When a Texan Gambles (18 page)

Tables were scattered around a room layered in dust and neglect. Several men, all travelers, she’d guess from the amount of luggage piled around them, played cards and drank near one comer. A mother had put chairs together for her sleeping children in another comer. She glanced up at Sarah and smiled. Three soldiers huddled close to a stove, passing a jug around and laughing among themselves. They had no luggage. She remembered seeing a supply wagon pulled near the tracks. If she were guessing, she’d say they were waiting for something, or someone, to arrive.

She’d seen cafés like this in small towns. When she and Mitchell passed through settlements, the idea of stopping to eat seemed a foolish one as long as they had supplies stored in the wagon.

“You want anything?” a bald man shouted from a doorway leading to the back of the café. “We close as soon as the train comes. With the rain, it’s bound to be late, so you got time to order something.”

“Coffee,” Sarah answered. “Two coffees.”

The man disappeared. Sarah took a seat close to the mother and children and unwrapped her wet shawl. The air in the room was warm and smelled of stew, but tiny drafts, where the poorly made walls didn’t fit together, chilled her. She curled into herself, hoping to get a bit warmer.

She was almost asleep when the bald man sat two coffee mugs in front of her. “You want some soup?” he asked. “We got enough left for a couple of bowls, but you have to pay for it up front. That way if the train pulls up and you run for it, I still got my money.”

“Two bowls,” Sarah said. “And bread if you have it.”

The café owner stared at her. “It’ll cost you two bits extra.”

Sarah fished for the coins in her bag and paid him for the meal.

When he brought the soup, she almost asked if she could have her money back. As far as she could see there was no meat in the stew. Odd bits of vegetables floated like tiny roots on the top. She drank her coffee and tore off a piece of bread.

The door slammed against the wall as Sam entered. He carried his saddle draped over one shoulder and his rifle in his free hand. She watched him scan the room carefully, then move toward her.

He didn’t say a word as he downed half the coffee in one draw and stared at his soup.

Sarah giggled. “Stew,” she whispered.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure? Looks more like the dishwater.”

“That’s what the man said.”

“Can you cook better than this?”

“If I can‘t, you can always come here for a meal,” she answered.

“I’d rather starve.”

She saw Sam’s smile die as he watched something behind her. Before she could even turn, she heard his Colt clear leather beneath the table.

“It is!” one of the young soldiers shouted loud as a carnival barker with a full crowd. “It’s Sam Gatlin!”

The noise woke one of the woman’s babies, and he began to cry.

Sam lifted his weapon onto the table, but didn’t pull his fingers from the handle. “I’m just waiting for the train, soldier.” His deadly calmness frightened Sarah far more than the man’s yelling. “I’m not looking for any trouble.”

Another soldier joined the first. They were now only a few feet from her back. Sarah could feel them near. She didn’t need to turn around. “We’re not trouble,” the young man said again. “But from what I hear of you, trouble follows you like thunder follows lightning.” He slapped his silent companion on the back. “I heard one time down in San Antonio—”

“If you will excuse me, gentlemen, my wife and I were about to have a meal, and we’re not really interested in any story.”

Sarah shifted so that she could see the men. They were young, very young. One pulled back, heeding Sam’s warning, but the other leaned closer. His eyes were wide with excitement and adventure.

“I didn’t know you had a wife.” He smiled at Sarah. “And a beautiful one at that.” His forehead wrinkled. “Now, what would an angel like you, honey, be doing with a killer like Sam Gatlin?”

Sam raised the Colt to the table. “Did you hear that once down in San Antonio,” Sam began in almost a whisper, “I shot a man in the leg for beating a homeless dog?”

The soldier’s eyes widened. “Actually, I heard you killed him.”

“Most stories get exaggerated with the telling. Only one I can think of that doesn’t.” Sam moved the barrel of the Colt slightly.

“And that would be?” The soldier’s voice sounded higher.

“That would be the one about where I shot the man who insulted my wife.” Sam’s aim held steady just below the soldier’s belt.

The soldier took a step backward. “I meant no disrespect, ma‘am. I call my own mother honey, I swear I do.”

He hurried back to his friends. For a few minutes the café was silent, but before Sarah finished her coffee, the group of gamblers began mumbling about how it wasn’t right for a man like Sam Gatlin to be around polite folks. She couldn’t hear most of what they said, but the talk grew louder, faster, harder.

Sam sat his coffee down and lifted his saddle as the train’s arrival sounded. “We’d better go, Sarah,” he said, pulling her along. “Before cowards drink themselves full of bravery.”

FOURTEEN

SAM HURRIED SARAH THROUGH THE FOGGY NIGHT TOWARD the train. With his saddle over one shoulder, he swung her onto the platform with his free arm, thinking she weighed less than his gear. Three short toots of the whistle warned them to hurry.

“What’s happening?” she whispered. “I don’t understand. All we were doing was having a meal. That’s what people do in cafés.” She said the words as if she had suddenly became a great authority. “Those men had no right to bother us.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He held her close as they moved along the corridor. “We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.” Sam pushed her into the private car and locked the door behind them.

The seats were worn and tattered. Cigar smoke hung in the air. Sam frowned; at least they were safe. A soot-covered lantern cast a flickering light around the room that neither of them seemed in a hurry to move farther into.

The train jerked. Sam widened his stance so that Sarah could brace against him.

“No,” she finished her thought. “It does matter.” She dropped her bag onto the nearest seat without letting go of the fistful of shirt at his waist. “Why did those people look at you that way?” The tiny compartment was forgotten as she stared up at him. “Why did we leave? What’s wrong with us, Sam? We had money. We paid for our food.”

Sam stared at her as the train rattled, gaining speed. “It’s not you, Sarah. Those people were not angry at you. They were mad at me.” He closed his eyes, dreading the questions to follow. Where would he begin to tell her all he’d done over the years? He had been a soldier, a Texas Ranger, a frontier fighter, and now a bounty hunter. Not yet thirty, he felt he had fought his way through several lifetimes.

“How often?” she whispered still holding to his shirt.

“How often what?”

“How often do people treat you like that?”

The sway of the train moved her against him in an action that warmed his blood. Leaning closer, he let the aroma of her honeysuckle skin calm his tired nerves. He rested his hand over her fist, which still gripped his clothing. “Most all the time. Now and then. Never. What does it matter?”

Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the feel of her skirts brushing around his legs. He didn’t really care how others treated him as long as she was near, but he knew she needed to know the truth. “Once in a while someone doesn’t know who I am. This is a big state. There are still a few places to hide. Sometimes I’m in a small town for a week or so, then a drifter, or a gambler, or a stagecoach driver remembers me. From then on I’m no longer a person. I’m just a hired gun they’ve heard stories about.”

He waited for her to react. He’d been a fool to think she’d go on talking to him, arguing with him like he was just a man. How many days would it take before she realized how living with him was going to be?

He decided he must be a coward because he didn’t want to look down and see the fear reflecting in her face. He didn’t want to hear the questions.
How many showdowns? How many battles? How many men have you killed? What stories are true about you?
They were basically all true, changing only by degree.

To his surprise, she remained silent. When he finally looked down at her, she had turned to watch night rushing by outside the window as if he hadn’t said a word.

“Sarah?”

She glanced at him and he saw no fear in the ocean of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so tired. Can we talk tomorrow ? I’d really like to go to bed.”

He folded down the top berth and pulled out the bottom bench, turning the small space from sitting area to sleeping quarters. She combed out her long hair. Even in the shadowy light, she looked more angel than woman. He couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done by giving her his name. For one moment, when he’d first married her, he’d thought he saved her, but now that he saw his life through her eyes, he wasn’t so sure. They’d been married over a week, and all she’d known was danger.

Sarah laughed as she pulled off her shoes, then slipped her dress over her head. “Next time I’m in a store, remind me to buy a real nightgown.” She yawned like an exhausted child. “A married lady should have a gown to wear and not just have to sleep in her undergarments.”

Sam watched her, thinking he would never complain about her lack of a gown. He liked the way she looked in her undergarments. Pulling off his jacket and gun belt, he spread out on the bottom bed. He couldn’t remember when his body had ached in so many places. It was time to take a few days to rest.

Sarah curled up beside him on the bottom bunk. She stretched out, trying to make room to sleep on the few inches he’d left.

“Sarah.” He scooted over. “There’s a top bunk if you’d be more comfortable.”

“No,” she answered. “I’m fine.”

He wondered if she really wanted to be next to him or if she just followed one of her rules.

“Good night,” she whispered, sounding as if she were half asleep.

“Good night,” he answered, pulling the blanket over them both. She’d left her hair free for once. Sam couldn’t help but smile as he bundled a handful and tugged it out from beneath the covers. “Sarah, are you afraid of me?”

“No, Sam,” she answered with another yawn. “Are you afraid of me?”

Sam thought about it while her breathing grew slow and steady. He kissed her cheek and chuckled. “You know, Sarah, I think I am.”

They were pulling into Dallas by the time he awoke. He ran his hand along Sarah’s back and smiled as she melted against him. He knew her body by the way she rested against him each night in sleep. “Wake up, wife. We’re in Dallas.”

Her hair curtained most of her face as she sat up and stretched. She looked more like a rag doll than a woman. The strap of the loose chemise she wore had slipped off one shoulder and pulled a few buttons loose. He saw the swell of her left breast revealed before she absently re-buttoned her undergarment.

Sam forced his gaze to rise to her face. She wasn’t looking at him. She’d almost stopped his heart with her beauty, and she was not even aware of it.

Closing his eyes, Sam swore to himself that he’d be dead in no time if he didn’t get out of such cramped quarters with her.

“If you can manage to comb that hair, I know a hotel where you can take a real bath and they’ll bring breakfast right to your room.”

“That would be nice,” she answered as she reached for the new dress Sam had bought her at Mr. Moon’s place.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh as she slipped it over her head and disappeared. When she finally pushed her head up through the opening, her arms were flapping like long wings made of fabric.

“You can’t wear that,” he said as he pulled on his coat. “Two of you could fit inside.”

Sarah looked disappointed. “I can fix it.” She raised her arms silently asking for his help. “But not before the train stops.”

He pulled the dress over her head, careful not to touch her. He’d learned his lesson back in the woods when he’d untied her. She was a woman who wanted to be touched on her terms.

Ten minutes later she was wide-eyed when they stepped into the Windsor Hotel. The door handles were gold, and huge chandeliers hung above them, sparkling like stars. The floors were covered with thick oriental rugs in places and polished like no shoes ever walked across them in others.

Sarah walked three steps into the lobby and froze. “I can’t go in there.” Alarm almost choked her words. “I’ve never been in a place like this. I’ve never even seen a place like this.” She looked up for help. “I don’t think regular folks are supposed to be in here, Sam.”

“It’s all right. I’ve stayed here before, and I promise you they’ll let us in. When I want to disappear, one of the best places I’ve found is in the middle of people. With so many around, no one ever looks at anyone.” He handed over his saddle to a man in a red jacket. “Stow this for me, would you, Dan?”