Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona

by Miralee Ferrell

  And here he’d thought God might care about one small aspect of his life. Right. He couldn’t remember the last time God had intervened in a meaningful way.

  He tossed the hammer to the side and set down the horseshoe. A variety of sizes lay in a neat stack where he’d placed them, and he’d earned a break. A black horsefly buzzed around his head, and he swatted it away. The chair John used was perched too close to the fire for comfort. The closing days of May had brought soaring temperatures. The middle of the day often hit ninety. Nevada hated working over the hot fire hammering out shoes.

  Drawing the chair into the deep shade, he sank down for a few minutes of rest, his mind returning to the problem before him. Was this about his desires and needs, or Christy’s? He’d like to see her working at Nellie’s place, but what if Christy didn’t care to change jobs? Besides being beautiful she had integrity, something he valued above most other character traits. She’d kept her word and not turned him over to the law, not even after Wells Fargo offered a reward for the capture of the gang. She could’ve made some easy money, but apparently it hadn’t tempted her.

  A sound at the open door turned him toward it, his back stiffening. His hand slipped toward his gun but fell back into his lap as John limped into the yard. “What you doing here, man? Your wife was supposed to keep you home in bed.”

  “Aw, shucks. I’m not that poorly to stay abed all day. Needed some fresh air.” John drew in a deep breath through his nostrils and grinned. “Love the smell of hot metal and horses.” He rubbed his hands together and sank into a nearby chair. “Smells like cash money to me.”

  Nevada chuckled and shook his head. “Good thing I’m done for the day, so you won’t be tempted to tire yourself more.”

  “Thought you might like some company. We talked awhile back and I been studyin’ on some of what you told me.”

  “About what?” Nevada put his feet up on a nail keg and leaned back.

  “After you shot that last fella, you said you got sick to your stomach and wanted to quit.”

  “Yeah. More than anything.”

  “So what you wantin’ to do instead? Got any plans?”

  “I’d like to have my own ranch and maybe a wife and kids someday, but I can’t see that happening.”

  John plucked a piece of straw from a nearby bale and put it between his teeth, wallering it from side to side. “Why not? You’re a handsome young fella. Can’t see you’d have any trouble findin’ a woman willin’ to marry you.”

  Nevada exhaled. “Don’t think a decent one would want me with my past.”

  “Mind tellin’ me how it all started? Just so I have a handle on things, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sure.” Nevada placed his foot on the bottom rail of the corral fence and draped his arm over the top one. “It’s not something I talk about, but I trust you, John.”

  “And I won’t betray your trust, son.”

  “I know.” Nevada had tried to bury the past and leave it there, but somehow it always managed to rise from the dead and track him down. Maybe bringing it out in the open and facing it would make a difference somehow. “Years ago I was engaged to a wonderful young woman. We planned to marry as soon as I graduated from seminary.”

  “Seminary? You’re a man of the cloth?” John’s leg propped on the bale of straw thumped to the ground as he sat upright and winced. “Ouch. Guess it’s not doin’ as good as I thought.”

  Nevada grinned. “You’re just getting old and soft.”

  John flexed the muscles in one of his huge arms and grinned. “I can take you any day, young man. Now get on with your story.”

  Nevada’s smile faded as the memories rushed back. “That was my plan. Mostly attending seminary was my parents’ idea, but I didn’t have anything else pulling at me. It was as good a job as any, so I applied and got accepted.”

  John frowned. “That’s not a good reason to enter the ministry. You got to believe in God your own self and want to serve Him with your whole heart. Otherwise, the job will eat you up and spit you out.”

  “Yeah. Well, I believed in God and even loved Him—to some degree. And I thought it was a good calling.” The old familiar anger stirred in his heart, and he dropped his head to keep it from showing. “Until God took my Marie.”

  “Took her, you say? How’s that?”

  “Pneumonia. She died shortly after.”

  “Ah, too bad. I’m sorry. But what’s that have to do with killin’ a man?”

  Nevada felt the pain that had dulled over the years but never quite disappeared. He’d often wondered what life would have held for him if Marie had lived. “I left seminary.”

  “To take a church?” The blacksmith scratched his head.

  “No. That was the last thing I wanted. God didn’t care enough to save Marie, and I didn’t want to serve a God who’d take a beautiful young woman with her whole life ahead of her. I walked away. Then my younger sister left home when she was sixteen, yearning for adventure. She landed in a dance hall and gambling den. I found her there two months later.”

  “Ah. Now the picture is takin’ shape.” John wagged his head. “You took her back home?”

  “Yes. But not until I shot the man who abused her when he drew on me. After that, I didn’t figure God would want anything to do with me, even if I wanted to return to Him. So I got a job riding herd on a cattle drive from Texas to Colorado. A man in one of the towns recognized me as the one who’d shot my sister’s boss and called me out. Told me to shoot or die. I decided to shoot. I’m not sure why I’m still alive. He got his gun out first, but he shot too fast and his bullet missed. Mine didn’t.”

  “So things went south from there, I take it?” John shifted his weight on the stool and massaged his leg.

  “Yeah. I figured I’d better start practicing my draw if I wanted to live. It’s a good thing I did. But I hated the life and still do. There’s nothing about it I want any part of—not the killing, the reputation, or the constant moving from place to place.”

  “What now? You stayin’ here or movin’ on again?”

  “I hope to stay, but I don’t know. I’ve been saving money for years and have a pretty decent stash put aside for a ranch. I’d planned on buying something around Albuquerque, but that didn’t happen.”

  “Someone else call you out?”

  “Yes. I told him to back down. Begged him to walk away. But they never listen. They’re so sure they’ll be fast enough.” Nevada shrugged. “What they don’t realize is what kind of life they’ll inherit when they kill me. It’s not something I’d wish on anyone.”

  “Where does God figure in all of this?”

  Nevada scowled. “He doesn’t. Not as far as I’m concerned, anyway. He’s not done me any favors over the years.”

  “I think you’re missin’ a mighty important fact, son.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “You’re still alive.” John let the words linger on the air for a moment before he continued. “That’s not a coincidence in my way of thinkin’. I’d say God’s got some kind of purpose for you, whether you like it or not. Maybe it’s time you started ponderin’ that and gettin’ your life in order.”

  Nevada dropped his feet from the nail keg and stood. “I’m alive because I’m faster with a gun than anyone who’s challenged me.” He picked up a horseshoe. “We’ve jawed long enough. I’d best get back to work.”

  “Thought you said you was done with work.”

  “I’ve got some things I can do, if it’s all the same to you.”

  John pushed to his feet and stretched. “Sure. Guess I’ll mosey on home and see if the wife’s missed me yet.” He walked toward the door, then turned. “Want you to know I’ll be prayin’ for you. God ain’t done with you yet.” He walked out the door and didn’t look back, but a jaunty whistle drifted in through the doorway.

  It had been years since Nevada had prayed, and he wasn’t sure he even remembered how. He didn’t care about himself at the moment, no matter
what John said, but something about Christy’s plight urged him to try. How many times in years past had he begged God for an answer that would only benefit him? Grief washed over his heart, and he dropped his head into his hands. He needed to set aside his desires and petition the Almighty for someone else.

  “God, if You still care, would You help Christy? I’m not asking for me, but because I’m concerned about her. Please.” He raised his head. It was the best he could do, but a gentle peace touched his spirit.

  Anger clogged Christy’s throat, and she allowed the emotion to swell. “Get off me, you drunken lout.” She gripped the roughened hands of the miner latched around her waist and tugged, but they didn’t loosen. Gratitude toward Gordon Townsley for convincing her to wear high-heeled shoes swamped her. She lifted her foot and came down hard on the man’s instep. He let out a howl, dropped his arms, then fell to the floor, unable to stand in his inebriated state.

  Buckskin Frank Leslie bent over the prostrate man and jerked him to his feet, pinning his arm behind him. “Sorry, Miss Christy, for not gettin’ here sooner. I’ll have one of the men walk you to the wheel from now on if you need to leave.”

  “Let go a’me. I ain’t gonna hurt the lady. Just wanted a little kiss, that’s all. Ain’t that why you got these girls?” the man blubbered as the grip on his arm tightened.

  Leslie shook his head and shoved the man toward the door. “You’re not welcome here anymore, mister. Take your business somewhere else.” A hard push and Leslie delivered the miner outside. He turned and made his way back to Christy. A wide space had formed around her, and Doc Holliday stood at her side. “It won’t happen again, Miss.”

  “Thank you.” She turned away, clutching her hands in the folds of her skirt to hide their shaking. The past week manning the roulette wheel and fending off the advances of drunken miners had been harder than she’d expected. Old emotions of revulsion threatened to choke her. Disgust at the position she’d agreed to take in this place grew daily. Sure, either Doc or Wyatt, or one of the other gun hands like Frank Leslie, hovered on the fringes most of the time, but there was always at least one episode per day when some man pushed the limit.

  The doors opened again, and Christy glanced that direction, wondering if the miner had decided to try again. A familiar figure stepped through, and Christy’s pulse quickened. Nevada. He’d pulled his flat-brimmed hat low over his forehead, but she could still see his eyes searching the room, peering into every corner. He carried the look of a careful—or a hunted—man. She’d seen it before over the years. Someone who had no cares entered with long, free strides, heading directly for the bar or game table of their choice. Others, like Nevada, lingered and made sure of the room before stepping too far inside.

  She hadn’t seen him for several days, other than at a distance a couple of times while working the wheel. Part of her hoped he’d decided to leave town, but an even stronger part prayed he hadn’t. She detested being drawn to an outlaw, and worse, to a man who frequented women of the night. His gaze moved from the bar to where she stood. Their eyes met above the heads of the seated gamblers. A hot jolt struck her in the chest. Something danced in his eyes that she couldn’t quite fathom. It took an effort to tear her gaze away and turn back to the job at hand. What was he doing here? At least one time she’d sensed him trying to approach her, but her bodyguards had kept the space around her clear.

  Christy turned to Doc and touched his arm.

  The slender man bowed. “You need something, Miss?”

  “Yes. That man across the room took my brother home when he was injured.” She struggled with an excuse she could give that would convince the gambler to allow her a few minutes with Nevada. “He’s come to our house to check on him and bring water a couple of times, and I think he may have a message from my mother. Do you mind if I speak to him briefly?”

  Holliday looked across the room to where she indicated and stared at Nevada for several long seconds without speaking. His hand slowly dropped to his waist and settled an inch away from his gun.

  Prickles ran up Christy’s spine and she stood still, almost not daring to move. Finally, she stepped closer to Doc. “He’s all right, I promise.”

  The man relaxed and his arms dropped to his sides. “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Christy felt the gunman’s presence as she wove between the tables toward Nevada. She took a quick look over her shoulder and saw Doc positioned a couple of yards back, his hands folded across his belt. Stopping in front of Nevada, she looked up into his eyes, her heart racing. The man had strength in his face and in the set of his shoulders. Not only physical strength, but something deeper—she was drawn in spite of herself.

  Nevada glanced around before returning his attention to her. “I was hoping you’d find time to let me speak to you, Miss Grey.”

  “In here, it’s Christy. Is something wrong at home? Did you bring word from my mother or brother?”

  He appeared startled. “No. Did you expect me to?”

  “I thought…” Christy swallowed and tried to gather her wits as she continued to gaze into those dark depths. “Since you were bringing us water, I thought maybe my mother had sent a message.”

  “I didn’t see her. I rarely do.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I came to tell you I found you another job, if you want it.”

  She stiffened and resisted the urge to look behind her. The noise level was too high for Doc to hear their conversation, but she kept her voice low in case. “I have a job.”

  “I know, but I figured, well…maybe you might be looking for something else.”

  “Like what?” Hope that he that he cared surged inside, but she pushed it down. “I’ve been everywhere in this town and couldn’t find work.” She waved her hand at the noisy room. “I don’t entertain men, but what I do pays well enough. Apparently I’m not suited for much else.”

  She hated the sarcasm that tinged her voice. At least she hadn’t been forced into what Sara and some of the other girls were expected to do. Not yet, anyway.

  Nevada narrowed his eyes. “I don’t agree. You’re an intelligent woman.”

  Christy emitted a grim laugh. “Thanks, but business owners care about reputation over intelligence.” She raised her chin and met his gaze squarely. “Besides, shouldn’t you be offering this job to Sara?”

  “Sara?” He frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “I saw you escort her to her room the first night I was here.” Christy watched his face, certain she’d see guilt or shame flash across it.

  He held her gaze without wavering. “Yes, I did. But nothing happened.”

  She sniffed. “Of course it didn’t.” She gave a wry smile. “Most men would brag about their conquest, but not you. Always the gentleman, as well as the liar. First you’re not an outlaw, even though you’re present at a stagecoach holdup, and now you simply escorted a girl to her room after outbidding another man for her favors. But nothing happened.” She smirked. “Right.”

  “Ask her.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  “What?” A slight shock coursed through her at the blunt words. Where was the cocky attitude she’d expected, if not embarrassment or confusion?

  “Ask Sara. She’ll tell you I didn’t touch her.”

  “Then why…?”

  “To keep that low-down scum from bothering her. She was ill and in obvious distress.”

  “So you came to her rescue like some gallant knight?” Christy struggled to keep her voice from shaking. Everything in her wanted to believe him, but she’d been fooled before. Five years ago a handsome face and smooth manner had nearly destroyed her. Not this time. She clasped her hands so tightly her nails dug into her skin.

  He shrugged. “Something like that.” And then he grinned. “Like I said, ask Sara. For now, I want you to know there’s a job waiting for you at the boardinghouse where I’m staying if you want out of this place.”

  Her heart did a somersault—his cocky grin and lifted
brow gave him a rakish air. He’d be hard for any woman to resist, no matter how hardened she’d become. She gave a slight shake of her head. “I doubt they’d employ me.”

  “This place would. It’s called the Russ House. It takes boarders and also has an excellent restaurant. ”

  “I stopped and spoke to the cook. He said they weren’t hiring.”

  “He’s not the owner. Nellie Cashman is, and she told me she could use more help.”

  Christy closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them. “She wouldn’t hire me.”

  “Yes, she would.”

  “If Miss Cashman knew who my stepfather was, or where I’m working now, she wouldn’t.”

  Nevada’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “It won’t matter to her. This woman is different. She helps people in need all the time, even the women in the red-light district. Besides, anyone can tell you’re a lady, no matter where you work.”

  Joy bubbled in Christy’s spirit, and she wanted to laugh out loud. Right now she didn’t know whether she wanted to hug the tall man standing so straight and proud in front of her, or shake him. Red-light district, indeed. Then she remembered his words. She might have a job and could leave here forever—start fresh in a reputable business.

  Then a flash of gold caught her attention. Sara walked across the room, a tray of drinks balanced on her hand. Christy’s heart sank. “Please thank Miss Cashman for the offer.”

  Nevada followed her gaze. “It’s Sara, isn’t it?”

  Her throat pinched closed, and tears welled up. “I’m not sure I can leave her here alone.” The words came out in a whisper. “She’s so young. I don’t know her story but—”