Bride Gone Bad (15 page)

Tempest kept surprising herself. She'd never been so aggressive in her life. She'd always been concerned about other people's opinion. Now she felt free in a way that she hadn't dreamed existed, especially for a lady. She didn't know how she'd reached this point. Had she been inspired by the independent women of Delaware Bend? Had Lucky released her from her inhibitions? Or had the wildness of Indian Territory taken her?

What she did know was that she was about to draw a .32 against a room full of .45s. And she couldn't even shoot straight. Smart or dumb, she was determined to get Mercy back to Delaware Bend. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure he could sit a horse or even how long he'd stay alive.

He didn't look good in the light of the two lanterns sitting on top of the bar. Not that he wasn't handsome. He had the strong, muscular shoulders and arms of a sculptor, and the hands of an artist who depended on touch for his craft. Long, wavy auburn hair fell past the collar of his white shirt and framed a strong face that was too pale for good health. He couldn't have been past thirty, but his gray eyes spoke of old wisdom.

Yet all of that paled in comparison to her main concern. A ghostly shadow hung over him as if he had already taken one step into the grave. She had little doubt that if he kept on his current path, he would slowly turn into a shade. She couldn't imagine what had happened to him that had set him on this path. At least he cared about his art. It might be the only thing that was keeping him tethered to this world.

She felt a great sense of relief when Lucky stepped up beside her, backing her play. With him watching the outlaws, she focused on Mercy. The artist poured a drink as he regarded the scene with detachment. How did she reach a man who cared so little for life? She needed something he wanted and that might be nothing, or she needed to share something powerful with him.

After she tossed Lucky a quick nod, she walked over to Mercy. “If you go on the way you are, you'll die.”

“I know.” He shrugged, as if it didn't concern him. “Everybody tries to get me to stop the flow of whiskey down my gullet.”

“That's not what's killing you.”

He raised an eyebrow and gave her an assessing look. “And you think you know what is riding me?”

“A ghost.”

He blinked, veiling his gray eyes. “Maybe there's more to you than a pretty face.”

“I'm sure you can get help.”

“There's no point in it.” He lowered his voice as he leaned both elbows on the top of the bar.

“You don't want to live?”

He shrugged, took a drink, and then carefully set down his glass. “I'm cursed.”

“That's not much of a joke.”

“I don't think so, either.”

“Tempest,” Lucky called. “We're running out of time.”

She glanced at the outlaws. They were getting restless. “Mercy, please go back to the Bend and fix the bar. You'll get paid and you can stay at the Lone Star Hotel. It'll be comfortable there.”

“You mean for my last days?”

“You can be with like-minded folks.”

“I don't know that I'll go back, but I'd like to talk to you.”

“Come with me now.”

He cocked his head to one side as if considering her suggestion, and then nodded in agreement.

“Let's go outside.” She walked over to Lucky with Mercy beside her.

An outlaw got to his feet and pointed at them. “You're outgunned and you know it.”

“Mercy stays here,” another added as he stood up.

“Nobody's spoiling for a fight,” Red Dog said. “It's Mercy's choice to stay or go.”

“Suits me if he goes.” Slim squared his shoulders and tucked his thumbs in his blue jeans front pockets.

“We say if he stays or goes.” One more outlaw got to his feet.

Tempest didn't know how they could escape with Mercy. Everybody would lose in a shootout. As she was wracking her brain for an answer, she heard the rattling and creaking of a wagon as it stopped outside. Women lifted their voices in song accompanied by tambourines.

“That's the beatingest sound,” an outlaw said. “What is it?”

“Red Dog, did you order us up a wagon full of soiled doves?”

Slim chuckled. “Can't think of nothin' better.”

The outlaws set down their cards, drinks, and smokes as they looked with great expectation toward the entry to the tent.

Tempest felt dread creep up her spine. If Mrs. Bartholomew and the Texas Society for the Promotion of Temperance weren't somewhere on the Katy line or back in Texas, she'd swear it was her old nemesis out there.

A moment later, the flaps of the tent snapped open and a plump woman dressed in black accompanied by two young ladies stomped into the tent. They each carried a hatchet.

“Mrs. Bartholomew.” Tempest sighed, wondering if the other four women of the group had stayed in the wagon. “What brings you and the TSPT to the wilds of Indian Territory?”

“Tempest!” Mrs. Bartholomew smiled, eyes twinkling in the lamplight. “Or should I say, Temperance Tempest?”

Tempest realized that her notoriety must have spread far. She braced for another harangue.

“What a delight to find you here.”

“Really?”

“Naturally! Of course, you understood our little drama back in the Bend was merely for show and to draw attention to our cause.”

“It was?”

“Of course! You've always been a great inspiration to the TSPT. In fact, we heard about Burnt Boggy in Durant and determined that we must come here to spread the word, no matter how onerous the journey, and carry on the work you began at the Red River Saloon.”

“You're not mad at me?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Mrs. Bartholomew appeared offended. “And as a grand bonus to all our effort to get here, there you stand ready to do battle for the glory of the TSPT once more.”

“TSPT,” one of the outlaws said. “Is that a new moniker for soiled doves?”

“Guess so,” another agreed. “But I gotta admit I like red better than black on a pretty lady.”

“You take what you can get.”

An outlaw with a gray-streaked black beard picked up his whiskey and sauntered over to Mrs. Bartholomew. “Name's Chancy Clancy. If you don't mind my saying so, you're considerable of a woman. Why don't you wet your whistle and take a load off your feet at my table.”

“Your friends can come over here.” A man patted the empty place on his bench. “Plenty of room and plenty of whiskey.”

Mrs. Bartholomew drew back, appearing astonished at being addressed by the outlaw. “Sir, I suggest you take your whiskey, your mangy beard, and your dirty clothes right out of my sight.”

“You objectin' to my looks?” Chancy Clancy glanced at the other outlaws, then back at her. “Tarnation! What kind of soiled dove are you?”

“Sir, you are sadly mistaken.” She put a hand to her impressive bosom as if about to faint from the insult.

“If we'd known you was coming, we could've cleaned up in the river, seeing as how you're the delicate sort.”

“Please remove yourself from my vicinity.”

Chancy Clancy hitched up his gun-belt, as if readying for battle. Mrs. Bartholomew raised her chin and pushed past him with her two companions following in her wake. She stopped at the bar and glanced back. “Tempest, please join us.”

“Oh, no.” Tempest grasped Lucky's arm. “Let's get out of here. Mercy, come on.”

“She's not going to—” Mercy said.

“You don't want to see it.” She tugged him to the tent entry flaps, and then glanced back.

“Now!” Mrs. Bartholomew cried out as she raised her hatchet.

As the three struck the bar with their hatchets, Tempest heard hatchets hit each corner of the tent, cutting through the ropes that bound the tent to its posts. Lucky grabbed her hand and ducked out of the saloon, followed by Mercy.

Tempest ran with the men to the horses, where they stopped and looked back. The tent creaked, groaned, and billowed as it collapsed in a big heap on top of the patrons. Cursing blue streaks, outlaws pushed and shoved their way out from under the tent. Red Dog and Slim held up the canvas for several others to get free. Mrs. Bartholomew and her companions were helped out by the four TSPT members who had chopped down the tent.

“Looks like they're all okay,” Tempest said in amazement.

“Let's get the hell out of here.” Lucky grabbed the horses' reins. “Mercy, you coming with us?”

“Might as well.” He walked over, swung into the saddle of his horse, and rode over to them.

Tempest mounted Anna at the same time as Lucky threw a leg over his bay. She noticed folks were still milling about in confusion, with the outlaws cussing and blaming conniving women. Soon the TSPT members gathered in a group and headed for their wagon.

“I can't imagine what got into the TSPT,” she said. “They deplore violence.”

“Maybe Mrs. Bartholomew wanted to be famous, too.” Lucky clicked to his horse and set off down the road.

Tempest glanced over at Mercy. “You okay?”

He chuckled. “Sure. I wouldn't have missed that party for the world. Folks'll be telling the tale for a long time to come.”

She set heels to Anna to catch up with Lucky. Mercy kept right up with her, so maybe he was in better shape than she'd thought.

Soon she heard a loud whoosh behind her. She glanced back. “Oh, no! Burnt Boggy is on fire.”

“Really?” Mercy's head whipped around as he turned to look back. “Guess those ladies didn't think to put out the lanterns. Tent must have knocked them over and spilled oil over the bar.”

“Good thing Red Dog and Slim didn't have much to lose this time.” Lucky pulled up his horse.

“Do you think they need help?” Tempest asked.

“No,” Mercy said. “They've got plenty of folks to control the fire. If I go back, I may not get out again.”

“He's right. Let's pick up the pace,” Lucky said. “Once they figure out we're gone, they may come after us.”

Tempest turned away. “And Mrs. Bartholomew might even try to force me to rejoin the TSPT.”

“We won't let her get you.” Lucky chuckled. “Think Red Dog and Slim will rename their place the Chopped Boggy Saloon?”

“I doubt they can get anybody to ever go there again,” she said. “It keeps burning down. That's dangerous.”

“You mean,” Mercy said, “women keep burning down their saloon.”

“Right,” Lucky agreed. “But nothing could be better for trade. When word gets out that a group of soiled doves descended on Burnt Boggy and everybody became so excited that the place got chopped up and burned down, they won't be able to drive men away with a stick.”

“Maybe they'll rename it the Chicken Boggy Saloon,” Mercy said.

When the men threw back their heads and laughed, Tempest gave them each a hard stare, but they didn't notice.

“I think you're both mistaken because that's not what happened,” Tempest said. “The TSPT shut down that saloon.”

“There's not a man back there who'll ever admit it,” Mercy said.

Lucky nodded. “I bet we never hear the end of that wagonload of the most beautiful, buxom, boisterous easy women who ever graced Earth.”

“But it's not true,” she protested, wanting the TSPT to get credit for closing down a saloon that sold illegal whiskey.

Both men laughed even harder.

Tempest shook her head in defeat. She appreciated the TSPT's goals and the loyalty of its members. They deserved respect, but they wouldn't always get it, especially when they inconvenienced men.

She sighed, wondering how Mrs. Bartholomew was going to like her new reputation as a soiled dove.

By the time they reached the main road, Lucky's thoughts had turned to their own concerns. They'd found Haig. Now they had the artist. They were making good progress. Yet he felt that time was fast running out to protect Tempest and find the Soleil Wheel. They needed to make important decisions. He drew Miko to a stop near a clump of bushes so they couldn't be seen. Tempest and Mercy rode in close beside him.

“Mercy, are you going back to the Bend?” Lucky wished he knew more about the artist so he could judge the man better. Yet he could tell that something, or more likely someone, had hooks planted deep in him. He was being bled dry.

“Are you two going there?” Mercy asked.

“No. We've got business up near Fort Smith and it can't wait,” Lucky said.

“But we'll be going to the Bend later,” Tempest added.

“I don't like to go back where I've been,” Mercy said. “I plan to keep moving onward till I drop.”

“Delaware Bend needs you,” Tempest said. “A lot of good people there are counting on you.”

“Why? Nobody even knows me.”

Lucky shook his head. “You're famous. At least, that bar you carved in the Red River Saloon is famous. Men ride in from miles around to drink there and admire your work.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Mercy asked.

“No,” Tempest said. “We'd like you to go back and see for yourself.”

“Why would I ride all that way to fix a little cut in a piece of wood?”

“It's Lulu,” Tempest said. “Big Jim's favorite.”

“Who?” Mercy glanced from one to the other.

“Lulu.” Lucky chuckled. “You really ought to go back and see what's come of your artwork. All those lovely ladies you carved have been given names. Most men who drink there have chosen a favorite.”

“You're kidding me.” Mercy started to laugh, and then laughed harder until he was gasping for breath. “That's crazy! I just carved that bar because I was down on my luck and couldn't pay for my whiskey.”

“It's a lot more than that now,” Lucky said.

“Everybody's really upset about Lulu,” Tempest explained. “She's hurt and needs to be healed.”

“I'm not sure I can fix a chop in wood.”

“Surely you could do something,” Tempest said.

“One thing for sure,” Mercy said. “I've laughed more tonight than I have in years. It's got to be worth something.”

“Is it worth going back to the Bend?” Tempest asked. “I bet you'd get a kick out of seeing the homage paid to your bar.”

“That'd be something to see.”

“There's another thing,” Tempest said. “The town collected money for you to create an oil painting on a large canvas to hang over your bar.”

Mercy shook his head. “I haven't painted in years. I doubt I have the skills anymore.”

“They've got some gold eagles waiting for you,” Lucky added. “If that's not enough, they want the painting to be of Temperance Tempest.”

Mercy laughed again. “They want a portrait of the woman who chopped the bar to hang over it?”

“That's right,” Lucky agreed.

“You know, that town's becoming nigh on irresistible. I might even die laughing. That'd be a good way to go.”

“Don't even think it,” Tempest said. “You can get help.”

“I told you I'm cursed,” Mercy said, his voice taking on an edge. “I don't want anybody else to get tangled up in it. That's why I'm out here alone.”

Lucky took off his hat, ran fingers through his hair, and then put his hat back in place. “Look, we can jaw about this all night, but it's not getting us anywhere. Mercy, here's the deal. Tempest agreed to find you, present you with the Bend's offer, and try to get you to agree.”

“But we can see that you need more than money or a feather bed,” Tempest added. “You need that curse lifted or dismantled or sent back. Something.”

“You believe me? I mean, about the curse?” Mercy asked in a voice filled with astonishment.

“Yes,” Lucky and Tempest said in unison.

“Thanks. You almost give me a glimmer of hope.”

“Is it a deal?” Lucky asked.

Mercy nodded. “All of a sudden, I feel greedy. I want the money, the feather bed, and the hope.” He held up his hands. “But I'm not sure how much I can do.”

“If you'll just go there and try, that's enough,” Tempest said. “I'll be back soon to pose for you. They're getting a new red gown ready for me to wear for the painting.”

“You don't need to pose for me. I'll never forget your face and form for as long as I live.”

“Really?”

“That's my blessing . . . and my curse.”

“I always wanted to ask,” Lucky said. “Are those images you carved into the bar based on real women?”

Mercy grinned. “A man never kisses and tells.”

“Then you're going back?” Tempest asked.

“You talked me into it.”

“Good,” Lucky said. “When you get there, leave your horse at Manny's Stable and go to Mama Lou's Café. There's a young lady there named Diana. Tell her what you told us and she may be able to help.”

“Diana?” Tempest asked. “Is she one of—”

“She reads palms,” Lucky interrupted.

Mercy chuckled again. “Now I know for sure I'm going to laugh myself right up to Boot Hill. You're sending me to a fortune-teller.”

“She might surprise you,” Lucky said.

“Delaware Bend is turning out to be one big joke.” Mercy turned his horse west, and then glanced back. “I just hope it's not on me.”

“Good luck!” Tempest called as he rode away.

“He'll need it,” Lucky said.

“I wish we could do more for him at this moment.”

“He'll get some protection in the Bend. Right now, we've got to take care of our own business.”

She sighed, glancing at him. “You're right.”

“Haig is out there and coming closer all the time. We need to get to Fort Coffee before it's too late.”

He looked at her in the moonlight. She was his Moon, his ladylove, and he felt renewed responsibility for her. And those feelings didn't begin to address the arousal that was flooding his body. He needed to get her someplace where they could be safe and alone. And then, there'd be no turning back.