A Heart So Wild (4 page)

“W
ELL, there's another one, Charley. You reckon we'll have us another shoot-out?”

Charley spit a wad of tobacco into the spittoon by the porch rail before he eyed the stranger coming up the street. “Just might, Snub. There's a couple more in town right now. Just might at that.”

The two old-timers leaned back in their chairs in front of Lars Handley's store. Handley's porch was the spot where they whiled away most of every day talking about whoever passed near to where they were sitting. From their spot they could see both ends of the only street in town.

“You reckon he come up on one of them trail-drives?” Snub wondered.

“Don't look the type to be pushin' cows,” Charley replied. “That man's a gunfighter if I ever saw one.”

“There's been many a gunfighter turned cowboy, and vici-versi.”

“True.”

Snub could see by Charley's expression that he was sticking to his first opinion and had
agreed only to be agreeable. “I wonder how many he's killed?”

“I wouldn't ask him.” Charley grunted. Then suddenly his eyes narrowed. “This one looks familiar. Ain't he been through here before?”

“I believe you're right, Charley. A couple a years ago, wasn't it?”

“More like three or four.”

“Yeah. I remember. Came in late one night, checked into the hotel, but didn't stay. I remember you remarked on the vagaries of the young.”

Charley nodded, pleased his remarks were weighty enough to be remembered. “Can't recall the name he put down at the hotel, though. Can you?”

“Foreign soundin', wasn't it?”

“Yeah, but that's all I remember. Now it's gonna nag me all day.”

“Well, looks like he's goin' for the hotel again,” Snub said as the stranger pulled up rein there. “Why don't we mosey on over and get a look-see at the desk book?”

“Not now, Snub,” Charley replied testily. “Ackerman's missus will just shoo us out.”

“Ah, don't be a pissypants, Charley. The witch probably ain't even out of bed yet. And Miss Courtney won't mind if we sit a spell in the lobby or take a peek at the book.”

“Pissypants,” Charley grumbled. “He's probably changed his name by now—like they all do—so my curiosity ain't gonna get satisfied anyhow. But if you wanna get yelled at by that shrew Harry married, then get up off your bee-hind and let's go.”

 

A little smile tugged at Courtney's lips as she closed the door to the guest chamber she had just finished cleaning. She had found another newspaper. Rockley didn't have its own paper, and the only news she ever got from the outside world was from listening to the conversations of strangers passing through or from reading the rare newspaper left behind by hotel guests. That didn't happen often. Newspapers were as good as books if you lived in a town that didn't have its own paper. Most folks held on to theirs. Sarah had a collection of papers, but she never shared them, so Courtney always tried to find one first.

She hid the newspaper under the pile of dirty linens she had to wash and headed for the stairs, planning to slip the paper into her room downstairs before she tackled the laundry.

At the top of the stairs, Courtney slowed, taking notice of the stranger waiting below. Then she stopped altogether and did something she rarely did. She stared at a man. She even caught herself doing it and would have chided herself, except that she couldn't stop staring. For some reason, this man captured her interest like no one ever had.

The first thing she noticed was that he stood straight and tall. The second thing was his lean, hawkish profile. But the promise of his features being so very striking was what held her attention the most. He would be disturbingly handsome, she was sure of it, though all she could see was his left profile. And he was dark, from the black vest and pants to the bronze skin to the black hair that fell straight
to just below his ears. Even the gray shirt and neckerchief were dark.

The man had not removed his wide-brimmed hat to come into the hotel, but at least he wasn't wearing any spurs. That was strange, for the saddlebags tossed over his shoulder suggested he had ridden into town, and Courtney had never seen a man who didn't ride with spurs.

And then she noticed what she hadn't seen before because she'd been able to see only his left side. He wore double belts, which meant he undoubtedly had a gun strapped to his right thigh. That might not mean too much, for most men out West carried guns. But the guns, combined with the look of him, made her think he wasn't wearing a gun just for his own protection.

Courtney didn't like gunmen. She thought of them as overgrown bullies—which most of them, in fact, were. That breed of man believed they could do or say anything. Too few people had the courage to upbraid them, since you could get shot that way.

A person wouldn't think a small town like Rockley would see too many gunmen, but Rockley did. There had even been two gunfights in recent years. Cowboys passed through Rockley on their way to the wild cowtowns, Abilene, and recently Newton. Those cowtowns drew every type of riffraff, and next year Wichita would become a cowtown too, and it was just seventeen miles away, so Courtney couldn't see any letup in the steady stream of traffic.

Working in the only hotel in town, she couldn't avoid gunmen. One had nearly raped
her, others had stolen kisses. She'd been fought over, pursued, and propositioned most shockingly. That was the main reason she wanted desperately to leave Rockley and why she wouldn't marry any of the Rockley men, not even if that would have gotten her out of the hotel, where she worked from morning to night as no more than a maid.

Having signed the register book, the stranger put down the pen. Courtney immediately turned and hurried back down the hall to the back stairs that led directly outside. It was inconvenient, going this way, but she didn't want to come in through the kitchen below, where she might run into Sarah and be scolded for dillydallying. No, she would have to go around the hotel and come in through the front lobby. But she would do that after the stranger had gone up to his room.

She wasn't sure why she didn't want him to see her, but she didn't. It certainly couldn't be because she was wearing her oldest dress and her hair was a mess. She didn't care what he thought of her. He would probably be staying only one night. Most of the drifters did. And then she'd never see him again.

Courtney moved to the front, ducking under the dining-room windows on the side of the hotel so that she could peek around first and be sure he was gone. She edged her way to the front door, not even realizing she still had the bundle of dirty linen in her arms. She just wanted to get to her room, hide her newspaper, then get back to work.

Out in the street, Charley and Snub watched Courtney's antics. What the hell was she doing,
peeking through the front door instead of just opening it, then suddenly slamming back against the wall, as if hiding. But then the door opened all the way and the stranger stepped outside, crossed the porch to the steps, and went to his horse. Watching the gunman, they didn't see Courtney dash into the hotel. Then Snub noticed she'd gone.

“What was that all about?”

Charley was watching the stranger lead his horse toward the stable. “What?”

“Sure looked like Miss Courtney was hidin' from that feller.”

“Well, shoot, can't blame her none. Look what happened with that owlhoot Polecat Parker. Snuck into her room and scared the daylights outta her with his drunken pawin'. Don't know what mighta happened if Harry hadn't heard her scream and grabbed his shotgun. And then there was that dumb cowboy who tried to grab her right off the street and ride away with her. Sprained her ankle real bad, fallin' off his horse. And then—”

“We both know she's had her share of trouble since she's been here, Charley. She probably figures this one means trouble, too. So she's stayin' outta his way.”

“Maybe. But did you ever see her leave the hotel before just to avoid a man?”

“Can't say as I have.”

“Then maybe she's interested in this one.”

“Gawddammit, Charley, that don't make sense.”

“When did women ever make sense?” Charley chuckled.

“But…I thought she was gonna marry Reed Taylor.”

“That's what her stepmamma'd like to see happen. But it ain't gonna happen—I heard it from Mattie Cates. Miss Courtney likes Reed about as much as she liked Polecat.”

Inside the hotel, Courtney took a quick look at the register book lying open on the desk before hurrying on to her room. His name was Chandos. That was all, just the single name.

“H
URRY, will you, Courtney? I don't have all day. And you promised you'd help me pick out material for my new dress.”

Courtney looked over her shoulder at Mattie Cates, who was sitting on the overturned wash-barrel. She gave an unladylike snort. “If you're in such an all-fired hurry, then get over here and help me hang these sheets.”

“Are you kiddin'? I've got my own wash to do as soon as I get home. And Pearce's pants are just as heavy as can be. My arms would never last if I started now. Don't know why I married such a big man, anyhow.”

“Maybe because you love him?” Courtney grinned.

“Maybe.” Mattie grinned back.

Mattie Cates was a contradictory mixture. The petite, blue-eyed blonde was usually friendly and outgoing, but she could be quiet and reserved, too. Seemingly independent, at times just as bossy as Sarah, she also had hidden uncertainties only her closest friends knew about. Courtney, of course, was a close friend.

Mattie firmly believed you got out of life what you put into it, that you could do anything you
set your mind to doing, and she liked to say, “Do for yourself, for no one else will.”

Mattie had demonstrated the truth of that philosophy by overcoming her own worrying nature and winning Pearce Cates two years ago, when he'd been one of the half-dozen men smitten with Courtney.

Mattie had never held Pearce's infatuation with Courtney against her friend. She'd been so pleased for Courtney when she'd changed from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan, and she thought it hilarious when men who had barely noticed Courtney was alive suddenly fell all over themselves when they saw her.

Mattie sometimes thought of Courtney as her own creation. Not the beauty, of course, for that had come from growing several inches in the last two years and from working so hard that the last of her baby fat melted away. But Courtney wasn't as timid and nervous as she used to be, nor did she take everything heaped on her as if she were deserving of it. It had taken prodding and pushing and bullying, but Mattie liked to think she had put a little spunk into her friend.

Why, Courtney even stood up to Sarah now, not always, but certainly more than she used to. Even Mattie couldn't get away with bullying Courtney anymore. Courtney had come to realize how much courage she had.

Courtney set the empty laundry basket on the washtub next to Mattie. “Well, Miss Impatience, let's go.”

Mattie cocked her head to the side. “Ain't you gonna change your dress or fix your hair or somethin'?”

Courtney pulled off the ribbon holding her long brown hair, retied it, and then smoothed down the rest. “There.”

Mattie chuckled. “I guess you'll do. Your old dresses still look better'n my best calico.”

Courtney's cheeks pinkened slightly, but she turned away so Mattie wouldn't see. She was still making do with the wardrobe she had owned four years ago when she first came to Rockley, even though she had outgrown it entirely and the colors were all the light pastels favored by younger girls. If her clothes hadn't been so big to begin with, she wouldn't have managed, but she had been able to take everything in to fit her much slimmer figure, and some of her gowns had had large enough hems to let down. Most had had to be lengthened, though, with scraps of material.

But Courtney's old clothes of silk and muslin, China crêpe and mohair, her finely laced collars, fichus, and basques, even her summer and winter wraps of superior velvet, were all out of place in Rockley. And Courtney had never liked to stand out in a crowd. Her looks made her noticeable as it was, and she was dismayed that her clothes only made things worse.

Rockley was a small town, having only recently acquired two saloons and a brothel. There was a marked lack of young marriageable women, and so Courtney found herself being courted seriously in the last two years.

When Richard, the young blacksmith, asked her to marry him, she was so surprised she nearly grabbed him and kissed him. An honest-to-God proposal of marriage, when she'd thought never to be asked! But the blacksmith
merely wanted a wife. He didn't love her. Too, she didn't love him, nor did she love Judd Baker or Billy or Pearce, all of whom wanted to marry her. And she certainly didn't love Reed Taylor, who was currently pursuing her. He took it for granted that he would win her.

“Did you ever hear of a Mr. Chandos, Mattie?”

Courtney blushed, wondering why the question had popped out. They were walking toward the front of the hotel, and Mattie replied thoughtfully, “Can't say as I have. Sounds like a name out of one of your history lessons, like those ancient knights you used to tell me about.”

“Yes, it does have a certain classical ring to it, doesn't it?”

“Sounds kinda Spanish, too. Why'd you ask?”

“No reason.” Courtney shrugged.

Mattie wasn't having any of that. “Come on, where'd you hear that name?”

“Oh, he checked into the hotel this morning. I just thought you might have heard of him before, that he might have a reputation.”

“Another bad one, huh?”

“He did have that look.”

“Well, if he's older, you could ask Charley or Snub. They know all the fast guns with the worst reputations, and you know how they love to gossip.”

“He's not that old, maybe twenty-five or -six, I guess.”

“Then they prob'ly wouldn't know, but if you just wanna know how many men he's killed—”

“Mattie! I don't want to know any such thing.”

“Well, but then what
do
you want to know?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

“Well, God sakes, why'd you ask?” A moment later, she said, “Is that him?”

Courtney's pulse leaped, then returned to normal. Across the street, at Reed's saloon, leaning against a post, was one of two other gunmen recently come to town.

“No, that's Jim Ward,” Courtney explained. “He came in yesterday with another man.”

“Jim Ward? Now, that name does sound familiar. Wasn't that one of the names on those wanted posters Wild Bill sent down from Abilene last year?”

Courtney shrugged. “I never did understand why Marshal Hickok sent us those posters. We've never had a town marshal.” No one in Rockley wanted that job, which was why so many outlaws, or “owlhoots” as Charley called them, felt free to travel through Rockley. “It wouldn't matter if he is wanted. Who is there in Rockley to arrest him?”

“True,” said Mattie, “but it helps knowin' who to stay clear of.”

“I stay clear of
all
of them if I can.” Courtney shivered.

“Well, naturally, but you know what I meant. If Harry had known Polecat Parker was wanted, he woulda shot him instead of just runnin' him out of town.”

Courtney steeled herself against the mention of that name. “Don't remind me. Sarah was in a snit for months when she heard about the
thousand-dollar reward that someone in Hays City collected on that vile man.”

Mattie laughed. “Sarah is always in a snit about somethin'.”

The two girls crossed the street, hoping to get out of the hot sun. It was nearing the end of summer, but Kansas didn't seem to know it. Courtney didn't get out in the sun often, except to hang out laundry, but even that was enough to give her a light golden tan each summer. It went very well with her honey gold eyes.

Lars Handley smiled at the girls as they entered his store. He was waiting on Berny Bixler, who acknowledged them as well. Four other customers milled around, no one in any particular hurry.

Just about anything you wanted could be found in Handley's store, provided it was of a practical nature. The only thing he didn't sell was meat, but Zing Hodges, an ex-buffalo hunter, had opened a meat market next door. In the front corner of Handley's, a man could get a shave or haircut, and if the need arose, a tooth pulled by Hector Evans. The barber rented this small corner of the store from Lars because he'd never made up his mind whether he wanted to stay in Rockley, and so he didn't want to spend the money to build his own shop.

Mattie pulled Courtney straightaway to the wall where the old wanted posters were hung.

“There, see?” Mattie beamed. “Three-hundred-dollar reward for Jim Ward, wanted for ‘murder, armed robbery, and other numerous crimes in New Mexico.'”

Courtney studied the poster and its pencil sketch of a man that did in fact resemble the
Jim Ward staying at the hotel. “It says wanted dead or alive. Why do they do that, Mattie? It just gives all those bounty hunters a license to kill.”

“They have to, or no one would bother huntin' criminals. You think someone is gonna go up against these hard cases if they know they can't kill 'em if they have to? There's always a fight, and if the bounty hunter or marshal or whoever isn't good enough, he's dead. He takes that chance. If he is good enough, then he gets his man and the reward—and that's one less criminal to bother decent folks. Would you rather no one tried?”

“No, I suppose not.” Courtney sighed. She never had answers for Mattie's reasonable arguments. “It just seems so harsh.”

“You're just too tenderhearted,” Mattie said, “but you can't tell me you were sorry when Polecat Parker was killed.”

“No.”

“Well, they're all like that, Courtney. It's better for the rest of us if they're dead.”

“I…guess so, Mattie.”

Mattie grinned. “You're hopeless, Courtney Harte. You'd pity a snake.”

Courtney shook her head. “A snake? I don't think so.”

“Well, anyhow”—Mattie tapped the poster—“you'd think this fool would change his name, with so many of these posters around.”

“Maybe I like my name the way it is.”

The girls gasped and whirled around. Jim Ward stood right next to them, looking none too pleased. Of medium height and lanky, with close-set eyes over a hooked nose, he had a long,
untrimmed mustache reaching clear to his jaw. He yanked the poster down, crumpling it and then stuffing it in his back pocket. He turned his cold gray eyes on Mattie, who was speechless for a change. Courtney managed to find her voice. “She didn't mean anything, Mr. Ward.”

“Maybe I don't like bein' called a fool no time, no how.”

“You gonna shoot me?” Mattie sneered, suddenly reckless.

Courtney could have pinched her black and blue. Her knees turned weak.

“That sounds like a right fine idea,” Ward said hotly.

“Here now!” Lars Handley called out to them. “I don't want trouble in my store.”

“Then stay where you are, old man,” Ward ordered harshly, and Lars stopped where he was. “This here is between me and Miss Bigmouth,” Ward finished, and Lars eyed the rifle he kept under the counter. But he didn't reach for it.

No one else moved, either. It was deathly quiet. Charley and Snub had come in right after Ward did, and were sitting in the barber's section enjoying the show.

Hector, finished with his customer's shave, found his hands had began to tremble. The customer wiped his face clean, but he made no move to rise from the chair. Like the others, he quietly watched the drama unfolding.

Courtney was near to tears. My God, had she just moments before felt sorry for this man because someone would probably shoot him someday?

“Mattie?” She tried sounding calm. “Mattie, let's go.”

“Uh-uh,” Jim said, his hand snaking out to grab one of Mattie's braids. He jerked her face very close to his. “Bigmouth ain't leavin' until she apologizes. Then I'll tend to you, honey. Well?” he demanded of Mattie.

Courtney held her breath, seeing Mattie's blue eyes spitting sparks.

“I'm sorry,” Mattie finally said quietly.

“Louder.”

“I'm sorry!” the girl shouted furiously.

Chuckling, Jim Ward let her go.

But those close-set eyes lit on Courtney now. He smiled disagreeably.

“Now, why don't you and me go somewhere where we can get better acquainted, honey? I've had my eye on you since—”

“No!” Courtney blurted out.

“No?” His eyes narrowed. “You're tellin' me no?”

“I—I have to get back to the hotel, Mr. Ward.”

“Uh-uh.” His fingers moved up her arm, then clamped around it tightly. “I don't think you understood me, honey. I said we was gonna get better acquainted, and so that's what we're gonna do.”

“Please—don't,” Courtney cried as he started dragging her out of the store. He paid no attention to her cries.

“Let go of her, Ward.”

“What?” Jim stopped, looking around. Had he heard right?

“I don't repeat myself.”

Jim continued to stand there with Courtney, looking around until he found the speaker.

“Two choices, Ward,” the man said casually. “Draw or leave. But don't take up a lot of my time deciding.”

Jim Ward released Courtney, freeing his right hand. He reached for his gun.

He was dead the next instant.