by Savanna Sage
“That sounds nice,” Stella said. “But to get enough money, you have to win fights.”
“I do, most of the time.”
“Are you hungry?” Stella didn’t know how Paul would feel about Franklin showing up at the DeSoto house at her side, but Carmen wouldn’t mind. Stella determined that she would give Franklin her portion of food. She would go without
“My manager is keeping us going for now,” Franklin said. “But he’ll dump me if I don’t win against the Emperor.” Franklin gave her his crooked smile. “But I’ll win.”
Stella shuddered, imagining the sound of fists hitting Franklin’s flesh.
“Steel?” Paul DeSoto walked around the corner of the hotel and fixed Stella with a hard gaze.
“Steel?” Franklin asked as Stella jumped to her feet.
“How do you explain sitting around with riff raff, leaving Carmen to fend for herself?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I ran into my cousin quite unexpectedly.’”
Paul scanned Franklin’s face with distaste. “I could have guessed he was your relation. If you’ve found your family, then I suppose you’ll be leaving?”
“No,” Stella protested. “He’s not staying. I mean, I didn’t even know he was here. I didn’t know he was a fighter, he has a traveling job now. He didn’t the last time I saw him.”
“A fighter?”
“I am of no account,” Franklin said.
“Don’t listen to me,” Stella said. “I don’t understand what Franklin does for work, but I’m on an errand for Carmen right now.”
“Carmen’s mother arrives tomorrow,” Paul said. “Your time with us is limited.” He turned and strode away while Stella jumped to her feet. Eyes hot with tears, she turned to hurry away in the opposite direction Paul went.
“You can stay with me,” Franklin said. “It seems you have nowhere else to go.”
It was true. But what about Carmen? Stella touched the trimmed ends of her hair. She had to finish her errand, she had to say goodbye. And what about Adam? Was he really who she thought he was? He punched people for money. How could he hide this barbaric side of himself so well, in the loving way he spoke to her, the funny way he teased the DeSoto children, his patience in letting them help him learn to read, and his soft kisses on her mouth? She touched her lips with trembling fingers. Who was he really?
And where did she belong?
Chapter 17
When Paul crossed the train platform toward home, Adam stopped hammering, wondering if he’d seen Stella. Steel. I have to call her Steel.
Before Paul got close enough to talk, Adam watched a stern old man swoop down on Paul from the station. Paul nodded as the man spoke, then gestured toward town. Adam couldn’t hear what the two men said, but they both seemed satisfied, except for the furtive looks Paul shot towards his house. Was he worried about Adam? Or Carmen?
When the stranger nodded and started walking in the direction Paul pointed, Paul grabbed his arm and held out his hand. The man put some papers the right size and color of money into Paul’s hand, but Paul wasn’t smiling. The man pointed in the same direction Paul had. When Paul nodded, the man walked on.
Paul stared after him for a moment, then turned and moved toward home.
“Where’s Steel?” Adam asked, walking out to meet Paul.
“Moving on.”
“What?” Adam stood directly in front of Paul, his full height making him tower over the station livestock keeper. “Where is she?”
“She happened upon a relative in town.”
“She wouldn’t just leave like that.”
“I believe she did.”
Adam dropped his hammer. “Was it that man you just spoke to? The one who gave you money?”
Paul ducked his head. “That was a private business deal, and none of your concern.”
Adam turned and headed toward town. “Where was she, the last place you saw her?”
“It won’t matter,” Paul replied. “She’ll be on the train, headed toward a better life sooner than you can find her.”
Adam started to run.
Chapter 18
“I don’t want you to be alone,” Franklin said.
“I don’t want to watch men hitting each other.”
“We’ll work something out.” When Stella didn’t reply, Franklin added, “We’re not even angry when we box. We do it as a test of skill, for the challenge of achievement, and because it’s fun.”
“And for money.”
“Of course.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Yes. But so does having a log fall on your head, getting burned tending the firebox on a train, or having a cow step on your foot.”
“But you can do those jobs without getting hurt.”
“The cousin I remember was up for all kinds of adventure,” Franklin reminded her. “If life wasn’t exciting enough, you always turned to the fairy tales in your head.”
“I just don’t see adventure in a fight,” Stella protested. “You don’t go anywhere, and you just get beaten up.”
“It’s the ultimate adventure. Come on, Stella. You can stand behind a tree if you don’t like it.”
Perhaps the fights weren’t what she imagined. Maybe if she went to one, she’d understand Adam better. Maybe she could redeem him in her mind.
“You aren’t fighting tonight?”
“Not until I’m off these sticks.” He took a swinging step, then stopped and waved one stick in a circle, inviting her to follow. “Let’s go. It might take me awhile to get there.”
“I’ll just run into the general store and order some supplies for Carmen. Where is it?” Franklin pointed, and Stella made a most unladylike sprint to the store. She returned, breathless then walked beside Franklin in the warm glow of sunset, blissfully ignorant of Uncle Owen’s proximity. Enjoying the same easy conversation they’d always shared, the two cousins reached the edge of town the same time Uncle Owen set foot on the hotel porch.
By the time they reached the river bank, it was nearly full dark, making a black skinned man circling around a makeshift ring nearly invisible as he threw jabs into the air.
“You the Salt Lake Smasher?” a guy with braces holding his pants up asked. The boxer behind him bounced in his toes, arms bent at the elbows, hands forward in loose fists. “You don’t look in any shape to fight my Midnight Masher.”
“I’m not him,” Franklin said. “The Salt Lake Smasher trounced me a week ago.”
The fighter stopped bouncing to listen.
“How’d he get you so bad?” the manager asked.
“You should see him before you ask a question like that,” Franklin retorted, “He’s not such a pretty picture himself.”
“He using sticks?”
“Naw. I stepped back and my foot landed in a hole, twisting my leg.”
The manager looked at him for a moment. “Tell me your boxing name.”
“Waxwing Wonder.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Other men gathered in the deepening dark, drifting toward the river like ghosts with money in their hands. Clinging to Franklin’s arm, Stella recognized the tall and short pair of men in bowler hats standing quite close to Midnight. Or was his shortened name, “Masher?” She didn’t know.
Another familiar face appeared when Spud hurried into the circle, gesturing as he headed for the opposing agent. Then Spud frantically scanned the circle of men, moving closer, looking at all the faces. When his gaze finally recognized Stella, he shouted, “What are you doing here?”
Stella pointed at Franklin. “He brought me.”
Spud looked from Stella to Franklin and back again. “You sweet on him?”
“He’s my cousin.”
“Oh. You sweet on him?”
Stella gave a little laugh. “No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because Adam’s sweet on you. He took off when Paul said you was leaving, and I ain’t seen him s
ince. I swear, you’ve spoiled that boy for fighting.”
“I didn’t mean to.” The idea of Adam quitting the boxing business made him even more attractive. “I didn’t think Paul would actually send me away before I talked to Carmen, because Adam told him he’d build the bathroom as long as I was there, and it’s not done yet.”
“Could a been ‘cause I came across your Uncle Owen while lookin’ for Adam, and he says he gave Paul money, so where are you?”
Recoiling at the thought of seeing Uncle Owen again, Stella squeezed Franklin’s arm for comfort. “Paul turned me in?”
Franklin circled her hunched shoulders with a steadying arm. “He hasn’t got you yet. Hurry, get down.” When she resisted, he whispered, “Sitting by the river in the dark among all these men is a good hiding place. Better than the hotel, wouldn’t you say?”
Franklin was right. If Uncle Owen happened across the fight down by the river, he wasn’t likely to consider that Stella was there.
“Why can’t he just leave me alone?” Stella asked, sinking to the ground with Franklin at her side.
Someone lit a torch, then another, and another. Low restless whispers floated to Stella’s ears on an evening breeze. Pounding feet thundered toward the riverbank, sending several men into the underbrush. Then Adam appeared in the torch light, followed by Uncle Owen.
Stella shrank back against Franklin.
“Finally!” Spud called, hurrying toward Adam. Turning toward the assembled spectators, he announced, “The Salt Lake Smasher is here!”
“Stand there,” Adam commanded Uncle Owen. “When this is over, we’ll find her together.”
Stella’s heart sped up at his betrayal. How could Adam promise to help Uncle Owen find her? Why would he turn her over to him when he’d promised to protect her? Didn’t he understand the pain that Uncle Owen had caused? That he was her reason for running? Perhaps he cared more for money than her. Spud had said something about Owen giving Paul money when he pointed out the last place he’d seen her. Maybe he’d promised Adam enough to make it worth his while to help imprison her in a life she didn’t want.
Adam dashed to the Midnight Masher, fists raised, as if in a hurry to get this over with. The audience pressed in closer, not only shielding her view from the fight, but helping to hide her from Uncle Owen’s searching gaze.
As the men closed in on them, Franklin got to his feet and strained to see the action over their heads. Stella stayed seated, hunched in on herself, not wanting to see either the fight or Uncle Owen. All she wanted was to get on a train and go somewhere else, to a place that was safe.
Suddenly, Adam let out a yell of pain. Without thinking, Stella jumped up and pushed her way through the men standing in her way like dead timber. Adam writhed in pain on the ground, while the Midnight Masher stood staring down at him with a stunned expression.
“What did you do?” Stella screamed at the Masher as she fell to her knees at Adam’s side. “What happened?” she asked.
When Adam didn’t reply with anything other than pained gasps, she ran her hands lightly over his body until her fingers bumped against a hard handle sticking out of his side, her fingers slipping on hot blood leaking from around the knife handle. Adam cried out at her touch, a growl of agony. Holding her bloody hands out to the Midnight Masher, she screamed, “You stabbed him!”
The black boxer raised the palms of his hands in self defense. “It wasn’t me,” he declared. “Someone came out of the shadows and stuck him.”
Murmurs arose, “Waxwing,” “last fight.”
“It couldn’t have been the Waxwing Wonder,” Stella said to the crowd in his defense. “He’s walking with sticks.”
“That a girl?” someone in the crowd asked.
“What’s she doing here?”
“T’aint proper.”
Spud pulled out a cloth, bent beside Adam, and yanked the knife free. Adam yelled so loudly that Stella put her hands over her ears, hot tears springing to her eyes. Breathing hard, Spud pressed the cloth to the wound in Adam’s side. “You hold this,” he told Stella. “I’ve got to fetch a wagon.”
“Get a doctor,” Stella cried, pressing against the cloth that was already warm and sticky all the way through.
“I don’t think he’ll die from a little stick,” Uncle Owen said.
With chills rolling up her back and slithering down her arms, Stella looked up and met Uncle Owen’s cold gaze. “Your hair is abominable. Fortunately, I’ve decided to start your training at the beginning, a lengthy process that should have your hair grown in a respectable length by the time you’re ready to be introduced into polite society.” Reaching down, he grabbed Stella’s arm. She could have avoided him, but she refused to leave Adam’s side any sooner than she was forced to.
“No,” Adam said, straining to sit up as he groaned against the intense pain. “You can’t take her.”
“She’s my ward.”
When Uncle Owen pulled on her arm again, Stella cried, “No!” and Adam folded his hand around Stella’s hand at his side. He was warm, but trembling, too weak to stop Uncle Owen.
“I want to marry her,” Adam said, squeezing her hand.
Stunned, Uncle Owen asked, “You want a woman who wears trousers?”
“I want her any way she comes.”
“I don’t see how I can approve of my niece marrying a fighter,” Uncle Owen said. “That particular profession is against the law.”
“Father, let her go.”
Still holding Stella’s arm, Owen turned to see his son braced against his sticks. “Franklin!” he said. “I thought… you… “ His voice dropped. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to.”
Owen released Stella’s arm and stepped toward his son. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You didn’t seem very happy with me.”
Owen spread his hands. “I was only doing my job as a father to guide you into paths that would lead to your success.”
“Success?” Franklin asked.
“For your future.”
“My future or yours? If you’re so fond of building, then why don’t you become an architect?”
“I’m too advanced in years. It’s a growing industry, something that could provide a lucrative income for you well into old age, if managed properly.” Owen held his hands out toward his son. Stella had never seen him so humble. “Is there anything wrong with being successful?”
“Your idea of success seems pretty backward. Who’s to say I can’t be successful in the things I want to do?” Franklin asked.
Uncle Owen snorted. “You are so successful you’re walking with sticks?”
“It’s from a boxing match.”
Uncle Owen trembled. ‘You’ve stooped to illegal boxing?”
“It has provided me a living.”
Uncle Owen’s words came out in a tone Stella had never heard before. “Franklin, could we talk this over?” Stella could hardly believe that pleading voice came from her uncle’s mouth.
“Well,” Franklin looked thoughtful. “It appears I’m out a manager, because I won’t work for a murderer who runs around stabbing my opponents.”
“He’s not dead,” Stella declared, pressing the bloody cloth against Adam’s wound, a job made easier since he seemed to have blacked out. She didn’t like his stillness, his closed eyes, but at least he was breathing.
“Then it’s a good time for a change,” Uncle Owen said. “Let’s talk things over as men.”
“Equal partners?” Franklin asked. “Not with the idea of you having the final say?”
“That is the way it will be,” Uncle Owen said.
Franklin nodded. “I’m willing to give it a try.” He looked at Stella. “How about you, Stella? Do you want to come back with us?”
“No,” Adam replied, his voice thick. Stella shook her head at the same moment. “Please marry me, Stella. I love you.”
“I won’t marry a fighter, Adam,” she said. �
��Not the kind that boxes. Only one who fights for what’s right.”
“I don’t want to box anymore,” Adam said. “I like building things.”
Uncle Owen peered at Adam with new interest. “Do you have the inner fortitude to become an architect?”
Adam fixed his gaze on Stella’s green eyes. “For Stella, I’ll do anything.”
“Excuse me.” The tall Asian moved to Adam’s side and stood looking down at him. When his companion knelt and pressed a fresh cloth to Adam’s wound in one swift motion, an exotic herbal scent filled Stella’s nose.
“What are you doing?” Stella asked, gripping her bloody cloth, ready to hit the Chinaman with it.
“Is helpful to injury,” the little man said, nodding earnestly.
Stella checked Adam for any adverse reaction to the foreign substance, but he seemed as well as could be expected, all his attention on the tall Chinaman. “I’m not up for a re-match,” Adam said with a pained smile.
“I am not here for one.” The Emperor raised a thin eyebrow. “You were quick to copy my kung fu. That is a rare talent.”
“I’m glad you noticed.”
The Emperor gestured to the dragon coin. “A tenuous bridge was made with that coin, but you were not the one who built it.”
“My father gave it to me before he died,” Adam said, wrapping his fingers around the dragon.
“Ah. That is the answer. My father is dead also. I have come to honor his wishes.” He pulled a heavy sack out of either coat pocket, each one the size of Adam’s fist. Then he bent, and held them out to Adam.
“What’s this?” Adam asked, taking the sacks in one hand. They fell onto his chest, and he let out a pained grunt.
Stella slid an anxious hand across his forehead.
Adam glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “I was startled by the weight of the bags,” he said. “I don’t feel much of anything where the knife went in anymore.”
“It is the Chinese medicine,” the Emperor said. “We have many healing ways, but we have no way of healing from a massive explosion. He would have been crippled for life, if not dead. Your father saved him.”