"What do you want?" Cherry's voice sang out in the quiet. Bridget turned and looked up at the landing of the second story. Now the woman's hair was twisted into a high, full knot on top of her head, a green feather stuck jauntily at an angle. Her brown eyes were rimmed with kohl, and the red blush on her cheeks had nothin' to do with nature.
“I've come to help," Bridget said in a loud, clear voice.
"I told you before. There's no need."
Bridget lifted the lid of the crock she carried and the rich aroma of beef soup drifted out over the crowd. "But I've brought some broth, and some other things."
Cherry studied her for a long moment, then waved her hand. "Well, you're here now. All right, come on up."
Bridget smiled, replaced the lid on the crock, and moved toward the stairs.
"Davey," Cherry called out, "start playin'. I don't pay you to just sit there."
Immediately loud, discordant piano music began and with it, the men's conversations. In seconds everyone had forgotten all about Bridget.
She climbed the steep flight of stairs slowly, her arms aching from the weight of her burdens. The threadbare runner covering the middle of the steps showed wear, and Bridget could only imagine the hundreds of feet that had climbed these stairs before her.
Cherry waited patiently at the head of the stairs and took the basket from Bridget at once. There was no mistaking the relief in Cherry's eyes. The woman flipped the dishcloth cover back and smiled at the array of foodstuffs. Cocking her head, the redhead smiled. "You're really somethin'. You know that?"
"Why?" Bridget asked lightly. "Because I can bake bread and such?"
Cherry laughed. It was a smooth, sultry, practiced laugh. "No, honey. Hell, if I was starvin', I figure even I could bake bread." She draped one well-manicured hand over the curve of her hip. "But I never woulda guessed that somebody like you would step inside a saloon to come callin' on a sick whore."
Bridget wasn't sure if she'd just been insulted or complimented. She decided to accept it as the latter and answered matter-of-factly, "Where I come from, a body helps when he can. Especially women on their own. We have to look out for one another, Cherry."
Cherry's eyebrows lifted. "I suppose you're right. But you don't often see it."
Bridget shook her head slightly. “More's the pity. Besides… ladies or whores… who's to say where one ends and the other begins?"
"Honey" – Cherry’s eyes twinkled as she took Bridget's arm – “I think you and me are gonna get along just fine."
They started down the hall. "What'd you say your name was?"
“Bridget,” she answered, swiveling her head this way and that, taking in the faded red wallpaper and the dirty chimneys on the hanging oil lamps.
"Bridget what?"
She stopped. "Bridget will do."
This time Cherry's laugh was real. She threw her head back and chuckled delightedly. "I was right, honey. I was right.”
When Cherry opened the door, Bridget peered inside. The room was small, dwarfed by the immense bed in the center of the floor. Childishly executed paintings hung on the stained walls, and an oil lamp turned low burned steadily on a table near the head of the bed.
A small woman lay in the center of the mattress, her head turned away from the door. Her body was so small, she hardly made a lump under the wide, brightly colored quilt that covered her.
Slowly, quietly, not wanting to wake the woman if she was asleep, Bridget moved toward the bed, Cherry just a step behind her. A floorboard creaked underfoot, and the woman turned.
Bridget gasped aloud. The tiny thing had been beaten within an inch of her life. The left side of her face was a black and purple mass of bruises. A cut on her lip was still crusted with dried blood, and there was a lump on her forehead the size of a hen's egg.
"Holy Mother of God," Bridget mumbled as she set the crock of soup down on the shaky table. "You poor darlin'," she soothed the girl and stroked her matted black hair away from her forehead.
Cherry leaned on the heavy wooden footrail at the end of the bed. "Tina, this here's Bridget. She's a friend."
Tina's eyes moved from her employer to Bridget, who was still clucking sympathetically.
"Are you hurt anywhere else, love?" Bridget asked softly.
Tina shook her head and winced.
"Well," Cherry added, "far as we can tell she's all right 'cept for what you see. Ain't no doctor in town, but we checked her pretty good. I don't think there's anything broke."
Bridget nodded and poured some water into a bowl. Dipping a clean cloth she'd brought into the cool water, she began to mop at Tina's face gently. "I've brought you some good hot soup, too. We'll get some of that down you in just a shake." She tossed a quick glance at Cherry. “Who did this? Did you tell the marshal? What's bein' done?”
"Hell, no, I didn't tell the marshal." Cherry pushed away from the bed and crossed to the one window in the room. She stared out at the late-afternoon sunlight and spoke quietly. "Where I come from, ain't no lawmen much care what happens to whores. So I figured, why bother?"
"But do you know who did this?"
"Hell, yes, I know." Cherry spun around. "Bud Francis. A miner with a bad temper. He's worse when he's drinkin'."
Bridget stood up and walked around the bed. Grabbing Cherry's arm tightly, she urged, “Tell the marshal, Cherry. He's not like the rest. He'll care what's happened. And what's more, he'll do somethin' about it.”
"Yeah?" Cherry snorted. "You seem awful sure. How come?"
How to answer that question? Telling the woman that she worked for the marshal was hardly enough, but how could she make Cherry understand that Jacob Fallon, whatever else he was, was also a man who believed in justice? Even with all that had gone on between them in the last few weeks, Bridget was sure that not only would he care about what had happened, but he would punish the man responsible. She didn't have the slightest doubt about it. In that moment Bridget admitted that she did trust Jacob. She trusted him to do the right thing as he saw it.
Even as she acknowledged that, she knew that it was the very quality about him that was dangerous to her. Down deep inside her lay the ever-present fear that Jacob, if he ever found out about her past, would return her to St. Louis to serve her term of punishment.
"Well?” Cherry demanded.
"I work for him, Cherry," Bridget finally answered. "I care for his daughter. And I'll tell you this about the man, he's honest… and he cares about the rights and wrongs that people do."
"Thank you," a deep voice added.
The three women in the room looked toward the doorway. Jacob looked first to Bridget, then to Cherry. He nodded silently.
"Jacob," Bridget breathed, "how did you-?"
"Cotton came for me." His eyes held hers.
"And Jessie," she asked quietly, "where is she?"
"Cotton is with her at the cabin."
His expression grim, Bridget was grateful when he finally looked away, toward the wide bed and the girl in it. His eyes narrowed. Quietly he crossed the few steps to the bed and stood looking down at Tina.
Reaching down, he tenderly grasped her chin in his fingers and turned her head slightly. A hiss of breath was forced out between his clenched teeth.
Straightening, he motioned the two other women to come closer. "Bridget, you stay with her." His gaze shifted to Cherry, who stood watching him uneasily. "I want to talk to you. Outside."
Bridget obediently moved to Tina's side, but some feeling, some instinct, made her turn around at the last minute. Cherry had left the room, but Jacob still stood in the open doorway, his reproachful gaze locked on Bridget. She gave him a hesitant smile, but there was no answering softness on his features.
"See to the girl, Bridget," he said. "You and I will talk later."
She tightened her hand around the cloth she still held. So, she thought, it's finally come. After nearly three weeks of polite silences, they would at last get to it. Bridget's spine stiffened. Well, she told hers
elf, he'd better take care, for she was more than ready.
Chapter Sixteen
The front door burst open, and Cotton looked up from the book he'd been reading to Jessica. The boss and Bridget immediately went to opposite sides of the cabin. One look at the marshal's face was all it took to convince Cotton that it was time to make himself scarce.
Wrapping his arm around the little girl, he lifted her as he stood up. "Boss," he said quietly, "if it's all right with you, I'll just take Jessie on over to the jail and finish up readin' her story."
Jacob's gaze never left Bridget as he nodded curtly.
Cotton handed Jessica the book, snatched his hat off the wall peg, and went outside, closing the door behind him. "Papa's mad." He looked at the little girl's solemn face and grinned.
"Reckon so. But don't you worry about it, Jessie. He ain't mad at us!"
#
"Why?"
Startled, Bridget looked up. "Why what?"
"Dammit, Bridget!" Jacob shouted. "Don't look so innocent. You know good and well what I'm talkin' about!"
She scowled at him. "You're hardly talkin', Jacob. You're shoutin’ loud enough to wake the dead."
"Good! Maybe you'll hear me, then'" He grabbed at his hat and tossed it angrily onto the table. Running his hand through his hair, Jacob stalked around the cabin, ranting in a somewhat lowered voice. "I couldn't believe it!"
She crossed her arms over her chest and watched him.
“First off, I never would have thought that you'd let Jessie cross that damned road all by herself. She could have been run down by a wagon, stomped by a horse, or just knocked over by some drunk who didn't even see her!"
"All right now." Bridget took a step closer. If he wanted to shout at her, that was fine, but he'd better not say she wasn't lookin' out for that sweet girl. "I watched her take every step. I didn't leave until she was safe with you."
"Hah!" He jabbed his index finger at her. "And how did you know I'd be in the jailhouse?”
“Mother of Saint Patrick!" She threw her arms high in the air. “You're always in that bleedin' jailhouse, Jacob. People set their clocks by you! You never leave the blasted place until twelve-fifteen, when you walk down to the restaurant to have your dinner." She took a deep breath. "And you're always back in a half hour. Never a change. Never longer. Never shorter. Always the same."
His brows drew together. “That isn't the point."
"What is the point, Jacob?" Hands on hips, she faced him, now every bit as angry as he. "This isn't about me sendin' Jessie to you, is it?"
"No, by heaven, it's not!" He yanked his coat off and threw it onto his bed. "What were you thinking, going into a place like that?"
She smirked at him. "So. That’s it, then."
"Yes, dammit!"
"All of this is about me goin' into a saloon. Is it so important to you what people in this place think of me?"
“What?”
"Because if it is, you should know somethin'. There's quite a few in this town already that think me a whore. Your whore." He glanced away, but she continued. "Me goin' or not goin' into a saloon would do nothin' to change that opinion. And I'll tell you somethin' else as well, Jacob. I don't live my life accordin' to what others think." She leaned toward him, jutting her chin out. "If there's sickness somewhere and I can help, be she queen or whore, she'll get the same treatment from me!" She glared at him angrily. “There was more than once when folks came 'round to help me. It's only right that I return that help anywhere I can."
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
"And, Jacob Fallon, bear it in mind that those women at the Lazy Dog are not so different from me. They're women alone, makin' their way as best they can."
“They're plenty different from you, Bridget!"
"Not really." She lowered her voice. Her anger dying, she only wanted now to make him understand. "Who knows why they are what they are? It's only by the Grace of God that I'm not in their shoes right now."
"What?"
She nodded solemnly. "And I'd like to think that if I ever need help, there'll be someone there who won't be afraid to step forward."
Jacob pushed both hands through his hair. She stood there so primly, staring at him with the green eyes that haunted him, calmly accepting the notion that one day she might be forced to whore to survive. What in the hell was she thinking? Did she really believe that he would ever allow such a thing to happen? Did she really have so little faith in him? In herself?
"So you see, Jacob," Bridget added, "if there's anything I can do to help someone, I'll do it. No matter what you or anyone else has to say."
Jacob knew that already. It was one of the many things he admired her for – her complete disregard for the opinions of others. Bridget did what she felt needed to be done, come hell or high water, and never blamed anyone but herself if things went wrong. This was the first time she'd made any reference to Mrs. MacElroy's insults, and if she hadn't been so angry, she probably never would have mentioned it at all.
“That isn't what I was talking about, Bridget. I know you don't give a tinker's damn what anyone thinks… including me." She started to speak, but he shushed her with one raised hand. "What I'm so damned mad about is you went traipsing off to care for the sick, never bothering to ask what the sickness was!"
She just stared at him.
"Don't you see?"
Her blank stare told him she didn't.
“For God's sake, Bridget, for all you knew, the woman could have had cholera. Or smallpox. Or… anything!"
"Would that make a difference? She'd still need tendin' to."
"Of course it would make a difference!" He went closer to her. "What about Jessie? Huh? If Tina had had something contagious, you could have given it to Jessie!"
Bridget looked at him with disgust. "Of course I wouldn't. That's why I sent her to you. To be safe. And if Tina had had somethin' catchy, I'd have stayed away from the house. Rest assured, Jacob. I wouldn't harm that child."
"It's not just Jessie I'm talking about!"
"Well, what, then? If I wasn't here, I couldn't very well give it to you, now could I?"
He grabbed her upper arms and gave her a little shake. “What about you, Bridget? What if you got sick?"
Bridget swallowed uneasily and tried to pull away. "I've already told you, Jacob. I've no one. No one would be worried."
"No one?" His eyes bored into hers, daring her to speak. "What about me? Am I no one to you, Bridget?"
Now she did pull away, prying his hands from her arms. She took a step back and turned away from him.
“Well, Bridget?" His voice was softer. “Can't you understand what I felt when Cotton told me you'd marched into a saloon to care for some sick girl? Jesus, Bridget! Didn't you know how worried I'd be?"
"No." She shook her head and spoke just above a whisper, without turning to look at him. "And why would I, Jacob Fallon? You've hardly said three words to me in the last few weeks. And those few were far from carin'."
"I know." He stepped up behind her and ran his hands up the length of her arms. "It wasn't my intention to hurt you, Bridget."
"So you've said."
"It also wasn't my intention to care for you."
"Nor mine for you," Bridget answered.
"But, Bridget," he whispered, turning her around to face him, "I do care. It's… not easy for me. I'd thought to never let another woman too close. And somehow, almost before I knew it myself, you'd come to mean so much to me that it” – he swallowed heavily – “frightened me."
She tilted her head back, and Jacob felt the pull of her soft green eyes.
“I determined to stay away from you," he admitted, “to make you want to stay away from me. I thought these… feelings would fade. But they didn't. They only grew stronger."
Bridget watched him warily. He'd changed his tone before, she told herself, only to swing away once more. It would take more than soft words to convince her again.
"Oh, I know
what you're thinking," he said softly, "and I can't blame you for not believing me. But, Bridget, somehow I will prove to you that I mean what I say."
She watched him silently. His familiar features were sharp and determined in the late-afternoon sun.
“I'm sorry, Bridget. For all the hurt I've brought you." He took a deep breath. “I know it's too late now, but I want you to know that I'm going to try to win you back."
"What?"
“I’m going to court you, Bridget." He moved his hand up to cup her cheek. "I won't force myself on you, but I will do everything I can to make you want me again." His words came faster now, his voice filled with purpose. "He may be a better man for you, Bridget, but I won't give up. I won't let him have you without a fight."
Her brows drew together, and she pulled back, puzzled. "What in heaven are you talkin' about, Jacob?"
"Cotton." He looked down at her solemnly. "I've seen him. I've watched him come here every day. I know that you've come to… care for him."
She started to speak, but he rushed on.
"I don't care, Bridget. I only wanted to let you know that I know. And that I'm going to try to win you back from him."
"I'm no prize to be won in a county fair, Jacob," Bridget said, still not sure she could trust him.
"But… Cotton?" Jacob asked.
She sighed and looked away. She hadn't wanted to admit this to him, but now it was the only thing to do. Besides, she was tired of lying. And at least in this, she could tell him the truth. "Cotton is a friend, Jacob. That's all."
“Then,” he said, his features a mask of confusion, "why all the sneaking around?"
"Because he's been teachin' me to read." Bridget breathed deeply and looked up to meet his startled gaze. "I didn't want you to know how ignorant I am. I was ashamed. I never had the chance to go to school… and you're such a fine, educated gentleman, that I…"
He closed the gap between them with a single stride and pulled her closely to him. Placing his chin atop her head, he said softly, "Ignorant? No, Bridget. lf anyone around here is ignorant, it's me. I've had a wonderful woman right here, under my very nose, and I was too stupid to know it." The tight bands around his chest released, and Jacob felt almost light-headed with relief. She didn't love Cotton. There was still a chance.
Mountain Dawn Page 20
