Wild Rain

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Glenda,” Spring snarled warningly. She then turned on the men. “Odell, don’t you have someplace else to be?”

  Garrett stood fascinated and confused. Where did the notion that he might be courting Spring come from? He looked out at Odell, who smiled and nodded a greeting.

  Glenda then asked where he was from, and the name of his newspaper. After his replies she said, “Nice meeting you, Mr. McCray. Have Regan and Dr. Lee bring you over for dinner while you’re in town.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And Spring. Be nice. Any man willing to fight you for a door may be worth keeping.”

  That said, she strode away.

  Outdone, he turned to Spring who growled, “Open the damn door, McCray.”

  He did, and Odell and his friends applauded.

  Inside, the house was quiet, clean, and well-furnished. A tall large-boned blonde woman came from a room off the parlor.

  “Hey, Spring.”

  “Dovie.”

  “You look angry. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  Dovie didn’t appear convinced and Garrett had no plans to add to Spring’s ire by offering an explanation. He was still trying to process the encounter outside.

  “Is this the newspaper man you rescued?”

  “Yes. Garrett McCray. Dovie Denby.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss or is it Mrs. Denby?”

  “Legally, it’s Mrs., but the mister is off living with another woman. Left me high and dry.”

  Her frankness caught him off guard.

  She explained, “More than likely you’ll hear the story from somebody else. I just wanted to get ahead of it before you did.”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. “Um. I appreciate that. Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Same here. So you need a room?”

  “Yes.”

  “There aren’t any other boarders at the moment, so since you’re doing a story on the doc I’ll put you up in the Rhine room, and you can have it for the price of one of the smaller ones.”

  He didn’t know what the Rhine room was, but she gave him the impression that it was a bit fancier than the others. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Come on with me.”

  He picked up his carpetbag and valise.

  Spring said, “I’ll get the bedroll—or am I supposed to leave that for a gentleman to handle?”

  Not bothering to hide his smile, he added the bedroll to the other items he was carrying, and he and Spring followed Dovie up the stairs.

  The Rhine room was spacious and well appointed. Dovie explained that it was named in honor of Regan Lee’s uncle, Rhine Fontaine. There was a big four-poster bed atop a wide expensive-looking Oriental carpet, an attached washroom with a tub, and a small desk with a chair. A large wardrobe made of a beautiful oak stood against one wall.

  Dovie asked, “Will this do you?”

  “Yes. How much is it, may I ask?”

  She quoted him a very reasonable price.

  As he placed the bedroll on the large rug near the foot of the bed, Spring said, “I’m going to head home.”

  Even though he knew they’d be parting, he was still disappointed. He wanted to discuss his supposed courtship to assure her that wasn’t his intent, but the terseness on her face showed now was not the time. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Telegraph office is across the street. The livery will take care of your horse. Have Dovie or Odell show you where it is. If you get the chance, walk down and introduce yourself to the sheriff, Whit Lambert. He and my brother are good friends.”

  “Okay. I hope to see you again before it’s time for me to go back to Washington.”

  She didn’t respond, but turned and left, and he was fine with that. If she didn’t wish to see him again, she’d’ve had no problem saying so.

  “She likes you,” Dovie said.

  Amused, he replied, “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I am. If she didn’t, she’d’ve sent you off with Odell after the storm. In the ten years I’ve known Spring, I don’t remember her ever taking a man in, blizzard or no blizzard. Makes you special.”

  Garrett didn’t know what to say to that, so he set it aside to ponder later.

  Dovie moved to the doorway. “I’ll let you get settled. Come find me if you need anything.”

  “Thank you. Will do.”

  As he unpacked, he thought about Dovie’s words and the fascinating run-in with Glenda Cale. Why did she think he was courting Spring? Was it a rumor started by Odell? He admittedly found Spring intriguing, but courting her? He couldn’t imagine how difficult such a challenge would be. Granted, pursuing her wouldn’t be boring, but would he survive? She didn’t suffer fools nor offer quarter. He’d stood a better chance of walking back to Washington wearing a blindfold. But there was an attraction between them. He was fairly certain she felt it, too, even if she’d probably go to her grave denying it. She impressed him as keeping a tight rein on her emotions and took pride in the control, but he wondered how she’d respond if the reins were loosened. What was she like with a lover? Did she embrace passion as fiercely as she embraced life? Last night at supper, when he asked if she’d ever been in love, her glare would’ve turned him to stone had it the power. Later, in the kitchen, she seemed set upon ignoring him yet couldn’t stop meeting his eyes. He for sure couldn’t stop looking her way. He’d found the episode somewhat amusing only because she seemed angry about her inability to control what her eyes were doing. Dovie called him special. He didn’t know how truthful that was, but the more time spent with Dr. Colton Lee’s iron-willed sister, the more captivating and intriguing he found her to be.

  The telegraph office was in a small log building. A barely legible weather-beaten sign above the door read Paradise Trading Post. He entered and found Odell and some of the men who’d been with the old trapper earlier gathered around a checkerboard that appeared to be as old as the sign. There was sawdust on the hard-packed dirt floor. On the walls were the heads of an elk, a bear, and a big cat with one eye. The three men looked up at his entrance and Odell said, “Can I help you, McCray?”

  “I’d like to send a telegraph back East, if I may.”

  “Sure.” He stood and told the elderly Colored man on the other side of the checkerboard, “Keep your hands off my men, you old cheat.”

  His opponent, his right leg in a cast and propped on a listing cane chair, shot back, “I can beat you in the middle of the night wearing a blindfold. I don’t need to cheat.” He then addressed Garrett. “Name’s Porter James. Welcome to Paradise.”

  “I’m Garrett McCray. Pleased to meet you, sir.” James’s hair was white as snow, but his face, the color of dark maple, was unlined. Garrett certainly hadn’t expected to meet another Colored man. He’d have to remember to ask Dr. Lee just how many other members of the race lived in the area.

  The other man seated by the checkerboard introduced himself as Moss Denby. He was short, plump, and had graying mutton chops gracing his cheeks. “I drive the stagecoach. Dovie is my daughter-in-law and mother of my grandson, Wallace.”

  “She’s been very helpful.” Garrett wondered what Moss thought about his son living with another woman and leaving Dovie high and dry, as she’d claimed.

  Odell handed Garrett paper and pencil. “Write what you want to say and where you want it sent. Storm’s now east of us, so it may take your message a few days to get where it has to go.”

  “That’s fine.” When he finished writing, he handed the paper back to Odell.

  “I’ll send it right out.”

  “Thank you.”

  Moss asked, “Is working for a newspaper the only thing you do?”

  “No. I’m a carpenter by trade.”

  Porter James turned and looked him up and down. “How long?”

  “Most of my life.”

  “You any good?”

  “I think I am. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m a carpenter, too. O
nly one within miles. I also own the mill. If you need work while you’re here, me and this busted leg could sure use some help.”

  “I’m not planning on staying after I speak with Dr. Lee, but thanks for letting me know I’d have work if I did.”

  Garrett spent a few more minutes being quizzed about where he was from and what other places the newspaper business had taken him to.

  Odell asked, “So you and Spring getting along?”

  Garrett paused and wondered where this might be going. “I’m very grateful that she took me in. I’m concerned about folks thinking I’m courting her. Farthest thing from my mind.”

  “Why?” Porter asked.

  Garrett studied him. “I doubt Miss Lee is interested in being courted by a man who will be leaving soon.”

  Moss asked, “If you weren’t leaving, would you be interested?”

  More accustomed to being the nosy questioner, he kept his voice calm. “I think that would be between me and Miss Lee, don’t you?”

  Moss smiled. James did, too. Odell said, “See? He’ll do fine, won’t he?”

  Garrett was afraid to ask, but did anyway. “Fine as what?”

  “As the man Spring needs to court her,” Odell replied as if it was obvious.

  Exasperated, Garrett said, “But you don’t know anything about me. Suppose I’m already married or engaged?”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then, there you go,” Odell said.

  He wondered if the people in Paradise were prone to insanity. As he contemplated that, a tall auburn-haired man entered. There was a brass star pinned to the front of his brown wool coat.

  “Name’s Whitman Lambert,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m the sheriff. Call me Whit.”

  Thankful to be rescued, Garrett shook the man’s hand. “Garrett McCray. Pleased to meet you.”

  Whit explained, “Dovie asked me to show you around.”

  “I’d like that.” Anything to get away from Odell and his matchmaking friends.

  Garrett turned to them. “Nice meeting you gentlemen.”

  Odell said, “Whit, give this to Heath. It came in with this morning’s mail.” He handed the sheriff a small package wrapped in brown paper. “And take real good care of our guest there.”

  The sheriff appeared confused by that, but replied, “Sure, Odell.”

  Outside, Lambert asked, “What was that all about?”

  Garrett said, “You don’t want to know. Where to first?”

  “Let’s go take this to Heath Leary over at the saloon.”

  Before going home, Spring rode over to the Irish Rose, the town’s local saloon. She’d asked the owner, Irishman Heath Leary, to order a bottle of scotch from a Denver importer, and she wanted to see if it had arrived. Unlike the wild Spring of old, she rarely set foot in saloons anymore. If she wanted to sip, she preferred to do it in the evenings, at home—alone. As she entered the establishment, she scanned the near-empty interior, noting a few men seated here and there. A small group sat together at a table in the far corner. Baxter, the aged piano player, was dressed in his usual threadbare black suit. He was also slumped against the piano, asleep. She walked over to the bar where Leary was stacking glasses. Dark hair and eyes, he was easily one of the most handsome men in the Territory. He was also hopelessly in love with Dovie Denby, who refused to give him the time of day.

  “How are you, Spring?”

  “I’m okay. Has my scotch come in?”

  “Not yet. Any day now though, I’m sure.”

  A man called out from across the room. “If it isn’t the most well-used mouth in the Territory. How you doing, Spring?”

  She froze. She hadn’t heard Matt Ketchum’s smug voice in years, but her hate rose fresh and raw.

  Leary’s dark eyes moved to the speaker and back to her tight face. She saw his concern. Ignoring Ketchum, she said to Leary, “I’ll check back in a couple of days.”

  Ketchum stormed, “Don’t try and ignore me, you little whore.”

  He’d drawn everyone’s attention. The scrape of his chair as he got to his feet was loud in the silence.

  She turned to face him because she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. “No one can ignore your stench, Matt. They probably smell you in Laramie.”

  The men seated with him turned around to get a good look at her.

  Her sidelong glance showed Whit Lambert entering the saloon with McCray. Great.

  Matt boasted in a loud voice, “Boys, she didn’t complain about my stench when she was on her knees, sucking my dick.”

  “Yeah, I did,” she countered coldly. “I’ve sucked ryegrass straws with more girth than you’ve got.”

  A few guffaws were heard.

  Face beet-red, he charged her. The sight of her drawn Colt aimed his way froze him midstride. She heard Whit say warningly, “Spring.”

  She didn’t take her eyes off the furious Ketchum. “Need to settle this, Whit.”

  Ketchum sneered. “Shoot me in front of all these witnesses and you’ll hang for sure.”

  “And I’ll do it gladly because you’ll no longer be walking this earth. The girl you enjoyed beating up has wanted you dead a long time.”

  She waited.

  The hate in his glare flared. Her raised gun was an equalizer; even a man known as a bullying coward was smart enough to figure that out. He didn’t advance. She’d bested him. They both knew it.

  “This ain’t over,” he promised.

  “Then have Beck measure you for a pine box.” Wasting no more time on him, she holstered the Colt and told Heath, “Let me know about my scotch.”

  On her way to the door, her eyes briefly brushed McCray’s concerned face. He was probably appalled, but she kept walking. Outside, she mounted Cheyenne and they raced home ahead of the demons rising from her past.

  She put Cheyenne in his stall and was walking back to her cabin when her grandfather rode up. She wondered if her day could get any worse. “What can I do for you, Ben?” She went inside; he followed.

  “Odell said you had some fella here for a couple of days.”

  “Yes, and he probably also told you the man is here to do a story on Colt and got caught in the storm.” She knew what he’d really come to find out. “And if you’re wondering how we entertained ourselves, we cavorted like rabbits the entire time.”

  His jaw tightened beneath his slate-gray beard. “Show some respect.”

  She asked challengingly, “To whom? You? That is what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”

  “Odell says he’s a nice fella.”

  “He is, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to be rude. Just like you are with Regan.” Her brother had forbidden Ben to have any contact with his family until Ben could be civil to his wife.

  “Your brother should’ve never married her.”

  Spring felt a headache forming. “Go home, Ben. I’m not in the mood to argue with you today.”

  “Just came to make sure you’re okay.”

  It was a lie and they both knew it.

  He gave her a terse nod and departed.

  Spring put on a pot of coffee, and while it brewed, sat on the sofa to try and shake off the day. The memory of her run-in with Matt Ketchum still angered her. After Ben threw her out of their family’s home for refusing to marry his aged choice of a husband, she’d gone to Matt’s father, Mitch, to ask for a job. He bred and sold horses, and since she’d loved horses all her life and had done odd jobs for him while growing up, she was willing to take whatever employment he had to offer so she could eat and have a place to stay. His price. Her innocence. She was eighteen, homeless, and desperate. Her parents had passed away and Colt was back East studying at Howard’s Medical School. Seeing no other choice, she followed him to his bedroom and started working for him the next day. She rode with his ranch hands, and he rode her whenever he had a mind to. He let Matt ride her, too, and didn’t care that Matt used his fists on her as punishment for sins real and imagined whenever he
’d had too much to drink, which was often.

  She scrubbed her hands down her face and went to the kitchen. The coffee was ready, so she poured some and took a sip. The sharp bitterness mirrored how she felt inside. Her Ketchum years had been hell and she’d masked her horror, and yes, shame, by fighting, gambling, and strutting drunkenly through town as if she owned the place. When Colt finished his studies and returned to town, her wild behavior gave him nightmares and the local gossips fuel that still burned today. But she saved her money, and when she accumulated enough to pay for the land she now called her own, she quit working for the Ketchums and never spoke to them again. A month or so later Matt left town. Rumor had it he’d used his fists on the daughter of a state legislator and fled the Territory to escape the man’s wrath and jail, but Spring didn’t know how much of that was true. His father, Mitch, died in a rockslide a few years ago. She didn’t mourn.

  And now Matt Ketchum had returned. She hoped he was just passing through, but her gut said no. Regardless of the why, he’d want revenge for having his manhood ridiculed, so she’d have to keep an eye out. He was a coward and wasn’t above ambushing her and shooting her in the back.

  Coffee cup in hand, she stood before the window in her small dining room and looked out. It was still sunny and bright. Usually when she needed to clear her head, she’d pack some gear, saddle Cheyenne, load a pack horse, and camp out in the foothills for a few days because the change in scenery it offered always seemed to be the balm her frayed mind needed, but there was still too much snow. She wondered what McCray thought of the encounter. She assumed the show she’d put on wasn’t common where he was from. Parts of her wished he hadn’t witnessed it, but other parts shrugged. He now knew more about the true Spring and her past. What he did with that was his own business. She would miss him cooking her breakfast come morning though.

  She knocked around her cabin for the next hour and realized she was becoming more and more antsy, so she packed an overnight bag, saddled Cheyenne again, and rode back to her brother’s place. Maybe if she stayed until Colt returned, Regan could sleep when the baby did and thereby get some well-needed rest. As it stood now, that was next to impossible because Anna needed looking after, too. Spring refused to admit how empty her house felt and why. Regan needed her help, so she focused on that.