NoRegretsColeNC (21 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Another
two weeks passed, and, his own funds all but depleted, Willie headed back to
the gaming tables, whiskey in hand. He frowned as he sat down. Hattie wouldn’t
approve of him drinking, and she wouldn’t approve of him playing poker. But she
wasn’t there to stop him.

He
studied the men already seated at the green felt-covered table, watching
closely as cards were dealt. He didn’t like the looks. Dan Southwick had a
reputation for
mucking,
cleverly concealing an ace or
two in his big hand, then switching his own cards for them when he thought
nobody was looking. Willie resolved to keep a close eye on Southwick.

“You
gettin
’ in, Willie?”

“
You going
to play honest?”

“Yeah,
right.”
Southwick laughed.
“Heard you got yourself into another bad
situation.”
He grinned and dealt out a few cards. “Heard you took
advantage of that pretty little gal what went to work for the doctor.”

“Her
name is Hattie, and I didn’t take advantage of her.”

“Knocked
her up, didn’t you? I don’t think she got that way by herself.” He shrugged.
“But then again, she probably asked for it. Gals like that need to learn—”

Willie
sprang to his feet, nearly overturning the card table. Drawing his arm back, he
clenched his fist then threw it forward, clipping Dan on the chin. The gambler
reeled backward, cursing with what little breath he had left.

“Son
of a bitch.”

Willie
wasn’t finished yet. He swung another punch at Dan’s head. This time, the man
was ready. He blocked the swing, and counter-punched with a sharp uppercut.
Barely able to stay balanced, Willie staggered backward, coughing and spitting
blood.

He
caught himself, lunged forward, and his hands went around Dan’s scrawny neck.

“Don’t
ever…” Winded, he couldn’t get the words out.

Another
punch glanced Willie’s chin. A second, rapid-fire blow to his abdomen
doubled him over and expelled the last bit of choked air
from his lungs.

Damn, but Southwick packed a hell of a punch. Willie couldn’t get
his breath, and the pain in his gut was nearly more than he could take. But he
wasn’t finished yet. He’d always been a fighter and had been in plenty of
scrapes over the years. He almost always came out the winner.

But that was before his accident. Now, he couldn’t keep himself
steady, couldn’t put enough power behind his fists. That didn’t mean he was
giving up, though. Nobody spoke
bad
about Hattie in
his presence and got away with it.

Pulling himself upright, he stared straight into Southwick’s eyes.
Rage pounded through his head.

“You…bastard…” Willie took a lurching step forward with each word.
He swung his fist, but the spry, smirking gambler ducked under it. Willie took
another shot to his ribs, one that sent fresh waves of pain rippling through
his body. Somehow he kept from falling. If he went down, it would all be over.

Southwick moved in for another shot. Willie shoved him off,
getting his second wind. He covered the distance between them, threw a volley
of punches that found their target, and laughed as Dan stumbled and fell to his
knees.

But the damned man got back up again.

It was surreal. Between the pain in his guts and ribs and the
general confusion as drunken cowboys, miners, gamblers, and scantily-clad
dancing girls rushed to shout and jeer, the sight of Southwick springing to his
feet again made Willie blink. Both men were throwing wild punches now.
Southwick’s cronies joined in, jumping Willie from behind. They grabbed his
arms and pinned him down as Dan moved in.

Damn it to hell. Willie should have known a man who would cheat in
cards wouldn’t give him a fair fight.

Outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and sorely outwitted, Willie gave up.
He crumpled to the ground as a deafening roar surrounded him. Blackness
followed.

* * *
*

Willie
woke up behind bars with a pounding headache. “Let me out of here,” he called
out, his throat raw.

“I’m
awful tired of doing this, Willie.” Sheriff Bryant stood outside the cell.
“I’ve locked you up, and damn it, you’re going to stay there.”

“What
about Southwick? What about his poker-playing buddies? They jumped me.”

“Yeah,
I know. They spent the night in that cell over there.” He gestured toward his
left.

“It’s
empty. You let them go?”

“They
paid their fine. I sent them on their way.”

“What
about me? What’s my fine?”

Bryant
shook his head. “No fine, Willie. You’re staying right where you are until I
say you can go. And that might be a hell of a long time if you don’t straighten
up.”

“Fine.
I’ll sit on my ass and enjoy a
few free meals.”

He did
precisely that. Well, how much he actually enjoyed the food was questionable,
but he did a damned fine job of sitting on his ass as first one day and then
another passed. Willie refused to say a word to Sheriff Bryant or Deputy
Goddard. His mother didn’t bother to visit him in jail—he hardly expected her
to—and even if she had, he wouldn’t have spoken to her either.

As much
as possible, he slept. A difficult thing to do in an unheated cell with only a
thin blanket for warmth, a rickety old cot that was nothing more than a plywood
board with a ratty feather mattress thrown on top of it, and a pillow that
stunk so bad he’d tossed it into the corner the first time he’d gotten a whiff
of the malodorous head rest.

On the
third morning, he opened one eye when he heard the keys clanging against the
lock. Meal time again. The food would definitely never win any culinary awards,
but it was edible.

With
his stomach growling, he swung his legs over the side of his cot and turned his
attention to Hank Goddard, the sheriff’s chief deputy—and chief rival.

But
Goddard wasn’t bringing a breakfast tray. Instead, in his arms he carried a
load of books. Willie recognized them—his father’s law books. Months before,
he’d brought them to the sheriff’s office so he could study while he worked
each night.

“Damned
tired of these cluttering up the place.”
Goddard let go, and the heavy books crashed to the floor.
“If you’re not going to use them, maybe you ought to get rid of them. I hear
old
Asa
buys used books. He might give you a dollar
or two for them.”

“Those
books are worth a hell of a lot more than that.” Hearing his own voice gave
Willie a jolt. He immediately lapsed again into his usual stoic silence.

“Don’t
look to me like they’re doing anybody a bit of good.” Hank kicked at a thick
volume, then shrugged. “I don’t care what you do with them. I just don’t want
to look at them anymore.” The deputy pulled the cell door open, slipped
through, and then slammed the heavy metal gate shut. “Breakfast is late this
morning. I’ll bring it soon as it gets here.”

Willie
nodded. Alone again, he stretched out on the hard cot and stared up at the
ceiling. Too hungry to go back to sleep, he tossed about, his leg aching and
his whole body stiff from the wretched plywood.

Might
as well read a bit to pass the time.

Or
not.

He
started for the books,
then
stopped himself. For sure
Goddard had dumped them on him for good reason. Maybe Sheriff Bryant put him up
to it. Likely they meant to coerce him into picking them up, resuming his
studies, trying again to make something of himself.

As
though they actually cared what happened to him.

Nobody
cared.

Not
even Hattie Mae.

Damn
it, nobody believed in him. He shook his head, shaking
away,
too, any thought that Goddard had brought the books for reasons other than what
he claimed. He was sick of looking at them, and sure enough, he really didn’t
give a rat’s ass what Willie did with them so long as they stayed out of his
sight.

To
hell with Goddard.
To hell with Caleb Bryant, too, for keeping him behind bars.
To hell with the whole god-forsaken town of Sunset, Colorado,
with its small-minded people and hateful attitudes.

He
cursed the world and everyone in it with only one exception.

Hattie
might have stopped caring about him, but he’d never stop loving her.

Now,
with nowhere to go and nothing better to do, Willie Morse was going to prove
folks wrong.
Like he’d told the sheriff once before, when a
man got himself so far down he hit rock bottom, there was, after all, only one
way to go.

* * *
*

For the
next few weeks, he worked, he studied, he prayed. Willie had never been much on
religion. His mother and father had been church-goers, but for all the wrong
reasons. They went to be seen. His mother had always loved showing off her new
hats and dresses, and then, as now, church for Letitia Morse meant
opportunities to gab with other women, to exchange gossip during the fellowship
hour following the service. For his father, Sunday meetings were a way of
showing himself as a virtuous man, a true believer.

Willie
scoffed at the thought. His father had believed in nothing but himself. The man
thought he was invincible and above the law. In the end, he’d cheated justice
but hadn’t managed to escape punishment from the Lord.

Caleb
finally saw fit to release Willie on the condition he resume work at the jail.
That way it was easier to keep an eye on him. On his days off, he spent
afternoons at George Whitmore’s law office, volunteering his time in return for
the man’s expertise. At last, his life was coming together. All that was
missing, the one thing that would make him complete, was Hattie.

Willie
vowed he would find her.

But
day after day passed by with no word on her whereabouts.
Jake Walker’s efforts had
yielded no results. Neither had the attempts Willie had made to track her down.
Like his father, Hattie Mae had simply disappeared without a trace.

His
only recourse now was faith. He loved Hattie. He loved their child. They
belonged with one another. They were meant to be a family, and someday they
would be. It wouldn’t happen until he was ready. First, he must prove his
worth.

He
clung tenaciously to that belief.

Once
he’d completed his studies, had taken his exams, and been admitted to practice
law, God would show mercy upon him and bring him and Hattie together once more.

* * *
*

February, 1881

San Francisco, California

Hattie
had never seen anything like San Francisco. The city sat at the uppermost tip
of a peninsula, surrounded on three sides by glittering ocean. Even in the
middle of winter, golden sunlight streamed from the clear blue skies above,
making the day reasonably warm and comfortable. Little wonder so many people
had come west to California. San Francisco alone boasted a population of nearly
a quarter of a million, a number that staggered her imagination. She’d always
thought of Denver and its forty thousand residents as
huge
.

Of
course, she missed the mountains, but she certainly didn’t miss the freezing
cold, the ice, the snow, and all the inconveniences of winter in Colorado. No,
indeed, once she got accustomed to this strange new city with its odd little
cable cars running up and down the hillsides, the fast-talking Chinamen in the
various shops, and the peculiar smell of salt and fish that permeated the air
near the wharf, she would enjoy living in San Francisco.

Or so
she hoped. In truth, she missed Colorado, especially the little town of Sunset.
Most of all, she missed Willie.

San
Francisco held so much promise for her, yet at the moment, the city’s crowded
neighborhoods, traffic-choked streets, and tall buildings overwhelmed her. As
she strolled along on her morning walk each day, men and women swept past her
dressed in expensive finery the likes of which Hattie had never seen. A lot of
men had made their fortunes in California during the Gold Rush, not only the
prospectors who’d struck it rich, but merchants selling supplies to those who
sought the precious metal, and bankers who provided security for those who’d
found it.

But the
city had its share of poor people, too. Families crowded together into tiny
rooms of filthy, vermin-infested tenements. Sewage and debris littered
alleyways. Crime ran rampant, and the human suffering made Hattie’s heart ache.
Sometimes walking alone frightened her.