ANYWHERE YOU ARE
Sequel—Midnight Train to New Orleans (ATC for "Return to Dodge")
The story so far…
Kitty's sad eyes scanned the platform, but save for the lone drifter huddled among the packing crates and barrels in the shadow of the brick wall, the three of them were alone.
"I know that, Hannah, and if you ever visit New Orleans, you have a place to stay." She turned to the man with the badge on his chest. "You, too, Newly. I'd love to show you my beautiful city." She turned her cheek for his kiss and moved toward the train.
As she did so, the drifter rose to his full height, and incredibly long legs propelled him toward her. "I tried to…stay away, but…couldn't. Had to say…one last time…I love you, Kit…forever."
They stood silently for several moments, each lost in remembrances too sweet, emotions too raw to be spoken.
As the last "ALL ABOARD" was called, she quickly stripped off her gloves and raised soft hands to touch his weathered face, thumbing away the twin tears that spilled from blue eyes filled with regret. "Me, too, Cowboy…I'll always treasure the love we shared…forever."
Then she squared her shoulders and regally swept up the two steps onto the train.
As she walked away, Matt heard Doc Adams' voice ring out to him as clearly as if the cantankerous old physician were standing beside him. "You're a danged fool."
Hannah and Newly raised their hands in a final good-bye to Kitty and turned to their friend. As if echoing Doc's long ago words, the saloon keeper spoke her mind, "You're a damned fool, Matt Dillon."
Newly, too, spoke into the darkness. "It's not too late to comb gray hair together, sir—think you can still hop a train?"
"By golly, Newly, we're about to find out," he called over his shoulder, and loped toward the train just as it began to roll out of the station. He ran along the tracks for several yards until he was swallowed up in the black behemoth's trail of steam. When the air finally cleared, the two still standing on the station platform breathed a sigh of relief and hugged each other as they saw the former lawman grab the iron railing of the caboose and, with the help of the trainman, heft his big body over the restraining bar and onto the rear platform.
******
The trainman recognized the former lawman from long years on the Dodge City run and hung on for dear life until Matt was anchored safely against the back wall of the caboose. "You all right, Marshal?"
Gasping, Matt nodded. "Thanks," was all he could manage as he worked to catch his breath. When it had returned to something resembling normal, he pushed through the door and into the train, peering into compartment after compartment as he worked his way through the cars. Finally, he found her, and was relieved to see that she was the lone occupant of the chamber. She was huddled in the corner of the horsehair seat, her right shoulder resting against its back, one leg curled beneath her. She had removed her hat and her bright curls were pressed against the window frame. Even from the corridor, he could see her shoulders shaking and cursed himself that once more he was the cause of Kitty's tears.
He slid the door open and ducked into the cubicle. When she didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge his presence, he sat down behind her and spoke to her reflection in the window. "Dang, Kitty, I'm getting too old for chasing trains."
"I don't believe that for a minute, Matt. You'll never get old." She, too, spoke to the blurred reflection in the window. "But…but…what are you doing here?"
"I…I'm not sure. But I know I want to comb gray hair with you."
She spun around on the seat and stared at him. "What?"
He reached out one long arm and closed the heavy drape on the corridor window, giving them privacy. Holding her in his other arm, he gently kissed away the tears that were drying on her cheeks and told her of Newly's Irish saying.
"Of course. Aunt Maeve, my father's sister, used to say that when I was just a child. I'd forgotten all about it." She paused, and then asked, "Just what do you have in mind?"
"I…I still need you, Kitty. That's…that's never changed. Maybe not to be my refuge from the ugly world I used to live in, but I…I need you to make my life complete. It's just not good without you." He took a deep breath. "I'll try to live in New Orleans, Kitty. I'm not sure I can do it, but I'll try."
"Oh, Matt, you don't have to live in New Orleans— that might be entirely too civilized and different for you…"
"But it's your home, Kitty. It's where you belong."
"No, I was born there, and it's the place I go to lick my wounds and soothe my soul…same as you take off into your mountains. But it's not my home. My home is anywhere you are, Cowboy." She smiled into his hopeful face. "Except maybe a cabin in the high country."
"If you could only see it, Kitty—those high peaks covered with snow, even in the summer time--crisp air, blue sky that stretches on forever…."
"It does sound idyllic." She laughed. "Just add a town, a few shops, a theatre…"
"And the boys…you'd love the boys. They're great."
Her head shot up from where it had been resting against his shoulder. "The boys?"
"Yeah. They're about eight and ten, and they can hunt and fish better'n most grown men. I'm teaching them to track. They're…."
Her heart began to thud in her chest and her brow furrowed. "Matt…just who are these boys?"
"They're bright and quick and…" Suddenly he realized what she was thinking. "Oh, they're not mine, honey. They're Indians. They live nearby with their grandfather…he's pretty old, and we just sort of fell into the habit of looking out for each other."
She nestled back into his arms. "We don't have to decide anything right now. And we don't have to go all the way to New Orleans. We can get off the train in Wichita…stay a few days… as long as we want. We need to talk, Matt. We can't make an important decision like this based on emotion and excitement."
"Uh…Kitty, I don't have any money with me for hotel rooms or food. Truth is, I don't even have a change of clothes."
She ducked her head so he couldn't see the huge grin on her face, but her shoulders were shaking again—this time with silent laughter.
"What's so funny?"
"You are, Matt. First of all, I'm thinking we'll need only one hotel room. I do have a few dollars with me. And my credit's good. We can get you some clean clothes."
As the train rumbled east across the flat Kansas prairie, they talked of old times and old friends…Doc and Festus and Sam, Louie, even Burke, interspersing gentle memories of their years together with cautious snippets of their lives apart…her thriving floating gambling palace and life in the social whirl of New Orleans, his hunting and fishing and solitary life high in the Rockies. That evening they got off the train in Wichita and checked into the Kansas House, a stately old hotel in the center of the city. Physically and emotionally exhausted from the events of the past few days, they bathed and settled into the soft bed where, for the first time in over a decade, they fell instantly asleep in each other's arms.
Kitty felt warm lips brush the top of her bare breast where it peeked from beneath the creamy silk nightgown. Sunlight streamed through the window and, coming fully awake, she turned and looked straight into Matt Dillon's smiling blue eyes.
"Mornin,' sweetheart," he whispered as he gathered her close into his embrace. His easy return to their old familiar morning ritual brought loving tears to her eyes.
"Morning, yourself, Cowboy. Are we really here—together—in Wichita?"
He grinned. "We really are. If you want to change your mind, there's another train leaving for New Orleans in three hours."
By way of response, Kitty twisted beneath him to align her hips with his, tugging at his scarred shoulders until he carefully lowered his big body to hers.
********
Gray curls damp, the still muscular body glistening with sweat, Matt pressed his face into the hollow of her neck. "I've missed sleeping with you."
She laughed. "I could tell."
Incredible, he thought, the woman can still make me blush. "No, I mean really sleeping with you. I've missed your softness…your warmth. I've missed holding …" His declaration was interrupted by a long, loud rumble from deep in his stomach.
Embarrassed, he looked up sheepishly, "Kitty, I hate to ask this, but could you buy a very hungry man a meal?"
"Oh, Matt, I'm sorry; you must be starved. Should we call room service or go down to the breakfast room?"
Forty minutes later, dressed in his worn and dusty deerskin jacket and pants, Matt Dillon walked into the breakfast room of Wichita's most prestigious hotel with an elegantly groomed Kitty proudly holding his arm.
The big room was filled with men dressed in business attire, looking important and busy. As the maître d' showed the unlikely looking couple to one of the few empty tables, a firm hand grasped Matt's elbow from behind. Instantly on the alert, he pushed Kitty behind him and spun quickly, his right hand automatically fingering the butt of the Colt on his hip. "Easy, Matt. I didn't mean to startle you. I shoulda known better."
Relaxing slightly, he turned and looked into the amused face of James Madison Harvey, former Governor of Kansas. "Jim, Jim Harvey. What the heck are you doing here?" He lifted his hand from his gun and extended it.
"I was about to ask you the same thing. We're finishing up a Western Governors' conference—one more day and we'll be cleared out of here." He nodded to Kitty, who emerged from behind Matt's back to greet their old friend. "Miss Russell."
While Matt and Harvey had met on business matters several times in the years following the Bonner incident and had made their peace, each recognizing and respecting the other's need to do what he thought was right, this was the first he and Kitty had come face to face, and the man who had denied Virgil Bonner's stay of execution was noticeably uncomfortable. But the smile she flashed him was warm and genuine as she extended her hand. "It's nice to see you again, Jim."
Matt's blue eyes softened with pride at his lady's strength and grace, and he slipped an arm around her waist as he continued the conversation. "Governors' Conference? You win an election I didn't hear about? I thought you gave that business up years ago."
"Indeed, I did, Matt. I'm here strictly as an advisor on boundaries, land surveys—done a bit of that in my time, you know. Listen, I don't want to keep Miss Russell waiting, but I would like to talk to you. Meet me in the hotel bar about eight tonight? I'll buy."
"In that case, I'll be there," Matt grinned.
******
Nattily, albeit uncomfortably, clad in his new clothes—crisp white shirt, black string tie, black dress pants, black boots and charcoal jacket—Matt walked into the Sunflower Bar of the hotel. He spotted Jim Harvey and two other men in the far corner of the oak paneled room and walked over to them.
Harvey stood. "Evening, Matt. I took the liberty of inviting a few friends to join us. This," he nodded to his left and a man with a huge swooping handlebar mustache, "is Fenimore Chatterton, Governor of Wyoming. And this," indicating a younger man sporting a bushy reddish-brown mustache of his own, "is Gifford Pinchot, United States Department of Agriculture. Gentlemen, this is the man I've been telling you about. I'd like you to meet former U.S. Marshal Matt Dillon, a true legend of the Old West. "
Chatterton stood. "It's an honor, sir. My father rode the Chisholm sixteen years with Frank Wilburn's herd. Believe me, when we were growing up, my brother and I spent many a winter night listening to stories about Dodge City and its lawman."
"Hope you didn't believe all of 'em." Matt grinned and shook Chatterton's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Governor. You, too, sir," he nodded to Pinchot.
"Whiskey, Matt?" Harvey inquired as he signaled for another glass.
Matt nodded and looked skeptically at his old friend. "Why do I think this isn't just a social meeting, Jim?"
Harvey grinned over the rim of his glass at the other two men. "Didn't I tell you he had a quick mind?"
Chatterton was direct. "Fact is, Marshal, if you're as good as Harvey here says you are, we—Pinchot and I—are prepared to offer you a job."
"Doing what?" Matt was interested but wary.
Gifford Pinchot spoke. "I head up the Division of Forestry—knew Roosevelt back when he was just plain Teddy." He paused and chuckled. "Although, in truth, he's never been 'just plain' anything or anybody. Thing is, we're working on a forest conservation plan where we'll transfer public land to federal reserves and then lease the grasslands for grazing—and we're facing some fierce opposition from the western interests. Harvey here tells me you know those western mountains and forest lands better than any man since Jim Bridger."
"Well, now I don't know…" Matt began modestly.
Pinchot re-filled his glass and continued, "Doesn't matter. You sure as hell know more about them than the bureaucrats in Washington. Here's what we need, Matt. Tell us if you can fill the bill."
For nearly two hours Matt listened intently to the government men, asking pertinent questions and absorbing their answers. He was interested in their offer. Very interested. But…. Finally, he stood. "Gentlemen, if I had only myself to consider, my answer would be 'yes' right now, but there's a lady upstairs," he looked pointedly at Jim Harvey, "who needs to have a say in this. I'm sorry, but I can't give you an answer until I've talked it over with her. So, if you'll tell me where I can contact you in a day or so…."
******
Upstairs in their suite, Kitty had bathed and changed into an emerald green dressing gown that made her red hair glow like a burning ember. She picked up the novel she had planned to read on the train, climbed into the bed and turned to the spot she had bookmarked, reading until her eyes grew heavy and the book slipped from her hands.
Much later, Matt slipped quietly into the room and sank down on the edge of the bed, grinning a bit as he removed the wire-rimmed nose pinchers from her presbyopic eyes. He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.
"Mmmm, where have you been? I've been waiting forever," she muttered sleepily.
"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to be so long, but I…Jim introduced me to…well….. Kitty, did you really mean it when you said we don't have to live in New Orleans?"
"Of course, I meant it. But why are you asking that now?" She was suddenly suspicious. "Matt…what have you done?"
"Golly, Kitty, you sound like you don't trust me." He kissed her again and stood to pull off his new clothes. "Give me a minute to get comfortable, and I'll tell you all about it." He started to throw his coat and pants over the chair, but stopped mid-toss and carefully hung them in the clothes press the way he had watched her do earlier, glancing up from his boots to see if she was watching. She smiled her amused approval.
He pulled off the tight boots, removed the string tie and took off his shirt. Kitty lay back against the pillows admiring the view afforded her by his new, shorter and sleeveless union suit. Her eyes scanned his long body, lingering over the play of muscles in his upper arms and calves as he moved about the room hanging up his shirt and standing his boots against the wall.
He climbed into the bed and turned toward her. "I'm just trying to do what we talked about on the train, Kit. We agreed I should have a job and, well, one's been offered to me. But I just listened, I didn't make a commitment. I told them I wanted to talk it over with you first."
She knew his need to earn a living would win out, but she hadn't anticipated that it would occur quite so soon. "And just who is this 'them'?"
He told her about meeting Pinchot and Chatterton and about the forest conservation program and the niche they wanted him to fill in the government's plan. "Basically, I'd be overseeing the transfer of public land to the federal reserve, but I'd be looking out for the interests of the farmers and Indians on those lands—making sure boundaries are enforced and that they don't get cheated. I'd be responsible for a wide territory…even get to have my own staff, choose my own men…and I'd be based in Colorado or Wyoming, maybe even Montana. Chatterton's pushing for his state, of course, but it doesn't have to be. We…you and I…can decide where we want to live." He paused for breath. "So, what do you think?"
He was excited, animated even, but her old fear bubbled quickly to the surface. "Will anyone be shooting at you?"
"Not likely. Unless, of course, you get tired of having me underfoot all the time and…"
Her arms went around him then. "Don't even think it. You really want to do this don't you, Matt?"
He grinned. "Yeah, I do. It's…it's a way for me to be useful again and in a job I'll like, but it also gives us a chance to live in a place that's right for you. I do want to do this, Kitty…but not, not unless you want it, too. More than anything else, I want to be with you."
She began ticking off states and cities on her fingers. "Colorado…Wyoming…Montana. Let's see, there's Denver, Cripple Creek, Cheyenne, Laramie….what's in Montana?"
"A whole lot of nothing…and Frank Reardon. I went fishing with him up there last summer. When Pinchot told me I could choose my own men for this job, Frank's the first person who came to mind. And Festus and Quint, of course. Can't you just see it, honey…Frank, Festus, Quint and me working together?"
"Lord help the Division of Forestry," she playfully rolled her eyes to the heavens. "Do you think they'll do it, and can you even find Festus? You said he went back to the hills…to his people."
"I think I can. I'll put Newly on it. Wouldn't mind having him on this job either, but he seems to have dedicated his life to being a lawman."
She pressed the hand she was still holding against her lips. "Not unlike someone else I know."
"I'm sorry, Kitty. I never meant to let the badge dominate my life. It just sort of happened. And then, after a while…well, after a while…it just got bigger than I was, and I couldn't give it up. But I swear I've always loved you, Kitty. It's just…just…"
"I know, Cowboy, I know." She reached across him to turn out the lamp and stayed there, nestled against his chest, feeling the steady, comforting beat of his heart beneath her own.
Denver, Cheyenne, Laramie—it made no difference. Her wistful dreams of long ago were replaced by the stark reality of the present. She had agreed to go—God only knew where—with this man. She knew she'd never have his ring, never have his name, but she would always have his heart. And that was all that mattered.
The End