Stay With Me (18 page)

“What did you do that made Toby follow you
into the alley?”

He obviously hadn’t heard much of the
exchange. Otherwise, he’d know exactly what Toby had thought. “He
has me mixed up with somebody else,” she said. “Look, I appreciate
what you did. You got me out of a tough spot. But you can go home
now. If he recovers,” she smiled at him, trying to ease his worry,
“I don’t think he’s going to bother me again.”

John shook his head, like he couldn’t believe
his ears. “Let’s go,” he said. “You’re going to go back to the
saloon and tell Thomas Jefferson that you’ve had a change of heart.
That you’re no longer interested in
entertaining
his
customers.”

She shook his hand off. He reached for her
again and she took a step back. “I’m not going to do that,” she
said.

He ran his hands through his hair. “Look,
Sarah. Be reasonable. Do you know what might have happened tonight
if I hadn’t come along?”

“Yes.” The damage Dority had inflicted upon
Suzanne haunted Sarah’s dreams. She knew all too well what would
have happened to Suzanne if she hadn’t intervened. She’d never
again underestimate the power of a man to physically abuse a woman.
“I need to be smarter. To drink less water.”

“What?” He reached for her lantern and
grabbed it out of her hand. He held it up, searching her face.
“What are you talking about?”

“No more late-night trips to the privy. If
I’d have stayed at the saloon, I’d have been fine.”

He frowned at her. “It’s not that simple,
Sarah.”

“Maybe not. All I know is that I made a
commitment to Thomas and I’m going to keep it.”

“I’ll talk to him,” John said.

“No.”

He lifted his chin.

“Please don’t,” she said, softening her tone.
“I know you’re trying to help. I do. And I appreciate it. Maybe
more than you’ll ever know. But I need to do this.”

She heard him sigh. “Fine.”

“Just fine. That’s it?”

“Fine, I’ll walk you back. To the
saloon.”

She started to breathe again. They walked
down the dark alley. When they passed Toby, they saw that he’d
pulled himself up into a sitting position and was leaning against
the wall. He had his eyes closed. John, placing himself between her
and the drunk man, kicked at the toe of Toby’s boot.

“Do we understand each other, Toby?” John
asked, his voice hard.

Toby opened his eyes. He looked at John, then
at Sarah. He made a showing of bravery but Sarah could see the fear
in his eyes. She understood it. Having John Beckett tower over you
would scare most men. “You’re welcome to her,” Toby said.

“Good.”

Sarah pulled on John’s arm.

“Take the bitch—”

John reeled away, reached down, grabbed Toby
by the shirt, and hauled him up. He held him, suspended inches off
the ground, his back flat against the wall.

“What did you say?” John asked.

Sarah could see the muscles bulging in John’s
arm. They matched the veins in Toby’s face. He kicked his feet in
the air, like a cartoon character.

“Let me down?” Toby squawked.

“Apologize to the lady,” John said.

Toby shook his head.

John raised him another three inches and
shoved him back against the wall, causing his head to bounce off
the wood with a dull thud.

“Apologize,” John instructed.

“I’m sorry,” Toby said, his voice shrill. “I
didn’t mean to offend.”

John let go and Toby dropped to the ground.
He crumpled into a pile.

“Don’t come near her,” John said. “If you do,
you’ll have me to deal with.”

John didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed
Sarah’s hand and pulled her away. “Damn, I’m thirsty,” he said.

She stopped walking. “Oh, no. You’re not
going in to the saloon, are you?”

“A man has the right to get a drink.”

“You’re not thirsty,” she said.

“You don’t know everything.”

She knew that John Beckett made her heart
race and her chest feel tight and that she had very
non-sister-in-law-like thoughts about him. “Toby isn’t going to
bother me,” she said. “He’s not that stupid.”

“I agree. I don’t think you have to worry
about him any more. He got the message.”

“So, there’s no need for you to spend
valuable time in the saloon.”

“It’s my time,” he said.

“Don’t bother me,” she warned.

“You won’t even know I’m there.”

Right.

***

John walked her home at midnight. True to his
word, he hadn’t spoken to her the whole night. He’d taken his seat
at the bar, had some conversation with Thomas, and pretty much
ignored her.

But he hadn’t really. She’d seen his body
tense up when one of the card players had stopped by the piano and
slipped some coins in her tip jar. When George had slid off his
stool and come within feet of the piano, John had been half off his
stool.

Not knowing what else to do, Sarah had smiled
at the serious man and he’d moved along. She hadn’t missed the
frown on John’s face.

“You must be tired,” she said, as they
crossed the street.

“Yes.”

“How’s the planting coming along?”

“Fine.”

They walked the remaining thirty feet in
silence. When Sarah opened the hotel door, she turned to John.
“Thanks again,” she said. “For helping me with Toby.”

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said.

Sarah shrugged. They walked up the stairs.
John took the key from Sarah and walked toward her room. She shook
her head and pointed at Suzanne’s door.

He unlocked the door and stepped back,
letting her enter first. “Come on in,” she whispered, looking over
her shoulder. “She’s asleep.”

He silently followed her into the room. He
stopped a couple feet from the bed and looked down at Suzanne. She
was curled into a ball, a pillow clenched in her arms. John studied
her face. “That bastard Dority should be whipped and then hung for
this.”

“Yes.”

John turned to Sarah. “It could be you,” he
said, his voice hoarse. “Somebody could do this to you.”

Knowing better but not able to stop herself,
she brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. “I know. I’m not
stupid or foolish nor nearly as trusting as Suzanne.”

He reached up and caught her hand. She could
feel the heat zip up her arm. When he turned her hand over and
kissed her palm, she thought she might have forgotten how to
breathe.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Sarah.”

She nodded, her head feeling heavy on her
neck.

John kissed her wrist and her arm jerked in
response. A smile drifted across his lips. He moved his mouth up
her arm and when he licked the soft spot at her elbow, she felt the
answering tug deep inside.

“This is crazy,” he murmured, looking up at
her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Just once,” he said.

“Just once what?”

He raised up, pulled her close, and wrapped
her arms around his neck. “Just once this.” He bent his head and
kissed her. Gentle, at first. Then harder, his tongue stroking into
her mouth. Her legs started to shake and he pulled her even closer,
his hands low on her spine.

When he finally stopped kissing her, he
rested his chin against the top of her head.

“Oh, my,” she said. Now her legs were jelly.
She clung to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said. She felt warm and
cold, weak and strong, brave and cowardly. She was a mess.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

That hurt. It didn’t matter that he was
right. Not for the reason he thought but for a thousand other
reasons. Most of which had something to do with the fact that she’d
hadn’t been born yet.

“I’m glad you did,” she said, wanting him to
know that the kiss had meant something to her.

He lifted his chin and stepped away from her
and her arms dropped to her side. They’d been full of him and now
they were empty, useless.

“I’m your brother-in-law,” he said.

She had to ask. “Are you reminding yourself
or me?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t
know,” he said, his whispered voice sounding tortured. “I honestly
don’t know.”

It should not be his burden to bear alone. “I
don’t think we should kiss again,” she said.

He nodded and stepped away. “You’re
right.”

She hated that. “Good night, John.”

“I’ll walk you to your room.”

“I’m in my room.”

“Your room's next door,” he said.

“My room was next door. I decided to sleep in
here with Suzanne.”

He looked at Suzanne. She wasn’t large but
she took up most of the single bed. “Where?”

“I’ve got some blankets. I sleep on the
floor.”

He pulled back, looking shocked. “You can’t
sleep on a wooden floor.”

“It’s fine. Stop worrying about me. I didn’t
want Suzanne to be alone and I thought I could save some money by
staying with her. It’s just until next week’s stage.”

“Sarah,” he said, looking angry. “I’ve
apologized for my words. I never should have said what I did about
you coming back to take money from my family. I have more than
enough money so that you don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“I don’t want you sleeping on the floor.”

She sighed. “John, its midnight. I’m tired.
You’re tired. Let’s not fight about this. I’ll get another room
tomorrow. If they have one.”

“You tell Morton Turnip that he better find
you a room.”

“Turnip’s first name is Morton?”

“Yes.”

“Your dog is named Morton.”

“Yes.”

She rubbed her hand across her face, so tired
that she felt giddy. “You named your dog after Turnip?”

“Hell, no.”

She laughed. John looked stricken.

“Trust me on this” she said, lowering her
voice even more when she saw Suzanne stretch in the bed. “I’ve only
known two Morton’s in my entire life. Turnip and your dog. It can’t
be a coincidence.”

John shook his head.

“Now that I think about it,” Sarah said,
warming up to the subject. “Both of them have treated me like they
wanted to take a bite out of my…”

“Your?” John prompted.

“My bottom,” she said, sticking her nose in
the air.

He laughed, a deep rumble. Suzanne turned
over. Sarah put her hand over John’s mouth.

He stilled.

She could feel his warm breath pushing
against her hand.

“Good night, John Beckett,” she
whispered.

He took a step back, away from her hand. She
felt the loss of heat immediately. “Good night, sweet Sarah.”

***

Sarah wasn’t feeling sweet at three in the
morning when light but consistent tapping on her door awakened her.
She lay absolutely still, listening for a moment. Yes. Someone was
outside the door.

Dority? The fear raced through her. No, he
wouldn’t knock. He’d barge in like he had every right. Sarah
quietly got up, wincing when her back, sore from the wooden floor,
didn’t want to cooperate. Maybe it was Freedom?

“Yes,” she said.

The tapping stopped. “Sarah?”

“Fred?” she whispered back.

“Yes. Open the door.”

She moved the chair that she’d wedged up
under the doorknob, then unhooked the latch and opened the door.
Fred’s large shape, barely a shadow in the dark hallway, loomed in
front of her. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, pulling him
into the room.

“I had to see her. I couldn’t wait any
longer.”

She could hear the pain in his rough voice.
“Hang on,” she said, trying hard to cover her own emotion. Maybe
Suzanne wasn’t all alone in this? “Let me light a lamp.”

Sarah felt her way over to the table. It took
her two tries before the match caught. When she got the lamp lit
and held it up, she turned back to Fred. He stood in the same spot,
his hat in his hand. He stared at Suzanne. She laid on her side,
still curled around a pillow, her back to him.

“How is she?” he asked.

Sarah smiled at him. How could such a big man
look like such a little boy? “Come here,” she whispered. “Take a
look for yourself.”

He lumbered around the end of the bed, making
the small room seemed even smaller. He stood next to Sarah and
stared at Suzanne. His hands clenched the brim of his cowboy hat so
tightly that she knew it would never look the same.

Then ever so gently he eased his big body
down onto the edge of the bed. Suzanne, still asleep, rolled over
onto her back, throwing one arm over her head.

Sarah heard his quick intake of breath. She
held her lamp a little higher, letting the light dance over
Suzanne’s battered face. He’d come to see it, he’d had to know. She
wouldn’t try to keep him from it.

Then she watched as he took the first two
fingers of his right hand, raised them to his lips and kissed them,
and then brushed them across Suzanne’s black and blue eyes, her
bruised cheeks, and her cut lips. Then he raised his hand and ran
the palm of it over her short hair. Sarah literally could see the
bed shake when he shuddered.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said, so softly
that Sarah almost didn’t hear him.

“Let the law handle it,” she answered.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, forgetting to
whisper.

Suzanne’s eyes flew open. She looked
frightened and tried to press herself back against the
mattress.

“It’s just Fred,” he said, his voice
soft.

“Oh.” Suzanne clapped her hands on top of her
head, obviously trying to cover her short hair.

“There’s no need for that,” he said, gently
pulling both arms back down.

Tears welled up in Suzanne’s eyes. “But you
loved my hair. You used to…”

Fred glanced up at Sarah, his face red. “I
know what I used to do,” he said, his voice still soft,
non-threatening. He looked back at Suzanne and slowly raised his
hand to her hair. With just the tips of his fingers, he caressed
several strands. “And I liked it. Very much. But it doesn’t matter.
None of that matters. All I care about is that you’re alive.”