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worse, given my present circumstances: working long hours here at The Desert Rose, sleeping in the back room attached to the kitchens. It was no place for Ella, so the nuns at St. Ignacio had generously agreed to keep her there. I sent them all of the money I got from work and visited whenever I had the chance, but it still didn’t feel like enough. The days in between passed in long stretches of quiet loneliness and drudgery. In those moments, I missed Mama and Papa and Jeb more than I could bear.
    By the time I swept the final bits of broken glass into the dustpan, my eyes stung with tears. I carried the pan outside, hoping to hide my sorrows in the shadows behind the saloon. The sight of the night sky, so vast and shimmering with stars, did my heart some good. In a childish way, I liked to imagine my family up there, keeping an eye on me. But even still, as I gazed at the perfect sky, listening to Eddie’s sad, beautiful music, I felt alone. So very alone.
    “Lovely evenin’.”
    The voice jarred me out of my thoughts, nearly making me fling the pan of broken glass from my hand.
    It was a male’s voice. Sounded like a young buck, about my age. He stepped from the dark into a panel of orange light the windows had cast on the dirt. He was tall and lean with fair hair and a wide smile.
    As he came closer, however, the smile faded. “Say, what’s wrong?”
    I realized that tears still wet my cheeks, and I swiftly wiped them away. “Nothing.”
    “You were crying. Are you hurt?”
    “I’m fine.”
    He made a look of playful, exaggerated distress. “Did some varmint trample on your heart? Tell me where he is, and I’ll give him a what for.”
    This made me laugh a little. “It’s nothing like that. But thanks, anyway.”
    He grinned, and I felt a flicker of heat in my face. I didn’t recognize him; he certainly wasn’t one of the regulars. And I’d never seen him around town. He was probably one of those railroad workers and would be leaving for Tucson at first light.
    “Did you break something important?” he asked, motioning to my pan. “Is that why you’re upset?”
    “You really want to figure this out, don’t you?” I said, both amused and exasperated.
    He stepped closer. “A man doesn’t like the sight of a pretty girl crying.”
    I tried to laugh dismissively, though it sounded more like a cough.
    “I’m Landon,” he said, bending his head to try and meet my eye. “Landon Black. What’s your name?”
    His attention put me off sorts, and I shifted to the side. “I need to get to work.”
    “Now don’t be like that,” he said. “I only want your name.”
    I put my free hand on my hip. “What’s it matter to you? I know you’re one of those rail workers, only passing through for the night. What do you care what my name is or why I’m crying?”
    “Does a man need a reason to talk to a pretty girl?”
    “I’m not a pretty girl.” I made a move to leave. “And you’re no man.”
    “I’m eighteen,” he said, stepping in my path. “A man by anyone’s reckoning.”
    I raised an eyebrow, and he grinned, folding his arms.
    “Tell you what,” he said. “You give me two more guesses as to why you were crying. If I win, I get to know your name.”
    A smile pulled irrepressibly at my lips, and when I didn’t refuse, Landon must have taken it as a yes. “Let’s see now,” he said, folding his arms and tapping his chin with one finger, analyzing me. “You say your heart wasn’t broken, but maybe you broke a heart and you feel bad about it. That’s it. A girl like you probably breaks three hearts a week.”
    I laughed, shaking my head. “Flattery is the devil’s trick, stranger.”
    “Ah, so she’s a Sunday School goer. A Sunday School goer working in a saloon? Aren’t you a puzzle.”
    “I sweep the floors and wipe tables,” I said defensively. “I ain’t one of the girls, if that’s what this is all about.”
    He held up his hands. “Didn’t think it for a