Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona (16 page)

“Good. And in return, I’ll give you an advance against your wages.” Gordon jerked his head toward the stairs. “Don’t worry, Christy. I think you’ll find we’re easy to work for here at the Oriental.”

She wound her way through the tables following Sara as the girl dodged outstretched hands and calls for more whiskey. She didn’t look left or right but kept her gaze fixed on the staircase at the far end of the long room. As they mounted the steps, Christy drew abreast of the young woman. “Thank you for showing me the way. I hope your pay won’t suffer as a result.”

Sara turned. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you get paid by the number of drinks you sell?”

“Ha. That and a lot more.” She pressed her lips together and looked away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Christy fell silent as they made their way to the top and down a hallway. The life of a saloon girl might only be serving drinks, but too often it extended beyond those boundaries. She had an uneasy feeling Sara had experienced things she didn’t care to dwell on. Christy had been lucky over the years—the places she worked hadn’t pressed her into taking men to her room. Some of the girls did it for the money; others because they’d lost all hope of making anything of their lives and quit caring. But she’d always known that lifestyle wasn’t for her and she shunned it. Bad enough serving drinks and fighting off uncouth men without offending them. Making a cowboy, miner, or gambler angry because he couldn’t touch you or haul you upstairs could get you fired and thrown out on the street. She’d had to learn early how to sweet-talk the men but not give them anything more.

Disgust filled her. It was all she could do to not turn and stalk back down the stairs and home.

Sara pushed open a door of what appeared to be a storage room and walked inside. “This is it, ma’am.” She swept her arm toward a row of dresses on the far wall, a curtain draped across a corner for privacy. “I’ll show you what we’ve got and let you try on what you’d like.”

“It’s Christy, not ma’am. And I hope it’s all right to call you Sara?”

The tension eased from the girl’s expression. “Shore, I’d like that…. What’re you doin’ here? In this place, I mean? You told me that time on the street you used to work someplace like this, but you seem like such a lady. It don’t make sense to me.”

Christy moved to the row of gowns hanging on pegs. The last thing she wanted was to share her troubles with a stranger, but she didn’t care to hurt the girl when she appeared generally confused. She plucked a royal blue dress with a softly rounded neckline off a peg and held it in front of her. The sleeves came to her elbows and a bow-covered bustle in the back fell away into a flared skirt ending in a short train. The fabric was silky and the waist tiny—this would certainly be a form-fitting gown, but decent in all respects. She raised her eyes to meet Sara’s. “This will do if it fits.”

Slipping behind the curtain she hung the gown over the back of a chair. She unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it, then handed it around the curtain to Sara. “I don’t mind answering your question, if you’ll answer one of mine.”

Silence filled the room for several heartbeats, then Sara’s soft voice answered, “Ask yours first and we’ll see.”

“What brought you to this town, and to work in this place?” Christy fastened the cloth-covered buttons up to within a couple of inches of her collarbone and smoothed the fabric of the skirt. The gown was something a lady would wear to a ball, not a gambling den, but she shouldn’t be surprised based on the piano, velvet drapes, and highly polished walnut bar downstairs. The owner of this place apparently wanted to exude an air of luxury and wealth, and this outfit certainly fit the bill.

Christy shoved aside the curtain and stepped out, watching for Sara’s reaction.

The girl’s eyes widened and her lips formed a silent O. She beamed and clapped her hands. “You look beautiful!” The smile faded. “You might want to wear the other one, though, if you don’t want men grabbin’ at you.”

“Mr. Townsley assured me that won’t happen, and besides, I can take care of myself where men are concerned.”

Sara’s lips tightened. “That’s what he told me when I came too.”

Christy inhaled sharply. “Told you what, exactly?”

“That he wouldn’t let men bother me none.” Her slender frame quivered. “But it didn’t last long.”

“So when you said it was too early to take a man upstairs…does Townsley force you to entertain men in your room—against your wishes?”

Sara tucked her chin against her chest. “I don’t think…”

A hard rap sounded at the door. “The boss wants you downstairs, Sara. Says yer takin’ too long. Get a move on it.”

Sara’s chin jerked up. “We’re comin’ straightaway. Miss Christy just finished dressin’.”

“All right then, I’ll let him know.” Footsteps grew fainter as he traveled away from the door.

The girl turned toward Christy, real fear in her eyes. “Please, are you ready to go? We can’t keep Mr. Townsley waiting any longer.”

Christy nodded and adjusted her hem. “I’ll leave my other dress here and come back to change before I go home.”

She longed to wrap her arms around this waif and take her away, but that wasn’t possible. The house was too crowded as it was, and they didn’t have enough money to feed their family, much less a stranger. But she didn’t intend to let this subject drop. She’d find out what brought Sara to the point where she had to work in such a place and see what she could do to protect her while she stayed—which might not be long if the hints she’d gotten from the girl were true.

She knew fear when she saw it, and it didn’t come from being a minute or two later than expected. Something was up, and Christy would get to the bottom of it, if it was the last thing she did.

Early the next morning Sara sat on the edge of her bed and gripped her stomach. The smell of food wafted up the stairs and drifted under the edge of her door. Hunger should be tugging her downstairs, but revulsion took its place. The night manager had insisted she entertain yet another visitor to her room and he’d been rougher than most. She rubbed the bruised flesh of her upper arms and winced. A sudden queasiness shot her from the bed and sent her racing for the chamber pot in the corner. She knelt on the floor and retched. When she finished, she sat back on her heels and whimpered. This was the fifth time in the past two weeks she’d been sick.

Sara had a horrible, sinking feeling she knew what this meant, and it wouldn’t be good. Girls in her condition got sent to a doctor who had no scruples, or they ended up in the street if not discovered before it was too late. Horror and shame threatened to suffocate her. All her life she’d wanted nothing more than a good man to love her and a family of her own. Never had she imagined she’d find herself in such a compromising position because of events beyond her control. Right now, all she wanted was her mother…and a way to escape.

Nevada pushed away from the supper table at the Russ House the following night and sighed with satisfaction. Nellie told the truth about having a good cook. He’d have to straddle his horse and ride herd a few hundred miles or he’d be too soft to do much. The menu had quite a variety on a Sunday, when the dining room was open to the public. They had their choice of roast duck, mutton, short ribs, or pork with sides of applesauce, mushroom sauce, biscuits, three types of vegetables, and a table full of desserts. His favorite had drawn him for seconds—green apple dumplings—but the pie, New York plum pudding, and cake had been just as tempting.

His thoughts turned from food to the last time he’d been in the Oriental Saloon. For the past three days he’d resisted the temptation to swing by and see if Christy were there. She mentioned she’d been looking for a job, but he’d never believed she’d stoop so low….

He jerked back hard on his thoughts before they could run away with him. There was no proof she’d taken work there, and besides, it wasn’t his place to judge. What’s more, he hadn’t lived any kind of clean, upright life for the past few years. But she’d seemed different somehow than the other women he’d met in those joints. With her ma sick and brother hurt, maybe she didn’t have a choice. He shoved away from the table, a sudden thought propelling him to the kitchen doorway.

Nellie stacked dirty dishes next to a large pan of steaming water, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She reached up with the back of her hand and pushed away a stray curl drooping over her forehead. “What can I do for ya?”

Nevada leaned his hip against the doorjamb and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I know you’ve got a great cook, but you still seem to have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, it does get to be a bit of a pull at times, but I’ll make it.” She blew at the curl, but it didn’t budge.

“I have this friend….” Maybe he should have checked with Christy first. After all, she might be working at the Oriental now and be happy with her new job. He shook his head and pushed on. “There’s a woman I know who might need a job. I don’t know if you want to take someone else on, but I thought—”

“Ya were right to ask. It’s a wonder I’ve kept me sanity these past couple days with things bein’ so busy and all.” Her Irish brogue thickened. “Men comin’ and goin’ at all hours with the different shifts at some of the mines, and all the cleanin’ and bed changin’.”

He straightened, new hope surging through his heart. “So you might want her to come by?”

“Send her if she’s interested. I’d be happy to chat with the lass.” She returned to her work.

“Thanks, Nellie. You’re the best.” He turned to leave, then swung back around. “I don’t know the lady well, so I’m not sure if this would suit her, but she mentioned she was looking for a job.”

“Happy to oblige. Get along with ya now, so I can be done for the night.”

He walked out of the kitchen, hope bubbling in his heart. If things worked out, Christy Grey might be here in the next couple of days. Maybe God cared a little bit after all. Of course, he hadn’t bothered to pray about this, and didn’t really want to, but he was willing to toss God some of the credit just the same.

Nevada placed the hot horseshoe on the anvil and hammered it into the desired shape, wishing John was here. His boss was feeling poorly but insisted he’d return tomorrow to help get caught up. Nevada didn’t care so much about the extra work, but he’d sure like someone to talk to. He’d gone to the Oriental twice in the past three days since talking to Nellie. He’d tried more than once to talk to Christy, but Doc Holliday stood between her and the crowd and frowned on any man who attempted to get close. Part of him rejoiced that she had a protector from the throng, but frustration rode him hard that she’d taken a position in a saloon.

And here he’d thought God might care about one small aspect of his life. Right. He couldn’t remember the last time God had intervened in a meaningful way.

He tossed the hammer to the side and set down the horseshoe. A variety of sizes lay in a neat stack where he’d placed them, and he’d earned a break. A black horsefly buzzed around his head, and he swatted it away. The chair John used was perched too close to the fire for comfort. The closing days of May had brought soaring temperatures. The middle of the day often hit ninety. Nevada hated working over the hot fire hammering out shoes.

Drawing the chair into the deep shade, he sank down for a few minutes of rest, his mind returning to the problem before him. Was this about his desires and needs, or Christy’s? He’d like to see her working at Nellie’s place, but what if Christy didn’t care to change jobs? Besides being beautiful she had integrity, something he valued above most other character traits. She’d kept her word and not turned him over to the law, not even after Wells Fargo offered a reward for the capture of the gang. She could’ve made some easy money, but apparently it hadn’t tempted her.

A sound at the open door turned him toward it, his back stiffening. His hand slipped toward his gun but fell back into his lap as John limped into the yard. “What you doing here, man? Your wife was supposed to keep you home in bed.”

“Aw, shucks. I’m not that poorly to stay abed all day. Needed some fresh air.” John drew in a deep breath through his nostrils and grinned. “Love the smell of hot metal and horses.” He rubbed his hands together and sank into a nearby chair. “Smells like cash money to me.”

Nevada chuckled and shook his head. “Good thing I’m done for the day, so you won’t be tempted to tire yourself more.”

“Thought you might like some company. We talked awhile back and I been studyin’ on some of what you told me.”

“About what?” Nevada put his feet up on a nail keg and leaned back.

“After you shot that last fella, you said you got sick to your stomach and wanted to quit.”

“Yeah. More than anything.”

“So what you wantin’ to do instead? Got any plans?”

“I’d like to have my own ranch and maybe a wife and kids someday, but I can’t see that happening.”

John plucked a piece of straw from a nearby bale and put it between his teeth, wallering it from side to side. “Why not? You’re a handsome young fella. Can’t see you’d have any trouble findin’ a woman willin’ to marry you.”

Nevada exhaled. “Don’t think a decent one would want me with my past.”

“Mind tellin’ me how it all started? Just so I have a handle on things, if you know what I mean.”

“Sure.” Nevada placed his foot on the bottom rail of the corral fence and draped his arm over the top one. “It’s not something I talk about, but I trust you, John.”

“And I won’t betray your trust, son.”

“I know.” Nevada had tried to bury the past and leave it there, but somehow it always managed to rise from the dead and track him down. Maybe bringing it out in the open and facing it would make a difference somehow. “Years ago I was engaged to a wonderful young woman. We planned to marry as soon as I graduated from seminary.”

“Seminary? You’re a man of the cloth?” John’s leg propped on the bale of straw thumped to the ground as he sat upright and winced. “Ouch. Guess it’s not doin’ as good as I thought.”

Nevada grinned. “You’re just getting old and soft.”

John flexed the muscles in one of his huge arms and grinned. “I can take you any day, young man. Now get on with your story.”

Nevada’s smile faded as the memories rushed back. “That was my plan. Mostly attending seminary was my parents’ idea, but I didn’t have anything else pulling at me. It was as good a job as any, so I applied and got accepted.”

John frowned. “That’s not a good reason to enter the ministry. You got to believe in God your own self and want to serve Him with your whole heart. Otherwise, the job will eat you up and spit you out.”

“Yeah. Well, I believed in God and even loved Him—to some degree. And I thought it was a good calling.” The old familiar anger stirred in his heart, and he dropped his head to keep it from showing. “Until God took my Marie.”

“Took her, you say? How’s that?”

“Pneumonia. She died shortly after.”

“Ah, too bad. I’m sorry. But what’s that have to do with killin’ a man?”

Nevada felt the pain that had dulled over the years but never quite disappeared. He’d often wondered what life would have held for him if Marie had lived. “I left seminary.”

“To take a church?” The blacksmith scratched his head.

“No. That was the last thing I wanted. God didn’t care enough to save Marie, and I didn’t want to serve a God who’d take a beautiful young woman with her whole life ahead of her. I walked away. Then my younger sister left home when she was sixteen, yearning for adventure. She landed in a dance hall and gambling den. I found her there two months later.”

“Ah. Now the picture is takin’ shape.” John wagged his head. “You took her back home?”

“Yes. But not until I shot the man who abused her when he drew on me. After that, I didn’t figure God would want anything to do with me, even if I wanted to return to Him. So I got a job riding herd on a cattle drive from Texas to Colorado. A man in one of the towns recognized me as the one who’d shot my sister’s boss and called me out. Told me to shoot or die. I decided to shoot. I’m not sure why I’m still alive. He got his gun out first, but he shot too fast and his bullet missed. Mine didn’t.”

“So things went south from there, I take it?” John shifted his weight on the stool and massaged his leg.

“Yeah. I figured I’d better start practicing my draw if I wanted to live. It’s a good thing I did. But I hated the life and still do. There’s nothing about it I want any part of—not the killing, the reputation, or the constant moving from place to place.”

“What now? You stayin’ here or movin’ on again?”

“I hope to stay, but I don’t know. I’ve been saving money for years and have a pretty decent stash put aside for a ranch. I’d planned on buying something around Albuquerque, but that didn’t happen.”

“Someone else call you out?”

“Yes. I told him to back down. Begged him to walk away. But they never listen. They’re so sure they’ll be fast enough.” Nevada shrugged. “What they don’t realize is what kind of life they’ll inherit when they kill me. It’s not something I’d wish on anyone.”

“Where does God figure in all of this?”

Nevada scowled. “He doesn’t. Not as far as I’m concerned, anyway. He’s not done me any favors over the years.”

“I think you’re missin’ a mighty important fact, son.”

“Yeah? What?”

“You’re still alive.” John let the words linger on the air for a moment before he continued. “That’s not a coincidence in my way of thinkin’. I’d say God’s got some kind of purpose for you, whether you like it or not. Maybe it’s time you started ponderin’ that and gettin’ your life in order.”

Nevada dropped his feet from the nail keg and stood. “I’m alive because I’m faster with a gun than anyone who’s challenged me.” He picked up a horseshoe. “We’ve jawed long enough. I’d best get back to work.”

“Thought you said you was done with work.”

“I’ve got some things I can do, if it’s all the same to you.”

John pushed to his feet and stretched. “Sure. Guess I’ll mosey on home and see if the wife’s missed me yet.” He walked toward the door, then turned. “Want you to know I’ll be prayin’ for you. God ain’t done with you yet.” He walked out the door and didn’t look back, but a jaunty whistle drifted in through the doorway.

It had been years since Nevada had prayed, and he wasn’t sure he even remembered how. He didn’t care about himself at the moment, no matter what John said, but something about Christy’s plight urged him to try. How many times in years past had he begged God for an answer that would only benefit
him?
Grief washed over his heart, and he dropped his head into his hands. He needed to set aside his desires and petition the Almighty for someone else.

“God, if You still care, would You help Christy? I’m not asking for me, but because I’m concerned about her. Please.” He raised his head. It was the best he could do, but a gentle peace touched his spirit.

Anger clogged Christy’s throat, and she allowed the emotion to swell. “Get off me, you drunken lout.” She gripped the roughened hands of the miner latched around her waist and tugged, but they didn’t loosen. Gratitude toward Gordon Townsley for convincing her to wear high-heeled shoes swamped her. She lifted her foot and came down hard on the man’s instep. He let out a howl, dropped his arms, then fell to the floor, unable to stand in his inebriated state.

Buckskin Frank Leslie bent over the prostrate man and jerked him to his feet, pinning his arm behind him. “Sorry, Miss Christy, for not gettin’ here sooner. I’ll have one of the men walk you to the wheel from now on if you need to leave.”

“Let go a’me. I ain’t gonna hurt the lady. Just wanted a little kiss, that’s all. Ain’t that why you got these girls?” the man blubbered as the grip on his arm tightened.

Leslie shook his head and shoved the man toward the door. “You’re not welcome here anymore, mister. Take your business somewhere else.” A hard push and Leslie delivered the miner outside. He turned and made his way back to Christy. A wide space had formed around her, and Doc Holliday stood at her side. “It won’t happen again, Miss.”

“Thank you.” She turned away, clutching her hands in the folds of her skirt to hide their shaking. The past week manning the roulette wheel and fending off the advances of drunken miners had been harder than she’d expected. Old emotions of revulsion threatened to choke her. Disgust at the position she’d agreed to take in this place grew daily. Sure, either Doc or Wyatt, or one of the other gun hands like Frank Leslie, hovered on the fringes most of the time, but there was always at least one episode per day when some man pushed the limit.

The doors opened again, and Christy glanced that direction, wondering if the miner had decided to try again. A familiar figure stepped through, and Christy’s pulse quickened.
Nevada.
He’d pulled his flat-brimmed hat low over his forehead, but she could still see his eyes searching the room, peering into every corner. He carried the look of a careful—or a hunted—man. She’d seen it before over the years. Someone who had no cares entered with long, free strides, heading directly for the bar or game table of their choice. Others, like Nevada, lingered and made sure of the room before stepping too far inside.

She hadn’t seen him for several days, other than at a distance a couple of times while working the wheel. Part of her hoped he’d decided to leave town, but an even stronger part prayed he hadn’t. She detested being drawn to an outlaw, and worse, to a man who frequented women of the night. His gaze moved from the bar to where she stood. Their eyes met above the heads of the seated gamblers. A hot jolt struck her in the chest. Something danced in his eyes that she couldn’t quite fathom. It took an effort to tear her gaze away and turn back to the job at hand. What was he doing here? At least one time she’d sensed him trying to approach her, but her bodyguards had kept the space around her clear.

Christy turned to Doc and touched his arm.

The slender man bowed. “You need something, Miss?”

“Yes. That man across the room took my brother home when he was injured.” She struggled with an excuse she could give that would convince the gambler to allow her a few minutes with Nevada. “He’s come to our house to check on him and bring water a couple of times, and I think he may have a message from my mother. Do you mind if I speak to him briefly?”