by catt dahman
Fallon nodded, "No, you ain't smart. But you are in good company, and that's all that matters. Take that old marshal who has his gun on your buddy...."
“I ain't old," Tell grumbled
Fallon went on, "That's Tell Starr. I'll bet you've heard his name 'cause he was the best Texas Ranger ever to serve, one of the men who brought in John Wesley Hardin. Hell, Hardin came peaceable just to keep from having to tangle with Tell."
Courtney's eyes flicked over to his friend.
“The other man, that's Kit Darling, said to be one of the fastest guns ever, and I bet you've heard his name. That one there is Doc Holliday; l damn sure don't think he needs an introduction.”
Courtney suddenly sobered. His face was dark with dread. He would hate to tangle with just one of the men, much less all three, and this crazy one with the knife was the worst, it seemed.
Fallon, his voice like creamy butter, deep and clear, but terrifying, said, “If your friend don't get that damned gun outta my ribcage, then were gonna find out who can kill you first. I am gonna leave little bits of you all over this street.”
Quick as a wink, the gun barrel retreated from Fallon's ribs; he hadn't feared being shot, but the gun had been uncomfortable as well as an insult.
“Take your hand off the lady.”
Courtney did, and Frannie was surprised that she had forgotten it was even there, so intent was she about listening to the men. She was mesmerized by their control of the situation. Fallon directed emotions and actions like a deranged god.
"Look," said Courtney nervously while drunkenly laughing about the slight space that Fallon had given him, "ain't no cause to mix up over this. I didn’t mean no harm.”
“You didn't?"
"Naw, I figure there's some women that are interested, but they don't act it."
"You think?" Fallon asked dryly.
“Sure you gotta keep after them like they want, and then after a while, they come around.”
Doc was bored; he liked quick action, but Fallon loved these sadistic games. He asked, “Sometimes you have to encourage them a little, don't you? Real gentle?”
Doc winked conspiratorially.
Mistaking Doc and misjudging the man, Courtney nodded, ”Yeh, that's it."
“Some are hard to bring around.”
Courtney babbled hopefully, "Uh-huh, theys act high and mighty, but it takes only a tickle, see?”
“Tussle and tickle?” Doc asked.
”Yeh," said Courtney as he licked his dry, lips, thinking this might turn out, "and mostly they come around."
"Some of them are stubborn, so you have to fight it outta them, huh?" Fallon asked.
“That's the truth." Courtney grinned a little.
Fallon tilted his head and pounced. "Sounds like rape to me.”
“I agree," Doc glared, “ain’t much of a man who has to beat it from a woman.”
Blinking, Courtney felt confusion rise on the heels of fear.
Doc shrugged in a Paris-like gesture. "He may not be a man at all."
“Are you, Courtney?" Paris Fallon asked.
"I...." he hesitated as he seemed to be tongue-tied.
Fallon glanced down. "If he ain't a man, then he don't need a man's business, does he? I s'pect I'm holding this knife at the wrong spot.” Fallon moved the knife and gently nicked the man’s skin like testing a piece of wood for carving and asked, “I never told you my name, did I?”
Courtney felt his testicles draw up. Courtney was more afraid than he had ever been.
“Don't move,” Fallon warned, “be very still.”
“Please,” Courtney begged, and then he yelped as the blade drew a bloody line on his sweaty skin. He cried out again and then, urine, hot and stinging, poured down his leg.
“I told you. Look what you made me do,” Fallon admonished, “what a mess you've made."
Courtney's spirit was broken from being tortured, and he looked into his demonic tormentor's eyes. He found no mercy. There was no amusement in the ice-blue eyes, just emptiness that was horrifying. "My God, mister, who are you?"
"Fallon. Paris Fallon."
“Satan's brethren," Courtney whispered, “please don't kill me." He wept.
"Will you crawl on your knees? Will you beg?"
Courtney couldn't nod but whispered his reply in a voice that broke. He felt tears that poured down his cheeks; he knew the stories people told about this man.
“Come on, Paris," Tell said. It had gone on too long, but he had been awed, watching his friend in action, so cruel, but so powerful. Paris had taken this man down to nothing but fear and humiliation, but if it didn't stop, there would be bloodshed over a small slight.
Courtney gulped, "Don't kill me over no woman.”
“I think you need killin' in general,” Paris said easily.
“Damnit, Paris,” Tell tried once more.
Paris moved back a few feet, taking his knife away, and added, “I'll give you a chance to draw first. I won’t even draw until you have cleared leather.”
“I ain't gonna draw."
“No gun fighting," Tell announced in his most authoritative voice. He didn't want to push Paris, but Tell didn't want gunfire either. This was not because of an audience; Paris Fallon didn't show off. He was simply teaching the man a lesson that would long serve him. Tell didn't think any man, having learned manners from Paris, ever misbehaved again.
Doc was grinning. He was spoiling for a draw.
“You don't draw, I'll kill you where you stand," Paris told Courtney. Like a lightning flash, Fallon whipped out twin .45 Sheriff's Model Peacemakers with their grips made of mother of pearl. “I could have killed you then," he added as he grinned.
"I ain't drawing." Courtney shivered.
“Either way."
Frannie Masterson's voice was as soft as summer rain as she said, "Mr. Fallon, this situation began because of a slight done to me. I feel as though I should have a say in this matter." She was afraid to speak to him but forced herself.
Paris hesitated and cocked his head. "And?"
"I'm gaining a reputation of having to be defended, and it seems that men keep killing one another all around me. " Nervously, she glanced at Doc. She couldn't believe she was having this much trouble speaking, and it infuriated her. Her heart was hammering.
Frannie could smell liquor, tobacco, leather, and stale sweat. There was the glint of sunlight on gun barrels, cold calculating eyes, sun-bronzed skin, and a badge. Four of them. She could have slapped herself, but she found it strangely exciting. Powerful. Masculine.
Doc was grinning at her in a frankly sardonic manner that was somehow inappropriate. It was a lazy, sensuous caress of a smile that made her face flame with embarrassment.
"I'm asking you to spare these men's worthless lives,” she said.
Fallon holstered his guns, put away his knife, and began to casually and confidently roll a cigarette.
“Miss Masterson, by all means let us preserve your reputation.”
“Thank you." Her face flamed.
“Next time I see you,” said Fallon, calmly looking at the men, and then continued, "I'll kill you.” He watched the drunken men stare in disbelief and then scurry down the street and vanish into a saloon.
Doc mused," I believe Paris is in a killin' rage today. I pity the fool who crosses him."
Fallon walked away towards another saloon, without saying a word, his dark mood hanging like a cloud over him.
Kit marveled, "I ain't ever seen Paris back down like that. That's somethin'."
"And don't be bringin' it back up to him either," Tell warned. "He is in a rage. God A'mighty, someone is liable to die bloody today." This was what he had been explaining to his friends, but instead of avoiding the problem, they became just as besotted with the Masterson woman as every other man in town. She was a witch.
Kit shrugged and followed Paris in for a drink.
Doc offered his arm to Frannie, “May I escort you to your buggy? My apologies
for this difficulty, Ma'am.”
She took his arm; she smelled of wildflowers, honeysuckle, peach blossoms, rain, and sunlight. It would be pleasant simply to stand and inhale her scent, but quite rude.
“Mr. Holliday, I am afraid that earlier I was quite lacking in manners, and I did not properly introduce myself. I am Francis Masterson."
Touching his hat's brim, he told her, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Tell watched the exchange and sighed. He wondered why her eyes had followed Paris across the street. She had better forget that idea, if indeed, she were interested in Paris Fallon.
“Forgive my boldness earlier?” Doc asked.
With a slight smile, she got into her buggy and drove away, leaving Doc to join Tell and to follow the others into the saloon.
A whiskey sounded good. Really, there was nothing to say about her or what had happened. But foremost on their minds, each of the four and for four different reasons, was her.
Chapter 3:
Presentations
Worrying over it had done no good. Although she had ridden for hours, helped with the fencing, and worked in the gardens, her mind was still in town.
Patrick, her oldest brother, had been away from the ranch for months, and now another brother, Ford, had been gone for weeks. She had only Joshua, a year older than she, to keep her occupied. She found herself snapping at him and the ranch hands, all of who had treated her as a sister. She even gave Reps Hampton, the youngest hand, a stern blessing out when normally he was one of her favorites.
Her father, Quinn, noticed her short temper and unusual distraction, “Now young, Miss Francis,” he scolded, “and it has not escaped my notice that you have been waspish of late.”
“Did Joshua tell you that?”
“He did not.”
“Then, it was that insolent Reps Hampton.”
“This isn't like you. Has someone gotten you into an ill temper?"
"All those hands are simpering idiots.”
Quinn suppressed a smile and replied, "You've known those boys about all your life."
"Boys," she scoffed. Frannie and her father were riding into town, and she was wearing a dress; it made her more irritable.
"And you're of an age to prefer men?" His amused tone darkened her mood.
"I'm tired of boys. The hands all fawn over me.”
"Half are in love with you, Missy.”
Frannie wrinkled her nose and said, "Well, I am not in love with a one of those silly boys, so don't you even think of marrying me off to one of them.”
"I have let you run wild. Without you having a mother to guide you, you have been allowed to ride astraddle a horse and to work like a hand. It's my fault.”
“I turned out fine."
"Oh, you are a lovely young lady full of fire and spirit, but what shall we do now that you want to chase men?"
"I don't!"
”Well, the issue was your hateful behavior as late. “ He finally got back on track. “A mother would have stopped that temper of yours,” he told her, “but I have allowed it.”
“I am not cut out to be coquettish and sweet. I'm like you, Daddy," she said as she smiled winningly. And that did mollify him.
Luckily for her, they had reached town. Quinn tried to help her from the carriage, but her dress caught, and she pulled at the fabric roughly.
"Now, Fran....” he said since he didn't like her bursts of anger.
“It's the heat. Now where shall we go?”
Quinn motioned with his head and replied, “I need to see Bill Curtis.”
“Your bartender?” asked Frannie who knew that Bill Curtis ran The Golden Saloon, the very place where Dr. Holliday had told her that he and his friends met.
Her face flamed. “I'll come with you,” Frannie announced, sure that her father would see her red face.
Quinn hesitated. When she was small like a pet, he had taken into the saloon with him. And when she had gotten older, she had lost interest and hadn't wanted to go in. "Now, Francis...."
“It'll be empty this time of day; besides, you've never denied me going."That is true,“ he conceded as he offered her his arm.
Her heart beat a steady staccato, but her stomach fluttered in the most aggravating manner.
He wouldn't be in there, she told herself, and neither would the rest be there.
Inside, it was dimly cool. Her eyes adjusted, and she kept her face towards Bill Curtis who smiled warmly at her. To her left, Frannie saw movement at one table.
"Miss Francis,” Bill greeted her, “aren't you a lovely sight!”
She conversed with him, but her mind was elsewhere. She wanted to look around, but she dared not be so bold. It was folly to come in to see men with terrible reputations whom she had been deliberately rude to.
She had twice made a mistake.
“Fran, Honey, I want to look over these books," Quinn told her.
"Will you be long?”
"Not very."
As she turned, she risked a peek. And saw four pairs of eyes directly on her. Of the men, one was angry, one looked emotionless, one was laughing, and one was amused.
Her face flushed. A chair scraped back. A second chair....
“Quinn," called Tell Starr as he approached with his hand held out.
Quinn Masterson shook hands with him. "Have you been too busy to pay a call to the house? You're welcome to supper."
"I thank you, and I will come out. " Tell looked uncomfortably at Frannie. He nodded. "Ma'am."
Quinn smiled broadly and said, "My daughter, Frannie. Frannie, this is Marshal Tell Starr, a former Texas Ranger."
“Pleased to meet you, ma'am “.
“How do you do?”
"I sure hope Frannie hasn't been as much trouble lately.”
Tell grudgingly shook his head, “Not at all, but through no fault of her own, she sure does get the boys stirred up.”
“It's what the Masterson always do," Quinn replied in a prideful tone, "and it is a bit amusing.”
Doc stood there quietly, but then he spoke, “I believe it is.”
Tell made introductions: “Doctor John Henry Holliday.”
"I had the pleasure of already meeting Miss Masterson,” Doc said smoothly to Quinn Masterson. "I sadly wasn't properly introduced as I would have liked. But I can hardly ignore a lady in distress, however, Miss Masterson." He gave her a slight bow.
"Frannie, you didn't tell me."
Her jaw clenched as she replied, "I didn't think it was that significant."
"In what circumstances did you meet my daughter?" asked Quinn as he ordered up beer and motioned the other men over. Frannie sat with her glass of water, not failing to see the mischief in her father's face; he knew her so well.
Doc and Tell told Quinn what had happened, but Paris, despite the story being about him, didn't talk. Quinn was particularly amused by Doc's version of meeting her in the bookstore although Doc did tell it as though he had accidentally run into her.
"What an adventure, and you forgot to tell me about it, Frannie?" asked Quinn.
"Well, you don't need the worry.”
"Isn't that sweet?“ Quinn's eyes twinkled as he continued, "but it must have worried you terribly since you have been so waspish lately.”
Frannie was embarrassed. This was her punishment for being short tempered to the ranch hands. What a silly fool she must seem to these men, but she would not be shamed. She narrowed her eyes and said, "I see now that I was quite rude to you, Doctor Holliday, but lately, I have had so many unpleasant experiences, so I wasn't appreciative of you and your friends and the respect you have given me. I am so sorry.”
She patted her father's hand. “I have forgotten my manners as well. Doctor, say that you'll pay a visit to us.” I've only had the company of sweet, but uneducated and poorly mannered ranch hands.”
Quinn belly-laughed heartily. "She is such a pistol. Where did you attend college, Doctor?”
"Baltimore. I worked in
Georgia and then in Dallas, and I found that, despite an education, gambling pays more.”
"And you, Mr. Fallon? Did you attend?”
"No. Doc here likes to educate all of us, though. We were just discussing his latest favorite book.”
"I like Thomas Daniel Gibson's book Burned Bridges,” Frannie spoke up.
"I haven't read that, but I have heard it is quite controversial and brilliant." Doc beamed at her.
"I have a copy. Perhaps you'd care to read it?"
"I would greatly enjoy that, Miss Masterson. It would be pleasant to discuss it with you.”
Frannie tilted her head and said, "Father, we must have the doctor for dinner one evening. I think his company would be a welcome change."
"I agree. Doctor Holliday, we would relish some intelligent conversation.” Quinn nodded firmly. He now knew who had caught Frannie's attention but who hadn't followed up after having met her. He suppressed another chuckle.
Doc leaned closer and said, “Indeed, I would like to ask permission to call upon your daughter, Mr. Masterson.”
Frannie was shocked, as were Tell and Kit. This was completely unexpected, and Kit grinned, and Tell covered a groan.
Quinn took another shot at his daughter and said, ”Since she told you that she presents herself, perhaps she will answer this for you, sir.”
"Miss Masterson?”
Doc stared her full in the eyes so intensely that her head swam. She might drown in his eyes. "Tomorrow afternoon?" she asked as she stood, shaking. “I must do some shopping. Please excuse me, Mr. Darling, Marshal Starr, Mr. Fallon, and Doctor Holliday.”
They were all on their feet, respectfully.
After she was gone, Doc took his leave, after promising to meet them back later for a game. He walked over to the hotel. Quinn went back to going over the account books with Bill Curtis, and the other three were left with their beer.
"What do you think, Tell?'”
The marshal knew what Kit meant. “She is damn clever."
“Pretty, too."
“I never thought I'd see Doc acting like that over a woman," Tell noted.
"Acts smitten, don't he?"
“I don't like it." Tell downed his beer.
