by Lynn Donovan
He grabbed hold of her shoulders, his eyes darted from her left to her right. She struggled to get out of his grip, but it was of no use. “I couldn’t help but notice… Flora I have to ask you… Were you with child when you left Boston?”
She vehemently shook her head. “No, you’ve got it all wrong!”
“So, you’re telling me, when you left Boston, you immediately went into another man’s bed and conceived a child, that boy?”
“No. I—”
She stopped struggling. She couldn’t lie, not to Mac. She couldn’t deny her son any longer. Her eyes lifted to meet his and she instantly felt lost in their depths. Just like fifteen years ago, he had this same effect on her. She could never lie to him. It was why she left Boston before he found out and she was put in a position of telling him the truth. She sighed and let the words leave her mouth on the breath that escaped her lungs. “He’s yours.”
She collapsed against his broad chest. The familiar aroma of his pipe tobacco and a scent that was uniquely Mac filled her head and her nerves with memories. Her skin prickled causing her to shiver.
He stiffened, then slowly released his iron-grip on her shoulders and wrapped her in a tender embrace.
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t. I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what? Surely you knew I’d marry you.”
“Exactly. That was exactly what I was afraid of. You’d force me to marry you, and I’d lose every chance to obtain my dreams.”
“I told you!” He tightened his hold on her. “I told you I would never restrict you from living out your dreams of owning your own business. I would have helped you and together we would have had fifty saloons all across the state of Massachusetts.” He choked on his words, tears filled his eyes but didn’t tumble out. His jaw muscle bulged as his grip became tighter, harder.
“You-you’re hurting me.” She wriggled in his suffocating embrace.
He stared at her, and then pressed his lips against hers. She fought to get away from him, but he held her too tight. She gasped for air, but couldn’t get back far enough to get any. She screamed, although it was muffled against his mouth.
“Help!” A woman shrieked. “Rape! Help! Miss Flora is being attacked. Somebody get Marshal Sewell! Help!”
Flora knew Charlotte Daniels’s voice. She was the busybody who seemed to be in everybody’s business. This time Flora was grateful she was so vigilant. Mrs. Daniels’s cry broke whatever spell Mac was under and he let go, stumbling back from Flora. She touched her bruised lips and stepped back away from him. “You need to… go.”
Mac looked up at her as if he just realized she was standing there.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
He stepped sideways, jamming his hand into his hair, and trotted away toward the Silverpines Inn. Perhaps he’d cool down, think it all over, and—then what? Would he leave town?
Now that he knew Jackson was his son, what would he do?
Several hours later, Flora stood behind the bar, pouring drinks for four scoundrels that she wished she could shoot instead. She kept a shotgun under the counter, just like Mac had taught her all those years ago, and a derringer in her garter on her left thigh. Her desk in her office had a Colt Navy pistol in the middle drawer and for good measure, all of her girls had a .38 double action pistol under their mattresses, loaded and ready to set a man straight if he got out of line.
Flora made sure her girls knew how to shoot to wound and how to shoot to kill, and when one was more appropriate over the other, just in case. She didn’t ever want any of them to be vulnerable to a gentleman caller’s inappropriate idea of what they were upstairs to do. Using one of her girls for a punching bag was not on the agenda. Not in Flora’s establishment.
She had just refilled three glasses and turned to put the bottle back on the shelf, when she spotted Mac, reflected in the mirror, entering the saloon. He walked like she’d seen Jackson do a hundred times when he knew he was in trouble. His hands were in his pockets, his eyes were aimed at the floor, and he walked as if he were trying to balance on the edge of a watering trough. He had changed his suit, and his wavy hair had been combed into submission, in fact, it still looked wet. She turned to give him a stern look, but her heart betrayed her and caused her a grimacing smile instead.
“Can we talk?” He spoke softly so no one else could hear.
“I have nothing to say to you, Mr. McMillan.”
He nodded.
She casually reached down and slipped her hand into the grip of the shotgun anchored in place under the counter, ready to shoot right through the front of the bar. If he so much as tried to touch her, she was going to cock the thing and shoot him where he’d never father another child again. Not even Miss Hattie could fix that with any of her herbal teas.
“Flora, I’m sorry—”
He put both fists on the bar top, considering her posture. Then a slight smile and a backward nod indicated he knew what she was doing. “I see you still keep a shotgun under the bar. Good girl. But Flora please don’t shoot me. I lost my head, earlier. I didn’t mean—”
A man shoved Mac aside and fell against the bar, “I’ll have anudder whiskey, li’l lady.”
Flora frowned at the rude customer and turned to get a glass and the bottle. She plopped the glass down in front of the man and poured the drink.
He spit at the spittoon on the floor, but missed, and tossed a coin on the counter.
She turned back to Mac.
Diamond screamed. Flora’s eyes darted toward her girl. Bart Rodriguez, Tommy Goodnight’s constant companion, had Diamond by the hair and bent over backward, across his knee. He yelled, “Aw come on, pretty Injun girl, give me just one of them savage kisses, por favor!”
Flora yanked at her skirt to grab her derringer, but Mac had drawn a peacemaker out of his vest and had it aimed at Rodriguez’s eye.
He let go of Diamond. She scurried away from the card table and Flora stepped out from behind the bar to take her into her arms.
“I think you’ve had enough fun for one night, mister.” Mac growled, making it clear he meant business.
Rodriguez held both hands in the air and nodded. Goodnight stood. “I don’t suppose these good people appreciated you calling their whore an Injun girl, Rody. I think we ought to leave.” The ugly smile on his face exposed his brown stained teeth.
“And don’t come back!” Flora added.
Mac kept the gun pointed at the man’s face until he cleared the bat-wing doors. Only then did he un-cock the gun and slip it back into his vest.
“Are you alright?” He stepped closer to Diamond and Flora.
Diamond closed her eyes and backed away from Flora. She nodded in answer to Mac. “I just need… a minute. May I go upstairs?”
“Sure, honey.” Flora touched her shoulder. She made eye contact with Sadie and the other saloon worker nodded. Sadie went up with Diamond.
Flora kept her eyes on the girls as they climbed the stairs and then turned to Mac. “I— Thank you.”
“Of course.” He pulled out his pipe, packed tobacco in the bowl and lit it. “So, now can I keep your bar?”
She sighed. “We still need to talk, I suppose.” She hated the defeated sound of her voice.
He nodded.
“Alright, Mac. You can keep my bar. We’ll talk later.”
“Or tomorrow.”
She smiled slightly. “Or tomorrow.”
Marshal Sewell shoved through the saloon swinging doors. He looked around as if he expected something bad to be happening. “Everything alright in here, Miss Flora?”
His eyes landed on Mac and a stern look of concern filled his face. “I hear tell you been causing our saloon owner some trouble… out by the gazebo?”
Mac puffed on his pipe, then removed it from his teeth. “That woman found you, I see, Marshal.”
Flora stepped up to Alexzander. “Charlotte Daniels overreacted, Marshal, when… Well
, Mac kissed me in the park. Uh, he’s an old…” she glanced toward Mac. “An old friend… from Boston. And I just hired him to take Gus’s place.”
Sewell sharpened his glare on Mac, considering whether he was a potential problem or a potential friend. “If you say so, Miss Flora.” He turned to face her. “I hear tell you two pulled weapons on Goodnight and his friend. What was that about?”
Flora smiled real big. “Nothing we couldn’t handle, Alexzander. Let me pour ya a sarsaparilla.”
CHAPTER TEN
Tommy Goodnight sat with his back against a tree in the large park surrounded by a residential community of homes and a house converted into an apothecary clinic. Bart Rodriguez stood a little way from him, watching an Indian woman who came out of the converted home to gather herbs from a garden in that same park. The two men pondered their next money-making endeavor. Tommy’s eyes shifted to a tall, slender boy hurrying past the woman.
“Morning, Miss Hattie.”
“Morning, Jackson. Where you off to?”
“Flora ordered some things from Messer’s. I’m heading over there to pick ‘em up and see if Mrs. Messer has any other deliveries I could run for her.”
“Ah. Come by the clinic later, if she don’t. I’ve got some wood I need chopped, if you want to earn some coins.”
“Sure thing, Miss Hattie.” He stepped sideways, nearly tripping before trotting off toward the mercantile.
An older woman stood from her rocking chair and shielded her eyes as she watched the boy run off. Her attention seemed to return to Goodnight and Rodriguez. Tommy considered the observant eyes of the old woman and stood. “Hey Rody, you reckon that boy belongs to that saloon owner?”
“No idea, Boss.”
“She weren’t too nice to us last night.” Goodnight shifted a piece of grass in his mouth.
“You thinking ‘bout getting even with her, Boss?” Rodriguez grinned wide and mean.
Goodnight moved his eyes but not his head to follow the boy Miss Hattie had called Jackson. “Rody, sometimes the best way to get even is to step around the situation and look at it from a different angle.”
Rodriguez’s brows pulled together. He turned to Goodnight. “¿Como?”
Goodnight’s mouth drew into a taut straight line. “Look, Flagg sent us here to get that new Smith and Wesson .38 mold from Dekum, and so far that filly he’s married to won’t let us do any repair work in the gunsmith shop to even look for it.”
Rodriguez’s expression drew tighter with confusion.
“What if we got that kid what belongs to the saloon woman to sneak into the gunsmith shop and obtain that mold for us, then if the law catches him, it won’t be on our head, but his, and that just might be more of a problem for Miss Fancy Pants Saloon Woman than anything we could come up with to do to her directly. See what I mean?”
Rodriguez remained silent for a bit. “But, Boss. If the boy gets caught with the goods, how we gonna get it to Flagg?”
Goodnight thought a moment. “We’ll have to get the mold from him before he gets caught breaking and entering. Maybe we make sure he hands it to us through a window and we take off afore he gets outta the shop.” He gasped with a new thought. “Maybe… we trap him inside so that he’ll be sure and get caught, after we have him hand us the mold outta the window. We’ll have to leave town immediately after that. Otherwise the kid’d tell Marshal Sewell it was us who put him up to it.” Goodnight nodded, liking his plan better and better.
Goodnight slapped Rodriguez on the shoulder. “What you bet that old lady knows everything we need to know about our boy, Jackson? She looks to me like she makes it her business to know everybody’s comings and goings.”
Rodriguez turned his gaze from the Indian woman to the older woman. “Yeah. I reckon.”
“What you suppose, that ol’ lady needs any repairs done?”
“I wouldn’t know, Boss.” Rody snickered. “Let’s go ask her.”
The two walked across the street toward the woman who kept her keen gaze upon them.
“Morning, ma’am.” Goodnight slowed as he entered her front yard. “I’m Tommy Goodnight, this here’s my colleague, Bart Rodriguez. We’re carpenters, ma’am. We just wondered if there was anything we could help fix for ya?”
She squinted against the sunlight. “I might.” She lowered her hand from over her eyes. “You boys got any references?”
“Yes ma’am.” Goodnight looked back at his partner. “We got a letter here from Reverend Skinner.”
He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, handing it to the woman. She looked it over then lifted her eyes to meet his. “I got a shed that collapsed during the earthquakes a couple a months ago, you reckon you could rebuild it?”
“Oh sure. Rody and I can build ‘bout anything you need, ma’am.”
“Okay, how much would it cost me?”
“Oh, I don’t give bids, ma’am. I don’t want to cheat you out of your money by telling you it’ll cost you a certain amount, and then it goes smoother than I thought, so it actually cost less. See what I mean?”
The woman nodded.
“I’d rather just have you pay me for my time, whatever it takes, and reimburse me for the materials. That way you’re not paying for nothing that isn’t what it actually costs.”
“Well…” she hesitated. “That sounds reasonable. And with a reverend’s recommendation, I reckon I can put you to work, some. My name’s Charlotte Daniels. You can call me Mrs. Daniels, or” —her voice hitched with emotion— “Widow Daniels.” She swallowed. “Come on round back, I’ll show you where the shed used ta be.”
Just then, Jackson came trotting through her yard with an arm full of wrapped goods, on his way toward Flora Adams’s house. Mrs. Daniels stopped to glare at him.
“That boy breaks my heart,” she muttered.
Goodnight closed the gap between her and him. “Why’s that, Mrs. Daniels?”
She started and looked into his eyes as if she’d forgotten he was behind her. “Oh, that Flora Adams claims him to be an orphan she picked up along the way to settling here in Silverpines. She lived with a band of gypsies, you know. Even sang from a wagon and had men toss money at her.” Mrs. Daniels shivered as if the thought made her ill.
“But everybody knows he’s really her bastard son.” She paused to watch the boy dart between houses as he disappeared into Flora’s home. “And it don’t take no genius to see the family resemblance with that new barkeep she claims to be an old friend, if you know what I mean. It’s pretty simple to see that one and one is two around here, Mr. Goodnight. But it ain’t none of my business. No siree, none a my business.” She continued to walk around to the back of her house.
Goodnight turned to Rody, with lifted eyebrows and whispered, “He’s an orphan.”
Rody smiled and whispered in response, “Or at least is treated like he’s one.”
“Maybe after we get this here shed built, we go talk to that errand boy and see if he might be interested in running an errand for us.”
Rody chuckled. “Sounds like a good idea, boss.”
Jackson put the mercantile purchases away and tore out the door. Miss Hattie had promised him some work and he wanted those coins. He’d seen a nice slingshot while he waited for Mrs. Messer to fill Flora’s order. He’d been saving the money people gave him for errands. With Miss Hattie’s chore, he could get that slingshot and a pouch of marbles.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Two men stood in Jackson’s path. He nearly slammed into them. “What’s your hurry, son?”
Jackson stopped abruptly and glared at the strangers. He hated it when anyone called him son, except Flora or Hazel. He didn’t belong to nobody but them.
“We hear tell you do errands for folks, we was wanting to ask you to get some supplies for us.” The stringy blonde stranger smiled like he knew a juicy secret.
The man’s insult slid from Jackson’s thoughts. Another chance to make some money, maybe it wasn’t so
bad to be called son if it meant money in his pocket. “What you needing, mister?”
The man laughed. “My name’s Goodnight, and this here’s my buddy Rody. We’re carpenters, and gonna be fixing’ Widow Daniels’s shed. It’ll sure save us some time if you’d give us a hand and bring our supplies from the lumberyard. I don’t suppose you’re strong enough to load lumber, are you?”
“Sure, I am.” Jackson nodded vigorously. “I got a mule and wagon, too. I can hitch her up and bring you all the lumber you need. When you wanting it?”
“Well, we gotta do some measurements and determine what it’ll take. How about tomorrow?”
“Sure. You want me to meet ya at Mrs. Daniels’ or the lumberyard?”
Goodnight glanced at his friend. “How ‘bout you meet us here tomorrow morning, say… nine? Have your wagon ready. We’ll make arrangements with the lumberyard so all you gotta do is pick up the order.”
“I can do that.” Jackson smiled from ear to ear. Now he was considering that BB gun he’d spied at Messers. He couldn’t wait to show Ryder Cutler he’d made enough money for the slingshot and the BB gun. He sprang off in a trot to go cut Miss Hattie’s wood, then he’d go find Ryder.
Goodnight and Rodriguez were in Widow Daniels’s backyard the next morning when Jackson pulled up with the mule and wagon at nine o’clock. Goodnight pulled a pocket watch from his pants pocket. He leaned toward Rody. “Well, look who’s right on time.” Then with a louder voice he called out to the boy. “Morning, Jackson.”
“Morning, Mr. Goodnight.”
“Go on down to the lumberyard and talk to Miss Woodson. She knows what our order is. Bring it back here and help us unload your wagon and I’ll pay you tonight out of our earnings from Widow Daniels.” Jackson hesitated. He’d wanted to go straight from this delivery today to buy that BB gun.
“You trust us to pay you, don’t ya, boy?” Goodnight cocked his head back on his shoulders.
Jackson glanced up at the widow standing on her back porch watching the men in her yard. She nodded as if she thought Jackson needed the reassurance that she would pay.
