by Craig, Emma
“Of course. It just happened.”
Elijah had never heard Mary Ellen sound like that. She didn’t sound any better when she continued.
“Naturally, a body couldn’t expect Elijah Perry, of all people, to keep his pecker in his pants. Not even if he’d just got shot all to hell.”
Couldn’t expect him to keep his pecker in his pants? Elijah gaped at Mary Ellen very much as he’d gaped at Joy several minutes earlier. The thought of him having seduced Joy Hardesty—of having overcome her rigid moral principles so far as to have lain with her in a carnal manner—was so absurd, he actually barked out a short, harsh laugh before he caught himself. Mary Ellen straightened and took another step backward.
“Was that her in here when I came in?” Mary Ellen gestured at where Joy had been standing.
Elijah nodded. He couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound stupid.
“That dried-up old maid?”
“She’s not a dried-up old maid, Mary Ellen.”
Mary Ellen sniffed, sounding remarkably like Joy. “Oh, of course not. I suppose she’s a lady, unlike some of us.”
“Now Mary Ellen, there’s nothing wrong with you. I didn’t expect to fall—” Elijah caught himself before he could say fall in love. Good, God, had he really almost said that? “I didn’t expect to come to care for her.” There. That was better.
Mary Ellen turned to survey the little mercantile. She frowned. “This place is a dump.”
Elijah looked, too. It wasn’t exactly like some of the places he’d been to in San Antonio, he reckoned. Or back home in Baltimore. Still, for a frontier outpost, Mac ran a tidy little store. “It’s not so bad.” Lukewarm, Elijah. You can do better than that. He cleared his throat again. “Actually, it’s pretty well-stocked, considering there’s not another town in any direction for two hundred miles or more.”
She sniffed again and wandered over to the leather goods. She ran her finger over a saddle displayed on a saw horse. Her nose wrinkled when she gazed at the clear path her finger had made in the dust, and then when she looked at the blot on her finger.
Because he didn’t want to hear any more animadversions against the place in which he hoped to settle, Elijah said, “There’s no way to keep the dust down out here. No trees. Folks are planting ‘em. There’s trees up by the Spring River. Lots of the ranchers are planting trees.”
The expression on Mary Ellen’s face reminded Elijah of Sister Mary Emanuel’s. Sister M.E. used to look like that when Elijah said things she considered silly. He sighed. “More folks are moving here every day, Mary Ellen. The town is growing all the time. It’ll be a fine place to live one of these days.”
She wiped her finger on Elijah’s handkerchief. “Next thing you’ll be telling me is you and your little lovey-dove are aiming to set up a nursery. I can’t believe it.” She shook her head, staring at him in disbelief. “I just can’t believe it.”
Kids? Elijah goggled at her. Until he’d begun contemplating a hotel, he’d never thought about having kids of his own in his entire life. Not that he didn’t like kids, but . . . Hell, this was too much to take in all at once.
He heard a small mew and turned to see that Killer—Apricot—whatever in hell the kitten’s name was—had jumped onto the counter and was eyeing Mary Ellen suspiciously. Sensing an ally, Elijah said, “H’lo, cat.” He walked over to pet him.
Killer Apricot switched his tail and uttered a louder, more menacing meow.
“I hate cats.” Mary Ellen wrinkled her nose again.
The kitten hissed at her. Elijah said, “Oh, Killer’s all right, for a cat. Ow!” He glared at the kitten, who’d just taken a swipe at his hand. Killer Apricot leaped off of the counter and scampered behind a shelf.
“He don’t like bein’ two-timed any more than I do, I reckon.”
Beleaguered, Elijah blotted a tiny spot of blood on his trousers. “Mary Ellen, I didn’t two-time you. We had no agreement between us. It was always friendly and happy and no strings attached. I never once made you any promises or guarantees, did I?”
She expelled a huge gust of air. “No, of course, you didn’t, dammit. You’d never offer anyone anything if you could get out of it or get what you wanted for free. I guess I’m just a fool, is all.” She flounced over to the counter and leaned over it. “What’s all that stuff on the floor there?”
Elijah looked too. “Uh, it’s mail. It . . . fell.”
“Oh. Well, somebody better pick it up before the cat pees on it.”
She sounded malicious. Elijah wished he could fault her for it, but he couldn’t. “Listen, Mary Ellen, I’m really sorry about this—”
“Sure you are.”
“I am, dammit. I didn’t mean for this to happen—any of it. I mean, I sure as hell didn’t intend to get shot, and I couldn’t stand Joy when I first meet her. She couldn’t stand me, either.” He grinned, remembering. His grin faded when he recalled that she probably still couldn’t stand him, thanks to Mary Ellen’s untimely arrival. Hell, he hated having his hand forced. He’d have taken care of Mary Ellen. Managed to explain her to Joy eventually. Somehow or other.
Liar.
Elijah jerked his head around, looking for the source of that voice, before he realized it was probably his blasted conscience talking to him. Once he’d allowed it a toehold, the damned thing had started working overtime.
All right, so he’d probably have avoided saying anything about, or having anything to do with, Mary Ellen if he could have avoided it. That wasn’t such a major sin, was it?
Yes, it is a major sin. You owe Mary Ellen Loveless, Elijah Perry. If you owe her nothing else, at least you owe her your friendship and some explanations. It’s not her fault you fell in love with Joy.
He winced. There was that word again. Damn. All right, so he owed Mary Ellen. He was paying up now, wasn’t he?
His conscience snorted at him. Derisively.
He saw Mary Ellen’s shoulders sag. The sporting life was hard on a woman. It had aged Mary Ellen before her time. Hell, she wasn’t anywhere near as old as he was, and she looked ancient and wrung out. He felt sorry for her. “Listen, Mary Ellen, maybe I could help you out—you know, help you set yourself up somewhere. Get a business going or something. You’ve got a good idea about the saloon. Maybe I can help somehow.”
She eyed him coldly. “Help how?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Money. I’ve got money you can have.”
“In other words, you want to pay me to go away and not sully your little lady’s eyes and ears with my vulgar self, is that right?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Or did he? Hell, he didn’t know what he meant anymore.
No, dammit, he didn’t mean it that way. “That’s not true. I care about you, Mary Ellen. We’ve been friends for years.”
“Friends!” She made the word sound like a curse.
Elijah, who hadn’t had very many friends in his life, didn’t appreciate it. He frowned. “Yes, friends. We were friends. I’d like to think we still are.”
“Ha!”
All right, so they weren’t still friends. Still. . . “Listen, I feel bad that you feel bad.” He tested that one and discovered it was true. “If it would make you feel better about all of this, I’ll help you financially. It’s about all I have to give you, is money, Mary Ellen. I can’t offer you anything more than that, except my friendship, and I can see you don’t want that. At least not now. Maybe you will, later.”
Her lips squeezed together until they were a straight, white line against what was left of her paint. “I’ll think about it.” She gripped the counter as if it were the only thing holding her up.
Relief washed through Elijah. “Good. You think about it, Mary Ellen. I . . . I’m really sorry about this.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He heaved a sigh and guessed it was foolish of him to expect her to forgive him yet. Not that he had anything to be forgiven for. Exactly. It was just that—
He heard a soft thump and turned to see that Killer had jumped onto the counter again. Mary Ellen heard it too. She looked over her shoulder—and screamed.
Killer Apricot dropped a fat, deceased mouse onto her painted fingernails, her grip on the counter eased, and she slid into a dead faint on the floor.
“Aw, hell.”
It had needed only this.
Chapter Sixteen
“Of course,” Joy said, her lips hardly moving. “I’m sure I don’t mind giving up my bed for your . . . your . . . friend there.” She glared daggers at Elijah. Her quivering finger pointed at Mary Ellen’s body draped in his arms. “I suppose you want me to nurse her, too?”
Elijah stood at her open doorway, blinking at the mess she’d made of her room. Shoot fire, was that a flatiron on the floor there? No wonder there was such a huge hole in the wall. He was surprised she could have thrown it with such force. She wasn’t very big, after all. Not near as big as Mary Ellen, whose weight was about to bust his bum arm.
“You don’t have to tend her,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “Killer dropped a dead mouse on her hand, and she fainted.”
“He did?”
“I just need somewhere to store her until she comes to.”
“Meow.”
Elijah peered down toward his boots and saw Killer weaving his tail around his calves. Damned cat looked proud of himself. He glanced up at Joy again.
She looked proud of the cat, too. “What a discerning animal you are, Apricot. Come here, boy.” She knelt and kissed her lips for the kitten, who trotted over and began to purr. Elijah felt as though he’d been deserted in a battlefield—with a battle raging around him. Joy picked up the cat and started stroking him.
“Very well, Mr. Perry. You may lay your friend on my bed. I shall leave you to tend her while I pick up the mail scattered on the floor of Mr. McMurdo’s store.”
“Joy—”
He didn’t get to say any more because she marched past him. She didn’t look at Mary Ellen. Two blazing patches burned on her cheeks. Elijah didn’t want to think about them. He glanced up and saw Mac grinning at him from the chair next to Joy’s bed.
The old man patted the counterpane invitingly. “Why don’t you set her down here, lad. There’s some water on the night stand there.” He gestured at the pitcher and glass next to the bed.
What the hell was Mac doing in Joy’s bedroom? Well, Elijah didn’t suppose it much mattered. He’d trust Mac with his life; Elijah was sure Mac wouldn’t do anything to harm Joy. Not like Elijah himself, for example, who seemed to trample women under his feet without half trying. He carried Mary Ellen to the bed and plopped her down. She sank into the soft tick mattress like a stone. Elijah imagined Joy lying there, her body making a much smaller dent than Mary Ellen’s. Unless, of course, Elijah were lying on top of her, pressing her into the mattress, their bodies joined in the timeless embrace of—
He blinked, shocked out of the trance he’d momentarily lost himself in. Lord God Almighty, where had that image sprung from?
Mac laughed again. Elijah glanced at him sharply, wondering if the old man could read his mind.
“Your face is an open book, lad.”
It was? Terrific. And a pornographic one, at that. Elijah didn’t say a thing.
“Why don’t I tend Miss Mary Ellen here, whilst you go out and try to talk to Joy. She needs ye, lad.”
“She does, does she?” Elijah stared at the inert form on the bed, and wished he believed it. His head jerked up. “How did you know her name was Mary Ellen.”
Mac didn’t answer. He only laughed again and a great swarm of sparkles filled the air. Wonderful.
# # #
Joy didn’t bother to sort the mail again. She scooped it up by the armful and dropped it on the counter. She’d go through it later, after she’d come to grips with Elijah Perry asking her to marry him a mere minute or two before that . . . that . . . that . . .
“Blast it!” she wished she’d learned some curse words when she was young; she’d delight in using them now.
“Other children rebel. Why didn’t I?”
Smack! Another stack of mail hit the counter.
“But, oh, no, not Joy Hardesty. I was too afraid to rebel. My mother would have skinned me alive if I’d rebelled—after she’d humiliated me in every way she could think of. By the time I was old enough to rebel, I didn’t have enough spunk left to sneeze in her presence, much less mount a rebellion. If the founding fathers had been like you, Joy Hardesty, the United States would still be a British colony!”
Thwack! The package Mac had received from New York made a loud thump as it hit the counter. The noise satisfied something primitive in Joy’s soul. She picked it up and slammed it down again, and only then wondered if the wrinkled brown wrapper surrounded anything breakable. Too late now. She didn’t even care. Much.
Like a bird swooping for a worm she dove for the floor again and retrieved the last of the scattered mail. She hurt her hand slapping it onto the counter.
“Ow! Damn it!”
So shocked was Joy at having uttered a swear word that she went still for a second before a sensation of utter triumph filled her. “Damn!” she cried again. Then, louder, “Damn!”
She could do it! She could swear! In fact, if she emptied her mind of everything and concentrated only on the tumult within her, Joy had a feeling she might even be able to holler. She tried it. She shut her eyes, threw her arms out and her head back, and shrieked at the top of her lungs.
What a glorious sensation. Thrilling. Fulfilling. Why had she never tried this before?
“Don’t be an idiot, Joy. You never tried it before because your mother had you cowed and bowed down before you were old enough to know what a yell was.”
Well, those days were gone for good. To seal their end, Joy shouted loud enough to wake the dead, “Go straight to hell, Mother! That’s where you belong! And you can take Elijah Perry with you!”
She ran out from behind the counter when she heard the door to the back room open. Right before she made it to the front door of Mac’s mercantile, she looked back and saw Elijah Perry standing there, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Which she might well have done. She didn’t care.
“Go to hell, Elijah Perry!” she advised him right before she opened the door. She stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry at him, another thing she’d never done before in her life. “And you can take that painted trollop with you!” Then she darted, lickety-split, out the door, and tore like a jackrabbit to the open double gates.
Joy had no idea where she was going. Maybe up to the Spring River. If no one was there, she could practice cursing and shouting. Or maybe she’d run out onto the desert and pick some wildflowers. Why not? What else did she have to do? She wasn’t beholden to anyone. She even had enough money to get herself back to Auburn if she wanted to.
For the second time in her life, she blew a raspberry, this time at the notion of returning to Auburn.
“To hell with Auburn,” she muttered, feeling proud of her new range of language. “I shall go to . . . to . . . to California!”
What a marvelous idea! From everything Joy had read about it, California was the very place for an independent female to make a living. It was a virtual haven for every sort of eccentric individual. All kinds of strange behaviors were tolerated in California, and the citizens evidently welcomed women, single or otherwise. The stupid men who lived there had no idea how to take care of themselves. Why, she could set herself up as a visiting nurse! Become a laundress! Open a bakery! Or work in a hospital! Or work with orphaned children; giving them the love that Joy herself had never received. Or do something even more innovative.
Her mind ran blank for a moment, but Joy didn’t despair. She’d finished with despair in this life. She’d think of something to do that would enable her to earn a living. Why, she might even become a female preacher! Wouldn’t that be something! Her mother would faint dead away, if she weren’t alrea
dy dead.
Since cognizance of her own personal independence had struck her after she’d dressed this morning, she was still corseted up tightly. Therefore, she was unable to run for more than a very few yards before her breath gave out, and she had to stop running or pass out. Winded, she stopped still, leaned over, braced her hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath.
“I shall never lace my corset tightly again,” she vowed to her new self. “Never.”
When she straightened after a few moments, she discovered herself in the middle of Second Street. Fortunately, traffic in Rio Hondo was never heavy. This afternoon, as the temperature hovered in the mid-eighties, most folks and animals were lounging in the shade or indoors.
Nothing ran her down, at any rate, so she glanced around and tried to decide what to do now. She figured she deserved some time off. She’d been working like a slave seven days a week for weeks now, what with Mr. McMurdo leaving her to tend Elijah Perry and his store. The rat. Mr. Perry, not Mr. McMurdo. Mac was such a kind-hearted fellow, he’d probably applaud her for taking some time off to cut loose.
Joy sniffed, her insides roiling with a bizarre combination of liberty and remorse. Well, so, she didn’t aim to go back to the wagon yard any time soon. Let Elijah and Mac handle it—and that female, whoever she was. Joy aimed to please herself.
She saw a buggy being pulled by a fine-looking gray horse trotting down the roadway. Such a conveyance wasn’t customary in this out-of-the-way place, where folks were more apt to travel on horseback or in rustic wagons. Intrigued, she decided to see who was commuting in such style. If this were a civilized town, she’d assume the buggy belonged to the local doctor, but Rio Hondo didn’t possess one of those.
“They have me instead—a trained nursing missionary,” she muttered, and sniffed again, this time with something verging on pride. She’d done a good job nursing Elijah Perry. “A damned good job, in fact.” She grinned, wondering if she’d ever tire of that word. Probably. She knew it was juvenile of her to take such pleasure in saying naughty words, but she’d never been allowed to be juvenile before and figured she was entitled.