Dance With A Gunfighter (6 page)

The differences, though, dug deep. The cockiness and ready
smile were gone, and his eyes held a distance she hadn’t seen before. Of
course, when she had first met him she was but a child, and had seen him with a
child’s joyful, innocent eyes. Now, her eyes were old.

Gabe and McLowry hitched the horses to the tie rail in
front of the Bisbee Hotel, her gray, Maggie, beside the sorrel he called Blaze
for the white spot on its brow. Gabe eyed the expensive-looking hotel and
mentally tallied her money. She didn’t know how long it would take to find
Tanner and the others, and she had to be prudent.

"You go ahead, McLowry." She patted Maggie’s
neck. "I’ll meet you inside later."

McLowry had reached for the ties on the saddlebags. His
hand stilled. "How’s your money? Do you have enough for this place?"

"Of course I’ve got money. But I don’t intend to
waste it on frivolities. I like sleeping outdoors."

"Right," he muttered, tugging at the ties to
unfasten them. "Get your things and come on. I can’t keep an eye on you if
I’m in there and you’re out here." He lifted the bags from the saddle and
tossed them over one shoulder.

"Nobody’s asked you to keep an eye on me," she
reminded him.

"Nobody’s asked me to do a lot of things I’ve done.
But it’s never stopped me before." He started walking toward the hotel.

God, but she was tempted. After hearing about Colton’s
arrest in Bisbee, she had made camp in the desert for each of the five nights
since leaving Jackson City. Night sounds and night animals were a lot more
frightening when one was alone instead of inside one’s home or with one’s
family. But then, she no longer had a home or family to listen with.

The first and second night after leaving Jackson City, she
had dreamed that she attacked Bisbee’s gray adobe jailhouse single-handed,
forced the sheriff to turn Colton over to her and the minute they had stepped
into the street, she had shot him dead. In the dreams, she had managed to get
away clean.

By the third night, she realized her dream had more holes
in it than a gold panner’s sieve.

Once in Bisbee, she decided she would try to angle a rifle
shot through the window bars, nailing Colton straight between the eyes as he
watched the setting sun. She had waited for him, to the consternation of a few
of the townspeople, who had looked askance at the wild-eyed girl holding a long
rifle and staring at the jailhouse. But Colton never came to the window. He was
a man who didn’t hold store with nature.

That night, she had come up with her plan to pick Colton
off as he walked to the gallows. She hadn’t slept in anticipation of carrying
it out.

So, she had schemed and planned and worried, and it all
came to nothing. She could take satisfaction in one thing, though. Colton was
dead.

She watched McLowry head toward the hotel. Maybe she could
afford a nice room one night. Just one night. Yanking the saddlebags off her
horse, she hurried after him.

At the entrance, she paused, wide-eyed, taking in the
fancy lobby with its green and red floral carpet on the floor and polished
carved wood and mirrors on the walls. The cherry-wood chairs were so spindly,
she didn’t think they could hold a full-sized man and not crack in two, but
they were covered in the most beautiful shiny red material she had ever seen.
She hurried to stand beside McLowry as he faced the desk clerk.

"I need two rooms," he said.

The clerk, a thin-lipped, soft-fleshed man, dragged his
gaze from the top of McLowry’s hat, down over his long hair, beard, worn
flannel shirt and denims, over to Gabe’s dusty boots, up to her equally mangled
and dirty trousers and man’s shirt, to her floppy hat. By the time he had
finished, his mouth was so puckered he looked like he had bitten a green
prickly pear. "Sorry, can’t help you," he announced.

"Wrong answer, Mister." McLowry’s voice was
silky smooth, his drawl thicker than Gabe had ever heard it, but it also held a
deadly undercurrent a deaf man wouldn’t have missed.

A silver-dollar-sized red spot colored each of the clerk’s
flabby cheeks. "There was a hanging today. We’re all booked up."

McLowry reached across the desk, grabbed the man’s jacket
lapels, and pulled on them until the clerk was nearly lifted over the desk.
"The lady needs a bed and a bath."

"McLowry!" Gabe touched his arm, not wanting him
to get into trouble on her account. He let go of the clerk, but his expression
stayed fierce.

The man backed up against the wall behind him, carefully
fingering his throat. "You...you’re Jess McLowry?"

McLowry’s eyes narrowed. "You got a problem with
that?"

"Oh, my, no!" His skin turned so white Gabe
thought he might pass out. "In fact, I...I do have a room for you. Only
one, I’m afraid. But it’s large, and we’ll do all we can to make it comfortable
for you both."

"We’ll take it." McLowry slapped money on the
counter before Gabe had a chance to open up the saddlebag to find hers.

"I’m paying half," she announced. The clerk’s
fearful eyes darted from one to the other.

"We’ll settle it between ourselves later,"
McLowry replied, taking the key. Then, back to the clerk, he said, "Send
someone up right away to prepare a bath for the lady."

She grabbed her bags and followed him up the stairs. He
unlocked the door and stepped aside for her to enter.

Their hotel room was scarcely larger than her tiny
quarters back home had been. A brown-painted iron double bed, a short, boxy
dresser, spindle-backed wooden chair and pine wash stand topped by a blue
pitcher and bowl took up most of the floor space. Instead of a wardrobe, pegs
jutted from the wall for hanging clothes.

McLowry stood in the doorway, peering uncertainly into the
room. She wondered if he was the sorrier for having gotten involved with her in
the first place, or for offering to share his room with her now. When he
stepped inside, his broad-shoulders seemed to reach from one wall to the
opposite, and she was sure his black, flat-topped hat nearly touched the
ceiling. His gaze wandered over the small area then settled on the bed. Her
gaze followed his.

Somehow, the room seemed to shrink even further. Gabe
dropped her saddlebags in a corner and crossed the room to the window. She
pushed open the dark blue drop curtains, and lifted the bottom half of the
double-hung window all the way up. Sunshine and fresh air poured into the room.
She huddled near the window, feeling as if she needed to be there to breathe.

McLowry put his saddlebags in the opposite corner from
hers. Hunkering down, he opened them up, pulled out dirty clothes, and piling
them on the floor.

"I’m going over to the barber’s," he said, his
back to her. "I’ll get a shave and a bath over there. If you’ve got some
clothes that need washing, toss them here with mine. I’ll find a laundry while
I’m out."

She pulled her dirty clothes from the bags and the moment
he had them in a bundle he was out the door. She had never seen a man in such a
hurry to get his clothes cleaned.

As she was pulling a clean white shirt and gray britches
from her bedroll, there was a knock on the door. Two men carried in a tub, and
two women brought pitchers of hot and cold water. She hadn’t realized what a
production it would be to bathe in a hotel room. She gave them all some money
for their trouble.

Once they were gone, Gabe lost no time climbing into the
hot, clean water. She soaped away the trail dust, washed her hair and then
leaned back, shutting her eyes. She tried, for a moment at least, to relax.

But her mind wouldn’t let her. As soon as her eyes were
shut, she drifted back to the day, just two short weeks ago, when she was in
her kitchen, serving a meal to her pa and her brothers. On the one hand, it
seemed like two years had passed since that time, and on the other, it felt
like only yesterday.

The smell of stewing meat, potatoes and carrots filled the
kitchen. A fresh-baked green apple pie sat on the sill board. Pa had just sold
some cattle and they were all so happy....

Then the nightmare struck.

When she awoke from it, she was in Mrs. Beale’s house in
Jackson City. Mrs. Beale had told her that neighbors had been going to warn her
pa about some savage outlaws in the area when they saw smoke coming from her
house. They said they had found her just past the front porch, sitting on the
ground holding Chad. He was dying, and behind her, the house was on fire.

While she was staying at Mrs. Beale’s house, confined to
bed, unable to make her mind accept what had happened, Pa and Henry had been
buried. The part that troubled her most, though, was that Chad wasn’t with
them. He had been shot, and had been badly burned in the fire. The doctor in
town had patched up the bullet holes, but he didn’t know how to handle the
burns. Burns were a death sentence, a horrible, painful death sentence as
infection set in and the skin rotted away. The doctor knew a hospital in Denver
that was reputed to have had some success with burns, so they put Chad on the
train in Tucson, and sent him there. It was the only chance he had. The doctor,
though, had heard from the hospital. He was told Chad would be dead before the
week was up and would be buried in Denver.

Someday, after Gabe had paid off the Denver hospital
bills, the doctors, Pa and Henry’s burials, and all the other expenses that
seemed to be hitting her, she would bring Chad home and bury him out on the
ranch beside Henry. The two had been so very different--Henry big, lumbering
and dependable; Chad slim, quixotic and curious--and yet, growing up, they had
been inseparable. Chad would have wanted to be beside his brother.

The townspeople had visited her continuously, trying to
give her their condolences, until finally, she asked them to stay away. She
even asked that of Mrs. Beale, who had taken her into her home. Hearing
everyone’s words of sympathy was too difficult when she didn’t deserve them.
While her family was being destroyed, she hadn't done anything to save them. She
had stood there and watched, too scared to move. Later, while Chad was being
killed, she had hidden in the cellar. She should have picked up a rifle and
used it! Those killers hadn’t known she was hiding in the house. She could have
stopped them, could have saved Chad and Henry and Pa. But she didn't.
She
didn’t!

And she could never forgive herself for that.

She didn’t deserve to live. Not when the others were dead.
So she lived for one thing only--to avenge their deaths. To see that justice
was done.

Ironically, despite her lofty plans for revenge, after
their deaths, she found it difficult to do the simplest daily tasks necessary
to get through each day--things like eating, or caring for the cattle or
horses. It was even a chore to think.

The town banker had told her he would take care of
everything for her. She needed time to heal, and not to worry about anything
else. Some semblance of logic told her it wasn’t a wise thing to do, but she
couldn’t face such mundane tasks. Not when she was alone, and her family’s
killers walked free, and she couldn’t even convince the law to go after them,
no matter how much she pleaded.

Now, she got out of the bath, dried herself and put on a
set of clothes she had held back from the laundry. She pulled the spindle-backed
wooden chair to the window and sat watching the rays of the setting sun cast a
glow like gold dust over the hills that surrounded the town.

She had no idea how much time had passed before she heard
the door latch click. The door opened a little way, then stopped. He was still
hidden from view. "Oh, sorry," he said.

"It’s all right, McLowry. You can come in. I’m
decent."

He entered the room then, looking so much like the man she
had met at the dance her heart lurched. The beard was gone, and his mustache had
been trimmed the way she remembered it. His golden hair was shining and soft
from its washing, and the cut freed the waves to spring back into place. He was
again her Greek god from Mount Olympus.

He shut the door behind him and faced her. The air in the
room seemed to thicken.

"Nice haircut, Jess," she said softly.

He ran his hand awkwardly over the sides and back.
"Thanks." At the dresser, he began to fiddle with the pockets of his
vest, checking for his tobacco pouch, cigarette paper, matches, the room key.

"I, uh, bet you’re hungry," he said, not looking
at her. "How about dinner?"

He didn’t have to ask twice.

Outside the hotel, perched on boardwalks on the steep,
narrow streets, sitting on low hanging window sills, and standing in doorways,
were people who had come to town for the hanging, along with bands of miners,
and women in low-cut frills and feathers. Women didn’t wear dresses like that
in Jackson City. Gabe hadn’t imagined they wore dresses like that anywhere. She
eyed the men, one by one, but none were the outlaws she sought.

In the restaurant, McLowry insisted on buying them both a
meal of what he called prime rib--a slab of steak so tender she could
practically cut it with her fork. With it they had boiled potatoes and carrots,
and chocolate cake with a thick coating of white icing for dessert. She was so
hungry, she didn’t say a word except how good the food was as it disappeared at
an embarrassingly fast pace from her plate. She glanced at McLowry to see if he
was horrified at the way she was wolfing her food, but he only nodded and gave
her a little lop-sided grin.

At the meal’s end their plates were taken away. McLowry
leaned back in the chair, a cup of hot coffee before him, and rolled himself a
cigarette.

"Would you like to partake?" he asked. The way
his eyes twinkled made her realize he still remembered her long-ago experiment.
How could a man like him remember anything so inconsequential? She wondered,
again, what his life had been these past years. She shook her head in response
to his question. "No thanks. I think I learned my lesson."