My Desperado

My Desperado

by

Lois Greiman

Copyright © 1994 by Lois Greiman

Dedicated to:

Mary Vigoren, a God-sent friend, who is never too busy to listen or too rational to understand.

Chapter 1

Silver Ridge, Colorado

"Dead?" Katherine bolted upright in bed, her eyes wide, her mind still dulled with sleep. "What do you mean dead?"

"Dead!" Daisy squeaked hysterically. "Dead as me shoe."

"But he can't be dead," Katherine denied, gripping the bed sheet painfully in clenched fists. "How could he be dead? He was alive when he came in!"

"Course 'e was alive," moaned Daisy, wringing her hands. "You think I'd diddle a..." She halted in mid-sentence. It wasn't nice to shock ladies like Katherine Simmons, and it certainly wasn't smart, especially since Katherine was her employer—at least for the moment. "'E was alive as you and me is," she assured. "Livelier."

"Then, did he fall?" Katherine questioned, desperately trying to make some sense of it all. This couldn't be happening. Her life had always been so serene. So wonderfully predictable. Boring even, she'd thought three weeks ago when she'd been young and foolish. Now, however, boredom seemed to be nothing less than a synonym for heavenly. She shook her head, feeling as if her brain were rattling inside her skull like dry seeds in a pod. "Was he ill?" she asked weakly.

"No. No," exclaimed Daisy impatiently. "George was always 'ealthy and raring t' go. If you take me meanin'."

"Then how... Ohhh!" Katherine deduced dizzily. Daisy was merely pulling her leg. These westerners had a strange sense of humor. The little English tart may have a heart of gold, but she couldn't quite control her penchant for practical jokes. That was all there was to it. She was merely jesting. "Don't tease me, Daisy," Katherine whispered hopefully, but the other's face was as solemn as a dirge.

"I ain't teasin' y' Miss Katherine. 'E come late, as was 'is way. And we... " Daisy shifted her gaze and pulled a face, trying to spare her new employer's sensibilities. "Well, we done it right off," she continued nervously. 'Then 'e asks me t' wake 'im four hours after midnight. Said 'e 'ad 'im some important business t' see to. George, 'e liked t' feel important," she said, wringing her hands again. "So I always fussed over 'im, 'y know. 'E was such a 'armless old gent. Drank a tad too much, 'e did. But... But I didn't mean t'... t'... Ohhh!" she wailed, grasping for Katherine's hands. "What am I gonna do? I didn't mean t'... I never thought 'e'd..." she stammered, not quite able to complete a single sentence and squeezing Katherine's fingers even harder. "'E woke up early. In a frisky mood, 'e was, and wanted to 'ave another go at it. And I didn't know. I mean I ain't never... I ain't never killed any of 'em afore!" she wailed in quiet terror. "I ain't never. But just after we finished, 'e..."

Daisy paused, eyeing Katherine's ghostly pale face in the darkness of The Watering Hole's largest bedchamber. "Y' don't look so chipper yerself there, missy."

"I'm fine." Katherine's voice sounded as if it came from the far end of a narrow tunnel. Her eyes were focused on something indiscernible, and her heavy dark braid stood out in sharp contrast against the bleached whiteness of her modest, buttoned-to-the-chin nightshift. "I'm just fine," she intoned ghostily. "We Simmons are heartier than we look."

Daisy eyed her dubiously in the darkness and sincerely hoped it was true, for Katherine Simmons looked about as hearty as a crushed leaf in a windstorm. There was little time to worry about her, however, when there was an unsightly corpse lying nose up on the next room's bed linens.

"What am I gonna do?" Daisy whispered frantically. "What if they say I murdered 'im? What if they lock me up? I'll never 'ave me own little 'ome with the picket fence. I'll never 'ave me a man to call me own. No little ones to love. Me 'ole life will a been fer nothin', just like me old pap always used to say. Ohhhh," she moaned. "They're gonna 'ang me. I know they is."

"Now don't panic!" Katherine gasped, dropping the bed sheet to grasp Daisy's wringing hands. "They're not going to hang anyone."

Daisy sobbed, her half-bared chest heaving above her hastily donned gown. "What am I gonna do? I'm too young t' die. I ain't never 'urt nobody. Least ways I ain't tried. Ohhh, Miss Katherine, I don't want t' be 'anged. It'd be so 'umiliatin'—gaspin' and swingin' and—"

"Shush!" admonished Katherine, feeling her consciousness waver and desperately grappling for lucidness. But emotional shock and lack of sleep conspired against her. Silence entered the room as her brain scrambled for sanity, then, "We'll take him outdoors."

Daisy's mouth fell open, her eyes enlarging. She mouthed a few words, which failed to be audible then gasped, "But 'e's dead!"

"I know he's dead," Katherine hissed in return. “That's why we have to get rid of him."

"But Miss Katherine. 'E's..." Daisy leaned closer, whispering furtively into the other's pale face. " 'E's bare-assed naked."

Katherine's hands fell away. Her eyes looking glazed, but Daisy's low, piteous moan returned her to reality.

"Ohhh, I'm gonna be 'anged and fer nothin' worse than givin'a man pleasure."

Katherine refocused her eyes and brain with an admirable effort. "Now quit that," she ordered. "No such thing is going to happen. We're going to..." She closed her eyes for a moment, her hands shaking like aspen leaves in a northerly wind. God save her immortal soul. "We're going to get him dressed and take him out onto the street."

"The street?" Daisy leaned close again, her eyes round.

"It'll appear as if he simply died of natural causes," Katherine whispered.

"It was natural." Daisy nodded, causing her blond, disheveled ringlets to bob against her plump bosom. "Ain't nothin' more natural than—"

Her speech stopped with Katherine's palm firmly plastered to her mouth.

"Please," Katherine whispered hoarsely. "Don't talk. Let's just do what needs doing."

In a moment the two were slinking side by side down the night-silent hall. Dusky wall flowers nodded to them from the faded paper as they crept past, holding on to each other as if they would collapse without their partner's support.

Daisy's bedroom door creaked open. The women entered with trembling timidity, clinging together like wilting vines.

A small flame flickered from an oil lamp, casting wavering light across the bed. Katherine stole a glance in that direction. The corpse was blessedly covered with a wrinkled sheet, leaving only his balding head exposed. His complexion was a pallid gray, and on his face was a smile.

Katherine snapped her frantic gaze from the corpse to Daisy, who shrugged apologetically, easily reading Katherine's thoughts.

"It was just after." Daisy nodded solemnly. "'E was feeling fine."

"God help us," Katherine whispered shakily.

"Amen," responded Daisy.

Katherine nodded jerkily toward the floor by the bed, still holding Daisy's hands in a petrified grip. 'Those must be his clothes."

"Yes, 'um."

"Daisy..."

"Yes, 'um?"

Katherine's haunted eyes lifted to the other's face, her knees going weak and her stomach flip-flopping fishily. "I can't do it. I've never... I've never..." She gulped.

Daisy scowled for a moment before comprehension dawned, and her eyes widened. "Y' ain't never seen a bloke naked afore?"

Katherine shook her head, and Daisy straightened somewhat, feeling rather maternal with her superior knowledge.

“There now, miss," she said, pulling one hand free to pat Katherine's and share her worldly wisdom. "If the truth be told, there ain't that much t' see."

That knowledge imparted, Daisy studied Katherine's face for signs of relief but realized with a scowl that her employer looked only marginally healthier than poor George himself.

"Now, now, Miss Katherine," she crooned, feeling stronger by the minute. "I'll do the dressin' of 'im. You'd best sit for a spell."

"No!" Katherine shook her head in vehement refusal. There was no way on God's green earth she would be seated in the same room with a smiling corpse. Her eyes strayed foolishly toward the bed, but she shuddered and withdrew her gaze before it reached its awful destination. "I'm fine." She drew a deep breath that rattled down her throat like an overloaded freight train. Remembering her father's words of wisdom, she swallowed hard and closed her eyes. "Adversity is good for the soul."

Daisy scowled. "It may be good for the soul, Miss Katherine," she theorized with a singular shake of her head. "But it's 'ell on the pocketbook. The mayor 'adn't even paid—"

“The mayor?" Katherine whispered, with eyes wide in shock and disbelief. "You killed the mayor?"

Daisy nodded nervously. "'E wasn't much of a mayor, but 'e tried, specially since the last sheriff run off." She shook her head, gazing kindly at the balding man. "'E was right lively in the sack."

Katherine's knees buckled, and she dropped weakly into a chair.

"Now, Miss Katherine, we ain't got much time for swoonin'. P'raps y' could gather up 'is things now and swoon later."

"Things?" Katherine lifted her head to look at Daisy. "What things?"

"George always 'ad 'im a walkin' stick and bowler 'at." Daisy turned to scoop the mayor's clothes from the floor. "But t'night 'e 'ad 'im a satchel along, too. We'd best take it out with 'im, I spect."

"I suppose," Katherine intoned weakly. Daisy was lowering the sheet, her movement quick and efficient now.

"Where're we gonna put 'im?"

"I don't know," Katherine said, then stood and left the room to think without the distraction of the naked mayor.

How had this all come about? She'd only recently learned she'd inherited The Watering Hole from her aunt and had no intention of staying. But she couldn't simply throw the girls out of work, and so she'd remained in Silver Ridge while seeking a buyer for the saloon.

Who would have thought she'd be dragging a corpse out of her establishment only three days after her arrival there? She obviously was not cut out for this line of work. She'd have to sell the place and leave town, especially now. But the bright mineral that had inspired both the community's rapid growth and its name was rumored to be running low, leaving the citizens uncertain of their futures. There were no prospective buyers for a saloon in a waning western town, and the fact that public officials were dropping dead in the place was not likely to heighten interest in Katherine's property.

If she couldn't make some kind of profit off the place, she wouldn't have sufficient funds to return east. It seemed her employees hadn't been paid in over a month, and since Aunt Dahlia's bank account was notably emaciated, Katherine had felt compelled to pay bills from her own pocket, leaving her frightfully impoverished.

"God help me!" she whispered weakly.

The West wasn't merely a bold challenge, as the little novels had said. It was wild and unpredictable and scary and...exciting. It was true. The place was exhilarating and stimulating, but she did not belong here. She belonged in the security of a Boston schoolroom. But in order for her to go home, she had to first sell the saloon, and she could hardly sell it with a smiling corpse as bedroom decoration.

Katherine drew herself straighten She'd simply have to take things one step at a time, as she'd always taught her schoolchildren. And the first step was to find a temporary resting place for poor George.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Katherine returned to Daisy's room. "Are you finished?"

"Yep." Daisy nodded, scowling at her handiwork. "'E's decent. Or decent as a man can be. Probably more so cuz 'e's dead. What now?"

"Across the street in front of the mercantile one of the steps is loose," Katherine explained. "We'll leave him there. It will look as if he fell and hit his head."

"Coo, that's a right good plan, miss. I knew you was a thinker, I did."

Katherine cautiously eyed the now dressed and grinning mayor. "How do we get him there?"

"Oh that," said Daisy with a dismissive toss of her hand. "Not a problem that. I been draggin' blokes about since me brothers got their first taste o' ale. Couldn't 'ardly leave 'em lyin' facedown in the mud, so I'd drag 'em off t' bed." Placing her fists on her hips, she eyed their burden. "Course, they weren't so 'eavy like. But..." She shrugged as if she was considering nothing more serious than an overloaded sack of flour. "You take his feet. I'll take the other end."

They did just that, lugging poor George from the bed to plop him to the floor. Already they were breathing hard. Each woman now took a booted foot as they prepared to drag their burden out of the room, but suddenly Katherine remembered his possessions.

"Right again," Daisy said, then hustled off to retrieve the good mayor's belongings. The satchel was placed on the man's chest, the hat crammed onto Daisy's own riotous curls, but the cane was an ungainly nuisance. She grappled with it for a moment then finally bent to thrust the thing beneath the waistband of the man's baggy trousers. It skimmed beneath his pant leg, settling solidly against his thigh, and Daisy gave a single nod before straightening with satisfaction.