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willing to give up on Dyer either. Something about Dyer reminded Newt
     of himself, twenty years before. Empty, searching, questioning, and yet never finding what was missing in him. Newt gave up
     his search long ago, but Dyer still had a chance.
    Neither spoke as they walked down the wooden deck to the passenger cabins. That was one of the nice things about keeping company
     with Sally. He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, and she didn’t care if he didn’t.
    Stopping just outside her door, he lifted her hand to his lips. “Good night, Miss Summerfield.”
    Raising a perfectly arched brow, she eyed him suspiciously. “Since when do you call me ‘Miss Summerfield’? A title like that
     should be saved for a lady, and you of all people know I haven’t been one of those for quite some time.”
    “That,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek, “is a matter of opinion.”
    He walked away thinking the world would probably be a better place if there were a few less
true
ladies and a few more Sally Summerfields.

Chapter Four
    Lottie tied a towel around her waist and inhaled the aroma of the cup of steaming coffee she was to take to the table of the
     newest customer to enter the room. Lunchtime customers in the
Belle
’s restaurant were much quieter than the evening crowd that came to the gaming room on the deck above. Most of the people
     on the boat at this time of day were the guests currently staying on board, though a few local residents would happen in occasionally
     for a bite of lunch. The
Belle
was known for her rich coffee and amazing pecan pie.
    Some of the girls worked in the restaurant during the noon meal in exchange for their lodging, though without their painted
     faces and garish gowns they were hard to recognize. Lottie felt much more comfortable in her ser viceable blue calico, which
     was a good thing since her comfort level was about to be put to the test in a matter of moments.
    She set the cup on the table in front of her customer. “Coffee, Mr. Straights?”
    Dyer looked up from his newspaper and grimaced. He seemed to do that a lot in her presence. “That depends. Do I need to fetch
     my hat or perhaps borrow an umbrella from someone?”
    “Only if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
    “I assure you, Miss Mace,” he said, lifting the cup in a mock toast. “I have no intentions of ever touching you again.”
    “That should work well for both of us.”
    “And my wardrobe.”
    She winced. His suit was obviously expensive, and she hadn’t intended to ruin it with her actions, but at the time she was
     much more concerned with his hand than his clothing.
    “Perhaps in the future you’ll be more careful about where you touch a lady.”
    The gleam in his eyes brought a flush to her face. She could tell by the twist to his lip that he was about to say something,
     and knowing him, it would get him scolded for sure. Not a good way for her to mend fences, so before he had a chance to get
     himself into any more trouble, she asked, “What can I bring you for lunch?”
    He paused for a second, probably deciding whether he wanted to take this salvation or go ahead and say what he’d been thinking.
     Luckily, his wiser side prevailed.
    “Breakfast,” he answered, then took a sip of his coffee and returned his attention to his paper.
    Lottie sighed a little in relief. It was probably best they not attempt polite conversation just yet, though they had never
     had a polite conversation to this point anyway. She went to the kitchen to tell the cook that Dyer wanted breakfast for lunch,
     which was not an unusual request since most of the gamblers slept until noon.
    When she returned to the dining room, Newt was arriving. It was nice to see a friendly face for a change.
    “Good morning,” he said, smiling as she set his coffee in front of him. “How are things today between you and um . . .” He
     pointed in Dyer’s direction.
    She sighed. “Not good, I’m afraid. He’s