Kitty needed him like water pumped cold from the well these moist summer nights. She craved his vital warm presence—strong, rock-steady and a head higher than any man in Dodge. She wanted to hear Matt's sensible tones, feel his arm pressed against hers as she stood at the end of the bar.
Kitty hadn't seen the marshal since last night, and now the earliest morning hour had come with a cooling in the air. Chester's form next to hers at the bar was hot, spare and fidgety. Though he seemed to her nervier than usual, Kitty hoped he'd stay with her until Matt arrived or the Long Branch closed for the night.
Desiring Matt made her somewhat enlivened by Chester. She looked up at his ingenuous face as he watched the activity along the bar, his fingers wrapped around a full beer mug. He impressed her as tendersome and not who she needed as a woman. Kitty thought embracing Chester might lighten her spirits as much as two cups of coffee.
"Pardon me," said a baritone voice behind her. Kitty turned and looked into the young, radiantly handsome face of a stranger. "I was ordering a whiskey when I beheld you, and I'm quite overcome by your beauty," he said. Chester snorted laughter, and Kitty jabbed her elbow in his ribs.
"May I introduce myself?" the stranger said. "My name is Trevor Holland." He took Kitty's hand and touched it to his lips. "May I buy you a drink?" he asked.
"I'm Kitty Russell, and the first drink's on the house," she said. "We'll both have one."
"Do call me Trev," he said.
"I will if you call me Kitty.
Chester, why don't you go see if Matt needs anything," Kitty said.
"He's not here with you; he's makin' his rounds late," said Chester. "I can't rightly find 'im jest now."
"Well, go to the office and wait for him," Kitty ordered.
"I will. Mr. Dillon'll surely come here when he hears what I got to tell 'im," said Chester. He frowned at Holland and left.
Kitty felt an invigorating surge of defiance. Let Matt find out, she thought. Maybe then he'll give me more attention.
She sat at a table with Trev, who wanted to know all about her. His voice had a musical cadence with perfect diction, and his demeanor was open and faintly smiling. Though he was no profound conversationalist, Kitty enjoyed looking at him and hearing him talk. She studied him so she could rouse his image in her memory whenever she missed Matt. Holland had clean tan skin, large, expressive dark eyes, a long sharp nose with a rather prominent bridge, and shining black hair. He was tall and lean, though not close to the marshal's height, and wore a fine dove-gray suit. Kitty figured Trev to be a little shorter than Chester.
Holland's father was a landowner in England and the States. "The West is so full of life and death, darkness and hope, one can hardly bear it. I'd be a lucky fellow indeed were I to find love in this land," Trev said.
Kitty rested her chin on her hand and gazed into his earnest eyes. "You sound like a poet," she said.
"I like writing poetry," said Trev. "Though I've never submitted my poems to a publisher. They're not good enough. I'm no good at work. I've never done any."
"Well you don't need to work, do you?" said Kitty.
"Oh no," he said. "I've scads of money. I'm an only child, so I'll inherit everything. Men here do tend to think a fellow should work, though."
"The men here grow up working hard," Kitty said. "It's what they know. Don't be troubled by what they say. Let yourself be a poet."
"So I shall," said Trev. "You make me wonderfully fine, Kitty. I was melancholy before I met you."
"Well, I'm happy I could make you feel better," said Kitty.
"May I take the chair next to yours?" he said. She nodded, smiling. He pushed a chair against hers, and took her hand in both of his. He smelled of spicy eau de cologne and soap. "I never met a woman who owned a saloon," he said. "Have you a past, my dear?"
"When I was younger," said Kitty. "I'm more respectable now."
"But not entirely so?" said Trev.
"Not entirely," Kitty said. "I like to have fun sometimes."
"May I kiss you?" he said.
His eyes were hot and bright, and he looked very young. Kitty touched her hand to the back of his neck, and placed her other hand at the side of his head. He put his arms around her, kissing her gently yet forcefully.
Kitty slid her hand to his face. "Do you want to see my room?" she said softly. Trev opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and nodded. Kitty took his hand and led him upstairs.
The mild weather made Dodge uncommonly vigorous for summer. Always on the move, afoot under the sun with his bag, or driving his buggy to ranches, farms, and houses outside of town, Doc treated fever 'n ague, near drownings, and stomachache from over-indulgence or food eaten after setting too long in the heat.
Doc grew tired. His bones and muscles hurt, and he daydreamed about fishing off an Arkansas River bank with a picnic basket and a book beside him in the grass. As he had no time to visit the Long Branch, he started carrying a small whiskey bottle in his bag. Doc drank a glass of brandy before breakfast to help him face the day, and two cordials in a long-stemmed wine glass after dinner to help him sleep, calling to mind his younger days, when anything that troubled him overmuch compelled him to get drunk. He admonished himself not to return to the habit, knowing his older body wouldn't hold up long if he did.
The night after Kitty led Trevor Holland upstairs to her room at the Long Branch, Matt walked the streets on his nightly patrol, fretting over what Chester told him. Though the young stranger kissing Kitty's hand didn't bother the marshal much of itself, he knew Kitty would not have shooed Chester out unless she wanted time alone with Holland. Matt resolved to see Kitty that night directly after finishing his rounds. He'd find out what the fellow was about, and if Kitty had taken to him. If so, Matt would do whatever it took to turn her affections wholly back to him, whether that meant riding and picnicking, or giving her some loving.
Matt restrained himself with Kitty on account of the badge, knowing that coming to her would intensify her love. He didn't want her heart buried in his grave if he was killed.
As the marshal neared the end of his patrol, striding with his measured tread to his office by way of Grimmick's livery, he saw Doc sleeping in his buggy in front of the stable. Hitched to the buggy, his horse waited patiently.
"Doc?" Matt touched his shoulder. Doc woke up and jerked in his seat when he saw the marshal. "It's alright, Doc. It's Matt."
"Matt," said Doc. "You gave me a fright."
"This isn't the safest place to take a nap at night," said the marshal.
"I must've fallen asleep on the ride home," said Doc. He took his bag, moved clumsily to climb down from the buggy and tripped. "Tarnation!" he yelled, as Matt caught him and steadied him on his feet.
"You drunk?" said Matt.
"I dunno. Didn't plan it that way if I am."
"I'll walk you home," said Matt.
"I'm no lady in need of an escort, thank you," said Doc. He moved off shakily.
Matt pounded on the stable doors, which were opened after a moment by the man Moss hired to sleep the night there and unlock the doors for late arrivals. The man shuffled out drowsy and hatless to see to Doc's horse and buggy, and Matt hurried to catch up to Doc and walk alongside him.
"I told you I don't need an escort," Doc shouted.
"What're you drinkin' for, Doc?" said Matt.
"Helps keep me goin'. I didn't set out to get drunk," Doc said.
"You soberin' already?" said the marshal. "Sounds like it."
"I've developed a high tolerance," Doc said. "The bottle and I have a history."
"I remember you used to drink when things went hard for you." said Matt. "That was years ago."
"I'm tuckered, Matt. Never been so weary."
"Why don't you take a vacation, maybe go fishin' a couple weeks," Matt said.
"The way folks are falling ill this summer—almost drowning, young 'uns tumbling out of trees, you name it. This town would never survive," said Doc.
"Everyone needs a rest sometime," the marshal said.
"And when did you last take a break?" Doc said.
"Well," said Matt, "I'm younger than you."
"Oh, go right on ahead. Stick that to me, why don't ya," said Doc. He was getting loud again.
"Shhh. Don't wake folks up," Matt said.
"I don't need you helpin' me up ma durn stairs," said Doc. "You git along to the Long Branch and keep an eye on Kitty before that dandy feller steals her out from under you. No vulgarity intended." With the marshal close behind him, Doc stopped at the top of the stairs and rocked with suppressed laughter.
Matt opened the door and followed Doc into his office. "How d'you know about Holland?" Matt said.
"How d'you think?" said Doc. "Chester of course. It must be all over Dodge by now."
"You won't drink anymore tonight, Doc?"
"No, I'm goin' straight to bed."
"Alright." Matt headed out the door.
"Matt." The marshal turned. "Thanks," said Doc. "You're a good friend." Doc nodded and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. "A good friend," he repeated.
"Alright, Doc."
Matt knew from Chester's description that the man sitting at the table in the Long Branch with Kitty was Trev Holland, only tonight he wore a powder-blue suit with matching hat. His beer untouched, Chester sat alone at a nearby table and gloomily watched them.
Matt approached Kitty's table and tipped his hat. "Hello, Kitty," he said.
Kitty looked into his eyes and felt the familiar thrill in her chest, the heightened awareness. She wanted to hug him, kiss and talk to him for hours. "Hello, Matt," she said.
"How about a drink at the bar?" said Matt.
"Sure," she said. "Excuse me, Trev."
"Of course, darling," Trev said. He stood and touched his hat brim. "You're the marshal, sir," he said, seeing Matt's badge.
"Matt Dillon," said Matt, thinking how young Holland looked. The marshal figured Trev to be twenty-nine or thirty, though his artless face made him look younger. Chester had said Holland was "the purtiest feller I ever saw; talks like a storybook." Matt knew he couldn't in fairness blame Kitty for going sweet on the fellow. Any woman would.
"Trevor Holland," the stranger said.
"You look a far piece from home, Holland," said Matt. "What's your business in Dodge, you don't mind my askin'."
"I'm a wayfaring poet," Trev said. "I'm exploring the West."
"Mm-hmm," said Matt. "You can set with Chester there a spell; you want some company." Chester heard and gave the marshal a reproachful look.
"I needn't if I'm intruding," Trev said to Chester.
"No bother to me, you wanna set," Chester said reluctantly.
"Do you play at cards?" said Trev, reaching for the deck in the center of the table.
"Some . . . betimes," said Chester.
"Splendid," said Holland, expertly shuffling the cards. "Perhaps we can draw in a full table."
Matt and Kitty leaned on the bar, his arm touching hers.
"About time you showed, Marshal," Sam said, giving Matt a meaningful look. "This place could've come down around our ears."
"We've been peaceful for summertime, Sam," said Kitty.
"Never can tell when we'll need the law," Sam said, putting two beers on the bar.
"You like that fella, do ya?" Matt said to Kitty.
"I can't help but like him," said Kitty. "He's more beautiful than most of the gals workin' for me here."
"Can't argue that," Matt said. "You want him for your man?"
"Only if I can't have you," she said.
Matt drank most of his beer in two swallows. "I had to bust up another fight at the Jenkins place last night," he said. "It's quite a ride from here. Little Fitz raced his cob into town to the office, said his Pa and Ma were killin' each other and I had to come. By the time I got Joe and Ellie calmed, rode back to Dodge and walked my rounds, it was too late to come see you."
"It's more than wanting to see you and talk to you every night," Kitty said.
"We can go on a picnic," said Matt. "I'll make the time."
"I need more than that," said Kitty. "Oh, Matt. I need to love you like a wife loves her husband."
Matt looked at her intently. "I won't make you a young widow," he said. "I can't keep count of the number of men who've threatened to gun me down or hire a gun to do it.
"Kitty." Matt looked at the froth in his beer mug. "Did you . . . you said you needed . . . ." he trailed off.
"You know my past, Matt," she said. "You know me."
"Holland's even younger than his age," said Matt. "You're too mature for him."
"That doesn't matter," Kitty said. "Trev is sweet, and he wants me."
"So is Chester," Matt said, "but you're not spendin' nights with him. Least I don't think you are. Guess I can't know for sure."
Kitty glared up at him, her lips tightening. "Leave Chester out of this, Matt. Shame on you."
Matt put his arms around her and kissed her, long and hard.
"Oh, I say," said Trev, watching Matt and Kitty from the table where he played cards with Chester and two other men. "Is the marshal Miss Kitty's beau?" Trev asked Chester.
"He is," said Chester.
"Oh, I say," Trev repeated. "I've some competition."
"You won't compete against Marshal Dillon if you got a mite a sense under that fancy hat," said one of the men. "He don't fight 'cept when he has to, to enforce the law, but you never can tell when it comes to a woman, 'specially a fine one like Miss Kitty."
"None finer in Kansas," Chester agreed. "You best mind yourself, Trev."
"How frightfully exciting," Trev said. "D'you spose the marshal will challenge me to a duel?" Chester stared vaguely at Holland while the other two men laughed.
Over at the bar, her heart pumping faster, Kitty smoothed her hair into place after Matt's kiss. The marshal watched her anxiously. Her face was flushed, though he couldn't figure her thoughts.
"Well?" said Matt.
"Well, what?" said Kitty.
"Does that make you forget Holland?" Matt said. Kitty laughed. "Durned if I see anything funny about it," said Matt. He drained his beer mug.
Kitty hugged him, resting her face against his arm. "If you say 'Alright, Kitty,' and pull away from me, you'll drive me straight into Trevor's arms," she said.
"But I'm still thirsty. I drank my beer," said Matt.
"I love you so much." She rubbed her face against his shirt sleeve. "Just please be with me whenever you can," Kitty said. "And closer, like this."
"Alright," he said. She let go of him and pushed her full beer mug in front of him.
Chester soon tired of the card game. The two men who joined him and Holland said little more than crudities about the saloon gals, and Chester thought Trev one witless feller. A young 'un would have more sense in his head than that dude.
Chester still stung from Miss Kitty treating him like a pesky fly the night before so she could spend time alone with Holland. Though he'd eaten a big dinner, Chester felt a hungry hollowness, only like a hurting. He needed to talk to Miss Kitty, or just be quietly near her, but he knew she and Mr. Dillon wouldn't want that now. Chester tossed his cards to the middle of the table and stood.
"You're not leaving the game, my good fellow?" said Holland.
"Yeah," said Chester, heading for the batwings. He walked without knowing where, as it was too late to visit Doc. Chester wandered to the end of town, and ambled through the prairie grass to the back street of Dodge. There were a few saloons along the street, two houses of ill repute, and a big tent in the grass.
A barefoot woman emerged from the tent, her thick unruly hair hanging loose to her waist. She saw Chester and walked over to him. "Hello, dear," she said.
Chester touched his hat brim and kept moving. "You are alone tonight?" the woman said.
"I know where the houses are if I am," said Chester.
"No," she said. "I'm not one of them, dear. I mean alone like your friends are gone."
Chester stopped near a streetlamp and looked down into her uplifted face. Her hair was light red like a pink rose, framing a smooth milk-white face, with eyes so light blue they looked transparent. The size of most women and no beauty, she was however more pretty than plain. She wore long dangly earbobs and several necklaces, and her cotton dress was sewn in different colors and patches, like a quilt. Chester figured her to be about his age.
"You've never seen a woman like me before, have you," she said. "I'm Mona. What's your name, honey?"
"Chester."
"That's a nice name. I have something over yonder in the tent, make you feel better."
Chester had never been in the tent, but he'd heard tell of it. "I got no money for that," he said.
"Oh," said Mona, stepping back from him. He saw her consider on going back in the tent and leaving him be, so he resumed walking. She appeared beside him after a moment. "I'm alone, too," she said. "Come inside and visit?"
"No place for visitin'," Chester said, "with that stuff a swirlin' in the air."
"You ever tried it?" she said.
"Doc give it to me in medicine many a time," said Chester.
"I mean smokin' it, sweet eyes," said Mona. "It'll make you fly to the stars."
Chester thought she sounded a touch lunatic. "I best get on," he said. "I don't smoke."
"It's not like an everyday pipe or cigar," she said. "You'll like it. It fills the emptiness."
"Like I said, I got no money," Chester said. "Not meanin' to put you off, ma'am, but—"
"I'll give you a pipe anyway," she said. "Oh please, honey. Give a lonesome woman a little company."
Chester looked curiously at the tent. A tendril of smoke curled through its top. Mona put a warm hand in his, led him to the tent, and pulled back the flap.
When Matt returned to his office at 3:02 a.m. by his pocket watch, Chester wasn't there. Not wanting to wake Ma Smalley or the boarders, Matt decided to sleep at the office instead of his room at Ma's. He'd left Kitty's room, knowing she'd want it to herself when she awakened. Matt would sleep in Chester's bed, and if his partner came in before the sun rose, he could sleep in one of the jail cells.
Matt sat on the bed to pull off his boots when the door opened and Chester staggered in, bringing the distinctive sweet odor of smoked opium with him. "Mr. Dillon." Chester smiled vacantly at Matt, dropped his hat on the floor, sat on the bed next to the marshal, and struggled to take off his boots.
"You been to that opium tent on the back street," said Matt, trying not to grin.
"Jest thought I'd try a little," Chester said, drawling his words out more than usual. "Seein' as I never smoked it afore. It made me a mite happy. Took away the lonesomeness."
"You didn't say anything before about bein' lonesome," said Matt.
"Ain't nothin'." Chester waved his hand in an exaggerated gesture. "It's always there a little, only sometimes it gets a bit much." The corners of his mouth turned down as he nodded seriously at Matt, then uttered an oath as he yanked at his boot.
"Let me give you a hand there," said Matt. He pulled Chester's boots off. "Go to that tent again, I'll tell Doc," Matt said. "That stuff's bad for you."
"Doc ain't one to preach," said Chester. "I seen 'im slip an extra whiskey bottle in his bag t'other mornin' when he thought I weren't lookin'. He already had the one in there he carries for the sick and injured."
Matt let that pass. "You get too lonesome again, Kitty and I'll make the time. We'll go fishin'."
"Well. That does warm a body right here." Chester thumped his chest. "I do like talkin' to Miss Kitty. Only she chased me away last night to favor that Holland feller. Wouldn't talk to me tonight, neither. Her eyes are all on him."
"Not any more if I can help it," said Matt. He patted Chester's shoulder. "I'll sleep in the jail," the marshal said.
"No, Mr. Dillon. Forevermore, United States marshal can't sleep in no jail. You take the bed here," Chester said. "I'll sleep in the cell."