Dance With A Gunfighter

by JoMarie Lodge

  In his eyes she saw the real question. Who took off my clothes? Her cheeks grew warm.

  "They were filthy, so I sent them out to be washed."

  "I want to get dressed!"

  She ignored his bellowing. "There’s a room off the kitchen for bathing. I’ll draw you a bath, and find you a clean nightshirt so you’ll be more comfortable."

  "A nightshirt?" he yelled. "I’d get a lot of stares parading around town in one of those."

  She folded her arms. "I don’t expect you to parade anyway, Jess McLowry. You’ve got to stay in bed."

  "I’m not sick."

  "Not sick? You’ve been shot and you nearly dropped from exhaustion. Or have you forgotten?"

  He knew better than to argue with Gabe when she had that look in her eye. How a twenty-year-old could be so bossy to a man his age, and get away with it, was something he failed to understand. "Tell you what..."

  Bracing herself, knowing his "tell you what" could lead to just about anything, her foot tapped warily. "What?"

  "I’ll take a bath, then we’ll see how I feel."

  She could agree to that. Once on his feet, he’d realize how weak he was and that he needed to rest.

  She brought him Lew Huckleby’s robe and then led him to a storage room right off the kitchen where Mrs. Huckleby had set up the bathtub for her guests. A clean nightshirt lay beside the tub.

  Gabe stayed in the kitchen to help Mrs. Huckleby prepare breakfast, but also to be near the bath in case McLowry needed her.

  About twenty minutes later, he opened the door a crack. "Cousin Gabriella," he called, his Southern accent suddenly so slow and drawling she half expected magnolia blossoms to sprout from his tongue.

  Gabe and Mrs. Huckleby turned toward him.

  "Would you get some clean clothes for me, darlin’?"

  When he emphasized his drawl, she knew she was in trouble. "You’ve got clean clothes, McLowry. A nightshirt and robe."

  "I’m not makin’ myself clear, sweet thing. I need some outside-goin’ clothes."

  "You need rest." Gabe walked to the oven and checked on the biscuits.

  He opened the door a little farther. "I want to see how those wounded men are doing, cousin."

  Gabe faced him. "I’ll go down after breakfast and give you a complete report. Also, I’ll ask Doc Shannon when he'd like to see you." She turned her back, walked to the stove and began to stir the gravy so it wouldn't stick.

  "I want my pants, now!" His speech sped up considerably.

  "You're going to wake up the late sleeping guests, Jess. It was a busy night around here."

  "It's going to be a busy day if I don't get my clothes this very minute!"

  Gabe stirred the gravy faster. "That sounds like a threat, and it doesn't even make sense."

  "I'll count to three. If you don't bring my pants, I'll go get them myself. And I'll tell you, the only thing I'm wearing is a bandage."

  Mrs. Huckleby made a small throaty sound and raised her eyebrows as she glanced at Gabe. Having a naked man prance out of the kitchen with all the women and children present would create quite a stir.

  "Don't worry," Gabe said to the landlady. "He's only bluffing."

  "ONE."

  Gabe shook the gravy spoon at him in time with her words. "This is for your own good. That wound could get infected if you don't rest. Then you’ll have to stay in bed a really long time."

  "TWO." He opened the door a little wider. A bare leg, toe to thigh, showed, as did one shoulder and arm.

  "Oh dear." Mrs. Huckleby fanned her face with a towel.

  "You're not funny at all, Jess!" Gabe shouted, but the glint in his eye told her just how angry he was.

  "THREE!"

  "All right!" She threw the spoon at him as he started to open the door, making him shut it again. The spoon clanked against it. "I'll give you your old pants! You don't have a thing I'd want to see, anyway!"

  She turned to stomp out of the kitchen only to find Mrs. Larkin and Mrs. Grimes standing by the door. They were older, probably in their sixties, had been lifelong friends, and were practically inseparable. Except when they were with their husbands, whenever you saw one, you found the other. Mrs. Larkin was skinny and pinched, while Mrs. Grimes was plump and rosy. Now, both stood with their mouths hanging open as they gawked at Gabe, then at the bathing room door, then back at Gabe again.

  Her cheeks flaming, Gabe pushed past them all to go to her room and get McLowry's clothes.

  As he waited, McLowry leaned against the door, trying to regain his strength. He was surprised at how weak taking a bath had left him. That, and arguing with Gabe. How could it be that he, a feared gunslinger whose mere glance made grown men tremble, was now reduced to simpering over his clothes?

  Gabe opened the door a crack. Without looking, she shoved the clothes into the bathing room. "Take them," she said. McLowry felt a laugh rumble in his chest, and that surprised him more than anything.

  He dressed quickly. From the kitchen, he saw some of the guests at the breakfast table. The smell of food told him how hungry he was.

  "Oh, Mr. McLowry," Mrs. Larkin called, her thin mouth in a tight little smile. "How good to see you up and about. Won’t you join us?"

  He took the empty seat, beside her, saying "Good morning," to the group as he did.

  Mrs. Huckleby put a plate of scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy in front of him and he dug in. The food was delicious.

  "From all we’ve heard," Mrs. Grimes said, her gray eyes sparkling, "you were the hero of the entire operation. And to think, we’re having breakfast with you now!"

  Mrs. Huckleby smiled benevolently. "From the moment I saw him and his cousin at my door, I knew he’d be a treasure to us."

  McLowry hunched further over his plate of food, and Gabe gawked unabashedly from one woman to the other as she listened to their words of praise.

  "As for you, my dear,"--Mrs. Larkin smiled at Gabe--"you have a fine way with the children."

  "A fine way with a bath, too," Mrs. Grimes added, her brows raised knowingly to Mrs. Larkin. Mrs. Larkin nodded.

  McLowry nearly choked on a mouthful of biscuit.

  The older women began to snicker, and soon Mrs. Huckleby, McLowry, and finally Gabe, all began to laugh. As Gabe’s eyes met McLowry’s, the laughter died and another, stronger feeling rose between them.

  "I’m going to go see how those men are doing at Doc Shannon’s," McLowry said suddenly, putting his napkin on the table and standing up. "Thank you for your company this morning. Mrs. Huckleby, your gravy is the finest I’ve tasted since I left South Carolina."

  "I’ll go with you," Gabe said, ignoring his southern charm and being her practical self. He looked stronger than she’d expected, but he was still too pale to suit her. "If you don’t mind."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care if I mind about anything?"

  "All that food I just ate must have eased my disposition," she said.

  She took her tan, floppy-brimmed hat from the hat rack, slapped it on her head and went out the door. McLowry smoothed down his blond hair before putting his black Stetson in place, gave it a tug to rest low on his brow, then followed.

  Doc Shannon’s house was only a few doors away. As soon as McLowry stepped inside the Shannon home, a behemoth named Mrs. Phillips marched up to him. "Ah, Mr. McLowry. Please step into the room on the left. Dr. Shannon will be right with you."

  "I’m not here to see the doctor," he protested. "I just came by to visit the others."

  "I have it on good authority that Dr. Shannon did not personally inspect your injury." She folded her arms over ample breasts and gave him a flinty-eyed look. "He needs to do so."

  "Well, that’s true, ma’am, but--"

  "I do not have time to argue, Mr. McLowry. Dr. Shannon is very busy this morning and so am I."

  "Yes, ma’am, but--"

  She pointed toward the room.

  Gabe could scarcely hide her amusement as McLowry found himself skulking
into a room not much bigger than a closet. Mrs. Phillips ordered him to remove his shirt immediately, and then shut the door as she lumbered off, presumably to cow some other patient.

  The parlor had been transformed into a makeshift hospital. Wounded men, their wives, and a few friends were there. As Gabe made her way to a chair in the corner to wait, she spoke with each of them.

  "Miss Devere." Doc Shannon beckoned to her. "Would you mind sitting with Mr. McLowry a moment? I’ve got to get some things ready and we’re a might short-handed."

  Gabe’s heart lurched. Sit with him? Get things ready? Whatever could be wrong? She dashed into the room.

  McLowry lay on the table, staring at the ceiling, his face white. His bandage had been removed and she saw where the bullet had ripped a jagged swath through his shoulder. The torn skin was red and raw and puckered, seeping blood once again. It looked worse today than it had last night, when her prime thought had been thankfulness that the bullet hadn’t penetrated and he was spared the pain and danger of removing it.

  "What did the doctor say?" Her voice was hoarse.

  "Stitches."

  "Stitches?"

  "You were right. I should have stayed in bed today." He turned a mournful gaze at her. "The doc took a look at my shoulder and said I need stitches. Do you know how awful it is to have someone sew you up like some stuffed turkey? I told him I’d be fine without, but he won’t listen. Said he’d call you instead." He started to get up. "Let’s get out of here, Gabe."

  She put her hand on his chest. "Nothing doing."

  He lay back down and threw his good arm across his forehead and stared at the ceiling again. "That’s what I figured you’d say. Traitor."

  "Thank you, Miss Devere," Doc Shannon said. "He seems a little calmer. I was afraid he’d take my head off with that six-shooter when I first told him what I had to do. He’ll be good as new in a few days."

  Gabe patted McLowry’s good arm. "Be strong, big man," she said, then winked and walked out.

  One good thing about Gabe’s visit, McLowry decided, as he gritted his teeth against the doctor’s jabs with the needle, was that he was so busy thinking how good it would feel to wring her sarcastic neck, the stitches didn’t hurt half as much as he thought they would.

  After McLowry was freshly bandaged, and given a sling to keep the shoulder still as possible for a couple of days, he entered the parlor to talk to the men as he had first intended to do.

  He saw Gabe sitting and talking with one of the miners who had taken a bad shot in the thigh. The smile she gave him made him feel so good he almost forgave her for insisting he be sewn up.

  As he stood there, the friends and relatives of the wounded men gathered around and began thanking him for his help, as if he’d done much of anything except to shoot back at men who had been trying to kill him. A large-bellied man wearing a black frock coat and white shirt crossed the room toward McLowry with his hand outstretched.

  "The name’s Cornelius Brainard." His voice boomed as if he were giving a speech. He clasped McLowry’s hand and shook it vigorously. "I’m head of the town council. The mayor, so to speak."

  McLowry didn’t know Dry Springs had a mayor. Brainard sure hadn’t made himself known while the town’s livelihood was in danger. McLowry nodded amicably and kept his opinions to himself.

  Brainard clasped his hands behind his back then rolled forward onto the balls of his feet as if to make himself taller and more important. "I've heard, Mr. McLowry, that the losses might have been far, far greater for our men if you hadn't been there to help us. Now, this town might seem to some to be a small place in the middle of nowhere, but let me say this, we do keep an ear to the ground. We've heard of you and your reputation, and let me also say this, we pay it no mind. No, sir. If you wish to remain here in Dry Springs, we'd be most pleased and honored to count you among us." He glanced at Gabe. "And your lovely cousin, too, of course."

  McLowry stared at the man as if he couldn't believe his ears. He was so used to being run out of towns that he didn't know how to respond when faced with a welcome.

  Josh Larkin, a big man, leaned in front of Brainard and held his hand out to Jess. "Thanks, McLowry. It was a pleasure to ride with you."

  McLowry clasped his hand and shook it. "Thank you, Larkin."

  "Call me Josh."

  McLowry looked more than a little stunned for a moment, then smiled and nodded at the man.

  Other men gathered around McLowry to shake his hand, and those who couldn't just called their thanks from their cots.

  Gabe heard "Job well done" and "Saved our town" more than once. She proudly watched McLowry as he stood in the middle of the group.

  She was still smiling broadly when she left the doctor’s house with him. On the boardwalk, as they headed back to the rooming house, she slipped her arm around his waist and he draped his good arm across her shoulders. McLowry was silent, as if he didn't know what to make of all this.

  Gabe knew. He had found a home. Now, she was truly on her own.

  Chapter 14

  McLowry fingered his string tie and wished the ceremony would end. He hated funerals. When a man died, a bottle of whiskey passed between a few close friends seemed like plenty. Here, the whole town turned out to remember the victim of Tanner's attack.

  He stood inside the cemetery, a purple sage-covered knoll overlooking the town to the east and the mine to the south. It was a pretty spot. Popular, too, McLowry thought with a grimace as he surveyed the number of grave-markers. Typical mining town.

  He glanced at Gabe, standing behind the Flint family. Even at a funeral he couldn't help but think how pretty she looked, a slight figure in her dark red skirt and white pleated cotton blouse, with a short black shawl draped over her shoulders and with a wide-brimmed straw bonnet, both loaned to her by Mrs. Huckleby. She raised her hand to her throat and shut her eyes a moment, and he felt a heaviness in his chest at the memories this funeral must be causing her. He wanted to take her away from here, to hold her, to see her smile again. But the eulogies continued.

  The first verse of "Shall We Gather At the River" sounding over the baked, dry desert was almost eerie. Years had passed since McLowry last heard it. Strangely out of place, and yet so right, it evoked memories of far-away places and times, and seemed to bring some comfort to those who were here. McLowry watched Gabe lift her head to sing with the others. He was surprised to see that her eyes were dry. But then, she never cried. Some things, he knew, were beyond tears, but that meant, too, that she was a long way from healing.

  The drumming song pulsed through his body. He was again in the small, white clapboard church with his mother, father, brother and little sister at his side...

  Yes, we will gather at the river,

  The beautiful, the beautiful river...

  He ached with a loneliness he wouldn't admit to, and inhaled shakily, needing to blot out the image of a past that time and war had erased so completely. But he couldn’t.

  Gather with the saints at the river,

  That flows from the throne of God.

  The group fell silent, heads bowed, as the last note echoed over the quiet desert and then died.

  People began to leave the cemetery. As Gabe stood, lost in thought, McLowry hesitated to disturb her. But this was a time for the family to be here alone, and he lightly took hold of her arm. She started, then her eyes softened as if in appreciation that he was beside her.

  He wanted, more than anything, to shower her with happiness; to bring her somewhere with no more hurting, no more misery, no more desire for vengeance; to a place where she could be the smiling, carefree girl he'd once known. But it was a land beyond the reach of a man like him.

  Her fingers touched his hand and she lifted her face to his. "It’s hard, Jess," she whispered, her words echoing his own thoughts. "I still miss them so."

  He swallowed back the lump in his throat and his grip tightened on her arm as he slowly began walking toward the horses. He kept his gaze riveted
on the distant, craggy mountains and his lips firmly clamped.

  o0o

  "I hope you’re both going to be here a week from Saturday for our celebration," Mrs. Huckleby said as she served dinner that night.

  "Your what?" Gabe asked, believing she must have misheard.

  "There's been a death," Lew Huckleby explained, "but we saved the town. Now we mourn, but by next week it'll be time to look to the future."

  "We’re going to have a picnic and games and a dance," Mrs. Huckleby added.

  Gabe glanced at McLowry. "We do need to move on, don't you think?"

  What he thought was that to stay would be a good way to keep her from looking for Tanner for a while. Maybe seeing a town pull together the way this one was doing would make her miss home enough to finally agree to return to Jackson City. But saying so would cause her to fight him every step. He lightly touched his wounded arm and winced. "You're right," he murmured. "We should leave."

  The color drained from her face as her eyes practically embedded themselves in his shoulder. "On second thought," she said, "we could wait until after the celebration. That way, we can stay here and rest."

  "Who needs rest?" McLowry asked innocently, knowing Gabe would suspect something if he gave in too easily. A twinge of guilt struck him, but not much of one.

  "I do!" she balked. "It’s been a long, wearying journey. What are a few more days?"

  McLowry nodded, trying to keep hidden how pleased he was with himself. He put a forkful of stew meat in his mouth and chewed. Dry Springs was a nice town, with good people. A few young, single men, too. The kind of man a young woman like Gabe should pay some attention to, instead of some no-account like him. Maybe he shouldn’t be trying to talk her into going back to Jackson City at all, but should convince her to stay here. If he really cared about her welfare, he would make himself scarce the rest of the week. That way, she would be even more receptive to a kind word from a good man at the dance.

  These later bites of stew didn’t taste as good as they had earlier. He pushed back his plate. He suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.

  o0o

  The fiddlers began to tune up, and lanterns were lit. In a little while, the dancing would start. It was time for Gabe, who had been helping Mrs. Huckleby set out cakes, cookies and punch for the festivities, to go back to the boarding house to change into the dress Mrs. Larkin’s daughter, Patty, had helped her sew. She’d spent the week styling and fitting it.