Sliding his feet over the edge of the bed, Reed winced against the pain in his thigh. He drew himself purposefully to his full height and limped toward the washstand in the corner.
Two days had been shorter than he had originally anticipated when he'd made his adamant statement to Dr. Carr, but the situation forcing that decision had not changed. For all he knew, Morgan was even now preparing to leave Indian Territory. He couldn't let him get away again.
That thought foremost in his mind, Reed did not take time to assess his appearance in the washstand mirror. Instead, he poured water into the bowl, then picked up the soap and worked it into a brisk lather. He breathed deeply against the last remaining vestiges of weakness as he rubbed the lather against his face, chest, and arms, cleansing his body and his mind as he went over his plans for the days ahead. Relieved and refreshed minutes later, he wiped the excess water from his skin with slow, circular motions, rubbing broad shoulders stiffened by days of inactivity, and flexing powerful chest and arm muscles that ached for action. He felt strength rapidly returning as he reached for the razor nearby.
Standing fully dressed a short time
later,
Reed assessed his appearance at last. His dark clothing and collar in place, he saw a light-haired, hard-eyed, clean-shaven parson staring back at him. His skin was pale and his eyes were still shadowed, but he stood with apparent ease, with no hint of the pain that throbbed dully in his thigh, or of the lingering fatigue that lent an irritating tremor to his hand.
Satisfied, Reed picked up the carpetbag on the floor beside him. Glancing cautiously toward the door, he dug down deep into the bag, withdrew a small derringer from the lining at the bottom, and secreted it in the sling inside his boot. Ready at last, he turned toward the door.
Annoyed when his step was still a trifle unsteady, Reed softly cursed. A little fresh air was all he needed, and he'd be himself again. Holding that thought in mind, he walked slowly down the staircase toward the first floor.
"Oh, no, this can't be!"
Chastity held up the faded black dress that had been her carefully selected traveling attire when she'd started out on her journey. She assessed it with true distress. She had risen early that morning, indulged herself with another bath in Sally's tub, and then made her way directly to the small laundry shack where she had left her dress to be laundered two days earlier. Standing in the ramshackle structure now, she could feel tears welling in her eyes.
Chastity turned sharply toward the bewhiskered proprietor, who stared at her coldly. Unable to restrain her accusing tone, she rasped, "What happened to this dress? It's at least two sizes smaller than it was when I brought it in, and the color… there isn't any!"
"I didn't do nothin' to it!
My girls washed and ironed it, like you wanted."
"But… but…"
"They wash all the clothes that come in here the same way. They don't
treat none of them no
different than any other. Alkali soap gets everythin' clean.''
Alkali soap?"
Chastity shook her head, incredulous.
"And boilin' water.
There ain't no
dirt in this country that my girls can't boil out."
"Boil out…" Chastity felt herself go limp. Aware that further protest was useless, she replied, "All right. Keep the dress. Maybe you know somebody who can use it."
"There ain't
nobody
in mournin' in this town that I know of.
"In mourning?"
"Don't know
nobody
who'd wear a dress like that if they wasn't." He paused to consider that statement. "Maybe old Ma Gillis might be able to use it, though. She ain't got much, and she ain't too particular what she looks like."
Chastity's lips twitched in a weak smile.
"Fine."
The old man's expression tightened when Chastity started to turn away. "Wait a minute, there! Who's goin' to pay for the launderin'?"
"Pay for the laundering? My dress is ruined and you want me to pay?"
The old man bit down hard on toothless gums. Squinting in her direction, he spat, "Look lady, I don't know how they handle things where you come from back East, but out here, we pay what we owe, or we pay the price, if you get what I mean."
Aghast, Chastity stared at the small rooster of a man. "Sir, are you threatening me?"
"No, I ain't. I'm just tellin' you what's goin' to happen if I don't get what's owed me!"
…
barbaric
country
…
Chastity forced back the persistent echo of Aunt Penelope's voice as she slapped a coin down on the counter and left the glowering old man behind her.
Emerging onto the street, Chastity glanced toward the mercantile store at the far end. She picked unconsciously at the skirt of the pale blue cotton dress she wore. She should never have trusted the delicate fabric of her traveling dress to the hands of frontier laundresses. She should have known better.
Chastity inwardly groaned. What was she going to do now? Reed had recuperated rapidly during the past two days. It was almost as if he had
willed
himself better, so swift had been the improvement in his condition. Whatever the cause of his remarkable recovery, she was certain they would start out soon on the journey into Indian Territory a journey to which she had committed herself in a weak, sympathetic moment.
Chastity breathed a frustrated sigh. This wild, undisciplined country had affected her in ways she had not anticipated. She had never considered herself an emotional person and had always believed her decisions were based on logic, but she had been subjected to too many of those weak, sympathetic lapses since meeting the Reverend Reed Farrell. She had finally determined, during the silence of the previous night, that however great his need was in the future, she would not allow her own objectives to be relegated to secondary importance again. And if the realization had also nudged her that she was far too susceptible to the intensity of the blue-eyed gaze dwelling on her with increasing frequency of late, she had chosen to ignore it.
A sudden warm gust raised her skirt, interrupting Chastity's thoughts and returning her mind to her quandary. The fact remained that she could not undertake a journey of a few weeks without a change of clothing. She had no choice.
Chastity started up the street.
Reed walked slowly along the boardwalk. The sun felt warm on his shoulders and the pleasant breeze felt fresh on his face, but his mind was far from the balmy weather of mid-morning. He made a positive effort to ignore the twinging in his thigh as he continued toward the telegraph office at the end of the street. His keen observance of the street and the attitude of those he encountered
was
belied by his casual manner as he tipped his hat politely at a passing matron. He had been making his way systematically through town for almost an hour, and he was pleased with what he had seen so far.
At Sedalia's finest and only restaurant, he had been greeted warmly with inquiries as to his health. Casual questions had followed about the Indian mission, to which he had responded vaguely and to the apparent satisfaction of all. Next had
come
a visit to the post office, where he had again been immediately recognized as the injured parson on his way to Indian Territory. Covert inquiries had confirmed Jenkins's story that men meeting the descriptions of Morgan and two of his cohorts had been in town for more than a week.
He had deliberately avoided the sheriff's office, where he feared inquiries might raise suspicion and he might be recognized. He had learned the hard way that bounty hunters were not popular with lawmen and were unlikely to get their support. He had decided instead to make his way casually toward the telegraph office, where a few carefully posed questions might net him some answers he was seeking.
"Good mornin', Reverend!"
His thoughts interrupted by the warm greeting of a balding, muscular fellow nearby, Reed responded, "Good morning, sir."
"My name's Archie Willard." The fellow extended his hand. "I'm the town blacksmith, and I'm glad to see that you're feelin' better. I admire a man who's not afraid to take a hard road like the one you're goin' to be takin'. If I can do anythin' for you, you just let me know, you hear?"
Accepting the fellow's hand with a firm shake, Reed replied, "Thank you, sir."
Continuing on down the walk, Reed inwardly smiled. He had no doubt where the town had obtained its information about his injury
and
his destination. Sally knew everybody and everybody knew her. By the time he reached Indian Territory, his entry there would be old news and no one would give him a second thought.
Thank you, Sally.
Reed momentarily paused. Speak of the devil… Sally was standing in front of the saloon a few yards ahead. A buxom blond was standing beside her. One quick sweep of the younger woman's painted features and tight gold dress was sufficient. Pretty, experienced,
and willing
…
It occurred to him that it had been a long time since he had spent some time with a woman. He knew the danger in extended abstinence. Physical need was a complication that he preferred not to face during the long days and nights he would soon be spending in Indian Territory with a red-haired young woman who put too much faith in the restrictions of a parson's collar. He had already spent too many uncomfortable hours during the last two nights with the scent of roses plaguing him.
He considered the thought further. He had a few hours yet before he would be leaving Sedalia…
"He sure is a good-lookin' man, ain't he?"
Observing Reed's slow progress along the street, Sally turned with a wink toward the brassy blond woman beside her. Opal Carter was young and one of the most sought-after girls at the Roundup. Opal put her in mind of herself years ago, when she was young and carefree and enjoying life as best she could. She liked Opal. She had even tried converting Opal at one time. That effort had failed, but it hadn't affected their friendship, and she was glad of it. She had every intention of trying to convert her again in a few years, when Opal would most likely have grown more jaded, but until then…
"He sure is." Opal's response to Sally's comment was deep and sultry. "Them fire-and-brimstone types usually ain't my cup of tea, but I wouldn't mind havin' that fella try convertin' me. As a matter of fact, I just might consider it for a while if it suits my purpose."
"You might just as well try to scratch your ear with your elbow, honey." Sally gave a short laugh. "That woman of his ain't lackin' in nothin'. And I should know, since I've seen her in the altogether more times than he has in the past few days."
Opal raised her well-tended brows and Sally laughed again. "That woman's got a fondness for my bathtub, and all I can say is, however close he came to losin' his leg, he's still a mighty lucky man."
"Lookin' at him, I'd say his wife's lucky, too."
Sally's expression grew thoughtful.
"Yeah… maybe.
But maybe not as much as you think.
There's somethin' about that man behind them bright blue eyes, and underneath all that hard muscle and it ain't necessarily good."
"Meanin'?"
"Meanin' I have a feelin' that there's a side of him that ain't too pretty. Despite that collar he wears, he's as hard and tough as they come."
Opal gave a husky growl. "That's just the way I like them."
"I'm tellin' you, you're wastin' your time even thinkin' about it for a minute. There's a look in his eyes when he looks at that woman of his…" She paused. "I can't put my finger on it, but
ain't never
seen a man look at his wife like that before."
"Sally, as far as a man's concerned, the grass is always greener."
"They're goin' to be leavin' Sedalia as soon as he's fit, anyway."
Opal winked. "I only need a few hours, honey."
Sally gave a low snort. "Here he is now. Just wait and see."
"Good morning, Sally."
Sally paused in response to the reverend's greeting as he stopped beside them. He towered over her, and she suddenly realized that she had never been this close to him when he was standing up. An appreciative quiver moved down her spine. She'd be damned if he wasn't all man and muscle, despite his collar. His lips stretched wide over his fine, white teeth when he looked at Opal, and Sally realized she'd never seen him smile before, either. The glow in those bright blue eyes as he assessed Opal's obvious attributes made it even clearer that his thoughts were originating from a part of his body far removed from his brain.