by Bess McBride
Given a chance to see Clint again, Hilly couldn’t wait to watch the show and she made a beeline for the store that advertised tickets to the O.K. Corral gunfight. She purchased a ticket for the show and browsed the shop for a while before returning to the street to linger and absorb the atmosphere. The main street—Allen Street with its hard-packed dirt surface—was closed to traffic. Throngs of tourists milled about, and Hilly wasn’t sure she would be able to get a sense of historical Tombstone from her visit. She had bought a couple of books on the area but hadn’t had time to read them yet. She would have to if she was going to set a story there.
She had never forgotten the day six months ago when she had hopped out of the car in the eye of a pending storm and peered into the cave. It had captured her imagination in a way that nothing had for years. But she’d had other books to write, and she hadn’t given the idea of a Western romance novel set in Tombstone any real consideration since that time.
However, having just finished yet another romance writer’s conference in Phoenix, she had taken a few extra days to spend with Rob and his family again, and he had suggested she make another effort to visit Tombstone. Rob been stationed at nearby Fort Huachuca while in the Army, and he had visited Tombstone many times with his wife and children.
“Remember, I told you about that cave I saw when I was here six months ago?” Hilly asked when they had discussed Tombstone. “Well, I actually wondered if I could do one then, but what do I know about Westerns? I have no experience with cowboys or horses other than what I’ve seen in the movies. Besides, I’m visiting you guys. It would be kind of rude for me to take off to parts unknown.”
“We would go down there with you now but the boys have soccer this weekend,” Rob had said. “In fact, they have something every weekend, so we can’t seem to get away. Go to Tombstone. Make it all the way this time. It’s a neat town. Don’t forget to see the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. The kids love that show.”
Hilly sighed. It was true. Her brother’s family was very busy, and she wondered why she had bothered to add a few extra days on her trip to visit them. She wasn’t sure any other time of the year would have been better either. Two rambunctious boys required a lot of sports and activities to harness their energy.
But she hadn’t been doing much at home either. Stuck for ideas on her current novel, she had needed a change of scenery, and Rob had suggested she might like the pleasant fall sunshine of Arizona better than the rainy and foggy skies of Seattle.
“All right. I’ll go down and have a look at the town,” Hilly had conceded. “I’ll book a hotel somewhere down there and look around for a few days.”
“Good! We’ll see you when you get back.” He patted her on the back. “Enjoy yourself. You’ll like it. I promise. It’s the Wild West, Hilly!”
Hilly had nodded with mixed emotions. Her schedule was her own, and she had nothing but time. Her books were selling well, and she could afford to take a few days off from writing to explore new territory. Rob was right. It would be good for her. She was stuck in a rut, and nothing seemed very interesting anymore.
And so, she had driven south three hours through the winter desert to the small town of Tombstone nestled among small undulating hills. She had tried to spot the hill which held her special little cave/hole, but a car had been passing her on the highway, and she’d had to keep her attention on the road. She must have missed it, because she didn’t see it by the time she arrived in Tombstone. She hoped it hadn’t been covered over or caved in to disappear into the hillside. That would be such a shame.
On arrival, Hilly had booked herself into a local motel, old-fashioned but clean, reminiscent of some motor inns of the 1950s that she had seen in pictures. The Sunset Inn was only a few minutes from the downtown tourist area of Tombstone, and she had checked in, washed her face, and followed the desk clerk’s directions toward the historical center of town.
Now, she wandered down the wooden boardwalk of Allen Street. False-fronted buildings titled themselves anything from saloons to restaurants to specialty shops. Hilly wondered how much of what she was seeing was authentic to historic Tombstone. She regretted not reading her books on the town before she drove down. For all she knew, nothing was authentic, and she was wandering in nothing so much as a movie set.
With a bit of time on her hands until the show, she stepped into one of the saloons to look around. A cowboy-hatted man played guitar and sang a ballad on a small dais in the center of the room, surrounded by people at tables eating and drinking. Most of the people appeared to be tourists like herself, and many appeared to be senior citizens given Arizona’s popularity in the winter as a “snow-birding” destination. A long brilliantly polished wooden bar flanked the opposite end of the saloon where a few patrons straddled barstools and palmed bottles of beer. Photographs and portraits of the Earp Brothers were prominently featured throughout. She studied the faces of the mustached brothers, thinking that she could probably recognize Wyatt Earp by now if he walked into the saloon. Several televisions broadcast popular movies featuring Tombstone and the Earp Brothers. Western-themed paintings, posters, sculptures, lighting fixtures and signs festooned the well-varnished walls and ceilings, providing a sensory overload that was too much to take in at once.
She debated taking a seat at the bar to order a snack from the menus strewn about but decided against it. As an author, she led a quiet life, often writing for days before she discovered she had no food in the refrigerator, necessitating a run to the store. Although she could have used the time to absorb some ambience from the saloon, the boisterousness of the decorations and the loud hum of voices jangled her nerves, and she left, opting to explore the less traveled back streets of Tombstone until it was time to return for the show.
As she turned down a quiet street, she wondered if Clint frequented the saloon. At night? During the day? Or did he go home to his house and eat dinner with....
Hilly sighed. With his wife? Family? Of course! He was probably married. She hadn’t even thought of him in the context of being a married man, nor had she even glanced at his left hand ring finger.
She rounded a corner, and recognized the street. Her motel was located just about a hundred yards away. The road sported a light amount of traffic which appeared to be passing through Tombstone to other destinations. Had she seen all there was to see? Not possible!
She walked for a few more blocks and turned left, heading back toward the O.K. Corral. She thought she might as well study the displays in the shop and courtyard while she waited. As she turned back toward the center of the district, she saw Clint crossing Allen Street in front of her. He saw her and stopped abruptly, as if waiting for her to reach the intersection.
Hilly’s heart thumped and she hurried her step to join him, but as she did so, Clint raised a hand in greeting and moved away without looking back. Hilly broke into a trot and arrived at Allen Street just in time to see him enter the shop fronting the O.K. Corral.
Good gravy! Was she chasing men now? She slowed down and strolled toward the O.K. Corral, lecturing herself. The man was probably married. She was never going to see him again after the show. She didn’t even know him. What on earth was the matter with her? Rob and his Wild West business!
Hilly hesitated outside the shop for a few minutes and entered on the tails of a group of tourists. She mingled with them, presented her ticket and made her way with the throng to a courtyard at the rear of the shop featuring displays regarding the reenactment of the famous gunfight between the Earp brothers, Doc Holliday, the Clanton brothers and the McLaury brothers. The door to the gunfight show was still closed.
She kept a sharp eye out for Clint but didn’t see him. With one eye on the lookout for him and the other on the displays, she passed the time until the door was opened by a young man in a large hat with a round crown and flat brim. His brown vest, shirt and trousers—like Clint’s—were dusty. Apparently, he took nosedives as well.
Hilly lined up with the other tour
ists and tendered her ticket to the young man. She entered the enclosure to find a replica of several small false-fronted historical buildings which would apparently serve as the stage. A dirt arena covered the space between the buildings and portable metal stadium seating shielded by an overhead canopy. She unobtrusively slipped into the first seat available the second row next to the entrance/exit and pulled her camera out of her bag.
She was determined to get a picture of Clint if nothing else, and in fact, she would need photographs to jog her memory if she did decide to write a Western novel. Sitting the in the wet Pacific Northwest and writing a novel set in the dry, dusty Southwest would take more than just imagination. She waited with anticipation for the arrival of the actors.
They entered from the opening nearest Hilly—four “cowboys” in innocuous attire consisting of dusty hats, shirts, vests, boots and holsters with guns around their hips which she presumed shot blanks. Clint sauntered in with them, and Hilly had eyes only for him. Of the four actors portraying the Clanton brothers and the McLaury brothers, only Clint appeared to truly capture the heroic element of a Western cowboy, at least in Hilly’s estimation.
As the story unfolded—one of banned guns, grudges, disrespect, and hot tempers—Clint acted his part quietly and with confidence. The arrival of the Earp brothers, dressed in imposing stark black clothing and sporting law enforcement badges, along with Doc Holliday, brought cheers from the crowd, but Hilly silently cheered only for Clint, although he was purportedly on the wrong side of the law in the scenario. She scolded herself again for not reading more about Tombstone before she arrived. According to the show, the Earps and Doc Holliday were the good guys, and the Clantons and McLaurys were the bad guys. She wondered if there was more to the story.
Hilly jumped when Clint pulled his pistol from his holster and aimed it at the men in black. Shouting erupted from everyone, and a volley of shots flew back and forth across the small arena. Hilly, unused to the sound of gunshots, covered her ears and squinted as people began to fall to the ground. Clint slumped into his “nosedive” as did two others. The men in black remained standing, some holding body parts as if they had been wounded.
The crowd roared in approval, and Hilly dropped her hands from her ears. So, this was the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. It was over in seconds. Clint lay unmoving, and Hilly craned her neck to see over the people in front of her. She had taken a few photographs throughout, except during the gunfight scene, and she took one of Clint lying in the dust. Apparently, his character—Tom McLaury—was dead.
Tinny music began and a stentorian voice announced that the Clantons and McLaurys had met their match. Clint and his fellow actors jumped to their feet and dusted themselves off. While the actors took bows and congregated on either side of the arena for photographs, Clint strode past Hilly and out the door.
Torn, she couldn’t decide whether to leave the show in a leisurely fashion or jump down and run after him. Of course, she shouldn’t run after him. That was way too groupie, too star struck.
Hilly jumped down and ran after him, through the store and out into the street.
“Clint!” she called, surprising even herself at her boldness. She only knew she couldn’t let him go without knowing something about him...anything.
He stilled and turned around. He tipped his hat and waited for her to approach.
“I’m so sorry for waylaying you like this. You must think I’m quite the stalker. The thing is...” Hilly tried to slow her breathing. Her jog after him hadn’t been arduous. In fact, she jogged regularly. But she couldn’t regulate her breathing under the gaze of his blue eyes.
“Well, the thing is...as I mentioned before, I’m a writer, and I was thinking of setting a story here...in Tombstone.” She hoped that would explain all, and that he would volunteer to invite her to lunch and explain everything about Tombstone’s history.
She wasn’t prepared for the wary look that crept into Clint’s eyes. His body seemed to stiffen. She hurried on.
“Well, I was hoping I could interview you, frankly. I assume you’re from around here?”
He didn’t answer. Hilly’s heart dropped to her stomach. She was making a fool of herself. She looked down at his left hand. No wedding ring.
“Well, anyway, could I buy you some coffee or an early dinner and ask you a few questions about Tombstone and its history? I could pay you for your time.”
Hilly bit her lip. She had just offered to pay the man. She’d never had to pay anyone for research on a book.
The mention of money seemed to galvanize Clint, who’d been frozen in place. He shook his head quickly.
“You don’t have to pay me, ma’am. I just don’t think I have any information that would be helpful to you. I haven’t been here long myself.”
“Oh, really? How long have you been with the show?” Hilly tried to keep him from running, though he scanned the street as if he was looking for an escape. She had sunk so low.
“Only about six months. Maybe one of the other fellows would be better at answering your questions.”
Hilly nodded slowly. What could she say?
“Oh, thank you anyway. Yes, maybe I’ll go ask one of the other actors. Have they all gone home now?” She turned to survey the building blindly, unshed tears of humiliation filling her eyes. What a fool she’d been! He probably had women chasing him down the street all the time. He was very handsome.
“No, probably not,” he said.
Hilly, her back still to him, nodded again. “Oh, good. I’ll just go into the shop and see if I can’t round one of them up for an interview. Thanks, Clint. It was nice to meet you!” She tried to end on a breezy note and moved away without looking back at him. Hurriedly, she reentered the shop in front of the O.K. Corral and moved to stand behind a postcard display. She blanked her mind, swallowed hard and dabbed at her eyes.
What a fool she’d been. She hadn’t really been in the habit of asking for interviews at any rate, preferring to absorb her information through reading, but she had taken a chance on Clint—mostly because she wanted to know more about him. But she must have crossed some line because a veil had fallen across his eyes, and he’d withdrawn into himself. Not that he had been particularly open during their first encounter.
She stared unseeingly at the postcards and waited until she was sure Clint had gone. No problem. She didn’t have to see him again. Although she was booked into her motel for two nights, she could manage to avoid him tomorrow when she finished exploring the rest of Tombstone. It was likely she would never see him again. Somehow, the thought depressed her. In fact, the idea of never seeing him again gave her a deep sense of loss, one that she couldn’t explain.
Hilly took a deep breath and turned to leave the shop. As she passed through the open doorway, she caught sight of a tall cowboy leaning against the wall just outside, his long legs crossed, his arms folded over his chest. When he saw her, he dropped his hands and tipped his hat.
“I’m sorry,” Clint said. “I was rude.”
Chapter Three
Clint looked down into Hilly’s eyes—blue as the sky on a sunny day. He had no idea what he was getting himself into, but when she had turned away from him, his heart fell to his stomach. He couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again.
She smiled up at him, and he was lost. As lonely as he had been since he “arrived,” he’d kept to himself. He wasn’t staying if he could help it, and even if he had to stay until he could find a way back, he couldn’t share his secret with anyone. They’d lock him up for sure. The twenty-first century wasn’t quite like the nineteenth century. Where he was from, folks tolerated strange behavior...or maybe they ignored it. So, if a fellow showed up in town and announced that he had traveled from the future, folks would have smiled and turned away. He wasn’t so sure that’s what the local citizens of today’s Tombstone would do. Well-meaning, they might contact some of the local “aid” organizations and maybe get him into “treatment” or something.
Hilly had an air of vulnerability about her that tugged at his heartstrings, a sweetness, and maybe even a bit of silliness that charmed him. He knew he’d hurt her feelings when he’d turned down her offer for an “interview,” and he had cursed himself for his rudeness and followed her back to the store, waiting outside until she emerged.
Sure, some of the women tourists tried to get his attention. He figured that was all part of show biz. Not that he’d had any acting experience before. But Hilly was different, and he couldn’t let her go just yet without finding out more about her. He just had to make sure he didn’t slip up and mention anything about time traveling.
“No, that’s okay,” Hilly smiled. “I’m sure women chase you down the street all the time. Folks have a fascination with cowboys and the Old West.”
“Well, now, wait a minute, I’m not a ‘Cowboy.’ Those were the bad guys, at least around here in the old days. I just play one in the show.”
Hilly tilted her head as if she didn’t understand him, and he wasn’t surprised. Folks sure had a different idea of cowboys than he did.
“Come on. Let’s go have that cup of coffee. I’ll tell you what I can.” He held out an arm for Hilly, and she stared at it for a moment before slipping her hand under his arm. They moved down the boardwalk. He spoke as they walked.
“You see, the Cowboys were considered outlaws in these parts...cattle rustlers and such. I know folks today think of Cowboys as cattlemen, but they didn’t in the 1800s, at least not around Tombstone. Maybe Texas way, but not here.”