She followed the pair out of the hotel and saw them walking briskly down the middle of the street. But they were already the length of three shops away. She’d have to yell to stop him now, which simply wasn’t done. She couldn’t bring herself to break that golden rule of etiquette. At least, not in public. Instead she hurried along the boardwalk after him.
She was almost abreast of the duo and about to ask the man in black if he was Morgan Callahan when she heard a woman shout, “Degan Grant, come back here!”
Eyes wide, Violet looked back at the hotel and saw the same woman she’d almost approached yesterday, dressed just as finely. This time she wore an outfit that was three shades of blue; even the little hat she wore, which was just like Violet’s bonnet, was blue. The pretty lady had actually walked out into the street to yell at the gunfighter. Thank goodness this wasn’t Morgan Callahan, Violet thought.
The gunfighter didn’t halt for the lady, didn’t even look back, which prompted her to yell even louder, “Degan, stop! You have to hear me out!”
He did stop then, but not for the lady. A man had stepped into the street ahead of the gunfighter and was slowly walking straight toward him. Violet didn’t need to be from the West to realize a gunfight was about to take place, especially when people quickly vacated the shops nearby and ran down the boardwalks away from the two men in the street. She knew she ought to do the same, but she was rooted to the spot, too shocked by what was happening to move.
She was close enough to hear Grant’s companion warn him, “There’s a man on the roof up ahead with a rifle pointed at you. This is an ambush.”
“I know. I’ve already spotted two others.”
“But that one is out of your range, while you’re not out of his.”
“It might not matter if I kill Jacob first. This is his fight, not theirs.”
“The better idea would be to take cover, don’t you think?” the shorter man suggested.
“You are,” Degan Grant replied. “Get back in the hotel and do it fast.”
Violet was amazed that he could talk so calmly about killing people. And the short man, or boy—she hadn’t actually seen his face—ran back to the hotel, stopping to say something to the lady, who seemed more concerned about not stepping in the horse droppings in the street than the imminent gunfight. But the lady did at that point hurry back to the hotel herself. Which was what Violet started to do, but was suddenly yanked inside the shop behind her.
“What the hell, lady!” the shopkeeper said disparagingly. “Don’t you realize what’s happening out there?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe you don’t know bullets can fly astray in fights like that? And kill innocents who aren’t involved?”
She blanched a little. “No, I wasn’t aware of that. Thank you.”
“Just get down below the window. Mine’s been broken before in fights like this. Gunfights don’t tend to happen up in this section of Butte anymore, usually only in the rowdier part of town.”
Even as he spoke, he was staring out the corner of the shop window. Violet glanced down at the dirty floor; refusing to sit on it, she took shelter behind the shopkeeper instead and peeked around his shoulder, his broad back providing good cover. Degan Grant and the man he’d called Jacob were both in view from that angle. She was surprised to see the boy in the long coat on the boardwalk, hurrying past the shop window, not staying out of harm’s way after all.
The shopkeeper hadn’t closed the door when he dragged her inside, and Degan Grant was close enough for her to hear him say to the other gunfighter, “I didn’t kill you last time because you were grieving the loss of your brother. You’ve had enough time for that grief.”
That brought a confident laugh from Jacob, but he was too far away for her to hear his reply if he made one. And then Degan Grant drew his gun and fired. Unbelievable, how fast he did that. The other man’s gun fired moments later, but his bullet must have gone astray since he was already falling to the ground as he pulled the trigger. If that bullet hit anything, it wasn’t obvious. And Jacob lay unmoving in the street now, dead or badly wounded.
Then more shots were fired farther down the street. That must be the ambush that she’d overheard the companion mention. The gunfighter had disappeared and must have gone to deal with it.
She heard more shots, followed by several minutes of silence. Finally she asked, “Is it safe for me to return to my hotel now?”
The shopkeeper turned around and gave her a long look before smiling. “Aren’t you the brave little lass. The last time a woman hid in my shop was the time the window broke, and she was in tears for a good hour after the last shot was fired, wouldn’t leave until all the bodies in the street had been carried to the undertaker.”
There was nothing brave about Violet’s reaction to the violence; she just couldn’t afford to miss Callahan and was afraid he might have arrived at the hotel while all the drama was taking place in the street. He could be there checking in right now!
“I’ll be fine,” she replied. “I’m staying at the hotel a few doors down.”
“Suit yourself, lady.”
He left the shop first—in fact, everyone along the street was leaving their cover to view the body that had been left there. There were enough people gathered around it that she couldn’t see it now, for which she was grateful. But she did notice Dr. Cantry running up the boardwalk toward the crowd, so perhaps the man wasn’t dead yet. She turned her back on the macabre scene and started back to the hotel to resume her vigil.
VIOLET BECAME A FIXTURE in the hotel lobby as the days dragged by. She began to recognize all of the hotel guests, saw them check in, saw them check out. And despite the assurances she received that she would be notified as soon as Morgan Callahan arrived, she still checked at the desk twice a day. She even politely declined the invitation she received to dine with Shawn Sullivan and his sister at his home in Butte because she was afraid to be away from the hotel for that long a time and risk missing Morgan. But, desperate to stretch her legs and get out of the hotel for a few minutes, she did actually walk past his house and found it quite impressive.
In the middle of her second week in Butte she received another telegram from her brothers, informing her that they’d stalled Mr. Perry for another month. That was a relief, though they still insisted they couldn’t join her yet. She was annoyed that they didn’t explain why, which made her assume the worst, that Daniel was in jail and they had no money to get him out, and Evan thought his marriage to that heiress was their only hope now. Which didn’t say much for their confidence in their sister’s saving them. And maybe they were right. Charles’s mine could be worthless, which would mean there was no money hidden there and she was putting herself through this hellish wait for nothing.
And then, at the end of her second week in Butte, he showed up. She’d just finished a quick lunch in the dining room and returned to the lobby when the clerk at the desk waved her over to tell her Morgan Callahan had checked in and immediately left again.
“He’s probably gone out for some fun, ma’am, like he usually does when he first arrives in town.”
“Where?”
The question embarrassed the fellow and his reply was vague. “To places you can’t follow him to. Best to wait until morning to speak with him, before he checks out again—if he’ll talk to you.”
“I’ve waited two weeks,” she reminded the man. “I can’t afford to miss him. Did you give him my note?”
“Tried to, along with all the other notes piled up here for him, but he wouldn’t take any of them.”
“Please tell me that you at least told him it’s imperative that I speak with him?”
“In so many words, I did. He didn’t appear curious, didn’t even ask why, just nodded, got his key, and left.”
His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. He was keeping something from her, she was sure of it. Even his posture seemed guilty now.