Mittman, Stephanie (32 page)

He
nodded and turned to the door. Before he left the room he said, "I guess
we'll have to get married."

Several
sheets of crumpled paper lay on the writing desk at the Western Union office.
Sloan added yet another to the growing mound and cursed softly under his
breath. He'd come directly from the sheriff's office, thinking he would be just
a moment and then could return to the cribs. But this was proving a lot harder
than he'd anticipated.
Dear Pa, I'm alive?
He didn't think that quite
covered the situation.

He
started over again. Finally, he approached the counter with the scrawled note
and his pile of scraps.

"I'd
like to send a wire."

The
man spoke without looking up. "You done now?"

"You
got some kinda time limit?" He must have sounded annoyed, because the
clerk's eyes widened as he shook his head.

"No,
sir. You take all the time you need, all the time." He was fairly quaking
in his boots, and Sloan turned around to see if some desperate hombre had shown
up without him noticing.

"This
the wire, sir?" The man's hand trembled so much Sloan was afraid he'd
never be able to read the message.

"How
much?"

"Be
fifteen cents, sir, if that's all right."

Sloan
put his new rifle on the counter so that he could reach into his pocket. The
clerk jumped back, his hands in the air.

"What
the?..." Sloan began and then looked down. In addition to the two guns
strapped to his hips, he had the holster and six-shooters Jackson had taken
from him thrown over one shoulder, his band of shotgun shells for the rifle
over the other, and his new rifle lay between him and the trembling clerk. All
in all, he looked ready for a small war.

"I
ain't gonna hurt you," he told the clerk with a sigh. The man nodded, but
left his hands in the air. "You gonna send that message with your
toes?"

Slowly
the man's hands came down and he looked at the wire. He read it aloud for Sloan
to verify.

"Ben
Westin, Bar W Ranch, Tombstone, Arizona. Not dead yet. Stop. In Jerome awaiting
arrival of baby. Stop. Woman to consider. Stop. Signed, Sloan. That it,
sir?"

Sloan
reached his hand across the counter and took the paper from the clerk's hand,
crushing it like all the rest. "Sounds pretty dumb, don't it?"
Woman
to consider.
Jeez.

"No,
sir. Must have been the way I read it, sir."

Sloan
shook his head disgustedly and picked up his rifle. The clerk ducked behind the
counter with a squeal.

"Forget
it," Sloan said. "The news'll keep." Then he sauntered out of
the telegraph office and enjoyed a wide berth all the way to the tenderloin
district.

The
way was familiar to him, though harder than it used to be. The stairs that
connected several of the streets on the side of Mingus Mountain were a
challenge for a man with only one good knee, and he found himself going more
and more slowly, nearly dragging by the time he stood in front of Jennie
Banter's door.

The
girls had been watching through the window, and the door flew open before he
raised his hand to knock. Jennie stood decked out in all her glory with several
of his favorite girls flanking her, ready to welcome him back to the world of
the living.

"Sloan
Westin! As I live and breathe!" she gushed. "You know, I
heard..."

"...
I was dead." He limped over the threshold, and her eyes darted to his leg.

"Girls!
Help him to the divan!" She backed out of their way, her red gown swishing
as she moved, the feathers at the low neckline dancing at the edge of her
breasts. She had more jewelry on her than Sloan had seen in a jeweler's window,
the stones glistening in the lamplight of the room.

He
handed one of the girls his new rifle; another, the holster over his arm. He
unbuckled his new cartridge belt that held the Smith and Wessons and gave it to
a third. That left only Mindy, a willowy brunette whose bed he had shared more
times than he could count, waiting to assist him.

Slipping
under his shoulder, she put one arm around him, encouraging him to lean on her.
His hand hung limply in front of her chest, and he feigned weakness as he
waited for one of the others to take up his other side. Jennie herself stepped
in. His hands closed around one breast on each woman, squeezing tight and
sighing with delight.

"Why
don't you just help him right up to your
room," Jennie suggested to Mindy
and then turned her head toward Sloan. "Or would you prefer someone
else?" She reached for his crotch and got a nip on the ear for her
efforts.

"Are
you offerin', Jennie girl?" Sloan asked, surprised. Jennie rarely slept
with the customers, unless things had changed since he'd been gone.

"Ain't
never been with a ghost," she said.

"It
ain't like raisin' the dead," he countered, and she stroked his crotch as
if checking the truth of what he said.

"I
can see that," she said. Several of the girls laughed.

"Why
don't I just let you fight over me," Sloan said, his hands now working
magic on both of the women in his arms.

"I
don't know about you," Mindy said, her voice the whisper he remembered,
"but I'm eager."

Someone
might as well have pushed him in a pig's trough. To his senses, her words were
a long dip in a cold pond.
I'm eager.
Two little words that punched him
in the crotch. Mindy was always eager. She was paid to be eager, unlike Mary
Grace.

I'm
eager.
Said
with so much fear, so much trust. What the hell was he doing in Jennie Banter's
place, anyways?

"That's
nice, darlin'," he said, extricating himself, "but I've just come for
my rifle. I understand you've got it, Jennie?"

"A
souvenir," she said, shrugging. "I paid pretty handsomely for
it."

"I'll
be happy to pay whatever you like," he said. She snuggled up to him, then
backed away when he didn't respond. "I just want the rifle for now,
Jennie."

"You
taking your business elsewheres, Sloan Westin?"
she asked, her
eyes trailing up and down his body possessively.

He
smiled and shrugged. Several painted faces read his silence. "Something
like that," he said. "Something like that."

***

Mary
Grace spent as much time as she could in Emily's room. She told Mason she
wasn't feeling well, complaining of cramps, a headache, and other symptoms he
might recognize as her monthly time in the hope that he would leave her alone.
She only hoped he wasn't like some kind of dog who preferred his bitches in
heat. He certainly was sniffing around her enough.

Ben
was cranky all the time. His gums were paining him, and the wounds on his leg
looked angry. Harlin had taken him down to the river to bathe him, and Wilson
had gone hunting. Mason was around the house somewhere, but Mary Grace wasn't
venturing out of her room to find out where.

Lying
on the bed, she scanned the room for the hundredth time looking for a lantern
to rub, a bottle to uncork, a wand to wave, anything to provide her with a way
out of the stupid mess into which she'd gotten herself and Ben.

It
wasn't a pretty room, not feminine, not even clean. The furniture was
mismatched, scarred, of poor quality to begin with, and much the worse for
wear. The drawers fought being opened, the bedside table wobbled, and the
mirror was cracked and pitted. If all of it had fallen off a train somewhere
and tumbled down to where it now rested, it wouldn't have surprised Mary Grace.

Footsteps
in the hall stopped outside her door, and she prayed they would just keep
going. They didn't. Mason
knocked gently and then let himself in without waiting for her reply.

"You
didn't eat no breakfast," he said, carrying a battered tray with a tin mug
from which steam rose and a chunk of bread with honey on it. There was also an
old bottle with two black-eyed Susans limply standing in it.

"This
is very nice of you," she said, pushing herself up on her elbows and
backing up against the broken headboard. "So thoughtful. But I'm really
not hungry."

"Somethin'
you wanna tell me before we get hitched, Mary Grace?" he asked, standing
there with the dishes in his hands.

"Mason,
I haven't said yet that I would marry you." She checked herself to make
sure she was well covered by Emily's nightgown and robe. When she looked at
Mason, his knuckles were white and his mouth was a hard thin line.

"Just
when I thought I could let that son of a bitch live, turns out I gotta kill him
again."

"What?"

"Westin.
He got ya in the family way, didn't he?" He put the tray down on the bed
stand and kneeled by the side of her bed.

"No,
Mason, of course not. I told you he never touched me. Besides, I'm not
pregnant, I'm... definitely not pregnant." He reached out and opened the
robe she wore over Emily's nightgown, laying his big hand on her stomach as if
he expected to feel a baby that he thought was conceived just days ago. Despite
everything, she wished it were so, and the wish surprised her.

Through
her cotton gown his fingers traced the line of her panties across her stomach,
and his brows came together.

"Mason,"
she said, almost pleading as she moved his hand. "I'm not pregnant. I'm
definitely not pregnant."

"Oh,"
he said thoughtfully. Then a smile crossed his face. "Oh! That why we
can't get married right away? It's your time and you wanna wait a few days?"

A
few days was all she needed to buy. If she couldn't make it to town by then,
she was sure Sloan would come looking for her. "At least a few days,"
she said. She tried to sound, if not eager, at least resigned. "Maybe more
like a week."

He
grimaced, but nodded his agreement, his hand once again seeking out the band of
her panties through her nightgown as if to reassure himself that there were
feminine wonders at work. At least he wasn't looking for soiled rags. She let
his hand rest on her stomach for the time being.

"What
did you mean about letting Sloan Westin live?" she asked.

He
reached for the bread from the tray and handed it to her. "Eat this,"
he said. "You're gonna need your strength."

She
didn't ask for what. She just took the bread, honey dripping down her hand, and
bit into it. Mason took her hand and turned it so that the heel, covered with
the sweet nectar, faced him. He dipped his head and licked it.

"You
are the sweetest thing I ever tasted," he said. He was just inches from
her face. The stench of his breath filled her nostrils. "I can't wait to
taste more."

"Well,
you're gonna have to," Mary Grace said, pulling her hand away. "No
one's tasting any of my goodies until I'm married properly by a priest in a
church!"

"Can
you be ready by, say, a week from today?"

"I'd
have to go to town," she said. "I can't be married in these old
rags." She gestured at her nightgown,
then at the meager contents of Emily's
corner. She stuck her chin out as if she deserved better than someone else's
scraps, hiding the smile of satisfaction that came with figuring out how not
only to get to Jerome, but to be taken there.

"I'll
get ya the fanciest dress in Prescott," he said, grabbing her hand back
and sucking on it noisily.

"Prescott?
Where the hell is Prescott?" She pulled her hand away and jumped back from
him, wiping her hand on the bed covers.

"Don't
you worry now, Mary Grace. I'll have that dress here for ya in just a few
days." His hand ran up and down her leg and she pulled it away from him.

"I
need to pick it out. I need a lot of things, Mason. I have to go to
Jerome!" She swung her legs off the far side of the bed and sat with her
back to the man who was now her intended.

"You
just tell me what you need, you beautiful woman, and I'll see that you get
it." He played idly with her hair.

"Women
have to try things on, look at the whole selection, examine the quality. A
woman's wedding should be the fulfillment of her fantasies."

His
arms went around her as he flopped on the bed and pulled her to him. "I do
love how you talk, girl. You gonna talk when we're..."

She
tried to push herself up off his chest, but his arms held her fast. "We're
not going to be..." she fished around for the right words "...
celebrating our vows if I don't have everything I need, and if you don't let me
go, this instant."

To
her amazement, his arms loosened. She didn't understand the power she held over
this man, but she was beginning to understand how to use it. She rose on
straightened arms, but didn't roll off his chest.

"Will
you take me to Jerome, or is the wedding off?"

"I
can't do that, Mary Grace," he whined like a child. "But if you tell
me what you need, I'll see to it that you have plenty of stuff to choose
from."