B000XUBEHA EBOK (25 page)

Cameron didn’t recognize the man. When they’d entered town, he’d eased back his duster and checked that his pistols were easy to reach. He placed a hand on the stock of his rifle, checked that it slid handily within the leather scabbard. And hoped there wouldn’t be trouble now, on a street crowded with bystanders.

“Hey, you.” The man walked into the snarl of traffic. “Turn them oxen aside and let this man and his lady get through. This here is James Cameron.”

“Und who ist James Cameron?” The oxen’s owner scowled up at Cameron and Della.

“He’s about the most famous lawman in the West, that’s who he is. He could draw those pistols and shoot you dead, mister, and you’d never even see his hand move.”

Cameron didn’t glance at Della. If she looked as if she agreed with his admirer, he’d be disappointed. If she looked as if she might laugh, he’d be irritated. It was better not to know what she was thinking.

The man from the cantina and the oxen’s owner turned the oxen across the street, blocking traffic in both directions. The man from the cantina waved Cameron forward. “You come on through, Mr. Cameron.”

“I’m obliged.” He touched his hat brim and nodded.

“Glad to do you a service.”

He heard Della say, “Thank you very much, sir.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

If he’d been by himself, he would have turned over the animals to the stablemaster then slung the saddlebags over his shoulder and walked up to the Palace Hotel. But he couldn’t expect Della to check into a hotel carrying saddlebags. He told the stablemaster to send their things to the hotel, then he offered his arm and escorted her past the plaza.

This time he left her in the ladies’ saloon while he arranged for a room, returning to find her having tea and tiny rounds of toast with a half dozen other ladies. The moment she spotted him, Della came to the doorway.

“It’s like turning back the clock to another time,” she said in a low voice, her hazel eyes shining. “Each lady is trying to outdo the other with the quality of her refinements.” She looked as if she was struggling not to laugh. “I’m afraid I’ve already disgraced myself at least a dozen times.”

“Della, you saw how crowded the town is. The only room I could get is a suite.” He examined her face, watching her expression. “It’s the bridal suite. I’ll leave you there, and I’ll bunk in at the stables,” he hastened to add.

She gave him a long, thoughtful look. “I’m not going to be silly about this,” she said after a minute. “There must be a sofa in the suite. Sleep there. We’ll be sleeping farther apart than we ordinarily do.” Crimson stained her cheeks. “That is . . . well, you know what I mean. It’s all right, really.” She took his arm. “I suppose the hotel clerk thinks we’re married . . .”

“I don’t know what he thinks. I booked the suite in my name, mentioned that a lady would be staying in the rooms.” Cameron tugged at his shirt collar and cleared his throat. “I don’t mind putting a bedroll down at the stables.”

“That’s not necessary, really. You’re paying for a suite, you should enjoy it. We’ll manage.”

Her hand on his arm felt hot and heavy. When she moved, he caught the scent of dust and lavender and boot polish. He couldn’t tell if she was just putting a good face on things.

As if she’d read his mind, she pressed his arm and looked up at him as they climbed the staircase. “Cameron. I worked in a saloon. Most of the folks in Two Creeks wouldn’t be at all surprised that I’m sharing a hotel room with a man. I stopped caring about that sort of thing a long time ago.”

“Really?”

“Well, most of the time.” Lowering her head, she studied the flowered pattern twining across the carpet. “You and I know we’re not engaged in any impropriety. It’s the truth that matters, not what other people think.”

She gave him too much credit. He spent hours speculating about improper behavior.

Cameron straightened his shoulders. “It’s early. I’ll take care of boarding the animals and arranging our train tickets. You can do some shopping, get some rest.”

She dropped his arm when they reached the third floor. “I doubt I’ll do any shopping.”

“I’d like to buy you a go-out-to-dinner dress.” He’d never said such a thing in his life, had never imagined that he would. To his irritation, he felt a flush under his tan. “As a birthday gift,” he added when she stopped to stare.

“It’s not my birthday.”

“As a reward then, for making a long and difficult journey.”

“It was lengthy, but not especially difficult.”

“Damn it, Della, I want to buy you a nice dress to wear out to dinner.” He wiggled his fingers near his hat brim. “And a bauble thing to wear in your hair like those other women wore at the hotel in Rocas.”

She stiffened. “I don’t want to owe you any more than I already do. What did this suite cost? What will the train tickets cost? And what did it cost to feed me all these weeks?”

“What the hell does it matter? I don’t care about the cost. I can afford it. If you want to thank me, then give me the pleasure of taking you shopping for a fancy dress.” He could see by her expression that tying the dress to gratitude gave her pause.

He opened the door to the suite and stepped back so she could enter.

“Oh.” She stopped and he almost stepped into her. “I haven’t seen a room like this since I left Atlanta. Not since the Ward’s plantation burned.”

The suite’s parlor faced large arched windows that opened to a balcony. That’s what Cameron noticed first, but he suspected Della referred to the multitude of tables, desks, chairs, tasseled lamps. Some of the items appeared to be antiques, others were of more recent vintage. Everything was draped or swagged or trimmed or tasseled in the fashion of the day. He spotted the sofa where he would sleep and realized his feet would hang over the end.

“Look at these ferns. I tried to grow ferns at the farm-house and never could. And the carpet! Oh my. It looks like a genuine Turkish carpet, not an imitation.” She peeked inside the bedroom. “Our saddlebags are already here. I have things to send to the laundry, things to mend.” Then she discovered the water closet and a claw-foot tub with brass fittings. “Oh my heavens.” She clasped her hands on her breast. “A tub right here in the room!”

“I take it you like the accommodations,” he said, pleased.

“You have to go now.” Grabbing his hand, she tugged him toward the door.

“Go where?”

“I don’t know, just go.” Eyes shining, she smiled up at him. “I’m going to have a long, soaky tub bath, right here in the room. So, you have to go.”

He laughed. He didn’t recall seeing her this happy before, with her eyes glowing in anticipation and an easy smile on her lips. If he stayed another few minutes, he suspected she would spin around with sheer exuberance. He would have liked to see that.

“Out, out, out.” Giving him a little push, she followed him to the suite’s door. “Oh, Cameron, this is wonderful.”

“Enjoy yourself.” Her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled. “I’ll go by the barber-and-bath shop, take care of some things and come back . . .” He pulled his watch out of his vest pocket. “About seven. In time for dinner.”

“That’s seven hours!”

“Plenty of time for you to do whatever you need to do. You can explore the town, go shopping, or you can spend the day here, resting. If you get hungry, order something—”

“I know. Good-bye.” She closed the door.

This is what it felt like to have a woman of one’s own. Absurdly happy when she was happy. Eager to put that shine in her eyes and that glow on her cheeks.

Feeling better than he’d felt within memory, Cameron settled his hat at a jaunty angle and set out to find the Santa Fe sheriff. It was a courtesy for men like him to let the sheriff know he was in town. But he wouldn’t surrender his guns, even if that was a town rule.

As it turned out, the sheriff didn’t raise an objection. Any other time, Cameron would have accepted the sheriff’s invitation to come back after supper and drink and jaw a while. But this time he didn’t have that restless, solitary hole behind his ribs. This time he had Della. For tonight, at least, he had a woman of his own.

Chapter 14

Cameron was only steps from the entrance to the barber-and-bath shop when a man he’d noticed in passing shouted his name in a tone that Cameron had heard to the point of weariness. There was nothing novel in what happened next. Both men drew and an instant later the man lay dead on the street, and Cameron’s good feeling was gone.

“Makes me glad I’m not famous,” Sheriff Rollins commented half an hour later. They stood in the shade of the awning jutting out from the barber-and-bath shop, watching the undertaker’s men toss the body into the back of a black wagon.

“Don’t let a journalist write a book about you. The lying bastard will paint a target on your back.” He’d known Jed Rollins for years. They had discussed the price of fame a dozen times.

“Arnold Metzger, that’s the man you just shot. If you hadn’t killed him, eventually he would have ended up with a noose around his neck. Not a doubt in anyone’s mind that Metzger’s been involved in three robberies and at least two murders. I can prove it, but not solid enough to satisfy the law. You did me and the citizens of this town a favor.” Sheriff Rollins pursed his lips. “You’re lucky, Cameron. He could have shot your butt. Metzger was handy with a gun.”

“I noticed.”

“This story’s going to get told and exaggerated, and that’s too bad. Every time some idiot draws, that target on your back gets a little bigger.” The sheriff pushed out his hand and they shook. “Damned shame.”

One thing troubled Cameron about the shooting, and he thought about it while he drank a whisky and soaked off the trail dust in a deep, hot tub.

He had hesitated. Not by a lot, but in that fraction of a second he had thought Della’s name and he had cared about dying. A man who hesitated in a shoot-out was a man who was going to get himself killed, sooner rather than later.

There was another thing. Ordinarily he prided himself on cool efficiency, but he’d been angry when he fired. Lately it seemed that he arrived someplace and, before he had time to get his boots shined, everyone knew James Cameron was in town and they wanted a piece of him. At least Arnold Metzger needed killing. As always, that fact offered consolation.

Leaning back against the rim of the tub, he scowled at the steam condensing on the ceiling. He was weary to the bone of the challenges, the gunfights, the life he was living. The peculiarity was that he hadn’t let himself realize or admit it until this trip.

What else was there?

He couldn’t visualize himself living a different life. But did he want to pin on another badge? Men who wore the badge were the loneliest men in the West. Bounty hunting? Riding the plains for weeks on end in search of human refuse?

His choices were limited and, no matter what he chose, it all came down to waiting for the man who was younger and faster on the trigger. That’s how it would end, the only way it could.

Maybe he should head for one of the coasts. He’d considered this before, but not seriously, because eventually the legend would catch up to him.

Besides, his work was here. There was no shortage of killers who needed hanging or shooting, and that’s what he wanted to do: balance his personal scales of justice.

Finally, what was the point of settling down and living forever? He had no family and that wouldn’t change. No one cared if James Cameron lived or died, and that didn’t figure to change, either.

If he hadn’t met Della Ward, he wouldn’t be having this back-and-forth discussion with himself.

That brought him to another question he’d been wrestling. When to tell her the truth. He’d decided to tell her once they reached Atlanta, but he didn’t know if that was the right choice.

There was no guessing what might happen if he told her before they arrived. If he waited until Atlanta, at least he’d be certain about the reunion with her daughter. And if she refused to speak to him again or to return to the West in his company, she’d be in a place where he assumed she knew people who could assist her and help her get started again. These were his arguments when his conscience troubled him.

Meanwhile he would savor every minute with her. He’d store up a lifetime of memories that he could pull out and examine during the long, solitary treks across the Great Plains. And hope like hell that his discipline held until they reached Atlanta.

There was no honor in what he had to tell her or in delay. He didn’t want to say or do anything to make a bad situation worse.

Yet that’s all he thought about. Making it worse by taking her in his arms and adding to his guilt and to her reasons to hate him.

Della didn’t know what Cameron did immediately after leaving her, but she could track his activities later in the day. First, he went to the Santa Fe Ladies Most Elegant Emporium. She knew this because a delivery man from the Santa Fe Ladies Most Elegant Emporium came to the door of the suite to deliver a gown and cape. The gown was cream-colored faille with emerald satin stripes and emerald crepe de chine, matched by a cape of a slightly deeper tone featuring a beautifully draped hood to cover her coiffure.

Which suggested that she should have a coiffure to cover. She was staring into the mirror, holding loops of hair this way and that when the next knock sounded. This delivery came from Edleston’s Accoutrements. White mid-length gloves and a half dozen hair ornaments to choose from, plus a delicate fan made of parchment and point lace.