Whippoorwill (11 page)

“Thank you, Jesus.” He spit blood and grinned. “Truly, darlin’, if you only knew. Yore days are numbered.”

He hung the lantern back on its peg, his pulse racing as he lifted the pick axe and started to dig. The first strike was solid, with the second coming swift behind the first. Like a man gone mad, he began hammering at the wall with the tip of his pick, shattering chunk after chunk from the vein of gold that the cave-in had revealed.

Hours later, he stopped. But only because the coal oil in his lantern was nearly gone. And because the chunks of color that he’d hammered out of the vein were overflowing in the wheelbarrow at his knees.

His eyes were mere slits in a face swollen beyond belief. Yet if Miles could have seen his appearance, he would have laughed and thumbed his nose at the sight. A rich man could stand to be a little ugly.

It was dark when he exited. Suddenly every tree hid a would-be claim jumper. Every shadow was a Shoshone come to lift his scalp and leave his body for the buzzards. He had a sudden fear that while he had made his find, he would never get out alive to tell the tale. It was strange how instant wealth could change a man’s outlook on life. Getting the ore assayed and putting his money in a safe place became all important, and Dodge City offered everything he would need—an assay office—several banks to transfer money back East—and a dentist.

When he went to Sweetgrass Junction after Truly Fine, he wasn’t giving her any room to back out of her promises. The better he looked, the better his chances.

He looked down at the gold and grinned. It wouldn’t matter what he looked like. If he knew Truly like he thought he knew Truly, she wouldn’t see anything but the money.

But by the time he reached the cabin, he’d come to another conclusion. He had some cleaning up to do before he started off the mountain. If he didn’t get himself healed, he might die from blood poisoning before he reached Dodge City. And to doctor his wounds meant cutting off the rest of his beard. Just considering the act was daunting. Without a looking glass to see by, he could cut his own throat and never know it until it was too late.

Much later after he’d hidden his find, he dropped onto his bunk with a heartfelt sigh and touched his face, instantly groaning from the pain. It would have to be doctored, but he was too sore and weary to deal with it tonight. The wounds would have to wait.

The next day the sun was already up and shining in a bright, clear sky when he woke. He stretched and then gasped. The act was a painful reminder of yesterday. He looked down at himself, at his arms and his chest and frowned at the mass of bruises. His mouth and gums ached and it hurt to swallow spit, but the necessity of cleaning his wounds was upon him.

With a heartfelt moan, he got up and hobbled outside to wash his face. When he leaned over the wash basin, the standing rainwater threw back a wavy reflection of his battered features. The sight made him shudder, but it had also provided a much-needed view of his face. He reached for his knife with a grimace. At least he wouldn’t cut his throat when he shaved.

***

Daily, Truly Fine fielded the rude, sexual innuendoes from her customers with a skill born of long years at the task. And every day that came and went past Miles Crutchaw’s usual time of arrival made her nervous. For the first time since he’d started their odd courtship, Truly began to realize that she’d been existing for those fleeting moments in her life when a man had pretended to care.

Only Miles Crutchaw had not come back to Sweetgrass Junction and Truly went to bed each night praying that she’d be given one more chance—wishing that the wild, bushy miner would come bursting through the swinging doors of the Sweetwater Saloon and yank her out of some man’s lap before it was too late. This time she wouldn’t tell him no. This time when he came, she’d willingly ride a mule for the rest of her life, rather than ride one more man and pretend he was the best ever to come her way.

Even if she didn’t have a roof over her head.

Even if Miles didn’t have many teeth.

Even if he never struck it rich.

It was a sad and unavoidable fact, but Truly Fine had realized too late that wealth lay not in the money in a bank, but in the arms of a man who cared.

As the days passed, Truly began to believe that she’d told him ‘no’ once too often. It broke her heart to think of never seeing him again.

***

A dog barked outside the Sweetgrass Saloon as the squeak and rumble of wagon wheels drifted through the open door. Truly didn’t bother to look up from her game of solitaire. She’d know soon enough who it was. Sooner or later, everyone who came to Sweetgrass Junction came into the saloon.

As she’d expected, someone did come through the swinging doors. Moose the Bartender was the first to look up. The glass he was drying fell out of his hands, shattering on the floor at his feet. Shock spread over his face as he started to grin.

Without looking up, Truly slapped a red Jack on a black Queen. “Dang it, Moose, you break many more like that and you’ll be sending back East for a new set.”

Moose didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the man who’d come through the doors.

“Truly Fine, are you a woman of your word?”

Startled by the question, Truly looked up. The cards she’d been holding fluttered to the floor. The voice was familiar, but not the man. He didn’t look like anyone she knew.

“I don’t get it,” she snapped, then narrowed her eyes as the tall, clean-shaven man started toward her from across the room.

His suit of clothes fit him to perfection and his boots were shining like new. And then he grinned, revealing a set of fine, white teeth in a nearly-healed face and something clicked inside her heart as he yanked her out of her chair and began to spin her around.

“Yes, you do. You get it all, just like I promised, Truly darlin’.”

By now, the skirt of her yellow satin dress was flying above her waist. Her henna-red curls were bobbing against her cheeks as her eyes widened in shock. She didn’t know the man, but those blue eyes looked an awful lot like—

“Miles?”

He whooped with laughter and set her down on her feet.

“I’m askin’ you again, Truly Fine. Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Consider your choices, now,” Miles argued, unaware that she’d already buckled easier than an old belt. “You’re not getting any younger, although to my eyes you’re still as pretty as a peach.”

“Yes,” she repeated and clasped her hands together to keep from shaking.

“Remember your promise,” he added, having practiced his speech for so long that he’d completely tuned her and her answers out.

“Yes.”

“You can’t go back on—” His eyes widened. It was finally soaking in. “Yes? You said yes?”

She nodded and tried not to cry. She looked like hell when she cried. It made her nose all red and her eyes swelled shut like a horny toad. If he saw her like that, he might change his mind.

“Oh, Truly! You will marry me? Without the gold? Without the riches?”

“Yes, Miles, yes.”

She threw her arms around his neck and knew that she’d found her place in life.

“That’s good, Truly darlin’.” He stole a kiss before she could change her mind. “I promise you won’t regret it. When can you leave?”

She started out the door.

He stared at the low-cut dress and the length of leg showing from beneath the skirt and tried to imagine her on the road in an outfit like that. “Don’t you want to change and pack your belongings?”

“There’s not a damned thing here that I want except you, and I didn’t think you were coming back to ever ask again.”

A wide grin spread across his face. While he’d come to grips with getting Truly on any terms, it felt good—damned good, to know that she came without knowledge of what he’d gained except, the obvious—his mouthful of teeth.

Miles followed her out the door and lifted her into the wagon. “When we get to Lizard Flats, I’ll buy you some new clothes.”

She frowned as he climbed into the seat beside her. “I’ve already been to Lizard Flats. I can promise you there’s no gold there, and we can’t afford to buy clothes. Neither one of us has two dimes to rub together.”

He grinned and stole one more kiss before he broke his news.

“I’m not lookin’ for gold in Lizard Flats. We’re going there to get married. While I was down in Dodge City, I heard tell that a real preacher is on his way there to marry the town banker. As for money—”

Truly frowned.
He went to Dodge? So that’s where he’s been all this time.

He grinned. There was something about the way she kept looking at him that told him she still didn’t get it.

Truly stared at his smirk. The longer she stared, the more certain she was that he had a secret he still hadn’t told.

“Miles?”

He grinned again.

“I’d like to know what’s so funny.”

His grin widened even further.

She looked past the mouthful of pearly-white teeth to the cut of his suit, the clean-shaven face, the new, nearly-healed wounds, and the twinkle in his eyes. There was something about the way he carried himself that had nothing to do with promises and everything to do with pride.

It hit her then. Her mouth dropped and she pressed both hands to her lips.

The twinkle in his eyes deepened. It was almost as if he had read her mind. It was then that she gasped.

“Oh! Miles!”

“What is it, Truly dear?”

“You didn’t… did you?”

He started to laugh.

She began to hug herself in disbelief! He’d actually found wealth and still came back for her—a woman who’d soiled her body as well as her soul.

“Oh, but I did, Truly darlin’. I found a mother lode.” He flipped the reins across the back of his team. “Giddyup,” he shouted, and melted as Truly leaned her head against his arm and started to cry.

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“You’re the first man who ever kept his promise to me.”

Miles shifted in the seat as he looked down at the top of her head. “And I’ll be the last, too. As soon as we can find that preacher, you’ll be as honest as any woman on the street. I don’t want you to ever have to turn your head away in shame again. Not from any man, woman, or child, and especially not from yourself. Do you hear me, Truly Fine?”

She batted her eyes, her breasts bouncing lightly with the sway of the wagon as the wheels slipped in and out of dry ruts.

“I hear you, Miles darling. Truly I do.”

THINGS ARE NOT ALWAYS AS THEY SEEM

Other things were brewing in the territory beside Letty Murphy’s rage and grief.

A three-day ride away, Milt and Art Bolin, a pair of would-be outlaws, were brewing up their own concoction of trouble and as always with the Bolins and their plans, whatever they started, someone else would have to finish.

***

“I tell ya’, Milt, that ain’t no boy. ’At’s a girl, so hep me God.”

Milt Bolin sneered at Art, his one and only brother, who was peering through a crack in the stable wall at the red-headed youth forking hay. The observation he’d just made was almost too far-fetched to swallow. No self-respecting female would cut off her hair, or for that matter, be caught dead in a pair of men’s pants, but the idea of starting a little trouble was too good to ignore.

“There’s one sure way to find out,” Milt said. He pushed his brother aside and swaggered through the door of the livery as if he owned it and Mudhen Crossing, as well.

If it hadn’t been for the dust in the hay she was forking, Caitlin O’Shea might have seen them coming. But she sneezed, and when she did, her eyes went shut. When she opened them, Milt and Art were standing between her and the door.

“I don’t know,” Milt said. “He don’t fill out those pants enough to be a she.”

Caitie’s heart sank. It was all over now. What, she wondered, had given her away?

“Yeah. And he’s wearin’ his hair shorter than any girl I ever seen,” Art added, ready to deny the theory, although it was his suspicions that had started the conversation to begin with.

“Speak up, boy! What’s your name?” Milt asked, and poked Caitie roughly on the arm.

Caitie aimed her pitchfork at the men to punctuate her warning. “Leave me the hell alone, ye sneakin’ bastards.”

Milt grinned. “Oowee. He’s a feisty one, now, ain’t he? And damned if he don’t talk funny. I don’t know as how I much care whether he’s a he or a she. I might be tempted to try a little of that anyways. Where are you from boy? Are you one a’ them English dudes? I might like to try out a tea-sipper.”

Rage at being unjustly accused of belonging to the hated English race made her shake, but at this moment, keeping quiet was a wiser decision than arguing the tongue of her native country.

Art frowned. His older brother’s tastes were definitely not his own.

“Oh hell, Milt, give it a rest. That’s plumb indecent and you know it. If Mamma could hear you she’d—”

Milt slapped him up aside the head. “Mamma’s dead. And you’re gonna be too, if you keep tellin’ me what to do all the time. Got that?”

Art flushed. Fury mingled with fear. Fear won out. He glared at the stable boy and stepped aside. He lived for the day when someone, even his brother, would give him the respect he believed he deserved. Unfortunately, it was unlikely to happen.

The Bolin Brothers undistinguished reputation had earned them nothing but ridicule throughout the territory. No matter what crime they attempted to commit, it either went awry or fell short of their expectations. They were so unimportant in the scheme of things in Mudhen Crossing that they didn’t even have a price upon their heads. It was a constant matter of great discussion between them as to how that might be rectified. And while they were always planning on bigger and better things, it never hurt to keep the waters muddied, which was what they were about right now.

Milt glanced at Art, then back at the kid, squinting his eyes against the light. “We could kidnap him and trade him for ransom.”

Caitie laughed aloud. “And who the bleedin’ hell would be payin’ a plug nickel for me hide?”

It was a mistake. They’d been laughed at all their life. Having a snot-nosed boy laugh at one of their plans wasn’t going to be tolerated.