After all that had happened, in a strange way he felt almost disloyal to Ginny to even wonder what had become of Beth. Before, even when he hadn’t thought Ginny dead, he’d taken other women, enjoyed them without a thought for anything but the moment. But hell, he wasn’t a callow youth any longer, reckless and selfish. Maybe his grandfather’s lectures had finally sunk in, penetrated his conscience. How Concepciόn would laugh if she ever heard him say that! The fiery gypsy had been his careless mistress whenever they met, enjoying each other’s body without a thought for anything but their own pleasure. She had once told him that Ginny had changed him.
“She is a bitch, that one,” she’d added frankly, “but I understand her because I am a bitch, too. You need a strong woman, but ay di mi, she will end up killing you one day!”
A cold wind was blowing up with the promise of an early winter. It had a bite to it, sweeping down the slopes to blow tumbleweeds down the middle of the street.
He found himself at the Red Sky Saloon again; it was close to the livery stable and not that far from the hotel. Only a few men were inside, two playing a card game at a rickety table in one corner, and another nursing a drink at the bar. Tinny music plinked on the old piano, and the same ancient black man sat hunched over the keyboard, gnarled fingers picking out tunes with surprising deftness.
A couple of Mexicans sat at a table near the door, intent on a hand of poker. The barkeep looked up, his face reflecting astonishment when he recognized the newcomer.
No one said anything, not even the barkeep as Steve walked to the bar. He dug into his vest pocket and pulled out a coin, flipping it to the bar.
“Whisky.”
But the barkeep was already pouring it, a generous splash into the glass he’d just cleaned and wiped dry. It had gotten quiet. He glanced toward the piano. The old man was getting up, one hand against the top of the piano for balance. He moved away, toward the back of the saloon, steps wobbly but certain.
“He’s just taking a nap.”
Steve glanced back at the barkeep; blue eyes were wary and hard when he met the curious gaze.
Shrugging, the barkeep said, “He’s getting old, I guess. Can’t play as long as he used to.”
“That happens.” He tossed down his drink, felt it sear a path to his belly. It wasn’t the rotgut that he’d had here before, but the better stuff, smoother and not as harsh. Bert. That was the man’s name. Bert.
“Yeah,” Bert said with another shrug. He looked nervous and a bit chagrined. “If he wasn’t so damned good, I’d find me a new piano player, but ole ’Lijah’s the best around. He can play any tune you name.”
The same curtains that had swallowed Elijah fluttered, and a woman sauntered into the saloon, an overly bright smile pasted on her face. Pausing at the end of the rough wooden counter stretched between huge barrels that passed for a bar, her smile couldn’t disguise the bored, petulant look in her eyes. She was new since the last time he’d been here, younger and prettier than Lottie.
Light hair, a kind of dark blond, was crimped into curls that swept back from her forehead, and the dress she wore was gaudy purple satin trimmed in black ruching that had come loose over her breasts, as if torn by eager hands. The matching satin slippers had seen better days, with stains and rundown heels. If not for the sulky expression on her face, she could have been appealing.
One of the men at the table said something to her in a low voice, and she lifted one shoulder in a shrug that sent a thin strap of her dress sliding down.
“You still owe me for the last drink, Stan. Go on home with you before I tell your wife.”
Pulling free of the hand he’d put on her arm, she turned, and her gaze raked over the tall, lean man at the bar. Her eyes widened when she saw him, the smile growing brighter, and her expression changed.
“Well hello, stranger,” she said, coming toward him, satin skirts making a whispery sound as she walked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he didn’t reply, only sipped at his drink.
Bert leaned forward, a warning note in his voice. “Janey, better leave this one alone. You try any of your tricks with him, you’re liable to regret it.”
Close up, Steve saw that she wasn’t as young as he’d first thought. Maybe it was her hard life. A tiny web of fine lines radiated out from the corners of her eyes, and one eyelid drooped slightly, giving a lopsided appearance to her face.
“If he’s as smart as you think, Bert, I won’t need to use any tricks, now will I?” Her arch reply was directed at Steve rather than the barkeep, and he turned finally to face her.
Something in his eyes made her pause, and the smile wavered slightly. “Buy a lady a drink, handsome?”
Steve tossed a coin to the bar and pushed away.
“For the lady,” he said, and touched the brim of his hat with one finger as he turned toward the double batwing doors.
His progress was unremarked, and it wasn’t until he was outside on the wooden sidewalk that he realized he’d been half expecting trouble. A confrontation of some kind, maybe even another ambush. It was almost an anticlimax, a sense of relief mixed with disappointment that no one had shot at him or challenged him.
Taut muscles relaxed slightly, and by the time he reached the Casa Loma, he wanted nothing more than to eat a hot meal, go to bed and sleep. It was unsettling. What had he expected when he came here? An apology? A parade? He felt slightly foolish
