by Connie Mason
Kitty knew her hair was unfashionably short, but there wasn’t much she could do about it until it grew out. Meanwhile, she covered her shorn locks with a bonnet and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. When she mounted and rode off she no longer resembled the lad known as Kit.
Kitty had thought long and hard about where she should settle. Tombstone, being the only town she knew, seemed the logical place to go. Of course she’d been in countless towns in Arizona, and even some in Texas with Lex and the Bartons. But most had been fast trips in and out, usually just one step ahead of the law. What made Tombstone attractive as a destination was the promise of a roof over her head. Lex had told her just recently that the small house Deke Johnson had owned was still unoccupied, that Lex hadn’t sold or rented it. It probably was even more ramshackle than she remembered, but it was better than sleeping under the stars or paying money she could ill afford for lodgings.
The sun was setting on the sparse collection of buildings when Kitty turned her mount down Tombstone’s main street. She headed to Mrs. Dooley’s boardinghouse, hoping to buy a decent meal, her first in three days. She’d stopped in a small town just over the border two days ago and bought jerky and beans and hardtack. She hadn’t built a fire, fearing human predators in this untamed territory, so she’d not even had coffee.
The boardinghouse was just as she remembered—maybe a little more run down and in need of a coat of paint, but still welcoming. She dismounted and knocked on the door. A small, round woman wearing spectacles answered on the second knock.
“Are you still serving meals, Mrs. Dooley?” Kitty asked. The delicious aroma of roasting meat wafted through the hallway, making her mouth water.
Mrs. Dooley looked at Kitty over the rim of her spectacles. “Do I know you, dear?”
“I’m Kitty O’Shay, Rena Johnson’s daughter. I left Tombstone six years ago to live with… relatives. I was hoping you’d remember me.”
The woman’s brow cleared. “Of course I remember you. You disappeared quite suddenly after your stepfather’s death. Come in, come in. What are you doing back in Tombstone, dear? Are you married?” She glanced through the open door. “Is your man with you?”
Kitty stepped into the foyer. “I ain’t… I mean I’m not married, ma’am. My circumstances changed recently, and I returned to Tombstone to pick up my life. I was hoping I could buy a meal. If my stepfather’s house is still unoccupied, I plan to move in and look for work.”
“Work? Oh, dear,” Mrs. Dooley said, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “Tombstone hasn’t changed all that much since you left. Decent work is difficult to find for a woman. You should have stayed with your relatives until you found a husband.”
“It wasn’t possible,” Kitty hedged. “I’ll find something.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mrs. Dooley said doubtfully. “I was just setting the table. Dinner tonight is roast beef. I usually charge seventy-five cents.”
Kitty knew the widow had a crippled son to support and needed every penny she could get. “I can pay,” she said, digging in her pocket for the correct change.
“I wouldn’t let you go away hungry even if you couldn’t pay,” Mrs. Dooley said, giving her a motherly pat. “Perhaps you’d like to eat in the kitchen before the others arrive. You can keep me company while I make dessert.”
“I’d like that,” Kitty said.
A few minutes later she was digging into roast beef, boiled potatoes, peas, and biscuits that melted in her mouth. She couldn’t recall when she’d had such a delicious meal. Not since Rena was alive, surely. Her own cooking skills, consisting mainly of fixing beans, biscuits, and wild game, left much to be desired.
“Do you intend to live alone in Deke Johnson’s house?” Mrs. Dooley asked as she put the finishing touches on the chocolate cake she’d just taken out of the oven.
“Do you know if it’s still unoccupied?”
“Haven’t heard any differently. Let’s see, how many years has it been?”
“Six,” Kitty said as she dipped a piece of bread into a drop of gravy remaining on her plate and popped it into her mouth.
“I passed by a month or so ago and noticed all the windows had been shot out. The house is in desperate need of attention. I fear it will be too much for you, dear. I have an empty room you could rent. Five dollars a week including breakfast and dinner.”
Kitty considered the offer but decided against it. “I could save money by living in Deke’s house,” she said. “I’m sure it will be just fine with a little fixing up. This meal is delicious, Mrs. Dooley. I remember how much I enjoyed the food you sent over when Mama was sick.”
“Your mother was a fine woman, dear,” Mrs. Dooley said as she served Kitty a generous slice of cake. “Too good for the likes of Deke Johnson. The world is well rid of that one. I was relieved when your relatives came and took you away.”
“I reckon I’d better get going,” Kitty said after finishing the last bite of cake. “I’d like to inspect the house before dark.”
“Let me know if I can help,” Mrs. Dooley said as she dished the food up into serving bowls to place before her boarders.
There was still plenty of light left when Kitty turned her mount toward the little clapboard house in which she’d once lived. It sat forlorn and neglected at the end of a dusty street at the edge of town. Kitty hitched the horse’s reins around the porch railing and cautiously mounted the rotting steps.
Except for having no windowpanes and being in dire need of a coat of paint, not much had changed about the dwelling. The front door stood ajar, and she pushed it inward. The hinges squeaked eerily in the pre-dusk silence. Something brushed against her leg, and she jumped in alarm. Her heartbeat returned to normal when she saw it was only a squirrel. She stepped inside and was immediately carried back to the past.
In her mind’s eye she saw her mother, coughing her life away while her stepfather loomed menacingly over her. She saw herself cowering in a corner as Deke raised his fist and knocked her mother off her chair. Deke was drunk as usual. She recalled his bleary gaze on her, and she felt the pain of his blow as if it were actually happening. She shook her head to clear it of terrifying memories and searched the room for a lamp. She saw one, still filled with oil, sitting on the kitchen table, and she left the house to retrieve matches from her saddlebags.
She lugged the saddlebags inside, closed the door, and set them on the floor while she rummaged inside for matches. She found them easily, and within minutes the lamp’s glow was dispelling the unfriendly shadows. What she found when she inspected the interior of the house was not comforting. Thick cobwebs were draped from the corners and hung from the ceiling. Broken glass from the windows littered the floor, and what furniture remained showed signs of vandalism.
The rusty iron cookstove still remained intact, however, and Kitty was thankful for that much. The scarred kitchen table and two unbroken chairs looked pitifully inadequate. The rocking chair her mother had sat in was relatively undamaged except for a broken slat or two. The cupboards were bare, and the curtains her mother had so lovingly made had long since rotted. Grass, dirt, animal nests, and tumbleweeds littered the floor.
Disheartened by the mess, Kitty walked into the bedroom and was somewhat cheered to see the bed intact and still covered with the quilt her mother had made long ago. A chest of drawers and a nightstand were also essentially undamaged, though thick with dust.
Before tackling the mess inside, Kitty returned outside and led her horse around to the back. She tethered the tan gelding to a tree, where he could forage on the patchy grass until she could buy him some feed. Then she unsaddled him and rubbed him down with his blanket. After that chore was finished, she returned to the house and contemplated the chaos.
Exhaustion rode her, making her want to run and leave all this behind. Perhaps she was foolish to think she could restore a house that should have been torn down years ago. She was too tired to begin tonight, so she took her bedroll outside behind the house an
d curled up in her blanket. As she sought sleep, Kitty’s thoughts wandered over dangerous territory.
Ryan.
His name produced an ache deep inside her. She recalled every minute detail of his handsome countenance and rugged body. His shiny dark hair and laughing green eyes were a study in contrasts. His features weren’t classical, leaning more toward rugged and masculine. She recalled the bold slash of his brows and firm jaw. There was coiled strength in his powerful body, and supple grace in the long muscles of his thighs and legs.
With a pang of regret, Kitty wished she had let him make love to her. But the voice of reason deep inside her reminded her that sharing that special intimacy with Ryan would ultimately have led to disaster. She knew that once she made love with him, she’d never want to leave him.
Kitty wanted nothing more to do with outlaws, even handsome outlaws like Ryan Delaney. She knew she’d done the right thing by refusing him, but it had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done. Ryan had made her feel like a woman for the first time in her memory. He’d made her aware of her own sexuality and produced a wanting in her that went far beyond simple lust. She had never imagined herself feeling that way about any man. When sleep finally came, Kitty’s dreams produced a restlessness in her she knew only Ryan could assuage.
* * *
Kitty attacked the house early the following morning after a visit to the store for cleaning supplies, a large apron, and enough food to last a week. The storekeeper had recently purchased the business from a previous owner and therefore didn’t recognize her; he just asked if she was new in town. Before returning home to tackle the dirt and grime, she ate a hearty breakfast at the cafe.
Four days later the house was as clean as Kitty could make it, and the broken window glass had been replaced. She’d paid a handyman recommended by Mrs. Dooley to fix the windows and repair the furniture. The stove had been scoured and renewed with stove black until it gleamed. All this had taken a toll on her small hoard of money, and Kitty knew that she would have to look for a job before she ran out of cash.
Using more of her precious savings, Kitty purchased several changes of ready-made clothing and underwear, choosing serviceable materials with simple lines. Satisfied that she’d done all she could to make her home comfortable, Kitty set out early one morning to look for work.
She soon learned there was a dearth of job opportunities for women in Tombstone. The town was still an untamed outpost on the edge of a desert just a short distance north of the Mexican border. Its reputation for lawlessness was legendary, despite having a marshal to uphold law and order. Among the few businesses that lined the dust-clogged main street were a general store, bank, livery, hardware store, feed store, dress shop, drug emporium, blacksmith shop, cafe, combination barbershop and bath house, Chinese laundry, a doctor’s office above the drug emporium, and Mrs. Dooley’s boardinghouse and restaurant. Of course that didn’t include the undertaker, five saloons, two more than when she’d lived in Tombstone, and three bawdy houses.
The storekeeper, Mr. Edmonds, had all the help he could use with his wife and two daughters. The dress shop was barely surviving in a town like Tombstone, where few women cared about fashion. The bank, hardware store, and feed store hired only male clerks. Doctor Harper’s wife acted as his nurse, and the drug emporium didn’t need any help.
Kitty even tried the Chinese laundry, but Lin Hue had a slew of relatives working for him. The blacksmith and livery and undertaker were out, and so were the bawdy houses. Kitty was promised work at the cafe when an opening became available, but that wasn’t helping her out now.
That left the saloons. Kitty walked past each of the five saloons, trying to find the courage to go inside one of them. Disguised as a lad, she wouldn’t hesitate, but everything had changed when she’d put on a dress. The Lucky Wheel was new and unfamiliar to her. It advertised home cooking in addition to strong drink and gambling. Kitty stood before the swinging doors, peering over the top. The saloon was empty but for the bartender, who was standing behind the bar polishing glasses for the evening trade. It was now or never, Kitty thought as she swung the doors wide and stepped inside.
The bartender looked up, frowning when he saw a woman standing uncertainly just inside the door. “Can I help you?”
“Are you the owner?”
“I’m Griff, the bartender. Chet Marlow owns the Lucky Wheel.”
“Is Mr. Marlow in?”
“Is he expectin’ you?”
“No. I’m looking for a job. Do you know if he’s hiring?”
He regarded her from beneath bushy black brows. “You’ll have to ask the boss. I don’t do nothin’ but pour drinks and evict rowdy customers. You’ll find him in his office. That’s it behind the bar. Knock on the door first.”
Summoning her courage, Kitty marched up to the door Griff indicated and gave a sharp rap.
“Come in.” The voice behind the door was muffled, but the command was distinct enough for Kitty to hear. She took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.
The man seated behind the desk was drinking coffee and pouring over a raft of papers. He let Kitty stand there a full minute before looking up. Then he did a double take, his gaze drifting appreciatively over her slim figure.
“What can I do for you, miss?”
Chet Marlow looked to be around forty years old. He had brown hair, brown eyes, and was dressed somewhat flamboyantly in a dark suit, white ruffled shirt, and red satin vest draped with a gold watchfob. He was clean shaven but wore long sideburns reaching nearly to his chin. Kitty shifted uncomfortably beneath his assessing glance.
“My name is Kitty O’Shay and I need work,” Kitty said. “No one seems to be hiring, so I thought I would inquire here.”
Marlow rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful. “What can you do?”
His question startled Kitty. “I… I’m a hard worker.”
“Can you dance?” Appalled by the suggestion, Kitty shook her head in vigorous denial. “What about singing? Do you sing?”
“N-no, I don’t sing or dance, but I can wait tables and scrub floors, if nothing else is available.”
“I have a Mexican kid who comes in and cleans up every morning. I hate to turn a looker like you down, though. I can use another hostess. Take off your bonnet.”
“What?”
“Take off your bonnet. My customers prefer blonds, and I can’t see the color of your hair with it covered like that.”
Kitty hesitated, then she did as she was told. He’d have to see it sooner or later, she decided. She wasn’t prepared for Marlow’s startled look when her mop of blond, earlobe-length curls tumbled from beneath her bonnet.
“What in the hell have you done to your hair?”
Kitty’s jaw jutted out pugnaciously. “I cut it. What difference does it make?”
Marlow regarded her through narrowed eyes, and Kitty thought he was going to tell her he’d changed his mind. She was more than a little surprised when he said, “It’s just different enough to intrigue my customers. Well, will the job of hostess suit you?”
Kitty had no idea what the job entailed and didn’t particularly like the sound of it. Her jaw firm, she said, “I ain’t no whore.”
“I don’t hire whores,” Marlow retorted, startled by her coarse speech. “I hire hostesses. What the girls do in their spare time is their business. I don’t engage in upstairs trade, if you get my meaning. There are sufficient sporting houses in town to satisfy the male population of Tombstone. My hostesses wait tables, coax the customers into buying drinks, and serve them. Some sing and dance. I deal strictly in gambling, drinking, and musical entertainment. And I run a fine restaurant for my male customers.”
“In that case I’ll take the job, Mr. Marlow,” Kitty said.
“Don’t you want to know what the job pays?”
Kitty flushed. “Of course. I assume you pay fair wages.”
“The wages are fair but not generous. But the tips more than make up
for it. Your hours will be from six in the evening until two in the morning with your evening meal provided. How does five dollars a week sound?”
“Sounds fair,” Kitty said, thinking of all the money the Bartons took in a single bank robbery and wasted in places like this.
She’d never gotten the same share of the loot as the others because she’d never actually participated in the robberies, but she’d always gotten something. Lex had spent his money on liquor, gambling, and women, but she’d managed to hang on to most of hers. Unfortunately it wouldn’t last long if she didn’t have a steady income coming in.
“When do you want me to start?”
“Molly quit last week to get married, so I’m short a hostess. Can you start tonight? Do you need a place to stay? Some of the girls rent rooms above stairs.”
“No,” Kitty said. “I’m living in a small house my stepfather owned. I’ll be here at six o’clock, Mr. Marlow. You won’t be sorry you hired me.”
Kitty left Marlow’s office, sailing past Griff, who was polishing the bar. “Did you get the job, miss?”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Griff. I start tonight.”
“Folks around here call me Griff.”
“I’m Kitty O’Shay. Please call me Kitty. See you tonight, Griff.”
Kitty had just reached the door when Marlow came out of the office and hailed her. “Oh, Kitty, I forgot to tell you, the dress you’re wearing will never do. I keep a variety of gowns on hand for my hostesses. Come a little early and pick out something that fits. Ask one of the other girls to show you where to find them.”
As she walked home, Kitty wondered what hostesses were expected to wear. If it was one of those skimpy costumes she’d seen girls wear in some of the saloons she’d visited with Lex, she didn’t think she could do it.