Deborah Camp (7 page)

“After this game, then?” The man’s smile stiffened and his fingers dug into Reno’s shoulder.

“Sure thing.” Reno faced the other players and shrugged off the man’s hand. The bets had been made. He laid his cards on the table and won the money piled in the center. “Much obliged, gentlemen,” he said to the three ragtag, bleary-eyed drunks, who all seemed glad for the game to end now that Taylor Terrapin had summoned Reno for a little chat. “The owner has need of my attention, so I must call
it a night.” He stuffed his winnings into his pockets, bowed to the losers, and joined Terrapin at a table near the door.

“What are you drinking?” Terrapin asked.

“Whiskey, neat.”

Terrapin signaled to one of the daringly dressed barmaids. “I wanted to speak to you about your way of doing business, Mr. Gold.”

“What business is that?”

The barmaid placed the drinks before them. Reno recognized her from that morning in the saloon. Little Nugget. Terrapin’s favorite. She smiled at Reno before moving back to the bar, obeying Terrapin’s casual gesture of dismissal. Reno sampled the whiskey. It had more bite and flavor than what he’d been served all night. Only the best when the boss was buying the drinks, he thought, glancing at Little Nugget again and tossing her a wink and a grin.

“Nugget, you get on upstairs, undress, and wait for me,” Terrapin ordered.

The petite blonde stared at him, her lips trembling, but her chin tipped up in rebellion.

“Did you hear me?” Terrapin asked, his voice raspy soft and full of danger.

“I’m not hurting nothing by standing here.”

Terrapin’s eyes glittered with malice. “You get upstairs now or there will be hell to pay. Don’t sass me if you want to keep your teeth.”

“Hey now,” Reno said, unable to sit quietly when threats were made against women. “There’s no call for—”

“This is none of your business,” Terrapin snapped. “This is between me and my woman.”

“I’m going,” Little Nugget said, and dashed up the stairs and into a room, slamming the door behind her.

Reno settled back in his chair, his temper simmering. In that moment he sized Terrapin up as a coward and a bully. A deadly combination.

“You hired someone away from me today.” Terrapin unbuttoned his suit coat, revealing a silver vest and a tooled leather gun belt. “Dead-eye Doris. She’s been on my payroll for three or four years.”

Reno glanced around, making sure no one was taking an interest in their conversation other than the one-eyed man, who stood behind Reno and slightly to the right of him. Reno repositioned his chair and sat sideways so as to keep both Terrapin and his hired gun in view.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Reno said. “We came in here on the same train, didn’t we?”

The one-eyed man nodded, but said nothing. He wore a fancy gun belt with a silver-handled Colt .45 decorating it. The handle was rubbed shiny in places, a clear indication of it being well used.

“Allow me,” Terrapin said. “Mr. Gold, this is Buck Wilhite, an old friend of mine. He works for me now.”

“Oh yeah?” Reno eyed him. “Doing what?”

“Whatever needs to be done to keep things running smoothly around here.” Terrapin nodded at the three drunks Reno had engaged in a poker game. They shuffled out the door, casting edgy glances at Buck and Terrapin.

The piano player snoozed in a far corner. Two men, both elderly, played checkers and drank beer. The waitresses sat on the bar, swinging their legs and talking in whispers.

“You did know that Doris worked for me,” Terrapin said. “I believe you met her at my saloon this morning.”

“That’s right.” Reno finished the whiskey and let his right hand dangle at his side. “I met Little Nugget this morning, too. I offered them both a job as cook at the restaurant, and Mrs. McDonald accepted. Something wrong with that?”

Terrapin made circles on the tabletop with his index finger, his expression faintly friendly, but his eyes starkly sinister. Light flickered over his face, casting deep shadows on his pock-marked skin. “What’s wrong, friend, is that you didn’t ask me first.”

Reno arched a brow. “Hell, that never crossed my mind. You cook, do you?”

Terrapin’s face flushed a ruddy hue and his eyes snapped with anger, but his voice was pure silk. “No, I don’t cook, and that’s not what I meant, as you well know. Let’s not jerk each other’s reins, Mr. Gold. This hiring of someone on my payroll vexes me.” His dark brows met. “It truly vexes me. Do you know why?”

Reno stared at him, refusing to fetch up the answers Terrapin wanted. After a few moments, Terrapin’s mouth thinned to the width of a knife blade.

“It’s vexing because you show disrespect by not conferring with me first, Mr. Gold.”

Reno glanced around, keeping Buck and Terrapin in sight, and sighed, feigning boredom. “Uh-huh. Well, respect is earned, not given.” He grinned broadly, playing the country fool, an act that had often served him well when dealing with undesirables. “My mama taught me that.”

“I fear I’m not getting through to you.” Terrapin
moved quick as a snake and clamped a hand on Reno’s left wrist. His fingers felt like a band of steel. “I am willing to overlook your bad manners, Mr. Gold, if you apologize and give me your word that you won’t tread on me again.”

Every muscle in Reno’s body tensed, but he strove for icy composure. Deadwood had taught him to stay calm even when his back was against the wall and the Devil was breathing in his face.

“Take your hand off me, pal,” Reno told Terrapin, his voice soft and deadly. “I appreciate the drink, but I’ve got to be going. It’s my wedding night, you know.”

“Yes, I know, but the night has nearly expired. I wonder if your bride is disappointed or relieved by your absence. How much do you know about her?”

“Enough to know I’m a lucky man.”

“Yes, but I don’t think she approves of the way I do business. I was hoping you would have a calming influence on her. I thought you might rein her in. She tends to be flighty, too high-spirited for her own good.”

“She’s a woman, not a horse.” Reno stared at the hand clamped to his wrist and gritted his teeth against his rising aggravation.

“I’m waiting for that apology, friend.”

“And I’m waiting for you to let go of me,
pal
,” Reno said, lacing the last word with insolence.

Terrapin flexed his fingers and inched his hand back across the table, but his eyes continued to hold Reno in their inky grip. “What’s your tribe, Mr. Gold?”

“Tribes,” Reno corrected. “Cheyenne and Cherokee.”

“Ah, I’ve got Cheyenne blood myself. That and Pawnee. We should be able to reach an understanding, don’t you think? I’m an important man in this community, Mr. Gold, and I have earned respect here. Ask anyone.” He essayed an expansive gesture with one hand.

Reno wasn’t much concerned with that hand, but he did have an interest in the one hidden under the table. He suspected it rested on the butt of a revolver.

“You can understand how distressed I’d be with someone like you coming into town and hiring away one of my most valued girls. A simple apology will appease me for now, friend, seeing as how you’re a stranger and acted impulsively. I’ll allow one mistake.”

Reno let his right hand drop lower until his fingertips brushed the hem of his pants. He said nothing, letting silence speak for him. He felt the tension in the room tighten like a screw. He wanted to stand and make his way out of the gaming hall, but caution held him in the chair.

“Are you going to apologize, Mr. Gold?” Terrapin asked, his eyes going blacker, starker.

Reno shook his head. “No.”

The tension cracked and split the two men apart. Terrapin leaned back to clear his gun from its holster. Reno slipped his fingers around the small butt of the .41 Colt strapped to his right ankle, his actions smooth and lightning-quick from countless hours of practice. With his other hand he gripped the back of the chair as he vacated it and swung it sideways, catching Buck
in the chest and face. Wood splintered, and Buck stumbled backward, tripped, and fell. Terrapin froze, staring with surprise at the gun barrel inches from his nose. His brown lips stretched into an unpleasant grin.

“You carry a little ladies’ gun?”

“It shoots big manly bullets,” Reno assured him, backing toward the door as he divided his attention between Terrapin and Buck, who had surged to his feet, his one eye bulging from its socket. “Like I said, my bride is waiting for me, so I’d better mosey on home.” Feeling the swinging door at his back, Reno shouldered it open and nodded to Terrapin, who had both his hands on the table now. “Good evening.”

“You’ve made an enemy tonight, I fear,” Terrapin said, drumming his long fingers on the tabletop, his eyes without any sheen of humanity, like a doll’s.

“And I fear that the next time you start to draw on me I’ll have to shoot you,” Reno countered, before slipping between the swinging doors and into the gray night.

“Let him go,” he heard Terrapin tell Buck.

Nevertheless, Reno stepped lightly, his eyes searching for any movement, his senses reaching out, feeling for danger. His footfalls sounded like gunshots, so he stepped off the boardwalk and onto the softly packed dirt of the street. His heart flung itself against his chest wall and he was sweating as he neared the fog-shrouded lights of the train depot. A lamp burned in the shed out back, testing his patience.

Reno opened the shed door and stared at the cot, table, and trunk. He gnashed his teeth, doused the lamp, and grabbed the rickety bed. Carrying it easily
and dragging the bedclothes with him, he went to the front door of the restaurant. Locked. He carried the bed around to the rear entrance. Locked.

Setting the cot down, Reno backed up a step, aimed, and kicked. The heel of his boot connected smartly with the thin wood, splitting it and allowing the door to swing open. Reno picked up the cot and went inside. He headed for Adele’s quarters, feeling damn near invincible.

“Well, where is he?” Sally demanded, tapping one foot and fixing that chastising expression on her face that never failed to fire Adele’s anger.

“Who?” Adele asked. She was polishing the front counter until it gleamed. She looked toward the front door, hoping for another group of customers, but the tracks were empty and the depot deserted. In the hours between dinner and supper, the trade slackened off, giving Adele and her staff precious time to get ready for the evening rush. Usually there were stragglers wanting coffee and pie, but no one was approaching the depot, leaving Adele to deal with Sally’s persistent questioning and unrelenting disapproval.

“You know who,” Sally retorted. “Your lazy husband. I know he didn’t sleep out back, because I checked early this morning and the cot’s not even in there. So where is he?”

Adele lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted attempt at indifference. She knew exactly where he was, because she had discovered him passed out on the cot he had placed in her parlor. She’d heard him break down the door early this morning, but had remained shivering
in her bed, afraid he meant to force himself on her. Only when she’d heard his noisy breathing had she realized she was safe. She’d crept out of her bedroom to stare at him, his face painted by moonlight, his powerfully built body too large for the narrow cot.

Feeling Sally’s keen regard, Adele pushed aside her musings. “I’m too busy to keep track of a grown man’s whereabouts.”

“Adele,” Sally said, making her name a lament. “Why don’t you admit you made a big mistake marrying him? You can get an annulment. You don’t have to keep up this charade. I can see you’re upset.”

“I’m upset because I don’t want to discuss this endlessly with you, Sally.”

Doris McDonald came in from the kitchen, and Adele seized the opportunity to change the subject.

“The customers seem to have fallen in love with your chicken and egg noodles,” Adele said, stepping around Sally to address the new cook.

“That’s nice to know.” She wore a bright-green dress of fine quality and had tied on an apron. “I checked the staples today, ma’am, and we’re getting pretty low on lard and potatoes.”

“The first train in tomorrow is supposed to be bringing us some supplies, including potatoes,” Adele assured her. “We buy our lard at the butcher shop. I’ll send someone around for it later.”

Mrs. McDonald nodded and turned to go back into the kitchen.

“Mrs. McDonald.” Adele waited for the woman to face her again. “Do you sew?”

“Used to. I haven’t for a long time though. Why?”

“I have some material and patterns you can use to
make yourself some work dresses like ours, if you’d like.” Adele reached out to touch one of her sleeves. The satin slipped across her fingertips. “This is too fine for the kitchen.”

Mrs. McDonald’s face flushed bright pink. “Yeah, well, this was what I used to wear to work. I’d appreciate the material and patterns, ma’am.”

“Fine, and you can call me Miss Adele.” She noticed the woman’s startled reaction. “If you have a problem with that, you can call me Miss Bishop.”

“But you’re married now, aren’t you?”

It was Adele’s turn to be startled. For a few moments her tongue refused to move as her mind whirled. Married. Yes, she was married. She had taken the vows and had signed her name to the certificate of marriage, but should she take Reno’s name? Should she carry the farce that far? “I meant … Well, yes, I’m married now, but you can still call me—”

“Mrs. Adele,” Reno spoke up, as he entered the restaurant. “Or Mrs. Gold,” he tacked on with an insolent grin. “Just don’t call her Dellie, Mrs. McDonald. That’s reserved for those closest to her.” He essayed a wink, which garnered a big smile from the cook. “How about a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich? My belly’s so empty it’s rubbing up against my backbone.”

Sally released a sharp, bitter laugh. “Will you listen to that? He comes staggering in here and barks orders like he’s lord of the manor.” She glared a challenge at Adele. “Are you going to obey or rebel?”

“Good day to you, too, Sally Ann.” Reno swung a leg and landed on one of the counter stools. A band of sunlight streamed through the windows and fell
on him. He squinted his blood-shot eyes and turned his back on the light.