Ropin' the Moon

by Deborah Camp

  “Don’t I know it.” Lacy caught the eye of one of the hotel guests and held up one hand to capture his attention. “I sent your items to the laundress, Mr. Peak. She’ll have them finished this afternoon and I’ll send them to your room.”

  “Thank you, Miss.” He headed for the restaurant, giving an appreciative sniff of the mouth-watering aromas.

  A clatter of boots sounded in the doorway as young Andrew Hallmark stumbled into the foyer from outside. Lacy stared at the wild-eyed boy, then at the dirt he’d brought in on his boots. She was about to comment on it when he sputtered, “Marshal Moon sent me!”

  Lacy’s heart froze and she had a frightening vision of Dalton clutching his chest where blood stained his shirt. “What’s wrong? What’s happened to him?”

  “Nothing. It’s Deputy Gentry that’s hurt.”

  “Uncle Otis? Where is he?”

  “At the jail. Marshal sent for you.”

  “What happened to my uncle?”

  “Someone whacked him upside the head and knocked him out cold.”

  “God Almighty!” She glanced around and then stepped into the restaurant. Catching Bobbie Sue’s attention, she motioned for her. “Uncle Otis was attacked,” she said, grasping the woman by the forearm. “Someone struck him in the head. I’m going to the jail to see about him. I’ll send for you if it’s bad.”

  “Who hit him?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out. Take over for me at the register desk.” Lacy patted her arm, reassuringly, and then joined the Hallmark boy in the foyer again. “Let’s go.”

  They hurried along the boardwalk in a near trot to the jail. Andrew hung back, letting her go inside ahead of him. The door to the cells was open, and since no one was in the outer office, Lacy assumed she’d find her uncle in “his” cell. Sure enough, he sat on his cot. Dalton squatted in front of him, washing smears of blood from Otis’s face and neck.

  “Who did this?” She crouched beside Dalton and rested her hands on her uncle’s knees. They felt bony beneath the twill fabric of his trousers. “How badly are you injured?” she asked.

  “Just a knock on my head is all, hon,” Otis told her with a watery smile. “Don’t you worry none about me. My noggin is as hard as a rock.”

  “Someone ambushed him before dawn,” Dalton said. He dipped a cloth into a pan of water that had turned dark pink with her uncle’s blood.

  “Where were you when it happened?”

  “In bed. Asleep.” Dalton nodded toward the back of the building. “In the tack room.”

  “Did you see your attacker?” she asked Otis as she tried to see the cut behind his ear. It had stopped bleeding and didn’t look as if it needed stitches.

  “Nah.” He winced as he touched the side of his head. “I heard voices and I started to get outta bed when someone rushed at me. That’s all I know. I come to when Moon here slapped me in the face.”

  “You slapped him?” She turned wide eyes on the marshal.

  “To bring him around, yes.” A bewildered smile tugged at his lips. “The blood is from the attack. Not from my tap on his cheeks.”

  “And you don’t know who jumped him either?”

  “Not for sure, but since Sam Louder is no longer in jail, I would hazard a guess that it was someone from the Pullman ranch.”

  Anger blazed through her as she rounded on the marshal. “Didn’t I warn you that something like this would happen? You wouldn’t listen though, would you? Now look what you’ve done.”

  “What I’ve done?” Dalton repeated, letting go of an incredulous chuckle.

  “Yes. Uncle Otis wouldn’t have been harmed if you’d simply let Louder go on back to the ranch.”

  “You think it’s okay for Louder to beat on Miss Hollister?”

  “Of course I don’t! Dutch took Willa to Olathe this morning to be treated by a doctor. She’s in a bad way.”

  “Then what kind of punishment would you have me dole out to Louder? Keep him locked up for a couple of days, giving him a rest and two meals daily? You think that’s an eye for an eye?”

  She shook her head, her thoughts in a jumble. How infuriating of him to make sense at a time like this! She fussed over her uncle again. “You should lie back and rest.”

  “I believe a shot of whiskey will clear my head.”

  Lacy rolled her eyes heavenward. “I don’t agree. You rest and I’ll have Bobbie Sue bring you some breakfast. She’ll want to see how you’re faring.”

  “She’s a good woman,” he said with a mopey grin.

  “Here, let me finish this,” she said, taking the wet rag from Dalton. He stood and stepped back while she dunked the rag in the basin, wrung it out, and wiped away the final smears of blood from her uncle’s neck and beard. She peered more closely at hm. A two-inch cut behind his ear and a bump the size of a hen’s egg were his only injuries. The cut wasn’t deep. The top layer of skin had split open from the blow. “You were lucky. You’ll heal quickly from this. I’m thankful they only knocked you out. They could have shot you. Murdered you in your sleep.”

  “They just wanted me outta the way so they could get Louder,” Otis said, closing his eyes with a sigh as he settled more comfortably in his bed. “I knew they wouldn’t just let Moon haul him off to Topeka.”

  “We all knew that,” Lacy muttered.

  “And that’s why I told you to keep your guard up,” Dalton said. He leaned back against the cell bars and crossed his ankles. “I told you to secure the front and back doors. Did you do that?”

  “I did the front one, but I guess I forgot the back one. I meant to . . .” He squinted at Dalton as if opening his eyes wide would pain him too much. “I dozed off is all.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dalton shoved away from the cell door and bent down to pick up the bowl of water and dirty rags. “Get some shut-eye. I’ll check in on you when I get back.”

  “Get back?” The old man opened his eyes wider. “You going to the hotel for breakfast?”

  “I’ll see you later.” Dalton left without further explanation.

  Lacy spread a thin blanket over her uncle and kissed his forehead. “Bobbie Sue will be here in a little while. Are you going to be okay?”

  He smiled. “Honey, don’t fret over me. This weren’t nothing. Once I get some food in my belly and a swaller or two of strong coffee, I’ll be dancing a jig.”

  Lacy tiptoed from the cell and into the outer office. Dalton had buckled on his gun belt. A rifle leaned against his desk. He looked up when he heard her quick intake of breath.

  “You need a gun to eat breakfast?” she asked, trying to sound as if she were teasing, but nerves placed a tremor in her voice.

  “No. I’ll eat something later. I’m headed for the Pullman Ranch.”

  She crossed the room and clutched his gun arm. She didn’t know who was more surprised – her or Dalton. “Don’t, Dalton. Please, don’t.”

  His dark brown eyes locked on her upturned face. Surprise gave way to pleasure. “Are you worried I’ll get plugged full of holes, Lacy?”

  “Yes.”

  Her unvarnished answer made him blink and his strong jaw unhinged a little. He recovered in an instant and fixed a half-smirk on his lips. “Shower your uncle with concern and don’t waste any of it on me.”

  “Why are you being so pig-headed about this?” she demanded, grabbing his arm and pulling him with her outside. She didn’t want her uncle hearing the conversation. She encountered the Hallmark boy lurking out there. “You should get on back to your family’s hardware store, Andrew.”

  Dalton dipped his fingers into the pocket of his vest and offered the boy a shiny coin. “Here you go, Andy.”

  The lad accepted the money with a big grin. “Thanks, Marshal Moon!” His boots thundered on the boardwalk as he galloped away.

  Lacy spun around to face Dalton again. “You’re infuriating! You know that? Do you want to die? Willa Hollister would not want you to lose your life over what happened to her.”

  He
rested his right hand on the butt of his gun, his gaze taking in her frowning aggravation. “I’m doing this because it’s what I was hired to do,” he said, speaking slowly and evenly. “I have no interest in dying. I’m riding out to the Pullman Ranch to take Sam Louder back into custody, although I don’t have much hope that he’ll be there. I figure he’ll hide out somewhere for a few days, thinking I’ll give up on hunting him down.” His gaze hardened. “I won’t. I want to put Pullman on notice that I know he had everything to do with this breakout and that Louder will be taken to Topeka this week or maybe next week. Maybe even next month. But it will be done.”

  “Tempers are running hot right now,” she said, trying to make him see reason. “Wait until Uncle Otis is okay and he can go talk to Pullman about Sam Louder standing trial.”

  A dry chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Your uncle had his chance at keeping Louder in that cell.”

  “This wasn’t his fault. He was knocked unconscious.”

  “He left the back door unbarred. He might as well have sent them an invitation.”

  She didn’t like the tone of his voice or the dark censure in his eyes. “You aren’t suggesting that he allowed this to happen, are you?” She stepped closer, drilling him with her steady gaze. “You’d better not be. My uncle is a man of honor.”

  He angled closer and his voice was but a raspy whisper. “Your uncle wants no quarrel with the Pullmans. No doubt, he has reasons, but those reasons aren’t mine. I’m here to do a job, Lacy, and I’m going to do it.”

  “Uncle Otis is trying to avoid bloodshed, which should also be your aim, if you ask me.” Standing so close to her, she noticed that his brown eyes had a black rim around them, making them seem all the more impenetrable. “Dalton, please listen to me. Junior is a tyrant with no conscience. No one around here will testify against him. Not even the men who hired you.”

  He straightened away from her. “You’re probably right about that,” he conceded. “And I agree that Junior Pullman is a tough one. But hardboiled eggs tend to be yellow inside.”

  “Not him,” she insisted. Noting the hard line of his jaw and the severity of his expression, the fight went out of her. “I can see that there’s nothing I can say or do that will change your stubborn mind.” She shooed him with her hands. “Go on, then. I refuse to waste another moment arguing with you.”

  He curled a finger under her chin, making her gasp as he lifted her gaze back to his. “I appreciate your attentiveness to my welfare, Lacy.”

  Even through the burst of pleasure she felt from his soft touch and gaze, she noted the preciseness of his speech and his Eastern accent. He was a learned man. A man she barely knew, but yet she felt a familiarity toward him that was rare. She lifted her chin from the shelf of his finger, sensing the regard of a few people passing by and not relishing the excuses she’d have to make for allowing such a public display following their behavior at the dance.

  “If you were truly appreciative, you’d heed my advice,” she told him, trying to sound stern and failing. “I need to get back to seeing to my uncle.” She glanced at the gun handle poking up from his holster and felt her lip lift in a spasm of distaste. “Good day.” With a swish of her skirts, she left, but her thoughts lingered on him. All day.

  And a long day, it was for her.

  She gained some relief from her vexing thoughts and fraying nerves when she heard through restaurant chatter in the early afternoon that the marshal had returned from the Pullman Ranch. He hadn’t brought Sam Louder back with him. A couple of men mentioned within her earshot that when they’d tried to gain some information from the marshal, he’d been about as pleasant to them as a paining back tooth.

  A few hours later, Lacy retired to her quarters in the hotel, feeling doleful and oddly restless. She went over the discussion she’d had with her uncle after Dalton had left for the Pullman Ranch. Uncle Otis had grumbled that Dalton should have listened to him and never arrested Sam Louder. It had been obvious to her at that point that he still harbored a deep resentment toward Dalton. She had hoped that he’d come to grips with the situation and had even decided that he liked the confident, young lawman. But the bite of his words and the scorn underlying his tone had been impossible to miss. Besides, it wasn’t like Uncle Otis to forget to do his duty, especially when trouble was afoot.

  She had examined his injury more closely. He’d been extremely fortunate. His flesh was barely broken and the bruising around the wound was minimal. It was actually surprising that he’d been knocked out cold for more than a minute.

  With a fretful sigh, Lacy removed her shoes and stockings and then freed the twenty-eight buttons marching down the front of her dress. She loosened the ties of her corset and filled her lungs with a reviving breath before finishing her disrobing. It was always such a pleasure to unbind after a long day. As she completed her ablutions, she mused over the complexity of Dalton Moon. She craved information about him. Why had he chosen to be a marshal? Why was he unattached – by choice or chance? What feelings did he have for her? Was she the next in a long line of females he’d fancied or had she touched something deeper and more tender inside him?

  Sitting on the bed, she smoothed lilac-scented lotion over her arms, recalling with a tingle her dance with Dalton. Longing writhed in her when she closed her eyes and pictured the hungry, determined expression he’d worn that night as he’d paced across the room toward her. That he hadn’t tried to hide his feverish interest in her as everyone had stared at him in fascination still astonished her. She found so much about him fascinating.

  He could be as dark and foreboding as a cemetery on a moonless night or as bright and charming as a field of sun-kissed buttercups. One moment he reminded her of a dastardly pirate and then next of a mannerly squire. Sometimes he spoke like a common ranch worker only to suddenly sound like a bard or professor. Like his last name, he was changeable, showing his full face and then casting a shadow for concealment when he felt it necessary.

  More and more, she wanted to see the full man and to be one of the few to plumb his depths. To what did he aspire? Did his time in battle scar his soul as well as his face? Had he no desire to settle down with a family? Where had he roamed? What adventures had he encountered in his travels? She so envied his wanderings. The places and wonders he must have seen!

  She couldn’t recall ever being as fixated on a man as she was on Dalton Moon. Usually, there was no need for curiosity because the men she’d been around were only too happy to talk about themselves, often to the point of boredom.

  Easing herself under the covers, she stared at the shadows as they moved sinuously across the ceiling. The draperies were partly open and a sliver of a moon graced the heavens, surrounded by adoring stars and scudding clouds. She finally fell asleep by the light of one moon while dreaming of another.

  Willa Hollister returned to Far Creek the next day with a strap of leather tied around her head to stabilize her jawbone, her face and arms swollen and peppered with multi-colored bruises, and the need for an extra feather pillow to sit on so that her broken tailbone wouldn’t send shards of pain through her.

  Dutch put her in one of the hotel rooms instead of her regular place, a room above the saloon she shared with three other women. He said she was to stay in the hotel until she was mended enough to see to herself without discomfort. She carried a big tablet and pencil, with which she used to communicate since she couldn’t speak until her jaw healed. It wasn’t broken, but had been temporarily dislodged. She could only manage to sip liquids, so Appolonia, the cook, got busy making thin soup and porridge. Agnes insisted on carrying the meals upstairs to her. All the women in the hotel and saloon banded together to help Willa heal.

  Dalton waited two days before he sat beside Willa’s bed and laboriously and patiently questioned her about the beating she’d taken at the hands of Sam Louder. Lacy stood in the doorway and had listened. Willa had scrawled her answers in big, blocky letters.

  Yes, Sam hit her.


  No, she didn’t want to go before a judge and charge Sam with assaulting her.

  When Dalton pressed her, wanting to know why she didn’t want Louder to pay for his transgressions against her, she had written, Want do no goode. In spite of her misspellings, Dalton had nodded and continued to probe.

  “Won’t you feel responsible if Louder assaults another woman? Perhaps even a woman of your acquaintance? A friend of yours? That could easily happen. You know that you aren’t the only woman he uses his fists on. If he’s charged and found guilty, he’ll serve a jail term and that should make him think twice before he lays hands on the fairer sex again.”

  Willa had blinked her hazel eyes at him, but wrote nothing in response. A slender woman, she reminded Lacy of a doe with her large eyes and tawny tresses. She usually piled her hair in a haphazard bundle on top of her head, but today it lay in loose curls over the shoulders of her blue dressing gown. Without her usual garish makeup and flouncy, flirtatious garments, she looked younger and vulnerable. She had told Lacy that she’d married at fifteen, but her husband had been killed within two weeks of joining his hometown regiment. During the war years, all of Willa’s close family had died and she had taken up work in saloons in order to survive. Her history was a common thread among hurdy-gurdy gals, most of whom had resorted to serving in saloons because there were so few paying jobs available to them.

  Receiving no further response from her, Dalton pursed his lips in thoughtful consideration. “I’ve arrested him already, Miss Hollister. Just because he’s escaped, doesn’t put an end to this. I’ll find him and take him to Topeka and let a judge decide his fate. Your testimony would be more than helpful, but it isn’t a strict requirement. My testimony will be enough and I might persuade Dutch Visser to testify as to Louder’s penchant for hitting women, too. I merely want to give you the opportunity to right a terrible wrong done to you.” He studied her for a moment more. “Witnessing the damage done to your person pains me, Miss Hollister. I will not allow Sam Louder to do such a thing and not answer for it.”