by Jo Goodman
On the train ride from New York to Denver he'd consulted doctors in Pittsburgh, Chicago, St. Louis, and Kansas City. Over time drink had lent a certain vagueness to the memory of their pitying faces, even if it had never dulled their words. Not one of them had held out much hope that he would recover full strength in his right hand.
Hollis's friends had been thorough in the damage they'd inflicted. He would never be the bounty hunter he once was; word of his problem had spread. Some day soon a bounty was going to face him down—and still be there after the dust settled. Mountain ranching, with its harsh physical demands, was out of the question now. It hardly mattered that his money had been stolen. He would have only been staking an empty dream.
Revenge had soured Jarret's mind for a while, but it was not a satisfactory solution. Jarret couldn't bear the thought of letting Banks see how successful his thug tactics were. Revenge, by its very nature, meant making yourself vulnerable, letting the other person know how much they had been able to hurt you. Jarret kept a whiskey bottle close by to dull the hurt and accepted bitterness as a constant companion. Most days it gave a flinty edge to his dark blue eyes, but when he thought of Rennie, bitterness became his armor.
Of all the dreams he had entertained, none were as hard to dismiss as those of Mary Renee. He depended on whiskey to keep his mind as numb as his arm. Sometimes it even worked.
Jarret thrust both hands into his pockets and rocked gently on the balls of his feet. Across the street the doors of Bolyard's Saloon were flung open. Duffy Cedar was hustled out by Georgie. A moment later he was followed by a feminine fur ball that bore an astonishing resemblance to...
* * *
Rennie put her hands on her hips and stared down at a cowed Duffy Cedar. "You're not going to let him get away with that, are you?"
Duffy leaned against the outer wall of the tavern and plucked a toothpick from his pocket. His sheepskin collar hid most of his face, but his gap-toothed smile was evident. The toothpick fit neatly in the gap. "You heard him, ma'am. More times than I did, and that's a fact. He don't want you here, and he's not puttin' you up. It don't matter how many spare rooms he has; they're all for workin' gals, and that ain't exactly what you had in mind when you came here."
Rennie glared at her guide. "I thought you said we'd find Jarret Sullivan in Echo Falls. That's why I'm here."
"And Georgie tol' you he ain't seen him in two days. Mos' likely Sullivan's gone trackin' in the hills."
The hills to which Duffy Cedar referred were the most daunting fortress of rock that Rennie had ever seen. "Then, we'll follow him there."
"Like hell." He said it pleasantly enough, twirling the toothpick.
Rennie stepped off the sidewalk to pick up her discarded muff. Bits of frozen mud stuck to the fur. She brushed it off and pushed her cold hands into its pocket of warmth. "Listen, Mr. Cedar," she said patiently. "I hired you because I was told if I wanted to find Jarret Sullivan, you were the one who could track him. Well, we've come to Echo Falls, and I refuse to accept it's a dead end. Since Mrs. Shepard's Boardinghouse is full and Mr. Bolyard won't give me a room here, I'll have to try Bender's."
"Ma'am," Duffy said politely, pushing away from the wall. He pulled out the toothpick and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "Bolyard's place is mostly a saloon with a few workin' gals to liven it up. Bender's is mostly for workin' gals who sell a little liquor on the side." Lines at the corners of his eyes deepened as he squinted at Rennie. "You take my meanin', ma'am?"
"Bender's is a brothel."
Duffy choked a little and coughed to cover it. "That'd be my meanin', ma'am."
"I see."
"Nick Bender ain't any more likely than Georgie Bolyard to take you in."
"Well," Rennie said after a short pause. "We'll never know unless I ask."
Duffy started to object, but his focus abruptly shifted from Rennie to a point beyond her shoulder. The doors to Bender's Saloon opened, and a man stepped out onto the sidewalk. Duffy Cedar whistled softly. "I'll be damned. Ma'am, you must've been born under a lucky star."
Following the direction of Duffy's gaze, Rennie turned. Her insides knotted with a mixture of relief and dread. The first part of her search was over. She had found Jarret Sullivan.
He didn't halt his approach until only six inches separated them. "I can't imagine what brings you to Echo Falls," he said tightly. "But there's a storm coming. Make sure you're out of town in front of it." His cold, blue eyes shifted. "You, too, Duffy. You don't want to get holed up here with this bitch."
Rennie stared, open mouthed in Jarret's wake, as he made his way back to Bender's. On the second floor of the saloon a movement in one of the windows caught her eye. She looked up and saw a woman struggling to open it.
Jolene cursed the rattling panes of glass that wouldn't budge. She knew she had the woman's attention now, and she didn't want to lose it. A sudden burst of strength loosened the window. It flew up, letting in a blast of north wind. Jolene poked her head out. "Is there some problem I can help you with, ma'am?" she called.
From just beneath the porch roof of the saloon she heard Jarret bellow, "Stay out of it, Jolene!" It was enough to harden her conviction that she should be involved. Now that Jolene had had a second look, the woman standing in front of Bolyard's was not entirely unfamiliar to her. She had seen the woman's photograph on two occasions that she could remember: once when Jarret had asked her to find a few loose dollars in the bottom of his valise and once when she had caught him studying it in the middle of the night. He wouldn't tell her who it was or where he got it, but the bleak and bitter cast to his face as he'd put it away made her feel as sorry for the woman as she did for Jarret.
Now she was just damned intrigued.
"Never you mind, Jarret!" She called again to Rennie. "There something I can do?"
Rennie shielded her eyes from the peculiar glare of the gray sky behind the saloon. "Mr. Sullivan says there's a storm approaching," she called back. "There's no rooms to be engaged either at Bolyard's or Shepard's. Might there be something in your establishment?"
It tickled Jolene to hear the whorehouse being referred to as an establishment. She smiled brightly. "I'm sure there's a room to be had here. If not, you can share mine."
Jarret backed up into the street so that he could see Jolene at her window. "This is not funny, Jo. You don't want her staying here."
"This doesn't concern you."
"Like hell it doesn't." He shot Rennie an impatient look over his shoulder. "Nick won't let you stay."
Rennie called to Jolene. "He says someone named Nick won't let me stay."
Jolene dismissed that notion with a wave of her hand. "Let me worry about Nick. Do you have bags? Trunks?"
"A few things at the livery." She turned to Duffy. "You'll get them, won't you, Mr. Cedar?"
He grinned, twirling his toothpick again. "Be happy to, ma'am. Won't take but a few minutes."
"I'll be inside."
Duffy nodded and was off. Rennie began walking toward the saloon. When Jarret blocked her way the first time, she tried to step around him. When he blocked her a second time, she raised her head defiantly. "Let me pass, Mr. Sullivan."
"No."
Her emerald eyes grew stormy. "Do you own this street?"
"No."
"Then, you have no right to block my way."
"You're not staying at Bender's."
"Oh? Do you own the saloon, then?"
"No."
"Then, you have no right to keep me from staying there."
"It's a brothel, Rennie."
"I know what it is," she said. The wind stirred her skirts, ruffled the fringe of fur across her forehead, and blew angry color into her cheeks. "If it doesn't keep you from frequenting the place, then it shouldn't bother me. Frankly, I'm bone weary. I've come from Denver across some of the hardest land I've ever seen. I've spent three nights out of doors, sleeping on the lee side of Duffy's dog for warmth. I'm not going anywhere but Bender's Saloon. I can g
o around you or I can go through you, but trust me, Mr. Sullivan, I will go."
From the upper window Jolene applauded. "Well done. Well done."
Jarret was distracted long enough for Rennie to get past him. He reached for her, caught sight of the bruised knuckles on his right hand, and withdrew. How long could he have held her anyway?
It was a relief to Rennie to come out of the cold. She stamped her feet, warming herself, and buried her face in the muff.
"Fix her a drink, Jarret," Jolene called from the top of the steps. "You know where Nick keeps the good stuff. I'll be down in a moment."
"Do you want a whiskey?" Jarret asked sullenly.
Rennie lowered the muff. "No, but I'd like a sherry."
He scowled. "I don't expect you could find sherry within eighty miles of here."
She blinked at his tone and said as graciously as she could, "Then, whiskey will be fine." Rennie looked around while Jarret fiddled behind the bar. Except for the decidedly Rubenesque curves of the partially clad woman in the painting above the bar, Bender's was very like Bolyard's as far as Rennie could see. The interior was dimly lighted and starkly functional. The brass foot rail along the length of the bar dully reflected the oil lamplight. A half dozen round tables and three times as many chairs took up most of the scarred wooden floor. The open staircase was steep and narrow, and the balcony above stairs offered a view of four rooms and a hallway that led to the others.
Rennie accepted the drink Jarret slid across the bar. "It's very quiet here," she said.
"It's Sunday. Not much point stirrin' on a Sunday morning unless you're going to services."
"Aaah," she said, understanding dawning. "The gathering at Mrs. Shepard's."
Jarret nodded.
Jolene sprinted lightly down the steps. Her bronze brocade gown was an elegant complement to both her hair and eyes. She held out her hand warmly to Rennie and looked at Jarret for the introduction.
"Jolene Cartwright, this is Miss Mary Renee Dennehy." Jarret stopped and addressed Rennie. "Or is it Mrs. Hollis Banks by now?"
It was the sneer in his voice that decided her. Jarret didn't need, or deserve, to know everything. "It's just Rennie," she said to Jolene.
Jolene released Rennie's hand. "It's a pleasure, Rennie. And you call me Jolene. Or Jo. No sense in bein' formal here, not when you'll be spendin' some time with us."
"She's not staying here," Jarret said again.
Neither woman glanced in his direction. Duffy Cedar dragged in Rennie's trunk and dropped her large valise on the floor. "Where you want this?"
Jolene spoke up. "There's a room at the end of the hall that's vacant. Third door on the left. Jarret, why don't you help him?"
Both of Jarret's dark brows rose. "Like hell," he said. Then he walked off toward the kitchen.
Jolene saw Rennie's eyes follow Jarret, and there was no mistaking the despair in the younger woman's expression. She reached out and patted Rennie's hand. "It will be all right," she said gently. She raised her voice to Duffy, who was still standing by the door, shifting his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. "Upstairs with them."
Muttering to himself, Duffy hefted the trunk and grabbed the valise. "Could use a drink myself," he said as he passed the women at the bar.
"It will be waiting for you when you get back," Jolene told him. She went behind the bar and placed a bottle on the table along with a clean shot glass. "We'll leave this for him. Why don't you and I go to the kitchen? Have you had any breakfast?"
As if on cue, Rennie's stomach rumbled.
Jolene laughed. "I suppose that answers my question. C'mon. This way."
Jarret looked up when the women walked into the kitchen. His expression was both sour and forbidding. The evidence of his earlier accident with the coffee was cleared, and a fresh pot was brewing on the stove. "I guess a person can't get any peace around here."
"Ignore him," Jolene told Rennie. "Have a seat and I'll fix breakfast. Eggs and bacon do right by you?"
Rennie sat opposite Jarret. "That would be wonderful."
"That's because you haven't tasted it yet," Jarret said. "She's no Mrs. Cavanaugh."
Jolene saw the remains of Jarret's earlier attempt at breakfast in the sink. "Apparently neither are you," she said, pointing. She put on an apron and busied herself with the preparation. "Who's Mrs. Cavanaugh?"
"Our cook," Rennie said. "She sends her regards, Mr. Sullivan."
"You've come a long way to tell me that," Jarret said. He got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat again without offering any to either Jolene or Rennie. "Dare I hope you'll return my regards immediately?"
"I have no plans to leave Colorado soon," said Rennie.
Jarret stared at his coffee, scowling.
Rennie opened her mouth to speak, but behind Jarret she saw Jolene shaking her head, indicating she should keep her silence. Rennie surprised herself by taking the other woman's advice.
Jolene cracked four eggs in the skillet. The yolks broke in three. "Looks like we're having scrambled," she said, grinning over her shoulder at Rennie. "You still feelin' a chill?"
Self-conscious, Rennie removed her hat, muff, and coat and laid them over an unoccupied chair. She was wearing a dark red woolen gown trimmed with black piping. The cut was severe with long, tight sleeves and a high collar that covered her throat. Except for small jet beads in her ears, she wore no jewelry. Smoothing the taut front of her dress, Rennie went to the stove and poured coffee for herself and Jolene. She was aware of Jarret's eyes following her, boring into her back. Her hands shook.
"Milk's on the back stoop," Jolene said.
Rennie retrieved the stoneware jug and added a little to her coffee. She sat at the table again and sipped her drink. Although Jolene maintained a light stream of one-sided chatter as she worked, the silence between Rennie and Jarret was obvious and strained.
Jolene set a plate in front of Rennie and served her. The scrambled eggs were dry, and the bacon was black at the edges. Rennie didn't blink. "Thank you. You've been so gracious."
Looking at the burned fare, Jarret smirked.
"You're welcome," said Jolene. "You wouldn't get this at Mrs. Shepard's."
"That's a fact," Jarret said dryly.
Ignoring Jarret, Rennie addressed Jolene as she sat beside her with her own plate. "I couldn't get any help from Mrs. Shepard. When I saw the number of people in her dining room, I assumed it was because she had no vacancies. Now I understand that's where the church service was conducted, so perhaps she had room after all."
"I'm certain she did," Jolene said. "But you were traveling alone and—"
"Mr. Cedar was with me."
Jolene smiled gently. "I don't think that would have counted for much in the widow's eyes. She took one look at your fancy clothes and made an assumption about you. That's probably why you were directed to Georgie's."
"She thought I was a—"
"Whore," Jarret interjected.
Rennie was mortified. Not for herself, but for Jolene. Her dark emerald eyes narrowed on Jarret.
"Oh, honey," Jolene said. "Don't take offense on my account. I got Jarret's money on my bedside table, provin' the sort of woman I am." She tilted her head in Jarret's direction and batted her eyes. "And the sort of man he is."
Ruddy color flushed Jarret's lean features. His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed away from the table. He poured himself more coffee and stood by the stove, leaning against a butcher-block table.
The revelation that Jarret had shared Jolene's bed made Rennie fight for composure. She was bothered by the fact that she was bothered at all. She hadn't expected that when she'd made her decision to come west. Not that she would have changed her mind, or could have changed her mind, but at least her reaction wouldn't have taken her by surprise.
"If Mrs. Shepard wouldn't let me in," Rennie said to Jolene, "why did Georgie throw me out?"
"He knows a lady when he sees one," said Jolene.
Rennie's gaze didn't waver from Jolene. "So do I," she said softly.
Now it was Jolene who flushed scarlet. She bent her head and began to eat.
Jarret leveled his coldly remote blue stare at Rennie. "I think it's about time you tell me why you're here," he said. "I can't imagine with Duffy as a guide that you've lost your way."
"I came to find you," she said calmly.
"And you have. Now why?"
He was the same and somehow not the same, Rennie thought. The sapphire eyes that were so startling were distant now, without any trace of humor. The amused smile was absent as well. The patrician nose, the sun lines etched at the corners of his eyes, and the long, dark lashes were all familiar features of a face that was oddly unfamiliar now. Weight loss showed in the way his shirt lay across his shoulders, in the worn band on his belt that was notched one keeper more tightly, and in the tautness of his skin beneath his day-old beard. He spoke curtly, without the drawl that hinted at some private enjoyment of the moment. She recalled that he had always been capable of sarcasm to make a point, but that no longer seemed to be his intent.
Jarret Sullivan was just plain mean.
Rennie set her fork aside. Her hands folded around her coffee cup. "I had thought you would understand my being here immediately," she said. "Have you heard nothing of what's happened to my father?"
His dark brows pulled together in a faint frown. "News is slow to get to these parts."
"Not that slow," Jolene said, giving Jarret a significant look. "A person who spends most days starin' at the bottom of a glass doesn't hear too much."
"Shut up, Jo," he said.
Jolene let his order roll down her back. "What's this about your father, Rennie?"
"He's disappeared."
Jarret returned to the table and sat. "What do you mean he's disappeared? How can a man like Jay Mac go anywhere he can't be found."
Jolene whistled softly. "Your father was John MacKenzie Worth?"
Rennie nodded. "You know him?"
"Doesn't everybody?" she asked. "Guess he was about as well known as President Grant."
