Impatient with herself, Kitty fought to still her trembling hands as she pinned on her hat. The encounter in the Long Branch barroom had her shaking, her heart pounding. The stranger had a resonant voice which he held to a low pitch as he threatened her. He hadn't touched her, so Clem took no notice, and Bill Pence was in Wichita on business. Something to do with new brands of beer and rye.
Frightened as Kitty was, she did not want Clem to know. Neither sharp-witted or strong, he was easily muddled, and his age made it worse. If he knew what the stranger was about, he'd grab a shotgun from under the bar and maybe get himself killed defending her, so it was best he'd seen nothing out of the way.
For Doc's sake, Kitty determined to meet Nurse Lenore for lunch and ask what her intentions were. Over the two days Kitty recovered at Doc's from her miscarriage, Lenore had run on about Matt Dillon, talking of almost no one or nothing else. Lenore hardly mentioned Doc, and Kitty could tell he was sweet on her. When Matt visited Kitty at Doc's, Lenore complimented the marshal and asked him all about himself. Kitty saw Matt's effort to hide his irritation as he made brief, courteous replies.
Kitty and Doc were just getting to know each other, and as she pondered the problem of Nurse Lenore, she realized with the innate honesty which would not let her deceive herself that she worried more about her intimate friendship with Matt than Doc's feelings, for Kitty had fallen in love with the marshal. She took some deep breaths and gazed at her image in the glass. Her skin was so fair that she appeared faintly bluish when she paled. She was pale now, her eyes wide from her scare with the stranger. Her face looked very young, rather like a lost little girl's.
Kitty set her pretty mouth and fixed her mind on making her face cool and worldly. Her blue silk with pearl buttons and white lace on the high neck and long sleeves was modest as any lady's. She would put on her best manners to dine with Lenore.
Kitty picked up her reticule, looked at the locked door of her room and hesitated. The stranger might still be in the barroom, waiting for her to come down. She'd repeatedly refused his request to bed her, even when he offered her thirty dollars, and then he got mad. He was an angry sort anyway, the kind that kept an inner fire burning all the time, which was why she rejected him despite his finely sculpted features.
She pulled a derringer from under a pile of bed linen in the chiffonier drawer, slipped the weapon in her reticule, opened the door and went down the stairs. The stranger was playing cards with three other men, so she felt safe passing him by. Sensing his deep-set eyes on her, she swept by the table in her most regal style without giving him a glance, taking heart from the weight of the gun she carried.
Lenore made it easy for Kitty to ask how the nurse felt about Doc. When the women greeted each other and were seated at Delmonico's, Lenore asked, "Have you seen Marshal Dillon since he visited you at Doc's?"
"Sure. He comes to the Long Branch every day. After lunch usually, and at night."
"How is he," said Lenore.
"He's well. I see you'd rather talk about Marshal Dillon than Doc," said Kitty.
Lenore's ever-present smile faded, her face sobering though her eyes stayed soft and warm. "I know Doc loves me, Kitty. I do not love him."
"I have an idea who you do love," said Kitty.
"Marshal Dillon? You can hardly blame me, honey. You love him yourself," said Lenore.
"Yeah, but Doc's not in love with me. If he or any man was, and I worked with him like you do with Doc, I'd tell him I don't love him. With you keeping quiet about it, Doc thinks he has a chance," said Kitty.
"Oh, Kitty, I know. I don't want to hurt him."
"The longer you put off telling him, the more you'll hurt him when you do tell him," said Kitty.
"You're right. I'll tell Doc I don't love him," said Lenore. "And I never will."
"You'll let him down easy? You won't tell him just like that?" said Kitty. It was odd, how cordial and blunt Lenore was at the same time.
"Darling, the only way I know to say something is to say it straight out," said Lenore. She took a small bite of hot buttered roll and sipped her tea.
Kitty hadn't eaten breakfast and was ravenous. Deciding to forsake fastidious eating in favor of her appetite, she loaded her fork with roast pheasant, mushrooms and wild onions and filled her mouth. She swallowed half the coffee in her cup and forked up baked potato. "I'll be straight with you, then. Matt doesn't care for you at all. He thinks you're pretty, but any sane man would," said Kitty.
She ate the forkful of potato, and as she cut more pheasant, Lenore laughed so heartily that diners at other tables turned their heads and stared. Kitty couldn't resist smiling.
"Baby doll, I know Marshal Dillon has no interest in courting me. I love any man who attracts me. I am not one of those giddy women who truly falls in love at first sight and loses her poor heart over a man who could care less about her. No. It's just that I love men, that is, men whose looks please and temperaments appeal to me. I entertain myself flirting with the marshal, thinking of him, asking folks about him," said Lenore.
"Have you thought of the misery that will cause Doc after you tell him you don't love him?" said Kitty.
"I am thinking of it now," Lenore said agreeably. "And you have convinced me, my dear. Perhaps I convinced myself some little time ago, and you helped me see it clearly. Doc's a good man and I don't want to hurt him any more than I must. So I'll say nothing about not loving him, bid him good-bye and leave Dodge at once."
"I think that's the right decision, Lenore," said Kitty.
"Kitty . . . . You're not all that concerned about Doc, are you, honey. You can't be. You've known him hardly any time at all," said Lenore.
"You said I love Matt," Kitty said defensively. "So I guess you figured it out."
Lenore leaned over the table and rested her hand on Kitty's arm, applying a pressure that felt comforting, like warm ointment on a wound. "Kitty, I saw how Marshal Dillon cares for you when he stayed with you through passing your pregnancy. His touch was wonderfully gentle, and those stunning eyes of his turn soft and bright when he looks at you. And he looked at you most of the time at Doc's. At forty I still turn heads, but I sure didn't turn the marshal's head with you there." A proud woman guarded in matters of her heart, Kitty gave the nurse a tight yet grateful little smile and made no reply.
Lenore went on, "I see the marshal's nobility in his air. His scrupulousness shows in that steadfast gaze; it's who he is. You can save yourself a lot of hurt if you don't confuse his desire for you, giving you loving, with compromising his principles on your account. He's a man and you're beautiful, but that sort of man does not follow the path of any woman, no matter how he cares for her. Particularly when her way does not meet his. I see how strong-willed you are, Kitty. Even an honest woman has her wiles when it comes to the man she loves, but yours will never work on Marshal Dillon." Lenore's voice remained kind as she spoke, her eyes earnest.
Kitty recalled how Matt encouraged her to give up saloon work, and a chill settled round her heart and crept in tendrils through her body, for she'd hoped he would ask her to marry him some time. She knew she would never meet another man like Matt Dillon, nor if they separated, could she ever forget her passion for him. She thought of Matt all the time, even while she thought of other people and things. Yet her independence was stronger than her passion. So Matt would not follow her path. Well, she wouldn't follow his, either.
"You look troubled, honey. I'm sorry," said Lenore.
"Don't be. You're only telling the truth as you see it, like I did with you about Doc and Matt," said Kitty.
Lenore sighed. "Poor Doc. The last thing I want is to break his heart. Well, it can't be helped. What must be done cannot be done too soon."
When Doc returned to his empty rooms after paying sick calls in town, his spirits plummeted. Lenore often lunched with friends, and Doc had missed out again, confound it.
Hearing a woman's step on the stairs, he perked up. The lady was either Lenore or Kitty. Or a sick or wounded woman, in which case she would distract Doc from Lenore's absence.
Not a fellow given to smiling big, Doc labored to keep his face sober when he saw the woman was Lenore. Not the most beautiful woman he'd ever met if one considered the universal standard, her sweet face, softly curving figure and patrician demeanor looked so to him. And her disposition. That enchanting blend of keenness and vigor tempered by poise and graciousness. Doc scarcely dared hoped that such a woman would ever consent to be his, yet he couldn't help but hope.
"Lenore." Nothing else came to Doc to say at the moment. He sounded swoony to his own ears, and figured he must look like a lovesick schoolboy.
"Hello, Doc. I want to say goodbye before I leave. You are a gentleman and the nicest employer I ever had, and I enjoyed working with you," said Lenore.
Doc stared at her, and she reached for his hand. "Why in thunder would you leave?" The words had no bite, as his tone was quiet and unsteady from shock. "I don't want you to," he said querulously. "The town will be a . . . vicious . . . pit without you. You brought warmth and grace to Dodge, and if you leave, you'll take every bit of it with you."
"Oh, Doc." Lenore pressed his hand between her palms. "There are other fine obliging ladies here."
"Well, if there are, I don't know 'em."
"Now Doc, how can you say that. What about Mrs. Smalley?"
"Oh, Ma Smalley." Grimacing, Doc swiped the hand not holding the nurse's hand dismissively through the air.
"Doc. There are ladies in Dodge, maiden and widowed ladies, more charitable than I am, and some have better looks than I."
"Maybe so, but they are not Lenore Lawrence. So they may as well not be in town at all. Where the deuce are you goin', anyway. A woman alone. Not a grain of sense in it. You have a good job here, and I thought— Well, by golly, Lenore. I thought we were friends," said Doc.
"We are friends. And even if we never see each other again, we will always be friends," said Lenore.
She tried to draw her hand back, and Doc held onto it. "Where are you going," he repeated hopelessly.
"First, to visit my parents in Virginia. Then west of Kansas, I suppose. I'd like to see Denver. Places like Colorado haven't many doctors, and the few there need nurses."
"None could possibly need you more than this doctor," he said brokenly.
Though Lenore tried to suppress her sigh, Doc saw more than heard it in the slight slump of her shoulders and strained smile. He would not trouble her any longer. Let her go. There was nothing in this grim town with its harsh and boorish inhabitants to keep her.
Doc would not mention his love for her. He was sure Lenore knew, and dreaded that he might speak of it. She couldn't love him, of course, had shown him no sign of love the whole time she worked with him. Folly to hope, and despair when his dream failed to come true.
Doc abruptly released Lenore's hand and turned his back to her. He yanked a handkerchief from his pocket, blew his nose and mopped his face, squared his shoulders and shoved the soiled linen back in his pocket. The door hadn't opened; she was still there.
Doc cleared his throat and turned again to face her. She looked like she pitied him, but her eyes were dry. "Goodbye then, Lenore."
"Goodbye, Doc." She went out, her steps light and quick as she descended the stairs, eager to get away, Doc figured, from him and this cursed town. Well, who in heaven's name could blame her.
He wanted of a sudden to see Kitty. He put on his hat, slowly made his way downstairs and headed for the Long Branch. Front Street looked dark to him despite the spring sunlight.
A stiffness in Kitty's posture as she stood at the bar, a grave stillness about the young profile like a marble sculpture, alerted Doc to something troubling her. She was staring at a tall stranger, between the new marshal's height and that of Chester. Wide through the shoulders, lean yet strong-looking, the stranger had a build much like Matt Dillon's. The fellow's mouth was turned down in a hard face with prominent sharp features, his large deep-set eyes fixed on Kitty.
Doc felt a cold knot of belligerence roil in his belly, making him want to stride to the man and sock him one. Doc wished he was bigger and taller at such times, had big fists. The stranger had his nerve, staring at Kitty that way.
Doc moved to Kitty and stood next to her. Some two inches taller than she was, his slightly bent back, bent more now, he suspected, by Lenore's departure, and Kitty's high heels reduced the difference to about a half-inch. His body blocked Kitty's view of the stranger and obstructed the man's view of her, which was as Doc intended.
"Hello, Doc," said Kitty, clearly relieved. His eyes were red-rimmed, the sparse lashes damp spikes. Poor Doc Adams. Lenore must have bid him goodbye. Well, whether he realized it or not, it was for the best. Kitty touched Doc's hand, smiling a little, and the barroom seemed to brighten a bit.
She really cared for him. Doc had liked the bottle too much in his youth, and wondered at times if his desire to help the sick and wounded saved him from being a drunkard. Convinced at nearly fifty-one years of age that the peevishness plaguing him from earliest memory was a nervous affliction stemming from some bodily defect, he now resolved not to let his acerbic side jeopardize his friendship with Kitty. There was after all some little pleasure in Dodge after Lenore Lawrence, a pleasure shining through Kitty's striking blue eyes.
"Kitty. That fella botherin' you, is he?" Doc said in a low tone.
"He hasn't touched me anyhow. He hounded me some when he first showed here. He's a rough talker. Now he just stares," said Kitty.
"He threaten you?" said Doc.
"Only the usual. Please don't say anything to him, Doc. I don't want it gettin' back to Bill that I'm whining about his clientele. And I don't want Latimer to hurt you. He'd knock your daylights out."
Kitty had saved Doc from Lenore, and she'd try her best to keep him from confronting the stranger. Twice already she found herself protecting Doc Adams from getting hurt, which she didn't mind at all. He was a little man with a big brave heart and no six-gun, and he needed her.
Doc snorted. "That his name? Latimer?"
"Ohm Latimer."
That night, like every night of planting season except when a storm hit, trail hands packed the Long Branch. They played cards, drank, danced and sparked the gals, chatted loudly to hear one another and brayed laughter as the pianola banged out one tinny song after another with a sort of soulless rhythm.
Muggy from the heat of sweating bodies, the barroom reeked of women's effluvia poorly masked by cheap perfume, the animal musk of unwashed men, and stale beer and whiskey wafted on rancid breath. Bill Pence had designated Kitty hostess and head girl, as she was sounder in mind, smarter and bolder than all the rest together. At twenty-six, she was no longer young for the profession. Most of the women were between eighteen and twenty-five.
Kitty reminded herself to tell the girls to splash themselves with lavender water after every man they serviced. She kept a tub of water in her room for men to take a quick wash before sharing her bed, and if they refused, complaining that the water was cold or dirty from some other fellow's scrubbing, she drenched them with lavender from a big bottle, whether or not they undressed to lie with her.
Standing at the bar as the groping couple next to her jostled her in their excitement, Kitty felt light-headed and queasy. She needed to get out of the saloon into the cool fresh air. Too warm to put on a wrap, she went through the side door, through the dark storage room filled with whiskey bottles outside to the alley.
She leaned against the back wall of the Long Branch, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her head cleared and her stomach settled. Despite the trash barrels, the alley smelled much better than the barroom, like dirt washed clean by spring rains and lumber new and seasoned. Kitty smoothed her hair back from her face and took another deep breath.
Her eyes opened wide as a hand grabbed her arm. The hand yanked her against a man's chest, and another hand slapped over her mouth. Kitty bared her teeth and bit into the man's palm. She heard a throaty gasp and the palm smacked her head, making it buzz.
She thrashed in the man's grasp and he held her tightly round her slender waist. His other arm hooked under her chin and pressed against her throat so she could barely breathe, let alone scream. Kitty's struggles weakened and she fought for air as the man lifted her off her feet and carried her to a shed.
He released her neck to open the shed door, and Kitty gulped air, still unable to scream for help. The man threw her inside and she fell on the dirt floor. He slammed the door and latched it.