The Dove

by Kristy McCaffrey

  “He’s sleepy.”

  “This is Dylan,” Belle said to Claire. “He’s about eighteen months old.”

  “Is he yours?” Claire asked, surprised that Belle Mason harbored a child in her saloon. In and of itself it didn’t shock her—she and Jimmy had grown up in such an environment—but savvy and self-centered Belle had never struck Claire as the maternal type. Perhaps she and Maggie had more in common than their ongoing feud.

  “No. He’s just staying with me for a time.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Claire moved beside Belle, aware of Logan behind them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him cross his arms to wait.

  “He’s had a rash on his arms and legs that’s been getting worse.” Belle pulled the covers down to show Claire.

  Dylan’s large brown eyes watched her with caution and dark hair framed his face in a tousled mess.

  “Hi there,” she said. “My name’s Claire.” Gently she examined the red, flaky patches on the inside of his arms. “Do you like peppermint sticks?” She pushed the blanket farther down to inspect his legs. Some of the patches were cracked, exposing raw skin. Claire thought quickly about a treatment.

  Dylan nodded at her question.

  “I think I might have one in my bag,” she responded. Although she rarely treated children, she did keep a few sweets on hand to bribe Jimmy.

  She handed him the candy, then began to clean his legs with soap and water—working quickly when he squirmed and tried to push her away. Once that was completed, she rubbed a mixture of petroleum jelly and boric acid gently over the red splotches. She'd learned of this method when she overheard the town doctor speak of it one day while in the mercantile.

  “All better now.” She smoothed the hair from his forehead, trying to calm him. “Try not to scratch it no matter how much you want to.”

  Dylan didn’t speak as he sucked on the peppermint stick. Claire smiled at the sweetness of him, wishing she could hold that part of Jimmy’s childhood in her hands once more.

  “Will he be all right?” Belle asked as they moved to the door.

  “Yes.” Claire gave her the tin with the jelly in it. “Use this two or three times a day. Keep the cracked areas clean and don’t let him play outside until they’ve healed, otherwise he’ll risk infection. Don’t let anyone else who is sick come around until the sores are healed. I’ll try to come by tomorrow and see how he’s doing.” Claire wiped her hands on the cloth Belle offered.

  Logan loomed close and Claire caught the wink he gave Dylan. The boy held his hand out and Claire sensed Logan’s uncertainty before he grasped the tiny fingers within his considerably larger ones.

  “Shriff?” Dylan asked, startling them all with the question. Claire wondered how much the boy usually spoke.

  Logan’s confusion was plain to see.

  “Sheriff,” she whispered.

  Understanding lit Logan’s face. He turned back to the boy. “No. Just a friend.”

  Dylan watched with unwavering eyes while Logan gently released his hand.

  “You take it easy, partner.” Logan gently pinched his cheek and grinned, then followed Claire out of the room.

  The image of him with the boy stayed with her. She liked it, liked the idea of Logan one day becoming a father. Unbidden an image struck her of holding a babe—a precious blend of herself and the man behind her.

  In no time they were out on the street and headed back to the White Dove. Logan took her hand, and together they went toward the only home Claire had ever known.

  Chapter Ten

  When Claire entered the White Dove, Betsy was nowhere to be seen and Jack must have returned to wherever it was that Jack went, Claire had never been sure. Logan steadied the swinging doors then shut the main door and locked it. He struck a match and lit an oil lamp on one of the tables.

  “Do you trust Belle Mason?” he asked.

  Claire set her bag on the bar as the soft, flickering light chased away the shadows, but not all. “No, of course not.”

  “Then why in the hell do you run up there anytime her girls are sick?”

  One-Eyed Jack’s voice bounced in her head, his obsession with the Bible coating his words. Do not announce your intentions to the world, Claire. Do what you must because it is right. It is just. Your reward is in God’s hands, not that of men. Claire hesitated. She sensed this wasn’t the answer Logan wanted to hear. She wondered if he would even understand—most of the time she certainly didn’t.

  She reminded herself that Jack frequently spoke with his head in the clouds, never with his feet firmly planted on the ground. But maybe that explained her fondness for him.

  She had never really told anyone how much she enjoyed helping people, how obligated she felt to do something to ease their discomforts. She wanted to be a doctor and was realistic enough to know that the attention given to the prostitutes in town might be her only chance to make a difference. They needed someone to help them. Who better than her?

  “I can’t stand by and do nothing,” she said. “Life isn’t as simple as you would have it.”

  “Haven’t you ever wanted more than this?” He watched her, his gaze demanding, and it banished her fatigue with a jolt. She felt both uncomfortable and exhilarated.

  “You seem awfully determined to change my life, Logan. It doesn’t need changing.” But the statement didn’t ring true. Her life was already altered, Logan’s presence the irrefutable proof.

  He closed the distance between them and placed his hands against the bar behind her, boxing her in. “I’m not good watchin’ from the sidelines.”

  His heat surrounded her and she remembered the previous night, filled with feverish need and the memory of Logan’s mouth on hers. “This isn’t going to work,” she whispered.

  “So you see into the future now?” His mouth hovered inches from hers.

  “I don’t expect you to understand my life.” Cornered, a part of her rebelled, while the other part urged her to give in to temptation. What did it matter anymore? Claire almost laughed out loud but fear welled up inside her. Logan’s nearness soothed and hurt at the same time. Her heart, her body, felt too much for him and an instinct, long employed throughout childhood, took over—self-protection.

  “You’re going to leave,” she said. “Eventually.”

  Logan stared at her mouth. “Probably. But I’m here now, and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Anticipation thrummed through Claire. Logan represented a side of the world unknown to her, a world filled with excitement and longing and possibilities, all packaged in an irresistible combination. His lips came to hers, and she didn’t push him away.

  Logan savored the texture of Claire’s mouth despite her less than overwhelming response. He needed to touch her. He knew she was tired, he knew she needed to rest, but for a brief moment he wanted to feel her close. She didn’t deny him so he deepened the kiss, careful to keep his desire under control. He concentrated his attention on her lips, her cheeks, and the feel of her neck. When he felt his resolve slip, he pulled back.

  With a hand buried in her hair, he brought his forehead to hers and took a steadying breath. What he wanted was pretty simple really—he wanted to make love to her. He wanted to forget all the reasons they shouldn’t, all the reasons he shouldn’t, because he knew if he pushed the yearning between them he’d have her flat on her back in no time.

  He inhaled her scent, putting him in mind of the forests, the mountains and the streams that stretched across the West—the essence of freedom in the palm of his hand. He remembered something his ma had told him about the smell of a baby and how irresistible it was to the mother, how it bonded them. It had been a long time since he’d wanted a woman so much, a long time since the wanting had turned into a bond that tugged at more than just a craving to touch Claire and satisfy the physical arousal of his body.

  He wanted more than that from her. Much more. His stomach tensed at the thought.

  He wasn’t ready to desir
e a woman as much as he had Dee. He wasn’t ready to serve his heart up on a platter, to be roasted and sliced at the whim of fate and Claire’s own reluctance toward what lay between them.

  He backed away. “You’d better get some rest.”

  Her eyes clouded with confusion.

  “Do you need help with your bandage?” he asked.

  “No. I’ll change it in the morning.” A pensive expression crossed her face. She paused as if to say something then moved around him.

  He let her go.

  “Goodnight,” she said softly as she walked toward the kitchen.

  “‘Night,” he murmured and stared at the bar.

  * * *

  Claire entered the one room cabin she occupied behind the saloon, lit a lamp then bolted the door. Her quick glance took in the disarray of the room, and in an effort to occupy her mind with something other than Logan she grabbed a rag from a wooden cabinet in the corner and wiped down the table and two wooden chairs that sat near the window. Stiff from her injury, she carefully closed the curtains and felt, at last, truly alone.

  Tears blurred her vision as she opened a chest and withdrew a nightgown. Carefully, she folded down the covers on her bed, the white sheets threadbare and the comforter never sufficient to keep her warm during the winter.

  She glanced at the smaller bed on the far wall, near the door, where Jimmy had slept. There was a good wool coverlet on it, hand knitted by Claire herself. She hadn’t liked knitting, and proof of her lack of skill was in the many mistakes present; but Jimmy had needed to stay warm, so Claire had painstakingly suffered through the endeavor. With a swipe at her wet cheeks she took the blanket off his bed and held it close, as if the material itself was her little brother, then sank onto her bed.

  What if she never found her ma or Jimmy? In truth, the thought had never occurred to her. What would she do? As much as she had wished for a different life, a respectable life, she could never consciously wish away the only family she had. Maggie Waters had many faults, but she was still her mama. And Jimmy…

  Claire squeezed her eyes shut as the tears pressed forth. She couldn’t bear it if she never saw her brother again, with his blond mop of hair so like her own, his impish smile and amazing adaptability to the circumstances in which he lived. She loved him more than her own life.

  He was the only one.

  Claire loved her mama, but had always struggled to measure up to whatever standard Maggie held in her head regarding her children.

  Startled by the revealing thought, Claire realized she’d always wanted to make her mama proud of her ability to heal the ills and everyday maladies of the prostitutes in town. Didn’t it in some way validate that these women were worthy of something? Didn’t it in some way validate that her mama was worthy? The pride and shame had warred inside Claire for years. And beneath it all, she craved the approval of her mama. She’d craved it desperately all her life.

  Maggie had done nothing when Sandoval attacked Claire months ago, the incident slicing Claire’s life into two parts. Before, she had believed that, despite everything, Maggie loved her children and would do whatever she could to protect them. Now, Claire didn’t hang onto such fanciful notions. Closing the curtains earlier had hidden her in a cocoon of her own making, but only now did she comprehend she was truly without any foundation.

  Why hadn’t she become a soiled dove? Why hadn’t she given in to the mindless survival mode that drove the other women to exist in this lifestyle? Claire didn’t know. Somehow she’d been determined to hold onto herself in spite of the many influences around her. Claire didn’t like selling out.

  But was she really so different from her mama? There were parts of Maggie she would never know, parts of her that were a part of Claire. Was she prostituting herself by giving away her medical services for free? By standing in the background and mopping up the disarray that Maggie left behind?

  When she stood to lay Jimmy’s blanket onto her bed, her thoughts wandered to Logan.

  She never saw the world so clearly as when he kissed her—an existence full of prospects and magic. The magic of hope. Was it foolish to harbor such a notion?

  As she sat on her bed, a soft tap at the door made her jump. She unbolted the door and opened it a crack.

  Ellie Hicks.

  She’d wanted it to be Logan.

  * * *

  Logan leaned against the windowsill in the darkened room and stared at the building where Claire lived. He occupied Maggie’s old room above the saloon, with a frilly white quilt on the bed and one wall papered with a pattern of roses. She had a love of feminine décor and a love for her children—the proof lay in the proximity of her room to their small cabin. Perhaps there was more to Maggie than seemed obvious. For Claire’s sake, Logan sincerely hoped so.

  Claire hovered in his mind, ever-present, and he wasn’t sure what to do about his searing attraction to her.

  Rubbing his eyes, he glanced out the window again. Immediately his senses shifted when he saw a figure move toward Claire’s door. The person knocked, then went inside. Logan grabbed his revolver and headed downstairs.

  * * *

  “Ellie, what are you doing here?” Claire asked. “Please, come inside.” She stepped aside to let the older woman enter. “Are you feeling better?”

  Ellie removed the many-colored shawl she had draped over her head. Her grayish-red hair was combed and pulled back, and Claire was glad to see some color had returned not only to the woman’s cheeks but also to her eyes. Some, but not much.

  “I seem to be recoverin’ fine, missy.” Ellie’s lips spread into a forced smile. “I never got to thank you proper-like for what you did. I’m thinkin’ you saved my life.”

  Claire felt the sadness in the woman and she wanted to cry. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have saved more,” she said quietly.

  Ellie waved that off, but her eyes glistened and it broke Claire’s heart. “That child was a mistake.” But her words came out in barely a whisper. Ellie leaned her head down and covered her face with one hand; she took a deep breath. “No, it weren’t no mistake.” She looked at Claire again. “I wanted the babe. And I’m realizin’ that I can’t do this no more. I never thought I’d want to get out, I never thought I was good enough to get out, but I just can’t do this no more.”

  Claire silently agreed. Ellie had always been the strongest of any of the women her mama employed. Strong in mind, strong in spirit, and strong in attitude when she dealt with the customers. Watching her now, broken and spent, Claire felt keenly the sacrifice Ellie had made all these years. It was painfully obvious the sacrifice had been too much.

  “I hate to do this to you, missy, ‘specially now,” Ellie said. “I figure you’re hopin’ to reopen once I can work but…I just can’t work no more. I’m sorry. I know this is a hard time, what with Mags gone. If there’s anything else I can do, I’ll surely try.”

  While Ellie’s admission pushed the White Dove further into the ground, it also restored Claire’s faith in the human spirit. The will fights back, even in the depths of despair. That was something Jack would say.

  “I understand,” Claire replied. “I’ll manage, somehow. You can stay here, for now, but I honestly don’t know how long that will be possible. I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet.”

  “Mags did everythin’ wrong in raisin’ you, and you turned out so right.” Ellie smiled. “I’ve never been much of a God-fearin’ woman, but he musta sent you to us, a dove from the heavens.”

  Ellie turned and left. Claire stood rooted in place, staring at the shut door, moved and surprised by the woman’s assessment of her. She had never really thought of herself as the salvation of the White Dove girls.

  A knock at the door startled her for a second time. It was a good thing she hadn’t climbed into bed yet. “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Logan.”

  She opened the door. “What are you doing here?” Anticipation engulfed her.

  “Worrying about you.” His eye
s glittered. His unbuttoned shirt hung open around the waist and Claire caught a glimpse of the black harness he wore underneath, as well as the larger gun in his hand. Altogether he appeared dangerous and far too appealing.

  He entered, and she closed the door behind him.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  Logan had been watching her. She was strangely comforted by it.

  “It was Ellie.”

  “Problem?”

  “No. A ray of hope, actually. She’s decided to leave the business.”

  “That doesn’t sound good for the White Dove.” He holstered his gun. With his shirt open he looked like a renegade who would carry her off into the wild. Claire gave herself a mental shake and wondered why her imagination was so active when it came to this man. The kiss earlier in the evening wasn’t helping matters either.

  “Maybe not,” she said. “But it’ll be good for her. That’s the important thing.”

  Silence ensued, and Claire became acutely aware of their close proximity and Logan’s minimal clothing. She tried not to look at the hair curling down his chest, but her eyes had other ideas.

  Logan’s gaze shifted to the single shelf above her bed. “Are those your books?”

  Claire glanced over her shoulder and nodded.

  He reached past her, took down one and scanned a page. “I sure never learned this in school.” His eyes held amusement when he glanced at her.

  “Doctors are expected to know Latin.” She wondered how he did that, how he entranced her with just a look.

  Extending his arm past her again, he pulled down Gray’s Anatomy. Claire steeled herself as disappointment hit her; she had thought he might reach for her.

  Logan flipped through the book and something fell from it, clanking to the floor. Claire leaned down and picked up a key.

  “Is that yours?” he asked.

  Claire shook her head. “No.” Taking the book from him, she sat on the edge of her bed and flipped through it again. She found a small piece of paper with the words written: BOX 23.