Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona

by Miralee Ferrell

  A hollow laugh broke from her throat. “Sure. That’s what they all say. Somehow I thought you were different. I guess I was wrong.”

  “I’m staying right here and not moving.”

  Nevada eyed the girl, sick to his stomach at what she must be going through. Fear, apprehension, and disgust all flitted across her expressive features. How many men had entered this room with less than honorable intentions? He’d itched to throw a gun on Frank Leslie earlier and take Sara out of this mess. At the least, he’d like to throttle Gordon Townsley within an inch of his life for forcing this kind of life on any young woman.

  “What do you mean, stayin’ there? What do you want from me?” She grew even more agitated.

  “Nothing,” he said calmly. “If you want to sleep, I’ll sit here and make sure no one disturbs you.” He folded his arms across his chest and tipped the chair onto its back legs, hoping to put her at ease.

  “But you paid to spend the night with me.”

  “Yeah, so I did. And that’s what I aim to do, right here in this chair.” A gentle smile curved the corners of his lips. “You can do whatever you see fit.”

  A whoosh of air left Sara’s lungs, and she collapsed onto the edge of the bed. A tear trickled down her cheek, then she dropped her face into her hands and sobbed. “Why? You don’t know me. Why would you care?”

  The question set Nevada back. How much should he tell her? It only took a second to decide honesty might be the best route if he hoped to convince her of his good intentions. Otherwise, she’d probably lie awake all night figuring he’d change his mind. “I guess partly because you remind me so much of my little sister.”

  Sara sniffled and stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She ran away from home when she was about your age and ended up in a similar situation. I found her and took her back home. Thankfully, she’s married and happy now, but it could’ve ended a lot worse.”

  “So you paid Frank extra to spend the night with me because of your sister?” Sara’s eyes clouded with confusion.

  “Yeah. And because I didn’t think you cared to spend an hour in the company of the man I outbid.” He gave a rueful smile. “’Course, you might not want to spend it in mine, either, but I don’t aim to take advantage of you.”

  “I see.” Her tense shoulders relaxed. “I’ve never met anybody like you. Except maybe…” Her features took on a dreamy quality for a moment. “There was a young man who used to come in…”

  “Ah.” Nevada nodded. “He doesn’t anymore?”

  “No. He got shot awhile back, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  Nevada let the legs of the chair thump onto the floor. “Was he gambling when it happened?”

  “Yes. The other man pulled a gun under the table, but they said it was a fair fight. I never heard if he died or not.”

  “He didn’t.”

  She leaned forward. “You know him?”

  “I do. His name is Joshua Grey.”

  “Grey. I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Yes,” Nevada said, “he has a sister who came to town a few weeks ago.”

  Her expression cleared. “I wondered. I didn’t realize she was his sister. She stopped and spoke to me on the street. Right out in the open where people could see and she didn’t even mind.” A shake of her head sent the blond curls bobbing up and down. “Most ladies in this town go out of their way to walk around me, but not her.”

  Nevada didn’t answer, but warmth crept through his body and penetrated his heart. Somehow the knowledge of Christy’s kindness to this girl didn’t surprise him at all.

  Christy arrived at work the next afternoon, dreading the thought of starting this job. She couldn’t get the image of Nevada walking behind the young saloon girl out of her mind and had barely slept last night.

  Her gaze swept the room, praying he wouldn’t be here. Should she go straight to the roulette wheel and announce herself to the person manning it, or find Townsley first? Straightening her shoulders, she marched around a table of men playing poker, sweeping her full skirt out of the path of a slightly inebriated man tottering toward her. The last thing she needed was someone stepping on her hem or spilling his drink on her second-best dress.

  She neared the roulette table and waited, glancing around. No sign of Nevada, but none of Townsley either.

  “Miss Grey?” A hand touched her arm.

  Christy jumped and turned.

  Doc Holliday stood close by, wearing a serious expression. “Mr. Townsley is in his office and asked me to escort you there.”

  “Good. I was hoping he’d be here.” She followed him through the crowd toward a back corner under the stairs and waited while he rapped on a closed door.

  “Come in.” Townsley’s voice penetrated the wood.

  Holliday gripped the knob and swung open the door, then turned to go.

  “Thank you.” Christy’s soft tone halted him midstride.

  He smiled, then disappeared into the melee of men.

  She stepped over the threshold but left the door ajar. “I’m ready to start work, Mr. Townsley.”

  A cloud swept across his face. “It’s Gordon, remember?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he stood and came forward. His eyes traveled over the modest, dark-blue gown with pearl buttons running up to the simple collar, and ruffles at the wrist. “I’ll require one adjustment before you start.”

  She looked down at her clothing, her heart sinking. In the years she’d worked in saloons she’d never seen any of the women dressed like this, but she’d hoped her new boss might allow her a little decency. “I won’t dress the way your other girls do, so don’t bother to ask. It invites undue attention from men I’d prefer to avoid.”

  “I understand, but I can’t have you dressed like some school-marm, either. We’ll have to come to an agreement if you plan to work for me.” He stepped out of the office and beckoned to a young woman with light blond hair walking by with a tray of drinks balanced on the palm of her hand. “Sara. Get those to your customers and come right back. I have a job for you.”

  Her skin drained of color. “It’s too early to take anyone upstairs, Mr. Townsley. I just started working, and it’s only the dinner hour.”

  His expression tightened. “You misunderstand. I simply want you to take Miss Grey…er, Christy…up, and show her one of our more modest gowns.”

  Sara’s gaze shot to Christy. “Oh. Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

  Christy’s heart sank. This was the girl she’d tried to befriend and the one who’d gone upstairs last night with Nevada. It was obvious Sara was shocked to see her and probably wondered why she’d fallen so low as to take a job at this place. Right at the moment she wondered the same. Her fingers trembled, and she curled them into a fist, hoping to still them. All she wanted was to walk out the door and not look back.

  A few minutes later Sara returned. “I’m ready to go now, Mr. Townsley.”

  “Fine.” He turned to Christy. “And please let your hair down.” He held up a hand as Christy opened her mouth to protest. “I’m allowing you to work the roulette wheel and wear modest clothing. Humor me by wearing your hair down.”

  It wasn’t a request but rather a firm command. His eyes didn’t hold even the hint of a smile.

  Christy’s hackles rose. She’d been told what to do too many times by saloon owners and managers and had learned to hate it. But Ma and Joshua’s faces rushed to her memory, along with the cupboards bereft of food. “I suppose I can do that.”

  “Good. And in return, I’ll give you an advance against your wages.” Gordon jerked his head toward the stairs. “Don’t worry, Christy. I think you’ll find we’re easy to work for here at the Oriental.”

  She wound her way through the tables following Sara as the girl dodged outstretched hands and calls for more whiskey. She didn’t look left or right but kept her gaze fixed on the staircase at the far end of the long room. As they mounted the steps, Christy drew abreast
of the young woman. “Thank you for showing me the way. I hope your pay won’t suffer as a result.”

  Sara turned. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you get paid by the number of drinks you sell?”

  “Ha. That and a lot more.” She pressed her lips together and looked away.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Christy fell silent as they made their way to the top and down a hallway. The life of a saloon girl might only be serving drinks, but too often it extended beyond those boundaries. She had an uneasy feeling Sara had experienced things she didn’t care to dwell on. Christy had been lucky over the years—the places she worked hadn’t pressed her into taking men to her room. Some of the girls did it for the money; others because they’d lost all hope of making anything of their lives and quit caring. But she’d always known that lifestyle wasn’t for her and she shunned it. Bad enough serving drinks and fighting off uncouth men without offending them. Making a cowboy, miner, or gambler angry because he couldn’t touch you or haul you upstairs could get you fired and thrown out on the street. She’d had to learn early how to sweet-talk the men but not give them anything more.

  Disgust filled her. It was all she could do to not turn and stalk back down the stairs and home.

  Sara pushed open a door of what appeared to be a storage room and walked inside. “This is it, ma’am.” She swept her arm toward a row of dresses on the far wall, a curtain draped across a corner for privacy. “I’ll show you what we’ve got and let you try on what you’d like.”

  “It’s Christy, not ma’am. And I hope it’s all right to call you Sara?”

  The tension eased from the girl’s expression. “Shore, I’d like that…. What’re you doin’ here? In this place, I mean? You told me that time on the street you used to work someplace like this, but you seem like such a lady. It don’t make sense to me.”

  Christy moved to the row of gowns hanging on pegs. The last thing she wanted was to share her troubles with a stranger, but she didn’t care to hurt the girl when she appeared generally confused. She plucked a royal blue dress with a softly rounded neckline off a peg and held it in front of her. The sleeves came to her elbows and a bow-covered bustle in the back fell away into a flared skirt ending in a short train. The fabric was silky and the waist tiny—this would certainly be a form-fitting gown, but decent in all respects. She raised her eyes to meet Sara’s. “This will do if it fits.”

  Slipping behind the curtain she hung the gown over the back of a chair. She unbuttoned her dress and stepped out of it, then handed it around the curtain to Sara. “I don’t mind answering your question, if you’ll answer one of mine.”

  Silence filled the room for several heartbeats, then Sara’s soft voice answered, “Ask yours first and we’ll see.”

  “What brought you to this town, and to work in this place?” Christy fastened the cloth-covered buttons up to within a couple of inches of her collarbone and smoothed the fabric of the skirt. The gown was something a lady would wear to a ball, not a gambling den, but she shouldn’t be surprised based on the piano, velvet drapes, and highly polished walnut bar downstairs. The owner of this place apparently wanted to exude an air of luxury and wealth, and this outfit certainly fit the bill.

  Christy shoved aside the curtain and stepped out, watching for Sara’s reaction.

  The girl’s eyes widened and her lips formed a silent O. She beamed and clapped her hands. “You look beautiful!” The smile faded. “You might want to wear the other one, though, if you don’t want men grabbin’ at you.”

  “Mr. Townsley assured me that won’t happen, and besides, I can take care of myself where men are concerned.”

  Sara’s lips tightened. “That’s what he told me when I came too.”

  Christy inhaled sharply. “Told you what, exactly?”

  “That he wouldn’t let men bother me none.” Her slender frame quivered. “But it didn’t last long.”

  “So when you said it was too early to take a man upstairs…does Townsley force you to entertain men in your room—against your wishes?”

  Sara tucked her chin against her chest. “I don’t think…”

  A hard rap sounded at the door. “The boss wants you downstairs, Sara. Says yer takin’ too long. Get a move on it.”

  Sara’s chin jerked up. “We’re comin’ straightaway. Miss Christy just finished dressin’.”

  “All right then, I’ll let him know.” Footsteps grew fainter as he traveled away from the door.

  The girl turned toward Christy, real fear in her eyes. “Please, are you ready to go? We can’t keep Mr. Townsley waiting any longer.”

  Christy nodded and adjusted her hem. “I’ll leave my other dress here and come back to change before I go home.”

  She longed to wrap her arms around this waif and take her away, but that wasn’t possible. The house was too crowded as it was, and they didn’t have enough money to feed their family, much less a stranger. But she didn’t intend to let this subject drop. She’d find out what brought Sara to the point where she had to work in such a place and see what she could do to protect her while she stayed—which might not be long if the hints she’d gotten from the girl were true.

  She knew fear when she saw it, and it didn’t come from being a minute or two later than expected. Something was up, and Christy would get to the bottom of it, if it was the last thing she did.

  Early the next morning Sara sat on the edge of her bed and gripped her stomach. The smell of food wafted up the stairs and drifted under the edge of her door. Hunger should be tugging her downstairs, but revulsion took its place. The night manager had insisted she entertain yet another visitor to her room and he’d been rougher than most. She rubbed the bruised flesh of her upper arms and winced. A sudden queasiness shot her from the bed and sent her racing for the chamber pot in the corner. She knelt on the floor and retched. When she finished, she sat back on her heels and whimpered. This was the fifth time in the past two weeks she’d been sick.

  Sara had a horrible, sinking feeling she knew what this meant, and it wouldn’t be good. Girls in her condition got sent to a doctor who had no scruples, or they ended up in the street if not discovered before it was too late. Horror and shame threatened to suffocate her. All her life she’d wanted nothing more than a good man to love her and a family of her own. Never had she imagined she’d find herself in such a compromising position because of events beyond her control. Right now, all she wanted was her mother…and a way to escape.

  Nevada pushed away from the supper table at the Russ House the following night and sighed with satisfaction. Nellie told the truth about having a good cook. He’d have to straddle his horse and ride herd a few hundred miles or he’d be too soft to do much. The menu had quite a variety on a Sunday, when the dining room was open to the public. They had their choice of roast duck, mutton, short ribs, or pork with sides of applesauce, mushroom sauce, biscuits, three types of vegetables, and a table full of desserts. His favorite had drawn him for seconds—green apple dumplings—but the pie, New York plum pudding, and cake had been just as tempting.

  His thoughts turned from food to the last time he’d been in the Oriental Saloon. For the past three days he’d resisted the temptation to swing by and see if Christy were there. She mentioned she’d been looking for a job, but he’d never believed she’d stoop so low….

  He jerked back hard on his thoughts before they could run away with him. There was no proof she’d taken work there, and besides, it wasn’t his place to judge. What’s more, he hadn’t lived any kind of clean, upright life for the past few years. But she’d seemed different somehow than the other women he’d met in those joints. With her ma sick and brother hurt, maybe she didn’t have a choice. He shoved away from the table, a sudden thought propelling him to the kitchen doorway.

  Nellie stacked dirty dishes next to a large pan of steaming water, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She reached up with the back of her hand and pushed away a stray curl drooping over her fo
rehead. “What can I do for ya?”

  Nevada leaned his hip against the doorjamb and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I know you’ve got a great cook, but you still seem to have a lot of work to do.”

  “Yes, it does get to be a bit of a pull at times, but I’ll make it.” She blew at the curl, but it didn’t budge.

  “I have this friend….” Maybe he should have checked with Christy first. After all, she might be working at the Oriental now and be happy with her new job. He shook his head and pushed on. “There’s a woman I know who might need a job. I don’t know if you want to take someone else on, but I thought—”

  “Ya were right to ask. It’s a wonder I’ve kept me sanity these past couple days with things bein’ so busy and all.” Her Irish brogue thickened. “Men comin’ and goin’ at all hours with the different shifts at some of the mines, and all the cleanin’ and bed changin’.”

  He straightened, new hope surging through his heart. “So you might want her to come by?”

  “Send her if she’s interested. I’d be happy to chat with the lass.” She returned to her work.

  “Thanks, Nellie. You’re the best.” He turned to leave, then swung back around. “I don’t know the lady well, so I’m not sure if this would suit her, but she mentioned she was looking for a job.”

  “Happy to oblige. Get along with ya now, so I can be done for the night.”

  He walked out of the kitchen, hope bubbling in his heart. If things worked out, Christy Grey might be here in the next couple of days. Maybe God cared a little bit after all. Of course, he hadn’t bothered to pray about this, and didn’t really want to, but he was willing to toss God some of the credit just the same.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nevada placed the hot horseshoe on the anvil and hammered it into the desired shape, wishing John was here. His boss was feeling poorly but insisted he’d return tomorrow to help get caught up. Nevada didn’t care so much about the extra work, but he’d sure like someone to talk to. He’d gone to the Oriental twice in the past three days since talking to Nellie. He’d tried more than once to talk to Christy, but Doc Holliday stood between her and the crowd and frowned on any man who attempted to get close. Part of him rejoiced that she had a protector from the throng, but frustration rode him hard that she’d taken a position in a saloon.