Death Has Its Price

Chapter 13 – Big Trouble, Little Guns

The day started out like dozens of other days had started, bright and sunny. John and Amy took the wagon to town, leaving early enough to allow them time to run all the errands and still have supper. While Amy had the ranch supplies assembled and ordered, John took a look at the clothes the store had. He found a black broadcloth coat with a woven binding around the lapels, and dark gray pants. Then added a front pleated white shirt and black cravat. Lastly he uncovered a black and silver-grey vest and a gray hat and felt like he'd accomplished something important. He was hard to fit because he was so broad in the shoulders but much thinner than the average man.

His boots were still serviceable but there was a pair of black leather ones that fit perfectly, and he took those, too. Amy was surprised he found clothes so quickly; it was almost as if he knew exactly what he was looking for. She found two new riding skirts and a pair of pants that fit perfectly, then added a new gray hat that matched John's. They had everything loaded and were walking over to the gun shop when they heard somebody yell "Holliday!" John stopped dead in his tracks and pulled Amy in behind him, shielding her from whatever was to come. The defensive maneuver was unnecessary, it was simply Doc Greeley trying to get their attention.

"Don't do that, Doc. I had visions of a shoot-out I didn't want."

"Sorry, John. Since the wind kicked up I didn't think you'd hear me, so I yelled as loud as I could. How's the arm and everything else doing?"

Amy finally stepped out from behind John and threw her arms around the doctor. "Everything is wonderful, Doc. Thanks for asking."

The man that had delivered Amelia Jo Stanhope looked at their faces and saw the happiness there. "Yes, I believe it is." If ever a man had been misjudged, it was John Henry Holliday. They had all expected a brutal, foul-tempered outlaw, and had instead gotten a gentle, peaceful soul. "Have you told your father yet?"

Amy shook her head 'no.' "Soon, Doc, I promise. It'll be soon."

"John, how's the arm these days?"

"Better than I could have expected, Doc. And yes, I can rope calves. Just in case you were wondering. I'm afraid the days of the fast-drawing Doc Holliday are over, though. Right now I couldn't outdraw my mother, even if she gave me a head start. But I'm gettin' used to that. Best way to avoid trouble – don't carry a Colt."

"Is that why you were headed into the gun shop?"

"A man's gotta have some protection. Lookin' for a derringer, and a shoulder holster. Just in case. Then supper. Why don't you join us?"

The invitation was sincere, and Doc Greeley appreciated it. "Thanks, but no. I've got a young man with a fever that's way too high I have to go tend. Some other time?"

Amy nodded. "Next time we come to town, Doc. Promise us?"

"Alright. Providing no one decides to have a baby that day. Be safe." Doc tipped his hat and hurried down the sidewalk.

"I hope your father is that understanding."

"He'll have to be, won't he?"

They walked into the gun shop and the proprietor seemed to be well aware of John's identity. "Yes sir, Mr. Holliday, what can I do for you?"

John looked at Amy and grinned. "I guess the secret's out." Then he turned back to the man behind the counter. "I need a Remington Derringer – the smallest one you've got. And a shoulder holster that fits it."

"Yes sir, right this way."

Amy busied herself with the Colt pistols and stayed away from John and the derringers. She didn't like guns but considered them necessary for survival. What John bought was strictly up to him. She'd rather he didn't carry one at all but understood his point about "somebody trying to make their reputation by killing Doc Holliday."

It didn't take him long to make a decision and slipped into the shoulder holster quite easily once the gun was paid for and loaded. "I thought you didn't like little guns," she told him as they left the shop.

"Who told you that?"

"Just something I heard," she answered.

"Hmmmmm. Maybe before, not now. I know you don't like 'em, but I have to have something. It's just asking to be shot to walk around without some kind of weapon."

"I know. I still don't have to like them."

"No, you don't. That's your right. But I'd like to stay alive." He grabbed her hand and pulled her close.

She looked at him like he was crazy and let go of him. "Anybody could see us."

"I thought that was the point. Are you ashamed of me?"

She looked horrified. "NO!"

He took her hand again. "Then prove it."

They walked into the hotel, then the dining room, and found a table. A waitress hurried over. "Folks, something to drink? Oh, the special tonight is steak and potatoes. Uh . . . . . . aren't you Doc Holliday?" The waitress's voice had gotten very quiet, as if she was afraid to even say the name.

"We'll have coffee, miss . . . . Susie. And you must be mistaken. My name's John Henry. Amy, do you want the steak? Yes? Ok – we'll both have the special. One rare, one well-done. Susie? Susie, did you hear me?"

"Oh yeah," Susie answered. "Sorry. Two specials, one rare, one burnt. And coffee." Susie hurried off, looking like she'd seen a ghost.

John started laughing and couldn't stop. "Guess I don't hafta shoot 'em anymore, I can just scare 'em to death."

Amy stared after the waitress, appalled. "How rude was that?"

He leaned over and ran his thumb down Amy's cheek. "Get used to it, Miss Amy. That's one of the more polite greetings I've gotten."

Amy brightened immediately. "Do you remember – "

"Don't get excited. Sort of, that's the best I can explain it."

Susie came back with the coffee pot and filled their cups. And scurried back to the kitchen as fast as she could go. John had to chuckle; the poor girl looked like she was scared to death. They didn't see her again until she brought supper and then returned with the coffee pot.

They were almost done eating when three cowhands wandered in and sat down. They watched John and Amy for a few minutes and then took to whispering among themselves. Susie scurried over to take their order and it became obvious that what they were after wasn't dinner so much as one of the diners.

XXXXXXXX

Bret couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Doc smile. Yet there the man stood, grinning ear to ear. "Bret, it's good to see you. Welcome back to Arizona!"

He almost looked around to see where the real Doc Holliday was, and who this imposter that greeted him so heartily could be. "Gosh, Doc, was I gone that long?"

"Yes." The answer was brief and succinct. "Don't ever do that to me again."

"I didn't do it to you Doc. I did it for Beau."

Doc looked downcast for about ten seconds and then perked back up. "How is the Englishman?"

"He's as Texan as I am, Doc, and he's not good. He's got Jody to lean on, but she's not doin' much better. I just couldn't stay any longer."

"Couldn't stand all the family togetherness, eh?"

Bret shook his head. "No, I needed to get back here. I've still got a brother to find."

"Bret, about that . . . . . "

"Any news, Doc?"

"No, that's just it. Nada. Nothing. Nary a word. It's time to give up, Bret. This is getting us nowhere fast. I don't like it either, but Bart's gone. How much longer can you look for a dead man?"

Bret looked Doc Holliday right in the eyes and turned into pure Maverick. "Until the day I die." Then he picked up his bag and walked past Doc into the hotel.