“See you then.”
He laid the horse’s reins over a hitching post and entered the store. Hesitated over a tin of shoeblack. Who was he, after all? Was a disguise even necessary? But how could he reveal his true self to Lila? She’d already met his dark hair. He tossed it in with hardscrabble waist overalls and thick leather gloves.
He paid prices seeming fair enough, considering how high and far goods had to travel to get here. The shop door slammed shut behind him. Outside Robson’s, Leadville’s thin air quickened his breath and tightened his lungs. Good night, the icefalls of the Athabasca hadn’t been this far up.
“I think you need some sort of toddy in your gullet.”
Above him, the Colorado sky grew bluer than belief. In front of him, Doc Holliday bestowed a charming smile.
Bronx two-fingered his brim. “Doc. My pleasure. A toddy’d be fine.” He had time before work.
Idly, he reckoned he’d use a quick nip to unwind Doc’s relationship with Lila. His Southern charm would certainly attract any lady...even one married to a dead man. He lugged his parcel against his right shoulder and followed Doc Holliday up the dirt road to the Avenue.
They settled again at the Board of Trade. After a signal to the barkeep, Doc stretched out his fine boots. “Should you feel the need for an indoor job, I am a good teacher of the intricacies of the faro table. And you would not be short of customers. I have had somewhat of a distinguished career as a dealer.”
“You are no longer a dentist?” Bronx asked, casual. Recalling Lila’s remarks about Doc Holliday knowing anatomy and diseases of the mouth. It wasn’t jealousy that rippled, but pure curiosity. It wasn’t a hard rapport to consider, should one consider it. Both from southern climes—the old lady had taught Bronx about Missouri’s two sides in the War Between the States. Both well-spoken and educated...
“I am that by vocation. But here in the west, I am a gambler of much talent and good repute.”
Bronx decided it wise not to mention gun fighting.
“In truth, my dear Bronx, gambling is a respectable profession. And prior, I received distinction as a lawman in the Territory of Arizona.” Doc Holliday tossed a reckless grin. “But the, shall we say, the stigma of Frank Stillwell’s unfortunate demise sent me to the sanctuary of Colorado where extradition can’t follow me. Unless I misbehave. Truth is, Frank was already dead when he received my bullets for good measure. Wyatt was righteous in shooting the man who killed Morgan Earp.”
“But you said you shot a man. Here in Leadville. Not long ago.”
“And I was acquitted. By a jury of my peers. A pure waste of time.” A look of irritation fell across Doc’s face. “My reputation preceded me. It is quite well known that I aim for the hand or arm, so as to disarm my foe. Murder is rarely my goal. And as I repeat, I was set up. Who would urge a gunfight over a mere five dollars? Someone with a foul excuse to see me in trouble here, and sent back in chains to Arizona.” He shook his head in disgust. “In the past, a clique of gamblers working the Pacific slope of the Continental Divide did not, shall we say, see eye-to-eye with Wyatt and me. And found any excuse to annoy me.” A string of profanity exploded at the bar, and Doc shook his head in disdain. “All the excuses, my friend, never cease to end. Hence, my urgency to depart for Denver. As well, of course, as the need to rebuild my strength and ease my lungs. Have you considered accompanying me?”
“Don’t know yet. I have found a job.” Bronx started, but might as well be honest as was his recent decision. “And I...met someone.”
Doc’s eyes narrowed. “Good or bad? State Street, or respectable?”
Bronx swallowed, hard. How had he revealed such a thing? And why had such words slipped out to begin with? “Good woman,” he admitted finally, a vision of the redheaded widow flapping through his head again “Very respectable. Runs a mission, a shelter for those in need. Calls it Gethsemane.”
Doc Holliday remained quiet for a while, tickled his glass with his fingers. “Your resources so reduced you cannot afford to hire decent lodging?”
“No. I have let a room Missus Dornfeld’s boardinghouse. So has she. Miz Lila Brewster, who is good-hearted, decent, and charitable.” He grabbed his glass, and peeked at Doc over the edge, sipped. “Said she knows you.”
“Everybody in Leadville knows me, Mr. Sanderson.” But he said nothing else about Lila.
Bronx gulped curiosity along with his drink, reached in his pocket and winced. Much lighter, now, since his purchase of horse and suitable garments. Time to start earning cash, reminded himself of his true goal. Finding Tulsa. Restituting his thieveries. But Doc Holliday deserved to be his guest at least once.