Diablo (A Piccaddilly Publishing Western Book 6)

by Robbins, David

  “That you did, right outside of the hotel,” Franklyn said. “The desk clerk had you brought up and sent for me.”

  “What about my horse?”

  “At the stable down the street, I believe someone mentioned.” The doctor glanced at his bag, then set it on the bed. “Almost forgot. That shoulder is bound to bother you something awful. I can leave a bottle of painkiller, if you’d like.”

  “Will the stuff make me woozy?” Lee was thinking about the enemies he had made, and how happy they would be to hear that he had a clipped wing.

  “Laudanum can have that effect, yes. You’ll be drowsy at times and you’ll sleep a lot, but sleep is good for you right now.”

  “No, thanks, Doc.”

  “The bottle isn’t expensive,” Franklyn said.

  “It’s not the cost.”

  The physician was not pleased, but he closed his black bag. “I won’t press it, sir. I know who you are. It’s all over how you shot Morco the other night, and those other two before that.” Unbending, he was about to depart when he did something that endeared him to Lee. He brought the gunbelt to the head of the bed, depositing it within easy reach.

  “I’m obliged.”

  Dr. Franklyn stepped to the door. “I fail to understand how anyone can live the life you do, young man. I’m surprised you don’t have an ulcer.”

  “Ulcers are for those who worry too much and die young. Me, I aim to live to a ripe old age.”

  The physician worked the latch. “Don’t take this in the wrong vein, Mr. Scurlock, but at the rate you’re going, you’ll be lucky if you last out the year.”

  ~*~

  Confinement made Lee irritable and uneasy. By the second day he could barely stand to stay in bed. The gnawing pangs that racked his shoulder were added aggravation, but he refused to change his mind about the laudanum. The only break in the monotony was when the desk clerk brought up his meals. Then he had a visitor.

  It was late in the afternoon and shadows were spreading along Diablo’s streets. Lee had positioned the gunbelt so he could draw the Colt with ease, and at a creak outside his door he did just that, his thumb resting lightly on the hammer. He listened, and thought he heard someone shift uneasily. Training the barrel on the center of the panel, he waited for the crash of a heavy boot on the wood. Instead, someone rapped lightly, almost as if they were scared to do so.

  “Who is it?”

  “Me, Lee. Allison Hays.”

  The last person Lee expected. Dumbfounded, he fumbled at sliding the Colt into its holster and nearly dropped the pistol on the floor. Shoving it in, he sat back and covered himself as high as his chest. He had not shaved and his hair was disheveled, and his hat was clear across the room.

  “May I come in?”

  “Oh. Sure. Please do.”

  Allison slowly opened the door. She was nervous, unsure of the reception she would receive. It had taken all her courage to swallow her pride and pay the southerner a visit, but she could not have stayed away if she had been chained and gagged.

  Word had reached her the night before. She had been on the front porch, rocking in the cool air. Half an hour earlier her father and Bob Delony had gone to play billiards, so she had been surprised to see them hurrying up the street. The look in her father’s eyes had alerted her that something dreadful had happened, and she had steeled herself. Even so, her heart had nearly burst on hearing what it was.

  “Lee Scurlock has been shot.”

  Allison had leaped up, driven by an impulse to rush to Lee’s side. She would have, too, if her father had not taken her by the arm and steered her to a corner of the porch where they could talk in private.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but you’d only be in the way. They’ve carried Lee up to his room and Dr. Franklyn is working on him. The word is that Lee’s condition is serious, but he’ll live.”

  “Who shot him?” Allison had asked, filled with a rare lust to see another human being suffer. Whoever had done the deed deserved to be severely punished—or hanged.

  “No one knows yet. But I did learn that he was invited out to Allister Kemp’s ranch tonight. It happened either there, or while he was on his way back.”

  “I can’t believe Allister would do such a thing,” Allison had said, and she meant it. From the moment she met him, she had been grandly impressed by the Englishman’s suave manner and glib tongue. He was cultured. He was well-traveled. He had a flair for elegant manners. In short, he was the sterling prince she had always imagined would be perfect for her. The fact that he had shown an interest was immensely flattering, although, strangely enough, she could never bring herself to feel more than friendly toward him.

  Now, staring at Lee’s bandaged shoulder, seeing his pallor and how weak he was, she forgot all about the suave Englishman in her anxiety over the southerner. “I would have stopped by sooner, but they said that you needed rest.”

  Lee was awhirl with emotion. After their last meeting, he had not figured to ever talk to her again. Yet here she was, and he was reminded of the image of her branded in his brain before he passed out. “I never thought to see you again,” he blurted.

  Allison walked to the end of the bed. She considered telling him she was only staying for a few minutes. She considered saying that she had stopped by just to be polite, or to repay him for saving her father at the relay station. But an irresistible urge came over her, an urge to admit the truth, though in doing so she was exposing more of her inner self than she had ever exposed to anyone. “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away,” she compromised.

  Lee did not take her seriously. That she would actually care for him was beyond belief; that she would admit it, improbable. “I’m glad you found the time,” he said lamely.

  Their relationship was at a cusp, a moment when their future balanced precariously on the conflict of their past. Allison sensed that whether they would grow closer or farther apart depended on what she said next. “How could I not, the way I feel about you?”

  Lee would have sworn he had been drugged without his knowledge. She couldn’t be implying what he thought she was. “I know all too well how you feel. Gamblers aren’t your cup of tea, remember?”

  No malice tinged his tone, yet Allison blushed and stepped to the window to gaze into the bustling street. “I deserved that, I suppose. I know that I’ve treated you horribly, childishly. And I’d like to make amends.” She could not look him in the eyes, but she could say, “I apologize for how I behaved.”

  Lee wanted to pinch himself to verify he was awake. Better yet, he should pound his head against the wall once or twice. “I’m the one who ought to say he’s sorry,” he said. “It was rude of me to talk to you the way I did.”

  Allison shook her head. Now that the moment had come, she wanted to get everything off her chest. “The fault was all mine. I was so disappointed, I couldn’t see straight.”

  “Because I didn’t live up to your expectations?”

  “Yes,” Allison admitted, cringing inwardly. “I’m probably making a fool of myself, but if we don’t clear the air now, we may never say what has to be said.” She stopped, regret drooping her chin.

  Lee knew that she was upset, but he could not gauge how much. To spare her from having to say more, he responded, “Hold your horses, beautiful. I have something to say, too.” He took a breath. “I want to confess that I cottoned to you from the very start—”

  Allison’s back stiffened.

  “—but I haven’t enjoyed the company of a genuine lady in ages. I reckon that I plumb forgot how a woman like you looks at the world. Gambling and gunfighting don’t go hand in hand with a sterling character.”

  Allison pivoted, her heart alight with joy and something else, something deeper. A gleam lit her eyes as she moved to the side of the bed. “Do you mean that, Lee? Do you honestly and truly mean it?”

  “You’re right, and I was wrong,” Lee said as succinctly as he could.

  Impulsively, Allison bent and clasped h
is hand. “Could you give up cards for my sake?”

  “I don’t aim to gamble the rest of my life away.”

  “You’re evading the question,” Allison said, fearful that his words were empty of meaning, that he was saying what he suspected she wanted to hear. “Can you stop gambling if you try? Some men can’t once they start. With them, cards are an addiction. They stay out until all hours of the night, betting their last dollars if they have to.” She squeezed his fingers. “I’m sorry, but if I’m to commit myself to a man, it has to be someone who places more value on me than on three of a kind or a royal flush.”

  Lee still could not accept the evidence of his own ears. “Are you proposing to make a decent man out of me?” he quipped.

  Allison grew stern. “I’ve seen too many of my friends led down the primrose path by handsome galoots who later put their own selfish interests above their love. You say you care for me, and I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t care for you, but I won’t allow you to use me like so many women are used.” She paused, embarrassed by what she had to say next but compelled to say it anyway. “Call me silly if you want. Call me old-fashioned. But I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to save myself for the man I wed, and I want that man to be as true to me as I’ll be to him.”

  Another bout of dizziness assailed Lee, only whether from his wound or her revelations, it was hard to determine. She had actually mentioned marriage and him in the same breath! Yet he had not even courted her!

  Then it sank in. The deeper meaning. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to save myself,” she had said. Having been around fallen doves so long, he’d forgotten that there were women who put their virtue before all else. He thought of poor Nelly Rosell, and then envisioned Allison in a saloon girl’s tight, revealing dress. He’d die before he’d let her sink to Nelly’s level of despair and misery.

  “So what will it be?” Allison demanded. “Can we start over on the right foot?”

  “I reckon I’d be honored if you would let me come calling,” Lee said formally.

  Allison beamed. “You’d better, or I’ll shoot myself.”

  Lee forgot his wound, and laughed. His quaking shoulder lanced with agony. Grimacing, he clutched himself. Allison clutched him too. For a moment their faces were nose to nose, her warm breath on his cheek, his on hers. He desired to kiss her more than anything in creation, but he could not bring himself to do it. He, who had faced down cold killers, could not plant his lips on those of the woman he adored.

  Allison wanted him to. She tensed, expecting him to move that extra half an inch. When he sat there like a bump on a log, she took the initiative. She kissed him,

  The ice was broken. Allison sat on the bed, and for the next two hours they talked about everything under the sun. They shared their innermost longings, their plans and dreams, everything and anything that was important, and when Allison rose to go, a heaviness came over Lee’s heart unlike any he had ever felt.

  “You’ll be back tomorrow?”

  “And every day after that,” Allison pledged. She left with a new bounce in her step and a smile that rivaled the sun.

  Lee Scurlock sank back onto his pillows, his toes curling under the covers. If he had been whole and well, he would have leaped about the room like a madman and whooped for joy at the top of his lungs. Suddenly, all was right with the world. Suddenly, life was worth living again.

  His euphoria did not last long. Twin clouds hovered over him. First, he remembered that he was a wanted man, and that before long lawmen from New Mexico were bound to arrive in Diablo seeking him.

  Second, hardly had Allison’s footsteps faded when someone else knocked on the door. It was a heavier, masculine knock, and Lee had the Colt in his hand before his visitor stopped. “Yeah?” he called out.

  “Ike Shannon.”

  The door was slowly pushed open to reveal the gambler with his hands out from his sides. Entering, he closed it behind him, not saying a word until he had straddled the same chair the doctor had used. Cocking his bowler, he regarded the southerner’s shoulder, then said, “Who did it?”

  “I can’t say,” Lee lied. That morning he had made up his mind not to tell until he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who was to blame. Otherwise, the hatred that boiled under Diablo’s surface might burst its bounds and result in a needless bloodshed.

  “Can’t, or won’t?” Shannon said, since it was apparent the Tennessean was hiding something. “It’s your life. But Vint and I are ready to stand beside you if you need us.”

  “I appreciate that,” Lee said in all honesty. Reminded of the Texan, he asked, “How is Evers doing? Has he gotten Nelly away from Frank Lowe?”

  “I wish,” Shannon said. “No, he’s in one of his funks. I saw him go to pieces over a girl once in Kansas, but it was nothing like this. She was just a friend who took a bullet meant for him. This is different.” The gambler rubbed his forehead as if to erase worry lines. “Vint has been drinking pretty heavily. I’m watching him closely to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid before the new marshal is picked.”

  “Think he’ll go after Lowe?”

  “I sure as hell would, but Vint won’t cross the line. He’s too damned noble.”

  “How is Nelly holding up?”

  Shannon scowled. “Are you kidding? She’s doing worse than he is. I never saw a woman drink so much. And no, I haven’t told Vint. Today is Friday. If I can keep him out of trouble for three more days, he’ll be the law in this town. Then he can do as he pleases.”

  Lee leaned back. “You didn’t stop by just to see how I was doing, did you?”

  “No,” Shannon said. “I’ve talked to Dr. Franklyn, so I know you’ll pull through.” He rubbed his hands together, stalling, leery of overstepping himself. “I’d be obliged if you would let me speak my piece before you give me the boot.”

  “I’d never throw you out.”

  Shannon’s laugh was as brittle as china. “You haven’t heard what I’ve got to say.” He made a tepee of his hands. “I want you to reconsider Vint’s offer. He’ll have his hands full keeping a lid on this town, and you’re one of the few reliable hombres around. I’d hate to see him dry-gulched for lack of a good deputy.”

  Lee glanced at his shoulder, recalling the shock of being shot. He wouldn’t like to see it happen to the Texan, either.

  “But that’s only part of the reason,” Shannon said. “You should pin on a star because it’s in your own best interest. Someone obviously has you in their gun sights. Knowing you as I do, you’re not going to take this lying down. So why not go after them legal-like? You can question whoever you want, go wherever you please. Hell, you can gun them down and claim it was in self-defense and no one will lift an eyebrow.”

  “You’ve got this all thought out, don’t you?”

  “I’ve tried,” Shannon conceded, seeing no need to mention that he would do whatever it took to protect Vint.

  Lee Scurlock plucked at the blanket. A day ago he would have flatly refused. Now ... Shannon had not voiced any points that he had not already mulled over himself. Except one. As a deputy, he would be in a better position to protect Jim and Allison Hays. “All right,” he said softly. “Go find Vint and tell him that he has himself a lawdog.”

  Ike Shannon was ecstatic. “Thanks, Lee. You won’t regret this.”

  That remained to be seen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The news that the Tennessean had agreed to wear a badge did little to cheer Vint Evers. Alone in the shack, he poured himself another glass of coffin varnish and gulped most of it. Added to the half a bottle he had polished off earlier, it was enough to cause the room to spin and his temples to pound.

  It was stupid for him to be drinking so heavily, but Vint didn’t care. So what if someone wanted him dead? So what if the liquor would dull his reflexes and negate the instincts he had relied on for so long to keep him alive? He didn’t care. Maybe he deserved to be buzzard bait for his failure to help Nelly when she needed help th
e most.

  Ike was upset with him, Vint knew. Ordinarily that would have been enough to get him to change his ways, but not this time. Vint Evers drank and moped and wished to high heaven he was not so almighty self-righteous that he couldn’t bend the law for Nelly’s sake.

  Shannon wouldn’t let Frank Lowe get away with it. Nor would Lee Scurlock. Only a fanatic like him, someone who believed that the law was all that separated humankind from the animals and that it had to be respected above all else, would sit there drinking himself under the table while scum like Lowe crushed the spirit from the woman Vint cared for.

  It was enough to make a man sick.

  The Texan suddenly flung the glass down. Flying shards scraped his boots, stung his shins. Pushing his chair back, he rose, chuckling when his traitor legs swayed like tree trunks in a tornado. He hadn’t downed enough to be really drunk, but neither had he eaten a meal in a day and a half. His stomach was bone empty.

  Twilight claimed Diablo. Vint drank deep of the air, but it had no effect. Carelessly leaving the door partway open, he ambled toward the alley. Ike had told him to stay put, but he had a hankering to stretch his legs.

  At the cross street, the Texan tilted his black sombrero and strolled westward, the jangle of his spurs keeping time with the melancholy song he hummed. People looked at him as they might a jaguar on the prowl.

  Haughty with booze, Vint stared them down. He wandered aimlessly, or so it might appear to the casual onlookers. In reality, he studied each face he passed, seeking a dusky individual whose cruel features were indelibly seared into his memory.

  Vint doubted that he would find his quarry. Who in their right mind would stick around Diablo after the attempt on his life? But, then again, the would-be killer might think himself safe among thousands of others. Or the man might plan to try again later on.

  On a whim, Vint shoved through the batwing doors to a small saloon, one of the dozens of unsavory dives that infested the south end of town. Where first-rate establishments like the Applejack were all glitter and brass, this hole was dank and dark, filled with shadows and whispers and furtive movement. He paused in the doorway so his eyes could adjust, then sauntered to the near corner of the bar.