by Jo Goodman
Jarret suspected there were a lot of people in the station now who would disagree with him, but it didn't change his mind. He was hungry for the sight of the plains and the wild, challenging beauty of the Rockies. He missed dipping his hands in cold mountain streams and slaking his thirst with crystal clear water. He missed drinking coffee as thick as ink, playing cards in a quiet saloon, and laughing at a ribald joke told by a bawdy woman.
He was glad to be going back. More or less. There was at least one thing he would miss about New York.
Caught in his own musings, Jarret didn't understand that the commotion nearing him was about him until he was surrounded. He gave a cursory glance to all three men and continued to lean casually against the platform pillar. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" he asked quietly.
James Taddy didn't speak to Jarret, but to his companions. "It's him, all right. Do you recognize him?"
When Taddy's friends were slow to answer, Jarret spoke. "It's all right, fellas. I recognize all of you. Miss Dennehy's wedding. The three of you were standing up for Hollis Banks."
"See?" Taddy said. "He admits it. Now ask him about this morning on Jones Street."
Jarret's face didn't register any surprise, but he felt Taddy's words as a blow to his midsection. There was no longer any doubt about what Rennie had seen. One glimpse of Hollis's friend in the crowd reminded her of all she was risking with that kiss. Jarret's glance slid over the trio, assessing the danger.
The one who did the talking was a bully, brawny in a way that suggested he did not have to be a good fighter because most people were intimidated by his size. His blond-haired friend was slight but probably agile, and the darker, dapper companion was heavy-footed. Under normal circumstances Jarret would have been wary of them but not greatly concerned. His bum shoulder changed the circumstances.
Rennie should have told him what she'd seen. At least then he would have been alert to the possibility of trouble. He was staring straight at them, but he knew Hollis Banks had just caught him on the blind side.
"What can I do for you fellas?" he asked.
James Taddy traded looks with his friends. The slightest nod of his head gave Jarret all the warning he was going to get.
Jarret ducked the first blow that the blond shot in his direction. The blond's fist connected with the pillar, and he howled in pain. Heavy-foot was more fortunate, and Jarret less so. A hammering fist caught Jarret under the jaw and sent him reeling backward. A second blow from Taddy spun him around. Before he could throw a counterpunch the blond danced in and unerringly found Jarret's injured shoulder. The sharp jab made Jarret nauseous with pain. He slumped, trying to protect his shoulder and reach for his gun. The pain arced across his shoulder and back and down his arm. It never reached his wrist. His fingers were numb.
Fear gripped him. He blocked a punch to his face with his left arm, but that made him vulnerable to the blow at his midriff. Taddy's brawn dropped Jarret to his knees. Heavyfoot kicked him squarely on his injured shoulder. This time the pain was so great that Jarret slumped sideways.
As he struggled to remain conscious he was vaguely aware of whistles blowing in the background and people scurrying along the platform. He thought it must be the train coming in and cursed his luck for missing it. His three attackers swam in and out of focus.
"Come on," Taddy said. "That's the cops. There will be hell to pay if our families find out about this."
The blond was bent over Jarret's valise, rifling the contents. "In a minute. Hollis said to get the money if we could." His fingers curled around a piece of paper. He pulled it out and saw he was holding a draft for five hundred dollars. He glanced at the signature. He swore softly. "Look at this! It's the reward money for Mrs. Kelly!"
Impatient, Taddy bent over Jarret and patted down his pockets. He found Jay Mac's personal draft for ten thousand dollars in Jarret's vest. "Here's what Hollis wants," he said. "Let's go. We're attracting too much attention."
The blond straightened, curled the reward check around his finger and deposited it in his pocket. He grinned down at Jarret. "Seems like there should be a reward out on you. You can't go around stealing another man's woman." He plunged the pointed toe of his shoe sharply into Jarret's groin.
When the police arrived Jarret was unconscious and the assailants had fled.
Chapter 6
January 1877
Jolene Cartwright rolled lazily out of bed. The plank floor was cold beneath her feet. "Should get a rug," she mumbled to herself, curling her toes. She reached for her stockings lying over the arm of the nearby rocker and padded quickly to the window seat on tiptoe to put them on. She sat down and glanced back at the sprawled figure on the bed. No amount of movement or talking to herself was likely to wake him up. Jarret Sullivan was sleeping off the dregs of a sloppy two-day drunk.
Jolene slipped on one silk black stocking, then the other, smoothing each over the finely curved length of her calf. She secured them with powder blue garters just above her knees, then adjusted the belt of her robe and arranged the collar so that her cleavage was visible. "Not that it matters," she grumbled, darting a look at the bed again. "He's more interested in my bed than my breasts."
"I'm awake, Jolene," Jarret muttered wearily. His head throbbed, and his brief attempt to open his eyes blinded him. He pulled the pillow over his head.
"No kind of awake from what I'm seeing," she said sharply. Jolene leaned toward her dresser and snatched her hairbrush from the top. She rapped it several times against the windowsill just to annoy Jarret before she dragged it through her hair. The harsh snores rising from the bed told her all she needed to know about being ignored. She raised the brush, tempted to throw it, and then thought better of it. The covers had slipped over Jarret's thighs, baring his backside.
Jolene took a good, long look at Jarret's taut flanks. "How's a woman supposed to stay mad at a man with bottom cheeks like that?" She began brushing her chestnut hair again, with lazy grace this time, and let her gaze wander away from her bed to the street below her window.
Echo Falls didn't stray much from the pattern of most western towns. Its wide thoroughfare was named Main Street and every sort of common business was set on either side. There was a barbershop and bathhouse where a miner could get a shave and a soak for two bits. Soap was a penny extra. The mercantile sold a variety of goods from candy and calico to pick shovels and treasure maps. The druggist kept jars of medicines along the rear wall of his store but made most of his money on liniment and hair tonic. Both brands, peculiar to Echo Falls, had more alcohol than a straight shot of whiskey from either Bender's or Bolyard's saloon. That was because Nick Bender and Georgie Bolyard never served any liquor that hadn't been cut with spring water.
Jolene chuckled to herself as Jarret shifted on the bed and groaned softly. From the looks of it, he had been drinking his whiskey with a hair tonic chaser.
She pressed her smooth cheek against the cool windowpane and found she could see almost to the livery at the end of town. There was little activity along the street. Sunday morning in Echo Falls was generally quiet. People who met for services did so in the dining room of Shepard's Boardinghouse, just as they had done every Sunday since lightning struck and burned the church in July. The building fund for a new house of worship was growing slowly. It wasn't that the citizens of Echo Falls didn't care about a new church; it was just that Mrs. Shepard offered the best cinnamon buns after service, and they were in no particular hurry to abandon her dining room. Everyone was remarking that Reverend Johns was putting on a little weight communing as he was with Widow Shepard and her hot cinnamon rolls. As the Reverend had been in to see Jolene and her girls only a few days ago, it was an opinion she shared with the rest of Echo Falls.
Jolene pulled back from the window, twisting her hair in a coil at the back of her head and fastening it with a few pins. Her eyes wandered to the towering peaks that rose north and west of Echo Falls. They were shrouded in thick clouds that meant snow was coming on the back of
the wind. The rutted and pockmarked street was already freezing. The sloping roofs and grandiose false fronts of all the stores would be blanketed with snow by dinnertime.
A movement on the sidewalk across the street caught her eye. Jolene's room was on the second floor of Bender's Saloon. There had always been a friendly rivalry between Bender's on the south side of the street and Bolyard's on the north side of Main. Jolene often exchanged a wink and wave with the girls who worked the upstairs rooms of Bolyard's. And why not? With more than a dozen men to every one woman in Echo Falls and the surrounding mining camps, there was plenty of business to go around. That's why Jolene was so surprised that Georgie Bolyard was tossing a woman out of his saloon and onto the street.
Jolene laughed out loud as the woman brushed off the back of her sable redingote, straightened the slant of her fashionable fur-trimmed hat, picked up her matching muff, and marched back into the saloon. Obviously she didn't set any store by Georgie Bolyard's temper.
"Jarret!" Jolene called. "Oh, come here. You've got to see this." As she spoke she saw Georgie's broad face and broader belly pass back and forth in front of the saloon's large window. He was pacing off his territory, looking apoplectic even from Jolene's distant view. "Georgie's lookin' like he's swallowed the fires of hell!"
Jarret groaned, yanked the covers around his waist, and nudged the pillow off his head. He risked opening one eye. It was painful but worth it to see Jolene's silhouette at the window. The blue silk wrapper she was wearing outlined her curves, and her black stockings were like a shadow on the line of her legs. She turned to look at him, and he noticed her eyes were the exact same shade of chestnut as her hair. He tried to recall the events of last night and, failing that, hoped he had at least treated her kindly. Jolene was more than an occasional lover; she was a friend.
"Come back to bed, Jo," he murmured. "Forget about Georgie."
Jolene waved him off. "You're missing it all. Georgie's likely to go off like a Roman candle any minute."
Jarret's right hand squeezed around one corner of the pillow. His grip was tight enough to allow him to heft the pillow in Jolene's direction. She caught it easily, laughing. Jarret looked away, hiding his unreasonable, immediate anger. He hadn't wanted to hurt Jolene when he'd flung the pillow, yet he had pitched it with all his might. The momentum had barely carried it across the room.
"Uh oh," Jolene said, turning her attention to the street again. "Here comes the woman again and... there goes her hat. You know, Jarret, I think I'd like a little fur piece like that. It's all the rage back East."
"How would you know?" asked Jarret. He rose slowly, every muscle aching. "You haven't been east of Denver in two years."
"I leaf through Mrs. Dodd's fashion books the same as every other woman in Echo Falls."
"Pardon me. I hadn't realized." His eyes skimmed her attire. "Your wardrobe is usually so... umm... modest."
The play on words was not lost on Jolene. "Very amusing." She tossed the pillow back at him, but it was wide of the mark. He didn't even attempt to get it. On the sidewalk below, the woman was straightening her hat again. She looked up and down the street as if she expected some assistance, and finding none, she charged right back in the saloon. "She doesn't seem the sort who needs the money," Jolene said. "But then, maybe she's a high-priced whore. No wonder Georgie's throwing her out. He hates payin' his girls more than five dollars for a night's work."
That reminded Jarret. He picked up his jeans and rummaged the pockets of his Levis. He found a ten dollar gold piece. "I must have had a good night at the tables."
"Unless you started with twenty."
He stilled. "Did I?"
"No. You were down your saddle, your horse, and your Remington at one point."
"My God." Jarret shook his head, hardly crediting his stupidity. "What was I? Two? Three sheets to wind?"
Not looking away from the street Jolene held up four fingers.
The way his head felt, Jarret could believe it. He dropped the gold piece on Jolene's nightstand, got rid of the sheet hitched around his waist, and started to dress.
"You know, Jarret, not much happens on a Sunday morning. You're missin' something folks here are going to be talkin' about for the rest of the winter." She chuckled. "By God, Georgie's just tossed her muff into the street. She's not taking the bait. He's going to have to throw her out bodily if he wants to get rid of her." She was thoughtful a moment. "Do you suppose Georgie's got a wife he hasn't told anyone about?"
"That would surely anger the wife we all know he has." Jarret buttoned his shirt and tucked in the tails before he crossed the room to Jolene. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. "You really should think about getting a rug."
Jolene shot him a sour look.
Jarret sat beside her to put on his socks. When he got them on he finally turned toward the window. The street between the two saloons was vacant. "It's quite the entertainment," he said, tongue in cheek.
"Be quiet and watch."
He was patient for all of two minutes. When no one came or went out of the saloon, Jarret stood. "Do you have any headache powders?" he asked, massaging his temples.
"On my dresser. Behind the perfumes. Do you want me to mix them for you?"
He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No, I'll do it. Don't trouble yourself."
"I won't." Jolene smoothed the sleeves of her wrapper. "My word, she doesn't give up," she said admiringly as the street entertainment started again. "Oh, wait, here comes someone from the livery. He must have come to town with her. I don't recognize him either." Jolene watched the woman wave to the man to get his attention. She disappeared into the saloon again.
Jarret poured a teaspoon of headache powder into a tumbler and added water. The mixture fizzed. He put down the spoon and carried his drink back to the window. He saw the man who was hurrying down the planked sidewalk. "That's Duffy Cedar. He's done a fair amount of prospecting in these parts. I've only known him to come to town when he needs supplies. You say he's got a woman with him?"
"More like she's got him with her."
Jarret knocked back his drink. It was like sucking on a lemon. His entire face puckered. "I swear I'm not going to drink again," he said.
"You've said that before."
"I mean that headache powder."
Jolene smiled and caught Jarret's sleeve as he turned away. "So why's Duffy trailin' after a skirt?"
Jarret allowed himself to be held. "Is it a pretty skirt?"
"Can't tell beneath all that fur. It sure is expensive, though."
"Then he's probably been hired as a guide. He does that sometimes for city folks lookin' for a mine." He eased himself out of Jolene's light grip. "I'm going downstairs and see if I can't get Nick to open up the kitchen early."
"You'd have more luck getting him to open up the bar." She gave him a cursory glance. "Aren't you going to shave? You look like hell."
"I don't think Nick cares."
Jolene found her brush and tossed it at him. "At least brush your hair."
Grinning, Jarret ran the brush through his tousled hair a few times. "Better?"
"Well, at least you won't scare the other girls."
Jarret set down the brush. "Eggs?" he asked. "Coffee?"
"Chocolate."
"Bacon?"
"A raft of it."
"I'll bring a feast," he promised.
Below stairs, Nick Bender was nowhere to be found. Jarret helped himself in the back kitchen, figuring he had paid Jolene enough to be entitled to a little breakfast. It didn't take him long to scramble eggs and fry the bacon. The aromas of coffee and chocolate mingled in the steamy air. Jarret served up two plates and poured Jolene's hot cocoa. It was when he was holding the pot of coffee that his hand went numb. He managed to jump out of the way as the pot slipped out of his fingers. Coffee splashed on the stove and on the floor. The pot and lid clattered loudly, nearly covering Jarret's angry string of curses.
Shoving aside the plat
es furiously, he shook out his arm and shoulder, trying to bring back some strength to his hand. Almost immediately the tingling returned, and he could even feel the pulse in his thumb. Ignoring the mess he'd made, Jarret stalked out of the kitchen and went to the bar. He found Nick Bender's cache of good whiskey and opened a bottle.
Jarret had always despised men who looked for solace in drink. His thinking hadn't really changed. Now he simply counted himself as one of those he despised.
Jolene appeared at the top of the stairs. "It's a little early, don't you think?"
Jarret held the bottleneck in his left hand. There was no sense in taking a chance with whiskey. "Leave it, Jolene."
"I thought you were making us breakfast," she said.
"Leave it."
"Don't bother coming back upstairs. My door's locked to you." She pivoted, huffing, and beat a path back to her room.
Jarret watched her go and told himself it didn't matter. He took another long swallow of liquor, relished the burning all the way to the pit of his stomach, and then set the bottle hard on the counter. In spite of the jolt of whiskey, or in part because of it, he still couldn't think clearly. Anger was a haze clouding his reason.
He stared at his hand, clenching and unclenching the fingers until he felt no connection to the appendage, until he could look on it as though it didn't belong to him. At precisely that moment he smashed it into the wall.
The sharp edge of anger was blunted by pain. Jarret examined his bruised and bleeding knuckles dispassionately. He put away Nick's whiskey and walked to the window at the front of the saloon. A glance at the sky warned him of the impending snowstorm. It wasn't a concern now. He had no plans to leave Echo Falls any time soon. There wasn't a bounty that interested him; there hadn't been for six weeks. That was going to have to change. He didn't have enough money to see him through the winter. According to Jolene he had come close to losing the tools of his trade last night.
His laughter was bitter as his gaze dropped to his right hand. Strike that, he thought. He'd already lost the most important tool of his trade. His saddle, horse, and Remington were superfluous. Small wonder he had anted them up.