by Jenna Kernan
Chance held his gun aloft and spoke to the room. “Anybody else want to see my pistols?”
Suddenly, Bowie’s deputy sprang into action. Was the man a coward or just plain stupid? In a matter of minutes Whitaker had the cowboy and his friends herded out of the saloon.
Chance felt hollowed out inside, like a gourd scooped clean. To make matters worse, Johny Fitzgerald came over to congratulate Chance, slapping him on the back and laughing as if they were buddies. Somehow Chance thought it was for the benefit of their audience. But why would Johny want the customers here to think they were friends?
Chance refused Johny’s offer to buy him a drink. He’d go thirsty before accepting anything from this man.
Johny didn’t like that and tried to insist, but his eyes were cold and hard now. Chance leaned in, so as not to have every gawker in the bar hear his words and to be certain Johny did.
“I don’t like you and you don’t like me. You forget that?”
Johny forced a laugh as he stepped back. “Another time, then.”
Chance watched him go back to his big brother. The men put their heads together. Chance decided he’d best call it a night. In his experience, nothing good ever happened in a bar after midnight. He headed out into the street and glanced up. He missed his bedroll and the night sky.
Chance made his way back along the row of warehouses and sidings. He crossed the railroad tracks, pausing at Leanna’s Place. She’d told him that she was turning the gaming hall over to her girls. She wouldn’t be there now. She’d be home with her husband and family.
So he turned his mind on why he was here. Quin and Bowie were after Willem Van Slyck, and if he was stealing money, they’d sort it out. But somehow he didn’t figure that Van Slyck was the sniper. So who would be able to make a shot from seven hundred and fifty yards?
Seemed to Chance they were looking at a rancher or a hired gun. He thought he’d ride out to the ranches bordering the 4C tomorrow. That was Womack, Burnett and Fitzgerald. Womack knew his father well and the two had gotten on with no trouble, Chance thought. But appearances were sometimes deceiving. Both Womack and Fitzgerald had lost the bid for the railroad and each had been there at Wolf Grove the day his parents had died. Would that failure make either man angry enough to kill? Burnett was a former Texas Ranger who’d moved to the area since Chance had left. He might have the shooting ability, but he had no reason to do so, and from what Bowie said, he and Quin had become friends. Plus the man hadn’t even known his parents.
Better swing by the 4C, as well. Two of the hands who’d been caught rustling and setting fires had worked there. Leanna said they’d claimed to be working alone, but really, what was a liar’s word worth? There might be other spies there. Chance had thought that his father and mother had been liked by everyone, but he’d been wrong. Somebody had wanted them dead.
Their wagon had been wrecked on the way home from Wolf Grove at a place folks now called Ghost Canyon, practically on Burnett’s land. He’d start there.
Ellie tried to disappear, which was difficult when seated at the breakfast table with her parents.
Since Chance Cahill was now under their roof, her mother felt it necessary to lecture.
Ellie wished she could escape to the hotel dining room, and would have if she’d had an inkling that her mother would be up this early.
“You stay clear of him, Ellen Louise. The very last thing you need when looking for a husband is a scandal. Even the appearance of impropriety can be ruinous.”
Ellie immediately thought of the kiss and how she had forgotten herself completely. She startled and lifted a piece of cold toast, spreading marmalade upon it with so much force she snapped it into two pieces.
Her mother’s eyes narrowed as she lowered her teacup. “I know that look. What have you been up to?”
“Nothing. It’s just that he’s Annie’s brother.”
“You stay away from her, as well. That girl will ruin you just as surely. Unwed mother, now married to a gambler and nearly divorced. Her mother would roll right over if she knew.”
When her mother was on a tear, Ellie found it best to just nod her head like a carriage horse.
Her father gave her a commiserating look over the rim of his coffee cup. Somehow today it wasn’t enough to bolster Ellie and she could not manage to share his smile. They had been in this together for as long as Ellie could recall, trying to appease or steer around her mother.
“You might not be as pretty as Leanna Cahill, but I’m determined that you do a far sight better than she did.”
Despite her mother’s desires, Ellie did not aspire to catch a man of means, but rather to marry a man who noticed her, listened to her and most of all loved her. Now, at twenty-five, she had to admit that she might never meet such a man.
Her father finished his coffee. A sure sign he was abandoning ship. Ellie sighed. He rarely opposed his wife, preferring to cut and run until his wife had blown herself out. Yet, yesterday he had fought for Chance Cahill. Why wouldn’t he do that for her?
Minnie wiped her mouth with the linen napkin and then returned it to her lap, but her eyes never left her daughter. “This girl needs a fire lit beneath her. I swear if given her choices she’d just wander off with a book somewhere. That’s no way to attract a man.”
Ellie thought of telling her that she was a girl no longer and that she would not allow her mother to dictate to her any longer. She straightened her spine, faced her mother and then took a bite of her toast.
She sighed. One day she’d do it. But not today.
“Are you even listening?” asked her mother. “I’ve never seen a girl who could daydream so. I asked if you’ve considered encouraging Dr. Lewis.”
“No.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She turned to Oscar. “She’s going to let him get away the same as she did with Quin Cahill.”
Ellie had always liked Quin, but had been only halfhearted in her attempts, which she didn’t understand because marrying him would have given her what she wanted, wouldn’t it?
“And Bowie used to take some of his meals here. You’d think you could have struck up a conversation that entailed more than, ‘How are you today, Bowie?’ You know, a little wit and flattery will go a long way.”
Ellie looked at her plate. Bowie had tried to get Ellie to confide the name of the father of Leanna’s child, which Ellie would not have revealed even if she had known it. She didn’t like the look in his eyes. Bowie could be relentless and she’d been grateful when he’d announced his intention to become town marshal because her mother did not think a lawman a suitable husband. It had released Ellie from having to feign interest.
Maria brought in a small piece of folded paper. Oscar held out his hand, but Maria hesitated.
“It’s for Miss Ellen.”
Her mother motioned with her polished fingertips. “Give it to me.”
Maria did as she was bid and then stepped back.
Minnie opened the page. Her scowl vanished and she pressed a hand to her bosom. “Why, it’s your Dr. Lewis. He’d like to speak to you.”
Maria made a strangling sound that caused all three to give her an inquisitive look.
Minnie handed over the paper. “Well, go on. See what he wants. And remember, wit and flattery.”
Ellie lifted half of her toast and headed for the door.
“Did you see that?” her mother said from behind her. “She’ll have crumbs all over her blouse.”
Ellie left their private apartments, wolfing down the toast as she reached the corridor that led downstairs.
It seemed her mother was right. Dr. Lewis had taken a fancy to her. So now, instead of looking forward to a casual exchange, she had to find a way to become unsuitable.
She reached the lobby and looked about, but did not see Dr. Lewis. Instead, Chance Cahill stood by the cold fireplace with a suspiciously gleeful look upon his face.
He stepped forward to greet her.
“I’m meeting someo
ne,” she said.
Chance glanced down at the note. “I know. Lucky your mama doesn’t recognize my handwriting.”
“You!” she breathed.
Chance had her elbow and led her toward the door.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’d rather explain why you’re back at breakfast?”
She paused. “Chance, I’m a very bad liar.”
“I remember. Got me a licking on more than one occasion.”
“Well, if you were where you were supposed to be just once in your life, you wouldn’t have had… I’m not having this conversation. I only mean to say that she’ll find out, anyway.”
“Maybe so. But by then it’ll be too late.” He set them in motion, out the front door and along the wide boardwalk.
“Too late for what? Where are you taking me?”
“To meet Bowie’s girl for breakfast.”
“I already know Merritt Dixon quite well.”
“I was counting on it. You know everybody and don’t have a bad word to say about a soul. So you’ll run cover for me. Keep her from asking me too many questions and make me look good, just like you always did. Remember how you got me off the hook with Mrs. Wheeler?”
“Don’t remind me.” Ellie laughed at the memory despite herself. “Oh, you simply ruined her flower garden.”
“It was my mother’s birthday.” Chance’s smile faded.
Ellie felt his pain as if it were her own.
“Chance, I never got to see you after the funeral. You were already gone. I’m so sorry for your loss. They were such wonderful people and I miss them terribly.”
Chance looked as if he were about to say something, but he stopped himself and then said only, “Thank you, Ellie.”
“You don’t need me to make a good impression with Merritt. I’m sure she’ll welcome you unconditionally.”
“There’s some that wouldn’t welcome me in their home.”
“Well, Merritt isn’t one of them. Really, you don’t need me.”
Chance paused and took her hand. His palm was warm, dry and calloused. She recalled the feel of his long fingers on her neck. The memory had her quivering like an aspic.
“You never did like meeting someone new.”
“Can’t stand parlors and teacups and flower arrangements. They give me hives.”
She agreed with him, feeling much the same at times. “So you need me to do the conversing, is that right?”
He grinned. “You know me pretty well, don’t you, Ellie?”
“I used to think so. I don’t know who got me in more trouble, you or Annie.”
“Annie. Definitely. Will you come?”
She drew a long breath, making him wait. But the truth was her mind was already made up.
“My mother will be so disappointed,” she said.
Chance took off his hat and slapped it on his leg. “That’s my girl.”
Ellie’s smile faltered. His girl? Why did that prospect make her pulse accelerate? If Chance Cahill had any roots he showed no inclination of putting them down. Yet he was the one who excited her and he was a very good kisser. Besides, he wasn’t intending to court her. It was just breakfast with Merritt, running cover, as he called it.
“You’ll owe me, Chance.”
He placed a hand on his heart. “Anything.”
They walked over to the Morning Glory Boardinghouse, a two-story pine home situated across from the Porter Hotel and right beside the new opera house. Chance guided Ellie up the steps and inside without even knocking. Ellie stopped upon the colorful rug as Chance added his hat to the coat tree just inside the entry as if he’d been there before, which she was certain he hadn’t. He confirmed this by turning toward the cozy parlor to the right, instead of the dining room to his left. He paused to glance about at the empty room.
The aroma of coffee and fresh baked bread embraced her like an old friend. Ellie stepped into the dining room to find one of Merritt’s boarders, Hank Wilson, lingering over a cup of Merritt’s excellent coffee as he read the paper, perhaps one of the articles he, himself, had written.
“Are they expecting you?” whispered Ellie, not wishing to disturb the retired professor.
“Bowie asked me to supper, but I figured this would be less painful.”
“I think Bowie might eat breakfast at the jail.”
Chance made no reaction to this and she wondered if he knew this already. What was he up to this morning?
A woman bustled out of the kitchen, using her backside to open the swinging door, so that Ellie saw her profile first.
Merritt Dixon was petite with light brown hair caught up in a utilitarian bun, but that was all that was ordinary about her. Her figure was trim and lithe with an elegance in bearing that Ellie felt was altogether absent in her own composition. Merritt’s skin glowed with good health; her cheeks were exactly the same color as a pink rose petal and she had the most stunning green eyes that Ellie had ever seen.
She had no trouble seeing the physical attraction Bowie might feel for Merritt and felt a pang of regret over her own shortcomings.
Merritt caught sight of Ellie and positively beamed with pleasure. The woman was a beauty in any circumstance, but with a smile upon her lips she was stunning. Bowie was a lucky man.
She glanced at Chance to see his reaction, but he looked stone faced. This pleased her until she recalled how well Chance could hide his feelings when it suited him.
“Why, Ellie, this is a pleasant surprise. Have you had breakfast?”
“I’d love some coffee.”
Her smile faltered. “I thought you drank tea.”
“Only because my mother prefers me to.”
Merritt’s eyes flicked to Chance. “Who’s this?” Even as she asked, Ellie could see Merritt working it out, noting the similarities and differences. Chance was as tall as Bowie, an inch shorter than Quin, with blue eyes somewhat paler than Bowie’s and distinctly different from Quin’s silver-gray ones.
“Merritt, this is Bowie’s younger brother, Chance Cahill. Chance, this is your brother’s fiancée, Merritt Dixon.”
Merritt placed the platter she carried on the table as she rushed over to them, taking Chance in a hug that made his eyes bulge. He glanced toward Ellie for rescue but she merely giggled. Served him right.
Merritt stepped back to look him over. “Why, Bowie told me you’d arrived. I’m so happy to meet you at last. Well, come right in and sit a spell. I’ll get you coffee and send someone over to see if Bowie can drop by.”
Merritt took Chance by the arm and led him to the table, making introductions to the portly professor who had risen to take his leave, folding his paper and clamping it beneath his arm.
“Mr. Cahill, please meet Mr. Wilson, retired professor and occasional writer for our newspaper.”
The professor shook Chance’s hand and, before departing, threatened to do a story on him in something called the Meet Your Neighbor column. Some things were more frightening than death.
Their hostess retrieved two china cups from her sideboard and poured. “Perhaps I’ll just swing by the jail and get Bowie.”
Ellie lifted her hands. “Nonsense, I’ll do it. Be back before the coffee’s cold.”
She had expected Chance to show some annoyance at her leaving him alone with Merritt. But he surprised her again by reaching for the cream and adding it to his coffee as if he had already forgotten all about her.
What was he up to?
Chance had never had a lick of trouble finding female company, nor did he share her awkwardness about the opposite gender. So why had he really brought her here?
Then she recalled that Chance never liked social gatherings or light conversation. He had ditched and run from every church social she could recall, acting more like a lone wolf than a member of a pack of four siblings. Ellie didn’t understand it. As an only child she would have loved to take his place and have two fine big brothers to defend her and a sister to confide in. She w
as grateful to have been made welcome in their home for so many lovely years. He didn’t know how lucky he was.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to no one in particular, and slipped out the door.
As it happened, she met Bowie heading toward Merritt’s.
“Good morning, Bowie. I’ve just come to fetch you. Chance is at the Morning Glory and—”
Bowie didn’t even slow down. “Well, that’s a coincidence. I was coming to the hotel to kick him out of bed.”
Ellie didn’t like the sound of that but she hurried to keep up as he changed direction back toward Merritt’s home.
“My younger brother is a busy little bee. After shooting that gambler, he headed over to Hell’s Corner and dropped some would-be gun shark.”
Ellie went cold. “He shot someone else?”
Chapter Nine
Chance held his coffee cup steady as Merritt Dixon poured with a confident hand. With any luck, Bowie wouldn’t kick so much of a fuss with Merritt and Ellie present, at least that’s what he was banking on. He sat uneasy in the ladder-back chair, feeling as out of place as a wrangler at a tea party.
Merritt introduced him to Jemima Little, a silver-haired streak-of-lightning who met him eye to eye from her place standing beside his chair. Merritt explained that the new cook had been hired to help with the boardinghouse so she could attend to wedding plans. Jemima had the professor’s dirty dishes cleared before Chance even had time to stir his coffee. A moment later, the tiny widow returned holding a steaming plate that included a biscuit that smelled like home.
Chance eyed the older woman. His conversation skills were a little rusty, but he tried.
“Won’t you sit with us, Miss Jemima?”
“Got lots to do.”
Merritt disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him with Jemima.
Chance decided on a direct approach. “Bowie will be here in a minute and I clobbered some wet-behind-the-ears kid last night. When my brother gets here, I expect he’ll tear into me like a hungry wolf. Unless you’d care to stay and defend me.”
“Did he deserve that clobbering?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
