Matt Jensen, The Last Mountain Man The Eyes of Texas Read online

“I’m sorry,” Matt said. “I didn’t expect a woman at my door.” He put the pistol back into his holster.

  Annabelle suddenly realized she was staring. Earlier, she had thought that he was handsome in a rugged and unsophisticated way. But the man she saw standing before her now was an exceptionally handsome man who would be at home in any setting in Philadelphia. She actually had to take a second look before she could satisfy herself that this really was the same man.

  “Mr. Jensen?” she asked. Then, realizing that she may have sounded somewhat awestruck by him, she added to her comment. “Do you so often expect brigands that you must answer your door while armed?”

  “Well, to tell the truth, it’s just a habit that I’ve developed over time. I always figure that it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Matt replied. “And, to tell the truth, I didn’t expect you to come calling for me.”

  “Was I mistaken? We did have a dinner engagement for this evening, did we not?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m happy to say that we do. Only I figured I would probably just meet you there.”

  “Meet me where? We hadn’t made any plans beyond just having dinner.”

  “I had supposed that I would meet you at the restaurant.”

  “Which restaurant?”

  “Which one? Mr. Hawkins led me to believe that there is only one restaurant in town.”

  Annabelle laughed, the laughter reminding Matt of a bubbling stream. “Mr. Hawkins is talking about Moe’s Café, no doubt. And he is correct when he says that Moe’s is the only restaurant in town.” She held up a finger to make a point. “But we aren’t going to Moe’s Café. Shady Rest has a Merchants Association Club that is surprisingly urbane for a town this size. It has a wonderful chef, and they serve dinners that are far superior to anything Moe’s can put on the table. If it is all right with you, that’s where I thought we would eat tonight. It is a private club, but, as a merchant, I belong. You shall be my guest for the evening.”

  The woman who was now standing in Matt’s hotel room was not only beautiful; she exhibited the innocence of that breed of woman that Matt often saw, but never touched. She belonged to what he referred to as the other life. The other life consisted of hardworking, honest men who ranched or farmed, who drove wagons or stagecoaches, who clerked in stores, and worked in offices. It also consisted of the women and children who were there in support of those same hardworking, honest men.

  Matt’s referring to theirs as the other life was not a derisive sobriquet. On the contrary, they were people he admired, respected, and envied. For nearly his entire life, Matt had lived in a world that was parallel to, but not a part of, the other life. Had he not been orphaned at an early age, had things not been so drastically changed by events over which he had no control . . . he might have been one of those people, and a woman such as Annabelle might be his own. But the world in which Matt now lived was one of transience and a surprising amount of violence. And the women of this life of transience and violence were nothing like the woman who had identified herself as Annabelle O’Callahan.

  “Shall we go, Mr. Jensen? Or are you just going to stand there and look at me as if I were on display?” Annabelle asked, an easy smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Can you blame me? I’m enjoying the display,” Matt replied, matching her smile. “But give me just a moment to put out the lantern before we leave, would you? I don’t like leaving a lit lantern in an empty room.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Annabelle agreed.

  Matt walked over to the window and reached down toward the lantern. Bending down just as he did proved to be a fortuitous move, for out of the corner of his eye he saw a sudden flash of light from the livery stable just across the street. He knew he was seeing a muzzle flash, even before he heard the gun report, and he was already pulling away from the window at the precise instant a bullet crashed through the glass of the window and slammed into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

  Annabelle screamed and, quickly, Matt moved across the room to grab her and pull her to the floor with him as there was another shot on the heels of the first.

  “Oh!” Annabelle said. “What is it? What is happening?” She tried to stand, but Matt held her down.

  “No!” he commanded. “Stay down.”

  “Who is shooting at us?”

  “They aren’t shooting at us, they are shooting at me,” Matt said. “You just happen to be with me.”

  Slithering across the room on his stomach, Matt rose up and extinguished the lantern. Then, without the backlight, he raised his head up just far enough to stare into the darkness across the street. He was certain that the muzzle flash had come from the loft of the livery stable, but he was equally certain that whoever it was had left when they realized they hadn’t hit him, and no longer had a target.

  “Damn, we missed!” Carter said.

  Fletcher raised his rifle to his shoulder, but Carter pushed it down. “No sense in shooting now, he’s put the light out. We’d just be shooting in the dark.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “We go back to the Pig Palace.”

  “Don’t you think we ought to maybe get out of town? We just shot into a hotel room tryin’ to kill somebody,” Fletcher said.

  From the other side of town, they heard a couple of gunshots.

  “Did you hear that?” Carter asked. “Hell, someone shoots a gun off in this town just about ever’ fifteen minutes. What’s a couple of more gunshots?”

  “Yeah, I reckon you’re right,” Fletcher said. Fletcher started toward the ladder to go back down.

  “Wait, let’s make certain the livery man’s not down there,” Carter said. He walked over to the edge of the loft, then looked down. Not until the coast was clear did he signal for Fletcher. Going back down, they managed to exit the stable by the back way without being seen.

  By the time they returned to the Pig Palace, it was filled with noise, piano music, and laughter. Carter and Fletcher stepped up to the bar and ordered a beer each, then they found a place back in the corner.

  “You two still sittin’ back there?” Doomey asked. “Damn, you been there all night. Don’t you ever do anythin’ but sit around?”

  “Sittin’ around is hard work, and you get so tired doin’ it, that you can’t hardly do nothin’ else but sit,” Carter said, and Doomey laughed.

  “Damn,” Fletcher said, quietly. “There don’t anybody even know we was gone.”

  “Yeah, don’t say nothin’ else,” Carter said. “Let’s keep it, that way.”

  From his hotel room, Matt continued to stare out into the darkness, but he saw no activity of any kind, and decided that, without the glowing lantern providing a target, his assailant, or assailants, had probably left by now. Feeling confident enough to stand up, he looked at the two panes of glass that had been shot out.

  “Oh my,” Annabelle said from her position on the floor. “I just know that I’m getting my dress all wrinkled.”

  Matt chuckled. “If the worst thing is that you’re getting your dress wrinkled, then I guess you’re in good shape,” he said.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s right.”

  “I guess I won’t have to raise the window tonight,” he said with a little chuckle. “I’m getting plenty of air now. Shall we go to dinner?”

  “What?” Annabelle asked. “Someone tries to kill you, and all you can say is, ‘shall we go to dinner?’”

  “I’m hungry,” Matt replied. “Besides, that’s no different from you worrying about getting your dress wrinkled.”

  He held his hand down toward her to help her up. But she hesitated.

  “It’s all right. It’s safe now,” Matt said. “Whoever it was, they’re gone.”

  “How do you know they’re gone?”

  “Because when I stood in the window they didn’t take another shot at me.”

  “That seems a rather foolish way to test your theory,” Annabelle said.

  “But effective,
” Matt said. He was still holding his hand down toward her, and she took it, then got to her feet. Matt led her out into the hallway, which was illuminated by low-burning, wall-mounted, and quietly hissing gas lanterns.

  When they reached the lobby of the hotel, the clerk was standing at the front door looking out onto the dark street.

  “Mr. Jensen, Miss O’Callahan, did you hear the shooting from outside?” the clerk asked.

  Annabelle started to respond, but, with a look, Matt stopped her.

  “Yes, I thought I heard something,” Matt said. “Oh, by the way, just for your information, there are a couple of broken panes in the window to my room.”

  “I will tell Mr. Milner about it tomorrow,” the clerk said. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Matt nodded, then held the door open for Annabelle.

  “Good night, Michael,” Annabelle said as they stepped outside.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Merchants Association Club was actually on the top floor of Dupree’s Emporium. When they stepped inside, Matt was quite surprised. He had certainly been in places that were as elegant, or even more elegant before. But he didn’t expect such a place in Shady Rest.

  Inside the club, the hardwood floor glistened under a very large Axminster carpet. The carpet was lawn green with wine-colored nine-point starbursts in attractive patterns throughout. The walls were paneled with rich cherry, with carved camphor wood insets, and the chairs around the white linen-covered tables were elegantly upholstered in a green and wine bargello needlework tapestry.

  “What do you think of our club?” Annabelle asked.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “The decent citizens of the town need something like this,” Annabelle said. “Sometimes I fear our town is defined by those terrible places down on First Street.”

  “First Street?”

  Annabelle chuckled. “You’ve probably already heard it referred to as Plantation Row.”

  “Yes,” Matt agreed with a smile.

  A well-dressed waiter approached the table.

  “Would you trust me to order for us?” Annabelle asked.

  “I would appreciate it if you did order for us. After all, I presume you know the club, and the chef.”

  “Bon soir, Marcel. Nous aurons le roti de boeuf, pommes de terre cuites, les asperges, et une bonne bourgogne, s’il vous plait.”

  “Tres bonne, Mademoiselle O’Callahan,” Marcel answered.

  “Now, I really am impressed,” Matt said. “What did you order?”

  Annabelle chuckled. “I’m showing off. I studied French in school—not Spanish, mind you, but French. So where do I wind up? In Texas, where many speak Spanish, while Marcel and I may be the only two people within a hundred miles in any direction who speak French. So we always take advantage of that when we can. I ordered roast beef, baked potato, asparagus, and a good red wine.”

  “And to think that last night I had rabbit,” Matt said.

  Annabelle laughed out loud. “Rabbit?”

  “Without salt,” Matt added.

  As they were waiting for the meal to be delivered, they were approached by a middle-aged woman who was dressed all in black, and wearing a black lace veil. When she reached the table, Matt stood.

  “Please,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Be seated, young man. I just want to say a few words to Miss O’Callahan.”

  “Mr. Jensen, this is Mrs. Pruitt,” Annabelle said. “She is—was Marshal Pruitt’s mother.”

  “Oh,” Matt said. “You have my sincerest condolences, ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Pruitt said. “And, Miss O’Callahan, I want to thank you so much for this mourning dress. What a wonderful and caring thing for you to do. And I want you to know that I will pay for it as soon as I can save the money.”

  “No, please, no,” Annabelle said, reaching out to put her hand lightly on the woman’s arm. “The dress is yours for no charge. I am only sorry that the occasion arose that required such a dress.”

  Mrs. Pruitt smiled, a wan smile. “Well, I must go. I’m not a member of the club, but the maitre d’ graciously let me in to speak with you.”

  “Won’t you stay, as my guest?” Annabelle invited.

  “Thank you, but no, I must get back home. Mr. Pruitt and I have been receiving callers all day, as you can imagine. And I must be there with him to help welcome them. But, again, I thank you.”

  Although Mrs. Pruitt had excused Matt from standing, he remained on his feet until the grieving woman left the dining room.

  “Sometimes I think the people of Shady Rest think of the many killings that go on here as little more than a stain on the reputation of our town. They don’t go beyond that, to think about the human part of it, the mothers, wives, and loved ones who are left behind,” Annabelle said.

  Matt just nodded. He made no verbal answer because he couldn’t. His life was such that he often encountered life-and-death, kill-or-be-killed situations, and he couldn’t afford such thoughts. In order to survive in his world, it was absolutely necessary that he develop a degree of detachment. Nonetheless, he could feel a sense of respect and admiration for Annabelle’s sensitivity.

  When the meal was delivered, Matt savored every bite, storing it away to be remembered at some future point when, on the trail, he would be eating jerky and drinking tepid water.

  Then, just as they were finishing their meal, they were approached by Deputy Prescott. Prescott nodded his greeting toward Annabelle, then turned to Matt.

  “Mr. Jensen, when do you expect to leave town?” he asked.

  “Why do you ask? Are you running me out?”

  “No, sir, nothin’ like that,” Deputy Prescott said. “Nothin’ like that at all. It’s just that, I’m wonderin’ if you are goin’ to be stayin’ around long enough to collect the reward.”

  “Reward? Oh, yes, for Mutt Crowley. Five hundred dollars from Las Animas County in Colorado, I believe, for escaping jail. Sure, I’ll wait around for it.”

  “No, sir, I don’t know anything about that reward,” Deputy Prescott said. “The reward I’m talkin’ about ain’t from Las Animas County, it’s from Wells Fargo.”

  “Wells Fargo? Why would Wells Fargo be paying a reward for someone who escaped from jail?”

  “That ain’t what they’re payin’ the reward for. And the reward ain’t for five hundred dollars, neither. It’s for five thousand dollars.”

  “Five thousand?” Matt said, pleasantly surprised by the amount.

  “Yes, sir, five thousand dollars. Seems Mr. Crowley and his gang stole twelve thousand five hundred dollars from a bank in Kansas, and they also kilt some people up there. I’ll contact the county sheriff tomorrow and have him send off for the reward. That is, if you’re a’ plannin’ on stayin’ aroun’ town long enough to collect it.

  “Oh, I’ll be here, all right,” Matt said.

  Deputy Prescott chuckled. “I sort of thought you might be.”

  After dinner, Matt walked Annabelle back to her apartment.

  “Thank you very much for the great dinner,” he said. “But I do hope you will let me repay you. Though I guess dinner at Moe’s is about the best I can do.”

  “Why, Mr. Jensen,” Annabelle replied with a broad smile. “Don’t you know that the best ingredient for any dinner is the company you share? I not only would be delighted to have dinner at Moe’s with you, it is something that I positively expect.”

  After Matt left, Annabelle stepped up to the front window of her upstairs bedroom and, pulling the shade aside, watched him as he walked back to the hotel. She had never given serious consideration to settling down with any man, and she could enumerate a dozen or more reasons why. Principal among those reasons was the fact that she had no wish to give up her independence and any man would insist that she do so.

  It wasn’t something she had to think about in Shady Rest anyway. There had never been any single men in town that she found interesting enough to even consider giving up her freedom. U
ntil Matt Jensen. She was glad he was not a permanent resident of Shady Rest, nor did it appear that he would soon become one.

  She watched him until he turned into the front door of the hotel; then she left the window, undressed, and went to bed. Alone. That was funny, she thought as she lay in bed, staring up into the darkness. She had been going to bed alone for her entire life, but never, until this very moment, had she thought about it that way.

  As Matt returned to the hotel, he thought of Annabelle. He found her a most fascinating woman. She was a little like a drop of morning dew. Seen from one angle, a dewdrop can turn a sunbeam into a brilliant burst of blue light. Tilt the eye just so, and the drop of dew turns into a splash of crimson, a flash of gold, or any one of the colors of the rainbow.

  This woman was like that. At first, he’d admired her cheekiness, though he’d thought she might be just a little too forward. Of course, he was also aware of her beauty. Then tonight, he’d learned that she was a woman of great sensitivities. What a brilliant spectrum of color to come from just one woman.

  Matt’s chosen lifestyle was such that there really was no room for a woman, though he certainly wasn’t without experience. A banker’s daughter in Cheyenne once thought she could make him settle down—a soiled dove in the Territories knew that she couldn’t, but she took what he offered. There had been, from time to time, women along the way, like mile posts on a journey. Was Annabelle O’Callahan such a woman? It was too early to tell.

  When Matt went to bed in his hotel room that night, he hung his holster from the headboard of the bedstead so he could get to the gun easily if he had to. He had no idea who it was that had taken a shot at him tonight, but if they tried again, he wanted to be ready for them.

  The next morning a series of loud popping noises woke Matt from the soundest sleep he had enjoyed in several days. Startled, he sat straight up in bed, slipped his pistol from the holster which hung from the bedpost, then got to his feet, ready for any intrusion.