Dance With A Gunfighter (12 page)

"I heard you’d turned yellow, McLowry. I didn’t
believe it, but now I see it’s true. You’ve got your gun on. That means
something to me. Draw, if you’re a man."

"You’re getting me angry, boy," McLowry said.

"You’ve got to the count of three. One. Two.
Th--"

McLowry turned and fired. He didn’t touch the six-shooter
in his greased holster, didn’t touch the one he knew Dunahay was riveted on and
would have shot him as soon as he went for it. Instead, he had kept his hands
and arms in front of him, never lowering them below his waist as he eased the
snub-nosed Remington from his shoulder holster, spun and fired. He hit Dunahay
once in the shoulder. Dunahay’s return volley went wild, hitting the ceiling.
"Drop the gun, Dung-away, and get out of town. If I see any part of you,
I’ll be thinking that you’re trying to settle the score." McLowry stood
over him, his pistol inches from Dunahay’s face. The man opened his fingers and
his gun clattered against the saloon floor.

A couple of men got him to his feet and helped him out of
the saloon.

When they were gone, McLowry turned back to his drink.
Clara stepped up to him again.

"You still have all those feelings you were talking
about a little while ago?" he asked her. He downed the whiskey and slammed
the empty glass on the bar.

"More than ever, McLowry."

"Can’t let all that go to waste." He picked up a
half-full whiskey bottle. "Let’s go."

She took his hand and led him up the stairs.

o0o

At the livery stables, time and again throughout the
following week, Gabe heard about McLowry’s shootout in the Crystal Palace.
Everyone was amazed he had let the man go without killing him. Most gunfighters
emptied their guns before they stopped shooting. She was glad Jess hadn’t
killed Dunahay, but she kept on the lookout for the no-account, just to make
sure he didn’t return to exact a coward’s revenge.

At the same time, rumors reached her that Will Tanner and
Blackie Lane were last seen around Globe, far to the north. Luke Murdock and
Tack Cramer, on the other hand, seemed to have disappeared altogether. The
tales she heard were confirmed by McLowry’s own stories from the saloon.

The saloon...not his construction job. For some reason,
the day after their picnic, he had quit the job and she scarcely saw him any
longer. She had heard he was seeing Clara down at the Crystal Palace. As much
as she tried not to believe it, she suspected it was true. Each night, he would
put on his shiny black vest, black gabardine trousers and silky white
shirt--the gambler’s dress she had seen him with when she had met him in
Jackson City. She’d had the impression he had given up that life, but obviously
she had been wrong. Once, she had asked him about gambling, but his face had
turned hard, his eyes flat and cold, and he didn’t answer. His actions made no
sense to her.

He might have been seeing Clara, but she couldn’t believe
that he cared about the woman. The afternoon of their picnic, she felt an
awareness develop between them and she wanted to believe it was that sensation,
not her questions, that kept him away now. But why such feelings would have
driven him into Clara’s arms, she couldn’t begin to understand.

Perhaps she was wrong and he really did love Clara? She
didn’t understand men, and never would. All she knew was that they caused
heartache.

Each evening, he would knock on her door and she would let
him into her room. He would inquire how she was, and after she replied,
"Fine," she would proceed to tell him anything she might have heard
that day about the men she sought.

He would tell her if he had heard similar rumors at the
saloon, then he would ask if she were ready to leave Tombstone. His expression
was always placid and indifferent, as if her reply didn’t matter to him at all.
When she would answer, "No," he would nod, and then leave for the
evening.

And she would eat her supper alone.

If her answer were to be different, she was sure he
wouldn’t walk away, but would stay with her, and see her safely back to Jackson
City. What would happen afterward, she didn’t know. She was never going to find
out either, because she wasn’t giving up. She would see this through to the
end.

One afternoon, as Gabe stood in the stables brushing the
roan that belonged to Camilus Fly, a photographer, she thought about getting
Jess a session at Fly’s studio. It was less than a block away, behind the OK
Corral. To be able to glance at Jess’s picture now and again after they had
parted would be a comfort. She knew better, though, than to even ask.

She finished grooming the roan. Still carrying the coarse
brush, she walked to the stable doorway and looked down Allen Street, at the
people bustling along the boardwalk. The sun was so bright in the cloudless sky
it hurt her eyes, and she raised her arm to shade them. Despite herself, she
liked Tombstone. The hope that brought men here to make their fortune or to
lose their lives trying, gave an edge of excitement and danger that she hadn’t
known in Jackson City. She had never before been anywhere that made her feel so
vibrant and yet so vulnerable, so numb and yet so emotional.

The time spent here had been good for her. She had gone
from a raging, burning, flailing hatred of the men who had killed her family,
to a fixed, unwavering determination to find them. She had learned to accept
that she would kill them, or die trying, because she absolutely could not
accede to the alternative. She would never allow her family’s murderers to go
free, no matter what the cost.

Maggie nudged her shoulder as if to remind her that she
needed brushing, too. Gabe put her arms around Maggie’s neck and held her
tight. Maggie was the one living creature from her early life still with her.

"Finally, you’ve found your type."

Gabe spun around at the sound of a woman’s voice and was
astonished to see Clara, her blue satin dress with black fringes shimmering in
the sunlight, standing at the door of the stable watching her.

"You must be lost," Gabe said dismissively.

"No. I’m here to see you. We’ve got to talk."
She sauntered inside. "Jess won’t do it, so I’m here for him."

Jess?
Gabe picked up Maggie’s brush and turned her
back on Clara as she began grooming the gray. "McLowry’s a big boy,"
she replied cautiously. "I’ve never known him to be tongue-tied."

"He feels sorry for you," Clara announced.
"And for that reason, he hides from you the information you want. That
keeps you here--and keeps you between him and me. I’m tired of it, so I came
here to tell you, myself, what’s going on."

Gabe’s hand stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Jess and I are in love. We’re planning to get
married."

Gabe felt as if the world stopped, as if the day had
turned suddenly dark. The scene she had witnessed of Jess kissing this woman flashed
before her eyes. "I don’t believe you." The words were only a
whisper.

"It’s true. We share a magic together." Clara
gloated. "A very special magic."

Gabe shook her head, she didn’t want to hear it. She had
heard rumors about the two of them, but she had dismissed them...or, at least,
had tried to.

"That’s why he comes to see me every night,"
Clara vaunted. "Surely, you’ve noticed."

Gabe was silent. A fierce churning in her stomach made her
physically ill at Clara’s words and the repugnant images they conjured.

Clara promenaded before her like a hen puffing out its
feathers. "He’s going to take me away from all this--away from the Crystal
Palace, away from Tombstone. We’re going to get a little house, maybe a ranch.
But he won’t do any of that as long as he’s got you as a millstone around his
neck. He feels some strange need to protect you that I simply don’t
understand."

Gabe’s cheeks burned. "Neither do I. I’ve never asked
anything of him. He’s free to do what he wants." She took a stumbling step
back into Maggie, then put her hand on the gray’s withers for support. That she
had been a fool with her notions about Jess McLowry and his regard for her was
clear now. "Congratulations on your marriage," she said.

Clara’s grin was ugly. "That’s what I thought you’d
say once you understood how it was between us."

Gabe’s pride came back to her then, and she leveled her
shoulders, her voice sharp and solid. "You said something about McLowry
hiding information from me?"

"Oh, yes. I suppose you should know this." Clara
grimaced. "It’s about one of the men you’re looking for--Blackie Lane.
He’s in Dry Springs. Rumor has it, Tanner’s up there, too."

"Dry Springs? Where is that?"

"Northeast of here, in a valley near the Chiricahua
Mountains. Some silver and copper mines are up that way."

"I see," Gabe murmured, her face ashen.
"You’re sure? And McLowry knew it as well?"

Clara put her hand on her hip. "He was afraid you’d
go up there after them. He wants to keep you here, safe, where he can watch
over you, and also be near me. He knows this sort of thing is simply too
dangerous for you." She tried to twist her expression into one of pity,
but she merely looked afflicted. "He feels so very sorry for you."

Gabe refused to acknowledge that last statement. "I
appreciate the information about Tanner and Lane. Thank you."

This time, Clara’s smile was more honest. "You’re
most welcome. Good luck to you." She left.

In a stunned blur, Gabe made her way to the General Store
and bought bullets and supplies for desert travel. She knew what she had to do.

At the hotel, she packed her saddlebags, then paid her
bill and checked out. She left no message for McLowry.

It was surprisingly hard to break the news to Neil Dexter
that she was leaving. She had grown fond of the big, hard-working man. But she
had no choice. She saddled Maggie and left town at a gallop, needing to get
far, far away from the Crystal Palace and a certain gunslinger who hung out
there.

Not that he mattered. Nothing mattered to her anymore
except reaching Dry Springs and confronting Lane and Tanner.

Only when she heard Maggie’s hard blowing did she allow
the gray to slow down. She didn’t stop, though. She kept going northeasterly.
Evening came, but she didn’t stop to make camp. After days of waiting and
questioning, she finally knew where to find the men she sought. Now, she had to
be sure to get to Dry Springs before they left.

When night fell, she realized she had no choice but to
stop. Letting Maggie trot through the desert at night was madness. Even though
the land looked flat, crevices and potholes dotted it. Maggie could easily step
in one, break her leg, and it would be all over for both of them. Surviving in
the desert without a horse was almost impossible. Watering holes stretched too
far from each other for walking, and too much danger lay between.

She dismounted. The moon was nearly full, lighting the
desert enough to allow her to see how alone she was. Leading Maggie, Gabe tried
to find a secluded spot to camp. She remembered the saying that everything in
the desert was either prickly or poisonous. True, she thought. Especially the
men.

Finally, she gave up trying to find a decent campsite near
a watering hole or sheltering hillside, and simply stopped. Maggie stayed close
beside her, as if aware of the loneliness and danger surrounding them both.

"It’s okay, girl." Gabe patted Maggie’s neck.
"We don’t need him. We’ve been alone before and did just fine. We can do
it again."

She tried to find some twigs to build a fire, but
couldn’t. The land was barren except for barrel-shaped cactus, scrub and
gravel. She would have to spend the night sitting upright, watching that no
night-hunting mountain lion, or even a diamondback or sidewinder came upon
them. Except for man, this land came alive at night when it was cool and easy
to hunt, forage and travel.

She took a blanket from the saddlebag and wrapped it over
her head and shoulders to ward off the eerie chill of the desert night, then
wrapped Maggie’s reins around her arm, her Winchester at her side. She wanted
to be ready to run or fight at the first sign of trouble.

The lonesome call of a coyote caused her to hug the
blanket closer, cursing Jess McLowry and her own foolish heart.

Chapter 9

She felt the blanket being pulled away from her and opened
her eyes to the pale light of dawn. She was lying on her side on the ground.
"Jess?" she murmured as she turned over to face him.

"Ha! Look at this, fellas." An enormous man with
thick, shaggy black hair and a bushy black beard grabbed her arm and pulled her
to her feet.

She blinked, wondering if this was a dream. Despite the
sudden fear hammering within her, she couldn’t take her eyes from the man.

Blackie Lane, the outlaw she had been told was in Dry
Springs, stood before her. She spun around to look at Lane’s companions. One
was big, blond and dumb-looking, and the other was wiry, with slicked back,
greasy gray hair. Will Tanner wasn’t among them.

Lane gripped her neck with crushing fingers and turned her
face to his. His hold was like iron. "Here I am, girlie. The answer to
your prayers." He laughed and leaned so close his hot breath smacked
against her face like mid-day sun.

Sickened, she broke free and swooped down to pick up her
Winchester. She was fast, but Lane stomped on the gun just as she slid her
fingers under it to pick it up. She cried out with pain, jerking back her hand
and kneeling on the ground.

Laughing, he grabbed her arms and lifted her to her feet,
then pressed her against his belly, wrapping her in a hug that pinned her arms
to her sides. He bent back, lifting her feet off the ground. She shrieked with
fury.

"Hey, I thought you wanted me," he said. "I
heard all over, ‘Go to Tombstone--some gal there is so hot for you she’s asking
‘bout you all over the territory.’ If I’d of had more time I’d of come lookin’
for you sooner. But now yore here, I’ll even let you have me...’fore I kill
you."