Western Romance Collection: Rugged Cowboys Part 40

The guy puts a quarter on the bar. "Will that do me?"

"You've overpaid," Chris answers. "I'll grab your change."

The way the man watches him sets off an instinct that he hasn't felt in a long time. He has to stifle it. Not with the kid right there. There won't be any trouble.

"Right, my mistake," says the guy after a minute, as he notices Chris isn't moving to the register. He waits anyways, his hand not moving to change out the quarter.

Chris takes a deep breath and leans forward. His hand slips down to his pistol, tucked and hidden by the way he turns his shoulder.

"I don't want any trouble, man," he growls.

The guy looks at him. The confusion on his face is almost believable, but he's made it larger than life. "Trouble? No, no trouble at all."

His hand closed around the handle of his pistol and he eases it out of the holster, real slow and real easy. Silent. "Just put the piece on the bar, alright? Don't make any fast moves."

The fact that he knew the man on the other side of the bar was doubtless. The ident.i.ty, though, remained a mystery. If he couldn't remember, then it must have been a real short while that they rode together. Maybe they never did, just pa.s.sed once or twice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the mystery guy said. But Chris didn't buy it.

"I ain't going to let you rob me. Not now, not later. So just put the piece on the bar, and there won't be no trouble."

He showed the barrel of his own pistol, peeking over the edge of the bar top and aimed at the middle of the man's chest. At this distance, there wouldn't be any chance of a miss, and the fellow on the other side didn't need to be a psychic to know what would happen if the trigger gets pulled.

The man's face dropped a little. "Alright, man. Take it easy."

"On account of you and I having been such good friends before, I'll let this slide. You want your shooter back at the end of your stay, I'll give it to you, but after that, you take it, and you get out of my town, aight?"

The guy moved slow. His hand ducked inside a coat pocket, and he pulled free a pistol with a sawed-short barrel. A good sort of gun for quick drawing. The sort of gun that a man who plans to use it would carry. He set it down on the bar and Chris picked it up, then set it down behind. With the pistol still pointed square at the man's chest, he pushed the b.u.t.ton to open the drawer, dropped the quarter in and pulled a dime and a nickel free.

"There you go. Fifteen cents change. Go have a seat, and don't cause no trouble, and I won't call no Sheriff to see if there's anyone looking for you. You got it?"

The guy nodded. "I got it."

"Good. Now get goin'."

The guy took his beer and left. Chris's heart suddenly started pounding. No, he realized, correcting himself. It wasn't sudden. He'd been ignoring it pounding. His eyes naturally shot over to Marie and the kid. They weren't looking at him.

Maybe for a little longer, he'd be able to keep it to himself who he'd been before. But eventually, without a single doubt, they would find out. His heart thudded so hard that he could feel it in every part of his body. He had to make sure Jamie was going to be alright first. He owed that boy his life, after all.

Fifteen.

Marie's first instinct was to tell him to leave first thing. After all, the way people would think-well, Chris had a reputation, and she had to worry about the reputation she was going to get for herself, as well. What was more, she had to worry about Jamie, now, too.

But then she looked over her shoulder at the boy, laying there on the bed, and she just... couldn't bring herself to do it. That was all, of course. It had nothing to do with how she felt.

His voice was low and soft and he sat back in his chair as if he were concerned that he might fall out of it if he didn't take special care.

"How are you holding up?"

Marie didn't know how she was holding up. It all felt fine. It wasn't all that different from what she did every day, and yet she felt as if at any moment, the whole thing might come cras.h.i.+ng down around her ears. "I'm alright."

He leaned forward and took a deep breath, put his hands on his knees. "Well, if you've got a handle on everything..."

"Don't go yet," she said. The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she really had a chance to think them over, which left her trying to think up a justification after the fact.

He sat back again. "Is everything alright?"

Marie kept her mouth shut. It was the best way to go. Her head was swimming. Too much had happened today already, and the best thing to do was go to bed.

Then he started to stand again, and her body started to feel funny again, a vague electric tingle that she couldn't quite explain and didn't want to try. More than anything, she thought, she'd like it to go away. So she did what she had to.

She stood up with him.

He was tall, close up. She'd known he was tall, before. From afar, you could tell right away, the way that he towered over others. From close up, it was natural to notice. But it was natural to look up, to ignore it, to think that it wasn't so noticeable.

Now, though... now, she noticed. The way that he stood over her, she barely came up to his armpits, and he must have weighed twice as much as her. He looked like he could fit her into his pocket, and in that instant, Marie realized exactly how small she was. How powerless she was in comparison to the big bartender.

"You didn't have to get up for me," he said. His voice was low, and the sound of it made a s.h.i.+ver run down her spine. An implication that she couldn't quite put her finger on. It took her a moment to register that maybe he was speaking softly because of the boy in the other room.

"I don't want you to go," she said again.

He should have gone, she knew. She was letting something come over her that she shouldn't have given a second thought.

"I have to."

"Please, I don't know what to do. You can't leave me here, alone."

He reached out with one thick arm and wrapped it around her, pulling gently until her head was pressed into his chest. She didn't like how it made her feel. She was modern, capable. It wasn't a source of pride or agitation, but she'd proven quite well to her own satisfaction that she didn't need anyone else to support her.

If she kept careful watch over her teachers' salary, she could make do by herself. Chris Broadmoor was many things. He was dangerous, he was a mystery. He was at the center of no less than a dozen separate rumors that were liable to bring a red tint to her face just to hear the stories that people thought he had fit himself into.

And the feeling of his chest against her head, the way he didn't yield a single inch to her, made her feel weak. Yet in the same bundle of emotion there was something else, a feeling that she could keep going. As if he were there just to keep her on an even keel.

The moment stretched on for what felt like a long time. It might have only been a few seconds.

"I need to go," he said, finally. "I can't stay here."

Why couldn't he, though, she thought. She didn't say it out loud, because she knew the answer without having to ask. He couldn't stay because he was who he was, and she was who she was. There would already be talk, but it would be that much worse if he made the mistake of thinking that they could be together, even just to keep her sane for a night.

"You're right," she said. The words came out of her mouth, but she didn't mean them.

He let his arm drop to his side, took a step back. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and felt as if she were deflating like a balloon.

"Good night." He said it tentatively. As if he were uncertain whether or not he should go. Uncertain or not, he put his hand on the hotel-room door and turned the k.n.o.b. "I'll come by to check on Jamie in the morning, aight?"

She nodded. Words were failing her. She remained standing as he left the room, trying to keep the feeling of stability that she'd had when he held her. It slipped through her fingers, yet she scrabbled to regain in nonetheless. If only she could just have it back for a moment, an instant, she could keep going on.

She finally slumped back into the chair, her energy long-since gone. It was going to be a long night. Eventually, maybe, she would find a way to manage. She'd slip into a routine, and everything with Jamie would get figured out.

She let her eyes close. That would happen in the morning, or in a week or in a month. Right now, she just needed to rest. Her mind drifted, the shadows of sleep blotting out the edges of her thoughts until dreams started to overtake her.

A moment later, her eyes shot open as the sound of a scream ripped through the room. Jamie shot up, his hair matted to his head, and she bolted. He'd be alright-she'd make certain of it, with every part of her.

Sixteen.

Chris leaned his back against the wall and waited for something to happen. When it didn't, he waited a little longer. Jim waked over real slow, finally. Maybe if there were someone in the bar, then there would have been an excuse for him to sit in the corner, perched where he could watch the entire place, and where he could see any trouble as it started brewing.

Today, though, was emptier than usual, and there wasn't much reason at all, except habit. Well, if it was going to stay empty, then they might as well at least talk.

"Hey," says the bouncer. He's burly, with a thick beard and a mean-looking face that might have looked intimidating to people who didn't know him.

Having tried to get Jim's help before with moving furniture around the bar told Chris what he needed to know about how intimidated to be by the guy, but he looked tough in the corner there, and most people didn't want to mess with him. That was his job, then-to look like someone that people didn't want to mess with. That being in mind, he was good at his job.

When Chris failed to answer him for a moment, Jim tried again. "You sleep alright?"

"Sure," Chris answered. "Yourself?"

He leaned over and turned a little with a smile. "Sure."

"What are you smilin' at?" Chris's eyes narrowed a little. Whatever was in the bouncer's head, he was about to be irritated, so he got a jump-start on it.

"Oh, nothing much."

"Out with it, James Donovan, or so help me-"

He slipped off the bar stool and turned. "What makes you think there's anything?"

"You couldn't hide your smile if someone paid you to. It's why I keep telling you that poker ain't your game."

"Oh, be fair, Chris."

"Then tell me what you're angling at, and maybe I will."

"Aight, then. What's the story with you and the lady?"

"No story," Chris answered. "Nothing to tell."

"Oh, that's not what I was hearing."

Chris poured himself a gla.s.s of water from the jug and leaned forward.

"Well, I don't know what you heard, but I've got nothing to tell."

"I get you. Nothing to tell. Right."

The expression on his face was less one of believing than consisting of little more than a wink and a nudge, and Chris's smile slipped a little.

"You talk too much, you know that Jim?" He leaned forward. "If something happened, I wouldn't tell you about it, but nothing happened. I learned exactly one good thing in my life back home, and I thought I'd do some good with it. Then she got involved in something got nothing to do with her as far as I'm concerned."

"So you're telling me you weren't in her hotel room until the early hours?"

"I was keeping an eye on Jamie Pearson."

Jim's eyes slide over. "What have you got to do with little Jamie Pearson?"

"I owe his parents a favor, and they're not around to collect, and I'd rather not say more."

"Is this about whatever happened five years ago?"

Chris's face twisted up. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it, and that ain't going to change."

Jim pushed himself away from the bar. "You ain't gotta be touchy about it, man."

"Then listen to me when I talk, yeah?"

"Sorry to have stepped on your toes, jeez. Ain't gotta make a big thing about it."

Chris thought about that for a second. "Yeah. Sorry about that, you're right I guess. On edge."

"So if you weren't, you know, then-"

"I told you. Nothing. Watching the kid. Making sure he was being taken care of."

Jim shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I get that."

"I don't know what the h.e.l.l I'm supposed to be doing for him. The teacher seems to be skiddish as h.e.l.l about it. I guess, her age, no husband, no kids, she's got something going on there."

"Well, h.e.l.l. No husband, and now she's watching a kid?"

"I don't know how else I ought to be dealing with it," Chris answered. "There ain't a place for him here."

"You know Sarah could talk to you about it. I don't think she's got any clients."

Chris's lips pinched together. "Yeah, I don't know. Why not. She's as much help as you are. You want to go fetch her, I'll keep watch. Ain't n.o.body coming in anyways."

"Yeah."