Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona (22 page)

Shouts of men filled the street, and cries of women and children echoed them. People raced past carrying armloads of belongings, and glass crashed as windows were broken in a nearby building. Christy glanced that direction and saw items being tossed out the broken panes into the dirt. Men hurried out of businesses now threatened by the fast-moving fire. It appeared as though the entire block must be consumed, and no telling when or if it could be extinguished.

She couldn’t believe Nevada had stayed to rescue the very man who’d put Sara’s life in danger. Most people would’ve left him to burn and never thought twice about the matter. Not Nevada. Christy’s heart swelled with admiration. Her gaze sought the open door, wondering what was taking the cowboy so long to exit.

Ah, there. A man carrying another across his back. “Come, Sara. Nevada may need help.” She urged the girl forward toward the pair backlit by the fire.

They hurried across the street and Christy looked around, praying they wouldn’t run into Townsley. Though she didn’t really know the man, she knew his type. He wouldn’t hesitate to claim Sara as his property and drag her to whatever hovel he set up until the saloon was rebuilt. In a few more steps they reached the two men, one kneeling over the other lying prostrate on the dirt in the middle of the street. When the man looked up, Christy gasped.

John Draper sat back on his haunches, his body covered with soot and ash. “Miss Christy.” He nodded, but his face wore a pained expression. “Glad you made it out of there.”

She clutched his arm. “Where’s Nevada? He was carrying this man and sent us on ahead. Why isn’t he with you?”

John glanced back. “Thought he’d be out by now. I took this feller off’n him. He must still be inside.” He pushed to his feet and headed back toward the door.

Men jostled each other to get away from the front of the building. Fire leapt from the second-story windows, and the roof of the saloon collapsed as Christy stared. She jumped to her feet and raced after John, fear dogging her steps.

Please, God, don’t let Nevada die.
The prayer hammered at her mind, echoing repeatedly as sparks and bits of charred wood fell to the boardwalk.

John disappeared through the open doorway, and Christy stopped on the threshold, horror freezing her feet in place. The velvet curtains, once the pride of the establishment, blazed from floor to ceiling. Flames engulfed the entire bar, and the staircase started to crumble as a timber fell from above and smashed against a step halfway down. How could someone live through this inferno?

Christy took a step back as the heat scorched her, but she continued to peer inside, terrified of what she might see. A gust of wind parted the smoke for an instant, and she focused on John leaning over a still figure. Nevada. She sucked in a big gulp of smoke and retched.

Strong hands from behind gripped her upper arms and drew her away from the doorway. “Lady! Get out of there! What you tryin’ to do, kill yourself?” A sooty-faced man in rough miner’s garb peered at her from under bushy brows.

She fought against his grip as tears streamed from her burning eyes. “My friend is still in there.”

“Well, he ain’t gonna live much longer if he don’t get out soon. Nobody’s gonna go in there, lady. It’s too dangerous.” He backed away, pulling her with him in a determined grip.

A few seconds later the bent form of John Draper lumbered through the open doorway with Nevada slung over his shoulders. Christy wrenched free from the miner’s grip and raced to help him. She clutched Nevada’s hand as John crossed the street and moved far from the blazing buildings. He gently laid the cowboy on the boardwalk of a side street. “He’ll need water, ma’am.”

“Yes, of course.” Christy straightened and gazed around, unsure where to turn. What to carry it in, if she even found the precious liquid? This town was burning due to the lack of water. All they had was carried in on wagons in barrels. No water main had been run from the mountains yet, and no streams flowed nearby. The founders had built this city because of the silver and gold mines, with no thought of the life-giving fluid.

She turned to John and beckoned down the street. “His boardinghouse is at the end of the next block and Miss Cashman will surely have water. Can you carry him that far?” She knelt beside Nevada and brushed the hair off his forehead. His breathing was ragged and his cough, hoarse.

“Yes, ma’am, I surely can.” John leaned back over the prone figure, then stared at Christy. “But where’s your young lady friend?”

Christy’s heart plummeted. How could she have forgotten Sara and the danger facing her? She pushed to her feet, peering among the melee of people thronging the streets. Standing on her tiptoes, she continued to search. But no one resembling the golden-haired girl stood out in the crowd.

“She’s gone. Oh dear Lord, watch over her, please.” Christy whispered this second prayer of the evening as despair tore at her heart. A glance at John holding the motionless body of Nevada in his arms gave her renewed direction. She’d have to trust God with Sara and tend to the man who’d saved them both.

“Come. This way.” She beckoned to the blacksmith and led the way down the side street toward the Russ House. If it was within her power, she wouldn’t lose both of them in one night.

Nevada fought his way through the pain, his lungs burning and his limbs aching. All he could see was blackness, although he could hear a melodic voice singing somewhere in the distance. Had he died in the fire and arrived in heaven? He moaned and the singing disappeared. No. He wanted it back.

“Nevada? Please, you’ve got to fight. I don’t want to lose you.”

Had he really heard those words, or were they all part of the dreams he’d been drifting in and out of? Some were nightmares, cloaked with dark figures floating like wraiths, their burning eyes accusing as they drifted past. Others were filled with warmth as a sweet voice called him toward the light. He moaned, struggling to the surface of this newest dream, pulled ever upward into conscious thought by the whisper willing him to awaken.

“Nevada. Can you open your eyes?” Soft fingers stroked his cheek, and then a cool cloth touched his forehead.

His spirit was drawn to that voice like a moth to a flame. A gentle hand gripped his and held it. Warmth passed from his arm and shot straight to his heart. His eyelids fluttered, and harsh morning light from an uncovered window woke him to the reality of the place where he lay. Not heaven, but his room at Nellie’s. His tired heart gave a small bound at the vision sitting beside his bed.

“Christy?” The word came out as a hoarse whisper. He licked his dry, heat-chapped lips. “Water.”

The auburn-haired angel reached for a glass on a nearby chest of drawers and slipped her hand under his head. She positioned the glass, waited for him to take a sip, then eased him back on the pillow.

“I’m so thankful you’re finally awake. You gave us all quite a scare.”

“What…?”

“John got you out before the saloon collapsed. The doctor will be back in a moment to check on you. He’s been busy all night since the fire.”

He passed his tongue back over his lips again. How his throat burned even after the water. “How many dead?” The words came out with a croak.

“Only one we’ve heard of so far.” Footsteps clumped outside the room, and John crossed the threshold of the open door. Christy motioned to the big man. “Nevada’s awake. He’s worried about how many died in the fire. Have you heard?”

The blacksmith stepped forward to the edge of Nevada’s bed. “Just one man, and I’d say it’s a miracle for sure.” He laid his hand on Nevada’s head. “How you feelin’, son?”

Nevada raised the back of his hand and covered his mouth only a second before a terrible cough shook his body. After several long moments he drew in a shallow breath. “Hurts like fire.”

“Not surprised. You was in that buildin’ long enough to burn your lungs to a crisp. If God hadn’t shown me where you was in that smoke, you wouldn’t be alive.” John scowled. “Who was the feller you dragged down those stairs? A particular friend of yours? He got up off the ground and staggered away without so much as a thank-you-kindly.”

Nevada moved his head against his pillow in a weak negative. “No friend. Guard at the Oriental.”

A shadow crossed Christy’s features, and her eyes darkened in pain. Nevada reached for her hand and gripped it. “Sara?”

Christy squeezed his fingers. “She disappeared last night when I ran to the doorway to help John get you out of the building.”

“Townsley’s men?” Nevada’s voice showed he felt the strain, and he closed his eyes.

“We don’t know.” Christy whispered the words, but they shimmered with fear and uncertainty. “You need to rest now and quit talking.”

Nevada pushed himself up with his elbow. “I’m not…lying around…any longer.”

Christy pressed him back against his pillow. “You’re in no shape to get up yet. Doctor Goodfellow says you need to rest for at least another day or two.” She held up her hand. “It won’t help to argue. John, Nellie, and I will see you stay put if we have to tie you to the bedrails.”

“No need.” A faint smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “Don’t think I’d get far. But…I’m worried about Sara. No word…around town?”

John narrowed his eyes. “There’s someone I might ask. A fellow I met the other day is keepin’ his ear to the ground. I’ll do some checkin’ and see what I can round up.” He patted Nevada’s back a bit awkwardly and grinned. “And mind your pretty nurse so she don’t have to tie you down.”

Christy slipped out of the room when the doctor arrived, knowing Nevada was in good hands. Worry over Sara gnawed at her mind, and the pressing needs of her mother and brother increased her agitation.

Nellie hurried to meet her as Christy closed the door behind her. “How’s the lad doing?”

“He’s awake, talking and trying to get out of bed.”

“Praise be!” Nellie raised her hands in the air and beamed. “I’m thankin’ heaven he’s all right. From what I understand the whole building collapsed not long after John pulled him out.”

“Yes.” A shiver passed over Christy’s skin. “I hope we never have to experience anything like that again.”

“What are ya goin’ to do now, dear?” Nellie walked with Christy toward the entrance.

“Go home and check on Ma and Joshua, and start packing the things worth taking out of that hovel.”

“Yer movin’? Where to?” Nellie planted her hands on slender hips.

Christy shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. Ma lost the house.” Warmth rose to her cheeks at her own blunt words.

“Well then, I’ll tell ya.” Nellie grasped Christy’s hand and squeezed. “You’ll move ’em both right here. You and yer ma can share a room. You said yer brother is an invalid. We can keep an eye on both of ’em at the same time that way.” Her bright eyes met Christy’s.

Christy wagged her head. “There’s no way I can allow you to do that. It’s very generous of you, but we can’t afford to pay for two rooms, even if we share.”

“Remember, missy, I need more help around here. You can work off yer room, and there’ll be no charge for yer brother as long as he’s ill. When Joshua is better, he can do odd jobs still cryin’ to be done. I keep a room open for people in need, and it’s not bein’ used at the moment. Sure now, that’ll be just the thing.”

Christy’s throat closed on a lump, and she swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered and pulled Nellie into a hug.

“There, there, don’t go on about it.” Nellie patted her back and stepped away. “Go fetch yer family as soon as ya can. I’ll send someone over with a wagon later to pick up their things. No need to bring them now.” She pushed a lock of hair from her face. “How far away do ya live? Should I send a wagon for yer mother? I seem to remember ya sayin’ she’s not doin’ well.”

“We’re only a block down Toughnut Street. The fresh air and short walk’ll do her good. Can you keep an eye on Nevada while I’m gone?” Christy shot a look down the hall toward the room where the doctor still lingered.

“Of course. Now shoo away with ya and quit yer worrying. God is big enough to take care of all yer troubles, don’t ya know.”

Christy smiled. “I’m starting to figure that out, but yes, He is. If only we can find Sara, things will be put right.” She hurried out the door, her heart lighter than it had been in days. They had a place to live, Nevada would get better, and with God’s help, Sara would be safe.

Once home, Ma’s excited voice came through the open window, but Christy couldn’t make out the words. She walked through the front room and into the kitchen.

A whiskered man with a scar on his cheek sat slouched in a chair at the table. He swiveled toward her, and his gaze traveled from the top of her head to the hem of her skirt. “Now who’d this be, Ivy?”

Ivy Malone beamed at her daughter and held out her hand, drawing Christy to her side. “This is my middle child, Christy. She come all the way from California to stay with me while I been sick. Ain’t she a pretty girl?”

“Yes, ma’am, she’s right purty.” The big man smacked his lips like he planned on sitting down for a full meal.

Christy crossed her arms over her middle and stared. She’d heard that voice somewhere in the past but couldn’t quite place it. A saloon she’d worked in, maybe? But his face stirred nothing in her memory.

Ma tugged at Christy’s arm and frowned. “Cat got your tongue, Daughter? Can’t you speak to your pa’s cousin Jake? He’s family. We want to treat him decent.”

Christy moved away from her mother. “Logan wasn’t my pa, or Joshua’s. Did you send the telegram about Logan’s death?” Something about this man didn’t sit right.

“Yes, ma’am, that would be me.” He leaned back in his chair and bared his teeth, then used his grubby finger to remove a wad of tobacco from his cheek. “Where’s your spittoon?”

“We don’t have one.” Christy jerked her head at the back door. “Step outside if you need to spit. I just scrubbed the floors.”

He rose slowly from his seat and stepped to the door, pulling it open and letting a stream of tobacco shoot from his lips.

Christy turned to her mother and lowered her voice. “What’s he doing here?”

Jake turned back around and grinned. “Why, Cousin, I’ve come to find the man who shot Logan and kill him. I don’t aim to leave town until I do.”

Sara awoke, shivering in the heat of a tent. She lay on a hard, narrow cot, a foul odor assaulting her senses. Turning bleary eyes to the side, she noticed a chamber pot too close to the bed, and unwashed clothing draped across a nearby wooden chair. Her stomach recoiled, and she willed the little she’d eaten to stay down.

Or had she eaten at all? What day was this, and why was she here? She pushed up on one elbow and groaned. Her head felt stuffed with wool.

Somehow she managed to sit but gripped the hard rail of the cot beneath her. The last thing she remembered was…

She shook her head, trying to clear it, willing a memory of some kind to return. Fire. There’d been a fire. Her room? No. Something much worse.

Suddenly it all came rushing back. Gordon locking her in her room and posting a guard. The long night filled with tears. The day spent begging God to save her baby and to rescue her from the hellhole they called a saloon. Nevada and Christy coming as an answer to that prayer. The joy and relief of escaping the burning building.

Then what? She’d gotten out, felt the hot wind of the summer’s evening, and breathed in the smoke-tainted air across the street from the Oriental.

Nevada.
Now she remembered. John had gone back in after Nevada, and Christy had run to his aid. Sara had stayed where she was, unsteady on her feet and knowing they’d come.

She’d started to drop onto the edge of the boardwalk to rest when a hand clamped over her mouth. A cruel voice she didn’t recognize whispered in her ear to stay quiet. Fear dug its knife into her mind. A hard wrench of her head and the man’s hand slipped away. She’d tried to cry out when a damp, sweet-smelling cloth was pressed over her mouth. The last thing she remembered her legs collapsed and she sank into a dark pit.

No. There was something else. Men’s voices outside the tent in the early hours of the morning. Morning? So she’d been here all night. Voices arguing over something she couldn’t quite catch, then a louder one—Gordon Townsley—cursing his fellows and demanding one of them stand guard. How long had it been? An hour. Maybe two. She’d dozed and awakened again.

Sara turned toward the closed tent flap. A shadow fell across the canvas. She fell back onto the cot and closed her eyes just as the makeshift door rustled.