The Outlaw's Return (7 page)

Caroline gripped her hand. The brunette had lost a husband after the War Between the States. He'd been a
man of color, and she'd kept the marriage a secret from everyone except Bessie. She'd understand if Mary blurted the truth about J.T., but Mary couldn't take the risk.

Adie offered a hankie. Mary took it and wiped her eyes. “I expected too much from him.”

“No, you didn't,” Adie said gently. “You wanted what most women want. A husband. A family of her own.”

Mary thought of the baby she'd lost and the hole it had left in her life. Adie didn't know about the miscarriage, but she would have understood the pain of an empty womb. She and Josh had Stephen, their adopted son, but they'd been married a year and Adie hadn't conceived. Mary wished she could share her story. Instead she focused on the obvious. “J.T. hurt me terribly, but I should have known better than to fall in love with him.”

Caroline squeezed her hand. “We can't choose whom we love.”

“No,” Mary agreed. “But I should have been careful. I should never have…” She shook her head. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“It might help,” Adie prodded.

The more Mary talked, the more her friends would want to know. But if she said nothing, they'd wonder. “He's a gunfighter,” she finally said. “And he gambles, or he used to.”

Caroline sat back in the swing, causing it to rock. “He came looking for you. You must matter to him.”

“A little,” she admitted. “But not enough.”

Adie watched her. “You said he's staying.”

“He is, but only to help Augustus.” She grimaced. “He had the nerve to tell my brother to change his name to Gus.”

“It's about time!” Adie declared.

Caroline laughed softly. “Didn't you say you were praying for a man to help your brother grow up?”

“Yes, but—”

Adie chuckled. It wasn't rude, just annoying. “I don't know why God does what He does, but I'd say He answered your prayer in a
very
interesting way.”

“Me, too.” Caroline smiled.

Interesting
wasn't what Mary wanted her life to be. Dull and ordinary suited her fine. So did running the café and forgetting the past. She had no desire to dance on the edge of the truth, but that's what she'd be doing until J.T. left Denver.

 

As he neared the stream where he planned to take Gus, J.T. slowed his horse to a walk. Fancy Girl came up to him running and barking at the same time. He knew how the dog felt. Mary had forgiven him, and he wanted to shout to the world.

High and bright, clouds skittered past the sun in a way that sent shadows running from him. Raising his eyes to the sky, he wondered what a good woman like Mary saw in a mongrel like himself. Forgiving him had cost her something. She didn't want him in Denver, yet she'd honored his request. She'd always been generous to him, but today she'd been merciful.

How could she be so kind when he'd hurt her so badly? J.T. thought of his brothers beating him in that New York alley. A few years ago he'd learned that all three of them had died from cholera. Old feelings had come back, and he'd cheerfully spat on their graves. He'd wounded Mary as surely as his brothers had hurt him, yet she'd forgiven him. He had to admire her kindness.

He looked down at his dog, panting and happy from the run. “You look thirsty, girl. Let's find water.”

He nudged the buckskin onto the stream where he'd camped a couple of nights ago. He'd eaten his fill of trout and so had Fancy Girl. The spot was perfect for what he had in mind for Gus.

The way J.T. saw things, the boy needed confidence more than he needed to know how to fight. If Gus didn't know how to handle a gun, they'd do some target practice. He'd teach the boy how to throw a punch, but mostly he wanted Gus to carry himself with pride. Bullies were like wolves. They cut the weakest animal from the pack and took it down. If Gus stopped being a weakling, the bullies would find other prey.

As J.T. approached the stream, Fancy trotted on ahead of him. He followed more slowly, checking out the terrain for signs of drifters and men like himself. Near an old fire pit he saw a pile of cigarette butts. He didn't want Gus to consider tobacco a good habit, so he climbed down from his horse and ground them into the dirt. Looking around, he saw broken branches where horses had been tied. He checked out the hoofprints and decided the spot had been used by a lone man with two horses, someone much like himself. J.T. worried all the time about old enemies, but the rider had moved on. The spot would be fine for camping with Gus.

“Come on, Fancy,” he called to his dog.

When she barked, he rested his hand on his gun. When she barked a second time, he worried she'd gotten stuck in the willows lining the stream. Approaching cautiously, he saw her in the middle of the water, looking down with her ears pricked and her tail wagging. When she pawed at something, a trout escaped her grasp with a small leap. J.T. laughed out loud. How many dogs knew how to
fish? He called her again and she came bounding to him, her chest wet and her eyes full of triumph. He dropped down to his knees and hugged her hard. He hoped that someday Mary would come as willingly into his arms.

O
n Monday morning, Mary saw Roy Desmond walk into the café for breakfast. He took his usual table in the corner, greeted Gertie with a debonair smile and ordered ham and eggs. She wondered if he'd made his selection for Arline, the lead character in
The Bohemian Girl.
Gertie had been nagging her to accept the part, and she wouldn't let up until Roy picked someone else. There was a lull in the crowd, so Mary dried her hands on her apron and went to say hello.

Roy saw her coming and stood. “Good morning, Mary.”

“Hello, Roy.”

He indicated the chair. “Would you care to join me?”

“Yes, but just for a minute.” She sat before he could hold her chair, making small talk so that she didn't look anxious. When the moment seemed right, she brought up the new opera. “How's the casting going?” she asked.

“Just fine,” he said. “Except for Arline. I'm still hoping you'll change your mind.”

The role of Arline, a gypsy princess, appealed to Mary in every way. The music soared, and she liked the girl's
bravery. Until Roy filled the part, she'd yearn to take it. “I hope you find someone soon.”

He held her gaze. “The role's yours. Just say the word.”

“No. But thank you.”

“At least look at the audition poster.” He put his elbows on the table, laced his fingers and leaned slightly forward. “Do you recall the advertisement for your show in Abilene?”

“Of course.” Chill bumps erupted on her arms. She had no desire to remember those days, especially not with Roy.

“The same artist did the drawing.” He lowered his voice to a murmur. “Of course, that was before the trouble you had with O'Day.”

Had Roy meant to assure her that he'd keep her secret, or was he using the old scandal to blackmail her into playing Arline? Mary didn't know, but she didn't take kindly to threats. The thought of the scandal erupting made her tremble, but threats made her fighting mad. Which had Roy intended? She needed to find out, so she looked him in the eye with deliberate poise. “I'm sure the poster is lovely.”

“It is.”

“I appreciate your interest,” she said. “But my singing career is over.

He lowered his chin. “That's a tragedy.”

“It's my choice.” It had been, sort of. If she hadn't lost her reputation, she would have never left the stage. “I have a good life now. I'm happy.”

He teased her with a smile. “You'd be even happier singing for me.”

Laughing, she stood to leave. “No one will be happy if I don't get back to the stove. Have a good day, Roy.”

“One more thing.” He stopped her with a hand on her fore arm. “I ran into a mutual friend of ours.”

She thought of the dozens of people she'd met in her acting days. Even a distant acquaintance could stir up gossip about the scandal. Her stomach churned. “Who?”

“J. T. Quinn.”

She felt relieved. J.T. wouldn't talk. “I saw him on Sunday.”

“Just thought I'd mention it,” Roy added.

Mary excused herself and headed to the kitchen. Whatever worries she had about Roy disappeared. Considering his knowledge of her past, warning her about J.T. had been considerate. If she could have taken the role of Arline, she would have done it. Instead she grabbed the three new orders Gertie had left on the counter and went back to the hot stove.

 

It was Tuesday, almost night, and J.T. had slept away the afternoon. He'd woken up five minutes ago, sweating and tense. He didn't like small places, and this room could have been a closet. He'd taken it because it was close to a side door. He wanted a private exit for himself, and Fancy needed to go out at night to do her business. Irritable, he looked out the tiny window high on the wall. Night was coming fast. He had to light a lamp or get out before the darkness grabbed him.

He couldn't stand the thought of another evening with nothing to do. Feeling twitchy, he stood and reached for his hat. “Come on, Fancy. Let's take a walk.”

The dog ignored him in favor of the bone Mary had given her. She'd gnawed it clean and was still enjoying it. J.T. had no such comfort. What did a man do with himself when he didn't drink, smoke or gamble?

He slept.

He ate.

He thought too much. “Come on, girl,” he said with more excitement than he felt.

Fancy looked over her shoulder. With her tail wagging and the bone between her paws, she tipped her head at him, then went back to chewing with an intensity J.T. saw in himself.

“You've got a one-track mind,” he said to her.

The dog's thoughts were on the bone. His were on places he couldn't go and things he didn't do anymore. He needed to get out of the tiny room, and he needed air that didn't smell like the sauerkraut cooking in the kitchen. The smell reminded him of the food he'd scavenged from garbage cans in New York when he was a child. He hated cabbage and always would. He'd eat somewhere else tonight.

“Okay, Fancy. You can stay.” He put on his gun belt and duster, scratched the dog's head and left the boardinghouse.

The day had cooled with the setting sun, and he welcomed the fresh air. He
didn't
welcome the temptation nipping at his heels.
Just one drink…just an hour of faro.
He walked faster, but his thoughts kept pace. He wished he'd taken Fancy Girl with him. Most saloons didn't appreciate four-legged customers, and having her at his side made it easy to walk by the open doors.

One street led to another until he found himself on the corner of Market and Colfax Avenue. A whisper of conscience told him to stay on Colfax, but his feet turned down Market. A block later he was surrounded by saloons and dance halls. Pianos filled the air with tinny music, and girls in skimpy dresses were giving him easy smiles. He looked away, but his toe caught on
a warped board and he stumbled. Off balance, he found himself staring through the open door of a saloon. Two men were standing at a counter. Between them a bottle glistened amber in the lamplight. One had an empty glass, the other a full one he was raising to his lips. J.T. could taste the poison, feel it running down his throat. A faro dealer sat at a table shuffling cards. The rasp called to him like the morning crow of a rooster.

As much as he missed the oblivion of liquor, he missed faro even more. Beating the odds gave him a thrill. So did winning big. If he made a bet or two, he could double the money in his saddlebag and secretly give it to Mary. If he gambled tonight, it would be for a good cause. He put his hand on the half door and pushed. As it moved, a fight broke out in the street. He turned and saw a cowboy sprawled on his back. Two men were going after him, shouting and kicking and cussing. The cowboy had blond hair, and in his drunken state he couldn't put words together.

J.T. came to his senses in a rush. As much as he liked faro, he cared more about helping Gus fight off bullies. Needing to get away from temptation, he walked away from the saloon at a rapid pace. In the distance he saw the Newcastle Theater and decided to walk by it. It wouldn't hurt to remind Roy that he had his eye on Mary.

When he reached the theater, the doors opened and the crowd began to go inside. Among the wealthy couples, he spotted Roy speaking to a girl in her late teens. Dressed in pink, she had cinnamon hair and a sparkle that reminded him of Mary. Next to her stood a brunette wearing a crimson gown with gold trim. He guessed her to be in her twenties and far more sophisticated than the girl. He was sure of it when Roy made the younger girl blush with just a look.

J.T. didn't know the girl at all, but he wanted to drag her home to her family. What was she doing at the theater without a chaperone? The thought surprised him, because he didn't like chaperones. The ones he'd encountered had been nosy old women who'd gotten in his way. Watching Roy with this girl changed his mind about the custom. She was smiling too brightly, encouraging him without knowing the nature of his thoughts.

J.T. recognized that innocence. He'd been seventeen when Zeke Carver recruited him to be the lookout on a bank job. He'd done well and had ridden off with them. That night he'd gotten drunk for the first time. He didn't remember much, but it had been the start of his worst years. With regret thick in his throat, he watched the girl and her friend enter the theater. Roy watched them with too much intensity. J.T. stared hard at the man, willing him to look at him instead. It took a long minute, but the man finally turned and their eyes locked. Roy smiled.

J.T. didn't.

Smirking, Roy followed the last of his guests into the theater and closed the door.

More distrustful of the man than ever, J.T. walked past the building. Near the doors he saw a poster in a glass case. Below a drawing of a gypsy woman, it read:

Did the sign mean Roy had given up on Mary? J.T. didn't think so. Knowing how much she loved to perform, he saw the poster as bait. Tomorrow after supper she'd get an earful about Roy.

As he entered a quieter part of the city, he slowed his pace. To his surprise, he ended up in front of the saloon where he'd found Mary a few days ago. Instead of the shuffle of cards, he heard fiddle music. And in the place of whiskey, he smelled chili so hot it stung his eyes. Mary used to tease that he didn't know good food when he had it, because he'd burned off his taste buds. Maybe he had. He'd burned a lot of things in his life—bridges, women, even friends. His life was one big pile of ash, but a man still had to eat.

With his stomach rumbling, he pushed through the door. He glanced at the fiddler, an old man playing “Buffalo Gals,” and headed for the counter. The barkeep, a large fellow with red hair, greeted him with a nod. “What can I get you, friend?”

“A bowl of chili.”

The man indicated a stool. “Have a seat.”

J.T. ambled to the far side of the counter and sat where he could see the door. The place wasn't busy, and he wondered why. Maybe the owner served cheap whiskey, or maybe he didn't serve whiskey at all. He looked behind the bar. Instead of bottles, he saw a hodgepodge of canned goods, tin plates and a row of glasses. A mirror hung on the wall, reflecting both the room and J.T. himself. Six months ago, he'd had deep crevices at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes had been bloodshot. The man staring at him now looked almost young, though J.T. felt as burdened as ever.

The barkeep put the chili in front of him. “That stuff's hot. Want something to put out the fire?”

Beer.
“Just water.”

“Got some sweet tea,” he offered.

“Sure.”

After the barkeep left, a man with the look of a
gunfighter walked into the saloon. He was wearing dark clothing and he was surveying the room as J.T. had done. J.T. glanced at the man's waist. When he didn't see a gun, he guessed him to be a preacher, maybe the one who'd spoken here on Sunday. He'd expected the man to be older, maybe with a paunch and gray hair. The fellow who pulled up a stool was his age or younger. If life had marked him, it didn't show.

The barkeep returned with the sweet tea and a plate of jalapeños. He put the items in front of J.T., then poured coffee for the reverend. J.T. ate his meal, half listening as the men discussed the progress on a church they were building. The sides were going up fast, and they needed to get the roof in place. J.T. didn't think much about the talk until the minister mentioned a familiar name.

“You know how Roy Desmond is,” he said to the barkeep. “He's not happy about having a church next to his theater.”

“What did he say?” the barkeep asked.

“He wants to buy the property.” The minister sipped his coffee. “He offered us a lot of money, too.”

“What's he want it for?”

“A hotel.”

J.T. nearly choked on a chili bean. If Roy opened a hotel, it wouldn't be reputable.

The barkeep dried a glass on his apron. “Maybe we should sell to him and build somewhere else.”

The minister shook his head. “I want to be in the heart of the city.”

“So do I, but—”

“We aren't selling.” Judging by the minister's tone, he'd build that church or die trying. J.T. understood the feeling, because he felt that way about protecting Mary. J.T. had no interest in churches, but he and the minister
had a common enemy in Roy Desmond. They also had needs that fit like a handshake. The minister needed someone to put a roof on the church, and J.T. needed to keep an eye on Roy. Working on the roof would give him a bird's-eye view of the theater manager's activities.

J.T. set down his spoon and spoke to the minister. “I heard you say you needed a roofer.”

“That I do.”

“I can swing a hammer, and I don't mind heights.” Small dark places were another matter. “I'd be interested in the job.”

The man named a wage that struck J.T. as pitiful, but he didn't care about the salary. If he could keep an eye on Roy, he'd have the pay he wanted. Neither did he balk at the man's description of the steep roof and bell tower. The minister gave him a steady look. “That's the job. It's yours if you want it.”

“I'll take it.”

He walked up to J.T. and offered his hand. “I'm Reverend Joshua Blue. Call me Josh.”

J.T had a hunch the man would recognize his name because of Mary. He gave him a look that dared him to judge, then held out his hand. “I'm J. T. Quinn.”

“You're Mary's friend.”

“The same.”

The minister's grip tightened with a warning.
Hurt Mary, and you'll answer to me.
“She's a good woman.”

“The best,” J.T. replied, squeezing even harder. It was easy to imagine the reverend staring down the devil himself, a fact that gave J.T. comfort. He was glad Mary had people who cared about her.