Whiskey Jim’s
November 1879
As long as the money held out, the Kid, Tom and Doc were in no particular hurry to leave Whiskey Jim’s. Barlow was content to hang out wherever the Kid did. Bowdre pulled out first and went home to Manuela. After a spell the Kid got to thinkin’ about Paulita. The girl held a fascination for him like no other in his youthful experience. Fort Sumner tugged at a restlessness it seemed only she could satisfy. He wanted no part of a winter without her. It was time to go home. Funny he thought of it that way, but it seemed to fit. It didn’t matter to Doc or Tom. And Barlow? Hell the boy might as well have been his shadow.
They rode north into town along Roswell Road as night fell, cold and cloudy. Snow scented a sharp breeze. The Kid gave a longing look to the Maxwell place as they passed, hoping for a glimpse of her. He wheeled the roan east at the orchard and followed Stinking Springs Road to the old Indian hospital. Barlow bid his good-byes at Bob Hargrove’s saloon. He peeled away and drew up at his old haunt. They put up their horses in the corral across the road and humped their saddlebags over to the abandoned hospital. They stowed their gear in vacant rooms down from Bowdre’s place.
Tom nudged Doc playfully in the ribs. “You goin’ over to Maxwell’s tonight, Billy?”
The Kid flushed in the dim light of a single candle. “Maybe. First things first though.”
“How’s that?”
“A drink and some supper.” He led the way out the door.
They clumped along the boardwalk and across the road to Beaver Smith’s Sumner Saloon. Frosted glass doors, closed to the night chill, glowed in warm welcome. Inside, the smell of burning coal lamps mingled with tobacco smoke, wet wool and beer. The Kid blinked in the hazy yellow glow. He glanced at the bar looking for Garrett’s familiar figure. The heavyset bartender in the stained apron wasn’t his friend. They sidled up to the bar.
“What’ll it be, gents?”
“Whiskey,” the Kid said.
“Two,” said O’Folliard.
“Taos lighting.” Doc grinned.
“Where’s Garrett?” Billy asked.
“Moved to Lincoln.”
“Lincoln? What for?”
“Some say he’s fixin’ to run for sheriff.”
“Sheriff?” The Kid tossed back his drink. “Well I’ll be. Fancy that, boys, our ole pal Pat Garrett, sheriff of Lincoln County.”
“He’s got to get elected first. The election don’t come around until next fall,” the barkeep said.
“Oh he’ll get elected all right.” He poured himself another drink. “Pat Garrett’s a good man. Smart too. Folks couldn’t do much better than elect him sheriff. He won’t knuckle under to Dolan either, that’s for sure.” He turned to Tom and Doc with his crooked, boyish grin. “We’d best get our outlawin’ done before he gets elected. We don’t want that hombre takin’ up our trail.” He turned back to the bartender. “What’s for supper?”
Scurlock thought about the taciturn steel-eyed Garrett. He was a competent man all right. He’d make for a no-nonsense sheriff. Like the Kid said, maybe it was time to get done with outlawin’ before serious law enforcement got elected.
An hour later, Billy crunched up the street to the Maxwell place. The night had turned cold on a biting wind. Light snow swirled in the air. He clumped up the porch and rapped on the door. Heavy boots sounded inside. Pete, he thought. Swell. The door cracked open, faint light behind the shadowed figure.
“You.”
“Evenin’, Pete.” He smiled. “Nice to see you too.”
“What do you want?”
“Well I just got back to town and thought I’d drop by and say hello to Miss . . .”
“Billy!” She ran down the hall past her startled brother and into his arms.
Pete slammed the door, leaving them to the cold porch. For the moment neither noticed.
“I’ve missed you so.” She breathed, snuggling against him. “I didn’t know if you was ever comin’ back.”
“Shucks, sweet girl, I couldn’t stay gone long from you. It was just business.”
“You mean it?”
He took her lips in his and felt the chill melt clear through to the bone. She sighed into his mouth, a small pulse racing in her throat.
“Come in,” she said. “It’s cold out here.”
“What about Pete?”
“I got a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen.” Her eye twinkled. “He’ll be gone to bed directly.” She took him by the hand and led him inside. They followed a dimly lit hall past the parlor and Pete’s front bedroom to the kitchen at the back of the house. Paulita sat him at the kitchen table. She took two cups from the cupboard and went to the stove where the coffeepot warmed.
It felt good just watching her. She wore a plain skirt, a simple blouse and a shawl against the chill. Her long black hair fell past her shoulders. The young girl he remembered from fleeting encounters in the peach orchard had ripened some in the months he’d been gone. Ripened in ways even the shawl couldn’t hide. She carried the steaming cups to the table. She moved in a quiet catlike way that drew a man’s attentions to her womanly places. Her dark skin flushed with the echoes of their kissing. He guessed she’d come by the coloring on her Mexican mother’s side. Her dark eyes glistened, fixed on him as though he were something more than he was. Something out of one of those romantic dreams young girls were known to have. He didn’t quite know where he fit, but he sure liked the feeling of fittin’ there.
“Where have you been all this while?” She sipped her coffee.
“Up to White Oaks.” He kept it vague.
“Did you find gold?” She giggled.
He shook his head. “Just sold them miners some beef.”
“Did you find yourself a pretty girl to keep you company while you was gone?”
“Aw Paulita, you know I’m sweet on you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Heck, no.”
“I don’t believe you for a minute.”
He reddened. “What about you? Am I supposed to believe you been sittin’ around here pinin’ for me all the while I been gone? I don’t believe you, either.” She smiled a teasing little smile. Gawd she was pretty.
“Boys come and boys go.” She pulled herself up straight and looked him in the eye. Her breast swelled. “But they don’t mean nothin’ to me.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“Believe it.”
She had a little starch when she said it. He liked that too. “So what’s been goin’ on around here whilst I been gone?”
She prattled along with local news and gossip for a time. The Kid contented himself with the melody of her voice and all the ripe promise that seemed to go with it. She ran out of steam sometime after the coffee ran out. He realized they’d lost track of the hour.
“Gee, it’s gettin’ late. I best be goin’.”
She pulled a pretty pout. “It’s cold out there.”
“Might get too warm if Pete finds me here much longer.”
She scraped back her chair, resigned to his leaving. She led the way to the hall.
The Kid followed the sway of her hips. She paused halfway down the hall. Deep snoring rumbled toward them from the front bedroom. She cocked her head, listening. A mischievous glint lit her eye. She grabbed his hand and ducked through the door to a room at her side.
Deluvina stepped into the kitchen from her room off a hall at the back of the house. She folded her arms across her breast and listened as they paused on the way to the front door. She heard the door latch softly. She lowered her eyes. A tear gathered at the corner of one eye. She turned back to her room.
The room was dark, save the silver light from a single window that fell across the dark shape of a bed. Her room, he realized. The thought flooded him with an odd mixture of excitement, danger and want. She drew him to her kiss. The shawl slipped from her shoulders. She shuddered against him. The air grew heavy and moist. He needed air.
“But, Pete . . .” His voice cracked.
She smiled up at him. Pale window light lit her eyes. Shadow veiled her expression. “Once he gets into the sawmill he don’t never wake up.” She moistened her lip with the tip of her tongue, teasing. Something somewhere nudged the door closed. She stepped back. Her fingers moved slowly up the front of her blouse, dark fingers fluttered over tiny buttons.
His mind screamed some meaningless warning. He paid no heed, his will rooted in anticipation. His senses tingled, vision slowed. The blouse slipped from her shoulders. His breath caught in his throat. She wriggled her skirt over her hips. It slipped past her thighs. Copper cream gleamed in the frosty light. Soft waves of black hair spread before him, pricking the darkness in points of reflected light. She unbuckled his gun belt and laid it on a small table beside the bed. She lifted her eyes to his and drew him to her. He went lost in a fever.
He snapped awake. The sky beyond the window pane turned gray. He found himself holding the most beautiful creature ever to grace nature. He remembered the fever and shook his head in disbelief. Reason reared its ugly head. He needed to get out of there before Pete and the rest woke up. She stirred against him with a soft sigh.
“Paulita,” he whispered. “It’s mornin’. I gotta get out of here.”
She looked into the shadow covering his face through the tangled curtain of her hair. “It is, isn’t it?” She pinched his nipple and bit his lip playfully.
It was morning all right. Hell he might have to shoot his way out of here before all was said and done. He’d done that before. Just then something else struck him as more important than his gun.
She snuck him out the back way after Pete went off to see to his ranch chores. The walk up Stinking Springs Road to the hospital felt bright and airy despite a cold wind and gray flannel clouds laden with the promise of more snow. He’d said he was sweet on her. Gals liked to hear that sort of thing. He’d never got the meaning of it before. That little Mex miss had his head fogged good’n proper for a fact in one night. He didn’t know what to make of it. He’d need more time to figure that out, a lot more time. He smiled to himself as he climbed the steps to the old hospital.
Tom sat on his bunk, cleaning his gun by the light of a coal oil lamp. He glanced up and grinned when Billy came through the door.
“Where you been?” He didn’t expect an answer.
“None of your business.”
“I’m sure it ain’t.”
“Where’s Doc?”
He tossed his head toward the back room. “Inside packin’.”
“Packin’, packin’ for what?”
“You talk to him. I tried.”
He found Doc, rolling his blanket in the back room. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”
Scurlock straightened up. “Dunno for sure, back to Texas maybe.”
“Why, Doc?”
“It’s time, Billy. The war’s over. We lost. Them as hired us ain’t payin’ no more.”
“We’re getting’ by.”
“Outlawin’.”
“So?”
“Look, after you ah, left last night, me and Tom stayed around and talked to some of the boys. Garrett went to Lincoln to run for sheriff all right, with the backin’ of John Chisum and the Cattle Growers Association.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Don’t you see, Billy? Folks is ready for law and order. They get honest law up to Lincoln, and you know Garrett’ll be honest law, they’ll all turn against the outlaws. It’s only a matter of time ’til they get us.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Statehood’s comin’. Just like it did in Kansas. Law and order comes with it. The owl hoot trail ends up at a gallows or the wrong end of a bullet. I ain’t done with life yet.”
“You’ll die of boredom, Doc.”
“Yeah, I might try that. Sounds better than havin’ my neck stretched or my gut shot.”
Billy shook his head. “Well, good luck to you, pal. It’s been a good run. We’ll miss you around here.”
“It has been a good run. We’ve had some fun, haven’t we?”
He nodded.
“Think about it, Billy. Wouldn’t you rather live long enough to tell your grandkids about all the fun we had?”
Grandkids? Hell, I just figured out I might be in love.