Tom's Angel

by Linda George

  The marshal burst through the front door, gun pulled. “What's going on here?”

  “This man thinks it's all right to cut women, Marshal. Take a look in the back, then haul him to jail.”

  He pushed past Tom, disappeared into the back of the dance hall, returned a minute later. “She ain't dead.”

  “No thanks to him.”

  “If she ain't dead—”

  “Arrest him! This is the second time he's attacked that woman! Aren't you going to do anything about it?”

  The marshal appeared put out with Tom for telling him how to do his job. Still, he hauled Strickland off the floor by the front of his coat, cocked a pistol in his back, and ordered him outside.

  Tom turned to the bartender. “It takes murder to get arrested in this place?”

  “Depends on who gets murdered.”

  Tom shook his head with disgust. No law and order. No decency. Nothing in the Acre but violence, pain and misery. He headed for Lizzy's room.

  “Is she going to be all right?”

  Rosalie turned, wiping her forehead with the back of one hand, leaving a bloody streak. “I've stopped most of the bleeding. But she'll never be well again. I doubt she'll be able to walk, and with only one hand, she'll hardly be able to tend to herself. There's no way to set the bones. They're in pieces.”

  There were no tears in Rosalie's eyes. Only hatred and anger. Tom vowed to get her out of Fort Worth at first light tomorrow.

  When Rosalie felt she could leave, she and Tom went to her house. William Kincannon didn't appear to be anywhere about.

  In the kitchen, Rosalie washed her face and hands. Water tinged pink with Lizzy’s blood whirlpooled down the drain.

  The tears finally came. Tom gathered her close and encouraged her to let go, to cry until the horror dulled.

  “We'll be out of here tomorrow. You won't ever have to come back to this place or these people again,” he said softly.

  She shook her head. “I can't leave. Not now.”

  “Why the hell not?” The last thing he'd expect her to say!

  “Because of Lizzy. I can't leave her.”

  “You said she'd heal in time. Can't the other girls help her while you’re gone?”

  “No one can care for Lizzy as I can.”

  “That's nonsense. Of course they can. You can't be the only woman in the Acre who knows nursing skills.”

  “There are others. But not for Lizzy. Without me, Lizzy will die.”

  Why couldn't he make her see reason? “What's so special about Lizzy that it takes you, personally, to nurse her back to health?”

  She hesitated, then shuddered. “Lizzy is my sister.”

  Chapter 6

  “Your sister? You can't be serious! She's a...well, she's—”

  “A soiled dove? Is that the term you were searching for?” She knew his choice would've been much more to the point, but they were talking about her sister.

  “Rosalie, I don't know what to say.”

  “I admit, most of the time, I don't know what to say about it, either. But she is my sister. Marnie Elizabeth Kincannon was her birth name. She's two years older than I am.”

  “Only two? She could be your mother.”

  “Girls in her profession tend to get old before their time. About six years ago, after an unfortunate incident Elizabeth started working at the Emerald, one of the nicer saloons. She was fourteen. She attracted the worst sort of cowboy and took a lot of punishment. When she started to look old, at seventeen, she was evicted and had to go to the Red Light Saloon. When they didn't want her there anymore, she came to the dance halls. The Yellow Rose is the second one she's worked in. No one else would take her. She attracts trouble. Gets slapped around a lot. Sometimes, it seems she invites abuse.”

  “How old is she now?”

  “Twenty. She's been at The Rose about six months.” Rosalie closed her eyes against the memory of that dreadful night, but seeing Lizzy sprawled on that bed like a slab of hacked meat would never leave her mind completely. All that blood. It had taken three of them to hold her down while Rosalie stitched up the slash in her leg.

  But Lizzy's life wasn't the only one that had changed that night.

  Rosalie realized with a start that she never would've met Tom or Gabriel or Trina if Zane Strickland hadn't come to the dance hall that night Lizzy was hurt. Rosalie didn't know how to feel about that.

  Tom rubbed her back affectionately. “He's in jail now, at least for the night. Maybe he'll think twice before he takes a knife to a woman again.”

  “Jail?”

  “I stood on him until the marshal carted him off to a cell.”

  Rosalie shook her head. “That's a first, for sure.”

  “I got the impression that men who rough up the women in the Acre aren't punished much.”

  “Not punished at all. No one cares what happens to the bawds.” She hated that word, but it was one of the nicer terms used for women like Lizzy.

  Tom touched her arm carefully. “So you won't leave her?”

  “How can I, with the condition she's in?” A wave of nausea threatened, but she subdued it the best she could. “She's helpless. The other girls may not always be able to stay with her. I have to help her regain her strength.”

  “What will she do once she's well?”

  Rosalie refused to face him. “She won't have any choice but the crib houses or living at home, which she’d never agree to do.”

  Tom didn't have to ask about the cribs. The expression of defeat he saw on her face meant she knew about them, too. He couldn't blame her for wanting to save her sister from the worst possible life imaginable.

  “We'll take her to Denver.”

  Rosalie stared at him with utter surprise on her face. “Take Lizzy to Denver?”

  “We'll find someone to care for her until she's well again. How soon before she'll be able to travel?”

  “I don't know. Several days, at least. Maybe a week.”

  “I have to go back through Lubbock to see to the shipping of that bull. The ride will be easier on the train than on the stage or in a wagon.”

  Gratitude and relief flooded through Rosalie like cool water. She staggered with the impact of what Tom was offering Lizzy. The heat had become so intense in the house, she swayed with sudden dizziness.

  Tom grabbed her arm, thinking her about to fall, and held her. Dammit, he had to get this woman and her sister out of this damned hell hole.

  William Kincannon stomped in the back door with a wide grin on his face. It disappeared when he saw Rosalie in Tom's arms.

  “What's wrong? Did you hurt her?” He started toward Tom with an angry scowl.

  Rosalie intercepted. “No, he didn't!”

  Kincannon stared at Rosalie. “Then why are you crying?”

  “Because of what happened to Lizzy. But, Mr. McCabe has offered to take her to Denver, too, where she can get well and have a new life.”

  “Is that all? Take her for all I care. She's nearly dead as it is.”

  Tom's urge to punch Kincannon's face into a bloody pulp almost prompted him to do it. But he wasn't worth sore knuckles. That repulsive grin was back. “I arranged a race! Rusty against the best in the city! This could mean a lot of money, Rosie. I might even be able to send a few dollars with you to Denver.”

  “How generous of you,” Tom said flatly.

  “C'mon, Tom. I'll show you my horses. You might want to place a bet yourself, put a little spending money in your pocket before you leave. When is it you're leaving?”

  “Not for a few more days. We have to wait until Lizzy is well enough to travel.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I guess so. Well, do you want to see some prime horseflesh or not?”

  Tom glanced at Rosalie. “Are you coming with us?”

  She shook her head. “I'll need to check on Lizzy.” Her eyes drilled her father's. “I personally do not care if I ever see those horses again. Excuse me, please.” She headed for the back door and outside.
>
  “All right, let's see them.”

  Kincannon went out the door like a shot. “Unhitch that mare. I keep all but one saddle horse in a stable north of town, but I have a spare saddle here somewhere.” He rummaged in a ramshackle shed out back, replacing three locks when he was finished.

  Tom loosened the harness and led the mare from the traces. Kincannon handed him a saddle and bridle, practically new.

  “Mighty fine tack.”

  “Nothing's too good for my horses.”

  Tom tightened the girth, then swung into the saddle and followed Kincannon, already a good piece down the road. Tom kneed the mare lightly and caught up.

  “Where are they?”

  “You don't think I'd keep 'em in the Acre, do you? Why, they'd be stolen the first time I turned my back. I board 'em with a man who owns a mercantile on Cold Spring Road, near the track.”

  Tom didn't say much on the way. Kincannon, though, prattled on and on about all the races his horses had won since he’d bought them five years ago. According to him, there weren't finer horses in all of Texas, especially Rusty, the fastest of the bunch.

  When they reached the corral, Kincannon tied his horse to the fence, then ducked under and inside. Five horses roamed the near pen, but only one perked his ears at the whistle and came. This strawberry roan had to be Rusty.

  Kincannon pulled something from his pocket and gave the big horse a nibble. His jaws circled as Kincannon scratched between his ears and patted his neck.

  Tom had to admit they were all from prime stock, especially the roan.

  “See that? He can be really high strung, especially on race day, but see how he eats right out of my hand without so much as a howdy-do? He knows old Kincannon will have something in his pocket for him.”

  “He’s a fine horse, all right.” Tom approached the gelding, gave the horse a chance to get used to his presence, then reached to pat his neck. The roan flinched, relaxed, then snuffled Tom's pockets, lower lip quivering. “No, I don't have anything for you. Does that mean you don't like me anymore?”

  “There ain’t a horse in fort Worth that can beat him.”

  Kincannon recognized quality. No doubt about that. Rosalie's comments surfaced in Tom’s mind. “Why doesn't Rosalie like these horses? She said she did, once.”

  “Aw, ain't that just like a woman to turn on an animal when it weren't that animal's doin' at all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Kincannon dragged his filthy slouch hat from his head and dragged his sleeve across his forehead to wipe away some of the sweat pouring out of his greasy hair. “She blames the horses for her having to go to Denver.”

  That made no sense. “I have a feeling I came in at the middle of this tale.”

  “I was playing cards with a dude on his way to Dallas to get hitched. I figured I could take him pretty good. But he ended up with a winning hand, and Rosie was part of the pot.”

  Tom knew he couldn't have heard right. “You used her as a bet in the game?”

  “I told you I thought I could win. But the bastard bested me. I used Rosie as a marker for the last two thousand of my bet. He said she could be house maid for his family in Denver. If you ask me, she oughta be loving my neck for getting her into such a fancy family. I don't 'spect he's gonna take much to the idea of having Lizzy there, too, though. Not after what he done to her.”

  Tom felt a chill, with the sun blaring down at a hundred and five in the shade. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Zane Strickland. Came back from Dallas, drunk and mean, and cut her up again. But, hell, you know all about it. Just don't tell Rosie that's who it was. She don't know Zane was the one what done the cuttin' on her sister. I heard how you got the Sheriff to haul his sorry ass to jail. His paw is gonna be mighty upset when he hears his boy spent a night in the Acre jail, for sure.”

  Tom turned and strode away, breathing slower and deeper, anger crackling through him like a prairie fire. He knew if he hit William Kincannon even once, he might not be able to stop.

  This sorry excuse for a father had bet his own daughter in a card game with Zane Strickland. And, now, Rosalie had to pay the debt by going to Denver to work in the Strickland home.

  The image of Lizzy lying on that cot, bleeding her life away, face purple from Strickland's fists, changed until Tom could envision Rosalie lying there instead.

  “Where're ya going?” Kincannon yelled after him.

  Tom didn't answer.

  <><><><>

  Rosalie carefully bathed Lizzy's face with cool water while her own face ran wet with sweat. Tarnation, but these back rooms were like ovens in the summer. The thermometer had been known to boil out the top when the sun hit it on a day like this. If they didn't get some relief from this heat pretty soon, there wouldn't be a working thermometer in all of Fort Worth.

  “Try and rest easy. You're going to be well again before you know it. Then, we're going to Denver. Mr. McCabe has come to escort us.”

  “Both of us? But where are we going?”

  Rosalie didn't want her to know the whole truth, so she made up a lie intended to sooth and settle.

  “We're going to live in a banker's house. A grand house, with fine furniture and rugs, and sparkling chandeliers in every room.”

  “But, who invited us?”

  “The banker's son.” The idea of Zane Strickland “inviting” them might have made her laugh, if the truth hadn't been so unpalatable and sour.

  “He invited me, too?”

  “Yes. Tom will be taking us. He'll make sure we get there safely.”

  “Tom?”

  “Mr. McCabe. He's a senator's son.”

  “But, Rosie, I can't walk good no more, so you know I can't dance. And I can't move my left hand at all, 'cause of the awful throbbing.”

  Rosalie had given all the girls strict instructions not to tell Lizzie about her hand being smashed to bits. She had enough to contend with, and still couldn't see with her eyes blackened and swollen shut.

  “Don't you worry. You'll be right as rain before you know it. And you won't ever have to work in a dance hall or a saloon again.”

  “Never? But Paw said—”

  “I can imagine what Paw said,” she muttered between clinched teeth. “Just never you mind Paw or anyone else. You just listen to me.”

  “Paw said I'd have to go to the cribs for sure. If I can't walk, how can I work?”

  “Hush up now! You have to get your rest. Mr. McCabe will book passage for us on the train to Lubbock, then on to Denver the minute you're able to travel. Sleep, now. I'll be back directly to see how you're feeling.”

  Lizzy nodded tiredly. Her eyes fluttered closed. Immediately she fell into a deep sleep, groaning softly with the pain.

  Rosalie left the room and closed the door behind her. Sadie saw her and came straight away.

  “Is she gonna be all right, Rosie? I swear, if I had the guts, I'd take a horsewhip to that man and show him what it feels like to be cut up and crumpled like a paper doll.”

  “She still doesn't know she's lost the use of that hand, and I don't want her to know, understand?”

  Sadie nodded. “Is she gonna be able to walk again?”

  “I don't know. A lot of the muscles were cut. It'll take a long time for them to knit together so she can put weight on that leg.”

  “The first leg he cut ain't all that strong. This one's worse, for sure.”

  “Just don't tell her how bad off she is. She's going to Denver with me. I'll be able to nurse her back to health there. I'll take care of her the rest of her life.”

  Tears shone in Sadie's eyes. “You're the dearest, sweetest sister any woman could have. I'll check on her from time to time. Don't you worry now. I'll see that she sips some broth when she wakes up.”

  “And whiskey. Give her more whiskey. It'll dull the pain and keep her asleep. She needs to sleep.”

  “I'll see to it. You get some rest now, too, hear me? We can't have both of y
ou sick.”

  “Thanks. I'll be back in a while to check on her.”

  Sadie motioned down the hall, toward the back door. “That young man has come back. He's a dandy, for sure, but riled about something. You be careful, now.”

  Rosalie couldn't imagine what had Tom so angry. She could see it in his face, red and tense, and in the way he stood, feet apart as though he were about to draw a gun.

  “Tom, what's wrong?”

  “Not here.” He turned and walked toward her house.

  She followed, chiding herself for not going with him and her father to see the horses. No telling what her father had said or done to infuriate Tom this much.

  Once in the kitchen, he whirled around and almost shouted at her. “You're going to Denver to live with Zane Strickland?”

  So that was it. Paw had told him about the card game.

  “I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be angry.”

  “You're damn right I'm angry! Did you expect me to take you to Denver and hand you over to that animal? Hell, Rosalie, you might as well ask me to...”

  His breathing, so loud in the small, close room, sounded like a wind storm.

  “To what?”

  Tom didn't stop until he stood within a foot of her. His voice dropped to a dangerously low level that burned through her like a shot of straight whiskey. His hands gripped her arms painfully.

  “You might as well ask me to watch him rape you and beat you and cut you up, just like he did Lizzy. Don't you know that's what he'll do to you?”

  “Zane Strickland cut Lizzy?” Rosalie clamped her hands over her ears. “It isn't true! It can’t be true!” She fled from the room, panicked.

  Zane Strickland. That night at the card table, he’d had blood on his sleeve. Lizzy's blood. No, it couldn't be! Knowing what he'd done, her father still used her as a bet in the game?

  Calm. She had to be calm. So she could think. Think what to do. Oh, God, what was she going to do?

  She collapsed onto a chair, trembling, sobbing, terrified of what lay ahead of her in Denver, terrified of facing a hell even worse than the one she lived in now.

  Tom pulled her up into his arms.

  Frantic, she flailed at him, beating her fists against his chest, trying to push him away, as though denying what he'd said could somehow obliterate the reality of what she faced, now that Zane Strickland owned her, body and soul.