Dance With A Gunfighter (10 page)

That didn’t matter, though. She needed to ask her
questions, to see the looks on men’s faces as they answered so that she would
know if they were telling the truth or not. With Jess watching, no one would
dare to laugh.

She reached the saloon’s windows and peered inside,
looking for Jess. He was standing at the bar, a drink in hand. That awful woman
who had laughed at her that afternoon sauntered up to him. She put an arm
around his shoulder and seemed to say something. He grinned and put his arm
around her waist, pulling her close. Then, in front of God and everyone, he
kissed her!

Gabe whirled herself away from the window, her mouth
gaping and she felt as if she could scarcely breath.

She ran back to the hotel.

As she crossed the lobby to go back to her room, she
caught sight of herself in a full-length, decorative wall mirror. Her baggy
brown trousers and oversized, cream-colored flannel shirt were ugly.

Grabbing the hips of her trousers, she held them out at
her sides. They were old and worn and had so much space between the seam of the
material and her own body, she could have fit all three Ying brothers in there
with her and still have had room left over.

Now she knew why Jess had gotten rid of her after dinner
so fast it had made her feel like day-old fish. She knew why he had hurried out
for the night. He was a handsome man, and apparently wanted to surround himself
with beautiful women. It made sense. What did she expect him to do, spend more
time with her?

She realized he had some regard for her, and for whatever
reason seemed to feel protective of her. And at times, like that afternoon, he
apparently had noticed she was a woman. A little bit, at least.

She couldn’t let herself think about him. Not now; not
ever. She ran up the stairs to her room.

o0o

McLowry didn’t show up for breakfast.

Dawdling over eggs, grits and bacon, Gabe tried not to think
of the possibilities of what might have kept him up so late last night that he
couldn’t get up this morning.

She drank her coffee, paid for the breakfast and headed
for the one place in town she hoped she would be welcome and where there was always
plenty of gossip--the livery stable.

Dexter Livery and Feed Stables, situated as it was on
Allen Street right across from the OK Corral, had men milling around it all day
long. Since Gabe and McLowry had stabled their horses there, Gabe showed up with
the excuse of wanting to spend a few minutes with her gray and McLowry’s
sorrel. It also gave her a chance to pass some words with a few of the locals.

She was giving Maggie a treat of sugar when, in the next
stall, she noticed a chestnut that had been sadly neglected. Burrs and stickers
matted its coat. She picked up a brush and began working on it. Neil Dexter,
the owner of the stable, strode over to her, frowning angrily.

"What’re you doing there, miss?" The man was
huge--his arms ham shanks, his hands mallets, and his head and shoulders
connected by a roll of thick muscle.

"Just trying to help, Mr. Dexter. I see you’ve got
your hands full here." Gabe knew that, as word of the silver found in the
Tough Nut and Contention mines spread, men and their horses poured into
Tombstone faster than the town could keep up with. This livery had twice the
horses, feed and supplies it should have carried for its square footage.

Dexter’s expression went from skepticism to relief as he
watched her sure but gentle hand with the gelding. "Much obliged for the
help," he said.

"No problem. It gives me something to do while I’m
waiting."

Interest flickered in his squinty eyes. "What’re you
waiting for?"

"I want to meet up with some men. Will Tanner,
Blackie Lane, Tack Cramer and Luke Murdock. I don’t know if they’re in town,
though."

His beefy lower lip jutted out. "I ain’t seen that
gang around here, but I heard of ‘em. You don’t want to meet ’em, if you’re
smart."

"Will you let me know if you hear anything about
their whereabouts?"

Dexter nodded, although he looked at her as if she were
crazy.

Gabe spent the afternoon moving through the stalls,
grooming and tending the horses. When she said good-bye to Dexter, he asked if
she would like to come back the next day. He offered her a dollar an hour.

She gave a quick prayer of thanks. The job was a godsend.
The money she would have to spend on hotels and restaurants in Tombstone while
trying to find the four men was a worry. Gratefully, she accepted the job. The
money would help her not only in Tombstone, but also wherever her revenge might
lead.

To her astonishment, Dexter handed her four dollars as her
first day’s pay. She stared at the money in her hand, then up at the big man.
She had almost forgotten, over the past weeks, how good some people could be.

"Thank you," she whispered, and hurried out of
the stable before she made a fool of herself.

The first thing she did was to splurge on a bath and to
send the clothes she had been wearing out to be laundered.

She changed into clean clothes. When she looked down at
them, though, she felt as deflated as yesterday’s balloon. Baggy gray trousers
instead of brown ones, and a loose blue shirt instead of the cream-colored one,
didn’t exactly make for a stupendous difference. Her clothing was comfortable
and functional. Nothing more.

The women she saw in Tombstone, let alone in Bisbee,
wouldn’t wear her clothes to slop hogs. Even that awful dance hall girl who had
laughed at her, had looked beautiful compared to her. Hell, even the barkeep
looked beautiful compared to her.

How vain and foolish she was being. As if clothes
mattered!

As thoughts of her family swept over her again, her breath
came harsh and fast. She clasped her hands against her heart.
I’m going to
find their killers, and when I do, I will have my revenge.

She sat on the bed, suddenly drained. On the bedside table
was the money she had made at the stables that day, generous wages for a woman.
For a man, too. More proof that Tombstone was a boomtown, and that the boom
would go on for weeks or months longer.

She wouldn’t be taking part in it, though. She would find
her family’s killers, take her revenge--and then what? Would the law believe
her, or care, if she told them she had killed for vengeance? For justice? For
the guilt she felt whenever she thought of how she had stood by and done
nothing while madmen murdered her family? And because the law had refused to do
its
job?

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to think
about something else. But all she could see was the emptiness ahead.

She remembered how, when she was a little girl, her pa
would talk to her about getting married one day and having her own family. He
would laugh when she’d wrinkle her nose and proclaim that she hated boys and
couldn’t see ever marrying one. She had sworn she was going to stay with him
forever and that, since her ma had died, she would take care of him. He would
say, "We’ll see" in that infuriating tone grown-ups used when they
spoke to little kids.

We’ll never see now, Gabe thought, ’cause Pa, you went and
left me. You and Chad and Henry left me here without you.

She jumped to her feet, scarcely able to breathe for the
weight pressing against her chest. She grabbed her money and fled from the
room.

On the boardwalk, her gaze traveled to Calisher’s General
Store. She looked through the window at the bolts of yard cloth inside. When
she had to sew clothes for the family, it was a chore she hated. She would
rather have spent her time with the horses, or ridden herd with Chad and Henry.
How strange, that something that had seemed so mundane when she was supposed to
do it, now struck her as a task that would be a comfort. She went into the
store.

A few ready-made clothes were displayed in a corner of the
shop. One frilly dress, pink with satin bows and lace ruffles caught her eye.
How Chad would laugh at her if...

The simple, unbidden thought caused the pain of her loss
to slam into her again and the world swam before her eyes. She caught the edge of
a table and pressed her palms against it, breathing as evenly as she could. A
few moments went by before she was herself again. As she slowly straightened,
she caught the worried look of the storeowner as he rang up a woman’s
purchases. She smiled to show she was fine, and turned away from him, perusing
the store, trying to do some of the natural things she had done an eternity
ago.

A riding skirt in a deep, rich red tone--a red so dark it
was almost black--caught her eye. She ran her fingers over the smooth material.
The skirt was heavy serge and tightly double-stitched. Practical, it was split,
trouser-like, for horseback riding.

She held it against her waist, and saw that it was her
size. Gored panels were fitted at the hips then flared out gently all the way
to the hemline, which stopped just at the ankle of her brown leather boots.

She had never seen herself like this. She checked the
price--six dollars. Her day’s wages plus two dollars more. She put the skirt
down again.

As she walked toward the exit, her gaze melted at the
sight of ready-made blouses of soft cottons and linens. She hesitated, her
fingers lingering over one that was simply but artfully cut, with tiny,
vertical pleats stitched over the bodice. "The road to damnation is paved
with temptation," she repeated her pa’s line over and over as she marched
past the blouses and out the door.

Dressing for supper with McLowry, she put on her gray
britches and white shirt. She would buy his dinner tonight to celebrate her new
job. Finally, she would be able to begin paying him back for all he had given
her.

"Gabe, it’s me," McLowry called as he knocked at
the door.

She opened the door. He stood before her with an odd
expression on his face and a wrapped bundle in his arms. "May I come in a
moment?" he asked.

"Of course." She stepped aside and let him enter
her room.

"I got a job today, Gabe," he said. "At a
construction site. Good wages, too--two bucks an hour."

"Jess! I had no idea you were interested in working
here. That’s wonderful. I--"

"Here." He handed her the bundle.

Shocked, she looked from the package to him. "For
me?"

He nodded, and that funny, lopsided grin he sometimes wore
showed up suddenly.

Puzzled, she put the bundle on the bed and peeled back the
butcher paper wrapping. She didn’t have it open all the way when she began to
get an inkling of what it contained. She stared, all thought flying from her
mind as shaky fingers smoothed the paper back and out of the way. Inside was
the dark red riding skirt and white cotton blouse she had admired at
Calisher’s. Her throat tightened and her mouth went so dry she couldn’t have
spoken if her life depended on it.

Watching her reaction, McLowry’s smile disappeared. He
looked suddenly embarrassed, as if he had made a big mistake.

She stared at the present, not daring to touch it, as if
it might disappear if she touched it.

"You hate them," he murmured.

"Oh my, no!" she cried, finally able to choke
some words past the tightness in her throat. With great care, she lifted the
clothes out of the wrapping and spread them on the bed to admire them.
"Quite the opposite."

His chest seemed to puff out about two feet. "I was
heading for Calisher’s to get something for you to celebrate my new job, and
saw you in there. You made my task a whole lot easier."

She ran her fingers over the soft material of the skirt.
Then she pulled back her hand. "They’re too much. I can’t accept them. I
truly cannot," she said firmly.

"Gabe," he said in his best Southern gentleman
manner. "I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve known anyone I
wanted to give a gift to. Please do me the honor of accepting it."

She was forced to turn her head so he couldn’t see the
effect his words had on her. No one should be nice to her. She didn’t deserve
gifts; she didn’t deserve anything. She strengthened her will, ready to tell
him to take them back. One look at his face, though, at his expression, and her
resolve crumbled. She couldn’t trust her voice at that moment, so she simply
nodded.

His lips spread into a broad smile, his blue eyes sparkling.
"Thanks," he said. "Now, why don’t I step back into my room and
wait there while you change into your new clothes? Wait until the Ying brothers
see you tonight!"

Chapter 8

During the next three days, Gabe worked at the livery
stable, relentlessly pursuing every lead, every hint that might tell her the
whereabouts of the four men she sought. None had panned out yet. McLowry worked
twelve to fourteen hours a day due to all the new construction in town. He made
no more mention of leaving Tombstone for Jackson City, and Gabe was too
relieved to ask what had happened to his plans. Each evening, they ate dinner
together, and then he would escort her back to her room. A little later, she
would watch at the window as he disappeared behind the swinging doors of the
Crystal Palace.

On Sunday, neither of them had to work. Gabe bought a
picnic lunch from the hotel. She wore her new skirt and blouse, and she and
McLowry walked to the edge of town to find a place to eat. From time to time,
she would glance up at him. With a leather cartridge belt, holster and
ivory-handled six-shooter hanging heavy on his hip, and a black hat casting his
face in shadow, he hardly looked like a man on his way to a picnic. Yet she
felt a spring in her step she hadn’t known could still be found.

Tombstone had been built on the slope of a high plateau,
and most of the countryside fell away from it. The town was every bit as
freewheeling and wide open as the broad, high landscape that spawned it. They
turned off of Allen Street and continued past Toughnut. About a quarter mile
down the hillside, McLowry found a secluded spot. Gabe spread out a green plaid
woolen blanket and opened the picnic basket. They sat side by side on it,
facing the puffy white clouds high overhead and the craggy chiseled blue-gray
mountains on the horizon. As they ate crispy fried chicken and pecan-raisin
pie, they told each other some of the more interesting gossip they had heard in
town. The lunch finished, McLowry rolled himself a cigarette.