Elizabeth followed him out. “I could have handled that.”
“For God’s sake, woman, you underestimate most of these men. I told you that you shouldn’t walk these streets alone before they get to know you better and understand you’re a proper lady. Where were you going anyway? First you go see Sarah, which doesn’t look good for you, then you walk past two saloons—”
Elizabeth jerked her arm away, wincing with renewed pain. “Where I go and why is my business!”
Mitch sighed. “Come here.” He led her across an alley and pointed to a wooden bench on the boardwalk. “Sit down.”
“Please stop giving me orders!”
“Sit down!”
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth sat down on the bench. Mitch sat down beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Elizabeth noticed his leather boots were worn.
“Now, answer my questions,” he told her.
Elizabeth wanted to hit him. “I went to see Sarah because I need some practical dresses to wear in this uncivilized town and Ma Kelly told me Sarah was pretty much the only seamstress around here…her second job, I’m told.”
“Second job is right. You go in there and men who don’t know you will think you’re asking her about joining her in her other occupation.”
“That’s ridiculous. They know she makes clothing…by day. Besides, I feel kind of sorry for her after learning how she ended up here doing what she does. I actually like her. She’s very nice.”
“She is nice, but the fact remains men here have a certain opinion of women like her. Don’t think I’m not sorry for them myself. I’ve defended some of them who were used like a punching bag, but the fact remains they are what they are, and in a place like this, a proper lady doesn’t want to be seen with any of them, at least not when she’s new in town.”
“She told me you practically beat a man to death once when he abused her.”
Mitch didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “No woman deserves that.” He spoke the words as though he was thinking of someone special when he said them.
Elizabeth thought how different his attitude was from the attitude of Alan Radcliffe. A woman didn’t have to be a whore for Alan to beat on her. All she needed was to own something he wanted.
“What’s a hurdy-gurdy girl? One of those men said I should be a hurdy-gurdy girl and I’d get rich.”
Mitch’s mood lightened a little and he leaned back again. “A hurdy-gurdy girl makes her money being paid to dance with men. It’s only one step up from doing more than that. And yes, a woman can make a lot of money just dancing with the men, but most of them consider it hardly any more respectable than what the women above the saloons do.”
“And I suspect you think just like the rest of them. After all, you must have already been in that saloon, probably drinking and carousing with the painted women. And practically the first thing you asked me when we first met was if I was a…you know. I hate the word. Be that as it may, you were disappointed to find out I was respectable.”
He cast her an unnervingly handsome grin. “I was disappointed, but once I realized you really weren’t one of them, I knew you’d need defending and that I’d need to keep an eye on you.”
“No, you really don’t. You’re a busy man who lives a dangerous life. You have too many other things to handle in this territory.”
He looked her over in a way that should have made her angry, but deep inside she continued to feel an odd attraction to the man. “Well, when I’m in town, I intend to make sure people here understand you’re not to be disrespected,” he told her. “And you didn’t answer me. Where were you headed when they pulled you into that saloon?”
Elizabeth raised her chin. “I was going to see Carl Jackson. Sarah told me he would have paper and pens I could use. I want to put up some notices that I am available for teaching, and I am thinking about perhaps starting a newspaper or something like that.”
Mitch sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll take you to Jackson, but keep in mind that although he claims to be an educated lawyer, he’s shady and underhanded at times. He’ll cheat you any way he can.”
“I have nothing over which he can cheat me. All I want is some paper. Maybe after that, you can take me to whoever sells guns in this town and help me pick one out, since you’re so bent on me owning one. Sarah advised the same.”
“So, you’ll do it for someone like Sarah, but not for me.”
“She’s another woman trying to survive in this town. I figure if she says you’re right about getting a gun, then I should get one.”
Mitch nodded. “Well, then I’m grateful to her.”
They shared a moment of silence as horses and wagons clopped and rumbled through the street. Elizabeth watched a young boy shovel horse dung and put it into a wheelbarrow. She wondered if he was the child of a married couple, or perhaps some prostitute’s child, or an orphan.
“Sarah said besides helping her once, you’ve stood up for a couple other women, too, at different times. Now you’re following me around like some kind of watchdog. Why? You don’t even know me. Maybe I’m not the proper lady you think I am.”
“You don’t fool me one bit. Don’t tell me you aren’t feeling scared and lost and alone, because I’ve seen the look. You don’t need to put on an act of bravery for me, and you don’t need to try to convince me you’re anything less than a proper young woman who I suspect is well educated—maybe even from a wealthy family.”
Elizabeth wished he weren’t always so right about everything. She felt a sudden urge to cry but fought it, managing to keep her eyes averted. “Fine,” she answered. “I’m feeling lost and scared and alone and I’m trying to figure out if there is one person in this town I can trust.”
He touched her arm. “Look at me, Elizabeth.”
She wanted to pull away, but every time he touched her it made her feel calmer, safer. It was the same feeling she’d sensed when he touched her arm that night at Ma’s place. She dared to meet those blue eyes again.
“You can trust me, and Ma Kelly and Doc…and actually, you can even trust Sarah.”
Elizabeth smiled away unwanted tears. “That’s exactly what Sarah said. I just wish you weren’t a man, because I have a lot of trouble trusting your gender.”
Mitch rose and helped her to her feet. “That’s too bad. Some of us really can be trusted, Elizabeth.” He pointed down the street, where men were building the framework for something. “That’s the gallows they are building for tomorrow’s hanging. Things will get a bit wild around here tonight, and I’ll need to watch my back for Sam Wiley and anybody else who might decide to spring our two prisoners from jail. That’s why you need to stay at Ma’s and lay low.”
Elizabeth felt a chill at the sight of the gallows. Hanging had to be a horrible way to die. “I have no plans to step outside the door later tonight or tomorrow.”
“Good.” Mitch led her one building down to where a sign hung from a post that read Carl Jackson, Lawyer. “How old are you, anyway?” he again asked Elizabeth. “All of eighteen or so?”
“I told you. I’m twenty-two,” she lied.
Mitch just sighed. “Someday you’re going to tell me the truth about your age and why you’re here, because there is something about you that has a hold on me, Miss Elizabeth Wainright—if indeed that’s your name.” He led her into Jackson’s log cabin, which was smoky from the fat cigar the man puffed on as they walked in. Elizabeth nearly choked on it.
Jackson’s dark eyes lit up and he quickly smashed out his cigar when he saw Elizabeth. He rose and bowed slightly. “Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Miss Wainright?” he asked with his strong Southern drawl.
“Cut the gentlemanly act, Jackson,” Mitch told him. “Do you have any writing paper you can sell to this young lady?”
Jackson l
ooked her over, smoothing back his hair in a gesture that reminded Elizabeth of another man…a man she hated.
“Certainly. Plain paper or a tablet?”
“Either one will do,” Elizabeth answered. “And I need a pen and some ink, if you can spare any.”
Jackson pulled a handful of plain paper from one drawer and some lined paper from another, handing them to Elizabeth. “No charge for a beautiful lady like you.”
“I can pay you.”
“I’m sure you can,” he answered with a smile, “but I won’t hear of it.” He turned to his desk and picked up a pen and a bottle of ink. “Glad to oblige, Miss Wainright,” he added, handing her the items. “Just be sure to come and see me if you should need any legal services.”
“She won’t,” Mitch answered before Elizabeth could. “Thanks for the paper.” He quickly led Elizabeth out of the cabin before Jackson could continue their conversation.
“That was rude,” Elizabeth told him, putting the pen and ink into her handbag.
“Believe me, it doesn’t matter with a man like Jackson.” Mitch led her across the street to a gunsmith’s tent. “Now we’re getting you a gun.”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
They walked into the tent, where a big, middle-aged blond man sat taking apart a rifle. Gun parts lay all over the table in front of him, as well as an array of tools. He looked up at Mitch and Elizabeth, his eyes lingering on Elizabeth. He nodded. “How do you do, ma’am?”
Elizabeth recognized a Swedish accent. “Fine, thank you.”
“This is David Carlson,” Mitch told Elizabeth. “Everybody calls him Swede.” He turned his attention to the gunsmith. “We’re here to find a small pistol for Miss Wainright’s protection—something she can carry in her handbag. I’ll teach her how to use it.”
Swede nodded, getting up and walking over to a trunk that contained several compartments and shelves that rose separately as the lid was opened. The trunk held an array of small guns, whereas the entire tent was lined with wooden shelves holding numerous larger six-guns. Several rifles were laid out on another table, with long boxes underneath that Elizabeth supposed held more rifles. Swede turned back and laid a very small pistol into Mitch’s hand. It fit in his big hand with room left over, and Elizabeth surmised the tiny gun was no more than six inches long from its polished wooden grip to the end of the barrel.
“This is a C. Sharps pepperbox, shoots four .32 rimfires—nice and small and light,” Swede told Mitch.
Mitch nodded, studying the small gun.
“Barrel is stationary,” Swede told him. “Square, with four chambers.”
Swede’s accent was so strong that Elizabeth had to concentrate to understand everything he said. The man was even taller than Mitch and stood slightly bent under the low tent ceiling. He took the gun from Mitch and removed the barrel. “You can take it off and reattach it.” He cocked back the hammer. “Instead of the firing chamber rotating like your six-gun, the firing pin itself rotates to hit each of the four chambers every time you pull back the hammer. See?” He pulled back the hammer, showing Mitch how the firing pin moved in a circle. “Different, huh?”
“Very different, I’ll say, but looks easy to use. Is it reliable? Well built?”
“It’s a derringer—good, dependable little pistol, light to hold and small enough for a handbag. The little woman should have no trouble using it. I have plenty of rimfire shot for it and I can order more on my next trip to Virginia City.”
“Good.” Mitch took the supply of paper from Elizabeth’s hands and laid it on Swede’s desk. He handed Elizabeth the pistol. “Get the feel of it.”
Elizabeth took the gun, surprised at how light it was. “I’ve never held a gun in my life.”
“Soon as the hanging and all that is over with, we’ll go practice using it.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I’m not happy about this, but from all that’s happened since I got here, I suppose I’ll have to give in and carry the thing.”
“Good idea,” Swede told her.
“Pack it up with some shot,” Mitch told Swede. “I’ll pay for it myself.”
“I can pay,” Elizabeth told him.
“This one is on me,” Mitch insisted.
Elizabeth sighed. “If you insist.”
Swede packed the gun and bullets into a box and tied it with string, handing it to Elizabeth.
“Thank you.” She faced Mitch. “I will likely never use this thing.”
“I hope you don’t find reason to.” Mitch held the paper for her and led her back outside and toward Ma Kelly’s. “I’ll be pretty busy between now and tomorrow night, so I can’t show you how to use that pistol right away, but at least you have it now. I can’t say how much I’ll be at Ma’s tonight and tomorrow—probably not at all. Knowing you’re there and safe will help me do my job and keep my attention on the right things.”
Maybe you’ll stay at Hildy’s, or Sarah’s, Elizabeth thought, a tiny part of her actually feeling jealous at the thought and then feeling ridiculously silly for caring. “Staying in my room sounds welcome anyway,” she answered. “I still get tired easily after all that’s happened, and my shoulder is giving me a lot of trouble. Being jerked into that saloon and forced to dance with those men didn’t help.”
“I’ll get some laudanum from Doc and bring it to you,” Mitch told her. “It will help you sleep, and you still need plenty more of that.” They headed for Ma Kelly’s, past a number of saloons and businesses, men glancing their way but none giving Elizabeth any trouble. She knew it was because of Mitch. Part of her resented it, but common sense made her grateful. When they reached the entrance to the boardinghouse, she stopped and looked up at him.
“I guess I should thank you for getting me out of that saloon.”
“I guess you should.”
“And since you are so bent on looking after me, perhaps after all the turmoil over the hanging is over you can rent a buggy or accompany me on a stagecoach back to Virginia City so I can buy a few books that I’ll need for teaching. I’ll also need a few more personal supplies. Maybe I can even find a couple more dresses. I didn’t have time to look around on the way here, because the stagecoach connection allowed me only a few minutes.”
“And something tells me you packed up pretty fast to head out here—too fast to bring everything you would have liked to bring.”
Elizabeth looked away. “That doesn’t matter now.”
Mitch put a hand out and braced himself against the doorjamb, his tall presence making Elizabeth feel tiny and vulnerable. “Sure, I can take you to Virginia City.”
“And then maybe you could accompany me out into the hills where the miners are so I can talk to some of the wives about teaching—at least those who have children along.”
Mitch frowned. “Going out there might be a little dangerous.”
“With you along?” Elizabeth quipped, meeting his intensely blue eyes again.
Mitch grinned, a rare sight. Elizabeth was struck by how he looked even more handsome when he smiled. She wasn’t used to actually liking a man, certainly not used to trusting one, especially one built like Mitch Brady. She’d known the bad side of that kind of strength, so how she felt in Mitch’s presence confused her. Was it foolish to allow him to take her places where they would be alone at times? The man could break her in half, if he wanted.
Afraid he would read her thoughts, she turned and went inside the boardinghouse. Mitch followed behind, his big frame filling the doorway. He actually had to duck a little when he came inside.
“Be careful with that gun,” he told her. “Don’t try anything with it until I have a chance to teach you how to use it. A lot of people in these parts get hurt or killed because they buy guns to protect themselves but don’t know how to use them.”
Elizabeth looked up at him. “I’ll be
careful.”
What was that she saw in his eyes? Why did she suddenly want him to hold her? She backed away. “Be careful out there. That brother you mentioned seemed very intent on making good on his promise to get you for bringing Hugh Wiley in to hang.”
Mitch shrugged. “I’m used to threats.”
“I’ve heard stories about vigilantes…at least a couple I read about in newspapers back East. It’s not all good.”
Mitch put his hat back on. “No, it’s not all good. But a lot of men come out here thinking they can live just as lawless as they want, and that can’t be allowed. Most of the really bad stuff goes on outside of Alder—murders, cattle rustling, stage robberies, and such. Quite a few men came here after bad experiences in the war, some carrying big grudges because they lost everything—their farms, their businesses, family members. It’s mostly a rough and angry bunch of men who’ve come West over the last couple of years, but I can handle myself. I learned how years ago when I was an orphaned kid running the back alleys of New York City.”
Elizabeth quickly averted her eyes. “That’s too bad,” she told him. “I’m sorry.”
Mitch grasped the door handle. “Couldn’t be helped, but that’s why I know how you’re feeling right now, except that it’s worse because you’re a woman in a place where she sure as hell doesn’t belong.”
Elizabeth swallowed back her secret terror. “Well, like with you, it couldn’t be helped.”
“Couldn’t it?”
Again he was trying to get more out of her. She refused to comply. “I’m very tired. I’m going to my room to lie down.” She met his eyes again. “Thank you for accompanying me and helping me find the right pistol. I’m sorry when I seem ungrateful. It’s just that I hardly know you, and like I said earlier, that makes it hard to trust you or anyone else.”
“The trust will come, in time.”
Mitch turned and left, and Elizabeth wilted onto a settee in Ma Kelly’s parlor. She’d never felt so confused about her decisions and her feelings in her life. Everything was twisted and turned upside down. Nothing was as it should be, and it had been that way since the night of her mother’s terrible and untimely death.
Desperate Hearts Page 9
