Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona

by Miralee Ferrell

  “Nevada. Can you open your eyes?” Soft fingers stroked his cheek, and then a cool cloth touched his forehead.

  His spirit was drawn to that voice like a moth to a flame. A gentle hand gripped his and held it. Warmth passed from his arm and shot straight to his heart. His eyelids fluttered, and harsh morning light from an uncovered window woke him to the reality of the place where he lay. Not heaven, but his room at Nellie’s. His tired heart gave a small bound at the vision sitting beside his bed.

  “Christy?” The word came out as a hoarse whisper. He licked his dry, heat-chapped lips. “Water.”

  The auburn-haired angel reached for a glass on a nearby chest of drawers and slipped her hand under his head. She positioned the glass, waited for him to take a sip, then eased him back on the pillow.

  “I’m so thankful you’re finally awake. You gave us all quite a scare.”

  “What…?”

  “John got you out before the saloon collapsed. The doctor will be back in a moment to check on you. He’s been busy all night since the fire.”

  He passed his tongue back over his lips again. How his throat burned even after the water. “How many dead?” The words came out with a croak.

  “Only one we’ve heard of so far.” Footsteps clumped outside the room, and John crossed the threshold of the open door. Christy motioned to the big man. “Nevada’s awake. He’s worried about how many died in the fire. Have you heard?”

  The blacksmith stepped forward to the edge of Nevada’s bed. “Just one man, and I’d say it’s a miracle for sure.” He laid his hand on Nevada’s head. “How you feelin’, son?”

  Nevada raised the back of his hand and covered his mouth only a second before a terrible cough shook his body. After several long moments he drew in a shallow breath. “Hurts like fire.”

  “Not surprised. You was in that buildin’ long enough to burn your lungs to a crisp. If God hadn’t shown me where you was in that smoke, you wouldn’t be alive.” John scowled. “Who was the feller you dragged down those stairs? A particular friend of yours? He got up off the ground and staggered away without so much as a thank-you-kindly.”

  Nevada moved his head against his pillow in a weak negative. “No friend. Guard at the Oriental.”

  A shadow crossed Christy’s features, and her eyes darkened in pain. Nevada reached for her hand and gripped it. “Sara?”

  Christy squeezed his fingers. “She disappeared last night when I ran to the doorway to help John get you out of the building.”

  “Townsley’s men?” Nevada’s voice showed he felt the strain, and he closed his eyes.

  “We don’t know.” Christy whispered the words, but they shimmered with fear and uncertainty. “You need to rest now and quit talking.”

  Nevada pushed himself up with his elbow. “I’m not…lying around…any longer.”

  Christy pressed him back against his pillow. “You’re in no shape to get up yet. Doctor Goodfellow says you need to rest for at least another day or two.” She held up her hand. “It won’t help to argue. John, Nellie, and I will see you stay put if we have to tie you to the bedrails.”

  “No need.” A faint smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “Don’t think I’d get far. But…I’m worried about Sara. No word…around town?”

  John narrowed his eyes. “There’s someone I might ask. A fellow I met the other day is keepin’ his ear to the ground. I’ll do some checkin’ and see what I can round up.” He patted Nevada’s back a bit awkwardly and grinned. “And mind your pretty nurse so she don’t have to tie you down.”

  Christy slipped out of the room when the doctor arrived, knowing Nevada was in good hands. Worry over Sara gnawed at her mind, and the pressing needs of her mother and brother increased her agitation.

  Nellie hurried to meet her as Christy closed the door behind her. “How’s the lad doing?”

  “He’s awake, talking and trying to get out of bed.”

  “Praise be!” Nellie raised her hands in the air and beamed. “I’m thankin’ heaven he’s all right. From what I understand the whole building collapsed not long after John pulled him out.”

  “Yes.” A shiver passed over Christy’s skin. “I hope we never have to experience anything like that again.”

  “What are ya goin’ to do now, dear?” Nellie walked with Christy toward the entrance.

  “Go home and check on Ma and Joshua, and start packing the things worth taking out of that hovel.”

  “Yer movin’? Where to?” Nellie planted her hands on slender hips.

  Christy shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. Ma lost the house.” Warmth rose to her cheeks at her own blunt words.

  “Well then, I’ll tell ya.” Nellie grasped Christy’s hand and squeezed. “You’ll move ’em both right here. You and yer ma can share a room. You said yer brother is an invalid. We can keep an eye on both of ’em at the same time that way.” Her bright eyes met Christy’s.

  Christy wagged her head. “There’s no way I can allow you to do that. It’s very generous of you, but we can’t afford to pay for two rooms, even if we share.”

  “Remember, missy, I need more help around here. You can work off yer room, and there’ll be no charge for yer brother as long as he’s ill. When Joshua is better, he can do odd jobs still cryin’ to be done. I keep a room open for people in need, and it’s not bein’ used at the moment. Sure now, that’ll be just the thing.”

  Christy’s throat closed on a lump, and she swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered and pulled Nellie into a hug.

  “There, there, don’t go on about it.” Nellie patted her back and stepped away. “Go fetch yer family as soon as ya can. I’ll send someone over with a wagon later to pick up their things. No need to bring them now.” She pushed a lock of hair from her face. “How far away do ya live? Should I send a wagon for yer mother? I seem to remember ya sayin’ she’s not doin’ well.”

  “We’re only a block down Toughnut Street. The fresh air and short walk’ll do her good. Can you keep an eye on Nevada while I’m gone?” Christy shot a look down the hall toward the room where the doctor still lingered.

  “Of course. Now shoo away with ya and quit yer worrying. God is big enough to take care of all yer troubles, don’t ya know.”

  Christy smiled. “I’m starting to figure that out, but yes, He is. If only we can find Sara, things will be put right.” She hurried out the door, her heart lighter than it had been in days. They had a place to live, Nevada would get better, and with God’s help, Sara would be safe.

  Once home, Ma’s excited voice came through the open window, but Christy couldn’t make out the words. She walked through the front room and into the kitchen.

  A whiskered man with a scar on his cheek sat slouched in a chair at the table. He swiveled toward her, and his gaze traveled from the top of her head to the hem of her skirt. “Now who’d this be, Ivy?”

  Ivy Malone beamed at her daughter and held out her hand, drawing Christy to her side. “This is my middle child, Christy. She come all the way from California to stay with me while I been sick. Ain’t she a pretty girl?”

  “Yes, ma’am, she’s right purty.” The big man smacked his lips like he planned on sitting down for a full meal.

  Christy crossed her arms over her middle and stared. She’d heard that voice somewhere in the past but couldn’t quite place it. A saloon she’d worked in, maybe? But his face stirred nothing in her memory.

  Ma tugged at Christy’s arm and frowned. “Cat got your tongue, Daughter? Can’t you speak to your pa’s cousin Jake? He’s family. We want to treat him decent.”

  Christy moved away from her mother. “Logan wasn’t my pa, or Joshua’s. Did you send the telegram about Logan’s death?” Something about this man didn’t sit right.

  “Yes, ma’am, that would be me.” He leaned back in his chair and bared his teeth, then used his grubby finger to remove a wad of tobacco from his cheek. “Where’s your spittoon?”

  “We don’t have one.” Christy jer
ked her head at the back door. “Step outside if you need to spit. I just scrubbed the floors.”

  He rose slowly from his seat and stepped to the door, pulling it open and letting a stream of tobacco shoot from his lips.

  Christy turned to her mother and lowered her voice. “What’s he doing here?”

  Jake turned back around and grinned. “Why, Cousin, I’ve come to find the man who shot Logan and kill him. I don’t aim to leave town until I do.”

  Sara awoke, shivering in the heat of a tent. She lay on a hard, narrow cot, a foul odor assaulting her senses. Turning bleary eyes to the side, she noticed a chamber pot too close to the bed, and unwashed clothing draped across a nearby wooden chair. Her stomach recoiled, and she willed the little she’d eaten to stay down.

  Or had she eaten at all? What day was this, and why was she here? She pushed up on one elbow and groaned. Her head felt stuffed with wool.

  Somehow she managed to sit but gripped the hard rail of the cot beneath her. The last thing she remembered was…

  She shook her head, trying to clear it, willing a memory of some kind to return. Fire. There’d been a fire. Her room? No. Something much worse.

  Suddenly it all came rushing back. Gordon locking her in her room and posting a guard. The long night filled with tears. The day spent begging God to save her baby and to rescue her from the hellhole they called a saloon. Nevada and Christy coming as an answer to that prayer. The joy and relief of escaping the burning building.

  Then what? She’d gotten out, felt the hot wind of the summer’s evening, and breathed in the smoke-tainted air across the street from the Oriental.

  Nevada. Now she remembered. John had gone back in after Nevada, and Christy had run to his aid. Sara had stayed where she was, unsteady on her feet and knowing they’d come.

  She’d started to drop onto the edge of the boardwalk to rest when a hand clamped over her mouth. A cruel voice she didn’t recognize whispered in her ear to stay quiet. Fear dug its knife into her mind. A hard wrench of her head and the man’s hand slipped away. She’d tried to cry out when a damp, sweet-smelling cloth was pressed over her mouth. The last thing she remembered her legs collapsed and she sank into a dark pit.

  No. There was something else. Men’s voices outside the tent in the early hours of the morning. Morning? So she’d been here all night. Voices arguing over something she couldn’t quite catch, then a louder one—Gordon Townsley—cursing his fellows and demanding one of them stand guard. How long had it been? An hour. Maybe two. She’d dozed and awakened again.

  Sara turned toward the closed tent flap. A shadow fell across the canvas. She fell back onto the cot and closed her eyes just as the makeshift door rustled.

  A man’s voice she didn’t recognize grunted. “She’s still sleepin’.”

  “Sure is a purty one. Wish the boss would let us have a few minutes with her.”

  “He’d kill you for even sayin’ that, so you’d best shut yer trap.”

  A low growl was the only response and the tent flap came down with a thump. “I’m gonna get a drink. It’s hot out here, and I’m sick of standin’ guard over a woman who ain’t wakin’ up anyway.”

  “Think it’s safe to leave?”

  The disgruntled second man replied, “Don’t know why not. One of the saloons what burned is servin’ beer from a keg down the block a mite. We can walk down, grab a mug, and come right back.”

  “All right. I guess Townsley won’t be back for another hour anyway. Can’t hurt to wet our whistles just this once.”

  Sara opened her eyes and stared at the two dim figures outside the tent. Their shadows grew indistinct, and their voices disappeared in the distance. When she swung her feet to the ground again and stood, a wave of dizziness nearly knocked her back to the bed. She bent over at the waist and gulped in deep draughts of air. A few moments later she straightened, new resolve stiffening her spine. From what they’d said she might only have minutes to get out of this horrible prison.

  She slipped to the tent flap and peered outside. No sign of the guards. In fact, the street was surprisingly empty. It only took a moment to push her way through and another to get her bearings. She was on the backside of Toughnut Street, not far from the Good Enough Mine. Where had Christy said Nevada was living? A boardinghouse. The Russ House, that was it. She headed away from the tent as fast as her wobbly legs would manage. If only she could get out of sight before those men returned.

  Chapter Twenty

  Christy collapsed on the edge of the bed at the Russ House, feeling like a lantern whose oil had run low. Somehow she’d managed to get rid of the odious Jake and convince her mother they had no choice but to move. John Draper had helped get Joshua to his new room, and Ma slept in the bed adjoining her own. All she wanted now was to find Sara and get a sound night’s sleep. Somehow she doubted either would happen.

  It wasn’t often her spirits sank so low that she teetered on the edge of defeat. Somehow she must rise above the hovering dark cloud and find her way back to the sunshine. God, please take care of Sara and Nevada. Gratitude washed over her at God’s wonderful provision over the past few days. Somehow she knew she could trust Him with her future, even when she couldn’t see it clearly yet.

  She closed her eyes, trying to envision what a happy future might look like. Nevada’s image sprang to her mind, and her eyes flew open in surprise. From the little information Jake had shared she believed Nevada had indeed shot Logan Malone. After all, hadn’t his telegram said a man named King did it? How could her heart be drawn to a killer—especially one who’d murdered her stepfather?

  She wanted to end this once and for all. Nevada had been resting for the three hours it had taken to move her family so might be awake and able to talk now. The need for answers pressed her forward as she tiptoed down the hall toward his room. The door wasn’t latched so she knocked softly, unsure whether he might have carried through on his threat to get out of bed.

  “Yes. It’s open.” His voice seemed stronger than when she’d visited him earlier.

  “Is it all right if I come in?” Christy waited outside the door, sudden apprehension gripping her stomach. What would she do—walk in and demand to know if he killed Logan Malone? Maybe she was stupid to have come. She backed away from the door, turned and picked up the hem of her skirt. Let him think what he may, she didn’t care to approach him after all.

  The door opened behind her and Nevada’s voice sounded close to her ear. “Christy? Did you want to see me?”

  She jumped and whirled, her hand over her heart. Glaring at him, she noted he was fully dressed except for his boots. Her gaze traveled to his belt, and she gave a slight start. The man put on his gun before his boots? Well, maybe it wasn’t foolish, if Jake were any indication of the enemies he’d made over the years.

  “Why are you out of bed?” she demanded.

  “Because I can’t lie there and pretend I’m not needed.” He leaned one hand against the doorjamb, his handsome face marred with concern.

  She met his eyes fully for the first time since before the accident. Something in their depths gave her pause.

  The moment moved into long seconds. A spark burned in his gaze, and he took a step toward her, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek. He tilted up her chin with one finger. “You’re beautiful, Christy Grey.” He breathed the words so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard them, and then he bent his head toward her lips.

  The moment lingered as he drew closer, his breath soft on her cheek. She closed her eyes, a hungry anticipation sending her pulse into a rapid gallop….

  A minute later, running footsteps thudded in the hallway behind her, and Christy jerked back from Nevada’s touch, her heart pounding the blood into her ears. She whirled to see John Draper sliding to a halt.

  “She’s here!”

  “Who?” Nevada and Christy echoed the word in the same breath.

  “Sara. She just walked in the front door.”

  Nevada spun toward John,
relief mixed with frustration hammering at his mind. If only his friend would have delayed his arrival another few minutes he’d—what would he have done? Kissed Christy and gotten slapped for his pains? He was a fool to think she’d welcome his advances. He didn’t even know if she’d heard his whispered words and had shocked himself when he’d said them. Something too big to resist had come over him as he’d gazed into those mesmerizing green eyes. He’d felt bewitched and unable to stop himself from kissing her. Maybe it was a good thing John interrupted after all.

  The words John had spoken leapt to life. Sara was here. Nevada bolted down the hall after John and Christy, his lungs burning and limbs shaking with the exertion. The memory of his sister, Carrie, swam before his vision. It didn’t matter if he fell flat on his face in the lobby; he wanted to see for himself that Sara was safe.

  He rounded the corner in time to hear a happy cry erupt from Christy. She dashed forward and wrapped Sara in a hug as both women burst into tears. Strange this was the first time he’d seen that kind of emotion from Christy, but he felt moisture touch the corners of his eyes too. The girl appeared unharmed, but he’d know more once she removed herself from Christy’s embrace.

  John stood back, his face wreathed in a smile, while Nellie hurried forward, her coos of delight filling the air. “This must be little Sara, who we’ve been prayin’ for all night.” She reached out to stroke the girl’s disheveled blond curls.

  Sara loosened her hold on Christy and stepped back, swiping at the tears still coating her cheeks. “You’ve been prayin’ for me?”

  Nevada experienced a jolt of surprise at the realization that he too had spent much of the time between wakefulness and sleep petitioning heaven on her behalf. And here Sara stood, safe and alive, when he’d doubted God would hear. Sorrow at how far he’d fallen warred with a tremendous surge of joy that, in spite of his lack of faith, God had seen fit to answer. Something akin to trust stirred deep in his spirit, and his soul sent out the first tentative shoots towards his heavenly Father in years.