by Joyce Armor
“That feller you’re looking for is holed up at the Three Rivers Hotel & Emporium.” The sheriff indicated with his thumb the direction of the hotel. “I can’t just let you go there and kill ‘im. I would like to throw his arse in jail if you can give me some evidence.”
Garrett was about to say something, but Cole put his hand up, interrupting. “I believe you. I just can’t arrest him without any proof.”
Garrett took a sip of his coffee and set the cup down very deliberately. “I will not have this man threatening, harming or tormenting my wife any longer.”
“Let’s go talk to him. Maybe we can get him to see the error of his ways. I’ll meet you over there in a minute.”
“Ha! I’m willing to give it a go, sheriff, but I doubt it will do any good,” Garrett said as he rose. As he walked out of the sheriff’s office and headed toward the hotel, a young boy of about eight or nine ran up to him.
“Are you Mr. Winslow?”
He stopped leading his horse, looking around suspiciously. “I am.”
“This message is for you.” He thrust his little grimy hand out, which held a folded piece of vellum, a quality of paper not all that common in Garrett’s experience. He took the paper from the boy, who stood watching him expectantly.
“Everybody is a businessman,” Garrett murmured, reaching into his pocket and handing the little mercenary an Indian-head penny.
As the little tyke ran off smiling, the cowboy opened the message. As he surmised, it was from Edward Capo DeJulius. What a pretentious name. The Easterner wanted Garrett to meet him in his room. He looked back at the sheriff’s door. He probably went to the privy out back. It might be better if Garrett spoke to DeJulius alone. That way he could threaten him without Sheriff Cole’s interference. He was angry with the greedy man and would be happy to rearrange his face and even break a few bones, but he was not a killer, unless it was kill or be killed.
He headed toward the Three Rivers Hotel and tied his gelding up at the hitching post. He was about to step toward the hotel when he felt a tug on his sleeve. It was the little kid who had brought the message. Garrett was a bit disturbed at how the boy had gotten so close without him realizing it. He was far too distracted and needed to get focused before he met with DeJulius. He looked down at the boy, raising an eyebrow.
“Mister?”
“Yeah?”
The boy looked around, as if he were afraid to be seen. Then he said quietly, “That man who gave me the note? He has a gun.”
Garrett was puzzled. “Most men do.”
“He’s a bad man, and I think he might shoot you.”
Garrett smiled. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll be careful.”
The boy streaked off, turning down an alley and disappearing. Garrett thought about what he had said. DeJulius would not just gun him down when he entered the room, would he? Garrett grunted. Of course he would. He was as unscrupulous as they come and a coward. Well, if he had to kill him, he would. He headed up the steps into the hotel, somewhat surprised at how nice it was inside, with plush carpeting and fancy chandeliers. A desk clerk wearing a shiny gold vest looked at him as he approached, but Garrett saw the stairs and turned toward them before the clerk could stop him. It didn’t take him long to get to room 226.
He stood in the hallway for a moment deciding how to play this. Then, standing off to the side, although he did not believe the man would shoot through the door, he knocked. Shooting through the door was too risky for a coward.
“Come in!” the skunk called.
Interesting. He was not opening the door. That would put him too close to his quarry. Garrett heard someone on the stairs and thought it might be the sheriff. It was now or never. He opened the door and immediately dove to the right as a shot rang out. Garrett rolled toward the bed, his gun already out of his holster, as the sheriff burst in. DeJulius turned his gun toward the sheriff and Garrett fired, hitting DeJulius in the thigh. The sidewinder screamed and collapsed.
“What the hell,” Cole spat out.
“He tried to kill me,” DeJulius said through clenched teeth.
Garrett got up. “Check my gun, Cole. I only fired the one shot you just witnessed. The genius here sent me a note inviting me to his room and was gunnin’ for me. Check his gun.
The sheriff picked up the wounded man’s gun, which had skidded several feet away when he collapsed. He checked the cylinder and found a bullet missing. He then checked Garrett’s gun and also found only one bullet gone. And he hadn’t missed the wounded man’s gun pointing at him.
“I’m bleeding to death here,” DeJulius practically screamed.
“You’re under arrest for attempted murder, Mr…”
“DeJulius,” Garrett helped out.
“Yes. We will help you along to the jail, and I’ll send someone for the doc. We’ll tie off the leg first.”
Garrett was not about to offer his shirt, but he ripped two strips off the bed sheet and they padded and tied off the wound, which was bleeding copiously. As it turned out, the sheriff never had a chance to call the doctor, as the bullet had hit his femoral artery, and DeJulius bled out in his jail cell despite Garrett’s honest efforts to stop the bleeding.
Even when it became apparent that he was dying, at least to Garrett and Sheriff Cole, DeJulius spewed nothing but venom at Libby, her stepfather and Garrett. He also had a few choice words for the criminals he had hired who failed to bring Libby to him or to kill Garrett. The man would not be going to the Montana Territorial Prison after all. The young ranch foreman felt no righteous joy at DeJulius’s demise, yet he was not sorry the Eastern dandy was gone. Now he would hunt down Libby’s stepfather and end that nightmare for her. He knew the move would set her free and probably result in her leaving him and heading back East. He also knew now he did not want that. More than anything, though, anything in this life, he wanted her safe, and if that was the price of securing her safety, so be it.
“Well,” the sheriff said as he walked Garrett out of his office, “I didn’t find any warrants or wanted posters on DeJulius, but he was a bad one.” He held out his hand to Garrett. “Maybe we’ll cross paths again one day.”
“Maybe. Thanks.”
Cole watched as the cowboy mounted and rode away. He remembered the look Garrett had when he talked about his wife, Libby. That was a man in love. Lucky man.
* * *
Jackson insisted on dropping Libby off at the doc’s office while he went to the sheriff’s. She grumbled that she was fine, but she had a split lip and seemed a little unsteady on her feet. They agreed that whoever finished first would go to the other, although Jackson also insisted Libby have the doctor accompany her if she was ready before he was.
Doc Watkins was in and shook his head when he saw her. “I swear, you’re my best customer, Mrs. Winslow.”
“Please, Libby. I think we know each other well enough by now.”
He chortled as he leaned over to examine her lip. “I think we can get by without any stitches. Lips tend to heal fast. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
She told the doctor about the chloroform, that she had vomited, her side hurt and she still felt a little nauseous. He checked her side, declaring it badly bruised, although it appeared no bones were broken. She also showed him her hands, which had gotten scraped when she fell in the mine shaft. He cleaned the scrapes and put something on them which stung so much it brought tears to her eyes. She decided not to mention the bruises she felt on her posterior, also courtesy of the fall. She was anxious to get to the sheriff’s office, both to make sure she was not in trouble for shooting Elias and to find out what would happen to Cindy Lou. She waited impatiently for the physician to wrap her hands in gauze and then asked if he would escort her to the sheriff’s office. It was only down on the next block.
“I would be happy to,” he said jovially. “I would like to see you make it safely somewhere for once.”
She laughed. How could she take offense? She had certainly had her share of in
juries since moving to Montana Territory. Oddly, perhaps, it made her feel stronger, not weaker. Perhaps the thought of taking a human life had not struck her yet. Despite his cruelty, it would never have occurred to her to kill her stepfather if he had not been trying to kill her. Right now, she could only feel good about triumphing over her lifelong tormenter. Maybe the regret and guilt would come later.
Doc Watkins saw his patient safely to the sheriff’s office and headed off to meet his wife at the cafe. When Libby entered the little station, with a pine desk and two chairs, a gun cabinet on the wall and an open door leading to three jail cells, Jackson and Sheriff Braun both stood up.
“You look to have survived your latest peril, Mrs. Winslow,” she sheriff observed.
“Yes sir, I am fine.”
Jackson offered her his chair, and she sat, more grateful than she hoped she looked.
“I won’t be filing any charges on the death of your stepfather,” the sheriff promised. “But I would like you to tell me what happened.”
Libby went over the story, beginning with Cindy Lou showing up at the ranch and ending with Jackson rescuing her.
“It obviously was self-defense,” Jackson said.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” the sheriff added, taking a sip of his coffee.
Libby thought about the one loose end. “What about Cindy Lou?”
“I send Bud Baxter to fetch her.”
“Is that Nellie’s husband?”
“Yes, he’s my deputy.”
Just then Bud came in. He was tall and wiry, with brown hair and blue eyes, kind of average looking, except he had the kind of friendly face people just naturally were drawn to.
“She’s gone,” Bud told them. “She left her boarding house with no word, but all her things are gone.”
Good riddance, thought Libby.
How could Garrett ever have lain with her, Jackson wondered.
If I had brought her in, maybe the sheriff would take me more seriously, the deputy mused.
The sheriff was thinking about his lumbago. And about retrieving Elias Parminter’s body. The group discussed that briefly. Bud mentioned to Libby that Nellie wanted to have her and Garrett over to dinner, and then Jackson and Libby took their leave.
As he unhitched his Morgan, he turned back to her. “Are you ready to head back to the ranch, or would you like to get something to eat first?”
“Let’s go home,” Libby said. “I bet Carmen has something wonderful waiting for us.”
Jackson smiled. He mounted and reached down for Libby. She placed her foot in the stirrup, which he had vacated for her, and he hoisted her up behind him. She grabbed onto his firm waist and they headed off. It was not like riding with Garrett, of course, but it was comforting and somehow felt right. She couldn’t help but smile as they crossed the miles toward the Butterman spread. She felt the weight of the world was at least partially off her shoulders with Elias gone. Now if she could just stop worrying about Garrett.
The following morning Nellie made another visit to the ranch, catching up on the latest of Libby’s adventures. She had heard the story from her husband and wanted to make sure Libby was well.
They were sitting by the creek, tossing stones into it. “You remind me of my Scottish cousin, Evander.”
Libby was shocked. “I remind you of a man?”
Nellie shook her head. “Not in appearance, in actions. He has a way of getting into all kinds of scrapes and always comes out smelling like a rose. Last month he got into an altercation at some ball and caused quite a ruckus. Well, he said he didn’t cause it; he just helped it along. He’s not what you would think an earl would be.”
Libby tried to skip a stone. It sunk like a…stone. “You’re related to royalty?”
“Not royalty, just the Scottish peerage.”
“Will you be requiring me to curtsy before you now?”
“Only on special occasions. And speaking of those, have you decided what you will do when Garrett returns?”
Libby picked up a leaf and studied the veins running through it. “What choice do I have? I think I’ll just have to be patient and try to get through to his thick skull that we were made for each other.”
* * *
Garrett returned that afternoon, slightly bedraggled and not smelling too good. His clothes and ventilated hat were caked with dust, and he had a three- or four-day growth of beard. He had just handed the reins to Jody when Libby came flying out of the ranch house, bounding down the stairs and into his arms, nearly knocking him over.
“You’re back,” she said, stating the obvious. “I was so worried.”
“I told you I can take care of myself,” he said, a little overwhelmed by her enthusiasm.
Duly chastised, she stepped back. “You’re okay? You did not get hurt?”
“I’m fine. DeJulius is dead. Where’s Jackson?”
She gasped. “You killed him?”
“Yes, although not on purpose. We can talk about it at supper.”
“I think Jackson is out mending some fences. Real fences,” she snickered, totally inappropriately considering another man had died.
Garrett didn’t smile. Great, it was going to be one of those days. In that case, two could play this game. She would wait for the supper discussion to tell him about Elias.
“He said he would be back for supper.”
“Good. We need to talk. I need to get a bath and clean up.”
“Yes, you do.”
Then his mouth did quirk up a bit, as if were trying not to smile but couldn’t quite help it.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Sure,” she said, with that look of disappointment in her eyes he tried not to see.
Once all the threat was removed, she would be gone, he kept telling himself, steeling himself not to be affected by her moods. No woman in her right mind would stay where she was constantly injured and at risk. And Libby’s experience in the past few weeks did not even include vicious storms, attacking bears, wolves, mountain lions, snakes, renegades and a hundred other dangers.
Libby watched Garrett head toward the bunkhouse. No doubt he would be bathing in the cold stream. God forbid he should partake of a hot bath in the house, where he might run into his wife. Make that Lionhearted Libby. He might have run back to Butte if he had seen the look of determination on her face. She would give him time to gather his clean clothes, head down to the creek and disrobe. Then she would go enjoy the show. No need to be shy. He was her husband, after all. If only he would remember that.
She sat down on the top step of the porch to wait, picturing him disrobing. She also mused about how improper she had become since leaving St. Louis. It all started in that alley, where she punched the drunk, although it started in her thoughts long before that. And where had propriety ever gotten her anyway? “Proper” society had allowed evil men to flourish. It was such a relief to be free of the two people who were out to harm her; she now was free to concentrate on making her marriage one of much more than convenience. And she would start by ogling her husband as he bathed in the creek.
As she walked down into the little ravine toward the creek, she concentrated on stealth, avoiding stepping on twigs and dry leaves. She snickered silently, realizing she felt like one of her dime-novel characters, although none of the heroines in those books had ever sneaked up on a naked man. Still, there was something deliciously forbidden and clandestine about this adventure.
Getting closer to the creek, she moved furtively from tree to tree. Then she heard a splash. Dashing to a tree about 16 or 18 feet from the creek, she sat down to watch, hoping Garrett wouldn’t spot her. He burst through the surface of the water, standing and shaking his head like a dog, another of his habits, spraying water everywhere. He was standing in only about three feet of water, and it was obviously cold, as his man parts were quite…uh…withdrawn. Even without his normally rather magnificent appendage, he was glorious, rather Homeric. She watched, enthralled, as he lathered
up his brawny shoulders, following closely as he ran the soap down his hairy chest to his rock solid stomach and lower.
Her breathing rate increased and she started to feel warm and kind of tingly all over. When he moved the soap down to his crotch and rubbed, she closed her eyes and sucked in a breath.
“Are you just going to watch?” he called out.
She gasped and jumped back, falling on her behind. She had no idea how erotic watching him bathe would be and how appalled she would feel at being caught red-handed. And red-faced. Very red-faced. Still, better to soldier on, she decided. Yes, decision time. But really it was no choice at all. She looked at her soapy hero in the creek with the shriveled genitalia and knew she loved him almost more than she could stand. Even if he was never destined to love her back, she loved him until she thought her heart would burst.
“Did you want me to join you?” she called, as sultry as she could make it, which probably was not very sultry at all.
“It’s up to you,” he said, trying to sound casual, but she noticed his member trying valiantly to rise in the cold water. Once again, his body was betraying him, and she smiled.
She walked slowly down to the creek, disrobing as she went, nonchalantly tossing her dress, and then her chemise, and then her undergarments as he watched, enthralled. Then she sat on a cold rock and methodically took off her shoes and stockings. Now she was naked, and he could not take his eyes off her. Trying to look as sensuous as possible while her nipples were shrinking into little points, she walked into the creek and then let out a most unladylike screech.
“Damn, that’s cold!” she said through clenched teeth, and he laughed, pulling her toward him.
She latched onto his slightly warmer body, and he put his arms around her. She looked up at him and he kissed her, softly and gently at first and then more urgently. Then, to her surprise, he used the soap, still in his right hand, to wash her body and hair. When he slowly, meticulously washed her crotch, she moaned. Then he kissed her, long and languidly and slowly entered her, supporting her in the water as they undulated, reaching their peaks only moments apart. Once separated, they both lowered themselves in the water, rinsing.