Squire's Quest (15 page)

"Wait here," she said, and stepped inside her curtained cubby.

Merlin loosened his coat. While it wasn't exactly cozy here in the storeroom, it was a
sight warmer than outdoors. She'd be fine.

"Here. I hope it's enough."

The hand she was holding out to him held coins. "What's this for?"

"To pay for my supper. Is it enough?"

For the longest moment he was at a loss for words. A hot anger started to swell in his
gut, but before it could flare, he dampened it. "Keep your money. When I ask a lady to supper, I
pay the tab. Any gentleman would."

"But--"

Gently, even though he wanted to be anything but, he closed her hand around the coins.
"Cal, I can afford to treat you to supper. Honest. Now if you wanted to bake me a pie sometime,
I'd take it and be grateful."

Her smile paid him well for his self-restraint. "I'll do that. What kind? I can--"

He laid a finger across her lips. "Let's talk about it another time. I need to be gettin' on.
Remember, I'm starting a new job in the morning. Being late wouldn't look good."

"Oh, no! Of course not. You should go. Wait, though." She bustled through the door at
the far end and came back almost immediately, carrying something wrapped in a length of linen
toweling. "Here's your rock. It's probably too big for your pocket. Maybe you can tuck it in
inside your coat."

"Or in my britches." He winked, and knew he'd gone a little pink. His ma would've
washed his mouth with laundry soap if she'd heard him say that to a good girl.

She turned beet red.

He was half tempted to kiss her, she looked so flustered and pretty. But only half. If she
nearly jumped out of her skin when he touched her back, she'd likely faint if he kissed her.

He tucked his scarf more firmly around his neck, pulled his hat low on his head, and
buttoned his coat up all the way. "Good night."

She opened the door and held it against the wind long enough for him to slip out.

He'd never seen a brass monkey, but Merlin decided it was a good thing they weren't
common in Wyoming Territory. Any monkeys out in this wind would have lost more than their
balls.

* * * *

"Who was that young man?"

Callie wanted to pretend she hadn't heard Abner's question, but she knew it would do
her no good. He'd just keep asking. "An old friend," she said, willing her voice to be toneless. "I
knew him when I was just little girl."

"Was he just a little boy?" Abner's voice had a sly tone to it, as if he was making a joke
he didn't want her to understand.

"He wasn't grown up, not all the way. I think he was sixteen. Or maybe seventeen. We
traveled together for a while. I was--"

"First love," Abner said, with a wide grin. "You never get over the first one. And now he
done found you again. That's good, girl. You grab hold of him, hold on tight. He'll take good care
of you. I got a feelin'."

"I don't need taken care of."

"Sure you do. Everybody needs to be took care of." He cocked his head to one side.
"Just like we all needs somebody to take care of our ownselves."

"I've got somebody to take care of," she snapped. "Myself." She grabbed a big bowl and
headed for the pantry. She really didn't need to bake another cake, but it wouldn't hurt. Frau
Trebelhorn had told her to use up the dried out raisins before mice got to them.

A nice raisin spice cake would go over well at dinner tonight. She hoped she could
remember how to make it. If only pa had given her more time...

Stop your wishing for what you can't have. At least you're shut of him. You can save
up enough to get back to Mrs. Flynn, and you'll be fine.

The cold spell lasted near a week. Everyone who came in talked about how they'd never
seen such cold. She'd heard folks talking about how cattle had been found standing upright, froze
solid. Three families had moved into the Methodist Church when they ran out of firewood, and
she'd bet other churches had folks sleeping in the aisles too. Every room in Lambert House was
full, some with two and three to a bed, because Abbie Lane's boarding house had burned down
the second night and Mrs. Gonzalez's chimney had caught fire the same night, smoking all her
girls out into the street.

Callie had helped the girls clean up, and hadn't they looked a sight, with black smudged
around on their faces and all over their fancy clothes--what there was of them. It was a wonder
they hadn't all froze off their nearly bare bosoms when they came running down the street.

Frau Trebelhorn hadn't wanted to take them in, but her husband had overruled her. He
had put his foot down on them plying their trade while they were in the hotel, though. And he'd
made them sleep three to a bedroom.

At least she had a bed all to herself, such as it was. Warm too, right against the
chimney.

She was worried about Merlin, though. Neither he or Murphy had showed their faces
since the night he took her to dinner. He'd said his little cabin was snug and warm, but what
about in the daytime? She'd bet he was outdoors then.

Was he all right?

* * * *

All week she and Frau Trebelhorn waited tables, washed dishes, and cooked early and
late, because the waiters refused to work more than fourteen hours a day.

She didn't blame them. Each night she fell exhausted into her bed, and every morning
she had to force herself upright. She listened to the talk about how cold it was, and decided
having a warm place to live was worth all the extra work. Besides, Frau Trebelhorn had
promised her an extra dollar a day until the weather warmed up.

On the sixth day, while taking care of those who'd lingered after supper, she overheard,
"...saved the mules, but lost the barn."

She stopped her half-trot across the dining room and listened. Murphy had mules.
Merlin had said the forge where he worked was next to the barn.

"I hear they found a body."

"Looked like he was sleepin' in a stall. Wonder if he froze to death before the fire."

"Drunk, more'n likely."

"Where?" She set the coffeepot on the table with a thump. Coffee erupted from the spout
and splashed on the gray-haired man's hand.

"Ow! Watch it, there, girlie!"

"I'm sorry. Where was the fire? Which barn?" She snatched the wipe rag from her apron
pocket and dried his hand.

"Stedleman's. 'Bout a mile out the Crow Creek Road."

"More like two miles, wouldn't you say, Frank?"

"Sounds right. Here, girlie, I'll take some of that coffee." He held out his cup, as did the
other two.

She filled them, now she was able to breathe again. Merlin was all right. "Would you
gentlemen like some pie? We've still got apple and there was one piece of peach, the last time I
looked." Frau Trebelhorn had told her to call every man a gentleman, no matter how he acted.
These three were mostly polite, so it didn't bother her like it sometimes did.

The front door slammed, as it often did when the wind snatched it from someone's
unwary hand. Folks were so used to the sound that no one even looked around. Callie wondered
why anyone would willingly go outdoors this time of night.

She'd never felt such bitter cold as when she'd taken chamber pots out to dump them
earlier. Mary, the maid who usually took care of that unpleasant chore, had not come in today.
Both waiters had refused. Since Callie had finished her work until the last batch of bread finished
baking, she'd been stuck with the task.

"Hey, Jeb! You folks gettin' along out there?"

The newcomer was wide and tall, grizzled and none too clean. When he took off his
heavy sheepskin coat, she saw the stains on his shirt, long, dark streaks that looked like
blood.

He tossed the coat in the general direction of the tree beside the door and strode across
to join Frank and his friends. "We're doin' jest fine, but let me tell you. I have shoveled more
shit-- 'Scuse me ma'am, I have shoveled more manure these past days than I have in my whole
life. That new smith, he felt plumb sorry for the mules, out in the corral. Said it was too cold for
'em. So he moved 'em indoors."

"He what?" That was Frank, but Callie saw most of the men in the room were just as
interested.

"The damnedest thing. He said it didn't make sense to leave the mules outside in the cold
when there's room in the barn. Convinced Murphy to help him." He sipped at the coffee Callie
had brought as soon as he'd sat down. "Thanks, ma'am. You know how many mules we got out
there?"

There was a general murmur of interest.

"Ninety-seven, that's how. And he had us bring all of 'em in." He looked up at Callie,
who wasn't about to walk away as long as he kept talking about what Merlin was up to. "I've a
powerful hunger for pie, ma'am. Is there any left?"

"I'll get you some." She nearly ran into the kitchen, almost dropped the pie slice on the
floor in her haste to get back before he went on with his story.

"You know mules," he was saying when she set the pie before him. "Contrary critters.
The big spotted one--best wheeler we've got, but notional--made up his mind he didn't want to
come indoors, and he had himself a conniption fit. Kicked the new man. Bit Murphy on the
shoulder, even got me a good one." He held up his hand, wrapped in a red bandana. "No harm
done, but it bled like a sunuvabitch. And on my best shirt, too." He paused long enough to scoop
up a third of the pie slice and shove it into his mouth.

Biting her lip, Callie resisted the urge to ask how badly Merlin had been kicked. The
next moment she was glad she had.

"The new man--Merlin he calls hisself--he had a rope on Spotty in no time atall and the
next thing that damned mule knew, he was in a stall. Simmered down then, but Murph said to
leave him there until we turn 'em back into the corral." He scraped the last of the pie from his
plate and the corners of his mouth turned down. "Mighty good pie. Only thing wrong is there
wasn't much of it."

"I'll get you another piece," Callie said, willing to pay for it herself, to thank him for
bringing news of Merlin.

* * * *

Clouds rolled in on the seventh night of the cold spell, and the wind died. As much as it
ever did in Cheyenne, anyhow. By midnight, when Merlin made his last round, the air felt almost
balmy. "We'll turn 'em out in the morning," he said to Gawain as he paused to pat the horse. "Bet
you'll be glad to get a little air."

The atmosphere inside the barn was pungent. No matter how often they mucked the
place out, ninety-seven mules and five horses were going to put a lot of stink in the air. They
were running short of straw, too. If the weather hadn't changed, they'd have been knee deep in
mule piss before long.

First thing he was going to do, once they'd got the mules back where they belonged, was
go to town and have himself a bath. Right before he went to see if Cal had kept warm and
safe.

Not going in to check on her had been hard. He'd told himself she was safe enough in
the hotel, while the stock here would be at risk if they weren't watched carefully. It went against
a mule's nature to be tied in one place for a night, and they'd been hitched for six days. He was
sure if he and Murphy and Jeb hadn't paid attention to them practically night and day, they'd
have torn the place apart.

There was nothing for destruction like a fractious mule.

The Sunday westbound express was late. Merlin was just coming out of the barn after
cleaning up the last of the mule mess when he heard its whistle. With a quick glance up at the
overcast sky, he estimated the time at close to noon. He reached inside his cabin and pulled out
the satchel he'd filled with a change of clothes.

Sure hope the bath house isn't too crowded. The way I smell, they'll make me wait
outside.

An hour and a half later, clean and shaved, he headed for Lambert House. Murphy had
let him know on Wednesday what the situation was at the hotel, but he still wanted to check on
Cal himself. Her tendency to think poorly of herself had probably led her to work a lot harder
than anyone else while she was cooking for half the town.

A tall fellow was just ahead of him when he crossed the street. Something about the man
said city dude to Merlin. Maybe it was the derby, undented and unstained. The pigskin leather
satchel wasn't something you saw often in Cheyenne, either.

Cal wasn't in her room, so he went around and entered the lobby. The city dude had one
elbow planted on the desk and was talking in a low tone to the clerk. Curious now, Merlin
stepped closer, as if waiting in line, and cocked an ear.

"...calls himself Smith, usually, but he's been known to go by Smythe, Smeath, and
Schmidt. As tall as me, with a thin black moustache and narrow eyes. Anyone like that stay here
in the last month or so?" His speech held a hint of Irish.

Jerry, the desk clerk, took his time looking back through the register, running a slow
finger down each page. Merlin wondered what the Easterner had paid him to get such
cooperation.

A motion at the back of the room caught his eye. Cal was peering out of the kitchen.
When she saw him, she gave a little tilt of her chin, like she wanted him to come to her.

He pinched his thumb and forefinger down to a quarter inch apart and nodded back, but
stayed where he was. He had a hunch about the dude and he'd long since learned to listen to his
hunches.

She stepped back and let the door close.

He'd missed something. The dude was saying, "...reward for information about him or
any of his associates. He might have been traveling with a young woman. She had black hair and
was wearing a dark wool coat. Looked like it was made for a man."

Jerry shook his head. "Nobody like that checked in here, near as I can recall. I can ask
Wallace. He's the night clerk."

A coin slid across the counter and disappeared under Jerry's hand. "I'll check back,
then." The dude turned away, then looked back. "How many hotels in Cheyenne?"