Desperate Hearts (9 page)

Elizabeth felt embarrassed. “Fine. I’m staying at Ma Kelly’s.”

“I know where you’re
staying.”

Elizabeth let out an exasperated sigh. “It seems everyone in this town knows all about
me.”

“News travels fast in places like this. People are hungry for something to talk about, and the arrival of a young, pretty, unattached woman who’s a lady to boot is food for all kinds of gossip. You be careful out there
now.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Thank you. I
will.”

She stepped outside to see most of her following had dispersed, to her great relief. She headed out and across the street to Carl Jackson’s little log office, but as she passed a saloon on the way, someone reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging her into a room full of smoke, piano music, laughter, and bearded men who surrounded
her.

Strong arms began whirling Elizabeth around a straw-and-peanut-shell-covered dirt floor to a fast-strutting tune coming from a piano and a
fiddle.

“Don’t worry, honey,” assured the short, bearded man who’d grabbed her. “We all think you’re quite the beautiful, respectable lady. We just want a dance, that’s
all.”

Elizabeth was so startled she hardly knew what to say or do. Would they be insulted and get rowdier if she fought
this?

“Least you can do is be a hurdy-gurdy gal,” her partner told her before another man shoved him off and started dancing with her. This one was taller and darker and smellier. Elizabeth heard women laughing in the background. Were they laughing at her? “Hurdy-gurdy girls can get rich real
fast!”

“I really don’t want to dance,” Elizabeth protested, half yelling above the whooping men and loud piano playing. “It hurts my
shoulder.”

“Just one little dance, lady?” her partner
begged.

“Really, I…”

Suddenly a big fist rammed into her partner’s jaw, sending the man flying across two tables. He landed against a bar stool and everyone backed away from Elizabeth. She turned to see Mitch Brady standing there with a dark look of rage in his eyes. “The lady said she didn’t want to dance!” He scanned the room. “Everybody here understand
that?”

The man Mitch had clobbered rolled to his knees, groaning.

“Stu was only wantin’ a dance, Mitch,” another man spoke up. “Ain’t no harm in
that.”

“There is when the woman was dragged in here against her will and never agreed to the
dance!”

Everyone backed farther away, and Elizabeth could see no one in the room was about to give Mitch any more
trouble.

“You broke my goddamn nose!” Mitch’s victim grumbled. Two other men helped him to his feet. He held a hand to his nose, but blood was running from under his hand and dripping onto his
shirt.

“Oh, Mitch, you didn’t have to hit him that hard,” Elizabeth protested, feeling sorry for the
man.

Mitch looked down at her with a scowl. “Believe me, I
did
have to hit him that hard, or he and some of the other drunks in here would have danced you till you collapsed. After that things would have gotten worse.” He took hold of Elizabeth’s arm and led her toward the swinging doors at the saloon entrance. “Let’s go,” he
said.

Elizabeth followed him out. “I could have handled
that.”

“For God’s sake, woman, you underestimate most of these men. I told you that you shouldn’t walk these streets alone before they get to know you better and understand you’re a proper lady. Where were you going anyway? First you go see Sarah, which doesn’t look good for you, then you walk past two
saloons—”

Elizabeth jerked her arm away, wincing with renewed pain. “Where I go and why is my
business!”

Mitch sighed. “Come here.” He led her across an alley and pointed to a wooden bench on the boardwalk. “Sit
down.”

“Please stop giving me
orders!”

“Sit
down!”

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth sat down on the bench. Mitch sat down beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Elizabeth noticed his leather boots were
worn.

“Now, answer my questions,” he told
her.

Elizabeth wanted to hit him. “I went to see Sarah because I need some practical dresses to wear in this uncivilized town and Ma Kelly told me Sarah was pretty much the only seamstress around here…her
second
job, I’m
told.”

“Second job is right. You go in there and men who don’t know you will think you’re asking her about joining her in her other
occupation.”

“That’s ridiculous. They know she makes clothing…by day. Besides, I feel kind of sorry for her after learning how she ended up here doing what she does. I actually like her. She’s very
nice.”

“She
is
nice, but the fact remains men here have a certain opinion of women like her. Don’t think I’m not sorry for them myself. I’ve defended some of them who were used like a punching bag, but the fact remains they are what they are, and in a place like this, a proper lady doesn’t want to be seen with any of them, at least not when she’s new in
town.”

“She told me you practically beat a man to death once when he abused
her.”

Mitch didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “No woman deserves that.” He spoke the words as though he was thinking of someone special when he said
them.

Elizabeth thought how different his attitude was from the attitude of Alan Radcliffe. A woman didn’t have to be a whore for Alan to beat on her. All she needed was to own something he
wanted.

“What’s a hurdy-gurdy girl? One of those men said I should be a hurdy-gurdy girl and I’d get
rich.”

Mitch’s mood lightened a little and he leaned back again. “A hurdy-gurdy girl makes her money being paid to dance with men. It’s only one step up from doing more than that. And yes, a woman can make a lot of money just dancing with the men, but most of them consider it hardly any more respectable than what the women above the saloons
do.”

“And I suspect you think just like the rest of them. After all, you must have already been in that saloon, probably drinking and carousing with the painted women. And practically the first thing you asked me when we first met was if I was a…you know. I hate the word. Be that as it may, you were disappointed to find out I was
respectable.”

He cast her an unnervingly handsome grin. “I was disappointed, but once I realized you really weren’t one of them, I knew you’d need defending and that I’d need to keep an eye on
you.”

“No, you really don’t. You’re a busy man who lives a dangerous life. You have too many other things to handle in this
territory.”

He looked her over in a way that should have made her angry, but deep inside she continued to feel an odd attraction to the man. “Well, when I’m in town, I intend to make sure people here understand you’re not to be disrespected,” he told her. “And you didn’t answer me. Where were you headed when they pulled you into that
saloon?”

Elizabeth raised her chin. “I was going to see Carl Jackson. Sarah told me he would have paper and pens I could use. I want to put up some notices that I am available for teaching, and I am thinking about perhaps starting a newspaper or something like
that.”

Mitch sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll take you to Jackson, but keep in mind that although he claims to be an educated lawyer, he’s shady and underhanded at times. He’ll cheat you any way he
can.”

“I have nothing over which he
can
cheat me. All I want is some paper. Maybe after that, you can take me to whoever sells guns in this town and help me pick one out, since you’re so bent on me owning one. Sarah advised the
same.”

“So, you’ll do it for someone like Sarah, but not for
me.”

“She’s another woman trying to survive in this town. I figure if she says you’re right about getting a gun, then I should get
one.”

Mitch nodded. “Well, then I’m grateful to
her.”

They shared a moment of silence as horses and wagons clopped and rumbled through the street. Elizabeth watched a young boy shovel horse dung and put it into a wheelbarrow. She wondered if he was the child of a married couple, or perhaps some prostitute’s child, or an
orphan.

“Sarah said besides helping her once, you’ve stood up for a couple other women, too, at different times. Now you’re following me around like some kind of watchdog. Why? You don’t even know me. Maybe I’m not the proper lady you think I
am.”

“You don’t fool me one bit. Don’t tell me you aren’t feeling scared and lost and alone, because I’ve seen the look. You don’t need to put on an act of bravery for me, and you don’t need to try to convince me you’re anything less than a proper young woman who I suspect is well educated—maybe even from a wealthy
family.”

Elizabeth wished he weren’t always so right about everything. She felt a sudden urge to cry but fought it, managing to keep her eyes averted. “Fine,” she answered. “I’m feeling lost and scared and alone and I’m trying to figure out if there is one person in this town I can
trust.”

He touched her arm. “Look at me, Elizabeth.”

She wanted to pull away, but every time he touched her it made her feel calmer, safer. It was the same feeling she’d sensed when he touched her arm that night at Ma’s place. She dared to meet those blue eyes
again.

“You can trust
me
, and Ma Kelly and Doc…and actually, you can even trust
Sarah.”

Elizabeth smiled away unwanted tears. “That’s exactly what Sarah said. I just wish you weren’t a man, because I have a lot of trouble trusting your
gender.”

Mitch rose and helped her to her feet. “That’s too bad. Some of us really
can
be trusted, Elizabeth.” He pointed down the street, where men were building the framework for something. “That’s the gallows they are building for tomorrow’s hanging. Things will get a bit wild around here tonight, and I’ll need to watch my back for Sam Wiley and anybody else who might decide to spring our two prisoners from jail. That’s why you need to stay at Ma’s and lay
low.”

Elizabeth felt a chill at the sight of the gallows. Hanging had to be a horrible way to die. “I have no plans to step outside the door later tonight or
tomorrow.”

“Good.” Mitch led her one building down to where a sign hung from a post that read Carl Jackson, Lawyer. “How old are you, anyway?” he again asked Elizabeth. “All of eighteen or
so?”

“I told you. I’m twenty-two,” she
lied.

Mitch just sighed. “Someday you’re going to tell me the truth about your age and why you’re here, because there is something about you that has a hold on me, Miss Elizabeth Wainright—if indeed that’s your name.” He led her into Jackson’s log cabin, which was smoky from the fat cigar the man puffed on as they walked in. Elizabeth nearly choked on
it.

Jackson’s dark eyes lit up and he quickly smashed out his cigar when he saw Elizabeth. He rose and bowed slightly. “Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Miss Wainright?” he asked with his strong Southern
drawl.

“Cut the gentlemanly act, Jackson,” Mitch told him. “Do you have any writing paper you can sell to this young
lady?”

Jackson looked her over, smoothing back his hair in a gesture that reminded Elizabeth of another man…a man she
hated.

“Certainly. Plain paper or a
tablet?”

“Either one will do,” Elizabeth answered. “And I need a pen and some ink, if you can spare
any.”

Jackson pulled a handful of plain paper from one drawer and some lined paper from another, handing them to Elizabeth. “No charge for a beautiful lady like
you.”

“I can pay
you.”

“I’m sure you can,” he answered with a smile, “but I won’t hear of it.” He turned to his desk and picked up a pen and a bottle of ink. “Glad to oblige, Miss Wainright,” he added, handing her the items. “Just be sure to come and see me if you should need any legal
services.”

“She won’t,” Mitch answered before Elizabeth could. “Thanks for the paper.” He quickly led Elizabeth out of the cabin before Jackson could continue their
conversation.

“That was rude,” Elizabeth told him, putting the pen and ink into her
handbag.

“Believe me, it doesn’t matter with a man like Jackson.” Mitch led her across the street to a gunsmith’s tent. “Now we’re getting you a
gun.”

“If you
insist.”

“I
do.”

They walked into the tent, where a big, middle-aged blond man sat taking apart a rifle. Gun parts lay all over the table in front of him, as well as an array of tools. He looked up at Mitch and Elizabeth, his eyes lingering on Elizabeth. He nodded. “How do you do, ma’am?”

Elizabeth recognized a Swedish accent. “Fine, thank
you.”

“This is David Carlson,” Mitch told Elizabeth. “Everybody calls him Swede.” He turned his attention to the gunsmith. “We’re here to find a small pistol for Miss Wainright’s protection—something she can carry in her handbag. I’ll teach her how to use
it.”

Swede nodded, getting up and walking over to a trunk that contained several compartments and shelves that rose separately as the lid was opened. The trunk held an array of small guns, whereas the entire tent was lined with wooden shelves holding numerous larger six-guns. Several rifles were laid out on another table, with long boxes underneath that Elizabeth supposed held more rifles. Swede turned back and laid a very small pistol into Mitch’s hand. It fit in his big hand with room left over, and Elizabeth surmised the tiny gun was no more than six inches long from its polished wooden grip to the end of the
barrel.

“This is a C. Sharps pepperbox, shoots four .32 rimfires—nice and small and light,” Swede told
Mitch.

Mitch nodded, studying the small
gun.

“Barrel is stationary,” Swede told him. “Square, with four
chambers.”

Swede’s accent was so strong that Elizabeth had to concentrate to understand everything he said. The man was even taller than Mitch and stood slightly bent under the low tent ceiling. He took the gun from Mitch and removed the barrel. “You can take it off and reattach it.” He cocked back the hammer. “Instead of the firing chamber rotating like your six-gun, the firing pin itself rotates to hit each of the four chambers every time you pull back the hammer. See?” He pulled back the hammer, showing Mitch how the firing pin moved in a circle. “Different, huh?”

“Very different, I’ll say, but looks easy to use. Is it reliable? Well
built?”

“It’s a derringer—good, dependable little pistol, light to hold and small enough for a handbag. The little woman should have no trouble using it. I have plenty of rimfire shot for it and I can order more on my next trip to Virginia
City.”

“Good.” Mitch took the supply of paper from Elizabeth’s hands and laid it on Swede’s desk. He handed Elizabeth the pistol. “Get the feel of
it.”

Elizabeth took the gun, surprised at how light it was. “I’ve never held a gun in my
life.”

“Soon as the hanging and all that is over with, we’ll go practice using
it.”