Pearl

by Vivi Holt

  Hank nodded his head forward. “Sure can.”

  “Finish up that kettle and I’ll see you then.” Chip walked to the back of the building, shouting directions to another of his workers.

  Hank smiled. Well, he had a job. Now all he needed was a place of his own – he couldn’t stay with his brother for much longer. He hadn’t decided yet how long he’d stay in Tucson – all he knew was he didn’t want to leave yet. Something was keeping him there … no, someone.

  He shook his head and sighed. What had Pearl Stout done to him?

  * * *

  Hank pushed the apartment door open and stepped inside, arms full of groceries. He kicked the door shut behind him and hurried to the kitchen table to lay his wares down. Hilton and Millie sat across from each other on the love seat and sofa. They stood, cheeks flushing. “Hello, Hank,” Hilton said stiffly.

  “Hey, brother. Good evenin’, Miss Millie.” Hank tipped his hat.

  “Hello, Hank,” she sang. “I just brought your brother some fresh-baked bread. I heard about his troubles and thought some bread might help to soothe his spirits.” Millie hurried toward the door.

  Hank grinned. “Troubles?”

  She turned to face him, her hands on her narrow hips. “That woman from New York breaking off their engagement and trampling poor Hilton’s heart.” Her cheeks burned brighter with every word.

  “Oh yes, poor Hilton. I know it’s been rough on him.” Hank smirked at his brother. From what he’d seen, there hadn’t been any indication that Hilton had suffered one bit. He’d stuck to his routine, and had seemed almost chipper that morning before he left for work.

  Millie left, and Hilton closed the door behind her while Hank began putting the groceries away. “Broken heart, eh?” chuckled Hank.

  Hilton sniffed. “I didn’t tell her that. She just surmised, I suppose.”

  “Have you given any more thought to courting Millie?” Hank knew he was being blunt. But he never saw any point in wasting time dancing around the truth. He knew a lot of folks didn’t appreciate that, but his brother was used to it.

  Sure enough, he didn’t raise an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Like I said, she was a student of mine … and …”

  Hank rolled his eyes. “Oh good grief, man, only for a little while, and she isn’t your student now.”

  “No, she isn’t.”

  “And do you like her? Care about her?”

  Hilton nodded, rubbing his face with both hands. “Yes, I love her.”

  Hank’s mouth fell open. “Love her?”

  Hilton simply nodded.

  “Well, then, what are you waiting for?”

  “I didn’t know it until now, until you said something about it. I figured there was no way she could feel anything for me. I’m … well, you know what I’m like. And I’m older than her, and she’s so beautiful and smart and nice and fun – I just couldn’t believe she’d consider me. But when you told me you thought she might, it got me to thinking. I can’t stop thinking about her, actually. And that’s when I knew – I love her.”

  Hank laughed out loud. He walked over to Hilton’s side and slapped his brother hard on the back. “That’s wonderful news, brother. Wonderful!”

  Hilton was still in anguish. “But what about Miss Stout? I can’t ask Millie to marry me now, not when Pearl and I have just ended our engagement. It wouldn’t look right.”

  Hank frowned and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t you fret about that, brother. Life’s too short to spend it worryin’ ’bout what other people think of you. And as far as Pearl Stout is concerned, I don’t think she’d hold it against you, I really don’t. You just leave Miss Pearl to me.”

  * * *

  Pearl wiped her damp palms on the front of her shirt. What had she done? She’d signed up to drive a stagecoach – was she out of her mind? She didn’t know the first thing about driving a coach. She’d driven a buggy in New York once, playfully taking the reins from the driver, much to his chagrin. But that was the extent of her experience.

  She sighed and studied the offices of Hillside Express. The building was relatively new and seemed tidy enough. Like the stores on either side, it sported a false front that made it appear much bigger than it really was. Through the rectangular front window she could see the reception desk with Mr. Goodman behind it, speaking to an older woman seated on a stool.

  A movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned to find Hank leaning against the wall of the sheriff’s office across the road, a pipe between his teeth, smoke curling from his mouth, arms crossed, eyes narrowed on her. What was he doing there – trying to intimidate her? Make her change her mind? What? She frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Can I help you Mr. Pullman?” she called.

  He flicked the tobacco from his pipe to the ground and stepped on it with the toe of his boot, then wandered over to where she stood, his face a mask of indifference. “Nope. I was just takin’ a walk. I see you’re gonna go through with it.”

  Her anxiety from only moments earlier was replaced by burning anger. He’d come to watch her fail – or worse yet, back out. “Yes, I’m going through with it. I said I would and I will. And if you’re here to try to change my mind, you can just forget it.”

  He chuckled. “Somethin’s got your goat today.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re snappin’ like a cornered crawdad. Well, never mind. I guess I understand. You’re scared – and you should be. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be out there at all –”

  “It’s not up to you! And I’m not scared, I’m focused. I have to focus, because there’s a lot to learn, and you’re distracting me. That’s all.” She stamped her foot in the dust.

  “Well, it ain’t a fit job for a lady …”

  “As you said the other day, it’s just as well I’m no lady then. I quit being a lady the moment my parents abandoned me in New York and sent me west to marry a stranger. Everything I cared about, everyone I loved, is gone – lost to me, probably forever. It’s time I took care of myself, since there’s no one else to do it.” She heard the tears in her own voice and fought to control them. It wouldn’t help for her to cry, not now, not when she had to walk into that office and begin her first day on the job. She spun on her heel, leaving him behind.

  His hand on her arm yanked her back, and she gasped as he kissed her. His arms around her waist pulled her to him until they were pressed together, their bodies as one. Her eyes drifted shut and she leaned into him. The tears melted away, along with the anxiety in her gut. His soft lips, the touch of his hands as they caressed her back, washed away her fears and doubts in a moment. He gave her hope and made her pulse race.

  And in a few stolen moments, it was over. He pulled away, his eyes burning with passion, and released her. She stumbled back, blinking as he ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Have a good day,” he drawled. And he walked away. She watched him go with a pounding heart.

  Belle’s voice startled her. “Well, that was some kiss.”

  She laughed and put shaking hands to her eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”

  Belle chuckled along with her. “Long enough to see the sidewalk catch fire. How long you two been …?”

  “We’re not.” Pearl’s words were more abrupt than she’d intended. “I’m sorry, it’s just that … with everything going on today, that was the last thing I needed. And he … he’s not right for me. He’s a wandering cowboy. I need someone stable, someone who can give me more than a few stolen kisses. Hank’s made it pretty clear he’s not that man.” She reached for Belle’s hand and held it between hers. Her friend’s hand was large and dark, with a long scar that ran the length of her thumb and over the back of her wrist.

  Belle smiled warmly. “Well, come on, then – let’s go. We got plenty to keep us busy today.”

  Chapter 8

  Hank pushed the chisel into the soft iron clenched in the vise. The wagon wheel wa
s taking shape, and he grunted as he undid the vise, used gloved hands to pull the iron free and carried it back to the forge to heat again.

  He was engrossed in his work. He’d always loved smithing – he’d be content to do it every day. It was just that for years he’d felt that itch to move on, see new things, leave the past behind. Maybe it’d come back after a while. But for now, he realized with surprising clarity, he didn’t feel any urge to leave town. He was free to enjoy the simple satisfaction of forging a new wagon wheel, or pounding iron into the shape of a pot.

  A disturbance at the shop’s front door caused him to glance up from his work. He noticed four men around his boss, raising their voices as they crowded him. Chip took a step back, and one of the men pushed him in the chest.

  Hank straightened and set the wagon wheel down on the floor at his feet. His eyes narrowed as he walked slowly toward the group.

  “… If ya know what’s good fer ya, ya’ll do as we say. Otherwise …” The speaker ran a finger across Chip’s throat and chuckled hoarsely. He wore a black hat, and a stained brown kerchief tied loosely around his neck. His brown leather chaps hugged his thick legs and the rowels of his spurs shone in the sunlight, sending shafts of silver light around the entrance of the shop.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” asked Hank as he reached the scene, his hands clenched at his sides.

  The group turned to face him. Two had beards, one a long drooping mustache and all had dirt on their faces. “Ya best stay out of it, son,” the ringleader snarled.

  “It’s fine, Hank – I’m taking care of it,” Chip assured Hank, then faced the man with the brown kerchief with a smile. “I’ll be happy to shoe your horses, Mr. Silver. Just bring ‘em around back as usual. We don’t want trouble here.”

  Hank’s eyes narrowed. Who were these men, and why didn’t Chip toss them out on their ear for the way they were treating him? He watched as Chip led the men out the front door, as they untied their horses from the hitching posts outside and led them around to the back of the blacksmith’s. He frowned, then returned to the forge to continue working on the wagon wheel. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his business. If Chip wanted to let customers push him around, that was entirely up to him.

  Just as he settled the wheel back into the vice, Chip hurried through the back door. “Hank, can you help me shoe them horses out back?”

  Hank set down his hammer and nodded. “Sure, boss. Who were those guys?”

  “Oh, that’s the Silver Gang.”

  Hank’s eyes widened and he put his hands on his hips. “The ones wanted for horse thievery and such?”

  “That’s them. They come by here every few months demanding this and that. For free, of course.” Chip opened a ledger he kept under a brick by the back door and followed the lines with his fingers as he read.

  Hank’s brow furrowed. “Free? Why don’t you just tell ‘em to go jump off the nearest cliff? We don’t work for free – you say that all the time when people try to pay you with eggs or loaves of bread.”

  Chip shrugged. “Yeah, well … these fellas demand it for free or else my head on a pike. So I do what they say. I don’t need them causing trouble, that’s for dang sure. They once burned a man’s feedlot to the ground for refusing them.”

  Hank’s gut roiled with anger. How dare those men treat this town and its people with such disrespect! “Where’s the sheriff in all this?”

  “Sheriff Fuller knows, but there ain’t much he can do about it. He’s tried to run ‘em out or lock ‘em away a dozen times, but he never succeeds. They’ll be gone before he can get a posse together, and he can’t face ‘em on his own. Our sheriff’s lasted a long time as a lawman for a reason – he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Chip chuckled and closed the book with a snap.

  Hank took a deep breath, nodded and headed out the back door. He’d shoe those horses, though he wasn’t happy about it. But what else could he do? Chip wouldn’t stand up to them. Heck, even the sheriff didn’t seem to have the guts. So he’d just have to go along for now.

  Though he had half a mind to do something very stupid.

  * * *

  By the time Hank was finished with their horses, the outlaws were back. They’d obviously been at a saloon down the road, or perhaps a gambling hall – they were drunk and loud, barreling down the alley beside the smithy with shouts of laughter and slurred speech. His jaw clenched at the sight of them, but he continued filing the last horse’s right rear hoof. As soon as it was smooth, he was done.

  “Y’finish yet, boy?” asked the ringleader with a loud burp.

  Hank’s nostrils flared, but he set the horse’s hoof gently on the ground, straightened and stepped back with a nod. “Finished.”

  “Good, ‘cause we’d hate t’hafta burn y’boss’s place t’th’ground. He knows how thins work ‘round here ’n tried t’tell us he wouldn’t work fer free t’day. How y’like that?” Silver laughed loudly, holding his sides, and his friends joined him.

  Hank’s voice was low. “Well, if this were my place, I’d tell the lot of you to go shove it.”

  The men stopped laughing. Silver stepped closer, his eyes narrow black slits in his greasy face. “Whatcha say, boy?”

  Hank arched an eyebrow. “You heard what I said.”

  Silver grasped Hank’s neck in one giant claw, his fingers tightening their grip like a vise.

  Hank’s fist connected with Silver’s gut, making him grunt and release his hold. He cursed and lunged again for Hank, who darted out of his way with a laugh. “You’ll have to move faster than that, old man,” taunted Hank, a grin spreading across his face.

  Now the other men closed in around him. Hank watched them in the periphery of his vision. His main focus was Silver, whose face had turned a dangerous shade of purple beneath his scruffy salt-and-pepper beard.

  Chip appeared at the back door, an apron tied around his thick waist, and his eyes widened as he took in the scene. “Hank …,” he cautioned.

  Silver reached for the holster on his right hip.

  But Hank moved faster. In a flash, his pistol was in his hand and he fired before Silver realized what was happening. The outlaw crumpled to the ground, his hand still on his gun, blood spilling from a hole in his heart. The other men cried out in dismay, then glared at Hank.

  The sound of a shotgun being cocked shifted their attention to Chip. He stood in the doorway, the weapon pointed directly at one of the men, a look of steely determination on his lined face. “I guess that’s your invitation to leave, fellas,” he growled.

  Hank’s heart pounded so loudly, he could hardly hear anything else. The man with the drooping mustache glanced at Hank, his hand hovering over his own pistol. “But he killed Silver, Chip. Ya know we gotta do somethin’ ’bout that.”

  “Silver should’ve known better than to mess with Hank ‘The Pistol’ Pullman,” Chip replied. “And you should too.”

  Hank nodded, his pistol still pointed at them and a cold sweat breaking out all over his body. “And don’t come back. There’ll be no more free work done for you here or anywhere else in this town. I hear of you varmints tryin’ to steal from the good folks of Tucson again, I’ll chase you down and send you to your Maker, just like ol’ Silver here.”

  The men shrunk back from Hank, maneuvering for the reins of their horses. The one with the mustache gathered the reins for Silver’s horse as well, still scowling.

  Once they were gone, Hank holstered his weapon as Chip shuffled into place alongside him. They both stood, watching the empty alley to make sure the gang was really gone.

  “I don’t want trouble.” Chip’s voice was hollow, resigned. “Ya hear me, Hank?”

  “I know, Chip. I don’t want any either. But we got to stand up to scoundrels like them, or they’ll never let us be.”

  Chip nodded. “’Bout closing time. Why don’t you finish up that wheel, then head home?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hank headed inside, his pulse still pounding in his ears.

&n
bsp; By the time he’d dragged himself wearily up the stairs to the apartments, he could think of nothing else but to see Pearl. He didn’t want to go into Hilton’s and hear his brother’s idle chitchat. He wanted to feast his eyes on her beautiful face, run his fingers through her soft hair and cup her cheeks before kissing her again. He’d thought of little else since their kiss on the street before she headed out on the stage the other morning, and she was due back today. He’d been waiting anxiously for her return for three days, and finally he’d get to see her.

  That is, if she’d made it back as planned. The thought that she might not, made his head spin and his palms damp. What if she’d been held up by a band of outlaws like the one he’d faced today? He climbed the final step and stared at her door, took a deep breath, then pounded loudly on it.

  The door opened, but it was Hilton who greeted him. Hank blinked and shook his head. “Um … Hilton, what are you doin’ here?”

  “Just speaking with Miss Stout.” Hilton’s cheeks were flushed and his gaze flitted here and there, finally resting on Hank’s face. His brow furrowed. “And what are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see her. Is she in?”

  Hilton’s eyes narrowed, and Hank saw the realization dawning on his brother. “Yes, she’s here.” Then, with a tight smile, he edged past Hank and walked across the hall to his own apartment. With a backward glance, he opened the door and disappeared inside.

  Hank swallowed. He knew Hilton would have questions. It was time he was honest with his brother about his feelings for Pearl, anyway. He couldn’t hide the truth much longer – unless Pearl didn’t return his feelings. Though the kisses they’d shared seemed to indicate she did. He dug up a grin and peered through the doorway. “Pearl, are you in?”

  She hurried to greet him, her hands clasped in front of her, words falling out one after the other like a line of dominoes. “Sorry, Hank – just putting away the cookies your brother brought over. That was so kind of him, don’t you think? I’m not sure if he baked them – that would be a surprise. Does he bake? Perhaps someone else baked them for him. I have seen a brunette girl knocking on his door with a basket on her arm just about every day I’ve been here. Do you think they were from her?”