Chapter Two

Samantha's meeting with Thomas Williamson had done nothing to ease her troubled mind. While there had been nothing outwardly threatening about the short, stocky man with a thick black mustache and ruddy complexion, something in the way his dark eyes had looked at her had caused Samantha's unease to deepen.

Still she had held her tongue. What could she have said? The saloon had already been sold and Samantha did not want to dampen Barbara or Johnathon's excitement about going to see their son. Her issues and problems were her own and she would not ask the Morgan's, who had done so much for her, to worry about her any longer.

A week had passed since that meeting and Samantha still felt uneasy. Thomas had proven to be much different than the saloon's previous owners. He was loud. He was angry. He mistreated the women and didn't seem to have a problem with patrons doing the same. Thomas was also very unhappy that he was paying Samantha to clean, manage the supplies, and occasionally tend bar. He seemed to think she should be entertaining the men to bring in extra money and he was becoming more vocal about that fact every day.

Samantha knew she would have to leave soon. Her situation here was becoming precarious to say the least, but she was terrified. Leaving would mean worrying once more about where she would lay her head at night. It would mean hunger and uncertainty. She didn't have much money stashed away—most of her pay for the work she had done while at the saloon had been in the form of room and board for both herself and Athena.

And then of course there was the fear that out there, wandering aimlessly, Clinton Matthews would find her.

Samantha was sitting in her new room simply staring at the walls and contemplating just how badly both her father and Clinton Matthews had destroyed her life, when a knock sounded and yanked her from her worrisome thoughts. Standing up, she walked to the door and pulled it open to find one of the serving girls, Eleanor, waiting in the hallway.

"Are you busy?" she asked, a friendly smile on her red, painted lips. It was nearing the evening and clearly Eleanor was preparing for work. She was wearing her corset and petticoat and nothing else other than the heeled shoes upon her feet. Her blond hair was styled upon her head with loose tendrils curling down and dancing against her shoulders. She wore powder on her cheeks and paint on her lips and eyelids to draw men's attention.

Samantha shook her head, feeling out of place and awkward. For two years she had worked hard to isolate herself—always running. For five months she had done her best to avoid forming friendships while living at the saloon. She wanted so badly to have a friend her age to confide in. Eleanor, despite her line of work, was proving to be a kind and caring soul which made it all the harder to maintain those necessary walls.

"No, I wasn't busy."

"You should have joined us girls for supper earlier," Eleanor scolded with a knowing glance. "I respect that you're a private person, Samantha, but us girls are family here and if you ever want to talk or anything, all you gotta do is say so."

Samantha wrung her hands a bit as she swallowed hard. She wanted so badly to open up and have friends—but what if Clinton found her? What if he used those friends to hurt her? What if he killed them the way he had her father? And what if she opened up to the wrong person—someone who knew Clinton and let the man know just where to find her?

"Thank you, Eleanor. I may join you all another time."

Eleanor simply sighed and studied her closely before smiling. "We'll welcome you whenever you finally decide to."

Samantha glanced down the empty hall. She could hear the music playing downstairs and the din of voices was carrying up from the saloon below. "I know you're preparing for work. Did you simply stop to talk or is something wrong? Did Thomas send you up?" She sincerely hoped he hadn't. It was a Saturday night which meant it would be a night off work for most of the hands from the surrounding ranches. The saloon would be a wild and rowdy place full of music, drinking, gambling, and plenty of men looking to blow off steam and be entertained.

Eleanor sighed. "Unfortunately, he did. He wishes to speak to you and he seems to be in a raw mood tonight too. I miss Barbara and Johnathon. This place isn't the same without them."

Samantha's heart fell into her stomach. She knew that he was simply going to pressure her once again. She needed to hold onto this job as long as possible to save up money for a new start somewhere else—but she would never resort to prostitution to keep her home. She did not judge the other women here harshly for their careers but it was a career that she herself did not want.

Squaring her shoulders, Samantha forced a smile. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll head down to see what he wants."

Eleanor nodded and stepped aside to give her space. "I'll walk with you. The saloon is filling up and I've got to start serving men."

The two women maintained a rather awkward silence as they walked together down the staircase and into the bar. Dust floated in the glare of the numerous kerosene lamps illuminating the crowded interior. Samantha did her best to ignore the glances sent her way as she tried to remain as quiet and inconspicuous as possible. It was always a risk when she showed her face in the saloon on such crowded nights—or any night really.

If the wrong person saw her, recognized her, it would mean running once again—it would mean Clinton Matthews would once again be on her tail. A quick glance told her that Thomas Williamson was standing beside the bar having a conversation with the bartender, a short, broad shouldered man named Oscar.

Keeping her head down and her eyes on the rough wooden planks beneath her feet, Samantha made her way to the men. "You wished to speak with me?"

Thomas spun around at the sound of her voice and sneered. "Well if it isn't the woman who thinks she's too good to do the work the rest of the women do."

Samantha bit her tongue and chose not to take the bait. "What did you need from me?"

Thomas took her by the arm in a grasp that was just tight enough to elicit pain. He dragged her down the bar and to the relative privacy of the shadows beside the storeroom door. "I want you to work. Entertain these men. Earn your keep."

It took several earnest yanks before Samantha freed herself from Thomas' grasp. She met his dark eyed gaze directly and squared her shoulders. "I do plenty of work here."

Thomas snorted, waving away a fly that buzzed near him. "I don't need you for inventory and sweeping floors. I can do that my damn self. I'm not like those Morgans'. Damn fools was all they were. Feeling sorry for some worthless woman like yourself who is too good to do what needs to be done and earn her keep—a woman who wants to live off charity and nothing else."

Samantha bristled. Charity? In her entire life she had known very little in the way of charity. She certainly hadn't seen any in the two years she'd been running for her life, and only with the Morgan's during the five months she'd known them had she seen true kindness—even then Samantha had always done everything she could to repay them and earn her keep.

"Mr. Williams, I refuse to serve men in this saloon. You had a deal with the Morgan's and if you're a man of any character, you'll honor that deal."

Thomas chuckled, clearly quite amused as he scratched at his thick mustache. "I'm not a man who troubles himself much about character. You do as I say or you'll be kicked out on your ass tonight and I'll be keeping that horse to cover the cost of keeping you up the last week."

"Athena is my horse," Samantha countered quickly.

With a quick shake of his head and another swat toward that fly, Thomas fixed her with a gaze that showed he was done arguing. "You heard what I said. Either you do more to earn your keep or you can get the hell out of my saloon and I keep the horse. I already spoke with the town Marshall and he's on my side."

Samantha thought of the town Marshall. A one-eyed drunkard with a pot belly and a fondness for the women who serviced men here at the saloon. A man who kept his job simply because no one else wanted it and not on any merit of his own. She quickly ran through her options in her head. She could not lose Athena—that horse was all she had left. If she were to be kicked out in the dark with not even her only remaining friend....

Hopelessness began to settle into her soul. Outwardly, however, she remained strong. "I will not lay with men for money."

Thomas crossed his arms over his thick chest and studied her carefully. "Fine." He relented, those dark eyes running the length of her body once. "You will change into something more pleasing to a man's eyes and you will serve drinks, sit on laps, and provide the men with conversation and feminine laughter."

Samantha wanted to cry but what choice did she have but to agree? This town, this saloon, had so far proven a safe place from Clinton Matthews—and she couldn't very well go on the run again without even her horse as a companion. With a slow nod, and a stiff back, Samantha agreed with Thomas' demands.

Thomas' rotten teeth were revealed when he smiled, clearly quite happy with his victory. He called Caroline over, another of the serving women in the saloon. She was nearing middle-age with dark skinned, dark haired, dark eyed, and quite lovely. "Caroline, take Samantha upstairs and find her something more appealing to wear. Make sure it looks good with all that red hair and pale skin."

***

Twenty minutes later, Samantha stood in a full length mirror, doing her very best to gather up the courage to walk downstairs. Courage had never been something she'd struggled for in her life—she had always had plenty of it. But looking at herself in nothing but a deep green corset, white, lacy petticoat, and black heeled shoes, had her wanting to remain hidden in this room forever.

Oil lamp light danced off her pale, freckled skin. Her red curls were styled in a messy side plait with loose tendrils dancing along her neck and collarbones. Knots twisted in Samantha's stomach and the trembling in her hands had her wringing them as she studied her reflection.

"You better come along now," Caroline urged. "Thomas is not a patient man."

Samantha spared a glance at the other woman who truly appeared sorry for the position Thomas had placed her in tonight. "I miss the Morgans."

Caroline nodded and the smile on her face was kind. "We all do, darling."

Stepping into that crowded barroom, Samantha was fighting the urge to vomit. She found a shadow in the back corner nearest the stairs and froze there. Perhaps, if no one noticed her, she could avoid attention altogether.

For a short while, it seemed luck may just be on her side—but it seemed luck had actually decided to take a night off. Thomas came storming her way with anger on his features. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. He grabbed the arm he'd abused just a short while before, pressing his fingers in hard and, no doubt, leaving bruises. "You're looking the part, now get out there and act it."

He yanked her away from the wall, Samantha had taken refuge against and shoved her toward the crowds. She was noticed almost instantly by a table of poker players. They signaled her to come to them and somehow, Samantha's stiff legs managed to carry her there, though she nearly curled her ankle twice in the heels on her feet.

"Hey there, beautiful," one of the men, probably in his twenties with dirt-stained clothes, a boyish face and messy blond hair greeted. "Why don't you get us some drinks and then come on back and sit with us a while."

"Yeah, right on my lap," Another spoke up gruffly, this man a bit older than the first with a face beginning to need a shave and a scar above his eye.

"Why would she want to do that?" the blond man demanded, with amusement lighting up his features. "If you're that desperate to have someone on your knee, I'm sure Gavin would be happy to sit there."

This caused a brown-haired man at the table to sputter as he shoved his glasses up his nose and shook his head roughly. "No, Gavin most certainly would not!"

Samantha realized she recognized the blond man and Gavin. Gavin worked at the stage-office in town. He helped deliver mail and keep things running smoothly there. And the blond was a man she believed to be named Timothy—He came to the saloon often to play poker, and he was also known to do whatever odd jobs he could get hired on to do around town.

Timothy let out a hearty laugh. "We really would like those drinks, ma'am, if you don't mind. And you can sit and talk with us, no knee perching needed unless you simply like to sit on them. I could use some good luck and you might just be able to provide it."

Samantha managed a smile she hoped did not resemble a grimace and she scurried off to the bar to order three drinks for their table. As Oscar went to fill three mugs, another man came bellying up to the bar beside Samantha—and it was an impressive belly. The scent of him nearly knocked her down—he was clearly already fairly deep in the whiskey.

"Thomas?" he bellowed, blowing a waft of offensive air directly under Samantha's nose.

Fighting the urge to gag, Samantha attempted to move further down the bar but was stopped by the man's meaty hand as it closed around her wrist. Thomas came over and raised a brow. "What did you need?" he asked.

"I'm interested in some entertainment upstairs."

"Two of the girls are already busy at the moment. We still have several to choose from. Which would you like?"

Samantha's blood ran cold as she tugged in vain to free her hand. The fat man swiped his free hand across his bulbous nose. "I want this one. I ain't seen her around here before."

"I'm not here for that type of entertainment," Samantha was quick to speak up.

Thomas's dark eyes narrowed and he reached out a hand and shoved her roughly. "Don't listen to her, Frank. She's nothing but an actress. Some men like a woman who puts up a fight and she's happy to fill that role."

Samantha shook her head in earnest. "No.. No, I am not a whore... please, Thomas... you promised..."

A drunken, lustful smile curved Frank's thin lips. "Yeah, I want her. How much?"

"She's young, beautiful, and damn near innocent.... Two dollars will buy you an hour. Take her to room 2C"

Samantha's heart thundered against her ribs. Bile rose in her throat. She yanked and pulled and tugged her arm but she could not free herself from Frank's tight grasp. She cried out for help as Frank agreed to the price and began to lead her toward the staircase.

"Don't pay any attention to that, men. This red-haired beauty started off as an actress on stage and likes to fulfill whatever fantasy her feller has—even if that's the part of an unwilling woman."

Samantha felt panicked, trapped, like a rabbit in a snare. Her head whipped around, glancing every direction at once. Surely, someone here would help her! Surely, there must be one decent man!

But no one spoke. Eleanor approached Thomas with concern but he back handed her and she quickly backed down. Samantha's eyes searched for the table of men she'd been buying drinks for but their table was empty. They were no longer there—they didn't seem to be in the saloon at all. Where had they gone to so quickly?

Samantha tripped on the steps and fell which only served to amuse Frank. "You sure do play your part well. Get up here." He yanked her to her feet with one harm and grabbed her backside with his other hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

Samantha became a wild creature, hell bent on escape. She hit, she kicked, she screamed, she was desperate with her need to free herself—but Frank was too powerful full of drink and lust the way he was and he continued to take her up those stairs. Soon the bar was out of sight and they were turning down the hallway.

Tears streaked Samantha's cheeks, her cries and Frank's laughter echoed off the floral paper adorned walls. They were nearing room 2C—Samantha's room. The room that was to be her safe haven in this saloon that had been her home for months. The room that was now going to serve as the location of her rape.

In an instant, the hallway fell silent as a throat cleared behind them. Samantha and her would be violator stilled. Frank turned his head and Samantha craned her neck to see who was interrupting. Please, let it be a decent man—please let this nightmare come to an end!

The man standing there was tall, his face hidden in the shadow cast by hat on his head. His clothes were tattered, dirty, and trail worn and he was clearly broad and strong beneath them. A bandolier full of bullets was strapped tight across his chest. A gun belt with an offhand holster slung low upon his hips with revolvers gleaming in the oil lamp light. A long knife strapped to his belt hung nearly to his knee, tied in place with a leather strap around his thigh, and a shorter knife adorned his other hip. The barrel of the rifle on his back stuck up behind his shoulder.

Danger. The man oozed danger. But Samantha did not care. If he could save her from Frank, she would gladly accept his help!

"What the hell do you want?" Frank growled, holding Samantha tight against him. "The lady and I were busy."

"Please..." Samantha swallowed hard and looked into the man's eyes shrouded in shadow. "Please, help me..."

The man let out a grunt as he adjusted the gun belt on his hips. Then, without warning, and faster than Samantha could comprehend, his arm shot out and his fist connected sharply with Frank's jaw.

Frank's body quite simply crumpled and collapsed upon the floor, taking Samantha with him. She was quick to disentangle herself and leap to her feet. She attempted to cross her arms over her chest to allow herself a bit of modesty as her savior simply stood there acting as if nothing at all had happened.

"Thank you.." Samantha whispered, her entire body beginning to shake as the reality of what had just happened to her began to sink in.

"That your room?" the man asked, his voice was low with a gruff quality.

"Yes.." Shame was beginning to work its way into her mind. Shame that she was standing here dressed as a whore. Shame that she was living in a saloon. Shame that she had allowed Thomas to place her in this situation. Samantha had never been and was not a weak woman.

"Get your ass in there then. Lock the door, move something heavy in front of it. You'll be left alone tonight."

With that the man turned and strode away, heading back toward the stairs. Samantha was quick to sidestep the unconscious lump of Frank on the carpeted floor and let herself into her room. She did as the man had advised and locked the door before pulling a heavy wardrobe in front of it.

Once that was done, Samantha sat on her bed, pulled her knees into her chest and cried. She cried for her father. She cried for the Morgan's. And she cried for herself and what Clinton Matthews had turned her life into.

A/N: Ahh I'm back! And I am beginning to feel that writing urge again! Fingers crossed that means my muse is coming back from her very very long vacation!