CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

That afternoon while the saloon was still quiet, Hank hitched up the wagon ready to take Zack out to Ruby's cabin. He left Lissy to serve drinks in the bar and took Myra with him to take care of Zack in the back of the wagon until they got there. As he encouraged the horse into a brisk trot, he noticed a number of people watching their departure - Loren and Maude along with Loren's sister, Olive, who was visiting town; Jake, the Reverend and the idiot postmaster, Horace, who was later to become the bane of Hank's life, only he didn't know it yet. Hank ignored them all and stared only at the horse as they travelled out of sight of the townsfolk. In the back of the wagon, Myra held on tightly to Zack lest he try to stand up, but he remained still and silent, staring about him curiously at the passing scenery on the journey.

Ruby appeared the moment the wagon pulled up in her yard and waited while Hank jumped down from the driving seat and lifted Myra and Zack out of the back. Then she walked towards them.

"This is him?"

Hank nodded.

"Zack, this is Miss Ruby," Myra said, ushering the boy towards the older woman. "Yer gonna stay here with her in this nice cabin."

"Fine lookin' little fella," Ruby commented. "Don't worry, he'll be safe out here. I'll take good care of him."

Hank nodded again, still saying nothing.

"He likes drawin'" Myra said then, passing a napsack to Ruby. "Well, he just scribbles yet, but it keeps him busy for hours. This is paper and pencils for him. Zack, you be a good boy for Miss Ruby. I'll be seein' ya."

Zack stared up at her, but didn't speak and Hank turned abruptly and returned to the wagon, waiting for Myra so he could lift her up onto the seat before climbing up himself. Ruby grasped Zack's hand now and the pair watched as Hank turned the horse away from the cabin. He was silent and grim-faced as he drove, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Y'alright?" Myra asked him.

"Yeah," he grunted, but when Myra slid closer to him on the seat and rested her hand on his leg, he straightened up, shifted the reins to one hand and wrapped his arm around her, holding on tight to her as they returned to town.

For the rest of the day Hank remained behind the bar, often matching his whiskey orders with a glass for himself until by the end of the night he was unsteady on his feet and glowering in silent bad-temper. When the last customer left the saloon he retired to his room alone and passed out fully clothed on his bed, grateful for the oblivion alcohol brought which stopped him thinking about his son, being raised by a stranger miles out of town. It was for the best, he knew, but he still felt like he had failed the boy and didn't want to be repeatedly tortured by such thoughts. However, when he woke with a persistent headache those feelings were still there and he knew there was no getting away from them. He was just going to have to live with it and get on with things.

"Myra!" He banged loudly on her door and a moment later she opened it slowly, dressed in a pink nightgown and rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Y'alright, Hank?" she yawned.

"I'm goin' to Denver," he said.

"Now?"

"Yeah, I'm takin' the stage. I want you and Lissy to keep an eye on things for a couple days while I'm gone." He paused for a moment. "There's somethin' else I want ya to do for me."

"Sure, Hank."

"Clear out Clarice's room. It's still full of her things."

"What d'ya want me to do with them?" asked Myra.

"Whatever ya want. Give 'em away, burn 'em, I don't care. I just want them gone."

"Of course. I'll get to it this mornin'," Myra said at once.

Hank nodded and turned away. He was already wearing one of his suits and now he grabbed the coat and a hat from his room and collected the carpet bag he had already packed with a change of clothes. An hour later he was on the stagecoach to Denver, relieved to find that the three other travellers were men who wanted to play poker to pass the time. It was a friendly game with stakes starting at only a quarter, but Hank didn't care about the money. The game kept his mind occupied and that was worth more than a handful of bills.

In Denver, Hank first booked three tickets on the stagecoach in two days' time to return to Colorado Springs, confident he would find two girls to use the spare tickets, then took a room in a hotel on the same street as the old tailors he had always bought his clothes from. He called in there, deciding to see if the two old men were still running the place, but a younger fellow was behind the counter now.

"Yer new here," Hank observed.

"I took over two years ago, when the previous proprietors retired," he said. "May I be of service, sir?"

Hank hesitated. He hadn't been intending to buy new clothes for himself, but he did need a couple of shirts. He left an hour later with a new suit, shirts, neckties, boots and a hat, wrily thinking that he now needed another piece of luggage too.

"Ya sell bags?" he asked.

"Bags? You mean luggage, sir?"

"Yeah."

"No, sir, but you may find something to your liking next door. A friend of mine runs the store there. He carries luggage and such."

"Thanks." Hank went next door, bought another bag and then returned to the hotel to leave the things in his room. Then he set off to find what he had really come to Denver for.

By the end of the day he'd had no luck finding any suitable girls and decided to return to the hotel for dinner and try again in the morning. He strode briskly along the street, glancing right and left. Denver sure had changed in the last few years. Everything seemed even bigger and smarter than it had before, but then again that might just because he had grown used to Colorado Springs, with its small spread out buildings, dirt streets and roughly clad residents.

He halted abruptly, almost colliding with a man who had stepped out of a nearby store. The man stared back at him, his brow furrowing and his eyes suddenly showing recognition. Hank met blue eyes the same shade as his own, noticing the neatly cropped blond hair beneath a tall hat, impeccable crisp shirt and suit. He must be thirty now.

"Hans." The chin lifted slightly; that same gesture he and his twin had always used to give them the impression of looking down their noses.

"Lars," Hank said stiffly.

"I thought you had left Denver."

"I'm visitin'."

"I wasn't aware you had any friends left here," Lars said. "Unless, of course, you mean prostitutes." He uttered this last word under his breath.

"Ya know nothin' about me," grunted Hank. "Ya never did."

"I know you became tangled up in some gambling debacle which resulted in a woman being shot."

Hank glowered. "That was a long time ago."

"Mud sticks, Hans," said Lars. "You should remember that."

"What I remember, is you and Leif suckin' up to Father when neither of ya really knew who he was," Hank said quietly. "Maybe y'oughta ask him how he knew Lillian Jenkins."

"What are you talking about?" Lars said, eyes narrowing.

"Yer precious Father ain't all he seemed to be," Hank said. "I have business to see to."

He stepped around Lars and returned to the hotel, thinking that his brother hadn't changed one bit, except perhaps to become even more like their father with his damned superior attitude, thinking he was better than Hank. He didn't doubt Lars was a lawyer now, the way he always planned to be, probably working in their father's practise and lauding it over everyone. He made his way to his room and slammed the door angrily. He was glad he didn't live in Denver any more. They had nothing to do with him now, but somehow they still managed to make him feel worthless.

The next morning Hank ate breakfast in the hotel, but later headed for the cafe he used to go to with Clarice and Myra. It was one thing that hadn't altered. The same woman ran it, scurrying between the old picnic tables to serve the customers. Hank spotted two girls sitting at one table - both dark-haired and dressed as if they'd stepped out of Red Burrows' saloon. Grinning, he made his way over to them.

"Mornin', ladies," he said. "Mind if I join ya?"

They looked up and giggled.

"Have a seat," one said. "We were just sayin' we could do with a fine handsome gentleman to join us for coffee."

Hank smiled and sat down opposite the pair. He paid for the coffees and asked a few questions. Melinda and Dotty worked for Red Burrows and had been there approaching two years. He paid the same as Hank did, but still hadn't bothered to have contracts drawn up. When the girls discovered Hank owned a saloon too and was looking to employ some entertainment, the pair were quick to point out that they'd be happy to leave Denver.

"Ain't much to keep us here," Dotty said. "'Sides, Red Burrows ain't got your looks. Be nice to have a handsome fella like you for a boss."

Hank chuckled. "I'm leavin' tomorrow," he said. "Ya can both come with me if ya want. I got tickets for the stage."

"We'll look forward to it," said Melinda and Dotty nodded in agreement.

Hank left them to it with instructions that they meet him at the stagecoach at nine the next morning, then walked off, an idea coming to mind that he had thought of off and on for a while. He paused outside a dress shop, looking in the window at the outfits on display there and having no clue as to how to go about buying such a thing. He spotted two women inside, both in the process of arranging other items on display and he guessed they worked there and so would be able to offer help. He pushed the door open and stepped into the store.

"Good morning, sir, may I be of assistance?" the elder of the two asked immediately, putting down the gloves she was laying out.

"I wanna buy a dress," Hank said. "Not for me, obviously."

Both women immediately suppressed giggles, which was encouraging. They were on side from the outset.

"Do you have any idea of the correct size?" asked the younger woman.

He glanced at her, noticing she was very small and very slim, with a dainty yet perfect figure. Her head reached to just below his shoulder and he imagined his hands would just about meet around her waist. She blushed prettily under his intent gaze.

"'Bout your size," he said. "Nothin' too fussy, ya know, we live outta town. Ain't a place for city clothes."

"What about colour?" asked the other.

"Umm..." He had no clue. She had hardly anything to wear and what she did have was mostly nondescript sort of colours.

"Well, what colour is she? I mean, her hair and her eyes," the lady prompted.

"Brown hair, sorta green eyes." Who'd have thought buying a woman's dress would be so involved? Then he remembered the nightgown Myra had been wearing right before he left. That was the one thing she had treated herself to not too long ago and he guessed since she spent her hard-earned money on it, she must have chosen what pleased her the most. "Pink," he blurted out. "I mean, I think she likes pink."

The older lady's eyes twinkled. "Ahh, we have just the thing. Special gift, is it?"

"I guess."

"Sarah, bring that dress we took off the display yesterday," she instructed the girl. "Fashions change so quickly here in Denver, but in the country...well, I'm guessing your young lady would be delighted with it."

Hank stared as a dress was laid out on the counter in front of him. It was a subtle shade of pink, the sort of colour Myra's face went if he made fun of her. It had little short puffy sleeves and a full skirt with fancy stitching of some kind on the bodice, but it wasn't what would be considered out of place in Colorado Springs. Some of the women there wore more elaborate outfits on occasion, such as for Thanksgiving or Christmas or the Sweetheart Dance.

"How much is it?" he asked.

The lady discreetly showed him the price tag, rather than voice it. Hank's eyebrows shot up. Fifteen dollars for a frock? Hell!

"I'll take it," he said as calmly as he could manage.

He guessed she deserved it. How would he ever have coped with everything over the last few years, and particularly in the last few weeks, without her? He paid for the dress and the young woman called Sarah packed it carefully into a flat box and wrapped it in brown paper. Hank took it back to the hotel and then spent the remainder of the day wondering if he ought to have bought her something like a pair of boots or a shawl. A dress was too much; she might read too much into it, think he cared for her. Or maybe it was just him reading too much into it. He sighed heavily. Hell, it was only a dress, it didn't mean anything. It was simply an item she was desperately in need of.

The girls were already waiting for the stagecoach, each with a small bag of belongings when Hank arrived just before nine. When the stage pulled up, he took their bags and tossed them up onto the roof for the driver to strap down, along with his own luggage, then helped the two girls into the vehicle. The other three travellers - a middle-aged couple with a young son - were less than pleased when they discovered their travelling companions included two obvious saloon women and huddled together uncomfortably on the other seat as Hank sat between the two girls, each one flirting with him and whispering in his ears every so often.

The stagecoach finally rolled into Colorado Springs on Saturday morning and immediately a number of the townsfolk flocked around it as usual, everyone keen to see who was arriving and whether any parcels had been delivered for them.

Hank jumped down and rescued the four bags and the dress box from the roof, while the two giggling girls climbed down to the street, holding their skirts up around their knees to save them from the mud and giving Jake and Loren and many others a good view of their calves. Hank passed them their bags and then led them across to the saloon, grinning at Jake who was showing obvious interest in both. He didn't think it would be long before the barber came by and handed over another five dollars, if he could choose between them of course.

Hank introduced the two new girls to Lissy and Myra, then sent Lissy to show them their rooms, while he grasped Myra by the arm and drew her along to her own room. He closed the door after them and put the box onto her bed.

"So what's been goin' on here?" he asked. "Did ya miss me?"

"Nothin' excitin' and yes, I did," Myra said, answering both questions at once. "How was Denver?"

"I'll tell ya later. I got somethin' for ya," he told her, indicating the box.

"For me?" Her mouth fell open.

"Yeah. It's a present." He wondered again what on earth had possessed him to buy her a dress. She probably wouldn't even like it.

"Ohh!" She continued to stare at him in astonishment.

"Ya gonna open it, then?" he prompted.

Myra carefully untied the string holding the brown paper on and then lifted the lid off the box. Layers of thin paper covered the dress and she pulled these aside and drew out the garment, holding it up by the shoulders.

"Oh, Hank!" she gasped. "It's beautiful! It's..." She turned to look at him, her cheeks the same colour as the gown. "It's really for me?"

Hank grinned a trifle self-consciously. "Sure. I just happened to see it. Figured ya might like it. You ain't got many things to wear," he said, trying to make light of the gesture. His bluster was lost on Myra, who was clearly overwhelmed.

"Oh, Hank!" she said again. "Thank you!"

"Well...glad ya like it." He nodded and backed out of the room, only allowing his face to stretch into a foolish grin after he had closed the door.