by Susan Lower
At this rate, I’ll be stuck in town and in my father’s debt for the rest of my life.
Inside her room, Amaryllis stands in front of a large armoire pulling out dresses left and right. There’s a dressing screen with black wood and red velvet material in the corner. It wasn’t there when I was here before. The room seems smaller with the bed in the middle and the washstand by the window. Behind the dressing panel is a cot where Robbie sleeps. It’s been moved from the end of the bed. Heaven above, I hope Amaryllis isn’t entertaining while the boy is in the corner sleeping.
I shake my head at the thoughts as she whirls around and holds up a deep green gown. She comes marching toward me and I try to back up.
“It’ll go with your eyes,” she tries, pressing the gown against me.
I stretch my neck, feeling weird as she hums and haws, then clucks her tongue. “You’re busty, and while I am sure the gambler will thank me for the view, I can’t have you falling entirely out.” She tosses the dress on the bed behind me. “I might wear that one tonight.”
She sorts through more dresses. There must be at least a dozen hanging in the large armoire. It’s plain, which surprises me. With the oriental carpet and the dressing screen, I would have thought the furniture more distinguished.
“I appreciate you offering to share your dresses, but it’s really unnecessary.”
She waves her hand and glances through the dresses again. “You’re doing me a favor, really. I’ve been meaning to hand off a few older ones. Did you see the one Grace is fitting for me?”
She’s bent and I try not to look straight at her, or should I say her, behind. I glance around at the faded paper on the wall and its large green leaves with yellow roses. They’re painted, and they’re lovely as the dress at Grace’s. I tell her so.
“Well, I can’t keep wearing the same ones over and over. You know the customers like to see something new now and again.”
She turns back to me, this time with a blue frock. It’s out of style, simple, but not any more modest than the first.
“I thought I had this in here somewhere. When I saw the navy the gambler chose for you, I knew blue was your color.” She beamed. “Here, try it on.”
“I couldn’t.” Not here. I wince looking around.
“Go on, behind the screen.”
“I don’t know.”
She gives me a look and I know I’m not getting out of there without trying on this dress.
She presses towards me again. “At least with this one, you won’t have to worry about showing too much of those cowboy boots. Unless you want to.” She says, “I hitch mine up a little when I’m dancing. Not just the ankles, mind you, but men, they like a little leg now and again.”
I step back, feeling it’s getting a little too warm in here and I don’t like where the conversation is going. I stumble, stepping on something and land on the bed. Amaryllis kicks the obstacle to the side with a huff.
It’s a boot.
No. It’s not just any boot. It’s my father’s boot!
I right myself on the bed, the dress forgotten. It falls as I stand and move to pick up the boot. Amaryllis catches the dress before it hits the floor.
“Why is this here?” I ask.
“You’d be amazed, Toots, at the things I find in my room the morning after.” She waves it away. “Now try on this dress. I think you’ll be surprised.”
Surprised is right.
“What was my father doing in your room?” I check out the boot, risk putting my hand inside and find it’s empty. Of course, it would be. Why would it have anything else inside it?
Amaryllis pales a little under her face paint. She shakes out the dress from any wrinkles it might have gotten on its travels south to the floor.
Then she says, “I suppose we are both adults, so there is no harm in telling you that your father came to my room many times on his visits into town.”
“I see.” I say it slowly. My hands wrap around the boot. “But how did his boot get here? He was wearing it when they found him dead in the alley.”
Amaryllis’s grip tightens on the dress. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
“The old fool had one boot in his hand and the other on his foot when he went stumbling out of here that morning. I honestly don’t even know how you recognize it as his.”
“I take care of my father. I have all my life. I’d know his boots anywhere.” I twist the old worn leather in my hand. It gives no resistance and I feel another piece of me crack inside for the man who raised me. Mean as he was, I still loved him.
“I know all about your momma leaving.” Amaryllis sits on the bed. Still holding the blue dress, she pats on the coverlet beside her.
Hesitant at first, I gradually lower back down on the bed. I try not to think of all the overnight guests she may have entertained on this very mattress where I sit. I grip the boot. Curious and angry at the same time.
“Your father has been coming up here for years, Toots. He gets drunk, he talks, he cries for her.” I detect a bitterness in her voice. “Always for her.”
By her, I believe she refers to my mother.
“He promised me. Used to tell me all the time he would pack me up and take me up to that mountain and make an honest woman of me. I knew he never would. He’s still married to her, you know. Fool man.” She reaches up to wipe the moisture building against her lashes and catches it before it messes up her powered cheeks.
There is so much I want to ask, to say, and I don’t know where to start. Amaryllis cares about my father. She sniffles and puts her hand over mine. “I would have never tried to replace her. Robbie. He needs a good man to lead by example.”
I hold back the snort building up. Earl is… was anything but a good example.
“Robbie. Is he?” Somehow, I can’t finish asking, but Amaryllis senses what I want to know. She shakes her head. “I had Robbie before I came to work for Glen. Back then, it was Jasmine who oversaw the girls here. Her family came across the sea, and men lined up outside to dance with her. She took me under her wing and gave me a roof and a place for Robbie when I had none. She placed my hand in Earl’s and told me to dance. He was the first man I ever danced with.”
Her eyes glaze, and she’s far away, living in a memory. I stare straight ahead at the dresses heaped on the floor, at the washstand with powder and lip paint and eye color smeared near the porcelain basin.
I don’t want to think of my father with anyone else. I run my thumb over the worn toe of the boot. “Did you know he kept a photo of her in his boot? Gave him satisfaction now and then to know he was stepping on her face.”
Amaryllis laughed. “Sounds like Earl.”
“Yeah.”
And she left it as that.
A knock comes to the door and a woman not much older than me peeks her head in. She has blood-red curls, the color of an evening sunset. “You’ve got a caller downstairs. Glen says to get your arse down to the bar. Oh, and you owe Clem a private dance.”
Then she notices me, standing taller. “Glen said nothing about taking on a new girl.”
“I’m not.” I get to my feet, holding Earl’s old worn boot.
“She’s a friend. Tell Glen to keep his pants on, I’ll be down shortly.”
The redhead nods and closes the door.
“Take the dress. It will be a lot less work than that pink catastrophe you wore on Sunday.”
Is there anyone who hasn’t heard about seeing my cowboy boots?
11
It’s almost lunch when I come across Ella Mae hanging off Lincoln’s arm. Her cheeks are flushed, and several strands of her hair are out of place. Normally, Ella Mae keeps her hair all pulled and pinned back.
Lincoln bends near her, says something in her ear that turns her flush to a full on red cheeked blush. She titters and turns to him when he freezes. They’re standing on the other side of his horse in the street. His eyes lift and his gaze finds me. Clearing his throat, he says, “Mrs. Weston.�
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“It’s Jo Dean, thank you very much.”
Ella gasps as she acknowledges me. “Jo. Where have you been?”
I show her the dress.
Lincoln slides Ella Mae’s hand from his arm. “I have to be returning to the ranch. It was good to see you again, and you.” He pauses, swallows hard, and says, “Jo.”
I can’t imagine it took all his might to break manners and call me something other than “Miss Dean.”
Ella Mae pouts as she watches him step away and mount his horse. He waves as he rides down the street and Ella stands watching him for several moments. I lean into her. “Someone’s out on a stroll without a chaperone.”
She scowls at me, and I laugh. “I’m surprised Mr. Weston hasn’t carried you kicking and screaming in front of my father yet.”
“I’m sure he’ll try.”
Ella Mae sighs, looks at me and then the dress. “You know Momma said she’d help fix the other one. I suppose you’ll be wearing them a lot more often, with Mr. Weston claiming you for a wife. What happened to the fancy dress he bought you? I didn’t take you for the daring type.” Her eyes go to the bodice flung over my arm.
I tell her about my visit to Grace’s, which led me to Amaryllis as we walk back to the boarding house. Ruby has got hot water and tea in the kitchen. We sit in the parlor while no one else is around to disturb us.
“You’ve got to be careful.” Ella Mae adds a little more honey to her tea.
“I could say the same thing about you. Does your father know you were out alone with Lincoln?”
Ella Mae rolls her eyes. “I was on my way to meet you, and we weren’t alone.” She reaches and tucks a hair behind her ear. She’s wearing another gingham dress, with her tea saucer on her lap and her hands around her cup. “Besides, don’t you worry about me and Lincoln. We’re going to be married one day.”
“He asked you?”
“He will. He says he loves me.”
Even I know a man can say he loves you and not offer you a ring. Chitto comes to mind, and I’m tempted to ask my best friend if her rancher has brought her a set of ponies and tied them to the porch. Chitto showing up in town has made me more nervous. On top of that, I’m supposed to meet the bounty hunter at the mercantile this afternoon and I’ve been trying to avoid the gambler. He’s persistent. While I was out, he left a note on my door with another invitation to dinner. I don’t know what makes my stomach knot more—that he was at my door or having dinner with him.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.” And I mean what I say.
“I’m more worried about you. Word has it you’re postponing the wedding to find your father’s killer, but in the meantime, you’re traipsing in the bathhouse and visiting the saloon.”
I sit back on the wing-backed chair and grin. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ve got Shorty.”
“Please tell me that isn’t the name of one of your horses,” Ella Mae says.
I snort. “Shorty’s Pa’s gun.”
“The only gun I knew your father had was that old sawed-off shotgun he threatened my father with last summer.”
I remember. The good reverend tried to get Earl sober and talk him into giving up drinking firewater. Earl pulled out Shorty and waved it for Reverend Carter to get out of the way.
“That’s the one.”
“You can’t have it on you,” Ella Mae whispers, glancing toward the doorway as the sound of a door opens and closes.
One of the other boarders walks past, paying us no mind.
“It’s tucked under my mattress.” I glance upstairs. “You don’t think I’m not going to protect myself with a killer on the loose, do you?”
Ella Mae sits her tea on the little table between our chairs.
“Has the sheriff found any fresh evidence to support your case against the gambler?”
I shake my head.
Ella Mae takes my hand. “Jo, I know you want to find your father’s killer, and the sheriff won’t let you go home yet, but do you really want to return to those mountains?”
I bite my lip. Ella Mae is my best friend, and I hate keeping secrets from her.
“I heard the railroad is buying up land in the mountain and Lincoln said there is only one spot for them to dig and come through the gulch. He says your claim is a gold mine.”
Gold mine in more than one way. I tell her all about the meeting with the railroad gentlemen at the hotel.
“Have you thought of anyone else who would want Earl dead? You said yourself Amaryllis had your father’s boot in her room. What if she tried to kill him for the claim paper to the land?”
I tap a finger against Ruby’s fine china teacup. “I don’t think so. She was sincerely hurt over his death. I even left the boot. My father kept things in his boots and if he had anything in there it’s gone.”
“Maybe she took it.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “The gambler has an IOU from my father for his half of our mine. He needs to marry me to get full access, but I’m already one step ahead of him.”
“Oh, Jo. What have you done now?” Ella Mae knows me too well.
I open my mouth to tell her and realize in doing so I would have to tell her about Chitto and his tribe living near our claim on Standing Rock.
I take a large gulp of tea and swallow the hot liquid. I blink while the liquid scorches my throat.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Ella Mae pulls the teacup from my hand. “Does this have to do with the bounty hunter?”
I press my lips tight together.
“What if the bounty hunter is the one who killed your father?”
Ella Mae’s words take me by surprise. I hadn’t thought of him. For a moment, I consider it. Then the facts rule it out. “He wasn’t in town that night. He came in that morning with a bounty on his horse.”
“Wasn’t your father shot in the morning?”
She gives me that look, challenging my thoughts.
“Yes, but my father didn’t have a bounty on his head.”
“True. You’ve got Amaryllis and the bounty hunter. Who else was there or could have done it?”
“The gambler.” I practically growl his name. He’s got gold in his eyes, flecks of dollars, and I’m his ticket to wealth. It should burn my gut. So why does the image of the man’s emerald greens turn my insides to mush?
I am not about to let him weaken me with fancy dinners, drinks, and gazes filled with a kind of longing Ella Mae’s father warns us all about in church.
“Mr. Weston. You can call him that, you know?”
Then I tilt my head and see where this is going. “He’s got you hogtied and blinded with his wily words.”
Ella Mae sighs deeply. “He may have said something to Lincoln and me this morning when we were strolling through town. He stepped out of the hotel with Miss Davenport and her father. I think they were headed to the claims office.”
Another place on my list. I touch the side of my temple. It throbs when I think of all the places and people I need to see and what other debts I might have to settle.
“Glen at the saloon.”
“What about him?”
“He says my father has debts. When I asked him about them, he invited me in the back to discuss them.”
“There is nothing good coming from a man taking a proper young woman as yourself in the back of that kind of establishment.” Ruby waltzes into the parlor. She holds two slices of cake in our direction.
“Oh, thank you,” Ella Mae exclaims. She has a soft spot for a good, thick slice of cake.
“You still trying to find your father’s killer?” Ruby sits the plates on the little table between us. “Anything new?”
“That’s what I asked,” Ella Mae says.
“Nothing that the sheriff will consider evidence,” I chime in.
“Well, you ladies enjoy your cake. Chord told me this morning he’s going to be sticking around a few more days and I have a feeling he might be after the same killer. Although, I ca
n’t imagine why as there is no bounty on finding your father’s killer.” Ruby winks and hums as she leaves us.
Ella Mae stuffs her face with cake as politely as any preacher’s daughter can. I join her, my mind rolling around names in my head.
“You going to eat your cake or keep thinking too hard?”
I eat my cake.
Ella Mae is right. The gambler might be guilty of swindling and cheating, but he already has my father’s IOU. According to the sheriff, Buck had someone vouch for him. Maybe one of the Swanson sisters or a dancing girl at the saloon. My luck it could have been Lincoln who did it, either way, that leaves Amaryllis, who I have ruled out on my own.
I suppose I need to talk to Jed Warner at the hotel. That is, if I can get him away from Daphne Davenport. Perhaps having dinner with the gambler this evening will bring me one step closer to sealing a deal of my own.
12
Later in the afternoon, Ella Mae walks along with me to the mercantile. She chats away about lace and dresses, and I know she’s dreaming of a wedding with Lincoln. We cross the street to avoid the hotel and the saloon. The sky above it is a dreary blue with clouds drifting away from the sun. I tilt my hat down, glad I wore it, and keep my eyes on my boots.
“You should wear a bonnet when you put on a dress again,” Ella Mae says.
“No, thank you.” I like my wide-brimmed hat. Earl brought it home one day, saying he found it cast off by a stream. It didn’t suit him, but it fit me just fine.
“It’s a good thing you’re promised to get married, else I can’t imagine trying to attract a man. Now, Lincoln, he likes a woman who knows how to cook.” And she goes on and on about Lincoln. The poor girl has it bad.
The closer we get past the saloon and hotel, a piece of me eases. At least there is no sight of the gambler. I wonder for a moment where he is and what he is doing, but then stop myself. It’s none of my business. Why should I care?
Lord above, please tell me I haven’t become like Ella Mae and got all cow-eyed for the man. I take a deep breath, think of him, and sure enough, there’s a spark of something there. It’s small, and maybe it’ll grow, maybe it won’t. I’m allowed to care; I just don’t want to fall for his tricks. It burns my brisket knowing he’s after the big payout for our claim.