Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona

by Miralee Ferrell

  The door of a saloon a block away slammed open, and a young man stalked out. He didn’t bother to check for passersby but barreled onto the boardwalk, pushing through anyone who got in his way. More than one man tossed an oath at his back as he headed up the street away from Nevada. Must have lost at the gaming tables. Nevada suppressed a chuckle. Hopefully the young fellow would learn early that a man and his money are easily parted in places like this one.

  Seconds later a young lady dashed out, waving her hand. He couldn’t understand the words she called over the noise in the street, but she looked fit to be tied. Poor woman. Must be hard up if she had to work in a saloon and chase down customers when they wanted to leave. Nevada made it a half block in the opposite direction when realization hit him hard. That green dress and hat…he’d seen it before—a few hours ago, to be exact. Why hadn’t he paid closer attention? He whirled around and started forward, looking up the street on both sides. Straining to see through the crowd, he tried to get a glimpse of the green dress, but both the man and woman had disappeared as though they hadn’t existed.

  He slowed his pace, disappointment slapping at him. When had he started fantasizing the girl needed rescuing and he could be the one to do so? Obviously she could take care of herself if she’d already made her way to a gambling hall. Had she come to Tombstone for that reason and gone straight to the business wanting to hire her? He shook his head in disgust. Never had he understood women who lured men to drink themselves into a stupor for a living—or worse.

  Yet, somehow, he still wished he’d gotten a glimpse of her face.

  Christy’s ire rose with each step and she clenched her fingers into fists as she hurried along behind her brother. Joshua strode ahead without looking back. When she caught up, she’d love to box his ears like she’d done when he was a little scrap. What had changed the young man she remembered into someone ready to pick a fight? Even two years ago, when she’d last seen him, he hadn’t evidenced this degree of anger. She realized men in this country must stand up for what they believed, and if a card shark was cheating, it might be appropriate to call him on it. But drawing your gun and killing the man? No. That was too much.

  They left the business district behind and entered a row of houses. Shacks, more like it. She shuddered as she looked around. Ma would never agree to live like this. At least she didn’t have to worry about Joshua stopping at one of these hovels.

  “Joshua.” Christy raised her voice, making sure he could hear her, but he didn’t slow his pace.

  And men thought women were cantankerous creatures. She grasped her skirt with one hand and lifted her hem. Time to catch that young scamp before he arrived wherever he might be headed.

  “I say, Joshua. Wait for me!” The increased pace jarred her arm and she gasped. She gritted her teeth and kept going. A few more trotting strides and she almost drew even with her brother. “Joshua, stop walking this minute.”

  He seemed to wake from an angry stupor and came to an abrupt halt, letting her plunge on past him two full steps before catching herself and stopping. “What? Can’t you see I’m heading home?”

  Panting for breath, she placed her hand over her heart to still its racing. “I had no notion where you might be headed, but I’ll admit I’d hoped it wasn’t home, considering our surroundings.” She glanced around her at the low adobe buildings and the shanties built out of scraps of lumber—some covered with only a canvas roof that a strong puff of wind could easily remove.

  Joshua rounded on her and crossed his arms on his chest. “You too good for the likes of this family now, that it? You been gone so long you forgot what it’s like to be poor?”

  Christy felt the blood drain from her face. “Poor? Like that?” She flicked her fingers toward the closest hut, where a woman stepped out of the door and onto the dirt road. From her scanty attire, barely covered by a shawl, her occupation was apparent. Was she going to work at one of the saloons, or did she bring her business home with her? The door opened again, and a grizzled, balding man emerged, snapping his suspenders and grinning.

  Christy stared in horror as Joshua sped up again, then a block later slowed in front of a fence badly in need of paint. “Do you mean to tell me you actually live in one of these…houses?” Christy’s heart lurched into her throat. She couldn’t get out of this neighborhood soon enough to suit her.

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  “Joshua.” She touched his arm, but he drew back. “What’s happened to you since I last saw you? Why are you so…angry?”

  “Ha. Angry, is it? Good question, big sister.” The last two words came out with a sneer. “You’re off livin’ the high life with your fancy ranch friends while Ma and I are strugglin’ to survive here in this hole.”

  “But I thought Logan left money for you before he headed to his mining claim. If you were careful, it should’ve lasted a long time. Ma could’ve had a nice little house in a good part of town. What happened?”

  “Nothing. Everything.” He dragged his fingers through his dark red hair, the only thing they shared in common besides their mother.

  Her pa had died when she was young, and Ma didn’t waste any time marrying again. Christy had loved her stepfather, Michael Grey—also Joshua’s pa—and taken his name. When Michael died, though, Ma took up with a no-account miner turned gambler named Logan Malone. Joshua idolized the man…even more so when he’d left them a sack full of gold before hitting the trail a year or so ago. Ma sent her a telegram at the time, asking if she wanted to come live with her and help celebrate her good fortune. Christy had gently declined.

  “What do you mean, everything?” She placed her hand on her hip. “Where’s the rest of the money?”

  “We don’t have much of it left.”

  Christy narrowed her eyes. Suspicion mounted as she pushed aside the throbbing in her arm. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she took a step closer. “What happened, little brother?”

  “Never you mind. It’s gone, and we can’t get it back.”

  “Gone?” Christy grabbed his hand and drew him toward her. “Did you gamble it all?”

  He jerked away as though her fingers were iron bands ready to clamp around his wrists. “Let’s go home. Ma’s gonna worry.”

  “Huh. Funny you’d think of that now.” She knew when to back off, but one way or another, she’d get to the truth. A thought drifted through her consciousness—something she’d heard Alexia say more than once. When all looks lost, don’t believe what your eyes tell you. Pray instead.

  Christy hadn’t put too much stock in prayer over the years. But peace appeared to be coming to an end, and prayer might be something she’d need to consider.

  Joshua stomped away and rapidly covered another half block to an area parallel and behind the main business district. He then swerved and entered a weed-strewn yard through a gate hanging by one hinge. He beckoned her forward. “Forgot to ask. Where’s your bags? Didn’t you bring nothin’ with you to wear?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t carry my trunk. The stage driver told us to pick up our belongings at the livery stable anytime today or tomorrow. Maybe we could rent a wagon and you can help me? I can’t use this arm to lift much.” She waved her bandaged limb away from her body.

  “I don’t have money for a wagon. What happened to your arm?” He walked the last short distance to the squat adobe house that didn’t look big enough to house one person, much less three.

  “The stage got held up, and a stray bullet took a chunk out of it.”

  He swung toward her, genuine concern clouding his eyes. “You need to see the doc?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes at the caring reflected in Joshua’s voice. “I already did, and I’ll be fine.” She reached out her good arm and drew him into a hug. “I’ve missed you, little brother.”

  His words were muffled, but his voice sounded softer and more like the brother she’d remembered from years ago. “You too, sis. I’m sorry for…everything.”

  The front door opened, and
a young man bolted down the path toward them, skidding to a halt before he ran into Christy. “Sorry, Miss. Didn’t see you.” He glanced at Joshua and back at her, then sidled a little closer. “You belong to this house?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Christy took a step back, unsure what the boy intended.

  He held out his hand, palm up. “I need to get paid.”

  Joshua pushed forward. “For what?”

  “I brung that woman in there a telegram. I was told by the man at the office she’d pay me. But all she did was snatch it outta my hand. I want my money.”

  Joshua shoved the young man backwards and skirted around him. “You’re not gettin’ nothin’ from me. Now get along with you, and tell your boss to pay you next time.”

  Suddenly a loud keening broke the stillness of the early afternoon, sending a shiver up Christy’s spine. It reverberated like a lost soul who’d discovered they can never return to where they belonged.

  She bolted up the path on Joshua’s heels. Ma. Christy had never heard the woman cry before, much less scream the way she carried on now. Another wail met her as she forced her way through the partly closed front door, right before the stench hit her. She wasn’t sure which made her knees the weakest—the unearthly moans coming from a back room, or the horrible smell assaulting her senses.

  Chapter Six

  Nevada made his way to the Grand Hotel. He didn’t like spending much money for a room, but he had to admit the idea of a soft bed, clean sheets, and no varmints skittering across the floor appealed to him. Besides, it was close and highly recommended. Once he got the lay of the land tomorrow and found a decent boardinghouse he’d find a different spot to live. One night wouldn’t break him.

  He’d bankrolled a sizeable amount over the years from working cattle. Other cowboys blew their pay on women and whiskey, but not him. The memory of the gold coin flipping through the air and landing in his palm made him groan. Maybe his desire to buy his own ranch had pushed him too hard to take whatever cash he could get, even when it meant riding on the ragged edge of shady.

  From now on he’d go straight. No more taking mavericks off the range and herding them over the line to Mexico for a fast dollar. Sure, most ranchers agreed an unbranded calf running wild in the breaks was fair game. But he knew in his heart he didn’t have a right to those calves.

  Nevada pushed through the doors of the two-story edifice and stopped. He’d been in a lot of cattle and mining towns, but this hotel beat all. Maybe he couldn’t afford this place for even one night. A wide staircase covered in carpet lay ahead, sporting a black walnut banister running all the way to the top. An open space to the right boasted a small sign introducing the traveler to the office, and beckoned to a sitting area for weary guests. Lavish furnishings with velvet drapes and walnut tables graced the room, and a bespectacled man sat busily writing at a desk that looked too large for his small size.

  Nevada took cautious steps up to the desk, his hat clutched in his hands. His gaze dropped to his boots, and he winced. Street dust had left a trail behind him on the luxurious carpet. A desire to rush back outside and clean his feet or, better yet, find somewhere else to stay assailed him. A quick look to the side revealed another large, elegant room, and almost convinced him the impulse to leave was sound. It was too early in the day for supper, and no patrons sat at the tables in the dining area. Three ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and walnut dining tables were covered with fancy cloths and topped with cut glass, china, and silver.

  He could stare down the barrel of a cocked gun without flinching, but the sight of china and glass unnerved him. His early days growing up flashed before his memory. Mama with all her genteel ways, insisting he use the proper fork and fold his napkin when he finished his meal. Daddy smoking his cigar in their parlor after supper and Mama sitting with her embroidery. He hadn’t cared for all the finery then, nor the airs the adults who came to visit assumed, and nothing had changed. He’d find another place to take his evening meal.

  Someone nearby cleared his throat, and Nevada jumped. He gazed at the middle-aged man who rose from behind the desk. Nevada had totally forgotten the clerk while taking in the sights of the hotel.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  Nothing about the clerk’s expression convinced Nevada he thought poorly of the cowboy standing before him. No doubt the man had been instructed to take money from anyone who could afford this opulent place. Many a dirty miner could be packing thousands of dollars in silver or gold, and most businesses in frontier towns didn’t judge men by their attire.

  “Are you waiting for the dining room to open? Or might you be looking for the saloon? Big Nose Kate’s bar is in the basement and open all hours.”

  Nevada stepped forward. “No, sir. But I’d surely enjoy one of your rooms for the night, if you happen to have one open.” He carefully enunciated his words and watched with amusement as the clerk’s eyebrows rose.

  “Glad to have your business.” The clerk picked up a pencil and moved a large, open book toward the edge of his desk. “If you’d care to sign in, I’ll give you a room on the second floor. We have sixteen in all, including one suite called the bridal chamber.” He peered out the door behind Nevada. “I don’t suppose you’re in need of that one, sir?”

  Nevada grinned in response. “Nope. I’m not hitched and have no plans to be, so one of your smaller, simpler rooms would suit me fine.” He picked up the pen and hesitated, then wrote with a flourish James N. King, II. How many years had it been since he’d used his real name? More than he cared to remember, but somehow it seemed suitable here.

  The clerk stepped from behind his desk and beckoned Nevada to follow. They walked up the wide stairs, their feet muffled by the deep carpet. At the top they entered an elegant parlor. Oil paintings lined the walls, the furniture was covered in silk, and a piano stood in grandeur in the far corner. They passed through a set of double doors and into a hallway where a myriad of rooms opened up along the way. Most were closed, but he got glimpses of empty rooms, each beautifully appointed with walnut furniture and carpet, and every one with its own window.

  Finally they came to the end of the hall. The clerk pushed open a door and stood aside. “Will this do, sir?”

  Nevada stepped over the threshold and stifled a yelp. Papered walls, carpeted floor, walnut furnishings, and a toilet stand fitted out the room, while a wide bed covered with what appeared to be stiff silk stood off to the side. “It’ll do fine, thanks.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold piece.

  The clerk shrank back. “No, sir. We don’t accept gratuities. My employer pays me quite handsomely, but thank you. Do you have any bags you’d like brought up?”

  Nevada shook his head. “I have a saddle bag and bedroll down at the livery. I’ll be buying a change of clothes before I eat supper.”

  “Very good, sir. And we can draw you a bath, if you’d like.”

  “Fine.” Nevada waited till the man left the room, closed the door behind him, then walked to the bed. He sank onto it. Springs. A real spring mattress. It had been years since he’d been surrounded by such luxury. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep on this kind of softness after the nights spent on the hard ground and narrow cots, but he sure aimed to try. He grinned. This was nice. Real nice.

  Then his smile faded, and he yanked his thoughts back from where they’d started to drift. No amount of comfort was worth returning to the life he’d led. No. He’d promised Mama years ago he’d not get into trouble. He hadn’t kept that promise in the past, but he meant to now, no matter how much his own ranch might tempt him to earn money in a way dishonorable to his family.

  Christy rushed into a room off the kitchen following the wails. Joshua had stopped at the door to the dingy bedroom and stared at their mother, who’d flung herself across the narrow bed shoved up against the wall. Christy urged him into the room with her eyes, but he drew away. She turned her back on him and walked to the bed, sinking down beside her prostrate moth
er. “Ma, it’s Christy. I got Joshua’s telegram asking me to come, and I just arrived. What’s wrong?”

  Her mother didn’t appear to take notice of her question but lay facedown, groaning and weeping. Dark red hair now peppered with gray had come loose from the knot at the back of her head. Christy could only see the side of her mother’s face, but she winced at the deeply etched lines on her cheeks and forehead. How could she have aged in such a short time?

  Suddenly the weeping changed to a deep cough. Christy stared at her ma, then over at Josh, who’d straightened from his stance against the doorframe. Fear and desperation chased across his countenance, and he backed away. “Joshua, come help me.” Christy lifted her hand and waved him forward, but he continued his slow exodus. “I said, come help me. I need to know what’s wrong.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to catch it.”

  “Catch what?”

  “Consumption. I won’t touch her.”

  Christy gasped and took a step back, then shame washed over her. Her mother’s cough racked her body, interspersed with her sobs. She lifted her hand to her mouth and the paper she’d been clutching drifted to the floor. Christy bent over and retrieved it, certain the telegram must have brought on her mother’s weeping. She smoothed out the creases and stepped closer to the tiny window set high in the wall. By its trickle of light she read:

  Logan gunned down in Albuquerque. Stop. Man named King done it. Stop. Send money for burial. Stop. Cousin Jake

  “What is it?” Joshua peered in through the open door. “What’s it say?”