by Maggie James
It was his mother’s flint knife. He knew because he had made it for her.
He yanked it from the cactus. “Nothing. Just amazed at your skills. Not many women have them.”
“Not many women were raised like I was.”
“And how was that?”
He watched as a shadow passed over her face, erasing the happy glow. Something remembered was causing her pain.
Her shrug was forced, her tone flippant. “Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Then, to change the subject from herself, she pointed up and said, “Those beautiful yellow flowers, what are they?”
He followed her gaze. “Mexican poppies. The coral-colored ones are called mallow. And see that?” It was his turn to point.
Kitty took a staggering step backward as a zigzagging bee nearly flew into her face. “What in the world…”
“A drunk bee,” Ryder explained. “They love the nectar from both the poppy and the mallow and switch back and forth, but the combination, for some strange reason, gets them drunk.”
Kitty murmured, “Like an Apache drinking too much tiswin.”
“Did you have a bad experience with it?”
“It’s what led Pale Sky to set me free. Her son—Whitebear, he was called—was away somewhere. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have happened, but the other Indians got to drinking, and one of them—Coyotay was his name—hated me because I shot him when I was captured. Pale Sky was afraid he might hurt me, so she led me out of the camp and told me which direction to go to reach the road where the stagecoaches traveled.” She spread her hands and smiled. “So here I am, thanks to her.”
They had begun to walk aimlessly, not noticing how far they had wandered from the buggy.
Ryder urged her to talk on and managed to keep a straight face as she described some of the more primitive sides of Indian life that she had not fondly embraced. But it was all interesting, and he listened keenly, hoping she would say something about her uncle, the gold mine, and, of course, the map.
But she mentioned none of that, and when the desert began to turn pink and purple in the shades of dusk, she gave a little cry and said, “Oh, my goodness. Look how late it’s got. Opal will be in hysterics thinking something’s happened to me.”
Ryder also pretended concern to have let time slip away and wasted no time getting her back to town.
He pulled to a stop in front of the Oriental, saying he would return the horse and buggy.
Again, Kitty did not wait for him to help her down. Her feet hit the boardwalk as Opal came charging out the front door to scream, “Where in the hell have you been? I just sent word to the marshal to get a posse out after you, and…” She trailed as she looked up at Ryder, then said, “Oh, Sam Bodine. She was with you?”
He tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am. She was hell-bent on going for a ride, so I obliged.”
Opal smiled, relieved. “Well, if I’d have known that, I wouldn’t have worried. Thanks for looking after her.”
He tipped his hat. “My pleasure, ma’am.”
Kitty, he noted, seemed suddenly shy as she murmured, cheeks pinkening, “I really enjoyed the afternoon.”
“We’ll do it again.”
“You come back for her show,” Opal called after him as he snapped the reins and the buggy began to roll. “This time she won’t be interrupted, and you’ll see why all the menfolk are crazy for her.”
Ryder smiled.
He already knew.Chapter Fifteen
In the following days, Ryder became a permanent fixture around the Oriental Saloon. Attending every performance of the Singing Angel, he was right there to keep Kitty company when she was not onstage.
During the day they were inseparable, going for long rides on horseback, picnicking on the riverbank, and wading in the cool waters.
Others noticed and began whispering how they were sweet on each other and maybe wedding bells would ring soon.
Opal, keeping an eye on the situation, tried to hurry things along. “He’s a good man, I can tell,” she declared to Kitty one morning as she was dressing to go out on another ride. “Sure, he’s a gunslinger, but you can change all that. Marriage will get him in a settling notion. You can get yourself a little spread somewhere, raise a family, and he’ll curl up like an old hound dog. Wait and see.”
“I’m not even thinking about that,” Kitty lied. She was buckling her holster around her waist.
“Well, you’re a fool not to. And how come you’ve got to strap on that gun? It’s not very ladylike.”
“We enjoy practicing now and then. Besides, I feel safer with a gun, even with Sam. You never know what might happen out there. If we were to run up on Indians, two guns would sure be better than one.”
She was wearing one of the simple cotton skirts she had bought for riding, and an off-the-shoulder blouse that was purposely fetching. She had new boots, too, of fine leather, and a suede flat-brimmed hat.
“I’m ready,” she said finally, pulse racing to think of Sam waiting at the livery stable. Never in all her born days had she imagined a man could affect her so. All he had to do was touch her or flash a smile, and her insides felt like she had swallowed Mexican jumping beans.
“So how long are you going to wait before you rope him in?”
There was tension in Opal’s voice, and Kitty turned to see that her expression matched. “You’ve always wanted to get me married, but you’re starting to sound almost desperate. Why?”
Opal did not say anything as she twisted the sash of her robe between nervous fingers. She still lounged most of the day, seldom dressing before time for supper and the evening’s work to begin.
“Opal, something is wrong. What is it?”
“Well, I hate to say anything, but I’ve heard some gossip that’s got me worried.”
“What kind of gossip?”
“About you and Sam.”
Kitty sighed and began pulling on her suede gloves with fringed cuffs. “I figured as much, and it makes me angry. Soiled doves can hang out the windows half-naked trying to entice customers, and nobody says a word. I go for a ride unchaperoned with a man, and everyone talks about it.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“Haven’t you noticed anything about your audience lately?”
“No,” she said with a shrug. The only person she had eyes for was Sam, and she sang for him. Oh, she tried to move around and look at others, but always her gaze flashed back to him. He had become so special, so dear. Yet, he had not even kissed her. Not even touched her, except to help her up and down off her horse, which always sent little rivulets of pleasure up her spine. He was being a perfect gentleman, but she was starting to feel like anything but a lady. And she wished he would shave his beard, so she could see what he really looked like. She had said as much to Opal once, but Opal pointed out that maybe he was using it as a disguise, because his clean-shaven face was on a “wanted” poster somewhere. That would not be out of the ordinary for a gunslinger. Sometimes they killed people with important relatives who posted rewards. So Kitty did not say anything to him about the beard, allowing that it was his business.
“You haven’t noticed anything?” Opal persisted, the sharpness of her tone puncturing Kitty’s reverie.
“No, why?” Kitty was impatient, anxious to be on her way.
“It’s getting smaller. Four nights ago, there was standing room for the first time since you started singing. Three nights ago, there were empty chairs. And there’s more every night. Morton says Mr. Earp blames it on Sam hanging around.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Not when you think about it,” Opal said delicately. “You don’t realize it, but you don’t sing for the customers, anymore. Only for Sam. So you’re no longer their sweetheart. You’re his.”
Kitty was aghast. “But my voice is the same, and that’s why they come—to hear me sing.”
Opal chuckled. “You silly goose. They never gave a damn about your
singing. They just wanted to look at you, because you’re pretty, especially in those fancy gowns. It was a lark, too, your being called the Singing Angel. But now I’m afraid the Singing Angel’s days are numbered, because Mr. Earp is not going to keep you on if you don’t bring in the customers. And when he lets you go, what are you going to do then? It’ll be hard to get another singing job when word gets out you got fired on account of the audience dwindling.”
“I…I don’t know.” Kitty floundered.
Opal rose. “Well, I’d say it’s time you made Sam Bodine start hearing them wedding bells. Otherwise, you’re going to be out on the street. I’ve got a little money put back, but I can’t help you, because I’m saving to get out of here, too. I still got dreams of California. I’m afraid you’ll be on your own if Mr. Wyatt gives you the boot.”
Though Kitty had never really liked her job, she had never thought of it ending before she was ready. But the idea of marriage was terrifying. Besides, she pointed out to Opal, Sam had never given any inclination he wanted to marry her. “For all I know he’s already got a wife and a family somewhere. We’re just friends. We ride and shoot and laugh and play and have a good time. That’s all. I’ve no reason to think he’s in love with me. And besides,” she added, “I don’t know that I love him.”
“Oh, you’d learn to. A good-looking man like him wouldn’t be hard to love at all.”
“If only it had worked out for us to find the gold,” Kitty said, more to herself than Opal. “Then neither of us would have had to worry about the future.”
“The only gold you’ll ever see is a wedding band,” Opal said with finality. “And that’s what you better set your sights on if you know what’s good for you.”
Feeling as she did about Sam, Kitty was not opposed to the idea, but the reality remained that he had never given any hint he might be interested in her beyond friendship.
And the truth she dared not admit to Opal was that she was beginning to wish he would.
Ryder could tell something was on Kitty’s mind. Usually she was perky, talkative, interested in everything around them, asking the names of flowers, plants, birds, animals, anything he could tell her. Today, however, she was strangely quiet, brooding, as though waging some kind of inner war with herself.
Well, he could understand if she was, because he was having one of his own. Nights he lay awake telling himself he had to hurry and cozy her up and do what he had set out to do, but one day blended into the next and he had not made a move. And, bad as he hated to admit it, he knew it was because deep down he did not want their time together to end. He enjoyed being with her, delighted in every moment they spent together.
Slowly, it began to dawn on him that maybe he should not be so sure of himself, because maybe he did not appeal to her. She could be trying to think of an easy way to end their friendship. Or she might even have a fiancé back East who was on his way West.
They were riding alongside the river, and when they reached a bend, shaded by an overhang of mesquite growing in the rocks above, he signaled for them to rein in their horses.
He dismounted without asking if she wanted to, but she followed, then drifted over to the river to kneel and scoop water up in her hands and drink alongside the horses.
He waited a moment, then followed to gently grasp her shoulders and pull her to her feet to ask, “Is there something on your mind we need to talk about?”
“Well, I…” She stammered, caught off guard. “No, there’s nothing.”
He kept his hold on her, afraid if he let her go she would leap back on her horse, ending the quiet moment between them. “I believe there is, and that it has something to do with another man, and you just don’t want to tell me.”
She gave a nervous little laugh. “What makes you think that?”
“A girl as pretty as you is bound to have a beau somewhere, Kitty.” His smile, meant to be warm and assuring, was thin, strained. The arrival of a fiancé would destroy his plan—unless he acted fast.
Kitty swayed ever so slightly, tremors rocking through her like a buggy on a bumpy road to have him stand so close and to feel his hands, so warm and possessive, on her bare shoulders. “No,” she managed to push the word from her constricting throat. “No, I don’t have a beau. I…I never have had,” she suddenly admitted, then, in an embarrassed rush, confided, “Oh, Sam, you don’t know how it was for me back in Virginia. I talk about it like I loved it, and certain parts of my life I did love and always will, like the horses, and the cool, green grasses and mountains, but the rest of it was miserable. People hated me and my family, and—” She faltered as the humiliating memories washed over her.
“Tell me about it,” he urged. “Sometimes it helps to talk it out.”
It seemed so natural for her to rest her head against his chest as he held her, and soon the entire story of her wretched past spilled forth.
“So I came here even though my uncle had been killed,” she finished, “because I had no place else to go…nobody to turn to.”
Though shaken by her nearness, Ryder reminded himself she had not yet confided about the map, and he could not let on he knew too much. Gently, hesitantly, he said, “It must have been the last straw to be taken by Apaches. I’m so sorry, Kitty.”
“It was terrifying at first, but not as bad as it would’ve been if they’d found out I was not only a woman but the one they were looking for.”
Ryder pretended to be dumbfounded. “I don’t understand.”
“They were looking for me—Kitty Parrish—when they attacked the stagecoach. I was going by the name Kit, to go along with pretending to be a boy. But they didn’t ask my name. Not then, anyway. They were just looking for a woman. And they would have left me behind except that I had shot one of them, and to keep him from killing me, their leader said he was going to make me his slave.”
Ryder stepped away from her, fearing she would feel how his heart was racing. “Why would they be looking for you?”
“At first I thought it was Opal’s doing, that she had arranged for me to be taken so she could have all my uncle’s gold for herself.”
“What gold?”
“I didn’t tell you that part, how Opal sent me half a map to my uncle’s gold strike.”
“Why only half?”
“That’s where the Indian attack comes in,” she explained. “After I finally reached Tombstone and met Opal and realized she hadn’t had anything to do with the Apaches looking for me, we were able to get to the bottom of things.
“You see,” she rushed on to confide, “my uncle had a partner who had a son by an Apache woman. We figured out that’s the one who took me for his slave, that Whitebear is actually Dan McCloud’s son. He had sneaked into Opal’s shanty on the edge of town a few weeks earlier to try and get my uncle’s half of the map from her. That’s when she told him she had sent it to me. We figure he went back later and found where she had hidden my telegram saying when I would arrive, and that’s how he knew what stage I’d be on.”
“But she lives over the saloon now.”
“Yes. We were afraid once Whitebear discovered I had escaped that he might also hear Kitty Parrish had arrived in Tombstone and figure out what happened and come looking for me. We’re safe at the saloon.”
Ryder gave a low whistle. “That’s an incredible story, Kitty. So what do you plan to do about finding the gold?”
“There’s nothing I can do. Without Whitebear’s half of the map, I could never find it.”
“That’s a shame. You both lose. But what if he had approached you in a different way, say to ask that you work together to locate the strike and then share it? Would you have agreed?”
“Probably,” she said without hesitation.
Ryder cursed himself. But how was he to have known she would go along with such a proposal? She claimed to have had a miserable life, but he was used to getting kicked in the teeth himself.
“Maybe,” he dared to say, “it’s not too late. What if this A
pache—Whitebear, you called him—came around again, this time in a civilized way, and asked if you’d work with him to find the gold? What then?”
She thought a few seconds, lips pursed, then said, “I don’t think I could trust him. I’d have to say no. Besides”—she gave a little shiver—“I don’t want to think of him getting close enough to me to ask.”
“I suppose not,” he murmured, mind spinning as he tried to analyze the situation.
She gave a little sigh and leaned to take up the reins of her horse. “It’s a shame. Just think—somewhere, maybe even right around here—there’s a rich gold strike that might never be found. Someone might find it sooner or later, true, but it’s comforting to think it probably won’t be the monsters who murdered my uncle and his partner. Opal said my uncle told her it was a tricky map, and without both parts put together, no one would be able to figure it out.”
Ryder’s father had told him the same thing. And since he’d not seen his half, he could only take his father’s word for it, even though he knew the area well.
“Kitty,” he said suddenly, grabbing her arm and pulling her close once more. “I’d like to see your part of it. I know this country. Maybe I could figure it out.”
“But it’d be a waste of time, I’m sure.”
“I’d still like to try it.” She would not know he had the whole map until it was all over. Then he would offer her half, which was fair.
Thinking like that eased his conscience. He had never felt really good about seducing her to get all the map and then keeping all the gold for himself. She was entitled to her uncle’s part. He hadn’t felt that way when he was angry and humiliated over her having fooled him, but a change of heart was inevitable, he supposed, being drawn to her as he was.
Kitty was staring up at him, her teeth biting into her lower lip as though she were trying to decide if she could trust him.
“You can,” he answered, reading her mind. “You can trust me, Kitty. I swear it. And I really do want to help you.”
But Kitty had learned, among other things, since coming West, to be leery of everything and everyone. “But why do you want to? I would pay you, of course, but to go to so much trouble, maybe even risk your life, for a nominal reward doesn’t seem right.”