told her would be her room. He kept trying to touch her, to hold her arm, or place his hand on the small of her back. Each time, she’d shudder and her mind would go blank, forgetting where she was. She knew this; she didn’t want anyone to touch her ever again. Then she thought of the dark haired man. His touch didn’t frighten her. Dutch was his name, she thought she remembered that, and she wondered about him. Who was he? Where was he going? He was the reason she wasn’t killed by those Yankees—those Indians. Willow ran a palm up the side of her face trying to control her thinking.
Those were Indians, Willow, not Yankees. I’m not in Georgia anymore, now I’m somewhere else. I don’t even know where the hell I am. I don’t know who to trust. I trusted that man. That man with the mule…
Willow climbed the stairs fighting with her mind. She passed a painting of a boy, and it reminded her of Tommy Parker and his terror-filled face. The wagon attack flashed before her eyes, drowning out all else, and rushed a hot adrenalin to scramble her thoughts again.
Willow forced the terrifying images away as she struggled to concentrate on the smooth wooden rail that slid under her fingers as she continued to climb. Right now, she knew she was above a saloon, heading for a room, and that a doctor was going to come tend to her. She’d need to see the doctor, and as long as she remained calm, maybe her mind would too.
“Here you go, Miss Blanford. Room Four Aces. Our gamblers call it our lucky room. You get a view of the main road out the windows right here and can see all the comings and goings of Hell’s Creek residents. You just get some rest. I heard Horace is trying to locate a doctor and get word sent to the Wiles for you, ma’am.”
Willow thanked him, then turned her attention out the window to where Dutch had led the mule out of the camp. Then she turned to survey the heavily wallpapered room, exhaling her relief. The bed appeared comfortable enough. She hadn’t slept in in so long. “Can you help me arrange a bath?” she asked, suddenly painfully aware of her appearance.
“Sure. I can do that,” Clem nodded.
“Maybe later you can tell me about that man that rescued me.”
“Who, Dutch? Yeah, he’s an interesting character. The ladies sure take a shine to him too. But he just keeps to himself. From what I’ve heard, that man has lived quite the life. He was a decorated hero in the war for acts of bravery, and then came out west. Now he just climbs that mountain looking for gold. People have tried to mine up there for years, but the Apaches kill them all. But not Dutch. Somehow, he manages to dodge their arrows. They call him Yellow Rock, and so far, he’s nary suffered a scratch. But I for one would sure like to find out where he’s digging for his gold. He’s always got plenty and talks about someday buying a cattle ranch.”
“Yellow Rock?” Willow knew she’d heard that before, but trying to remember just where, made her body tense and throat constrict. Yellow Rock…why is that familiar? She fanned herself with her hand.
“Does he have a wife?”
“Nah. He don’t even buy my whores. Ilene jokes that maybe his private parts were blown off in the war since he never makes use of …well, you get my meaning, I’m sure.”
Laughter filtered up the stairs interrupting the conversation. Then the sound of a man and woman trouncing along the hallway echoed inside Willow’s room.
“I’m gonna poke you so hard, you’ll see stars in your eyes, Ilene!”
“You better pay me first!”
“I’ll pay and then you’re gonna pay with your pretty bottom in my face!”
“Gee, let me take my clothes off first, cowboy. If you keep touching me like that you’re gonna burst before we even get the door opened!”
Willow’s hands covered her ears trying to drown out the lewd conversation and the images that came with them. The room began to blur while their laughter bled through her fingers.
Learning to Kill: Stories