Deborah Camp (28 page)

How could one not change when life took such sharp turns and dangerous curves? With nothing to hold onto, she had careened and wobbled. Only recently, just before Reno had showed up again, in fact, had she felt in control of her life and able to stand tall once more.

Yes, she had changed, but so had Reno and Sally and everyone else. Sally was more self-centered, Reno
was more cavalier, and she was more … Well, she admitted she was more exacting than she’d been as a girl. But she was
not
intolerant and certainly not someone who sat in judgment on everyone else.

Shoving away from the fence, Adele kicked at grassy tufts and strolled toward the depot buildings. Her insistence rang false, and she realized she was not convinced of her own sterling character. Maybe she did judge people. Perhaps she even misjudged them. And yes, she tended, to be less tolerant of certain behavior. God knew, she could be mule-headed.

Was she difficult to please, a trial to live with? Was Reno justified in leaving her? Perhaps the saloon was an excuse, a haven for him away from her. She believed in her heart that he had enjoyed their nights of lovemaking, but they weren’t enough to hold him.

Stopping to stare up at the cloud-shrouded moon and dusty stars, she wondered what he was doing and if he was doing it alone or with someone. Loneliness enfolded her. She tried to shrug it off, but it clung tenaciously to her spirit. She closed her eyes for a moment to see his face, his smile, to hear his voice and his laughter.

She wanted to cry again, so she hurried inside to busy herself with sweeping the kitchen, wiping off the stove, tidying the silver and glassware. Anything but sleeping in that bed without him. Without him that bed had become her worst enemy, a feather-stuffed vessel of bittersweet memories, curdled hope, and yesterday’s dreams.

Standing beside the shed he’d built, Reno waited until he was sure Adele was safely inside before he
struck out for the saloon and his single bed on the second floor.

What had she been thinking about, staring up at the moon like that for so long? Him, he hoped vainly. He wanted her to miss him. He wanted her to pine for him, weep for him, fight off madness for him. Because, God knew, he was slowly going mad from wanting her.

Good thing he had the saloon to keep him busy or he would have been reduced to drinking and making a fool of himself. Working like a man possessed, he had thrown himself into getting the saloon ready for its opening night, when he would thumb his nose at Taylor Terrapin as he welcomed the good people of Whistle Stop into the Lucky Strike.

Ah, it would be a sweet, sweet victory, if only Dellie would share it with him. But she would spoil it, as she spoiled every day he spent without her. She wouldn’t come to the saloon on opening night or on any night, leaving him to pretend he was proud and happy and successful, when in truth he was ashamed and miserable and a failure.

And it was all her fault.

She’d made him love her, knowing good and well that she would never allow herself to love him. He’d never be good enough for her. She’d made up her mind about that before he’d set foot in Whistle Stop, and try as he might, he had not been able to alter her opinion.

Entering through the back door of the saloon, he locked it behind him and ran up the stairs to the room that held a bed, a bureau, a chair, and a kerosene lamp. Home, sweet home.

He flung himself on the noisy bed and kicked off his boots. Hell, he’d go ahead and tell her about the money he’d made and that he owned this place. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose anymore.

Reaching out, he ran a hand over the empty expanse of mattress beside him and held back a groan of self-pity. In Deadwood folks had said that he lived up to his name. Everything he touched turned to gold. His fingers curled into an empty fist. The Midas touch was gone. Gone with Dellie and his stupid boyhood dreams.

Sitting alone at the central gaming table, Reno nursed a shot of whiskey and shuffled the deck of cards over and over again. When someone tapped at the glass in the fancy double doors that graced the front of his establishment, he didn’t even glance up.

“We don’t open until eight tonight,” he shouted.

“Not even for an old saloon hag?” a woman shouted back.

Reno cocked an ear, then grinned. Dear Dead-eye Doris McDonald. He shoved himself up from the table and went to unlock and open the doors. Grinning, he extended a hand to the woman standing outside.

“Come on in here. How did you know I was wishing for a friendly face?”

She placed her hand in his and crossed the threshold. Dressed in the simple clothes she wore at the restaurant, she glanced around at the fancy, new-smelling surroundings. “My, my, ain’t this pretty! Looks like you’re all set for the big opening night.”

“All set,” he agreed. “I was having a drink. Want one?”

“No, thanks.” She sat at the table, eyeing the whiskey and cards. “I’m not usually a betting woman, but I’d wager my face isn’t the one you were wishing to see.”

Sitting opposite her, he acknowledged her remark with a lift of his brows and a wincing smile. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I’m sure. I mostly use liquor to dull the pain of living, but I’m doing fine now and don’t need it. Besides, I should keep my wits about me. How about you?”

He raised the squat glass and flung the contents to the back of his throat, then set it solidly onto the table. “I need it.”

“I figured as much.” Mrs. McDonald settled more comfortably into the barrel-backed chair. “She’d take you back in a second. She misses you, too. Why, she floats around that place like a ghost, pale and lifeless. Is running this saloon more important to you than being with your wife?”

He traced a wet circle on the tabletop. “The Lucky Strike is not our problem.”

“Pride,” the woman said, spitting out the word as if it were rancid meat. “That’s your problem. Hope it keeps you warm at night.”

“It doesn’t, but I’m not the only one suffering from pride. She’s full of it, too.”

“I don’t get it,” Mrs. McDonald confessed. “Guess you have a yearning to die, ‘cause that’s what this place will do for you. Taylor has probably already given that hired gun of his orders to plug you. He won’t allow this saloon to stay open. I’d understand it better if you didn’t have anything to live for, but
that boss lady of mine fires you up. Doesn’t take a scholar to see that. So why do you want to die and break her heart?”

“I’m not going to die.”

She shot out a hand and clutched his forearm. “Yes, you are. Listen to me. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve told you that Taylor doesn’t fight fair. He’s already riled about me working at the depot. Close this place and go back to your wife. Live long and happy. Don’t be a fool by trying to beat the Devil at his own game.”

“I suppose Dellie isn’t planning on coming here tonight.”

Mrs. McDonald frowned. “What do you think?”

“So she’s been sad?”

Mrs. McDonald sighed and pushed at his arm, clearly exasperated, then she let go. “You deaf? I’m giving you good advice here, mister.”

“And I surely do appreciate it.”

“Then why ain’t you going to take it?”

“Because I can’t turn back now. I can’t fold and expect to hold my head up in this town. I think Dellie will eventually see that I know what I’m doing, that everything I promised her has come true, and she’ll forgive and forget.”

“It won’t get that far. You’ll die before she has time to see the error of her ways.”

He chuckled. “Oh, ye of little faith. I’m going to show everyone in this town that they don’t have to be slaves to Master Terrapin. It’s time somebody stood up to him. Otherwise Whistle Stop won’t be fit to live in.”

“There are plenty of other towns. You and your missus can move to one and be happy.”

“But Dellie has put down roots here. She wants to make Whistle Stop her home, and by God, she deserves a town equal to her spirit and generosity and goodness.” He felt himself blush, hearing his flowery words and seeing their impact on Mrs. McDonald. Her eyes rounded and she blew out a low whistle.

“Saints preserve us, I see the light. You’re doing this for her, ridding her nest of the bad, old chicken snake.” She slapped a hand on the table. “Well, hell. I should have seen it. Even pride don’t usually scramble a man’s brains. But love can do it.”

In the next second an explosion rocked the room. Reno instinctively grabbed Mrs. McDonald and shoved her under the table. Glass tinkled, sparkling on the floor like diamonds, followed by the diminishing sound of horses. Reno helped Mrs. McDonald to her feet.

“Sorry about that.”

“What happened?” She whirled and surveyed the shattered glass panels in the pretty double doors. “That bastard. Didn’t I tell you? This is only the beginning.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he assured her, moving to the broom closet tucked in a corner behind the bar. “Broken windows don’t frighten me.”

“Well, it’s spoiled your opening. Folks will be here in a couple of hours and this is what they’ll see.” She extended her hands, indicating the ragged spikes of glass in the doors.

Reno swept up the debris and handed a dustpan to Mrs. McDonald, who helped him dispose of the broken
glass. “I’ll fix the doors before eight.”

“And just how will you do that?” she asked.

He crooked his finger at her and carried the dustpan with him to the back room. Dumping the bits of glass into the trash barrel, he then turned to Mrs. McDonald. Winking, he nodded sideways, guiding her attention to six glass-paneled doors leaning against the wall.

Mrs. McDonald broke out in laughter. Doubling over, she cackled until tears streamed from her eyes, then she popped him playfully on the shoulder with her fist.

“You just might be a match for that old chicken snake and his friends,” she said, beaming at him. “I pray you’ll be able to keep one step ahead of him.”

Reno rested a hand on her shoulder and leaned down until he was nose to nose with her. “Don’t tell Dellie about this. It will only add to her worries. But you can tell her that you have faith in me, that you believe I’m smarter and more cunning than any old chicken snake.”

The woman surprised him by placing a gentle hand alongside his face. Her eyes softened with sentiment. “She’s just afraid you’ll get killed, same as the rest of us who’ve developed a fondness for you.”

“I know, but I want her trust and faith.”

“Her love isn’t enough?”

A sadness stole through him, and he moved away from her, evading her touch. “Mrs. McDonald, you and I both know that love is a shallow suitor if it’s not accompanied by trust and faith.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue with him, then shut it with a definite click of her teeth. A frown
pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Damn, I hate a man who’s right most of the time.”

He laughed and walked with her through the main room to the damaged front doors. Several people stood outside, examining the ruins.

“Look at them,” Mrs. McDonald said under her breath. “They act concerned, but they really don’t care. Not enough to stand up against Taylor with you.”

“Who needs them when I’ve got you?”

She elbowed his ribs and laughed. “I’ll see you tonight, you charmer you. And don’t worry. The boss lady won’t hear about this from me.” Glancing at the people milling outside, she chuckled. “I imagine she probably already knows about it. You can’t belch without somebody running to the restaurant to tell her about it.”

Reno grimaced, realizing she was right and that he couldn’t keep unpleasant news from Dellie’s door. “Tell her I hope to see her tonight.”

Mrs. McDonald rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, like my papa used to say, ‘You hope in one hand and piss in the other and see which one gets filled first.’”

She laughed when Reno pantomimed kicking her in the rump as she made her exit.

A
pproaching the two men on the boardwalk, Adele cocked an ear when she realized they were discussing Reno’s saloon.

“Terrapin can’t blame a man for accepting a free drink,” Ned, the blacksmith, was saying to Chester, the feed store owner.

“That’s right,” Chester agreed. “This town can support two saloons. Did you hear that tonight is Ladies’ Night at the Lucky Strike?”

“What’s that mean?” Ned asked, scratching at his black beard.

“All drinks are free for ladies. My wife says she wants to go and sample the ginger ale. She ain’t never had none before and she’s always wanted to taste it.”

“Free drinks, huh? Maybe I can talk Maybelle into going with me. After all, it’s not like the Black Knight. The Lucky Strike is more like going to a dance or a party. No cussing or spitting or grabbing gals’ asses—Oh, afternoon there, Mrs. Gold.” Ned ducked his head, noticing too late that a lady was present.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Adele smiled stiffly
at the two men as she edged past on her way along the boardwalk. “Pardon me.”

She felt their eyes on her as she walked toward the General Store. The town was abuzz about the opening of the Lucky Strike Saloon last night. She had heard little else since early this morning, when her own workers had giggled and spoken in hushed whispers about the fun they’d had dancing and singing the night away.

Adele had been surprised to find Helen, Colleen, and Mrs. McDonald already at work when she’d entered the restaurant. She knew they hadn’t returned from the saloon until well after midnight, because she hadn’t been able to get to sleep until a couple of hours before dawn.

Foolishly she’d entertained a hope that Reno would arrive at her door and beg her to come to the opening. She would argue but give in, and they would put aside their differences long enough for a few dances.

More foolishly she hadn’t surrendered that hope until three in the morning, when exhaustion had doused the feeble flame and she’d fallen into a dreamless slumber. Feeling like a sleepwalker, she had managed to get through the morning and noon trade before leaving the restaurant to do some errands. Actually she’d taken a nap and was only now venturing out in the late afternoon to pick up a few items at the General Store.