Shotgun Bride (14 page)

"Any time." He retrieved his hat then walked to the door.

"I'll let you know how it goes on the soddy."

"Thank you, Joe. Good night."

"Good night, Mrs. Quinter." A soft click echoed in the room.

Jessie stared at the door. Mrs. Quinter had such a lovely ring to it. All of the hands called her that and it never failed to send a warm, fuzzy feeling to flutter about in her insides. The edge of her skirt pulled downward. One of Sammy's front paws rested on the hem. Big, round doggy eyes looked up at her. "Yeah, I miss him too." She wrapped both arms 130

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around the dog. "Funny, he wasn't here all day, and the house felt fine, but now that I know he's not coming home, it feels awfully empty." Sammy nudged his nose into her armpit for a deeper hug.

Jessie laid her head against his warm fur. Not once in the past two weeks had she thought about the little sod house, but tonight, hearing Kid wouldn't be home, reminded her the time at his ranch was temporary. In a matter of a few months this would all be gone—Sammy, the wonderful house, bountiful food, and worst of all, Kid. She'd no longer be Mrs. Quinter, but plain, old, Jessie Johnson again. The heavy sigh tore at her lungs as she rose to her feet. Sammy curled near her ankles as she began to pump water into the sink for the dishes. There really was no hope of it being any different. She'd never be refined enough to be a rancher's wife, even after reading every book in his library, which would take her years. There were so many of them. Some of the ones she'd already read had been interesting, and others rather boring. Kid had said everyone has a choice, and her choice was to learn enough during her time here to guarantee she wouldn't have to rely on Russell when she moved back to the soddy. Her father had said book learning was extremely important, and surely there had to be something in one of those books that could make her self sufficient. If only there was something in the library to make her Kid's wife -forever.

Sammy's quick movements startled Jessie from her wondering thoughts.

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Water overflowed the deep tub, dripping down the cupboard to where the dog had been lying. She reached down and pulled the plug, letting some water out. After wiping up the mess she'd made, she continued cleaning the kitchen.

"Come on, Sammy, you can have the rest of this, but you have to eat it on the porch." The dog followed her to the door, expectantly licking his lips as she poured the contents from the kettle into a large bowl near the steps. She sat down, resting her feet on a lower stair, and stroked the black hair as the dog slurped at the food. A few men mingled about the barn, then started for the bunkhouse as Joe rang the iron triangle hanging from the shingled awning of the building. Russell wasn't among those walking across the yard. She hadn't seen much of him since the day Kid brought him home, but there was nothing new about that, she hadn't seen much of him the last few years—just when it was time to move on.

Jessie slapped her thighs and stood.

"No, no, I'm not going to dwell on that either. I have a few months to figure it all out, and I will figure it all out." Grabbing the empty kettle, she turned for the house. Kid's house. It would be so lonely without him. She'd become accustomed to sitting on the big divan reading while he worked in his office each evening after supper. Accustomed to the way he escorted her up to her room at bedtime, a familiar hand either holding her elbow or resting in the small of her back, the soft, warm kiss he always placed upon her forehead before leaving her outside her door.

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He'd only kissed her, really kissed her, that one time. But she'd never forget it. In fact, she dreamed of it every night. The memory teased her mind as she went in to finish the dishes.

Would she be able to sleep, knowing he wasn't just down the hall? Jessie wiped the kettle dry and set it in the cupboard with others, blew out the lamps in the kitchen, and meandered through the foyer, pausing near the foot of the stairs. A dreadfully boring book about bovine disease awaited her on the table near one of the high-back chairs. Twisting around the staircase, she made her way down the hall to Kid's office, longing for something that would hold her interest on the lonely night.

Carefully, she searched the shelves, plucking and returning books to their slots. Near the bottom she found a stack of small, thick newspapers. She picked one up and held it closer to the lamp. A wide banner floated across the top of the page,
Waverly Library
. Scanning the front page, her heart began to pound. A black and white illustration portrayed a man holding a woman in a tight embrace, below the picture bold print said,

"Wholesome, Vigorous and Fresh."
Further down the publication claimed it covered the field of love and romance. So excited she could barely breathe, Jessie grabbed the rest of the stack and scurried from the room, Sammy close on her heels as she flew up the steps.

* * * *

Kid spurred Jack until his hooves sent plumes of dust to trail behind them. Above, in a pure blue sky, lofty white 133

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clouds floated like puffs from a cottonwood tree. The sun, not yet high enough to blaze down unrelenting heat, sparkled in the east, and the early morning wind swirled around as if it had somewhere else to be and was late getting there. Kid pushed his hat further onto his head, upsetting the wind's attempt to take it.

A dust devil formed, picking up loose dirt and sand as it twirled across the prairie. He turned Jack away from the tiny twister's path. Once the miniature ground tornado, a common sight on the great flat land, whirled past he'd guide Jack back onto the well-worn trail.

He kept an eye out for rattlers, the snake that loved the harsh habitat, as he rode through a thick patch of goatheads. The small, thorned seed heads were a great nuisance and hurt like hell when you fell onto a patch of them. The irritating weeds could take over a field in no time. Constantly he pulled the hardy plants from the small garden he'd planted near the house.

Thoughts of the house brought his mind to Jessie. Hell, the blue sky, the lofty clouds, the miniature twister, the snakes, the weeds ... everything reminded him of Jessie. He wasn't able to think of anything else. But the lone night on the prairie had given him some wisdom, and a plan. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? Didn't matter, at some time during the lonely night, the ultimate solution had formed; an eastern boarding school. It would be expensive, but he'd find a way to afford it.

He ran a thumb and finger across his chin. "We just won't buy any winter calves."

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Jack flipped his head around, as if questioning the words Kid had spoken aloud. With a click of his tongue, he urged the horse back to the trail, realizing the dust devil had long since twirled past.

"It'll work out, Jack." Was he trying to convince the horse, or himself?

The low bawling of cattle mingled with the whistling of the wind. Dark humps on the horizon grew into a herd as they drew closer. Kid reined Jack to the left, bypassing the cattle as they rode the last few miles into Dodge City. Within no time, the town rose up out of the barren ground to surround him with saloons, mercantile stores, hotels, and the hustle and bustle of the city.

A train whistle sliced the air. The town had passed an ordinance—no guns could be worn north of the tracks, the respectable part of town. However, on the south side, anything went. Kid pulled the pistol from his holster and buried it in his saddle bag as he made his way to Front Street.

Bawdy voices and loud music wafted through the swinging doors of the many saloons lining the boardwalk on both sides of the well-worn road. He steered Jack through the traffic, toward the telegraph office, the best place to look for eastern newspapers. Dismounting, he flipped a rein over the post, straightened his shirt, and resettled his hat before making his way onto the boardwalk.

A bell chimed above his head, bringing the gaze of the man behind the desk his way.

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"Well, hey, Kid." Adam Zimmerman stood and extended his hand. "Weren't you just in town a couple weeks ago?"

"Adam." Kid shook the hand. "Yeah, I was, but forgot to follow up on something. Do you have a copy of the
New York
Times
I could look at?"

"Sure, there's a stack over there." Adam pointed at a table between two chairs. "Go ahead and take what you need. I save them for winter fires and such."

"Thanks." Kid went to the table as another customer walked in. He let out a sigh of relief, not wanting to explain what he looked for. Adam would learn soon enough. Filtering through the papers, a headline jumped from the page.

"The Woman's University. A Model College for the Higher
Education of Women ... "
He sat down and read the article word for word. Located fifteen miles outside of Boston, the school promised to put sound minds inside strong bodies, using honor, not the strict statutes of some other mentioned establishments. He raised an eyebrow as he read some of the other schools didn't allow the girls to correspond with home, cross liberties, or speak with any men for the three years they resided there. The article went on to say at the Woman's University, the four hundred girls in attendance were too busy with the great possibilities of education and the prospect of future usefulness to have much thought of the other sex. He lowered the paper to his lap. What would Jessie think of this? Would she fit in with the other three hundred and ninety-nine girls? He twisted his shoulders against a shudder. That was a hell of a lot of women.

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"Find what you were looking for, Kid?" Adam asked from the counter.

Kid glanced around the office, finding it empty, he rose and crossed the floor. "Could you send a telegram to this place? Ask if they have any openings and how much it costs?" Adam pulled the paper over and read. "The Women's University?"

Kid shuffled his stance. "Yeah, it's, uh, it's for a friend of mine."

"Sure, Kid, it'll cost ya twenty-five cents."

"That's the going price for everything in Dodge, isn't it?" Kid joked, hoping to take the man's mind off his request.

"Yup, a shave, a drink, a needle, ain't nothing that costs less than a quarter," Adam said as he gathered the coins off the counter. "Where do I send the response?"

"I'll be at the Dodge House for a day or so, I'll stop by before I leave town."

"Sounds good." Adam put the paper on his desk and sat down to create the message.

Kid left the building deep in thought. Was sending Jessie away the best answer? A dark cloud overtook his senses. Like a storm building ferocity to rip across the plains. He glanced to the sky—brilliant blue, not a thunderhead in sight. The heavy, murky aura came from the inside out, and was a complete contrast to what he'd felt lately. For as much as he tried to ignore the truth, the fact was since she'd moved in, his world had been altered. It was as if the sun had been awakened within his soul. A bright, warm light he'd never 137

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experience had been turned on and shone inside his body, creating a feeling of overwhelming elation. Whether he was willing to admit it or not, each day he had counted the hours until he'd arrive home again and she'd greet him with a smile as pure as paradise. He leaned against the hitching post. Jack, tied on the other side, patiently waited.

The hot heat of midday, the out of tune piano playing across the street, the shouts of passerby's, none of it lessened the way his body responded to thoughts of her. Remembering how sweet she smelled, how soft she felt, how lovely she looked, made his toes curl.

The hand landing on his shoulder pulled him out of la la land. He twisted, ready to snap at the intruder. Catching the shiny glint from the six-pointed star pinned on the man's shirt, he swallowed the retort.

"Kid Quinter, what are you doing back in town so soon?" George Hinkle had defeated Bat Masterson last fall for the position of the Ford County Sheriff. Ironically, he was another person Kid wanted to track down while in town.

"Just a little business to take care of, part of it includes talking to you." He pushed away from the post, taking the proffered hand in a friendly shake. George had been a bartender at Hoover's Saloon for years, Kid knew him well.

"Really? Well, come on, I'll buy you a drink as we talk," Hinkle offered.

Kid followed the sheriff off the boardwalk and fell into step as they walked across the street. "How are things going?" 138

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"The usual." Hinkle shrugged and pointed to one of the several saloons lining the opposite side of Front Street. Since over twenty establishments in the cow town were licensed to sell liquor, it wasn't hard to find a quiet corner in one.

"So what's up?" Hinkle asked as he waved to a barkeep and walked toward the back of the building. Kid remained silent and followed George to one of the small round tables.

A weary and strained looking woman set two glasses, sloshing with bronze liquid, in front of them. A moment later she returned with a full bottle of the popular brew. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment. Her stained, red dress looked as if she'd slept in it. She winked at him before turning away. The dark circles under her eyes made him wonder if sleep was the right word. He twisted his neck against the tension creeping in. Sending Jessie to Boston was the best thing. The Kansas plains had little to offer young women. Wrapping his fingers around the glass in front of him, he lifted his gaze to Hinkle.