Sometimes Richard talked about his fantasies. He once said he’d dreamed of coming inside her, and once or twice, the mere mention of his ambitions made him visibly hard.
She’d watched how his thighs tightened, and the showing in his breeches made a believer out of her. He wanted an invited ride. Callie didn’t think he held much of an interest for women, but sometimes when he looked at her a certain way, she doubted her own assumptions.
Maybe he was curious. Why sure. That explained it all.
“Have you been doing okay for yourself?” Little Joe asked, slumping over on the bed. Typically, he waited for the invitation but not tonight. He tossed one of her pretty pillows to the side and slid up against the headboard.
“I’ve been getting by,” she replied.
“Can you help me with my boots?” he asked, trying to kick them off and holding his belly in the process.
Callie’s focus immediately fell to his gut. He pressed a large handful of material to his side and winced in pain when she tried to pry his fingers away from the soiled cloth.
“What on God’s earth has happened to ya?” she asked, studying his face again. He looked as sick as a horse, and she noticed the beads of ready sweat pebbling across his forehead. “What kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time, Joe?”
“A little of this and a dab of that,” he quickly answered her without elaborating.
“Let me see you,” she insisted, tugging at his wrist. “You’ve been shot, haven’t ya?”
“No,” he replied with a devilish smile. “I somehow woke up this morning with this hole in my side. I ain’t got any idea how it ended up there.” He chuckled at his stand-alone humor but then moaned when she removed the cloth, and a gush of blood stained her fingers.
“This ain’t a laughing matter,” she said, scolding him. She immediately applied pressure again. He watched her face like he wanted to see a reaction, maybe some sort of concern in her expression. Little Joe was good at reading her, particularly when he focused on her eyes.
“Damn you, Little Joe. This is what I’ve been afraid of.” She rushed to the basin and quickly filled it with room-temperature water from a hand-painted water pitcher. She hurriedly ripped a few strips of cloth from an old dress hanging nearby. In a frantic effort to stop the bleeding, she knelt beside him with the water dripping from the rag.
“I’ll pay for the dress,” he advised her, groaning out in sudden pain when she made contact with his open wounds.
“I’m not worried about a dang dress. You should have come straight up here to this room rather than stand downstairs trying to look all interesting to a woman.”
“Did it work?”
He grinned. She didn’t.
“No.”
About the time she realized her efforts were useless, Richard slipped inside her room. His gaze immediately locked with Joe’s, and just like always, Callie felt a little left out. The level of intimacy the men shared wasn’t anything she ever tried to understand, but right now, after two years had passed, she wanted something from them. An explanation was in order.
“Who did this to him?” she asked, trying her best to clean the wound.
“Don’t know. First time I’ve bumped into him in over a year,” he replied, returning his focus to Joe. “What happened?”
“Trouble,” he announced, his gaze moving back and forth between them.
“Trouble don’t shoot guns,” Callie informed him. “The men behind a mountain of it typically fire the first shot.”
“Is that right?” he asked, adding a wink. “Why don’t you tell the law around here then? They ain’t seen hide or hair of the group that did this to me.”
“Did you follow ’em here?” Richard asked.
“Yep, sure did. They’re here. Ain’t a doubt in my blessed mind.”
She swallowed hard and squinted with an intent focus on the three- or four-day old bruises. “Did they beat you, too?”
“I don’t recall,” he replied, locking eyes with Richard once again.
She smacked his arm. “Don’t you start lying to me now. It ain’t the time or the place. You’re bleeding out here on my bed, and if I’m gonna fetch Doc Scott, then we need to understand one another.”
With the mention of the town doctor, Little Joe scowled. “We understand plenty, Callie. Don’t we, Richard?”
Richard shook his head. “Not today we don’t.” He approached the bed and held up Callie’s hand. He took a peek at Little Joe’s injury. “Callie, you better run along and get that doctor. Tell him it’s a private matter, and we’ll pay him real nice for a tight lip and a life saved.”
“You buying?” Joe asked.
“No, you son of a bitch. You are, so you best not skip out on your tab.”
* * * *
Callie returned with Doc Scott in record time. She dragged him from his bed, and by the circles under his eyes, he looked like he needed the rest he might have found there. He had a head full of hair, and the locks were standing straight up like he’d deliberately combed and teased it in that unruly fashion.
“Doc,” Richard greeted him. “We appreciate you coming over here so late and all.”
“Do you?” he asked. His contempt barely concealed, he approached Little Joe and removed the bunched cloth. He took a closer look at the hole in Joe’s side.
“Yes, sir,” Little Joe growled, sarcasm evident as he tried to keep his manners about him. Those present might have guessed the men didn’t take to one another right off, but if nothing else, Little Joe remained polite.
The people he often robbed or even those he had tried to kill would have to say that about him. Yes, his momma had raised him right. Minus the killing and the robbing, she did all right by him.
He had a way with people. Folks liked him, except those he murdered in cold blood, and they probably didn’t care too much for him prior to their deaths. Most people would understand the differences of opinions formed then.
The doctor leaned over Joe’s body. He tugged his glasses from his shirt pocket and studied the wound. “How many bullets were fired into you?”
“Think I counted four,” Joe explained, grunting in pain. ”What do you think?”
“I believe you counted about right,” the doctor confirmed without missing a beat.
“Believe so,” Joe agreed right away, looking at Doc Scott like he was Sam Hill in the flesh. If he planned to battle the devil, it’d probably be best if he postponed throwing the first punch. Doc would likely need both arms and the stomach for performing a gutting.
The doctor pointed to the shallow basin and rolled up his sleeves. “I need some hot water, plenty of rags, and another bottle of whiskey. Those bullets are deep. That’s the problem.” He glanced up at Little Joe and then back at Callie. “That and the fact nary of ’em finished the job.”
Richard pulled his gun and aimed it at Doc Scott. “Why don’t you explain what you mean there, Doc?”
Little Joe grunted. “Uh, could you wait on that, Richard? I’m not sure we have a whole lot of time to shoot the shit with the good doctor.”
Doc Scott frowned. “I just stitched up the men who must’ve emptied their guns into this man. They were in a lot worse shape. I know why they fired their guns at this man.” He spoke directly to Callie. Apparently, he didn’t want to discuss Joe’s condition with Richard.
Callie read between the lines. He already pegged Richard and Joe as a peculiar pair.
“I always heard one man’s word is rarely another man’s story when guns are involved,” Richard said.
“Well then, there’s no use in talking about opinions.” Doc Scott studied Richard for a few seconds longer then grabbed his leather bag. “I’ll dig out the bullets and then stitch him up. Afterward, I’ll say a prayer that I don’t see either of you again. Then whatever business you have with Callie here, I hope you’ll conduct it and leave Tombstone.”
Richard cocked the gun. “Any particular reason why you want to see the dust from
our horses’ hooves?”
Doc Scott looked at Callie. “Do you want to tell him or do you want me to?”
She looked down at her feet and shook her head. “Get him stitched up, and then they’ll ride on out tomorrow,” she said, making a promise that wasn’t hers to utter.
Joe snarled. “If I’m not ready to ride? I have a feeling, with deadly bullets in my belly, I may not have the strength.”
“Then find it,” Doc Scott bit out. “You seem to have other talents. Make rapid healing one of ’em.”
“I doubt I will,” Little Joe replied, winking at Callie.
Doc Scott toyed around with a medical instrument, jabbing the end into Joe’s flesh. Joe squealed out in pain. This time he sounded like a pack of pigs. “You might reconsider.”
After a few groans, Richard stood and gave Joe a word of advice. “Keep stalling for time. You may bleed those bullets right out, right along with your organs. Don’t suppose you’ll need those anyhow, since the only thing you’ll have left is pure stubbornness pumping through your damned veins.”
“You might find it in your best interest to agree with me right now,” Doc Scott advised. “I’m the only one in Tombstone set up to do this, and if I don’t do it right, you will bleed to death.”
“Joe,” Callie began, “please tell him you’ll leave tomorrow.”
He wouldn’t do it, so Richard spoke for both of them. “He’ll ride, if I have to lead his damn horse myself. You have my word.”
Chapter Three
Callie’s wrists were tied to the saddle. She hadn’t spoken since they’d left Tombstone, and if Richard dared to guess, she might never speak to him again.
When he’d first thrown her on the horse, she’d ranted and put up a real fuss. She’d cursed him like he was no count, not a bit higher than an ant’s back, and much lower than a snake’s belly.
She had roots down, friendships developed, and scheduled pirooting. Just like a woman, she claimed she had a whole lot to do—men included—in a short period of time. Too damn bad.
When Richard didn’t change his mind, she zipped her lip. She must’ve thought pouting looked good on her. It didn’t.
When Joe came to, he didn’t stay conscious long but generally moaned and groaned until he finally said something pretty stupid, something Richard would take up with him at another time.
He talked about his dangler too much for Richard’s liking. Little Joe wasn’t talking about a passing train when he made the gentle suggestion of what he wanted to do with the length of his. Richard reminded him for the time being he still possessed what he needed in order to finish the job in a woman’s bed, maybe even a man’s.
Once, Joe woke up ready to fight. “Richard, don’t you ever speak for me again. I like it in Tombstone. There’s a lot to see and do there. I sure as hell didn’t want to leave there without a piece of pussy.”
Richard gripped the reins, only tighter. He might fuck him quiet if he didn’t give the delirious monologues a rest. In his delusional stupor, Little Joe failed to notice the pussy in question riding along behind the wagon.
Callie didn’t call out to him and tell him any different, whatever her reason. She set her jaw, jerked her hands, and waited for Little Joe’s next awakening, apparently bending an ear in anticipation of his next words of wisdom.
“I bet she was pirooting with the doctor. What do you wanna bet?”
Richard looked over his shoulder. Callie blushed. Yeah, he thought so, too. “I’ll take that bet, Joe.”
He didn’t have to worry. Joe never stayed with them for longer than five or six seconds.
By the time they arrived in Tucson, Joe’s fever had spiked. The hotel and saloon were welcomed sights but also a reminder. News traveled fast in Arizona.
The good doctor, apparently scorned, had anticipated their first stop, and the lovely man had forwarded a telegraph. His message arrived before they did, and there wasn’t any doubt in Richard’s mind. No one there was too glad to see them.
His feelings weren’t hurt, and he wasn’t offended. He wasn’t much on “how do you dos” anyhow.
When they walked into the crowded, smoke-filled saloon, the café-style doors swooshed back and forth. Callie had a way of luring a man’s watchful eyes, and there were plenty there to gawk.
Richard allowed Callie to walk in the saloon on her own accord, but now he wished he’d thought about it more. He should’ve hauled her inside. The little thing didn’t weigh much. Besides, others might like seeing a pretty woman over his shoulder with her ass up, facedown, and his palm on her tail.
For some reason, the image offered an unexplainable thrill right then, and he tried to shake the fantasy but couldn’t. He stood back in the corner with his hand on one of the flimsy wooden doors peering over the top while Callie negotiated a room.
“Seems they have one left,” she informed him upon her return.
“I can sleep in a chair,” Richard said.
Callie released a sigh and stared out at the wagon. “We’ll make do. Little Joe’s in no condition to have bed company tonight. I’ll help you get him inside.” She started to head out, but he placed his hand on her wrist.
“Let me handle Joe. Go on up to the room. You need to duck out of sight for the night. We may have some trouble after a while, no thanks to the Doc.”
Her eyes flickered with a significant sparkle when Richard mentioned Doc’s name. No wonder she hadn’t denied any past connection to the Tombstone doctor. Her face would’ve given her away.
Sure enough, Callie and the Doc had something going on. He looked at Little Joe and shook his head. He knew one man who wouldn’t like it a damn bit. Come to think of it, he had a problem with Callie being sweet on the good doctor, too.
* * * *
Little Joe slept restlessly throughout the night. He cried out one minute, and the very next, he spoke to angels and claimed to even see the devil. He fought Indians and cowboys, and killed them all of course, and he even played a hand of poker with Doc Holliday and claimed to have actually won. Whatever delusions he experienced, he was some kind of hero, a legend in his own dreams, a man of the hour, and a rebel in his own mind.
Richard listened to his ramblings and hoped for information. Joe never spoke of relationships, and as far as Richard knew, he was the only man Joe cared about. Richard and Joe parted ways on occasion, but it wasn’t anything Richard necessarily enjoyed. He only accepted the time apart because Little Joe insisted.
The distance between them was never up for discussion, and sometimes Richard wished Joe would ride the hell on and leave him alone. He pressed his hand to Joe’s forehead and jerked in alarm.
“He’s burning up again.”
Callie stretched her arms above her head and quickly stood, holding onto the bedpost in a stagger. She grabbed some rags and anything she found handy before dipping the cloths in the small basin she’d kept filled to the rim with cool water.
After a few minutes, Joe’s lifeless body was draped in damp towels. Richard stroked his arm, determined to wait by his side until his fever broke. P
Callie primped for a minute and then sat down in a nearby rocking chair. “I used to work here,” she admitted quietly.
Richard glanced her way. “I know.”
She cocked her head and shot him a weak smile. “How? Did Little Joe tell you?”
“Nope, I…I knew that uh, you lived and worked here long before he figured it out.”
“Yeah, I like it better in Tombstone, but the people are all right here, and the whores stay busy.”
“I reckon if they look like you, Callie, they all make an honest wage.”
She laughed aloud. He joined her with a good hearty chuckle.
When the room stilled, she continued to sway with the chair. “Richard, what do you reckon happened back there?”
He flinched. “I don’t care to think on it.”
“You believe he was with a man, don’t you?”
Richard swallowed tightly. Jo
e groaned and started mumbling his new way of speaking the English language. A lot of cursing and gibberish followed. He ran from the devil again, met an angel, spoke to a saint, and kept right on moving.
“Do you?” she asked, pressing for Richard’s honest opinion.
He thinned his lips then released a sigh, took another breath, and stood straight up. “We ain’t seen each other in a long time, Callie. Me and Little Joe parted ways back a few months after the last time we saw you.”
“Oh,” she muttered. “So you two haven’t been together in a good bit?”
“I don’t reckon. Last time I checked, the kind of activities me and Joe used to enjoy generally require close contact.”
She narrowed her gaze and studied a white cloud a few inches from the closet as dust mites scattered in midair. The morning sun lit up the room with the announcement of a new day. Since the room had very few appointments, Richard slumped against the far wall on the opposite side of the room.
“So are you, or did you? I mean…have you?” She couldn’t seem to decide how to ask, so she shut up.
“Nope,” he told her. “Last time I spent any real quality time with Joe was when the three of us were together. That’s it. Honest word.”
Joe kicked the thin sheet away from his body all of a sudden. “That’s a lie,” he mumbled. “One time by the fire out on the trail before I told you to leave and never come back.”
“Joe,” Callie began, obviously startled by the gruff sound of his voice. “You’re awake?”
“I did, ask him,” he whispered, undoubtedly stuck on the topic at hand and making sure Callie and Richard were aware of the fact he wasn’t ready to pass in his chips. “And yeah, I’m up. It’s not time to give death a fair shot when I’m so sweet on living.”
Callie looked at Richard. “So he told you to ride out without him?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember much about those days. We drank a few cups too much and sat by the fire trying to decide what to do about you and about each other.”
Men of a Different Sort Page 2
