Where the Deer and the Antelope Play (Code of the West) (3 page)

“Mister, I’ll be gettin’ even with you,” Jimmy Ray threa
tened. “You better be lookin’ over your shoulder.”

“Karl, get him out of here before I shoot him again.”

“What’s your name, mister? I want to know who I’m gunnin’ fer,” Jimmy Ray cried.

“Tap Andrews.”

“The one that took on Jordan Beckett and Victor Barranca?”

“I had some help.”

“Barranca shot a friend of ours in the back.”

“He shot a lot of men in the back.”

“How about you, Andrews? You ever shoot men in the back?”

“Nope.”

“That’s what I’m countin’ on.” Karl spurred his tall black horse and galloped south through the snow with the other three trailing behind.

Tap holstered his gun and pried his gloves off, trying to warm his hand over the flames of the crackling fire.

He left the warmth long enough to retrieve Brownie. The saddle was so cold that he stood in the stirrups all the way back to the campfire. Tap pulled the saddle off the horse and plopped it down on a granite rock that he had rolled next to the fire. Then he sat on the gradually warming saddle and gingerly pulled the snow-covered boots off his numb feet.

Propping his feet up as close to the fire as he could, Tap clenched his teeth as the extreme pain of re-circulation gripped each foot.

I can’t cut them out and hold them by myself. I can’t let Fightin’ Ed find ’em grazin’ with mine, or he’ll think I stole ’em for sure.

Nothin’s simple.

Everything’s so . . . cold!

Tap shoved the remaining wood on the fire. The bright wi
nter sun, even though low on the southern horizon, reflected off the snow and glared into his furrow-framed eyes. Tap blinked them shut as he felt the heat of the fire dance across his face and feet. He stretched his bare hands  across his knees, propped his rifle against his saddle. He took a long, deep breath. For the first time since he left the ranch, the air didn’t burn his lungs.

I’ll just rest here for a minute.

Then there’s work to be done.

His head dropped to his chest.

This time no dream.

“Well, well. Looky here. Rustlin’ my cattle plumb wore you out."

A painfully cold gun barrel shoved against his temple, Tap blinked his eyes open. The campfire had nearly died.

“Come on in, men,” a gravelly voice shouted. “We caught him barefoot and nappin’.”

“Fightin’ Ed, what are you doin’ here?” Tap managed to mutter.

“Chasin’ rustlers. And we just caught ourselves a big one.”

2

B
eads of sweat dashed across Pepper Paige’s forehead and flooded the corner of her eye with a salty, stinging regularity. She tried to brush them back with the sleeve of her yellow dress, careful not to streak flour across her face.

The kitchen at McCurley Hotel was stifling. Both coo
kstoves roared as Mrs. Mac, Margaret, and Lupe scurried to serve an overflow crowd at the dining tables in the next room.

Pepper knew that her blonde hair had long ago escaped from the combs, and she could feel it sticking to the back of her neck. Her feet, bound in the hot lace-up black shoes, ached from the constant standing.

It’s like Saturday night at the dance hall! Two more weeks—then you can say goodbye to all of this! I suppose Tap and me will sit in front of the fireplace some nights . . . then again maybe not!

She knew it was more than the heat of the kitchen cau
sing her to blush.

“Pepper, that second oven is empty now. You want me to put in the berry cobbler?”

“Thanks, Mrs. McCurley. Goodness, it’s hot in here tonight.”

“You think this is bad? I’ve got six cigar smokers out there. Why, even one of those despicable dance halls couldn’t be any worse than that.”

Mrs. McCurley put her hand over her mouth. “Oh! I didn’t mean that to sound personal.”

Pepper wiped her forehead again, this time dusting it with a fine tint of white wheat flour. “I was thinking the same thing. And don’t worry about me. I am what I am. If it don’t matter to God or Tap what I used to do, it surely don’t matter to me.”

She carried the deep tin baking pan to the cookstove oven and slipped it in with a deep sigh.

Two hours later she hung the damp dish towels on the rack in the pantry and pulled off her apron. Mrs. McCurley sat on a chair in the corner of the kitchen, rubbing her now-bare feet. “Honey, don’t ever get old and overweight. It kills your feet.”

“I’m bushed. Think I’ll wash up and go to bed.”

“Did you want to talk about that wedding menu?”

“I did make a new list. But I’m too tired now. Are you and Mr. Mac still planning on driving out to the ranch with me tomorrow?”

“Yep. We need the break.” Mrs. McCurley’s eyes sparkled even when framed by well-seasoned wrinkles. “Most of the guests are going out on the early stage. This might be their last chance to make Denver before Christmas. That pass won’t stay open too much longer.”

“Let’s talk about the menu on the way out to the Triple Creek. I told Tap we probably couldn’t make it this week, so this visit will surprise him.”

Mrs. McCurley sipped hot tea from a chipped porcelain cup. “We sure will miss havin’ you around here. If you hadn’t volu
nteered to help us through, we’d have been swamped.”

“It’s making the time pass more quickly. I’m just glad I don’t have to sit around in my room all day counting the hours.”

“You pretty anxious for that weddin’?”

“Sometimes I want it to happen so bad I’m afraid that it won’t. You know what I mean?”

“My memory may be fadin’, honey, but I remember my weddin’. I was a nervous wreck.”

“But everything came off all right? All that worry was for nothing?”

“It came off mighty nice, but not exactly as we planned.”

“What happened?”

“For one thing, the church was awful hot, about as hot as this kitchen. And Robert fainted. Right up front of the church standin’ next to the preacher.”

“What did you do?”

“They poured water on his face, and we said our vows sittin’ on the wailin’ bench. None of that will happen to you. I’ve never seen a wedding more organized.”

Pepper rubbed her long, thin fingers and noticed how rough her hands were becoming. “My whole life has been one diso
rganized mess. In the dance hall we tripped along from one disaster to another. A fight. A stabbing. Some girl crying. A drunk breaking up furniture. I’ve decided I’d like to keep things under control.”

“We surely wish you two the best. Both of you have had e
nough rough times. But we’ll miss havin’ you here at the hotel. I don’t know what attracts more guests, your pies or that sparkling smile.”

“My smile isn’t sparkling tonight. I’m going straight to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Pepper.”

“Good night, Mrs. Mac.”

The parlor was just as hot as the kitchen, but flooded with tobacco smoke and loud voices. Bob McCurley was in the center of a crowd of men, waving his hands and talking about “the biggest bull elk in the state of Colorado.”

She scurried past the men to the foot of the stairs.

“Miss Pepper,” a young man’s voice called out.

She turned to see a man in a tight-collared shirt wave at her. “Miss Pepper, I wonder if you’d like to join us for convers
ation? We’d surely enjoy your company.”

“Not tonight, Little Bob. I’m very tired.”

“I’ll be leaving on the stage tomorrow.”

“Have a nice trip.”

The tall, strong-shouldered twenty-three-year-old with a wispy blond beard walked toward her as she stood on the first level of stairs. “Are you actually getting married?”

“Yes. Two weeks from today.”

“I don’t suppose there’s anything I could do or say to make you change your mind?”

“Little Bob, why on earth would you want to do that?”

“You know, Miss Pepper, you’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” he gushed.

She thought about how messy, sweaty, sticky, and sore she felt.

“You’ve just got to get out and meet more women. Now good night.” She took several steps up the wide staircase.

“I don’t really have to go tomo
rrow. If you want me to stay, just say the word.”

She glared at him.
You’ve got to be kidding. For what possible reason would I want you to stay? Go. Go. Go!

He leaned on one foot and then the other. “Of course, I need to get to Denver.”

“Goodbye, Little Bob.” She scurried up the stairs.

“Miss Pepper,” he called out.

She stopped at the landing. She glanced down at the wide, blue eyes of Robert T. Gundersen, Jr.

“What can I bring you from Denver?”

“Bring me?”

“I wanted to get you a present. What would you like?”

“A wedding gift is always appreciated. Tap and I would be delighted with something new for our home.”

“Actually, I was thinkin’ of somethin’ more personal like.”

“Maybe you ought to step out and get some cool, fresh air. Now good night.”

“Good night, Miss Pepper. I’ll be thinkin’ of you all the time I’m in Denver.”

She shrugged and hastened to her room. She
was dismayed to find it as warm as the kitchen. She plopped down in the chair next to the bed and pulled off her shoes and stockings. Even the hard, polished wood floor felt warm to her toes as she hung her dress and brushed it down.

Pepper washed up in the tepid water from the basin and then stared for a moment at her flannel nightgown before pul
ling it over her head.

I’d rather not wear it, but I suppose I’ll be freezing by mor
ning. At least it’s not sweaty yet.

After combing through her wavy, blonde hair, she pulled back the hunter green comforter and fluffed up the large down pillows. Retrieving a piece of paper and pe
ncil from the top of the dresser, Pepper sprawled across the bed.

She began a new list on the paper under the heading, “Things to discuss with T. A.” Somewhere between points 15 and 20, she fell asleep.

The long, ruffled off-white gown billowed from her shoulders to the floor. The high lace collar and sleeve insets provided a teasing contrast. Dangling diamond earrings seemed to catch the sparkle in her eyes.

Pepper stood at the full-length mirror gazing at the bride.

Your nose is too wide, and your chin too narrow. But I can tell you one thing, you’ll turn his head tonight, Pepper Paige.

She stepped out into a large ballroom with a high ceiling and two magnificent chandeliers. The room was buzzing with men in dress frock coats and women in gorgeous gowns.

At the far end of the room a twelve-piece orchestra began to play a waltz. A strong, rugged-looking man wearing a ruffled shirt strolled toward her.

“Mr. Andrews said it was my turn to dance with the bride,” he announced.

“Okay. Where is Tap?”

“I think he stepped outside.”

They twirled around the room's perimeter, weaving in and out of other laughing, chatting dancers. Finally they spun to a stop. The man bowed and departed.

All of a sudden Pepper felt weariness. Perspiration on her neck. Warm feet. Tight shoes. She wanted Tap with her. Just as she started to search for him, a gray haired man touched her arm.

“There you are, my dear. I believe you promised to dance with me.”

“Governor.”

“My, that Andrews is a lucky fellow.”

They swung out on the floor. “Thank you, sir.” She a
ttempted a smile.

Where is  Tap?

Pepper scanned the room as they spun through the crowd.

This time when the music stopped, her feet ached. Her hair surged down over her right ear. She carefully tried to wipe the beads of sweat off her forehead with a white linen hankie that had been tucked into her sleeve.

Tap Andrews, I want to dance with you.

But it was a dark-complected man with a neatly trimmed goatee that approached her next. After him came a short, round, bald man with laughing eyes and sweaty palms. Then there was the army captain .
 . . and the cowboy with big Spanish rowels on his spurs . . . and the Chinese cook still wearing his dirty white apron and hat.

Finally Pepper pulled herself away. She was so tired she just wanted to collapse. Limping in the pinching shoes t
oward the big double doors of the ballroom, she tried to tuck her wavy hair back into the combs on the back of her head.

Expecting to feel a cool winter breeze when she stepped outside, she was shocked by the blast of hot desert air. She spotted a man wearing a clerical collar among the sage and cactus.