Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona (8 page)

Nevada made his way to the Grand Hotel. He didn’t like spending much money for a room, but he had to admit the idea of a soft bed, clean sheets, and no varmints skittering across the floor appealed to him. Besides, it was close and highly recommended. Once he got the lay of the land tomorrow and found a decent boardinghouse he’d find a different spot to live. One night wouldn’t break him.

He’d bankrolled a sizeable amount over the years from working cattle. Other cowboys blew their pay on women and whiskey, but not him. The memory of the gold coin flipping through the air and landing in his palm made him groan. Maybe his desire to buy his own ranch had pushed him too hard to take whatever cash he could get, even when it meant riding on the ragged edge of shady.

From now on he’d go straight. No more taking mavericks off the range and herding them over the line to Mexico for a fast dollar. Sure, most ranchers agreed an unbranded calf running wild in the breaks was fair game. But he knew in his heart he didn’t have a right to those calves.

Nevada pushed through the doors of the two-story edifice and stopped. He’d been in a lot of cattle and mining towns, but this hotel beat all. Maybe he couldn’t afford this place for even one night. A wide staircase covered in carpet lay ahead, sporting a black walnut banister running all the way to the top. An open space to the right boasted a small sign introducing the traveler to the office, and beckoned to a sitting area for weary guests. Lavish furnishings with velvet drapes and walnut tables graced the room, and a bespectacled man sat busily writing at a desk that looked too large for his small size.

Nevada took cautious steps up to the desk, his hat clutched in his hands. His gaze dropped to his boots, and he winced. Street dust had left a trail behind him on the luxurious carpet. A desire to rush back outside and clean his feet or, better yet, find somewhere else to stay assailed him. A quick look to the side revealed another large, elegant room, and almost convinced him the impulse to leave was sound. It was too early in the day for supper, and no patrons sat at the tables in the dining area. Three ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and walnut dining tables were covered with fancy cloths and topped with cut glass, china, and silver.

He could stare down the barrel of a cocked gun without flinching, but the sight of china and glass unnerved him. His early days growing up flashed before his memory. Mama with all her genteel ways, insisting he use the proper fork and fold his napkin when he finished his meal. Daddy smoking his cigar in their parlor after supper and Mama sitting with her embroidery. He hadn’t cared for all the finery then, nor the airs the adults who came to visit assumed, and nothing had changed. He’d find another place to take his evening meal.

Someone nearby cleared his throat, and Nevada jumped. He gazed at the middle-aged man who rose from behind the desk. Nevada had totally forgotten the clerk while taking in the sights of the hotel.

“May I help you, sir?”

Nothing about the clerk’s expression convinced Nevada he thought poorly of the cowboy standing before him. No doubt the man had been instructed to take money from anyone who could afford this opulent place. Many a dirty miner could be packing thousands of dollars in silver or gold, and most businesses in frontier towns didn’t judge men by their attire.

“Are you waiting for the dining room to open? Or might you be looking for the saloon? Big Nose Kate’s bar is in the basement and open all hours.”

Nevada stepped forward. “No, sir. But I’d surely enjoy one of your rooms for the night, if you happen to have one open.” He carefully enunciated his words and watched with amusement as the clerk’s eyebrows rose.

“Glad to have your business.” The clerk picked up a pencil and moved a large, open book toward the edge of his desk. “If you’d care to sign in, I’ll give you a room on the second floor. We have sixteen in all, including one suite called the bridal chamber.” He peered out the door behind Nevada. “I don’t suppose you’re in need of that one, sir?”

Nevada grinned in response. “Nope. I’m not hitched and have no plans to be, so one of your smaller, simpler rooms would suit me fine.” He picked up the pen and hesitated, then wrote with a flourish
James N. King, II.
How many years had it been since he’d used his real name? More than he cared to remember, but somehow it seemed suitable here.

The clerk stepped from behind his desk and beckoned Nevada to follow. They walked up the wide stairs, their feet muffled by the deep carpet. At the top they entered an elegant parlor. Oil paintings lined the walls, the furniture was covered in silk, and a piano stood in grandeur in the far corner. They passed through a set of double doors and into a hallway where a myriad of rooms opened up along the way. Most were closed, but he got glimpses of empty rooms, each beautifully appointed with walnut furniture and carpet, and every one with its own window.

Finally they came to the end of the hall. The clerk pushed open a door and stood aside. “Will this do, sir?”

Nevada stepped over the threshold and stifled a yelp. Papered walls, carpeted floor, walnut furnishings, and a toilet stand fitted out the room, while a wide bed covered with what appeared to be stiff silk stood off to the side. “It’ll do fine, thanks.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold piece.

The clerk shrank back. “No, sir. We don’t accept gratuities. My employer pays me quite handsomely, but thank you. Do you have any bags you’d like brought up?”

Nevada shook his head. “I have a saddle bag and bedroll down at the livery. I’ll be buying a change of clothes before I eat supper.”

“Very good, sir. And we can draw you a bath, if you’d like.”

“Fine.” Nevada waited till the man left the room, closed the door behind him, then walked to the bed. He sank onto it.
Springs. A real spring mattress.
It had been years since he’d been surrounded by such luxury. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep on this kind of softness after the nights spent on the hard ground and narrow cots, but he sure aimed to try. He grinned. This was nice. Real nice.

Then his smile faded, and he yanked his thoughts back from where they’d started to drift. No amount of comfort was worth returning to the life he’d led. No. He’d promised Mama years ago he’d not get into trouble. He hadn’t kept that promise in the past, but he meant to now, no matter how much his own ranch might tempt him to earn money in a way dishonorable to his family.

Christy rushed into a room off the kitchen following the wails. Joshua had stopped at the door to the dingy bedroom and stared at their mother, who’d flung herself across the narrow bed shoved up against the wall. Christy urged him into the room with her eyes, but he drew away. She turned her back on him and walked to the bed, sinking down beside her prostrate mother. “Ma, it’s Christy. I got Joshua’s telegram asking me to come, and I just arrived. What’s wrong?”

Her mother didn’t appear to take notice of her question but lay facedown, groaning and weeping. Dark red hair now peppered with gray had come loose from the knot at the back of her head. Christy could only see the side of her mother’s face, but she winced at the deeply etched lines on her cheeks and forehead. How could she have aged in such a short time?

Suddenly the weeping changed to a deep cough. Christy stared at her ma, then over at Josh, who’d straightened from his stance against the doorframe. Fear and desperation chased across his countenance, and he backed away. “Joshua, come help me.” Christy lifted her hand and waved him forward, but he continued his slow exodus. “I said, come help me. I need to know what’s wrong.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to catch it.”

“Catch what?”

“Consumption. I won’t touch her.”

Christy gasped and took a step back, then shame washed over her. Her mother’s cough racked her body, interspersed with her sobs. She lifted her hand to her mouth and the paper she’d been clutching drifted to the floor. Christy bent over and retrieved it, certain the telegram must have brought on her mother’s weeping. She smoothed out the creases and stepped closer to the tiny window set high in the wall. By its trickle of light she read:

Logan gunned down in Albuquerque. Stop. Man named King done it. Stop. Send money for burial. Stop. Cousin Jake

“What is it?” Joshua peered in through the open door. “What’s it say?”

“It’s Logan.”

“Pa? What about him?” The fear was evident in Joshua’s expression.

“He’s been shot.”

“How bad is he hurt?”

She raised eyes swimming in tears to meet her brother’s. She herself felt no love or sorrow for the dead man, but she knew what the news would do to Joshua, and her mother’s grief was palpable. “I’m sorry. He’s dead.”

The young man emitted a cry like a wounded animal and fled from the house. The flimsy front door slammed behind him, and Christy heard footsteps outside the window racing away. That was so like Joshua. Fight or flee, the two options he typically chose. She sighed, suddenly ashamed. She hadn’t cared for Logan Malone, but he’d been a part of Joshua’s life for several years, and her brother had grown attached to the man. Even if Joshua was nearly twenty years old, he had the right to grieve like anyone else.

Christy turned to her mother, who still had her face buried in a pillow spotted with dirt. But the sobbing had lessened.

“Ma?” Christy touched her gently. “Come on. Sit up, now. We need to talk.”

Ivy Malone groaned and rolled over, her back toward Christy. “Go away. I want to be alone.”

Christy hesitated, torn between insisting her mother get up and deal with what had happened and wanting to protect her from more pain. Ma had always been the strong one of the family and rarely exhibited much emotion other than anger when one of her children stepped out of line. To see her this way left Christy shaken and unsure. “All right. I’ll see if I can find something to fix for supper.”

She moved away from the bed, wanting nothing more than to wash her hands. In fact, a bath sounded wonderful. Getting this house in order, bringing her trunk from the livery, and finding something to eat all pressed in at once. But first she’d better discover if there was a place to sleep.

Christy wandered through the kitchen and into the small front room. A crude table shoved against one wall, a threadbare sofa, and an upright chair comprised the furnishings. Not even a rag rug covered the dirty wood floor. She grimaced. No way would she ever walk barefoot in this place. A movement in the kitchen caught her eye, and she turned. A long-tailed mouse skittered across the floor and disappeared in a hole at the base of a wall. Christy gritted her teeth. Or was it a rat? If so, thankfully it was a small one. She hated those filthy creatures. Securing a cat moved to the top of her list.

A glance determined that the sofa would serve as a bed, but she sincerely hoped there might be somewhere else in the house to sleep. Moving to a boardinghouse might be a better option, and she could visit during the day to care for Ma. After all, Joshua would be home during the night, even if he did spend his days gambling in a saloon. He had to sleep sometime.

Further investigation led her to one more room not far from her mother’s, just as tiny and dirty as the rest of the house. It appeared to be where her brother slept, as his clothing was strewn across the narrow bed and floor. An hour later she’d picked up and folded the last of the somewhat clean clothes, pitched the rest in a corner for scrubbing, swept the floor, and stripped the bed of the disgusting linens. Her arm throbbed and pain shot down to her fingertips, but she couldn’t have rested in that filthy room. She made her decision. Josh would have to sleep on the sofa if he expected her to stay.

No sound emanated from her mother’s room, so Christy could only hope Ma had dropped into a restful sleep.

Consumption.
The word made Christy tremble. This house would need a thorough cleaning, but she couldn’t tackle another chore with her injured arm. Exhaustion and pain swamped her already. She wandered into the kitchen and opened a cupboard door. Her heart sank. Almost empty. Three tins of beans, a sack of flour, salt, rice, and little else.