"Are you sure you are all right?" she asked, turning at the doorway and seeing the blood on his hand as he touched the wound.
"I'll be fine, just get him." He mumbled and lay down on the settee. "And come up the back way with him. I don't want this all over town."
"Of course…" She frowned when he winced.
Trish didn't want to ask for help downstairs. She waited until she was out on the street and glanced down the boardwalk. A few people passed by and she stopped one man. "Please, do you know where I can find a doctor?"
The man looked at her strangely. "Sure, down about three blocks and around the corner. You'll see his sign."
"Thanks. "When she spotted the sign she knocked on the door. An elderly gentleman answered. "Are you the doctor?"
"No, do you need him?"
"Yes, I do."
"Just one moment." He left the parlor and returned in minutes with another man.
"Well now, I hate being disturbed this late, but seeing as how it's a beautiful young lady, I don't mind so much."
"It's not for me, it's my husband." She explained.
"What happened?" The doctor looked at her squarely.
"He was in a poker game and this young man shot him."
"I'll get my bag." The doctor replied as though he'd done it too many times to remember.
~*~
"Was the other man hurt?" The doctor inquired when he saw Gil lying on the settee.
"Yes, he shot his gun hand. Trish explained.
The doctor grimaced. "We got a lot of that happening with all these cowboys who just got paid in town," the doctor explained. "They feel good and want to spend their money. Some not so wisely."
"Seems to be one in every crowd," Gil added.
Trish watched as the doctor proceeded to take the bullet out. The doctor saw how squeamish she was and grinned. "It's a clean wound, it'll heal easy enough."
Trish nodded, but couldn't say a word. Her insides were in a turmoil at the site of the doctor's operation. She saw Gil turn white and wanted to rush to his side, but knew better. Instead she stood rock still until the doctor got the bullet out.
In an hour, Gil was treated and the doctor left.
"Don't you ever do that again," she cried out, her temper overcoming her fear.
"Do what?" he asked as he sat up. His chest was bare, his arm in a sling.
"Pretend you aren't hurt."
"In this line of work, things like this happen, often. Get used to it." Out the window, he saw people milling about, heard the blacksmith hammering, and watched wagons being unloaded. There were lots of things going on. He needed this distraction, because Trish's concern had shocked him..
"Then maybe you should find a different kind of work," she suggested hotly.
"I'm a gambler, Trish. It's what I do," he said simply. "This was nothing. He was just a green horned kid. That's why I took out his gun hand. Figured I'd save him from a real gunfight someday."
She stared into his eyes. "Yes, you are a gambler in more ways than one!"
Chapter Eight
Trish was so upset about Gil getting shot. Trish had to control herself. Her arrangement with Gil was a business proposition, not personal, but it was hard to live with someone day after day without having some feelings. Still, she knew it best to keep her silence. She'd never let down her guard and trusted anyone. His idea to keep it secret was noble and she admired him for it, but it could be dangerous too. The business arrangement they made left her vulnerable, and keeping Gil alive was important.
She hadn't considered the dangers of his profession, nor the position it would put her in if something happened to him.
Now she realized how important he was to her. Not just as support, but in every way. He was the first man she really allowed herself to care about, and it scared her witless. In three years, this bargain would be over and they would part. Gil didn't look like the marrying kind of man, but her future looked dim without him.
Three years seemed shorter and shorter to Trish.
What was she going to do when he let her loose? Where would she go? How would she take care of herself? Granted she would have some money, but how long would it last and what could she do when it ran out? She needed a plan, so she wasn't so reliant on Gil.
Going back to Al's didn't interest her. Jo Ella had convinced her there was a better life out there. But so far, she had a husband who was no good and she met Gil. He wouldn't hesitate turning her loose when their time together was over. Gil was not committed to her, nor she him. He wasn't the marrying kind. She had to remember that. The future didn't look bright for her, not without some kind of plan.
She couldn't think on it now. She'd save her money and do whatever she had to do, later.
Gil didn't let his arm interfere with his playing. He was downstairs the next night.
Trish sat by his side, quietly, even though she had pleaded with him to rest a while. She found his stubbornness appealing in some primitive way.
Most of the time, no one commented on her being there. However one night, a player kept eyeing her. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"
"No, I don't think so," she answered lowly not wanting to cause any attention. "I am sure I would have remembered you."
He eyed Gil. "She with you, mister?"
Gil put his hand over hers and squeezed. "That's right. She's my wife."
"Your wife? What you got your wife at a poker game for? Do you see anyone else bringing their wives into a saloon to play poker?"
"I happen to enjoy bringing her with me. She likes the games, and besides, she brings me luck. Luck is a lady, sir." Gil smiled, giving off the impression that the question hadn't bothered him. "Besides, she doesn't play. She watches."
"What is she watchin'?" the man asked with a snide glance.
"Me, I hope." Gil laughed, and the other gentlemen snickered.
"Maybe the two of you are in cahoots together. Maybe you are running a game with us?" the man suggested, rearing his large frame to its full height from his chair.
"Leave him alone, Eb. This man is a professional gambler, can't you tell? He doesn't have to cheat," an older gentleman spoke up. "He informed us of it when he sat down. We allowed him in the game, just like we allowed you to play tonight."
"Professional. Well, that's what I mean. This ain't no professional game here." Eb's voice grew louder, his obvious intention was to stir up trouble.
"Nonetheless, we decide who is in the game and who isn't. He paid his fee to get in and told us he was a professional looking for an honest game. What more can we ask than that? Besides, maybe we'll learn something."
Trish looked the big man over. He stunk of whiskey and cigars. A big scar lined from his ear to his chin, and she wondered what kind of fight he'd been in. The scar was red, as though it hadn't healed correctly.
His beady dark eyes stared at her a long minute.
A priest wandered into the saloon about that time, and Eb snarled his nose. "They let any kind of trash in here. Look. It's one of them padres."
Trish glanced at the priest, who was busy getting a load of cider. He bothered no one, spoke very little, and went about his business. He paid the bartender and hoisted the keg on his shoulder and started to walk out when Eb stopped him. The keg was heavy and the priest barely managed to carry it, as it stooped his shoulders.
"He's not doin' any harm," Gil said quietly, eyeing Eb with contempt.
"Sure he is. He's one of them Catholics. Don't ya know? Preaches to the heathen Indians."
"Relax, friend. He's doin' no harm. You got somethin' against preachin', mister?" Gil asked.
"I'll relax…" Eb got to his feet and shot the keg of cider the priest was carrying. Cider leaked out, making a solitary sound as it hit the floor. The priest stood very still. No one in the room moved. No one said a word.
Smoke from Eb's gun circled the air then disappeared like a ghost. The smell of flint and cider blended.
"We don't need your kind here," Eb shou
ted and aimed his gun once more.
Fear shot through Trish once more. She touched Gil's hand. Tension in him was wound up and she feared he would try to stop the man from bullying the priest.
Gil got to his feet and faced Eb. He pulled his gun and held it at Eb's head. Since he only had one good arm, Trish was afraid Eb might get the drop on him.
"Pay the man for the keg," Gil insisted.
"Go to hell." The man tried to move away.
Gil forced the cold steel against Eb's head.
Eb hesitated. His mouth hung open.
"Now I said pay the man for his keg."
"I won't!"
The others were moving from the table and out of gunshot range, not saying a word but eyeing them both.
Gil reached around to Eb's back pocket, whipped out a leather wallet, and flipped through the bills. He glanced at the priest. "How much did you pay for it?"
"A five dollar gold piece," the priest replied in a mellow voice. "But please, senor, I wish you no harm." The priest looked at Eb with a patient face.
Gil pulled the money out of Eb's wallet and tossed it on the bar.
"Why you?" Eb shouted, but Gil kept the gun aimed straight for his head. The steel flint from Gil's expression was aimed at Eb too. Eb didn't move.
"A keg of cider ain't worth dyin' for," Gil said sharply. "Get yourself another keg, padre."
The priest nodded with a slight smile. "Thank you… and bless you."
Eb slumped.
When Gil holstered his gun, Eb picked up his money from the table and walked off.
"Leave him alone," Gil warned him. "He's a man of the cloth."
Eb turned to look at him. "And you’re a dead man, mister." He walked out.
The others let out a breath.
"He means it, mister. He's an onry one. Eb Dolby is a poor loser. We try to keep him out of our games, but when he's got money, he insists on playing. He just don't know how to lose," the older gentleman said. "And he has no patience with others."
"A man should learn that before he gets in a poker game. We all lose at some point," Gil said, his gaze still on the door. "What's he got against priests?"
"We've had Indian trouble. Some don't want to stay on the reservations, and there have been a few killin's. The priest feeds them and tries to teach them English," another gentleman spoke up. "Some get riled about it."
"Sounds like a pretty decent fella to me. The government won't live up to its side of the bargain, hence there is war," Gil said. "Men like the padre try to keep a balance within the people. But, we did see where a settlement had been attacked while we were on the stage. Even so, I wouldn't think the priest responsible for that!"
"Eb don't like nobody, especially Indians and colored people," the bartender hollered. "And he resents anyone trying to help them. You'd best watch your back with that one."
Gil shook his head.
Trish sat there stone still, her thoughts jumbled and confused. The more she was around Gil, the more she liked his principles. It wouldn't pay to like him too much, though, but trying to tell her heart that was another matter. She'd never met a man that stood up for what he believed, no matter the consequences.
She put the incident in the back of her mind and remained silent.
But she would remember.
Chapter Nine
The dining area was luxurious with its velvet red curtains and huge chandeliers on each end of the room. Fine China and sparkling silver adorned each table, with its matching velvet cloth and beautiful linens.
Trish gazed at the amount of flatware used at each table and wondered if she knew which fork to use for each entre.
"Did you know that man?" Gil asked later that evening as they sat waiting for their meal..
She faltered a moment, gazing into his eyes. It was the first time he had questioned her about off handed remarks from fellow gamblers.
"The one who shot a hole in the keg?" Trish asked, wiping her mouth with the fine linen after sipping the white wine he had ordered.
"Yeah, that's the one." Gil smiled.
"No. I might not remember every face, but for some reason, men with scars usually hang in my memory. I didn't recognize him." She couldn't subdue the tremor in her voice. "But then, it's possible he had just seen me and didn't have anything to do with me."
Gil considered her words quietly. "From time to time, you will probably run into men you have seen or maybe even been with. Just stay calm, and say as little as possible. I'll handle it."
"Sounds good to me." She shrugged. "What you did for the priest…"
Gil waved that down with a hand. "I'd do that for any man who was being picked on. Eb's nothing more than a bully. Besides, the man accused me of cheating and that grates. You can call me a lot of things, but a cheat isn't one of them."
"He threatened to kill you, Gil?" She couldn't keep the concern out of her voice.
"A lot of men threaten, but it takes a man to act on those threats."
"Do you think Eb will?" Her eyes searched his.
"I don't know. I'll keep my eye out. And you keep your eye out too. He was looking you over like a side of beef. He's the kind who wouldn't approach anyone in the front. He's underhanded and sneaky. So be careful. Best thing to do is stay close to me," Gil warned.
"Okay. You know best."
"Good." He finally smiled at her. "I'm glad you agree."
When they finished, Gil took her by the arm and they went upstairs. The winding stairs of the hotel were so lovely, and Trish bask in the beauty of the hotel lobby.
Even the adjoining bar made of solid oak and huge mirrors and chandeliers. She felt as though she were a queen when he escorted her to their room.
He paused at the top of the stairs to look at her. "Trish, I don't tell you to stay close to be a bully. Only for your safety."
"It's not that…" She leaned against the railing as he opened their door.
"Then what is this new tension in you?" he asked, coming closer. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing really. I was just wondering… what happens in three years? When my time is up, when I've saved the money? When I no longer have you to protect me from all the evils of life? You shelter me so much, and I'm getting used to it. What happens when I once again have to fend for myself? I'm spoiled."
"I don't think you are spoiled. But I guess that would depend on what you want to happen. You'll be free of your debt to me, and you can get your divorce or stay married. It will be up to you. The future will be in your hands."
She nodded. "Okay, that's fair."
But it wasn't okay. Trish was beginning to like him, beginning to enjoy being at the tables with him, enjoy his company at supper. They had a marriage, a common law type marriage, and she was almost sure he didn't see it that way. He didn't look at it from an emotional angle. He wasn't a woman. She was becoming tied to him, emotionally, and he didn't feel a thing. It hurt. What would it be like in three years? Not that she expected his commitment, but some sort of assurance that her life would go on. And thoughts of him replacing her with another woman turned her stomach into pure turmoil.
"But…" She cleared her throat and tried again, "Will you continue on alone, or will you find someone else to take my place?"
" I never expected you to come into my life like you did, and I have no idea what the future will bring. I never had a lady with me before, and I doubt I could replace you."
His words comforted her. "Yes, I can understand that. I didn't expect Chester to throw me into the pot, like he did. At first I felt as though I put you at such a disadvantage. You could have thrown me out in the street to take care of myself. I'm grateful you didn't, but you did have that choice…"
His smoldering gaze took her all in. "I could never throw such a beautiful woman in the streets…" His voice lowered a notch.
Her breath hitched. She hadn't expected such a compliment, and the look in his eyes said more than she hoped for.
But he didn't move closer. In fact, he was tur
ned away from her now.
She glanced around the luxurious room, trying to ignore the moment. What could she possibly say?
Since there was only one bed, they took turns sleeping in it and never once had he gotten out of hand, too drunk, or insinuated himself too closely. She was grateful for his gallantry.
"What will you do?" she asked, her voice going lower as she faced him once more and removed her silk gloves.
"I don't think that far ahead." His smile curled around her heart.
"Have you ever thought about quitting?" she asked as he laid her gloves on the dresser.
"Quitting what?"
"Gambling." She turned once more to look at him.
"Why should I? I make reasonably good money. I don't have to work up a sweat. I have no responsibilities… except to you for now…"
The way he put that. As though he were biding his time until she left him. Was that how he felt?
She nodded. "I just wondered. I mean, I know we have a fairly nice arrangement. It works well for both of us, but if you ever want to be rid of me… or want to have a life of your own…"
His smiled faded slowly. "I've got a little confession to make…" He came close again. So close she could smell the aftershave on his cheek. So close she could almost feel his arms around her.
Her heartbeat quickened, her breath shallow. "Oh?"
"I went back to see Chester."
She drew breath. Her brows met in dismay. "What for?"
"To beat the hell out of him, or some sense into him. He doesn't seem to want to keep you with him, but he doesn't want to give you a divorce. Or at least one he has to pay for. And the way he treated you, I won't tolerate that. I know I've been slow in reacting, but I had to choose my time," Gil said. "I revere women with the utmost respect. They are a commodity that should be celebrated, not abused."
"Was he alive?" She gulped wondering.
"I didn't shoot him. I just fought with him." Gil almost laughed.
"So he was alive?" She barely breathed.
"Yeah, I'd say so." Gil smiled. "I believe he was moaning and holding his jaw when I left."
Winning the Lady (Book 4 of the Red River Valley Brides) Page 6