Chase the Lightning

by Madeline Baker

  A few side streets branched off the main road. She could see houses scattered beyond the town: a few large ones on the east side of Main Street, smaller dwellings on the west side.

  If it had been shocking for Trey to see the town the way it was in her time, it was no less of a shock for her to see it as it was now. Every other building seemed to be a saloon: One Eyed Jack’s, the Painted Lady, the Ace High, the Red Queen. Women in scanty attire lounged in front of the saloons, or hung over the second-floor balconies, flirting outrageously with the men who passed by on the boardwalk below.

  Horses were tied to hitch racks in front of the various businesses. Sandwiched in among the saloons were a number of other stores and shops: a shoemaker, a dentist, a dressmaker, two barber shops, three laundries, a lawyer’s office, a bank, a tailor, a bath house, a doctor’s office, a drug store, several restaurants, a post office. There was a livery stable at one end of the street, and a jail at the other. She recognized a few of the buildings, of course, like the firehouse and the courthouse.

  Beyond the town, there was nothing but wide open spaces as far as the eye could see. Near the outskirts of town were a number of corrals filled with cattle, and across from that a railroad station. There was a church in the center of town, and beside it, a red school house. And, further down the street, a theater, of all things. The sign out front read, “Canyon Creek Opera House. Now Starring Lily Victoria, the Louisiana Songbird.”

  Trey reined the stallion to a halt in front of a saloon that looked vaguely familiar. Amanda gasped as she read the familiar red and white sign. The Four Deuces. It seemed like only yesterday she and Trey had danced there. And in some reality, it was only yesterday, she realized. But terms like yesterday and tomorrow were hopelessly blurred now.

  Sliding over the stud’s rump, Trey looped the reins over the hitching post, then lifted her from the saddle.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked.

  “I’m broke.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “We need money,” he said. “I aim to get some the best way I know how.”

  She looked at the saloon. “You’re not going to rob the place, are you?”

  “No, sweetheart. Just play a little poker.”

  “You’re a gambler, too?”

  “Well, it’s a sight easier than robbing banks. Safer, too.”

  “Very funny,” she muttered. She frowned as a man on the boardwalk stopped and stared at her. “What are you looking at?”

  The man tipped his hat. “Sorry, ma’am, I was just…” He glanced at Trey and cleared his throat uneasily. “I didn’t mean no disrespect, ma’am,” he said quickly, and hurried down the street.

  “What was that all about?” Amanda asked.

  “Your get-up, I reckon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, those pants for one thing. And that there, ah, shirt, or whatever you call it.”

  Amanda glanced down at her clothes. She was wearing a pair of red stretch jeans, a white tank top, and white sneakers. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  “Well, those duds might be all right for your time, but they’re pretty scandalous for mine. That top is a mite revealing, and those jeans aren’t like any that people hereabouts have seen before. Besides being red, they fit right snug. Not that I’m complainin’, mind you, but…”

  “They aren’t that tight,” she retorted.

  He shrugged. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”

  “I’m not sitting out here in the sun. I’m going with you.”

  “Decent women don’t go into saloons.”

  “What are you going to use for money? I thought you were broke?”

  “Don’t fret your pretty head about it.” Turning, he climbed the stairs and disappeared through the saloon’s swinging doors.

  Amanda stood there a few minutes, idly patting Relámpago’s neck while she watched the people on the street. And they were watching her. She noticed all the covert glances, as if she were a freak in a side show, and felt her cheeks begin to burn. Their disapproval was almost tangible, though they pretended to ignore her as they went about their business.

  She stared at the women strolling past. They wore high-necked, long-sleeved dresses made of calico and gingham and serge. Bonnets shaded their faces. They wore gloves and carried parasols. Dainty handbags that weren’t big enough to hold her wallet, much less a cell phone, comb, brush, lipstick, checkbook and day planner, dangled from their wrists. How did they endure being smothered in yards and yards of cloth when it was eighty degrees outside?

  Men nodded and tipped their hats to these modestly-clad women as they passed by, held doors open for them. If she hadn't believed she was in the past before, she believed it now.

  The men all wore hats and boots and spurs. Most wore vests of some kind over long-sleeved cotton shirts, and trousers made of canvas or whipcord or wool. And they all carried guns.

  She glanced at the saloon, gave the stud a final pat on the shoulder, and made her way up the stairs and into the saloon.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The air smelled of tobacco smoke, alcohol, cheap perfume, and stale sweat. She grinned as she glanced around. It was like being in the middle of a western movie set. There was the typical long bar on one side of the room, complete with brass rail and spittoons. A number of gaming tables covered with what looked like green felt were situated in the center of the floor; there was a faro table in the back of the house. The floor was covered with sawdust. A trio of girls in short dresses and high-heeled boots wandered from table to table, laughing and smiling at the customers.

  Trey was seated at a table near the back of the room. A guttering oil lamp hung from a chain above the table.

  Skirting the room, she moved up to stand behind him, acutely aware of the men who turned to stare at her as she threaded her way through the crowded floor. There were three other men sitting at Trey’s table, all concentrating on the cards in their hands.

  Leaning forward a little, she saw that Trey held a pair of kings and a pair of tens. There were no numbers on the cards, just pictures and spots.

  “I’ll raise,” said a man wearing a black bowler hat and string tie. He tossed a silver dollar into the pot.

  “I’ll see your raise,” said the man beside him, “and kick it up another dollar.”

  “Two dollars to me,” mused a man with a red handlebar mustache. He tossed his cards into the center of the table, face down. “Too rich for my blood.”

  Looking up, he saw Amanda standing behind Trey. And winked at her.

  Unable to help herself, she grinned at him.

  Trey threw two silver dollars into the pot, and added a third. She wondered where he’d got the money to bet with.

  “All right,” Black Bowler said. “What have you got?”

  Trey laid his cards on the table. Two pair.

  “Damn!” Black Bowler said. “I thought you were bluffing.”

  “Not me.” Trey raked in the pot, sat back as Red Mustache dealt a new hand.

  Amanda backed up a step as one of the saloon girls sashayed up to the table. The girl wore a short, low-cut red dress, black net stockings and high-heeled shoes. Her eyes were lined with kohl, her cheeks rouged. Putting a hand on Trey’s shoulder, she leaned forward, giving him a glimpse of her ample cleavage.

  “How ya doin’, honey?” the girl purred.

  “Fine as a flea in a doghouse,” Trey replied with a grin.

  “Anything I kin get ya?” she asked.

  “A glass of beer would just hit the spot.”

  The girl smiled at him and batted her lashes. “Sure thing, honey.” Straightening, she looked at the other men. “Can I get your gents anything?”

  Black Bowler ordered whiskey with a beer chaser, Red Mustache asked for beer, the third man shook his head.

  “Be right back,” the girl said, her hand trailing over Trey’s shoulder.

  “Be right back,” Amanda
mimicked under her breath. Unable to help herself, she moved up beside Trey and put her hand on his shoulder. “Hi, honey,” she purred. “Can I get you anything?”

  Startled, Trey stared up at her. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “I got bored waiting outside.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here.” He glanced around the room. “Dammit, decent women don’t frequent saloons.”

  The other men at the table were staring at her with avid curiosity.

  “Who’s your friend?” Black Bowler asked.

  “Yeah,” Red Mustache said. “Introduce us.”

  “Mind your own business,” Trey said curtly. Pushing his chair away from the table, he stood and scooped up his winnings, which he shoved into his pocket. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, and grabbing her by the arm, he practically dragged her out of the saloon.

  “For goodness sakes,” Amanda exclaimed, jerking out of his grasp. “You don’t have to yank my arm off.”

  Trey muttered an oath. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Me? What’s the matter with you? I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. How dare you drag me out of there like some…some…”

  “You should be embarrassed, letting people see you in a place like that.”

  “You were in there.”

  “I’m a man.”

  She made a face at him. “What difference does that make? I’m over twenty-one.”

  He glared at her. “I told you…”

  “Oh, just forget all that macho chauvinist stuff!”

  He looked at her, one brow raised, a look of amusement dancing in his dark eyes as he stepped into the street and untied Relámpago. “Chauvinist?”

  “Never mind. Can we go get something to eat? I’m hungry.”

  “Sure.” He settled his hat on his head and started walking down the street, leading the stallion.

  She was aware of the looks that came her way from the people they passed. The men stared at her, their eyes filled with curiosity or lust. The women looked at her speculatively, or with obvious disdain. A few looked envious, no doubt because she wasn’t weighed down by layers and layers of petticoats. Or maybe because she was with Trey. She didn’t miss the looks they cast his way, or the envy in their eyes.

  Trey tied the stallion to the hitch rail in front of Gordon’s Restaurant, then stepped up onto the boardwalk. Amanda followed him into the restaurant and they found an empty.

  She followed Trey into Gordon’s Restaurant, took a seat at a table near a window. It looked like a nice enough place. There were bright yellow cloths on the tables, frilly white curtains at the windows. The air was heavy with the odor of grease and onions.

  Trey ordered a steak, rare, with all the trimmings. Amanda ordered a steak, too, thinking there wasn’t much you could do to ruin a steak.

  “So,” she said, “how’d you get enough money to get in the poker game?”

  “Put my knife and my hat into the pot.”

  “I see you’re still wearing both, so I guess you must have won. Do you play a lot of poker?”

  “Some, now and then.”

  “I’ll bet you cheat.”

  “Why the hell would you say that?”

  “Do you?”

  A slow smile spread over his face. “Only when I have to.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed, and then grew thoughtful. “Do you have any family here?”

  “In Canyon Creek? No. My Apache grandparents are still alive, though.”

  “Did you like living with the Apache?”

  “I liked it fine. But I said I wouldn’t go back until J. S. Hollinger was dead.”

  “You had your chance when you robbed the bank,” she said. “Why didn’t you do it then?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.” It was a question he had asked himself a hundred times.

  “But you’re going to try again, aren’t you? What if he kills you, instead?”

  Trey shrugged. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  And if he was killed, where would that leave her, she wondered.

  The waitress brought their order then. Amanda stared at her plate. The steak was the biggest one she had ever seen. There was hardly room for the mound of mashed potatoes and green beans that came with it.

  Amanda cut into her steak and took a bite. It was not as rare as she liked, and would have benefited from a little A-1 Sauce, but, all in all, it wasn’t bad.

  Trey finished his before she was a third of the way through hers.

  Amanda gestured at her steak. “Do you want the rest of mine?”

  “Don’t you want it?”

  “No.”

  “Sure.” He speared it with his fork and dropped it on his plate.

  Amanda sat back, sipping her coffee, while he finished her steak. This couldn’t be real, she thought. She wasn’t cut out for life in the 1800s. She was a city girl through and through. She liked shopping and malls and movies and wash and wear clothes. She liked flush toilets and running water and microwave ovens and dishwashers, and television, even when there was nothing on. Women in the 1800s were little more than chattel, subject to their husbands’ will, with few rights of their own. They did their laundry in rivers or wash tubs and spent all day cooking and cleaning and sewing and making bread, not to mention caring for their children. They never had any time to themselves. They looked fifty when they were thirty.

  Trey dropped some money on the table and rose to his feet. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” Rising, she followed him out the door. “Now what?”

  “I’ll get us a room.” He took up the stud’s reins and walked across the street to the Delaware Hotel.

  Amanda hurried after him. “Us a room?” she said. “What do you mean, us?”

  “Us, as in you and me, what you do think I mean? Oh,” he said, “I reckon you want a room of your own.” He tethered the stud to the hitch rack and they went into the hotel.

  Amanda glanced around. It looked just like every hotel in every Western she had ever seen.

  Trey stopped at the desk and asked for two rooms adjoining, one with a bathtub. He paid for the rooms, and the clerk handed him two keys.

  “I’ll have some hot water sent up right away,” the clerk said. He stared surreptitiously at Amanda.

  Trey nodded. “Obliged.” He handed Amanda one of the keys and a couple of greenbacks. She didn’t have her credit cards now, not that they would have done her any good. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m gonna get Relámpago settled in down at the livery, and then I’m gonna go find me another poker game, now that I’ve got a decent stake.”

  She yawned. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

  “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep? In the morning, maybe you can go out and find yourself something to wear.”

  She wasn’t crazy about the idea of staying in the hotel, alone, but he was right. It had been a long day. She was exhausted and still a little befuddled from all that had happened since their run-in with the Bolander’s.

  “All right,” she said. Slipping the money into her pocket, she went up the stairs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Feeling at somewhat of a loss, Amanda stood in the middle of the floor and looked around. It was a nice enough room, with a brass bed, a ladder-back chair, and a chest of drawers with a white pitcher and bowl on top. There was a colorful rag rug on the floor, a small oval mirror on one wall, three hooks for clothes, and a chamber pot under the bed. She dropped the money Trey had given her on top of the dresser. She dropped the key on the bed.

  “Indoor plumbing, indeed,” she muttered.

  A garish floral print wallpaper covered the walls. White lace curtains hung at the single window, which looked out over Main Street. She found a zinc tub behind a screen.

  “All the comforts of home,” she said, and wondered if she would ever see home again.<
br />
  Crossing the floor, she opened the adjoining door. Trey’s room looked much the same as hers. She started to shut the door, then decided to leave it open.

  Going to the window, she gazed down into the street. A layer of dust, churned up by the wheels of several wagons and carriages, hung in the yellow lamplight spilling out of the saloons. She shook her head in disbelief when she saw a cowboy leave one saloon, mount his horse, ride across the street, dismount, and enter another saloon.

  Further down the street, she saw a buxom blonde clad in a gaudy pink robe leaning over the balcony of a second story building. A young freckle-faced cowboy stood on the street below, gawking up at her.

  She turned away from the window when someone knocked at the door. “Who is it?”

  “We brung water fer yer bath.”

  “Oh.” Opening the door, she saw a teenage boy and an elderly man standing in the hallway, each carrying two buckets of steaming water. “Come in.”

  She stood aside so they could enter the room, watched as they emptied the buckets into the tub.

  She smiled as they finished their task. Plucking a dollar from her pocket, she handed it to the man. “Thank you.”

  The man smiled broadly as he pocketed the money. “A whole dollar! Why, thank you, ma’am. Anything you want, just let out a holler!” He nudged the boy. “Let’s go, Johnny.”

  Amanda shut and locked the door behind them. She had no idea how much she had over-tipped the man, but perhaps it had been a good idea. She would have to ask Trey about things like that.

  With a sigh of resignation, she undressed and stepped into the tub. The water could have been hotter, and there could have been more of it, but at least it was clean. She bathed quickly and felt better for it.

  Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped up in a towel. The rough fabric was dingy, but it smelled clean. After rinsing out her underwear, she hung it over the back of the chair to dry. When that was done, she pulled on her jeans and her shirt and crawled into bed. There was no way she was sleeping naked in a strange bed in a strange room in a strange town.