6

Margaret Parker’s Journal

Monday, June 4, 1877
Heresy Ranch
Timberline, Colorado

Grace’s exhaustion at camp turned into full-fledged soroche—headache, nausea, exhaustion. Her face swelled up and her hands were straining against her gloves, but she never took them off. Staying there and letting her recuperate wasn’t an option; we had to get her down out of the mountains to counteract her sickness, and the posse would be in a full-fledged search now. We were already behind on our getaway because I’d brought Grace along. I figured the sisters were at least fifty miles closer to home, and a good thing, too. Someone had to take care of the horses. Business always picked up in the spring and summer, prime rustling season.

We told Grace we needed to take a more circuitous route with her along—three women stood out even more than a black and a white woman traveling alone—but she begged us to get home as soon as possible, said she’d ride as hard as needed to make it happen. And she did. We rode like hell, and she kept up and kept quiet. She didn’t become a horsewoman over those five days, but she and Rebel built a bond, which is the first step in understanding horses.

When we got to the ranch, Grace found a bed and fell into it. She’s still there. No one begrudges her; we’ve all had a bout of the sickness and know how miserable it can be.

I spent the first couple of days enjoying being home, getting some sleep. But I can’t wait too long for the dispensation or the town gets restless. So today, with a saddlebag full of bundles of money, I rode into Timberline.

I suppose I should explain a little about our town to whoever will bother reading this in the future, if anyone. It’s going to be difficult to describe to you, future reader, an environment I take for granted and, frankly, don’t think about anymore. I’ve been too busy surviving and living to think about the colors of the setting sun or the carpet of wildflowers that blankets the valley. But I will venture to add a little bit of description here and there when I think of it.

Despite its bucolic setting, Timberline, Colorado, isn’t much to look at. It’s a clutch of ramshackle buildings randomly placed along a wide, nameless street and set in a remote box canyon where the borders of Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah meet. Timberline had been on the verge of becoming one of the forgotten towns of the West, a footnote to a far-off massacre that had claimed the lives of half of its settlers, when Jed Spooner and his gang rode into town on blown horses, searching for a safe haven. Spooner, equal parts charming and cunning, saw in the dying town an opportunity. He offered them money for protection and for looking the other way and not asking questions about where the money came from. It was an easy enough deal for the five surviving families to take.

After my husband died, and Colonel Connolly stole my ranch, Jed Spooner brought me and my family here. I’m not naive enough to think there wasn’t a strong streak of selfishness in Spooner’s action; our ranch on the front range, the Poudre River Ranch, had been a reliable hideout for him and his boys for years. We traded horses with them and hid them, gave them work in between their bank jobs. Gave them good meals and a warm hearth. Eventually I invited Spooner into my bed. Sooner than he expected, but we’d both known as soon as I buried Thomas that it would happen.

I’d been drawn to the outlaw from the beginning. Jed Spooner was charming and fun loving, gentle with horses and children, and he treated Hattie with a respect you wouldn’t have expected from a former Confederate officer, or a man who briefly ran with the James boys. He left the gang, he said, because he didn’t see the point in fighting a war they’d lost, and he saw even less point in killing people for money. No, Spooner decided to charm people out of their money at the point of a gun. He said it was more fun, and less messy. He’d seen enough blood to last him a lifetime. Thomas, a veteran of the Crimea, admired him for it, and I wanted him because of it. Of course, you learn a lot about a man by bedding him, and by sharing a pillow after, and it didn’t take me long to wonder if Spooner’s story had been an elaborate tale to ingratiate himself with Thomas and me. There was a dark streak in Spooner, one he kept a tight rein on, but there were flashes, an edge to Spooner that both repulsed and attracted me.

Bringing us to Timberline did two things for Spooner: It let him feel like a mighty fine man, saving us unprotected women and helping us start a new horse ranch. His boys helped build the Heresy Ranch’s cabin, barn, outbuildings, and corrals. In return we agreed to train getaway horses and give them room and board. I offered Spooner my warm bed.

Jed didn’t know at the time that Jehu and I had robbed a bank in Denver to keep us from starving. He was impressed when I told him (I left out the part about killing Alfie Gernsbeck; only Hattie knew that part of the story), but he saw it as a onetime thing. He was there to take care of me now. Jed’s idea of taking care of me was bringing me part of his latest haul, eating my food, drinking my whisky, trading some horses, and getting a poke or two before riding off to whatever other woman he was “taking care of.”

It really shows Jed’s ignorance that he thought I wanted to be taken care of by a man. Thomas was a fine husband, and I loved him dearly, always will, but he didn’t take care of me. Oh, he thought he did, of course. Smart women will always let a man think he has the upper hand, but Thomas wasn’t endowed with the astuteness required to succeed out west. Being a one-armed man didn’t help, either. I was intelligent enough to run the ranch, and crafty enough to let Thomas take the credit.

My arrangement with Jed worked. He wasn’t around enough to annoy me or to boss me around. When he was around he was an enthusiastic lover, which is about all I require of a man these days.

It has been two years since Jed rode off through Lodore Canyon, taking his patronage with him. The girls and I have been taking care of the town since. Which is why I rode into Timberline today, to pass out their part of our take.

These ramshackle buildings I mentioned include a livery, a whorehouse/hotel/saloon, a shebang, a half-built schoolhouse, and a sheriff’s office that’s closed most of the time and has never housed a prisoner. There are four or five vacant buildings waiting to be reclaimed and put to use. They were left abandoned by original settlers who weren’t enticed by Jed’s offer, and who didn’t like the general lawlessness up and down the valley.

I reined my horse up at the livery and dismounted. A scrawny towheaded boy met me.

—Miss Garet, howdido?

—Hello, Newt.

I surveyed the boy. The black eye that had been yellowing when I left had reverted to a deep shade of purple, the white of his eye turned bloody. A few more hits to it would blind him, I suspected. Now that his mother, Lou, was dead and unable to take the brunt of his father’s anger, it all fell to this twelve-year-old boy. Newt was still young enough to be saved from his father’s violence and his own inevitable violence. I wanted to get him away from Ulysses Valentine, but I didn’t know how. I’d done more harm than good when I tried to help Lou, and the fact was Newt was as good as Valentine’s property. I would find little support from the townsmen. Timberline was one of the rare towns where women outnumbered men, but men somehow still got their way.

Newt looked past me to the empty street behind.

—Jehu with you?

—No. Should be along in a couple of weeks. Wonder what he’s going to bring you this time.

The excitement in Newt’s good eye almost broke my heart. He had to hide the little gifts Jehu brought him, usually toys, from his father, who was so drunk most of the time Newt was doing most of the work.

I pulled a paper sack out of my saddlebag. The scent of licorice hung in the air around the bag.

—I brought you this.

Newt’s eyes lit up like candles, and he thanked me.

He ripped off a chunk from the rope of licorice and offered it to me wordlessly. I told him I preferred lemon drops and asked after his pa.

Newt’s face closed off.

—Around back.

I grabbed Newt’s shoulder and squeezed.

—Newt, you know you can always come out to our place. Whenever you want. We’ve always got a job for a good hand like you.

—Thanks, Miss Garet, but my pa needs me here.

—I know you’re a big help. You’re becoming a good blacksmith in your own right.

Newt flushed with pleasure. I bent down to be at his eye level.

—We like to go on picnics on Sundays, after we get our chores done. Maybe you could join us one day. Joan will fry us up a chicken and you can try to catch a few fish for our supper.

—I’d like that.

—It’s a date. Now, why don’t you ride Ole Pete down to the creek, give him a drink. And enjoy your treat with a little privacy.

Newt grinned and gathered up Ole Pete’s reins.

—Need a heft?

—Yes, ma’am.

Newt put his booted foot in my cupped hands and I tossed him up the sixteen hands to Ole Pete’s back. The sorrel turned his blaze-faced muzzle back to gently nip at Newt’s boot, a sure sign of affection.

—Don’t let him get away from you.

Ole Pete snorted loudly and nudged me with his nose, as if offended by my suggestion that he’d be anything other than a gentleman with the wisp of a child on his back. I patted the old horse’s neck, and he headed off toward the creek.

I walked through the stables, noticing the empty stalls, past the blacksmithing tools and an unfinished ax head on the anvil, and found Newt’s father sitting on a camp chair next to the back wall, a jug of whisky at his feet. The blacksmith’s rheumy eyes landed on me. Even with him sitting down, I was barely taller than Ulysses Valentine. His arms, strengthened by years of blacksmithing, were as thick as my thighs, his chest as big around as me and Hattie when we hugged. I clenched my jaw as I thought of Newt’s black eye and imagined this giant’s meaty fist connecting with that soft face.

—I heard you were back.

He held his hand out, palm up. No need for pleasantries. Our mutual dislike was well known, but we managed to get along professionally well enough. I needed horses shod on the regular, and he needed someone to keep him in whisky.

I pulled his take out of my bag and dropped it in his lap. He opened the leather pouch and looked down at the gold and silver coins within. He grunted.

—When’s Jehu get back?

—Couple of weeks.

He bit the leather cord and pulled it to close the pouch.

—You know, people are starting to talk about how you’re playing both ends here.

—Are they?

—It’s not going unnoticed that you get back most of the money you give us when Jehu brings in supplies.

He stood. I pulled my pouch of hashish tobacco and papers from my shirt pocket and took my time filling the blanket. I know very well that Valentine can snap me in two like a twig if he’s of a mind to. I wouldn’t even have the chance to pull my knife from my boot or my gun from its holster. He relies on the fear of his size to bully and intimidate everyone in town, man and woman alike, except Luke Rhodes.

Sheriff Luke Rhodes, roughly my height but as stout as a bulldog, is the only man in the whole of Brown’s Hole whom Ulysses Valentine is afraid of. But I’ll be goddamned if I’m going to rely on a man to fight my battles. I’ve managed to keep my intimidation hidden from Valentine, which makes him hate me all the more. I know when he stops hating me, I’ll lose the upper hand. So I stared him in the eye, knowing that Valentine would get what was coming to him, and probably sooner than he realized. God willing, by my hand.

I scratched the match along the livery wall and puffed my cigarette alight. I inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs, take the edge off my pain and infuse me with a sense of well-being and invincibility. I looked up at Valentine’s heavy face and blew a steady stream of smoke into his flattened nose.

—You’re free to travel to Rock Springs to get your whisky yourself. But it takes a helluva lot of effort to get there, and you and I both know you’re a lazy bastard.

I kept my gaze level, but heard him growl deep in his throat.

—One day …

—You’ll beat me to death like you did your wife?

—That was your fault.

I couldn’t let Val see it, but a part of me wondered if he was right. Her final beating came when he found the money I’d been carving out of Val’s take and giving directly to her, in hopes she would use it to escape.

—Keep telling yourself that, Val.

Valentine kept his eyes narrowed on mine, but out of the corner of my eye I saw him ball his fists.

—I look forward to cleaning your plow.

—You touch me, or mine, and I will kill you. You’ll do well not to anger me, Val.

—Just wait till Spooner returns.

—Unless he’s bringing you a mail-order bride, he’s not going to be much help.

—I could kill you with my bare hands.

—Yet you never have. Because you need my money.

—When Spooner returns I won’t.

—Spooner’s been gone for nearly two years. He’s probably dead. Until another gang comes along willing to pay for your whisky, you’re stuck with me.

I walked through the livery and said over my shoulder,—Jehu probably won’t be back for a couple of weeks. Might want to portion out your whisky till then.

—Newt!

I turned and walked back to the giant.

—I sent him to the creek to water my horse. He’ll be back directly. And if I see another bruise on his face …

Valentine moved close enough to me I could smell the liquor on his breath over the smell of my smoke.

—You’ll what?

—Valentine?

We both turned to see the outline of Sheriff Luke Rhodes in the middle of the wide livery door. Val backed down.

—Sheriff, what can I do for you?

Rhodes walked into the barn and out of the shadow. He wore his sweat-stained hat low on his head, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past his elbows. His forearms are brown and ropy, his hands are scarred with lasso burns from his previous job as a cowhand turned cattle rustler, his fingernails are rimmed with dirt from his current job as a cattle rancher and vegetable gardener.

Rhodes touched his hat.

—Mrs. Parker.

—Sheriff.

—Need you to make me a pickle barrel, Val. Think my cucumbers are going to come in good this year.

Valentine nodded.

—Will do, Sheriff.

—Remember what I said, Val. Good day, Sheriff.

I walked out of the livery and down the wide, nameless main street. The muddy ruts from the spring runoff were hardening in the dry June sun. Soon driving a wagon down the street would be an uncomfortable, bumpy proposition.

I finished the cigarette, enjoying the slight floating sensation it gave me, and put the stub out on the heel of my boot. I entered the shebang to the tinkling of a little brass bell, a small, innocent sound that brought to mind the bustling main street in the village next to my grandfather’s Somerset estate. This little general store in the back of beyond was a faint image of the store of my youth.

Rebecca Reynolds looked up from her books, and a smile broke across her face. She came around the counter, hugged me, and told me she was glad I was safe.

—I always come back safe.

—There was the one time.

—Hattie tricked me, told me snuff wasn’t any stronger than a cigarette. If you’ve ever had snuff, you know full well I couldn’t help falling off my horse. And it’s awfully ungenerous of you to remind me every time I come back.

Rebecca shrugged and smiled.

—Someone’s got to keep you modest.

—You’ve taken it upon yourself, I see.

—Yes. You can’t be the best outlaw, the best horsewoman, and the most handsome woman in Brown’s Hole to boot. It’s not fair.

—I am not handsome.

—You can wear pants all you want, Margaret, but you can’t hide that face.

—These are jodhpurs, I’ll have you know, and I wear them because it makes riding easier. I bet you’d like pants if you wore them.

Rebecca scoffed.

—But I wouldn’t like it.

Harvey Reynolds emerged from the back room with a smile barely visible through his thick beard. Harvey is a good-humored man, despite the fact that his left arm was thrown on a head-high pile of limbs outside the Gettysburg field hospital.

I greeted Harvey and handed Rebecca the pouch containing their take. Harvey intercepted it, hefted it in his hand, and raised his bushy eyebrows.

—A little extra for your little one. I nodded toward Rebecca’s swollen belly.

—Thank you.

—Don’t tell anyone, especially Valentine.

—Of course not.

There was a flush just visible on Harvey’s neck below the edge of his ginger beard. I knew that soon enough his entire face would be aflame, and his shame would be complete. It’s why I prefer giving the take to Rebecca. She’ll leave it on his desk, and Reynolds can ignore the fact that his business, and his family, are being kept afloat by a gang of women.

—You’re too good to us, Margaret, Rebecca said.

—I wish you’d call me Garet.

I looked around the store. The shelves looked significantly emptier than when I left three weeks ago.

—Been busy?

—There’s some rustlers camped out where Beaver Creek flows into the Green, rebranding about a hundred fifty head. They’ve been in a few times.

—Cause any trouble?

—Not a bit. They’re friends of the sheriff, so they know better, Rebecca said.

I hid a smile. We all call Luke Rhodes the sheriff, and gave him a dented tin star to wear, but he has very little law to enforce. In Brown’s Hole there’s only one rule you don’t break. Everything else is fair game. Something that Rebecca Reynolds would like to change. If Timberline has any chance of getting civilized, it will be down to Rebecca Reynolds.

—Jehu should be here in a couple of weeks with supplies.

I watched Rebecca and Harvey for any sign of disapproval—an exchanged look, a tightening of their mouths, the aversion of their eyes—and was rewarded with enthusiastic smiles, proof that Valentine is alone in his resentment. Jehu is everyone’s favorite, and not just because he brings everyone’s supplies and news of the outside world. I figure if anything ever happens to me, the town would mourn the end of their gravy train more than the loss of my company. But Jehu? If anything happens to him, the entire town’ll be out for blood. Hell, I can’t blame them; I like Jehu more than myself, too.

—Is it true you kidnapped a woman? Rebecca said.

—Stella tell you that?

—Joan. Stella looked pretty put out about it.

—When is Stella not put out? Harvey asked.

—Truthfully, Grace asked me to bring her along.

—I can’t believe you obliged her, Rebecca said.

—Nor I. She’s back at the ranch, sleeping. Struck with soroche on the way back. I’ll bring her to town soon enough to meet everyone. Better be moving along. I’ve got Hattie getting a pale stallion ready for me this afternoon.

—Oh, be careful, Garet.

—I haven’t been beaten by a horse yet.

—Except that one time …

As I left, I pointed at Rebecca Reynolds and told her she was an ungenerous woman. Then I walked down toward the Blue Diamond.

Luke Rhodes was leaned against the wall of his office, waiting for me. I smiled, knowing Luke had missed me as much as I’d missed him. I’d never admit it to him, though.

I greeted him, and he opened the door to the sheriff’s office and followed me in. I dropped my saddlebags on his desk and his arms were around me, pulling me back against him, his lips on my neck, his luxurious mustache tickling so that I shivered.

—Does this mean you’ve missed me?

—Would you please wear a dress when you come to town? These pants are a genuine nuisance.

I turned around and wrapped my arms about his neck.

—Will you wear a dress for me as well?

—Not funny.

—Do you want to talk, or do you want to …

Luke and I have been … intimate … for almost a year. Not regularly, and not publicly, but occasionally. When I seek him out. He is too much of a gentleman to do the same, which only makes me seek him out more. I resisted for months after Spooner left, but I have my needs, same as a man, and I couldn’t resist the urge to feel if his mustache was as soft as it looked.

It is.

Luke and I have been friends since we rode into town, and it was easy to see that he wanted me. His reticence and respect for me helped heal my poor opinion of men. He reminded me there were plenty of men—honorable, just men—worthy of my respect, and, like a moth to a flame, it drew me in. I’d felt much the same way about Thomas when I fell in love with him. Spooner was an anomaly, a love affair built on desire, not affection, a relationship that required nothing of me so I could focus on my family and my ranch. Luke, though—I think we could have had a good life if Lou Valentine hadn’t died the same week I found out I was dying of cancer. When Luke, as sheriff, didn’t arrest Valentine for beating his wife to death, I quickly snuffed out the thoughts of the future that had started to worm their way into my brain. Hattie was livid with Rhodes; all the women in town were. But what we thought or wanted didn’t matter, because Lou was considered Val’s property.

I stayed away from Luke for two weeks to show my displeasure, but eventually went back. I didn’t want to die a celibate, and options for companionship are thin on the ground in the Hole.

I’ve tried my very best to keep my feelings on a … I cannot even find the word for it. We are well beyond platonic, and disinterested is laughably incorrect. When we are alone, Luke makes it difficult not to let my mind wander to what it would feel like to wake up with a warm body next to mine.

When we finished, and I was dressing, Luke said he was thinking of getting into a new sideline.

—Already gone sour on the pickle business?

—Now see, that was funny.

—Yes, well, the British wit and all. What business? Going back into rustling?

—No. The horse business.

I stared at my lover. His black handlebar mustache is shot through with gray. Today it was unwaxed and looked especially silky hanging down past the corners of his mouth. Right then, though, his mustache barely masked a teasing smirk. I was half-tempted to punch the smugness off his face. Instead I smiled.

—You could, but I wouldn’t recommend it.

—Afraid I might be a better hand than you?

—No. I’ve seen you ride.

—You really know how to charm a man.

—You were pretty well charmed a minute ago.

Luke stood and made himself decent enough we could talk without me being distracted. He knew me and my appetites too well. I was holding on to my irritation at his nerve in challenging me.

—You really are beautiful when you get your dander up.

—I don’t take kindly …

He stopped me, pulled me close. My God, I love that mustache.

—Settle down for just a minute and remember not every man on earth is out to get you. Especially not me. I want to work with you, Garet. Not competition.

—You help us every summer.

—You know what I mean.

Now he’d done it, made the subtext text. I wished he hadn’t. I was forced to hurt him, to push him away, which I do not want to do.

—What will Ruby think?

He reddened a little. I’ve made it clear that he is free to find companionship where he wants, as am I. He wasn’t aware until today that I know about his occasional visits to the whore.

—Or Spooner?

Luke’s bright blue eyes darkened at the outlaw’s name.

—Spooner left the field over two years ago.

—Left the field? Is that what I am to you? Some sort of military objective to be achieved, instead of a woman to be won?

—That’s not what I meant.

—I’m not the only one who needs to work on their charm.

I went to my saddlebags for Rhodes’s take and handed the folded clutch of bills to him.

—I like our relationship just fine as it is.

He stared at me, ignoring the money.

—I want more, Luke said.

—I can’t give you more money.

—I want more of you.

—I can’t give you any more of that, either.

—Why not?

—I don’t have to give you a reason, Luke. You don’t own me, and you’re perilously close to not having any part of me at all.

He crossed his arms over his bare chest.

—You shouldn’t antagonize Valentine.

—Maybe he shouldn’t antagonize me.

Luke laughed.

—I think all your success has gone to your head. If you don’t watch it, Valentine will teach you a lesson one day when I’m not around.

—Put me in my place, you mean? Show me who’s boss? Like he’s doing with Newt?

—I warned him to stop.

—Or what, Luke? Are you going to throw him in jail?

—I can, for a couple of days.

—Then he’ll get back out and go at him even worse.

—Garet, what do you want me to do? Valentine has every right to discipline his son.

—But he has no right to discipline me, which is what you were implying. If you stand by and let him …

—I would never stand by and let him hurt you. You know that. This would be moot if you’d marry me.

—That’s your proposal? Marry me so Valentine won’t kill you? That’s a terrible proposal.

—Well, you’ve got me all flustered. I had it planned better than this. I love you, and I want to take care of you. And don’t get your dander up again. I don’t want to control you, not that I could if I tried. You’re the finest goddamn woman I’ve ever met, the way you take care of your family and everyone in town, and my God, you’re a hand with a horse. You’re pert near perfect, and I’m gonna be selfish for a minute and tell you the real reason I want to marry you. I think you’d make me a better man.

I turned away from him so he wouldn’t see my tears. I hated God in that moment, for finally giving me a man almost worthy of taking Thomas’s place by my side, only to not give me the health or the time to let it happen. As if to remind me of my mortality, a pain shot through my stomach.

He asked me if I was crying and I told him I was, then I told him why. He tried to talk me out of my decision, saying that the way he saw it, that was more reason than ever to get married, so we could spend time together before the end. I respected Luke too much to tell him outright that I would never take the chance he would claim my ranch after I died. Take it from the girls. I didn’t think he would, but there is a germ of mistrust that I just cannot get rid of. Luke is a new addition to my life, and I felt the stirrings of the nascent stage of love, when you want to spend all your waking hours with this new, exciting person, revel in the possibilities. But Luke is lost possibilities; Hattie, Jehu, Stella, and Joan are reality. We are carved into one another’s lives and futures like the elaborate designs in a finely tooled saddle.

—I’ll forever be grateful for your offer and, if things were different, I might take you up on it. But it’s unfair to you, to me, and to my family. I know you and Ruby have a …

—Garet …

—She can offer you a future, Luke. I can’t.

I cradled Luke’s face and kissed him for the last time.

When I got to the door, Luke called out to me in a gruff voice, telling me to stay away from Valentine and warning me about the one hard-and-fast law in the Hole.

I was glad he did; it reignited my anger and helped diminish my grief at turning him down.

—Everything but killing. I know. Funny how that law didn’t apply to Val beating Lou to death. But that was her fault, right? Justified because she went against her husband by dreaming of being free of his fists. Not the kind of escape she was looking for, death. But Lou knew well enough that there are worse things than death. All women do.

I walked down to the creek to cool off for a bit before seeing Ruby and Opal. I took off my boots and waded into the cold water and smoked another cigarette, wishing I’d cut the tobacco a little more generously with hashish. It helped my physical pain, at least, and the cold water quieted my flush of anger until I was relaxed enough to see the Gem Sisters without showing too much emotion.

The Blue Diamond Saloon is the only whorehouse in Brown’s Hole, and Ruby and Opal Steele are the only whores. They say they’re sisters, but everyone knows that’s a lie. They’re both dark haired, of a height and coloring, with one big difference: Ruby is a Celestial, though probably only half, which is why people don’t care overmuch. Ruby knows that she’s always one mean drunk away from being a scapegoat, so she keeps on the straight and narrow. No one knows where they came from or how they hooked up together. They came into town with a few of Spooner’s men and decided to stay on and open the Blue Diamond.

They had the door to the saloon propped open to take advantage of the nice breeze flowing across the cold river and into town, and I could hear Opal playing “Sweet Betsy from Pike” on her accordion. I walked in and let my eyes adjust to the dim light. The Blue Diamond is clean and serviceable, but simple in the extreme. The Gem Sisters, as they call themselves, see no point in fancying up the place. If a randy cowboy doesn’t like the surroundings, he’s welcome to make the hard journey up the steep, rocky pass to get to Rock Springs to the north or go through the treacherous Lodore Canyon to the south and travel a couple hundred barren miles to get to civilization. Or he could take an easy ride along the Green River through the wide, flat box canyon to Timberline. Most choose the Gem Sisters.

The music stopped.

—Well, well, well. Look who the cat dragged in.

Opal sat at a table holding an accordion on her lap, looking nothing like a whore waiting for her next john to walk through the door. She wore a simple blue cotton dress, and while the neckline was considerably lower than a farmer’s wife would countenance, it was nothing to a Denver dove’s. Opal was fine figured and saw no need to show off her wares any more than necessary. Men could see what was under her dress easy enough. In fact, she told me once that she’d made more money by leaving it to the john’s imagination than by baring all. The battered accordion she was rarely without rested between Opal’s spread legs, and her dress was hiked up to show her shins and bare feet. Her dark hair was up in a messy bun, with stray tendrils framing her face.

—Ruby! We got company.

Ruby Steele walked in from the kitchen, wiping flour from her hands with the apron tied around her waist, with no idea I’d just taken Luke to bed and told him he should take her as his wife. I was a little dazed from the encounter with Luke, and Ruby smiling at me, genuinely happy to see me, made me feel unaccountably guilty.

I will dwell on that later. For now, I need to explain about the Gem Sisters.

If people can’t see from their faces the sisters aren’t related, they sure wonder from their figures. Ruby is thin as a rail, flat chested and taller than any Oriental I’ve ever met, man or woman. I suppose she got her height, along with her hazel eyes, from the white blood running through her veins. Opal is loud, gregarious, and impulsive. It’s difficult not to like her or smile when you’re around her. Ruby is all shrewd intelligence, and she shapes her personality to fit whoever she is with at the moment.

When Hattie, Stella, Joan, Jehu, and I rode into Brown’s Hole with Jed and his gang, the Gem Sisters met us with expressions fitting their divergent personalities. Opal looked excited and relieved at the increase in female company in their remote corner of Brown’s Hole. Ruby glowered at us, seeing us not as potential friends but as competition. The gang had been more than willing to soothe their worries, and spent a week drinking and whoring at the Blue Diamond while my girls and I set to staking a claim on five hundred acres a few miles out of town, to build a horse ranch to replace the one up near Fort Collins. Within a month Spooner and his gang had helped us build a cabin, barn, and corral, and Jehu, Hattie, and I left on a monthlong quest to round up as many wild horses as we could before the snow set in. When we drove a hundred horses down Timberline’s main street, the residents came out to greet us. Ruby leaned in the door of the Blue Diamond with a markedly different expression. I touched my hat at her, and she nodded, and our mutual respect had been sealed.

Opal played a little celebratory jig, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

—Garet, welcome home.

—Thank you. I hear business has been good.

I pulled the Gem Sisters’ take from my saddlebag and handed it to Ruby. She hefted it and dropped it into her apron pocket.

—Better than usual. Want a cup of Arbuckle’s?

—Love one.

I dropped my saddlebags on the floor and sat at the table with Opal. Though we are all on friendly terms, Opal and Ruby draw the line at letting customers into their kitchen. It’s the only room in the saloon that is theirs alone.

I can be honest with my journal: I’ve always like Ruby more than Opal. Though more gregarious than Ruby, Opal is shallow, vain, and ignorant. Ruby is highly intelligent and longs for conversation about more than johns, whisky, clothes, and money, or the lack thereof. When we went on our first job, Ruby asked me to bring her back something to read. When I asked her what, she laughed and said anything. She and I always meet later, down by the river, for the exchange, since I never bring anything for Opal, and she wouldn’t take kindly to me and Ruby having a friendship outside of her.

Opal put her accordion on the ground. She leaned on the table with her arms and hooked her bare feet around the legs of her chair. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief. She asked if it was true that I’d kidnapped someone. After I said it was, Opal peppered me with questions about you, Grace.

(I’ve wondered if I should write this journal as a letter to you, or as a straight journal. I haven’t decided, but I think you’ll like to know that when I’m writing this, I’m writing it as if it is to you more often than not.)

Back to Opal. She was very interested in you, and I told her what I know. Be prepared for her to bombard you with questions when you meet. Opal is curious and she does have a certain amount of charm. I think you and I are alike, though, and Ruby’s quiet confidence and intelligence will be more to your liking.

Ruby asked me why I did it, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t have a good answer. I don’t want to reveal to them about you telling our story. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So I sipped Ruby’s coffee and let a little groan escape me. Ruby makes a damn fine cup. She swears it’s the mountain water, but I wonder if she doesn’t have a secret ingredient she slips in.

—Now you have no excuse not to bring me along on the next job, Opal said.

—Opal, Ruby chastised.

—What? She took the child and she kidnapped a stranger.

—Joan’s seventeen. She did very well. Give her time and she’ll probably be better than Stella. Very levelheaded, I said.

—It’s too dangerous. What would I do without you? Ruby said. She squeezed Opal’s hand. Opal beamed at her sister.

My eyes met Ruby’s. Though we’d never discussed it, we both knew the reason I wouldn’t take Opal on a job was that she was impulsive, unpredictable, and selfish. Ruby, on the other hand, would make a fine addition to the gang. I couldn’t take Ruby without Opal, and she’d never expressed the least interest in outlawing.

—I’m not sure how many more jobs you’ll need to do. The Hole is filling up with settlers. Some new miners are prospecting up Cold Spring Mountain. A couple of farmers are breaking ground up on the terraces. And Luke’s friends are out by Hog Lake, Ruby said.

—I’d love nothing more than to settle down and sell horses.

—Oh, pshaw. You love outlawing, Opal said.

—The outlaw life is a short one, and I’d rather leave when I want than with a bullet.

—Or a California collar, Ruby said.

—Garet’s too good to get caught.

—As soon as they start believing that, they will, Ruby countered.

—Anyways, we need to lay off for a while. Got a little rough with one of the men, and, well, we’ve hit Connolly one too many times, I’m afraid. Men’ll only be insulted for so long.

—You got that revenge out of your system, then? Opal said. She picked up her accordion and started fiddling with it.

—If Dorcas had kept running the company after the colonel died, I wouldn’t have hit them. She did business the right way. But Callum Connolly has continued his father’s tradition of cheating honest hardworking people to make his fortune. So I take their ill-gotten gains and give it back to those people.

—Like us. And you.

—I hear Callum Connolly’s a handsome devil, Opal said.

—Never met him. But I’d be surprised if he is, with half of his face covered in leather.

—I have it on good authority that he is, and the mask just adds to it. He’s charming, too. But he can be a rough son of a bitch behind closed doors. Whores talk, you know, Opal said.

—Even more reason to steal from him. Maybe next time we should give some money to the whores he’s hurt.

I realized that there wasn’t going to be a next time, at least not one I would be a part of.

—You’d be a hero to all the calico queens, Opal said.

—We’re thinking of bringing in a couple of new girls. Think your Grace would be interested? Ruby asked.

I laughed.—She’s not my Grace, and she’s a suffragist. Not sure she cottons to men.

Ruby looked intrigued.—Maybe she is your Grace, then.

—Business is good? I asked.

—Getting better.

—Tell her the real reason, Opal said.

When Ruby remained silent, Opal filled it in.

—She wants to quit whoring. Manage the business.

—Become a madam? I said.

Ruby clasped her hands in her lap but met my gaze.

—Something like that.

—Good for you, I said.

—Ain’t nothing wrong with whoring, Opal said. She played a few notes on her accordion.

—No one said there is. But it’s a bit like outlawing, there’s not a long career in it. Where’s Eli?

—Sleeping. Some cowboys came in last night. Ran us ragged.

—Which is why we need more whores. The long stretches of easy living are nice, but we can’t take many more weekends like this past one. It’s too much, Ruby said.

Opal played the beginning of a jig.

—Think Jehu can pick us up some girls in Rock Springs? Opal asked.

—You can talk to him about it.

He’ll say no. Jehu is more likely to save a woman from prostitution than to entice one to the life.

Ruby said something about getting back to work and was retreating to the kitchen when a man walked through the open door. The sun being behind him, he was in shadow, but I knew he was a stranger. I thought he was a cowboy until he stepped inside and I saw him full on. He had a sallow, pockmarked face with a thin, limp mustache that fell past his chin. A band of silver conchos surrounded the crown of his dusty black gambler’s hat. He carried a Winchester and two pistols on his hips. The match in the corner of his mouth did nothing to soften the hard line of his lips. I looked to the sisters to see if they recognized him. They didn’t.

The stranger asked if they were open.

Opal found herself, smiled, and stood to meet the man.

—Always.

His dusty brown cavalry boots scraped across the wood floors, his eyes scanning the room. They passed Ruby and settled on me.

—You looking for companionship, a drink, or a room? Opal asked.

—All three.

—You’re in the right place.

Opal took his free arm as if he were her escort and leaned into him while she directed him to the bar and asked his name. His name is Salter and he looks like trouble.

He lifted his whisky glass, turned to me, and raised it in a toast. I’d decided that was my cue to leave when Luke Rhodes darkened the door. Ruby had inched back to the table and stood beside me. She greeted Luke with his title. The stranger didn’t move from his relaxed position against the bar.

Luke greeted us, walked straight up to the stranger, and asked him his business. I’m going to write the exchange down word for word, or as best as I remember it, because it was mesmerizing, seeing these two men challenge each other.

—Drinking, whoring, and sleeping, Salter replied.

—Passing through, then.

—Didn’t say that.

Salter pulled a thin cigar out of his shirt pocket and lit it with the match he’d been chewing on.

—Settling down here?

—Didn’t say that, either.

—Not saying much.

—My business ain’t yours.

—That’s where you’re wrong.

—Your star’s got a dent in it.

—Still works.

—You trying to run me out of town?

—Unless you tell me what you’re doing here, I will.

—You can try. I hear Timberline is welcoming to a certain type of man, Salter said.

—We are. There’s one rule in the Hole. No killing. You take someone’s life, I’ll string you up from the nearest tree.

Salter smiled.

—Like I said before, you can try. Can I get another one, honey?

—If you’re buying, I’m pouring, Opal said.

—Two, Salter said.

Luke has good instincts, Grace; he’s been around enough outlaws, thieves, and troublemakers to spot one, and Salter is one. I have to admit, watching Luke challenge this man was thrilling. Maybe I was still flushed from our encounter. Regardless, I felt the telltale pull toward him.

Opal poured two shots, and we all thought Salter was going to give the other one to Luke, to cement their understanding. Instead he walked over and held it out to me.

—Got a few minutes to spare for a weary stranger?

—She ain’t a whore, Luke said, his voice rough.

I admit, Salter raised my suspicions and made me more nervous than I was willing to show, but Luke jumping in to defend me, and insulting the Gem Sisters in the process, doused the desire for him that had bubbled up. I smiled and took the whisky glass.

—I’m visiting my friends Ruby and Opal here, who’ll be happy to show you a good time.

—Conversation, then.

—Conversation.

We toasted each other, drank, and sat down at the table. Luke stood in the middle of the room, powerless. I ignored him, lest I lose my resolve and confidence. Eli, the sisters’ beefy bartender and protector, had woken up and joined Opal behind the bar.

—Where are you from, Mr. Salter?

—Here and there.

—Me, too. What brings you to Timberline?

He motioned to Opal for more drinks, which she poured and delivered with a frown in my direction.

—I met a woman once who’d been trying to settle here. She went back east. But when I heard Timberline was a welcoming, remote kind of place for a certain kind of man, I had to see for myself. What’s your name?

—Garet.

—What brings you to Timberline, Garet? Safe haven from the law?

—How did you know?

—You look like a troublemaker.

—Do I?

—It’s in the eyes. I imagine your husband has a time keeping you in line.

—Hasn’t been a man yet who could keep me in line, as you so eloquently put it.

—I’d sure like to give it a try.

—Watch your mouth, Luke said.

—Didn’t mean to move on your woman, Sheriff.

—I’m no one’s woman. Do well to remember that.

It was as much a statement to Luke as to Salter.

I stood and thanked him for the whisky and told him I better be getting on home.

My skin crawled with each of Salter’s questions, and it was all I could do to answer nonchalantly under his smirking gaze. I know Ruby and Opal can handle themselves, but I didn’t like leaving them with Salter. There’s something about his expression, his dead eyes, that makes me think Salter is here for trouble.

I caught Ruby’s eye and, from a quick jerk of her head, knew to head down to the river and wait for her. I ran into Newt on the way and took Ole Pete off his hands.

It took thirty minutes for Ruby to arrive.

—Opal just took Salter back.

—And Luke?

—Gone home, I suppose. To brood, it looked like. Did something happen between you two?

—He wants to marry me.

Ruby crossed her arms and nodded.

—I figured as much. Congratulations.

—I told him I’m dying.

—I’m sure he would have taken a simple no for an answer.

—But I am dying. I have cancer. I don’t think I have much time left. I haven’t told the family yet, so keep it to yourself. Jehu knows. I’m going to tell them all when Jehu gets back.

Ruby sat on the downed tree we always met by and said I might want to work on breaking the news. The blunt version is too shocking. I apologized. I’ll be honest, Grace. I didn’t expect Ruby to take it so hard.

I handed her the newspapers I’d brought for her.

—I went to Chinatown and picked up a broadsheet. At least I think that’s what it is. A newspaper. It might be a menu for all I can tell.

Ruby smiled and thanked me.

—Have you ever heard of this Salter character? I asked.

—No. I know his type, though.

—Is it true, that you want to become a madam?

—No. I want out of the life. Out of the Hole. Opal doesn’t. I tell her I want to be a madam because it’s easier than arguing with her. I’ve been doing this longer than her, and I’m tired.

—Is there anything I can do to help?

Ruby stood and hugged me.

—Why do you have to make it difficult for me to hate you?

I pulled away and asked if she was speaking of Luke.

She nodded but said not to worry.

—I’m not heartbroken, and I’m not in love with him. But he would have been safe, Ruby said.

—I told him today he should marry you. Don’t give up.

She laughed.—I’m not in love with him, but I’m arrogant enough that I want him to be in love with me. At least a little.

We talked a bit about the town, the influx of new people into the Hole, even some families. Rebecca Reynolds has dreams of a school, then a church, the two first steps in civilizing a western town. Ruby was surprised Rebecca didn’t ask me for extra money to go toward the schoolhouse. I made a mental note to give a nice donation, if for nothing else than to make sure Newt got an education. Ruby probed about my plans for the future, too polite to ask outright what my funeral plans were. I was vague. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had no intention of staying home to die.