by Unknown
"But I don't want to cry, and I don't want to feel better!" she rasped angrily, pulling from his embrace and staring at him with reproachful eyes. "I want to keep what I feel locked up inside me. I want my pain to be a constant reminder that nothing is sacred; not friendship, not loyalty, not the word of a trusted friend . . . nothing! I want to remember this night for as long as I live. I want to burn the images of those ugly, spiteful faces in my memory ..."
Adam reached inside his pocket, removed his handkerchief and wiped her tear-streaked face and nose. He started to speak when suddenly there was a knock at the door.
"It's John," a male voice called.
"John, who?" Adam asked, drawing his gun and stealthily moving toward the door, motioning for Blair to stand back against the wall.
"The man at the desk. Mr. Townsend told me you would be standing watch until they returned . . . I thought you might like some hot coffee, that's all. He also said you would be reluctant to open the door, so I'll just set the tray down and go on back to my business. If you need anything else, just holler."
Adam waited until his footsteps had disappeared down the hall before he cautiously cracked the door. From where he was standing, the short length of the hall looked clear. Then he removed his hat and placed it over his gun before slowly opening the door enough to stick his hat through. When no shots rang out, he opened it further and chanced a look. But the hall was clear. Only then did he pick up the tray of coffee, close the door and lock it behind him.
Blair had watched his every move, and her green eyes had narrowed speculatively. "Adam, a while ago I thought my brothers were overreacting, now I'm not sure. Do you think we are in any real danger? Or, are we just being overly cautious?"
He set the tray on a small table and began filling two cups with coffee. "From the men who beat Coy so badly, no. I have my doubts whether they will ever be seen in these parts again. But, there were some bitter feelings raised tonight, so being cautious, even overly cautious, is not a bad idea. It seems to me that someone is deliberately trying to make trouble for your brothers and thus far, they have been extremely successful. Until tonight, there has been no serious violence, but who knows if it will stop with Coy." He handed her a cup of coffee which she gratefully accepted.
Adam had many other suspicions but he did not want to burden her with them. This was not the time or the place, especially since Coy was in such bad condition. If the young man had sustained serious internal injuries, he didn't know if Blair's medical expertise could help him or not.
She stared at her cup then slowly raised her eyes to see Adam studying her. "A-Adam . . . what I was saying a while ago, I'm not sure how much of it I actually meant, or how much of it was merely spoken out of anger. I'm primarily worried about Coy right now, but I am also hurt and confused over the way some of the people treated us and what they said. And, I feel it necessary to apologize for crying. I seldom do that. I've always thought it was a sign of weakness, and I have never considered myself to be a weak person."
Adam removed the cup from her hand and guided her over to the comfortable chair. He sat and pulled her down to his lap. "I refuse to debate the merits of tears. It doesn't bother me to see someone cry unless I care about that person—then I hurt because they are hurting. It’s my opinion that tears act as a release valve. They are nature's way for people to let out pent-up emotions; which, if left to fester, will make a person bitter and hard. It surprises women if they learn that men sometimes cry, although most women never see it happen, because it's just . . . too unmanly."
"Have you ever cried . . . that is, since you have been a man?"
Adam grinned. "Oh, no, I’m not about to answer a loaded question like that." Then his expression grew somber and sadness filled his eyes. "Yes, I did, when my mother died. I loved her very much."
"Adam . . . I . . ."
"Hush now," he whispered softly. "Lay your head against my shoulder and get some sleep. If Coy starts stirring, or if I hear a strange noise. I’ll wake you." One hand tightened around her waist, and the other gently stroked her shoulder.
"But, I’m not sleepy."
"You need to rest though." He craned his head to look at her. "I'll tell you a little secret I use whenever I'm very tired but only have time to catch a couple of hours sleep. Just close your eyes and imagine a black curtain hanging between the eyeball and eyelid. Whenever different shades of light begin to filter in, concentrate on keeping the curtain black, and you'll be asleep before you know it."
"Does it really work?"
"Try it and see. Now relax and close your eyes." Lovingly, he kissed her brow, tightened his arms around her, and settled down to wait for Warren to return.
Chapter 22
"Just a minute, I’ll be right there," Adam answered quietly when he heard Warren identifying himself as he rapped on the door. Rising from the straight chair beside Coy’s bed, he quickly stuck his pistols in the holsters, fastened the top button on his trousers, and slipped on his gunbelt. He had merely gotten comfortable during the night and did not want to appear at the door adjusting his trousers. He figured Warren had enough on his mind without getting the idea that something had happened between him and Blair.
When Blair heard Warren, she came abruptly awake. Blinking her eyes and glancing about, she realized Adam had left her in the chair and covered her with a light blanket sometime after she had gone to sleep. Flinging back the blanket, she immediately hurried over to Coy and accusingly glared at Adam while he adjusted his gunbelt. "Why didn't you wake me earlier? He should have been checked throughout the night!"
"Coy started stirring a few hours ago but he didn't seem any worse, so I figured you ought to rest while you could," he replied, walking to the door.
"Sis . . . how is he?" Warren anxiously asked when he entered and saw Blair placing her ear to Coy’s chest.
"There's not much change," she replied, feeling of his brow for fever, then studying the color of his fingernails and raising his eyelids to peer at his pupils. "Considering the beating he took, his lungs sound relatively clear, although if he doesn't regain consciousness soon, he will need to be turned over or propped up on some pillows. If he continues to lie flat like this without breathing deeply, it is likely he will develop pneumonia. He isn't feverish and the color underneath his fingernails is good, so his circulation seems to be all right. Last night his eyes were not reacting to light, but they are this morning." She tried not to sound too hopeful, "Unless I am terribly mistaken, we should see some definite signs of improvement before long."
"Then why hasn't he regained consciousness?" Warren asked, his brow knotted into a puzzled frown.
Blair was hesitant to admit the thoughts that had been running through her mind, but since Warren was so worried about him, it did not seem fair to keep silent about her suspicions. "Warren, I'm sure ... we all agree that Coy was beaten badly last night."
"Yes, but tell us something we don't already know." Then his eyes narrowed contemplatively. "I have a feeling you are trying to make a point . . . so go ahead."
"Well, when we brought him here, he smelled like he had taken a bath in corn liquor. I have never claimed to know everything about sicknesses and injuries, so it is possible part of his unconsciousness stems from . . . drinking too much whiskey," her voice trailed off quietly, unsure of what Warren's reaction would be.
"Sis, the word for it is, hangover. I’ve already suspected that." He shrugged indifferently. "But it doesn't alter the fact that he's had the hell beaten out of him, and they used brass knuckles to do it. And just because we could smell the liquor on him doesn't mean he isn't hurt."
"I know he is hurt!" she stated adamantly. "I never meant to imply differently. I was merely attempting to explain one reason why he has not regained consciousness."
"Blair, you don't have to make excuses for him. Believe it or not, I was his age once myself, and I remember several times when I had too much to d
rink." Even though a faint light twinkled in the depths of his eyes, he was not quite successful in masking the concern in his voice, "Considering the alternatives, I certainly hope part of his condition stems from him drinking too much corn liquor."
Blair did not comment but her expression glowed with relief.
Warren raised the two baskets and carpetbag he had in his hands. "What do you want me to do with these?"
"You brought that much medicine?" She quickly looked about. "Just put them on the dresser top."
"No, it isn't all medicine." He put the baskets and bag where she told him, setting them down one at a time. "One basket contains your medicines and supplies, but this basket is filled with food, and the carpetbag has several changes of clean clothes. Tillie refused to let me leave without them."
He turned to Adam who had been leaning against the wall, listening to their conversation. "Was there any trouble here last night?"
"No, in fact, the town was quieter than usual. What about you? Any trouble on the road?"
Warren shook his head. "None. Several of the hands were in town and as soon as they heard what happened they gathered at the wagon and rode out with us. I talked to them when we reached the ranch and they all agreed to see this through with us. Jake came with me to help stand guard, although I plan to stick around until Coy shows definite signs of improvement." He grinned. "If you want that last statement translated, I plan to stick around long enough to talk him into coming back to the ranch instead of going after those men . . . and I figure Jake and I might have to hog-tie him to do it."
Obviously concerned about something, Warren's expression grew somber. He removed a fat cigar from a wooden case and took his time lighting it. "By the way, Adam, I stopped by the restaurant to have some coffee sent over and there were two men looking for you. Not by name, they were just asking for the deputy . . . and judging by what they were saying and how they were saying it, I have a hunch it isn't a social call they have in mind. So if I were you, I'd be very careful when I walked outside." He added sincerely, "If you think you'll need help, I'll back you."
Suddenly, there was a grim, closed look on Blair's face. She'd overheard everything Warren had said and misery twisted through her at the thought of men gunning for Adam. Although she had thought about situations such as this before, it had never actually seemed real . . . that it could really happen.
She allowed her subconscious thoughts and fears to surface. Why had she fallen in love with a lawman? Then, an even more terrifying realization washed over her. What would she do if something happened to Adam? Stop breathing? She might as well, life would not be worth living without him.
He shook his head. "No, thanks, I appreciate your offer, but I figure you have enough problems of your own without taking on mine." Adam could not hide his curiosity. His eyes narrowed on Warren. "By chance did you hear any names mentioned?"
Warren's gaze bore into Adam's. If his intuition was right, these were the same men his friend had been searching for. He sighed heavily, almost reluctant to tell him. "I’m not sure, but one of them might be Luther Talley. The other man called him Lew, but when he gave him a stern look, he clammed up awfully quick."
Immediately, Adam's jaw tensed, his eyes became hard, and his lips clamped grimly together. Not saying a word, he slipped on his coat, tucked the tail behind his guns, retied the thin leather straps holding the holsters down, then slipped the thongs from his Colts. He flexed his hands, spreading his fingers wide apart before doubling them into fists. Then, he started for the door.
"A-Adam, wait." Blair stepped toward him, her heart beat frantically. Then, seeing the determined expression on his face, she realized there was nothing she could say that would stop him. "P-please be c-careful," she stammered, blinking back the tears that fought their way to her eyes. "I'm not very good at digging bullets out of men."
Any implied humor did not touch his eyes when his mouth twisted into a self-assured grin. "Don't worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. If those men are who I think they are, it wouldn't do either one any good to dig the bullets out of them. "
Her eyes widened incredulously. "You mean . . . you plan to kill them deliberately? "
His gaze briefly darkened with emotion then his face became stoic. "If one of those men is Luther Talley, he gunned a friend of mine down without even giving it a second thought, and if he believed it necessary, he'd do the same to you, or to any man, woman, or child in this town. If at all possible, I'll give him the option of being placed under arrest or facing me. However, since a hangman's noose is waiting for him in Fort Smith, there's not any doubt in my mind which one he'll take."
For one brief moment he memorized the shape of her mouth, the tilt of her nose, the stubborn lift of her chin—all of her features. He desperately longed to kiss her and to hold her, and it did not matter the least bit that Warren was in the room with them—it was time he learned how he felt about Blair anyway—but he needed to have a clear head when he faced the men, and he couldn't do that with such a recent memory of how her body felt pressed close to his. "Don't worry about me. I’ll be back in a little while."
"Please, God, see that he does," Blair murmured to herself after he closed the door behind him.
"Good morning. Deputy," Shelton greeted Adam as he came out of the hotel.
Adam's gaze sharpened when he noticed how crowded the street was, being so early on Sunday morning. Could it be that word had already gotten around that men were looking for him, and people had gathered in anticipation of seeing blood run? " 'Morning, Shelton, you're out awfully early this morning."
His steps slowed. "Yeah, there were some men who thought they could outdrink everybody and before it was over, they busted up my place last night —nothing serious, just thought I'd go ahead and get it cleaned up. See you around." He touched the brim of his hat indifferently and continued on his way.
Adam realized he would have to have some help or some innocent bystander might be hurt if there was gunplay. "Wait a minute, Shelton. Usually, there's another deputy about to do something like this, but they haven't arrived yet." He seldom had to ask for assistance and he found it difficult to do. "I need a favor."
He stopped and turned around. Grinning, he said, "Favors I give, liquor and credit I don't. What do you need?"
"I heard that a couple of fellows in the restaurant were looking for me." He glanced about. "I didn't realize the street would be so crowded this early on a Sunday morning, so I would appreciate it if you passed the word to clear the streets. I don't want an innocent bystander getting hurt."
"All right, consider it done." There was a gleam of interest in Shelton's eyes. "Are these men gunmen?"
"Possibly."
"Do you want me to go into the restaurant and tell them you are waiting outside?"
Adam thought about his offer for a moment. If one of the men was Luther Talley, there would definitely be a shooting, and he would rather meet them at his choosing instead of theirs. Besides, it should be safer for bystanders if they met out in the street. They had the option to get out of harm's way, whereas the people inside the restaurant did not. "If you don't mind," he finally said. "It never occurred to me to ask you, most men don't want to become involved."
"Oh, hell, it doesn't bother me. In fact, a good shooting adds a little spice in the air and it's good for business." He grinned broadly. "Stop by the saloon later today and I'll buy you a beer."
Word soon spread up and down the street that there was going to be a shoot-out, and everybody scurried for shelter except for two little boys. Adam gave them a dime each to go inside the hotel lobby. He also gave them stern orders to stay away from windows and wait until the trouble was over before they came back outside.
Adam leaned against the porch railing in front of one of the mercantiles and slowly lit a cheroot. Then he heard Shelton's booming voice announcing to the restaurant's patrons that the deputy was waiting outside for the
men who wanted him. It was only a few minutes later that two men sauntered out the door and started walking toward Adam.
Adam's blood ran cold when he recognized one immediately. "Heard you were looking for me, Luther. I assume you want to turn yourself in."
"Turn myself in?" He laughed boisterously. "I figured you would tuck tail and run as soon as you heard we were in town." Luther taunted in a loud voice, obviously noticing the curious faces peering from the windows.
"Why should I run?" Adam asked calmly. "I ran from a polecat when I was six years old, but I haven't since because I learned it just made them stink worse. And nothing stinks worse than a randy polecat." Adam did not recognize the man with him.
Luther squinted his eyes under the hat brim. "Why, you're Adam Cahill! I didn't know it was you I was after; I might have hunted a little harder if I had known."
Adam told the man with him, "Mister, I don't recognize your face from any wanted posters, so if you don't want any part of this, unfasten your gunbelt with your left hand and let it drop. I'll deal with you later."
"I don't take my guns off for any man," he replied in a surly tone.
"Suit yourself," Adam said with an indifferent shrug. "Luther, you have a choice, too. You can unbuckle your gunbelt and I'll escort you over to the jail, where you will later be sent to Fort Smith to stand trial for several counts of bank robbery and for murdering a United States Deputy Marshal, or you can die here and now. Makes no difference to me."
He laughed as though Adam was a fool. "Do you really expect me to turn myself in when I know for certain Judge Parker is wanting to put a rope around my neck himself? Besides that, Deputy, I've already accepted money to kill you, and that's what I intend to do."
Adam noticed Luther's friend had started to shift off to the right. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. With each step you take, you have one less second to live."
Adam moved his right hand as if to take the cheroot from his mouth. When they went for their guns, he was a split second faster than they were. Apparently, they had thought the two guns strapped to his thighs were for show. They had no idea Adam was as fast with his left hand as he was his right.
