“You bet,” said the skinny animal wrangler, hopeful that in time the Indian would fully recover from the heart attack and stroke that had almost taken his life.
Ancient Eyes had come out of his deep coma back in Salt Lake, and now he was even able to say a few words, to comprehend some of what was going on around him. But he remembered nothing of the day he was stricken or of the events and circumstances leading up to it.
They all waited until Ancient Eyes had been taken off the train. When he was on his way to the Oakland General Hospital, the rest of the tired troupe poured off the train, pushing trunks and carrying valises. Shorty’s boys began the unloading of the animal cages, preparing them for transport to nearby holding pens.
The performers tried their best to be keep their spirits up, to be optimistic about their future and the future of the show. It was far from easy.
Colonel Buck Buchannan hadn’t been his old jolly self since his beautiful granddaughter had been kidnapped and Ancient Eyes had fallen ill. A trouper to the bitter end, the Colonel kept a stiff upper lip. He’d discharged his duties and played to the sparse crowds that attended the Salt Lake and Sacramento performances, but the custernary twinkle was missing from his expressive blue eyes, and those who knew him best doubted it would ever return.
The thick fog blanketing the coastal city on that chilly September afternoon added to the feeling of gloom. Texas Kate’s raucous laugh didn’t ring out through the high-ceilinged train station as usual. Kate didn’t feel like laughing. She didn’t feel like talking either.
With several other show people she boarded an omnibus for the short ride to the troupe’s winter quarters. From the bus’s window, she looked out at the bay, which she could barely see through the fog.
Texas Kate knew it was time she started thinking about the uncertainty of her future. She knew Colonel Buck Buchannan’s Wild West Show was on the verge of collapse. Ruth Buchannan had confided that unless the Colonel could manage to obtain substantial financing before the spring season rolled around, there would no longer be a show.
Texas Kate felt a shudder surge through her stocky body.
If there was to be no show, what would she do? Go back home to Texas? The prospect of returning to that lonely little ranch made her shudder again. For the first time, realization struck Kate. She didn’t want to go home to Texas. Ever. This was her home! This traveling wild west show was her home, her only home. These people were her family. These talented, remarkable show people who smiled no matter how blue they were, who performed no matter how sick, who loved and lived for the thrill of performing. Kind, loyal, gritty folks whose lives would be considered hard and unrewarding by ordinary people.
Well, civilians just didn’t know! No, sirree, they had no idea how it felt to claim the spotlight. To step out there before thousands of awed, anxious fans and bring them screaming to their feet! Those who’d never experienced it couldn’t possibly know how it wanned a body’s heart to be greeted and cheered and loved by admiring throngs!
Dear Jesus, Kate suddenly offered up a silent prayer, please don’t let the Colonel lose this show! Don’t let me lose it! It’s the only home I have!
The long caravan of taxis and omnibuses carrying the Colonel’s troupe began arriving, one by one, before the four-story rooming house that was to be their home for the winter season.
It was not the kind of lodging they’d been used to in the past. Back in the glory days they would have boarded a ferry as soon as they got off the train. They’d have crossed the choppy bay and checked into the fine hotels found in exciting, glittering San Francisco.
Not this year.
This year they were lucky to have a roof over their heads. There was nothing grand or imposing about the big wooden building which was sadly in need of paint. Nor was the address impressive, located only a few blocks from the train switching yards, loud saloons, a smelly wholesale fish market, a smithy’s, a furniture maker’s shop, and other run-down rooming houses. The street was narrow and noisy. Vagrants in threadbare jackets loitered under lampposts lining the sidewalks.
A heavy suitcase in each hand, Texas Kate stepped into the dim, sparsely furnished room assigned to her. The one window across the room was tightly shut, the worn lace curtains closed. Kate dropped her baggage, charged across the room, yanked back the curtains—coughing when dust flew—and raised the window.
She poked her head out. There was nothing to see but the rear of another building, a brick one less than fifteen feet away across a narrow alley. Kate sighed and turned back to look at the shadowy third-floor room: an iron bedstead, a lamp table and lamp with a smoked globe, a battered chest, and two straight-backed chairs.
Kate told herself there was nothing whatsoever wrong with the room. It just seemed a bit dreary because of the fog. Why, soon as she unpacked, spiffed the place up with a few personal belongings, and the sun came out, this would be a right pleasant room.
Kate sighed again.
She didn’t feel like unpacking. She didn’t even feel like lighting the lone lamp. She trudged tiredly over to the bed. And frowned. A big double bed instead of her usual single one. Its size gave it a lonely appearance. It was meant to be shared. Meant for two, not one. Kate sat down on the edge of the double bed, heard the springs squeak under her weight, and the sound was somehow forlorn.
Texas Kate felt a strange tightness in her chest, a worrisome lump rising to her throat. Her fleshy chin drooped low; she bowed her head. She hadn’t wept in almost thirty years, but on this dim, foggy, depressing afternoon, she felt like bawling.
A loud knock on her door snapped her out of it. Before she could respond, Shorty’s unmistakable voice called through the door, “Open up, Kate. It’s Shorty. We have to talk.”
Texas Kate blinked, swallowed, and jumped up from the bed. She ran blunt fingers through her gray-brown curls, shoved the loose tails of her blouse down inside her waistband, straightened her wrinkled brown skirts, and went to the door.
As soon as she turned the doorknob, Shorty pushed the door open wide, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. Kate’s eyes widened when he threw the bolt, locking the door.
“Kate, sit down,” Shorty commanded, taking off his Stetson and dropping it atop the scarred chest.
“Why? Is something—”
“Woman, I said, ‘Sit down.’” Shorty pointed to one of the straight-backed chairs.
Mouth gaping in shock, Kate backed away from him, turned, and hurried to the chair. When she was seated with her hands folded in her lap, Shorty walked over to the night table, snuffed out his half-smoked cigarette in a tin ashtray, then came to stand directly before Kate. Booted feet apart, he held her gaze as he hitched up his faded Levi’s and then hooked his thumbs into his leather cowboy belt.
Wondering what on earth he was up to, Kate felt a sense of unease and expectancy.
“Kate, I’ve had enough of your nonsense,” Shorty said with cool authority.
“Nonsense?” Texas Kate echoed, her eyes wide.
“That’s right. It’s time I put a stop to it, and that’s just what I mean to do.” Shorty’s eyes were narrowed, his jaw firm.
“Well,” said Texas Kate, “it appears to me you’re just gettin’ a mite too overbearing.” She started to rise.
Quick as a flash he reached out, clamped his hand atop her shoulder, and shoved her back down into the chair. “I said for you to sit down.”
Texas Kate gasped, flabbergasted. But then she smiled nervously. Nodding, she murmured, “Yes, sir. Okay, Shorty, if that’s what you want.”
“It is,” he assured her, his hand still atop her shoulder. “I got something to say, and you’re going to listen.” He abruptly released her shoulder. “I don’t want you interrupting, you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Good.” Shorty coughed needlessly, cleared his throat, and plunged ahead. “I know you loved Teddy Ray Worthington, and I know there ain’t no man could ever take Worthington’s place. But, Katie, t
he man’s dead. Your husband is dead. He’d been dead for over thirty years and nothing—”
“I guess—”
“Be quiet. I’m not finished. Worthington was killed in the War Between the States. If he hadn’t been killed, why, he’d a come home to Texas and you as soon as it was over. No man would have stayed away from you. But he didn’t come back, and he’s not ever coming back. And that’s the God’s truth, Kate.”
“Yes … I know. I guess I’ve known for a long time.” Kate was surprised at herself. It didn’t make her feel sad to say it. Teddy Ray Worthington, the sweet, gentle boy she’d married when she was little more than a girl, was dead. Had been dead for over thirty years. And now she couldn’t even remember exactly what he had looked like. “Teddy Ray died in the War. I know that, Shorty.”
Shorty reached out, touched her cheek with calloused fingers. “Honey, he’s dead, but you’re not. And I’m not.” He cupped her cheek tenderly in his hand. “I love you, Kate Worthington. I’ve loved you for an awful long time. You’re my first love, and you’re my last love. I can’t wait much longer.” His eyes and his voice softened when he added, “Ah, honey, don’t you see, we ain’t kids. We don’t have that many good years left to us. Let’s don’t waste any more of ’em.”
“Shorty, I—”
“I know, honey, I know. You need a little time to think it over. I understand that. You can’t bury one man in the afternoon and marry another that same night.” He smiled at her. “You start saying good-bye to Teddy Ray now, my sweet Katie. And when you’ve said that final good-bye, why, I’ll come for you and we’ll just take ourselves on down to the parson and get ourselves married.” Still smiling, he leaned down and kissed her. Kissed her right on the mouth.
“If you had any idea how many times I’ve wanted to do that,” Shorty said, his eyes warm with feeling. Still reeling from that unexpected kiss, Texas Kate was shocked to the roots of her grayish brown hair when Shorty suddenly winked at her, inclined his head, and added, “Marry me, honey, and I’ll show you there’s more to life than shooting glass balls out of the air.”
“Why, Shorty Jones!” Kate blushed hotly, and butterflies took wing in her stomach. “Is that any way to talk before a woman?”
“It’s the way for me to talk before my woman,” he said. Then: “I’ll make you a good husband, Katie. I can’t promise the road ahead will be easy. We both know the show’s in trouble, but whatever comes, it’ll be easier if we face it together.”
Nodding, Texas Kate smiled while tears glistened in her eyes. Flustered, happy, excited, she said, “Yes, we’ll face it together. The two of us. Together.” She smiled shyly then and asked, “Shorty, can I get up now?”
Shorty laughed. “Darlin’ girl, you can do anything you please.” He drew her to her feet, wrapped his wiry arms around her thick waist, and squeezed her so tightly she dissolved into giggles of embarrassed pleasure.
Texas Kate looped her arms around Shorty’s neck, and the pair danced happily around the room like a couple of carefree kids. When they finally grew dizzy and sagged against the wall to catch their breath, Kate realized that the gloomy afternoon fog had cleared away. Her third-floor room was flooded with bright, cheery sunshine.
And so was her heart.
Chapter 33
Starkeeper’s dark face in profile against the distant redwoods seemed somehow sadly fitting. Perfectly framed there in the train’s window, his harshly sculpted features appeared as hard as the solid wood of those faraway giant sequoias.
Pretending to doze in the seat beside him, Diane silently studied the sharply cut contours of his set, handsome face. He had remained distant and unreachable throughout the long train trip. He had sat in the seat beside her—so close she could reach out and touch him —the entire time. All the way down from the mountains of Wyoming, across the rugged canyon lands of Utah and through the high country deserts of Nevada.
In all that time, through all those countless hours of crisp, chilly mornings and bright, hot afternoons and dark, starry nights, Starkeeper had been polite but aloof. Solicitous yet detached. Civil but cool.
So near yet so far away—like a star.
Golden Star’s advice came back to Diane. When she asked the old Shoshoni woman how to change Starkeeper’s mind, Golden Star’s eyes had twinkled mischievously, and she’d said, “Why, the same way women have always done it,” and she had winked.
Diane knew exactly what Golden Star had meant. The wise, understanding old woman knew that Diane’s only chance was first to make Starkeeper desire her. To make him want her so badly he couldn’t resist taking her in his arms. And when she was in his arms, when his defenses were down, maybe then she’d be able to make him realize that she really cared, that she loved him.
Diane experienced a terrible sinking feeling. She was not going to get the opportunity.
The sagebrush-dotted desert lands had been left behind, and they were now well up into the Sierras. A violent afternoon rainstorm had ended a half hour ago. The sun was out again, shining down from a clear blue sky. But the air was cool and thin, their elevation high. Bristlecone pines grew down to the railroad right-of-way, and the train’s locomotive and several cars were out of sight around a mountainous curve.
They were nearing their final destination. Her time with Starkeeper was rapidly running out. Or had it already run out? Was the station just around the bend? Were there only a precious few minutes left before—
The moving train suddenly lurched. The screeching sound of the heavy wheels grinding to a sudden stop on the slick steel tracks was almost deafening. Startled passengers, jolted in their seats, looked about in confusion. Nervous chatter erupted.
Diane lunged up, looked anxiously out the window, and saw men on foot up ahead, madly waving their arms. Puzzled, she turned questioning eyes on Starkeeper. He shrugged but rose from his seat, stepping past her when the train pitched to a final stop.
“Stay here,” he ordered, and moved down the narrow aisle.
After hurriedly scooting over into his vacated seat, Diane threw open the window, leaned out, and watched Starkeeper as he walked along beside the halted train, moving forward at a leisurely pace, seemingly in no particular hurry. Other curious passengers poured from the coaches and joined him in the trek toward the front of the train.
In minutes Diane saw Starkeeper coming back toward her. Flanked by two shorter men who both were excitedly talking at once, he appeared to be unruffled. He reboarded the train, came down the aisle, dropped down into the seat beside her.
“A rockslide,” he said flatly. “The thunderstorm dislodged a number of huge boulders on the higher cliffs above. The loosened rocks came crashing down across the tracks. Looks as if it just happened.”
“Then we’re lucky we weren’t hit.”
“Yes, lucky,” he said, not sounding as if he thought they were lucky. “A couple of those rocks are as big as this coach and must weigh several tons each.”
“Good heavens, that’s frightening,” she said.
Then it occurred to her, if rocks weighing tons were covering the railroad tracks, how would the train be able to move? How could they get to the depot? Maybe that’s why Starkeeper had begun to scowl.
“How far are you able to walk?” His question surprised her.
“I’m not really sure. How far away are we from—”
“Too far,” he said, shaking his dark head.
“Then why ask me?”
He exhaled. “It’s going to be morning before the tracks will be cleared. We could possibly get a ride into town, but it wouldn’t do much good.”
“It wouldn’t?”
“No. You still couldn’t get out of Virginia City until these tracks are clear and this train comes through.”
Her eyes clinging to his hard, handsome face, Diane asked, “Then what will we do? Stay here on the train?”
He said, “You look pale and tired. You need a good night’s rest. My home is not that far from here. Five miles
at the most. If you feel up to walking it, we can stay the night there and—”
“Yes!” Diane could hardly hide her excitement. “Let’s do that. Let’s spend the night at your place. I think—I’m sure I can walk five miles.” A reprieve! Another chance! Oh, thank you, God, thank you!
“Let’s go then,” he said, his irritation barely concealed.
If Diane was thrilled about the unexpected delay, Starkeeper was not. He had suffered through every hour of the long train ride with her beside him. He had gritted his teeth each time her dark head had sagged tiredly against his supporting shoulder. He’d kept his eyes off her pale, beautiful face and slender, lissome body as much as he possibly could. He’d felt that even idle conversation was dangerous, so he had assiduously avoided it. Just the sound of her voice speaking his name—his real name, Starkeeper, instead of Beast—made his heart race.
And just when he thought the torture was finally coming to an end, a damned rockslide had halted the train. Jesus, if the fallen rocks could have held on to the mountainside for another ten minutes, the train would have been safely past. And then within the hour he’d have stood watching from the Virginia City platform as the train pulled away from the station. With her on board. Taking her once and forever out of his sight. Getting her out of his hair.
And out of his heart.
Damn his rotten luck to hell!
By the time they walked a couple of miles, Diane was breathing hard and her heartbeat was rapid. Walking in the mountains was not easy. They climbed up and over the rugged terrain, and the air was so thin she felt as if her lungs might explode.
“You okay?” Starkeeper cast a glance at her as she struggled up a rocky draw.
“Fi—fine,” she assured him, feeling as if she couldn’t go one more yard. “Just fine.”
Silently cursing him for taking long strides, making it almost impossible for her to keep up, she followed him over rock-strewn hillsides and through forests of thick, fragrant evergreens and tall pines. Besides, he had on boots and trousers while she was dressed in her white blouse and skirt and wore only thin leather slippers on her feet.
Nan Ryan Page 26
