“I know how to treat one, that’s for certain,” Cecil grumbled under his breath.
“You ain’t never had a woman.” Cecil was good for telling tales. “You’ve only had whores. And they don’t count, ’cause you’ve got to pay them. A respectable woman won’t look at you sideways.”
“Miss Wallace looked at me plenty.” Cecil thrust his chin out. “She talked to me, too.”
Billy laughed loud and long. “What are you gonna do, run off and try to find her, see if she’ll talk to you again?”
Cecil’s eyes narrowed, then he smashed his lips together like he always did when he was feeling stubborn. “I’ve been thinkin’ on it.”
The thought of Cecil abandoning him made Billy go hot. “Seems to me, you’ve been doing a little too much of that. I don’t care how much dreamin’ you do about Randall’s woman, but what happens between me and Flossie is none of your concern. Do you hear me?”
“I ain’t told Flossie nothin’, Cecil sputtered. “But she’s gonna find out.”
“Well, what if she does? What’s she gonna do, shoot me?”
“She might at that.”
He gave Cecil a hard shove. “Get goin’. And straighten that lace cap. You’re a mess. I don’t have time to stand around jawin’. I gotta win me some money.”
Billy shook his head as he watched Cecil amble off down the corridor, boots peeking out from beneath his black skirt. It was hard to believe they were related.
• • •
“Not right now, darlin’. Can’t you see I’m busy playing cards?”
Christie leaned closer until her lips grazed Leigh’s ear. “I want that money, and I want it now.”
Thick curls of smoke rose above the table from the gamblers’ cigars, like genies conjured from a lamp.
Two men lifted their gaze from their cards, as if they just noticed her intrusion into the cabin where their private card game was taking place.
The other two continued to study their hand, one, sending feverish glances to the pot every few seconds. Between glances he passed his tongue over his top lip, like a thirst-crazed vagrant, staring at a fresh mountain stream.
Leigh continued to smile without lifting his gaze from his hand. “Too late for that.”
“What do you mean, too late?” Christie attempted to keep her temper in check, but she was fast losing patience.
“I mean,” he said through a tight smile. “It’s being used for a stake in this here card game.”
Blood pumped in her ears. She drew in a sharp breath, lungs gasping for air. “I need that money. It’s for my train ticket home.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it back. I’m just borrowing it for a few hours. Think of it as an investment.”
“You didn’t borrow it. You stole it. Borrowing requires consent, and I haven’t given my consent. So hand it over. I’m not leaving here without it.”
“Well, you best pull up a chair then, darlin’.” Leigh said out of the corner of his mouth. “This game is bound to last all night.”
Christie eyed the pot in the center of the table, itching to reach out and grab what was hers. But the stories she’d heard and the serious looks on the gamblers’ faces warned against it.
“What are you doing, Wallace? Call or fold?”
Christie stalked to the door, mumbling curses under her breath. By the time she closed the door, she was fantasizing how she might strangle Leigh in his sleep. Investment, indeed! She might sooner throw her money down one of his worthless mines.
She should march right to the captain and tell him she’d found her thief. But how could she turn in her own cousin? What good would it do? After, she’d only be faced with the problem of bailing him out.
Rotten scoundrel!
Loud voices and laughter drifted down the corridor from the doorway of the saloon.
Christie longed to know what was taking place, but hesitated to disregard Nat’s wishes. He already blamed her for losing Hank. He’d never forgive her if she ruined his chances of catching the Everetts again.
And yet, she could not get him out of her mind. The suspense was killing her. Or perhaps, it was simply the need to put her fears to rest.
Perhaps if she just poked her head in the doorway.
How could it hurt? She didn’t have to go inside. She could take a quick peek — assure herself of his safety, then slip right out again.
As she neared the saloon door, thoughts of the Everetts sent a shiver crawling up her spine. The memory of Billy’s cruel smile and Cecil’s leering glances quickened her pulse, making her feel vulnerable all over again.
But what was she worried about?
Nat was here.
A woman rushed by with her, lacy cap askew, giving Christie a start. Something about her looked oddly familiar. But how could that be true? The dim light in the corridor must be playing tricks on her. She’d have remembered that face. The poor creature was surely the ugliest woman she’d ever seen.
The closer Christie got to the doorway, the faster her blood rushed.
The room throbbed with noise and laughter. It was packed with people — some standing at the long polished bar, some sitting around large round tables on tall-backed red leather chairs.
The air hung hot and heavy.
It smelled of sweat and beer.
Christie spotted Holt, standing above the crowd on the landing, at the far end of the room. His eyes were trained on the opposite end of the room. When she turned, she soon discovered why.
• • •
“Get up.” Nat shoved his Colt against Billy’s right ear. “Real slow, that’s right.” A soft buzz commenced around the tables, but Nat barely heard. There was only him and Billy. He’d dreamed of this moment so long, it didn’t seem real. Except in his dream, Billy didn’t come peaceably. He always went for his gun.
Nat cocked his Colt — willing Billy to do it now — itching for a reason to pull that trigger.
But Billy must have sensed the deadly intent behind his words. He held his hands away from his holster, coming slowly to his feet without so much as a word.
“Now, start heading for the door.”
A high-pitched scream pierced the air, followed by a series of gasps and a shuffling of chairs.
Nat’s gaze sliced across the room in the direction of the commotion.
Cecil stood by the side entrance of the saloon, dressed in some ridiculous getup, holding a knife to the throat of Helena Beaton, a well-known lady of San Francisco society.
Damn!
What was she doing here?
The upper crust usually kept to the ballroom upstairs.
Cecil’s voice grated like a squalling pig. “Drop your gun, Randall, or I’ll slit her wide open.”
Damn!
Where was Christopher? He was supposed to be covering that entrance. So much for their peaceable plan. “In front of all of these witnesses?” Nat shouted back. “You’ll never make it off this boat alive.”
Gamblers slid under tables.
Glasses clinked and silk swished as people scurried to the perimeter of the room.
A hush fell over the saloon.
“I ain’t letting her go ’til you holster that Colt,” Cecil called back.
Billy turned his head. A slow grin spread over his face. “You’d better listen to him Randall.”
Nat’s hand didn’t waver. Out of the corner of his eye, Nat spied Holt working his way closer through the crush of quivering bodies plastered against the wall.
Seconds ticked by.
The panic increased in Cecil’s eyes.
So did the chance of him doing something stupid.
And all this time he had worried about Christie getting in his way.
Then, as if to prove h
ow powerful thoughts can be, she appeared, turning his dream of capturing the Everetts into a nightmare. “Drop the knife, Cecil, and let Mrs. Beaton go, or I’ll be forced to put a very large hole in the back of your skull.” Christie stood behind Cecil with a derringer pointed at his head.
Nat froze.
Fear squeezed the air from his lungs like a hand wringing a sponge. One quick move — that was all it would take for Cecil to turn and slit Christie’s throat.
Hell!
Why hadn’t she stayed in her cabin like he’d told her?
Then, to his amazement, Cecil spread his hands wide, letting the knife clatter to the floor.
Mr. Beaton scrambled to retrieve it.
The look of triumph seeped from Billy’s face.
The sight of Flossie approaching from the direction of the stairs had his green eyes sparking back to life.
“Hold it right there!” Flossie flounced toward Billy, eyes flashing like small brush fires. A swollen cheek disfigured one side of her heavily roughed face. Her voice squeaked like a new saddle in a rainstorm. “Where’s my money, you no account bastard!”
“Can’t you see I’m busy!” Billy roared.
“Are you yelling at me?” Flossie screeched back. “’Cause I’m tired of you yellin’ at me!”
Billy answered with syrupy sarcasm. “Sorry, Floss, didn’t mean to yell, but if you want your money you’d best tell Mr. Randall to lower his gun.”
“You’re not tricking me again.” Flossie cocked her pearl-handled pistol, aiming it at his head. “It took me a long time to save that money. I ain’t about to let you take it.”
“Does this look like a trick? He’s taking me in!” Billy’s eyes darted wildly between the two weapons. “Shoot him! Shoot him now!”
Flossie hesitated, then lifted her gaze above Billy’s head.
“I’ll have to ask you to lower that pistol, ma’am,” Nat drawled calmly, despite the drops of sweat running down his back. There was nothing more dangerous than a hysterical woman with a gun. “You don’t want to hurt anyone now.”
Flossie’s eyes widened, as though she’d just noticed the gun leveled at Billy’s head. Her hand began to shake.
At that moment, Holt, who had been edging his way closer, made a grab for Flossie’s pistol.
A deafening explosion shattered the room.
• • •
Christie’s heart banged to a stop.
Nat.
Where was he?
Was he hit?
When she sighted him over the heads of the stunned crowd, filtering away from the wall, she was able to breathe again. She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms and kiss every part of his face.
Somewhere amongst the din of excited voices, she heard Flossie sobbing, “Billy, Billy, I’m sorry, please, wake up! You can’t be dead! You can’t!”
When Christie turned back around, Cecil was gone.
Damn!
That little weasel!
Oh well, it shouldn’t be difficult to spot a troll in maid’s clothing. When she looked up again, Nat was threading his way toward her through the crowd. He didn’t look happy.
The firm set of his jaw confirmed it. “Where’s Cecil?”
“I don’t know. I looked away for a moment and he was gone. He just slipped away.”
“What are you doing here?” Nat asked in a tight voice. “I thought I told you to stay in your cabin.”
Christie stiffened. Fine thanks she got for helping him out of a pinch. “Look, I’m sorry if you’re angry, but my experience capturing outlaws is rather limited, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not angry that you let him get away.” His midnight gaze bored into her. “I’m angry that you were here in the first place — that you interfered.”
“Interfered!” She stared back at him in disbelief. She’d done what she had to do. Lucky for him Uncle Will had gifted her that derringer. “I saved Mrs. Beaton’s life!”
“That,” he bit out distinctly, “is a matter of opinion.” He turned on his heel to stalk toward the side entrance of the saloon.
“Where are you going?”
“Stay here,” he threw over his shoulder in ominous tones.
Off to chase after Cecil, no doubt. Christie’s gaze shifted numbly to the derringer in her hand. She had actually pointed a gun at someone’s head. And for a split second, remembering what the Everetts had done to her, she had relished it. Dear Lord, she was no better than the rest of them. This place had turned her into a savage.
What if Cecil hadn’t dropped the knife? What would she have done then — shoot him? With a trembling hand she stuffed the gun back into her pocket.
She wouldn’t think of it. She’d done what she had to, to save Mrs. Beaton’s life. Not that it mattered to Nat. He hadn’t spared a word or a question of concern. Are you alright Christie? Thank you for helping Christie. Nothing.
Ungrateful lout!
“Miss Wallace!” Mrs. Beaton exclaimed, clutching Christie against her amble bosom. “How can I ever thank you? I shall be indebted to you for the rest of my days.”
“Yes, indeed!” Mr. Beaton confirmed. “That was the bravest thing I ever saw — a true display of heroism.”
“We had only just come for a wee snoop before the ball,” Mrs. Beaton said. “What an extraordinary coincidence you’d done the same.”
“Yes,” Christie said vaguely, remembering Nat’s angry face. “If only I hadn’t let him get away.”
“He can’t have gone far,” Mr. Beaton assured her. “I’m certain the captain is scouring the boat right now. Never fear,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “They’ll find him, my dear.”
“Yes, I’m sure they will.” Christie said, forcing a smile. Then the sound of Flossie’s sobbing drew her attention away. “I’m sorry, but could you excuse me.” Christie wove her way through the startled sea of faces, intent on offering what comfort she could.
Though she had no idea what she would say. Billy Everett had been a cruel, evil man — a monster. She wasn’t sorry he was dead. But one person had loved him, and though Christie couldn’t understand why, it had to count for something. Some good in his character had shined in Flossie’s heart, blocking out the bad.
“I love you, Billy. I always loved you,” Flossie wailed over Billy’s broken, bloody corpse. “Why did you have to be that way? Why did you have to keep hurting people? I was just trying to get my money, that’s all. Oh, Billy! Billy!!!”
Christie put a gentle hand on Flossie’s shoulder.
Flossie looked up at her with desperate, pleading eyes. “I just wanted to stop him. He wasn’t supposed to die. I didn’t mean to shoot him. I would never hurt him. I loved him!”
Christie knelt down beside her. “I know, Flossie. It’s alright. It’s not your fault. It was an accident.” She took her by the shoulders to urge her to her feet. “Come with me. Come away.”
“I didn’t mean it!”
“I know. You did your best. You couldn’t change him, no one could. Sometimes loving people is all we can do.”
“I did love him, I did!”
“I know you did.”
Luckily, just then Leigh appeared, looking startled and out of breath. “I heard the shot.” The sight of Billy’s bloody corpse brought him up short. “My God! Flossie, are you alright?”
“Flossie needs to sit down,” Christie said. “She needs to rest.”
“Come on, Floss. I’ll take you home.” Leigh gathered her under his comforting arm, leading her toward the stairs.
Just in the nick of time, as far as Christie was concerned. She’d run out of things to say. Leigh, on the other hand, had a mountain of insincere drivel to occupy Flossie’s grief stricken mind.
Nat had told her to wait, b
ut the gamblers, stepping over Billy’s blood-soaked body to return to their tables made her stomach revolt. Where was the crew? Why weren’t they cleaning it up? She had to get out — away from the smell of blood and death.
By the time she reached her cabin door, her hands were beginning to shake. But she managed to wiggle the lock opened. Safe inside, she bolted the door. She felt drained, but relieved. Two Everetts down and one to go. Surely it must be wrong to feel no remorse over another person’s death, but she couldn’t feel anything else.
As long as Cecil was out there, he was a threat. She wouldn’t feel safe until he was apprehended.
• • •
Christie rolled out of bed with a groan. Why must Leigh pound his fists so loud against the door? He’d certainly taken his sweet time escorting Flossie home. Christie stumbled across the carpet, pulling on her azure silk wrapper as she went. Mercy! Why had she bolted the cursed thing?
She slid back the bolt, preparing for a scalding reprimand.
But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Leigh but Nat standing before her, looking serious and out of sorts.
Relief washed over her, followed by a pleasurable disturbance in her solar plexus. “Oh, I thought you were Leigh.” She took a step back, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “He took Flossie home. He should have returned by now.”
“If he’s with Flossie, I doubt he’ll be returning any time soon.”
Christie hugged her wrapper closer. Now that she’d slept enough to ward off exhaustion, she’d never get back to sleep, knowing she was alone with Cecil out there on the loose. Is that why Nat had come — to warn her? Or did he know that the sight of him sent shivers all over her skin.
“Are you going to let me in?” He lifted a dark brow. “I’d serenade you, but my voice is a little rusty right now.”
She considered him warily. He looked haggard, the lines around the corners of his eyes more pronounced. The sight of him squeezed at her heart, softening the memory of his harsh words in the saloon. But it was late, and she was too tired to suffer through any more of his cynical speeches.
“Alright, I’ll give it a try.” He opened his mouth as though he might break into song.
Time After Time Page 138