Chapter 3

Kitty smiled a thank you to the waiter as he refilled her coffee for the third time. The little restaurant was busy now, and she was glad they'd risen early. She shook her head in amusement at the big cowboy sitting next to her, still gulping down his steak and eggs. Some things never changed. "Matt, if you don't hurry up we're going to miss our stage."

"That stage doesn't leave for another two hours, Kitty. Besides, I'm gonna miss this food when we're back eating at Delmonico's every day." He winked at her. "I have to eat to keep my strength up, I worked up quite an appetite this morning, you know."

"Oh, I know." She said, with a wink of her own.

He grinned at her. "You're not getting tired of me, are you?'

"Marshal Dillon, I don't get you to myself enough to ever get tired of you."

"Well good, because—"

"Marshal Dillon?" He was interrupted by a shy looking young man of about sixteen who glanced apologetically at Kitty. "Excuse me, ma'am. Marshal, I have a telegram for you." The boy handed a small envelope to him, and waited nervously for the reply.

Matt frowned as he read the contents and stuffed the telegram into his breast pocket. "Thanks, son. Tell them I'll be on my way directly." He handed the boy a dime for his trouble, and looked down at his coffee.

Kitty Russell sighed. Yep, some things never changed. Well, at least they'd had a week—a week all to themselves. "What is it, Matt?"

"You know that gang I was trailing a few weeks back?"

She nodded, confused. "I thought Jack Heelin died, Matt."

"Well he did. But they caught two of the others, including Heelin's younger brother, Will. I have to go to Wichita to testify. By golly, Kitty, I'm sorry."

"Well, I almost won, Matt." She smiled. "At least you're running off at the end of a vacation, instead of before we even get started. Next time, I may even get you for the ride home."

"Kitty, listen," he said, taking her hand in his, "why don't you come to Wichita with me? The trial won't take more'n a couple of days, and you could visit with the Latham's while we're there."

As tempting as it was, she shook her head. "It sounds nice, Matt, but I'd better be getting back to Dodge. Sam's probably ready to lose his mind, me leaving him by himself this time of year. I'm sure he'll be in need of some time off himself by now."

He took one last bite, finishing off his breakfast. "We'd better get down to the depot so I can change my ticket." He stood and took her arm as they left the restaurant. "Topeka was nice while it lasted."

Her eyes twinkled as she smiled up at him, "It sure was, Cowboy."

Kitty waved from the window as the stage lurched forward, still tasting his goodbye on her lips. That trial had better not last too long, she thought, as she leaned back against the seat, trying to adjust to the hard jolts as the team quickened their pace.

The big man stretched his cramped legs as much as the distance between the seats would allow without disturbing the pretty passenger opposite him. She was a beauty; he'd give her that. Reddest hair and bluest eyes he'd ever seen—and a figure that caused him to forgive her for interrupting his napping when a wheel had hit a hole in the road and she had cried out in surprise. A fine looking woman. He smiled at her as he laid his hat next to him, glad that there were only two passengers this leg of the trip. This was going to be more pleasant than previously anticipated.

"Stage is a helluva way to travel, hard on a man's bones. You goin' far, ma'am?"

"Dodge City."

"Woman like you, goin' to Dodge alone? That's a mighty rough town, from what I hear."

"Well, I'm not exactly alone. I live there. And you're right, it is rougher than most. Not too many dull days."

Not exactly alone. Didn't say whether she was married or not. He bet not. This was going to be an interesting trip. While she took in the scenery outside the window, he took in the sights inside the coach. An admirable sight; the deep green of her dress, contrasting sharply with the milky white of her skin, red curls piled high under a matching hat with a white plume. She sat straight and tall, angled in such a way he could easily watch the line of her breast rise and fall as she breathed. She caught him staring at her and to his surprise she didn't blush. She just pretended she hadn't noticed and looked back out the window.

"Looks like a storm's blowing in," she said out loud, more to herself than to him.

He glanced out the window opposite him. Big, black clouds were gathering in thick heavy stacks low in the horizon. "Looks like a nasty one at that." He reached over and closed the burlap flap down over his window as if to emphasize his statement. Tiny whirlwinds of dust were sweeping over the prairie. Kitty fastened her shade down just as a clap of thunder rumbled ominously overhead. "It's a long way to Dodge; longer if the road gets drowned. Next stop can't be too many miles, I'm thinkin."

Rain fell in steady drops that quickened into sheets, beating against the roof like a constant volley of bullets. Kitty scooted to the center of the seat to avoid the stray drops blowing in from under the shades. She cast a wistful glance upward, hoping her luggage would stay dry. She was glad she had used the hard case instead of her large carpetbag.

With a practiced eye she studied the man across from her. He was a big man—almost as big as Matt, though she'd never seen him standing up. He had a rugged face: a large square jaw and firm chin framed by dark, wavy hair that curled a bit at the peak of his forehead. A handsome face, but weathered enough that it made it hard to guess his age. Mid-thirties, maybe. She was drawn to his eyes; a steely bluish grey, the color of slate in the rain. They seemed hard but wistful, eyes that you could read in unguarded moments. He was dressed simply and neatly; plain breeches, pressed blue cotton shirt, black vest, black hat. Probably a rancher, Kitty thought, except for the ivory handled six-gun on his hip. Too fancy for a cowboy's gun, but his clothes weren't those of a gambler or a gunslinger. He was too clean for a drifter; he talked too much for somebody running away from trouble.

She lurched forward suddenly, barely keeping her seat as the wheels slid in the slippery muck that was the road. The stranger bent and retrieved her handbag from the floor, noting the shape of a derringer through the cloth. This woman had more surprises, and he was glad to note the absence of a ring when she took her bag from him.

"Better hang on to the seat ma'am, the road's turned to soup sure enough."

The horses had slowed to a crawling pace and they strained to pull the rig through the mud, their footing more and more precarious. Kitty heard the shout of the driver above the roar of the rain announcing that the Sand Flats relay station was directly up ahead and that they'd be boarding there until the weather let up. That meant an extra day at least, probably two, before they'd reach Dodge. Kitty wished now that she'd gone on to Wichita with her cowboy. Then she might be just as wet, but she wouldn't have to spend a wet miserable night in a strange place alone. She gave a nervous look in the darkness as the wind howled menacingly outside. They couldn't get to that stage depot too soon for her. The stranger was looking at her again, but in a more admiring way than insulting. He'd certainly helped pass the time; she'd buy him a drink when they reached Dodge, if he went that far.

"You going all the way to Dodge, mister?"

"Callan, ma'am. Troy Callan. Yes ma'am, I'm going to Dodge."

"Well, I'm Kitty Russell, and if we ever get to Dodge, I'd be pleased to buy you a drink."

"Miss Kitty, a drink sounds just fine."

A few minutes later the stage slid to a halt. "Wish that Marshal'd kept his ticket," Kitty overheard the driver saying to no one in particular, "all this money makes me nervous, 'specially with an unscheduled overnight stop."

"Don't worry, Clete, I doubt the devil himself is out in this weather."

The door opened, and the shotgun, Fred, helped her down and held her arm as she waded to the door of the station. Troy Callan lifted her trunk down for her and brought it inside.

"Figure you'll be needing your things ma'am." He went back out to help the drivers with the team.

Kitty had stopped here several times with Matt, and had stayed overnight once or twice. She brought the trunk to the far back room where female guests usually were put up for the night. She removed her dripping clothes and dried herself with a towel next to the wash stand. She was more than a little grateful to find her clothes still dry inside her trunk, and found a simple cotton dress to wear for the remainder of the afternoon. She was suddenly very tired: and cold, and more than a little hungry. And already she missed her cowboy. "I hope he's dry in Wichita," she said to the reflection in the mirror.

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. She heard Callan's voice from the hallway. "There's some coffee brewed ma'am, and a cold supper. Seems the family that runs this place is away. Their boy's here taking care of things and he ain't too much of a cook, but I'd be pleased if you'd join me for a bite."

Kitty wrapped a shawl around her chilled shoulders and opened the door. "I'm so hungry I don't care if it's burnt or frozen."

Clete and Fred were sitting at the table sipping tin cups of steaming black coffee but both men stood when she entered the kitchen, offering her a seat. Joe, the young man left in charge in his parents' absence offered her a cup and blushed when she accepted it. He was embarrassed that all he had to serve was cold ham and biscuits, but Kitty smiled her thanks and the young man blushed again, stumbling backwards and knocking a pale of water over.

Kitty pretended not to notice and took her seat. The coffee warmed her some, and the ham and biscuits tasted good.

"We're sorry about the delay, Miss Russell," Clete apologized, "but at least you'll be dry here even if you are late."

"I'm glad of that anyway. How long do you think it'll take the roads to dry up?"

"Hard to tell, ma'am, depends on how long this rain keeps up."