Gaffney, Patricia (29 page)

****

He was right: Gault hadn't gone to bed yet. Lucky his room at the
Dobb House was on the first floor, and even luckier it was in back—nobody saw
Jesse tossing pebbles from the alley at the lighted window.

"What the hell?" Gault threw up the sash and leaned out,
wearing only his pants and his eyepatch. "Who's out there?"

"Shh.
Who do you think?"

He commenced to curse—softly, so Jesse just stood and waited.

"You finished?"

"You owe me money, you lying, cheating, double-faced
thief."

"There's a mouthful. How do you figure?"

"Who said you could be me? That was never part of the
deal."

"It wasn't my idea. It was an accident. Besides," he
pointed out, "it wasn't
not
part of the deal." Before Gault
could start up again, he said, "Put your shirt on and come out. We have to
talk."

"Damn right we have to talk. You come up here."

"No, too risky. Somebody might see us together. You know
where the sheriff's office is?"

"Yeah, I passed it. Why?"

"Meet me there in about ten minutes."

"What?"

"Shh. Ten minutes." He touched his hat and set off down
the alley, heading for Doc Mobius's house..

****

Cady wasn't sure what woke her, the sun in her face or the purring
in her ear. Either way, when she opened her eyes and focused on the clock
across the way, it said nine thirty-five.

Nine thirty-five. The significance didn't register for a whole
minute, while she remembered waking up in the middle of the night just as Jesse
crawled into bed beside her. He was naked, but he smelled of the outdoors and
his hair was damp. "Have you been out?" she mumbled sleepily,
stroking his back to warm him. "Went for a walk," he answered. That
brought her wide awake. "Jesse, you're not thinking of—" But that was
as far as she got. He kissed her into a hot, sharp arousal, and made love to
her until she lay too exhausted to move. She'd drifted to sleep listening to
the slow, drowsy sound of his voice, telling her again how happy they were
going to be.

Nine thirty-six. And she was alone, Jesse wasn't beside her. She
shot up in bed, scaring the life out of the cat. "Sorry," she
muttered, throwing the covers off and joining Boo on the floor. He shook
himself resentfully while she barged over to the wardrobe and yanked it open.
Pulling out the first three things she saw—an old corduroy skirt and vest, a
yellow blouse—she started dragging clothes on with clumsy, fumbling fingers,
missing buttons in her haste and having to start over. Her hair was such a
tangled mess, she wasted precious minutes getting it up on her head and in some
kind of order.
Calm down,
she commanded, but to no avail. Jesse was
gone, and he should've been here. Where was he? She had more than a hunch; she
had a deep, dark certainty, and it was scaring the life out of her.

In the saloon, Levi was rubbing beeswax into the bar, his pride
and joy; since the tire fire, he took more pains with it than ever.
"You're up early," he greeted her, looking up from the shiny,
fragrant surface and smiling at her.

"You, too." Neither of them wandered in to work much
before eleven on weekends.

"Ham woke me up early. That boy, he got the loudest—"

"Levi, have you seen Jesse?"

He stopped polishing. His face turned even gentler. "No, I
ain't," he said softly. Sympathetically.

She tensed. If Levi thought she needed sympathy—

"Hey, Cady. Hey, Levi. What're y'all doing here so
early?" They could've asked Glen the same thing; she rarely showed up
before lunchtime, no matter how many times Cady scolded her for tardiness.
"I couldn't sleep," she confided, plopping down at Chico's piano and
picking out the first five notes of "Beautiful Dreamer." She looked
as if she hadn't slept: she had circles under her eyes and a pinched look
around her full-lipped mouth. Nerves.
About time,
Cady thought, without
much sympathy. Glen had treated Tommy Leaver like dirt for years. If she was
worried about him now, it served her right.

But Cady's own anxiety intensified. If even sweet but dim
Glendoline thought danger to her man was imminent on the streets of Paradise,
something terrible must be about to happen.

"Have you seen Jesse?" she snapped out, interrupting the
one-fingered piano recital.

Glen looked up sharply. She didn't answer, just shook her head,
china-blue eyes wide with apprehension.

Maybe he'd left town. She hoped he had. Feared he had. But—without
even saying good-bye?

Restless, she wandered to the swinging doors. Directly across the
street, a knot of men loitered, slouching, spitting; she recognized Stony and a
couple of the others. Pushing through the doors, she came out onto the
sidewalk. It was a hot, bright blue morning; not a trace of last night's misty
drizzle lingered, not even a puddle. She saw other groups of men and even a few
women scattered in nervous threes and fours down the length of Main Street.
Across the way, in front of the leather and shoe repair, Gunther Dewhurt
detached himself from his friends and crossed the street to meet her.

"Morning."

"Gunther."

"So, Cady. You reckon they're really gonna fight?"

"No," she said reflexively. "They won't
fight."

"How do you know? Jesse say he wouldn't fight?"

She didn't answer.

"Who do you think he is, Cady?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's looking like he ain't Gault. That other fella, we
think he's the real Gault."

"Oh, what the hell difference does it make?" Frustration
made her snap at him, too. She was back to wringing her hands. She saw now what
she couldn't see last night, that Jesse was in a winless situation. If he
fought Gault, he'd get himself killed. If he didn't, they'd call him a coward
the rest of his life. And a fraud.

Where was he?

There! Coming out of Jacques', rolling his deer bone toothpick
from one side of his mouth to the other. His face, abstracted before, lit up
when he saw her. He stepped off the curb and sauntered toward her, smiling.
"Morning, Gunther," he said cheerfully, but all his attention was on
Cady.

"Hey, Jesse," said Gunther, eager eyes searching, ears
pricked.

Cady moved back, away from Gunther and all the other rapt, covert
starers on the street. With his back to them, Jesse grinned at her and stole a
kiss on the lips. "Morning, sunshine," he murmured intimately, and
she melted. Everything about last night came rushing back, the tenderness, the
honesty between them. She rested her hands on his chest. "Jess," she
whispered, "what are you going to do? I thought you'd be gone by now.
Wouldn't it be better to leave town? Just for a while?"

"Leave town?"

"Just for a few days. Gault won't stick around for
long."

"Sweetheart." He put his arm around her—for a hug, she
thought, but instead he led her back into the saloon. "Cady, honey, I want
you to stay in here. Don't come out till it's over." He looked up at the
clock over the bar, and she automatically glanced at it, too. Eight minutes to
ten.

"Wh-what?" The blood in her veins turned to slush.
"You're not going to fight him. You can't be thinking of fighting
him!"

"It'll be all right. Don't—"

"But you
promised."

"I what?"

"You swore—you gave me your word. 'On my honor,' you said.
Damn you, Jesse, you lied to me!"

"No, I didn't," he denied, honestly puzzled. "I
said I wouldn't leave, and I won't. That's what I swore."

She was so agitated she couldn't talk, couldn't even cuss. Levi
was behind the bar, Glen across the room, both of them watching and listening
to everything, but she was beyond caring. Seizing Jesse by the shoulders, she
shook him as hard as she could— but he was too big, he wouldn't budge.

Six minutes to ten.

"Cady girl, you have to relax," he said maddeningly.
"You said you trusted me. This is all going to—"

She shoved at him and bolted for the bar, jostling Levi aside.
There was the cigar box on the bottom shelf; there was her .22 inside it. She
grabbed the gun and raced back, cutting Jesse off just before he got to the
door.

"You're not going anywhere." She thought she heard Levi
chuckle, but she never took her eyes off Jesse. He looked at her in surprise,
but not fear. But at least she had his complete attention. "Move
back," she ordered, waving her gun. "Go into my office. Move, or I'll
shoot."

He smiled. It wasn't an amused smile, it wasn't tolerant, it
wasn't patronizing. It was sad. And painfully sweet. She faced it down and
didn't lower the gun, even though a crushing sense of futility was making her
eyes sting. Jesse moved toward her slowly, slowly; he didn't stop until his
chest touched the end of the short gun barrel. His hand closed over hers. Very
gently, he disarmed her.

She crumpled, and he folded her up in a hard, strong embrace.

She wanted to cry and cry. When he tried to ease her back, she
held on. "Darling," he called her, pressing his lips to her hair.
"Hear me, now. I'm going to be all right. Gault's not going to shoot me.
Do you understand?" He looked into her eyes. There was a message in his,
something he wanted her to know. But her eyes were blind and she was too
distraught, too far gone in love and the fear of loss to read it. He squeezed
her arms. "Cady, I'll be
fine.
Got it?"

She nodded. But she didn't have it.

He kissed her, smiling crookedly, trying to make her smile back.
She couldn't. One last kiss, and then he turned from her, moving through the
double doors and out into the sunlight.

She listened to the stamp of his boot heels and the jingle of his
spurs. When he stepped from the sidewalk to the street, everything went quiet.
Until the clock struck ten.

Gault was right on time.

Jesse stood still and watched him come, swaggering down the middle
of the street in no hurry. A lot of brave bystanders lined the sidewalk, but
they made sure to hug the storefronts, well back from the street. In the window
of the French restaurant, half a dozen rapt faces steamed up the glass—Shrimp
and Nestor, the Schmidt brothers, Jacques himself, his homely daughter.
Paradise hadn't seen excitement like this since the second gold strike.

Gault ambled to a halt forty feet away. The bright sun, behind
Jesse, shone in his eyes, probably blinding him. Good; that's the advantage
Jesse would claim when this was over. In spite of everything he knew, a little
chill skittered down his backbone. No doubt about it, Gault was one scary
character. No wonder men cowered and lost their nerve facing up to that evil
eye, that ruthless, eternally smiling mouth. Everything Jesse knew about
intimidation, he'd learned from Gault.

Footsteps broke the tense quiet. The sheriff, Jesse assumed. But
no—out of the shadows of the board- walk strolled three men: Wylie, Clyde, and
Warren Turley.

Good. Perfect.

They stopped midway between Jesse and Gault; but like everybody
else, they kept their distance, staying back from the street. Wylie called out,
"Don't let us disturb you—you gents go right on about your business."
Turley laughed appreciatively.

Gault never even glanced their way. When he spoke, he had to raise
his voice above a whisper so Jesse could hear him. "You can still get out
of this alive."

"What's the matter, mister? Chickening out?"

Gault's expression never changed. "Hand over what belongs to
me, and you can ride out of here with no holes in your hide."

"Say, that's mighty generous. Considering you're a liar and a
fake. I'll pass."

"If that's the way you want it. Ready to die?"

"Hold it!"

This time it was the sheriff, striding purposefully toward them
from the direction of his office. Behind him, Jesse heard a woman cry,
"Tommy!" and recognized Glendoline's frightened voice. Ignoring her,
Tom walked past Gault, and stopped midway between him and Jesse.
"Gunfighting is against the law in this town. I'll ask you two to back
off. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to arrest you."

Jesse kept staring straight ahead, didn't look around, but he
could feel amazement in the air. Was this their sheriff? everybody was
thinking. Their Lily Leaver? "Now, Tom," he cautioned, "you
don't want to get in the middle of this. Step aside, and you won't get
hurt."

He shook his head once. "I'm wearing a gun, and I'm prepared
to use it. You, sir," he said firmly, addressing Gault. "Hand over
your weapon."

Everybody stared in disbelief. One second Gault was standing
still, legs spread, arms at his sides. The next, he was aiming his silver
pistol at the sheriff's throat.

Glen screamed.

"I never killed a lawman before," Gault rasped. "It
ain't my preference. But I'll do it if you don't drop your gunbelt, Sheriff,
and get out of my way."

Tommy didn't move. He only stood up straighter and responded,
"You leave me no choice. I'm placing you under arrest." But he still
hadn't drawn his gun.

Gault cocked his. "So long, Sheriff."

"No, Tommy,
don't!"
Jesse looked back to see
Levi, Cady, and Willagail holding on to Glendoline, trying to keep her from
bolting into the street.

The sheriff looked uncertain. "Stay back, Glen," he
commanded. An edgy minute passed. "All right," he said finally,
grimly, unbuckling his gunbelt and tossing it aside. "But you won't get
away with it. The law will come after you and—"

"Cork that," snapped Gault. "Now, nice and easy,
get out of my line of fire."

Again Tommy hesitated, clenching his fists in a manly, indecisive
way, but in the end he did what Gault said.

Gault's smile turned, if possible, even uglier. "Ready?"

Jesse whispered, "Set, go." He heard a sound, like the
collective breath of every soul in Paradise being sucked in. He and Gault
twitched their coats out of the way of their shooting irons at the same moment.
Flexed their fingers over their gun butts in exactly the same slow,
itchy-fingered way. Jesse waited.

And waited. Even knowing what he knew, he could feel sweat start
to prickle under his mustache. Must be the heat. Couldn't be fear. Hurry the
hell up. Draw, damn it.
Draw.

Gault drew.

Jesse went for one of his guns, but Gault fired twice before he
could even get his finger on the trigger. He dodged right, ducked left, as if
bullets were zinging past his ears. Squaring off, he took dead aim in the
instant's pause and squeezed off the fatal shot.

Pow!
Gault jerked back on his heels. He tottered a couple of stuttering
steps, clutching his chest, staring in dull amazement at his red, dripping
fingers. He fired again, wild in the air, and fell to his knees. "You got
me," he whispered wonderingly, and pitched facedown in the dirt.

The sheriff got to him first. Buckling his gunbelt back on, he
commanded the thickening, avid crowd to "Back off! Give him some room,
he's not dead yet. Doc! Somebody go get Doc."

Jesse was holstering his smoking Colt when a noise made him turn
around. A split second later Cady launched herself into his arms. He staggered
backward, laughing, lifting her off her feet. She held on until he set her
down, and then she gaped at him, patting his chest, his shoulders, his sides.
"Looking for bullet holes?" he teased.

"Jesse, oh, Jesse. How—how did you—"

"Didn't I tell you to trust me?"

"My God."

"What?"

She went white as a sheet. "You
are
Gault."

"Huh? No, I'm—"

"I don't care, I don't care." She flung herself at him
again, squeezing him so hard his back cracked. "Oh, Jess, thank
God,
thank
God
you're not dead! I'm never letting you go, never, never,
never."

He patted her weakly.

"Hey, Jess," Will Shorter called out from the crowd.
"I think you better come over and hear this."

Yeah,
he thought.
And Cady better, too.
He took her hand and led
her over to hear the gunfighter's dying words.

"Got something to say," he choked out, trying to sit up
on one elbow.

"Easy," the sheriff advised, "the doc's on his
way."

"Let him talk." Jesse hunkered down next to Tommy.
"Sorry it had to be this way," he said with gruff regret.

"No... no hard feelings." Gault grimaced in sudden pain,
clutching his bloody chest harder. "I'm done for. Gotta tell you..."

"What?"

"Him..." Blood dripping from his index finger, he
pointed weakly up at Wylie.

"What about him?" the sheriff said interestedly.

Everybody leaned forward, even Wylie, to catch the low, slurring
words. "Came to my room last night. Gave me money. Thou... thousand
dollars."

"I did not," Wylie said wonderingly. "I did no such
thing."

"Said after I killed him"—he pointed at Jesse—"to
kill... her." The bloody finger swiveled to Cady. She gasped.

"That's a lie," Wylie sputtered, dumbfounded.
"That's a goddamn lie."

"Said he's been trying to run her out of her place, but she
won't go."

"Well,
that's
true," somebody noted, and somebody
else said, "Sure is."

"Said... said..." Gault coughed pitifully.

"Easy, mister."

"Said what he's really after... is her mine. Been
stealing—smuggling gold out for months."

Wylie went beet-red. He tried to back up, but the crowd behind him
wouldn't give way. "The man's raving," he claimed, reaching for his
handkerchief. "He's delirious."

"Bragged about setting fire to the old livery," Gault
wheezed. "Got his men to do it. Turley, one of 'em was. The other..."

"Clyde?" Shrimp Malone suggested helpfully.

"Clyde. Same two that put rattlers in somebody's outhouse,
almost... killed some kid." Outraged muttering had begun on all sides, but
Gault wasn't finished. "And he... paid off a banker, Chaney or..."

"Cherney," about ten people supplied in unison.

"Paid
him to keep his mouth shut, so nobody'd find out about
the—skimming they were doing. He bragged about all the fake... uhh."

"Fake what?" Jesse nudged.

"Fake... accounts he's got... stashed away. Said he's bleeding
the town... dry." His elbow gave out. He collapsed on his back with a
groan.

"Make way for the doc," somebody called, and Doc Mobius
elbowed through the fascinated townsfolk to Gault's side.

"I tell you this man's raving! He's making it up. Everything
he said is a lie." Wylie mopped his pink, perspiring face, looking around
for Turley and Clyde. Jesse spotted them at the edge of the crowd, milling
uneasily, trying to back away.

"A dying man doesn't lie," Sam Blankenship said slowly.

On cue, Gault's eyelids fluttered; he drew in a long, rattling
breath. His left foot twitched once, and then he went still.

Doc
put his hand on the dead man's throat; pressed his ear to his
chest. "Gone," he pronounced in grave tones. Out of respect, he
placed Gault's natty black Stetson over his slack-jawed face.

A few solemn seconds ticked past while everybody stared down at
the corpse. Then the sheriff drew his revolver. Shiny as a dime, it looked
brand-new and never used. And funny in Tom's grip, much too deadly, like a machete
in a child's hand.

"Merle Wylie, I'm placing you under arrest."

"For what?"

"Suspicion of arson, theft, embezzlement, and attempted
murder. And conspiracy to murder. That's all I can think of now, but I might
add some more later."

"That's ridiculous." Wylie looked around at his
neighbors and tried to laugh. "You all know me. I'm a respectable man, a
businessman. This—outlaw, this gunman"—he kicked Gault in the
hip—"I'm telling you he lied. It's
obvious."

"Why would he do that?" wondered Stony.

"Yeah," said Sam. "With his last gasping
breath."

"How the hell do I know?" Wylie scanned the edges of the
crowd, but Clyde and Turley had vanished. "This is a frame-up. A
frame-up," he sputtered, "and you won't get away with it."

"Who won't get away with it?"

He didn't answer; he couldn't—he didn't know who his enemies were.
Panic showed in the whites of his eyes when he searched the crowd again for his
two thugs.

"Put your hands up, Merle."

"Are you out of your mind? You can't arrest me, Leaver. I'll
have your badge for this!"

"No trouble, now. Here we go, nice and peaceful."

With a lot more speed than Jesse would've given him credit for,
Wylie ducked and scooped up the six-shooter Gault had thrown in the dirt.
"Drop it, Leaver. The rest of you, back off." Shocked bystanders
obediently cleared a circle. "You." He pointed the gun at Jesse's
heart. "Pull those guns out easy and drop them."

Well, well. What an unexpected development. Jesse and the sheriff
exchanged glances.

"Looks like you got the drop on me, Merle," Jesse said
ruefully. With a show of deep reluctance, he tossed his guns away.

"Now you. Drop it, Leaver. I mean it."

"Do it, Tommy," Glendoline begged from the sidelines.

But instead of dropping it, the sheriff cocked his weapon and
aimed it straight back at Wylie. "I don't think so." The sun glinted
on his silver gun, his silver badge. "I don't believe you'll shoot me.
That's what you pay other people to do. But now it's just you, Merle. And
me."

"I'll shoot you! I'll shoot you!"

"No, you won't." He took a slow step toward him, then
another. Wylie stepped back.

"Tommy," Glen cried again. "Oh, Tommy, don't!"
Catching Levi by surprise, she shook off his hand and made a run at Wylie,
waving her skinny white arms and shouting, "No, no, don't you dare!"

What the hell? Before Jesse could react, Wylie dodged and grabbed
her, hauling her in front of him. She screamed when he put the barrel of
Gault's gun against her cheek. "Drop it," he ordered again, voice
quaking with fear and excitement. "Drop it, or by God I'll kill her."

Cady muttered a frightened curse and tried to move, but Jesse
caught her before she went two steps. "Don't," he commanded softly.
"Leave it." She struggled for a second, then let him hold her. He
could feel her violent trembling. With all his heart, he wished he could
comfort her without giving the game away.

"Drop it!" Wylie's eyes glittered like a madman's.

Tommy swore and dropped his gun, but he kept on walking.
"You're not shooting anybody. Give it up, Merle."