Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona (11 page)

She shrank back. “You gonna shoot somebody?”

“Don’t worry.” He shook his head. “I’m hoping to find me a job, that’s all.”

“The boss might be hirin’, I’m not sure. Want I should call him for you?” She turned wide, darkly fringed eyes on him. “Or, if you’re lookin’ to get a job at the tables, Morgan or Wyatt can help you. They’re in charge of the games around here.”

Nevada tried to control the shock that shot through him. He’d seen Wyatt Earp once in Dodge City but hadn’t realized he and his brother had moseyed out this way. Where Wyatt was, Doc Holliday was sure to be. A quick look around the place satisfied his guess as correct. The nattily dressed gambler with the black, flat-crowned hat and dark suit faced the door two tables away, his eyes intent on the men sitting across from him. A glass of whiskey sat near his left hand along with an open bottle, and his right clutched a hand of cards. He lifted his arm, placed his sleeve across his mouth, and smothered a cough. Nevada had heard the rumors about Holliday being ill, and from the sound of things it could be consumption, a disease running rampant these days.

He turned to the girl standing patiently for an answer. He couldn’t get over how much she reminded him of Carrie. “What’s your name, Miss?”

She scrunched her brows. “Sara. Why do you ask?”

“You remind me of someone.”

Sara batted her eyelashes. “I’ve heard that line before. Sure you won’t buy me a drink?”

Nevada pressed a silver dollar into her hand. He’d already wasted enough of her time, and most of these girls only got paid for the number of drinks they hustled. “No. Sorry for taking your time. I’m looking for the blacksmith. Man by the name of John Draper. You know him?”

Her countenance fell. “Yeah, I know him. He’s over there at the bar. The big gent with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Lots of muscles.”

“You take care of yourself now, you hear?” Nevada gave the girl a gentle smile and moved away. He swung his gaze to the man at the bar wolfing down a sandwich.

“Hey!” A man’s voice at a table close by froze Nevada in his tracks. He slowly swiveled to see the young fellow who’d rushed from the saloon yesterday glaring at the slick-looking gambler sitting across from him.

“You’ve cheated one time too many, mister.” The young man threw his cards on the table.

The hum of voices quieted. Only the shuffle of feet and the scraping of chairs could be heard as men cleared away from the area where the two sat.

“No man calls me a cheat.” The gambler’s tone was even and unhurried. It appeared he’d played this hand more than once in his life. “Back down and walk away.”

The young man pounded his fist on the table. “No, sir. I saw you slip a card from the bottom of the deck when you dealt that hand.” He jumped to his feet and pushed back the tail of his jacket. A gun showed beneath the fabric, and his hand moved toward the butt.

Too slow.

Nevada’s eyes darted to the gambler, who sat unmoving. Wasn’t he going to draw?

Suddenly, a gun blasted from beneath the table and the shot caught the raging man in his thigh, causing his body to jerk. He withdrew his gun from the holster and started to lift it, but the still-seated gambler raised his from beneath the tabletop and calmly pulled the trigger one more time.

Red blossomed on the young man’s shirt, high up in his chest. He gazed at his opponent with wide eyes and stood without moving for several seconds, then slowly toppled onto the table. His body hit hard, scattering the chips and cards across the floor. Then he rolled off the edge and landed with a thud on the carpet.

Men raced forward, and voices babbled around the room. A man wearing a fringed buckskin shirt strode forward and bent over the prone form. “He’s alive.” He straightened and stared at the gambler. “I’m Buckskin Frank Leslie. The town council granted me the power to make arrests in here as I see fit. Let’s see your gun, mister.”

“It were a fair fight, Frank.” A bearded miner stepped forward and motioned at the man on the floor. “He called this gent out. Said he was cheatin’ and went for his gun. Then this ’un shot him.”

Buckskin Frank turned to the knot of men standing nearby. “That the way it happened?”

“Yep. Pretty much,” a chorus of voices responded.

Leslie gave a curt nod. “Anyone know where this fella lives? He’s bleedin’ all over the carpet, and we need to get him outta here. The boss ain’t gonna like this.”

A voice called from a short distance away, “Name’s Joshua Grey. Lives with his ma back of town on Toughnut Street.”

Nevada peered at the man who’d spoken, memories of his own mother returning. This boy’s ma would be waiting for her son to return. “I’ll take him. Help me get him up.”

The man shook his head and backed away. “No thanks, mister. I don’t want nothin’ to do with him. He’s trouble.”

A heavy hand landed on Nevada’s shoulder, and he pivoted. The blacksmith, John Draper, stood beside him. “I’ll help with the boy. Horse kicked me not long ago, but it won’t stop me from helpin’ to carry him. I’ve met his ma, and she’s a decent woman. Let’s get him home.”

Nevada stepped forward, then turned his attention on Buckskin Leslie. “Can you send someone after the doc and direct him to the Grey home?”

“I can.”

“Thanks.” Nevada looked at John Draper, then gestured at Joshua Grey lying still on the floor. “Let’s see if we can get him home to his ma before he dies. She’d probably like the chance to say her good-byes.”

Sara stood riveted to the floor as the bloody scene played out before her. The young man with the warm smile and gentle touch looked to be near death. Why had he pushed that gambler so hard and egged him into a fight? She’d seen that trick before—hiding a gun under the table and waiting for the other fellow to draw, then shooting him down. She gripped her hands in front of her waist and stared at the room, appalled at how quickly the men returned to their drinking and games of chance.

What was wrong with these people? She shuddered, suddenly afraid the same thing could happen to her. Not that she’d be shot, but that a hard crust might form over her heart and she’d quit caring about others. In this business it served a woman to grow a thick skin and not allow anything to penetrate—not sympathy, love, or what appeared to be genuine caring.

The other man who came in asking for a job—the one who helped carry out Joshua—he’d also been kind, pressing a dollar into her hand and refusing to flirt or buy her a drink.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Joshua…
Grey.
Shock coursed through her veins as she realized the significance of that name. Could he be related in some way to the compassionate woman who’d spoken to her on the street not long ago?

A prayer welled up from her spirit but got caught in her throat. She hadn’t prayed since Ma and Pa were killed in the Indian attack. How many desperate, pleading prayers had she sent heavenward as she lay hidden in the brush outside their small shanty, watching the horrible events unfold? God hadn’t answered, but for some reason she still had hope He’d see fit to answer now. For the young man with the kind eyes, and for the woman who might belong to him in some way.
Please, God, even if You can’t save me from this life, reach out Your hand and save the ones who’ve shown kindness to me.

A loud rapping rattled the front door of Ma’s house, and Christy pushed to her feet. She’d gone to town yet again and hauled back two buckets of water. A young neighbor girl had spent the last two hours helping Christy scrub down the kitchen and had gone home happy with money jingling in her pocket. A small price to pay for cleanliness.

Joshua had been gone for so long. If only he’d return, she’d send him back to town for a barrel. She hated having to purchase water. In Last Chance water was plentiful, either in the clear mountain creeks or the wells people dug on their property. Here it cost three cents a gallon. Hopefully Ma didn’t have any expenses besides water and food.

Ma walked into the room and headed to the door. “Better not be that scoundrel from the bank pestering me about money again. I’ll have to shoot me a banker if he don’t leave me alone.”

“Ma?” Christy was puzzled. “What banker? Why’s he pestering you?”

The knock grew more insistent, and a man’s voice penetrated the thin wood. “Anyone home? We got Joshua here, and he’s hurt pretty bad.”

Ma gasped and clutched her chest. She drew in a hard breath, and a ragged cough tore from her throat.

Christy flew to the door. Joshua hung limp, upheld by a man on either side. Blood covered the front of his shirt and oozed from a gash in his thigh. “Hurry. Bring him inside.” She ran to the kitchen for rags.
Blast it all!
Only a small amount of clean water left in the bottom of the bucket.

She raced back into the room and watched as they lowered her unconscious brother onto the sofa. “Someone…please send for the doctor. I don’t know anything about injuries like this, although I know we’ve got to get the bleeding stopped.”

The large-boned man, whose voice she recognized as the one who spoke through the door, stepped forward. “Already sent for him, Miss. He should be along shortly. What you want I should do?”

“Help me get his shirt off so we can see the wound.” She started to unbutton the front but could barely see the buttons for the blood. A tremor shook her, but she pressed on, determined to save her brother if she could.

“Allow me, Miss.” The other man who’d helped carry Joshua bent over the sofa and slipped a knife under the edge of the damp fabric. He ripped it all the way up the seam to the collar and split that, as well. A flick of his fingers and the shirt fell away from Joshua’s chest.

Christy gasped at the sight, and her head started to spin. She had to get hold of herself. This was no time for weakness. How many times in the past had she been forced to help with some beat-up, drunken patron at one of the saloons where she worked? But this wasn’t just some patron—this was her brother and, for all she knew, he was already dead.

Strong hands gripped her and gently moved her aside. The stranger took the rags she’d tossed onto the back of the sofa and knelt on the floor. He worked quickly, making a compress and dipping it into the bucket of water, then cleaning her brother’s damaged flesh.

Christy turned and looked for her mother, as Joshua appeared to be in capable hands, at least for the moment. Ma sat huddled in a chair with tears coursing down her cheeks. Two quick steps and Christy arrived by her side. She bent over and wrapped her good arm around her mother’s shoulder and squeezed. “He’ll make it. He’s a fighter.”

“Joshua is my baby. I can’t lose another child, Christy. I already lost Molly.” A deep groan ending in a wail shook the older woman’s body.

“The doctor will be here soon, and those men are doing all they can to save him.” She nodded toward the two bent over the still form on the sofa and dropped her voice. “Do you know who they are? They knew where to bring Joshua. Are they friends of his?”

Ivy shook her head and leaned it against the high-backed chair. “The big man with his sleeves rolled up is John Draper, the blacksmith. I don’t know the other one.” She sniffled.

Boots thumped on the porch and Doctor Goodfellow hustled into the room, his presence bringing hope to Christy’s heart. She hurried to his side, not wanting to miss anything he might say.

The doctor shot her a glance and then stooped over the sofa, running a keen gaze over the unconscious man. “I see you’ve stopped the bleeding. How about the one in his leg?”

John Draper wiped his hands on a rag. “It’ll have to be dug out. The one high up on his chest don’t look so good.”

The other man rinsed his hands in the bucket and wiped them off. “Is this all the water you’ve got, Miss?”

For the first time Christy really looked at him, and as she did so, her heart plummeted to her stomach, leaving her feeling sick.
The man from the stage holdup—the one who tended my arm.

Somehow she managed to catch herself before the words tumbled out that would cause her to break her promise. Did he recognize her? She peered at him, then met his gaze squarely and saw no flicker of awareness. Her chest heaved in relief. “Yes. I was going to ask Joshua to have a barrel sent over when he got home, but…” She bit her lip.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Any neighbors you can borrow a bucket from?”

“I don’t know anyone. I just arrived yesterday….” Her words trailed off as she realized what she’d revealed.

His eyes moved swiftly from her face to her arm. A hint of knowledge sparkled in their depths. “I see. I’ll head to town and bring some back then.” He turned and grabbed the handle of their bucket and disappeared out the door.

Christy watched him go, certain she’d never see him or her bucket again. He’d realized who she was, even with her sleeve covering the bulky dressing. The man wasn’t stupid. No doubt as soon as he’d saddled his horse, he’d be on his way out of town.

Nevada hurried up the street still clutching the bucket, his mind swimming with what he’d learned.
The woman on the stage.
Why hadn’t he known as soon as he’d heard her voice? She was more beautiful than he’d expected, although his imagination had created a number of pretty faces. She recognized him—that was apparent from her shocked look. He’d almost laughed out loud at her wide-eyed surprise, for the pure joy of finally discovering her identity.

Another thought struck him, and he slowed his pace.
There’s no guarantee she didn’t break her word and alert the law.

What should he do now?

His decision was swift.
Get the water and return.
After all, that’s what he’d promised to do, and he wasn’t going back on his word, no matter what.

If the marshal came calling, Nevada would figure that out when the time arrived. Problem was, even though he hadn’t been part of the robbery, he couldn’t prove it.

But running would solve nothing. He’d been down that path years ago when he’d walked away from what he believed to be his destiny. If only God hadn’t taken Marie, his life would be so different now. Just as the woman’s life back at the house would surely change if Joshua died.

What was this Joshua Grey to the woman with the deep auburn hair and mesmerizing green eyes? Friend, sweetheart, brother? She looked to be closer to his own age than the injured man’s, but what did he know? He’d reached the advanced age of twenty-nine and only been close to one woman besides his mother and sister. What was she doing chasing Joshua from the saloon the day she’d arrived? Trying to make him come home?

Nevada jogged across the street and headed to Nellie’s boardinghouse. Too bad he didn’t know where the source of water was for this town, but he knew Nellie wouldn’t mind him using her pump and filling his bucket.

A few minutes later he headed back to the sad-looking house on Toughnut Street, balancing his load off to the side and walking carefully. By the time he arrived at the door he’d sloshed only a small amount. He heaved a relieved sigh when he stepped inside the door and set the bucket down.

He glanced around the silent room. Voices echoed from somewhere back of the crude kitchen beyond the open archway. John Draper appeared at the entrance to the living area. He gave a brief nod but no smile lit his broad face. “You got the water. Good. They moved him to a bedroom.”

Nevada jerked his chin toward the back of the house. “Want me to take it back there?”

“No. Miss Grey said if you returned with it, to set it to boiling.” He gestured toward the potbellied stove in a corner. He looked Nevada up and down. “Why’d she think you wouldn’t come back?”

Nevada leaned over and grasped the bucket handle, needing time to think. So it was Miss Grey, and she didn’t expect him to come back. Interesting. For sure she’d pegged him for the man who’d bandaged her arm. Apparently she didn’t think much more of him now than she had the day they’d met. “Can’t rightly say.” He headed toward the stove.

Keeping his back to the blacksmith he poured the water into the pot on the floor and lifted it onto the hot surface. “So she’s Miss Grey, huh? Know her first name?”

“Yeah, Christy. ’Pears she’s come to care for her ma, since she took sick. Good thing she got here when she did, what with her brother gettin’ shot and all.”

Ah, so Joshua is her brother.
Nevada felt relief at hearing that. “The mother is sick? Know what’s wrong?”

John shook his head. “Naw. Heard her cough a couple of times.”

Silence fell as the men stared at the water, waiting for it to heat. Nevada thought over what he’d learned. Miss Grey had been summoned, probably by her brother, to help with the care of her mother. A racking cough broke the silence, and Nevada turned to look. No one appeared, but the coughing didn’t cease for several minutes. He’d heard that sound before, and a tremor of dread coursed up his back.

He pitied this family. They had a lot to deal with. Even if the young man brought it on himself by calling the gambler a cheat, no one deserved to die by taking a bullet in the gut.

Was Joshua Grey right with his Maker? Nevada lassoed his thoughts. He’d given up worrying about other people’s souls years ago, and it wasn’t his place to pick it up again now. He turned to the blacksmith, anxious to talk rather than think. “I came into the saloon to find you before the shooting started.”

Clearly, Nevada’s words got the big man’s attention, because he tensed. But he didn’t reply.

“Miss Nellie over at the boardinghouse sent me.”

John grinned. “You know Nellie?”

“Met her today. Nice lady.”

“The best. She’s doin’ wonders for this town. Takes collections from miners, gamblers, and such, and helps those in need. She even went to the jail to pray with some men condemned to hang.”

Something tugged at Nevada’s heart, but he pushed it aside. “Sounds like I picked the right place to stay.”

“So why were you lookin’ for me?” John crossed his arms over his muscular chest.

Nevada stood eye-to-eye with the man, but Draper probably outweighed him by fifty pounds. He grinned. “Hoping you needed a man who’s handy around horses.”

John’s stance relaxed. “You want a job?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” He reached over and clapped Nevada on the back. “What’s your name, son?”

“Nevada.” He bit out the word, not eager to share more at the moment.

“Good handle. You ever shoe a horse before?”

Nevada gave a wry smile. “Way too many of them, my friend.”

John threw back his head and laughed, then sobered quickly. “Sorry. Forgot to keep my voice down”—he gestured toward the end of the house—“but I know what you mean when you say too many horses. Come by tomorrow and we’ll talk over hours and such. Wonder what’s happenin’ with the doc?”

Nevada shrugged. “No telling. Hope Grey pulls through, but he didn’t look good.”

“Yeah. Too bad for the family.”

“Do you mind if I slip out of here? Maybe you could tell Miss Grey and her mother I hope Joshua recovers.”

“Got things to do, huh?” Draper rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“Something like that.” Nevada raised his hand in a friendly salute and headed for the door. As he closed it behind him, he heard the pad of light feet. Part of him wanted to go back and take another look into those beautiful eyes, but he squelched the urge. No. The best thing he could do was stay out of her sight before she changed her mind and turned him over to the law.