Beyond the Broken Road, page 34
As he gave her a brief history of all he knew about Tombstone's burial ground, listing off gunfights, accidental deaths, hangings, and murders, she couldn't decide if he was trying to distract her from her upset, or if he thought she'd want to know all the violent ways a man could die.
"The Earps put Billy Clanton and the McLowery brothers under that ground. A gunfight that nobody that day saw the same way. I heard more versions of what happened than there are days in the month. The only ones who know and are still here is them buried over there, I reckon."
She put words to her own fear. "I'm afraid Sam's going to end up in a place like this sooner than need be."
"Worries me too," Ollie agreed when she wished he wouldn't have.
"What are we going to do to see that doesn't happen?" she asked, stiffening her spine with determination. She had let others dominate her life for too many years. She was done with that. Sam would not end up there, not if she had anything to say about it.
CHAPTER 27
Riding down Fremont Street with Sam again on one side, Ollie on the other, and Bull riding protectively behind, Abby tried not to worry, to let herself instead enjoy the town. It was impressive with all the wooden-fronted businesses, the number of people on the boardwalks, the horsemen in the street, the heavy ore wagons lumbering past.
Sam turned them into the stable where they left their horses at what Abby felt was an exorbitant price. Putting the two saddlebags, one innocent, one not, over his broad shoulder, he told Ollie and Bull, “You two have fun but remember I came to add men, not lose them. I’ll meet you at the Oriental tonight.”
He turned back to her. "Want to clean up first or buy those new clothes?"
"Clothes. Then when I bathe, I will have something to change into." Abby took his arm as though she was the finest and proudest lady in Tombstone, which if Sam hadn't seemed so bent on hiring more hard cases and being reckless, she guessed she would have been. He led her up Third Street to Allen where so long as they stayed on the south side, he told her there would be shops that would have what she wanted.
"What's wrong with the north side?" she asked, looking at it more critically.
He smiled. "Remember Tucson's Tenderloin?"
She nodded.
"Welcome to Tombstone's."
"Oh." She looked again. Other than the usual saloons and restaurants, little told her this street was anything but an ordinary one. "What would happen if we walked along it?" she asked, giving him a saucy smile.
He patted the butt of his gun. "Likely nothing much."
'You mean you might have to fight?" She frowned.
"Unless I was interested in turning a little money myself."
"Sam!"
"You asked." He grinned and steered her into a shop where dresses hung on racks, and there were stacks of ready-made clothing. Abby headed for the dresses while Sam stopped to pick himself up a shirt. His took little time. With curiosity, he headed to the back of the mercantile. She was holding up a dress, trying to decide on color. It was his first time with a woman shopping. She whirled to look at him, having seen him in the mirror. "What do you think?" she asked her eyes aglow.
The dress was a plain one, but the gold color caught the gold in Abby's dark hair. "Nice," he said, sinking into a chair which he guessed had been provided for such viewing.
She held up a blue wool gown that looked very sophisticated, tailored, the perfect lady's dress. Then a white one of light and filmy cotton, no ruffles but a starched white collar and cuffs. “Which do you think?” she asked frowning as she tried to decide between the two, having obviously discarded the gold.
Caught up in the enjoyment of watching her with new things, he pointed to a russet red dress on the rack. "How about that one?"
She held it up to herself. “It’s pretty bright, don’t you think?” It had a scooped neck and fitted bodice with straight skirt.
“We’ll take all four.”
"Four, but I don't need four dresses."
"You will eventually."
The saleswoman, recognizing authority when she heard it smiled. "You've made excellent selections.” She scooped up the dresses to wrap. "The red came in only yesterday."
Abby felt uneasy at all the purchases. "A lot of money and I still need--.”
Sam smiled. "Whatever you want," he said and pulled out a roll of bills that looked to Abby as though they could have purchased the whole shop. She didn't miss the increased subservience of the saleswoman.
It took almost an hour to complete all the purchases, piling up lingerie, shoes, stockings, and a nightgown. Abby was still ill at ease at all the money Sam had spent. He could have used that for ranch purchases. She didn't want him ruining his chances of making a success of the Circle R because of his generosity to her.
Outside, under the hot Tombstone sun, she said, "We should return half of this."
"Nope."
"You won't have enough for food or other things."
"There's more in the bank if we need it."
"Bank?”
He smiled, but she wasn't sure he was amused. "Where did you think I'd keep it?"
Stolen money?"
He stiffened. "You know what I've done, but there are other ways I made money. I worked for several ranchers, invested in cattle instead of daily wages. When I sold them, I had a good profit; then one winter I panned for gold—and actually found more than I expected. Annie left me a little. I didn't want it then, but it's drawn interest, but yeah,” he smiled, “livestock trading has been… profitable. Think I’d have been doing it if it wasn’t?"
He stopped in another store, and she stayed with him as he made purchases of boxes of various sizes of ammunition and a new rifle that caught his eye. Daydreaming, she thought it would be easy to forget for what he'd come, forget the wildness she'd seen in his eyes earlier.
"Come over here," he said, drawing her to a display case. The gunsmith handed her a tiny gun.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Derringer. Ladies like them because they fit in a pocket. Two shots and you can stop most any man who gets too close, which is the only place this gun is truly effective," the proprietor said.
Abby felt the grip, then handed it back.
"We'll take it too," Sam said, “and a box of shells for it."
She frowned but said nothing until they were outside in the glaring sun. "Why do I need that? I have my gun."
"It's too big to fit in the pocket of one of those frilly things you just bought or a little bag. I want you to have protection, especially here."
"You think the town is that dangerous?"
"I have to leave you alone, and I don't like that with nobody looking after you."
"I'm not a child."
He grinned. "Which only makes it worse."
She glared at him, but decided she wouldn’t refuse the gun.
At the Cosmopolitan Hotel Sam registered them as Mr. and Mrs. Ryker. He requested a room that fronted onto Allen Street. As he and she walked up the stairs, a boy helped them with bags and her new purchases. "Won't it be noisier?" she asked.
"And safer." She did not try to argue because she'd never actually traveled alone. Their room was number fifteen. She was surprised at the luxuries it contained, including fluffy towels, a bar of French-milled soap in a porcelain soap dish, a wide bed with a brass headboard and footboard, a soft mattress that bounced nicely when she tried it, two over-stuffed chairs, a rosewood dresser, gaslights, and as a final touch--a small desk equipped with paper.
"This is wonderful," she said. "I don't think Tucson has anything finer."
"Where there's money, there are people helping you spend it," Sam said as he laid the saddlebags in a corner of the room.
“Are you sure it’s safe for you to have them?” she asked looking with concern toward the bag she knew held the stolen mails.
“Not much, but safer here than in the stable and maybe stolen again.” She pulled the blind close as he turned up the lamp. The glow lit his face, shadowing the hollows, the cheekbones and revealing the tired lines beside his mouth. She went to him, putting her arms around him.
"Do you really have to go out tonight?"
"I told the boys I'd meet them, and I'd better do that."
She didn't release her hold, tilting her body, so she pressed against him in the way she knew elicited a response. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his body, but he broke the embrace and moved away to sit on the bed.
If she'd had a mind to, she could have felt angry at the rejection, but she felt happy, pleased he'd purchased her so much clothing and even the gun. Surely that proved he did love her. She whirled around the room while he leaned against the metal rails and watched her. She unpacked her dresses, hanging them to remove the few wrinkles from their short time of being folded. She put away the undergarments in a drawer.
The knock at the door startled her, and she almost reached for the derringer which she'd put into the pocket of her riding skirt, but when Sam didn't seem alarmed, she relaxed.
He opened the door and ushered a young man carting a small hip tub and a large pitcher of warm water. Abby smiled as Sam handed the boy a coin, then turned to look at her as she poured the water into the tub.
He had known he would have to sacrifice his own desires if Abby was to have any chance for happiness, but he realized how hard this was going to be as she began to unbutton her blouse. To avoid watching her bathe, he walked to the window and stared out. He gritted his teeth as he heard her splash into water.
To avoid imagining what was behind him, he said, "I'll take you to dinner at the Chinaman's tonight."
"Sounds lovely," she said, and he heard the smile in her voice. He could almost see the cloth and the soap slick up her skin, moving over her rounded breasts and down her belly as she would wash her soft skin. He wanted to help her, to stroke all those secret places with the soft cloth and then his tongue but he was determined on how it had to be. No more intimacies. He would not increase the risks that he might leave behind a bastard as his father had. He knew if he turned to look at her, he would be finished. He was not about to leave her to take the risk of bathing by herself. He had to stay, endure the torture of knowing what he was forsaking and keep his eyes focused on the street.
"The water feels wonderful, Sam," she murmured. He heard a louder splash, knew she must have stood. He sucked in a breath, barely able to breathe. He had no time to prepare himself, to stiffen his resolve before he felt her hands on him, her wet body pressed against his back. He felt her fingers on the buttons of his shirt. “Abby,” he warned.
"Mmmmm?" she asked, pulling the shirt open, baring his chest and shoulders as she pulled it down his arms, leaving the cuffs buttoned. She was gone a second, and he thought he could shrug it back up. When he felt the washcloth on his skin, he knew his resolve was for nothing.
Later, lying in bed, limbs still entangled, he whispered, "You missed your dinner."
"I'm so disappointed," she replied her lips against his damp neck.
"You make me weak."
"That's funny because you make me strong."
"You're sucking my power, is that what you're telling me?"
"Am I?"
He had to go. Tonight, was the night to convince her to leave him. He had to make sure it went as he planned.
"I'll be back late," he said. He walked naked to the dresser and unwrapped the new shirt. When he had pulled on his pants and tucked the shirt in, he turned to watch her on his bed. Her hair fanned out across his pillow. He hated putting a disappointed look on her beautiful face, but it had to be this way as he pulled on boots and finally added his gun belt.
"Lock this door when I go out and don't unlock it for anybody except the room clerk bringing you your dinner in about half an hour, and even then, keep that little gun handy." He rechecked the load in his own gun.
"I don’t see why you have to go tonight." She felt like a fool, she kept hoping he'd change his mind, kept hoping he'd want to stay with her. "I don't know how to use the new gun," she said, irritated that her voice sounded weak in its complaints. This was no way for a mature woman to behave.
He took the gun to her, showed her the trigger and cocking mechanism, then loaded it. "If you have to go out, keep this with you. Tombstone can be pretty rough at night."
"I won't go out. When will you be back?"
"Late. Don’t wait up."
He pulled on his hat and left her with no good-bye kiss, nothing but one last fiery look as their gazes met before he turned his back on her and shut the door. She got up and locked it, then leaned against it. She should dress. If the room clerk was really going to bring her a tray, she didn't want to open the door in a nightgown, but she felt too numb to move.
The street was growing noisy as she heard loud voices and laughter, a piano tinkling somewhere up the street, then a gunshot pierced the air. Sam was going out into that. Why? Was it to hire men, or was his plan darker than that?
The image of the cemetery came into her mind. Boot hill Ollie had called it because men went there so suddenly, they didn't have their boots off. She jumped at the sound of a nearby gunshot. Was that Sam? She could so easily see him falling to the ground, crumpled on the street, his blood draining into the dust. Who would tell her? She imagined his body, still and white, in a black hearse, a horse pulling it up out of town to that lonely little knoll.
“God, stop this,” she harshly ordered herself. To erase the images, she pulled on undergarments, her new gold dress, the gun in its pocket, and then sat, wishing she could go out and look for him and knowing that would be the most foolish thing of all. Whatever he was doing, he would do. She wondered then if she could live this way, waiting for him to return, hoping he would, and then one day facing the empty doorway. Was this a way to live a life? And what if she became pregnant? She felt of her belly, knowing that she hadn’t been pregnant, but it could still happen. Maybe this time, it had. How would that be with a man like Sam for a father? She sucked in a breath, unwilling to think further.
When the food tray came, she sent it away. Any appetite she'd had was gone. She didn't know how long she sat. There would have been times she’d have stood in the window to watch the red sky in the west, to admire the beautiful colors as the sun set and the show began. This sunset brought no pleasure as she wondered if it would be the last for Sam. God, why had she let herself fall so deeply in love with a man where every day could be his last?
Finally, she pulled off her clothing and put on a nightgown, but when she lay in the bed, she didn't sleep. She stared at the ceiling, blindly looking at the ceiling, at the reflected lights that seemed to dance there. The sounds of the city closed in around her.
Walking into the smoky atmosphere of the Oriental, Sam felt torn in two. Part of him wanted to be with Abby in their room, make love to her again. Part of him argued he was no good for her. He had to free her one way or another.
Before he could reach the polished bar, a woman came up, her hand grasping his biceps. "Hi, big boy," she said, "remember me?" He looked down and knew he'd never seen her before.
"Nope." He removed her hand.
At the bar, he put a boot onto the rail and ordered whiskey. He didn't want that any more than he'd wanted the strange woman. On all sides of him men were leaning and talking while they drank, the smoke was heavy in the air. At the back of the long, narrow room a piano was being pounded to death. Maybe another day he would have appreciated the bouncy tunes, but this night he was in no mood for music, especially not Camptown Races.
The bartender poured him a shot glass of whiskey setting the bottle beside it. "Looks like it's been a long day," the man said with a smile.
"You don't know the half of it," Sam muttered. He put the money on the bar for the bottle and took it to a table where he could be alone. He sat, staring at the people having fun, and wondered if he ever had in a place like the Oriental. He thought then about the nights with Abby, nights when she'd read to him, tried to teach him to read, the times they’d made love or laughed over her cooking. There had been peace with her he would never know elsewhere.
He refilled his glass and slugged it. The whiskey was his answer. It would give him the oblivion he sought but moreover send him back to her drunk enough that she would see him for what he was.
His third glass almost turned his stomach, but he forced it down. On an empty stomach, it was having a powerful effect on his body, but not the one he'd sought. Instead of oblivion, it seemed all he found was an increasing awareness of what he would be losing when she left him. If he had been a selfish man, he would have kept her with him. The cost would be high for her. There would come a reckoning, and when it happened, what would he be leaving her?
"You look like you up and died but don't know it yet," Ollie said, plopping into a chair at his table.
Bull sat on the other side of him. "Drinking that rot gut is pure suicide, boss. didn't nobody warn you about that?"
"Two mamas," Sam said, feeling the whiskey starting to kick in. "What did I do to deserve this?"
Ollie chuckled. "Don't worry about us. We'll just stick around to chuck you back into Abby's bed when you pass out. What she'll want with you, is beyond me, but that's the way women are."
Bull brought back two glasses and poured himself a drink. "Not as bad as I thought," he said, taking it in one swallow.
"Don't you go getting soused too," Ollie warned. "It's bad enough I got to figure out how to get this one back to his woman. Picking you up would be pure out of the question."
"I don't get drunk," Bull retorted. "Man my size can handle a lot of liquor." He hiccupped.
"I can see that," Ollie said with a snort.
Sam managed to swallow one more shot of whiskey; but his stomach was turning on him, making him regret his plan with a passion. Returning to her drunk had seemed a good way to convince her she was with the wrong man. Being drunk meant a hangover, meant the room was beginning to move. He rose, swayed, and put out his hands to steady himself, finding his two friends under his arms.
