The Clash Between the Minds Page 13

  The bartender and the others turned her way and watched as she approached the bar. "Hello there," the bartender said. "I see you got caught in one of our rare rainstorms." He set a bottle of rye whiskey and a glass on the bar. "Five dollars."

  Sarah turned the scarred side of her face toward him. She pitched her voice to a guttural tone. "Two dollars," she said, "and I want a couple of beef sandwiches included."

  He hesitated, then grinned and nodded. "Make it three, and you got a deal." Sarah pulled a bag of coins from her pocket, picked out three silver dollars, and threw them on the bar. She put the bag away, picked up the bottle and glass, and headed back to her table. She stopped a moment and turned halfway around. "What is this place?" she said in the same hard tone. "And where is it?"

  "Laramie," the bartender said.

  "Wyoming Territory," another man answered.

  "Much obliged." Sarah sat at the table and poured herself half a glassful of liquor. She drank that down without stopping-then poured another glassful and sipped at it. The liquor spread its warmth within her, and after eating the two sandwiches delivered to her by the bartender, she began to feel passably comfortable.

  Two months since she had seen Faith and the others. A lot of her traveling had been away from towns or settlements, and particularly away from Indian country. She sent a telegram to Leah and Phillip when she could, letting them know she was all right. She continued her habit of writing once a month to her parents and to Scott and Lindsay. Occasionally, she sent a letter to Faith with tales of her wanderings and likely places for them to settle. She hoped the letters would encourage Faith to keep Joel Litchfield at a distance.

  Sarah kept sipping at the liquor. Every time she thought of Litchfield being near Faith, her insides hurt. She couldn't forget that Faith had been married to a man, and that she very nearly married Phillip. What if Litchfield convinced her that she'd be happier and safer—and more moral—married once again to a man? Sarah was sure Litchfield was using Benjamin's safety and lack of a father as arguing points. Damn him and his sweet-talking ways.

  She scowled and reached unsteadily for the bottle to pour another drink. Her arm hit the nearly empty bottle, and it rocked back and forth. Just before it toppled, one of the card players who had left the game caught the bottle as it fell from the table. "Whoa," he said. "Don't want to waste good liquor."

  Sarah felt dizzy, and she watched him with bleary eyes.

  He looked at the bottle and set it back on the table. "Not much left to waste," he said and sat down across from her. "My name's Mel Gunther." He looked intently at her. "You don't look too good."

  Sarah's head lurched down, and she yanked it back up. She tried to stand and would have fallen if Gunther hadn't grabbed her. "You need some sobering up, friend," he said. "Let's get out of here."

  Sarah couldn't get her arms and legs to cooperate with her wishes. Numbly, she let Gunther grab her belongings and lead her outside. At least the rain had stopped. "You got a horse?" he asked.

  She pointed a shaky hand toward the livery stable. "Redfire," she said. Her lips moved all over the place, and she couldn't get anything else out.

  "My rig's in there, too," Gunther said. He half-carried Sarah into the stable and helped her into the back of his wagon among some bags. He laid her coat over her and tossed Redfire's saddlebags and her poncho in next to her. He put a dry blanket over her. "I'll get your horse and take you both home with me. You're too damn drunk to stay here alone." He talked to the stableman, who put the bridle on Redfire and fetched the saddle and blanket. With those added to the wagon's cargo, Gunther tied Redfire's reins to the back of his wagon, got on the wagon seat, and started off.

  Sarah didn't remember much of the journey after that except the one time she dragged herself to the top of the wagon side and vomited until she thought her toes would come up, too. Could have used some of that rain now, she thought as she tried to spit the foul taste out of her mouth. She did the best she could, then fell back and passed out.

  Mel's sister, Rusty, had been asleep on the sofa. As soon as she heard the wagon pull in, she donned a coat and went outside to help unload the staples Mel had purchased.

  "I got a little more than you reckoned for, sis," he said. He indicated the back of the wagon with his thumb and led Rusty behind it. She gaped at the body lying there.

  "Who's that?"

  "Some fella traveling through." While Mel explained, he and Rusty got the man out of the wagon. With one on each side of him, they walked him into the house. "He came into the bar soaking wet and sat at a table all by hisself, drinking. He got so drunk he couldn't even stand up."

  "Set him on the sofa," Rusty said, "and we can take those muddy boots off. Lots of drunks around. Why'd you bring this one home?" She removed her coat and the visitor's hat, accepted Mel's coat and hat, and hung them on pegs next to the door. Mel unhooked the man's holster belt and handed it to Rusty to hang there, too.

  "He flashed a bag of money, when he bought a bottle. I figured I'd better get him out of there before someone stole it from him."

  Rusty gave her brother a smile. "That was good of you."

  When they finished with the boots, Rusty said, "Put him in my bed, and get these damp clothes off of him." She helped steer the man into her room. With one hand she pulled off the quilt, and they laid him on the bed.

  "There you go, fella," Mel said.

  "I'll get some extra blankets out of the loft." Rusty left and climbed the ladder to the storage loft in the top of the cabin. Halfway down the ladder, blankets in her arm, she heard Mel give a shout.

  "Rusty, come here! We got a surprise."

  She hurried into the room and gave a gasp. "A woman?" She dropped the two blankets at the foot of the bed and rushed to cover the woman with the quilt. Mel lifted the heap of damp clothes and set them in a corner. Rusty glanced toward him and narrowed her eyes. "Did you know she was a woman?"

  "No! I should have guessed when he...she...didn't show any whiskers, but I didn't notice. And she's a lot bigger than you. Bigger than me, too. I never thought of her maybe being a woman." He studied their guest. "Look past those scars, and she's kind of pretty." He gave his sister an impudent smile. "This could be interesting. Don't say I never brought you nothing."

  Rusty mock-glared at him. "Stop that. I'll find my own woman."

  Mel snickered. "Good luck. There sure ain't many to choose from around here. For either of us."

  Rusty's gaze locked on the woman's face. And there ain't many who look so good, she thought. Rusty knew of a couple of women who wore men's clothes, but none of them could hold a candle to this one. She lifted the quilt a mite and touched the woman's bare arm. "She feels warm now." She shook out one of the blankets and laid it on top of the quilt. "Let her sleep. She should be sober in the morning."

  "I have to get the rig into the barn and take care of Brownie," Mel said. "Her horse, too. I picked it up from the livery stable. She said he's called Redfire."

  Rusty gathered the damp clothes, and on their way out of the room, Mel poked her shoulder. "Dark-brown hair mixed with gold. I didn't get a good look at her eyes. Too dim in the bar. Gives you something to look forward to."

  Rusty stuck her tongue out at him. She was used to Mel's tormenting. Typical brother stuff. But he was always good to her. A good man all around. How many people would have taken this woman home to protect her money?

  "Maybe she won't stay long," Rusty said. "Maybe she'll get sweet on you, instead of me. Maybe she won't get sweet on either of us. And maybe we won't even like her. Don't jump to conclusions." But Rusty was already jumping.

  Early Saturday evening, Faith answered the knock on the door. "Hello, Joel, please come in." He entered and Faith hung his hat and coat on the clothes rack. They walked into the living room. Faith had been reading in the chair next to the lamp table. She picked the book up from the seat, laid it on the table, and sat. Joel took the chair opposite her.

  He looked around. "Benjamin's out?"<
br />
  "He's staying overnight with the Hurley family."

  "Umm, yes, Charles is a good man." He spoke as though Faith needed his approval of the Hurleys. As much as Faith liked Joel, she found his occasional touch of arrogance somewhat annoying. But he was charming in many other ways, and so far, she'd been able to ignore her discomfort with it.

  Joel put his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. "I've kept to your wishes about calling on you only once or twice a week to take you to dinner or just to visit, but I have to tell you, I'm a lonely man the other nights." He put his arms down and leaned forward. "Don't you get lonely, too?" The question caught Faith off guard, and she answered without thinking. "Yes, I do." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to recall them. She realized her answer had nothing to do with Joel, and she didn't mean to mislead him. The mention of loneliness cut her to the core, but she was lonely for Sarah.

  Joel stood and stepped toward her. He reached for her hands, and when she placed them in his, he pulled her to her feet. Still holding her hands, he said, "I want to marry you, Faith. I can take care of you and Benjamin and keep you safe. As my wife, you'd be completely accepted and no one would dare speak against you."

  "I'm very honored, Joel, but marrying anyone hadn't crossed my mind. I need to think about this."

  He dropped Faith's hands, embraced her, and kissed her. Faith closed her eyes and tried to respond, but Sarah's face and the feel of her body against Faith's came to mind. She opened her eyes and gently, but firmly, pushed Joel away. "I'm sorry, Joel. I'm not ready for this yet. I need more time."

  Faith thought she saw a flicker of anger cross his face, but he said, "I'm disappointed, to say the least, but I'll grant your request."

  "Thank you. Perhaps you should go now." Faith walked to the clothes rack and handed him his coat. Joel shrugged into it, and Faith gave him his hat. He donned it and gazed into her eyes. "Remember what I said. I mean to marry you when you come to your senses." Faith opened the door and he left.

  She leaned back against the wall and felt almost giddy. When I come to my senses? I didn't know I'd misplaced them. Then she grew more sober. But of course I have. My mind feels like a whirling dervish, and I don't know how to stop it.

  When Sarah woke, she didn't want to open her eyes. Her head hurt. It more than hurt; it pounded so hard she thought her eyeballs would burst out of their sockets. Her leg throbbed, too, but the pain in her head overshadowed it by far.

  She felt along her body. Only her long underpants. Everything else was gone. A couple of blankets covered her, and her head lay °n a pillow. She remembered the storm and being in a bar and drinking from a bottle of liquor. The way she felt, she must have drunk the whole blasted bottle.

  A man had sat down at her table. Said his name. She couldn't recall it. He helped her into a wagon and tied Redfire to the back.

  She remembered being awfully sick, but that was the last she could bring to mind. Where the hell was she? Where had he taken her?

  She edged her eyes partway open. Hazy daylight. So wherever she was, she most likely had been here the balance of the night. She noticed a small window across from the side of the bed and groaned at what she glimpsed through it. Snow. Heavy snow. Wherever she was, if that kept up, she wasn't likely to leave soon.

  A tap sounded at the door, and Sarah grunted an attempt at a word. The door opened, and a woman entered. Sarah squinted. She looked to be in her early twenties. She was slim, and her light-brown, not quite blonde, hair had a reddish tint. When she got closer, Sarah noted her hazel eyes held a friendly glint.

  "Hi," the woman said, in a soft tone. "My name's Rusty Gunther."

  Sarah cleared her throat, but her voice still came out sounding husky. "I'm Sarah-Bren Coulter. Call me Sarah. Where on earth am I, and how did I get here?"

  "You're in the Medicine Bow Mountains, Snowy Range, in Wyoming Territory, about thirty miles from Laramie. My brother brought you home from the Big Tent in Laramie last night. You'd had too much to drink, and he was worried someone might steal your money."

  Sarah's lips twitched in a small grin at the hurried flow of the literal answer she'd received. She squeezed her eyes closed and opened them wider, but that didn't help her headache. "That was kind of him."

  "He's a kind man. I'll bring you some headache salts. Can I get you anything else? You're welcome to stay in bed and rest if you want to."

  Rusty was staring at her. It didn't make Sarah uncomfortable, but she wondered what caused it. Seeing a woman who had been dressed like a man? Or did the scars intrigue her? "Could you bring me my saddlebags? I have clean clothes in them."

  "I'll do that." Rusty wheeled about and left the room. Soon she returned with a small packet of headache salts and a glass of water. Sarah made short work of both as Rusty left again. On her next trip, she put a pitcher of water, a washbowl, and a rag on the bureau. "This water's heated." She went out once more and came back with Sarah's saddlebags and a basket that she set on the bureau. "These are the things from your pockets. I'll wash your other clothes for you. Just leave your underpants on the bed, and I'll wash them, too." She laid the saddlebags on the bed within Sarah's reach.

  "Thank you for everything." Sarah closed her eyes again, and when she opened them, Rusty was gone. She threw off the cover, sat up, and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Dizziness overcame her for a moment. She shivered in the room's cold. She pulled her clothes from the saddlebag and even that small exertion made her queasy. With the help of the bedpost, she rose, removed her underpants, and tossed them on the bed. She used a chamber pot that rested next to the bed.

  She shuffled three unsteady steps to the bureau and, while she washed, examined the contents of the basket Rusty had brought in. Coin bag, spectacle case, pen knife, clean handkerchief, wooden comb, rawhide, and leather packet were all there. After washing, she returned to the bedside and slowly dressed in clean underpants, an undershirt, denim trousers, her amber tunic, and knee-length black socks. Her boots were nowhere to be seen.

  Back at the bureau, she tied her hair back with the rawhide, noticing in the mirror that hung against the wall that her hair had grown a lot longer. Faith always wanted her to let it grow, but she had shied away from doing so. Long hair took a lot of care. Now here she was, nowhere near Faith, and she'd let her hair grow. Was that an unconscious move to please Faith?

  Sarah snorted at that thought. She scooped up her other belongings from the basket and distributed them in her trouser pockets. The coin bag she left where it was. On second thought, she took the leather packet back out of her pocket and laid it on the bureau. She untied the string and opened it and the handkerchief it held. For a moment she stood there, running her fingers over the red lock of hair. She had touched this hair every night since she'd been away. All except last night, but she had a legitimate excuse for missing the ritual last night. Sorry, Faith. Touching the hair brought a familiar yearning, and tears prickled her eyes. With a gulp, she swallowed her sadness and returned the leather packet to her pocket.

  She opened the door, stepped out, and looked around the one large room. To her right, a deep fireplace covered most of one wall, its fire spreading welcome warmth. A black kettle hung from a swinging arm above it. Wood was stacked on the left side of its hearth and a poker and shovel hung on a rod to the right. A sofa, two chairs, and a small table were placed at angles to the fireplace.

  Directly opposite her sat a four-burner stove and a wooden counter with drawers and cabinets built in beneath it. On the floor to the left of the stove sat a coal scuttle full of trimmed and cut logs. Shelves above the counter held dishes. Beyond the counter was the sink with a small hand pump. Several pots hung from the corner beam near the sink. In front of this area rested a table and four chairs, leaving a narrow path between them and the sofa. A brown and white rag rug covered this path.

  Immediately to her left was a doorway. She guessed it went into another bedroom. Beyond that was the
front door. The cabin must be L-shaped with the bedrooms on the short leg of the L and the rest of the cabin on the long leg. A rack for coats, hats, and boots flanked one side of the front door, and next to that was a small window. Everything was well organized, Sarah noted.

  Her boots, cleaned and polished, stood to the side of the bedroom door. She tried unsuccessfully to pick them up. Excruciating pain shot through her head when she attempted to lean that far. She groaned, and Rusty immediately came to her aid.

  Rusty grabbed one arm and put it across her shoulders. She barely came to Sarah's chin—about Leah's height, only a lot slimmer. "Come over here to the table. I'll bring your boots to you." She walked Sarah to a seat and brought her boots. "Want any help to put them on?"

  Sarah grabbed her head with both hands. "Not right now, thanks. I don't feel up to it." Her voice still sounded gravelly. Maybe vomiting had strained a vocal cord. Heaven knows it was violent enough to. She winced inwardly at the word "violent." Faith had chiseled it onto her conscience.

  "I made some coffee and porridge, if you want some. We have our own milk."

  Sarah's stomach flipped, but she knew she needed nourishment. "I'll give it a try."

  Rusty set the food in front of Sarah, poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, and sat in the opposite chair at the table.

  Sarah drank the coffee and ate the porridge. She appreciated that Rusty didn't say a word until she finished. She was beginning to feel half human. The headache salts seemed to be making a dent in her pain.

  "You up to answering questions?" Rusty asked. "I'm mighty curious."

  "Go ahead." Sarah carefully picked up one boot and was glad to see she could bend over without her head coming apart. Rusty waited while she tugged it on, pulled on the second boot, and stamped her feet to settle them.