Luck held.
He woke the next morning, went into the water closet and started the water running for a bath. When he’d gotten back the night before—without anyone trying to shoot, stab or club him—he’d simple washed off in the sink and gone to bed. He was too tired to bathe then, but now he was ready to soak in a hot tub.
He thought about the works of art he had seen the day before, in the hotel, in the gallery, in the storeroom of the gallery as they uncrated them—and the most memorable work of art of all, the naked Nadine Jensen. He was looking forward to seeing her again, but it was about more than sex. He was interested in her gallery, and whether the paintings they had uncrated together were going to bring her any success. He hoped so. Over the years he’d invested in saloons, hotels, mines and stores, so why not an art gallery in New York? He wouldn’t mind being partners—even a percentage of partners—with Nadine.
He wondered if Emory Bates would be at the party? He was looking forward to meeting the man, and letting him know that to get to Nadine Jensen, he would now have to go through Clint.
He took his Colt from its holster, tucked it into his belt, then put on a jacket to cover it before leaving the room.
~*~
He went down to the dining room for breakfast, then left the hotel, stopped by the doorman—the same one from the night before.
“Did you find the gallery last night, sir?”
“I did.”
“What did you think?”
“It was all it was built up to be.”
“Ah,” the doorman said, with a knowing smile.
“And now I need your help, again,” Clint said, handing the man some money.
The doorman didn’t look in his hand, he just tucked the tip away.
“What can I do for you?”
“I need to buy a gun. I know of some shops downtown, but I need something closer,” Clint said, “so I can get it done quicker.”
“That’s no problem,” the doorman said. “I can direct you.”
“I thought you might be able to . . .”
~*~
Clint entered the gun shop. It was a small store with a small, wizened old man behind the counter.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for a gun,” Clint said, “for a lady.”
“Ah, I have many lady’s guns, sir,” the man said. “I can show you—”
“A derringer,” Clint said. “I need a two shot derringer.”
“Small enough for a lady’s handbag,” the man said, “but not really a lady’s gun. It’s more of a gambler’s gun.”
“I understand the history of the weapon,” Clint said. “I just want to buy one.”
“Of course, sir,” the man said. “I have several you can choose from.”
“Lay them out for me and I’ll pick.”
“As you wish, sir . . .”
~*~
By the time Clint reached the gallery it was afternoon. As he walked in he saw Nadine talking with two men in a corner, in front of a painting of a city street. She saw him, sent a glance his way, and since she didn’t look distressed in any way, he strolled the room and waited for her conversation to end.
Abruptly, the two men put their hats on, said goodbye, and left the gallery. Nadine walked over to him.
“Am I always walking in when you have a problem?” he asked.
“A different kind of problem, this time,” she said. “They were from my bank.”
“Ah.”
“I have a payment coming up,” she said. “They wanted to . . . remind me.”
“Nice of them.”
“Yes, well, Mr. Hilliard, the banker, is like most men, I’m afraid.”
“Meaning he not only wants the payment,” Clint said, “he wants you.”
She looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid so.”
“Well, that’s a problem you’re going to have to deal with for a long time to come, Nadine,” he told her. “I mean, look at you.”
She was wearing an emerald green business suit that made her appear very professional, but did nothing to hide her beauty. Her hair was up once again, but there was nothing she could do to disguise the loveliness of her face, the allure of her full body.
“Maybe I should start wearing glasses,” she said, touching her face.
“Believe me,” he laughed, “that wouldn’t make much of a difference. Not with that face.”
She blushed for a moment, looked away, then recovered her composure.
“I’m glad to see you,” she said.
“More paintings to uncrate?” he asked.
“Not exactly.”
He looked around.
“I don’t see any of them hanging.”
“I’ll be hanging them tonight, after closing,” she said. “You might come and help me.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I might, if you’ll let me buy you supper again.”
“At your hotel?” she asked. “I understand they have a wonderful dining room.”
“We could do that,” he said. “Or we could eat in my room and come here after.”
“Oh, no,” she said, “If I let you take me to your room, we’ll never get here. So, supper in a restaurant, and then back here for work.”
“For work,” he said. “Agreed. But now, I have something for you.”
She looked around. The gallery was empty at the moment.
“Let’s go to the office, then.” She led the way.