Dance With A Gunfighter (17 page)

Gabe nodded, not knowing what to say when she had come to
comfort, and instead, received it.

Susan’s jaw clenched. Her body shook with outrage.
"Let me come with you. I’ll help you find him. I’ll help you kill
him!"

"No, Susan."

"Yes! I have to." Angry tears formed in the
corners of her eyes. "I hate him," she cried. "I hate him the
way you do. I’ll help you. I know I can!"

Gabe folded her arms, bowing her head against the poignant
ache that spread through her. This girl reminded her far too much of herself,
of her own reaction. A moment passed before she could speak. "Thank you
for your offer, Susan. Right now, though, your ma needs you to help her with
your little brother and sister."

"She doesn’t need me. You do! Please." Angry
tears spilled over her cheeks.

"You’re wrong, Susan. Your mother needs you now more
than ever. I have no one at home. No one. That means I can spend my time trying
to find Tanner and his gang. You still have a home, and a brother and sister,
and your ma. You need to stay with them."

"But I have to do something."

"I know you do," Gabe whispered. "Send me
your prayers, Susan. If I can, I’ll come back here in a few months, and I’ll
tell you I was victorious."

"What if you aren’t?"

Gabe lifted her chin. "Then we’ll talk about what
else to do."

"Promise?" Susan’s gaze met hers square on.

"I promise," Gabe said. She hugged the girl
tight, then leaned back against the wall, shutting her eyes. Susan lay down,
her head on Gabe’s lap.

Neither of them slept that night.

Chapter 13

When Gabe checked on McLowry the next morning, he was awake
and sitting up in bed scowling. His face was pale under several day’s growth of
beard, and the dirt and dust from the trail were caked on him.

"What happened to my clothes?" he asked.

In his eyes she saw the real question.
Who took off my
clothes?
Her cheeks grew warm.

"They were filthy, so I sent them out to be
washed."

"I want to get dressed!"

She ignored his bellowing. "There’s a room off the
kitchen for bathing. I’ll draw you a bath, and find you a clean nightshirt so
you’ll be more comfortable."

"A nightshirt?" he yelled. "I’d get a lot
of stares parading around town in one of those."

She folded her arms. "I don’t expect you to
parade
anyway, Jess McLowry. You’ve got to stay in bed."

"I’m not sick."

"Not sick? You’ve been shot and you nearly dropped
from exhaustion. Or have you forgotten?"

He knew better than to argue with Gabe when she had that
look in her eye. How a twenty-year-old could be so bossy to a man his age, and
get away with it, was something he failed to understand. "Tell you
what..."

Bracing herself, knowing his "tell you what"
could lead to just about anything, her foot tapped warily. "What?"

"I’ll take a bath, then we’ll see how I feel."

She could agree to that. Once on his feet, he’d realize
how weak he was and that he needed to rest.

She brought him Lew Huckleby’s robe and then led him to a
storage room right off the kitchen where Mrs. Huckleby had set up the bathtub
for her guests. A clean nightshirt lay beside the tub.

Gabe stayed in the kitchen to help Mrs. Huckleby prepare
breakfast, but also to be near the bath in case McLowry needed her.

About twenty minutes later, he opened the door a crack.
"Cousin Gabriella," he called, his Southern accent suddenly so slow
and drawling she half expected magnolia blossoms to sprout from his tongue.

Gabe and Mrs. Huckleby turned toward him.

"Would you get some clean clothes for me,
darlin’?"

When he emphasized his drawl, she knew she was in trouble.
"You’ve got clean clothes, McLowry. A nightshirt and robe."

"I’m not makin’ myself clear, sweet thing. I need
some
outside
-goin’ clothes."

"You need rest." Gabe walked to the oven and
checked on the biscuits.

He opened the door a little farther. "I want to see
how those wounded men are doing,
cousin
."

Gabe faced him. "I’ll go down after breakfast and
give you a complete report. Also, I’ll ask Doc Shannon when he'd like to see
you." She turned her back, walked to the stove and began to stir the gravy
so it wouldn't stick.

"I want my pants, now!" His speech sped up
considerably.

"You're going to wake up the late sleeping guests,
Jess. It was a busy night around here."

"It's going to be a busy
day
if I don't get my
clothes this very minute!"

Gabe stirred the gravy faster. "That sounds like a
threat, and it doesn't even make sense."

"I'll count to three. If you don't bring my pants,
I'll go get them myself. And I'll tell you, the only thing I'm wearing is a
bandage."

Mrs. Huckleby made a small throaty sound and raised her
eyebrows as she glanced at Gabe. Having a naked man prance out of the kitchen
with all the women and children present would create quite a stir.

"Don't worry," Gabe said to the landlady.
"He's only bluffing."

"ONE."

Gabe shook the gravy spoon at him in time with her words.
"This is for your own good. That wound could get infected if you don't
rest. Then you’ll have to stay in bed a
really
long time."

"TWO." He opened the door a little wider. A bare
leg, toe to thigh, showed, as did one shoulder and arm.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Huckleby fanned her face with a
towel.

"You're not funny at all, Jess!" Gabe shouted,
but the glint in his eye told her just how angry he was.

"THREE!"

"All right!" She threw the spoon at him as he
started to open the door, making him shut it again. The spoon clanked against
it. "I'll give you your old pants! You don't have a thing I'd want to see,
anyway!"

She turned to stomp out of the kitchen only to find Mrs.
Larkin and Mrs. Grimes standing by the door. They were older, probably in their
sixties, had been lifelong friends, and were practically inseparable. Except
when they were with their husbands, whenever you saw one, you found the other.
Mrs. Larkin was skinny and pinched, while Mrs. Grimes was plump and rosy. Now,
both stood with their mouths hanging open as they gawked at Gabe, then at the
bathing room door, then back at Gabe again.

Her cheeks flaming, Gabe pushed past them all to go to her
room and get McLowry's clothes.

As he waited, McLowry leaned against the door, trying to
regain his strength. He was surprised at how weak taking a bath had left him.
That, and arguing with Gabe. How could it be that he, a feared gunslinger whose
mere glance made grown men tremble, was now reduced to simpering over his
clothes?

Gabe opened the door a crack. Without looking, she shoved
the clothes into the bathing room. "Take them," she said. McLowry
felt a laugh rumble in his chest, and that surprised him more than anything.

He dressed quickly. From the kitchen, he saw some of the
guests at the breakfast table. The smell of food told him how hungry he was.

"Oh, Mr. McLowry," Mrs. Larkin called, her thin
mouth in a tight little smile. "How good to see you up and about. Won’t
you join us?"

He took the empty seat, beside her, saying "Good
morning," to the group as he did.

Mrs. Huckleby put a plate of scrambled eggs, biscuits and
gravy in front of him and he dug in. The food was delicious.

"From all we’ve heard," Mrs. Grimes said, her
gray eyes sparkling, "you were the hero of the entire operation. And to
think, we’re having breakfast with you now!"

Mrs. Huckleby smiled benevolently. "From the moment I
saw him and his cousin at my door, I knew he’d be a treasure to us."

McLowry hunched further over his plate of food, and Gabe
gawked unabashedly from one woman to the other as she listened to their words
of praise.

"As for you, my dear,"--Mrs. Larkin smiled at
Gabe--"you have a fine way with the children."

"A fine way with a bath, too," Mrs. Grimes
added, her brows raised knowingly to Mrs. Larkin. Mrs. Larkin nodded.

McLowry nearly choked on a mouthful of biscuit.

The older women began to snicker, and soon Mrs. Huckleby,
McLowry, and finally Gabe, all began to laugh. As Gabe’s eyes met McLowry’s,
the laughter died and another, stronger feeling rose between them.

"I’m going to go see how those men are doing at Doc
Shannon’s," McLowry said suddenly, putting his napkin on the table and
standing up. "Thank you for your company this morning. Mrs. Huckleby, your
gravy is the finest I’ve tasted since I left South Carolina."

"I’ll go with you," Gabe said, ignoring his
southern charm and being her practical self. He looked stronger than she’d
expected, but he was still too pale to suit her. "If you don’t mind."

He raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care if I
mind about anything?"

"All that food I just ate must have eased my
disposition," she said.

She took her tan, floppy-brimmed hat from the hat rack,
slapped it on her head and went out the door. McLowry smoothed down his blond
hair before putting his black Stetson in place, gave it a tug to rest low on
his brow, then followed.

Doc Shannon’s house was only a few doors away. As soon as
McLowry stepped inside the Shannon home, a behemoth named Mrs. Phillips marched
up to him. "Ah, Mr. McLowry. Please step into the room on the left. Dr.
Shannon will be right with you."

"I’m not here to see the doctor," he protested.
"I just came by to visit the others."

"I have it on good authority that Dr. Shannon did not
personally inspect your injury." She folded her arms over ample breasts
and gave him a flinty-eyed look. "He needs to do so."

"Well, that’s true, ma’am, but--"

"I do not have time to argue, Mr. McLowry. Dr.
Shannon is very busy this morning and so am I."

"Yes, ma’am, but--"

She pointed toward the room.

Gabe could scarcely hide her amusement as McLowry found
himself skulking into a room not much bigger than a closet. Mrs. Phillips
ordered him to remove his shirt immediately, and then shut the door as she
lumbered off, presumably to cow some other patient.

The parlor had been transformed into a makeshift hospital.
Wounded men, their wives, and a few friends were there. As Gabe made her way to
a chair in the corner to wait, she spoke with each of them.

"Miss Devere." Doc Shannon beckoned to her.
"Would you mind sitting with Mr. McLowry a moment? I’ve got to get some
things ready and we’re a might short-handed."

Gabe’s heart lurched. Sit with him? Get things ready?
Whatever could be wrong? She dashed into the room.

McLowry lay on the table, staring at the ceiling, his face
white. His bandage had been removed and she saw where the bullet had ripped a
jagged swath through his shoulder. The torn skin was red and raw and puckered,
seeping blood once again. It looked worse today than it had last night, when
her prime thought had been thankfulness that the bullet hadn’t penetrated and
he was spared the pain and danger of removing it.

"What did the doctor say?" Her voice was hoarse.

"Stitches."

"Stitches?"

"You were right. I should have stayed in bed
today." He turned a mournful gaze at her. "The doc took a look at my
shoulder and said I need stitches. Do you know how awful it is to have someone
sew you up like some stuffed turkey? I told him I’d be fine without, but he
won’t listen. Said he’d call you instead." He started to get up.
"Let’s get out of here, Gabe."

She put her hand on his chest. "Nothing doing."

He lay back down and threw his good arm across his
forehead and stared at the ceiling again. "That’s what I figured you’d
say. Traitor."

"Thank you, Miss Devere," Doc Shannon said.
"He seems a little calmer. I was afraid he’d take my head off with that
six-shooter when I first told him what I had to do. He’ll be good as new in a
few days."

Gabe patted McLowry’s good arm. "Be strong, big
man," she said, then winked and walked out.

One good thing about Gabe’s visit, McLowry decided, as he
gritted his teeth against the doctor’s jabs with the needle, was that he was so
busy thinking how good it would feel to wring her sarcastic neck, the stitches
didn’t hurt half as much as he thought they would.

After McLowry was freshly bandaged, and given a sling to
keep the shoulder still as possible for a couple of days, he entered the parlor
to talk to the men as he had first intended to do.

He saw Gabe sitting and talking with one of the miners who
had taken a bad shot in the thigh. The smile she gave him made him feel so good
he almost forgave her for insisting he be sewn up.

As he stood there, the friends and relatives of the
wounded men gathered around and began thanking him for his help, as if he’d
done much of anything except to shoot back at men who had been trying to kill
him. A large-bellied man wearing a black frock coat and white shirt crossed the
room toward McLowry with his hand outstretched.

"The name’s Cornelius Brainard." His voice
boomed as if he were giving a speech. He clasped McLowry’s hand and shook it
vigorously. "I’m head of the town council. The mayor, so to speak."

McLowry didn’t know Dry Springs had a mayor. Brainard sure
hadn’t made himself known while the town’s livelihood was in danger. McLowry
nodded amicably and kept his opinions to himself.

Brainard clasped his hands behind his back then rolled
forward onto the balls of his feet as if to make himself taller and more
important. "I've heard, Mr. McLowry, that the losses might have been far,
far greater for our men if you hadn't been there to help us. Now, this town
might seem to some to be a small place in the middle of nowhere, but let me say
this, we do keep an ear to the ground. We've heard of you and your reputation,
and let me also say this, we pay it no mind. No, sir. If you wish to remain
here in Dry Springs, we'd be most pleased and honored to count you among
us." He glanced at Gabe. "And your lovely cousin, too, of
course."