by Susan Lower
“That’s my land, too.”
“We’ll see about that.” I hike up my skirt, not caring if I’m showing my boot covered calves. Daphne gasps, slapping her hand over her lips at the sight of my cowboy boots.
I make my way right out of the hotel. “Does that mean we’re not having dinner?” Daphne’s voice floats out the hotel along with me. Sherman’s at the counter, looking a bit startled. A stray hair sticks straight up in the back of his head. Poor guy.
Now, more so than ever, I’m convinced the gambler shot my father.
9
The day has almost gotten away from me, and I’ve made it nowhere. The sun is a dark gold in the distance. Beneath it lies the mountains and my heart aches for home. I have half a mind to go back and talk to the sheriff again and call off the bounty hunter. Maybe I can convince the sheriff to let me leave town. If I can escape into the mountains, then I can hide from the gambler, but it won’t fix the mess my father has gotten me into. I should go jump on his grave and yell at him in the heavens, but I won’t waste the energy on that no-good corpse of his.
Halfway down the walk a hand reaches out and grabs my shoulder. Every fiber in my body goes on alert. I take that hand and twist. As I turn, the man yowls and I come face to face with a very shocked and wilting Sherman. His knees buckle as I twist his arm up and he’s almost bowing down to me.
“Y-you forgot y-your clo-clothes…”
My heart hammers, but I release him. He holds out the rolled-up garments in his good hand, then he scampers back. He flops his arm I twisted and wince. “No woman should be that strong.”
I laugh and watch as he hurries back to the hotel. As I turn, another hand reaches around me, covers my mouth, and drags me from the planked walk. I struggle and try to scream, but soon I’m behind the barbershop. When the hand releases me, I whirl around, shoving my clothes in front of me like a weapon and stop.
Chitto stands before me. His eyebrows drawn together, a deep frown on his face, and that hawk-like nose of his pointed up in indigitation.
I lower the clothes, not that my pants would do me any good. Although, I’d sure get around easier in them.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss at him.
Wildly, I look around, hoping no one has spotted him.
He draws me over behind the barbershop, away from the back door, and presses me against the wood siding. “Tail Feathers sent me. You take too long this time. Why haven’t you returned?”
There is concern in his voice and a little possessiveness. His fingers grip over my arm as he takes in my attire. “You are becoming more like them.”
I ignore his comment. “My father is dead. The sheriff won’t let me leave town. You need to go. You shouldn’t be here.”
He tilts his head back, those dark eyes of his giving me a piercing look. They’re filled with sorrow, with shock, and I dare say I see the light of lust in them. I’m not his. Not then. Not now. And he’s got a woman back in the mountains whose name isn’t mine.
“Tail Feathers is without tobacco. Your father promised. He will not be pleased.”
“I’m working on it. I’ll keep my father’s promise, but you need to get out of here before someone sees you.”
Chitto shakes his head. “I leave when you leave. I will not leave you here without a man to protect you.”
I roll my eyes. Part of me is happy to have him say it. The other makes me wince. “I’m plenty protected. I’ve got Shorty.” That’s what my father called his sawed-off shotgun I have hidden in my bed at Ruby’s place. “And I’ve got two men who have a stake in finding my father’s killer. They won’t let nothing happen to me.”
What I said to reassure Chitto darkens his expression. “Two men? There should be no men. I am your husband.”
“No,” I tell him firmly. “I’m not.”
“You still have my ponies.”
“You can take them back. They’re in the stables with the blacksmith.”
He lifts his head as sound comes down the alley and we both tense.
“You need to leave,” I whisper. “I’m sending supplies. As soon as things are settled here, I’m coming back.”
His chest puffs. “Then I will provide for you. I will be your husband in all ways.”
I shake my head. “Not by the laws of my people.” Not in a million years, I think. Sure, when we were young, the kisses were nice, and I might have been miffed at Earl for not letting Chitto take me to his sleeping mat, but I’m a wiser woman, more mature. And this close to Chitto doesn’t put the fires in my belly like they do when the bounty hunter gives me that hooded look, nor like when the gambler flirts.
“Your people have been scouting along the mountains. They have camped near our claim.”
I don’t bother arguing about there is no ‘our’ in his statement. No, my heart speeds up faster than a galloping horse. Now it’s my turn to grip him. “Who are they? Have they spotted you?”
“There are many in the distance. Do not worry, we will ensure no one tries squatting on the land, but Tail Feathers will not hold them off or put our tribe in danger unless your father’s deal is paid,” he says.
To do so would mean revealing themselves and they would get in trouble for being off the reservation. The last thing I want is the Calvary marching in and pushing them back into the invisible corral where they’ve been forced to live.
“I’m sending a man with Tail Feathers’ payment. I will have him leave it at the opening of the mine.”
“This man… who is he?”
“A friend.” I have no other way to describe him. “His name is Chord Townes.”
“I have heard of this Townes. He hunts men for money. What makes you think he would not turn us in to the army?”
“Because he has a bigger stake at risk.” Or I hope. I hadn’t thought this plan through enough. A few renegade Indians were the least of my problems.
“Three days.” Chitto leans and touches his forehead to mine. “I do not think we can keep the squatters from entering the land for long. They come and camp on the other side of the gulch. There is talk of the great iron road.”
“I know.”
The back door of the barbershop opens. Chitto whirls around and I do my best to hide him. Hung Lai Woh steps out, a bucket of hair in his hand. I try not to curl my nose up. He nods, peering around me for a moment. He goes about his business of dumping the hair and gives me another look. “Woman should not stay back here alone.”
He goes back inside. I turn and Stands With Two Deer is gone. To me, he’ll always be Chitto, but husband material he is not. Besides, I’ve got more important things to worry about besides tobacco.
Three days.
The iron road is coming.
I’m sure my father’s murder has everything to do with it, as do my impending nuptials to the gambler. If he thinks for a moment he can bluff me, I’ll be one step ahead of him. I am convinced more than ever the gambler is guilty. Who else would stand to profit from my father’s death?
It’s no coincidence the railroad gurus are in town.
They’re after my father’s land. I’ve got a surprise for them. Over my dead body, were they going to get it.
First thing the next morning, I head to the dress shop. I’m back in my britches and I’ve got my hat tilted low to keep the glare of the morning sun from blinding me.
Last night, I hardly slept a wink thanks to Chitto, the bounty hunter, and the gambler. I reached for Shorty twice when I heard a creak in front of my door. I miss the tiny cabin in the mountains and the sounds of the birds in the morning. Instead, I hear the shouts of men from across the road and the ping of a hammer from down at the stables. I’m half tempted to stop in and check on those ponies and a particularly muscle-armed blacksmith, but I have got a dress to contend with and a murderer to find.
I agreed to meet the bounty hunter later at the mercantile. I swallow down the butterflies hatching and swirling inside me at the thought.
The bell chimes a
bove the door as I enter Grace’s dress shop. She takes one look at me and the dress box in my hands and says, “Well if you’re looking for me to alter this one so it fits better than the last, you’ll have to get in line, and you’ll have to wait until that husband-to-be of yours pays his bill.”
Grace pulls out another pin and Amaryllis sucks in a breath. “Ow. Go easy, will you?”
Her curly locks brush across her shoulder as she looks back at me. “I heard about the dress fiasco.”
“Not my fault. The man insisted he had to have that dress for his bride.” Grace puts a pin in her mouth and shrugs.
“Well, as soon as Grace gets done pinning me like a rag doll, we can head to my closet. I’m sure I’ve got something in there that might suit better for a night with Mr. Fancy Pants.” She wiggled her shoulders.
Grace stuck her with another pin and Amaryllis yowls like an old alley cat. “Just because you haven’t got a man, Grace, doesn’t mean you have to go sticking it to us who do.”
Grace laughs and shakes her head. She backs away from Amaryllis. She’s a beautiful woman with high cheekbones and soft eyes. The shop once belonged to her mother, who took over after her father passed. It was a tailor shop, then a widow’s way of keeping an income. Grace took over the shop and I can’t help wondering why no cowboy has taken over her heart. Although rumor once had it, she’d fallen in love with a silversmith who took off for greener pastures, leaving Grace behind.
It’s sad what happens to men when greed comes a knocking. It’s always the women who pay.
“Maybe I can return the dress?” I ask Grace, waiting for Amaryllis. “It’s too fancy for me. Not really my style.”
“That’s what I tried to tell him.” Grace moves over to her sewing chair and a basket filled with notions. Inside, she gathers a few things and hands them to me. “I’d be careful if I were you. Men like Mr. Weston are only looking out for themselves.”
There is more truth in her words than she realizes. “You get it dirty?” Grace reached into her sewing basket.
“No ma’am,” I say.
With a huff, Grace holds out her hand. “You can leave it, but I don’t do exchanges. Especially when it hasn’t been paid for.”
I set the dress box down on a rocking chair by the window.
“What is this for?” I take the notions, careful not to stick myself with the sewing needle.
“To fix that Grace Adler knock off you were sporting at church the other day. Which I will point out, didn’t come from my shop, and therefore don’t even ask me to alter it. But I will suggest you find some lace and another layer of fabric to make it respectable before you go wearing it again. Unless, of course, you were trying to show off your boots to half the eligible bachelors in town.”
“Grace, I—.”
She cuts me off before I can say another word. “I would offer you some lace and a fabric piece, but I’m out and waiting for the next shipment to come in. It’ll be nice once the railroad comes through. We won’t have to wait so long to get things from the east.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” It seems living up in the mountains has its disadvantages. Am I the only one who didn’t know about the railroad? Well, they better not get their hopes up, because there is no way the railroad is getting its hands on my claim. They will have to find another way through or around the mountain because I am not budging. Tail Feathers and his tribe are too important to let an iron horse cause a war.
Amaryllis comes out from behind the screen and grins. “There will be a lot of men coming to town. The mayor will have to change the name to Woodville.”
Grace makes a strange noise in the back of her throat. Amaryllis has no filter. She waves her hand as she talks. “Come Jolene, we have a closet to raid.”
I don’t have to ask who spilled the beans and told her my Christian name. “You know what? I think I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Nonsense.” Amaryllis hooks her arm around mine.
“You’d be better off showing your boots than in anything from that one.” Grace points out as I stumble through the door. I tuck the thread with a sewing needle and thimble in my pocket as we go.
Amaryllis keeps her arm hooked around mine as if we’re the best of friends. We head for the saloon as another bout of rain spills from the sky. April in Deadwood is turning out to be nothing but one big, soggy mess. I can only hope things are much stronger up in the mountains that they, too, don’t start falling apart. I know I have got to get back there soon.
“We should have done this the first time. Once I’m done dressing you up for Mr. Fancy Pants. It will probably hurt his feelings for you not to wear the dress he bought you.” And she doesn’t sound at all disappointed in the knowledge. Oh no, in fact, I think she’s quite excited to see his reaction.
10
There’s hardly anyone in the saloon this early in the day. I hesitate at the swinging door. A shiver travels down my spine.
Glen, the saloon owner, stands behind the bar polishing glasses. He’s a stout man with beady little eyes under a bowler hat. I don’t know what feels more uncomfortable as his gaze lifts, the way he stares at me or the fact the last time I saw my father alive, I was inside this sinful establishment. Tilting my chin up, I swallow down my unease, or maybe it’s my pride.
I keep ending up in all the wrong places for a girl like me. Lord help me if anyone should see me and gets the wrong idea, but I’ve been in here and I have a feeling I’ll be back again. I’ve never been one to care what others think. Maybe it’s the way Glen is looking at me that causes me to doubt my actions. I shouldn’t be here. What will others think?
I shake my head and keep on following behind Amaryllis. I’m not the one in the wrong here. Amaryllis grabs my arm and tugs me closer to Glen. I put my heels in the floor, but it does me no good.
Glen pauses, puts down the glass I’m sure is more polished than dry, and sets his gaze on me. I lick my dry lips, more nervous than needing a drink. It’s not the nervous I get around the gambler or even the bounty hunter. It’s an eerie feeling, like all the moisture in the air has been sucked out.
“Recruiting a new girl?”
“About time!” comes a call down the bar. I jump, startled. I didn’t see the old timer standing and sipping at a drink.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Amaryllis says. “She’s promised to Mr. Weston. He won her fair and square at the poker game from old Earl.”
“He ain’t married her yet,” Glen grunts, a frown turning his pudgy lips downward. I keep my mouth shut, afraid whatever I’d say would offend them. The very thought of being manhandled in this place makes my skin crawl.
“Oh, he will.” Amaryllis winks. “She’s playing hard to get, but once I get her hooked up with the right dress, won’t be a man in town not trying to tie her down inside the church.” She looks at me, her smile widening. “Including none other than a certain bounty hunter.” She wiggles her perfectly sculpted brows.
My face turns on fire, and she laughs.
Glen tilts up his chin, his eyes narrowing on me, and whatever he’s thinking, I don’t like it. More so, I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, as if he’s imagining things I’d rather not assume.
“Oh shoot!” the old timer in the bar shouts. “You sure you can’t wrangle this one into dancing with us a few nights this week?”
Amaryllis scoots down by the old timer. “You don’t like my dancing moves anymore, Clem?”
She leans in and I can’t hear what she says in the old man’s ear, but it makes him chuckle.
Glen picks up another glass. “Heard the sheriff won’t let you leave town.”
Keeping my lips sealed, I glance over at Amaryllis. I should turn and leave and forget her offer, then I think the wiser. Glen owns the bar. He was here that night when my father gambled away our land and my hand in marriage.
“Did you see anything the night my father was killed?” I know I’m ignoring his earlier question.
He twists the
towel inside the glass and regards me. “Men die when they can’t ante up on their promises. Your father isn’t the first to meet his end back in the alley. I reckon you’ll have to settle his debts before you leave town.”
I can only think of one debt my father had, and that was to Chief Tail Feathers and his tribe. Although, I wouldn’t put it past Earl to borrow a few dollars to get in on the poker game.
“And what debts would you be talking about?” I’m curious.
Glen puts down the glass and the cloth. He plants his elbows on the bar. He’s a big guy, broad shoulders, and an equally broad chest with an even wider belly. There is a gap between his teeth the size of a small prairie, and it shows when he grins. “Why don’t you come in the back with me, and we can discuss it.”
Did he just? No… I open my mouth. Close it. I’m about to say something not very lady-like when Amaryllis comes to my rescue. “Sorry, Glen, she’s mine. You’ll have to wait. Give Clem a round on me.”
With that, she yanks me to the stairs, covered in an old tattered oriental print rug that’s nailed to the wooden steps. Supposedly, it adds a little class to the place. All the while, I can feel the stare on my back, but I refuse to acknowledge it.
Does Glen know about the railroad? Is that why he made a pass at me? Or is it something else? Does my father have other debts I don’t know about? Is one of them to Glen? And if so, what is it I’m going to have to do to pay him?
As we top the stairs, I follow Amaryllis to her room. It’s at the end of the hall, the last room to the right. Amaryllis beckons me inside, but I stand there, letting Glen’s words sink in my mind. Am I even obligated to pay my father’s debts? The man is dead.
But in my heart, I hear a brief whisper saying it’s the right thing to do.