Grow Wild Page 2

  "Fetch Miss Josie a beer as well," Dahlia said. When Bit was gone, she said, "I don't want her hearing any of this kind of talk, you see. It's hard enough to keep her away from what my girls do."

  "I won't say nothin'," Josie assured her, digging into the stew without another word. It'd been nothing but hardtack and pemmican on the ride into town, and it had been a long ride. The hot meal was calming the gnawing ache in her stomach, and by the time her plate was cleaned and two beers finished, she felt as sleepy as a winter bear.

  "I see you have a healthy appetite," Dahlia giggled. When Josie looked away, she added, "No, don't be ashamed, now. What good is food if it isn't eaten? Will you be heading out now to the build site?"

  What Josie really wanted to do now was to rest a spell, but she ought to see about work where there might be work to be had. "I think I will do just that." She placed her hat back on her head and tipped it respectfully to Dahlia, going through the front door.

  As soon as she stepped out on the street, she heard the sound of a gun cocking. "Don't move, whore!"

  Chapter Four

  Josie kept her hands still. She didn't need to move to see who was calling her out. "I ain't got no trouble with you, Slink. I ain't even stayin' long."

  "I don't take kindly to bein' insulted." Slink moved out from the shadow of the tree he was hiding behind, holding his revolver steady.

  "Maybe you should keep your affections to the Calico Queens. They're the ones that want it." She would be long dead before she could even pull her shotgun from behind her back, or skin her Roger & Spencer. Josie never called herself a quick draw—she just drew fast enough to not get shot most of the time.

  Slink sneered at her. The wind had picked up, and it was threatening to pull his hat off of his head. "You got sand, I'll give you that."

  "Lots of sand," Josie said as an idea sparked. She slashed the heel of her boot through the dirt; the wind picked it up and drove it right into Slink's face. While he cussed, she pulled her shotgun, cocking it and holding it steady with his nose.

  "You low-down cheatin' bitch!" he spat. "Throwing dirt in a man's eye!"

  "No more low-down than sneakin' around in shadows," Josie said, taking a slight step to one side. "You just put that Colt down real friendly-like, and I'll walk away."

  Slink spat into the dirt. "How bout I just put a hole in your pretty head with it and I walk away?"

  "You think you can do it with a face full of shot, you're welcome to," Josie said, unblinking, her toes curled tight in her boots with the tension she wouldn't let her face show.

  "Both of you, lower your weapons immediately!"

  Josie turned her head, but her gun stayed as it was. A paunchy man in a black hat was walking quickly towards them, the sun catching the shiny tin star pinned to his vest. The carbine in his hands bounced slightly with his steps.

  "I know you ain't both deaf! I said uncock and lower your weapons, right this minute! You have until I count to three, or I'm gonna shoot first and arrest second."

  Grumbling, Slink stowed his gun in his holster. Seeing this, Josie uncocked her shotgun and pointed the sawn-off barrel at the ground.

  "You go on and get outta here, Slink. You cause enough trouble as it is," the man said, keeping his hold on his rifle. "You, ma'am, I gotta few questions for you. I'm Wayland Wyatt, and I've been sheriff damn near ten years, and I know I ain't never seen you before."

  Josie said nothing.

  "When'd you arrive?"

  "Few hours ago."

  "You got a name?"

  "Josie." She slid her shotgun back into its holster.

  "Josie what?"

  "Just Josie suits me."

  Wayland's eyes, which were pale green like a faded tablecloth, narrowed. "Well, just Josie, word got back to me about a lady come to town dressed like a man and loaded with guns. I could fine you for wearin' men's clothes, but that ain't my biggest concern. Can't be two of you. Why are you here, and what did you do to get Slink's back up?"

  Josie could see people standing on the porch of the Lady now, probably hoping for a show of violence. "Just passin' through, looking for work. Slink made me an offer, and when I turned him down, he took grave offense."

  For the first time, Wayland's suspicious look disappeared. "That doesn't surprise me, randy as Slink is, pardon my language. But you're an odd duck if'n I've ever seen one. There ain't been a murder here in Rio Plata in three years, and I don't wanna see that change."

  Again, Josie said nothing.

  Tucking the rifle under one arm, Wayland took a tobacco pouch and paper out of his vest pocket. "What I'm lookin' for, Miss Josie, is for you to look me in the eye and tell me you didn't come here to start trouble." He rolled the paper and licked it to seal it closed, and then started searching his pockets.

  Josie took her matchbook out of her coat pocket and offered it up. "I promise you, Sheriff, I didn't come here to start nothin', trouble or otherwise."

  "That's what I wanted to hear. Man is only as good as his word—woman, too." Wayland lit his cigarette with her match and handed the near-empty book back. "Long as you stay out of trouble, you're welcome in Rio Plata, Miss Josie."

  The matchbook went back into her pocket, and she tipped her hat in silent reply.

  Wayland glanced around, then shouldered his rifle and walked over to the crowd standing on the porch. Dahlia stood out like a flower in the grass, but whatever they were talking about, Josie couldn't hear.

  She began walking again, shaking dust off of her boots as best she could. No, she didn't come here to start any trouble. Finishing trouble, now that was a whole 'nother story.

  Chapter Five

  The search for work was a bust. There was a sheep ranch, but they laughed her off. The saloon being built was well on its way and didn't need another hand. The hotel didn't need anyone to help with cleaning; even the butcher didn't need anyone to mop up guts. Disheartened, Josie returned to the Sentimental Lady as the sun was setting.

  Inside, the lamps were lit and the tables were housing card games, nearly all of them full. Dahlia was sitting at the same table she'd eaten at, in the back, a fan of cards in her well-kept hands.

  Josie approached the bar, Henry still behind it. "I musta missed supper," she said. "Whiskey'll do."

  "There's some stew left, if you don't mind it cold," Henry said as he poured her a shot.

  "Beggars can't be choosers," Josie said, taking her shot and throwing it back. "Bring it to the table, will you? I'm gonna bat my eyelashes for a spell." At Henry's nod, she walked over to Dahlia's table.

  Dahlia was dealing, but she still looked up at Josie and smiled. "Have a seat, Miss Josie! I'm sure these gentlemen wouldn't mind sharing the table with another pretty face."

  Josie removed her hat. "I'm just gonna watch for now—might join in later," she said, taking a step back. As the players looked at their cards, she found herself watching Dahlia more than anyone else. It looked like they were playing poker, five card draw, by the cards that were sliding across the surface of the table.

  She only watched the game with one eye, as hands came and ended, half her attention on the bar and waiting for Henry to get the chance to get away so he could get her dinner. Josie considered going back to the bar and asking if she could get it herself.

  The man across from Dahlia threw chips down in front of him, the sound drawing Josie's attention. He had nasty scar snaking through his beard. "I raise."

  Dahlia peered at him just over the tops of her cards. "I call," she replied, gently setting two chips in front of her, then moving four more beside them, "and I'll raise you again."

  The rest of the table folded at that, but the scarred man only called, his thick eyebrows drawing together. He snapped his cards against the tabletop—three jacks.

  "That's a peach of a hand, Mr. Foster," Dahlia said, laying her own cards down, "but I'm afraid it doesn't beat my full house." Josie glanced at her cards—deuces full of queens.

  Mr. Foster banged his
fist against the table, making his chips jump. "You're a cheat and a whore!" he spat. "You've won every hand against me!"

  Josie reached for her pistol, but she heard a click, and saw that Dahlia had produced a derringer from her bosom, the snub barrel steady on Foster's gut.

  "Now, sir," she began, her voice steady but with none of its previous sweetness, "I won't abide a man that doesn't know his manners. I've never cheated a game in my life, and against you, sir, I'd have no need to: your leg gets to trembling like a leaf in a storm when you have a hand that you fancy. You're as readable as a book. Now, I will ask you kindly to remove yourself from my establishment."

  Foster hadn't gone for his own gun yet, but he was sneering. "You think I'm scared of that little pop gun?"

  While Dahlia was talking, Josie had enough time to draw her shotgun instead. "Those pop guns can do a hell of a lot of damage to a man's insides—'scuse my language, Miss Wheeler." When Foster looked at her, she continued, "And I don't think you want to try mine on for size."

  Dahlia smiled at her. "Miss Josie, I would be much obliged if you would escort Mr. Foster to the door."

  "It'd be my pleasure," Josie said. "After you, Mr. Foster."

  He snarled at her, hand moving towards one of the guns at his waist. He stopped when Josie cocked the shotgun, and knocked his chair over.

  Josie followed him to the door and through it to the street beyond.

  "I don't know who the hell you are," Foster said, turning to face her, "but I ain't gonna forget this."

  "Good night, Mr. Foster," Josie said, walking backwards through the door rather than turning her back on him. She exhaled as she eased the hammer down, replacing the gun in its sheath before turning around and walking over to the bar again.

  Harry already had a whiskey ready for her. "Well, ma'am, you sure have a talent for makin' bad-tempered men not like you. I hope you weren't plannin' on doing any work for Bill Walters—they're both his boys."

  "Good thing I wasn't planning on it, then," Josie said, tipping the whiskey back.

  "I'll get your supper."

  When he was gone, Josie exhaled silently. She sure hadn't come into town looking to make new enemies, but it seemed like that was exactly what she was managing to do.

  Henry handed her a bowl with what was left of the stew.

  Josie sat down at the bar to eat. It was stone cold, but she was hungry enough that it didn't matter—the hunks of lamb meat were just what she needed after walking around the town all day. She scraped the bowl clean and set it down on the bar's top. "I think I'd better turn in, before I make any more friends."

  "Good night, Miss Josie," Henry said.

  She headed up the stairs and down the hall, shaking her head a bit at the sounds of a whore and her client coming through the door next to her own. With all the hollering and carrying on the whore was doing, she was sure earning her money.

  After undressing down to her shirt, Josie lay in her bed, turned away from the wall. She'd slept in noisier places, and soon enough, the sound faded enough that she could fall asleep.

  It was long past dark when the sound of knocking at her door jerked her back awake.

  Chapter Six

  Rolling over, Josie grabbed for the belt hanging off of the bedpost, pulling her pistol and sitting up. It wasn't likely that Mr. Foster or Slink would knock, but her heart was pounding when she called, "Who's there?"

  "It's Dahlia Wheeler."

  Josie sat up with her back against the headboard, uncocking the gun and laying it in her lap. "I ain't decent, Miss Wheeler, but if that don't bother you, come in."

  Dahlia opened the door and closed it behind her as she slipped inside. The moon was just bright enough to shine through the top part of the window, the light falling across her face. "I just wanted to give you a proper thank you for your help with Mr. Foster. He's always been the temperamental sort, but he's never called me a cheat before. I suppose I've lost his business to the new saloon."

  "I'd say you're better off without it." Josie raked her fingers through her hair, combing it out of her eyes. "I'm glad he didn't hurt you." She slipped her gun back into its holster.

  "I carry the derringer in my bosom and another in my pocket. A lady can't be too careful—there's no counting on any man to be a gentleman," Dahlia said.

  "Nope," Josie agreed. "That's why I carry what I do."

  "Have you ever been married, Miss Josie?"

  "No. There've been two men in my life that could tell me what to do: one was my pa, and one my brother. They've both passed on. I ain't eager to ever find a third," she replied.

  Even in the dark, she could see Dahlia's smile. "I was married once. Missus Wheeler is technically correct, but 'miss' suits me fine. My husband was killed in the war. After it was over, I took what money I had and came here to make a new life for myself."

  "Pardon me for saying so, but you don't sound too sorry that he's gone."

  "He wasn't an unkind man, and I never did want to see him come to harm. But truth be told, Miss Josie, I never cared much for the idea of a husband, either." Dahlia crossed her arms. "I like my Lady, and my girls. I'm content now, which is more than I could say when I was married."

  "Well, ma'am, I can't say that I could ever ask for more outta life than being content."

  "I cannot imagine that drifting from town to town brings a body much contentment. I know it's not my business, but I do think about how lonely of a life it must be, going from town to town without a place to call home or a friend waiting for you." Dahlia's gown rustled as she leaned her hip against the doorframe. "It sounds dreadful to me."

  Josie sighed and raked her fingers through her hair again. "Well, Miss Wheeler, it ain't exactly easy for someone like me to put down roots. I don't have the money for property, and I ain't got any real skills. I can't even sew a button." She didn't consider herself much of a talker, either—Dahlia was the person she'd most spoken to in a long time. "I know I ain't a proper lady, and I don't plan on turnin' into one."

  "I run a saloon and whorehouse, Miss Josie. I'm not exactly a proper lady, either," Dahlia said, laughing softly.

  "True enough, Miss Wheeler," Josie said, bringing a hand up to her mouth to cover a yawn. "Excuse me. What time is it?"

  "When I last looked at a clock, it was nearly two a.m. Fair time for me to turn in." Dahlia yawned herself, hiding it by turning her head. "Good night, Miss Josie."

  "Good night, Miss Wheeler," Josie said, lying down again and watching her walk through the door.

  Just before she was about to close the door, she paused and turned around. "Goodness, I nearly forgot. I wanted to ask if you'd had any fortune with your hunt for work."

  "Not yet," Josie said. "I suppose I'll look again tomorrow."

  "What about the other thing you were here to do?"

  Josie pulled her own hair and exhaled heavily. She sure wasn't doing much to settle that matter, either. "Suppose I need to be working on that, too."

  "I wish you luck on both matters," Dahlia said, and gave another one of her smiles before closing the door. On the other side, she could be heard quietly singing:

  I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair

  Borne like a vapor, on the summer's air

  I see her tripping where the bright streams play

  Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.

  Rolled over onto her side, Josie stared into the darkness, listening to Dahlia until her voice faded away. Needing to find work was a burden, but she was as poor as a church mouse, and wouldn't be able to afford to leave when she was done. It would have to be work first, and then what she'd come for.

  Chapter Seven

  When Josie washed her face and went downstairs for breakfast the next morning, she cursed silently to see that Sheriff Wyatt was sitting at the table with Dahlia. She got her own sausages, biscuits, and gravy from Henry, taking a cup of coffee as well. While she planned to sit by herself, she couldn't refuse when Dahlia waved her over.

 
"Good morning, Miss Josie," she said cheerfully. She was dressed in a dark purple gown today, the same pearl choker at her throat. Her own breakfast plate was empty, and Bit was to her other side, methodically cutting her sausages into tiny pieces. "I do hope you slept well."

  "Yes, ma'am, I certainly did," Josie said, setting down her plate and cup before removing her hat and seating herself. "Morning, Sheriff."

  "Morning, Miss Josie," he replied, then paused to take a drink of his own coffee. "Glad to see you awake."

  "That a fact?" she asked, cautiously. She hadn't seen Slink again, and didn't lay a finger on Mr. Foster last night. "I don't recall breakin' any laws."

  "I haven't heard of you breakin' any, either. 'Cept for still wearing trousers. After we parted yesterday, I recalled that you said you were lookin' for work. Well, the Chinamen own the coffin-making and undertaker business here in town, a father and son, and it just so happens that that son broke his arm a few days ago. I asked the undertaker if he could use another set of hands, and he said he could. You might wanna head down that way and talk to him, long as you don't mind working with a Chinaman."

  "Mighty kind of you to ask for me," Josie said, still cautious. She didn't trust the sudden generosity.

  Wayland put down his coffee cup; it was nearly empty. "Well, Miss Josie, truth be told, I owed Miss Wheeler a favor, and she asked me about work for you."

  Josie was so surprised that she nearly dropped her fork and looked at Dahlia. She merely smiled in return. "Well, I surely do appreciate it. Where do I find the undertaker?"

  "If you saw the church on your way in, he's next door," Wayland said. "He knows you're coming."

  "I'll surely do that after breakfast. Thank you, Sheriff," Josie said, turning to her own coffee.

  Wayland stood, adjusting his belt as he did so. "Well, Miss Wheeler, thank you for the coffee. I take it that we're square now?"

  "We most certainly are," Dahlia said. She smiled at him, but turned her head to see that Bit was still cutting her sausages. "Don't play with your food. You can't get that sausage any smaller—now eat your breakfast, or you're going to be doing your chores hungry."