Mary flung her arms around her sister. Gertie fell against her, sobbing out the details of Roy inviting her into his office, offering her whiskey and touching her and—J.T. stopped listening. Roy Desmond needed to die.
Why, God?
Yesterday he’d trusted the Almighty and Fancy had lived. Tonight Gertie had been attacked. It made no sense at all. What a fool he’d been to trust Mary’s God. No way would he turn the other cheek to a man like Roy Desmond. On the church roof he’d dreamed of taking off his guns. Looking at Gertie in her bloody dress, he vowed to wear them until the day he died.
“I’ll be back,” he said to Mary.
“No!” she cried. “Stay here.”
Ignoring her, he snatched his gun belt off the chair. No one messed with J. T. Quinn. Not his own brother. Not Roy Desmond. Not even God.
Mary grabbed his arm. “You’re too angry to go out there.”
Telling him he was too angry made him even angrier. “I’m going, Mary. You can’t stop me.”
“We need to pray,” she said desperately.
“I’m done praying.” No way would he sit around like a little girl. He pointed to Gertie, bloody and weeping. “Are you willing to let this go?”
“No, but—”
“I’m going after Roy, and I’m going to kill him.”
Shrieking, Gertie buried her face in her hands and wept even harder. J.T. wondered if Roy had done worse than hit her, but he didn’t want to embarrass her by asking. He knew how it felt to be humiliated, so he looked to Mary for an answer. Glaring at him, she murmured in her sister’s ear.
“No,” Gertie murmured. “But he tried. I should have listened to you. I should have—”
“It’s over now.” Mary rocked her sister in her arms, pat ting her back as if she were small. “Let’s get some ice on your face.”
With one eye on Mary, J.T. pulled the Colt and checked the cylinder, watching as Mary wrapped a hunk of ice in a towel. As he holstered the pistol, she held the ice to Gertie’s swollen nose. Her tenderness met a need; his toughness would meet a different one. Healing and vengeance sometimes did a macabre dance.
Mary looked him in the eye. “I’m going to help Gertie clean up, then we’ll decide, together, what to do. Do not leave until I get back. Do you hear me, Jonah?”
The old J.T. would have walked out and taken care of business. The new one had a vague sense of Someone watching and waiting to see what he’d do. That same presence had watched him get cut as a kid. That Someone had watched Gus take a beating and Gertie being punched in the face by Roy. Every time she looked in the mirror, she’d remember tonight. That same Someone had also spared Fancy Girl’s life, but J.T. counted the score as 1-3. He narrowed his eyes until they twitched. “I can’t stay here and do nothing.”
“Yes, you can.”
She’d used the bossy tone she used on Gus. He didn’t like it all. He glanced at Gertie and saw himself in her bloody, broken face. Being attacked made a person think they somehow deserved it. She didn’t. No matter what stupid things she’d done, no woman deserved a beating, and neither did a child. Wanting to help her, he softened his voice. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Miss Larue.”
Her lips quivered. “I feel so stupid.”
Mary held her tighter. “You made a mistake. We’ll go to the law in the morning.”
J.T. huffed. “A lot of good that will do.”
Gertie wiped at the tears and the blood. “You were right, both of you. The other actors mocked me, but I believed Roy. He told me things—”
“He tickled your ears,” J.T. said. “That’s how he works.”
“I know that now.” Gertie’s eyes had the flatness of stones. Looking older than her seventeen years, she shuffled down the hall.
Mary challenged him with a look. “I have to go to her. Do not leave.”
In his heart he’d left five minutes ago. “I can’t do it, Mary. I can’t turn the other cheek.”
“Maybe not,” she acknowledged. “But you can wait ten minutes before you walk out. I know what you’re thinking, Jonah. You think God doesn’t care.”
“You don’t know half of what I’m thinking.” She was too good inside, too full of kindness. He wanted to lash out at someone, but not at Mary. He’d never hurt her intentionally, not even her feelings. On the other hand, he had no sympathy for her God.
“I’m going after Roy,” he said calmly. “Since I’m a reasonable man, I’ll give him a choice.” It wouldn’t be a real choice. Roy would die for hurting Gertie, but Mary didn’t need to know.
“What’s the choice?” she asked.
“He can pay for Gertie’s trip to New York, or he and I can square off outside of town.”
The old coldness settled into his bones, a sign he’d gotten his sharpness back. Mary stared so long he wondered if he’d become a stranger to her. He felt colder with every beat of his heart, sharper and more clearheaded, until the chill went so deep he felt nothing.
Mary broke the silence. “It’s not your place to kill Roy. Vengeance belongs to God. We have laws—”
“I’d say vengeance belongs to Gertie.”
“It doesn’t,” she insisted. “If you kill Roy in cold blood, you’ll be a murderer.”
“So what?” He’d already killed fourteen men.
“Just one night,” she pleaded. “Maybe Lassen will take care of Roy.”
Or maybe Lassen would come after him. J.T. was tired of twiddling his thumbs. “I’m leaving.”
“I’m begging you—”
“No!” He’d enough of her foolishness. “I’m doing what I should have done two days ago.”
He looked at Mary a long time, taking in her tears and her determination, the pretty green dress and the way she stood her ground. They’d come a long way from Abilene, but somehow they were back at the beginning. He was going to leave her, and she wouldn’t like it. This time, though, he wanted to come back. “I’ll find you when I’m done with Roy.”
Slowly, as if her body had turned to clay, she shook her head no. “If you leave now, we have no future. Every time you walk out a door, I’ll wonder if you’re coming back.”
He held out his arms to show off his guns. “This is who I am.”
“It’s who you were. Give God a chance—”
“I’m done with God,” he said without feeling. “If you’re done with me because of it, I understand.”
Breath by breath, her silence built a wall. It thickened with the tick of the clock. J.T. felt the weight of his guns. The belt rode high on his hips, embracing him and pulling him into the dark where he’d find Roy and kill him. He didn’t have to go. He could take off his guns and do nothing, but he’d never be the man Mary deserved, or the God-fearing man she wanted. He glanced at Fancy Girl and the puppies. If he killed Roy, he’d have to leave Denver without her. He’d never see his dog again. And Gus…he’d have to leave without saying goodbye. Was killing Roy worth the cost? His heart said no, but if he didn’t protect Mary and her family, who would?
Just like in the alley in New York, God had blinked and a child had been hurt. Justice had to be served, and J.T. intended to do it. He looked at Mary a long time, etching her face in his memory the way he’d done on that first day in Denver, then he walked out the door.
She watched through the window as J.T. paced down the street. She touched the glass with a silent plea, but he didn’t turn around. A door opened in the hallway. Turning, she saw her brother.
“Wh-what happened?” he asked.
“Gertie got hurt.” She stepped away from the window. “I’m going to get Bessie.”
“Will she be okay?”
“I think so.” She told Gus about Gertie’s nose and Roy’s threats. A week ago he’d have reacted like a frightened child. Tonight his eyes blazed with a man’s instinct to protect the women in his home. He looked around the room. “Where’s J.T.?”
“He’s gone.”
“I heard you b-both shouting. Is he c-coming back?�
�
Gus had hardly stammered a single word. He’d grown up this week. If J.T. didn’t return, the boy would learn another hard lesson. Surely she and Gus meant more to him than killing Roy, though she understood the desire for vengeance. If Gertie’s nose didn’t heal right, she’d be marked for life. If J.T. had stayed, she could have sent them both to get Bessie. Instead she had to rely on her brother.
“He’s not coming back tonight.” Maybe not ever. “Would you get Bessie?”
The boy put on his shoes and hurried out the door. “I’ll be fast.”
Mary went to the bedroom, where she saw Gertie at the vanity, dressed in a pink wrapper and examining her nose in the oval mirror. “It’s broken. It’ll be crooked forever.”
“Maybe not.” She told Gertie that Gus was getting Bessie, then she pulled a pin from the girl’s disheveled hair. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t bear to think about it.”
“It’ll help to talk.”
Mary pulled a second pin, then another. Gertie’s hair came loose, and the story tumbled out of her. As Mary brushed away the elaborate curls, she listened to a story that could have ended with far worse than a broken nose. Roy could have raped her and then murdered her to ensure her silence. Trembling for her sister, Mary combed out the last tangle. “This doesn’t have to ruin your life. You can still go to New York when you’re eighteen.”
Gertie shook her head. “I don’t want to go.”
Dreams didn’t die that easily. Mary gripped her sister’s shoulders. “Why not?”
“I don’t have talent.”
“Who says?”
“Everyone.” Tears filled the girl’s eyes. “I made a fool of myself. The other actresses laughed at me. I heard them. And now my nose is a mess.”
“You’ve had a terrible experience.” Mary spoke to Gertie’s reflection and her own. “There’s no shame in quitting if that’s what you really want, but how about waiting until you’re older before you decide?”
A sheepish smile curved on Gertie’s lips. “That’s probably smart. Maybe my nose will heal straight.”
“Let’s see what Bessie says.”
Being careful of Gertie’s bruises, Mary laced her hair into a braid. As she tied the ribbon, Bessie stepped through the door with Caroline at her side. The nurse set her medical bag on the bed, then pulled up a chair next to Gertie. “How badly did he hurt you?”
“My nose is broken.”
“Anything else?” She touched the girl’s arm.
Gertie understood the question. The fear that filled her eyes broke Mary’s heart. “He tried, but I got away.”
“Good girl.” Bessie studied her nose with a clinical air. “It’s broken, but I don’t think it’s displaced.”
“Are you sure?” Gertie sounded hopeful “As sure as I can be with all that swelling.” Bessie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t feel a bump.”
Caroline nudged Mary. “Where’s J.T.?”
“He left.”
Before Mary realized what her friend intended, Caroline steered her into the parlor and guided her down on the divan. “Is he going after Roy?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Caroline gripped her hand. “Maybe he’ll calm down before he does something stupid.”
“I hope so.” Mary slipped away and went to the window. She looked for J.T., though she didn’t expect to see him. “If he comes back, there’s a good chance he’ll have blood on his hands.”
“Oh, Mary.”
“I’ve never seen him so angry.”
Caroline came to stand next to her. “Keep praying. That’s all you can do.”
“I know. It’s just—” She started to cry. An hour ago, J.T. had earned her complete trust. The last barrier to loving him had been shattered tonight. She hadn’t said the words, but she’d given him her heart and he’d already broken it again. Forgiveness had come easily for what he’d done in Abilene, but tonight she felt bitter. “He left. How can I trust him?”
“Maybe that’s not the right question,” Caroline said.
“Then what is it?”
“Can you forgive him? And I don’t mean just more time.” The brunette looked past the street to the sliver of moon. “You know I was married once. I loved Charles with everything in me, but not a day passed that I didn’t have to forgive him for something. The day he died was the worst. I begged him not to go that night. I knew some thing awful would happen, and it did. In the end, I had to forgive him for dying.”
Mary’s chest tightened. “How did you do it?”
“Just like you’ll forgive J.T. I did it one hurt at a time.”
“I don’t know.” Her voice quavered. “If he goes after Roy, he’ll be guilty of murder. He might not come back.”
“Give him time,” Caroline advised.
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
Mary smiled at her friend. “Thank you.”
She couldn’t always count on J.T., but she could depend on the women of Swan’s Nest. Through the dim glass she saw a thousand stars. She didn’t know how long J.T. would be gone, but she’d be waiting when he returned.
Chapter Twenty-One
Without Fancy Girl at his side, J.T. felt as if he’d stepped back in time. The night air cooled his face but not his blood as he headed for the Newcastle. Tonight he had a job to do.
The stars followed him without blinking, and not a cloud could be seen for miles. Refusing to look at the unfinished church, he went to the side door of the theater, kicked it down and strode to Roy’s office. Wall sconces lit his way, flickering as he passed them. When he reached Roy’s door, he kicked it down and found more darkness. He didn’t know where Roy lived, but he had a good idea where to find him. Attacking Gertie would have fired his blood. Market Street offered women, liquor and cards, just what Roy would want to satisfy his lust.
J.T. headed back down the hall. Stepping over the splintered door, he saw the scaffolding against the church wall. He’d never climb it again. Someone else would have to finish the bell tower.
With only vengeance in mind, he turned down Market Street. Peering into saloons and dance halls, he searched for Roy while intending to avoid Griff Lassen. He spotted Lassen in a busy saloon, ducked out of sight and crossed the street to a place called the Alhambra. At the counter he saw Roy sipping whiskey. A smear of blood showed on his cuff, and he had a scratch on his jaw. J.T. approached him without a hint of anger. “Hello, Roy.”
“Quinn.”
J.T. signaled the barkeep. “Whatever my friend’s drinking for him. Whiskey for me.” He wouldn’t drink it. The liquor was a sign to Roy that he meant business. He kept his eyes straight ahead. “You jumped the gun with Gertie Larue.”
“You were dragging your feet.” He meant J.T.’s promise to stop Lassen.
“I told you I’d get back to you today. Here I am.”
“You were stalling.”
“I was being careful.”
“I don’t believe you, Quinn.”
The barkeep set down the glasses and poured. J.T. ran his finger along the rim, distracting Roy as he slid his other hand inside the duster, resting it on his gun. “You’ve upped the price. I want two thousand dollars.”
Roy laughed. “For that little brat?”
“Don’t test me.” He dug the Colt into Roy’s side. “Bring the money to the Slewfoot Mine tomorrow at noon. You pay me off, and I’ll finish with Lassen. If you don’t—” he cocked the hammer “—I’ll kill you for what you did to Gertie.”
Slowly Roy turned his head. “The little trollop’s just like her sister.”
If they’d been in a lawless cow town, J.T. might have shot Roy on the spot. The only thing stopping him was the likelihood of getting caught. He needed his horse for a fast getaway, so he settled for twisting the gun hard enough to leave a bruise. “Do you want to die right here?”
Roy let out a breath. “Tomorrow it is.
”
J.T. eased the hammer back in place. “The Slewfoot at noon,” he repeated. “Don’t be late.”
He holstered his weapon and stood. Tomorrow Roy would die. When he showed up with the money, J.T. would challenge him to a duel. He’d win, of course. But Roy had enough skill to call it a fair fight.
He paid for the drinks, left the saloon and headed to Swan’s Nest to get his horses, taking a longer route to avoid Mary’s apartment. When he reached the mansion he went around the back to the carriage house. Working in the dark, he saddled the buckskin. Rather than take the pack horse, he decided to leave it for Gus. When he got back to the boardinghouse, he’d write a note to the boy. It wasn’t much of a goodbye, but it would have to do.
He led the horse into the yard, climbed on and rode down the street. A block later he passed a buggy coming in the opposite direction. He recognized Caroline and Bessie and hunkered down. Suspicious of a lone rider, Caroline nudged the horse into a faster walk and passed without looking at him. He’d become nothing to them, a stranger. Soon he’d be nothing to Mary. She’d be wise to forget he’d ever come to Denver. Gus wouldn’t forget him, but now the memories would hurt. He couldn’t bear to think about his dog. Fancy Girl wouldn’t understand at all.
He could still change his mind. Instead of killing Roy himself, he could go to the law. He could apologize to Mary and trust God for justice. The thought sent bile up his throat. Tonight the Almighty had shown His true colors. He didn’t care, and He couldn’t be trusted.
At the boardinghouse, J.T. tied his horse out back and went to his room. As always he left the door open until he lit the lamp. Light flooded the tiny space, revealing both the contents and the emptiness as he shut the door and locked it. He missed his dog. He missed Mary. His gaze fell on the chapbook he’d left on the nightstand. Ignoring it, he took gun oil and a rag out of his saddlebag. It had been a long time since he’d prepared his weapons for battle, but he did it now the way a man greeted an old friend.
When he finished, he wrote the note to Gus on paper the landlady provided along with bedding and a wash-bowl. Tomorrow, when he finished with Roy, he’d deliver the note and the money to Swan’s Nest and then leave town. He hoped Mary would keep the two thousand dollars. Not only was it Gertie’s due, but he had nothing else to give her. He considered writing down his wishes, but talking about money seemed cold when he wanted to tell her he loved her.
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