"MAYBE…"
Kitty Russell opened her sapphire eyes and smiled up into steel blue eyes smiling down.
"G'morning." His voice was rich and low. Gentle.
Her smile widened. "Morning yourself."
He flexed his jaw. "Kitty, I swear I never meant for…for that to happen." And then, in spite of his best effort, a wide grin stretched his handsome face. "But I'm not sorry it did, not sorry a'tall. You all right—I didn't hurt you, did I?"
She felt her face flush. "I'm fine…and I'm not sorry, either, Matt—not one bit."
He leaned into her and pressed his curly dark head against hers. Then he drew back abruptly. "Listen, I never felt less like going to work, but it's nearly dawn—I need to get out of here."
As he rolled off the bed and began pulling on his clothes, her temper flared. "Of course—wouldn't be proper for the United States Marshal to be seen coming out of a saloon girl's room first thing in the morning."
Halfway into his shirt, he sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Whoa, there…that's not it…not what I meant. I need to make the morning rounds. And I have to meet the seven o'clock train from Topeka…government papers coming in."
She mumbled a subdued, "Oh."
He stood to stuff the long tail of his shirt into his pants. "Meet me later at Delmonico's for breakfast?"
"Su…uure," she managed, hoping neither her surprise nor her pleasure showed—at least not too much. "Nine o'clock?"
The thin mattress sagged under the weight of the big marshal as he sat down again to pull on his boots. "I'll be starved by then, but I'll be there."
He stood, fastening the gun belt around his flat hips. Then he leaned over and tenderly brushed the tumbled auburn curls back from her face. "See you later, Kitty."
******
As soon as the door closed behind the biggest and best looking man she had ever seen in her life, Kitty Russell stretched her slim body like a contented cat and grinned.
She debated going back to sleep, but didn't want to risk missing the arrival of Red, the bartender. Judging by the lack of light in the room, she guessed it would be at least an hour before she would hear his loud, off-key humming, indicating he was setting up for the day's first customers. She needed him to heat some water and carry it upstairs so she could take a bath. In the meantime, she would just lie there and—she grinned again as she scrambled out of the bed to retrieve her old journal—the fantasies of a lonely child, the hopes and dreams of a young girl, the regrets of a girl too soon a woman—from the bottom of the small trunk at the foot of her bed.
She turned up the lamp, wrapped herself in her frilly pink robe and leaned back against the scarred wooden headboard. Once settled, she balanced the worn leather book on her lap, turned to a clean page, touched the tip of the pencil to her tongue and began:
My dear, faithful friend, a United States Marshal made love to me last night! All right, it wasn't love, exactly, but whatever it was, it was fantastic!
I've been waiting my entire life for this to happen! Oh, there have been other men—way too many other men—but not one has ever aroused my body and made me feel the way that big lawman did last night!
Not in my wildest dreams, not even in all those whispered conversations with Julie back in New Orleans—never did I dream of anything like the ecstasy I felt in those strong arms!
And, oh, my God…he is so gorgeous! I know looks aren't supposed to be important, but they don't hurt either! I'll try to describe him here, but no words of mine could ever do him justice…incredibly long muscular legs, flat hips, smooth broad chest, piercing blue eyes, a mass of curly dark hair! Sorry, I can't help myself! Reminds me of a sculpture—a replica, of course—that Panacea had in her front parlor. David. All I can say is, David was…lacking…compared to Matt Dillon!
Even 'tho I've been in Dodge for almost a year now, I still don't know a lot about Matt. Or I didn't until last night. I'm not sure anyone does. In spite of the best efforts of Olive, Polly and Kate, he doesn't visit upstairs with the Long Branch girls, and the grapevine says he isn't seeing anyone at the Texas Trail or any of our other fine establishments either. He's polite and respectful to all of the girls, but attentive to none.
Once, I tried to sound out Doc on the subject of our mysterious marshal—perhaps a girl, or even a wife and family, hidden in another town—but that wily old codger merely shrugged his shoulders. All I could get out of him was, "That overgrown civil servant's a different breed, Kitty."
Huh! I already know he's different from other men. Lord knows I've spent enough time observing him—that first rainy day in the café, on the boardwalk, in the saloon, riding down Front Street on that big buckskin---oh, yeah, I watch him every chance I get!
I guess I must have looked disappointed, because Doc patted my arm and swiped his hand across his mustache and told me in a softer tone, "But if it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure he isn't married."
And then last night…last night Bill Pence herded the last of the cowboys through the batwing doors and let himself out after them. I locked the frosted glass door behind him, turned down the lamps on either side of the door and moved to do the same to the one at the end of the bar.
That's when I noticed Matt hadn't gone out with the others. He was still sitting alone at a back table, half-heartedly turning his beer mug and looking as dejected as I'd ever seen him.
"Matt, you all right?" I moved close enough that my skirt brushed against his sleeve.
He gave the mug one last twirl on the green felt. "Uh, yeah. Just thinking. I'll…I'll get out of here so you can close up." He drained the last of the beer and carried the mug to the bar. "'Nite, Kitty."
I followed him to the door so I could lock up again. He started to leave, but at the last minute he turned, one long arm braced against the door frame. "Kitty...is it too late to…uh...go for a walk…you and me, I mean?"
It was after midnight, but I sure wasn't about to say "no," so instead I said, "Fresh air sounds good…the crowd made it kind of warm in here tonight."
******
We strolled down Front Street to the edge of town, Matt adjusting his long strides to my shorter ones. He seemed more comfortable in the outdoors and conversation seemed a bit easier for him. Maybe it was because he didn't actually have to look at me, what with his head being a good fifteen inches above mine.
I said I hadn't seen him around town for several days. He told me he'd just come in off the trail a few hours earlier. He'd been chasing an outlaw, one who also happened to be a friend from his younger days. Seems as if Matt and this Gil Stanley once rode range together down in Arizona Territory.
He didn't tell me the details or what Stanley had done, but bottom line is, Matt caught up with him. Stanley refused to surrender and Matt ended up having to kill his old friend.
When we reached the end of the street, he stood and stared at the church for a long time. Then he said, "But for the grace of God, Kitty, things could have gone the other way. What makes friends take different paths in life?"
I sure didn't have an answer for that, but I could tell he was hurting, so I took his hand in mine and just held it. We walked all the way back to the Long Branch that way—hand in hand. One part of me wanted to comfort him, but the other part was so excited I wanted to giggle and dance like a kid on Christmas morning!
When we got back here, we went up the back stairs and sat on the top landing. I asked him to tell me about his younger days and I was surprised to learn that this serious lawman once had sown a few wild oats himself. He told me he never had done anything on the wrong side of the law, but that he had come pretty close a few times.
Of course, I had to ask what happened to change all that, and he told me about being in a knife fight down along the Chisholm. "I was just sixteen—figured out right then I better straighten up or my odds of seeing seventeen weren't all that good." I didn't know then that in just a few hours I would see the souvenir of that fight for myself—a long, raised scar low on his left side, the only blemish on an otherwise perfect body.
I didn't want our time together to end, and I don't think he did either, so I told him a little bit about growing up in New Orleans—anything to prolong the evening, but mostly, we just sat there in the dark, looking at the stars and saying little.
Finally, he stood up and said, "I should be going. Thanks for listening, Kitty." He was a few steps below me, so when I stood up our heads were about on the same level. He turned his hat round and round in his hands and then, finally, he leaned in to kiss me. Very gently at first, really just a brush of his lips on mine, but after a moment something ignited in both of us. He threw his hat on the landing and his arms went around my back, pulling me close against him. I reached my own arms around his waist and held him as close and as tight as I could.
A tiny corner of my brain worried we'd go tumbling down the steps, but he backed me onto the landing and up against the door. Then's when I found out that he has the most incredible hands of anyone I've ever known. Huge, but oh, so gentle as they glided over my satin dress, touching my back, my hips, my stomach. As fate—or luck—would have it, I was wearing one of my more revealing work dresses, giving him easy access to the top of my breasts. Dear God, I'm quivering now just remembering the touch of those long fingers on my bare skin!
He deepened our kiss and I could feel the hard length of him against my stomach. Then he pushed his tongue against my teeth and whispered into my mouth, "Tell me when to stop, Kitty. I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do."
Stop???
******
When she heard the first off-key notes of "Oh, Susannah" drift up through the floorboards, Kitty shook herself out of her reverie and ran onto the balcony to call softly, "Red, could you heat some water for me and bring it up here right away? Please?"
Always happy to oblige the nicest and prettiest of the saloon girls, Red looked up and smiled, "Sure thing, Miss Kitty. Just give me a few minutes."
Mentally trying on and discarding every dress in her wardrobe, she headed down the hall to the common bathing room she shared with the three other girls who lived above the Long Branch.
******
He saw her the minute she entered Dodge City's finest restaurant and he stood, outwardly polite and proper, but unable to hide the twinkle in his eyes as she approached the corner table he had selected.
She was disappointed to see an empty plate that had, judging by the crumbs and remnants of yellow, recently held breakfast. "You ate already? I'm not late, am I?"
"No, Kitty, you're not late." He chuckled as he pulled out a chair for her. "This wasn't really breakfast, just a little something to tide me over."
With her green clad back to the room, she smiled saucily and murmured, "Worked up an appetite, did you, Cowboy?"
He felt his face turning red. "Oh, you could be a handful; I can tell."
Joe came to take their order and they chatted comfortably with each other about the weather—it was already warm, so a hot day could be expected; about the menu, laughing when they noted the lunch special would be catfish stew, and about the new litter of kittens down at the stable.
Kitty was nibbling daintily on her toast and Matt was halfway through a huge stack of buckwheat cakes dripping with syrup when Barney came running in from the telegraph office. "This just came in, Marshal. It's marked 'high priority.' I saw you come in here earlier, so figured I should bring it right over to you."
"Thanks, Barney." Matt's eyes quickly scanned the single yellow sheet, and he frowned.
He took another bite of his breakfast, washed it down with a swallow of coffee and looked at Kitty over the blue and white china cup. "I have to leave for Great Bend—right now."
"But, Matt, you…can't you at least finish breakfast? You just came in off the trail yesterday and you," her voice dropped, "you've hardly had any sleep."
He pressed his lips together and shook his head as he dropped some coins on the table. "I'm sorry, Kitty, but I have to leave. Looks like I'll be gone maybe four-five days. Could I…could I see you when I get back?"
She tried to hide her disappointment and nodded. "I'd like that, Matt. I'd like that a lot."
******
Knowing she was being foolish, but unable to help herself, Kitty moped about the saloon for the next several days. She helped Bill with the books; she chatted with the locals and with the cowboys just in off the trail. She danced with the men and served them their drinks, but her heart wasn't in it.
By the fourth day she was eagerly watching the street, hoping for a glimpse of the big buckskin and his rider.
By the sixth day, her eagerness had turned to anxiety, and the day dragged on interminably as she again served drinks and talked with the men. The sound of Matt's rich voice saying 'maybe four-five days' rang in her head like a refrain and she worried that something had happened out there on the prairie.
About midnight, she locked up after Red and Bill and reluctantly made her way upstairs, disappointment and doubt dragging her feet every step of the way. Maybe he was back in town, but had changed his mind about seeing her again; maybe he had been hurt on the trail; maybe…
Mentally admonishing herself, Kitty Russell, you're behaving like a lovesick school girl, she pulled the brush through her auburn curls one last time and climbed into bed. And then, on a whim, she jumped back out to turn up the oil lamp on the small table in front of her window. The glass reflected the flickering light, a light that could be seen by someone riding into town from the east, especially if that someone were looking for a signal, if that someone had asked, 'Could I see you when I get back?'
******
Approaching the outskirts of Dodge City, Matt Dillon stopped for a moment, as he often did, at the top of the hill and looked out over his town. How much longer it would be his town, he wasn't certain. The trip had gone sour; his head pounded from the butt end of Mitch Foley's gun and the gash on his left cheek stung like the very devil. His left eye was swollen nearly shut and his vision was blurred. The pain in his right side wasn't all that bad—so long as he didn't breathe deeply. But none of that was what bothered him; he would recover from these injuries just as he always had. What he wasn't sure he would recover from was the fact that once again he had been forced to kill—or be killed himself.
Killing three men in one week wasn't a record for him, probably not for any western lawman, but he hated it, and the stress of doing so was taking its toll. It had been so bad a few nights earlier that he even had talked about it. To Kitty.
Kitty. He shook his head and started to push out a deep breath, but stopped short when the pain in his side grabbed him. He had sworn he never would allow a woman into his life again, but this fiery redhead was different. He'd been watching her for nearly a year, from the first day he had seen her in the café, all muddy and beautiful, and he was intrigued with what he saw.
In spite of his fatigue and pain, he smiled slightly as he remembered her slender body and the all too brief time he had spent with her. He remembered her softness and the way she had fit perfectly into his arms. He remembered the lavender scent of her hair and the warm recesses of her mouth when he tasted her sweetness for the first time.
Those memories caused him to shift uncomfortably in the saddle and he re-directed his thoughts from her gorgeous face and body to her inner beauty. She had been so caring, so kind, as he revealed thoughts he never before had voiced to anyone—thoughts about his past and about his job. She hadn't passed judgment, but had simply held his hand in hers on the walk back to the Long Branch and, much later, had held him through the night, allowing him the luxury of a few hours peaceful sleep in her soft arms. A man could get used to that. Maybe he did need a woman in his life; maybe…
As he pointed Buck down the hill, his weary eyes again scanned the sleeping town where a few lights still burned in the dark night. One, higher than the others—a second story, perhaps—seemed to beckon him with its warmth. He rode toward it and, a few minutes later, he and his mount were standing in a soft pool of light shining down from the upstairs window of the Long Branch Saloon. Her window.
******
He dropped Buck off at the stable, brushing off Hank's concerned, "What happened, Marshal? You don't look so good."
Holding on to the railing, he grunted, "Just a little trouble. I'm all right."
"Well, Doc ain't around—hadda go out to Pete Drummond's—Betsey's time, ya know. You go along and get some sleep. I'll take care a your horse for ya."
"Thanks," he said quietly and made his painful way down the street. He paused in front of the jail and looked across to the Long Branch. The light was still there. Maybe…
******
Half asleep, Kitty never heard the first hesitant knock at the back door. Outside on the landing, the big lawman squared his shoulders and knocked again, louder this time.
And this time she heard. She leaped from the bed and ran to the door. Maybe… Then, cautiously she called, "Who is it?"
"Matt." His voice was soft and muffled by the wooden door, but still she would have recognized that rich tone anywhere.
Opening the door, the first thing she saw was his torn shirt, revealing a chest covered with scrapes and dirt. Looking up, her jaw dropped as she took in his battered face—the six day growth of beard matted with dried blood, the sticky liquid still oozing down his dirty cheek. His left eye was hideously swollen and discolored, and he leaned against the door jam in an effort to remain upright.
"Dear God, get in here." She grasped his arm and led him into the room. "What happened?"
"A little trouble. It's not so bad, Kitty."
"Not so bad? You need to see Doc. Lie down on the bed while I go get him."
He moved into the room, his right leg protesting painfully when he attempted to put his weight on it. He stumbled, and she helped him lower his long frame gingerly onto the edge of the bed. As she turned away, he caught her wrist. "Doc's not in town. I'll be all right…just need to rest for a minute."
"More like a week, I'd say! Well, let's get you cleaned up at least." As she spoke, she knelt and helped him to pull off his boots. Then cutting her eyes in the direction of his hips she asked, "Can you do the gun belt yourself?"
"Yeah, I can manage." But he grimaced in pain and swayed again as he attempted to straighten his body and tug at the stiff leather. "Uh, maybe not."
"Here, let me." Her fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar belt, but finally the resistant leather bent back and she managed to loosen the long prong from its confining hole. "There, now just lie still while I get some soap and water."
For the next few minutes, Kitty busied herself at the washstand, pouring water from the pink and white flowered pitcher into the matching basin and lathering the softest piece of cloth she could find with soap.
She carried the basin to the side of the bed, only to discover that Matt had fallen asleep—or passed out. She wasn't quite sure which, but as she turned up the flame on the bedside lamp, the even rise and fall of his chest assured her that he was alive, and she set about the business of washing his face with the relatively cool water. At her touch, his good eye opened and he gave her a lopsided smile. "I…I saw your light…wasn't sure... if it…was for…me. I'm sorry, Kitty…shouldn't be…bothering you."
She rubbed her index finger tenderly across his lips. "Shhh, you're not bothering me and you have nothing to apologize for." Then she continued wiping the cloth as gently as possible across his cheek. "I'll try not to hurt you, but some of this stuff is pretty caked on."
He nodded his head and then flinched as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot. Then he settled into the pillow and through slitted eyes watched as she tended to his wounds. She was so close he could count the freckles on her fair skin and smell the sweet lavender scent of the long red curls bobbing on her shoulders as she leaned over him.
When at last she had cleaned his face to her satisfaction, she opened what was left of his shirt and continued her ministrations, gently dragging the wet cloth across the smooth planes of his broad chest. Try as he might, he couldn't stifle the groan that escaped his lips when she worked at the grit on his side. Bending closer, she saw for the first time the large black and purple bruise, approximately the size and shape of a man's shoe.
Tears stung her blue eyes as she realized that this time she was the one to cause him pain. "Oh, Matt. I'm so sorry…I didn't know."
"S'all right. Not your fault."
"I'll try to stay away from that spot. Tell me if I hurt you again."
In spite of the pain, he grinned. "Trust me, Kitty, you'll be the second one to know."
As she rubbed again at the dirt on his chest, she casually inquired, "Just how many men were there, anyway?"
He grunted. "Three."
"You took on three men by yourself?"
"Not exactly—more like they took me on. I just finished the job."
"How do they look?"
He hesitated and then very quietly answered, "Two of them look dead, Kitty. The third's in a jail cell over in Spearville."
Her soft palm caressed his chest. "I'm sorry, Matt. I know you hate that part of your job."
After a few more gentle swipes of the cloth, she said, "Okay, let's take a look at that leg, too."
"There's nothing wrong with my leg," he protested.
"Which, of course, explains why you could hardly stand up when you came in here and limped and stumbled over to the bed. Come on, let's get those pants off you."
"Kitty!" he exclaimed and folded his hands over his belt buckle.
She couldn't help but giggle at his modesty. "Don't be silly, Matt. Remember, I've already seen you naked."
"Well, yeah, but that was different. It was…"
"And this is strictly for medical purposes. Just pretend I'm Doc."
He flashed a sly grin. "That's gonna be kind of difficult, Kitty. Remember, I've seen you naked, too."
It took a fair amount of maneuvering to get the big man out of his pants, but at last they managed it without causing too much additional pain to his battered body. His right knee was bruised and swollen, but without any sign of an open wound. A few more bruises covered his well-muscled thighs and stomach, but it was obvious his face had taken the brunt of the beating.
"Might as well finish your bath," she said matter of factly, and again dipped the cloth into the soapy water and rubbed it across his flat stomach and down his long legs with an amazing degree of clinical detachment.
He didn't say a word, just lay there holding his breath and trying not to think about the soft hands touching his body. Too soon his lovely torture came to an end when she said, "There, all finished."
She pulled the thin quilt up to his waist and carried the basin back to the wash stand. He noticed the lavender scent did not leave with her, but lingered in the air around him. In fact, it lingered on him!
"Kitty! What did you do? I smell like a…a girl!"
"And a big improvement it is, too. You smelled like a stuck pig when you came in here—all that dried blood." She moved back to the bedside with a bottle of whiskey, a small tin and a piece of cloth. "Here, let me pour some whiskey on that cut and then I'll rub some of this salve into it. Doc gave it to me for a burn, but it might help—probably won't hurt, anyway."
She worked as she spoke, and even though he jerked his head away when the rye hit the torn flesh, soon the injured cheek had been disinfected with cheap whiskey, coated with comfrey, and bandaged with a square of cloth cut from a length of material originally intended for new petticoats. "There, I think that'll do 'til you can see Doc. Just stay still and I'll be back in a few minutes."
She turned and walked away, and he watched the sway of her hips beneath the loose fitting nightgown. A man could get used to that, too. Maybe, just maybe…
A few minutes later she returned with a bottle of good bourbon and two glasses and poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into each. "Drink this and then I'll tuck you in for the night." She settled back against the wooden headboard and propped his head against her shoulder.
"I should leave…"
"Don't even think about it! You're an injured man, Matt. You shouldn't be left alone, much less walking the street. You'll stay right here. And I'll…" She nodded toward the corner of the room. "I'll sleep on the chaise so I don't disturb you." She took the empty glass from his hand and stood. "Now, what can I do to make you comfortable?"
He held her wrist in one huge hand and patted the space beside him with the other. "Stay with me…right here."
"I…I'm not sure that's such a good idea."
"Come on, Kitty," he coaxed. "You wouldn't deny an 'injured man' a bit of comfort, would you?"
She grinned. "Well…no, but you need to promise to keep perfectly still…no funny business."
"I'll behave, Kitty. Just stay with me…please."
She leaned over, ran her fingers through his dark curls, and kissed him gently. Then she straightened, blew out the lamp, and walked around to the other side of the bed. She slid under the quilt, and the big lawman immediately rolled against her, pillowing his aching head on her breasts, full and free beneath her gown. He mumbled a soft, "Thanks, Kitty—for everything," and was asleep in an instant.
******
Kitty opened her eyes to a room filled with sunshine. She pressed her lips against the tousled head still nestled against her breast.
He looked up. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself. How do you feel?"
"A lot better than I did last night, but I seem to have developed a habit of waking up in your bed."
She ran her hand tenderly down the long length of his back. "That's a habit I'm hoping you don't intend to break."
"I don't think I do, Kitty." He raised his head again to smile into her eyes as he spoke, "In fact, it's a habit I don't intend to break a'tall."
The End