked in his head. “C’mon. It’s cold out here.”

  “We have our marching orders,” said Roen, tucking Lily’s scarf around her neck. “It will be fine.” When Clay opened the door a little wider, Roen turned Lily and nudged her forward. Her shoulders were stiff, braced as if for battle. He bent his head and whispered in her ear, “Amanda Springer’s nose.”

  Behind her scarf, Lily smiled.

  * * *

  • • •

  The Songbird had been a fixture in Frost Falls almost from the time the town was founded. In the early days, it was nothing more than a large tent where ranchers and their itinerant cowboys came to drink and carry on after a cattle drive. The railroad made long drives a thing of the past, and the Songbird changed with the times. Some folks with long memories said the town grew up around the saloon, though it was true that Frost Falls came into its own when it had a stop and a station on the rail line.

  Buzz Winegarten hadn’t always operated the Songbird, but he’d been the owner for more years than not. He was a gregarious individual when he wasn’t suffering with gout, friendly, if sometimes on the loud side, expansive in his gestures, and stubbornly set in his ways. People pointed to the canted sign above the saloon as proof that Buzz could not be moved to change his mind. The sign had slipped fifteen degrees below level years earlier, coincidentally at the same time his wife ran off with a cardsharp. Buzz said he kept it that way as a reminder of the perfidy of the female sex, but since his behavior toward woman suggested that was a lie, there were folks who thought he simply lacked motivation to make the repair.

  Lily stopped short before entering the saloon and stared up at the sign.

  “It’s not going to fall on your head,” said Roen. “No matter how much you wish it would. Go on. We’ve made it this far.” He hefted little Lizzie in his arm. Beside him, Ham was dancing with excitement. Clay and Hannah were only marginally more successful at containing their eagerness. They were standing on tiptoes trying to see past the doors to the interior.

  Lily had expected to see customers when she stepped inside. The Songbird was open for business, after all, but the number of people crowding the bar and tables overwhelmed her. If Roen and the children hadn’t been pressing at her back, she would have turned and run.

  It was an ambush. She said as much to Roen, but her voice was drowned out by the cheers and clinking glasses that accompanied her entrance. Jim Springer was rushing forward, holding out both his hands to take hers, and insisting at the same time that he wasn’t responsible for the reception.

  “It grew like Topsy,” he told her. “I told Buzz that you accepted my invitation, and he took it from there. You’ll stay, won’t you? Folks who weren’t at church yesterday want to wish you well.”

  Aware that the children were looking at her as expectantly as Jim Springer, Lily said that of course they would stay. A second round of cheers followed when Jim gave the crowd a thumbs-up. He led the children to the only vacant table in the saloon. Lizzie refused to leave the cradle of Roen’s arm, but the other three sat down. Ridley Madison squeezed through the gathering around the table and took Lizzie’s place. She smiled innocently when Lily turned a mildly accusing look in her direction but had no illusions that it released her from culpability.

  Lily flinched as her arm was taken. It was only when she saw it was Ben that she relaxed. He provided an escort for her, taking her from one person to the next to receive their best wishes, and was careful not to allow her to be passed around. She could admit to herself that Roen’s following presence helped to calm her. Lizzie’s giggling raised her smile. She doubted that she appeared as nervous as she felt, though she imagined that Ben felt the light tremor in her arm.

  Jim had a glass of sweet red wine waiting for her when she and Ben reached the bar. There was a shot of whiskey beside it for Roen and a little glass of sarsaparilla for Lizzie. True to his promise, Roen asked for a ginger beer and passed the shot to the sheriff.

  “Look up,” Roen said, raising his glass. “There, in the mirror.”

  Lily lifted her eyes to her reflection and then let her vision encompass all that was behind her. Everyone present was raising a glass, even if it was empty. Her vision blurred so that she had to blink rapidly to stay her tears. This was not the first these dear people had gathered on her behalf. They had fought the fire that destroyed her home and built a new one in its place. They had helped her bury her husband. The bank had found a buyer for the forge, and there were offers of employment from a number of shop owners before she accepted the position with Mrs. Fish. And all of that was the very least of what they had done.

  Lily sought out her children. They were sitting at attention, beaming their approval almost as widely as the doctor. Her heart swelled. The town had adopted them as well, so much so that Hannah had once remarked that it was as if she had dozens of parents to mind instead of just one, and although Lily had been relieved to hear it, she appreciated Hannah’s frustration.

  She turned to face everyone when Roen did and simultaneously lifted her glass. She had thought it would be Jim Springer who made the toast, but it was Buzz Winegarten from where he was seated with his gouty foot supported by a padded stool whose voice boomed encouraging words and happy thoughts. It was all very nice until he called for a kiss before they drank.

  Lily couldn’t hide her panic from Roen, but he used Lizzie to hide it from everyone else. He angled his body and Lizzie to protect Lily. What the crowd could observe was the back of her head in the mirror. He bent his head, bussed the corner of her mouth, and then gave Lizzie a smacking good kiss on her proffered cheek. Everyone roared, the moment passed, and Lily had her features composed by the time Roen moved away.

  There were other moments, some of the ribald, more of them respectful, when people called for Lily and Roen to demonstrate affection. Lily grew more easy with each kiss. And while she thought her confidence might be proportional to the wine she was imbibing, she was only peripherally aware that Jim Springer never allowed her to empty her glass.

  The impact of all that wine didn’t hit her until she stepped outside. Had she thanked everyone for coming? Lord, she hoped so. She was in no condition to walk back inside and make amends.

  Roen held out Lizzie to Clay. “Can you carry her? She’s almost asleep.”

  Nodding, Clay put out his arms and took his sister in. Her head dropped to his shoulder. “Ma’s drunk,” he said, looking Lily over. “I’ve never seen her drunk before.”

  “Tipsy,” Roen corrected.

  “No,” said Lily. “Clay’s right. I’m drunk.” She leaned heavily against Roen. “Do I sound sorry about it? I don’t think I am.”

  Roen straightened Lily and gripped her arm. “All right, troops. Home.” Lily started out on a stumble, apologized, and then took every step after that with considerable care. The children were already in the house, coats, scarves, and hats off and draped over the banister by the time Roen and Lily arrived. Roen helped Lily remove her outerwear before he led her to the rocker. She was compliant, smiling a little giddily as she dropped like a stone. It was only when the rocker shifted that her smile vanished, replaced by a sickly look common to new passengers at sea.

  “Hannah,” Roen said. “Fetch a pail for your mother.”

  Lily pressed her hands to her midriff as she leaned forward. “I’m fine.”

  “All evidence to the contrary. Hannah. The pail.” When she ran off, Roen tossed Lily’s coat and scarf on the sofa and put his own things there as well. “Will you put Lizzie to bed, Clay? I’ll look after your mother. Ham, go with your brother.”

  “Will she be all right?” asked Clay, frowning as he resettled Lizzie in his arms. “She doesn’t drink. We don’t have liquor in the house anymore.”

  “She’ll be fine. Promise.” He was curious about Clay’s “anymore” comment, but it was not the time to inquire. “Go on. Hannah will be up shortly.”

  Roen was on his knees beside the rocker when Hannah reappeared with a pail. She handed it over but waited on tenterhooks to see whether it would be needed.

  “Fine,” Lily insisted, holding the pail between her knees.

  “Go on, Hannah,” said Roen. He turned his head to watch Hannah slowly back out of the room. When she was out of sight on the staircase, he spoke to Lily. “It’s safe. You can purge now.” The lethal, narrowed-eye stare she gave him set him back on his haunches. He thought she might sit up, but she remained leaning over the pail.

  “I’m not going to be sick,” she said.

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” Then she promptly threw up.

  Roen winced but remained at her side, steadying the pail when her hands shook and her body shuddered. He rubbed her back until the purge ended and she moaned softly, then he took the pail away and handed her a handkerchief. He left to empty and clean out the pail and pour a glass of cold water. He returned with the water and a small bowl. He gave her the glass and held the bowl. “Rinse and spit.”

  Lily was beyond embarrassment. She did as he instructed. When she was done, he removed the glass from her hand and went back to the kitchen. She was on her feet by the time he reappeared.

  “Maybe you should sit a little longer.” It surprised him that she took his suggestion. Less surprising was the fact that she chose the armchair instead of the rocker. Roen moved their coats and sat on the end of the sofa closest to her.

  Lily tilted her head and touched three fingers to her temple. She knew better than to close her eyes. She’d done it once while Roen was in the kitchen and the parlor began to spin alarmingly. “I want to blame you,” she said. “I just don’t know how to make it sound as if I believe it. Did you know how much I was drinking?”

  “You sipped,” he said. “It was deceiving.”

  “I think Jim kept refilling my glass.”

  “Just a little at a time.”

  “Fiendish.” When Roen didn’t disagree, she looked sideways at him. “Did you know there was going to be a reception there tonight?”

  “An ambush, I think you called it.”

  “So you did hear me.”

  “I heard you, but it didn’t seem prudent to agree. You warmed to it after a bit, and yes, I had my suspicions that there’d be folks there to wish us happy. I didn’t anticipate there would be so many. Buzz wasn’t even offering free drinks. There are a lot of good people in this town, and most of them care about you.”

  “I know. Sometimes their kindness is crushing.”

  “Crushing?”

  “Because I’ve done nothing to earn it except survive.” The hand that was massaging her temple dropped quickly to her mouth. Drink had loosened her tongue. Made her stupid. She lowered her hand and dared to infinitesimally shake her head. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “What did you mean?”

  Lily didn’t answer.

  “Perhaps another time,” he said.

  He wouldn’t forget, so Lily didn’t ask him to. “I’m ready to go to bed.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “No.”

  “All right. I’ll come up in a bit.” He stayed where he was as she rose and remained there until she climbed the stairs without mishap, then he hung up everyone’s outerwear and went to his workroom to study.

  It was hours before he joined Lily in the bedroom. He anticipated that she would be asleep, and she was, but it was a restless, troubled sleep. In spite of the chill in the room, she had thrown off the blankets where they should have covered her feet. One bare calf was also exposed. Before he undressed, he added coals to the stove from the scuttle and prodded the meager fire with a poker.

  He scrubbed his face at the basin, brushed his teeth, all the while watching out of the corner of his eye as Lily tossed and turned. He didn’t know if this was a precursor to a nightmare, but he thought he should be prepared. He carried the chair to her side of the bed and sat while he removed his shoes. Leaning back as comfortably as he was able, Roen propped his heels on the bed frame. Every time his eyes drooped, Lily would stir again and he would remain alert for a little while longer.

  “Roen?”

  He jerked, almost toppling the chair, unaware until he heard his name that he had fallen asleep. His feet landed solidly on the floor as he sat up. The room was dark. The lamp that he had left dimly lit had gone out. He had to squint to make out Lily’s figure. She was also sitting up, covers pulled as high as her shoulders. “What is it? Are you all right?”

  “Why are you sleeping in the chair?”

  Roen rubbed his face with this palms. “You were moving about so much when I came in that I thought you might be having a nightmare. It seemed wise to stay close.”

  “If I was dreaming, I don’t recall it.”

  “What woke you?”

  “Call of nature,” she whispered. “Do you mind stepping out? The chamber pot’s under the chair you’re sitting in.”

  Roen jumped to his feet, jostling the commode’s lid. It was the first time he realized the chair had a dual purpose. “Leaving now,” he said, eliciting a quiet laugh from Lily. “Good to know about the pot, though. Last night I went all the way to the outhouse.” Actually he hadn’t walked that far. He relieved himself off the back porch after Clay confided that sometimes it was what he did. He also cautioned Roen not to tell.

  It wasn’t long before Lily called to him. She’d moved the chair close to the window and had returned to bed. What was different than their previous two nights together was she was not lying on her back or facing away from him. She was on her side, her head propped on an elbow, and Roen could feel, but not see, her eyes following him.

  “Don’t you want to turn around?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “I’m going to put on my nightshirt.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  She said nothing for a long moment, evaluating. “No. Only a little tipsy now.”

  “It’s a fine line where you’re concerned.”

  “Probably. It’s not a line I’ve ever crossed before.” She patted the empty side of the bed. “Go on. You can sit here.”

  “Definitely feeling no pain.” He removed his nightshirt from the wardrobe and sat down in the same spot he had claimed on earlier nights. The invitation to do so did not exactly ease his mind. Not only did he wonder what she was up to, he wondered what he would do about it.

  Roen removed his jacket, vest, and shirt with his usual care. He pulled on the sleeves of his flannel undershirt, rolled his shoulders, and stripped to his waist. He was preparing to raise the nightshirt over his head when he felt Lily set her hand squarely between his shoulder blades. Her palm was warm. There were points of heat at the ends of her splayed fingers. He didn’t draw a breath until his heart slammed hard in his chest.

  “What are you doing, Lily?”

  “You know. Can’t you feel my hand?”

  “I can. I do. I don’t know what it means.” He shivered slightly as she drew her index finger down the length of his spine. “I don’t think you should do that.” She immediately ran the same finger back up the ladder.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It doesn’t matter if I like or it not, our agreement has conditions.”

  “I know. I made them.”

  “Are you testing me, Lily? Is that it?”

  Her hand moved again, this time to the base of his neck. She slipped her fingers under his hair, fiddled with the ends, winding them around a finger and then tugging gently. “You need a haircut.”

  Roen reached behind him and laid a hand over hers, stopping her play.

  “It’s nice, though,” she said, “the way your hair brushes your collar.”

  “When I’m wearing one,” he said dryly.

  “Yes, of course. When you’re wearing one.” Lily slid her hand out from under Roen’s. She walked her fingers across his left shoulder, paused, then lightly grazed his skin on the way back to his neck. “Now, about the barber. When you see Sam Love, ask him to give you a trim, not a scalping.”

  Roen circled Lily’s wrist and removed her hand from his neck. He laid her hand beside his hip and then quickly stood up. He did not have to look down to know that his erection was filling out the front of his trousers. “I think it would be better if I slept downstairs tonight.” It was not his intention to alarm her, but her movement behind him suggested he had done precisely that. He looked over his shoulder in time to see her wrestling with the covers as she tried to scramble to her knees.

  He put his arms in the sleeves of his nightshirt and pulled it over his head. When it fell into place, he took a step away from the bed and began gathering the blankets laid out on the floor. Holding them in front of him, he finally turned toward Lily. She hadn’t left the bed, but she had moved across it on her knees. If she extended an arm now, she would be able to reach him. He inched backward, but not far enough, fast enough, and when Lily struck, it was not with the clumsy, loose-limbed effort of a drunk. She grasped a fistful of his nightshirt and pulled. Hard. There was nothing playful in the gesture.