before he allowed anyone to witness his awkward attempts, but there was no better time than the present to begin. The saloon was quiet, and if he were very careful and moved very slowly, he might be able to pour himself a glass of whiskey—and no one would know.
No matter how many ways Jessye looked at the ledgers, she couldn’t change the numbers. Her father had a bad habit of purchasing more stock than was needed so their cash reserves were always low. She couldn’t bring herself to chastise him. He’d only say, “We’ll need it all some day, girl.”
Perhaps before the war, before over half the men in the town had died on a bloody battlefield miles from home.
It also didn’t help matters that her father had a bad habit of extending credit. “Can’t turn away a man down on his luck,” he’d say. “Just a nip to help him through the night.”
The nip often turned into a bottle or two.
She’d grown accustomed to her father’s generosity over the years. She loved him, faults and all. Still, she’d be relieved when they heard something from Kit. She desperately wanted her investment to pay off.
Yawning, she closed the ledger, leaned back in the chair, and rubbed the nape of her neck. Two o’clock in the morning was much too late to go to bed, but the night just didn’t contain enough hours.
The office door opened, and she smiled sleepily at her father. “Thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I got distracted. Do you know where the papers are that say I own this building?”
“They’re here in the desk.”