The Union Belle Page 15

  She grew very still, for she knew he was asking her why she had withdrawn from him after his kiss. She wished desperately that she could explain, but somehow the words to describe what she felt were not there. Even as she looked at him, she remembered how she had held his hand when he had lain sick and helpless. It came to her how her heart had softened and how she had lavished such care on him that it was almost close to love. But he was not a helpless man, she knew, and he had the full appetites and hungers that all men have—and it was these hungers that she did not know how to handle. She wanted to cry out, Mark, be patient with me. Be my friend, but don’t ask for more!

  But all the men she had known asked for more—more than she was willing to give. So now she sat there struggling with the attraction she had felt for him almost from the first time she’d seen him—afraid that he would trample on her vulnerability if she let down her defenses.

  “I don’t know, Mark,” she said wearily. “Don’t ask me to explain—and don’t try to understand me.” She lifted her eyes and said intensely, “You should be thinking of things other than a woman right now.”

  “Why, what else would a man think of, Lola?” he asked, a glimmer of gentle humor in his eyes. “It’s a woman that makes a man whole. Alone he’s a pale stick of a thing. And when a man sees that beauty—as I see it in you, why, that’s what makes him alive.”

  Lola sat still, swayed by his words. They had set off a rich riot in her own imagination. She had never heard a man speak so, had not even known that any man had such thoughts in him. These were things she had often thought and felt in her own solitary spirit—but had never expected to find in another.

  As for Mark, he was astonished that he had spoken in such a way. He had not even realized that those thoughts were in him, and he gave her a guarded look, half expecting her to rise and walk away as she had done once before. But she was watching him with a softness that reminded him of the days they had spent together in Texas. That softness made him add, “It’s tough on me with the way things are between us, Lola, but I see that kind of beauty in you more than I’ve ever seen it in any woman.”

  What would have happened if they had been left alone was a question that haunted him later—but at that moment, the door burst open, admitting Driver and Dooley. They spotted Winslow and came to the table.

  Driver gave Lola a curious glance, but said only, “Mark, we’ve just got a message from the construction camp. Some kind of trouble. Reed wants you to see to it.”

  Winslow got up immediately and quickly introduced the two to her, “Lola, this is Jeff Driver and Dooley Young. If you ever need help, go to them. I’ll have to take you to your room now.”

  “I’ll be all right, I’ll have Caleb go fetch Shep,” she said. But as he turned to go, she added impulsively, “Be careful, Mark! Oh, be careful!”

  Outside as the three marched toward the hotel, Driver said, “You know she’s Valance’s girl, don’t you, Mark?”

  He got as withering a glance from Winslow as he had ever received from any man. “That’s town talk, Driver! Don’t repeat it to me ever again.”

  “Wal, you shore plowed up a snake that time, Jeff,” Dooley remarked as Winslow stalked away, anger in every line of his body. “And if whut I hear is right, Lola’s nobody’s gal. She’s the Union Belle, so they say.”

  Driver looked at the smaller man with irritation. “You’re a pest, Young.”

  Dooley grinned at him. “Why, anytime you need somebody to push you in the creek, Jeff, just call on me.”

  Driver shook his head. “Mark better get his thinking straight about this thing. He’s out to wreck Cherry, but he’s cuddling up to the woman who works for the man. Nothing but trouble can come of that! This thing’s going to blow wide open some day, and the last thing he needs is a woman to complicate matters.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Death at the Silver Dollar

  By the middle of July some sort of fine balance had been struck between the saloon owners and those who stood for order—which primarily meant Mark Winslow. After a few harsh clashes, Valance and the other owners had sullenly put some sort of limits on the rough stuff. “Just until we can take care of Winslow,” Cherry murmured. “And that won’t be long.”

  As the hot summer dragged on, Mark was busy, not only in Julesburg but at the construction camps, and from time to time he initiated peace-keeping efforts with the Indians. Lowell Taylor stuck close to him, and Mark grew very attached to the engineer. Taylor said little, but he was straight as an arrow. A better engineer than Mark, Taylor often kept Winslow from making a mistake. Mark had little time left for a social life, but twice he met Lola for a meal, and he spent what time he could with Ray.

  Hayden, Mark realized, was not happy. He traveled back to Omaha twice to do some business for Sherman Ames, but he seemed out of sorts. Mark tried to find out what his problem was, but Ray was surly and would say little. On the twenty-third of July, Mark went to speak to him at the office and found him sitting at his desk, staring off into space.

  “Got to make a trip to Fort Sanders,” Mark said. “Some of the big Sioux chiefs are gathering for a meeting.” He saw the boredom on Hayden’s face and suggested, “Why don’t you come along, Ray. Be a change for you.”

  “I can’t,” Ray protested. “Too much book work here.” That was not so, but he saw no point in making a trip just to watch a few Indians sit around and grunt.

  “Well, when I get back, let’s go on over to the South Hills for a hunt. Might be that the sight of a charging grizzly would perk you up.” He smiled and clapped Hayden on the shoulder. “See you in three or four days.”

  When Mark left, Hayden got up and walked out of the office. The grim ugliness of Julesburg always depressed him, but this time an urgent dissatisfaction rose up, almost choking him. He swore quietly, and walked rapidly down the street. It was after one o’clock, but he had had no breakfast. When he turned into Adams’, he found Lola at a table by herself.

  She looked up with a smile. “Hello, Ray. Like to join me?”

  He sat down at once, his eyes brightening at the invitation. He ordered his meal and as soon as Adams left to get it, she asked, “What’s been wrong with you lately, Ray?”

  He lifted his head and asked defensively, “What do you mean by that, Lola?”

  “Why, you’ve been acting like a greenhorn fresh from the East,” she said. “How much have you lost at cards lately?”

  Hayden flushed and moved uncomfortably in his seat. She had touched a nerve, for Julesburg was driving him to gamble more than he felt he should. But he said, “Oh, not much, Lola. A man’s got to do something to keep from getting bored.”

  Lola smiled in amusement. “If you’re going to play poker every time you get bored, Ray, you’ll never leave the table.”

  He grinned sheepishly at her. He had long been drawn to her wit, even when it was used on him. “Well, that’s true enough. I ought to know better, but I thought I could win.”

  “Against Del Longstreet?” she asked, her eyes opening wide. “You’re more naive than I thought, Ray. Longstreet could deal himself pat with one hand tied behind him. I thought you knew that.”

  Hayden shook his head stubbornly. “Don’t you ever get bored and frustrated with life, Lola? Nothing seems to touch you.”

  Lola dropped her eyes, thinking of how she had longed to leave Julesburg a hundred times, of how she’d had to clamp down on her impatience and frustration with an iron will. But she knew Hayden would never understand that. He was, she had learned, basically a selfish man, interested only in his own needs. The smooth manners and the warmth that sometimes came out of him were superficial. She merely replied, “We all have our bad times, Ray. I’m no different.”

  He leaned back in his chair, trying to understand her. He was a man who had had considerable experience with women, and had fully expected after a time to succeed with Lola, but it had not happened. He had tried every method that had worked for him in the past, but whatever
he did, she maintained the space between them, her dark eyes continually weighing him. Once she had asked him, “You’re engaged to the Ames woman, I hear. Young, beautiful and all the money in the world. Why can’t you be satisfied with her, Ray? Why do you have to keep after me?” He had been speechless that she should have understood him so well, and she had said gently, “Let me be your friend, Ray. That would be worth something to you—and to me as well.”

  He had thought of that often, knowing that she saw his weaknesses better than Mark or Moira would ever see them, though how she’d learned such things about him he couldn’t fathom.

  He changed the subject and they talked for nearly an hour. He was about to get up when the door opened and Moira and her father walked in. Dismayed, he jumped to his feet, his first impulse being to walk away from Lola, pretending he didn’t know her. But he saw from the look in Moira’s eyes that would not do. He had an agile mind, and moved toward her with a smile on his face.

  “Moira! Mr. Ames—what in the world brings you here?” He took Moira’s hand and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She received it coolly, and he shook Ames’s hand firmly. “Come over and meet a friend of mine.”

  Ames said dryly, “Glad to, Ray.”

  Lola had been amused by the quandary Ray had found himself in, and she was more amused at how he extricated himself. “Lola, this is Moira Ames and her father. You’ve heard me speak of them often. And this is Lola Montez—a very close friend of Mark Winslow’s,” he added.

  Lola inwardly smiled at his subterfuge, but simply nodded, “How are you Miss Ames—Mr. Ames.” Then to give Ray a little help she added, “Mr. Hayden was just giving me the news that Mark has gone to Fort Sanders.”

  Ames took her words at face value. “Very nice to meet you, Miss Montez.” He had no idea who she was, which only added to Lola’s amusement.

  But Moira, she saw, was not fooled for one second. She knows her man, all right, Lola thought, noting the tightening of the wide mouth and the glint in the greenish eyes. Lola fully expected the spoiled woman to pull Ray up short, and she didn’t have to wait long.

  “Why, yes, Miss Montez, I saw you in the—what was the name of the saloon?”

  “The Wagonwheel,” Lola said. She saw Sherman Ames take a startled look at her, then proceeded to spike Moira’s guns. “I deal blackjack there. But I expect Ray’s told you all about that?”

  “No, he hasn’t mentioned you,” Moira said briefly.

  Lola knew that Ray was in for a hard time, so she rose and said, “Very nice to meet you, Miss Ames—and you, Mr. Ames. Come down to the Wagonwheel if you want a little action at the blackjack table.” She smiled sweetly, left some money for her bill, picked up her purse and added, “Thank you for the information about Mark, Mr. Hayden,” before sweeping out of the restaurant. Once outside, she laughed out loud, “That certainly took the wind out of her sails!” As she walked slowly down the sidewalk she thought about Moira Ames. “She’s the most attractive woman I’ve ever seen,” she mused. “But Ray’s going to have his hands full!”

  Her thought was prophetic, for Hayden saw at once that Moira was angry, though she merely said, “I’m tired. It was a boring trip. Father, if you don’t mind, I’ll skip lunch and go to the hotel.”

  “But I’m starved!”

  “You go ahead and eat, sir,” Ray said quickly. “I’ll see Moira to the hotel.”

  “All right, but come back soon. I’ve got some work for you to do.”

  As soon as they were outside, Ray said, “I didn’t expect you to come to this terrible town in the heat of summer, Moira.”

  “No,” she said evenly, “I noticed you didn’t expect me.”

  He laughed and said, “You’re jealous of Lola Montez! That’s the most encouraging sign I’ve ever gotten out of you, Moira.”

  “You’re a clever man, Ray, but I know what I saw.”

  He walked along beside her, silent and thoughtful. He was in love with Moira, or as close to it as a man like him could get. He had tried to be honest with himself, but could never decide if it was her cool beauty or the fact that she was Sherman Ames’s daughter that made him pursue her. In either case, he would not give her up. He waited until they were at the hotel, then after she signed the register, he said, “We’ve got to talk, Moira. Let me come up to your room.”

  “A man in my hotel room?” she asked in mock horror. The anger had left her, and the cynical humor that lay in her nature began to assert itself. She had been amazed that she could feel jealousy over any woman where Ray was concerned, especially over a saloon girl. Upon reflection, however, she realized that a girl like Lola was exactly the kind that Ray would be drawn to. Moira had enough confidence in her own powers to believe that he would never entertain a serious thought about another woman—but she also realized that he was a ladies’ man. “Well, I suppose you’re trustworthy. Come along.”

  He followed her to the second floor and unlocked the door for her. They stepped in and she took off her hat. “What a room!” she exclaimed, looking around at the cheap furniture and warped green lumber walls. She went to the window and looked down on the unlovely street below, then sighed and turned to face Hayden. “Now, tell me about Lola.” A smile crossed her lips, and she said thoughtfully, “She’s very clever, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t know, Moira,” Ray shrugged. “I suppose so. She’s had a pretty rough life.”

  “All saloon girls have, haven’t they?”

  “She’s not really a saloon girl, though she works in one. Actually, nobody knows exactly what she is. The name everyone calls her, the Union Belle, fits her better than any other description I can think of.” He walked over and stood closer to her. “You don’t have to be jealous of her. She’s not interested in men.”

  “Not even in Mark Winslow?”

  Hayden paused, his handsome, florid face thoughtful as he considered her question. “I thought so once—now I’m not so sure. They knew each other sometime back, but they never talk about it—at least not to me.”

  “They’d make a handsome couple,” Moira mused. Then she laughed and lifted her arms to him. “Oh, Ray, you looked like a criminal when Father and I walked in on you!”

  He grinned and put his arms around her, glad to be let off so easily. Pulling her close, he kissed her on the lips. But after a moment she pulled away.

  “What have you been doing?” she asked, reaching up to straighten her hair.

  “Nothing much.”

  The flat answer drew a quick glance from her, and she asked, “You don’t sound happy, Ray. What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Moira, I’m caught in a backwater here!” he exclaimed. “There’s nothing big happening in Julesburg.”

  “Father says you’re doing a fine job!”

  “But it’s so . . . so small!” he moaned. He walked over and looked down at the street, then turned back, his face tense. “When I was with Dodge and Reed and the others at that dinner party, I felt more alive than I’d ever felt in my life, Moira!”

  “Of course—and they were all taken with you, Ray. I could see it.”

  “But nothing’s happened!” he exclaimed bitterly. “Day after day I sit here doing paper work—and it means nothing!”

  She was astonished by the intensity of his feeling. He was not a man who expressed much emotion, and for the first time she began to think that there was more beneath his smooth manner than she had thought. Perhaps it was only because she had seen too many fine manners, but Hayden’s burst of raw emotion drew her to him.

  “Why, Ray, I didn’t know you felt that strongly,” she admitted.

  “Just because I don’t shout it from the rooftops doesn’t mean I don’t feel things,” he said sharply. “And while we’re talking about strong feelings, Moira, I guess it’s only fair to tell you that if you don’t care any more about me after two years than I sensed a moment ago, it’s time to call it off!”

  He half expected her to order him out of the room, but he saw that his forc
eful words had pleased her. He took advantage of it, pulling her in his arms and kissing her hard, and this time she kissed him back with a fierceness that amazed him. When he stepped back, she said, “Maybe it’s a good thing I went away, Ray. You’ve changed.”

  “No, I’m the same,” he said. “But I’ve got to do something. This job is a dead end.”

  “Tell me what’s going on,” she said, pulling him down to one of the chairs along the wall, then sitting down in the other. She held his hand, and he told her about the titanic struggle the Union was putting up to get the track laid, despite weather, Indians, and the troubles of construction.

  He said finally, “This town is a powderkeg, Moira. Mark walks such a fine line! But sooner or later, the roughs will go too far—and there’ll be a war!”

  “Will you be involved in that?” she asked.

  “No,” he smiled grimly. “That’s for fellows like Mark. Let them wallow around in the mud and do the killing. After he’s tamed the town, that’ll be the time to make a move.”

  She found that odd. “But—it’ll be Mark that makes it work, won’t it, Ray?”

  “Oh, he’s necessary—but so are the track hands. I don’t want either job, Moira,” he said, and his face was as intense as she’d ever seen it. “I want to be a success. Not just for me—but for us!”

  She leaned forward and kissed him, whispering, “You will be, Ray!”

  ****

  When Mark came back from Fort Sanders, Ray met him at the station. “Things are worsening, Mark. Ames is here with bad news, and that’s only part of it.”

  “What’s the rest of it?”

  “Ever since you’ve been gone, the town’s been terrorized. I think they waited for you to leave—and now they’re daring you to do something about it.”

  “Let’s talk to Ames first, and we’ll see what he has to say.” Ames was glum when they met with him. “Durant has gone crazy!” he declared bluntly. “He’s challenging every decision I make, and he’s got the finances tied up so tight I don’t know where we’re going to get the money to buy rails and ties.”