HELLO, KITTY
Note: The idea for this story belongs to my friend Rita, who also contributed to the writing. Also, Charlotte and Ira Pennington and The New Orleans Lady of "Haunted Heart" fame, appear with the generous permission of their creator, Amanda (MAHC).
Kitty Russell's high-heeled boots clicked across the polished floor of Kansas City's Grand Hotel. Aware that every male eye in the lobby was focused on her movements, she held her stylishly coiffed head high and followed the uniformed bellboy to the registration desk, signed her name and procured the key to her previously reserved suite of rooms.
Minutes later on the fifth floor, she tipped the bellboy and ushered him from the room. Turning the key in the lock, she leaned her back against the door and pushed out a small sigh, thinking of a bath, food and a good night's sleep—in that order. The train from New Orleans had been late getting into the city and she was too tired, and too cranky, to change clothes and take supper in the hotel dining room.
With that in mind, she took a champagne-colored silk nightgown and matching robe from one of the many valises stacked against the wall and carried the ensemble with her into the adjoining bathroom. Forty minutes later, refreshed in both body and spirit, she returned to the bedroom, and as she dialed the desk to order a light meal of fresh fruit, potato soup and coffee from room service, she wondered idly if Mr. Bell's invention had yet made its way to Dodge City. Shaking her head at the direction her thoughts had taken, she unpacked while she waited for the food to arrive.
Later, her supper finished, she wheeled the serving cart outside the door, poured a generous glass of Napoleon Brandy and climbed into bed to read the schedule of the next day's activities. With a frown at the hour of the opening session, she left a wake-up call for seven o'clock in the morning, turned out the lamp and went to sleep.
x
Several floors below, U.S. Marshal Matt Dillon finished his solitary supper in the hotel dining room and glanced into the bar before deciding against a nightcap. Instead, he stopped by the desk and left a wake-up call for seven. He had an early morning engagement, and even though he was accustomed to waking in the pre-dawn hours, he didn't want to risk sleeping through his appointment. He rode the elevator to the third floor of the hotel, covered the distance down the empty corridor to his room in a few long strides and bolted the door behind him. Alone in his spartan room, he placed his gunbelt on the bedside table, removed his boots and leaned back against the pillows, feigning interest in the evening edition of the Kansas City Gazette.
XXXXXX
Dressed in an elegant rust colored business suit for the day's meetings with vendors, Kitty entered the hotel breakfast room and followed the maître d' to a small table. She read the menu and placed her order with the waiter. Removing the day's schedule of events from her reticule, she glanced over it again, noting starting times and ticking off sessions she especially wanted to attend. Without warning, her heart began to pound with a ferocity she hadn't known in… well, twenty-six months, to be exact. It may have been more than two years since she had last seen him, but the magnetic pull was still there, just as strong as ever, and it lifted her head and turned her sapphire eyes in the direction of a group of men seated at a table in the far corner of the room. One chair was empty, and then she saw a giant of a man bending over the heavy silver coffee service on the sideboard. The man's face was hidden by a marble column, but there was no mistaking that towering height, those broad shoulders. And hell, even if there was someone else west of the Mississippi who fit that description, this man was wearing the unmistakable gray tweed courtin' coat she had watched Wilbur Jonas fit on him two decades earlier. Besides, her pounding heart didn't lie.
If flight had been an option, she would have taken it, but exiting the room would put her directly in the path of the man who had turned and was walking in her direction, long legs propelling him all too quickly toward her table.
Anyone who did not know him as well as she did might have missed the fleeting look of uncertainty that flickered in his sky blue eyes as he approached—the beloved face a bit more weathered, the unruly curls a bit longer and grayer, the once concealed limp a bit more pronounced. And now he stood by the table, towering over her. "Hello, Kitty."
The poker face that had served her well for so many years slid smoothly into place and she tilted her head upward. "Hello, Matt."
"What are you…."
"….doing here?"
The simultaneous inquiries brought a slight smile to both faces and the first awkward moment passed.
"You first." Matt nodded down at her.
"Business. A convention. You?"
"A trial." He frowned. "In fact, I have to get over to the court house right now. If it were anything else, I'd stay and talk to you, but this…I can't…a man's life... I…I'm sorry, Kitty."
A shadow of remembrance crossed her face. "Go on, Matt. It was good to see you."
On an impulse, he leaned over to bring his face closer to hers. "Have supper with me tonight, Kitty. Here at the hotel. Or any place you want." He held his breath as he waited for her response. "Please?"
She hesitated a moment and then nodded. "I'll meet you in the main dining room at seven…and, Matt, I do understand about the trial."
His hand rested on her shoulder so briefly, so lightly, it might have been a passing breeze. "I'll see you later, Kitty."
XXXXXX
For Kitty, the morning and afternoon passed in a blur of vendors and sales pitches for the newest advances in saloon equipment. Promptly at seven, hands icy with nerves, she arrived at the open French doors that marked the lobby entrance to the hotel's main dining room. Before the maître d' could offer assistance, a strong hand gripped her elbow and a rich voice spoke in her ear. "I have a table for us, Kitty."
Willing herself to breathe normally, she turned and tilted her head upward, looking directly into the face of the man she had loved for more than two decades. He was freshly shaved and she inhaled his scent—saddle leather and soap, sun-baked prairie and pine—just one of the many things she had missed these last two years. "You're looking good, Matt."
"So are you." His eyes smiled down at her as they appreciatively took in the deep green taffeta dinner dress. The color accentuated her shining red hair, and the square neckline was cut fashionably low, revealing the pulse throbbing in her throat. He extended his arm. "Shall we?"
Dinner in a secluded alcove of the dining room was pleasant, with companionable conversation about Dodge and Doc and Festus, interspersing gentle memories of their years together with cautious snippets of their lives apart. Matt caught Kitty up on the latest events in Dodge City, and, although he truly was not the most proficient of gossips, she was mesmerized by the beloved voice, whatever the words, and it mattered not that a recent letter from Doc had already provided a more entertaining tale of Percy Crump and the lost corpse.
"Your turn, Kitty. How's life in New Orleans?"
"Warm," she answered, for to say 'fine' or 'wonderful' would have been to lie. And she proceeded to tell him about The New Orleans Lady, the floating gambling palace she owned in partnership with Ira Pennington, her cousin Charlotte's husband. "It's a paddle wheeler. We're docked in New Orleans, of course, but we travel up river as far as Memphis and maybe next year we'll go on to St. Louis. We have poker and faro tables, keno and music. In time, I'd like to book entertainers and add fine dining. Right now we have a saloon that's as grand as anything you'll find on any river in the country. That's why I'm here, really. The Lady's in need of some equipment for the bar, and this convention seemed like a perfect opportunity to see all of the newest amenities in one place."
When supper was finished and the plates had been cleared, Matt took a swallow of coffee and stared into his cup for a long moment. Then he raised his head, looked directly at her and quietly asked the question that had been eating at him for the last twenty-six months. "Why, Kitty?"
She dropped her head and stared into her own cup for another long moment. Then she spoke softly. "I'd really rather not talk about it, Matt. I sent a note to you through Doc. He did give it to you, didn't he?"
"He gave it to me. And I understand you didn't want me to contact you or to ask questions, and I've respected your wishes. But now that we've run into each other, won't you at least tell me why you left?"
She hesitated. For two years she had been trying to convince herself that Dodge City, Kansas, was just a dot on the map and one more piece of her past. Now it—or at least its big marshal—was sitting directly in front of her, every bit as dear to her as ever.
He reached across the table and laid his hand on her forearm. "Please?"
Her skin tingled at his touch. She saw the pain in his eyes and knew she couldn't deny him an explanation. "All right. I'll tell you, but not here. We can talk in my room."
TBC
