Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona (5 page)

She stared up into his rich brown eyes, thankful he couldn’t see hers, because she was embarrassed at the direction her thoughts had taken. He was an outlaw, for goodness’ sake! There was no place in her life for interest in a man like this. No, five years ago she’d sworn she’d never again be duped by a handsome face, no matter the circumstances. Especially not someone who carried a gun and appeared to know how to use it.

A slight shudder shook her body, as she remembered the man who’d coerced her into traveling to Last Chance in the first place. He’d been no good, and she hadn’t been strong enough to stand against him.
That
Christy no longer existed, and she’d found the strength to do the right thing in the end. She’d grown and changed in the intervening years, and nothing would make her waver from the path she’d chosen now—caring for her mother and younger brother, and hopefully making their lives better.

Nevada squinted at the veil, wishing he could see beneath it and into the face of the woman standing so calmly before him. He’d seen the color course up her neck and then noticed the slight shiver that shook her body. Was it shock from the bullet wound or fear of further injury at his hands that consumed her? Best finish this as soon as possible and hightail it out of here. He cursed himself for getting hooked up with this crew and drawn into this mess.

Then another notion penetrated the dark thoughts swirling in his mind and drew him up short. What would this woman’s fate have been if he’d not come along when he had? Based on the greed and uncaring attitudes of the group robbing the stage, he doubted any of them would’ve seen to her wound.

He pulled a finely honed knife from a sheath on his belt and sliced the material, then spread it wide. A deep gash in the fleshy part of her arm continued to ooze blood, but the bullet didn’t appear to have cut deep enough to hit a bone. He dug into his back pocket and withdrew a clean bandana. The one around his neck was covered with trail dust and wouldn’t do to cover the wound but would tie off the blood flow. “Here, hold this for a moment.” He shoved the bandana into her hand and yanked off the one around his neck, then tied it a couple inches above the bleeding.

She winced when he tightened the cloth and knotted it but didn’t utter a word.

He cut a corner off the clean bandana and made a pad, placing it over the gash, and then tied the rest of it around the area where she’d been shot. “There. That should do it.”

A tiny smile tipped up the corner of her mouth. “Thank you. I won’t forget your kindness, even if you are a bandit.”

Nevada started to reply, then tightened his jaw. He’d already explained, and she didn’t believe him, so what was the point? He pivoted on his heel and tugged the mask back on. Hopefully this holdup would end soon, and the stage and its passengers could be on their way. The young woman had seemed sincere when she promised not to divulge his identity. He hoped no one in town would convince her otherwise. The last thing he needed was his mug hanging on a wanted poster for something he hadn’t done.

Nevada stood his ground in front of the outlaw leader. “I want the brooch your man found in the coach, nothing else.”

The man rubbed his unshaven jaw and chortled. “Got to you, did she? Quite the looker, if you ask me.” He leaned over and spat. “That stage ain’t too far down the road yet. Maybe I should trot after it and see if the lady wants company from a real man.” His cheeks stretched in a leering grin.

Nevada sprang forward, landing less than a foot from the bandit. He grabbed the rough cloth of his shirt and jerked the man’s face within inches of his own. “Leave her alone or answer to me.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the outlaws reach for his gun. Nevada shoved the leader away and swiveled toward the man, his hand hovering over the butt of his pistol. “Don’t even think about it, unless you want your gizzard filled with lead.”

Hesitation showed in the eyes staring into his own. Finally, the outlaw relaxed and took a step back. “Don’t get all riled up now, pard. The boss was funnin’, wasn’t you, Jake?”

A low snarling curse rolled from the leader’s throat. “Like thunder I was. Who are you anyway, mister?”

Nevada kept his hand poised above his gun and pinned both of the men with his gaze. “That doesn’t matter. You promised me payment. I’ll take the brooch.”

The third robber who’d kept silent stepped forward. “You didn’t do nothin’ to earn it but tend to some woman’s arm.”

Nevada swung his attention around. “And you’d best be glad I did. If she’d bled to death, you’d be wanted for murder, as well as robbing the stage.”

“Ha! Like you ain’t gonna be wanted too.” The leader dug into his pocket and withdrew the brooch. “Fine, take it. Looks like it’s probably nothin’ but junk anyway. Now get out of my sight.” He tossed the bit of jewelry through the air and Nevada caught it with his left hand.

“Suits me.” He backed away, keeping an eye on the men. Good thing he’d left his horse tethered close by in a stand of mesquite, and the rest of this crew had to walk over the hill to find their mounts. He wouldn’t put it past any one of the three to plug him in the back if given half a chance.

Christy’s arm throbbed and her head hurt, but she thanked the Lord she’d been spared the indignity of having her person searched. Shortly after the handsome bandit had dressed her wound and ushered her back with the others, the outlaws had gathered up the guns from every member of the party and disappeared over the top of a nearby hill. The driver had checked on her with some degree of solicitude, asking after her arm, and then urged the passengers to enter the stage.

“Miss?” The woman sitting across from her leaned forward and touched her knee. “Are you all right?”

Christy lifted her veil. “Yes. I hope Tombstone has a doctor, but at least the bleeding has stopped.”

The gentleman next to her nodded. “Yes, ma’am, Doctor Good-fellow will fix you right up. He arrived in town last fall and is an expert on gunshot wounds. Good thing. Lots of shooting used to go on betwixt the miners and such, but it’s slowed down tolerable now we’ve got a county sheriff and town marshal.”

“My name is Molly.” The woman gave a shy smile and motioned toward the portly man sitting beside her. “This here is my intended, Rodney. We’re going to marry as soon as we arrive. Rodney is from Tombstone, and he’s built us a house.”

Christy pasted on what she hoped was a pleasant look, but a shaft of pain shot through her heart. Molly. Her sister had borne that name and died a number of years back when Molly’s young son, Toby, was only a toddler. So many bad memories from her past continued to haunt her, and her sister’s wasn’t the only one. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll be very happy.”

“Thank you.” Molly’s face turned somber. “It’ll set us back a mite, though, what with those bandits taking the gold we saved.” Eager curiosity illuminated her countenance. “What did he look like? The man who fixed up your arm.”

How could she convey to these people that the fingers that touched her arm had been tender, yet firm? His deference and care toward her had hinted at a gentlemanly upbringing, but his clothing and occupation belied that suggestion. These travelers wouldn’t believe her, no matter what she said. The man had been riding with the outlaws and must be part of their group, regardless of his claims. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t say.”

“What do you mean? Rodney here got a glimpse of the two of you when the robbers moved us toward the front of the stage. The man had his back turned and his hat on, but he removed his mask, so you surely got a good look at him.”

Rodney leaned forward. “You need to give a description so they can round up the gang.”

Christy didn’t reply but looked instead out the window of the bouncing stage. The veil resting on top of her hat offered privacy, and she dropped it back. Distant hills could be seen through the clouds of dust kicked up by the wheels. They’d arrive in town soon, and hopefully she could distance herself from these people who seemed so intent on getting answers.

The man in the bowler hat cleared his throat. “Miss?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll need to talk to the marshal about what happened.”

“I understand. I’ll do so after I’ve had my arm looked at and I’ve seen to my sick mother.”

Molly’s brows drew together. “Why won’t you tell us?”

“I’d rather not discuss it, if you don’t mind. My arm is throbbing.”

“Oh.” The woman sat back. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Christy turned her attention back out the window. They passed the first buildings on the outskirts of Tombstone. Soon she’d see Joshua and her mother and get this arm tended to. Her heart faltered at the thought of her mother. If only things would be different this time. Ma had the idea Christy had abandoned her when she’d chosen to stay in Last Chance, but she couldn’t return to her old life. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to remain angry with her and prayed coming to care for Ma would set things to rights.

She didn’t know what she’d say if the marshal questioned her about the man who’d unmasked himself in order to help her. One thing Christy knew. She’d given her word, and she’d not break it no matter what anyone said or threatened to do.

Nevada pushed his horse hard, cutting across country and avoiding the road the stage would take into town. He wanted to be on hand when the coach rolled in and see if he could catch a glimpse of the injured woman’s face.

He rode down Allen Street in the midst of Tombstone. He’d heard about this small city that grew up almost overnight but hadn’t known what to expect. He’d been in many a cattle town over the years, but this mining town beat all. As Nevada rode he noted numerous saloons, hotels, stores, barbershops, gambling halls, restaurants, and a jumble of humanity thronging every side. Most looked like prospectors, but gamblers, cowboys, and teamsters helped fill out the crowd, along with an occasional woman. Some of those were pleasant, homebody types, but he spotted more than one woman who would only fit in a bordello or dancehall. Boardwalks lined the dusty avenue, and buckboards, wagons, and buggies of every shape and size rolled along its length.

Hotels and several homelike edifices with a signboard advertising them as boardinghouses beckoned to weary travelers. Looked like plenty of places he could hang his hat. First stop would be the livery where he’d put up his horse. Nevada’s thoughts slipped back to the woman he’d helped. He’d loved to have skinned those varmints who held up the stage, but the last thing he wanted was another shooting laid at his door.

His mind drifted to Albuquerque and the grisly scene that played out with Logan Malone lying dead in the street. How many times in the past had he wished things had turned out different? Right now all he wanted was a new occupation—one that didn’t include gunplay. He’d stashed enough money to purchase a small ranch, if he found one that suited him. This might be a good area to start checking. Riding herd on cattle for other men had lost its fascination years ago. He was sick of traveling from town to town and never knowing where he’d sleep.

A shout up the street caused Nevada to turn in the saddle. He’d wondered how long the stage would take to arrive. No need to question any longer, as the driver smacked the lines against the horses’ backs and cantered them up the road. A billow of powder rose from its wheels. People cleared a path when it slowed at the business district and finally halted less than half a block away. He leaned his hands on the pommel. Maybe he’d get a glimpse of the lady with the injured arm. His heart rate accelerated, remembering the perfectly shaped lips, lovely voice, and pleasing figure.

A crowd gathered around the coach, partially obscuring his view. He nudged his gelding with his heel, urging him forward. Nevada’s elevated position allowed him to scrutinize the scene. A sudden thought checked his forward progress and he reined to a halt, his mouth going dry. The woman from the stage was the only one other than the robbers who’d seen him. She’d promised to guard his identity, but what did he know of her? Nothing. If she saw him sitting nearby she could easily point him out and call for the law. Nevada tugged his hat low over his eyes and dropped his head an inch or two. No sense in taking chances, but he’d be hanged if he’d walk away without getting a glimpse of her.

“We’re in Tombstone, folks.” The driver stood up and pointed his whip at a young man standing nearby. “Hey, you boy.”

“Yes, sir?” The lad wore an expectant look.

“Run and get the marshal. We’ve been robbed again, and we’ve got an injured lady onboard this time.”

The boy took off running. No one on the street seemed overly concerned with the announcement, but curious faces peered into the stage.

The driver laid aside his whip and wound the reins around the brake, then clambered from his seat to the ground. “Ma’am, I sent for the marshal, and we’ll have the doc look at your arm if you’ll sit tight for a few minutes.”

Nevada’s gut clenched and he reined his horse back, stopping in the shadow of a store. He didn’t care to have anyone from the stage recognize his clothing.

The coach driver pointed a hand to a nearby building. “That there is the Grand Hotel, and the Golden Eagle Brewery is across yonder. You folks can sleep, eat, or drink, whatever your pleasure might be. Now get yer gear and hop on out.”

Two other men shimmied over the side and the first one reached the door, swinging it open. The man and his woman companion disembarked, then the gent with the bowler hat, another portly gentleman, and lastly the woman with his bandana wrapped around her arm, the veil still covering her face.

A whoop went up from the crowd. A miner jumped forward and threw his arm wide. The bowler hat went flying into the dust, landing at the feet of a nearby laborer. He gave it a kick, sending it on to the next pair of boots, who sent it along to the next.

The stunned city slicker stared as his prized headpiece bounced down the Tombstone street. Catcalls and hoots of laughter filled the air. “Hey. Stop that, do you hear? I paid good money for that hat.”

A man wearing a double-breasted vest with a watch chain dangling from the front pocket stepped up, his thumbs hooked in his belt. “Sorry, mister. We don’t cotton to city folks. You need to get yourself a decent head covering. Doesn’t appear that one’s going to survive long in this town.”