Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona

by Miralee Ferrell

  Ivy pushed to a sitting position and grimaced. She struggled to take a breath, and harsh coughs poured from her throat. Christy could see a noticeable weight loss since she’d arrived in town. Of course, it didn’t help that Ma had lost her appetite with the advent of the hot weather. May was well upon them, and the temperatures often soared into the high eighties. The wind still kicked up a fuss on a regular basis, but it only blew warm, dust-laden gusts over the town. Occasionally a whirling dervish touched down, tearing the roofs off the flimsy canvas-covered shanties and sending items flying down the streets.

  The dressing gown clung to Ivy’s spare frame, and beads of perspiration dotted her forehead. “It’s almighty warm in here.” She swiped at her forehead with the back of her sleeve.

  “Let me get you a cool cloth and a glass of clean water. I’ll be right back.”

  Christy hurried to the kitchen, thankful once again for Nevada’s kindness in bringing that first barrel of water over a week ago. Since then he’d deposited two more at the back door within easy reach of the kitchen and never once allowed her to pay. She’d not been able to entice him into the house to meet her mother or stay for a cup of coffee, and she admitted to feeling a twinge of disappointment. Slowly her opinion of the man was changing from distrust to growing respect.

  Christy stepped outside. She lifted the lid on the barrel and drew back in surprise. He’d come again, and she’d not been home. Regret pierced her heart. She looked forward to those brief meetings when Nevada delivered the water and felt sick she’d missed him this time.

  The noise from the mining claims on the hillside behind Tough-nut Street floated clearly on the spring air. A steam engine ran twenty hours a day pulling carts full of rock and ore from the depths of the mines. On the far side of the house, men’s voices, rumbling wagons, and the occasional laugh of a woman or child could be heard. This town rarely slept, and Christy found it a difficult transition after the quiet of Last Chance.

  With a full glass of water in one hand and a cool, damp cloth in the other, she returned to her mother’s side. Leaning over, she pressed the glass into Ivy’s hand and gently wiped her forehead. Ma closed her eyes and gave a long sigh. “You’re a good girl, Christy. I know I don’t tell you often, but it’s the truth.”

  Surprise and pleasure shot through Christy. Rare was the day her mother praised anyone. She could count on two hands the times she’d heard words of love or appreciation from her parent. “Thank you, Ma.” Her voice cracked, and she tried to steady it. “Did you need anything else?”

  “Yes. We need cash money, and soon.”

  The words struck Christy like a physical blow coming so close on the heels of the affirmation she’d longed to hear. She’d looked for work several more times with little success. Gordon Townsley’s offer had returned to her mind more than once, but she’d been successful in dismissing it. “Do you have any more hidden for groceries?”

  Ma shook her head. “Used most of it. While you were away this mornin’ I had a visit from the banker.” She scrunched up her face. “Mean-hearted little man. He said if I don’t catch up on my payments by the end of this month he’s takin’ the house and sellin’ it.”

  Christy sank onto the far end of the sofa and struggled to take in her mother’s words. “You’re that far behind? I thought Logan left you enough to pay this house off. Surely you didn’t give all the money to Joshua?”

  The older woman pursed her lips. “Thought he’d do well with what I gave him, so I kept enough for a few months’ payments. Haven’t made one for over four months now.”

  Christy gasped. “Four months? I’m surprised the bank hasn’t forced you out already.”

  “You have to get a job, Daughter.”

  “I’ve been trying.” She pushed the words out between cold lips.

  Ma peered at her. “You know what I mean. I got to have medicine, Joshua needs good food, and we can’t live on the streets. Set your stubborn pride aside and work at a saloon. It’s good pay, and we’ll get by till Joshua is up and around and can go to work.”

  Christy sat up straight and strove to maintain a respectful tone, although what she wanted to do was rail over Ma’s foolish use of money, not to mention any expectation her son would get a real job. “I’m not going to work in one of those places again. I’m done with that life.”

  “No one said you had to do it long. I’m askin’ for your brother’s sake, if you won’t do it for mine.” Another bout of coughing shook her slender body and she covered her mouth with a soiled handkerchief. “Just till somethin’ else comes along, that’s all.”

  Shame hammered at Christy. Was she being proud and selfish, refusing to take work that would put money on the table and keep the banker away? Did she have the right to refuse the job when her mother and brother needed better care than she could provide? “I’ll think about it, but not until after I’ve tried one more time. I won’t see you or Joshua go hungry, or without medicine.”

  Ma raised watery eyes to Christy’s. “I’m ashamed to put this on you, girl.”

  Christy patted her mother’s hand. “It’s all right, Ma. Surely something else will come along. God couldn’t be so cruel as to not provide for us some other way.”

  Nevada hadn’t eaten all day, and it was well past time for the noon meal. He’d taken a barrel of water to Christy’s home and been disappointed at not finding her there. No one answered the door when he knocked. He’d left it on the back stoop and slipped away so as not to wake her mother if she slept. He’d been lucky to see Christy the first couple of times he’d brought water, but it had been three days since the last delivery and he’d hoped to speak to her this time. Maybe find out how her job hunt was coming and ask about her brother. Too bad he’d missed her. Hopefully that meant she’d found work.

  Now that he’d finished up a few odd jobs for Nellie at the boardinghouse and John didn’t need him for the rest of the day it was time to find some food. He stood outside a restaurant debating with himself, his mouth watering at the fragrances emanating through the open door. The large number of patrons inside made him hesitate, but the odor of frying beef urged him forward. He swung the door open and paused. Tombstone’s marshal, Ben Sippy, sat at the counter dipping his spoon into a bowl. Nevada backed out of the door, his stomach rumbling in protest.

  A few long paces took him up Allen Street and he halted outside the Oriental Saloon. He hadn’t been inside since the day Joshua was shot, but he remembered John talking about the excellent food they served. A push of the door and he stepped inside, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light.

  Someone stopped beside him, and a sweet fragrance tickled his nose.

  “Hi, Cowboy. Haven’t seen you in here for quite a while.” Sara, the girl he’d spoken to the day Joshua Grey was shot, stood beside him. She leaned closer, her smile suggestive and simmering with something he didn’t care to define. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Nothing, thanks. Maybe a bowl of stew or a sandwich. Whatever the house is serving.”

  “No whiskey or beer?” Sara asked.

  “No. Just something to eat.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “We get paid by how many drinks we sell, mister. The boss frowns on girls who serve a meal without a drink.” Fear flashed across her face. “I don’t care to make him angry, know what I mean?”

  “Fine. Bring me a whiskey and when I leave, you can toss it.”

  Disbelief colored her voice. “You’d do that for me? Spend money and not get anything out of it?” A frown transformed her countenance. “Don’t think you’ll get cozy with me, Cowboy.”

  Nevada gave a slow, lazy smile. “I wouldn’t think of it, Sara. Not that you aren’t an attractive young lady, but I only came in for food, not…companionship.”

  Her stiff stance relaxed and she nodded, then hurried away.

  He made his way to a table and sank into a chair. Sara’s presence in this place was a bit of a puzzle. She didn’t seem to fit. Sure, she was pretty e
nough to draw the attention of any man hungry for female company, but she didn’t have the hard edge most women working in places like this acquired. Maybe she was a new addition to the saloon. A shaft of unease speared his heart as he once again noticed the strong resemblance between Sara and his sister Carrie. She’d escaped a hellhole of a saloon barely in time before her life could be ruined.

  A scuffle on the far side of the room near the foot of the stairs turned his attention that direction. Buckskin Frank Leslie gripped Sara’s arm, then shoved her toward another neatly dressed man wearing a black broadcloth suit. Leslie’s voice rose above the ongoing hum in the room. “Do what the boss pays you to do, girl. This man wants an hour of your time.”

  Sara tried to shake the hand off her arm. “I don’t feel good, Frank. My stomach’s been sickly all morning. Please don’t make me.”

  The dark-frocked man drew her close. “Come on, darlin’. I’ll make you forget all about your troubles.”

  A coarse laugh echoed from someone sitting at a nearby table. “She’s a sweet one, mister. You picked a winner.”

  Nevada shoved back his chair and pushed to his feet, pity for the girl’s plight mingling with disgust at the man gripping her arm. He wove his way toward Sara, unable to ignore her obvious distress.

  Buckskin Frank Leslie, a well-known gunfighter currently working as the law enforcement for the Oriental, stepped in front of him. “Where you headed, mister?”

  Nevada rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “Looks to me like the young lady doesn’t care to do any entertaining today.”

  Leslie shook his head and hitched at his gun belt. “Not your business. The girls know what’s expected of them. Leave it be if you don’t want trouble.”

  Nevada’s body tensed and he stared into the man’s eyes, assessing his options. He’d love to walk over and separate Sara from her customer. This girl’s situation shouted for intervention. He’d been in more fights than he cared to remember, and he gave a half shrug. What was one more?

  He drilled the man with a hard stare. “You know, I’ve never much cared about getting into trouble. Like I said, the young lady isn’t feeling well. Why don’t you let her go to her room and rest?”

  “Can’t do that. The boss don’t like slackers. She’s got to earn her keep.”

  “Fine.” Nevada dug into his pocket and removed a wad of bills. “How much?”

  Frank Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”

  “To outbid the other gent.”

  “Ha. So that’s the way the land lies, is it? You jealous?” Frank shot the other man a look and turned back toward Nevada. “Ten dollars should do the trick.”

  “Hey!” The dapper man holding Sara’s arm lifted his voice in protest. “I already paid you. She’s mine.” He jerked the girl against his chest and glared.

  Leslie snatched the bill out of Nevada’s extended hand. “Not tonight, she ain’t. You come back another time, and we’ll set you up.”

  “No, sir. I demand my rights.”

  “Now ain’t that funny? Your rights, huh?” Leslie wrenched Sara out of his grasp. “Charlie?”

  A burly man stepped forward out of the shadows. “Yeah, boss?”

  “How about you escort this gentleman to the door?”

  “Sure, boss.” Charlie pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and grinned. “Be happy to.”

  “Now wait a moment. You can’t treat me this way!” The blustering protest was cut off by a shove to the center of his back.

  “Out you go, mister.” The strong-armed man collared the customer around the neck and forced him toward the door.

  “How about my money?” the customer whined.

  “We’ll hold it for you till you come again. Or if you care to behave yourself, we might allow you to visit one of our other girls.”

  “But I want Sara!” The man wrenched out of his captor’s grip and turned fierce eyes on Leslie.

  “Too bad. She’s done spoken for tonight.” Leslie rolled the ten-dollar bill in his fingers and grinned. “Don’t be such a bad sport. Tell you what. You keep hollerin’, and Charlie here will toss you out in the street. You behave yourself, and I might set you up with a drink on the house.”

  “Only one?”

  Leslie’s grin faded. “Maybe you’d prefer the street.”

  The man shook his head. “I’d appreciate that drink very kindly.” He shook free of the hand gripping his arm.

  “Good enough.” Leslie motioned to his employee. “Tell the bartender to pour our friend a whiskey.” He turned toward Nevada and beckoned to Sara. “She’s all yours, mister. For an hour. You want her longer, you’ll have to pay double.”

  “How much for the night?” Nevada glanced at the retreating form of the disgruntled customer.

  “We don’t usually allow gentlemen to spend the night with our girls.” He eyed the roll cradled in Nevada’s hand. “But maybe this once…”

  Nevada grunted and pressed a wad of bills into the eager man’s hand, then turned toward Sara. “Want to show me your room, darlin’?” He hated the pretense, but saving this girl for even one night made it worthwhile.

  He knew from his sister’s experience that many of these girls and women fell into the trap of prostitution when they had no other options, while others chose the lifestyle for the amount of money it brought. He imagined Sara to be one who’d not had a chance. She certainly hadn’t seemed too happy at the request to entertain yet another visitor in her room.

  She turned an apprehensive gaze his way and took a half step back. “I’m—I’m awful tired.”

  Frank Leslie let out a roar and sprang forward, raising his hand. “This man paid good money for your time. No more bellyachin’, you hear?”

  Nevada stepped between them and gave a disarming smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll show her who’s boss.”

  He took Sara’s arm and drew her within his embrace, then turned and ushered her up the stairs. Hair prickled on the back of his neck. He felt eyes watching his exit. As he turned to scan the room, his gut clenched into a knot. Christy Grey stood beside Gordon Townsley, his arm casually draped across her shoulders.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A shudder passed over Christy as Nevada followed Sara up the stairs. His eyes had mirrored a flash of shock before he headed up behind her. Had he felt guilty she’d caught him in the act of accompanying a girl to her room? Disappointment sat like a lump of sourdough in her stomach, but she shoved it away. Nevada’s choices were none of her concern, but she hurt just the same. Of course, she’d started to grow attached to Sara and hated seeing the young girl used in such a fashion, so her feelings had little to do with the handsome cowboy.

  It took several seconds before she awoke to Townsley’s arm draped across her shoulder. Reaching up, she shoved it off and stepped away from Townsley’s side. “If this is the way you plan to act, Mr. Townsley, then I don’t care to take the job after all.”

  An emotion bordering on irritation lit his features before it was replaced with calm agreement. He nodded. “As you wish, Christy. It’s all right if I call you that? We don’t stand on ceremony here, and our patrons like to use the Christian names of our employees.”

  She hesitated, then slowly gave one nod. “Fine. But I’ll not have men handling me, or it will be a very short term of employment.”

  His eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments before a wide smile stretched his lips. “I think that’s what drew me to you in the first place, my dear—your strong spirit. You didn’t wail or carry on even though you’d been shot and were in obvious pain. Now you come in here like a queen and start setting the rules.” He gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “I like that, I surely do.” He touched her arm and gestured toward the roulette wheel. “That’s where you’ll be working. Do you think you can handle the men who play here without too much trouble?”

  Christy fell into step beside him, her gaze trained on the spinning wheel. “I’m familiar with the game, but I’m concerned about the
men. You said Doc Holliday or Wyatt keep an eye on things, correct?”

  “Yes, and I assure you, nothing will happen. I’d like you to start tomorrow afternoon. Does that work for you?”

  “Yes.” She noticed three more scantily clad women serving drinks to the patrons. “How many girls do you have working, and do they all live here?”

  His eyes focused intently on her. “Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged. “I like to get acquainted with my surroundings so I can do a good job. You know, in case a gentleman inquires after one of the ladies.” The words tasted sour on her tongue, but she forced them out anyway. Her meeting on the street with the blond Sara had left an impression of a young woman working hard to cover a life of pain and confusion. Well she knew the plight of these women, and she intended to uncover all she could about the “ladies” who worked here.

  “Ah, I see.” He gave a sly smile. “You don’t seem the type to be interested in their profession.” He swept a probing gaze over her face and allowed it to drop a few inches before returning to meet her eyes. “Unless I miscalculated, my dear.”

  Christy took a step back and frowned. “No, you did not, and I’m sorry I asked.”

  “No need, and I apologize for the insinuation. Please, let’s start over, shall we?” Gordon tipped his head toward a table. “We serve excellent coffee and sandwiches.”

  “Thank you, but I really must get home to my mother and brother.” She plunged back into the subject still close to her heart. “I met a young woman named Sara. Has she worked here long?”

  Townsley’s expression smoothed and he turned away, but not before Christy recognized an emotion common to his sort burning there. Lust. If Sara had caught the man’s eye, she could be in more danger than Christy realized.

  Nevada dragged a hard chair from the vicinity of Sara’s bed and planted it in front of the door, then sank onto it, keeping his eyes fixed on the agitated young woman standing in the far corner. “I’m not going to hurt you, Miss.”