by Maren Smith
Smiling, Garrett paid for the drink. “Your bumps and bruises have healed, I see.”
“So have yours,” Gabe replied. “Unless you want another set, get out after this drink.”
“I can do that.” Garrett cupped the beer between his hands, but didn’t drink right away. He brightened. “You know, I once made a beer last three full days.”
Holding out his hand, Gabe waited until Garrett passed over payment, then dropped it in the till. Otherwise, he said nothing.
“Jewel! Jewel!”
Running feet dashed across the balcony directly over the bar, raising both their attentions to the ceiling. A minute later, a golden-haired gem came quickly down the stairs.
Standing at the Faro tables with her ear tipped to whatever disgruntlement Amy was currently pouring into it, the madam of the Red Petticoat glanced up. “Dottie?”
“Outside, quick!” the golden-haired Dottie exclaimed with a grin. “You have to see this!”
“Why?” Unconvinced, Jewel did not immediately comply. “What’s going on?”
“Soldiers!” Dottie cried with a hop and skip as she scampered across the saloon and out the swinging doors. It was hard to hear her excited squeal over the sudden thunder of running footsteps through the floorboards above them.
“You got a herd of buffalo up there?” Garrett asked, a little surprised that the ceiling was holding.
“Sounds about right,” Gabe muttered. For a change, his frown wasn’t on Garrett but on the ceiling as he followed the sound of the stampede with his eyes. “I keep telling them, and telling them…”
“How many soldiers?” Charlie called from the piano where he was thumbing through papers, setting up music sheets for his show with Silver and Sunny later that night. “Might be a busy night if they stop in here.”
Glancing at one another, Jewel and Amy abandoned the Faro tables and headed outside. After a moment, Gabe followed them and, curiosity pricked, so did Garrett. Soldiers rarely passed through town; Culpepper Cove wasn’t on anyone’s military map, so there was no reason for them to. And yet, the trifles of who, why and where mattered little when compared to the economic interests of the Red Petticoat as a whole. Soldiers were good business and too sweet an opportunity for anyone to pass up, so Garrett wasn’t surprised to find every gem in the establishment posed along the upper balcony outside. Vying for space at the rail, they fussed with their hair, rouged up their cheeks, lips and nipples, and nearly every one of them was dressed in only just enough to keep from being arrested for indecency. Garrett checked, but he didn’t see Lydia.
Yet.
Don’t be jealous, he told himself. He hadn’t yet won the right to tell her how she could or could not make a living. Knowing that, however, and ignoring that hot proprietary burr that had just taken root in his gut as he watched the cavalry of soldiers coming down the street, were two very different things. How many of these beardless boys and jaded soldiers would Lydia be taking upstairs tonight? How many were going to do a hell of a lot more than brush her hair?
Folding his arms across his chest, Garrett braced himself to feel nothing as he watched them come. There were a lot of them. Twenty at least. God, she could do all of them in a single night, if she were dedicated enough—or stubborn enough—to try.
“If you can’t handle it, you’d best go home,” Gabe said out of the corner of his mouth.
“I can handle it,” Garrett assured. All the same, though, he might head himself home before Lydia started working tonight. He wasn’t sure he was up to seeing her approach any of those men, at least not without hurting someone.
“Wonder what they’re doing here?” Jewel murmured, slender hands on hips as she watched the uniformed procession draw closer. They were coming straight down the street, a mere block away now from passing right in front of the brothel. A cavalry troop, meant for hard travel and covering long distances without rest, there were no marching soldiers trailing behind the mounted soldiers and provision wagons. This was no casual exercise then, Garrett realized and braced himself all over again. They were hunting someone.
“I wonder how long they’ll be staying.” Amy fluffed her bosom and snapped out her fan. “Hey, handsome!” she called, striding right up to the end of the sidewalk to wave and, hopefully, catch a wandering eye or two… or ten. She let her bodice strap fall enticingly off one shoulder, and she wasn’t the only one. Every gem was on full display, flashing ankles and adjusting cleavages to their best advantage.
Still no Lydia, though. Garrett checked again.
“She can work if she wants to,” Gabe said, though his hard-eyed stare remained on the soldiers. His was a well-practiced look already picking out which of the passing cavalrymen would be customers, which would be drinkers, and which would be trouble.
By the look of it, the Red Petticoat would be full of customers tonight, for as much as the girls were flashing, the soldiers were looking. Not one broke rank, but that didn’t stop some from smiling, winking or discretely waving back. At least three that Garrett saw had no reaction to the girls at all, and all three were the ranking officers who held the procession’s lead.
“She probably won’t though,” Gabe added.
“She won’t what?” Garrett asked, smile thinning as he studied the trio in charge.
“Work tonight.” Gabe shot him a sideways glare. “She doesn’t like soldiers. And yes, she does know you once were one. As the saying goes: you, sir, are paddling upstream in a cracked canoe.”
Garrett chuckled. “Never heard that one before.”
“Probably because I just made it up. I like it though. I may have to say it more often.”
“If I was witty enough to come up with sayings like that off the cuff, I would too.”
They both watched the soldiers. They were at the tail of the cavalrymen now, with naught left to pass them by but the three supply wagons taking up the rear.
“You’re not going to go away, are you?” Gabe suddenly asked.
“Nope.”
“You’re going to stay right here?”
“Yup.”
“All night?”
“If I have to.”
“Why?”
Garrett cocked a wry smile, then shook his head. “Because I know something you don’t. I know what mistakes I’ve made in my life, and I know I’ve got nothing at all to say about anyone else’s. I also know, someday she’s going to warm to me and when she does—” Garrett turned that smile on Gabe and though he tried to soften his stare to match, he knew from the subtle shift in Gabe’s eyes that his own had to be hard enough to cut iron. “—When she does, I’m going to take her out of here. Her and her boy. If you need the time, I reckon you’d best start getting used to the idea now.”
“What if she doesn’t ‘warm’ to you?” Gabe countered, dark eyes narrowing.
“She will.” Garrett shifted, folding his arms that much tighter. “I’m an affable fellow. Women like me. Eventually, she will too. I’ve already decided.”
Gabe blinked twice, but Garrett’s attention was back on the soldiers and in particular, on the three in the lead. The thin cloud of dust kicked up by the passing wagons had a taste that filled his mouth and nose, despite his attempts to wave the worst away, but it wasn’t so thick he couldn’t see where the procession turned slightly to continue on to the next street.
“They’re heading for the sheriff’s office,” Garrett noted. He rubbed his chin once, then whapped Gabe on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Come on. Let’s go see what they want.”
Gabe scowled at his shoulder first, then Garrett. “Hit me again and I will break your hand. We did not just bond, we are not suddenly the best of friends, and I have absolutely no desire to accompany you anywhere.”
“Sure, we did; why wouldn’t we be; and of course you do.” Stepping off the walk, Garrett beckoned him to follow. “You’re too damned curious not to come along.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
> “I couldn’t give two shits,” Gabe snapped after him.
“Yes, you could,” Jewel suddenly hissed.
Startled, Gabe frowned at her now, but she was already shooing at him with both hands and mouthing an insistent, “Go! Go!”
Gabe glared, but she only glared back and shooed harder. Smothering curses under his breath, the look he shot her vowed a discussion on this later on, but he still stepped off the sidewalk.
Garrett was already across the street and half a block down by then. The afternoon sun was hot across his back and the dust of the military passing was slow to settle. He ducked down an alley between the cobbler and barbershop, and came out the other side only two buildings down from the sheriff’s office. There was something to be said for knowing one’s town and taking shortcuts. He was circling around the jail and well within eavesdropping distance before the latter half of the procession arrived. Gabe caught up with him a few seconds later.
Neither noticed that look Jewel and Amy had exchanged before picking up their skirts and following at an even more subtle distance.
“I guess I know who wears the—” Garrett started to say, but Gabe cut him off.
“It is so very important to your physical health that you not finish that sentence.”
Chuckling, Garrett found a quiet spot along the shadowed edge of the jail. Propping his shoulder against the wall, he watched as both Sheriff Justice and Deputy Slade, having heard the commotion and seen the dust, stepped outside. Bringing the march directly to the steps, the lead military officer motioned a lieutenant, whose bellow halted the whole march.
“I’m looking for Sheriff Jebidiah Justice,” he announced, once the chaos of shuffling hooves and rattling reins had quieted.
“You’ve found him,” Justice replied. If he was curious at all as to why they’d come, he was a master at hiding it.
Dismounting, the officer passed his horse into the holding of the young soldier who rushed up to take the reins. “Captain Nathaniel Everson,” he introduced, and then gestured to his two lesser ranked companions, both of whom remained in their saddles. “These are Lieutenants Davies and Buckabee. We’ve been sent from Fort Mervine to quell the Indian uprising.” He drew two sheets of folded paper from inside his jacket and presented them to the sheriff. “These are warrants for the arrests of both ringleaders. My orders are to remove them peacefully, if possible, to their appropriate reservations or, if they refuse to go, see them brought to a swift end.”
“What Indian uprising?” Deputy Slade asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Accepting the warrants, Sheriff Justice opened the first and quietly read it. He frowned and unfolded the second warrant. The longer he read, the deeper his frown became until, finally reaching the end, he lowered both documents. “These warrants are for Stone and Paquah.”
Garrett felt it when Gabe stiffened. He probably stiffened too, certainly his gut ran cold.
“I see you are familiar with the renegades.” Cool and professional, Everson he took off his riding gloves.
“Familiar enough, I suppose. I wouldn’t exactly call either a renegade.”
“Be that as it may,” Captain Everson pressed, “you must know where I can find them.”
Justice inclined his head in a guarded nod. “I have a good idea.”
“Splendid. If you’ll lead the way, we can get this whole sordid business wrapped up quickly and all go happily home again.”
Sheriff Justice tapped the warrants against his hand. “Something tells me that’s not going to happen, actually.”
The lieutenants exchanged knowing looks. Captain Emerson heaved a deep breath, and already Garrett knew before he opened his mouth just how badly this conversation was about to go south. He’d been a military man. He’d been a party to troops like this, sent out to round up renegades. Right now his mind was a-whir with possible outcomes. He didn’t know who Stone was, but he did know Paquah. Boy or not, when a warrant was issued for an Indian’s arrest, the military did not stop until the arrest was made.
“Sheriff…” Captain Everson drawled, smoothing the riding dust from first one dark eyebrow and then the other. “I can appreciate how nobody likes being told how to do his job. Had you done yours, however, I would not have been uprooted from my very comfortable home to march for three damned days, up mountains and across foothills, to ensure the safety and well-being of the citizens of your town. This was your job; now it is mine. Had you the efficiency to do it, I would not be standing here.”
“I see.” Sheriff Justice folded his arms across his chest. “And you have evidence of my lack of efficiency… how?”
“Through the many complaints my office has fielded over the last four months.”
“Complaints? Made by whom?”
“The grievances were filed by one Millicent Crankshaw.”
Sheriff Justice rolled his eyes. “I see. And what are these ‘grievances’ exactly?”
“That’s unimportant.” Everson waved them aside with a flick of his riding gloves. “What is important is that I have been assigned to see these savages removed from Culpepper Cove to their appropriate reservations, where they will no longer be a hindrance to the good people of this town. I take my assignments quite seriously, Sheriff. I suggest you take me equally as seriously.”
“And the fact that these complaints are nothing but hogswallop…”
“Makes no difference to me. The warrants have been issued. I have a job to do, and I’m not leaving until I see it done.”
“I see,” the sheriff repeated, tapping the warrants against his hand again. “And if I told you that these particular ‘renegades’ are young…”
“Young troublemakers grow up to become bigger troublemakers, Sheriff. Where can I find them?”
“Stone doesn’t live in town, and I can’t say as I recall him ever being a ‘troublemaker’ when he is. His father would never allow it.”
“So his father will need to be removed to the reservation as well, then.”
“You might have a problem with that, being as his father is Culpepper Cove’s only doctor.”
Captain Everson grew still. Even from twenty good feet away, Garrett could see the gears turning in the other man’s mind before, cautiously, he asked, “You allow yourselves to be treated by a savage?”
“Doctor Anson Norwood is not an Indian.”
“But his son is?”
“His son is also five years old,” Sheriff Justice supplied, then thought about it. “Or four. Four or five, I think. I’m not sure.”
Captain Everson shifted his weight, hands on his hips. “Four,” he echoed flatly.
“Or five.” The sheriff tipped his head in a nod. “Somewhere around that age range.” He held his hand level about hip tall. “Knee high to a grasshopper. Should be starting school this fall, once the summer crops come in and schoolhouse opens up again.”
The captain shifted all the way onto his other leg. “And the other redskin?”
The sheriff thought about it. “About the same age. Maybe a little younger. I don’t rightly know. His mother’s a little more private.”
“She would be the harlot,” Everson stated.
“Also not an Indian, so none of your concern.” Garrett startled. He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to say anything at all, but there it was—all of it said in a hard, steely voice that had been loud enough to carry not just twenty feet, but probably all the way back around the corner to the Red Petticoat as well. Both the captain and his lieutenants turned to him. So did the sheriff and his deputy. So did damn near all the soldiers, all twenty of them, with every one of their faces streaked with dust and hardened with duty toward their military brothers, God and country—in that order. There was no place in that creed for Indians, four years old or not. There was no place in that creed for whores either and never mind that every one of them had been smirking, winking and jostling one another to point out the prettiest ones posed along the Red Petticoat’s balcony not five minutes be
fore.
“Is this Paquah your boy?” Captain Everson pointedly asked.
Both Deputy Slade and Sheriff Justice were looking at him with the same slightly perplexed expression.
Garrett shuttered himself as abruptly as a door slamming over his emotions. He made himself smile. “Nope.”
Everson drew himself stiffly upright. “Then kindly stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”
“I’m beginning to think this particular matter might actually concern me,” came an older, grimmer voice from within the sheriff’s office.
Captain Everson straightened, head lifting and frown deepening as a third man exited the sheriff’s office to stand beside the lawmen. He wore a grey pin-striped suit, still wrinkled from a long day of traveling by stagecoach, and he brought with him the cup of tea he’d been enjoying just inside. “And you are exactly who, sir?”
“Henry Johnson,” the man replied, and took a pause to finish his tea before adding, “Circuit judge for these parts. I arrived a few hours ago with the intent of officiating a wedding and passing on through. But this—” He held out his hand expectantly. “—this sounds like something I ought to sit in on.”
For several tense heartbeats, Everson did not move. He didn’t roll his eyes, either, although by the look of him, he wanted to. Especially when Sheriff Justice passed the warrants over.
Judge Johnson studied each in turn. “Deputy Slade, kindly inform the good doctor that his son is being summoned to an immediate hearing or he must be placed under arrest. He is free, of course, to accompany his son to the meeting hall. He’ll likely want to. Jeb, find Millicent Crankshaw.”
“With what intent?” Everson demanded, but stopped when the judge locked piercing blue eyes on him.
“Don’t take that tone with me, sir.”
“I’ll not allow the harassment of an innocent woman. My job—”
“You’ve done your job, Captain. You delivered your warrants—”
“I will make the arrests and see to it they are executed in an appropriate—”
“Not in my jurisdiction you won’t. The military may be permitted a little latitude when it comes to upholding the law in territories too ill-established to have anything better, but in this town, you will yield to local authority or I will see you and every man jack one of those men behind you made extremely comfortable in our local cells. Now, have I made myself clear to you, Captain?”