She turned and hurried up the stairs, and Jake watched Clarence, who was apparently not so well-liked. No one made a move to help him as he bent over, crying and choking.
“Clean up that stinkin’ mess, Clarence,” the man behind the bar shouted. “If you’re gonna puke again, do it outside.”
Clarence got up and ran out the back door, and the bartender offered Jake another whiskey. “Don’t worry about anybody believin’ that kid,” he told him. “He’s been hangin’ around here puttin’ on airs about bein’ a big man. He talks big, but we all know he ain’t nothin’.”
Jake took the whiskey, figuring he needed one more to deal with the torrent of emotions churning inside him. He had to tell poor Randy that her brother was dead. They had come to this hellhole for nothing. Now she would have to have her baby here, and he wasn’t sure he could be a decent father. Now this thing with Clarence Gaylord. The stupid kid was only eighteen, but he had hurt him bad. Was he wrong to do that? Visions of his own father lighting into him brought knots to his stomach.
Mellie came back down the stairs wearing a woolen coat. She walked up to the man behind the bar. “I have to go talk to this man’s wife, Toby, about her brother. I knew him. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” She looked up at Jake. “Let’s go.”
Jake followed her out, and the rest of the men returned to their cardplaying. At nearly every table the conversation was about the man with the guns who called himself Jake Turner. None had ever seen anyone draw so fast. A few glanced at Clarence when he came back in holding a handkerchief to his nose, tears on his pale face. He carried a few rags and used them to clean up his vomit, still shaking from thinking Jake Turner would blow his head off.
The way he was raised, Clarence never knew a man could hate so much. He felt humiliated, felt like a fool, and it was all because of that sonofabitch Miranda Hayes had married. Indirectly, the bitch had brought him down again, embarrassed him again. If he could ever find a way to get back at her and that big bastard she married, he’d find it! He hated both of them so bad it made him feel sick again, and he ran back outside to throw up for the third time.
Fourteen
Jake closed the doors to the tidy parlor of Mrs. Anderson’s boardinghouse. He liked this place. It was the nicest home he’d ever lived in, and he hoped he could make as nice a place for Randy someday. Lace curtains and braided rugs and lovely plants decorated the room, a warm fire crackling in the fireplace. He was not used to living like this, but it was something he wouldn’t mind getting used to. Then again, maybe he wasn’t meant to live this way. Maybe it was too late for a man who had lived in shacks and above saloons all his life. It all depended on Randy and if she still wanted him. He’d hurt her badly this morning, and he saw how she watched him now, knew what she must think of him bringing someone like Mellie here. She probably thought he’d been with the woman. Mellie had changed into a simpler dress, but the paint on her face and the dangly earrings readily told what she really was.
“I asked Mrs. Anderson to let us be alone in here,” he said, turning to Randy.
She looked from Jake to the woman he had introduced as Mellie. Was he trying to throw this in her face to make her hate him more so she would leave him? Jealousy raged in her soul. How dare another woman touch her Jake!
“This isn’t what you think, Randy,” Jake spoke up quickly. He came over to kneel in front of her. “I brought Mellie here because she knew your brother. I’ve been asking all over town all day long, and I finally found somebody who can settle things for us.” He took her hand but she pulled it away, glaring at Mellie.
“You know my brother? Why isn’t he here? Does he make a habit of hanging out with women like you?”
Jake grasped her arms. “Randy, don’t insult her. She was a good friend to Wes. I brought her here in case you had any questions I might not think to ask. Randy, look at me.”
She met his eyes, her heart quickening at the sorrow there.
“I’m damn sorry about this morning. We have a lot to talk about, but right now—” He sighed deeply. “Wes is dead, Randy. He was killed in a mining accident almost a year ago.”
Miranda just stared at him, the words roaring in her ears. That couldn’t be! Wes was her last living kin. “Do you have proof?”
“I’m your proof,” Mellie spoke up.
“Why should I believe you?”
Mellie stepped closer. “Honey, I’ve got no reason to lie about it. Wes and I were good friends. Some of the other men knew it. When he was killed in an explosion, they brought his body to town. I saw it with my own eyes. It was Wes. I made sure he got a nice burial. If you want, I can take you to the graveyard and show you where he’s buried. I made the undertaker put up a headstone with his name and age on it. I’m real sorry you came all the way here for nothing.”