That wasn’t her fault, but grown men didn’t need anyone. Not like kids did. Unwilling to address that, he said, “You’ve done a lot of things right.”
With tears still dripping from the corners of her eyes, she said, “Name one.”
Caught on the spot, his mind went blank.
She pulled from his hold. “Never mind.”
He matched her steps and by the time they turned the corner, he’d conjured up an answer, “I don’t know how many people you’ve taken care of, but—”
She held up a hand. “Stop. Just stop talking. It doesn’t matter. We both know there’s more going on than our past and me ordering chicken to eat. What’s the deal with those slaughter house men?”
Of course she’d have figured that out. He hadn’t been that upset that she’d ordered chicken, he was simply looking for a reason to be mad at her because he was afraid. Without the sale of his cattle, his plans would fall apart. He wasn’t sure what that meant for him, and he wasn’t sure what to do about her. She was making him feel things, want things, that he hadn’t in a very long time.
“It’s business,” he said.
She swiped the tears off her face with both hands. “You mean it’s none of my business.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.”
“Well, it’s what I mean,” she said. “Your business is none of my business, and my business is none of your business.”
On top of everything going on, that was enough to make his head spin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sorry.” Her pace had slowed, but she was still walking forward, and never glanced his way. “I’m sorry I ever said I was your wife. I’ll let Mr. and Mrs. Solstead know it was all my fault. My mistake and—”
“But we are married,” he said, trying to make light of things in order to give himself time to think things through. “The ceremony back at the orphanage that you told the Solsteads about.”
“That wasn’t real and you know it.”
Garth stopped himself from grabbing her arm again. While she’d been talking with Mrs. Solstead about their family, Nathan had told him how happy he was to know Garth was married. A married man carries more clout than a single one. They’re more established and have more to fight for in order to provide for their family.
He didn’t like it, but had heard it before and Bridgette had played the part of his wife well. Too well. Darn it. “I’ll tell you what else I know.”
She stopped and twisted about to look at him. “I’m listening.”
Suddenly, so was he. Sounds he’d never thought much about one way or the other were filling his ears. The saloons that lined this section of Front Street were full. Noises made by men, women, pianos, roulette wheels and all sorts of other things, floated on the air, and he knew they’d get louder long before they became quieter. Things would get more bawdy, too. He’d lived through nights like this many times. She hadn’t.
Taking her arm, he started walking again. “I’ll tell you at the Dodge House.”
If she’d been about to protest, she reconsidered as two men came flying out of a set of bat-winged doors. Fists flaying, they rolled across the boardwalk and into the street.
Garth quickly escorted her past the doors before others followed the men out of the saloon. A fight was a spectacle no one wanted to miss. Not even Sheriff Myers or Deputy Long, who ran up the street toward them.
Bridgette’s speed increased and Garth didn’t attempt to slow her until he had to pause in order to pull open the door of the Dodge House.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. McCain,” the proprietor greeted from his stance behind the desk. “I hope you had a lovely evening.”
“We did,” Garth replied, steering Bridgette toward the steps.
“I expected you shortly and lit the lamp in your room,” Mr. Franklin said in their wake. “Let us know if you need anything else.”
Garth held up his free hand in acknowledgment.
“Thank you,” Bridgette said over her shoulder. “We will.” Then as she turned forward again, she said, “There’s no reason to be rude.”
“I wasn’t being rude,” he argued.
“You didn’t answer him.”
“Yes, I did,” he said. “I waved.”
Her sigh was full of disdain. “You used to have manners,” she said while heading down the hallway.
His spine stiffened. Please and thank you as well as yes, ma’am and yes, sir hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Her either. The frustration of that sucked him in and made his mind go in several directions. Back on the street he’d been about to say he needed her in order to fulfill his plan of becoming his own cattleman. Tell her about the debacle the slaughter houses were instigating, but he didn’t like how vulnerable that made him, and that had him double thinking everything.
By the time he stuck the key in the latch hole on the door of his room, steam was building inside him. He hadn’t needed anyone in a very long time and didn’t want to need her. Not to pretend to be his wife. Not for any reason.
“So what is it?”
She stood before the mirror, pulling out the pins that held her little hat in place. As his gaze went lower, to the places she’d blossomed, an entirely different sense of frustration bore down on him. What had he been thinking bringing her here to get ready for dinner? Now the Franklins thought she was his wife, too. Which meant this was where she needed to stay. All night. In his room. With him.
“Hell, no,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
He’d paid in advance to stay at the hotel for the entire time he’d be in Dodge, but that wasn’t about to happen. They’d both matured too much to share a room. Before he had a chance to second-guess himself, he tossed the key toward her. “Lock the door and don’t let anyone in.”
She’d caught the key. “Where are you going?”
Rather than make up a lie—the one they were living was enough—he said, “Out.”
Taken aback, it was a moment before Bridgette reacted. The key in her hand brought her around. Nothing Garth did should shock her, but she clearly didn’t know him anymore. Practically nothing he’d done was what she would have expected from the Garth she used to know. Which was fine because she didn’t need the old Garth or the new one.
However, she’d been in Dodge long enough to know doors should be locked. After doing that, she walked back to the bureau and laid the key down beside the hat and pins she’d removed. Her gaze went to the mirror. She’d never had her hair curled before, and didn’t want to disturb them by taking out the combs. If things were different, she’d have cherished this evening. The dress. The dinner out. How handsome Garth had looked. How beautiful she’d felt.
The breath she drew in was laced with remorse and that settled heavily inside her. As she turned away from the mirror a pair of boots sitting in the corner sapped the energy out of her. They were well-worn and dusty, and they tugged at her heart. She sat down on the bed, but her gaze never left the boots. “Why couldn’t things between us be like they used to be?” she whispered. “Or like I’d imagined they’d be.”
There wasn’t time to contemplate the whys before a knock sounded. She stood and gathered the key off the dresser. Expecting Garth, she didn’t open the door, just unlocked it and turned around. She was once again setting the key down when the knock sounded again. This time it was followed by a voice.
“Mrs. McCain?”
Recognizing it was Chrissy, Bridgette hurried back to the door and opened it. “Yes.”
“I saw Mr. McCain leave and wondered if you needed any help taking off the dress,” Chrissy said.
“No, thank you, I can manage.”
“All right. Can I walk you out back?”
“Out back?”
“Yes. Our yard has a fence, but we still e
ncourage female guests not to visit the outhouse alone after dark.” She shrugged slightly. “Men from the saloon have been known to relieve themselves along the fence.”
Bridgette could believe that. Men visiting the Crystal Palace didn’t even walk around the side of the house. “In that case, yes, I’d appreciate your company.” Noticing the clothing draped over the girl’s arm was hers, Bridgette said, “Would you mind if I changed first?”
“Not at all.” Chrissy handed her the clothing. “I had your clothes laundered and pressed.”
“You certainly know how to take care of your guests,” Bridgette said.
“Yes, we do. The Dodge House has an excellent reputation.” Chrissy grasped the door handle. “I’ll wait for you in the hall.”
As Bridgette quickly changed, albeit being careful of her hair, she marked this down as another first. She couldn’t remember a time when someone else had washed or pressed her clothes. It wouldn’t be something she’d be getting used to, either.
The visit to the backyard was uneventful, other than her disappointment of returning to an empty room. If this was Hosford, she’d walk to JoJo’s camp without any worries, but walking about Dodge after dark was not something she was willing to do alone. She might be impulsive at times, but she was far from foolish. If that was the case, she’d have followed Garth out the door.
Huffing out a breath, she sat down on the bed. Wondering where he’d gone took up a good portion of her thoughts, as did the temperature in the room. She opened the window, and a short time later, removed her socks and shoes. After that, the softness of the bed encouraged her to lie down. It had been a long time since she’d slept on a real bed. There was one for her at the Rodgerses’, and she remembered the first few nights she’d slept in it, how she’d compared it to sleeping on clouds it was so comfortable.
So was this one, and the pillow. And if she breathed deep enough, she could catch a hint of a spicy scent that reminded her of Garth.
Bridgette couldn’t say what pulled her from sleep that held a dream so pleasant she didn’t want to leave it. More frustrating than leaving it was how, in those brief moments between waking and opening her eyes, she couldn’t remember what the dream had been about.
As her eyes opened, the sun shining in the window had her sitting up. The room was exactly as it had been when she’d fallen asleep. Empty.
After pulling on her socks and putting on her shoes, she walked over to look in the mirror. Sleep had destroyed the hairdo Chrissy had worked so hard on, but several curls remained. Bridgette removed the small metal combs from the mass and after finger-combing the long tresses, she pulled the sides back and reinserted the combs. It didn’t look nearly as nice as it had last night, but looked nicer than the tight bun she normally twisted it into.
Her bag still sat on the end of the bed, and she dug into the bottom of it, retrieving the small satchel that held her meager coins. It pained her to part with any more, but she didn’t want to be beholden to Garth for an amount beyond what was absolutely necessary.
She placed several coins atop the dress she’d neatly folded and set upon the bureau last night, hoping he would understand the money was for the underclothes. The dress shop would most likely take the dress back, but not the other items.
Upon unlocking the door, she took one final glance around, assuring she hadn’t left anything out of order. She wondered what to do with the key, then concluded Garth would expect the room to be locked. Stepping out, she closed the door, locked it and slid the key under the door. The front desk had offered a second one, so there was no worry he wouldn’t be able to get in.
Like last night when she and Chrissy had gone to the outhouse, she walked down the hall past the bathing chamber and used the set of stairs on that end. They led to a door that opened into the backyard. She also used the fence gate behind the outhouse. Once in the alleyway, she headed in the direction of the tent city. Garth would find her there; that was a given. She wasn’t running away or hiding from him. There just was no place else for her to go, and she couldn’t stay here.
She considered that aspect, of how she’d spent the night in the hotel room, alone, as she walked, and soon, each time she lifted a foot, it hit the ground a bit harder, a bit faster.
He had some nerve. Leaving her alone in a hotel room in the middle of Dodge City. Anything could have happened to her. For that matter, anything could have happened to him. What was she supposed to do then? Become Garth McCain’s widow?
A shiver raced up her spine at that thought. Had he run into those men Nathan had pointed out at the restaurant? From the tick in his cheek, she knew something sinister was taking place.
She quickened her steps. Garth may not be willing to tell her, but JoJo would. He’d do anything for Garth.
Chapter Fourteen
Garth watched Bridgette cross the field, her carpet bag swinging in one arm. He’d trusted her not to leave the Dodge House last night, and she hadn’t. It pleased him to know she had that much sense.
“So how long will we have to wait?”
Brought back by Slim Jenkins, Garth shrugged. “Can’t say. Gotta wait for a few more herds to arrive so we have something to bargain with.” The trail boss had taken the news pretty well, and Garth hoped the others would, too. The cowboys would get paid relatively the same amount no matter how much the cattle sold for, but the trail bosses, and the men who owned the cattle wouldn’t.
“Hank Black is no more than half a day behind me, and Johnny Mac less than that behind him,” Slim said. “Could be less if they end up with a stampede like we did.”
Concerned for every cowboy on the trail, Garth asked, “A bad one? Anyone hurt?”
“No. Happened last night, or this morning, however you want to figure it. That’s why I’m here so early. Got them settled down quick enough, but I figured there was no use going back to the bedroll.”
Stampedes weren’t uncommon, but the coincidence between his experience and Slim’s tickled Garth’s nerves. “What set it off?”
“No telling. Doesn’t take much at this point in the drive.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Garth replied. “Lose any cattle?”
“Not a one. Just made us all that much more anxious to hit the end of the trail,” Slim said. “Men and cows.”
“I hear ya.” Garth pointed toward the camp. “If I’m not here, I’ll be at the Dodge House. Look me up when you get your cows in the yard. Tell Hank and Johnny Mac the same thing if you see them.”
“Will do,” Slim said. “Krebs, your cowboy, said he was riding down to tell them the same thing he told me.”
“I asked him to,” Garth said. “He tell you mum’s the word?”
“Sure did.” Slim slapped the tree they were standing under. “You know as well as I that old man Seacrest wants every dime he can get for these cows, and it’s up to me to get it for him. My payday depends on it. I’m with you all the way. Can guarantee the same is true for Hank and Johnny Mac. The ranchers they drive for want the same as Seacrest.”
“That’s what we’re counting on,” Garth said. “I’ll let the cattle association know you’re in, and be in touch.”
“Good enough.” Gesturing toward the stockyard on the other side of the tent city, Slim asked, “How are the yard men?”
“Can’t be trusted,” Garth said. A twinge of guilt at including Ludwig Smith in with the others, had him adding, “The clerk’s good—he makes sure it’s a clean and accurate count.”
“Good enough,” Slim said. “Once I get Seacrest’s cows in those pens, I’ll be looking for you to buy me a drink.”
Garth’s eyes had gone to JoJo’s tent, where Bridgette had disappeared a short while ago. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a gold piece. Flicking it with his finger in Slim’s direction, he said, “I might be too busy, but buy one for Hank and Johnny
Mac on me.”
Slim gestured his thanks by tossing up and catching the coin again and then swung onto the horse that had been waiting patiently behind him.
Garth didn’t have much patience. Never had and never would. The new boots he’d purchased last night had started to pinch his toes and he was anxious to get out of the suit pants and shirt. The coat and vest were still in JoJo’s tent. He’d collect them, and Bridgette, and head over to the Dodge House.
He’d thought long and hard about it last night, and whether he liked it or not, he needed her to continue being his wife, at least until his cattle were sold. Then he’d drop her off in Hosford on his way south. She wouldn’t like that, and he didn’t blame her, but couldn’t see any other way for things to be.
Halfway across the open space from the river to the camp, he saw her exit the tent. She didn’t look his way, which was just was well. He could imagine how happy she’d be to see him.
She pulled down the back end of the chuck wagon and then picked up the pail she’d carried out of the tent and set it on the tailgate. He was about twenty steps away, give or take, when she turned around. If the anger that flashed in her eyes had been a bullet, he’d be dead.
A moment later, he wondered if he had been shot. Until he realized the potato rolling on the ground was what had hit him. As he glanced up, another one hit his shoulder. He ducked at the third one coming, but the fourth hit him in the chest again. She was pitching potatoes at him faster than he could dodge. Her aim was dead-on. As it always had been. He’d taught her how to aim and throw after she’d missed the constable his first day at the orphanage.
Ducking and weaving, he managed to avoid getting hit by a few, but several other potatoes met their target. Him.
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