The Outlaw's Kiss (an Old West Romance) (Wild West Brides) (13 page)

Cards on the table? Not much New York left in
you, is there?

“Come on, Clara!” Father called. “Mr. Star is
waiting!”

“I’m right behind you,” I answered as he and Mr.
Clark rode ahead. I had too much to think about to follow too closely. I walked
beside my horse, slowly making my way up the hill and to the camp. By the time
I arrived, the two were already in heavy planning with Mr. Star, and my father
was pacing back and forth excitedly.

“How soon can we start?”

Mr. Star chuckled at my father’s eagerness. “It’ll
be some time still. We’ve got to wait on the next shipment of dynamite and
equipment by rail. It’ll come through Yankton in a week, which corresponds
with...”

“With what, Mr. Star?” I made myself known right
after tying my horse.

“Well, with Mr. Masterson’s trial.” He swallowed
visibly. “Oh, that reminds me. I mean, not that, exactly, but.” He shook his
head and patted his pockets. “I forgot that I had this. Here.”

He stuck his arm out, offering me a note scrawled
on a square of paper no bigger than my palm. But, both sides were covered with
very neat, tiny letters.

“Dear Clara,

I hope this finds you well. I’m sure it will,
as it should get to you only a few days after my unfortunate incident. My
friend Seth has told me in no uncertain terms that regardless of our
friendship, he’s going to transport me to Yankton. Of course, he’s skillfully
avoided saying he’s taking me there ‘for trial’. He’s a crafty man. He’s also
forgiven me for almost taking his head off with that punch.

The problem as it stands is that he doesn’t
know who levied the claim against me. The accusation was delivered late at
night, via post. Someone wanted to keep their identity secret enough to take
the bother of sending a note through the mail instead of just telling him their
suspicions. To me, this says there aren’t any suspicions worth mentioning at
all.”

Chewing my lip between my teeth and, I’m afraid,
rudely ignoring the conversation around me, I continued to read.

“To my mind, there’s no question as to who made
this accusation, which is the same way it probably stands for most in the camp.
However, at issue is that no one in particular cares. Though I call many people
in Deadwood my friends, very few actually are. Seth is one, Mr. Star another.
Though Al Swearengen is a dangerous man, he’s the sort of dangerous that can be
trusted not to act unpredictably. He’ll always do what suits his interest, no
matter anything else. Al serves Al. But you can also be sure that if he decides
helping you is some way beneficial, he’ll do it without fail.

I’m running out of both space, and lead with
which to write. I made you a promise. I told you something I’ve never told
anyone, ever in my life. That I wouldn’t leave you; that I wouldn’t let
anything happen to me without coming back for you. If you’re not sitting down,
you may want to do so. I’d hate for you to take a spill in the middle of a gold
claim, and drift on off down the creek, or to fall in the midst of a
horse-trough.
”

Taking his advice, I found a suitable stump, and
sat. Elis handwriting grew very small, so that I had to squint to make out all
the letters.

“I WILL come for you, Clara. Make no mistake
about it. Whatever it takes. Whatever I have to do, I’ll not exit this life
until I taste your lips again. I want to take you to Texas and show you that
sunset I talked about. Dusk over the Palo Duro. Remember that. Hold me to it.
I’d tell you to destroy this, but I know you won’t, so instead, just hide it very
well. Remember what I said.

-Eli Masterson”

He was right about the sitting down. A heady swoon
overtook me, but I soon caught myself and straightened up. The men were so
embroiled in their discussion of mine-carts that they hadn’t noticed, and for
that I was grateful. Briefly, it struck me how strange it was that he bothered
signing both his first and last name, but my emotions had no room for silly
giggling.

“I promise you, too, Eli,” I said under my breath,
well out of earshot. “I won’t forget. We’ll see that sunset. I promise.”

September 25, 1878

Deadwood, Dakota Territory

––––––––

T
he next day passed with little incident except
for Sheriff Bullock dropping by just after father left. He wanted an
appointment for supper. I was at first incredulous, but he insisted it was to
discuss something of a business matter, which put my hair to standing on end.
He refused to say any more.

After his visit, I whiled away the day with
another ice-block delivery, and a set of reports that came from the bank in
Yankton where Father had evidently been sending the gold he found at the claim
for deposit. The sum was substantial, but nothing compared to the amount needed
to save the bank.

About noon-time, I took a short luncheon. Somehow,
I didn’t notice that I made a ham biscuit just like Eli had done until I bit
into it, and the sweet flavor of the meat and the butter crossed my lips and
caressed my tongue. Just as soon as I tasted it, I remembered the way Eli’s
lips felt against mine, the way he held my neck so gently in his hand, cradling
me in his arms. The feeling of his warmth, his easy smile, and the smell of
leather and work upon him, I had to stop myself and think about something,
anything, else.

My sandwich lay there with one bite removed for
the rest of the day. Each time I looked at it, I couldn’t bring myself to throw
it out. The memories I had when I gazed at that little hunk of cold bread and
ham and butter, sent me back to a few days ago when the entire world seemed
right.

It also reminded me of how horribly wrong it went
in one strike of a hammer.

But, I knew that becoming despondent wasn’t going
to do one spot of good for me, Eli, or anyone else. I had to be strong, like
Eli. I needed to keep a straight face, not panic, keep my wits.

In a way, I needed to be more cunning, like Mr.
Swearengen than up-front and brave like Eli. I got the idea that Mr.
Swearengen’s mind was rather like the herd of bison we’d passed on the trail
between Yankton and Deadwood. If you look at them from the top, it seems like a
placid sea of fur, moving as one, ever forward. Looking underneath, at their
legs and the dust they kick up, and the mess of shredded grass and whatever
else they’ve trampled underfoot – that’s the real story. On the surface, you’d
never be able to read a single one of his thoughts, or his emotions, if indeed
he has anything as inconvenient as emotions.

Underneath though? Turmoil and strife.

By half past three, I was dressed in a very decent
set of clothing – purple gown with blue sleeve accents and lace hand covers, my
nicest stockings and the only pair of walking boots I had that weren’t caked
with filth. I even picked out the hat and jewelry I wanted to wear to meet Mr.
Bullock.

Of course, there was still the matter of
three-and-a-half hours separating me from supper. I thought about going to town
for some air and to stretch my legs, but decided against it. Rather than either
get my good boots dirty, or be inconvenienced by finding others, I instead took
my exercise up and down the stretch of road between our house and the beginning
of the buildings that marked Deadwood proper.

Immediately after stepping out, I was struck with
an odd smell of smoke hanging heavy in the air. It had an acrid bite, a rather
unpleasant, sharp sting to it that I wasn’t familiar with. Rather than the
smell of a
fire
, it seemed the smell of something
being burned
,
possibly something that didn’t normally catch fire, but in light of other
things rattling around in my head, I put it out of my mind.

Not for a moment did I believe that Eli had
anything to do with any Indian raids, but what stuck uncomfortably in me was
that even for his distasteful appearance and uncouth manners, Eustace had never
lied completely. Mr. Bullock
did
indeed have a vice for women, and Davis
Clark had a less-successful gold claim than he let on initially. At the same
time, he never told the
whole
truth, as far as I could tell. Mr. Clark’s
gold claim did certainly have gold in it, and Seth wasn’t a slave to his lusts,
as Mr. Rawls let on.

By the time I stopped wandering to and fro on the
road that powerful, sour smell stung my nose, and the sun had begun to droop
nearer the horizon.

I gathered my things, making sure to include my
notebook in the belongings I tucked into my handbag, and made my way to town.
Once I passed the laundry hanging and swaying in the breeze, I realized that
the smell from earlier was back.

What is that?
I wrinkled my nose. The
nearer I got to the center of town the stronger it became.

“Clara! Miss James, I was just heading your way.”

“Oh,” I smiled and gave a brief curtsy. “Much
obliged Mr. Bullock. I mean Seth,” I smiled, catching my mistake.

Of course, he took my hand and kissed it politely
before taking my arm and leading me back to the inn. “The menu tonight is,” he
drew his lips together and cocked an eyebrow. “What
is
the menu
tonight?” He turned to the old woman who seemed never to move from where she stood
behind the stove day in and day out. Then he remembered that she wasn’t able to
hear from that distance, rose, and stood beside her. “Nettie? What’s cooking?
Miss James and I are starved.”  

“What?” She said as she turned with an
outstretched spoon that Seth only just avoided. “Oh, Mr. Bullock. What do you
want?”

He could hardly keep from laughing, and to my
embarrassment, I was having trouble as well.

“Oh, Miss Nettie, watch that spoon,” he laughed
and dodged again. “I asked what was on for supper.” He slowly and carefully
enunciated each word, speaking much louder than I’d ever heard him before.

“What?” She leaned closer.

He was shouting. “Supper!” Finally he pointed at
the pot and pantomimed eating.

“Oh, why didn’t you just ask? Chicken, rice,
dumplings and cobbler. Cain’t you just wait until I bring it to find out what
it is?”

He patted her gently on the shoulder, thanking her
loudly, though I’m sure she didn’t hear that, either. I was red-faced when he
returned to the table.

“Suppose we’re having chicken and dumplings then.
Nettie’s a real peach. A Georgia one. She came this way with someone who didn’t
survive very long. She gets her room and board paid for by working here. For
all her being deaf as a barn-door, she’s one of the best cooks I’ve had the
pleasure of encountering.”

I took a sniff of the air. The spices smelled so
good it overwhelmed even the pungent aroma of cowboy that filled the inn. “It
is wonderful.” As I did my stomach growled audibly. “Oh, goodness!” I said, blushing.
“Must be the promise of such deliciousness.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Seth said. He pulled
his chair up closer and leaned forward. His face grew suddenly serious, but
just as he was about to speak, thick, soupy, delicious liquid dropped from a
spoon held high up and plopped in his bowl.

Seth set back with a start.

“Figgered you got right up on me to ask about it,
so I’d do you the same courtesy,” Nettie said. She had already poured mine and
deposited a roll beside either of our plates, and turned to the next table
before he was able to respond.

For a moment, his face lightened up before going
sour again. “Look, Clara,” he said. “I don’t want to ruin a good meal, but
there’s something you need to know.”

Thousands of horrible scenarios immediately played
out in my mind.

“That smell,” I said absently.

Seth shook his head. “I haven’t a clue what it is.
Though it is decidedly awful.”

A snickering voice from behind us interrupted the sheriff,
who turned dagger eyes to whoever spoke. “You,” he snarled. “Lot of nerve you’ve
got. Don’t think I don’t know what you did.”

“What
I
did? Why sheriff, whatever are you
talking about?” The man snorted.

My stomach tied itself in a knot. I turned my head
just enough to see who it was sitting behind me, as though I didn’t already
know. Trying my best to keep from any dramatics, I faced the table and stared
directly at my food which became very unappetizing.

“We’ll see about that,” Seth said, pushing his
chair back from the table and stepping around me. I didn’t want to look, but I
couldn’t help myself. Seeing the sheriff with his hands on Eustace Rawls’s
lapels was far more exciting than it should have been.

Watching the round man with the brown stains on
his jowls squirm was deeply satisfying. Until, that is, he chose to speak
again.

“I don’t know about all this, Sheriff Bullock.” He
snorted between his words. “You might be in for a nasty surprise soon. Wait,
what’s that smell?” Eustace twisted in the sheriff’s hands and lifted his nose
to the air, sniffing. “Smells acrid, don’t it? Kinda like somethin’ familiar,
huh? Can’t think of what though, can you, sheriff? You got any idea, Cap’n?”

“Nope,” Ernie said before returning to his
biscuit.

“You’re going to pay for this, Rawls,” Seth
growled. “I’m sure this is your doing too, whatever it is.”

Suddenly, a huge crash outside released the
tension in the room.

And then I heard the hooves. Hooves like a roll of
thunder.

“What’s that, sheriff?” Rawls grinned, his vile
lips pulling back over his brown teeth. “Mightn’t the town’s law man check out
a disturbance like that?”

Sheriff Bullock’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Everybody stays in here,” he shouted, with his eyes still fixed on Eustace’s.
“Stay in your seats or get down. Whatever happens, don’t go outside. You hear?”

Of course, by the time he finished and dropped
Eustace unceremoniously into this chair, almost everyone had cleared out of the
inn and into the street, excepting Nettie, who went right on stirring the stuff
in her pot.