Until Tomorrow

by Rosanne Bittner

  Addy’s eyes teared. “I’ve gotten myself into a mess. Grant Breckenridge is not a man to be crossed, I fear, and Cole works for him. If Cole and I dare to show an interest in each other, I’m afraid Grant could find a way to hurt him. Who knows?”

  Sassy shrugged. “Well, if Cole can make himself respectable enough, there won’t be a lot Grant can do about you calling on him. Besides, Cole Parker isn’t a man to go up against, either. He’s survived this far. He’ll do okay. You wait and see.”

  Their eyes held, and Addy could see the woman truly cared. “I don’t understand women like you.”

  “Of course you don’t. If you’d been raised like me, it would be different. All people have reasons for the things they do. That’s life. And all people have their good and bad qualities. If you knew me better, you’d see there’s some good in me. As for you, pretty lady, proper as you are, I have a feeling that when you’re with Cole Parker, you’re very improper.” She chuckled. “So in some ways we’re not so different, are we? See what I mean about good and bad? It’s all a matter of perspective.” She gave a perturbed Addy a wink and sauntered out the back door. Addy rolled her eyes and closed the door, again both loving and hating Cole Parker for the continued confusion she had to live with.

  “I’ll forget both of them,” she told herself, “Grant and Cole. I’ll just teach and attend women’s clubs and turn into an old widowed woman.” Yes, that was best. She would gradually and tactfully discourage Grant, and she would find a way to tell Cole it was simply too late to try to keep things going. What else could she do without hurting Cole or risking offending Grant and still hurting Cole?

  She sighed in frustration, as she walked into the bedroom and sat down on the bed—a bed that looked big and empty. “Maybe that’s the way it will have to stay,” she murmured.

  Twenty-Two

  Cole entered the Wildcat Saloon, eyeing the crowd carefully. He knew enough about the saloon life to realize different establishments generally had their own regular clientele, who sometimes became rather possessive of their turf. He had come to know many of the patrons of the Hard Luck, who the troublemakers were, who the regulars were, which men were poor poker players and which ones were good, who drank too much. He even knew details about some of their families. But he wasn’t familiar with the crowd in the Wildcat.

  The trips to Denver had gone without incident, but the drivers of the wagons full of processed ore and the other guards who rode along often expressed their concern over Ed Foley and what he might do for revenge against Grant Breckenridge. Cole wanted to see the man for himself, get an idea what he was up against, and Ed Foley was known to hang out in the Wildcat.

  He walked up to the bar, feeling the stares of several men. He expected that. Any stranger who entered was someone to watch at first, but a lot of these men probably knew him because of the news he’d made over the showdown he’d had with George Williams. Some probably also knew he worked for Grant Breckenridge. What they didn’t know was that he had little use for Grant himself, but the pay was good, and he was already building up a nice bank account he could use toward building a new life for himself and Addy.

  Had Breckenridge managed to win her heart? Among articles in the Register about plans for a fancy hotel and opera house in Central, maybe even a railroad from Central to Denver, as well as a new school building proposal, there had also been stories about the female school teacher, Mrs. Addy Kane, attending this or that social event with Mr. Grant Breckenridge as her escort. It was always mentioned that the illustrious Breckenridge was a key city planner, involved in the many wonderful building projects in the making.

  There had also been an article about the new house on High Street, built for the new teacher. Cole had ridden by that house, small but quite pretty, white, the lacy lattice work painted blue. It fit Addy. Maybe she would be so contented there that she wouldn’t want to consider any more changes in her life. So far he had kept his promise to stay straight, work hard, save his money, stay away from too much drinking. Would she keep her promise to wait for him?

  He ordered a shot of whiskey, now allowing himself only two shots a day. He lit a cigar while he waited, looking around the room to spot young Benny Reed serving drinks to several poker players at one of the tables. The Wildcat no longer had fancy women working there. It was strictly a place for men to drink and gamble, but there were plenty of pictures of naked women hanging on the walls. One huge painting over the bar boasted a plump, full-breasted woman sprawled on a lounge with a bouquet of flowers between her legs. She reminded him of Sassy.

  His drink was served, and Benny walked up to him with a grin. “Hello, Mr. Parker. I ain’t seen you in a while.”

  “Been busy.”

  Benny glanced at another table as though worried, then looked back up at Cole. “I know. I hear you’re workin’ for Grant Breckenridge helpin’ guard his gold.”

  Cole slugged down the whiskey. “Pay’s good.”

  Benny set a tray on the bar. “I expect it is, but maybe you shouldn’t be in here.”

  Cole rested an elbow on the bar. “Why? Is Ed Foley here? And watch how you react. I don’t want him to know I asked.”

  Benny looked toward a front corner of the room, where a piano sat. “Hey, Jerry, play us some music! It’s gettin’ too quiet in here!”

  A balding man sitting near the piano waved back and finished a beer, then got up and sat down to the piano and began plunking out a feisty tune. Benny looked back at Cole. “That will help keep people from hearin’.”

  Cole nodded. “You’re a smart boy.”

  Benny grinned. He liked impressing men like Cole Parker. “Ed Foley is sitting over near the piano himself. He’s wearing the fancy black suit, a little man wearing spectacles. He’s in here most every night getting drunk. Once he’s drunk, he always talks about how he’s gonna get even with Grant Breckenridge for stealin’ his claim and killin’ his son.”

  “I’ve heard it a couple of ways.” Cole pulled deeply on his cigar before continuing. “Grant’s men say Foley never had a claim to begin with. Something about Grant grubstaking the man but he never found anything that was worth much.”

  Benny shook his head. “That’s not how Foley tells it. Him and his son, Ed Junior, they both worked for Chadwick Mining Company and were in charge of orderin’ minin’ equipment and such when new mines were staked. They came out here just like Breckenridge as employees, only Breckenridge had a lot higher position in the company. Once they got out here, they decided they wanted to do some prospectin’ of their own. Foley says they found a good vein and asked Breckenridge if he’d get the minin’ company to back them in some equipment to better get the gold out. Breckenridge agreed, but behind Foley’s back, he got the claims agent to attach Chadwick Mining Company’s name to the claim. He said as how Foley was an employee come here to explore for the company and not for himself, he couldn’t claim his find in just his name.”

  Cole turned and ordered drinks for both of them, while the piano player pounded out more lively tunes and the crowd of men in the room got a little louder. “How can Breckenridge say that, when he owns most of the mine himself?”

  Benny shook his head, his stringy blond hair hanging in his face. “That’s partly why Foley hates him so much. He made out like a champion for cheatin’ Foley out of what was his.”

  “How’s that?” Cole downed the second shot of whiskey, deciding he’d stop there. He’d made a promise to Addy.

  Benny leaned on the bar, facing him. “Well, Foley, he was screamin’ mad when he found out Chadwick Minin’ Company’s name was on his claim. I guess he raised all kinds of hell, but Breckenridge told him the only way to solve it was to take Chadwick to court, and the only legal jurisdiction for that was back in Chicago. Foley knew he probably didn’t stand a chance, just him up against a big company like that, and he didn’t have the money to pay for the legal costs, so he pulled out, quit Chadwick and went to work for another minin’
company, him and his son both. There was an accident involvin’ dynamite, and his son got killed. Foley blames it on Breckenridge, says if he’d not been forced to quit and go to work for somebody else, his son would never have been in that other mine and got killed. I’ll tell you, he hates Grant Breckenridge with a passion. Ain’t nobody can reason with him about it.”

  Cole thought about his own little girl, how much he’d hated Howard Benedict. Breckenridge wasn’t quite so responsible for Foley’s son’s death, but the fact remained he was indirectly the cause for the boy being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “I can understand how he feels,” he told Benny. “Don’t think I don’t realize that Breckenridge is a sonofabitch. I’m only working for him because he pays damn good, and right now I need the money.” He took another drag on his cigar. “So, how did Breckenridge end up owning a mine of his own?”

  Benny shrugged. “Company bonus, they say. Foley’s claim wasn’t exactly a bonanza, but enough to make a man pretty rich. Apparently Breckenridge handed the company some bullshit story about the whole thing—probably told them how he’d managed to keep an errant employee from movin’ in on claims that should belong to the company. Who knows? For some reason, they think Breckenridge is a great and wonderful man, a valuable employee. They apparently gave him about three-quarter ownership of the Jamesway, the very same mine Foley had once claimed for himself. That put the icing on the cake as far as Foley is concerned. He don’t waste any words tellin’ folks about all of it and what he thinks of Breckenridge, but Breckenridge is charming and a smooth talker. Most folks of any significance in this town don’t pay no attention to Foley. They refuse to believe the kind of man Breckenridge really is. They only see him as a handsome widower, a man who has money, dresses fine and donates a lot of money to town projects, works hard at buildin’ churches, schools, that kind of thing. He knows exactly how to charm the pants off women and bullshit the men.”

  Cole felt a stab of fierce jealousy at the remark. The thought of Breckenridge getting Addy into his bed tore at his guts in literal physical pain. He nodded to Benny. “Thanks for the information. I just wanted to get a look at Foley, get an idea who the enemy is, although I can’t blame him. I don’t intend to work for Breckenridge a long time, just until I have enough money saved to do something of my own. I’d probably better get out of here. I’ll get a good look at Foley when I go.”

  “Well, I wish you luck, Mr. Parker. You’d better be careful. I’ve got no doubt Foley will figure out a way to get back at Breckenridge before this thing is over. It’s been goin’ on for about six months now, ever since Foley’s kid got killed. He originally came out about two years ago, and it was about a year ago that the first big blow-up came over who really owned Foley’s claim. Anyway, watch your back.”

  “Grant’s men have already told me that.”

  “Well, just so you know, the man standing behind Foley over there, the big one in the blue shirt, that’s his best friend, Clancy Ives. The two beside him wearing guns, they’re hired gunmen. Foley recently hired them to show his strength. Wants Breckenridge to hear about them, maybe shake in his shoes a little. Everybody is making bets on how Foley will get his revenge. Most think he’ll blow up the Jamesway, or figure out a way to steal one of Breckenridge’s gold shipments. He—”

  “Hey, Cole Parker!” Cole’s name was shouted from the table where Foley sat, and two men wearing guns scooted back their chairs and rose.

  “Shit!” Benny stepped back from Cole, and a few other people scattered, including the bartender.

  Cole threw his cigar into a spittoon and turned to face the table. It was a chilly day, and he wore a wool jacket. He pushed it behind his gun. “Somebody want to talk to me?”

  “I do,” the same gruff voice replied. It came from a man in a red flannel shirt. He was big and burly, bearded, his brown eyes glittering with anger, and he wore a gun. He stood beside a smaller man with a weasel face and eyeglasses.

  Foley, Cole thought.

  “What’s a Breckenridge man doin’ in the Wildcat? Breckenridge men don’t come in here,” the gunman in the red shirt told him. “They know better!”

  “I’m just visiting Benny here. I haven’t been in Central that long, don’t know many people, met Benny when I first arrived, over at the Hard Luck.” He glanced at the man in the blue shirt behind Foley. That would be Clancy Ives. He wanted to remember their faces.

  “I don’t care what your excuse is. Mr. Foley here figures you came here to have a look at him, see who you’re up against. I work for Foley, and we know you work for Breckenridge guarding his gold shipments. No man works for Breckenridge without knowing about Ed.”

  The man wearing glasses rose, facing Cole defiantly. Cole wondered how brave he would be without men with guns backing him. The second gunman stood on the other side of Foley.

  “I’m Ed Foley,” Foley told Cole, his chin held high, “and I’m telling you that Grant Breckenridge is no good. You ought to find yourself another line of work, mister.”

  Cole kept his eyes on Foley, but his concentration was really on the two men on either side of him. “It’s just a job to me. I’m sorry for whatever falling out you’ve had with the man.”

  “Then let’s have a talk.” Foley’s eyes moved over him appreciatively. “I’ve heard about you. You’re good with that gun. A man like you could be useful to me in finding a way to pay Breckenridge his dues.”

  The thought was tempting to Cole, considering he’d like Grant Breckenridge away from Addy. Still, he’d promised Addy to stay out of trouble. “You’ll have to find somebody else, and they’ll have to go up against me. I didn’t come here to make trouble, Foley. I’m leaving now, so just go back to your card playing and I won’t bother you.” He took a step sideways.

  “I say you’re a damn wolf paid by Breckenridge to eat up anybody who gets in his path,” Foley growled. “Breckenridge is a bastard, a lying sonofabitch who’ll fuck any woman in town, whore or decent, and who’ll cheat any man out of everything he owns if he can! Anybody who works for him is no better!”

  Cole checked his temper, fully realizing Foley dearly wanted him to draw his gun, thinking his own men could shoot him down legally and get rid of him. “Save it, Foley. I said I wanted no trouble. I came to Central looking for work, and I found it. That’s all there is to it. Your beef with Breckenridge is none of my concern.”

  Foley put his hands on his hips. “My beef with Breckenridge is the concern of any man who works for him, especially when he comes here to have a look at me. You’re up to something, mister.”

  “You’re all drunk,” Cole warned. “Don’t do something stupid.”

  “Two against one?” Foley looked at his two gunmen. “I don’t call that stupid, and there isn’t a man in this bar who won’t tell the sheriff you drew first. We stick together in the Wildcat.” The man grinned. “Get rid of him, boys.”

  The gunmen hesitated as more people scattered, even Ives. Cole could see the doubt and fear in their eyes. “If you both want to live, then you’d best stand real still while I get out of here,” he warned them. He turned, heard a click.

  “Jesus!” somebody shouted.

  It all happened in a split second. Men everywhere ducked to the floor. Cole whirled the instant he heard the cocking of a gun, and his own pistol was drawn and fired before the first man could get off his shot, fired again at the second man before he could get his gun all the way out of his holster. Both men jerked backward from the force of Cole’s bullets, one slamming into a wall, the other falling against a stair railing and breaking it. The first man slid down the wall, leaving a bloody streak.

  Foley lost his grin as he stood staring at Cole, dumbfounded. “You bastard!” he growled. His eyes blazed with drunken revenge.

  Ives came to stand near him again, putting a hand on Foley’s shoulder. “Breckenridge sure knows who to hire, doesn’t he?” he said, looking dejected.

  “You tell Grant Breckenridge
his days are numbered!” Foley shouted at Cole, paying no attention to Clancy’s remark. “I can always find more gunmen!”

  “Let it go, Foley. You can’t bring back the dead. I know that for a fact myself. Killing Breckenridge won’t change anything that’s happened.”

  “Oh, but it will! But then I never said I’d kill him. I only said I’d get my revenge. How I do it is something for the man to sit and wonder and worry about. You and anyone else who works for him can also worry!”

  Cole slid his six-gun back into its holster, glancing at the two men he’d shot. “You’ll have to hire better men than those two,” he commented. He sighed deeply. “Give it up, Foley,” he repeated. “You’ll only end up dead or in prison yourself.”

  He turned and walked to the doorway, but just before he pushed at one of the swinging doors, Benny shouted, “Cole! Look out!”

  Cole swung around with his gun drawn. Before he realized what Benny was yelling about, he heard a gunshot. He felt a hot sting seer across the right side of his head, felt himself fall through the swinging doors as he lost consciousness.

  Cole opened his eyes and looked around the room, plain painted walls, the smells of medicine. There were two other beds beside his, one empty, one occupied by a man who lay sleeping. It was a very small room, and Cole wasn’t sure just where he was. He sat up, then felt a fierce pain rip through his head. He put a hand to his forehead and realized gauze was wrapped around his skull.

  He struggled to think, remember. He looked down at himself, was still fully dressed except for his boots and gunbelt, which hung on a chair nearby. The sight made him remember another time, lying in bed, his gunbelt nearby … back in Unionville. He’d escaped …