by Lydia Olson
“Penny Lane, Penny Lane,” Will sang awkwardly. The gang laughed, and he looked around at them, wide-eyed. “Please, can we go? I’d like to make her my wife, you know.”
“Your mother would love her,” Jack said. “A real church-going lady, that one.”
“If Rebecca hears that we’ve gone to the Cage again, we’ll really be hearing about it,” Chase said, shaking his head sadly. Their sister had tried talking them into avoiding the place.
“What Rebecca doeshn’t know won’t hurt her,” Carson slurred. He felt all of the tension leave his body. He had a really good hand. “I’m all in.”
Chase sighed. “I’m out of money.”
“Offer me something good, and I’ll let you play your hand,” Carson replied magnanimously.
“How about a day’s worth of chores?”
“Done deal,” Carson said. The only time he ever had a day off, was when Carson was sick. Chase set his hand down, showing his three fives and two sevens. “Not bad. However…” He set down his four queens proudly.
“Damn,” Chase muttered as the entire gang laughed.
“You shouldn’t play when you’re out of money, son.” Connell laughed, throwing his head back. It was a common occurrence when Chase would attempt to play without any money left.
“Let me know when you want that day,” Chase said.
“Will do.” Carson beamed. He was going to cash in on it very soon. All of these late nights, combined with the early mornings, were really taking a toll. He thought about sleeping late, and then coming into town for lunch.
Jack’s eyes widened as he looked at someone entering the gambling hall. “Will you look at who’s just arrived?” he said, his lips parting in a wicked grin. Carson turned to see five of the Redfords.
They were all talking to Jonas, and ordering drinks. They hadn’t noticed the Powells. If they had, then they’d be giving them hundred-yard glares. Instead, they were at their leisure, easy grins on their faces. Carson felt anger rise within him—after all, Jonas was talking to them like they were old friends. So the Redfords were welcome here, but not the Powells?
“How come they don’t get the third degree when they come in?” Harlem muttered.
Carson tried to feel it—the thing that would stop him from going after the Redfords—hesitation, that is. It wasn’t there. He’d had quite a bit to drink, and it had erased all of his already-low inhibitions. He stood up, throwing back his drink. All of the other Powells watched him, wide grins on their faces. Carson laughed to himself and then turned to the Redfords.
“Hey! Redford!” he yelled. “Heard that your mother got a job at the Bird Cage! Heard she’s got quite the following of gentleman callers.” The rest of the Powells hooted and cackled at the joke.
Otis Redford, when he saw who it was, grinned slowly. His eyes were dark, almost black. His brother, Morgan, and the other Redford gang members didn’t wait for him; they just ran in Carson’s direction. The Powells all stood up, hot and ready for a fight. Chairs fell back as they moved. Suddenly, the two gangs were a mass of tangled bodies.
One moment, Carson was throwing a punch at Otis Redford’s face, and then the next moment, someone was pulling him up and off Otis. He struggled against the person in his attempt to get at Otis. He turned to find Sully, the bar tender, holding his arms.
“Lemme go!” he snapped. Sully didn’t respond, just started to walk him out.
“Get out!” Jonas yelled. He was shoving Morgan Redford in the direction of the door. Jonas and his men forced them all out of the hall. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun.
Carson, suddenly freed, spat blood out of his mouth. He glared at Jonas.
“I don’t want any of you back here,” Jonas said. He was white with anger—and maybe pain from that hand that he was clearly favoring.
“Jonas,” Carson said, searching in his drink-addled mind for something to smooth things over.
Jonas glared at him. “No. Stay away.” Jonas went back inside his establishment, slamming the door after him.
Otis Redford grinned at Carson. He looked barely ruffled by the fight. And those strange dark eyes gleamed in the darkness. Carson was reminded of a wolf, or a coyote—he had feral eyes. He tilted his head to the side, raising his hat in a salute to Carson.
“Until next time,” Otis said, laughing and turning away. The man sounded completely sober. All of the Redford gang followed him without a word, each of them shooting the Powells dark looks. Carson tried to come up with something smart, to start another fight, but he’d been knocked on the temple. He felt … jangly, like his head wasn’t screwed on quite right. He wiped the blood at his lip, which has been split open again. It smarted, and had acquired a heartbeat of its own.
“Lesh head on home, guys,” he mumbled, his words slurred from alcohol and injury. He held out a hand to help Will get up. Will stumbled, giggling drunkenly.
“No, not yet,” he said. “Penny—”
“I think we’re done for the night, Will,” Carson insisted. Already, he felt shame for what he’d done. While his sisters were likely to be in bed, he knew that he’d acted like a thug. He deserved whatever disappointment would be meted out.
The night sky was dark, the sun having disappeared entirely while they were in the gambling hall.
They fumbled with ropes, untying their horses, heaving themselves into their saddles, nudging boot heels into flanks to get their sleepy mounts to move out. There was a cool breeze, and the moon was a bright sliver. In the distance, coyotes howled. It sounded like they’d found their prey, and were likely surrounding it.
The Powell gang began their ride home. Carson made a fist, finding that his hand was unable to curl up all of the way. It felt swollen. He shook it, wondering how much longer it would be able to put up with his nightly fights.
There had been a time when Carson rarely fought anyone. He’d been good, and he wondered where that man had gone, seemingly forced away by the necessity of fighting to protect what was his.
He wondered if that man was gone forever—that he’d become this violent entity, fighting at the drop of a hat. He felt like he’d lost the person that he’d been. After all, he’d stopped going to church. He’d stopped believing that if you acted like a goodly person, you got any kind of reward.
In order to protect those who were good, you had to fight.
Chapter Three
Silas
It was early morning when the Dooley gang rode into Tombstone. They usually rode at night, to avoid the heat of the day, arriving just in time for the town to wake up.
This town was their favorite stop, since they’d been able to make friends with the sheriff, who was willing to turn a blind eye on their work. Michael Dandridge liked money. And Silas and his brothers had it, in spades.
“What do we need to do?” Lowell asked him.
“We’re going to pay a visit to our old friend Dandridge,” Silas said as all of his brothers looked in his direction. “There might be a little misunderstanding in regards to our involvement with those murders.”
They all nodded, and then urged their horses in the direction of Dandridge’s home.
They rode up to the sheriff’s house—it was a small building, painted sky blue, with white trim. It was nice to see that the money Silas had given Dandridge was being put to good use. After all, Dandridge had no family to speak of. Silas glanced at Jay, who was the youngest.
“Stay out here and watch the horses,” he said. Jay nodded. Silas glanced at their mounts—they were all top dollar: dark bay horses from Spanish bloodlines, coats gleaming, mouths frothing around long-shanked silver bits. They looked like horses that the horsemen of the apocalypse would ride in on.
Silas walked up to the front door, giving it a knock. It was painted red—no nicks or scrapes on it. Everything about the place hinted at care being taken. His brothers, Wyatt, Scott, and Lowell, were all behind him with weapons unholstered. When no one answered, Silas kicked the door in, and the Do
oleys entered Dandridge’s home.
Inside, the shades were all drawn. The wood floors were well-swept, and everything was kept in its right place. It was an interesting look into Dandridge’s character. If the Dooleys were ever to take a fall, Silas knew—they would be hard-pressed to point a finger at Dandridge.
They found him in his parlor, sleeping off a night of heavy drinking on the settee. He had his gun out, and pointed at them. He looked up at them blearily, as if he was still drunk. Silas nodded to Lowell and Wyatt, who each grabbed an arm. Silas pulled his hunting knife out of his boot.
“Whash this, Dooley?” Dandridge slurred. Silas felt a wave of loathing for this man.
“Just a talk, Michael,” Silas said. “We know that our last turn in town ended rather … abruptly.”
“You talking about the Mortons?” Dandridge asked. He was not a stupid man, after all. Silas walked over to the window, throwing open the curtains. The sheriff blinked in the bright light.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” Silas said, turning his knife so that sunlight glinted off the sharpened blade. “What I’m here to ask is whether you’re going to remember it and hold it against us?”
“Well,” Dandridge muttered. “That all depends. How much are you willing to pay for me to forget about it?”
Silas took out a wad of cash, thumbing through it, right in front of Dandridge’s face. The sheriff shook his head. “It’ll take a bit more than that. The Mortons were well-liked around these parts. Law-abiding citizens. Murdered in cold blood, some say.”
Silas sighed, and pulled out a bit more, adding it to the handful.
“Will that do?” He raised his eyebrow. He was willing to pay, but he was going to pretend like he wasn’t. The less that he had to hand out, the better.
Dandridge nodded. “I believe it will.”
Silas said to his brothers, “You can let our friend go.”
Dandridge fell back on the couch. Silas threw the money at him, and he caught it, clutching it to his chest. “It’s good to see you again, Michael.”
“And you as well, Silas.” Dandridge wasn’t smiling, but gave Silas a calculating look. Dandridge wasn’t stupid, but a shrewd business man—one who’d just made quite the draw for doing nothing.
“Let’s go, boys,” Silas said, heading out of the house. His brothers fell into step beside him.
“Where are we off to?” Lowell asked as they swung into their saddles.
“We’re going to stable our horses at the boarding house, and then we’ll go on over to the first gambling hall that we see,” Silas said. There was no pushback on this. They never questioned Silas’s decisions. They relied on his instincts—it was how they’d all survived. It had been his idea to begin cattle rustling, after their mother had died, and their father had all but disappeared. After several years at it, they were just beginning to see the fruits of their labor. Now, aware that his star was rising, Silas intended to enjoy himself.
Chapter Four
Mia
The morning after her arrival in Tombstone, Mia woke early. She washed in the basin that was in her room before putting on her light blue muslin dress. It was one of her nicer ones.
Beside Lily, who dressed so fashionably, she felt like a bumpkin. Not to mention, Lily’s frosty demeanor hadn’t melted even the slightest bit the day before. She’d been forbiddingly quiet as she had shown Mia about the house.
Mia steeled herself as she braided her dark hair. When she glanced in the small looking glass, she recognized the woman there. She was the same person, just in a different place for the first time in her life.
She put on her apron, getting ready to be a help around the house. She figured that it was the only way to get Lily to like her—to be useful to her. She sighed and then went downstairs. Lily was in the kitchen, where a pot of oatmeal was boiling over.
She looked frazzled, rocking the tiny baby, Isaiah. He was making unhappy mewling sounds.
“Here. Can you take him?” Lily asked bluntly. She was already holding him out to Mia.
“Of course,” Mia said, taking the baby in her arms. He was warm, and smelled milk-sweet. “Hello, little one.” She peered into Isaiah’s blue eyes, and began to walk about, rocking him. His hair was soft as a chick’s down, and his cheeks were round and chubby. “You are the sweetest.” She left the kitchen, going into the parlor. The windows in there had filmy, white lace curtains. As she bounced the baby, she looked out into the yard. The sun was bright, already beginning to warm. She hummed to Isaiah.
Behind her, she heard Jonas come into the kitchen, greeting his wife. He and Lily began talking in low voices. Mia listened as they argued, their voices raised. Isaiah smiled at her and gurgled, while Mia eavesdropped on her brother and his wife.
“You will not get in the middle of it,” Lily said.
“I have no choice,” Jonas snapped. “They come into my hall, and they tear it apart—every night. I need some of them on my side, to keep the others out.” Mia wondered who they were talking about.
“You can’t trust the Redfords, Jonas. It’s like making friends with the devil.”
“And how would you know that, Lily?” Jonas’s voice had grown cold, harsh.
“I know a lot of things, Jonas. I’ve come by them the hard way,” she said. “You promised me that you wouldn’t hold my past against me.”
“You could have done laundry or sewing,” Jonas snapped.
“I would have died of starvation,” Lily snarled. “You have no idea. You’re a man. You don’t have the same limitations as a woman.”
“I don’t have expensive tastes, you mean.” Mia was shocked—the Jonas that she knew would never say something so cruel.
“You know nothing.” Lily’s voice was full of bile. Mia froze as Lily stormed out of the kitchen. When she saw Mia, her eyes seemed to flare. She held out her arms. “Give me the baby.” Without a word, Mia handed Isaiah over to his mother. Lily, baby in her arms, stormed upstairs. Isaiah began to cry.
Mia was surprised that Jonas could be so … cold to his own wife. She supposed that she didn’t know much about their relationship. She didn’t know anything about Lily. She didn’t want to judge her for her past. After all, if Mia hadn’t had her mother and the boarding house, who knew what kinds of decisions she would have been forced to make?
She went into the kitchen to be with her brother. Jonas sat at the table, bolting down a bowl of oatmeal. Mia walked to the pot on the woodstove, ladling herself a bowl and then taking it over to sit by her brother.
“So, I suppose you heard everything,” Jonas mused.
“Or thereabouts.”
Jonas nodded, finishing his breakfast. Mia ate slowly, the oatmeal sticking in her throat.
“You want to accompany me into town?” he asked.
Mia glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “I thought I was here to help with Isaiah,” she said.
“Lily’s going to be in a foul mood all day,” he explained. “It might be better if you’re not around for it.”
“Very well.”
“Excellent. Finish up, and I’ll go get my hat.”
* * *
