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Toby’s lined face screwed up with concern. “I guess you have to come to a compromise with what you want and with what Matt is willing to give. There’s nothing else to do, other than to forget him entirely.”
    “You’re telling me I can’t have it both ways.”
    “Right.”
    “You’re wrong.” Resolved, Samantha said with conviction, “And I’m going to prove it—when I figure out how.”
    “You’re a determined woman, do you know that? I’m starting to think maybe Matt made a mistake when he chose Jenny over you.” He shrugged. “But in any case, I’d like to keep you company until you straighten all this out in your head. If that’s all right with you, of course.”
    Somehow unable to resist the old man, Samantha said, “It’s all right with me. I’ve discovered that I actually enjoy your company, no matter what you say, Toby.”
    “I know you do.”
    Samantha replied with sudden sincerity, “Damn it all! If you were only twenty years younger.”
    “Thirty years is more like it.” Turning to the mustached bartender, Toby said more loudly, “The lady and me would like a drink when you get a chance.” He added, “As a matter of fact, leave the bottle.”
    Toby carried it to a nearby table a few minutes later, Samantha close behind. She had a genuine affection for the old man.
    But she still did not understand the bastard named Matt Strait.
    Helen and Jim watched the proceedings between Samantha and Matt silently. They then watched as Samantha and Toby made their way to a table. They exchanged glances and shook their heads.
    The sky was dark and so was most of Main Street hours later when Samantha walked unsteadily beside Lola, Paulette, and Helen toward the Sleepy Rest Hotel. Maggie and Denise had left the Trail’s End with their male friends of the hour, which they were prone to do. No one was surprised.
    The saloon women all lived in the less than desirable rooms at the Sleepy Rest, the town’s only hotel. The lodgings there were designed for transients and for people like them who did not live in the more respectable houses on First Street. The same could be said for the small restaurant next door, where offerings were neither extensive nor good.
    Showing his age, Toby had gone back to his room behind the livery stable to sleep off the effects of an empty bottle, leaving Samantha to spend the remainder of the evening fending off the amorous advances of drunken cowboys. She had congratulated herself on being able to hold her liquor, but she suddenly realized when she staggered unexpectedly that she wasn’t as sober as she had thought she was.
    Samantha grunted in a totally unladylike manner and quickened her step to keep up with the girls. She realized suddenly that they were more sober than she was, and that thought upset her. She didn’t like the failure in personal judgment that admission represented. It wasn’t professional. She was glad Allan Pinkerton wasn’t there to see her.
    “I’ve been waiting to talk to you, Samantha.”
    Samantha’s step faltered when a shadow materialized into Matt’s unexpected figure. She raised her chin to scrutinize him more carefully. She stared at his handsome face, wondering why she had been so drawn to him. It wasn’t as if she had never seen a man as big and masculine as he was before. Or as handsome.
    He towered over her, waiting for her to speak, and she stared at him a second longer. He was still as big and muscular and all male as he had been, but the magic had disappeared, all right. She told herself again that she was glad—but she wasn’t so sure.
    She had some sober thinking to do.
    Paulette and Lola said almost in unison, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Samantha.” They grasped Helen’s arm as she seemed ready to disagree and pulled her along with them.
    Samantha turned unsteadily. “No, don’t go.”
    Helen looked back at her as Paulette and Lola dragged her along toward the hotel.
    Frowning, Samantha turned back to Matt. She said