Dance With A Gunfighter by JoMarie Lodge Read Free Book Online Page B

took up most of the floor space. Instead of a wardrobe, pegs
jutted from the wall for hanging clothes.
    McLowry stood in the doorway, peering uncertainly into the
room. She wondered if he was the sorrier for having gotten involved with her in
the first place, or for offering to share his room with her now. When he
stepped inside, his broad-shoulders seemed to reach from one wall to the
opposite, and she was sure his black, flat-topped hat nearly touched the
ceiling. His gaze wandered over the small area then settled on the bed. Her
gaze followed his.
    Somehow, the room seemed to shrink even further. Gabe
dropped her saddlebags in a corner and crossed the room to the window. She
pushed open the dark blue drop curtains, and lifted the bottom half of the
double-hung window all the way up. Sunshine and fresh air poured into the room.
She huddled near the window, feeling as if she needed to be there to breathe.
    McLowry put his saddlebags in the opposite corner from
hers. Hunkering down, he opened them up, pulled out dirty clothes, and piling
them on the floor.
    "I’m going over to the barber’s," he said, his
back to her. "I’ll get a shave and a bath over there. If you’ve got some
clothes that need washing, toss them here with mine. I’ll find a laundry while
I’m out."
    She pulled her dirty clothes from the bags and the moment
he had them in a bundle he was out the door. She had never seen a man in such a
hurry to get his clothes cleaned.
    As she was pulling a clean white shirt and gray britches
from her bedroll, there was a knock on the door. Two men carried in a tub, and
two women brought pitchers of hot and cold water. She hadn’t realized what a
production it would be to bathe in a hotel room. She gave them all some money
for their trouble.
    Once they were gone, Gabe lost no time climbing into the
hot, clean water. She soaped away the trail dust, washed her hair and then
leaned back, shutting her eyes. She tried, for a moment at least, to relax.
    But her mind wouldn’t let her. As soon as her eyes were
shut, she drifted back to the day, just two short weeks ago, when she was in
her kitchen, serving a meal to her pa and her brothers. On the one hand, it
seemed like two years had passed since that time, and on the other, it felt
like only yesterday.
    The smell of stewing meat, potatoes and carrots filled the
kitchen. A fresh-baked green apple pie sat on the sill board. Pa had just sold
some cattle and they were all so happy....
    Then the nightmare struck.
    When she awoke from it, she was in Mrs. Beale’s house in
Jackson City. Mrs. Beale had told her that neighbors had been going to warn her
pa about some savage outlaws in the area when they saw smoke coming from her
house. They said they had found her just past the front porch, sitting on the
ground holding Chad. He was dying, and behind her, the house was on fire.
    While she was staying at Mrs. Beale’s house, confined to
bed, unable to make her mind accept what had happened, Pa and Henry had been
buried. The part that troubled her most, though, was that Chad wasn’t with
them. He had been shot, and had been badly burned in the fire. The doctor in
town had patched up the bullet holes, but he didn’t know how to handle the
burns. Burns were a death sentence, a horrible, painful death sentence as
infection set in and the skin rotted away. The doctor knew a hospital in Denver
that was reputed to have had some success with burns, so they put Chad on the
train in Tucson, and sent him there. It was the only chance he had. The doctor,
though, had heard from the hospital. He was told Chad would be dead before the
week was up and would be buried in Denver.
    Someday, after Gabe had paid off the Denver hospital
bills, the doctors, Pa and Henry’s burials, and all the other expenses that
seemed to be hitting her, she would bring Chad home and bury him out on the
ranch beside Henry. The two had been so very different--Henry big, lumbering
and dependable; Chad slim, quixotic