Part 46 (1/2)

He didn't subscribe to any of the nonsense talk about her. He certainly hadn't asked her about any of it, and he wouldn't have just made the decision to keep her outof her own room, no lesswithout consulting her. Mr. Maxim wasn't that kind of person.

So she took in a deep breath and straightened her back and waited, the only option afforded her other than simply walking out in a huff. Eventually, he had to come out, or there would be a great many hungry people waiting come supper time.

It gave her far too much time by herself, though, as the place sat empty. She could see Zella standing over by the kitchen, but every time that Marie actually looked up, she turned back in as if someone had called her back.

They certainly were avoiding her. The only question was why, and what she could do about it. If there was anything, and if there wasn't, then at least say something so she could get her things and find someplace else to stay.

Honestly. It was beginning to feel like a pattern with this town. If someone would simply talk to her, maybe some of their problems could be solved, but apparently everyone found it much easier and more convenient if they just avoided her as much as possible, pushed things off as long as they could, and then pretended that they hadn't.

She had half a mind to step right through that kitchen door and give them a piece of her mind. She stopped herself, though, in spite of her frustration. Chris had been right, even if she didn't have to like it. She was sticking her nose in where it wasn't needed, and where others had at least made the pa.s.sing attempt to keep their own noses out of her business.

Still, at some point she'd have to figure something out. Someone would have to start talking, or she was going to go mad. She had no problem being the one to start the ball rolling, if that were even possible. There was absolutely no excuse for being unwilling to do what you'd ask of someone else.

The problem was, though, that she was already doing everything that she could. She kept no secretswell, no, that wasn't true at all, was it?

She had things that she didn't talk about. Things that it wouldn't have been appropriate to discuss. But sitting on the outside, anyone would see that as just being her keeping things from them, and in a certain way of looking at it, that's what she was doing. Discretion looked very much like secrecy from the outside, as she well knew.

Marie rose from her seat and took a breath. Her clothes were most of the way dry, now, and with just a little bit of luck, they might not be soaked through by the time she got back to her hotel. At least, that was what she let herself hope.

The rain was still coming down, softer now, the last dying gasps of insistence that the rain wouldn't let up just because of some inconvenience it might have been causing people. Soon, those last attempts would die off, and the sun would start s.h.i.+ning through the clouds. It just hadn't happened quite yet, but it was as inevitable as the sun rising the next morning.

Marie allowed herself to hum a little tune as she crossed the street, a half-remembered melody that almost certainly had a more straightforward tune when she had first heard it. Someone let out a yell, off in the distance. It might have been anything, at first.

And then it was followed by a shot, and the options for what it might have been tightened up considerably. Marie's heart threatened to stop right in her chest.

It couldn't possibly have been what it sounded like. Perhaps she had heard someone startled by an animal, and they'd fired the shot for their own safety.

The idea didn't calm her down one bit, and she was off and running before she knew what she was doing. That wasn't the sound of someone being spooked and then shooting a snake, she knew.

Someone was hurt, and they were hurt bad, and if she didn't do anything then she'd have no right to complain about anyone else, either. Now she just had to hope she got there in time.

Thirty.

Chris's mood hadn't improved. He didn't expect it to, but he had hoped in spite of himself. No such luck, it would seem. He took in a deep breath and rubbed a little more.

n.o.body would see the stain. In all likelihood, few people would have seen it before. That was the happy fact. But Chris would have seen it every time he looked down, and that was reason enough to clean the mess up. Now even he couldn't see it, even if he looked for it quite hard.

That should have been a small victory all by itself, but it wasn't. There were good reasons he didn't talk about his past. Very good reasons indeed. But somehow, none of them mattered enough to make him feel better about snapping at Marie, the way that she'd sulked out of the bar sticking in his mind like a bit of food stuck between his teeth.

And just like that, every few moments he would run into it again, and he'd be stuck trying to rub it clean, the same way that he'd rubbed the counter. Unlike the counter, the only way to fix it was to forget about it, but in spite of himself he couldn't.

Then the shout. It was out back, and shouts weren't unheard of. In fact, a day without any shouting was much more worthy of comment, with Sarah's girls working as much as they did, and the sort of people who see those girls being who they are.

The shot afterward, thoughthat was what pulled Chris out of his stupor. His hand went automatically to his pistol and slipped it free, and waved Jim to follow along. The broad-chested bouncer pulled himself out of the seat like a man half his size and twice as energetic. He was like a whole new person, Chris thought with a sour wryness.

He didn't wait to see how close the bouncer would follow behind him, though. He was out the door in a second and moving down the street. It didn't take long to find where the commotion had come from, because there were already people beginning to gather around.

Chris slipped his pistol back home into its holster and shouldered his way through the crowd.

”What happened here?”

Someone Chris didn't immediately recognize turned to regard him. ”He's shot,” the man said, as if it were some kind of revelation.

A young man lay on the ground, blood coming out of a hole in his belly in kicks and spurts, his eyes gla.s.sing over even as he groaned in pain, holding his hand over the wound as if his life depended on it.

If the doctor were a skilled surgeon, maybe it would have, but Chris's expectations were grim. He leaned in and pressed his own hand down on the wound. Mickey groaned in pain and then sucked in a sharp breath as if he would only have one last chance.

”What happened?”

The man blinked hard, like it was a struggle, and kept his eyes shut a second. Then he opened them again.

”I don't rightlyhe just asked me for the time, and then he shot.”

Chris cursed. ”Did you get a look at him?”

”Tall,” the guy said. ”Wore a hat. Uh. Dark eyes. Dark hair.”

He laid his head back on the ground, his eyes looking around wildly as his body finally started to realize that the jig was up and delirium started to take over.

Chris cursed again. ”You're going to be fine, Mick. Don't panic. Just give it a minute, the doc will be here any time.”

There was no chance. It had been too long already. He might be able to survive the initial shot, if they hurried. If the doc got there in the next few minutes. The odds of infection were nearly a hundred percent, though, and there wasn't much they could do at that point. Cutting out the rot would be like carving the man in half, with a wound this size and all the dirt and grit on the ground.

People started to stand back. Chris didn't bother looking up. Sheriff Roberts stood over him and the bartender kept his weight down on the wound, trying in vain to keep the blood from spilling out around his fingers.

”Help me get him up. He's got to get to a doctor.”

The Sheriff crossed to the other side wordlessly and between the two of them, they managed to get Mickey on his feet. Chris tried to take as much of the weight as he could while keeping pressure on the wound, in spite of his doubts, forcing himself to hope.

The doc wasn't far. When the doc and a nurse met them halfway with a thick stack of bandages, Chris allowed himself just a little genuine hope, in spite of the fact that Mick had pa.s.sed out from the pain and blood loss. The four of them lifted the unconscious man onto a table. With a long look back, Chris left as the doctor started calling out orders and rooting around to clean the wound out.

He settled himself into a seat and leaned his head back. The Sheriff settled into a seat opposite.

”He'll be alright,” Roberts offered. Chris let him think so. He couldn't afford to jinx it, not knowing who'd done the job.

”Yeah, the doc's good at his job.”

”What do you know about what happened?”

The question was phrased in an idle way, like he was just asking the only person in the room. Sheriff Roberts had a good way of acting, when he wanted to, like he was your bud. But it was no accident that it was Chris who he was asking.