The woman pointed to the tub on the right. “That water is freshly drawn and is still hot.”
“Sounds mighty fine.” As Rebel approached the tub, she saw little wisps of steam rising from the surface of the clean water. The sight made her realize just how badly she wanted to sink down into it and soak away some of the aches and pains of the past week, not to mention all the trail dust.
She pulled the curtain, placed the rifles and her saddlebags next to the tub on a chair that had a towel draped over its back, and started taking her clothes off. Within minutes, she was nude. She lifted a leg and poised it over the water, then lowered it slowly, adjusting to the heat. She stepped in with her other leg and sank slowly into the tub, sighing in pleasure as she did so. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The hot water felt wonderful.
She was going to just sit here and soak and not even think about Conrad Browning, she told herself. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he was on his own.
* * *
Conrad was about to leave the emporium when the two men Sam Brant had sent with him and Rebel came in to give the order for supplies to the proprietor. Since he was already there, Conrad waited until the transaction was complete, satisfying himself that the men had carried out Brant’s orders as they should. Then one of the men asked, “Anything else you want us to do, Mr. Browning?”
“No, that’s fine,” Conrad told them. “Have a good time the rest of the evening. Just be ready to start back to camp first thing in the morning with those supplies.”
“Yes, sir, we sure will.” Grinning, the men headed down the street, bound no doubt for an evening of drinking, gambling, and whoring. In a way, Conrad envied them their simple pleasures, even though he could never lead such a life himself.
Following that brief delay, he walked over to the Holloway House. The clerk greeted him with a smile, remembering him from previous visits.
“No need for you to sign in, Mr. Browning,” he said as he reached for a key on the board behind him. “I’ll take care of that for you. You want your usual room?”
“Yes, please, George, if it’s available.”
The clerk slid the key across the desk. “Yes, sir, here you go. Got any bags you need help with?”
“No, not this time.” Conrad frowned as he realized he had left his saddlebags on El Diablo. He hoped that they were over at the stable. Wherever Rebel had gone, surely she wouldn’t have taken them with her. He said to the clerk, “I’ll be right back.”
It took only a few minutes to walk over to the livery stable and reclaim his saddlebags from the elderly owner. The old-timer said, “The gal who brought them horses in took both rifles with her, but I ain’t sure where she went.”
“That’s fine,” Conrad said with a distracted nod. He was glad she hadn’t taken his saddlebags with her, because he wanted to wash up and put on some clean clothes before he had dinner with Pamela and her father.
The clerk wasn’t behind the desk when Conrad came back into the hotel. He started to go upstairs, but then changed his mind. He knew from experience that there was a bathhouse right behind the hotel. He had intended to wash up with the water in the basin in his room, but perhaps he had time for an actual bath. The hotel kept hot water available for its guests most of the time.
He walked down the hall and through the rear door. The bathhouse door was open. He stepped inside and saw that the Mexican woman who usually worked there was gone. Were all the hotel employees shirking their duty at the moment?
The curtain on the right was pulled, meaning that someone was using that tub. Conrad went into the compartment on the left and reached down to test the temperature of the water. It was only warm, not hot, and it looked like it had been used by a previous bather, but probably only once. That wasn’t too bad for a frontier town, although it would be totally unacceptable in any fine hotel back East, of course. With a sigh, he set his saddlebags aside and began to get undressed. As he did, he heard a faint splash from the other tub as whoever was in it moved around.
When he was naked, Conrad put one foot in the tub, still wishing the water was warmer. He lifted his other leg and lowered that foot into the water. As he did so, he heard more splashing from the other side of the canvas partition. It sounded like the other bather was standing up to get out of the tub.
That was when Conrad’s foot came down on the bar of soap left in the tub by whoever had used it before. The soap had sunk to the bottom, and he never saw it.
He certainly felt it, though, when it squirted out from under him and threw him completely off balance. He realized he was falling, and with a startled yell he reached out to grab something and try to stop himself.
What he got hold of was the canvas partition. It slowed his fall so that he merely splashed down in the tub without injuring himself, although a lot of the water sloshed over the sides. But the canvas tore all along the top where it was nailed to the ceiling, and it fell too, so there was no longer any barrier between the two tubs.
Conrad sprawled there in the water, half-stunned, staring at the nude body of Rebel Callahan as she stood upright in the other tub, the towel she had just picked up from the chair next to it clutched in her hands but not yet concealing any of her bare loveliness.
All the mental images that Conrad’s fevered brain had conjured up when Rebel talked about swimming nude in the pond flashed into his mind so that he could compare them with the reality. As exciting as those images had been, Conrad now knew they couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. Rebel was a vision, her smooth pink skin glowing and glistening damply, the curves of her body sweeping in and out in a sensuous rhythm as pleasing to the eye as the notes of a brilliant concerto were to the ear. Conrad was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t do anything except lie there and stare at her, enthralled by her beauty.
Instead of trying to cover herself, she dropped the towel, surprising him even more.
Then she snatched up one of the rifles lying next to the tub and yelled, “You son of a bitch!” She jerked the Winchester’s lever as she swung the barrel toward him.
Conrad realized his danger at the last second and gulped down a breath of air just before he ducked under the surface of the water that remained in the tub. The rifle blasted, the sound deafening in these close quarters even though his ears were underwater and the report was somewhat muffled. Knowing that the outraged young woman would have to work the rifle’s lever again before she could fire a second shot, he stuck his head up and said urgently, “Rebel, no! Don’t—”
Then he was diving for cover again as another shot roared.
As he huddled there holding his breath, wondering if he was going to die in this tub, the thought occurred to him that the only way this situation could get worse would be if Pamela Tarleton chanced to step into the bathhouse at this very moment. Perhaps it would be better if Rebel just went ahead and shot him before that could happen....
Chapter 20
“Dios mio!” the Mexican woman shrieked as she hurried into the bathhouse and saw the naked blond woman standing in one tub and pointing a rifle at the other tub. A wisp of smoke still curled from the barrel of the Winchester. “Señorita, no! Do not kill him!”
“If I wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead,” Rebel grated. “I just want him to think twice before he pokes his head up again like a turtle.” She set the rifle aside and picked up her towel again, wrapping it around herself as she stepped out of the tub.
A long half minute went by before Conrad Browning’s head popped out of the water again. He gasped for air after holding his breath longer than he was used to. Wide-eyed, he looked around frantically, evidently intending to duck for cover again if he needed to.
“Take it easy,” Rebel told him scathingly. “I’m not going to plug you—even though I ought to, you . . . you damned sneak.”
“You can’t believe that . . . that I did that on purpose!” he yelped. “It was an accident!”
“Sure it was,” she snapped. “Just like you ac
cidentally forgot to tell me you had a fiancée waiting for you when we got here!”
“I . . . I wasn’t certain she would be here—”
“Save your breath, Conrad. I’m not interested anymore.”
The Mexican woman edged forward hesitantly and said, “Señorita . . . you will not shoot that man?”
“No,” Rebel said. “I’m not going to have anything more to do with that man.”
The attendant crossed herself and muttered a prayer of thanks in Spanish, obviously glad that she wouldn’t have to deal with having a dead man in one of the bathtubs.
“I don’t know how you got in here, Conrad, or what you hoped to accomplish,” Rebel went on, “but the least you can do is be a gentleman and turn around while I get dressed.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, twisting in the other tub so that he faced away from her. Without looking at her, he said, “Rebel, I really am so sorry—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” she interrupted him coldly. To the Mexican woman, she said, “Guard that door.”
“Sí, señorita!”
With the attendant’s formidable figure standing there to keep anyone from coming in, Rebel quickly began pulling on some clean clothes from her saddlebags. Footsteps sounded outside, and the doorknob rattled as someone grasped it. The Mexican woman held it on the inside so that it wouldn’t turn.
“No entrada!” she called through the door.
“What’s going on in there?” The shouted question came from the desk clerk. “We heard gunshots—”
“Everything is all right,” the attendant replied. “An accident only, nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure, Luz?” the clerk asked. “No one’s forcing you to say that?”
Conrad spoke up. “This is Mr. Browning, Bennett. Everything is fine, I assure you.” He sounded more calm and collected than he looked, huddled there in a tub now less than half full of water, trying to keep the more important parts of his anatomy under the surface. If Rebel hadn’t been so mad at him, she would have had to laugh, he looked so ludicrous.
But she was still too upset with him for that, so she just finished buttoning her shirt instead and then sat down in the chair to pull on a pair of socks and shove her feet into her boots. She slung the saddlebags over her shoulder and picked up her rifle.
“I’ll leave your Winchester here,” she told Conrad.
“Thank you,” he said in a weak voice. “Can I turn around now?”
“You could, but I’d rather you didn’t. I might see something I don’t want to see.”
Lord, he was blushing all over, Rebel noted. That was good. He deserved to be embarrassed, sneaking in here that way and pulling down the partition just so he could get a look at her in the altogether. Hell, it wasn’t like she wouldn’t have considered giving him a look, if he had asked nice enough....
But that was before they had arrived in Ophir and she’d found out that he was engaged to be married to that Pamela Tarleton. That had pretty much changed everything.
She put her hat on without bothering to tuck her hair up into it. With the Winchester under her arm, she went to the door and nodded to the attendant. The Mexican woman let go of the knob and stepped back. With all the dignity she could muster, Rebel opened the door and stepped out. The desk clerk and several other men stood there, still curious about the shots they had heard. Without looking at them, Rebel walked past them and into the hotel through the rear door. She had thought earlier about getting something to eat in the dining room, but under the circumstances, she decided that she wasn’t hungry anymore.
By the time she got up to her room, her anger had subsided a little. She was still mad, but when she thought about how miserable Conrad had looked in that tub, it was hard for her not to laugh. And when she thought about the way he had stared at her, his eyes drinking in every facet of her nudity, she felt something else, a little fluttering inside that was damned disturbing. She didn’t want to feel that way just because he had seen her without her clothes on.
Maybe it had been an accident, she told herself. He had looked plenty shocked when she first saw him, that was for sure. And he had fallen in the tub. She knew that because she had heard the splash and seen all the water that had sloshed out onto the floor. But maybe he was capable of pretending to fall just so he could pull that curtain down and take a gander at her. It seemed far-fetched, but she wouldn’t put anything past a fella from Boston.
She flung herself down on the bed with a sigh. She had told Conrad that she was through with him, and yet ever since she had come up here to her room, she had done nothing but think about him.
She had only enough money to stay here for a few days, and then she would have some decisions to make. The problem was that she didn’t have any idea what she wanted to do.
Life sure had been a whole heap simpler before she met Conrad Browning.
* * *
Right offhand, he couldn’t remember a time when he had felt more humiliated. He was sure there had been occasions that were more embarrassing, but he couldn’t recall them. The only thing he had to be thankful for was that Pamela didn’t know about the incident—yet. She might still hear some of the gossip that was bound to circulate about it, though. The spectacle of a naked man cowering in a bathtub while a naked woman shot at him with a Winchester had to be talked about, especially in a relatively small settlement like Ophir.
Since he was in no mood to finish his bath, Conrad had asked the Mexican woman to step outside while he got dressed. Then he went into the hotel, doing his best to ignore the curious stares of the bystanders who still lingered outside the bathhouse. When he reached the lobby, he went over to the desk and said quietly to the clerk, “I need you to do me a favor, Bennett.”
“Of course, Mr. Browning.”
“Miss Tarleton and her father are waiting for me in the dining room. Could you go in there and tell them that I’m not feeling well and that I’ve retired for the evening?”
“Certainly. Is there any other message you’d like me to give them?”
Conrad shook his head glumly. “Just convey my apologies.”
He went upstairs to his usual room, unlocked the door, and went inside. After turning on the gas lamp set in a wall sconce, he dropped his saddlebags and rifle on the bed and then stood there, unsure what to do next. He hadn’t eaten supper, but he wasn’t really hungry either. He didn’t want to see anyone in the hotel, didn’t want to endure the stares and the snickers. It might take him a long time to live down this fiasco.
Surely Rebel didn’t think that he had pulled down that partition on purpose. That was insane. She must know that it had been an accident. He’d had no idea that she was on the other side of that flimsy wall.
Where was she right now? he wondered. He had intended to see to it that she had a room here at the Holloway House for as long as she wanted to stay in Ophir. After all, she had come along with him to make sure that her murderous cousin and her brothers didn’t do anything to threaten him, and he could certainly afford to pay for her accommodations.
But then he’d run into Pamela before he had a chance to explain the situation to Rebel, and after that everything had gone to hell.
Actually, he reminded himself, he’d had plenty of chances to tell Rebel that he was engaged. He simply hadn’t done it. Was that because he enjoyed the attention from her and didn’t want to jeopardize it? He was human, after all, and he had known that she was interested in him. What normal man wouldn’t enjoy the company of a woman as beautiful as her?
Well, it was too late now. Rebel must hate him, and he couldn’t blame her for that. He’d led her on, and then he had embarrassed her, not once but twice tonight. He deserved her scorn.
What he needed, he told himself suddenly, was a drink.
But not in the hotel bar. That would be just asking to be made fun of. Ophir had plenty of saloons, though, and he was willing to bet that he could slip into one of them, keep his head down and not call attention to him
self, and not be recognized while he had a drink—or two. Especially since he was still wearing his dusty clothes. He hadn’t put on clean ones after hurriedly drying off in the bathhouse.
The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. He left the room and used the hotel’s rear staircase, so that he could leave the building without going through the lobby.
When he stepped out through the rear door, he saw that the bathhouse was closed. The partition between the tubs would have to be replaced. Walking quickly, Conrad navigated his way through a couple of shadowy alleys until he reached Gold Street. Then he tugged down his Stetson to make it harder for anyone to recognize him as he stepped out onto the boardwalk.
He headed for the saloon he had seen earlier as they rode into town, the Big Nugget. It was one of the largest drinking establishments in Ophir and there was always a good crowd on hand. The more people there were around, the easier it would be for him to blend in unrecognized, he reasoned.
As he approached the batwinged entrance, he heard the same sort of raucous hilarity that had been coming from the place earlier. Taking a deep breath, Conrad pushed through the batwings and walked toward the bar, which was on his right. To the left were tables crowded with men who were drinking and gambling. Saloon girls in short, spangled dresses circulated among the tables, delivering drinks and laughing as the customers pawed them. Four more girls wearing even scantier outfits danced on a small raised stage at the rear of the room while a slick-haired professor pounded on a piano and a bearded old-timer sawed away at a fiddle. The air in the place was thick with tobacco smoke and the rank smells of whiskey, beer, and unwashed flesh. All in all, it was crude, loud, and squalid.
It was also exactly what Conrad wanted at the moment.
He worked his way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a beer. A heavyset bartender brought it to him and expertly scooped up the coin Conrad dropped on the hardwood. Spotting an empty table in a corner, Conrad carried his beer over to it and sat down. He knew he had been lucky to find a place to sit. Every other table in the Big Nugget was occupied.
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