The Dove

by Kristy McCaffrey

  Logan tapped on the open door, removed his hat and stepped into the room. Claire sat in a chair at the foot of the bed still wearing the tight black dress; her exposed shoulders and the swell of her breasts skimmed his mind like a tantalizing breeze on a hot summer day. With hair spilling down to her waist, she was, despite the dress, a vision of everything natural and straightforward, a woman that would fill a man’s world and connect him to life in the most basic sense. The vision unsettled him while at the same time his mind took a mental count of the money he had on him, wondering just what her price might be. Shit, he was in trouble.

  “I can’t believe you’re still here,” she said.

  Sunlight poured in from the window behind her and illuminated her hair with a golden hue. His wish about seeing her hair down had just been granted. How many more wishes were likely to come true?

  “Yeah, well, I don’t normally hang out in saloons all night.” He closed the door, leaned on it, and crossed his arms. “How’s your friend?”

  “I think she’ll be all right. You really ought to get some sleep yourself. Did you come straight from Texas?”

  He nodded and noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She needed rest as well.

  “How’s your family?” she asked.

  “They’re doing fine. Matt and Molly got married.”

  “They did?” Her eyes widened in surprise.

  A smile turned up the edge of his mouth. “There was definitely no stopping it. Just took ‘em awhile to come around.”

  A wistful expression crossed Claire’s face. “I’m really happy for them.”

  “What’s going on here? Have you always worked in a place like this?”

  Her smile vanished. “I’ve been at the White Dove since I was a little girl.”

  Shocked, Logan didn’t know what to say. He’d dealt with his fair share of fancy girls and harlots during his watch in Virginia City—the mining town had been overrun with saloons, dance halls, and brothels—but it didn’t prepare him for the knowledge that Claire had lived, still lived, such a life.

  He forced his mind to focus on something else. Her safety.

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  Claire pushed a hand through her hair and looked at him with a serious expression. “I’m as fine as I’ve ever been.” She raised her arms to take in the surroundings then let them drop to her sides. “I know what you must think.”

  “You have no idea what I think,” he replied and wondered why she got to him. It wasn’t just the physical attraction, though God knew she appealed to him in every way possible—from the swell of her breasts to the flare of her hips to her unforgettable golden hair. But beneath it all was something else; he had a strong intuition there was more to Claire than was obvious. For that reason he should push her to tell him everything—why she was a prostitute, why she continued to live a life like this, why she was in trouble. But did he really want to get that close to her and risk his heart yet again? Common sense told him no.

  “I hope you’ll use…discretion when telling your folks about your visit here,” she said. “They were very kind to me.”

  “You could come back to Texas.” The words were out before he realized it. “I’m sure Molly would be happy to see you again, and my ma could help you find something productive to do.”

  A flash of Claire’s astonishment was quickly hidden behind a glazed look of regret, and if Logan hadn’t been watching her he would have missed it.

  “Thank you for the offer,” she said slowly. “But I have obligations here.”

  When she stood, Logan’s thoughts went unwillingly to the bed. But extending this meeting in tangled sheets would only make matters worse. He knew that. But the thought was there all the same.

  “Will you be leaving today?” she asked.

  “I suppose so.” He had no reason to stay except for the woman standing before him.

  “Tia will probably be awake now, and I’ll be needing to get her home.”

  As Claire closed the distance between them, Logan felt a twinge of disappointment when she reached for the door behind him. He thought she might reach for him. Damn, I must be more tired than I thought.

  “I’ll take her,” he said. The words stopped Claire in her tracks. A small victory, which brought her less than an arm’s length from him and gave him a brief moment to memorize the incredible green of her eyes. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you get some rest.” The urge to kiss her was strong. “And you’ll always be welcome at the SR.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and he would have touched her if she hadn’t lowered her face, effectively shutting him out. “I’d be most grateful for your help with Tia,” she said. “And please give Molly my best on her wedding.”

  Reluctantly, he stepped aside as she reached for the doorknob. Hesitating, she brought her gaze to his. “Have a safe journey home,” she added.

  And for a second time Logan watched Claire walk out of his life.

  Chapter Three

  “Why do you call Claire Palomita?”

  Logan rode beside Tia as they passed the brown adobe structures that constituted many of the buildings in Las Vegas. Several had porticoes, while others had additional floors. There was wealth in the town alongside poverty, and the White Dove appeared to fall somewhere toward the down side. As he waited for Claire last night, he’d noticed the dilapidated state of the saloon and the limited offerings from the bar. This morning, he glimpsed the weeds and bushes that had overtaken the establishment outside.

  “The first time I see her,” Tia said, squinting against the bright, morning sun, “I see a little dove. Claire, she was young, maybe eight or nine winters. I find her out there.” She gestured toward the mountains. “She was so quiet, so still. A dove come and sit with her. Together they stay a long time. I think how odd the picture. But it not odd now. That is always Claire. Closed.” Tia pointed to her head. “Thinking. There is something about her. You can see it.” With more fervor, she added, “You can feel it.”

  Logan glanced at the stout Indian woman. “Maybe,” he murmured.

  Tia smiled. “Why you here, Logan Ryan?”

  “I was worried about her,” he answered truthfully. “But she doesn’t seem interested in someone doing that.”

  “Palomita hide her true self.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “doesn’t everyone?” He studied the red and green chilies hanging from the wooden porch beams of the homes they passed, the peppers swaying in the wind; Hispanic boys and girls ran back and forth, playing in the bright day.

  Tia laughed. “What the matter with you? How far you come to find her?”

  “From Texas.”

  Tia nodded, never urging Claire’s old gelding to go any faster. The slow pace didn’t seem to concern her, so Logan settled in for the ride. Perhaps she could shed some light on Claire’s situation. No sense beating around the bush.

  “How long has Claire been a prostitute?”

  Tia raised an eyebrow then clucked softly. “Is this what stand between you?”

  For a moment, Logan was speechless. Tia made it sound so trivial; in Logan’s mind it was anything but.

  “It’s just a question,” Logan replied. He ran a hand through his hair then repositioned his hat.

  Tia chuckled and shook her head. “I usually no stick my nose in other people’s business, and especially not into Palomita’s, but I cannot think why she drive you from her. Her view of the world is shaded by her time at the White Dove.” Pausing for effect, she said, “Claire no sell herself.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “If you think hard, your heart already know it.”

  Logan blew out a relieved breath. Damn, but it’d rankled him mightily the idea of her working for hire. “Then why does she stay?”

  “Maggie Waters always have much ambition. She come to town many winters ago, with Claire, her daughter, so young and sweet but with too much wisdom in a child’s eyes. Ma
ggie had no husband so she sell herself and make good money, but not enough. Soon she hire girls and sell them too. Then she open the White Dove. Palomita is a respectful daughter, she stay because it her duty.”

  “Where is Maggie?”

  “Three full moons have passed since Maggie return to town with only Jimmy.”

  At Logan’s questioning gaze, Tia added, “He Maggie’s other child, born here. I hear rumor that Claire in trouble. I go to Maggie and demand to know, but she in no good shape. Her spirit cry and I know it bad.”

  “Who beat Claire? Sandoval? Griffin?”

  Tia gazed at him, her expression closed and rigid. “Is that what happen?” Her neutral voice couldn’t mask the flash of anger in her eyes. “Maggie never say.” Tia looked away and muttered something unintelligible then turned back. “If I guess, I say it Raul Sandoval. Griffin a snake but no like to dirty his hands. I no ask Claire on this morning, I rejoice in her return. I not understand Maggie, but with Claire gone her heart was broke. She leave with Jimmy…don’t know. But I must believe that she would thank a god she does not worship to see her daughter live again.”

  They moved beyond the town and to the foothills—Logan rode behind Tia on the narrow trail. Upon reaching her small home, Logan swung down and offered assistance as she dismounted. A figure emerged from the cabin.

  “Jack!” Tia squealed and moved quickly to embrace the man. He wore a tattered old suit, the dark cloth lightened from sun and dust, and his long black hair covered his shoulders like a spider web. His oversized black hat all but shielded his face and Tia’s as they shared more than a friendly reunion.

  “Where you been?” he asked and leaned back to have a look at her.

  “At the White Dove,” Tia answered. “Here, you meet Logan Ryan.” Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed Jack’s arm and dragged him back to where Logan stood discreetly out-of-sight.

  “You can call me One-Eyed Jack,” he said and smiled. He offered his hand.

  Logan shook it. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  A patch covered one of Jack’s eyes and he smelled distinctly of liquor, but his gaze was warm. And shrewd. A copy of the Bible poked out of one of his coat pockets. Logan suspected the image of an Indian who lacked intelligence and blindly followed the tenets of the Christian faith was one Jack wanted to project. Never show your truest self. That seemed to be Claire’s style, too. And it was a tactic Logan had used often enough during his deputy days. Perhaps he and Claire weren’t so different.

  “I have good news,” Tia said and grinned. “Palomita lives.”

  Jack stared at her in surprise. “You’ve seen her?”

  “Sí. She is well, and safe. Logan Ryan is here to help her.”

  “Well then, young man,” Jack said, “it’s right fine to meet you. It near broke our hearts when we got word she’d disappeared. The talk about town had her dead and buried.”

  “So it would seem,” Logan replied. “Claire mentioned a person by the name of Griffin last night. A man or a woman?” He thought of Dee with her brown hair and smoky gaze, his memory of her appearance distorted with the passage of time. But some recollections only grew more vivid in the remembrance. Dee had always cut short an argument with the promise of a bedroom dally, blinding him, plain and simple.

  “Señor Griffin…a man,” Tia replied. “He and Raul Sandoval are close. Where one is, you’ll find the other.”

  “What’s Griffin’s first name?”

  “Frank,” Tia said.

  Hadn’t Dee mentioned a brother named Frank? Maybe. Logan couldn’t recollect for certain. “Does he have a sister?” he asked.

  “A sister?” The Indian woman thought for a moment. “It is possible. Many moons ago I did see him with a woman. But she was on the arm of that pond scum Luttrell.” Jack nodded at her words, clearly in agreement.

  Dee had left Nevada in the company of a man named Teddy Luttrell. A flash of anticipation coursed through Logan, not unlike the sensation he’d always felt when putting a fugitive behind bars.

  “What did the woman look like?” Logan asked.

  “Dark hair, much like Griffin.”

  This was the strongest lead he’d had since her disappearance from his life. He had long since cut his losses and stopped searching for her. Was there any point in a confrontation now? Could any explanations she offered make up for the sting of her betrayal?

  “Do you know this woman?” Tia asked.

  Logan hesitated. “Of a sort.” He didn’t feel inclined to rehash his past.

  Tia shook her head. “If she is a Griffin, do not trouble yourself with her.”

  Easier said than done. But Logan kept his conflicted interest in Dee to himself. “Where’s Luttrell now?” he asked.

  “Dead,” Jack said, his tone without inflection. “Happened last year, in the winter.”

  So much for leads. Dee was probably long gone by now.

  “It was a might suspicious, Luttrell’s death,” Jack said. “No wounds, so the rumor was he’d been poisoned. But as far as I heard, no one paid for the crime.”

  Logan pushed aside a brief wave of concern for Dee. Whatever she’d been involved in was by her own choice. As soon as she left him, his responsibility to her had ended, yet…

  “Come inside,” Tia said. “I make you and Jack some tea.”

  “I’d best get on back,” Logan replied.

  “It just for a short time.” Tia tugged at his arm. “Come. I have something to show you.”

  Reluctantly Logan let Tia push him into her cabin while Jack smiled from behind. Logan stepped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust. A stone fireplace was built on one end of the room, venting through the side of the house. Various types of willow baskets covered several shelves along the walls. On the floor, near the fire, was an urn-shaped basket covered with a coating of piñon pitch. Logan thought it was probably a water jug, and was proven correct when Tia used it to fill a cast-iron pot.

  In a large basket near the door were several items made of rawhide and decorated with yellow, blue, and green beads. Logan saw what looked like purses of various sizes, armbands and moccasins. Tia probably made the items herself and sold them in town. From what he could see, the craftsmanship was excellent.

  He and Jack sat on colorful blankets—mixtures of blue, brown and red—on the dirt floor while Tia stoked the fire and heated the water. After a short silence she brought them two steaming cups of liquid in discolored brass cups. She handed one out to Logan then changed her mind, giving him the other cup instead.

  “Thank you,” Logan said.

  “Tia.” Jack’s voice had a tone of reprimand to it. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What kind of tea did you give to Mister Ryan?”

  Tia cocked her chin and put hands on her hips. “Birthroot,” she finally replied. “It is a fine tea,” she defended. “It bring Señor Ryan good luck and it protect his teeth.”

  Logan raised an eyebrow. It was the first time a woman had ever been concerned about his teeth. He felt a sudden urgency to finish his cupful of the bitter brew and be on his way. If his instincts were right, Tia and Jack were about to start arguing.

  “You’re not using it as a love potion?” Jack asked.

  Logan choked on his mouthful. “Pardon me?” He stood and continued to cough.

  “No,” Tia said, staring at Jack. “It not a love potion.” She turned her gaze back to Logan. “But if it were, who you fancy? And do not say that Griffin woman.”

  Logan stared at Tia. He’d always considered himself a smart man with the ladies. But then, there’d been Dee, so all those smarts must have deserted him for good because otherwise how could he have missed the fact that Tia was sweet on him.

  To buy some time, he said slowly, “Who would you like me to fancy?”

  Tia stared right back at him then slapped her leg and started to laugh. “Señor Ryan, you a funny man. Jack, he thinks I want him.” She shook her head and chuc
kled to herself, then leaned close. “I with Jack, you see. But what you think of Claire?”

  Logan let out a relieved breath, and spoke honestly before he thought better of it. “She’s a hard woman to forget.”

  Tia silently agreed. “Here.” She handed him a small, wood-carved figure. Logan rolled it back and forth across his palm, and saw that it was a likeness of a bird.

  “Claire made it when she a child,” Tia said. “She give it to me but I know it not meant for me. You take it.”

  The childish carving intrigued him, as did the link it represented to a younger Claire. But it didn’t seem right that he should keep it. “Why don’t you give it back to her?” He tried to hand the figure to Tia, but she wouldn’t take it.

  “No. It not for her either,” Tia said. “You keep. If you don’t want it, you bring it back. Deal?”

  Logan paused, then slowly nodded in agreement. Tia was determined and it didn’t seem worth the effort to belabor the point. Claire had probably forgotten about the carving as soon as she’d given it to Tia. He ignored the feeling of connection he felt while holding it—a connection to the woman who had created it.

  “Deal,” he agreed.

  Tia smiled. “At last Little Dove is spreading her wings.”

  Logan glanced down at the carving again. It wasn’t just any bird Claire had chiseled. It was a dove.

  * * *

  It was late in the afternoon when Claire checked on Ellie again. Thankfully, the woman still slept. Claire went downstairs and acknowledged Louisa and Betsy as they cleaned tables with rags and buckets of water.

  Glad to be dressed in her own clothes again—a colorful Mexican skirt and white blouse—Claire moved behind the bar and retrieved a leather-clad ledger from a locked cupboard. She’d found the key in her mama’s room several days ago and had already flipped through the pages on two different occasions, attempting to understand the entries. She sat on a stool, laid the book on the bar, and tried to make sense of it again.

  When her mama took Jimmy and headed to Cimarron, she’d left Ellie in charge, and with less than fifty dollars in petty cash. While the White Dove was bringing in money nightly, a quick deduction showed that within the next week or so they would barely break even. Liquor supplies were low, and for the first time Claire wondered if there was a mortgage on the property, although she could find no evidence of one in the ledger. Her mama had always taken care of any and all things related to the business. Even now, Claire was reluctant to dig too deep into the financial situation of the White Dove, fearing her mama’s reaction when she eventually did return, but with Ellie recovering upstairs there was no one else to address the pressing problem of how to keep the business afloat.