Lee’s interest in the Irishman perked. “Not many gamblers can use a Sharps worth a hoot,” he said. The big rifles were immensely powerful, able to drop a bull buffalo at five hundred yards.
“I haven’t always made my living at cards,” Shannon said. Though he rarely talked about his past, he confided, “I was born and raised in Illinois, and when I was sixteen I got a hankering to travel. I did some buffalo hunting for a spell, until the big hairy brutes pretty near died off and there was no money to be made.”
Lee tried to picture the nattily dressed gambler in grimy buckskins and reeking of the stench of blood and death. He couldn’t do it.
“Then one evening in Cheyenne, for the hell of it, I sat in on a poker game. That was all it took. I’ve been playing the cards ever since. Likely I’ll go on gambling until the day they plant my carcass on a Boot Hill somewhere.”
“I’m flattered that you would kill Kemp over me,” Lee remarked.
Shannon smirked. “Over you? No, laddie, if I kill that arrogant Englishman, it will be because of Vint.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Vint and I are pards. To you that might not mean much. To me it means that I won’t abide any man being a threat to him.” Shannon removed his bowler to run a hand through his hair. “If Kemp has you cut to ribbons, then he has more brass than I give him credit for, and I’d kill him in a heartbeat to ensure he doesn’t endanger Vint once the council picks Vint to be the marshal.”
“You’re awful confident they will.”
“Who else is there to choose from? Bodine is the only other man in the running, and not enough will vote for him.”
Lee did not relate his noontime meeting with Old Abe and Jim Hays. “You’d do to ride the river with, Ike,” he said. “Not many men would be as loyal to a friend as you are.” He turned to the blonde, whose full figure was sheathed in a sheer red dress. “I owe you thanks for warning me about Jesse.”
“Think nothing of it,” Nelly said. “Consider it my way of paying you back for last night. If you hadn’t let me latch on to Vint, I would have missed out on the most fun I’ve had in years.” A haunted longing crept into her tone. “I’d forgotten what it was like to live for myself. Once a woman is lured into the saloon trade, her life is no longer her own. She’s branded forever.”
Lee intended to ask what she meant, but Ike Shannon muttered, “Here comes another bastard I’d like to fill with lead.”
Frank Lowe and Lowe’s ever-present bodyguards were approaching. Attired in an expensive suit, a diamond stickpin scintillating in the light, Lowe notched a thumb in a vest pocket. “Gentlemen,” he declared grandly. To the Tennessean, he said, “I’m flattered that you’ve made the Applejack your regular waterin’ hole.”
“What difference does it make?” Lee responded.
“You’re good for business, Scurlock,” Lowe said. “Gunmen always are, provided they don’t let the liquor and their temper get the best of them.” Puffing up like a peacock, he motioned at the spot where Morco had fallen. “Shootin’ that damned greaser was the best thing that’s happened in months. Word has spread all over town. Tonight everyone will be stoppin’ by in the hope of catchin’ a glimpse of you. I’ll do three times my normal business.”
“Maybe you should pay Lee a percentage of the take,” Shannon said to spite the man.
Frank Lowe forced a laugh. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” He sobered. “Tell you what I will do, though. All your drinks tonight, Scurlock, are on the house.”
“Your generosity is overwhelming,” Shannon said.
Resentment flickered across Lowe’s swarthy features. Suddenly spinning on Nelly, he snapped, “Workin’ hard, woman, or hardly workin’?”
“I’m doing my job,” she said softly.
“Are you?” Lowe said viciously. “Your job, in case you’ve forgotten, is to mingle with the customers, to smile and be friendly and persuade them to partake of the hard stuff.” He sniffed. “I don’t see you minglin’ or smilin’, even.”
“I was talking to Lee.”
“And I was just about to buy her a drink,” Lee fibbed, agitated by Lowe’s domineering attitude. The man treated the woman as if she were his personal property to do with as he saw fit. It wasn’t right.
“Maybe later,” Lowe said, stepping close and seizing her roughly by the wrist. “Last night I let you get away with doing as you saw fit. Not tonight. You’re paid to use your charm on anyone and everyone who comes through that door, not just on those you’re fond of.”
“Let go,” Nelly said, twisting her arm to no avail.
Lowe shook her. “I’ll do what I damn well please! Or have you forgotten our little arrangement?”
“How could I ever forget?”
The dandy sneered and puffed his chest out even farther. “You’re all alike, you trollops. You think that you can take advantage of me, that you can slack off whenever you like. Well, you’re wrong.”
“Take your hands off her!”
The command was roared like the primal growl of a panther. There, mere yards away, stood Vint Evers, his sinewy frame coiled, menace and fury transforming him into a brooding inhuman engine of destruction. As everyone turned, his hands swooped to his pistols.
Chapter Nine
Allison Hays sat in a rocking chair on the front porch of the Delony home and thought about her life. Not that a lot of memorable events had befallen her. Except for the death of her mother after a long and wearying illness, she had suffered no great tragedies.
If anything, Allison had led a fairly sheltered existence, living in the best of neighborhoods, attending the best of schools. Hunger and want had not left their stamp on her character.
It was to her credit that she had not turned out as spoiled as some of her friends. Those born with proverbial silver spoons in their mouths often grew up thinking that life owed them a living, when in truth the only thing that life owed anyone was the priceless gift of being alive.
Still, Allison would be the first to admit that she was not as mature as she should be. Her temper was too volatile, her patience too short. And, as she had shown with Lee Scurlock, she was prone to look down her nose at anyone who did not measure up to her standards of upright conduct.
Was that wrong? Allison had never doubted herself before, but now, her heart torn by the abrupt departure of the handsome southerner, she doubted, and doubted deeply.
Allison could not bear the thought of never seeing Lee again. At no other time in her life had she ever felt similarly about any man, even those who had wooed her with lavish gifts and elegant dinners and nights at the theater.
She could not shake Lee’s image from her mind’s eye if she tried—though she did not try very hard. She saw again those flashing eyes, his carefree smile. She reviewed his lithe economy of motion, and how warm his hand had been when she touched it.
Was this what it was like to fall in love?
The mental query jarred her. Allison had always been of the opinion that true love was a fiction, the handiwork of writers of sensational novels, who must all be hopeless romantics. Marriage and raising a family of her own had always been alien concepts, perhaps fit for other women but definitely not for her. She was different, she’d told herself time and again. She was destined for a more exotic destiny.
But now Allison wondered if maybe she was more normal than she had ever been willing to admit. The blood of her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother flowed in her veins, and maybe the blood of untold others for as far back as the family line extended. In an unbroken chain they had done what women had been doing since the dawn of time: They had passed on the spark of life from one generation to the next by marrying and rearing families as best they were able. Thus had it always been; thus would it always be.
For the very first time in her life Allison seriously considered that she, too, would follow in the footsteps of those before her, and wed. Once, the notion would have sparked mirth. Now she rested her chin
in her hand and envisioned what it would be like being the wife of Lee Scurlock.
Allison had to admit that she knew very little about him. Other than where he came from and a few meager facts about his family, he was an enigma, a man of mystery. Strangely, that added to his appeal. She felt that unplumbed depths lurked in the wellspring of his being, depths that only someone who cared for him with a supreme and total devotion would be permitted to delve into. And she liked the idea of that someone being herself.
There was only one hitch. Lee had made it clear that he never intended to see either her father or her ever again. She still did not quite comprehend why he had become so upset, but there was no denying that they had hurt him to the quick.
How could she make it up to him?
That burning issue occupied her for the better part of an hour, until the hinges on the front door creaked and out walked the one person in whom she could confide. “How did you know that Bob was the right man for you, Ethel?” she bluntly asked.
Ethel Delony’s wise eyes kindled with understanding. She did not ask why Allison wanted to know. She did not badger Allison with probing curiosity. Smiling in the knowing way that feminine intuition lent her gender, she said, “I just did. I can’t give you the how and why of it, because I doubt I know them myself. Suffice it to say that in my innermost soul I was drawn to him like metal to a magnet, or a moth to a flame. Some might call it instinct. Some might say it was nothing more than primitive longing. I say it was true love.”
“True love,” Allison softly echoed the words.
Ethel leaned against a post and folded her arms. “My grandmother used to say that for every woman, somewhere in the world is the right man. A woman might need to wander long and far to find him, but if she perseveres, then the powers that be will ensure that she does.”
A silly idea, Allison thought. Or was it? How else could she explain her unshakable attachment to a man she hardly knew? A gambler, no less, and a gunman to boot?
Ethel stared skyward. “I like to think that our guardian angels are responsible, that they watch out over us and lead us in paths that will benefit us best.”
“Angels as Cupid?” Allison said, grinning. “Well, Cupid is supposed to have wings.”
The older woman laughed. “Poke fun all you want. The fact remains that women and men are drawn to one another, and there’s no explaining why. It’s more than animal lust, more than human passion. It goes deeper, to the core of what we are.”
Allison had always admired her friend’s insights, never more than now. “You’d think, though, that two people meant to be together would hit it off from the moment they met.”
“That’s not always the case,” Ethel said. “It’s like that old saying, ‘You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.’ Well, the angels or Cupid or whatever can lead two people together, but they can’t force the couple to fall in love. Sometimes the people balk. Sometimes either the man or the woman or both are too selfish or too childish or just too plain stupid to realize the gift they have been given, and they go their separate ways.”
The thought of losing Lee forever sent a chill through Allison, and she shivered.
“Are you cold, my dear?”
“No,” Allison said, bending so the sun was full on her face. “But I am at a loss.” She tried not to betray how distraught she was when she asked, “What can a person do when the man she thinks is right for her doesn’t want to see her ever again?”
The corners of Ethel’s eyes crinkled. “A woman in that situation has two choices, it seems to me. Either she can let the pigheaded man have his way and deprive both of them of lifelong happiness, or she can seek him out and, as the saying goes, put all her cards on the table. What will be, will be.”
“Funny that you should mention cards,” Allison said.
“Yes. Isn’t it.”
~*~
“Evers!” Frank Lowe exclaimed, a sickly pallor creeping over his features. He snatched his hand from Nelly Rosell as if he had brushed against burning coals and stepped to the right, his palms held outward. “Now, you hold on, mister! You have no call to throw down on me!”
Only the fear that laced Lowe’s voice and was betrayed by his widened eyes prevented the enraged Texan from drawing. Gradually, his whipcord muscles relaxed. Slowly, he released the pearl butts of his sheathed pistols and squared his broad shoulders. The red haze that had fallen before his eyes faded, but not the gnawing fury boiling at the core of his being.
Vint Evers had known men like Frank Lowe before. They were as common as rattlesnakes, but much more vile. They lived off the misery of others, lining their pockets through commerce in lust and greed. They were the embodiment of all that was wicked and despicable in human nature. And as such, they were symbols of all that Vint Evers opposed.
Frank Lowe’s fright faded when he realized that the Texan was not going to shoot him. Regaining his customary bluster, he rasped, “You had no call to butt in like that. This doesn’t concern you.”
Vint glanced at Nelly, who glowed with gratitude, and he thought of the previous night, of the glorious, magical hours they had shared, the likes of which he had not experienced in his whole short but eventful life.
Lowe did not know when to leave well enough alone. “I have a perfect right to address my girls as I see fit,” he crowed.
Vint Evers stalked closer. Ever a man of action, he came to a swift decision, stating ominously, “Nelly is no longer yours to boss around.”
Lee saw the blonde clutch at her throat, saw undiluted affection wash over her countenance like a stream of crystal-clear water over a waterfall, and in that moment knew that something had transpired between the Texas gunfighter and the soiled dove, the same thing that he had once hoped would blossom between Allison and him, and he felt a twinge of envy overridden by happiness. It could not have happened to two more deserving people.
Frank Lowe sputtered in incoherent anger. “What the devil are you talking about, no longer mine?” he fumed.
“You heard me,” Vint said. “Nelly is done workin’ for you as of this very minute.”
“She’s one of my best workers!” Lowe protested. This from the man who a few moments ago had accused her of slacking off.
“I’m takin’ her out of here,” the Texan announced.
Only Frank Lowe reacted with shock at the news. Ike Shannon frowned, for he had known it was coming and dreaded it. He didn’t begrudge Vint the companionship; he dreaded that it would distract his friend to the point where Vint would no longer keep his mind on what had to be done. For someone in Vint’s line of work, the consequences could be fatal.
Lowe looked around in amazement, as if to confirm he was awake and not dreaming, then sneered at the Texan. “Think so, do you? Well, think again! You can’t just waltz out of here with her, and she knows it.”
Vint Evers had never been one to take it kindly whenever someone told him that he could not do something he was of a mind to do. Hitching at his gunbelts, he said, “Who’s to stop me?”
“Not who. What,” Frank Lowe said, sinister triumph crowning him as he gestured at the blonde. “She has a contract with me. All my girls do. It keeps them honest.”
Vint looked at Nelly again, his gut bunching into a tight ball at the despair that marred her beauty. Fresh in his memory were the hours they had spent in the saloon the night before, Nelly glued to his elbow, the two of them whispering and laughing like kids.
It had been Vint’s brainstorm to take her for a stroll, and they had wound through Diablo’s darkened streets until the wee hours of the morning, shoulder to shoulder, sharing their good experiences and their bad. Now and again shadowy figures had made toward them as if inclined to rob them or do them harm. But when the footpads recognized the famous Texan, they melted away as soundlessly as specters.
Vint and Nelly had bent their steps to the river. Under a spreading cottonwood, on a carpet of lush grass, bathed by the glow of the full moon, they had sat and
cuddled, Vint awkward and timid, Nelly warm and tender. As a man-killer Vint had few equals, but as a lady-killer, he was as green as the grass on which they had sat.
Later, Vint had walked Nelly to the shack he shared with Ike Shannon, where they had sat at the small table and talked, talked, talked until a rosy glow painted the eastern sky, heralding the advent of a new day.
It had been the grandest night of Vint’s entire life, a night such as he had occasionally dreamed but never dared to actually think would take place. He had been floating on air when he escorted her to her hotel, and then had the audacity to give her a kiss in public. He could still taste her incredibly sweet tongue and feel the delicious pressure of her pillowy lips.
Now here was a mangy polecat of a pimp telling him that he couldn’t free her from the shackles of saloon life? Vint Evers edged nearer to Frank Lowe, his eyes ablaze with raw hatred. “What are you on about?”
Lowe lost some of his swagger, coughed, and said, “When she first came to work for me in Dodge, I had her sign a standard contract. She didn’t have a penny to her name, so I advanced her five hundred dollars to pay off her debts and use however else she pleased.”
“She hasn’t paid it off?” Vint asked.
Nelly responded, in a voice so frail that Lee Scurlock would not have recognized it as hers if he had not seen her lips move. “I’ve tried, but he’ll only take a dollar a week from my pay, no matter how much I earn.
“A dollar a week?” Vint snarled at Lowe. “At that rate, it will take her ten years to pay it all off!”
The saloon owner chuckled evilly. “Can I help it if most of the women who apply for work are too dumb to read the fine print? I have the right to set the amount they’ll repay each week. And they’re obligated to abide by it, whether they want to or not.”
Diablo (A Piccaddilly Publishing Western Book 6) Page 10
