Gabe stopped at the hotel entrance. “Sommers Station has a saloon?”
Bret grinned. “Just wait till you see how Faith’s little town has grown. I have a lot to tell you. And, by the way, I know what you’re thinking, Gabe, and you’re right. I’m exactly the kind of woman you think I am, but I didn’t deal in prostitution at Sommers Station. Me and Ben”—her smile faded, and she looked away—“we ran a legitimate saloon, just drinks and cards, that kind of thing. Come on. We’ll get you checked in and meet in one of our rooms. I have a lot to tell you.” She looked back up at him. “Including the fact that Faith most certainly does still love you and wants you to come home. She said to tell you she did feel your presence often, especially in the night, so that thing about your trying to be with her spiritually worked, I guess. I don’t know much about Indians and spirits and all that kind of thing, but it’s a sure thing she felt you with her. Maybe it’s the kid that did it.”
Gabe frowned. “Johnny?”
Bret smiled through tears. “No. Her second child, a son named Alex, after his grandfather Beaumont.”
Gabe stared at the woman before him. The street noises around them, the people walking by, suddenly vanished from his consciousness. He was aware only of the words Bret Flowers had just spoken, and a mixture of joy and shock rushed through his blood. “I have a son?”
Bret nodded. “Looks just like his pa, too. He’ll be four next month.” She saw the tears in his eyes, and her heart ached for him. More than that, she was worried that he might be doubly revengeful against the men who had robbed him of so much. She touched his arm. “You need to think about this, Gabe. The last thing you want to do is go charging into Sommers Station and getting yourself shot because you didn’t plan this right. Faith needs you more than ever. After all this waiting, don’t go and get yourself killed.”
He closed his eyes, now shaking with rage. A son! Faith had given birth to his son all alone, raised him without a father. He’d missed out on the boy’s first four years, and Johnny must be seven or eight by now. He couldn’t even remember how old the boy had been when he’d been hauled away unconscious from Cheyenne. Tod Harding and Joe Keller had robbed him and Faith and the children of so much. Someone had to pay for this!
He followed Bret inside, his mind reeling with confusion, joy, sorrow, hatred, vengeance. He was hardly aware of anything around him as he climbed the stairs with Bret and followed her to her second-floor room. He ignored the condemning looks of other patrons who saw them together, a painted woman and an Indian. He did not know that Bret had paid the man at the desk extra money to allow him to stay there. Management normally would not allow an Indian in a place like this—the newest, fanciest hotel in Denver.
Gabe found himself in Bret’s room. The door closed, and he removed his hat and duster and threw them onto a chair. He did not even notice the fancy room as he walked to a window, looking out on the street. He scanned the city, just another example of how settled the West was becoming, filling with whites. He had no idea what was happening with the Sioux now. Charlie Jefferson had said that new trouble had broken out over whites wanting the Sioux to give up even more land. Red Cloud supposedly lived on one of the reservations now. The biggest troublemakers were Sitting Bull, and the warrior Crazy Horse. Charlie had said there was some new officer out west making a lot of news, and a lot of trouble for the Indians. He was called George Custer.
But for the moment the Sioux were not his problem. He was sorry for what was happening to them, but he felt far removed from that life now. His focus had to be on Faith and Johnny…and on his son.
Alex! She’d named him Alex. He loved her all the more for being so thoughtful. How he ached to set eyes on her again, touch her again, be inside her again. “Tell me all of it,” he said to Bret, not even turning around to look at her. “Faith, my son, Sommers Station, what’s happened there. I want to know about Tod Harding, how many businesses he has there, what he’s done to Faith. How Joe Keller got to be sheriff.” He heard the rustle of her taffeta dress and many petticoats as she removed her cape and walked over to hang it on a hook.
“That’s what I’m here for,” she answered. “But suppose you tell me first what happened to you—how a trip to Cheyenne ended up with you in prison clear down in Indian Territory.”
Gabe turned to see he’d been right about what lay under the cape. She was a shapely woman who filled out the bodice of a dress quite attractively—but that painted face, that bleached hair. “How did someone like Faith get to be close friends with someone like you?” he asked.
Bret laughed. “The better question is how did I end up befriending a woman like Faith! She’s got me thinking like a proper woman. This is the first high-necked dress I’ve worn in years.”
Gabe finally grinned. “Something tells me you are not so changed down deep inside.”
“Damn, you have a handsome smile,” Bret replied with more laughter. “And you’re right. It’s too bad you’re my best friend’s husband. But—” She shrugged. “That’s life, I guess.” She put her hands on her hips and sauntered a little closer. “You answer my questions first, and then I’ll explain everything about Faith and Sommers Station—and how Faith and I got to be friends. Don’t worry—Faith is as virtuous and hardworking and beautiful and determined as ever. She hasn’t fallen into my way of life, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He smiled, his love for his wife obvious in his eyes. “I would never think that of Faith.” He walked over and sat down in a chair, his frame seeming almost too big for the room. “I had just sold my horses and was headed out to do some shopping for Faith when Joe Keller and someone else, probably Tod Harding, grabbed me and smashed my ribs and skull before I knew what hit me,” he told her, beginning his story. “There was a bad sandstorm that day, and I could hardly see two feet in front of me. That’s the only reason they got the better of me.”
Bret sat down on the bed and listened, her own hatred for Harding and Keller growing deeper as he talked. She did her own explaining when he was through, and one thing was clear and certain by the time they both had finished.
“Joe Keller and his men have to die,” Gabe said matter-of-factly. “And Tod Harding must also pay, not just for having me falsely thrown into prison, but for forcing Faith to sell her land to him. I promised Judge Parker I would not kill him, but that does not mean I will not find my vengeance.”
Bret got up and began pacing. “Like I said before, you need a plan, Gabe. Keller’s men are nothing more than hired guns, and they know how to use them.”
“So do I.” Gabe also rose. “And I have a couple of things on my side—a hatred like nothing they have ever known—and surprise. They think I am dead.”
Bret slowly nodded. “Won’t they be shocked when they find out different?”
Gabe calmly considered the truth of what she said. “How many are there?” he asked coolly.
“Keller and six deputies. Can you imagine a little place like Sommers Station needing seven lawmen?” She smiled in a derisive sneer. “They came to take over the town, and they’re doing it. Poor Faith’s dream is falling into ruins. No one in town knows quite how to get rid of the man. Anyone who speaks against him ends up being burned out or thrown into jail for no good reason.”
Gabe stepped closer. “Tell me something. If I was to go there and find a way to kill all those men, would the townspeople support me? Would they agree it is the right thing to do? Or would they say I should be hanged?”
Bret chuckled. “They would probably give you a medal and make you sheriff of Sommers Station. Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead in thought, “How do you propose to take on seven men?”
He shrugged. “It’s like I said. I have the element of surprise. All I need is a couple of men who would back me up. Is there anyone at Sommers Station who would do that? Is Buck Jones still around?”
“He sure is. He’s been wanting to go after Keller himself, but Faith won’t
let him. She’s afraid he’d get himself killed. But Buck is a rugged, brave son-of-a-gun, and damned experienced already in going up against outlaws and In—” She hesitated.
“Indians,” Gabe finished for her. “Do not be afraid to say it. I am just glad Buck stayed on. I know he did it out of respect for Faith, and I know he is a man I can rely on. I want you to go back and talk to him, have him pick a couple more men who can be counted on to help. There is no other way to do this but to call Joe Keller out and have it over with. I am going to take that town back for Faith, and Tod Harding will find that out the next time he comes back to Sommers Station, the men who backed him will be gone, and he will have me to deal with!”
The cold fire in his eyes made even Bret uncomfortable. “All right. I’ll talk to Buck, tell him you’re alive and need his help. We’ll both take the train to Cheyenne, and then you take the back pathways to Sommers Station. Come in at night. Take your horses into the livery. Buck still runs it. He’ll be watching for you. Faith’s house is behind the rooming house.”
“I know. We were having it built when I left for Cheyenne.”
“Do everything after dark and stay out of sight. Once you’re inside the house, you’ll have to stay there until Faith can gather Buck and whoever else wants to help. They can come after dark to a secret meeting, and you can tell them your plans.” She shivered with apprehension. “I’ll be praying you don’t get hurt or killed. Faith would be so devastated.”
“Do not worry. I am not the one who will die.”
Bret studied his size, realized this man had once been a Sioux warrior, had made war against soldiers and settlers, had ridden with outlaws. Yes, he could handle himself, and God help the man or men whom Gabriel Beaumont hated. She slowly nodded. “I hope you’re right. Are you sure you want to do it this way? We could get a U.S. marshal there, or maybe soldiers—”
“No. I have to do it!”
Bret nodded. “Sure you do.”
“I am sorry about your friend who was killed.”
Bret’s eyes teared. “Ben and I looked out for each other since we were kids. We were never lovers, just friends, but I cared about him more than anyone else in my life.”
Gabe walked over and picked up his coat and hat. “You should go back there and take over your saloon again. Do not let Tod Harding defeat you. We will get it back.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, Bret almost laughed. “Just like that?”
Gabe nodded. “Just like that.” He walked closer, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. “Can you leave in the morning?”
Bret could not help wishing she could invite this man to stay in her room that night. “Yes. But I thought you would want to rest a little more first.”
He shook his head. “I want nothing more than to see Faith again. The first night I come, I do not want any meetings. I want to be alone with her.”
Bret grinned. “Of course you do, you devil. She’d want the same.” She put her hands on her hips. “You know, I really think you can take back Sommers Station. I can’t wait until Harding returns to discover his henchmen are all buried.”
The frightening gleam of hatred came back into Gabe’s eyes, and Bret thought how terrifying it would be to be the man’s captive. Everyone had heard stories about the ways the Sioux had of torturing a man, or a woman. “How do you plan to get even with Harding without killing him?”
Gabe grinned wickedly, and Bret could almost picture him wearing nothing but a breechcloth and war paint. “You do not want to know,” he answered. He turned to the door. “What is my room number? I was too lost in thought to pay attention at the desk.”
Bret walked to a small table and picked up a key, handing it to him. “Three doors down, two-sixteen.”
Gabe took the key, squeezing her hand as he did so. “You are a good woman.”
Bret’s eyebrows rose at the irony of the statement. “Well, I’ve never heard that one before. Thanks.”
“It is I who thanks you.” Gabe turned and left, wondering how he was going to sleep that night for thinking of what Faith had been through, the cruel way Harding had plotted to overtake Sommers Station. That town belonged to Faith Sommers Beaumont, and he would get back whatever part of it she had lost, even if he had to die doing it.
Chapter Thirty-one
Faith checked on Johnny and Alex, throwing another quilt over each of them. She walked back into the kitchen to build a fire in the cast-iron cookstove, which also served as a heating stove. She turned down the draft in the chimney. When Henry Baker had built the house, he had wisely installed two doors in each of the two rooms closest to the kitchen, which was the biggest room at the end of the house. One door in each of the two adjoining rooms opened into the hallway; the other door of each room opened to the kitchen, so in winter the two rooms could easily be heated. If she left open the door to her library, next to the boys’ bedroom, it was a reasonably bearable place in winter to serve as her office, and she could heat the parlor with its brick fireplace.
Tonight she had only the cookstove going in the kitchen, keeping things pleasantly warm in spite of a cold wind outside. April had been a month of almost daily changing weather—warm one day, very cold the next. She kept a kettle of water constantly heated on the stove, and she used it now to fix herself some tea. Sleep was impossible, not just because Gabe could show up any night now, but because of his plans to take on Joe Keller. Would she have him back for one or two nights only to lose him to a bullet in the back? It sickened her to think of what he’d been through, the story Bret had told her. It was bad enough he’d been falsely arrested and forced to live in a rat-infested prison for over four years, but to think Keller had shot him and he’d been left untreated for weeks…She couldn’t blame Gabe for wanting to seek his own revenge, but the danger he would be in left her restless and shaken.
At least he would have help. She smiled at the thought of the tears in Buck’s eyes when he’d heard Gabe was alive. He’d said he would find a couple of men who could be trusted and who would not be afraid to help Gabe go up against Keller—and Buck himself was more than ready. That made her rest a little easier.
She filled the little metal tea strainer with tea leaves and dunked it into a mug of hot water, sitting down with it and staring blankly at the water as it slowly turned dark. There was so much to think about, so much to talk about with Gabe. Every night she washed and powdered herself, brushed out her hair…waited. What would he be like? Would they be strangers to each other now? Nearly five years had passed. Did he look any different? Would she look different to him?
Thank God Bret had been able to intercept his return and explain the situation so Gabe would not walk into disaster. Keller seemed to have no suspicion about why she had returned, her story about missing her friends apparently satisfying him. She had taken a job serving drinks at what was now Tod Harding’s saloon. Bret had sold out to him through his banker before leaving, and now she worked for low wages in the saloon she had once owned, its name changed to the Whistle Stop.
“It’s going to be mine again,” she’d sworn to Faith, “soon as that wild Indian of yours takes care of Keller and his bunch.”
Faith shivered at the thought of a confrontation. She pulled up the collar of the quilted housecoat she wore over her flannel nightgown, feeling a chill when the wind outside made the house creak. She drank some tea, thinking how she’d become so used to the Wyoming winds that she hardly noticed them anymore. She closed her eyes and savored the hot steam off the tea, lost in thought, when she heard the light tap at the back door.
Immediately all senses came alert, her heart pounding as she set down the cup of tea. It all seemed so unreal, the fact that Gabe could be on the other side of the door. She reminded herself it could also be Keller or one of his men, come to do to her what they had done to Bret. They wanted to break her, and she had been terrified ever since Bret’s rape that they might. She rose on shaking legs, reaching up to take a pistol from the top of a tall cupboard, where
the boys couldn’t see or reach it.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Me. Gabe,” came the reply.
Faith felt faint. There was no mistaking the deep voice. Still, could it be a trick? She opened the door just a crack, keeping the pistol ready. The reality he was still alive finally hit her. “Gabe!” she whimpered. “My God!” She stepped back as he quickly came inside and closed the door, snow on his hat and shoulders, and on the saddlebags and carpetbag he tossed to the floor. They stood staring at each other as he slowly removed his hat and set it on the table, then removed his heavy canvas duster, laying it over a chair.
“I…couldn’t quite believe this was real,” Faith told him, still clinging to the gun. She looked him over. Thinner. Yes, he was thinner, but he actually looked a little harder, stronger. She stood frozen as he came closer and pulled the gun out of her hand. He started to lay it on the table.
“The cupboard,” she said, nodding toward the cupboard behind him. “On top, away from the children.”
Gabe turned and set the pistol back where it belonged. Children. She’d said “children.” He turned back to look her over…so beautiful in the soft lamplight. She hadn’t changed at all. She was still his lovely, brave, determined, gentle, but fiery Faith Sommers Beaumont. And now she was mother to his own son. “I am so sorry for the hell you have been through,” he told her.
“Sorry? My God, Gabe, you couldn’t help it.” Why did this meeting, dreamed of for so many years, feel so odd? Those years had taken so much from both of them.
“I can’t help thinking maybe I could have kept it from happening. I should have been more alert. I should have known what Tod Harding was really after.”
“Stop blaming yourself. That’s ridiculous. I’m so sorry for you. I also should have seen the writing on the wall. What you have been through, it must have been so horrible!”
Tame the Wild Wind Page 38
