Chapter One ~ Kitty
What the McCleary brothers did to Yury Kincaid did not surprise Doc. He treated two men who were attacked in Abilene and Oklahoma Territory, and said it happened often to women in and around Dodge. Depravity never shocked him. Doc had seen everything.
I was figuring the night's returns over coffee when Matt rushed through the batwings. He gave me a scare; Matt rarely hurries even with danger afoot. Pale through his tan, his chest heaving, he looked disoriented like he'd taken a whack to the head. He reached for my arm and almost yanked me out of my chair.
"Matt." I said, "What is it?"
"I need you to tend to Mrs. Kincaid," he said.
"Hannah?"Yury and Hannah Kincaid stayed at Dodge House. In town for Yury's correspondence work, they planned to return to New York at summer's end. Matt and I, Chester and Doc liked Hannah, who was exquisite as a china doll, so we were obliging to her husband for her sake. "Matt, tell me," I said as he pulled me toward the street. "What's wrong with Hannah?"
"It's Yury," Matt said. "Mrs. Kincaid is close to collapse. Doc gave her something . . . laudanum."
"Was he robbed?" I said. "I knew it would happen. I told him not to flash his money around."
"He was . . . attacked," Matt said. "He said the McCleary brothers did it."
"The McClearys beat Yury? Why?"
Matt motioned me up to Doc's office, and I looked back at him as I climbed the stairs.
"Be careful," Matt said, touching his palm to my back. "They did worse than beat him. It's bad."
I paused on the stairs, hearing myself gasp. Matt steadied me, his breath puffing warm and quick through my hair. "I'm alright," I said.
Hannah lay curled on Doc's settee. Chester sat in a chair beside her, holding her hand. He rose when he saw me, and stepped aside so I could take his chair.
"Hannah." I smoothed back her soft yellow hair. Her head was moist and hot, her face wet with tears.
"Oh Kitty," she said, and wept loudly, like she'd waited for me to come to let it out.
"Hannah," I repeated. "Doc's taking care of Yury. He'll come through this."
Chester moved restlessly, hovering over us. I thought him in the way. His presence seemed to comfort Hannah though, or I would've told him to ask Doc if he could help with Yury. Covered in blood and dirt, his black eyes distended and his clothes in tatters, Yury lay on Doc's table and stared at the ceiling.
"Matt," I said, "will you carry Hannah to Ma Smalley's? I can care for her better there than at Dodge House, and Ma'll help me."
"Alright," Matt said.
"Do you need Chester right now, Doc?" I said. On impulse I put my arm lightly round Chester's waist and looked up at him. His face was drawn and somber.
Sleeves rolled above his elbows, his arms stained with Yury's blood, Doc regarded Chester intently before turning back to his patient. "No . . . no," Doc said.
"Come with me, Chester," I said. "Help me gather Hannah's things to take to Ma's." He nodded. He hadn't said a word since I entered Doc's office.
Doc said Yury would live, but his mind was shocked and he might never come out of it.
The McCleary brothers meanwhile remained free, as it was their word against Yury's. Matt said he stepped in patches of blood-soaked grass when he went to the brothers' shack. The McClearys said they'd shot a bunch of coon outside their door.
Folks said something of the sort was bound to happen to Yury. A handsome figure with a cheerful bronze face and costly duds, Yury had hopped off the noon train and lifted his wife to his side with a flourish.
He announced himself at the Long Branch as a frontier correspondent for an Eastern periodical, ordered drinks for everyone, joked and laughed and continually questioned my patrons in his refined speech, and wrote in a notebook he took from his back pocket. Sam told me "that dude" was mocking folks and asking personal things, and there'd be trouble.
The three McCleary brothers came to the Long Branch that night. They did everything together, only infrequently socializing with other men. They bought a whiskey bottle and talked low with their lips to one another's ears, watching Yury the whole time.
"Miss Kitty!" Sam pointed as Yury approached the McCleary's table, a full bottle and glass in hand. "The McClearys'll rough him up sure."
"I hope not for his wife's sake," I said. "She's sweet as a daisy, and she adores him. Smiles up into his face every word he says."
Sam and I needn't have worried . . . that first night. Yury charmed folks out of the anger he stirred with his wit. Rolfe McCleary, the oldest brother, soon moved his chair close to Yury's, and the brothers laughed noisily as they emptied the bottle. Rolfe repeatedly backslapped Yury and yelled in his ear, until Yury abruptly scraped his chair back and hastily left the Long Branch. Unoffended by his sudden departure, the McClearys enjoyed themselves late into the night, buying three of my gals a drink—a gal for each brother.
Yury gossiped and spread rumors around town to make up stories for his New York paper. He told our patrons that Sam habitually spent the night with my girls in their rooms. When Yury asked him how late he worked, Sam said that as he kept the bar until closing, cleaned up and resumed work a few hours later, he often slept in one of my upstairs rooms. "I did not say a word about our gals, Miss Kitty, not one word. I'd like to loosen that dandy's teeth," Sam said.
The McClearys fascinated Yury. He'd call to them from across the street, run after them down the walk, buy them dinner and drinks. If Yury saw them sitting out, he'd join them even if he had to sit on the walk. He endured Rolfe's impropriety so he could talk to them.
My affection for Hannah made me worry for her husband, and I resolved to warn him about the McClearys when he invited me to lunch at Delmonico's. I confess he distracted me from my task; he was that good to look at. He had finely cut vigorous features, sparkly eyes, wiry black curls, and a genteel aspect. Neither tall or short, he was on the slim side though not skinny.
"I hope you'll accept my apologies, Miss Kitty," he said. "I asked you here for my work. I'm a brute to talk business at lunch with a beautiful accomplished woman. My correspondence for the periodical, you see. Do you mind very much?" He reached for the ever-present notebook in his back pocket, his face one dazzling smile. I smiled in return—couldn't help it.
"The McCleary brothers," Yury said, unzipping an inner vest pocket from which he removed a thin leather case. "You have an acquaintance with them? I see them quite often at the Long Branch." He drew a sharpened pencil from the case and held it poised.
"Their money's good," I replied. "I have no dealings with them beyond that. The McClearys are ruffians, Yury. You'd best stay clear of them. Hannah would never get over it if anything happened to you."
Yury's brow furrowed, then smoothed above a patronizing smile. "Oh don't worry about me, Miss Kitty," he said. "I'm a veteran journalist, my dear. I've been places."
He rested his arms on the table and leaned forward conspiratorially, his pert face close to mine. My men friends use lye soap, but Yury smelled sweetly of Pears soap and the scent was heady.
"I heard something simply shocking, my dear," he said. "You'd know of it perhaps, having lived in Dodge quite a spell. I heard . . . ." He paused dramatically. "I heard the McClearys' mother and father . . . are also their aunt and uncle." He sat back in his chair and scrutinized my face, his expression calculating.
I knew such things happened in families of course. I decided as I sipped my tea not to dine again with this man unless his wife joined us. I was fairly sure he never spoke of such things when Hannah was with him. Yury insulted me because I owned a saloon. I was looking forward to the roast duck though; it smelled divine, I was famished, and I had nothing against looking at him while I ate.
He seemed disappointed at my lack of reaction to his secret. "It's true, Miss Kitty," he said. "The youngest McCleary let it slip when he was drunk. The one named Tanner. I get the impression he's ashamed of his parentage."
"No kidding," I said.
What Yury told me was too strange to keep to myself. I suppose he counted on that to stir excitement he could write about.
I felt uneasy at the thought of telling Matt, who could be provokingly virtuous, and I wouldn't dream of telling Chester, who was modest as a schoolmarm. I'd only embarrass him.
So I shared what I heard from Yury with Doc, who was unexpectedly taken aback. Doc stared at me, scandalized. When I laughed at him, he shook his head, speechless. "Kitty . . . ," he said, shaking his head again, and I laughed harder.
"What in thunder are you cackling like that for?" Doc said. "Here now, you sit down." He led me to a chair. "I'll bring you some coffee."
"What's the matter with Kincaid, talking to a woman like that," Doc fretted. "He don't have sense enough to know that kind of talk can bring on hysterics!"
"Oh, Doc ," I said. I touched his hand as he handed me a steaming cup. "I'm sorry. I'm alright, honestly."
He nodded brusquely, pulled up a chair next to mine, and sat quietly. I felt suddenly overcome by my fondness for him, but wouldn't let myself give him a hug. I'd shocked him enough already.