Read A Lone Star Christmas Online
Authors: William W. Johnstone
A Lone Star Christmas (18 page)
“Let me go!” Rebecca said, twisting away from him. Lovejoy reached for her again, but this time Dalton stepped up to him and pushed him away.
“Leave my sister alone!” he said.
“Well, now,” Lovejoy said. He smiled, but rather than displaying joy or humor, the smile merely stretched his lips and tightened the skin on his face so that it looked just like the skull, in the black “Jolly Roger” flag that pirates once flew.
“You've sort of moved this one up a peg or two, haven't you, sonny? If you had just gone on and minded your own business like I told you to, nothing more would have happened. But that wasn't good enough for you, was it? Well, I see that you are wearing a gun. How about we settle this now? Draw.”
“What?” Dalton asked. “Are you crazy? What do you mean, draw? I'm not getting into a gunfight with you.”
“You already have, and I'm goin' to kill you for it,” Lovejoy said. “Draw.”
“If you want my friend you're going to have to come through me!” Mo shouted.
Without another word, or even the hint that he had heard Mo, Lovejoy drew his pistol. Mo was quick, and he prided himself on his fast draw and marksmanship, but his reflexes had been greatly slowed by the whiskey, and he hadn't expected Lovejoy to draw against him without the slightest recognition. By the time he realized Lovejoy was drawing, it was too late. To Mo it looked as if his pistol had just magically appeared in his hand. Mo managed to draw his pistol, but not fast enough. Reflexively, he pulled the trigger on his own pistol, firing a slug into the floor, even as he was falling face down.
“Mo!” Dalton and Rebecca yelled at the same time. Dalton started toward his fallen friend, but Lovejoy called out to him.
“Hold it right there, Sonny,” Lovejoy said. His pistol was back in his holster. “Your friend had his chance.”
“He wasn't just my friend,” Dalton said with tears streaming down his face. “He was my brother.”
“Yeah? Well, then when you get to hell, you can tell him that Frank Lovejoy said hello. 'Cause now it's your turn.”
Rebecca stepped in front of Dalton and held her arms out, facing Lovejoy.
“If you shoot him, you are going to have to shoot me first,” she said.
“Well, hell, honey. Shootin' you ain't goin' to be all that hard to do. It's not like if I don't shoot you, you are goin' to warm my bed. You've already let me know how you feel. But me and your brother have some unfinished business, so either you step out of the way, or I'll come through you to get to him.”
Tom started toward Lovejoy, but Matt reached out toward him and pulled him back.
“No, Tom, wait,” Matt said.
“I'm not going to just stand here and watch him kill the woman I love,” Tom said with quiet anger.
Matt reached down and snatched Tom's pistol from its holster.
“What are you doing?” Tom asked, angrily.
“Let me take care of this,” Matt said. “I expect I've had more experience.”
“I'm not going to tell you again, Becca. Get out of the way,” Lovejoy said.
“Lovejoy!” Matt called.
“Who the hell are you?” Lovejoy asked.
“Let's say I'm a friend to the boy,” Matt said. “And I was a friend to the man you killed.”
“And so now, like the avenging angel, you want to take me on,” Lovejoy said. “Is that it?”
“Something like that,” Matt said.
Lovejoy didn't call the move. Instead, just as he had done with Mo, he made a lightning draw. Only now, by the time Lovejoy's pistol cleared the holster, Matt's gun was already in his hand, and a little finger of flame erupted from the end of the barrel.
Matt's bullet hit Lovejoy in the heart, giving him just enough time before he died to register his shock over having been beaten in a gunfight by a simple cowboy.
Lovejoy wasn't the only one awestruck. Nearly everyone in the saloon had seen Lovejoy in action before. They were convinced that there was no one alive who could beat him, and yet they had just seen it done.
Before the smoke cleared, Sheriff Hamilton Bell was pushing through the front door with pistol in hand. Seeing two men lying on the floor, one of them Lovejoy, he used the barrel of his pistol to push his hat back on his head.
“What happened here?” he asked.
Everyone began to talk and shout at once.
“Hold it, hold it!” Bell said. “One at a time.” He pointed to Rebecca. “Becca, did you see this?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said in a small, choked voice.
“Tell me what happened.”
Rebecca described the events in detail, then Bell looked over at Matt and Dalton.
“What's your name, Mister?”
“Jensen. Matt Jensen.”
“I'll be damn. I've heard of you, Mr. Jensen. I reckon if there was anyone who could beat Lovejoy in a fair fight, it would be you. And I've never heard anything that would make me think any the worse of you, so I'm inclined to believe the young lady's report. But just to keep things on the up and up, I'd like to hold a hearing tomorrow morning. Can I have your word that you will be there?”
“I'll be there,” Matt promised.
During the entire conversation among the deputy, the witnesses, and the man who had actually shot Frank Lovejoy, Rebecca had been aware of Tom's eyes on her. What did she see in those eyes? Hurt? Anger? Hate? For a moment she was confused by his reaction, then in a moment of clarity she knew exactly what it was.
Frank Lovejoy had called her a whore, and being here, in this place, dressed as she was, interacting with the customers, how could it appear any other way? Rebecca's eyes filled with tears, and she turned her face away. How could this have happened? How? She saw Dalton standing over Mo's body, looking down at him, and saw that, like her, he was crying. And she knew at that moment that she was responsible for Mo's death!
Oh, God help me, the thought. How did I get myself into such a mess?
“Dalton, I'm sorry about Mo,” she said. “I'm so sorry.”
“Mo was my best friend,” Dalton said.
“I know he was, sweetheart. And, it's my fault that he is dead. It is all my fault.”
Rebecca was sure that Dalton was going to turn on her, and he had every right to do so. But he didn't.
“Don't be ridiculous, it wasn't your fault,” Dalton said. “It justâit just happened, that's all.”
“How did you find me? How did you know I was here?”
Dalton shook his head. “I didn't know you were here. We came here to buy a herd of special cattle, and when we came into the saloon, here you were.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “Here I am.”
“Come on, sis, we're getting out of here,” Dalton said.
“No,” Rebecca said, shaking her head.
“Rebecca, I'm not taking no for an answer,” Dalton said, showing more maturity and strength than she had ever seen him exhibit before.
“Dalton, I ...”
“Clay and Dusty are here. So is Maria. You are coming with us,” Dalton said.
Rebecca knew that Dalton was right, and she knew, too, that more than anything she wanted to leave this place, once and for all.
She looked over at Tom again, but this time he looked away.
The Dodge House
Clay and the others, having finished dinner, were now sitting in the lobby near the big fireplace, enjoying the warmth as they continued the conversations they had started in the dining room. Dusty is the one who saw her first.
“I'll be damned,” Dusty said. Then, with a quick nod of his head to Maria and Sally, he apologized. “Excuse the language, ladies, but I never expected to see her here.”
“Who?” Clay asked, turning in his seat to look toward the front door. He saw Tom, Dalton, Matt, and Rebecca coming in. He was so surprised to see Rebecca that he didn't even notice, right away, that Mo wasn't with them.
“Rebecca!” Clay said, standing as she came toward them. The other men stood as well. That was when they noticed that Rebecca was crying. Dalton's eyes were also red. Seeing both of them crying preempted what would normally have been a question as to what she was doing here in Dodge City.
“What's wrong?” he asked. “Why are you crying?”
“It's Mo,” Rebecca replied in a choked voice.
“Mo?” Clay noticed then that Mo was not with them. “What about Mo? Where is he?”
“Mo is dead, Clay,” Tom said. “He was killed by a man named Frank Lovejoy.”
“Lovejoy? Wait, I've heard that name. He's a big rancher up here, isn't he?”
“Yes,” Dusty said. “We had a run-in with him a couple of years ago, if you remember. He wasn't going to let any Texas cows come into Dodge because of the Texas fever, even though there weren't any cases that year.”
“It wasn't him, it was his son,” Rebecca said.
“Well where is Lovejoy now? Has he been arrested?”
“Better than that,” Dalton said. “He's been killed. Matt killed him.”
“Are you in trouble, Matt?” Smoke asked.
“Not exactly,” Matt replied.
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“The sheriff does want to hold a hearing tomorrow. I promised him I would be there.”
“It's all right,” Dalton said. “Lovejoy drew first, and everyone in the saloon saw it.”
“What happened?” Clay asked. “What I mean is, how did this fracas get started in the first place?”
“It was all my fault,” Rebecca said. “Lovejoy tried to force himself on me, Dalton pushed him away, and Lovejoy started demanding that Dalton draw his gun. When he saw what was happening, Mo came over and Lovejoy drew on him and shot him without so much as a fare-thee-well.”
“Where is Mo, now?”
“The undertaker called for him,” Tom said.
“I expect I had better get my coat on, then go down there and make the arrangements,” Clay said.
“Clay?” Rebecca said, calling to Clay as he started toward the stairs to go up to his room.
Clay stopped and turned toward her.
“I would like to go back home with you,” she said.
“Yes, ma'am,” Clay said. “I expect your Pa is going to be real pleased about that.”
“Rebecca,” Maria said, going to her and embracing her. “Let me introduce you to a good friend.”
Maria introduced Rebecca to Sally Jensen, and then to Smoke, Falcon, and Duff.
As Dalton began to elaborate on the events of the night to Clay, Dusty, Smoke, Falcon, and Duff, Tom leaned up against the marble fireplace with his arms folded across his chest.
He watched Rebecca as she conversed easily with Maria and the others, trying to get out of his mind the thought of that beautiful body pressed up against his.
And how many others, since she came up here?
Back Trail Ranch, Ford County, Kansas
“Boss? Boss?” Doyle was in Seth Lovejoy's bedroom, shaking him awake.
Lovejoy woke up, and startled to see Doyle in his bedroom, sat up quickly.
“What the hell? What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“Sorry, Boss, but I got some bad news for you.”
“Bad news? What kind of bad news?”
“Maybe you better come outside. We've got him lyin' on your front porch.”
“You've got who lying on my front porch?”
“Frank, Mr. Lovejoy. He got hisself shot tonight. He's dead.”
Still in his nightgown, Lovejoy pulled on his boots, then put on his coat and hurried out onto the front porch. Frank was lying on the porch. Someone had folded his arms across his chest.
“The undertaker wanted him, but we figured you'd rather see him first,” Doyle said.
“What happened?” Seth asked in a choked voice.
“It was some cowboy by the name of Matt Jensen,” Doyle said. “Ain't none of us ever seen him before. He drawed on Frank and kilt him when Frank wasn't expecting it.”
“Where is Jensen now?”
“I don't know exactly where he is now, but tomorrow mornin', Sheriff Bell is holdin' a hearing, and this fella Jensen promised the sheriff that he will be there then.”
“I want you to make sure that we have that hearing packed with people who will tell the same story you just told me.”
“Yes, sir, well, ever'one who was sittin' at the table with us will tell that story,” Doyle said. “We've done discussed it.”
“What about anyone else in the saloon?”
Doyle cleared his throat. “Well, sir, here's the thing. It could be that the others didn't see it exactly like we seen it.”
“It doesn't matter,” Seth Lovejoy said. “We need to make sure that our story is told. Morrell?”
“Yeah, Boss?”
“I want you to go back in town, and take at least ten men with you. You'll find all the building materials you need at my building and lumber store. I want you to build something for me, tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight. It has to be finished before the hearing starts tomorrow.”
“All right, what do you want built?”
“I'll tell you when you have your men together,” Lovejoy said.
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