Julia: Bride of New York (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 11)
least there he could keep his eye on her and make sure that all too tempting body was fully covered.
    “You know that was a made-up job. Now please let me be. I appreciate all you’ve done for me since I arrived. Truly, I do. But now it’s time for me to stand on my own two feet.”
    He knew she was right. He’d offered her marriage four times. The last time he thought she would accept, then, for no reason he could tell, she turned him down again. He needed to admit defeat and let her go. “All right. I won’t interfere with your job again.” Throwing a few coins on the table, he downed the rest of his drink and left the saloon.
     
     
    Julia watched Fletcher push the batwing doors open and leave the saloon. She sighed and picked up his empty glass. Truth be known, she hated working in the saloon, but two days of trudging up and down the boardwalk, stopping in every store, asking for work had produced nothing.
    There were times when her feet ached or when she’d been forced to duck a man’s hands on her bottom that she wished she hadn’t turned down the sheriff’s marriage proposal. In fact, her heart ached a little bit more every time she saw him. But she wouldn’t be bullied into marrying him, and she wouldn’t put her heart at risk by becoming wife to a man who would never give her his heart.
    “Miss Benson, will you bring me a drink, please?” Mr. Johnson waved at her from across the room.
    Good Lord, why did the man continue to haunt her? Each time she saw him she was once again glad he’d rejected her. How miserable her life would have been had she married the man. She shuddered as she smiled at several men and dodged their wandering hands.
    “What would you like, Mr. Johnson?”
    He tried what he must have thought was a welcoming smile. “Now why can’t you at least smile? You were supposed to marry me, you know. Why, by now you could have a baby in your belly.”
    Julia fought the nausea that rose up the back of her throat. Not at the idea of a sweet little baby, but at the image of what would have happened to put that baby there. Just the thought of the man’s hands on her was repulsive.
    “What do you want to drink, Mr. Johnson?”
    He scowled as she sidestepped his question. “Just get me a whiskey.”
    She made quick work of getting his drink and dropping it off. The man sat there for over an hour, nursing the one drink, never taking his eyes off her.
    It would be another long night. This truly was a difficult job. The only good part of her employment was the comfortable room she’d secured at the boarding house, so she was no longer at the hotel. Mrs. Sylvia Beamer, the owner of the lovely home on the corner of Birch and Memory Streets, offered room and board to single ladies.
    Although the woman had been reluctant at first to allow her a room because she worked at the saloon, once Julia told her she had worked for the sheriff for a while, Mrs. Beamer gladly offered her space.
    Each evening Julia put part of her nightly wages aside so she could pay back the town for the meals and hotel they’d provided. Maybe one day she could save enough to buy herself a small house. How wonderful it would be to have a sense of belonging. Especially in this little town that she’d grown to love. She would no longer yearn for a man to ride up on his white horse and take care of her.
    If she couldn’t have love, she’d have a cat.
    “Good night, Mac,” Julia called out to the manager as she opened the back door of the saloon and stepped into the alley. Raising the collar on her coat, she lowered her head and hurried to the front of the building. This was the part of her job she hated the most. It was only a two and a half block walk to her boarding house, but it might as well have been miles for as panic-stricken and out of breath she was when she arrived safely at her door.
    She carried a lantern with her to help light the way, the circle of light providing some sense of safety. About a block from the

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