As he cradled her a few moments longer, her lips formed his name in a prayerful whisper. Grey Paladin. It was a name to hold onto in the dark.
When he finally released her, he took her hand, helped her to her feet and said, “Let’s bury your friend.”
* * * *
Grey didn’t know what had come over him back there when he kissed her. If he were physically able, he would kick himself in the ass right now. It had been a big mistake, kissing her. Now she would become emotionally attached to him. Women always did once they were kissed, and that would cause him even bigger problems than he already had. It was bad enough he’d promised her a forty percent share of the gold. Now he’d have to deal with her blue moon eyes. They would be a distraction.
If she hadn’t cried in the first place, he wouldn’t have felt sorry for her. He’d only intended on comforting her with words, but her bawling had tugged at his heartstrings. In all his life, he never liked to see a woman cry.
A thought suddenly occurred to him. Maybe it had all been an act. Was seducing him a part of her plan? He knew she wanted, and intended to get, more than forty percent of his gold after they found the nuggets. She’d do anything to get all his money and run off to San Francisco. He pursed his lips. What a fool he’d been to fall for those crocodile tears that had streamed from her big, blue eyes!
He glanced at her riding tall and proud in her saddle. Her hair had come loose from its braid again, giving her the look of a young and vulnerable girl. Ha! Vulnerable, my foot, he thought crossly. On one hand, she made his blood boil, thinking she could fool him with that sweet innocent act. On the other, he couldn’t help but think life wasn’t fair. The life she’d been forced to lead had apparently been a struggle in many ways. She seemed too young to shoulder the disappointments that met her at every bend in the road. She deserved her dreams the same as him or anyone else. But not at his expense, he reminded himself.
Grey had been around plenty of women in his time—schoolteachers, churchgoers, painted women, and saloon girls. They’d all wanted to change him in one way or another. All of them, that was, except his ma. She knew the real Grey Paladin, the true man behind the impulsive young boy she’d raised.
Ma had begged him not to leave the ranch five years ago, but he hadn’t listened. Too eager to strike out on my own, he’d told her and pa. He’d wanted to go out into the world and see the things he’d learned about in school. After all, wasn’t that why they’d wanted him to get an education? So he could experience more than farm life? There’d be plenty of time to work cattle, he’d told them. Pa could make do until he returned from his adventures.
The morning he’d left, Grey had kissed Ma’s cheek, shook Pa’s hand, and didn’t look back, even with young Rusty running behind, crying after him. What he hadn’t known at the time was that Pa was sick. Then six months later, fever struck. He wouldn’t find out his folks had died until a year after they’d been laid in their graves. It was then he learned his little ten-year old brother was gone, too. His ma’s sister and her husband from back east had sent for him, and he’d been in Boston ever since. As if that weren’t enough, Grey had also discovered the bank had taken the farm for non-payment of back taxes.
Despite the pain of his losses and the torment of a guilty conscience, he’d not shed a tear. But that was when he began wearing all black. Grey had devised a plan shortly after, and it had been a long and difficult five years. But he never gave up on it. He’d struggled, moving from town to town, taking odd jobs here and there, sometimes going without food for days at a time—all in an effort to raise the funds he needed to bring Rusty home. In White Oaks, all the blood, sweat and tears had finally paid off. His luck had changed overnight when he struck gold. His quest had nearly come to an end. For the first time in years, he’d felt like a free man. Then Leroy Hart took it all away.
Grey licked his lips and could still taste Josie’s sweet kiss on them. She’d fit in his arms perfectly, as supple and soft as an old leather boot. He glanced at her again, talking to that mule like she expected him to talk back. She’d been a smart-mouthed girl full of sass and vinegar a few days ago. Since then he’d seen her naked, scared, brave, happy and distraught, among other things. He no longer saw her as a child, but as the person she really was—a woman determined not to give up on her dream. Josie Hart was a grown woman with soft lips, strong hands, and a supple body made for touching, holding and loving. Even if he wasn’t sure he could fully trust her, being with her these past few days had made him realize what his life sorely lacked, which was companionship, warmth, laughter, security, and love.
He shook his head. It’d do him no good to wax sentimental. He was so close to reaching his goals. No one was going to take away what he’d worked so hard to accomplish, not even the pretty, dark haired, blue-eyed crocodile.
It was late afternoon when they rode into a small, rundown village that consisted of a few adobe houses, a saloon, blacksmith shop, livery and stables, an eatery with broken windows, and some boarded up buildings. The whole place appeared abandoned. There were a few horses in the corrals and a wagon sat in the blacksmith’s, which was missing its wheels. Tumbleweeds blew down the main street.
Grey wondered why no one was astir. He gazed up and down the street, sizing things up. Could this be a trap? Had Kendall and King beat them here, locked up the townspeople and waited somewhere to ambush them? Slowly, he unholstered his weapon and held it on his thigh.
“What do you make of this, Grey? It looks like a ghost town,” Josie noted.
“I don’t like the feel of it,” he said. “But we need to feed and water the animals, and we could use a rest and some grub, too. I was hoping there’d be a café we could patronize.”
“Looks like the eatery is no longer in business.”
He cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered, “Anybody here?” Racking coughs came from one of the houses. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes. Should we go investigate?” Josie was already dismounting her mule.
“Hold on. Maybe we should keep moving. I’m getting the feeling this is an evil place.”
The tartness in her voice could have spiced a cherry pie. “You’re always getting bad feelings, Grey. I wish you’d stop telling me about them. I’m tired and my bottom hurts. You said yourself that Traveler and Lightning need to rest.” She tied the mule to a hitching post in front of a water trough as she complained. “Bring Lightning over. There’s plenty of water for them in this trough. I’m going over to that house where we heard the coughing.” She pointed next door. “Maybe it’s someone who can spare us some supper. After all, we have the few coins we took from the preacher and Mr. Bailey. We can pay for a couple of good meals.”
Grey acquiesced and climbed down from his horse. After all, he’d been watching for tracks and hadn’t seen any as they came into town. Hopefully, shooting Marshal Kendall in the foot had put him and Reno King off their trail for good. As Grey tied Lightning to the post, he craned his neck and watched Josie bang on the adobe door.
“Hello! Anyone home?” she called.
As he sidled up beside her, she pounded again. “Excuse me?” she hollered. “We’re looking for a bite to eat. Is there anyone in there? We’re awfully hungry, and we can pay for food.”
Hearing a weak reply, she opened the door and peered in. “Is there someone here? I couldn’t hear you too well from outside.”
“Help me.”
Grey raised his gun, pushed past Josie, and stepped in. “You stay put,” he demanded. “This could be a trick.”
A sickening sweet smell greeted him once he was inside. If there were windows, they were boarded up or the shutters were closed tight. The heat was stifling. When his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he called to the voice, “Where are you?”
“Over here.”
Grey took one step forward. “Are you shot?” he asked.
“No.”
He kept his gun aimed in the direction of the weak voice. “Then what? Wh
at’s wrong with you?”
“I got the fever.”
The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, and an icy chill ran down his spine.
Chapter Eleven
“What’d he say?” Josie asked as she stepped into the house.
“Get out!” Grey barked. He grabbed her arm and shoved her back outside.
“Don’t lay your hands on me that way!” she snapped, wriggling out of his grasp.
He popped his head outside the door. “Sorry. Just stay put and let me find out what’s happening in this town. The man in there has the fever.”
She gasped. “Then you come out of there, too,” she begged, reaching for him.
He stuck the revolver in its holster. “I won’t go near him. I’ll stay right here and talk to him.” He raised his voice. “What kind of fever you got, mister?”
The man coughed again. “The killin’ kind.”
“I mean, yellow or typhoid?”
The voice was so weak and scratchy. “Don’t know. I need water. Please give me water.”
“Where’s everyone else in this town? They all got the fever, too?” Grey asked.
“That or already dead.”
Josie’s breath hitched. “Grey, what are we going to do?”
“Can’t you get up and get the water yourself?” Grey asked the man.
“Too sick,” the voice whispered. “Please. All I ask is for a bucket of water. There’s a rain barrel at the side of the house.”
“Should I go draw a bucket?” Josie whispered to Grey.
“How do we know the water ain’t tainted?”
She didn’t know the answer to that, but she suddenly realized the animals were drinking their fill from the trough next door. “Grey! Lightning and Traveler are drinking the water!”
The man obviously overheard their conversation. He said, “There’s nothin’ wrong with the water.”
“Thank God,” Josie sighed.
Grey stepped all the way outside again. Chewing on his lower lip, he glanced to where the barrel was. “Josie, I’m torn between giving the man a drink and getting the hell outta this town.”
She didn’t know what to say, because she tended to agree with him—on the getting out of town part.
The man groaned pitifully. Grey crossed the threshold once more. “Mister, how did you and this town come to such a bitter end?”
The man explained while pausing occasionally to catch his breath. “Last week…a family passed through here. The children…were sick. Every one of ‘em died. When the parents left, we all started getting the chills…and cramps and fever. You gotta help me. I’m…in misery.”
Grey replied, “I ain’t a doctor, mister.” He backed up and retreated out the door once more. His face had gone white, and Josie saw a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
The man inside began to sob. “My throat’s on fire. Don’t let me die of thirst.”
Josie touched Grey’s arm. “We have to give this man water. We can’t ride away and let him die without trying to help.”
“We might contract it ourselves,” he said. “Don’t you understand? We need to mount up and leave this place now!” He strode toward Lightning with determined strides.
“Wait!” she shouted, running to catch up to him. She grabbed his arm and swung him around. “Are you telling me you’re just going to leave?”
“There’s nothing we can do for that man. He’s a goner.”
She swore in helpless fury. “I was just starting to change my opinion of you, Grey Paladin. I was thinking of you as a decent man, a good man with a kind heart. But I can see I was wrong. You’re a selfish coward!”
“Listen here, Josie,” he muttered. Standing over her, his body cast a long shadow. His face was mere inches from hers. “You’re young with your whole life in front of you. I’m not going to let you do something stupid, like catch the fever and die. What about San Francisco and the ocean? You’ve gotta hold onto your dreams. You’re not gonna ruin your life for some stranger.”
Josie’s body shook, though she wasn’t sure if it was from anger or because his words touched her. He did care about her! Before he could say another word, she spun and ran for the water barrel, dipped a bucket of water out, and hauled it to the adobe.
“Give that to me,” he said, jogging to her and jerking the bucket from her hand. Some of the water sloshed onto his boots. Sighing heavily, he entered the house and groped his way to the other side of the dark room. Josie poked her head in, worried, but proud of him at the same time.
“You got a candle in here?” Grey asked the sick man. “I can’t see what I’m doing.”
“On the table…next to me.”
Grey set the bucket on the floor, pulled a match from his jacket pocket, and struck it against the bottom of his boot. When he lit the candle and it began to flicker, an eerie glow danced off the stucco walls.
From the doorway, Josie could see Grey looking at the body of a thin, dying man, who lay on a rumpled bed next to the wall. She saw him grab a glass from the table and dip it into the bucket. “Here you go, mister.” He held the glass to the man’s lips.
After he swallowed a few sips, the man said, “Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you…an angel of mercy?”
“Not hardly.”
The man turned his head to the wall and coughed. “Thank you, whoever you are. Now, get the hell…out of here…before you catch this, too. Leave the bucket on the floor…where I can reach it.”
Grey paused a moment and then did just that. When he exited the adobe, he snaked his arm around Josie’s waist and pulled her along with him, away from the death house.
“Help.”
Across the street, a woman stumbled toward them with outstretched arms. Josie’s eyes bulged. The woman was as skinny as a skeleton and as white as a ghost, with long brown hair hanging down her back. She wore a nightdress, and her eyes were sunken with black rings around them. “Help,” she beseeched again.
“Is she alive or the walking dead?” Josie asked, hiding behind Grey’s back and peeking around his middle.
“She’s got it, too,” he groaned. “I wonder how many folks are still alive in this God-forsaken town?” He held his hand out to stop the woman from approaching closer. “Wait right there,” he told her. “We know you have the fever. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for you. We were just leaving.”
She crumpled to her knees and began to wail. Josie stepped out from behind Grey. “She don’t look much older than me,” she said, sadly. “I have to do something to help her. She’s suffering terribly. I can’t stand it.”
Grey flung his hat off and threw it in the dirt. “I told you, Josie. I won’t let you die. We’re going now.”
“No! You go on if you want. I’m going to do whatever I can for her. I’ll catch up to you.”
“You’re as stubborn as your damn mule,” he shouted.
“Maybe I am!” she retaliated, while watching him bend and grab his Stetson from the ground and jam it back onto his head. When he stomped toward Lightning, she made her way toward the moaning woman. Then she halted and turned around. “Grey!”
He looked over his shoulder. His dark eyes flashed with fury. “What?”
“Don’t let Marshal Kendall or that tracker kill you.”
Their eyes locked on each other. When he finally tore his gaze from her, he laid his forehead against his stallion’s neck where it stayed for a few seconds. When he lifted his head and spoke again, he sounded so tired, some of her pity shifted to him. “Dammit, Josie. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
A weak smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I do, Grey. Trust me.” When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moved up and down. Something in his posture implied trusting another human was hard for him to do. It didn’t come easy for her either. But whether he knew it or not, she was beginning to learn how because of him. “Give the animals some grain and then go find another bucket and bring it
to me. I’m taking her inside.”
When she reached down and helped the young woman to her feet, she heard Grey mumble, “Alright, bossy britches.”
* * * *
Josie sat next to the bed in a hard chair and held a cool cloth to the woman’s forehead. She didn’t know what else to do for her, except make her comfortable. She was too far gone for medicine, even if there’d been a doctor in town. Grey had taken one look at the woman and told Josie she didn’t have long to suffer.
They were in a room above the saloon, apparently where the woman had done business before she got sick. It was opulent, with red velvet curtains at the windows, an Oriental rug on the floor, a brass bed against the wall, and a beautifully carved wooden dresser in the corner.
Grey had carried a bucket of water up, but after a few sips, the woman couldn’t drink more. The angel of death was knocking on her door, but she seemed anxious to talk, even though her throat was raw and her breathing was shallow. Josie listened while Grey stood off to the side with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
After delivering the bucket of water as Josie had requested, he’d gone off to search the rest of the buildings. Upon returning, he’d informed her he’d found ten dead people, including the man in the adobe house, who must have succumbed right after they left him. This woman was the last.
The woman spoke softly. “They call me Topaz, but my real name is Molly.”
“Those are both real pretty names,” Josie told her. She tried to guess her age, and guessed her to be in her twenties, but it was hard to tell since she looked so pale and drawn. “How long have you been sick?”
“Four, maybe five days,” Molly answered. “Did Tom make it?”
Josie glanced at Grey. Neither knew who Tom was, of course, so Grey just shook his head. “No,” she told Molly. “I’m sorry, but Tom passed away.”
A tear slid down Molly’s cheek. “Tom was good to me.” A mewing sound came from her throat. She closed her eyes, and her chest stopped rising and falling. Josie thought she’d died, but then her eyes rolled open again. “Does your man have a gun on him?” she asked.
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