“I’ll get a bottle. Find yourself a seat,” Rope said and made for the bar.
Fearing Lucien might have found his first day on his own too much to contend with, Rhys first made a round of the saloon but failed to find Lucien. He had either left or sought solace upstairs.
A simple set of steps ran up to a narrow balcony above the saloon. Rhys looked for someone to ask who had gone up recently. A Frenchman who limped would not be hard to remember. Knowing that the bartender probably kept tabs on who the girls entertained, Rhys started toward the big red-faced man. As it turned out he did not need to inquire. From a cluster of men in a back corner he heard Lucien’s distinctive accent, and surprisingly, the sound of feminine laughter.
The group parted before Rhys reached it. A faro box had been the attraction. Behind it stood Lucien Bourget minus his coat. A fat purse protruded from his breast pocket. He’d evidently had a good day running the game.
“Monsieur!” Lucien waved excitedly to Rhys.
“Lucien.” Rhys stood back and shook his head. “You amaze me. In a day you acquire a faro game and—what is this? A friend?”
Standing beside Lucien with a hand possessively on his shoulder was a woman in a bright yellow and black striped dress. Her raven hair, pinned up in a chignon, made a sharp widow’s peak which was cut through by a streak of silver. In her youth she had undoubtedly been a ravishing woman. Even now, in what appeared to be her middle years, despite a more plump than fashionable figure, she still caught a man’s eyes.
“Monsieur,” Lucien spoke excitedly. “This is Carmen. Carmen Bell. The Brass Bell is hers.”
“And this is my new faro dealer.” Carmen bent her head to Lucien’s and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Straightening up, she winked at Rhys. “He’s got the most skillful hands I ever saw.”
“Carmen has kindly given me a room here.” For a moment Lucien’s eyes were downcast. “Of course, I told her that you and I had plans togeth—”
“No.” Rhys spoke up quickly. “You are free to make plans as you wish.”
“Monsieur—” Seeing Rhys’s frown he corrected himself. “Rhys. You are certain? I feel I am obligated—”
“You aren’t. Stay here with Carmen. Work for her.” Seeing that Lucien fairly beamed at his assurances that he was his own man, Rhys continued. “You have been a fine servant and a fine friend but this is right for you now. As for me I too have found I can provide for myself in this town. So, my friend, with no doubt that you will be the best faro dealer in the territory, I wish you well.”
Lucien grasped his shoulders and, in the European style, would have embraced him had not Rhys pointed out, that here, a handshake was the proper gesture.
Lucien clasped Rhys’s hand and pumped his arm. “I thank you for all you have been to me.” The tremor in his voice expressed his emotion even better than his words. “Monsieur, should you ever need me again, know that I stand ready to resume my position with you.”
“Be happy in your new life, Lucien,” Rhys said, knowing instinctively that Carmen had a good heart and would be just the guide Lucien needed to help with the changes in store for him. He took her plump hand and kissed it. “You, madame, I congratulate. You will find no finer man than Lucien Bourget.”
“Honey, I know that already,” Carmen said sweetly. “Why he’s got more style than all the cowboys in Arizona territory tied up in one sack.” When Rhys freed her hand she locked her arm with Lucien’s. “You can bet I’ll hold on to him.”
Chapter 15
From the table he shared with Rope, Rhys watched Lucien climb the stairs with Carmen Bell. Already the woman was having a good effect on his former valet. With Carmen at his side, Lucien’s limp was scarcely discernible. Lucien was lucky to have quickly found a job and a woman who appreciated his special talents. Rhys caught himself feeling less fortunate.
Lucien’s gain was his loss. Rhys wished his friend well, but he experienced an emptiness inside nearly as severe as he had felt when Jenny had died in his arms. He would miss his companion, miss having someone always at hand to listen to his plans and to make courteous suggestions should he see a flaw in them. But he was convinced that the parting with Lucien was for the best. In Europe a servant had scant hope of ever rising above his station. Here, Lucien had the same opportunity as anyone. He deserved to make what he could of it.
Rope set down a nearly empty glass and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “You seem mighty intent on somethin’, son,” he said, having waited through a few minutes of silence and having observed the clouded look on Rhys’s face. “If it’s the way Teddy was actin’ don’t let it get to you. She always stomps and kicks before she settles down and thinks straight. I reckon she’s about the feistiest female in the territory. She—”
“You were going to tell me why.” Head back, Rhys drained the shot of whiskey from his glass.
Rope swirled the few drops remaining in his. “This is my opinion, mind you,” he said speaking more quietly than before. “And it all started a long time back, ten, maybe twelve years now.” He paused and filled his glass. “See, Teddy started out in life as sweet and pretty a little filly as you ever saw. Up until the time her ma died Teddy wore lace and bows like any other young lady. Her ma saw to that. Had Teddy curtsying and playing piano by the time she could talk. Then Sarah Gamble died and not long after that Teddy’s brother—”
“She has a brother?” Rhys thought he had met all of the Gamble clan but remembered no brother or even a mention of one.
“Had,” Rope said grimly. “A twin. Timothy was his name. Timmy we called him. They were close those two. Played together. Rode together.” He stopped for another drink and a moment of reflection on peaceful days, when it seemed that nothing could go wrong. “Ted Gamble loved both his youngsters but I reckon it’s fair to say he favored the boy. More so after Sarah died of a fever and he knew he wouldn’t marry again.”
Rhys recalled thinking that Teddy was no stranger to tragedy. With Rope’s revelation he saw how right he had been. Teddy had lost most of her family. No small wonder she had a testy nature or that she wanted to protect what they had been part of. He wondered how the boy, her brother, had died. If he had been anything like his sister he must have been a strong and robust lad. With no hesitation he asked, “What happened to Timothy?”
Rope’s bushy brows flicked up nervously. “I’m gettin’ to that,” he said. “ ’Cause him gettin’ killed is what changed Teddy.” Rope sighed, wondering if he was making a mistake telling a near stranger about the personal side of Teddy. He hesitated a few seconds, figuring he would let a hunch lead him. If he was right, the Frenchman wasn’t too bad a man deep down. Otherwise he’d be raising a bigger ruckus than he was, over not getting his money right away. Hoping his hunch wasn’t merely wishful thinking, he continued. “It happened, like I said, about a dozen years back. Timmy and Teddy slipped off the ranch on their ponies one day when they had been told to stay close because of the weather. I’d say Timmy was the cause of that. He was a rambunctious youngster, a lot more like his Uncle Zack than anyone cared to say. Well, the two of them got caught in a flash flood and Timmy drowned.”
“And Teddy witnessed his death?”
“Near as anybody knows,” Rope replied. “She was half drowned herself, then pneumonia set in and it was nip and tuck whether she would make it. Once she got well enough to talk about what happened she refused to. Just kept sayin’ it was all her fault for not making Timmy stay at the ranch like they had been told. Always had a notion she was his big sister ’cause she had been born a few minutes before him. Couldn’t nobody talk that feelin’ out of her or make her see that most likely it was Timmy’s stubborn streak that put them in danger. Anyhow, soon as she was up and around she put on her brother’s clothes and I don’t reckon she’s willingly worn a dress since.”
He started to pour Rhys another drink.
“No more,” Rhys said quickly.
Rope nudged the cork into the bottle. “Now me,�
�� he said, “I always figured—Teddy bein’ the delicate little thing she was back then—that she got in trouble out there once the water started comin’. Timmy must have lost his life tryin’ to save her. Afterwards I think Teddy turned tomboy so she could try to make up for Timmy’s death. She knew how much having a son meant to her pa.”
Rhys felt a sudden compassion for the young Teddy. He knew what it was like to lose loved ones. And, since Jenny’s death, he knew how it felt to believe you were somehow at fault. “Surely her father didn’t blame her for the boy’s death,” he said, wondering if Theodor Gamble had been so devastated by grief that he had failed to reassure and comfort his daughter.
“No,” Rope said, “but his heart was broke and he couldn’t help showing it. Teddy was all he had left and he wanted her close at hand. The rougher she acted the more he praised her. I reckon in his way he encouraged her to be like she is. Felicity tried to tell him he was wrong but Theodor kept sayin’ his Teddy could do what she wanted. Well, pretty soon she could out-ride and out-shoot any boy in Wishbone and I reckon that’s still so.”
And out-cuss, Rhys suspected. He was intrigued, however, by a ladylike Teddy Gamble, a pretty young girl in lace and ribbons whose fingers danced over ivory piano keys instead of the ivory handle of a pistol. That Teddy, all grown up, would be something to behold and he hoped he would get the chance. Why, he might be willing to hand over his shares of the Gamble Line for a glimpse of that Teddy, for a chance to hold her in his arms for a night.
But Rhys was not willing to trade his freedom for it—not when that meant allowing Jenny’s killer to go free. No, the truth was that while he might bide his time for a few months until it was safe to return to London, he did not have the luxury of a leisurely pursuit of Teddy. That, however, did not preclude a pleasurable pursuit. He might have a shortened timetable but he would make the most of it. Who could say? They had a common bond. Both had known loss. Both wanted the Gamble Line sound and solvent.
On top of that, he didn’t trust the girl. How was he to know she had not put Rope up to telling him a sad story to make him more agreeable to whatever terms she might come up with next. Maybe the old wrangler sincerely wanted only his understanding. But there was the possibility that Teddy was shrewd as a fox and had used Rope to lay a false trail. She was an enigma, he thought—not quite sexless in her buckskin and boots, but far removed from the picture Rope had painted in his mind, a vision of Teddy in lace and silk—so lovely.
“She’s held up well for all her trouble,” he said, carefully gauging Rope’s reaction to his reply. “Seems tough as whipcord. Ted Gamble must have been proud to have had a daughter who could take up where he left off.”
“He was proud of Teddy,” Rope agreed. “Just never let himself see that he was cheatin’ her out of what a woman ought to have.”
“Which is?”
“A man to love. Children at her knee. Same things he gave to Sarah.” Rope sighed. “Ted meant right by Teddy, but he was selfish in his way.”
“I’m sure she could have those things if she wanted them enough.”
“Yeah. I reckon she’ll think about it one day. And I reckon I ought to remember she would put a bullet in me for tellin’ all about her if she knew it. Teddy don’t like nobody meddlin’ in her business but I wanted you to see why she’s so all-fired set on savin’ the Gamble Line. It’s her way of hangin’ on to her pa and Timmy.” He looked hard at Rhys. “I don’t like to think what would happen to Teddy if she couldn’t keep it runnin’.”
“It’s not my intent to stop the line from running,” Rhys said, reading, as he suspected, some deeper purpose in Rope’s anxious eyes. Clearly he loved Teddy as much as her father had and would do anything to protect her, even to spinning a heart-wrenching yarn to mislead a new partner. He was convinced Rope was keeping secret as much about Teddy and the stage line as he was telling.
Rhys leisurely uncorked the bottle and took yet another drink. He began to go over a few things in his mind. First they had tried to run him off, then they had tried to keep him secluded on the ranch. They were definitely trying to hide something from him. And he was positive he would be best served by taking a room in town and keeping a watch, from a distance, on Teddy and the stage line.
“Wish you’d reconsider stayin’ at the ranch,” Rope said. “I think I could persuade Felicity to air out a room in the house—”
Rhys smiled. “Thank you, no,” he said. “Lucien has found accommodations for himself here at the Brass Bell and I prefer to stay in town as well. Taking a room here will save me a long ride when I’m in the mood for a late night drink or a game of cards.” He noted the concern in Rope’s expression as he continued. “I would be grateful, though, if you would return Madame Gamble’s saddle horse and the mount she loaned to Lucien.”
“Be glad to,” Rope mumbled.
“And you may tell Teddy I will contact her in a day or two when I’ve had time to decide what compensation will be suitable while we wait for confirmation of my claim.”
“She won’t—” Rope stopped himself. Either he had wasted his breath revealing confidences to the Frenchman, or the man wanted time to think over how what he had revealed weighed into everything. Once more he decided to give Rhys the benefit of the doubt. “I’ll tell her,” he said.
Rope, on his way out, stopped at the bar and paid for the drinks. A few minutes later Rhys leaned against the polished oak and asked the barkeeper if he knew a rooming house that served meals.
“Sprayberry’s,” the man said. “Mae Sprayberry’s got the best victuals in Wishbone and you’ll find her prices fair. The house is a street back from here, the white one with the picket fence.” He wrung out a cloth and swabbed it over the bar where a man had spilled whiskey. “You’ll smell the bread baking before you get there.”
***
The same aroma had filled his mother’s kitchen on baking day. Fresh and rich, it had always teased his hunger and quickened his pace. It did so now as he eased open the small swinging gate in front of Sprayberry’s boarding house. The two-story frame structure with the wide porch on front had a small bell mounted above the front door. Rhys tugged the cord that hung from it. Moments later a silver-haired woman in a calico dress and white apron opened the door. Flour dusted her hands. She had a powdery smudge of it on her chin and cheek.
“Can I help you, stranger?”
Rhys gave his most winning smile. “Madame Sprayberry?” She nodded. “I am told you let rooms,” he said.
“To a select few guests.” She pushed a stray wisp of hair off her forehead streaking it with flour. “I require a reference.”
“Madame, I am newly arrived in town.”
“You best try elsewhere,” the woman said. “I can’t take boarders, least of all men, with no one to vouch for them.”
“Mr. Delmar is all right, Mae.” With bright eyes and sparkling voice Justine Blalock wedged into the door opening with Mae Sprayberry. The sprinkling of flour on her arms and apron indicated she was assisting with the baking. “He’s the one I was telling you about. The man on the stage. Papa knows him too.”
Reaching over Justine, Mae Sprayberry pushed the door open wide. “Come on in, Mr. Delmar. I do have one room available and I suppose there’s no better reference than the sheriff’s, and seeing he lives next door I reckon you’ll do.”
Had he known Len Blalock lived in the small house next door, he might have looked elsewhere. But at this point he saw no way to gracefully withdraw his request for lodgings. He could only hope the nearness of the sheriff’s house did not put him under any undue scrutiny from the sheriff or his daughter.
“Hope you don’t mind stepping in the kitchen.” Mae motioned him along through a well-furnished parlor and wide hall to the back of the house where the kitchen was located. “I’ve got bread in the oven and Justine and I are kneading dough for the next batch.” She went back to the work she had evidently left to answer the door. “I charge three dollars a week in advance. That
’s for a room and two meals. You get breakfast and dinner. Breakfast is at seven, dinner at six, sharp. There’s a pump out back.” Her hands moved skillfully on the lumps of dough, pushing, pulling. “You get your own water for washing. I’ll make your bed every day for two bits extra or you can do it yourself but I require that beds be made before you leave the house. I don’t keep a sloppy establishment.”
“I could do that for you,” Justine volunteered. “No charge for the service.”
Mae gave the girl a questioning look. “Justine’s helping out since she got back,” she said. “Wants to know how to run a house proper.” She patted a lump of dough into a baking pan. “A girl ought to know how.”
“Papa and I take most of our meals with Mae,” Justine said. “She’s good enough to keep a plate warming when he can’t get to the table.”
“Which is most times,” Mae commented. To Rhys she said, “I’ve got four rooms down. Yours is the last one off the hall. It’s got an outside door which you are welcome to use. Just see it’s locked when you go out.”
“To be sure, madame,” he said, pleased he would have some measure of privacy in his comings and goings. Smiling still, he peeled three dollars from the roll of bills in his pocket and, at Mae’s direction, placed them in her apron pocket. “My valise and trunks are at the stage office,” he said. “I’ll need to see that they are delivered here.” Excusing himself with an exaggerated and courtly bow, he turned to leave. He was hoping that before the day was done he could find a new game, either at the Diamond or the Brass Bell.
Justine blushed as she untied her apron and slipped it off. “I’ll see him out,” she said to Mae.
“See that you’re back by six,” Mae called after him. “I don’t seat anybody after that.”
Rhys looked down at Justine as they walked out together. She was young and pretty—refined, at least by the standards of the other young women he’d met in Wishbone. She was restless, too, a proper girl ready to try her wings. He knew by the way she was looking at him she might make her first fluttering flight in his direction. But he dared not let her. She was the sheriff’s daughter and he did not want to come up hard against the law here. Len Blalock was beholden to him at present and he would be wise to keep things that way. He might need an ally should he be traced before he was ready to confront his accusers in London. He’d not have an ally if he seduced Sheriff Blalock’s daughter.
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