Victoria Bylin - The Outlaw's Return

Not once had it occurred to J.T. that Mary would be singing a hymn in a makeshift church. His mind had gone in the opposite direction. He’d imagined her finishing up a night’s work that involved more than singing. He’d been sick to think she’d fallen so low, but in the next breath he’d been relieved. No matter what Mary had done to survive, he still loved her. He wouldn’t wish her the suffering of selling herself, but he rather enjoyed the thought of riding to her rescue. He didn’t have much to offer a woman as beautiful and talented as Mary Larue, but he had plenty to give to a woman forced into prostitution. As a gunslinger, J.T. knew all about selling himself.

Mary’s voice soared to a high note of a hymn. With that glorious sound, J.T.’s hopes crashed like a bird dying in flight. What did he have to give a woman who sang in church? Not a blessed thing. He didn’t believe in God. The one time he’d cried out for mercy, the heavens had remained silent, and he had the scar to prove it.

Fancy Girl whined at his side.

“I know,” he said. “We found her, but it’s not going to work.”

Inside the saloon, Mary’s voice dipped and soared. As the hymn closed with a trembling “amen,” Fancy Girl tilted her head. He could see where the bullet had left a lightning bolt between her ears. The dog had a keen intelligence and a way of reflecting J.T.’s thoughts. When she cocked her head, he saw the question he’d just asked himself.

“She doesn’t need us, girl.”

Fancy wagged her tail. But you need her.

“I know.” He rubbed the dog’s chin. “But she’s happy now. She’s got more than I can give her.” He had a lot to offer a fallen woman, but a respectable one was beyond his reach. For all he knew, Mary could have found a husband. Did she have a baby of her own? Maybe a house with pretty curtains? J.T. didn’t know, but he knew Mary had changed. The old Mary wouldn’t have been caught dead singing a hymn. The new Mary sang the song with conviction.

If she’d been the woman he recalled, J.T. would have fought for her affection, but how could a man like him compete with God? J.T. certainly couldn’t, though he could have given the devil a run for his money. The thought offered an old and lonely consolation. If he couldn’t have Mary, why not buy a bottle of whiskey, a big one with a fancy label? Why not get drunk and sink into oblivion? J.T. fought the urge to go down that road, but he felt his grip slipping. Without Mary, he’d cleaned up his life for nothing. Finding a place to buy liquor on a Sunday morning wouldn’t be easy, but he’d seen a mercantile that probably had a stash behind the counter.

He stopped scratching Fancy Girl’s ears. “Let’s go,” he said to the dog.

She barked.

“Shhh,” J.T. cautioned. The last thing he wanted was a nosy minister poking his head over the batwing doors. He took a couple of steps down the boardwalk, but the dog didn’t budge. Instead of following him like she always did, she whined.

“I know how you feel,” he said. “But we’re not good enough for her.” A man couldn’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, and J.T. was definitely closer to a pig than fine fabric.

When the hymn ended, the minister called out, “Amen!”

Chairs shuffled and a woman called to the crowd. “We’ve got pie and coffee. Help yourselves, folks.”

J.T. had skipped breakfast, and he had a sweet tooth these days. Pie sounded good, but he had to go before the church folks started to leave. He aimed his chin across the street. “Come on, Fancy.”

The dog perked her ears and tilted her head. J.T. considered the expression a smile, mostly because she got that look when he told her stories by a campfire. He did it to amuse himself, but mostly he liked the way Fancy seemed to listen. She had that look now. She seemed pleased, even eager to go inside the saloon, as if she expected a big bowl of water, maybe even a meal of scraps.

That’s one thing J.T. could say for his dog. Fancy Girl had hope. J.T. had no such optimism. Mary had found a life better than anything he had to give. He had to leave before someone noticed him. “Come on,” he repeated firmly to his dog.

The mutt looked at him as if he were an idiot, then she walked under the batwing doors with her tail wagging.

“Traitor,” J.T. muttered.

Thoroughly annoyed, he leaned against the wall of the saloon, placing himself between the window where he’d peeked inside and seen Mary and the door that would put him directly in her line of sight. No way could he go inside, but neither could he leave his dog.

Surely a high-and-mighty minister would throw the mutt into the street. J.T. just had to wait for someone to notice her. Squinting against the sun, he leaned on the wall and crossed his arms. As soon as Fancy Girl learned her lesson, he’d throw away six months of hope. He’d find a place to buy whiskey, then he’d get his horses out of the livery and he’d leave Denver fast and forever. He’d find a tree by a stream, drink the whole bottle and push Mary Larue out of his heart forever. First, though, he had to get his dog back.

“A dog!” Mary declared. “It looks like she’s coming to church.”

“Maybe she is.” Reverend Joshua Blue crouched down and scratched the dog’s ears. The service had just ended, and the congregation was headed to the refreshment table. Mary glanced to see if her sister and brother were behaving themselves. A month ago, their arrival had turned her life upside down, and she was still reeling from the shock. Her father had been gone for years, but her mother had died just a few months ago. Gertie and Augustus had come to live with her. She spotted them both in the back of the makeshift church.

Gertie met her gaze, then heaved a sigh worthy of the actress she wanted to be. At seventeen, the girl thought she knew everything. Mary had once had the same illusion, but she’d learned some hard lessons in her own acting days. She didn’t want her sister to repeat her mistakes, but neither did she want to deny her dream.

As soon as Gertie turned eighteen, Mary planned to send her to New York to study with Maude Atkins, a theater friend who had moved back East. Mary wished she’d gone to New York, a city with classy theaters and modern stages. Instead she’d traveled west with a third-rate theater troupe. She’d made a name for herself, but she’d also been disgraced. Two years had passed since gunslinger J. T. Quinn had left her unmarried and pregnant, but she hadn’t forgotten the miscarriage or the scandal that had erupted. People in Abilene had known she and J.T. had a special friendship, and some assumed the truth—that they were lovers. When she became pregnant, she was desperate to keep the news to herself, but she miscarried just before taking the stage. The gossip about her turned into a full-blown scandal and she lost her reputation completely. When a drunken bounty hunter assumed she’d welcome his attentions, she’d shot him in self-defense. After an ugly murder trial, she’d cut all ties to Abilene and the theater.

Her friends at Swan’s Nest knew she’d killed a man, but no one in Denver knew she’d been with child. Neither did the baby’s father. She’d made her peace with God, but she had no illusions about people and gossip. She knew how it felt to endure stares and ugly talk. She cared deeply about her reputation, and she wanted to set a good example for Gertie. Her sister knew nothing about the scandal, and Mary intended to keep it that way. That’s why she was sending Gertie to New York. If the girl pursued a stage career in Denver, she’d surely meet someone who knew about Mary’s past. Someone would recognize Gertie’s last name, the gossip would start and Mary would lose her reputation for the second time.