Savage Thunder (8 page)

“I
’ll get it,” Billy called and bounded off the bed, where he had been stretched out watching Colt shave off the few errant whiskers that he was in too much of a hurry to pluck out, as was his custom.

But before Billy’s hand touched the doorknob, he heard the distinctive sound of the hammer being pulled back on Colt’s revolver and knew he had blundered once again. You just didn’t open your door in a town where trouble was anticipated, not without finding out who was knocking first, or as Colt had done behind him, being prepared for any possibility. And Billy Clanton hadn’t left town yet. Though it was unlikely he had tracked Billy down to this lodging house, it wasn’t impossible.

He thought Colt would lash into him again as he had last night when Billy forgot to lock the door of the room they shared, but he was obviously in a better mood this morning. “Go ahead,” was all he said after Billy hesitated at the door. “Just stay out of the line of fire.”

Billy swallowed once at that advice before unlocking the door and swinging it open wide, keeping himself behind it. When he had been on his own, he hadn’t worried about such things, hadn’t looked for danger around every corner. To do so was a lesson
Jessie had taught him, but one he had conveniently forgotten this trip west. It was a wonder he had survived to get this far.

But this was one time caution was apparently unnecessary. There were two men out in the hall, neither of them young Clanton, and both immobilized by the clear view they had of Colt across the room with a gun trained on them, wearing nothing but his pants and his knee-high moccasins. That Colt immediately turned to slip the gun back in the holster hooked over the washstand made Billy wonder, until he too recognized those red jackets. The men still hadn’t spoken, however, even though they were no longer looking down the barrel of a Colt .45, but that was understandable. The gun might have startled them, but a glimpse of Colt’s back when he turned to put it away had rendered them speechless.

It wouldn’t do for Colt to know that, though. If anything could make him spitting mad, it was having his scars looked at with horror. Jessie said it had a lot to do with pride in that he didn’t want anyone knowing about the kind of pain he had to have suffered to have a back that looked like his did. Whatever it was, Billy knew how defensive-mean he could get if he detected even the slightest empathy coming his way. He’d rather be hated than pitied.

Billy stepped out from behind the door, forcing the two men to look at him instead of Colt. Dredging up his manners, he asked pleasantly, “Can we help you with something, gentlemen?”

The taller of the two was Billy’s height but looked more Colt’s age, with chestnut hair cropped short and
eyes about the same shade. He was still disconcerted by what he’d seen when he answered with the question, “I say,
you
wouldn’t happen to be Colt Thunder, would you?”

It was asked so hopefully Billy couldn’t help grinning. “Afraid not.”

The two redcoats glanced at each other, their discomfort palpable, but then the taller man said, “Didn’t think so, but—well, never mind, then.” He leaned to the side to get another glance at Colt before straightening and saying with more force, “We’ve a message for your mate, if he’s Mr. Thunder.”

Billy’s grin widened. He couldn’t resist repeating the way he knew Colt hated being addressed. “Mr. Thunder, they’re here for you.”

“I heard, but I’m not interested.”

Billy swung around, no longer amused, to see Colt shrugging into his shirt. Colt might not be interested, but Billy was damn curious, knowing full well who the message had to be from.

“Ah, come on, Colt, it’s just a message. It wouldn’t hurt you to at least hear it.”

Colt came forward, his expression inscrutable, though Billy recognized the subtle signs of impatience when he saw them. Colt hadn’t bothered to button his shirt, just tucking it into his pants. That both pants and shirt were black might account for the two Englishmen taking a wary step back when Colt filled the doorway, but it probably had more to do with his intimidating height and size.

“Let’s hear it,” he demanded curtly.

The taller fellow cleared his throat, still apparently
the spokesman for the two. “Her Grace, the Duchess Dowager of Eaton, requests the honor of your—”

“The what?” Colt interrupted at the same time Billy swore, “Christ, an English duchess!”

Colt gave Billy a sharp look. “What the hell’s a duchess?”

“You mean you don’t…no, of course you wouldn’t…how could you—?”

“Just spit it out, kid, before you choke on it.”

Billy flushed, but he was too excited to be subdued. “A duchess is a member of the English nobility, the wife of a duke. The nobility of England have different degrees of importance—barons, earls, and such. A comparison would be your minor chiefs and war leaders. But you can’t get any more important than a duke or duchess, unless you’re a member of the royal family.”

Colt frowned, but directed the expression at the two messengers. “That right, what he says?”

“Close enough,” the spokesman replied, deciding estate size and degree of influence weren’t worth mentioning when all he wanted was to get out of there. “But as I was saying, Mr. Thunder, Her Grace requests the honor of your presence this noontime at the Mais—Maisy—”

“Maison Dorée,” his nondescript companion supplied in a whisper.

“Right you are, the Maison Dorée Restaurant.”

When the man finished, he smiled. Colt looked at Billy, who was grinning widely again. “She wants to meet you for lunch,” he explained.

“No,” Colt said simply and started to turn away.

“Wait, Mr. Thunder! In the event you declined the first invitation, I was instructed to extend another. Her Grace would be pleased to receive you in her suite at the Grand Hotel, at your convenience, of course.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not meeting the woman anywhere, at any time. Is that clear enough for you?”

Both men appeared shocked, but not by his refusal, as he found out when the spokesman said, “There are proper modes of address for a duchess, sir. You may refer to her as Her Grace, or Her Ladyship, or even Lady Fleming, but she is never referred to as ‘the woman.’ It just isn’t done, sir.”

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” Colt mumbled and did turn away this time. “Get rid of them, Billy.”

Billy didn’t know whom he was more disappointed in, Colt for his indifference to a genuine duchess—a gorgeous genuine duchess—or her man for his snobbery. “That wasn’t too smart, Mister…”

“Sir Dudley Leland, sir,” the redcoat supplied importantly. “Second son of the Earl of—”

“Christ, man, you’ve missed the point, haven’t you? You’re in America now, and if you’ll recall, we fought a war with your ancestors about a hundred years ago to get rid of class distinctions. Your titles might impress the society matrons back East, but they don’t mean a thing to a Cheyenne warrior.”

“Ah, right you are, sir. Apologies tended. But I’ve still one more message for your friend there.”

Billy glanced back to see Colt standing at the single
window the room offered, looking down at the vacant lot next to Fly’s Lodging House. There was nothing but an assay office beyond, no view to hold anyone’s interest, so he knew Colt had heard Sir Dudley. He just wasn’t going to acknowledge it.

“Maybe you better give me the message and I’ll pass it on,” Billy suggested.

Sir Dudley could see well enough that Colt had divorced himself from the conversation and so nodded. He was also aware that Colt could hear him quite well, but he still addressed the message to Billy.

“Her Grace anticipated both invitations might be declined. That being the case, my final instructions are to inform Mr. Thunder that Her Grace has asked, as he suggested, and has received a full report on the prejudices associated with his bloodlines. She wishes him to know that those prejudices are not hers and mean nothing to her. She hopes Mr. Thunder will take that into account and reconsider one of her invitations.”

That Colt didn’t turn around after that mouthful was proof that he wasn’t going to reconsider anything. Billy noted, however, that he was now gripping the windowsill, that his whole body had gone taut.

“I think you have your answer, gentlemen,” he said in a lowered tone. “You may inform the duchess—”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, kid,” came from behind Billy in a near snarl. “There’s no reply. Now shut the damn door!”

Billy shrugged at the messengers, as if to imply Colt’s lack of manners was not his own. But he did
shut the door in their faces. And he calmly and silently started counting numbers, trying for fifty but getting no farther than ten before exploding, “That was the rudest, lowest, most outrageous behavior I’ve ever been sorry to witness. And deliberate too, I’ll wager. But why, for Christ’s sake? You know they’re going to report back to her, and…and that’s it, isn’t it?”

“You talk too much,” Colt said as he turned and reached for his gun belt.

Billy shook his head. “You know, I didn’t understand it yesterday, and I sure as hell don’t now. I got a good look at the lady and I felt like I’d been dropped through the boardwalk. She’s beautiful—”

“And white,” Colt cut in. He finished buckling the belt on and moved for his saddlebags at the foot of the bed.

Billy had gone very still, Colt’s behavior suddenly making perfect sense. And he hated it. He had never been able to deal well with Colt’s feelings of bitterness, feelings that went back to that painful time when he had almost died. Billy loved his brother, thought there was no man finer, more courageous, more loyal, and so it cut him to the quick when Colt belittled himself, taking the attitude of those ignorant, prejudiced whites who put him on a par with the scum of the earth.

“Did I miss something? I could have sworn I heard that the lady doesn’t give a damn what kind of blood flows in your veins.”

“She’s feeling beholden, Billy,” Colt replied in an even tone. “That’s all there is to it.”

“Is it? That’s why you were so mean-tempered rude to her lackeys? You just don’t want her gratitude? And that’s why she’s so eager to meet you again, just to express that gratitude? Be serious, Colt—”

“I am. I’m letting you keep your teeth. Now take yourself down to the O.K. Livery and collect our horses. I’ll meet you out on the street in fifteen minutes. If we ride fast enough, we can make Benson for a late lunch.”

Yeah, and kill our horses
, Billy grouched to himself. Since it was almost noon already, and Benson was a good twenty miles north, that was probably just what they’d do. No, he was being unfair. Colt would never take a bad mood out on his horse. But he was damn determined to quit Tombstone and fast. Before the duchess came up with some other way to see him?

Colt had already left the room to settle the bill, so Billy gathered up his things and went out the back way to do as he’d been told. The stable wasn’t far. Camillus S. Fly had a photographic gallery at the back of his lodging house, and the O.K. Livery and Corral was behind that, right in the center of the square, accessible from any vacant lot along 3rd and 4th streets, or Fremont and Allen.

Billy was back on Fremont with time to spare, but without the horses, as Colt noticed when he stepped out of Fly’s Lodging House. “Now don’t look at me like that,” Billy protested quickly. “My horse threw a shoe just as I was walking her out. It’ll only take a couple hours—”

“A couple?”

“The smith’s busy,” Billy explained. “That was
his estimate, not mine. So what do you say to an early lunch instead, and I’ll challenge you to a few games of billiards over at Bob Hatch’s on Allen Street.”

“You’re just asking for trouble, aren’t you, kid?” Colt replied, but his expression wasn’t half as dark as it had been earlier.

“I don’t think we’ll run into young Clanton, if that’s what you mean.” Billy grinned. “Fact is, I just heard his brother Ike was buffaloed by one of the Earp brothers this morning, then hauled before the judge and fined. It must have been Wyatt. They say he has a fondness for bending his gun barrel around hard heads. Billy has probably taken his brother back to their ranch by now. So where would you like to eat? The Maison Dorée?”

Colt’s answer was a soft kick to Billy’s backside.

M
rs. Addie Bourland’s Millinery Shop was sandwiched between the offices of a stage line and a doctor on Fremont Street. The last thing Jocelyn needed was a new hat, but she had come here to order one, two, or a dozen, however many it took to keep her there until she caught sight of Colt Thunder either coming or going from his lodgings, which were just across the street. Vanessa had suggested she simply present herself at his door, but she was hesitant to do that. The men she had sent there that morning had not been received well, and she had no reason to think she would be any more welcome. No, a chance encounter on the street was the thing, and although there would be little “chance” to it, Mr. Thunder wouldn’t know that. She would not let him ignore her again.

She had arrived in her coach just before two o’clock, but since she had sent it away, the curious it had gathered had also departed, so there was nothing to indicate she was ensconced within the millinery shop. The guards were a necessity she could not get rid of, though, six for this outing. They were stationed at the front and rear exits, those in the front room trying to be inconspicuous but failing. They had quite flustered Mrs. Bourland to begin with. She was
not accustomed to so many men invading her small shop. Even one at a time was a rarity. But she was ignoring them now as the prospect of such a large order caught her full attention.

With Vanessa stationed at the window to watch for Colt, Jocelyn kept Mrs. Bourland busy with the vast selection of feathers, flowers, colors, and materials available. Never had she been so indecisive in her choices, but then she had no idea how long she would need to stay there. To describe the elaborate European styles she favored in hats accounted for some time, but not enough. Pretending to be unable to make up her mind was going to become quite frustrating for the proprietress, for Jocelyn too, but it was necessary. If Colt didn’t show up before closing, however…

“Jocelyn, dear, I think you had better come have a look at this,” Vanessa called from the window. “There seems to be something…unusual about to happen.”

Jocelyn joined her at the window, with Addie Bourland stepping up behind her. She saw immediately what Vanessa meant. Walking slowly but purposefully right down the center of the dusty street were four black-garbed gentlemen looking identical with their black Stetsons, thin bow ties, and drooping mustaches, not to mention an assortment of lethal-looking weapons. Not so finely dressed were the five men in the vacant lot across the street who appeared to be waiting for them.

“Lan’ sakes, this is it, the big one!” Addie Bourland said excitedly.

“The big what?” Jocelyn inquired.

“Showdown,” Addie said without taking her eyes off the street. “It’s been comin’ a long time now.”

“Whatever is a showdown?” Vanessa asked the proprietress.

The woman looked at Vanessa strangely for a moment, but then chuckled. “I thought you ladies talked kinda funny. You ain’t from around these parts, are ya?” But she didn’t wait for an answer. “A showdown’s a shoot-out. That’s Virgil Earp, our town marshal, and his brothers Wyatt and Morgan coming down the street. The one carryin’ the shotgun is Doc Holiday, Wyatt’s good friend.”

“A doctor about to participate in a shooting spree?” Vanessa had never heard of anything quite so unethical.

“He used to be a dentist back East, ma’am. He makes his livin’ now at gamblin’. Surprised to see him up and about so early in the day. He’s a night owl, that one.”

“And the gentlemen who seem to be hiding in wait?”

“Them no-accounts?” Addie snorted. “Rowdy troublemakers, every one of ’em. Thievin’ outlaws too. They’re members of the Clanton gang.” At Vanessa’s blank look, Addie clarified, “Ike and Billy Clanton, Frank and Tom McLaury, and looks like young Billy Claiborne’s with ’em today. You must not’ve been in town long if you ain’t heard tell of the Clanton bunch. They’re arch enemies of the Earps.”

“Actually, we only arrived yesterday afternoon. But if, as you say, that is an official of the law out there, why should there be a showdown, as you called it?
Isn’t it more logical to assume the marshal just intends to arrest those men?”

“Oh, he might intend to, probably does intend to, but it don’t make no never mind. Those boys across the street wouldn’t be waitin’ around to get themselves arrested. Their waitin’ there means they’re plannin’ to shoot it out. I’d stake my shop on it, ’cause like I said, it’s been buildin’ up to this for a long time now.”

Vanessa exchanged a glance with Jocelyn. Neither of them knew whether to take the woman seriously or not. It was true they had never before seen quite so many men sporting weapons on their persons in such a visible manner as here in Tombstone. Everywhere you looked in the town it was the same. But there must be a reason for this, other than to be prepared for a possible “showdown.”

The four dark-clad gentlemen had nearly reached the vacant lot. Jocelyn watched in fascination as they pivoted, spreading out in front of it, their backs to the millinery shop. The five men on the lot spread out also in a half circle, facing them. There was a shouted order, something about giving up arms. It was ignored, and before Jocelyn realized what was going to happen next, the shooting began.

She found herself yanked away from the window and nearly shoved to the floor by one of her guards, as were Vanessa and a protesting Addie Bourland. Jocelyn had no thought to protest, not after hearing at least one stray bullet strike the front wall of the shop. The shooting seemed like it would never end, though actually the terrible noise continued for only
thirty seconds or so. She was not allowed to rise, however, until one of her men had ascertained that it was truly over.

Addie had worked herself free before then and was back at the window, avidly counting bodies. “Looks like both the McLaurys got it, and young Clanton too. I ought to pity that boy. He couldn’t’ve been more’n sixteen. But his daddy was a bad ’un and raised him bad too, so what can you expect.”

Jocelyn didn’t expect to be regaled with the gory details. Good Lord, was there really a sixteen-year-old boy dead out there?

“I—I think we should return to our hotel,” she suggested in a shaky voice.

“Best wait a bit,” Addie replied. “Ike and young Claiborne took off, but you never can tell. At least wait until the Earps leave the scene. They’re helpin’ Morgan up now. ’Pears to have taken one in the shoulder. ’Pears the marshal and Doc are wounded too, but they’re still on their feet, so it can’t be serious.” She chuckled then. “No, their wounds ain’t serious. They’re walkin’ away and the street’s fillin’ up with the curious. Think I’ll go have a talk with Mr. Fly. Looks like he seen the whole thing up close.”

She had forgotten her order, but didn’t forget to give poor Sir Dudley a fulminating look for his unwelcome efforts to protect her before she sashayed out of her shop, leaving the door open behind her. The smell of gunsmoke intruded then, making Jocelyn sick to her stomach. Vanessa was positively pale and holding a scented kerchief to her nose.

“I don’t know about you, Vana, but I don’t care to stay here another moment. Would you mind walking? It will take too long to fetch the coach.”

Their transportation had been sent to wait inconspicuously around the block on Safford Street, but Vanessa was quick to agree to depart without it. Even one more second there was too long for her. And Jocelyn’s guard, ever diligent and attuned to her wishes without being told, was already stepping out of Mrs. Addie Bourland’s Millinery Shop to clear a path on the now crowded boardwalk.

It was the sight of those red-coated figures that drew Billy Ewing’s attention from across the street. He had been jostled away from where he had stood staring down at the body of his short-time companion, Billy Clanton, bloody from both chest and stomach wounds, and it was all he could do to hold down the lunch he had finished not long ago. He needed a distraction, desperately needed it, and the figure he fully expected to see next would provide it, so he wasted no time in crossing the street, and was there when the two ladies joined their guard on the boardwalk.

From the look of them, they weren’t used to seeing bodies lying around dead any more than Billy was. Both were pale, and the older woman looked close to fainting. Neither glanced across the street, though it was doubtful anything could be seen now with the crowd surrounding the bodies. It was obvious, however, that they knew full well what had happened, if they hadn’t seen it happen firsthand.

Billy jumped up on the boardwalk as soon as he saw in which direction they were going, and refused
to be shuffled aside by the two guards who led the way. Those two and the other four formed a tight circle around the ladies, and none of them looked too agreeable at the moment, making Billy wish he had Colt standing behind him. But Colt was only just now skirting the crowd on the vacant lot, leading their horses out to the street. Even if he saw where Billy had gone, he wasn’t likely to join him.

When one of the guards got physical, picking Billy up by his shirtfront before he could get a word out, to set him out of the way, Sir Dudley, at the back of the group, stopped him. “Let him go, Robbie. He’s the gent was with that Thunder chap this morning.”

Luckily for Billy, red-haired Robbie listened to his friend and immediately set Billy back on his feet. He even went so far as to smooth out the shirt he had wrinkled in his big fists, offering a grin in apology. The man was the largest of the guards present, nearly six feet tall and brawny besides, not someone a lean seventeen-year-old kid would want to tangle with under any circumstances. But Billy hadn’t been looking to cause a disturbance. He had simply wanted to meet the duchess, hoping that a few words with her would help to wipe out the lingering image of death from his mind. Unfortunately, he hadn’t stopped to consider her own upset, and that this was not the time to stop for a friendly chat, even if she would deign to speak to him.

She did speak to him, however, not so distracted that she hadn’t heard Dudley’s remarks. “So you are a friend of Mr. Thunder’s?”

The two front guards had instantly moved aside so
she could step up to Billy. Seen close, she was even more beautiful than he had thought. Those eyes were something else, so light a green they almost glowed. It registered in his mind that a much darker green silk molded over delicate curves on a lithe figure, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. And several long moments passed before he recalled that she had asked him something.

“I don’t know that ‘friend’ is the appropriate word, Lady Fleming. I’m Colt’s brother.”

“Brother!” she said with surprise. “But you don’t look anything like him. Are you a half-breed too?”

Billy almost laughed. Folks in the West wouldn’t ask that question. They took it for granted they would know one if they saw one, and whether a man was a half-breed or not, if he was thought one, he might as well be one.

“No, ma’am,” Billy answered her, surprised to find he had dropped the abbreviated speech he picked up each time he came west, his Eastern schooling coming through in response to her own cultured tones. “Colt and I share the same father, but not the same mother.”

“Then it would be his mother who is Cheyenne,” she remarked more to herself. “Yes, he must take after her. But then you both have blue eyes, though not quite the same…Forgive me. I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

Billy grinned at the slight blush that came to her cheeks when she realized she had been rambling. “Not at all, ma’am. And Colt inherited his eyes from one of our father’s ancestors, since Thomas Blair had
eyes of turquoise himself, I’m told. Jessie is the only one who took after him in coloring, in both hair and eyes.”

“Jessie…yes, your brother mentioned her to me when we met yesterday. But if you don’t mind my asking, what do you mean you were
told
about your father’s eyes? How could you not know?”

“My mother left him before I was born, so I was raised back East. I was half grown before I even knew about him, or that I had an older sister. And it was still a few more years before I found out I had a half brother too. None of us were raised together, you see. Jessie was raised by our father on a cattle ranch in Wyoming, Colt grew up with his mother’s people in the Northern Plains, and I lived in a mansion in Chicago. The whys of all that are kind of complicated.”

“That is all very fascinating, young man,” Vanessa commented at this point, “and I don’t mean to be rude, but we
are
in a bit of a hurry to leave this…this location. The duchess, I am sure, will be delighted to continue this conversation, but in quieter surroundings. You may accompany us, if you like, back to our hotel—”

“Much as I would enjoy that, ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t. Colt’s waiting for me”—his quick glance across the street said where Colt was waiting—“and, well, I just wanted to explain about his behavior this morning and let you know it had nothing to do with you personally, Lady Fleming. He has these set ideas, you see, and…”

Billy’s words trailed off, for the lady was no longer listening to him. She had followed his look across the
street and was still looking there, staring at Colt, who was likewise staring at her. But it was obvious he wasn’t going to do anything more than that. He didn’t nod to acknowledge her, didn’t move a muscle, just stood there holding the horses’ reins, patiently waiting for Billy to finish his socializing and join him. Patiently? Not likely. Colt was probably furious. You just couldn’t tell it by looking at him.

“He’s not leaving town, is he?”

It wasn’t hard for her to have drawn that conclusion, with both horses Colt was leading packed for traveling. The alarm in her voice and expression took Billy by surprise, however. He couldn’t figure out what possible interest a woman like this could have in someone like Colt. She barely knew him, certainly not enough to generate such concern.

Billy grew uncomfortable, knowing the answer he had to give, and guessing the reaction it would bring. “Colt doesn’t like towns much, ma’am, especially those he doesn’t know. He only came to this one to find me, and now that he has, he can’t wait to be on his way. We would have been gone already if my horse hadn’t thrown a shoe.”