Town of Two Women (9781101612125)

by Roberts, J. R.

  “The man who brought . . . brought the girl back to town,” Crabtree said. “I found out who he is.”

  “Well, who?” Angela asked testily.

  “Ma’am,” Crabtree said. “His name’s Clint Adams.”

  “The Gunsmith?” Locksley asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Angela demanded. “And what’s he doing with her?”

  “I’m gonna ask him tomorrow.”

  “Why tomorrow?” Locksley asked. “Why not tonight?”

  “Because he’s scared, that’s why,” Angela asked.

  “Angela, please!” Locksley said.

  She dropped her arms, said, “We’re not done talking about this!” and stormed out of the room.

  “At last,” Locksley said. “Okay, did you talk to Adams yet?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Find out anything?”

  “Not tonight,” Crabtree said. “We agreed to talk tomorrow.”

  “Okay, fine,” Locksley said. “Talk to him tomorrow, and then bring him to me.”

  “What if I succeed in getting him out of town?” Crabtree asked.

  “That’ll be fine,” Locksley said, “but if you don’t, then bring him right to me.”

  “What do I tell him?”

  “I don’t care,” Locksley said. “Just tell him I want to talk to him about the girl.”

  “All right.”

  “That’s all,” Locksley said. “We’ll talk tomorrow, too.”

  “Yes, sir,” Crabtree said. He left, feeling sorry for his boss, having to stay there with his wife.

  EIGHT

  The doctor had a small room off to one side with an equally small bed in it.

  “It doesn’t look like much,” Mathis had said, “but you’ll be comfortable.”

  Clint doubted that, but once he got into the bed, he found it remarkably comfortable. So much, in fact, that he fell right to sleep . . .

  * * *

  The next morning he could hear the doctor moving around. Hopefully, he was examining the girl again. One way or another, Clint wanted to get the matter resolved so he could leave town and get back to what he had been doing—nothing. It had been a long time since he’d had the time to do nothing.

  He got out of bed, stretched, and found that he felt well rested. He wondered what kind of bed this was. Once he was on his feet, the bed once again looked uncomfortable.

  He washed up in a basin and bowl the doctor had supplied, then stepped from the room. As he did, the doctor was coming out of the back room, drying his hands on a towel. For a man who had killed a bottle of whiskey the night before, he looked remarkably rested.

  “Good morning,” Mathis said. “Sleep well?”

  “I did, thanks. How’s the girl?”

  “She’s stirring,” the doctor said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means she’s better,” Mathis said. “I think she’ll come out of it today.”

  “What do we do then?”

  “We’ll see how alert she is,” the doctor said, “and how ambulatory.”

  “She’ll be able to talk?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m pretty sure her saddle slipped and she fell,” Clint said, “but maybe she was being chased. The cinch was cut, but if she was being chased, trying to urge the horse on, that might’ve caused it to break sooner than it might have.”

  “So if somebody cut her cinch, why chase her?” Mathis asked. “It would have broken anyway.”

  “Maybe,” Clint said, “we’re talking about two different people. We’ll know more when she can talk.”

  “Are you going to talk to the sheriff today?” Mathis asked.

  “First I’ve got to bring those plates and silverware back to the café. I promised that woman I would.”

  “Amy,” Mathis reminded him. “Well, while you’re there, you could get some breakfast and bring it back. I don’t want to leave Mary here alone.”

  “Because you’re afraid she’ll have some kind of seizure,” Clint said, “or you’re afraid someone will come in here and do her harm?”

  “Both,” the doctor said. “She’s in my care now, whether I like it or not. I want to make sure she recovers, even if it’s only so she can ride out of town again.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “What about ham and eggs?”

  “Perfect,” Mathis said. “Just tell Amy it’s for both of us, and she’ll fix you right up.”

  “Okay.”

  “And try not to get into any trouble until after you bring breakfast back,” Mathis said as Clint went out the door.

  * * *

  “Here ya go,” Amy said, bringing a tray out to Clint. “Two plates of ham and eggs, and a basket of fresh biscuits. I know the doctor loves his biscuits.”

  “I’m kind of fond of them myself,” Clint admitted. He took a deep breath. “They smell great.”

  “You better get them to doc while they’re still hot,” she said. “Bring the tray back later.”

  “I will.”

  “Maybe” she said, “you can have a meal here sometime. I can wait on you myself.”

  Amy was a handsome woman in her forties. Clint could see she’d been beautiful in her time, but even now there was something very attractive about her. Her hair was dark blond, held back with a ribbon.

  “That could happen,” he said. “Thank you, Amy.”

  He left, carrying the tray through the street. He nodded to a few women he passed, but noticed them turning their faces away. Apparently, the news had traveled that a stranger had brought Mary back to town. He wondered if he was the only stranger in town.

  He made it back to the doctor’s office without being challenged. Maybe they’d get through their breakfast before having to deal with the situation.

  “I made some coffee,” the doctor said as Clint entered.

  Clint set the tray down on the table, set the plates out for them. Mathis poured two cups of coffee and brought them to the table. The two men sat down to eat.

  “Plans for today?” the doctor asked.

  “Well, if Mary doesn’t wake up, I’ll go and talk to the sheriff. I’m perfectly willing to take her away from here, leave her off somewhere, if I’m allowed to do that without somebody trying to kill her.”

  “That may not be up to him,” Mathis said. “It’s Locksley who makes the rules around here.”

  “Well, maybe the sheriff has some small influence with him.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

  “I guess not,” Mathis said, “but you may be asking the wrong person.”

  “Who do you suggest?”

  “The person with the most influence is Locksley’s wife,” Mathis said. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Then maybe,” Clint said, “I should talk to Mrs. Locksley.”

  Mathis laughed derisively and said, “Good luck getting through to that bitch.”

  “Does she know you have such a low opinion of her?” Clint asked.

  “She knows,” Mathis said, “but I’m also her doctor.”

  NINE

  After breakfast the doctor went in to check on his patient.

  “Any change?” Clint asked when he came back out.

  “She seems to be resting easier,” Mathis said. He poured himself some more coffee. “I think she’ll wake up in a few hours—unless she takes a turn for the worse.”

  “How would that happen?” Clint asked.

  Mathis touched his head in the back, where Mary’s bump was.

  “If there’s something going on inside that I don’t know about,” he said. “Like bleeding.”

  “You can’t
tell?”

  “I can’t see inside her head, Mr. Adams. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “All right,” Clint said. “I guess I better go and see the sheriff. I’ll check back with you later.”

  Clint made for the door, then stopped.

  “You going to be all right?”

  The doctor opened a drawer and took out an old Navy Colt.

  “I should be fine.”

  “If that will even fire.”

  Mathis smiled. “It will fire.”

  “All right, then,” Clint said, and left.

  * * *

  As Clint entered the office, the sheriff looked up from his desk. He seemed calm. The surprise was gone. He’d had all night to come to terms with dealing with the Gunsmith.

  “Good morning,” Crabtree said.

  “Morning, Sheriff.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t have to come lookin’ for you.”

  “I’d like to get this over with as much as you,” Clint said. “May I sit?”

  “Please.”

  Clint sat in a wooden chair across from the lawman.

  “How’s the girl?” the sheriff asked.

  “Doc says she may be coming around,” Clint said. “She just needs a little time.”

  “I don’t now how much time she has,” Crabtree said.

  “I can’t just throw her over a horse again and take her out.”

  “You might have to.”

  “Why is it my responsibility anyway?” Clint asked.

  “You brought her back,” Crabtree said. “If you leave, I can’t guarantee her safety.”

  “Apparently, you couldn’t guarantee it last time either.”

  “There was nothing I could do,” the sheriff said.

  “Because of Mr. Locksley?”

  The sheriff sat back in his chair, took a deep breath.

  “The doctor’s been talkin’.”

  “We shared a bottle of whiskey.”

  “Ah.”

  “Should I go and talk to Mr. Locksley?” Clint asked. “The girl just needs time to heal, and then she’ll leave town again.”

  The sheriff hesitated.

  “Or is it Mrs. Locksley I should talk to?”

  “The doctor has been talkin’, hasn’t he?”

  “He told me a few things.”

  “Look,” Crabtree said, “I may be the sheriff, but I take my orders from Mr. Locksley. Everybody in town does.”

  “Except his wife.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then maybe I should talk to both of them.”

  “That might be a good idea,” Crabtree said, “but if I was you, I’d do it separately.”

  “That’s what I’ll do.” Clint stood up. “What are your orders concerning the girl?”

  “So far,” Crabtree said, “since you brought her back, I don’t have any orders. Not yet.”

  “Okay.” He started for the door. “If you go to the doctor’s office and try to remove her, you’ll have to deal with me.”

  “Like I said,” Crabtree said, “I don’t have any orders to that effect . . . yet.”

  “Do you want to take me to your boss and introduce me?” Clint asked.

  Crabtree smiled.

  “I think you better do that yourself,” he said. “His office is in City Hall.”

  “Well, that’s fitting,” Clint said. “Does the mayor take his orders from him as well?”

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Adams,” the sheriff said, “he does.”

  Clint shook his head. “I’ve seen powerful men before, but this one controls the entire town and everyone in it?”

  “I’m afraid that’s the case, Mr. Adams,” the sheriff said.

  Clint nodded, and left the office.

  TEN

  Clint walked until he came to City Hall. He knew it would be obvious, and it was. It was a three-story brick box that, he had no doubt, Eric Locksley had paid to have built.

  He entered through the double front doors, closed them behind him. In the lobby he saw a door that said: OFFICE OF THE MAYOR. By reading the other doors he correctly assumed that the town’s government body took up the entire floor.

  He went up the stairs to the second floor. There he found a door with nothing written on it. He approached, knocked, and entered. A pretty woman looked up from her desk and smiled at him.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Eric Locksley.”

  “This is his office,” she said. “I’m his secretary, Gina Hopewell. And you are?”

  “My name is Clint Adams. I’d like to see Mr. Locksley.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I don’t,” he said, “but if you tell him I’m here, I think he’ll see me.” He was sure the sheriff had told Locksley who he was, either the night before or this morning.

  “Clint Adams?” she repeated. The name apparently meant nothing to her. He was not insulted or disappointed.

  “Yes.”

  “Please wait.”

  She stood up, went through another unmarked door behind her. He waited right where he was and she returned momentarily.

  “Sir? Mr. Locksley will see you now.”

  “Thank you.”

  He passed her, noticed she was very tall and smelled very good. After he entered the office, she closed the door.

  The man standing behind a desk was wearing an expensive suit. There was a gold watch chain hanging from his vest, which, no doubt, led to a gold watch. He was tall, slender, in his fifties, although he could have passed for late forties. Some women would have called him handsome.

  “Mr. Adams,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Mr. Locksley,” Clint said, “this is not a social call. I think I’ll stand.”

  “Suit yourself.” Locksley sat down. “What the hell did you think you were doing, bringing that girl back here?”

  “I had no idea she was from here,” Clint said. “I was just taking her to the nearest town.”

  “Well, now you know, and we don’t want her here. “So get her out of here today.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s unconscious.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Moving her might kill her.”

  “I don’t care about that either.”

  “Mr. Locksley,” Clint said, “everyone in this town may be accustomed to doing what you tell them to do. You won’t find that’s the case with me. The girl stays until she wakes up. Then it’s up to the doctor when she can leave.”

  “The doctor should know better,” Locksley said. “I can have someone explain it to him.”

  “If you send someone after the doctor, they’ll have to deal with me,” Clint said. “If you send someone after the girl, they’ll have to deal with me.” Clint approached the desk and leaned on it. Locksley drew back instinctively. “You will have to deal with me. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I know your reputation, Adams,” Locksley said, “but you’re still only one gun.”

  “One gun,” Clint said, “pointing right at you. Remember that.”

  Locksley had nothing to say to that, so Clint turned and left.

  ELEVEN

  Clint stopped at Gina Hopewell’s desk on the way out.

  “That didn’t go well,” he said.

  She smiled.

  “Not many of Mr. Locksley’s meetings do,” she told him.

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s not an easy man to get along with.” She said this kind of reluctantly.

  “Or like?”

  “Well,” she said, “I shouldn’t say this, but
. . .” She looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was listening. “Nobody really likes him.”

  “Not even his wife?” Clint asked.

  She lowered her voice and said, “Nobody really likes her either.”

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Do I like them?”

  “Do people like you?”

  “Well, I hope so.”

  “And your boyfriend?”

  She looked away shyly and said, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Well,” he said, “then maybe you’ll let me buy you some supper while I’m here. You can tell me who else in town is likable, and who isn’t.”

  “I—well . . . I don’t see why not.”

  “Good,” Clint said. “What time do you finish up here?”

  “Five o’clock.”

  “Why don’t I come by then and pick you up?” he suggested. “The choice of where we go is up to you.”

  “O-Okay.”

  “You’re not afraid of getting in trouble, are you?”

  “Um, no . . .”

  “And you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll see you later, Gina.”

  “A-All right, Mr. Adams.”

  “And when I come back,” he added, “you can call me Clint.”

  “I will, Clint.”

  He smiled and left the office, not even knowing if he would still be in town at five o’clock.

  * * *

  “I was kinda worried,” the doctor said when he came back.

  “About me?”

  Doc Mathis looked annoyed. If he was worried about Clint, he didn’t want him to know it.

  “I thought maybe you had to kill somebody,” Mathis said.

  “No, Doc,” Clint said, “I didn’t have to kill anybody.”

  “Did you see the sheriff?”

  “He’s not much help,” Clint said, “but I saw Locksley.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “He’s not much help either.”

  “Did he talk to you?”

  “Well,” Clint said, “he threatened me, I threatened him. Is that talking?”

  “I guess.”

  “I did talk to his secretary, though.”