Dance With A Gunfighter (8 page)

Tanner. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying not to
think about the man, who he was, or what he as capable of.

His head throbbed as he slowly rose to his feet. Without
turning to look at Gabe again, he stumbled from the room to find the outside
facilities.

o0o

Gabe heard the door close behind him and let loose the
breath she had been holding.

His tossing and turning had awakened her. When he cried
out, it was all she could do to stop herself from crossing the room to his
side, to take his hand and offer comfort. But he was a stranger. A man in bed.
It would have been wrong.

Even though she didn’t know a lot about what went on
between men and women--her father had always been too embarrassed to broach the
subject with his only daughter--one couldn’t grow up on a cattle ranch without
picking up a good idea of what it was all about.

She had squeezed her eyes shut as he tossed back the
covers and got out of bed, but not before catching a glimpse of his broad
shoulders and chest. He was surprisingly muscular for a man who, when dressed,
gave the appearance of being lean.

Her face burned at such improper thoughts. Clutching the
blanket to her neck, she stared at the ceiling.

The hall floorboards creaked and footsteps approached the
room. She rolled again onto her side and shut her eyes tight, making sure the
blanket still covered her. Last night she had folded the blanket in half,
lengthwise, so that she could lie on top of one-half of it, while covering
herself with the other half.

The hotel room door opened, then shut. McLowry walked
softly across the room.

She peeked. He removed the shirt he had worn last night
and tossed it aside. Then he squatted on the floor by his saddlebags, his back
to her. His back was broad and browned by the sun, but she winced when she saw
the puckered skin around two scars just below his shoulder blades.

Someone had shot him in the back. A wave of anger and fear
for him washed over her. But then, she remembered his job--a gun for hire.
Death for a price. She pulled the covers tighter.

Clean shirt in hand, McLowry stood. She shut her eyes,
breathing deeply as if asleep.

"Morning, Gabe," he drawled. The lilting tone to
his voice told her she had been caught. She stretched her arms wide and opened
her eyes. "Oh, Jess. Good morning. You’re up early."

He picked up his comb and adjusted the round mirror on a
tin stand on the dresser. "It’s not that early, sleepy head."

The comb rippled through gold-colored hair that slid
perfectly into place. His hair looked silken and soft, not at all like the
crazy ringlets of her boring brown locks. Snapping her gaze away, she reached
for neatly folded trousers and a shirt, and kept the blanket over her as she
dressed.

She was sure she heard a chuckle.

"I guess I had to catch up on some sleep," she
said, feeling decidedly awkward. This was no way to put on clothes. "Out
on the desert I kept being afraid a snake or a scorpion or something would
sneak up on me at night."

"You’re on a fool’s mission, Gabe." The joking
quality was gone from his voice. "Give it up before you get killed. Snakes
aren’t the danger out there--men are. You’ve been lucky, but luck doesn’t last
forever."

She resurfaced from the bedclothes and reached for her
boots. "You’re wasting your breath, Jess. I told you, I’ll manage."

"I’ll make a deal with you." He shrugged on his
brown leather vest. "I’ll ride along with you back to Jackson City. After
that, if you want to travel, you’re on your own. But at least you’ll be back
where you’ve got a home and people who care about you."

Disappointment filled her. She stood up and stomped her
boots into place, then put her hands on her hips and faced him. "I thought
you understood."

"I do understand, and that’s the problem. I
understand that when violence touches your life, it’s never the same. I
understand that if you kill, even if it’s for vengeance or justice, you become
a killer. To do this thing, Gabe, you would have to change so completely, you
wouldn’t recognize yourself."

His harsh words chilled her. "I’ll do what I
must," she said, her gaze steady. "I’m not going back, Jess, but I do
thank you for trying to help. You’re very kind."

"You’re no judge of character, either." Picking
up his bandanna, he tied it around his neck.

As she watched him finish dressing, her irritation
vanished. "Yesterday, I didn’t see any of the men I’m looking for here in
Bisbee," she said. "I guess they missed their buddy’s hanging. But if
you’re serious about heading north, I’ll go with you as far as Tombstone. They
say silver mines are popping up there like weeds in a cow pasture."

"Tombstone!" McLowry looked at her as if she
were crazy. "That’s no place for you. It’s lawless. The men there are
willing to do whatever it takes to get rich quick."

"Exactly," she said. "Men like Tanner. I’m
told he follows silver and gold strikes. Tombstone has silver mines."

"There are a lot of silver mines in this
territory."

"If the four men I’m looking for aren’t in Tombstone now,
someone there might have an idea where I can find them."

He took a step toward her. "The men there are
dangerous loners you need to stay away from."

She fixed her eyes on him. "There’s plenty back home
would put you in that category."

"We’ll ride together, Gabe, right through Tombstone
to Jackson City."

She went to the door to leave the room for the facilities.
Before going, though, she glanced back over her shoulder at him. "Don’t
bet on it, McLowry."

Chapter 6

The morning chill hung in the air when Gabe and Jess
started out the next morning. McLowry wore an old, tan serape, and Gabe a used
denim jacket that had been given to her in Jackson City. Her few clothes were
all hand-me-downs since she had lost all her own possessions in the fire.

They took the mountain pass out of Bisbee. Beyond the Mule
Mountains a high desert plateau covered with creosote brush, jojoba and
ocotillo stretched north to Tombstone. Open, rolling land, empty and treeless
lay under highest sky McLowry had ever seen. They had to ride near the Dragoon
Mountains, one of the places where bands of renegade Apaches hid to avoid being
captured and sent to the hated San Carlos reservation. The Apache leader,
Victorio, held the area from southeastern Arizona to west Texas in terror with his
raiding and killing.

McLowry didn’t like to talk as he rode. There was too much
need for careful listening to the surroundings. The slightest unnatural sound
could mean danger, and he would rather hear the warning than the noise of some
woman yapping his ear off. One thing about Gabe, though, she didn’t yap.

They reached Tombstone that afternoon. The town was in the
midst of one of the biggest booms McLowry had ever seen. He remembered when the
area was called Goose Flats. Then, in late ‘78, the Contention silver mine
opened and by the following March, the town called Tombstone was born.

The place crawled with people, mostly men. Building was
going on all around and the din from hammers nearly drowned out shouts,
catcalls and music from the saloons. Whole sides of buildings that had been
parts of boomtowns gone bust were stacked in the streets and were being raised
and nailed together again. Tents and shanties stood where solid buildings
hadn’t yet been erected.

Tombstone was as rough a place as McLowry had ever seen,
and he had been everywhere from Deadwood to Durango. Those places had their
good points and their bad. Tombstone was different. It didn’t have any good
points.

Gabe’s head swiveled continuously as they rode through
town. She had thought they were on Main Street when she first saw some business
establishments, but the street was called Fremont. By the time they reached
Fourth, the number of streets that made up the town amazed her. They were all
laid in a square grid, lined with shops, hotels and saloons. She had never seen
so many saloons.

But when they reached Allen, which served as the main
street in town, her mouth dropped open. There were a few more hotels, but the
number of saloons was not to be believed. Lord, she couldn’t imagine shipping
in enough whiskey to keep all those businesses stocked.

Garbage and filth filled the streets and more than once
she had to move fast to miss being hit by a bucket of slop tossed from a
restaurant or boarding house. The stench took her breath away.

Men and a few women bustled about the streets, and many of
the men were drunk or close to it. Two fistfights happened within two blocks.
The saloons appeared full, and loud music from pianos and hurdy-gurdies blended
and separated as she rode along the street, the cacophony of sound strange and
disjointed, as if fiddlers at a dance had all decided to play a different tune.

McLowry stopped at the Occidental Hotel. Gabe grabbed her
saddlebags and followed him inside. The lobby was stark and plain.

"Two rooms," he said to the clerk, slapping his
money on the barren counter.

"But--" Gabe was going to say that sharing a
room hadn’t been so bad, but she shut her mouth quickly when she saw the look
he gave her.

As Jess signed the register, the clerk handed him two keys.

"I’ll not let you throw your money away on me,
McLowry." She turned to the clerk, whose eyes were wide at the mention of
McLowry’s name, and asked how much her room was. She carefully counted out the
dollars, and paid him, then snatched up her own key.

Ignoring McLowry’s gaze, she marched up the stairs and
down the dark hallway to the room number shown on the key.

She heard his footsteps behind her. The hotel they had
used in Bisbee looked like a French king’s palace compared to the Occidental.
She reached the door to her room just as he did his. She unlocked her door.
"Good-day, McLowry. Perhaps we’ll see each other again before you leave
town." She entered the room and shut the door behind her before he had a
chance to reply.

The room was as bare and miserable a sight as she had ever
seen. The walls had no plasterboard covering the open studs, the ceiling was
equally bare, and the floors were pine planks. Nothing covered the windows. A
muslin sheet and rough army blanket made up the bedding. Atop the commode stand
sat a chipped white pitcher and bowl. Both were dry.

By the bed stood a short, square little table with a
blackened coal-oil lamp and tin of matches. She shook her head at her foolish
disappointment in the room. What did she care about comfort when her mission
was vengeance?

An hour or so later, McLowry knocked on Gabe’s door to ask
if she would like to join him for supper. There was no answer. He knocked a
couple more times in case she was asleep.

When he jimmied the lock open, the room was empty.

The thought of Gabe wandering around Tombstone looking for
Will Tanner and his men filled McLowry with dread. It wouldn’t surprise him,
actually, if Tanner were here somewhere. Tanner would gravitate to Tombstone
like a bear to honey. McLowry hurried down to the front desk.

"Did you see my, uh, cousin go out?" he asked
the clerk.

The clerk twisted his thick lips into a smirk, but quickly
dropped it as McLowry’s expression hardened. "I saw her, mister. She left
about fifteen, twenty minutes ago."

McLowry stood on the boardwalk and surveyed the street. He
didn’t see her. Maybe she had gone to ask the marshal if any of the four men
she sought had been seen in town. He was walking in the direction of the marshal’s
office when he heard a ruckus coming from a couple of doors up ahead.

A barkeep gripped Gabe by the arm, dragged her out of the
Crystal Palace Saloon and chucked her into the dusty street. Her hat fell off
and she stumbled, but she didn’t fall. The barkeep stood with his toes on the
edge of the boardwalk, looking down at her as he brushed off his hands. He was
a small man, not much taller than Gabe was.

She marched right back to him again, even though the
boardwalk gave him a few inches over her.

McLowry tilted back his hat, leaned one shoulder against a
post, and watched.

"You have no call to keep me out of there!" she
yelled.

Some cowboys stood in the door of the saloon and peered
out, laughing, spitting and hooting, while passers-by stopped in their tracks
to watch. Others rushed to windows and doorways of businesses up and down Allen
Street.

The barkeep pushed her back then waggled his finger at her
nose. "We got no place for your type around all them men."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She
put her hands on her hips.

His mouth grew pinched as his gaze flickered over her
trousers and flannel shirt. "Even if you was the type for a saloon, you
ain’t dressed proper!"

"
I’m
not dressed proper? What do you call
proper around here?
That
?" A dance-hall woman stood outside the
saloon beside the window. She wore a tight, low-cut, red dress.

"Leave me out of this, sweetie." The woman put
her nose in the air as one hand rested on her hip and the other patted her
platinum blond curls. "You
couldn’t
wear this dress, anyway. You
ain’t got nothin’ to hold it up with."

The cowboys howled. McLowry groaned inwardly.

Gabe’s shoulders heaved. She looked ready to burst from
holding her temper as her gaze jumped from the dance hall girl back to the
barkeep. She addressed the man in a tight, controlled voice. "I simply
want to talk with you about some men."

He pointed his thumb at her as he glanced back at the
cowboys. "Talk’s the
only
thing this gal would
ever
do with
a man," he said to his appreciative audience.

The cowboys stomped their feet and roared with laughter.