The Gamble (I) (17 page)

There simply had to be a better way.

Agatha signaled the others to follow her to the door, but only Addie Anderson and Minnie Butler did. As they reached the exit, Agatha turned for one last look. Gandy’s obsidian eyes impaled her. She wheeled and pushed through the swinging doors.

And that’s when she met Willy Collinson for the first time.

He’d been squatting down, peering beneath the shuttered panel into the saloon, when the door hit him in the forehead and rolled him over like a ninepins ball.

“Ooooowwww!” he howled, holding his head and bawling. “Oww-www-weee.”

Agatha struggled to one knee to help him up. Addie and Minnie hovered, clucking with concern.

“I’ll see to him. You two go home to your husbands.”

When they’d gone, Agatha righted the boy. Standing, he was the same height as she was, kneeling.

“My goodness, child, what were you doing so close to that door? Are you all right?”

“My h... head,” he sobbed. “You h... hit my h... head. Owww! It h... hurrrrts!”

“I’m sorry.” She tried to see how much damage she’d done, but he clutched his head and pulled away. “Let me see.”

“Nooo, I w... want my p... pa.”

“Well, your pa’s not here, so why not let me see if I can repair the damages?”

“Leave m... me al... alone.”

In spite of his stubbornness, she forced his hands down and turned him toward the pale light coming from the saloon door. His blond hair could have been a sight cleaner. His overalls were soiled and too short. A trickle of blood ran toward his eyebrow.

“My heavens, child, you’re bleeding. Come and we’ll wash it off.”

She struggled to her feet, but he jerked free of her.

“No!”

“But I live right next door. See? This is my hat shop, and my apartment is right above it. We should take care of that head right away.”

“Pa says I ain’t supposed to go with strangers.”

She dropped her hands to her sides. He was calmer now. “But what did he say about emergencies?”

“I don’t know what them are.”

“Getting bumped in the head by a swinging door—
that’s
an emergency. It truly is. Your forehead needs washing and a touch of iodine.”

He backed away, shaking his head no. His eyes grew round as horse chestnuts.

“Look out. Someone will come out and smack you again. Come along.” She reached out a hand with a businesslike air. “At least move away from the door while we talk.”

Instead, he knelt down and peered beneath it.

“You’re too young to be peeking in there!”

“Gotta find Pa.”

“Not that way, you won’t.” She stood him on his feet none too gently. He began to sniffle again. “There are things
going on in mere that a boy your age shouldn’t see. How old are you, anyway?”

“None o’ your business!” he said defiantly.

“Well, I’ll make it my business, young man. I’ll march you straight home to your mother and tell her what I found you doing.”

“I ain’t got no mother. She died.”

For the second time that night, Agatha’s heart felt pierced. “Oh,” she said softly, “I... I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Then we
must
find your father, mustn’t we?”

He dropped his chin to his chest. “He ain’t been home since after work.” His chin began to tremble and he rubbed one eye with his dirty knuckles. “He said he’d come home tonight... b... but... he n... never come.”

His voice quavered. Agatha felt sick with pity. Awkwardly, she touched his blond hair. She’d been around so few children in her life. How did one speak to a five-year-old? Six-year-old? Whatever his age, he wasn’t old enough to be wandering in the street after dark. He should be in a warm bed after a warm bath and a hot supper. “If you’ll tell me your name,” she encouraged softly, “I’ll try to help you find him.”

Still scrubbing his eyes, he glanced up uncertainly, revealing wide glimmering eyes, a pug nose, and a trembling mouth. She watched him struggle with indecision.

“I’m really a very nice lady.” She gave him a kind smile. “I have no little boys of my own, but if I did I’d never bump them over with swinging doors.” She tipped her head to one side. “The lucky thing was, you rolled up just like a porcupine.”

He tried not to laugh but couldn’t stop himself. It came out as a reluctant snuffle.

“That’s better. Now, are you going to make me guess what your name is?”

“Willy.”

“Willy what?”

“Collinson.”

Suddenly, she understood.
Take it slow, Gussie. Don’t lose his trust now.

“Well, Willy Collinson, if you’ll sit down there on the step, I’ll go back inside and see if I can spot your father and tell him you’re waiting to walk him home. How’s that?”

“Would you? He gets awful mad when I go in after ‘im.”

“Of course I would. You sit here and I’ll be right back.”

She paused at the swinging doors, looking over them at the revelry inside. Evelyn was gone. Behind the bar Gandy and Jack Hogg served drinks. Jubilee and the girls circulated, talking to the customers. In the near corner Dan Loretto dealt a game of blackjack. Agatha pushed the doors open and eased through the mob, searching for Collinson, unable to spot him. She tried to recall if she’d seen him earlier tonight but didn’t remember. Passing a round table crowded with men, she felt a hand brush her thigh. Another reached out and clutched her arm. She jerked free, panicked, and advanced toward the bar. Gandy was laughing at something one of the customers said, looking down as he poured amber whiskey into a shot glass.

“Mr. Gandy?”

His head snapped up. The laughter fell from his face.

“I thought you were gone.”

“I’m looking for Mr. Collinson. Is he in here?”

“Alvis Collinson?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want with him?”

“Is he in here?”

“You’ve lived in Proffitt longer than I have—find him.” His jaw tensed and his eyes remained hard with challenge.

Someone bumped her from behind. She lost her balance and caught at the back of a leather-covered shoulder to keep on her feet.

“Hey, what’s this?” The cowboy turned lazily, slipped an arm around her hips, and flattened her to his side. His breath reeked as he leaned close. “Where ya been hidin’, li’l lady?”

She pushed against him, straining away.

“Let her go, fella,” Gandy ordered.

The stranger ran his hand up Agatha’s ribs, squeezing. “Feels too good to let it go.”

Gandy was over the bar so fast he kicked two glasses off and beat them to the floor.

“I said let her go.” He grabbed the wandering hand from Agatha and flung it back. “She’s not one of the girls.”

“All right, all right.” The cowboy raised both palms, as if Gandy had pulled a derringer. “If she’s your own personal property, ya shoulda said so, buddy.”

A nerve jumped in Gandy’s cheek. Agatha’s stomach trembled and she blinked at the floor.

Gandy plucked a bone-colored Stetson off the bar and shoved it against the cowpoke’s belly. “There’s plenty o’ whorehouses down the street, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for. Now, git!”

“Jesus, man, you’re touchy.”

“That’s right. I run a clean saloon.”

The cowpoke slapped his hat on, pocketed some change, and flashed Agatha an angry glare. She felt other eyes probing her from all directions and turned away so Gandy couldn’t see the tears of mortification in her eyes.

“Agatha.”

She stopped, squared her shoulders.

“What do you want with Collinson?”

She glanced back at him. “His little boy’s outside waiting for him to come home.”

Gandy’s resolution faltered for an instant. A vein stood out on his forehead as his eyes locked on hers. He nodded toward a table in the rear corner. “Collinson’s over there.”

She turned away.

His hand caught her elbow again. She looked up into his displeased eyes. “Don’t rile him. He’s got the temper of a wild boar.”

“I know.”

This time Gandy let her go. But he kept a close eye on her all the while she worked her way through the throng past a surprised Ruby, who stopped her to say something. She nodded, touched Ruby’s hand, then moved on. Collinson glanced up in surprise when she stepped to his elbow. He listened to what she had to say, glanced toward the swinging
doors, scowled, then threw down his cards angrily. He nudged her aside rudely when he lurched from his chair. She wobbled and, across the room, Gandy took one quick step toward her. She caught her balance against the side of the table and he relaxed. Collinson elbowed his way through the crowd, leaving her to fend for herself.

When she started working her way toward the door, Gandy did the same. He wouldn’t put anything past Collinson.

Outside, the son-of-a-bitch was laying into his kid. “What the hell ya mean comin’ up here when I tole ya to keep outta the saloon?” He pulled the boy off the step by one arm. Agatha’s hands closed over the tops of the swinging doors. Her body strained toward the boy, tensed with uncertainty. Gandy silently came up behind her and gripped her shoulder. Her head snapped around. Without a word he moved in front of her and led the way onto the boardwalk, already reaching for a cheroot.

“You winnin’ tonight, Collinson?” he inquired, forcing a bantering tone. He lit the cigar with deceptive calmness.

“I was till the twerp comes badgerin’ me t’ git home.”

“Who’s this...? Well, howdy, son. Kinda late for y’all t’ be out, isn’t it?”

“I came to git Pa.”

“Boy, I tole you, I come home when I’m good and ready. Now, I left a winnin’ hand layin’ on that table. How come you ain’t at your Aunt Hattie’s?”

“She ain’t my aunt, and I don’t like it at her place.”

“Then git on home to bed.”

“I don’t like it there, neither. It’s scary there alone.”

“I told you, boy, that’s bullshit. Chickens is scared o’ the dark.”

Gandy stepped forward and spoke to the boy. “Oh, I don’t know. I recall times when I was a lad, I used t’ think I heard voices behind me in the dark.”

“Butt out, Gandy!”

The two men stood nose to nose in the deep shadows. The little boy looked up at them. Agatha moved beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Take the boy home, Collinson,” Gandy advised in an undertone.

“Not while I got me a winnin’ hand.”

“I’ll cover your bet. Take him.” Gandy reached for Collinson’s arm.

The larger man shook it off and pushed Gandy back a step. “I cover my own bets, Gandy. And the brat lays off me when I’m havin’ a good time!” He took a threatening step toward Willy. “Got that, kid?”

Willy huddled against Agatha’s skirt.

Gandy answered for him. “He’s got it, Collinson. Go on back inside. Enjoy your game.”

“Damned right I will.” He plucked Willy away from Agatha and aimed him toward the street. “Now quit snivelin’ and git home where ya belong.” He gave Willy a shove that sent him scuttling down the steps.

Willy ran a short distance, then turned to look back at his father. Agatha heard his soft, muffled crying.

Collinson spun and stomped back inside, muttering, “Goddamned kid could give a man liver trouble...”

Willy turned and ran.

“Willy, wait!” Agatha struggled down the three steps, but she was no runner. She hobbled after him but made it only the length of the hitching rail before she gave up the hopeless pursuit. “Willy!” Her anguished cry blended with the noise drifting out of the saloon as she gripped her aching hip.

Gandy watched her struggle, heard the boy running off, crying in the dark.

Agatha spun around and appealed, “Do something, Gandy!”

In that instant he began to see too clearly what it was this woman wanted of him and he wanted no part of it. But he answered the tug of his own unwilling heart.

“Willy!” He tossed aside his cheroot, leaped to the street, and took off at a run, his heart already pounding. A five-year-old’s legs were no match for Gandy’s long limbs. He caught up with Willy in less than a dozen strides and plucked him from the middle of the street into his arms.

The child clung to Gandy and buried his face in his neck.

“Willy. Don’t cry... hey, hey... it’s all right.” Gandy had no experience with comforting children. He felt awkward and slightly terrified. The child weighed next to nothing, but the skinny arms clung to Gandy as if he himself were the boy’s father. Gandy swallowed hard, twice. The lump in his throat refused to budge. He carried Willy back to Agatha and stood before her, feeling out of his depth.

She touched Willy’s shuddering back, rubbed it reassuringly. “Shh! Shh!” Her voice was low and soothing. “You’re not alone, little one.” She smoothed the cowlick on top of Willy’s head. Gandy’s hand spread on the child’s rumpled shirt, over the thin ribs that heaved in rhythm with his sobs. Her hand moved down. Their fingers touched briefly. A spark of good intentions bound them in that instant and they each fought the urge to link fingers in their joint effort to help the boy. Together, they turned toward the steps and sat side by side, with Willy on Gandy’s lap.

“Willy, don’t cry anymore.”

But the little boy could not be silenced. He burrowed into Gandy, who helplessly looked over the blond head at Agatha. He saw the glint of tears in her eyes as her hand rubbed Willy’s thin arm.

“I’d take him myself if I could, but...” During her brief pause he remembered the pitiful sight of her trying to run after the boy. “Could you carry him up to my place?”

He nodded.

They went through the dark millinery shop, out the back door, and up the back stairs. It had never taken Gandy so long to make the climb. With Willy in his arms he adjusted his pace to Agatha’s, watching her shuffling two-step as she clung to the rail. All the way up, he found himself recalling his youth at Waverley—healthy, hale, and surrounded by all the love and security a little boy could want to allow him to grow up happy.

At the landing Agatha unlocked her door and led the way into total blackness.

“Wait here. I’ll light a lamp.”

Gandy stood still, listening to the two of them—Agatha, shuffling away; Willy, sobbing against his neck.

A lantern flared halfway down a room with the proportions of a stick match. Gandy barely had time to form the quick impression before she spoke again.