DOWN THE HALL, ELIZABETH followed Virgil into their bedroom. His features were gaunt and pale, and he suddenly seemed sapped of strength. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
Elizabeth put her hand over his forehead. He stared at her dully as she satisfied herself that he had no fever. She took a pair of scissors from her sewing basket and deftly snipped away the remnants of his shirt. Then she stooped down, tugging his boots off and dropping them on the floor.
Pulling the covers back, she helped him stretch out in bed. She took the pistol from his waistband and placed it on top of the dresser. Then she unbuttoned his trousers, working them down over his hips, and finally removed his socks. For a moment she debated on his undershorts and then decided he should be allowed some dignity. She covered him with a sheet, draping it lightly across his wounded arm.
“How do you feel?” she whispered.
Virgil frowned. “You want the truth?”
“Of course,” she insisted. “You mustn’t play the hero.”
“That’s a laugh,” Virgil said, not laughing. “I feel like I lost an argument with a meatgrinder.”
“Well . . .” She studied him seriously a moment. “Let’s look on the bright side, shall we? You’re alive and the doctor says you’ll mend quickly. I think we have much to be thankful for.”
Virgil nodded. “Remind me to count my lucky stars.”
“I will, after you’ve had some sleep. Now, no more talking, Mr. Brannock. Close your eyes.”
Virgil gave her a game smile and his eyelids drooped shut. Within moments, he fell into a deep exhausted sleep. She waited until his breathing became even, watching him with a look of pride and heart-wrenching concern. At length, she turned and walked from the bedroom.
A moment later, she entered the parlor. Walter Tisdale was still seated in the easy chair. He straightened, tugging at his vest as she crossed the room and lowered herself onto the sofa. Neither of them spoke, and they sat for a time wrapped in silence. Finally, he looked at her with a disquieted expression.
“Are you all right?”
Her voice was cool. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Tisdale shook his head. “Your mother must be having conniption fits. I can just hear her—”
“Damn mother!” she stormed. “And damn you, too! Have you any idea how incredibly self-centered you are? Do you?”
“How dare you talk to me in that tone!”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Father. Don’t be such a pompous windbag.”
Tisdale flushed bright red. “I won’t sit here and be insulted by my own daughter. You listen to me, young lady—!”
“No!”
Elizabeth suddenly sat erect on the edge of the sofa. She fixed him with a terrible look. “You listen to me! I’m not your little girl anymore. I’m a married woman and carrying my first child. And I have something to say to you about my husband.”
Tisdale appeared stunned by the ferocity of her attack. He blinked, watching her with wary unease. “I thought we’d settled Virgil’s affairs.”
“You treated him shabbily, Father. You marched in here while he was hurt and sick with worry about his brother—”
“Confound it! What did you expect me to do? He’s the one who hunted those men down and killed them. I’m just trying to salvage the mess he made.”
“Yes, you salvaged it.” Her voice dripped with scorn. “And don’t tell me how generous you were. I imagine you’ll profit very handsomely by the arrangement.”
“I—” Tisdale snapped halfway to his feet. “I refuse to tolerate this any longer. You’re obviously on the verge of hysteria.”
“Sit down, Father.”
There was steel in her voice. Astonished, Tisdale obediently dropped back into his chair. He looked at her as though confronted by a stranger. He saw icy resolve in her eyes.
“Yesterday,” she began calmly, “I was a dithering girl of twenty-three. Today, my husband lies wounded and still very much in danger of being killed. So I’m no longer the girl I was yesterday. Do you understand that, Father?”
“Yes,” Tisdale said quietly, “I think I do.”
“Good.” She nodded and went on with unsettling assurance. “I don’t begrudge you profiting on Virgil’s misfortune. All things considered, it was probably the most sensible arrangement. We have no choice but to leave Denver.”
A frown creased Tisdale’s brow. “In that event, I’m somewhat baffled. Exactly what is it we’re talking about?”
Her gaze was direct. “You deserted Virgil. He trusted you and relied on your support. Instead, you showed the white feather.”
“My God!” Tisdale appeared aghast. “Are you calling your own father a coward?”
“Answer the question yourself. Are you afraid of David Hughes?”
Tisdale seemed to shrink back in his chair. His features paled, and a long moment passed before he was able to speak. “Yes,” he said, lowering his eyes. “And I’m not ashamed to admit it. Any rational man would fear Hughes.”
“On the contrary,” she said, pressing him, “I think you’re very much ashamed of it. And for good reason, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Virgil and his brothers drew the line this morning. You may think them irresponsible and foolhardy, but they proved their point.”
“Point?” Tisdale’s eyebrows bunched together in a question mark. “What point?”
Her eyes were dispassionate. “A man who has been wronged must ultimately take a stand. Otherwise he’s no man at all.”
“And if taking a stand gets him killed . . . what then?”
She laughed derisively. “I know the argument only too well. Better a live coward than a dead hero. Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”
Tisdale winced, clearly stung. “I might have chosen kinder words.”
“Why be kind?” she said. “The truth often hurts.”
“Is that what you’ve learned from Virgil?”
“For a long time,” she noted, “I thought I preferred a live coward to a dead husband. Virgil taught me that a man without self-respect might just as well be dead. What happened this morning merely reaffirms that belief.”
“My dear,” Tisdale said in a raspy voice, “you are still very naive about the affairs of men. For all your platitudes, what happened this morning was a waste. It’s cost Virgil everything he worked toward and what he might have been.”
“You find the price too high, don’t you?”
“Compromise is the cornerstone of any endeavor. Virgil’s pride blinded him to the realities of a harsh world. In short, a wise man knows when to bend.”
She gave him a pitiful look. “Is that the secret of your success, Father? Knowing when to bend?”
Tisdale colored with anger. “Your husband could have profited by the example. Instead, he’s burned his last bridge in Denver.”
“I know,” she said with a sudden fierceness. “And I’ll never be more proud of him than I am today.”
“Quite frankly,” Tisdale told her, “you have me at a loss. You admit he’s through in Denver and yet you continue to badger me. What is it you want?”
“I want you to intervene on Virgil’s behalf.”
“Intervene?” Tisdale said uncertainly. “Are you referring to David Hughes?”
She slowly nodded. “Clint Brannock has an instinct for such things. He believes Virgil’s life is still in danger. I want that danger removed.”
“How do you propose I accomplish that?”
“Talk to Hughes,” she said. “Tell him Virgil has agreed to leave Denver. Let it end peacefully—no more killing!”
Tisdale stared at her blankly. “You overestimate my position in the community. I have no influence with Hughes.”
“I don’t believe that for an instant.”
“Well, like it or not, it’s true!”
She forced him to look her in the eye. “Please don’t bandy words with me. We both know that you’re the most prominent businessman in Denver. Use the power of your bank to persuade Hughes.”
“By persuade,” Tisdale remarked, “I assume you mean I should threaten him?”
“Yes, dammit,” she said angrily. “Take a stand for once in your life. Threaten to withdraw financial support from him and his railroad. Force him to compromise.”
“Even if it worked,” Tisdale said with no conviction, “it would put me in an untenable position. Hughes would somehow twist it so as to put me in his debt. And he always collects a stiff price on favors.”
“Have you so little backbone, Father?”
Tisdale visibly recoiled. “It has nothing to do with backbone. I’ve managed to keep myself above local politics. I refuse to stoop that low.”
“Perhaps it’s time you dirtied your hands. If nothing else, you have an obligation to Denver. But you have an even greater obligation to me—and your grandchild.”
“My grandchild?” Tisdale said weakly. “Are you threatening me now, Elizabeth?”
Her voice was determined, somehow chilling. “I’ll leave it to you, Father. Should any child know its grandfather to be a coward?”
Tisdale’s features sagged, and he appeared to age under her cool stare. He hunched forward, shoulders slumped, and sat staring at the floor. She waited him out, holding to an iron silence, and he finally looked up. There was defeat in his eyes.
“You’ve become a hard woman, Elizabeth. I liked you better when you weren’t so insensitive.”
She gave him nothing. “Would you like me better as a widow?”
“No—”
“Then you’ll do as I ask, won’t you?”
“Very well,” Tisdale said wearily, rising to his feet. “I’ll have a talk with Hughes.”
She sat perfectly still.
Tisdale waited, as though expecting some final word of absolution. When she remained silent, he collected his hat and trudged slowly toward the parlor door. There he stopped and looked back at her.
“Whatever else you may think, I’m not a coward. I won’t have that between us.”
Her eyes softened. “I never meant to hurt you, Father. I do love you.”
Tisdale wanted to ask if she loved Virgil more. But he knew the answer and dreaded to hear it spoken aloud. He nodded and turned into the hallway.
Elizabeth felt an instant of remorse. She had humbled him, invoking a steely side of her nature that seemed somehow unrefined. But then, as she heard the front door close, she reconciled herself to what she’d done. The alternative was to remain a mewing, witless female, and perhaps become a widow. She quickly suppressed any lingering sense of guilt. She told herself again the very thing she’d told her father. Yesterday was a lifetime ago.
A faint noise startled her. Looking around, she saw Monte move through the parlor entranceway. Something in the other woman’s face alerted her, and she knew she wasn’t mistaken. Her conversation with her father had been overheard.
“Forgive me,” Monte said, crossing to the sofa. “I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, honestly! I started up the hall and—”
Elizabeth smiled warmly. “Please don’t be harsh on yourself. You’ve really no need to apologize.”
“Well, thanks,” Monte said with apparent relief. “I wouldn’t want you to think I was a snoop.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.” Elizabeth patted the sofa and waited until she’d seated herself. “If you hadn’t overheard, I’d probably have told you anyway. I need to talk to someone.”
Monte appraised her at a glance. “I guess it’s not the sort of thing a woman tells her husband.”
“No, never!” Elizabeth laughed softly. “Virgil would be furious. He’d say I was meddling . . . a busybody!”
“You know . . .” Monte paused, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve always operated on the principle that what men don’t know won’t hurt them. I suspect it applies to husbands, too.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Elizabeth said with sudden feeling. “Somehow it makes it easier, having another woman in the house. I don’t feel so alone or drawn into myself. Does that make any sense?”
“God, does it! Sometimes I think I’ll bust with all the things I’d never say to Earl. I suppose men just don’t make good confidants.”
“You’ve never had close lady friends, a real confidante?”
“Not in a long time,” Monte said with a wistful smile. “You’ll pardon my French, but whores and saloon girls are the worst gossips in the world. I wouldn’t trust one with the correct time of day.”
“You may not believe me”—Elizabeth hesitated, then went on in a rush—“but I just can’t tell you how much I admire you.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No, it’s true,” Elizabeth said earnestly. “You’ve made a life for yourself in a world I couldn’t even imagine. And it’s obvious you’ve earned the respect of everyone, especially the men. I see it in their eyes when they look at you. Clint and Earl, even Virgil.”
“Nothing to it,” Monte said, trying to cover her embarrassment. “All you’ve got to do is make the big lugs toe the line.”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”
“Say, listen, you’re doing all right yourself. From what I overheard, nobody needs to give you lessons. You scared the bejesus out of me!”
“Was I really that bad? Honestly?”
“Honey, you were just great,” Monte assured her. “You saw what needed doing, and you did it. Virgil ought to kiss your feet once a day and twice on Sundays.”
The image flashed through Elizabeth’s mind and she laughed. “Somehow I don’t think Virgil would appreciate the sentiment.”
“Earl neither,” Monte said wickedly. “Some men just don’t know a good thing when they see it.”
“I suppose we could have done worse, though. Not that I would ever admit as much to Virgil.”
“Since we’re sharing secrets, I’ll tell you one of mine. Earl popped the question just before he dropped off to sleep.”
“He asked you to marry him?”
“And stone-cold sober, too. Unless, of course, you count a dose of laudanum.”
Elizabeth spontaneously hugged her. “Oh, Monte, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.”
Monte smiled brightly. “To tell you the truth, I deserve a pat on the back. It took me four years to get that knothead into a marrying mood.”
“So you see,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I was right after all. You truly are family.”
“Holy moly,” Monte said with a look of bemusement. “I hadn’t thought of it, but you’re right. That makes me a Bran-nock!”
The women embraced in a shared moment of wonder. Tears of happiness streamed down their cheeks and their laughter was choked with emotion. Nothing of what they had endured since dawn intruded on the joy they felt now.
However briefly, they forgot tomorrow.