Christy paused in front of Ma’s house. A lamp glowing in the living area revealed an empty room. She was thankful no one was up and awaiting her return. Joshua grew better by the day but still spent much of his time in bed, and lately Ma’s cough had eased a bit. How long that would last Christy couldn’t say, but at the moment she didn’t require constant care.
Christy pushed open the door—she didn’t care for this place. It was too close to the mines and only a stone’s throw from the red-light district. Not that she didn’t hurt for the women who lived there, especially those who’d hit tough times and were forced to ply their trade from their homes. But the occasional shrieking laughter, drunken men’s voices, and the chug of the engines at the mine often kept her awake at night far past the time she should be asleep. She’d never understood how she’d managed to avoid the trap so many of these women found themselves in, but now she realized God had been involved.
Too bad she hadn’t gotten a chance to speak to Sara, but she admitted to a certain relief at not being needed late tonight. Apparently Townsley had promised work to a friend and put the man on the roulette wheel halfway through her shift.
Her thoughts drifted back to Sara. If only she had a way of reaching more of these girls—helping them to see there were other options than contracting diseases and dying of pneumonia or consumption in the dirty hovels they called home. But in reality, what choice did they have? She’d heard horrible stories over the years of men selling their wives into prostitution when they thought it would make them big money, and other girls lured by the promise of riches, only to discover the empty, hollow life they’d attained. An occasional woman chose this life and often went on to become a madam, but most grew hard or died young.
Christy knew how difficult it was for these women to gain any kind of respectability. If Alexia and Justin hadn’t championed her in Last Chance, and if Miss Alice hadn’t given her a job, she’d probably have left town as an outcast and pariah. What hope did a young woman ever have of finding a job to support her aside from the only one she knew? A few girls accepted marriage proposals and found a new life, but from Christy’s experience, that could almost be as dangerous as working in a saloon. Most of the men who’d proposed to her over the years were hard-working, but a girl couldn’t know what life she was headed for until after she’d arrived.
A footstep from the direction of her mother’s room woke her from her thoughts. Ma stood in the doorway holding an oil lamp. Her pallor stood in sharp contrast to the darkness behind her and almost matched the pale nightgown she wore. She stared at Christy, then swayed on her feet.
Christy rushed across the living area and took the lamp before it toppled to the floor, setting it on the nearby table. She placed her arm around her mother and led her toward the sofa, helping her to sit. “Why are you out of bed? Are you feeling ill again?”
Ma covered her mouth with the back of her hand and bent low over her lap. A long cough shook her body, and she struggled to get her breath.
Christy loosened her hold and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get some water.”
“No.” Ma’s sharp tone brought her to a halt. “I’m all right now. I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait till morning? You need to get in bed.”
When Ma shook her head, Christy settled herself next to her mother.
“No.” Ma looked even older than she had this morning, if that were possible. Deep creases ran along her cheeks and carved gouges in her forehead. “That banker came again today.” She nearly spat the words. “We have to be out in a week.”
“What?” Disbelief coursed through Christy. “But I made a payment right after I started working.”
“It’s not enough. He said we’re too far behind, and he has a cash buyer for the place. Unless we can come up with the same amount his buyer is offering, we can’t stay past week’s end.”
“Does he know you’re ill and Joshua was shot?” Disbelief was quickly changing to despair. She’d worked so hard to keep this from happening. Why had she thought, moments ago, she had answers for anyone else?
“He don’t care. Said there’s lots of hurtin’ and sick people in Tombstone, and it’s none of his business to look out for them all.”
“I’ll find a way to get us out of this, Ma.”
Trust Me. The words whispered themselves in her mind, but Christy pushed them away. She’d always looked out for herself. Ma had been too busy scrambling to make a living or caring for her husband to think much about Christy’s needs, even when she was a youngster. During the years she’d spent working in saloons, Christy had learned to be tough and fight for survival. Only her four years spent under the loving care of Miss Alice, Alexia, and a couple of other close friends had helped soften the crust she’d allowed to grow over her heart.
I can be trusted. Again the words pricked at her spirit and this time she hesitated, turning them over in her mind, recalling the acceptance she’d felt while talking to Sara. Nellie had offered her a job and opened a way of escape—that could’ve only come from God.
On the other hand, she’d hoped Nevada might be a man she could lean on. But since discovering his last name and the possible tie to the death of her stepfather, she wasn’t so sure he could be trusted. In years past, she’d always viewed God as not much more trustworthy than a man, but she’d recently come to understand His love for her. Maybe it was time to trust someone other than herself, and if God was offering, she’d take Him up on it.
The atmosphere at the Oriental Saloon was rollicking this time of night, and Nevada had a hard time pushing through the men grouped around the bar and the various gaming tables. He could see the roulette table, but a man he didn’t recognize ran the game. A quick survey of the area didn’t reveal either Christy or Sara nearby.
Weaving his way back to the bar, he leaned a forearm on the polished surface and beckoned to the bartender. The man moved his way. “What’ll you have?”
“Where’s that pretty little blond named Sara? I’d like to talk to her.” Nevada pasted on a sappy smile.
The bartender polished the glass he was holding and set it down in front of Nevada. “Yeah, you and half the town. The boss keeps that one busy.” A coarse laugh sprang from his mouth. “Haven’t seen her for the last hour or so, if you get my drift.” He wagged his brows at Nevada.
“I get it just fine.” Nevada’s hand snaked out, and he gripped the front of the man’s shirt, drawing him close. He waited several seconds until the face only inches from his turned red. “I suggest you watch your mouth if you value your hide.”
“What’s she to you?” The man gasped out the words.
Nevada shoved him away. “A friend.” He reached down and touched the butt of his gun. “Where’s Miss Grey? The woman who usually works the roulette wheel?”
The man backed out of Nevada’s reach, his eyes growing wide. “Don’t know nothin’ about her. Boss keeps the men away from her. I think he’s got his eyes on her his own self.”
Nevada leaned forward, but the bartender scurried away, stopping partway down the bar to speak to a man leaning his elbow against the edge. Words were exchanged that Nevada was unable to hear. The stranger threw Nevada a hard look before sauntering his way.
Swiveling on his heel, Nevada stalked across the room, casting another look at the roulette wheel. Still no sign of Christy or Sara. Something was up and he didn’t like it, but starting a fight tonight would only get him thrown in jail. Besides, this place was notorious for keeping an eye out for offenders and barring their entrance at the door. Best to leave now and come back tomorrow.
And in the meanwhile, he’d pray Christy and Sara were safe for the night.
Chapter Seventeen
Christy had avoided Nevada for just over a week since discovering his last name, but doubt hammered at her door. What proof did she have that he was the man who’d shot her stepfather, even if he did share the same last name? She’d asked for his help, but when he’d come to the Orient
al, she’d ignored his attempts to speak to her.
Sara’s situation grew worse by the day, and while Christy had determined to help her on her own, she’d begun to see the foolishness of her decision. Townsley’s men kept watch over the girls, and she’d discovered threats kept them from running when they did find time to themselves. Maybe she’d been foolish to judge Nevada without giving him the opportunity to explain.
It wouldn’t be long before Sara’s condition made itself apparent, and they couldn’t take the chance the baby might be harmed. Maybe she could catch Sara today before things got too busy, if the watchdogs in the saloon weren’t dogging her trail.
Christy pushed through the saloon doors and threaded her way through the tables, thankful to see the room quieter than normal. There was no sign of Sara downstairs, and Doc Holliday seemed deeply engrossed in a game of cards. Buckskin Frank Leslie wasn’t present either, and Christy gave a sigh of relief.
Then someone gripped Christy’s elbow, and she whirled around. Gordon Townsley raised a hand in apology. “Sorry, my dear. Didn’t mean to startle you. There’s been a change of plans for you this evening.”
“In what way?” Christy lifted her chin and met his eyes, not allowing the dread rising inside to show.
“I need to keep my friend working the roulette wheel for a couple more days. You’ll work the tables.” He pasted on a conciliatory smile. “Don’t worry. It won’t be for long.”
Christy shook her head. “I wasn’t hired to take drink orders, and I have no desire to do so.”
“I’m sorry, but you don’t have a choice.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course I do.”
“I advanced you more money than you’ve earned so far. You still owe me for a week.” He tilted his head toward the staircase. “You can wear your same dress, but you’ll be working the tables.” Townsley swung on his heel and stalked off to his office.
Christy’s mouth went dry, and her hands trembled. She felt like a mouse caught in the claws of a playful cat. The idea of serving drinks sickened her to the point of feeling faint. Somehow she’d have to get through this week and pay back what she owed, and then she’d be done. Her resolve to help Sara escape doubled, and an added urgency of her own pushed her forward.
She picked up her pace and mounted the stairs, praying she’d find Sara in her room. As she rounded the corner, a door clicked shut and hurrying footsteps came toward her.
Sara stepped into view, and a wan smile lit her tired face. “Christy. You’re early. I’ll walk with you if you’re going to change now.”
“Thank you. I was hoping for a chance to speak to you before starting work.”
They fell into stride together and passed down the hall, entering the wardrobe room. Thankfully, all the men knew this space was off limits.
“You’ve got to get out of here, Sara,” Christy murmured. “Tell Townsley you’re quitting.”
“What? He’ll never let me.”
“What choice will he have if you walk out the door and don’t come back?”
“I owe him money. Besides, I think he’s had his eye on me for a while now.”
“How so? He farms you out to every man with the price to pay.”
Sara sank onto a chair, rubbing her belly. “Not lately. He’s been turnin’ them down and only lettin’ me serve drinks. I never thought much of it, but there’s somethin’ different about the way he looks at me, and it scares me a little. It’s not the look of a man who loves a woman, neither. I know that look of love from how my pa used to look at my ma.”
“All the more reason to leave.” Christy clutched Sara’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ve decided to take the job at the boardinghouse. Townsley says I owe him money, and he wants me to start serving drinks. I’ll do it until I can get you out of here, then I’ll pay him back out of my wages at the boardinghouse if I still owe him. I spoke to Miss Cashman at the Russ House, and she’s a wonderful lady. Nevada thinks she’d give you work, as well.”
“Nevada? What’s he got to do with this?”
“He offered to speak to Nellie about you. He lives at the Russ House and told me about the job.”
A spark of hope ignited in Sara’s eyes. “I’ll do it. Tonight when I get off work, I’ll tell Gordon I’m quittin’. I’ll pay him back everything I owe him when I start work somewhere else.” She pushed to her feet and held out her arms. “Thank you, Christy, for believin’ in me. Maybe somethin’s gonna go right in my life for a change.”
Sara paced the floor, waiting for Gordon Townsley. A sense of expectancy mixed with dread pounded her emotions, and she gripped her hands, trying to still their shaking. What would she do if Gordon said no? He’d seemed amiable enough when she’d asked him to meet her here, and she hoped that meant he was in a good mood.
A tap at her door made her pause. She reached for the handle and pulled it open, apprehension causing her insides to quiver.
Gordon stood there, hat in his hands and his eyes glowing with something she’d seen too often before. “Hello, darlin’. I’ve been waiting for you to invite me to your room.” He stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind him. “Of course, if you’d waited much longer, I probably would’ve invited myself.” A low, guttural chuckle broke from his throat, and he stroked his chin. “You look particularly fetching tonight.”
Sara took a step back, her legs bumping into a chair. She slid around it and gripped the top rail, holding it like a barricade between them. Why hadn’t she thought to approach her boss in his office, instead of inviting him here? “I…I didn’t ask you here for that reason, Gordon. I want a favor.”
“Ah, yes. I do a favor for you, and you do one for me. Is that the way it works?” A playful gleam sparkled in his eyes. “Name it, and I’ll see what I can do.” He reached for the top button of his white shirt.
“No.” Sara held up her hand. “Wait. Please. Hear me out?”
His fingers paused. “Go ahead.” The words were uttered in a low, flat tone.
“I want to quit workin’ here.” She was appalled at the way the words blurted out with little or no finesse. “I mean, I’ve been thankful for this job and all, but I’d like to quit seein’ men and servin’ drinks all the time. I’m sick of havin’ them paw at me.” Her hand went to her abdomen and halted there.
“Quit? You can’t quit.” He scowled. “You owe me money.”
“I know.” She reached out a hand, palm up. “But I’ll get another job and pay you back. I swear.”
“That’s right. You will.” He grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards him, landing her hard against his chest. “I don’t know where you got this crazy idea to leave, but it’s not going to happen. You belong to me, and you’d better not forget it.”
“You’re hurtin’ me, Gordon.” Sara tried not to whimper, but the cruel grip on her wrist tightened, and she let out a sob. “Please.” She tried to pull away, but he simply drew her closer, leaning down his head to capture her lips.
Fury at the loss of her dream exploded inside, and she twisted her head, evading the pressure of his mouth. “Stop it! I don’t want you to touch me. Leave me alone!” She pulled back and struck him in the face with the flat of her hand.
Townsley’s hands dropped from her body and he cursed—a low, growling curse that frightened Sara more than his recent actions. “Is that how you want this to go?” He drew back his arm and swung it, his open hand connecting with her cheek with a force that sent her reeling against the bed. He took a step forward and stood over her, panting in rage and raining oaths down on her helpless body.
Sara cowered on the bed, covering her head with one hand and shielding her belly with the other. She tasted blood as it oozed from her split lip but ignored the pain. Only one thing mattered right now. “Don’t hurt my baby. Please, don’t hurt my baby.” The words slipped out before she realized she’d released them.
“Baby? What’s this about a baby?” Townsley let his arm fall by his side and allowe
d his gaze to rove over her figure, stopping on her midsection. “I don’t believe it.”
She avoided his eyes and lay mute, unable to respond.
“If that’s true, then we’ll get it taken care of quickly enough. Tomorrow I’ll have the doctor from the red-light district come by. If you’re right and you’re carrying a brat, he’ll get rid of it fast enough. After that, you’d best change your tune and be thankful for the home I’ve given you.”
He headed for the door but paused and looked back. His voice dropped to a silky whisper. “You’d better remember you belong to me, Sara. And you’re going to learn to like it, so help me.”
He left the room, and she heard him shout at the top of the stairs, “Leslie! Get up here and guard this door. I don’t want this girl going anywhere tonight. And have someone relieve you tomorrow morning. She doesn’t leave, and nobody gets in, or you’ll be the one to answer for it.”
Sara sank onto the bed, total despair swamping her mind. Her palms grew damp, and her stomach roiled. She bolted for the corner and bent over the chamber pot. When the retching abated, she rocked back on her heels and wiped her mouth. Christy couldn’t help her, or even Nevada. Not with a gunfighter guarding her door.
She might as well give in to Gordon’s demands and end this baby’s life. He or she wouldn’t stand a chance of a decent existence anyway. Desperate sobs shook Sara’s body as she crawled to her bed and threw herself across it. She wasn’t sure even God could help her, if indeed He cared the way Christy had claimed. If He did, she’d gladly turn her worthless life over to Him if He wanted it.
She drifted into a troubled doze with a prayer on her swollen lips: Please, God, save my baby.
Chapter Eighteen
Nevada clenched his hands into fists to keep from grabbing a chair and throwing it through the mirror behind the bar of the Oriental Saloon. He’d been lied to and stalled for the past two hours. After previously paying big money to spend the night with Sara, he’d hoped he could talk to her today or, if necessary, buy his way back into her presence. However, she hadn’t come downstairs, and no one seemed very forthcoming when questioned.
Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona Page 17
