“What happened here?” he asked.
Everyone began to talk and shout at once.
“Hold it, hold it!” Bell said. “One at a time.” He pointed to Rebecca. “Becca, did you see this?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said in a small, choked voice.
“Tell me what happened.”
Rebecca described the events in detail, then Bell looked over at Matt and Dalton.
“What’s your name, Mister?”
“Jensen. Matt Jensen.”
“I’ll be damn. I’ve heard of you, Mr. Jensen. I reckon if there was anyone who could beat Lovejoy in a fair fight, it would be you. And I’ve never heard anything that would make me think any the worse of you, so I’m inclined to believe the young lady’s report. But just to keep things on the up and up, I’d like to hold a hearing tomorrow morning. Can I have your word that you will be there?”
“I’ll be there,” Matt promised.
During the entire conversation among the deputy, the witnesses, and the man who had actually shot Frank Lovejoy, Rebecca had been aware of Tom’s eyes on her. What did she see in those eyes? Hurt? Anger? Hate? For a moment she was confused by his reaction, then in a moment of clarity she knew exactly what it was.
Frank Lovejoy had called her a whore, and being here, in this place, dressed as she was, interacting with the customers, how could it appear any other way? Rebecca’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned her face away. How could this have happened? How? She saw Dalton standing over Mo’s body, looking down at him, and saw that, like her, he was crying. And she knew at that moment that she was responsible for Mo’s death!
Oh, God help me, the thought. How did I get myself into such a mess?
“Dalton, I’m sorry about Mo,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Mo was my best friend,” Dalton said.
“I know he was, sweetheart. And, it’s my fault that he is dead. It is all my fault.”
Rebecca was sure that Dalton was going to turn on her, and he had every right to do so. But he didn’t.
“Don’t be ridiculous, it wasn’t your fault,” Dalton said. “It just—it just happened, that’s all.”
“How did you find me? How did you know I was here?”
Dalton shook his head. “I didn’t know you were here. We came here to buy a herd of special cattle, and when we came into the saloon, here you were.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “Here I am.”
“Come on, sis, we’re getting out of here,” Dalton said.
“No,” Rebecca said, shaking her head.
“Rebecca, I’m not taking no for an answer,” Dalton said, showing more maturity and strength than she had ever seen him exhibit before.
“Dalton, I ...”
“Clay and Dusty are here. So is Maria. You are coming with us,” Dalton said.
Rebecca knew that Dalton was right, and she knew, too, that more than anything she wanted to leave this place, once and for all.
She looked over at Tom again, but this time he looked away.
Clay and the others, having finished dinner, were now sitting in the lobby near the big fireplace, enjoying the warmth as they continued the conversations they had started in the dining room. Dusty is the one who saw her first.
“I’ll be damned,” Dusty said. Then, with a quick nod of his head to Maria and Sally, he apologized. “Excuse the language, ladies, but I never expected to see her here.”
“Who?” Clay asked, turning in his seat to look toward the front door. He saw Tom, Dalton, Matt, and Rebecca coming in. He was so surprised to see Rebecca that he didn’t even notice, right away, that Mo wasn’t with them.
“Rebecca!” Clay said, standing as she came toward them. The other men stood as well. That was when they noticed that Rebecca was crying. Dalton’s eyes were also red. Seeing both of them crying preempted what would normally have been a question as to what she was doing here in Dodge City.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why are you crying?”
“It’s Mo,” Rebecca replied in a choked voice.
“Mo?” Clay noticed then that Mo was not with them. “What about Mo? Where is he?”
“Mo is dead, Clay,” Tom said. “He was killed by a man named Frank Lovejoy.”
“Lovejoy? Wait, I’ve heard that name. He’s a big rancher up here, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Dusty said. “We had a run-in with him a couple of years ago, if you remember. He wasn’t going to let any Texas cows come into Dodge because of the Texas fever, even though there weren’t any cases that year.”
“It wasn’t him, it was his son,” Rebecca said.
“Well where is Lovejoy now? Has he been arrested?”
“Better than that,” Dalton said. “He’s been killed. Matt killed him.”
“Are you in trouble, Matt?” Smoke asked.
“Not exactly,” Matt replied.
“What do you mean, not exactly?”
“The sheriff does want to hold a hearing tomorrow. I promised him I would be there.”
“It’s all right,” Dalton said. “Lovejoy drew first, and everyone in the saloon saw it.”
“What happened?” Clay asked. “What I mean is, how did this fracas get started in the first place?”
“It was all my fault,” Rebecca said. “Lovejoy tried to force himself on me, Dalton pushed him away, and Lovejoy started demanding that Dalton draw his gun. When he saw what was happening, Mo came over and Lovejoy drew on him and shot him without so much as a fare-thee-well.”
“Where is Mo, now?”
“The undertaker called for him,” Tom said.
“I expect I had better get my coat on, then go down there and make the arrangements,” Clay said.
“Clay?” Rebecca said, calling to Clay as he started toward the stairs to go up to his room.
Clay stopped and turned toward her.
“I would like to go back home with you,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Clay said. “I expect your Pa is going to be real pleased about that.”
“Rebecca,” Maria said, going to her and embracing her. “Let me introduce you to a good friend.”
Maria introduced Rebecca to Sally Jensen, and then to Smoke, Falcon, and Duff.
As Dalton began to elaborate on the events of the night to Clay, Dusty, Smoke, Falcon, and Duff, Tom leaned up against the marble fireplace with his arms folded across his chest.
He watched Rebecca as she conversed easily with Maria and the others, trying to get out of his mind the thought of that beautiful body pressed up against his.
And how many others, since she came up here?
“Boss? Boss?” Doyle was in Seth Lovejoy’s bedroom, shaking him awake.
Lovejoy woke up, and startled to see Doyle in his bedroom, sat up quickly.
“What the hell? What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“Sorry, Boss, but I got some bad news for you.”
“Bad news? What kind of bad news?”
“Maybe you better come outside. We’ve got him lyin’ on your front porch.”
“You’ve got who lying on my front porch?”
“Frank, Mr. Lovejoy. He got hisself shot tonight. He’s dead.”
Still in his nightgown, Lovejoy pulled on his boots, then put on his coat and hurried out onto the front porch. Frank was lying on the porch. Someone had folded his arms across his chest.
“The undertaker wanted him, but we figured you’d rather see him first,” Doyle said.
“What happened?” Seth asked in a choked voice.
