One Went to Denver and the Other Went Wrong (Code of the West) (18 page)

  Quickly scooting toward the back of the house, she searched for a hall or door to the kitchen. She pushed a swinging door and found several women in bright white aprons arranging food on silver platters.

  She stepped inside and waited a moment, trying to decide which of several doors led outside.

  “Señora, I am so sorry.” Rebecca Maria hurried over to Pepper’s side. “The governor insisted that I help here for a while.”

  “It’s all right. The governor will get a carriage for me.”

  “You told him you were leaving?”

  “I told him I needed some fresh air.”

  “Will you be okay? Are you going back to McCurley’s? Was that your Tap Andrews who came by earlier? Make sure you take a carriage. Don’t walk through the streets. You are not coming back, are you?”

  “Whoa, Rebecca Maria. I’m going home. When Tap finishes his business, he’ll come back. We’ll get married and live happily ever after. And with any luck we’ll never have to come to Denver again. Please do come and visit us at the Triple Creek Ranch.”

  “Maybe I will.” Rebecca Maria looked around at the busy kitchen. “Do you want me to show you to the back door?”

  “Yes, please. I don’t want to run into Mr. Dillard.”

  “There’s no chance of that. I saw him leave in a hurry a few minutes ago.”

  “Leave? You mean he left this party? But this was the whole reason for this charade, so that he could .
 . .”

  “A woman with very long, dark hair came to the front gate with a note for Mr. Dillard. When he read it, I handed him his coat and hat, and he left.”

  Rebecca Maria took Pepper’s arm, leading her past the pans hanging from the high ceiling and through another swinging door that seemed to lead into a large walk-in pantry. Pulling open a tall oak door, the maid stepped out into the brick courtyard pulling Pepper with her.

  The cold night air hit Pepper, and she gasped and then coughed.

  “Perhaps you should wait until morning?”

  “No, no. I’m fine. I just need to get used to the cold.”

  “There is a carriage.”

  Pepper looked over through the darkened courtyard and saw the driver dozing off as he waited at the two-horse rig. With Rebecca Maria’s help, she climbed onto the passenger bench. The leather seat radiated cold through her dress and coat, causing a chill to slip down her back.

  “Goodbye, Señora.”

  “Thanks for everything, Rebecca Maria.”

  “Where do you want the driver to take you?”

  “To Laporte or Fort Collins.” She laughed. “But the stage station will be fine.”

  “Nothing will leave until morning.”

  “In that case, I’ll just find a corner by the stove and wait in the lobby of the stage lines. I’ll be fine.”

  Rebecca Maria nudged the driver and gave him instructions. Amidst the clopping of the hooves on the bricks, Pepper waved in the dark at the maid.

  She is such a kind woman, Lord. Reward her for the care she so freely gave me.

  “Ain’t this sweet.” The sickening, familiar voice of the driver broke the silence.

  “Pardee?” Pepper groaned. “You’re the driver?”

  “Now isn’t this a dee-light? Maybe we was destined to be together.”

  Pepper reached for her bag and fumbled in the dark for the catch. Pardee jerked the bag from her hands.

  “Now there ain’t no reason for you to go lookin’ for a gun or knife. You might get yourself hurt. Just where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked.

  “Just where do you think you’re takin’ me?” she demanded.

  “You’ve got three choices. I kin drive you out of town where Dillard is takin’ care of some other business and see what he wants to do with you. Or I can shoot you right now and dump you over in some arroyo.”

  “What’s my third choice?”

  “Why, you and me can ride off to Texas and find a nice little cabin for the winter.”

  Pardee will kill me, Lord. He’ll kill me .
 . . or worse.

  “Take me to see Dillard,” she demanded. “I want to see Dillard.”

  “Now that is a disappointin’ choice.” Pardee reined up the rig and spit a wad of tobacco to the ground. Turning the carriage slowly around in the middle of the dark street, he slapped the reins on the rump of the lead horse.

  Pepper lunged to the frozen mud of the roadway. She stumbled, tripped, fell to her right side, lifted herself up on her arms, and then scrambled to pull her feet underneath her. In the shadows she could see the carriage come to an abrupt halt. Junior Pardee’s spurs jingled as he leapt to the ground.

  Running to the darkened sidewalk, she sprinted along in front of a shop with no windows and turned down a narrow alley on the side of the building. She thought she could still hear the spurs in pursuit, so she held up her long dress and continued to run.

  She paused long enough to button all the buttons on her coat and pull the wool hood up over her head. When she reached the next street, she turned to the right, and then turned left by a bakery with a light glowing in the back room and a sweet aroma filtering through locked doors. She stopped to catch her breath. Her left side splitting with pain, Pepper plopped down on the ground in an alley next to some empty wooden crates between two tall buildings.

  She could hear her own gasps for breath.

  She could hear her heart pounding.

  But she didn’t hear any spurs.

  My bag is in that carriage—my money, my revolver, my clothes. Lord, what do I do now? I can’t go back to the governor’s. Pardee will watch for me there for sure.

  I just don’t understand how this happened. Everything I do complicates my life more and more. It’s like I’m runnin’ downhill and can’t stop. Like that little boy in my dreams. Maybe that little boy represents me. I didn’t think it would be this way. I mean, since I’ve begun to trust in You, Lord, I didn’t think these things would keep on happening to me.

  Pepper sat on the ground huddled against packing boxes until she dozed off. A few minutes later when she woke up, her toes ached with the cold; her cheeks and nose were numb; and her hands, which she had jammed into the pockets of her heavy wool coat, throbbed with each beat of her heart.

  Standing to her feet, she walked cautiously out to the street. She felt dizzy and braced herself against the brick wall.

  I don’t even know what street I’m on .
 . . Nothing’s open . . . The streets are almost empty . . . except for Junior Pardee. He’s out there somewhere looking for me. You know, Lord, this would be an excellent time to wake up from a bad dream back in my room at McCurley’s.

  Lord, help me. I’ve really got myself messed up this time.

  Pepper dragged herself along three blocks. She kept getting sleepier as she walked. Her feet throbbed with every step. Then she saw a dim glow from a large building across the street.

  “The depot. The train depot. Thank you, Lord.”

  Pushing inside the lobby of the depot, she found at least two dozen men sleeping on the benches, chairs, and floor of the waiting room. A potbellied iron stove glowed at one end of the room.

  At least it’s warm, even if crowded.

  The room smelled of alcohol, cigar smoke, and unwashed --bodies.

  “Sort of like the dance hall on a Sunday mornin’,” she -muttered.

  A short man with a bushy gray beard, wearing a beat-up derby, struggled off the floor and staggered toward her. He leaned so close that his nose almost stabbed her cheek.

  “Well, I’ll be a .
 . . I’ll be an Irishman. It’s Veen Quick. I mean, it’s Queen Vic herself,” he slobbered.

  Pepper stepped back. He again tottered toward her.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your air dalbert. I mean, your dear Albert. My flamdolences to the conley.”

  He spun around and shoved a sleeping man off the waiting room bench. “Avast there, yon Phillips. Make way for the queen.”

  The sleeper tumbled to the floor and continued to snore. The little man turned back to Pepper, bowed, and swung his hat in his left hand. “Your hone, your thriness. Excuse the knave. He’s a Welshman.”

  Pepper tried to ignore him.

  The old man toppled backward and landed on an empty spot of floor in front of the door. He rolled over, crushed his derby for a pillow, and fell asleep.

  Pepper glanced at the empty bench.

  Lord, it’s not home, but it’s warm, and it is a place to rest. Thanks.

  When Pepper opened her eyes, it was still dark, but it had the feel of morning coming on. The heat from the wood stove had died, and the room was chilly but not cold.

  I don’t have any money. I can’t go anywhere. . . . Rebecca Maria. Maybe I could slip into the governor’s kitchen and get her to find my bag. Perhaps no one else will be awake.

  Stepping carefully over the sleeping men in the train depot, Pepper buttoned her coat, pulled up the hood, and stole out onto the sidewalk. The daylight was just faint enough to see where to walk and read the store signs.

  She ducked into the store fronts and alleys each time a carriage rambled down the street. Most of the early morning traffic seemed to be freight wagons.

  A large carriage pulled by two black horses caused her to turn and quickly step inside the lobby of a hotel. She glanced back out the oval cut-glass window on the door as the carriage passed on by. It was then that she read the name on the door.

  “The Drovers’ Hotel?” she blurted out to the empty lobby.

  Tap’s here in this hotel. I can’t let him .
 . .

  She stepped back outside into the cold intending to run. But her feet wouldn’t move.

  Wait, maybe I could . . . couldn’t I?

  I could tell him I missed him dearly and came to be with him but lost my luggage on the stage. Or .
 . . someone stole my luggage. Yes, that’s it.

  But the McCurleys saw me leave with Dillard and Pardee.

  I could tell them I got a lift with some old friends. Or I went to take care of some business, then came on to Denver to be with Tap.

  But he’ll ask me what kind of business.

  Pepper pulled the hood down on her coat and unbuttoned the top button. She brushed some stray strands of hair back out of her eyes, but they flopped right back. Then she reentered the empty lobby.

  Maybe I could tell him .
 . .

  Lord, I’m just goin’ to tell him the truth.

  I’ll tell him about Dillard.

  About the baby.

  Everything.

  Lord, it’s really tough livin’ with all the dumb decisions I’ve made over the years.

  Pepper walked over to the registration desk. The guest ledger was closed, and there was no night clerk. But there was a sign: Please ring bell for clerk. She picked up a brass bell, then laid it back down. Swiveling the guest register toward her, she opened it and scanned the pages.

  “T. Andrews, Larimer County, Rm. 24. That’s Tap.”

  She held on to the hand rail, pulled herself up the stairs, and shuffled down the hall to the room marked 24. She rapped lightly at the door.

  I don’t want to wake up the whole hotel.

  The second rap didn’t get a response either.

  Come on, Tap. Please, be here.

  Finally she banged on the door with the bare knuckles of her right hand. A woman’s sleepy voice called out, “What is it? Who are you?”

  Oh, no, I’ve got the wrong room.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I understood this was Tap Andrews’s room.”

  “Well?” the voice growled like a cornered cat. “He doesn’t want to see you.”

  “What?” Pepper felt like she would choke.

  “I said—”

  “Do you mean to tell me this is Tap’s room?”

  “Go away, or we’ll report you to the hotel management.”

  Pepper gasped several short quick breaths. She couldn’t think of what to say next.

  “Open the door. I need to see to him.”

  “I will not. You might need to see him, but he doesn’t need to see you.”

  No, Lord. Not my Tap. Not like this. Not him too.

  Her mind blurred, tears streamed down her cheeks as she descended the staircase. She found her way in a blind stagger to the street. She wandered right in front of a carriage.

  The driver bawled her out, but she paid no attention. As she stepped up on the sidewalk, two strong hands grabbed her shoulders.

  “Looky who I found walkin’ the streets. Jist like old times.” Junior Pardee and another man accosted her. “You don’t look exactly happy to see us.”

  “But she ain’t scratchin’ your eyes out neither,” the other man bantered. “Maybe that carriage accident left her, kind of, you know, touched?”

  “Come on, Crazy Pepper. Dillard’s waitin’, and he’s not a patient hombre.” Pardee shoved her up into the back seat of the carriage and then climbed in after her. The other man crawled onto the front bench and grabbed the reins.