At the time, Jassy hadn't understood exactly what was going on. But later, bit by bit, she had learned the whole story from Rose, who had told her how Gregor McCloud had met their mother, Daisy Shaunessy, in a saloon down in West Texas, how he had fallen in love with Daisy and asked her to marry him.
But it wasn't in Daisy's nature to stay true to one man. And finally Jassy's father couldn't put up with it anymore. So he had left, just like that, and Jassy had never seen him again.
Creed took a last draw on his cigarette, wishing he hadn't asked Jassy about her folks. It was obvious she'd had a rotten childhood; judging from what he'd seen so far, her life hadn't gotten much better since.
"Come on." He tossed a couple of greenbacks on the table. "Let's get out of here."
"Where are we going?"
"To Gratton's."
Jassy grinned, pleased that he wanted her to go with him. She loved to browse through the store, to look at the bolts of calico and gingham, to wander down the aisles. She didn't go there too often because old man Gratton always followed her around, as if he expected her to steal something. But she loved the store. Mr. Gratton stocked a little bit of everythingpots and pans, straw hats, coffee, wheels of tangy cheese, barrels filled with crackers and pickles and sauerkraut.
"You're limping," Jassy remarked, wondering why she hadn't noticed it before.
"Yeah."
"What happened?" She hurried to catch up with him as they crossed the street.
"I got shot."
"Shot! How? When?"
"Couple weeks back." It was the reason he'd come to Harrison, to lick his wounds while he decided on his next move.
"Does it hurt very much?"
"Not anymore."
"How did it happen?"
Creed let out a weary sigh, wondering if all girls were as curious as this one. I was trying to take a man to jail. He had other ideas."
"It's true, then? You're a bounty hunter?"
"Sometimes."
"And other times?"
"I do whatever I'm hired to do. You gonna ask me questions all day?"
"Just one more," Jassy said as they climbed the steps to Gratton's. "What are you going to buy?"
"A dress."
"A dress!"
She stared up at him, a cold knot forming in her stomach. She should have known. He had a girlfriend. Or a wife. Maybe both.
Creed shook his head, amused by the jealousy he saw lurking in the depths of her eyes.
"It's for you, girl. I'm sick of looking at those baggy things you wear."
"A dress," Jassy murmured. "For me?"
The mere idea rendered her speechless, and she trailed along beside him, wondering if he really meant it. A dress. One that fit. Oh, but her mother would never let her wear it. Daisy insisted that Jassy wear clothes that hid her burgeoning figure, telling her she wasn't to "flaunt" herself until she was old enough to get paid for it.
Jassy followed Creed into the store, trying to think of a polite way to tell him she couldn't possibly accept such a gift, but the words died in her throat the moment he picked a frock off the ready-to-wear rack inside the door. It was just a simple day dress, made of dark green gingham. Modest in cut, it had a round neck with a prim white lace collar, puffy sleeves edged in the same delicate lace, and a full, ankle-length skirt. A wide, fight-green sash tied in a big bow in the back.
It was the prettiest thing she had ever seen.
Creed held it up to Jassy, his eyes narrowed. He didn't know the first thing about buying female duds, but anything had to look better on the kid than what she was wearing, and the green looked pretty with her hair.
"You like it?" he asked, though he could see she did.
"Oh, yes."
He grunted. "Go pick out a pair of boots to go with it. I'll meet you at the counter."
"Mr. Maddigan, I . . ."
"Creed," he said. "Just call me Creed. Go on now, before I change my mind."
Hugging the dress to her, Jassy hurried down the aisle to the back of the store where Mr. Gratton kept the shoes. A new frock and new shoes! It was better than Christmas.
Daisy McCloud glared at her youngest daughter. "And just what did you give him in return for those things, Jasmine Alexandria?"
"Nothing, Mama."
"Nothing! No man spends that kind of money on a girl unless he expects to get something in return."
"I didn't give him anything, Mama, I swear it."
"We'll just see. I think I'll have the doc take a look at you to make sure."
Jassy took a step back, the dress crushed against her breasts. "What do you mean?"
"I mean there are ways to tell if a girl's been foolin' around."
"I haven't! Please believe me, Mama. I haven't done anything wrong."
Daisy stared at Jassy for a long moment, then let out a sigh. Jassy had always been young for her age. She was going on seventeen, and she was still as innocent as the day she was born, though how she'd managed to stay that way in a town like this was a miracle. Of course, dressing the girl in drab, shapeless clothes helped some. So did the fact that Jassy wasn't as blatantly pretty or buxom as Rosie. Nor did Jassy seem to crave the kind of male attention that had cost Daisy a husband.
"You didn't tell me his name," Daisy said.
Jassy licked her lips nervously, wishing she was a better liar. "It was Billy, Mama."
''Billy Padden? The preacher's kid? You can do better than that, Jasmine."
Jassy let out a sigh of resignation. There was no point in lying. All Daisy had to do was ask Mr. Gratton who had bought her the dress. She should have just told the truth in the first place.
Daisy tapped her foot impatiently. "I'm waiting, Jasmine."
"It was Maddigan."
Daisy stared at her daughter. "Creed Maddigan? The gunfighter?"
Jassy nodded.
"Saints preserve us," Daisy murmured. And then she slapped Jassy across the face. "That's for lyin', and this is for "
Jassy took a hasty step back as her mother raised her hand again. In an effort to avoid being slapped, she tripped over the wood box and fell backward, hitting her head against the edge of the hearth.
"Creed Maddigan," Daisy exclaimed, her voice filled with disgust. "Girl, you haven't got the sense God gave a goose. You stay away from that half-breed, you hear? Men like that are nothing but trouble."
Creed frowned at Jassy. "What happened to your face?"
"Nothing. I fell down."
Jassy looked away, ashamed to meet his eyes. Usually, she tagged after him, hoping he would notice her, but today, of all days, he had come looking for her.
"Why aren't you wearing your new dress?"
"I didn't want to get it dirty."
Creed cupped Jassy's chin in his hand and forced her to meet his gaze.
"Tell me the truth, Jassy."
"Mama took it back. The boots, too." She tried without success to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "She told me to stay away from you, that . . . that men like you are nothing but trouble."
Creed grimaced. He couldn't argue with that, much as he'd like to.
"Did she hit you?"
"No. She slapped me for lyin', and I fell and hit my head."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Does she hit you very often?"
"No."
"What'd you lie about?"
Jassy's gaze skittered away from his. "Nothing."
"Did it have to do with me?"
Jassy nodded, though she refused to look at him. "I told her Billy Padden bought me the dress."
Swearing under his breath, Creed carefully probed the ugly black-and-blue bruise near the comer of Jassy's left eye. She didn't have to tell him why she had lied to her mother. He knew why. Even a whore would consider herself a step above a half-breed who earned his living as a hired gun. It was no wonder Jassy had been reluctant to tell her mother where the dress came from.
He stroked her cheek lightly, marveling at the silkiness of her skin beneath his
calloused hand. "Does it hurt much?"
Jassy shook her head. It didn't hurt at all, not when he touched her like that, his big hand achingly gentle. His dark eyes caressed her face and she wished suddenly that she were pretty, like Rosie, or high-spirited and vivacious, like her mother.
"Go on home, Jassy," Creed said. "Put a cold cloth on that bruise."
"Where are you going?"
"I've got some business to take care of," he replied, his voice harsh.
She watched him walk down the street, glad that his business didn't concern her.
Daisy McCloud frowned as she saw the tall gunfighter enter the saloon. He was a frequent customer, but she had always avoided him. She liked men who knew how to have a good time, men who laughed and joked and made her feel like she was still young and pretty. She had never seen Creed Maddigan so much as crack a smile. And his eyes . . . There was something about those fathomless black eyes that frightened her on some primal, instinctive level.
She felt a shiver of apprehension as he crossed the room toward her.
"You Jassy McCloud's mother?"
Daisy's first thought was to deny it. But she knew, somewhere deep inside, that lying to this man would be a big mistake. She lifted her chin defiantly, not wanting him to know she was afraid of him.
"What's it to you?"
"Don't hit her again."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Jassy. Don't hit her again."
"Who the devil do you think you are?" Daisy exclaimed, her anger making her reckless. "She's my daughter and no concern of yours."
"I'm making her my concern. You lay a hand on her again, and you'll live to regret it."
"Are you threatening me?"
"No ma'am," he replied quietly. "You can take my word to the bank."
The retort that sprang to Daisy's lips shriveled and died, unsaid. She took an involuntary step backward, repelled by the menace in his soft-spoken words, and by the warning she read in his eyes. This was what death looked like, she thought.
He took a step forward, his size intimidating her. "Do we understand each other?"
"Y-yes."
"Good. I want Jassy to have that green dress. And those boots."
Daisy nodded. She'd already spent the money she'd gotten for the dress and the boots on a bottle of Paris perfume, but he didn't have to know that.
She'd make sure he didn't know that.
Chapter Three
Creed stretched the kinks out of his legs as he studied his cards. Four queens and a trey. Lady Luck had been sitting on his shoulder all night, he mused as he tossed five silver dollars into the pot, and she didn't seem to be in any itching hurry to leave.
He was raking in his winnings when there was a sudden commotion at a nearby table. Instinctively, his hand dropped to his Colt as he glanced over his shoulder, but it was just a brawl between a couple of soiled doves. All he could see was a swirl of red satin skirts and thrashing arms and legs as the two women tumbled to the floor.
With a shake of his head, he turned his attention back to the game, only to spring to his feet when a single gunshot echoed and reechoed off the walls.
A sudden hush fell over the saloon as the crowd stared at the still female form on the floor. Then it seemed as if everybody was talking at once, taking sides over who was to blame for the altercation.
"It was Mae who started it," one of the house dealers said, nodding with an air of absolute certainty. I saw the whole thing."
"I didn't start it!" the woman called Mae shrieked. "She did. I warned her not to try to cut in on my customers."
Without warning, Mae began to cry. "It was an accident, Coulter, honest. I didn't mean to hurt her." She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her skirt. "You've got to believe me, Ray. It wouldn't have happened if she hadn't pulled that gun."
Creed slid a glance at the dealer, wondering if he was related to the kid who'd been giving Jassy a hard time. Ray Coulter wore the look of a man who was accustomed to trouble. A narrow scar marred what some might have called a handsome face. He wore his dark brown hair cut short; his eyes were a pale green, as cold as gunmetal.
A couple of the doves started crying when the body of the dead woman was carried outside.
A few minutes later, the sheriff arrived and began asking questions. At that point, Creed scooped up his winnings and left the saloon. He didn't much care who'd been shot, and the less he had to do with the law, or lawmen, the better.
News of the shooting in the Lazy Ace was all over town the following day. The good ladies of Harrison gathered together, telling anyone who would listen that the latest episode at the Lazy Ace only proved what they'd been saying all alongit was time to burn down those awful shacks and send the soiled doves packing. Let them go to Dodge or Kansas City or some other hell-town.
Sitting in his favorite rocker on the porch of the general store later that afternoon, Creed heard bits and pieces of what had happened from people passing by. He hadn't stayed around long enough to find out the name of the dead woman, but the general consensus was that the shooting had been an accident.
The incident at the Lazy Ace was the farthest thing from his mind as he re-read the letter in his hand. It was an offer of a job over in Black Hawk. A miner by the name of Reid Burton was having trouble with his claim and wanted Creed to "come over and put things straight." An easy job, Burton wrote, but he was willing to pay three grand for Creed's services.
Creed grimaced as he shoved the letter into his shirt pocket. If the job was easy, Burton would do it himself.
Still, three grand was nothing to sneeze at.
Between bounty hunting and hiring out his gun, he managed to earn a fair living that allowed him to keep his own council and work his own hours.
Creed had sent the miner a reply that morning, saying he'd be there as soon as his leg healed up. He had meant to leave town weeks ago, but then Jassy had come into his life and he had found himself making excuses to stay another day, and then another. But he couldn't put it off any longer. He'd leave tomorrow for sure.
The sun was setting and he was thinking about heading down to Jackson's for dinner when he heard a muffled sob from the direction of the shacks along the alley, followed by some noisy sniffling. And then, as if a dam had burst, he heard the sound of crying. Not the kind associated with minor discomfort, but gut-deep, heartrending sobs.
And for the second time in two weeks, Creed Maddigan did something completely out of character. He went to see if he could help.
Maybe, unconsciously, he had known it was her. She was wearing one of her baggy dresses, and he made a mental note to have another little talk with her mother about getting that green dress back.
"You need help, girl?"
Jassy's head came up at the sound of his voice. She could hardly see him through her tears, but she would have recognized that soft drawl anywhere.
Sniffling, she dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her skirt. "N-no. I'm . . . I'm fine."
"You sure?"
She nodded solemnly, but began to sob again.
Feeling completely out of his element, Creed closed the distance between them and drew the girl into his arms. For a moment, he thought she was going to pull away. Her whole body tensed at his touch, and then she crumpled against him, her face buried against his chest, her shoulders shaking with the force of her tears.
He held her for several minutes, aware of people passing by only a few feet away. A couple of cowboys whistled and made crude remarks as they ambled down the alley toward Front Street.
Muttering an oath, Creed swung Jassy up into his arms and carried her across the street to the hotel, deciding she didn't need the whole town to see her crying in his arms.
Ignoring her protests, Creed carried Jassy up the stairs to his room, closed the door behind him, then sat down in the big, overstuffed chair beside the bed.
"Go on," he said gruffly. "Cry it all out, whatever it is."
His shirt front was soaked with her tears wh
en, with a shudder, she finally fell silent.
"Want to tell me about it?" he asked, figuring that she'd probably had a fight with her boyfriend.
''My . . . my mother's dead."
Creed swore softly. "I'm sorry. Was it sudden?"
"Yesterday. At the saloon."
So the dead woman had been her mother. Rotten luck, he thought, then frowned into the gathering darkness, wondering what he could possibly say that would make Jassy feel better.
"The funeral's tomorrow," she remarked tonelessly. "Would you . . . would you come?"
He hated funerals, all that weeping and carrying on, people saying things they didn't mean. "I don't know . . ."
"Please. You're . . ." She sniffed. "You're the only friend I have."
He let out a deep sigh of resignation. "All right. What time?"
"Nine. I know it's early," she added quickly, remembering that he liked to sleep late, "but . . ."
"I'll be there."
She looked at him solemnly, her brown eyes shining with tears, her nose red, her lips slightly parted.
"How old are you?" he asked, wondering why he cared.
"Seventeen."
Seventeen! Creed swore under his breath. He'd known she was young, but hearing just how young made him feel as if he'd just been sucker-punched.
"Almost seventeen," Jassy said quickly.
"Come on," he said, sliding her off his lap. "I'll walk you home."
"You don't have to."
He nodded, feeling as though he'd aged ten years in the last ten seconds. I know. Come on."
She lived in one of the shoddy tin-roofed shacks that backed up to the alley. The paint was peeling. One of the front windows was covered with oilcloth; the other was boarded up.
Jassy paused at the door, her face a pale oval in the gathering twilight.
"I seem to be thanking you a lot lately," she said quietly.
Creed shrugged. "Don't worry about it. And don't think you have to make me any more cookies."
"Didn't you like them?"
Madeline Baker - Lakota Renegade Page 2