Gaffney, Patricia (31 page)

"How about if Cady and I come see you about it in the
morning?"

"Why, that'll be fine, just fine."

"You wouldn't try to gouge us on the price, would you?"

"Hell, no." Then he laughed, realizing it was a joke.
"Then again, Cady's gonna be so damn rich, you probably wouldn't notice if
I did."

She was still in a daze. Jesse's friends dragged him away to drink
with them, but not before he kissed her and whispered in her ear, "When
can we go somewhere alone?"

An hour flew by. Once a flurry of gunshots rang out in the street
in front of the saloon. But it was just the Witter ranch boys, drunk and happy.
The sheriff unwound Glen's arm from around his neck and stood up. "I'll
handle this," he announced, squaring his shoulders. He marched outside,
and a minute later the shooting stopped.

"Abraham, does your daddy know you're still up at this
hour?"

"Yeah." Ham giggled at Cady's pretend-outrage, and stood
patiently still while she gave him a hug. "He say I can stay up if I help
out an' don't get underfoot, 'cause this a special occasion."

"It sure is that."

"Cady?"

"What." She was refilling a glass pitcher with beer from
the keg herself, because Levi needed a minute to go to the privy.

"Are you really gonna marry Mr. Gault?"

"I expect I am."

He grinned. "Good."

She smoothed her hand over his wiry head, and gave the back of his
spindly neck a squeeze. "Yeah," she agreed. "Good."

Jesse reached out and snagged her as she passed behind him on her
way to a table to take more orders. He was slouched against the bar, completely
at ease, surrounded by men who liked and trusted and admired him, and in its
way that was as astonishing a turn of events as Tommy Leaver's transformation
into a hero. Miracles happened—here was proof. As soon as she came back to
earth, Cady would have to rearrange her thinking on a whole slew of things.

"Say, Jess," Will Shorter said familiarly, bumping
shoulders. Behind his glasses, his mild eyes swam a little, but he wasn't
completely drunk, Cady gauged—and she was an expert on these things. "How
'bout an interview? Your perspective on the gunfight. Helluva story, my God. At
your convenience, o' course, but if we did it now, we could get it in a special
Sunday late edition."

"Figured you'd be asking about that, Will. I've been
thinking. Got a favor to ask you."

"Anything. Name it."

"Don't run the story."

"Say what?" Conversations around them tapered off;
people leaned in to hear. "Don't run it? You serious? Why the hell
not?"

"Well, it's like this." Jesse pushed his hat to the back
of his head. "I like this town," he said quietly. "Folks here
have been decent to me from the start." He took Cady's hand. "I
figure there's worse places for a man like me to hang up his guns and settle
down."

Will grinned from ear to ear. Stony and Shrimp, Nestor and
Gunther, Sam, Tommy, Leonard, Stan, and Jacques—everybody started patting Jesse
on the back and trying to shake his hand. "Welcome to Paradise, Mr.
Gault!"

"Well, that's the thing." Jesse's earnestness quieted
them down again. "See, if I'm going to make a life here, I can't be
squaring off for a shoot-out every time some half-cocked saddle bum with a fast
gun and a mean streak comes riding through. Cady and me, we want a little peace
and quiet."

"You mean..."

"I
mean it's time to lay Gault to rest."

The reporter scratched his head. "But—"

"Listen, Will. What if you were to write a story about how
Gault and a stranger fought it out on Main Street today, and when the smoke
cleared Gault was dead. The stranger got on his horse and rode away, and no one
knows what became of him. Nobody even knew his name."

Confounded silence.

Finally Shrimp said, "Yeah, but then—who would
you
be?"

"Nobody. Jesse something." He stroked his jaw, looking
thoughtful. "How about Vaughn? Vaughn's a good name."

Men started nodding, humming, stroking their own jaws
thoughtfully.

"Course, the trick would be making sure the truth never got
out of Paradise."

Sheriff Leaver said, "I reckon that's the least this town
could do for you in return for what you did for us."

"Hear, hear."

"Damn right."

"We could start getting the word out right away. I can talk
to Reverend Cross," Tom promised, "get him to say something in church
tomorrow."

"We'll all spread the word," Sam vowed, and the others
seconded him. Sam lifted his glass, and pretty soon every man in the bar lifted
his, too. "Welcome to Paradise—Mr. Jesse Vaughn!"

Jesse was moved, and he couldn't hide it. "I'm more grateful
than I can say," he told his friends, shaking their hands one by one. Cady
was in such a state, she was back to blinking to keep from bawling. If things
didn't quit getting better and better, she might drop dead soon from sheer happiness.

"How much longer till I can kiss you without the whole town
watching?"

She shivered; his breath in her ear sent a sexy thrill through her
whole body. Why
were
they still here? Five minutes wouldn't kill
anybody. Neither would ten.

"Levi, I'm going outside for some air," she called
casually. "Won't be long." The bartender nodded calmly, knowingly.
"Go on," he said, flapping his hand at her. Giving her his blessing.

She started weaving through tables with Jesse behind her, but
every few feet somebody stopped him to talk. "Howdy, Mr. Vaughn. How's it
going, Mr. Vaughn? Buy you a drink, Mr. Vaughn?"

"I'll meet you," Cady said in his ear.

"No, I'm coming," he told her, but a table later
somebody else collared him. She sent him a smiling, put-upon look, and slipped
outside by herself.

She wasn't the only one who had wanted some air. "Hey,
Doc," she called to Doc Mobius, who stood hunched over the railing,
smoking. Curly was drinking from a bottle on the step; Leonard and Jim
Tannenbaum were arguing on the sidewalk. She wandered out into the street, very
casual, and began to drift toward the side street that led to the alley behind
the saloon.

Ah, privacy. The moon coming up behind the trees reminded her of
the night she and Jesse first made love. It was a three-quarter moon that
night, too. A good-luck moon for her.

Music floated on the air, soft and sad. One of Chico's dirges.
"The Dying Cowboy" or "The Dying Ranger," or maybe
"The Dying Californian," they all sounded the same to her. And they
all had a million verses, because the main character's death was always long
and lingering.

She heard a spur jingle, and hugged herself, savoring a thrill of
anticipation. A tall, lean figure, darker black against the blackness behind
him, approached her from the corner. She went toward him, smiling, opening her
arms to him. "I can't wait to see you in red," she murmured, moving
into his embrace. "Or blue or green. Yellow." They kissed.

"You mean that's all I had to do to get you?" He was
backing her up against the wall. "Wear colors? Wish I'd known that sooner.
Think of how much time I'd've saved."

"You never had a hard time getting me."

"It felt hard."

The wall was at her back. He pressed against her, and she
whispered, "Feels pretty hard right now." He laughed, and Cady's
heart flew. How she loved making him laugh. She pressed kisses to his face in a
soft frenzy, holding him tight. "Oh, I'm so glad you didn't get
killed."

"Me, too."

"But, Jess, why didn't you tell me? That you really are
Gault?"

"Gault's dead. You're marrying Jesse Vaughn."

"I know I am." And it didn't really matter why he hadn't
told her—that was in the past. The future was all that counted, and theirs was
perfect. "Mrs. Jesse Vaughn," she whispered, basking in the love in
his eyes. "That's me."

"That's you." He kissed her lips, and she lost herself
in a blur of feeling, dizzy from the tender way he touched her. "Oh, I
don't want to go back inside."

"Let's not."

"I want..."

The crisp clop of a horse's hooves made her stiffen. She swiveled
her head, and Jesse's lips trailed a path to her ear. "Sweetheart,"
he whispered—then he heard it, too.

They turned.

A man. Tall, wearing black. On a black horse. Jesse grabbed her
hand and said, "Let's go," in a funny voice, but just then moonlight
struck the rider's face. Cady gasped.

"Jesse!"

"Cady, let's—"

"It's him!" Shaking, aghast, she shrank back, tried to
merge into the wall; stark terror was all that kept her from screaming. Slowly,
surely, the gunfighter drew level, turning his awful, one-eyed glare on them.
"Jesse—oh, my God—he'll get away. Do something!"

Wearing the oddest expression, a riveting combination of anxiety
and mirth, Jesse pulled out one of his six-guns and pointed it at the outlaw's
face. He fired—and missed!

Cady's jaw dropped. "Shoot him again."

Bang.

Missed again. Impossible—he was firing point-blank! The gunfighter
didn't even flinch. No—he
grinned
as he shambled by, and at the corner
he
tipped his hat.
Then, with a jaunty wave, he spurred his black horse
and vanished.

Cady took three steps sideways before bumping up against the
building again. Her brain felt sluggish, dazed, but she wasn't stupid and she
wasn't blind. The truth was beginning to seep through the fog, the way a
photograph gets clearer the longer it sits in a tub of chemicals.

Jesse still had that peculiar expression, halfway between panic
and hilarity. She caught his eye, but only for a second. "Huh. Must've
jammed," he mumbled, blinking down at his revolver. "Say, Cady, did
you see that? That guy wasn't dead at all! Hey, I wonder if Doc Mobius is in
cahoots with him. The sheriff, too, maybe. Now, isn't that a hell of a thing?
What do you suppose—"

To shut him up, she snatched the gun out of his hand. "You
lying, thieving son of a bitch."

But he wasn't through trying to brazen it out. "Wait, now.
What do you mean? You saw the blood, we all saw it. That guy was dead. Dead as
a doornail. Now, how do you—"

"Ketchup. You
skunk."

"Cady, honey—"

She was ninety-nine percent sure the gun was full of blanks, and
furious enough to take a chance on the other percent. Taking dead aim at
Jesse's lying heart, she fired.

Bam.

He didn't keel over, but she screamed anyway, from nerves and
anger and last-second terror. She felt too weak to fight when he put his arms
around her, but as soon as she got her strength back—a minute or two at the
most—she shoved him away.

"Snake!"
she started up again. With a
shaking hand, she pointed up the empty alley. "Who was that man?"

"Now, Cady—"

"Tell me, or I swear I'll get bullets.
Who was he?"

"Shh—shh. That was my cousin Marion."

"Your—you mean
he's
Gault?"

"Shh.
Yeah. I told you I wasn't Gault. Can I
help it if you didn't believe me?"

Oh, if only she had bullets. "You stole my nest egg! Didn't
you!" He tugged on his ear and didn't deny it. "Give it back, you slimy,
lying snake in the grass!"

"I can't, I had to give it to Marion so he'd die. He wouldn't
do it for nothing."

"Go after him and get it back."

"Can't do that, either. See, he's on his way home, back to
Lexington. Says he's going to start a new life."

He reached for her, but she shook him off. "Well, you can go
right along with him. Shoot each other all the way from here to Kentucky for
all I care." She flounced around and started to walk away, but Jesse
caught her arm and made her stop. "Quit. Don't talk to me."

"Aw, Cady, listen. I was going to tell you about the
money."

"Sure you were." She twisted away again. "Stop
following me," she snapped, twitching his hand off.

"Anyway, I knew you'd be rich as soon as we found out Wylie
was stealing from the Seven Dollar."

"Which is probably why you proposed to me in the first
place."

He stopped her again. The look on his face almost thawed her.
Almost. "You can't believe that. I know you don't."

"Why not? All you ever do is lie to me!"

"Yeah, but not about the main things."

"What main things?"

"Being crazy in love with you."

"Hmpf."

"Wanting to be with you all the time."

"Puh."

"Make babies with you. Get old together while we sit in those
rocking chairs on the front porch. Listening to the river."