She knew every inch of his beloved body. Every scar from every bullet, knife, fist, or odd object. Every crease on his beautiful, prairie-weathered face. Every golden hair on chest, arms, legs, and body. And the small, flat birthmark high on his inner right thigh. It was the size, shape, and color of a small, pale, strawberry. All of his "imperfections" made him more perfect to her. She had heard somewhere that "red birthmarks" were rare and occurred only when an unborn baby was touched there by an angel, marking that soul as special. Of course, Kitty never told Matt that, but it seemed like a fine explanation to her!
So when the attractive new assistant dressmaker in town, Ginger Peller, slyly mentioned how "cute" the "big Marshal's" strawberry birthmark was, Kitty choked on the large sip of coffee she had just taken. The two young women were sitting together in the Long Branch at noon, warily getting to know each other. Ginger was a tall, lovely platinum blonde with big, innocent blue eyes, and a stunning figure even in her simple, pale yellow, flower-patterned dress. She had gotten off the stage one day ago, and had been hired by Mrs. Huggins, the busiest dressmaker in town, only this morning.
Walking to her room at the Dodge House after a light meal at Delmonico's yesterday, Ginger had stopped in her tracks at the sight of the tall Marshal further down the street, walking away from her. She had arrived on the 9AM stage, which hadn't gotten into Dodge until 11AM that morning. She had first checked in at the Dodge House where the desk clerk had recommended the nearby restaurant.
"Matt! Matt Dillon! I heard he was a U.S. Marshal out this way. Ummm, hmmm! He is even yummier than I remember! Memories filled her mind, making her smile in pleasure. Tapping her right forefinger against her full red lips in thought, she nodded her head and strode into the Dodge House lobby.
"Mr. Uzzel! Mr. Uzzel!" she called as she leaned against the front desk looking around, and then began ringing the brass bell beside the register. She quickly undid the top button of her snug, low-cut, light-green dress.
"Coming! Uh, wha…what can I help you with, Miss Peller? And please call me Howie!" the small, bespectacled man sputtered as he scurried from his office and slid behind the front desk. He pushed a hand through his thin, dark hair parted in the middle, cleared his throat, and pasted on a smile.
"Mr. Uzzel, Howie, what can you tell me about the Marshal I just saw? Is he Matt Dillon, and does he live in Dodge?" The young woman leaned over the desk top, staring into the small man's startled eyes.
"Oh, YES, Miss Peller! He most certainly IS Matt Dillon, and has been our Marshal for a little over five years now! A fine, fine, man, indeed!" Howie straightened his dotted, dark blue tie now, and ran a nervous finger around the inside of his high, stiff collar. Beautiful women always made him unsure of himself, with a mix of admiration, longing, and fear.
Ginger knew the effect she had on men like Howie, and leaned even closer, chuckling inwardly as the timid man took a step back, knocking the register book to the floor. He had fixated on her deep, mysterious cleavage like a mouse seeing a cat. The bang of the book on the floor made him jump, and after quickly retrieving it from the floor, he bumped his head on the edge of the desk as he stood up.
"Howie. You didn't tell me if the Marshal lives here in Dodge," she purred, licking her lips, "and if he does, how many children do he and his wife have?"
Rubbing his sore head, Howie blinked and sat down on the tall stool beside him, dizzy from the blow and the scent of the young woman's unusual perfume. "Yes. Uh, YES, Marshal Dillon definitely lives here in Dodge. He doesn't have any children…or a wife! He keeps a room over at Ma Smalley's, sometimes stays on a cot in the jail, or…" His words petered out, and he busied himself flipping the register book to the proper page, and neatly aligning it with the front edge of the desk.
"Or WHAT, Howie? You can trust me. I knew Matt some time ago back home in Wyoming. My brother was one of his closest friends."
"Well, er, I really shouldn't say, but, well, everyone in Dodge already knows," Howie said, wiping at the perspiration beading his face with a neatly folded handkerchief pulled from his pocket.
"How-ie," Ginger said in a sing-song voice, "Matt and I never had secrets. Why, he's like another big brother to me." She could tell that the meek man was wavering, so she reached out a slender hand and pushed an errant lock of his hair back in place.
"OH! If you put it THAT way, Miss Peller! The Marshal spends a lot of time with Miss Kitty. Kitty Russell. She owns the best saloon in these parts, you know. The Long Branch. And she is as pretty and as nice as they come! But she can be mighty tough when need be! Why, just last month she had to shoot and kill a fellow…" Howie realized he was babbling, and pressed his lips together and swallowed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really need to get back to my paperwork in my office!" The befuddled man scooted from behind the desk and back to his office without a glance back.
Ginger leaned her golden head back and opened her mouth in a silent laugh. "Sooo…Matt isn't married. If I can't pry him loose from a saloon woman, my name isn't Ginger Peller!" she thought. Reaching over the abandoned desk, she picked up her room key, and slowly went up the stairs to her room overlooking Front Street. She was remembering seeing Matt's beautiful, naked body sprawled out on the grass beside her brother, both napping after skinny-dipping in the creek at their feet. She had been sixteen-years-old, and peered out from behind a thick bush beside a nearby tree. Of course, she had seen her older brother naked on occasion, much to his annoyance, but never a strange man, and had never known any man could look the way her brother's friend did. She felt an odd warmth and longing spreading through her, and vowed that this man would someday be hers. For a full ten minutes until they awoke, Ginger had studied Matt, memorizing everything about him, and especially the intriguing small strawberry mark on his inner right thigh. Now, after ten years, she knew as sure as sunlight that she would see that mark again.