Dance With A Gunfighter (38 page)

Gabriella. A pretty name...

The doctor’s words, tornado-like, whirled in his head,
buffeting him.

"Her baby," the doctor had said...and McLowry
knew the child had been his as well. His baby...his and Gabe’s. A weight
pressed hard against his chest making it hard to breathe, and behind his eyes,
a heavy pressure.

He was supposed to be a hardened gunfighter, he wasn’t
supposed to need such mundane things. He wasn’t supposed to want a family, or
love. But he did.

It seemed like only yesterday he’d danced with a charming
young girl in Jackson, and now, her family, her youth, her innocence...she’d
lost them all. Was it his fault? Had he wronged her, loving her as he did?

Why didn’t she tell me?

He shut his eyes, trying to block simple images from his
mind. He’d never been one to pay much attention to kids, and yet he could
imagine himself holding a son or daughter in his arms, touching the little
hands, the tiny fingers, looking into the big, brown eyes--Gabe’s eyes. He was
sure their child would have had Gabe’s eyes. He would have liked that.

Now, he’d never know what color the baby’s eyes were.

He ran his hands through his hair, struggling hard against
his tears. He wondered how she’d felt when she’d realized she was carrying his
baby. Did she care? Surely, she must not have cared much since she risked the
child’s life to go after Tanner.

Poor little baby, he thought. I would have wanted you. I would
have loved you.

He bowed his head and his tears fell.

Chapter 29

Slowly, Gabe’s eyes opened. Blinding pain seared her head,
and her body felt as if it had a team of horses had trampled it. She blinked,
trying to stop the spinning of the ceiling. Ceiling? But she’d been outside.
Hadn’t she? Moving only her eyes, she could see a wall to her left. With
effort, she turned her head to the right. Blue curtains covered a window,
diffusing the sunlight. In the corner, a heavy-set woman sat, her chin resting
on her chest as she slept, and a crochet hook and yarn in her lap. Gabe tried
to think, but could find no explanation of where she was, or who that woman was
with her.

Slowly, memories came back to her...a cabin on a
hillside...Luke Murdock lifting his rifle...her jump...and then endless
tumbling and pain until all went black.

She tried to sit up. Her muscles throbbed and convulsed
with the movement, and it hurt to breathe. Defeated, she collapsed back onto
the bed. Again, she stared at the ceiling. It was easier not to move. She
touched her ribs, discovering the thick bandages around them.

Where was she? How had she gotten off that hillside?

Her hand moved lower, to her belly. A dull, burning pain,
like fingers of fire, clawed at her, squeezing her insides.

"Ah, you’re awake. Hello, Gabriella."

Gabe slowly turned her head toward the voice. The woman
stepped closer, smiling pleasantly. Brown hair streaked with gray was pulled
back from a plump, rosy-cheeked face. "I’m Ellen Andrews, the doctor’s
wife. Your husband brought you here four nights ago. You had quite a bump on
the head."

Husband?

The woman crossed the room to the bed and patted Gabe’s
hand. "Sometimes it seems this is the only way for a woman to get a good,
long rest."

Something flickered in the woman’s eyes and she bit her
bottom lip, then straightened up and took a step back from the bed. "I
chatter too much sometimes. Dr. Andrews will be right in. He’ll be so pleased
you’re finally awake."

Gabe stared after the woman as she walked out of the room.
Nothing she said had made sense. Four nights? She’d lost four nights? Where was
Murdock? What had happened on that mountain? And who brought her here? Gabe’s
head pounded and the room began to swirl.

Panic filled her. She remembered falling, tumbling down
rocks, against the brush, but that was all. She tried to lift herself, only to
once again fall back.

Her eyes shut. A vague memory of someone talking to her
seeped into her senses. The voice had been filled with heartbreak. She’d wanted
to give comfort, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. Had she only been
dreaming?

Her thoughts spiraled then flew apart as all went black
once more.

The next time she opened her eyes, a large man with a
great, bulbous stomach stood beside her, holding her wrist and eyeing his
pocket watch. He wore glasses and had straight blond hair slicked back from a
high forehead. "Good-day, Mrs. Bulfinch. Just checking your pulse rate.
Good, very good."

Gabe started at the name he’d called her.

"You’re doing much better. Much better. We haven’t
lost a bride here yet. Not that many are in Tombstone, of course."

She gazed back at the doctor.

"You had a concussion," he continued. "Some
ribs cracked. Can you see me all right?"

She nodded, then winced from the pain that slight movement
caused her. Her mind still raced with why he called her "Mrs.
Bulfinch," Jess’s made-up name. He must have found her. He must have been
furious with her for leaving Jackson, but still he came for her. She had to see
him. Was he still here, she wondered.

"How many fingers?" Dr. Andrews stepped back and
held up his forefinger and pinky.

"Two." Her voice was a croaking whisper.

"Good. No double vision. A good sign."

He sat on the edge of the bed and his eyes took on a sad,
cautious look very much as his wife’s had earlier. Gabe’s breath caught. What
could be so wrong?

"There was one difficulty," he began.

She waited.

He cleared his throat, obviously uneasy at what he had to
say. "You’ve had a miscarriage."

A dull roar filled her brain as she stared, unable to
comprehend.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

Her mind raced. Her monthly flow had stopped, but it was
never regular. She’d once talked to Mrs. Beale about it, and the older woman
explained that such irregularity was only to be expected after all she’d been
through. Of course, Mrs. Beale didn’t know how far her relationship with Jess
had...

She couldn’t have lost his baby. Anything, anything but
that. And yet, she felt a strange, burning pain, low and deep in her belly....

"No," she said, and then louder. "No!"
It wasn’t true. She had to get away from here, away from these awful people
with their cruel joke.

She tried to get up, but he placed his hand on her
shoulder, holding her against the mattress. "Don’t over-excite yourself, Mrs.
Bulfinch."

"No, please, it can’t be."

"I’m sorry."

"Does...does my husband know?"

"Yes. We told him."

She had to leave here! She must--

The doctor tried to hold her down, to calm her, but she
pushed him away. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear any of this. And
Jess...how could she face him, doing what she’d done?

"You must accept it, Gabriella," the doctor
ordered.

She turned her head to the wall, unable to bear listening
to him, to anyone. Accept it, he’d said. How much more must she accept? How
much more must she give, when she had nothing left?

Dr. Andrews cleared his throat once more. "You took a
terribly fall. Give thanks that you survived." The doctor stood.
"I’ll leave you alone to rest. It’s small comfort now, but what happened
should have no effect on your ability to bear other children in the
future."

The door closed with a loud finality.

A silent scream filled her, shrieking through her ears,
slamming against her head, her body...until the world fell into peaceful
blackness once more.

She lost all track of time. Later...she didn’t know or
care how much later...she opened her eyes. No light shone through the window,
and a lamp by the bedside was lit. She heard the door shut and turned her head
toward it.

Jess stood in the darkened doorway.

"Jess," she cried, her voice little more than a
choked whisper. "Oh, God!" She tried to sit up and reach out to him,
but she hurt too much.

He stayed rooted to the floor. The blue eyes she’d come to
love beyond reason were red-streaked now, with weary lines at the outer edges.
Dark shadows beneath his eyes were stark against the pallor of his cheekbones,
and stubble from unshaved whiskers covered his cheeks and chin.

She held out her arms, but he made no move toward her. She
slowly lowered them.

His eyes were stark. "I was afraid I’d lost
you," he said.

"I’m strong, Jess," she whispered.

"Murdock is dead," he added. "Thought you’d
want to know."

She heard the emptiness of his words, saw the aching loss
in his eyes, the silent accusation. "I didn’t know about the baby,
Jess."

His eyes flashed surprise and, she was sure, skepticism.

"God help me, it’s true," she pleaded. "If
I’d known...I would have wanted your baby," she whispered.

He shut his eyes a moment, his back stiff. "I would
have wanted it, too." She heard the wrenching pain in his voice. No words
could have filled her heart more, or have given her more despair.

"Forgive me, please," she cried. She waited,
silently praying, but he didn’t answer.

"I’ll leave now," he said finally. "It’s
been a long four days, Gabe. You need to rest." He turned to go, his back
to her when he added, "You were right, by the way."

"Wait! What do you mean?"

He faced her, his voice harsh. "There’s only one
left. Will Tanner. I’m going to find him, and kill him."

"I don’t want you to do that for me!"

His eyes were frightening. She had never seen them so cold
or so dead. They were the eyes of a gunfighter--and she’d done this to him.
Brought him to this, again. "When you’re able to travel, I’ll see you back
home to Jackson," he said, his voice emotionless.

"Don’t do it, please," she cried. Dry, tearless,
wracking sobs broke from deep within her. "I can’t lose you, too. Not you,
Jess!"

The color of his eyes seemed to deepen as she watched him
turn to leave. He stopped, and put his hand against the doorframe. His words,
when he finally spoke, cut to her very soul. "I failed you, Gabe. Just as
you did me. Seems neither one of us is right for the other. It’s about time we
faced up to it."

o0o

McLowry walked quickly through the doctor’s home to the
street. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the way she looked as he’d said those
last words to her.

She was a mere shadow of herself, and her already large,
waif-like brown eyes filled her small face. It hurt him to look at her, knowing
she’d gone after Tanner and Murdock alone, knowing how badly he’d failed to
protect her and their child, knowing how badly he’d failed as her man. He’d
warned
her not to care about him so much, not to put her faith in a drifter and a
gunfighter. Why hadn’t she listened to his advice?

Now, in the end, he realized there was only one road for
him to follow. A road that took him away from the one person left in the world
who loved him, the one chance at happiness he had ever found. And lost.

For over a year he’d tried to avoid this confrontation.
But somehow, he had suspected all along it would come to this. Even early on, a
few years after the War when it all began to go bad, he knew deep in his soul
that it would end this way.

Chapter 30

By late fall, the last of the pumpkins that McLowry had
planted were ripe. Gabe sat with Chad on her front porch. She was removing the
seeds for roasting when she saw two riders heading toward the ranch. She
reached for her shotgun and laid it across her lap as she watched, trying to
make out who they were.

As they rode closer, she saw that they were Indians--a man
and a woman. They rode with their heads high, bodies erect. The man held a
child in front of him, and the woman had a cradleboard hanging over one side of
the saddle.

Gabe ran to meet them. "Kaiya, Manolo...what’s
happened? Why are you here?"

Manolo got off his horse, then lifted off his daughter
before handing Gabe a folded piece of paper. "McLowry," was all he
said.

The name cut through her heart. She murmured thanks, her
hands shaking as she unfolded the paper. It was letter.

Dear Gabe,

Black Cloud has been put in prison and Nahtuyah is
dead. Many people are dying at the San Carlos reservation. Manolo and his family
escaped. I told him you might have work for him, maybe a place for them to
live--for a little while, at least.

Take care of yourself, little one.

McLowry

Little one...he used to call her that back in the days
when he loved her. Could his heart have softened, a little at least? Just
seeing his handwriting, reading his words, holding the paper he’d held, both
warmed her and made her shiver with loneliness.

She read again his words about what had happened to Black
Cloud and Nahtuyah. Although she couldn’t admit to feeling bad about Nahtuyah,
she was sorry to think of Black Cloud behind bars. He’d been very good to her
and McLowry. She had promised she would tell people that, and she had sent
letters to the Army. She would have liked to believe her letters were why he
wasn’t killed outright when captured, though the possibility of that was
remote. Now, she had to see what she could do about freeing him. She’d start
with letters to the governor of the territory and the army. Maybe even the
President. Chad could help her. He might even do a newspaper story or a
penny-dreadful on Black Cloud and how he had spared her life. That kind of
publicity, Gabe knew, created the kind of pressure that might free Black Cloud
a lot sooner than might happen otherwise.

Slowly, she folded the letter and put it in her trouser
pocket. "Thank you," she whispered to Manolo. He nodded. As Kaiya
dismounted, Gabe lifted the baby from the cradleboard. She held the little
fellow against her shoulder, rubbing his small back and breathing in his sweet
baby scent. Waves of loneliness and loss washed over her. She remembered how
she’d watched Kaiya’s stomach expand with him last winter. Now, winter was fast
approaching once again, and sometime in the spring she might have had her
own...she forced herself to stop such thoughts. Too much despair lay in that,
and too many regrets.