Pearl Page 7
He chuckled, looking her up and down with a raised eyebrow. “Good afternoon, Miss Stout. What are you up to?”
She frowned and pushed her chin out. “I’m trying on outfits for Monday.”
He frowned. “Outfits?”
She sniffed. “Yes, outfits. I want to look the part.” He looked to be holding his breath. She could tell he was laughing at her, but she wasn’t exactly sure why.
Finally he waved his hand at her culottes. “Well, I’m pretty sure this outfit won’t do it.”
She pouted. “Well, I don’t know what to do. Everything else I own is much nicer than this.” Her eyes widened. “You did say you’d lend me something, didn’t you?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I did. All right then, Miss Stout, come on over and I’ll see what I can do. Though I did warn you, what I got ain’t much, and it ain’t gonna fit you.” He spun on his heel and walked across the hall to Hilton’s apartment.
She followed, her stomach a flurry of nerves at the idea of being alone with Hank. The last time they were alone together he’d almost kissed her. She was so confused – on the one hand, she couldn’t stand him. Between Hilton and Belle, she’d managed to gather a few facts about him – mainly that he was a rascal and a cad who wandered from town to town, gambling hall to gambling hall. There was even talk he’d shot a man, possibly more than one.
She knew gossip always exaggerated – her family had been the subject of enough tall tales for her to understand that the truth didn’t always match the legend. But if half of what was said about him was true, she should walk on the other side of the street and never speak to him again. At least, that’s what she’d have done back in New York – though she’d never have become acquainted with Hank Pullman in New York.
He pulled a saddlebag from the corner of the room and opened it. She was surprised at how neatly it was packed. She could see a bedroll tucked into one side, a few items of clothing folded in beside it. He pulled the clothes out and laid them on the floor in front of her. “These are my spare clothes. Sorry about the state of them.” He stood with his hands on his hips.
She studied the clothing. They were well-mended and clean, if somewhat stained and worn. With a quick nod, she thanked him, scooped them up and carried them back into her apartment. She could tell already they’d be too big on her, just as Hank had warned her. But she had to give it a try. She didn’t have enough money to buy a new wardrobe, so if she was going to dress like a man, she’d have to borrow one.
The pants were far too long and wide, but she rolled up the cuffs, figuring a belt or even a piece of rope could be used to cinch the waist. When she tugged the shirt on and buttoned it up, she felt almost naked without the usual layers of corsetry, petticoat, blouse, underskirt and gown. She hurried to the looking glass – and laughed out loud at her reflection. She looked ridiculous!
Hank knocked on the door. “Hey, are you decent?”
“Yes. I’ll be right there.” She turned right and left to see herself from all angles, but whichever way she looked at it, no one would believe these were her clothes. She went to the door and flung it open.
Hank was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He burst out laughing at the sight of her, then clapped a hand over his mouth when she scowled. “Sorry, it’s just that … you look like a kid dressed up in her father’s work clothes.”
She grimaced. “I know. I don’t think this will work. For one, I’ll be tripping over myself all day long. I could take them up and in, but they’re yours …”
“No need for that.” He waved her back into her apartment. “Get changed – we’re going shopping.
She complied, but her thoughts swirled. She couldn’t afford new clothes. Maybe this whole idea was as ridiculous as she now looked. What had she been thinking? How could she be a stagecoach driver? She’d never done anything like it before – she was a debutante, not a frontier woman.
As soon as she was back in her own gown, she joined Hank in the hallway, her reticule slung over her arm and her straw hat pinned to her hair. “Let’s go,” said Hank, offering her his arm.
She took his arm, her pulse racing at his touch. Ever since he’d leaned over her on the way home from the theater, his lips a whisper away from hers, her heart pounded at the sight of him. She took a long breath and held it, trying to calm her pulse. “Where are we going?”
“The Emporium. It’s got everything you’ll need.”
She hurried along beside him, her head spinning. When they reached the Emporium, Hank led her inside. She gazed up at the false storefront as they passed under it, marveling at the size of the painted letters announcing the goods awaiting shoppers indoors.
Pearl was accustomed to shopping in New York City, so the stores of Tucson didn’t take her breath way, but the Emporium had everything its customers could need or want. Clothes lined the walls on racks, as well as pattern books on a table in the center of the room. There were bolts of fabric in every shade and hue, and above hung hats and bonnets, ties, suspenders, belts and more.
The wares were practical, mostly brown or black, but Pearl’s spirits rose at the sight. She stopped beside a rack of men’s pants and flipped through them until she found a pair that might fit her slight figure. She eyed the price tag with dismay – three dollars! She didn’t have a penny to her name any longer, having already spent what little her father gave her. Considering a sum that would’ve seemed paltry only months earlier made her break out in a cold sweat.
Hank watched her closely – she could feel his gaze burrowing into her head. She glanced up at him, her cheeks burning. He tipped his hat and smiled warmly. “Don’t worry ‘bout the price tag. Today I’m payin’.”
She frowned. “I can’t let you do that, Mr. Pullman.”
“Mr. Pullman, eh? I see we’ve lost ground, since I was Hank to you a minute ago. Don’t fret over it – you can pay me back when you get your first pay envelope.”
She breathed deeply. Well … perhaps it couldn’t hurt to borrow a small sum. And she really would feel much better if she looked the part. She had a hunch that the less attention she attracted when driving the stage, the safer she’d be. “Thank you kindly … Hank. I will pay you back, I promise.”
He nodded. “I know.”
The shopkeeper scurried their way, round spectacles balanced on the bridge of his narrow nose and a measuring tape hanging around his thin neck. His hair was parted in the middle and brushed neatly down. “Good afternoon to ya. How can I help you folks?”
Pearl spoke up. “Good afternoon. I’d like to buy these pants in my size. As well as a white undershirt, shirt, belt and boots. I’ll need socks to match as well.”
He arched an eyebrow and glanced at Hank. “Ya mean, ya want to try these on? Not Mr. …”
“Pullman,” interjected Hank. “And yes, the clothes are for Miss Stout. I’m just here to pay the bill.”
The shopkeeper’s other eyebrow rose. “Oh. As ya wish, Mr. Pullman. Come with me, Miss Stout – I’ll fetch everythin’ ya need. I do believe our boys’ sizes should accommodate ya …”
She followed him through the clothing racks where he selected everything she’d requested, then to the counter. Hank wandered after them. By the time he’d reached the counter to pay, the shopkeeper was wrapping the purchases in brown paper.
Once they were back at the apartment, Hank waited in the hall while she tried everything on. She soon emerged, a grimace on her face. She thought she looked silly, but when he laughed at her she pouted and stamped her foot. “Hank Pullman, quit that! It isn’t polite to laugh at a lady.”
He calmed, but his eyes still sparkled with laughter. “My dear, it’s just as well you ain’t a lady then, huh?”
Her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. “What?”
“With your hat pulled down that way, you could pass for a boy. A pretty boy, but a boy nonetheless.” He winked.
“I suppose that’s the best I can hope for,” she huffed.
She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Can you shoot worth a darn or not? Mighty important part of bein’ a stagecoach driver.” He adjusted the gun belt that hung low on his narrow hips.
“Well, Father used to be part of a dove-shooting club on Long Island. He took me once and showed me how to use a shotgun.” She chewed her lower lip lest it tremble. In truth she was scared of guns – the single time she’d held one, she couldn’t even pull the trigger. But she’d have to learn to shoot sometime if she was to drive the stage.
“That’s good, but it ain’t enough.”
She shrugged. “I don’t even own a gun, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters. The stage manager’ll give you a shotgun to carry on board, and Belle’ll have one too, I’m guessin’. You shouldn’t be around weapons you don’t know how to use. I’ll teach you, if you’re willin’.”
She hitched up her pants. “Yes, I’m willing. Thank you.” But she shivered as he turned to leave. “What … do you mean now?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You got somewhere to be?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”
“Well, then, come on.” He continued down the hall stairs.
She grabbed her keys, locked the door behind her and followed him. Her life surely was changing – here she was, the New York society belle of the ball, dressed as a man and about to learn how to use a shotgun to fend off criminals. She couldn’t quite comprehend how things had come to this.
Chapter 7
As Hank leaned over her shoulder, pushing here and prodding there to adjust her hold on the shotgun, Pearl held her breath. He was so close she could feel his soft breath against her cheek. His arms were wrapped around her, his chest against her back.
“That’s it, just like that.” He stepped away from her, and she swallowed hard and exhaled. “Now pull the trigger.”
She did, and the explosion shoved the butt of the rifle back into her shoulder. She reeled backwards and almost tripped over Hank.
“Whoa! You have to plant your feet, so it doesn’t send you tail over teakettle.” He smiled and took the rifle from her.
She grinned. She’d done it, and it hadn’t been so bad after all. Of course her aim was off, because she was pretty certain she’d squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled the trigger, and she’d probably have a bruise on her shoulder from the impact. But all in all, she was rather pleased with herself.
“Again,” said Hank, offering her the reloaded weapon.
She grimaced. “Really?”
“Yep. We’re doin’ it ‘til you hit the center of that big ol’ cactus you were aimin’ at.” He laughed. “You didn’t think we came all the way out to the middle of nowhere just to shoot once, did ya?”
She laughed. “No, I don’t imagine that would make any sense.” She settled back into a shooting stance, feeling a little disappointed that he kept his distance. “Could you show me how to hold it again? Just one more time.”
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Sure can.”
The sun was setting over the edge of the burnt landscape, sending orange and red fingers across the dusty ground. They’d come only a short way from town, but far enough to make sure that no one else was around. Now they’d have to hurry before it was too dark to see her target.
They’d followed a windy trail that branched off the main road to an abandoned cabin. Hank said it was likely left behind by a miner who’d moved on to some other field. It sat behind them, squat and dark, yet there was something appealing about it to her. Even though it was run-down and neglected, she could sense it had once been someone’s beloved home. There was a barn that had been burned to the ground, and a stockyard with broken fence palings adjoining it.
She wondered when she’d begun to enjoy Hank’s company. They were alone, just the two of them, surrounded by nothing but brush, cacti and dust. Yet she trusted him. In fact, she felt content and at home in a way she’d never experienced before. Not long ago, she’d never have spent time in a remote location with a man, but now it felt entirely natural. It unnerved her and warmed her heart at the same time.
As his arms closed around her and adjusted her hold on the shotgun, she let it drop until it pointed at the ground. She swiveled her head to look directly at him, her eyes unblinking. She took in his profile, the curve of his cheeks, his straight nose, the stubbled roughness of his strong chin, the deep ocean blue of his eyes.
He realized what she was doing and began studying her, a question on his face. She returned his gaze boldly. Then he kissed her.
She felt as though he stole the breath from her lungs. Her eyes drifted shut as his lips explored hers, softly yet with a confidence that wiped out her questions and doubts. He took the gun, let it fall to the ground, then cupped her face in his rough hands. He didn’t let go, didn’t pull away, deepening the kiss with each moment. She opened her eyes to look at him and felt a surge of joy. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. She put hers around his neck, losing her fingers in the thick, dark curls beneath brim of his hat.
A movement caught her eye – something behind him. She pulled away, her brow furrowed.
Hank looked stunned. “What? Is something wrong?”
“No, I … I saw something move back there. Behind that bush.”
He turned, and they both strained to see, squinting into the setting sun. He released her and stepped forward.
A creature shot out from behind the scrub and galloped toward the horizon. A ghoulish rider, headless and bent at the waist, lurched around on its back.
Pearl covered her mouth in horror. “It’s the Red Ghost!”
* * *
Hank stood outside the blacksmith’s and rubbed his palms on his jeans. He’d run into Pip Williams outside the sheriff’s office earlier in the day and asked about work. Pip said Chip Winston was still looking for help, and Hank should apply, seeing as he had experience.
He took his hat off and took a deep breath. It wasn’t so much that he was nervous about asking for a job – he’d done that plenty of times over the years when cash ran low. He’d stop in a town, work at the local livery or smithy until he’d saved enough to last him a while, then be off again. But asking here jangled the nerves in the pit of his stomach.
There had been an incident years earlier involving him, a bottle of scotch and Chip’s daughter. Chip had chased him out of town, even though Hank had tried to assure him he’d only snuck a kiss – and she seemed happy to give one. Chip would have none of it, and told him never to come back to Tucson. He had, of course, and apologized for his drunken foolishness, so all seemed to be forgiven. Still, he couldn’t say for certain how Chip would feel about him walking into his shop.
Hank drew a deep breath and stepped in. The place was one large room with workers scattered throughout the space. A fire raged in the forge where Chip stood, while a teenage boy worked a leather bellows to fan the flames. Hank cleared his throat.
Chip straightened, glanced over his shoulder in Hank’s direction, saw who it was and walked over to meet him. “Well, how about this? It’s Hank Pullman. Didn’t think I’d ever see you set foot in this place.” He stopped in front of Hank, hands on his wide hips and hazel eyes flashing.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to stop by and apologize again for what happened. I was young and stupid and full of rotgut.” He paused, scratching his chin.
But Chip just laughed and patted him on the back. “Water under the bridge, lad. Christy’s happily married now with her second child on the way.”
Hank blinked in surprise. “That’s good to hear.”
“So what else can I do for you?”
“Actually, I was wonderin’ if you need more hands. I’m plannin’ on settlin’ in Tucson for a while, so I’m lookin’ for work.”
Chip’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Don’t tell me you’re planti
n’ roots, lad?”
Hank chuckled. “Somethin’ like that.”
“Well ain’t this a day for surprises? You got any experience?”
“Sure do. I did my apprenticeship back in Georgia, and I’ve worked here and there ever since – whenever I need the money.”
“Is that so? Well, I do need help, but I also need someone who’ll stick around. I don’t want to bring someone on, only to lose ‘em in a week. Isn’t good for business.”
Hank nodded. “Like I said, I’m plannin’ on stayin’ in Tucson awhile. You can count on me.”
“Well, let’s see what you can do. Can you make a kettle?”
Hank put an apron on and selected an iron bar from the stack beside the workbench in the center of the room. With a long pair of tongs, he pushed the bar into the forge to heat, then extracted it and set it on an anvil to pound into shape.
Chip followed him, watching him closely as he worked. “Word around town is that you and that lady friend of yours had a run-in with the Red Ghost a couple nights back.”
Hank carried the bar back to the forge to reheat. “Yep, we did.”
“What did you see?”
“Not sure exactly. The sun was real bright and right in our eyes. But it looked somethin’ like a horse, only bigger and shaped funny. And there was a rider.”
Chip shivered and crossed himself. “The headless rider.”
“You heard about that?” muttered Hank, carrying the red-hot bar back to the anvil.
“Everyone knows about the headless rider. Harold Carmichael, the old prospector who lives in the hotel when he’s in town, told me he saw the head fall off a few months back, down by the Mammoth Mine.” Chip crossed himself again, his eyes wide.
Hank chuckled. “Well, whatever we saw didn’t do us any harm. If anything, it looked scared of us – ran away fast as it could.” The base of the kettle was formed, and he turned it over with the tongs, examining all sides before carrying it back to the forge.
“That’s coming together nicely,” Chip waved his hand to stop Hank. “Tell you what, I’m convinced – you got the job. Can you start tomorrow?”