Boot Hill Bride (27 page)
"Edward Keyes," she said. "He was with Thurston when he
came to get me at the farm."
Corrine climbed off the bed and moved across the room to
look out the window. The door opening made them both turn
toward the sound. Shame forced Randi to lower her head,
unable to meet her husband's eyes.
Howard stood in the doorway, took in the scene. Corrine
Martin, dressed in her usual silk and lace, moved from the
window to the bed.
"I'll stop in to see you later," she said, patting Randi's
shoulder. Her gaze met his, and the sad, cheerless glint in her
eyes made Howard's heart hang even heavier in his chest.
He tipped his head in a simple farewell and waited until
she'd left the room before closing the door. Randi sat on the
bed amid the tangled covers, with her legs crossed beneath
her, chin lowered to her chest. He crossed the room, sat
down on the edge of the mattress and used one hand to tip
her face upward.
Tears streaked down her cheeks, leaving little shimmering
trails. He rolled his hand and cupped the side of her face.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
"It's not your fault," he said.
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"Yes, it is. It's all my fault." She moved away, scrambling
across the bed to stand on the opposite side. "Everything's
my fault."
He would have tried to reassure her again, but knew she'd
just rebuke whatever he said. She moved toward the closet,
wiping her face with both hands. Howard rose and followed
her. When she bent to pick up her traveling bag, he asked,
"What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving," she said with a finalizing tone.
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"No, you're not." Howard stepped forward and laid a hand
on her trembling shoulder.
She shrugged it away. "Yes, I am. And please don't try to
stop me."
He laughed, not a humorous chuckle, but a snigger of
disbelief that she could possibly think he'd let her leave.
Reaching out, this time with both hands, he grasped her
shoulders and spun her about.
"You
are not
going anywhere."
"I have too," she said, her eyes cast down at the floor.
"Why?"
Her face snapped up. "Why? Because if I leave..." she
paused as if trying to figure out what to say next. "He
can't..."
"Randi, your leaving won't solve anything."
"But if I'm not here—"
"I won't be able to figure out a way to get this all taken
care of."
"Uh?" A frown formed on her forehead, making little tracks
in the smooth skin.
"If you leave, I'll have to leave, too." He ran a finger down
the side of her face.
"Why?"
"To find you and bring you back."
She sighed, shaking her head listlessly.
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He let his finger trace all the way around her face, down
one side and up the other.
"Randi, don't worry. I'll figure out a way to fix all this. But
I can only do it with you here."
"But my fath—Thurston Fulton, he's ruining your life."
"And I'll find a way to get rid of him." Howard pulled her
close, wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Him, not you.
Without you none of this would mean anything." He pressed
his cheek to her temple.
"But the hotel, the restaurant—"
"Doesn't mean anything compared to you." He twisted,
kissed the tears from her cheeks before moving down to
capture her mouth. "
You
are everything to me."
Her arms wrapped around his back, and the kiss
deepened, not with the heated passion of last night, but with
the sharing of life and love. When their lips separated and she
nestled into his chest, the exact spot he wanted her to be the
rest of his born days, they clung to one another, drawing
strength and power from that unknown force only married
couples know exists. He would find a way, if he died trying—
he'd find a way to make it all work out.
Howard stomped up the stairs of the Dodge House,
knowing he should have come straight here when the mob
left his hotel, but the need to assure Randi all was right had
outweighed his need of kicking Thurston Fulton out of Dodge.
Not that he had the authority to forbid the man from staying
in town, but he had the steam, and his brother's had his
back—between the three of them, Thurston Fulton would not
spend another night in this cow town.
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The steady thud of his boots echoed off the narrow hallway
walls as he watched the little numbers on the doors float
past. Stopping in front of number six, he raised a fist to
pound hard enough to make the door bounce against its
frame.
"Open up, Fulton!"
Nothing but silence came from the other side, and he
pounded harder.
"Fulton! Open the door!"
He reached down and grabbed the knob. Expecting it to be
locked, he twisted hard enough the knob almost broke off in
his hand. Throwing the door open, he stared into the empty
room. The bed, unmade, was the only evidence someone had
been there earlier.
"Shit," he mumbled, stomping back down the hall.
At the front desk, he banged on the little bell until its silver
top flew off and tumbled across desktop before crashing onto
the floor.
"I heard you the first time," Marnie Austin said, eyes
snapping as she bustled her way through the swinging door
on the far side of the room.
"Where's Fulton?"
"You already looked in the book when you stomped in here
a few minutes ago," she remarked, picking the broken bell off
the floor.
"His room is empty," Howard growled.
"The rat. He said he was staying for a week." She
shrugged her thick shoulders and managed to repair her bell
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before adding, "Oh, well, at least I got his money for last
night before he skipped town."
Marnie Austin was as tall as a man and just as broad, and
the way she eyeballed him right now, Howard could have
sworn she was a man—at least half man for there wasn't
anything feminine about her.
"Why you asking me where he is anyhow? He's your
friend," she snapped.
"He's not my friend," Howard insisted.
"Yeah, well you was in here talkin' to him last night."
"Yeah, and I'm talking to you right now, too, but you're
not my friend either!" Howard fumed. The insatiable urge to
throttle something had his temper flaring, but knowing he
couldn't very well strangle the woman, he figured insulting
her was the next best thing. Without taking the time to relish
the nail spitting glare she gave him, he turned about and
stomped out the door, letting it bang shut loud enough to be
heard in Indian Territory.
Snake and Bug, one on each side of him, met his strides as
he clomped down the boardwalk. He wasn't quite sure where
they'd been standing and for half a second wondered if he'd
caught one of them with the swinging door of the Dodge
House. Neither appeared injured, so he didn't dwell on it.
Wagon's rolled, cowboys rode, and an odd assortment of
people on foot strolled past, but other than blurs in his vision,
Howard didn't really see any of them. Thurston Fulton had left
town, and that was a good thing, or at least it should be.
Trouble was the man was worse than a liver-bellied rat, and
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just like a varmint, it was when you didn't see them, didn't
know where they were, that they were the most dangerous.
Thanks to Hinkle, most of the crowd that had bore down
on the hotel this morning now believed he wasn't a Populist,
and those still pondering it, didn't reckon it was worth their
efforts to protest. But none of that took care of Thurston
Fulton. Howard knew he hadn't seen the last of his father-in-
law. Even more, the notion the man wasn't done using Randi
sent a fear like nothing he'd never known, nor could describe,
to live inside his chest.
"You want us to go look for him?" Bug asked, without
glancing his way.
"We can take a few of the workers, shouldn't take us more
than half a day to track him down," Snake added.
"No," Howard said, hoping his fuming mind was capable of
thinking straight. "I don't want him to think his shenanigans
fazed us. The less effect he believes he has, the better off we
are."
Bug hesitated and then caught back up with a quick double
step.
"That's some darn good thinking there, Hog. Right
conniving."
Snake raised an eyebrow and gave an agreeable nod.
"It could get nasty, boys," Howard clarified.
"I'm in," Bug said.
Snake replied directly, "Me, too."
"The less Ma and Randi know the better," Howard felt
inclined to add. He didn't need his mother filling anyone full of
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buckshot, and he'd lock Randi in the upstairs of the hotel if it
was the only way to keep her safe.
"That's always been my motto," Snake said.
"You know that! The less Ma knows the less likely we all
are to getting shot," Bug illuminated.
"So what do we do now?" Snake asked.
"We got a hotel to finish building." Howard stopped and
pivoted around on the heel of one boot. Front Street lay
before him, a mile long and bordered with dozens of
businesses. Buildings of every shape and size made of bricks,
wood, and even a few tar paper and canvas shacks hosted
the hustle and bustle of people scampering about. Dust hung
in the air from the street traffic, and noise, everything from
dancehall music, people shouting, cows bawling on the far
side of town, and the train whistle screaming her arrival, filled
the air.
"Boys," he said, quite thoughtfully, and not unlike Ma
when she was pondering deeply.
"Yeah?" they asked in unison and filled with skepticism.
"We're gonna have us the biggest open house this town
has ever seen." Howard flipped back around and slapped an
arm around each of his brothers. "We're even gonna invite
the governor."
"We are?" Snake asked, leaning forward to glance at Bug
with a look that said their other brother may have lost his
marbles.
Bug shrugged. "You know the governor, do you?"
Howard shook his head. "Nope."
"Does Kid or Skeeter?" Snake asked.
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"Don't rightly know if they do or not. But I'd take a gander
and say they know plenty of folks who do."
Bug stopped, took off his hat, and wiped his forehead with
the crook of his elbow. "Big brother, has anyone ever told you
more range wars have started up over politics than over
cattle rustling?"
Howard smiled. "Yup, I've heard that. But can you think of
a better way to assure the town folks we aren't Populists?"
"Well, no, but folks around here don't think kindly of any
politicians," Bug explained, replacing his hat with such caution
Howard almost laughed. His youngest brother had always
been the most precautious, the one who'd do just about
anything to keep peace.
"Exactly, so if the whole mess of them are at each other's
throats, the rest of us will be able to have a good ole' time."
Howard gave them each another wallop on the back before he
turned about, and whistling, walked up the street.
He didn't have to turn around to know his brothers stood
stalk still, staring at each other while the dust of the street
swirled around their boots. They were both wondering if he'd
lost his mind, or more likely, what they should have carved in
his headstone.
The knowledge didn't faze him.
No siree, not one little bit.
The grand opening of The Majestic would be the biggest
party the state had ever seen, hell, he might even invite the
governors of Colorado and Nebraska, too.
After all, if you want to catch a rat, you gotta set a big
trap.
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Randi laid the pen down and flexed her fingers. The way
the digits cramped they might stay in that position forever.
She'd done little more than hold a pen, writing out invitations
for more than a week. Most of the out of town folks had been
invited via telegrams, which had taken her almost a week to
pen as well. And poor Mr. Miller down at the telegraph office,
he all but quivered the last time she walked into his office. His
gaze had landed on the large stack of messages she'd carried,
and his winkled face had taken on the look of a forlorn hound
before he accepted payment and started to tap away.