Rocky Mountain Marriage

by Debra Lee Brown

  “Who?”

  “My father’s killer.”

  He looked at her, stunned. He dropped his watch fob, and it hung there by its chain, forgotten. He quickly recovered his composure. “What makes you think I care?”

  “Everything that’s happened here the past three weeks. And things I’ve been told happened before I arrived.”

  He knew she knew about the money he’d put up to pay for Bill’s funeral. He smiled at her, but could tell she wasn’t buying his nonchalant dismissal, no matter how artfully accomplished.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “Bill was a fine man. It was a damned shame what happened to him.”

  “This morning I went into town. I talked to the marshal about that night.”

  “Max? Good. He was here. He could tell you what little there is to tell.”

  “He said that you went crazy, tore the saloon and the ranch apart, trying to identify the shooter, that you questioned every person here that night.”

  The room was too damned hot. He walked to the window and opened it. The cool breeze felt good on his face. He rubbed a hand over his beard stubble and carefully considered his next words. “Max and I are friends.” He shrugged for effect. “That was just my way of helping out.”

  “For a gambler, you’re awfully helpful.” She came right up to him and looked him in the eyes. “If that’s what you really are.”

  He met her gaze and relived the kiss he’d stolen from her in the hallway. He wanted to kiss her again. She was thinking about it, too. He could see it in her eyes. Her effect on him was dangerous, especially now, when she was so close.

  “Ah, hell,” he said, and pulled her to him. Before he could change his mind, he kissed her hard. She didn’t resist, and that scared him. He drew a breath and marshaled his will, but in the end she was the one who backed away.

  “I’ll be downstairs,” she said. “If there’s anything you’d like to tell me.”

  There was a lot he’d like to tell her, but now wasn’t the right time. He followed her into the hall, catching up with her at the top of the spiral staircase.

  Delilah was just coming up. “A couple of Southern gentlemen here to see you.”

  Chance didn’t know any Southern gentlemen, but that didn’t mean much. High rollers with money to burn were coming in from all over to play cards with him. “Tell them I’ll be right down.”

  “They want Miss Dora.”

  “What for?”

  Delilah lifted a painted brow at him. “Cause she runs this place, not you.”

  “What do they want?” Dora asked.

  “Rooms. I told ’em we didn’t have none left, but they’re awfully nice-looking gentlemen.” Delilah winked at her. “It’d be a nice change for the girls.”

  Dora descended the staircase into the saloon. Chance and Delilah followed. He recognized the two men instantly by their manicures and fine clothes. Each sported a set of Smith & Wesson .44 caliber revolvers with walnut grips and engraved nickel finishes that would have set a working man back a year’s wages.

  “Lee Hargus, ma’am.” The younger looking of the two removed his hat and gave Dora a once-over, then a polite smile. “And this here’s my brother, Dickie.”

  “Mr. Hargus,” she said, nodding first at one, then the other.

  The older one said nothing. He was tall and had a cool air about him that Chance didn’t like.

  “Delilah says you’d like a couple of rooms.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re here for the game, then?”

  Dickie’s blue eyes narrowed. His brother hitched an elbow on the bar and took in the scene around him: drinks flowing, every table packed with card-playing men and every girl working, even Susan. Tom’s piano music was lively, and the atmosphere downright festive.

  “That’s right,” Lee said. “We’re here for the game.”

  “I’ve got two rooms left, but I’m afraid they’ll cost you.”

  “Money’s not a problem.” He gestured for Jim to pour him a drink.

  “Wonderful. They’re right across the hall from Mr. Wellesley’s.”

  Lee leveled his gaze at Chance. Dickie’s blue eyes followed.

  “Wellesley,” Lee said, giving him a different kind of once-over than he’d given Dora. “Sounds familiar.”

  Chance felt the muscles in the back of his neck and shoulders bunch. His Colt was still upstairs on the bed in pieces.

  “Yes,” Dora said. “Our Mr. Wellesley has quite a reputation.”

  “I thought you were saving those rooms,” Chance said, and shot her a pointed look.

  “Hmm? No, I wasn’t saving them. In fact, the rooms are ready now.”

  “Good.” Lee downed his shot of whiskey, then smiled at her. “Let’s go.”

  “Dora.” Chance took her arm, making it clear he wanted to speak with her alone.

  Her annoyance with him showed. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said to the brothers. “I’ll be right back.” She followed him into the kitchen.

  The second he had her alone, he said, “I don’t like those two. Send ’em packing.”

  “Why don’t you like them? They seem perfectly agreeable to me. Besides, they’ve got money. They’re exactly the kind of men you were hoping to attract.”

  She was right, but for reasons she knew nothing about.

  “Upstairs I asked you if there was anything you’d like to tell me. Is there?”

  He said nothing.

  Irritation charged with a healthy dose of rebellion shone in her eyes. “Fine.” She marched back out to the saloon.

  “Dora, wait.”

  She paused under the staircase. “Well?”

  He’d come too far to jeopardize things now. Grinding his teeth, he bit back a curse.

  Their interaction wasn’t lost on the Hargus boys.

  “Oh, don’t mind them,” Lily said, slinking up beside Lee and wrapping her arms around his neck. “They’re like two polecats in a burlap sack. You never know if they’re gonna spit at each other or—” She flashed Dickie a look and smiled. “Well, you know.”

  Lee smiled pointedly at Dora. “Ma’am?”

  She shot Chance an angry look, then said, “Yes, Mr. Hargus. You and your brother are most welcome here at my establishment.” She gestured to the staircase. “I’d be happy to show you to your rooms.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Hargus boys were trouble from the beginning.

  Dora sat in the upstairs parlor with Susan, the New England Primer open on her lap. The door was cracked, and neither of them could concentrate with the commotion going on outside.

  “Dickie prefers blondes,” Rose said. “I heard his brother say so last night. So there!”

  “That ain’t true.” Daisy’s voice quavered. “He asked for me this morning when he got up, didn’t he?”

  “Delilah said he asked for me!”

  “There they go again.” Susan cast Dora a look.

  Where was Delilah when she needed her? The girls, all except Susan, had been fighting over the Hargus brothers since they’d arrived. If Dora let this new round of bickering go on a moment longer, she’d have a full-blown catfight on her hands. She set the primer aside.

  “What are you going to do?” Susan followed her out into the upstairs hall.

  “I’m going to have a little talk with them.”

  She’d speak with Columbine and Iris later. Lily was another matter altogether. She’d corralled both brothers in Lee’s room a little over an hour ago and hadn’t come out since.

  “Good luck,” Susan said.

  It was Friday afternoon and the saloon was packed with men drinking and gambling, trying to win enough money to play in the high-stakes poker game Chance had set for tomorrow night.

  Dora peered over the balcony, surveying the scene below. Cigar smoke drifted up from the first floor and hung in the air like a cloud. She blinked a couple of times to clear her eyes.

  “You mean she’s still in there with ’
em?” Daisy said.

  Rose screwed up her face in a nasty smirk. “Yes, she’s still in there, but you can’t hear anything except whispering going on.”

  The two girls put their ears to the door of Lee Hargus’s room, their eyes wide with curiosity. Dora grabbed them by the ruffles fringing the low backs of their brightly colored dresses and pulled.

  Daisy jumped. Rose swore.

  “You two ought to be downstairs,” Dora said.

  “But Lily’s—”

  “I don’t care what Lily’s doing. Delilah will skin you two alive if she sees you’re not working.” Dora still wasn’t comfortable with their profession and never would be, but if they were downstairs mingling, at least they wouldn’t be fighting over the Hargus boys.

  “What about her?” Rose frowned at Susan. “She’s not working.”

  “I am so,” Susan said, flashing her copy of the New England reading primer at them. “I’m working to better myself.”

  Daisy snorted.

  “That’s enough.” Dora maneuvered them toward the staircase. “I’ve made the same offer to each of you. You can either improve your skills in reading, writing and arithmetic, here with me, or…”

  “Or what?” Rose said, grinning.

  Dora refused to be embarrassed. “Or continue to make a living on your backs. It’s your choice.” There. She’d said it.

  Rose and Daisy exchanged looks.

  “It’s mighty kind of you to offer, Miss Dora, but I’m not too good at arithmetic.” Daisy shot Rose a conspiratorial smile. “On the other hand, I am good at—”

  “All right, that’s enough.” Dora clapped her hands as if they were students and she the teacher. “Downstairs with the both of you.”

  She and Susan watched as the two of them glided downstairs and began chatting with customers. Dora breathed relief. She had no idea where Delilah was. She’d have to speak to her about these Hargus brothers, and about keeping the girls in line.

  “Are we done, then?” Susan glanced at her primer.

  Dora was pleased by how quickly Susan’s reading skills were improving. Each day they read from the New England Primer and from the letters Susan had received from the orphanage where, under pressure from her family, she’d placed her baby son.

  Dora had made some inquiries and discovered it would be a simple matter for Susan to take her child back—if she were married.

  Susan’s attention strayed, her gaze fixing on something below them in the saloon. Dora realized she was staring at someone. Tom.

  The piano player looked up, and Susan froze. He smiled at her, and when she smiled back he stumbled over his piano keys, botching the piece.

  Both of them laughed.

  Dora patted her arm. “Why don’t we pick up again tomorrow where we left off?”

  “All right,” Susan said, not really hearing her. She handed Dora her primer and started down the staircase.

  “Go on! Get up there. All three of you.”

  What on earth…?

  Chance, who for some reason wasn’t playing cards, herded the young girls Dora had hired to help in the kitchen toward the staircase. Susan backed up onto the balcony as they thundered up the steps, all chattering at once.

  “And stay up there, till you get some sense. You hear?” Chance frowned at them, then cast her a quick look before returning to his regular table.

  Dora looked to Susan for an explanation. She had none.

  “What’s all this about?” Dora said to the girls.

  The eldest of them, who was thirteen, said, “He’s madder than a hatter at us now, Miss Dora.”

  “Why?” She couldn’t imagine what the girls could have done to provoke him.

  “He says we should get some schooling from you.”

  “He did?” She was both surprised and intrigued.

  “Yes, ma’am. Chance—er, Mr. Wellesley, I mean—says we ought to be hauled out to the barn and whipped if we ever says something like that again.”

  “You said it, not us.” The youngest of the three poked her in the arm.

  “Said what?”

  They exchanged glances, then looked to Susan for help.

  “Well?” Dora said.

  “Oh, heck, I said it.” The eldest girl looked Dora in the eyes. “I said if we worked hard, in a couple more years maybe we could be like Miss Susan here.”

  “And Miss Lily,” the other girl said. “I want to be like her.”

  Dora was taken aback. “You said that to Ch—I mean Mr. Wellesley?”

  “Yes, ma’am. When he come into the kitchen to wash his hands.”

  The youngest girl’s eyes went wide. “We thought he was gonna whip us right then and there.”

  “He should have.” Dora crossed her arms over her chest and gave them her most disapproving look. “That’s not why I hired you.”

  The eldest looked appropriately contrite. “He said you’d straighten us out.”

  “Did he?”

  All three of them nodded.

  “Here, take Susan’s primer and go on into the parlor. There’s another one on the settee. I’ll be along directly.”

  One of them grabbed the primer and they all took off like shots.

  Dora looked over the balcony into the saloon. Chance glanced up from his card playing, and for a brief moment held her gaze.

  “What do you make of that?” she said to Susan.

  “Of Chance scolding those girls?” Susan shrugged. “Typical.”

  “Of Chance Wellesley?”

  “He scolded me once, too. Well, not scolded so much as advised. He told me I didn’t have to stay here if I didn’t want to. That he’d see to it I got a decent job somewhere else.”

  “Did he?” Now she was truly stunned.

  “Sometimes you’ve gotta look extra close, Miss Dora, to see what a man’s really like.” Susan was staring at Tom again, her brown eyes shining.

  “Yes,” she said, her gaze drifting to Chance. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  The Hargus boys were either lying or they just plain couldn’t count. Chance glanced at his hand—full house, aces high—then resumed his stare-down with Lee.

  “I’ll see you.” The Southerner grinned at him, then slid a stack of double eagles in his direction.

  Chance laid out his hand. The twitch at the corner of Lee’s mouth was nearly imperceptible as he glanced at Chance’s cards. His green eyes cooled as he folded his hand. The other men at the table grew suddenly quiet.

  Jim shot Chance one of his trademark want-me-to-get-the-shotgun glances from behind the bar, but Chance discreetly waved him off.

  Lee laughed, then leaned back in his chair, motioning one of the girls over from the bar. The other men at the table relaxed as the Southerner called for another round of drinks.

  “You’re good, Wellesley,” Lee said. “It’s refreshing to find a man who lives up to his reputation.”

  “Which you heard about, I presume, all the way down in… Where’d you say you and your brother were from again?”

  “Arkansas. Our daddy’s got a farm right outside Doddridge. Nice quiet place. You’d like it.”

  Chance collected his winnings, sweeping bills and coins into a leather pouch that, tonight, was fat with Lee Hargus’s money. Most of the bills were counterfeit. He could tell just by feeling them. Instead of calling him on it, Chance said, “Arkansas… That’s a long way to come to play cards.”

  Lee shrugged, his grin sliding to the side of his face. “What else we got to do, right boys?”

  The other men at the table laughed, then raised their glasses.

  Chance got to his feet.

  “The night’s still young, Wellesley.” Lee began shuffling a new deck. “One more hand.”

  Chance declined.

  “He’s savin’ himself for tomorrow night,” one of the others said. “Can’t say as I blame him. It’s the biggest game ever been held at the Flush. Just look at the place. There’s men here from all over, just trying to win enough to b
uy in.”

  “A thousand-dollar ante.” Lee let out a long, low whistle. “Gotta be a mighty confident man.”

  Rose slid onto the Southerner’s lap. “Ooo,” she said. “You seem mighty confident to me.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Wild Bill would have been a happy man,” Rose said, “had he seen the place running like this.”

  The men at the table raised their glasses in memory of William Fitzpatrick. All except Chance, who didn’t have a drink in front of him, and Lee Hargus, who didn’t even twitch.

  “Did you know him?” Chance asked.

  “Me?” Lee slid his hands around Rose’s waist. “No. Can’t say that I did. Heard he was a good man, though.”

  “He was.”

  Lee’s smile faded. He raised his glass and tossed his whiskey back in one swallow.

  “Boys,” Chance said, nodding to the men at the table. “Hargus.” He turned his attention back to Lee. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  As Chance snaked his way through the crowded tables toward the bar, he searched each face, as he’d done every night at the Royal Flush for the past six months. Some of the men he knew, most of them he didn’t. Some of them even looked familiar. He told himself it could be anyone, but in his gut he knew the man was here, now, watching and waiting. Chance had been watching and waiting for months. It was time he finally did something.

  “I don’t know about those two,” Jim said, when Chance approached the bar.

  “Who?”

  “You know who. Those Hargus boys.”

  “Give the gentlemen a chance to settle in. They’ve only been here a couple of days.” Delilah cast Dickie, who lounged against the piano listening to one of Tom’s love songs, a lusty look. “Besides, I like ’em. Especially that tall, quiet one.”

  “You would,” Jim said. “That way you can do all the talking.”

  “And the bossin’,” Lily said as she swished past on her way upstairs with an extremely drunk client.

  “Oh, hush.” Delilah smirked at them both.

  Jim grinned at her, then the two of them went back to their respective duties—Jim making sure every customer’s glass was filled with the most expensive whiskey he could talk them into, and Delilah making sure if they were lonely, they weren’t lonely for long.