Angel In The Saloon (Brides of Glory Gulch) Read Online Free Page B

guarded her heart ever since
she lost her true love so long ago. No! She needed to be in control tonight.
    “Well, I’ll
give you a couple of reasons,” Amelia answered. “First, I think it sounds
pretty. Pink. And I hope you don’t think less of me for saying this, but
whenever I wear pink I get compliments on how nice I look. And the other reason
I like pink is because it feels so soft!”
    Corrin and the
men smiled. How naïve of her. And precious. She couldn’t help but see Paul
Strupel’s admiration of Amelia. It was written all over his face. Her answer
intrigued him.
    “You think
pink is a color that feels soft?” Paul asked.
    “Oh, yes, I do.
Here, feel my hair ribbon.”
    Paul reached
up and felt the silken bow tied neatly in the back of her hair, and as he did, his
eyes never strayed from her face. Corrin had seen that look before, and she
didn’t like it. Sure, she didn’t love Paul---never have and never will---but
Amelia was half his age. Of course, this was the west, and men often waited
until they’d made something of themselves before they took a bride. She couldn’t
blame him, though.
    Her blind
niece had no idea of how pretty she was. No one could miss the silkiness of her
complexion, the rosiness of her cheeks, the gleam in her eyes, the soft sheen
of her hair. Corrin had to admit she was an engaging young lady inside and out.
    “See, Mr.
Strupel, my ribbon is pink and it feels ever so soft. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    “Yes. I see
exactly what you mean. And you’re right, pink definitely looks pretty on you.” He
was smiling with delight.
    “Oh, dear. Thank
you, but I hope you weren’t thinking that I was fishing for a compliment.” Amelia
blushed.
    “Most
certainly not. I don’t hand out compliments where they aren’t due.”
    “I’ll vouch
for that,” Mr. Cowan added. “I can’t remember the last time Strupel ever said
anything nice about...well, anything.”
    “Don’t listen
to him, Miss Jackson. What does he know? He’s just an old timber boss who
occasionally needs to be taken down a notch or two.”
    “Let’s adjourn
to the parlor, shall we?” Corrin had tired of the dinner conversation.
    “This saloon
has a parlor?” Amelia asked. “I’m surprised, because from everything I was told
about saloons, they didn’t have much about them that is
    proper. . .”
Amelia stopped and ducked her head. “I’m sorry, Aunt Corrin. I didn’t mean
anything by that.”
    Corrin
cringed. At least now she knew exactly what her niece thought of her and her
establishment. But the girl was wrong. How could she know that Corrin ran a
respectable place? All she did was sell beer and whisky to hard-working men.
She never hired women of ill-repute or soiled doves. The waitresses didn’t wear
obscene costumes and weren’t allowed to drink. The Silver Slipper Saloon in
Glory Gulch, Colorado, held a reputation of being an upscale enterprise in the
middle of a downfallen world.
    “That’s all
right, Amelia. The parlor is one of my private rooms. You’ll soon find out this
isn’t one of those kinds of places.” What else could she say? The girl
couldn’t see, but she’d learn soon enough how things work around here.
    They stood,
and this time Mr. Cowan was first to offer his arm to Amelia, much to Mr.
Strupel’s dismay. The four of them backtracked out the same door they had
entered and made their way through the saloon and up the stairs.
    The gentlemen
were quite familiar with the parlor Corrin referred to, which was actually a
small, cozy room adjacent to her own boudoir. As business partners, they’d
often conducted private meetings there. As friends, they’ve shared an
after-dinner drink and comfortable conversation.
    They made
themselves comfortable while Mr. Cowan built a fire in the small fireplace. Summer
evenings in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado were always quite cool, sometimes
dipping as low as 40 degrees.
    Paul sat on
the settee with Amelia, and Corrin snuggled into