Gideon laughed, knowing Jed well enough now to know that the man was intentionally misunderstanding the conversation. It warmed him, that Jed was here with him, and that Jed seemed like he wanted to be, now.
The Edmundson Hotel was located off a side street, in a tall building that sat alone. It looked a little worn, definitely needed a new coat of paint, but it was clean and the yard around it was tidy. A large vegetable garden filled most of the backyard, and as they approached, Gideon spotted people working in it, young’uns from the look of it.
Inside was bright and cheerful, made more so by Mrs. Edmundson and her oldest boy, who looked to be in his teens. Mrs. Edmundson couldn’t be more than forty years old, tall and plump, too, while her boy was as thin as a reed. They did give Jed a second glance, but only that, and when Gideon asked for a room for both of them, there were only a few questions about Jed’s manners, which Jed answered himself.
“I don’t mind you sleeping on the floor,” Mrs. Edmundson said to Jed, “but if you’re going to, please don’t be telling people. It gives my beds a bad name.”
“I will sleep in the bed,” Jed said, nodding to her. “If you allow it.”
“Of course we allow it,” she said, smiling at him, and Gideon warmed to the woman. “We’re all God’s children, aren’t we? You sleep wherever you wish, Jedediah, just so long as you don’t let people think it’s because the beds are too hard.”
Jed blinked, and Gideon smiled, pleased to hear the warmth in her voice. “You get a lot of Indian customers, ma’am?” Gideon asked.
She glanced at him, her smile unwavering. “We do, yes. The Stewart Indian School is down south of here. Lots of families come to visit their children. Some of them, having to travel so far to see to them… anyone loves their children that much is welcome here!”
She said it proudly, and Gideon was proud of her. But as he grinned at Jed, he saw the stiffness in his friend’s body and the strong lines of his face that fairly radiated his tension.
Mrs. Edmundson didn’t notice it, or if she did, she let it pass; as she turned to Gideon, her tone stayed as warm and friendly as it had been so far. “Your room’s on the second floor, toward the back, room 12. There’s just the one bed, but it’s plenty wide for two, especially if you’ve been on the trail all the way from Livingston! My, I wouldn’t relish that walk.”
“It’s been a pleasure, really,” Gideon said. “I’ve seen parts of this country I never had before.”
“Young men,” she said with an indulgent smile. “Dinner’s served at seven. Tonight it’s pork chops and potatoes, butter peas, biscuits, and gravy. I’m not as good as some of the places down the block, but you’re both welcome to partake with us in the dining room.”
“We’ll be there,” Gideon smiled at her. “Now—where’s the closest bath house?”
“There’s a good place three blocks over—run by some Chinese people, with hot water and clean tubs. There are others a little nicer, maybe, but they’ll rob you blind.”
They followed her directions and found it quick enough. It was a good place, Gideon thought, as he sank into the first hot bath he’d had in—longer than he cared to remember. The only problem with it was that he was separated from Jed. The main room was sectioned off with curtains and blankets draped over long rope lines. It allowed for privacy, which was probably a good thing most of the time. But Gideon had grown accustomed to watching Jed bathe of an evening, and he sorely missed that view.
He took his time, relaxing languidly in water that came up to his chest, and a gangly Chinese boy kept popping through the curtain with a big kettle to heat it up for him. Gideon decided he was just about in heaven until he realized he was paying extra for every warm-up. Still, it was worth it. He even took the time to shave, appreciating the feel of the blade sliding over the relaxed, warm skin of his cheeks and under his chin, and glad to be rid of a good week’s beard growth. As he dressed, he wondered where Jed was, if he was still enjoying himself. The thought of it, of Jed in a tub of warm water, his skin slick and shining, his eyes closed in pleasure—Gideon shifted, trying not to think too much about it.
He finished up, dried, and dressed before his imagination could get away from him. The simple pleasures of life were often the best ones, and he felt sinfully good to be warm and clean. He stepped outside the bathhouse into the crisp evening air, giving his mind and body a chance to cool off. He’d expected to be waiting for Jed—and was annoyed to find the other man standing in the shadows of the porch, his long hair damp and drying in the slight breeze that blew in as the sun dropped low in the sky.
“You can’t just relax and soak away the day in a bathtub?” he asked, as annoyed by the idea that Jed had rushed through something as pleasant as a bath as he was relieved that no one was bothering Jed out here on the street.
“I was afraid you had drowned,” Jed said as Gideon approached. He stepped forward, the corners of his lips twisting up a little. “I did not want to have to explain to your father how I’d gotten you across a thousand miles of this country, only to lose you to drowning in a public bathhouse in Carson City, Nevada.”
Gideon snorted and patted Jed’s shoulder, touched by the idea that Jed would have delivered the news and not left his folks to wonder. “My folks would understand that.”
Jed looked surprised, even after the stories he’d heard of Gideon’s parents, but Gideon had been talking all his life; he knew how to save something for the next show and the next town, and he knew how to keep what ought to be personal and private to himself. It made him wonder what he might’ve held back from Jed, what things he’d want to make sure and tell him, before they hit San Francisco and went their separate ways.
They stopped by the livery so Gideon could have a quick chat with the farrier, who assured him that Star’s shoes were in good shape but she could stand a good trim and cleaning. The farrier agreed to see to Star by the time they’d finished breakfast tomorrow. That business concluded, Gideon asked, “You ready for that nice woman’s home cooking?” Without waiting for an answer, he steered Jed by the shoulder just to feel the drying silk of long hair brush against his knuckles, until Jed ducked away from him.
“Cheaper than finding another place,” Jed said agreeably. “And perhaps her cooking, from what we’ve heard of it, will make you appreciate mine more when we return to the trail.”
Gideon hoped like hell that Jed was wrong about that.
Mostly, Jed was. Mrs. Edmundson’s cooking wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted, but it was familiar and flavorful and used all the things a man just didn’t pack and carry on the trail: flour, sugar, big pats of butter to melt over hot biscuits, honey dripping off a comb in a jar. The pork chops were a little dry, but they were well salted and well seasoned, and it made Gideon smile to see Jed eating pig now, when a pig had almost done him in.
After dinner, they headed out to pick up supplies, partly to get it done and partly because Gideon wanted to move around among people for a bit, get a feel for city life. Mrs. Edmundson had frowned at them as they left, warning them that saloons were trouble waiting to happen, and Gideon promised her that they were good folk and wouldn’t bring any trouble her way.
Sunset was settling in when they found a general store Gideon liked the look of, and they went in and poked around briefly, Gideon counting out his dwindling travel money carefully for more coffee, more bullets, flour and salt—he could make pan bread, as long as they had meat drippings, and Mrs. Edmundson’s biscuits had made him miss bread on the trail. They still had a few days of wilderness travel left, though the closer they got to California, the more Gideon felt like dragging his feet. He was going to miss the show if he slowed up too much, and he might anyway. He’d end up riding hard down the California coast—or getting his money out of the Wells Fargo Bank in San Francisco and finally taking the train—to catch up with his people in Merced, or wherever the show stopped next.
“Okay, we’ve got supplies,” Gideon said, toting the burlap sack.
“Now how about a drink?”
“A drink?”
Gideon pointed toward a saloon where music and light and laughter spilled out the open doors, and grinned. “Yeah, Jed, a drink.”
It was here Gideon learned that Jed didn’t like saloons. Gideon hadn’t thought much about it. He’d packed whiskey for cold nights on the trail, and he’d shared it with Jed. Jed didn’t drink often nor did he drink much, but he wasn’t a teetotaler.
But when Gideon nudged him and pointed to the saloon that seemed cheerful and not too crowded and was definitely calling to Gideon’s need for social company, Jed frowned and shook his head. “If that is what you want, I will go back to the room,” he said. “Alcohol and white men are not a good mix for my people.”
Gideon stopped in mid-stride and turned to look at his friend. “You stay out of saloons?” he asked. The idea was as foreign to him as church on Sundays.
Jed arched one eyebrow and tilted his head, clearly amused. “There are very few of them on reservations,” he answered slowly. “The ones I have been in have been in your towns and cities. They usually lead to trouble of some sort.” He leaned in a little closer. “If you feel the need to find someone to stay with for a while, I can find some way to pass the time.”
“Stay with?” Gideon asked.
Jed’s smile broadened even though he didn’t seem all that amused. “Be with,” he said. “That is what your saloons are for, are they not? To meet people to spend time with? To—lie with?”
Understanding was a relief—and a twist in the gut. “You think I want to—didn’t we just talk about this, before we came into town?”
He didn’t realize he was speaking so loud until Jed took a step back and looked around, his smile gone. “We spoke of much,” he said, his eyes moving along the street and sidewalk, nodding to people who were looking at them. “We did not speak of saloons.”
Gideon sighed. “Jed, saloons are noise and music, maybe a card game, barmaids in frilly dresses.” He waved a hand, trying to explain something that was as obvious to him as the nose on his face. “They’re people, Jed. Friendly folk looking to pass time in a crowd.”
“Yet another reason I don’t like saloons, probably,” Jed said. But he touched Gideon’s shoulder. “Go on. Get a drink. Enjoy the people. I will….” Here he looked around again and lowered his voice in a way that made the saloon pale by comparison to what was being offered, “I will wait in the hotel.”
Gideon caught his breath again, torn between the two options. Before he could make a decision, a voice called out from behind him. “Hey, are you a cowboy?”
He ignored it, until he saw Jed’s eyebrows arch and his gaze fix past Gideon’s shoulder.
“You, Mister Cowboy!” The voice was decidedly feminine and partly because of that and partly because of the look on Jed’s face, Gideon turned.
She was pretty—long brown hair that was pulled back and up under her hat, but curls fell loosely and unevenly to make a frame for her face. She had big eyes, bigger than Jed’s, and her lips were full and smiling. She was leaning against the support beam for the roof over the boardwalk, her arm crooked around it so that her lace-gloved hand was above her head and holding her steady. Provocative, and pretty, and staring right at him as if there was no one else around. She smiled at him, blinking slowly. “I’ve never met a real cowboy before,” she said, her voice warm. “And you even have an Indian friend! Come here and talk to me, tell me all about living out here in the West!”
He took two steps before he realized he was moving, and when he stopped, he heard Jed’s soft chuckle from behind. He looked over his shoulder to see the Indian flash a grin at him before saying, “Pass the time. You know where I will be.”
“Uh….” He watched Jed, still standing there waiting for a reply, then glanced at the pretty girl, torn. Not for the reasons Jed was probably thinking, but still. “Hold up, Jed,” he whispered, and stepped toward the gal. “Guess I’m a cowboy, ma’am,” he said, and like he always did, added, “I work in a wild west show, best trick rider and bronco buster you’ll ever see.”
Her smile widened, and so did her eyes. “My brother and I just stopped here from the train. We’ve been moving so fast since Chicago I feel like I haven’t got to meet a single regular person.”
He grinned wider, entertained. “I ain’t a regular person, not by far. Ain’t from around here either, in fact. I been—”
“You! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
One glance at the big eyes and the curly brown hair told Gideon this must be the brother. The gal hadn’t mentioned he was older, protective, nor big as a tree. “Just answering the young miss’s question,” he said, aiming for genial. He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Gideon Makepeace, and I—”
Whatever else he might’ve said got lost when the tree trunk shoved him in the chest, hard enough to push the breath from him and land his back up against the wall of the store. “Hey, now!” he said, holding up his hands. “Weren’t looking to disrespect the lady or cause no trouble.” But it looked like the brother had his own ways of blowing off steam on a long, boring trip, and Gideon was as good a target for him as he was for the woman. Darn it all.
The tree trunk stepped forward, grabbing him by the lapels and shaking him, and Gideon felt his blood come up, ready for a fight. Might even be fun, though Jed would probably have to pick the pieces of him up off the damned ground.
“Bobby! Bobby, you quit that this instant!” the gal scolded her brother, but the brother shook him one more time, hard enough to rattle his teeth, so Gideon grabbed back and shoved, and just like that they were flat on the boardwalk and rolling toward its edge. Gideon’s whole plan became putting the brother on the bottom in the horse manure if they rolled onto the street. The pair of them were grappling way too close to get in any good licks, and suddenly there were hands on them, Jed’s and the woman’s, grabbing them and, Gideon supposed, startling the brother enough to settle him down a mite—or make him afraid a wild punch would land on his sister somewhere. He pushed off to one side and sat up, holding his sister tightly by one arm.
“Get away from here, you slick sonofabitch,” the brother said.
Gideon, resisting the urge to laugh, jumped to his feet and held his hands up in front of him. “Was just leaving, mister.” Still, he turned and smiled at the sister. “Ma’am.”
He turned on his boot heel and grinned at Jed, who was glaring fiercely at him. “Definitely need that drink now, Jed!” he proclaimed.
Jed let them get into the street and a few steps away from the pair before he grumbled, “This is why I do not like cities.”
“Hey, at least that didn’t have nothing to do with you being Indian,” Gideon replied, already laughing it off now that the danger of law getting involved was past and his blood was running high. “There’s all kinds of ways to enjoy a town, Jed—hell, that there was one of ’em! Gets the blood pumping, makes you feel alive.” Jed looked at him like he was a lunatic as they continued across the street, but Gideon was damned sure Jed understood what he was saying. Maybe not about a dust-up with a stranger, but he knew of some native things that might compare. “Say you sneak up on a friend or some fella from a neighboring tribe. Say you get close enough to flick his ear. That’s sort of a game, right? But it’s a little shaming him, too.”
Jed nodded, wary now like the last thing in the world he wanted was for Gideon to prove his point. “Well, that was a little bit like that. Sort of a game, but that fella, he was trying to shame me. I didn’t mind,” Gideon said, just to be clear, “’cause I knew he was in the wrong—”
“I’m sure he thought the same of you,” Jed cut in dryly.
Gideon shrugged. “Don’t matter if he did. Or if he did, it just means we both won.”
Jed shook his head again, clearly disapproving of the whole idea. “You like danger.”
“No,” Gideon corrected, “I like fun.” He lowered his voice a little and grinned. “Think you know that by
now.”
They had reached the other side of the street right in front of the saloon while they talked, but Jed still seemed wary. Less condemning, maybe, but still wary. “You should go,” he said, nodding toward the light spilling out of the saloon. “Enjoy the people, Gideon. But please, no more fighting.”
He slapped Jed on the back. “Fair enough. I’ll just have one drink, listen to the music for a bit.”
“And I will be at the hotel.” Jed didn’t say anything seductive or make any promises, but he did look at Gideon for an overly long moment, and Gideon decided that yeah, one drink and a few minutes of noise would be plenty.
He licked his lips and smiled, wanted to reach out and touch Jed’s hair. But he wasn’t fool enough to do that. “Okay,” he said and hopped onto the boardwalk.
The saloon was all he expected of it, noisy and crowded, filled with cigar smoke and the smell of spilled beer, women’s perfume, hard-working bodies, and money changing hands. Gideon had no interest in gambling. He just sidled up to an empty space at the bar and ordered a whiskey, unsurprised to find it watered down a little. He had some left in his pint bottle in the room; he could sip that if he was of a mind. But right now he just wanted to soak in the crowd, and he started a friendly conversation with a fellow to his left, who’d come in on the eastbound train from San Francisco.
“I’m headed for San Francisco myself,” he offered. “Need to catch up with Bill Tourney’s Wild West Show. I work in it, y’see.”
The gentleman’s eyebrows rose. “Yeah? I saw that show when I was in San Jose last month. Fine. Damned fine.” His lips twisted into a sly smile. “Lots of attractions, if you know what I mean.”
Gideon grinned. No doubt the fella had seen his mama in the peep show, if she’d been one of the women working that night. Sometimes, with strangers, he thought he ought to feel more protective of his ma, knowing as he did that this gent and plenty of others probably polished their dicks thinking about her. But he’d grown up around it, and had decided many years ago that if all they did was look and think, then it wasn’t hurting nobody. His mama least of all. “You tip the ladies’ show?” he asked, offering a sly smile himself. “They work real hard to make a man smile.”
Well Traveled Page 15