He stalked across the room, stopping not far from the roulette table, hoping to catch Christy’s eye. Raucous laughter and mixed shouts of glee and disappointment filled the air as the wheel came to a slow stop. What a foolish waste of time and money when so many other things in life mattered more. He wondered how many of these men had wives and children sitting at home, praying they’d not spend all their wages on drinking and gambling. Were babies crying for lack of food because their fathers were too irresponsible to see to their needs?
Right at that moment Christy raised her head from her place by the bar. He’d not gotten close enough to discover why she wasn’t working the wheel. Nevada tried to erase his frown lest she think him angry with her. She’d been distant and nearly impossible to talk to since the night she stopped by his boardinghouse. He couldn’t imagine what had happened after he’d spoken to her, as things seemed fine when she’d left.
His thoughts swirled, battered by winds of hopelessness as he noted Christy’s defeated expression. She gave a slight shake of her head. Had she given up on the idea of leaving this place and taking Sara along? No, he couldn’t accept that.
He’d always known someday an end to his life must come, whether by violence at another man’s instigation, accident, or sickness. But he’d never considered losing his life to the noble cause of saving another. That time might be here now, and if so, he welcomed it. Another thought stopped him in his tracks. What of his eternal soul, if that were to happen? He’d neglected that side of his life for years, thinking himself invincible. The past few months had awakened something inside. No longer did he think himself impervious to a bullet or immune to sickness or carnage. Death was no respecter of persons, and this could easily be his last day on earth.
Christy balanced a tray of drinks on her hand and headed across the room to a far corner. Her despair had been unmistakable. He dug into his pocket and found a two-bit piece. Time to order a drink and get to the bottom of what was happening here. He half turned to go when a loud shout carried above the din.
“Fire!” A bewhiskered, rough-clad man stood inside the front door waving his arms. The room instantly grew still, and every head in the room turned his way. “It started four doors down at the Arcade Saloon and it’s movin’ this way fast. The City Bakery is already ablaze. You’d best clear out if you value your hides!” He turned and bolted back through the doors and into the street.
Shouts rang out across the room, and men raced for the door. A couple of them vaulted over the bar and grabbed bottles, tucking them under their arms.
The bartender reached under the counter and came up with a shotgun, aiming it at the first man’s chest. “Put those back where you found ’em, or the fire will be the least of your worries.”
The clink of the bottles hitting the shelf was the only reply.
Nevada elbowed his way through the bodies pushing and shoving to exit the room. He peered over the heads of the crowd, praying he’d see Christy’s auburn hair. Nothing. The roulette table had emptied, leaving only chips scattered across the surface and chairs tipped over on their sides. The table she’d been serving stood empty.
“Christy!” He raised his voice above the din and tried again, louder this time, with the same result. She’d disappeared. Had she already made her way to the door and headed home to check on her mother? Suddenly he knew the answer. She’d never leave without Sara.
The room quieted as more patrons fled, but with the silence came a new sound—the roar of flames and the creak of timbers. One of the nearby buildings must be fully engulfed. Nevada picked up his pace and raced to the stairs, suddenly thankful he knew the location of Sara’s room. The girl should have heard the shouts and surely could see the flames or smell the smoke from her second-story room. Why hadn’t she appeared at the top of the stairs?
He took the steps two at a time and met no one coming down. The area seemed to be clear of people. His thoughts went to Gordon Townsley and Frank Leslie, along with the other employees and regulars of the Oriental. Had they all abandoned the building, or were they at this moment digging through offices and safes, hoping to clean out anything valuable they might carry?
Waving tendrils of smoke drifted through the open front door below and found their way up the stairs. He peered down the stairwell, craning his neck to see through a window. Prickles of fear raced down his spine. Sparks flew through the air, and the roof of the building next door exploded in flames.
No wonder the town was ablaze. The temperatures had soared into the high nineties the entire month of June, and the buildings were tinder dry. Most were lumber. Only a handful of the businesses on Allen Street were made of adobe and safe from the flames.
He covered his mouth with his bandana to filter the smoke growing in intensity and stalked around the corner into the hall leading to Sara’s room. A woman’s cry met his ears just before Christy’s distressed face came into view.
She stood in front of a short, stocky man guarding Sara’s door. As Nevada drew closer, she turned toward him, tears cutting a path down her cheeks. “Sara’s inside.” She pulled in a shallow breath and coughed.
Nevada strode up to the man, who stood defiantly in front of the door with a chair shoved under the knob. “Move aside, man. Don’t you know the building’s about to catch fire?”
“I have my orders. Townsley told me not to let anyone in or out of this door, no matter what. I aim to do my job.”
Nevada scowled at the words, incensed at both the order and the stupidity of the man carrying it out. “Even if you burn to death?”
“Fire ain’t reached here yet, and it might not. All there is right now is smoke. The boss said stay put, so I’m stayin’.”
Nevada tugged the bandana away from his mouth. He motioned at Christy, and she stepped away to the other side of the hall. Then he turned his attention back to the guard. “Move out of the way, or I’ll do it for you.”
“Don’t think you’re man enough to do that, mister.”
Nevada didn’t take time to reply. He didn’t swing his arm back in preparation for a punch. He simply swung it up in a wicked uppercut with as much force as he could muster, connecting with the man’s belly.
The guard’s breath went out in a whoosh and he leaned over, cradling his stomach with both hands.
Nevada followed the blow with another to the man’s chin, then shoved him aside. His body crashed to the floor, and he moaned.
Christy rushed forward, grasping the back of the chair and jerking it away from the knob. “Sara? Are you in there? Are you all right?”
Loud coughing could be heard through the wood panel separating them. Nevada grabbed the knob and shook it, but it didn’t open. “Stand back, Sara.” He waited a moment and raised his leg, then kicked hard with the heel of his boot. The flimsy lock broke free, and the door crashed open, bouncing against the inner wall.
Christy flew across the threshold with Nevada following right behind. Sara raced across the short expanse of her room and launched herself into Christy’s arms.
Nevada gripped Sara above the elbow and gave her a little shake. He peered out the lone window. “The fire’s on the roof of the building next door and making its way into the walls. It’ll only be a matter of minutes before this one’s ablaze. Come on, we’ve got to get downstairs and out of here.”
The two women broke apart, and Sara looked wildly around. “I need to take some things.” She snatched at a dress lying discarded on the floor, then ran to the bureau and jerked open a drawer.
Christy followed. “Sara, there’s no time. Let’s go!”
Nevada herded the ladies out the door and to the head of the stairs, stepping over the body of the moaning guard. He hesitated, then turned to Christy. “Take Sara downstairs and get her out. I’ll be right behind you.”
Christy turned toward him, her gaze filled with uncertainty and fear. Nevada touched her hand. “Just go. I can’t leave this man, no matter what he did.” His heart lurched at the caring expression tha
t blazed across her features.
She gathered Sara close to her side. “All right. But please be careful.” Her eyes met his, then she turned, pulling Sara toward the staircase.
Nevada walked back to the fallen guard and bent over him. “Can you get up?”
Glazed eyes turned up to meet his. “What’s it to you?”
Disgust and anger filled Nevada. How easy it would be to leave this man lying here. If the fire killed him, it wouldn’t be his fault. He’d made his own decision to stay, cornering a young girl in a deadly situation. No one would blame him for leaving the fellow to find his own way out of the firetrap.
A memory swirled back, like the tendrils of smoke growing denser around him. Years ago he’d made a promise to God to rescue the perishing. Sure, he’d expected to rescue men’s souls from the fires of hell. But apparently God must have meant it literally. He pulled the bandana back over his mouth, then stooped down and grabbed the man by his shirt collar, dragging him toward the stairs. “You might want to lie here and die, but that’s not going to happen if I have anything to say about it.”
The man struggled for a moment, then began to cough. He doubled over on his side, retching and gasping. Nevada took shallow breaths as the smoke penetrated his bandana, making his lungs burn. A crackling noise jerked his attention upward. Smoke billowed from a chink in the ceiling and something overhead began to roar.
Nevada bent over and hauled the guard to his knees, then lifted him to the point where he could get his shoulder under the man. With a loud grunt, Nevada strained to push to an upright position. He staggered with his load to the top of the stairs, then leaned his free shoulder against the wall and slowly started to descend. By the time he reached the bottom, his lungs were on fire. It was all he could do not to drop the man and crawl for the door.
The dense smoke in the room made the tables in front of him barely visible. He stumbled through, gasping for air. Since the guard had quit struggling, Nevada could only assume he’d lost consciousness.
“Nevada?” A man’s voice penetrated the murky air.
“John? Over here!” Nevada pushed out the words.
Footsteps approached, and an arm flung itself around Nevada’s waist. “Here—let me take him.” Strong hands lifted the burden off Nevada’s back. “Come on, the door’s this way.”
Nevada followed through the thick haze, his lungs burning and eyes streaming tears. He stumbled against a chair lying prone on the floor and hit his knees, gasping for breath. John disappeared through the open door, but Nevada couldn’t seem to force himself up off the floor. Spots of color danced before his eyes, and the crack of breaking timbers barely registered on his hearing.
He forced himself to his knees and pressed the bandana tighter over his mouth with the back of his arm, trying to get at least one breath of air not laden with smoke. Sparks and hot embers landed on his neck and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the burning sensation.
He had to get out of here before the entire building collapsed around him.
One knee in front of the other. Only a few more yards to the door.
His body felt so heavy—barely able to move.
Keep going. Can’t stop.
The light from the open door shone in—or was that the flames from the building next door?
Almost there.
No air seemed to reach his lungs, and he struggled to remain conscious. Then blackness swirled around him as his arms gave out and his chest hit the floor.
Christy stood outside the saloon, her arm wrapped around Sara’s trembling body, drawing her close. Thank God the girl had gotten out safely. She’d been certain the building would burn down around their ears before they escaped. If Nevada hadn’t watched over Sara in her room that night not long ago, he might never have found them in time.
Shouts of men filled the street, and cries of women and children echoed them. People raced past carrying armloads of belongings, and glass crashed as windows were broken in a nearby building. Christy glanced that direction and saw items being tossed out the broken panes into the dirt. Men hurried out of businesses now threatened by the fast-moving fire. It appeared as though the entire block must be consumed, and no telling when or if it could be extinguished.
She couldn’t believe Nevada had stayed to rescue the very man who’d put Sara’s life in danger. Most people would’ve left him to burn and never thought twice about the matter. Not Nevada. Christy’s heart swelled with admiration. Her gaze sought the open door, wondering what was taking the cowboy so long to exit.
Ah, there. A man carrying another across his back. “Come, Sara. Nevada may need help.” She urged the girl forward toward the pair backlit by the fire.
They hurried across the street and Christy looked around, praying they wouldn’t run into Townsley. Though she didn’t really know the man, she knew his type. He wouldn’t hesitate to claim Sara as his property and drag her to whatever hovel he set up until the saloon was rebuilt. In a few more steps they reached the two men, one kneeling over the other lying prostrate on the dirt in the middle of the street. When the man looked up, Christy gasped.
John Draper sat back on his haunches, his body covered with soot and ash. “Miss Christy.” He nodded, but his face wore a pained expression. “Glad you made it out of there.”
She clutched his arm. “Where’s Nevada? He was carrying this man and sent us on ahead. Why isn’t he with you?”
John glanced back. “Thought he’d be out by now. I took this feller off’n him. He must still be inside.” He pushed to his feet and headed back toward the door.
Men jostled each other to get away from the front of the building. Fire leapt from the second-story windows, and the roof of the saloon collapsed as Christy stared. She jumped to her feet and raced after John, fear dogging her steps.
Please, God, don’t let Nevada die. The prayer hammered at her mind, echoing repeatedly as sparks and bits of charred wood fell to the boardwalk.
John disappeared through the open doorway, and Christy stopped on the threshold, horror freezing her feet in place. The velvet curtains, once the pride of the establishment, blazed from floor to ceiling. Flames engulfed the entire bar, and the staircase started to crumble as a timber fell from above and smashed against a step halfway down. How could someone live through this inferno?
Christy took a step back as the heat scorched her, but she continued to peer inside, terrified of what she might see. A gust of wind parted the smoke for an instant, and she focused on John leaning over a still figure. Nevada. She sucked in a big gulp of smoke and retched.
Strong hands from behind gripped her upper arms and drew her away from the doorway. “Lady! Get out of there! What you tryin’ to do, kill yourself?” A sooty-faced man in rough miner’s garb peered at her from under bushy brows.
She fought against his grip as tears streamed from her burning eyes. “My friend is still in there.”
“Well, he ain’t gonna live much longer if he don’t get out soon. Nobody’s gonna go in there, lady. It’s too dangerous.” He backed away, pulling her with him in a determined grip.
A few seconds later the bent form of John Draper lumbered through the open doorway with Nevada slung over his shoulders. Christy wrenched free from the miner’s grip and raced to help him. She clutched Nevada’s hand as John crossed the street and moved far from the blazing buildings. He gently laid the cowboy on the boardwalk of a side street. “He’ll need water, ma’am.”
“Yes, of course.” Christy straightened and gazed around, unsure where to turn. What to carry it in, if she even found the precious liquid? This town was burning due to the lack of water. All they had was carried in on wagons in barrels. No water main had been run from the mountains yet, and no streams flowed nearby. The founders had built this city because of the silver and gold mines, with no thought of the life-giving fluid.
She turned to John and beckoned down the street. “His boardinghouse is at the end of the next block and Miss Cashman will surely hav
e water. Can you carry him that far?” She knelt beside Nevada and brushed the hair off his forehead. His breathing was ragged and his cough, hoarse.
“Yes, ma’am, I surely can.” John leaned back over the prone figure, then stared at Christy. “But where’s your young lady friend?”
Christy’s heart plummeted. How could she have forgotten Sara and the danger facing her? She pushed to her feet, peering among the melee of people thronging the streets. Standing on her tiptoes, she continued to search. But no one resembling the golden-haired girl stood out in the crowd.
“She’s gone. Oh dear Lord, watch over her, please.” Christy whispered this second prayer of the evening as despair tore at her heart. A glance at John holding the motionless body of Nevada in his arms gave her renewed direction. She’d have to trust God with Sara and tend to the man who’d saved them both.
“Come. This way.” She beckoned to the blacksmith and led the way down the side street toward the Russ House. If it was within her power, she wouldn’t lose both of them in one night.
Chapter Nineteen
Nevada fought his way through the pain, his lungs burning and his limbs aching. All he could see was blackness, although he could hear a melodic voice singing somewhere in the distance. Had he died in the fire and arrived in heaven? He moaned and the singing disappeared. No. He wanted it back.
“Nevada? Please, you’ve got to fight. I don’t want to lose you.”
Had he really heard those words, or were they all part of the dreams he’d been drifting in and out of? Some were nightmares, cloaked with dark figures floating like wraiths, their burning eyes accusing as they drifted past. Others were filled with warmth as a sweet voice called him toward the light. He moaned, struggling to the surface of this newest dream, pulled ever upward into conscious thought by the whisper willing him to awaken.
Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona Page 18