Tom's Angel

by Linda George

  <><><><>

  Rosalie's comment about Zane having to have a horse brought to Ft. Worth prompted Tom to find out if his paw knew anything about the Strickland horses. Tom went across the street to the restaurant to see what he could learn.

  If he'd had any doubt about getting people to talk about the race going in the front door, that doubt disappeared the minute he stepped inside. No one seemed to be able to talk about anything else.

  Bat Masterson and Luke Short sat in the center of the room, big as life, having arrived in town late the night before. Notorious for betting on any sort of contest, it hadn't taken them long to hear about the race and get in the big middle of it.

  Tom had never met either man, but stories drifted from city to city about them.

  William Barclay “Bat” Masterson, referred to as personable and debonair, had kept company with some real scoundrels in his time, but never seemed violent or vindictive himself. He could read, enjoyed a good game of poker as much as any man, and would gamble on virtually anything, from cards to dice, horse racing or prizefights, just for the sport of it. He remained loyal to his friends, including Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and Luke Short.

  Luke Short, notorious as a gambler, had met the famous threesome, Earp, Masterson and Holliday, in Tombstone, Arizona a couple of years back and the four of them had been dubbed “The Dodge City Gang,” since they'd all come to Tombstone by way of Dodge.

  Short gambled his way back to Missouri and got involved in the famous, “Dodge City War” last spring, when the local lawman tried to evict him from the Long Branch saloon for having whores on the premises. No one got killed, but Short had to call in his friends, Earp and Masterson, to protect him.

  Tom remembered long discussions over the dinner table with his father and brothers over this group of men, about whether they should be considered respectable or, as some considered them, outlaws, gamblers and killers.

  When Earp and Masterson left Dodge, Luke Short discovered his popularity with local people had fallen too far to rescue the Long Branch. He sold his interest in the saloon and headed for Texas. Even now, talk in town hinted that Short might stay in Fort Worth.

  Tom could care less if Luke Short decided to move his gambling operations to Texas or not. What Tom didn't like was the gambler betting on Strickland's horse in the race Saturday.

  Shooting his mouth off as usual, Short, talking about Zane's horse, said, “Never been beaten. Man who rides him swears there are times when all four of his legs are off the ground at the same time, just like flying.”

  “Where did Strickland find this horse?” Masterson asked.

  “He won't say. Just said be at the depot at ten tomorrow morning to see the winner of the race arrive.”

  Zane had wired his father to send a horse, as expected. Tom searched his memory, but came up with no recollection of any racing initiated by the Strickland family in all the years they'd known Richard Strickland. Tom listened for another twenty minutes, but learned nothing new. Wagering leaned heavily toward Strickland, due to the bragging he'd been doing and the reputation of the horse, substantiated by Luke Short. The last thing Tom heard before he left the restaurant was the horse's name.

  Triumph.

  There was something familiar about the name, but Tom couldn’t focus on it right now. Outside, he glanced up and down the street, not knowing quite what to do next, feeling at loose ends. He headed for the telegraph office.

  “Morning. I want to send a wire to Denver.”

  The little man behind the counter touched the point of his pencil to his tongue and swept a piece of scrap paper across the desk to write on. “Whata ya wanna say?”

  Tom took the paper and pencil, scribbled the message, then handed it back. “I'll be at the El Paso when the reply comes. I'd like to have it immediately.”

  “You'll have it as soon as I have a chance to bring it to you after it gets here.”

  “Thanks.”

  Outside, Tom spotted Josh coming across the street from the restaurant and called him over.

  “I just sent a wire to Denver. Will you check from time to time and be sure he brings me the answer in a hurry when it comes?”

  “You bet!”

  Tom dropped another two bits into Josh's sweaty palm. At this rate, Josh would have a sizable portion of the little money Tom had left before the train pulled out of here with Tom aboard. He'd arrived expecting to spend a week or less in this God-forsaken hole. Already, he'd been here two weeks, with no clear idea of when this nightmare would end.

  Tom chided himself for selfishness. Rosalie had been years in this nightmare. He would stay however long it proved necessary to get her away from here. Damn, but he felt helpless!

  <><><><>

  The clock inched toward two o'clock before Josh came running to Tom's room, pounding on the door as though fire had broken out and he'd been told to spread the alarm.

  “It came! I brought it the second he stopped writing!” He puffed and panted through a wide grin, holding the wrinkled paper out to Tom.

  “Thanks, Josh.” He reached into his pocket.

  “No sir. You done paid me. Fact is, you've paid me so much already, I'll do anything you want while you're here at the hotel, no extra charge.”

  Tom's estimation of the boy rose another couple of slots. “Thanks, Josh. You're a fine man to do business with.”

  “Any time.” Josh tipped his hat and strutted back down the stairs.

  Tom read the wire quickly.

  NO NEWS YET ON TRIUMPH STOP STRICKLAND WON'T TALK TO ME STOP WILL KEEP DIGGING STOP NEED YOU HOME SOON STOP AMOS MC CABE

  Tom wished his father could be here in person. Always, in the past, whenever he needed a man to talk to about a problem, he'd sought his father first, then Will. Bo still didn't have a lick of sense and they all wondered if he ever would.

  But neither Amos nor Will happened to be in Fort Worth right now. Any other time, Tom would've dropped everything and headed home after reading that last phrase, “need you home soon.” All his life, Tom had done precisely what his father requested or instructed. Having to ignore that request left a sour taste in his throat.

  What would Paw suggest?

  With a grin, almost hearing his father's voice in his mind, Tom decided to pay a second visit to Phillip Mallory. Could be Phillip might know something about this horse, Triumph.

  Tom stopped by Rosalie's on his way to the Mallory Ranch, to see if she wanted to accompany him, but she declined.

  “There are matters I must clear up before Saturday. Come by when you get back,” was all she'd tell him.

  He had no choice but to accept her decision and go alone.

  He reached the Mallory Ranch mid-afternoon. Phillip, out mending fence, wouldn't be back to the house until suppertime. Marietta took Tom's hat, ushered him to a chair, disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, then brought both of them a glass of cold lemonade with chipped ice.

  “I want to say again, Tom, how proud we are for you and Rosalie. She's such a lovely young woman.”

  “She is, for a fact. Thank you, ma'am.”

  “Marietta. Ma'am is from the time when you were nothing but a child, being polite to your elders.”

  Tom smiled and nodded.

  “Something is wrong. I can tell. I know you've come to talk to Phillip, but if I can be of any help at all, I’ll be happy to listen.”

  “As a matter of fact, I think you can help.” Somehow, Marietta seemed the perfect person to talk to right now. But he didn't talk about the horse. He'd save that for Phillip. He told her, instead, about Rosalie and the sad news she'd faced, returning to Fort Worth. Tears gathered in Marietta's eyes as he recounted the tale.

  “Oh, that poor, poor dear. How dreadful that must have been for her, to lose her sister and her father in the same day.”

  Tom took a deep breath. “She wants me to go back to Denver without her.”

  “But why on earth?”

  “She's afraid my knowing he
r is the cause of our financial difficulty.” He told her about the bull and Strickland calling in all the McCabe notes. “We'll be able to handle it,” he added quickly, “but it's damned inconvenient, to say the least. We’ll have to wait on buying a new bull, but Gabriel has agreed to loan us his bull for this year’s calves.”

  Her lips pressed together in a flat line. “Despicable. What kind of man is this banker of yours?”

  “Exactly what he sounds like. Up until now, though, he's been fair, if not friendly.”

  “This isn't Rosalie's fault. Would it help if I talked to her?”

  “You haven't heard the worst part.” He told her about the indenture and Rosalie's bet with Zane Strickland.

  Marietta rose and paced about the room, wringing her hands, shaking her head from time to time, mumbling to herself. He caught the words, “horrible,” and “distressing.” When she finally stopped her pacing and came back to the chair opposite Tom, she said, simply, “What can I do to help?”

  Tom released a long breath. “You've already helped, just by listening. I want to clear all this up, take Rosalie to Denver, and marry her. But none of that's possible until she's free of Strickland's hold on her.”

  The back door slammed. Phillip Mallory came into the front room, dropped his hat on a chair and extended his hand to Tom with a wide grin.

  “I saw your horse out front. Didn't expect to see you again, so soon.” He sat next to Marietta on the sofa.

  “Phillip, Rosalie is in terrible trouble,” she told him.

  Phillip frowned, darker and darker, as she related the story Tom had told her.

  “Strickland, did you say?”

  “Richard Strickland. The son is Zane.”

  “I've heard of him. Amos mentioned him once, I think.”

  “Our quarrel isn't with Richard, though. Or hasn't been, until he called in the notes. Paw wouldn't want me burdening you with this problem. I'm glad he isn't here to cuff my ears for telling you.”

  Phillip smiled tolerantly. “If Amos were here, I'd stand ready to help, just as I'm ready today to help you, Tom.”

  “I appreciate that, sir.” Tom leaned back in the chair and stared at the beamed ceiling for a moment. “There doesn't seem to be anything to do. We can only pray Rosalie's horse can beat this horse, Triumph.”

  Phillip stared across the room for a long moment.

  Marietta touched his arm lightly. “Phillip, what is it?”

  “I know that name. Trying to remember where I've heard it. You said Amos hadn't come up with anything?”

  “He apparently tried to talk to Richard. No luck.”

  “I have a hand, Jeb Hackett, who bets practically every dime he earns working for me on horse races. Could be he'll know the name.”

  “Is he close to the house?” Tom couldn't believe it. If Jeb Hackett could give them some information about this horse, there might be a way.

  “He's on the far side of the ranch, mending fence. Isn't due back until next week. I'll send someone to fetch him, but I doubt they'd get back until the weekend, at least. When's the race?”

  “Saturday, one o'clock, at the Cold Spring track.”

  “I'll poke around, see if I can learn anything about that horse, Tom. When Jeb gets back, we'll see what he knows, too. And, we'll be there for the race. You can count on it.”

  Marietta chimed in. “Of course we'll be there. Rosalie will need supporters. She'll need you, most of all, Tom, but it helps to have a whole family on your side.”

  Tom pulled to his feet and embraced Marietta, then shook hands with Phillip again. “I can't thank you enough. When I came here, I had no idea there would be anything you could do, other than listen.”

  “Always, Tom. When Jeb gets back, I’ll send him to the hotel.”

  “Thanks. I have to get back.”

  “Not on an empty stomach. I know you're starving, and it won't take me long to scare up something for an early supper.” Marietta went to the kitchen.

  Tom knew better than to argue.

  He didn't get back to Fort Worth until late. He expected Rosalie's house to be dark, but saw a light in her bedroom window. He tied his horse out back and knocked lightly on the kitchen door. After a moment, the door eased open a bit.

  “Tom?”

  “I have some news.”

  She invited him in. Without another word, he held her close and kissed her. These few hours away had seemed like days. His fingers in her hair, her body pressed against his through the thin chemise, the only thing she had on, other than her bloomers, with her mouth against his, open and hungry, left him breathing hard, wanting her as never before.

  She led the way to her bedroom. He removed his boots and eased onto the narrow bed where they lay side by side, her back against him, cradled in his arms, his hand caressing while he kissed her neck and shoulder.

  “I missed you something awful today.”

  “I missed you, too.” She sighed. “But you're here now, and that's the important thing. How are the Mallorys?”

  “Welcoming as always.”

  “Did you tell them everything?”

  “Yes. I thought Phillip might know something about this horse Strickland is bringing in for the race Saturday.”

  She pivoted within his arms until she lay on her back, able to see his face. She traced the side of his face with her fingers. She'd thought about him all day, yearning every minute for his touch, his kiss. Late this afternoon, she'd made a decision. After Saturday, they might never have a chance to be together again. These few precious days before the race had to be used to full advantage. She'd made up her mind what she wanted from him, and hoped he'd comply. So far, he didn't seem to have any objection at all.

  He kissed her again, then leaned back, willing himself to remember his promise not to make love to her until they were married.

  Recognizing his hesitance, and the reason for it, she decided to change the subject. “What did Phillip say about the horse?” she whispered in the darkness.

  “He has a hand who bets on horses quite a bit, but he's off mending fence until Friday. Phillip is sending someone to find out what he knows about Strickland's horse.” He trailed one finger over her lips, up to her forehead and across, then back to her lips again, kissing what he'd touched.

  “Apparently not. The horse he's bringing is called Triumph. Mean anything to you?”

  “Nothing. Rusty has never raced a horse with that name, that I know of, anyway.”

  This new information reinforced her earlier decision. Rosalie unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hands inside to caress his chest. His breathing became ragged and punctuated with shudders.

  “Rosalie, we promised.”

  “No, you promised. I've made up my mind about this. You might as well get used to it so you can enjoy it. I won't have you feeling guilty.”

  “You're sure about this?”

  “We have no idea what will happen after Saturday. It would be foolish to waste the time we have together between now and then.”

  “All right, but there's something we have to do first.”

  “I hope it's something quick.”

  He propped on one elbow and gazed into her eyes. “I, Tom, take thee, Rosalie, to be my beloved wife, now and forever.”

  With tears choking her words to a whisper, she responded. “I, Rosalie, take thee, Tom, to be my beloved husband. Now and forever.”

  “Amen.”

  Tom lingered over her lips, teasing her with his tongue, until she pressed her mouth over his, She eased him back onto the bed and sat up, pulled the chemise over her head, then eased her bloomers off and away.

  Tom leaped from the bed and undressed so fast he ripped several buttons from his shirt and one from his pants, then hastily rejoined her on the bed.

  “Love me, Tom. Please.”

  He grinned. “Yes, ma'am. Mrs. McCabe.”

  He wanted to take it slow, but his body disagreed. Gasping with mounting pleasure, he became, at last, part of the woma
n he'd come to love in these few short days. Rhythmically joining, rejoining, he kissed the parts of her he’d dreamed about kissing, rubbed her back in lazy circles, pulling her closer and closer.

  Rosalie was drowning in the ecstasy of passion for Tom. She wanted to prolong the exquisite building of sensation, to savor the feel of total belonging she'd never known. Not only had this man brought hope and love to her life, but he'd needed her, too, to make his life and soul complete. She felt it as certainly as she felt the flood of emotion and passion engulfing her body.

  “I…can’t wait…much longer,” he murmured.

  “I love you, Tom. I love you.”

  He accelerated the pace. There would be no stopping, no slowing, no turning back.

  She tightened her legs around him, then held him when he when he groaned, shuddered, and collapsed onto the bed, pulling her up on his chest.

  “Damn.”

  He realized she was crying.

  “Rosalie?”

  “Wonderful. It felt…wonderful.”

  He tipped her chin upward and waited for her to kiss him.

  “Forever and ever.”

  Somehow, they would find a way to be together.

  Chapter 16

  At dawn the next morning, Tom woke Rosalie with tender kisses and a roaming hand that brought a smile to her lips.

  “I swear, Mr. McCabe, you have the most talented fingers.”

  “Why, thank you, Mrs. McCabe. I'd have to say you possess equal talents.”

  Her breathing quickened. “You do that so well.” She stretched, spreading the delicious sensations throughout her body.

  “I want you on top this morning, where I can see you in the daylight.”

  She complied, sitting tall and straight, with morning sunshine slanting through curtains onto her skin.

  “What if someone should happen by?” She sank forward until their bare torsos touched in every place possible.

  “Let them find their own wives. You're mine.”

  Indeed, she'd become Tom's, body and soul, even if for a few days.

  He'd begun to move under her. She matched his movements, feeling the tension build inside her again.