Dance With A Gunfighter (30 page)

Gabe knocked on the door and in a moment Mrs. Beale opened
it. "Gabe Devere," she cried, hardly able to believe her eyes.
"Lord of mercy, can it be!" She stepped onto her porch and gave Gabe
a big hug. "Oh, child, I don’t believe this. Are you all right?" She
held Gabe at arms’ length and looked at her.

"I’m fine, Mrs. Beale."

The woman shook her head. "When you took off a few
days after the funeral that way, we just knew how bad you were hurting. Some of
the men tried to find you, and when they couldn’t we all feared you were
dead."

"I’m glad to be back," Gabe said.

"Thank God." Mrs. Beale put her arm around Gabe
and whisked her into the house.

McLowry turned his horse back down the side street after
he’d watched Gabe’s warm reception and headed back into the desert alone. If
she seemed as happy tomorrow and the day after as she’d looked today, maybe
she’d forget all about her revenge...and maybe he needed to think about moving
on.

o0o

Within a couple of hours after Cozette Beale had once
again taken Gabe under her motherly wing, she made her a bath, showed her the
guest room, lent her a dress, and prepared a huge lunch. Gabe couldn’t remember
the last time she’d been so coddled and pampered.

She sat in the parlor. It was a dark room, with molded
wood paneling and dark green wallpaper with tiny yellow and red snapdragon
designs sprinkled over it. Mahogany furniture that had been sent from Mrs.
Beale’s mother’s home in Vermont was crammed into the room. Mrs. Beale
considered her furniture the height of elegance, and was known to polish it
daily.

Gabe could tell Mrs. Beale was full of questions, but had
the good manners not to ask them--at least, not yet. To have Gabe return as
mysteriously as she’d left, after months of absence, and not know why, was
almost more than Mrs. Beale’s curiosity could bear.

"It must feel good to be back in your hometown,
Gabe," she said, pouring them each a dainty china cup of orange pekoe.

"I’m glad to be here, Mrs. Beale."

"And of course, you’ll stay in this house as long as
you need to, dear."

Because I don’t have any other home, Gabe thought, as the
realization hit her anew. It felt so familiar being back here in Jackson City,
sitting in Mrs. Beale’s parlor that, for a moment, she’d almost...
almost
...forgotten
that nothing was the same, and that she was alone. Except for McLowry.
"Thank you, Mrs. Beale. You’re very kind." Her eyes grew misty.
"I...I’m a little tired, I’m afraid. My head seems to be spinning. It’s
wonderful to be back, but at the same time, it’s very hard."

"Of course, dear." She regarded Gabe with sad
eyes. "Here I am blathering. I should have realized. You should lie down
and take a long, restful nap. But before you do, I’ve got some big news for
you."

Gabe didn’t really want to hear any town gossip right now.
She wanted to go to a room and be alone. In particular, she wanted to take a
peek out of a window to see if McLowry’s horse was tethered outside a hotel or
saloon. Their parting worried her. He had to be welcome in this town. If he
wasn’t, she wasn’t sure she could stay.

Mrs. Beale was looking at her expectantly. "Of
course, Mrs. Beale." She relented. "I’d love to hear your news."

"I’m not sure how to break it to you. In my defense,
let me say I wanted to give you a chance to relax and catch your breath."

Gabe shifted uneasily. "Yes?"

"It’s about Chad."

Gabe paled. "Chad?" she whispered, confused.

"We told you he had died in a Denver hospital,"
she said. "The doctors told us it was a matter of time, and we thought the
kindest way was to offer you no hope whatsoever. Everyone expected him to die,
you see. After the pain you’d gone through, to have given you any hope and then
to dash it, we felt would be too cruel."

Gabe gripped the arms of the chair, barely able to speak.
"What are you saying?"

"Well, we told you that after we patched up his
bullet wounds, we’d put him on a coach to Denver because his legs had been
crushed and burned by falling beams in the fire. That, too, was true."
Mrs. Beale wrung her hands together. "The little we knew about medicine
told us that if the bullet wounds didn’t kill him, the infection and shock of
his burns certainly would. But, Gabe, he didn’t die."

The room swayed. Mrs. Beale jumped up and handed her some
water. Gabe brushed it aside. "Tell me," she whispered.

"He’s alive, Gabe. He...he can’t walk. He’ll never be
able to walk again. But at least he’s alive."

"Alive?" She stood, in shock, her hands covering
her mouth as the words penetrated. "My God! Where is he?"

Mrs. Beale took her hands, gripping them hard. "He’s
still in Denver. No one was here to care for him. They have houses in Denver,
institutions that take care of men and women who are unable to care for
themselves and who have no one else. That’s where he is. I’ve been in
communication with them, and have the address if you’d like to send him a
letter."

"He was just left there with strangers? In an
institution?" She was scarcely able to comprehend the words being said to
her, her mind ringing with the thought, over and over, that Chad was alive.

"We thought you were dead, too," Mrs. Beale
cried. "When you ran off, and didn’t come back...what were we to do? The
bank sold your father’s cattle. That took care of his medical expenses, but
then, once that bill was paid for, the bank wouldn’t give out any more money.
They said they needed your authorization to touch your share of the
proceeds."

"Oh, Lord." She shook her head. Banks and money
were the last thing she wanted to hear about. "Yes...I understand. I left
and…" She couldn’t go on. "Can I bring him home?"

"If you can take care of him. He isn’t well, Gabe.
After all he’s been through, and thinking you were dead as well. He doesn’t
talk anymore. Not to anyone. He just sits and looks out the window."

She remembered the handsome, laughing boy she loved. To
think of him reduced to that was agony. But he was alive--it was like a
miracle, a resurrection from the dead.
Thank you, Lord
, she whispered.
Thank
you.

"I’ll take care of him," she vowed. "Of
course, I’ll take care of him." She began to pace. "I need to
rebuild--to have a home to bring him
back
to. Oh, Mrs. Beale"--she
wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck--"thank you! Thank you so
much!"

o0o

The next morning, Gabe went to the Western Union to send a
telegram to Chad and to the owner of the institution in which he was living.
She told them both that she was back in Jackson, and that she would rebuild
their house, and then bring Chad home again.

From there, she hurried down the street, and found herself
pacing outside the Jackson City Bank until the doors opened. "I wish to
speak with the manager," she blurted out to the peach-fuzz-faced clerk
before he’d even had a chance to give his lackadaisical, "G’mornin’,
ma’am."

She was ushered into the small back office and introduced
to Mr. Fairfield. Before he opened his mouth, she announced, "I’m here for
an accounting of my father’s money."

"Please have a seat, Miss Devere," Mr. Fairfield
said, adjusting the knot on his string tie. He was a tall, lanky man, with an
Adam’s apple so protruding and sharp he could have used it to open envelopes.

Gabe frowned. Taking seats and touching ties meant only
one thing. Bad news.

Her father had owed money on his cattle, Mr. Fairfield
explained, and after the deaths, what with her brother’s doctor and hospital
bills, and Gabe’s mysterious disappearance, the bank had taken it upon itself
to sell the cattle. He had carefully deposited the sale money, as a dutiful
banker would do, and then paid the bills owed, including the bank fees,
interest, and a seller’s commission. When Fairfield finally gave Gabe her bank
balance to look at, she saw that the bank was more adept at robbery than any
outlaw she’d ever heard of. She also knew there wasn’t a damn thing she could
do about it.

If the bank hadn’t acted, the cattle would have died or
wandered away, and Chad wouldn’t have been cared for. She had to give them
that. With some cost cutting, she should have enough money to rebuild a small
cabin with room for Chad to come home and live, and to, somehow, get the ranch
going again on a very small scale. It was her fault she’d gotten into this
financial state of affairs; somehow, she would get out of them.

Gabe had no sooner returned to Mrs. Beale’s house than old
friends began to stop by as word of her return spread. Molly Pritchard and her
mother came by first. When Louisa Zilpher, who had been engaged to Henry,
stopped by with her mother, Louisa’s tears fell hard. Gabe didn’t cry, though,
and that unsettled Louisa. She quickly left. Other friends visited, even Johnny
Henderson, who had joined the cavalry to fight Indians with General Crook. He
didn’t seem nearly so handsome anymore. Gabe hadn’t realized how many friends
she had in this town. The parade of visitors continued, unabated, until nearly
six o’clock. When it ended, the emotional strain left her exhausted.

She went up to her room to lie down for a few minutes
before supper, but when she awoke the room was dark. The grandfather clock in
the downstairs hallway chimed twice. Could it be so late? She hurried to the
window and looked out at a street cast in moonlight. The only light came from
the Jackson Saloon up on Main Street. The Beale house was set back a good
distance, but so far no businesses had been built in front of it on Main. The
view was unobstructed, much to Mrs. Beale’s displeasure. Some views a lady
would rather do without, she explained.

The house was quiet. Gabe lit a candle and tiptoed
downstairs to the kitchen. A note from Mrs. Beale told her that there was a
dinner plate made up for her in the larder. She opened it, but the only food
that appealed to her was the apple pie.

She cut herself a wedge. Maybe eating would help rid her
of the dull uneasiness that had plagued her all day. Even seeing old friends
hadn’t stopped it.

She took the pie and went out to sit on the front porch.
After so many weeks of living outdoors or in wickiups, being in a house was
stifling, the air too thick, the walls too confining. She sat in a rocking
chair and leaned her head against the high backrest, staring up at the stars,
her pie plate on her lap. Funny, she thought, how much bigger and brighter the
stars seemed when viewed from the desert compared to here in town. The sounds
of the hurdy-gurdy and hoots, shouts, catcalls and laughter at the saloon
disrupted the quiet of the night. There wasn’t often so much activity in
Jackson City, but a cattle drive was going by not far from town. The cowhands
liked to get their fill of town life whenever they had the chance. She rocked
the chair back and forth, not eating, but listening to the music and watching
people come and go from the saloon.

The saloon door swung open and suddenly, in the light, she
saw McLowry’s silhouette. She stopped rocking and leaned forward. A woman
grabbed an arm, and then another woman took hold of his other arm. Staggering,
the three of them stepped onto the boardwalk and from there to the street. The
women practically carried him. When he drunkenly turned back toward the saloon,
they spun around, unable to fight his strength. They anchored themselves and
somehow managed to pull and tug him away from the saloon once more. As they did
so, the light from the saloon window shined full on his face. It was haggard,
as if he’d been drinking all night, his clothes and hair unkempt. The women
looked bright, cheery...and cheap.

Gabe had thought he was through with that kind of woman.
How could he have sought them out, after all they’d meant to each other? They
were heading her way, whether toward the hotel or the livery stable, she didn’t
know. But she did know she couldn’t bear to watch him with them. She stood, and
the pie plate fell to the porch with a loud crash.

McLowry stopped in his tracks, and even in the darkness of
the night, their eyes seemed to meet. She turned and fled into the house.

Chapter 24

The next morning Gabe was changing from her borrowed dress
to trousers and a shirt when she heard a knock at the door to her room. She had
already been to the bank to withdraw cash for supplies, and to the General
Store to spend some of that money.

Before last night she’d planned to wait in town for
McLowry to "meet" her, but now, all that had changed. Obviously, he’d
met other women more to his liking. To hell with him! She didn’t need him or
anyone else, for that matter. That was one thing about being all alone in the
world, it made real clear exactly whom you needed to rely on.

She finished buttoning her shirt, and opened the door.

A very flustered looking Mrs. Beale held her throat and
said, "You have a visitor down--"

"Excuse me." McLowry started to sidestep around
Mrs. Beale, but the woman threw out her arm, blocking his way.

"How dare you enter a young lady’s room!" Mrs.
Beale cried.

He paid her no mind. Instead his gaze fastened on Gabe’s.
She was reminded all over again of the time they’d spent in each other’s arms.
She didn’t want those memories, though. Not when right on top of them lay the
sight of him with those two women stepping out of the saloon. "What the
hell are you doing here, McLowry?"

Mrs. Beale, caught between the two, now gawked at Gabe, as
if her ears must have mistakenly heard Gabe use a word no young lady would ever
utter.

"I want to talk to you," he said.

"Damn you! Get out!" She went back to wrapping a
spare shirt and blanket into a slicker, needing to somehow ignore his presence,
to obstruct the musical sound of his voice.

"Miss Devere!" Mrs. Beale’s face was tomato red.
"We’re forgetting ourselves."