ChasetheLightning (14 page)

“All right,” Black Bowler said. “What have you got?”

Trey laid his cards on the table. Two pair.

“Damn!” Black Bowler said. “I thought you were bluffing.”

“Not me.” Trey raked in the pot, sat back as Red Mustache
dealt a new hand.

Amanda backed up a step as one of the saloon girls sashayed
up to the table. The girl wore a short, low-cut red dress, black net stockings
and high-heeled shoes. Her eyes were lined with kohl, her cheeks rouged.
Putting a hand on Trey’s shoulder, she leaned forward, giving him a glimpse of
her ample cleavage.

“How ya doin’, honey?” the girl purred.

“Fine as a flea in a doghouse,” Trey replied with a grin.

“Anything I kin get ya?” she asked.

“A glass of beer would just hit the spot.”

The girl smiled at him and batted her lashes. “Sure thing,
honey.” Straightening, she looked at the other men. “Can I get your gents
anything?”

Black Bowler ordered whiskey with a beer chaser, Red
Mustache asked for beer, the third man shook his head.

“Be right back,” the girl said, her hand trailing over
Trey’s shoulder.

“Be right back,” Amanda mimicked under her breath. Unable to
help herself, she moved up beside Trey and put her hand on his shoulder. “Hi,
honey,” she purred. “Can I get you anything?”

Startled, Trey stared up at her. “What the hell are you
doing in here?”

“I got bored waiting outside.”

“You shouldn’t be in here.” He glanced around the room.
“Dammit, decent women don’t frequent saloons.”

The other men at the table were staring at her with avid
curiosity.

“Who’s your friend?” Black Bowler asked.

“Yeah,” Red Mustache said. “Introduce us.”

“Mind your own business,” Trey said curtly. Pushing his
chair away from the table, he stood and scooped up his winnings, which he shoved
into his pocket. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, and grabbing her by
the arm, he practically dragged her out of the saloon.

“For goodness sakes,” Amanda exclaimed, jerking out of his
grasp. “You don’t have to yank my arm off.”

Trey muttered an oath. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Me? What’s the matter with
you
? I’ve never been so
embarrassed in my life. How dare you drag me out of there like some…some…”

“You should be embarrassed, letting people see you in a
place like that.”

“
You
were in there.”

“I’m a man.”

She made a face at him. “What difference does that make? I’m
over twenty-one.”

He glared at her. “I told you…”

“Oh, just forget all that macho chauvinist stuff!”

He looked at her, one brow raised, a look of amusement
dancing in his dark eyes as he stepped into the street and untied Relámpago.
“Chauvinist?”

“Never mind. Can we go get something to eat? I’m hungry.”

“Sure.” He settled his hat on his head and started walking
down the street, leading the stallion.

She was aware of the looks that came her way from the people
they passed. The men stared at her, their eyes filled with curiosity or lust.
The women looked at her speculatively, or with obvious disdain. A few looked
envious, no doubt because she wasn’t weighed down by layers and layers of
petticoats. Or maybe because she was with Trey. She didn’t miss the looks they
cast his way, or the envy in their eyes.

Trey tied the stallion to the hitch rail in front of
Gordon’s Restaurant, then stepped up onto the boardwalk. Amanda followed him
into the restaurant and they found an empty.

She followed Trey into Gordon’s Restaurant, took a seat at a
table near a window. It looked like a nice enough place. There were bright
yellow cloths on the tables, frilly white curtains at the windows. The air was
heavy with the odor of grease and onions.

Trey ordered a steak, rare, with all the trimmings. Amanda
ordered a steak, too, thinking there wasn’t much you could do to ruin a steak.

“So,” she said, “how’d you get enough money to get in the
poker game?”

“Put my knife and my hat into the pot.”

“I see you’re still wearing both, so I guess you must have
won. Do you play a lot of poker?”

“Some, now and then.”

“I’ll bet you cheat.”

“Why the hell would you say that?”

“Do you?”

A slow smile spread over his face. “Only when I have to.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed, and then grew thoughtful.
“Do you have any family here?”

“In Canyon Creek? No. My Apache grandparents are still
alive, though.”

“Did you like living with the Apache?”

“I liked it fine. But I said I wouldn’t go back until J. S.
Hollinger was dead.”

“You had your chance when you robbed the bank,” she said.
“Why didn’t you do it then?”

“Beats the hell out of me.” It was a question he had asked
himself a hundred times.

“But you’re going to try again, aren’t you? What if he kills
you, instead?”

Trey shrugged. “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

And if he was killed, where would that leave her, she
wondered.

The waitress brought their order then. Amanda stared at her
plate. The steak was the biggest one she had ever seen. There was hardly room
for the mound of mashed potatoes and green beans that came with it.

Amanda cut into her steak and took a bite. It was not as
rare as she liked, and would have benefited from a little A-1 Sauce, but, all
in all, it wasn’t bad.

Trey finished his before she was a third of the way through
hers.

Amanda gestured at her steak. “Do you want the rest of
mine?”

“Don’t you want it?”

“No.”

“Sure.” He speared it with his fork and dropped it on his
plate.

Amanda sat back, sipping her coffee, while he finished her
steak. This couldn’t be real, she thought. She wasn’t cut out for life in the
1800s. She was a city girl through and through. She liked shopping and malls
and movies and wash and wear clothes. She liked flush toilets and running water
and microwave ovens and dishwashers, and television, even when there was
nothing on. Women in the 1800s were little more than chattel, subject to their
husbands’ will, with few rights of their own. They did their laundry in rivers
or wash tubs and spent all day cooking and cleaning and sewing and making
bread, not to mention caring for their children. They never had any time to
themselves. They looked fifty when they were thirty.

Trey dropped some money on the table and rose to his feet.
“Ready?”

“Yes.” Rising, she followed him out the door. “Now what?”

“I’ll get us a room.” He took up the stud’s reins and walked
across the street to the Delaware Hotel.

Amanda hurried after him. “Us a room?” she said. “What do
you mean, us?”

“Us, as in you and me, what you do think I mean? Oh,” he
said, “I reckon you want a room of your own.” He tethered the stud to the hitch
rack and they went into the hotel.

Amanda glanced around. It looked just like every hotel in
every Western she had ever seen.

Trey stopped at the desk and asked for two rooms adjoining,
one with a bathtub. He paid for the rooms, and the clerk handed him two keys.

“I’ll have some hot water sent up right away,” the clerk
said. He stared surreptitiously at Amanda.

Trey nodded. “Obliged.” He handed Amanda one of the keys and
a couple of greenbacks. She didn’t have her credit cards now, not that they
would have done her any good. “I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna get Relámpago settled in down at the livery, and
then I’m gonna go find me another poker game, now that I’ve got a decent
stake.”

She yawned. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

“It’s been a long day. Why don’t you go upstairs and get
some sleep? In the morning, maybe you can go out and find yourself something to
wear.”

She wasn’t crazy about the idea of staying in the hotel,
alone, but he was right. It had been a long day. She was exhausted and still a
little befuddled from all that had happened since their run-in with the
Bolander’s.

“All right,” she said. Slipping the money into her pocket,
she went up the stairs.

Feeling at somewhat of a loss, Amanda stood in the middle of
the floor and looked around. It was a nice enough room, with a brass bed, a
ladder-back chair, and a chest of drawers with a white pitcher and bowl on top.
There was a colorful rag rug on the floor, a small oval mirror on one wall,
three hooks for clothes, and a chamber pot under the bed. She dropped the money
Trey had given her on top of the dresser. She dropped the key on the bed.

“Indoor plumbing, indeed,” she muttered.

A garish floral print wallpaper covered the walls. White
lace curtains hung at the single window, which looked out over Main Street. She
found a zinc tub behind a screen.

“All the comforts of home,” she said, and wondered if she
would ever see home again.

Crossing the floor, she opened the adjoining door. Trey’s
room looked much the same as hers. She started to shut the door, then decided
to leave it open.

Going to the window, she gazed down into the street. A layer
of dust, churned up by the wheels of several wagons and carriages, hung in the
yellow lamplight spilling out of the saloons. She shook her head in disbelief
when she saw a cowboy leave one saloon, mount his horse, ride across the street,
dismount, and enter another saloon.

Further down the street, she saw a buxom blonde clad in a
gaudy pink robe leaning over the balcony of a second story building. A young
freckle-faced cowboy stood on the street below, gawking up at her.

She turned away from the window when someone knocked at the
door. “Who is it?”

“We brung water fer yer bath.”

“Oh.” Opening the door, she saw a teenage boy and an elderly
man standing in the hallway, each carrying two buckets of steaming water. “Come
in.”

She stood aside so they could enter the room, watched as
they emptied the buckets into the tub.

She smiled as they finished their task. Plucking a dollar
from her pocket, she handed it to the man. “Thank you.”

The man smiled broadly as he pocketed the money. “A whole
dollar! Why, thank you, ma’am. Anything you want, just let out a holler!” He
nudged the boy. “Let’s go, Johnny.”

Amanda shut and locked the door behind them. She had no idea
how much she had over-tipped the man, but perhaps it had been a good idea. She
would have to ask Trey about things like that.

With a sigh of resignation, she undressed and stepped into
the tub. The water could have been hotter, and there could have been more of
it, but at least it was clean. She bathed quickly and felt better for it.

Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped up in a towel. The
rough fabric was dingy, but it smelled clean. After rinsing out her underwear,
she hung it over the back of the chair to dry. When that was done, she pulled
on her jeans and her shirt and crawled into bed. There was no way she was
sleeping naked in a strange bed in a strange room in a strange town.

For all that she was exhausted, sleep was a long time
coming. The sounds that filtered into the room from outside were strange, the
bed was soft and unfamiliar. What was she doing here? She was a city girl. She
had never been one for roughing it. She hated camping, though she loved driving
through the countryside. Her idea of a vacation was a hotel with room service.
She liked clean sheets and fast food and expensive restaurants. She liked
having her nails done, and lunch with the girls. What would her parents think
when her phone went unanswered? What would Rob think when she didn’t return his
calls? When he came to the house and her car was there but she wasn’t? Always
supposing those ruffians hadn’t stolen it, of course. She bit her lip.
Somewhere in her time, the surviving bad guys were searching for the man she
had promised to marry. And there was no way she could warn him.

The sheets were rough against her skin, and the blanket
smelled faintly of mildew. The mattress was hard and lumpy compared to her
Posture-Pedic. She shifted restlessly, trying to get comfortable. Her body
ached from all the unaccustomed riding and she was very tired, but her mind
kept racing. She didn't see how she was going to be able to sleep…

She woke to bright sunlight streaming through the window.
For a long moment she was totally confused, wondering where she was, and then
it all came rushing back. She sat up so quickly her head spun. It wasn’t a
dream. She was in the past. In Canyon Creek. She wondered what time it was. It
felt late.

The door connecting her room to Trey’s was open.

She padded barefoot to the door.

He was asleep in the next room, fully clothed, on top of the
covers. At least he'd removed his gunbelt and boots. His room reeked of tobacco
and stale beer—evidence of where he had spent much of the night. She wrinkled
her nose, wondering if all the strong odors of this time period would
eventually fade into the background.

He was sleeping peacefully, his strong features completely
relaxed. She forgot the odors, thinking again how handsome he was, how dark his
face and hands looked against his clothing and the dun-colored blankets.

Going back into her room, she closed the door. Undressing,
she put on her underwear, dressed again, and then put on her socks and shoes.
Looking in the cracked mirror, she grimaced at her reflection as she ran her
fingers through her hair. She needed a lipstick, a comb, a brush. Toothpaste.
She glanced at the chamber pot under the bed. Toilet paper.

A short time later, more appreciative than ever of flush
toilets, she tiptoed into Trey’s room. His boots stood in front of the dresser
in his room; his gunbelt was coiled on top, the holster empty. Knowing him as
she was beginning to, she realized the revolver was probably under his pillow.
There was a pile of crumpled greenbacks beside the gunbelt. He must have had a
run of good luck, she thought. Moving on tiptoe, she approached the dresser and
selected a twenty and a ten, and shoved them in the pocket of her jeans with
the money he’d given her the night before. He didn't stir as she left the room,
quietly closing the door behind her.

She was aware of the clerk staring at her as she walked
across the hotel lobby to the front door. She definitely needed a change of
clothes!

Outside, she glanced up and down the boardwalk, then turned
left because it put the sun at her back.

Sounds and images imprinted themselves on her mind. The
ringing of a blacksmith’s hammer, the dust-muffled clop of hooves, the rattle
of horse harness and the creak of wagon wheels as a stage rumbled through town,
the chiming of a distant clock.

The Old West. It was certainly different from what she had
imagined. Noisier. Dustier. And it reeked to high heaven. Steam rose from fresh
mounds of horse manure; the people on the boardwalks smelled as if a bath every
Saturday was not something they truly believed in.

She paused when she came to Weston’s Dry Goods. Taking a
deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. A bell tinkled to
announce her arrival.

She nodded at the man behind the counter, hardly noticing
his inquisitive stare. She walked up and down the aisles. There were shelves
filled with bolts of cloth: muslin and linen, cotton and corduroy, gingham and
serge. The odors of new cloth were a welcome contrast to the stench of the
street. Even the clerk’s cigar smelled clean in comparison. Moving on, she saw
spools of thread and packages of needles, buttons, yarn and knitting needles,
tape measures and patterns. She saw a pile of blankets on a table in one
corner. And in the back of the store, several racks of ready made dresses,
petticoats, pantalets, and long cotton stockings.

She went through the dresses one by one. Most were plain
cotton, with high necks and long sleeves. She paused when she came to a pretty
blue gingham with a square neck and short puffy sleeves edged with lace. She
picked out a petticoat from a pile on a shelf and carried the dress and
petticoat to the front counter.

“Afternoon, Miss,” the clerk said, his gaze darting over her
attire. “Will that be all?”

“Is there a place where I can try this on?”

“Try it on?” He gulped and looked around. “Ah, back there.”
He waved to a doorway behind the counter.

“Thanks.” It wasn’t a dressing room, but a storage room.
Closing the door, she slipped off her shirt, took off her shoes and jeans, and
stepped into the dress. There was no mirror, but the dress seemed to fit well
enough. Lifting the skirt, she pulled on the petticoat, then put her shoes on
and laced them up.

After running a hand through her hair, she rolled her old
clothes into a ball, tucked them under her arm, and left the storage room.

“I’ll take it,” she said.

“You want to wear the dress and the, uh…” He cleared his
throat and blushed. “The petticoat?”

“Yes, thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“Three dollars for the dress,” he said, “and one dollar for
the petticoat.”

“Four dollars!”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Prices have gone up a
little.”

Amanda stifled the urge to laugh as she dug four dollars out
of her balled-up jeans. The last dress she had bought cost a heck of a lot more
than three dollars.

The man wrapped her old clothes in brown paper and tied it
with string. “Thank you, Miss. Come again. Uh, say…” He paused, his color still
high.

“Yes?”

“Are you the new one down at the Four Deuces?”

“The new one?” she asked. “The new what?”

His faced reddened even more. “Folks talk,” he said. “I hear
tell you made quite an entrance down there last night. It’s all over town.”

“I see,” she said, her voice suddenly cool. “Well, ‘folks’
should mind their own business, shouldn’t they?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, chastened. “Hope you like the dress.”

“Thank you,” she said, and taking the parcel, she swept out
of the store.

She strolled down the boardwalk and then crossed the street.
The dress swished around her ankles when she walked. Right away, she noticed
that she was not drawing the same kind of critical attention she had earlier.
Men passing by tipped their hats at her; the women smiled.

It was after noon when she returned to the hotel. Trey was
awake, but still in bed. He lifted one brow when he saw her. “Nice dress.”

“Glad you like it, since you paid for it.” She frowned at
him. “Are you okay?”

He grunted. “I think I’ve got a bit of a hangover.”

“Really? What time did you get in last night?”

“You mean this morning?” He sat up, groaning softly. “But
it’s not so bad I can't appreciate a pretty new dress like that one. You look
right nice.”

She smiled. “Like a proper lady now?”

His answering smile was pained. “‘Cept for them shoes.” He
held his head in his hands. “I need some coffee. Maybe about a gallon of it.
Let’s go get something to eat. Want to hand me my boots?”

“Anything for the lord and master.” She effected a small curtsey.

He muttered something under his breath as she handed him his
boots.

“I think the dress is long enough to hide my shoes most of
the time,” she remarked. “Don’t you?”

“I reckon. No point in causing unwanted attention.” He
stamped his feet into his boots, stood and buckled on his gunbelt. And then he
reached under his pillow and produced his Colt, checking that it was still
loaded out of what she was sure was long-ingrained habit. She thought about
teasing him about who would sneak in and unload it and put it back under his
pillow, but decided he was in no mood for jokes.

“How’s your hand?” he asked.

She shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

“Let me have a look.”

Her heart skipped a beat as he took her hand in his and
carefully lifted the large square Band-Aid that covered the cut. “It’s healing
just fine,” he said, and dropped a kiss on her palm. A kiss she felt clear down
to her toes.

She jerked her hand away, flushed at his knowing grin. Darn
him. He knew exactly what effect he had on her.

“You ready to go?” He shoved the wad of greenbacks in his
jeans.

With a nod, she smoothed the Band-Aid back over the cut.

They went to the same restaurant they had eaten in the night
before. Trey asked for a cup of coffee as soon as they were seated. Amanda
ordered bacon and eggs. Trey decided all he wanted was coffee.

“I thought you were hungry?”

“I thought so, too.”

Amanda shook her head. “You must have had some night.”

“Yeah. Profitable, though.” He nodded his thanks as the
waitress brought their coffee, sipped his gratefully. “I won about three
hundred bucks, I think.” His gaze moved over her. “Did I tell you that you look
right pretty in that dress?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The waitress brought Amanda’s breakfast a short time later,
then refilled both their coffee cups. “Are you sure I can’t get you something
to eat, sir?” she asked.

He started to shake his head, and thought better of it. “No.
Thanks. Just keep the coffee coming.”

The waitress smiled sympathetically. “Yes, sir.”

He had finished five cups of coffee and was feeling a lot
better by the time she finished breakfast. He had one last cup and then they
left the restaurant.

Trey paused outside. “I need to go check on ‘Pago.” He
dragged a hand over his jaw. “I think I’ll go get a shave, too. Why don’t you
go have a look around, and I’ll meet you back at the hotel at say, six
o’clock?”

“Six! How long does it take to get a shave?”

“I thought I’d add a few more dollars to our stake, as long
as the cards are falling my way.”

“Oh.”

“Here.” He handed her two tens and a twenty. “We need some
supplies for the trail.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve got some business to take care of.”

She waited for him to explain. Instead, he said, “We’ll need
matches, some jerky, couple cans of beans, coffee and a coffee pot , a couple
of canteens. Oh, and a couple boxes of .45 cartridges, and anything else you
think you might need. Can you remember all that?”