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Lorna wasn’t so generous that she believed it had given him the right to rape her. It was merely an acceptance that a portion of the fault was hers—only a portion. There was an uneasy feeling that she had tried to transfer that small part to Benteen a moment ago by nobly sacrificing herself to his lust.
They spent most of the afternoon at one of the general stores. Lorna had only a couple of small purchases to make, but she went through the entire store with a critical eye, comparing it to her father’s store in Fort Worth. The surroundings were so familiar to her that she hated to leave. Benteen must have guessed it, because he took his time buying the supplies needed to restock the chuck wagon. Several of the customers who came in were men he knew, either cowboys who had been on previous drives with him or trail bosses like himself. He stopped to shoot the breeze with them, not hurrying to load the wagon.
That night, they dined in the hotel’s restaurant. It was a wonderful treat for Lorna to eat off a table again. Although Rusty was more than a passable cook, the monotony of the trail fare had begun to wear on her. Which made the restaurant meal taste even better. Lorna kept looking around at the other diners, hoping to see that lady again so she could point her out to Benteen, but she never did see her.
Benteen was quietly attentive, willing to indulge her idle chatter, yet keeping himself slightly aloof from her. All the conversation that she could hear going on around her was about beefs, brands, beef prices, and shipping costs. It was very noticeable when a hush fell briefly over the room.
A well-dressed man in a dark suit and vest had entered the dining room. But there was a difference. A huge revolver was strapped to his hip and a shiny badge was pinned to his vest.
“Benteen”—Lorna leaned forward to murmur to him—”do you suppose that man is Wyatt Earp?”
His passing glance made a sweep of the man. “Yes.”
“I’ve heard that when he shoots, he shoots to kill,” she murmured, remembering some of the exciting stories she’d heard about the infamous lawman. “But he only kills those who deserve it.”
“You didn’t hear that from any Texan,” Benteen said dryly. “They’ve put out a thousand-dollar bounty on his head.”
Her eyes rounded, shocked that any of her fellow Texans could do anything so cold-blooded. “I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true.” His smile was only a half a smile. “As for shooting to kill, a man hadn’t better have any other reason for drawing his gun, or he’ll be the one who’s dead.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that Lorna suddenly wondered, “Have you ever killed anyone, Benteen?”
There was a glint of humor in his eye, reminiscent of their courtship days. “None that didn’t deserve it.” He mocked her with the justification she’d used for Wyatt Earp.
Killing a man was nothing to boast about in his book. Those times he had reason to draw his gun, the men facing him had either been Indians or raiders attempting to take his herd. There hadn’t been that many occasions. It was enough to say that he was alive and there were others who weren’t.
“I’ll bet you’ve never killed anybody,” Lorna insisted, eyeing him with a doubting look.
Benteen shrugged mildly and let her comment ride.
When they had finished and left the dining room, Lorna pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders in a contented gesture. “I’m so full,” she sighed, and glanced wistfully at Benteen. “I don’t suppose we could take a short walk before going to the room?”
He was well-acquainted with the boldnes
s of a liquored-up cowboy. The dance halls, saloons, and gambling houses would be in full swing, and the bawdy houses would be open for business. The streets in Dodge City were not the place for a respectable lady to be taking an evening stroll, certainly not his wife. He shook his head. “We can step outside for some fresh air, if you like,” Benteen offered instead.
“No.” It was the walk she wanted, more than the fresh air.
With the impersonal guidance of his hand at her elbow, Benteen escorted Lorna up the stairs to their room. He unlocked the door and pushed it open for her to enter, but he didn’t follow her inside.
“A couple of the boys are coming into town tonight,” he said. “I want to make sure they stay out of trouble so I won’t have to be bailing them out of the hoosegow.” He made light of the possibility. “After you lock the door, take the key out. I’ll get another one from the desk to let myself in.”
Although Lorna couldn’t say it, she was relieved he wasn’t going directly to bed with her. Then she realized he was making an excuse, saving them both the tension.
“All right,” she agreed to his suggestion.
“Sleep well,” he said.
After she had closed the door, she turned the key and removed it from the lock. In the hallway, Benteen listened to the sound and felt the trembling urge to beat the door down. He reached into his pocket for the makings of a cigarette instead. His hand shook as he rolled it, spilling tobacco onto the floor. Finally he wadded the whole thing up—paper, tobacco, and all—and tossed it aside to stride down the hall.
After lying awake for a long time, Lorna finally fell asleep. She didn’t hear Benteen come into the room in the wee hours of the morning. Half-drunk, he stared at her sleeping face.
“Don’t leave me.” His voice was half-slurred.
He undressed in the dark and crawled into bed. He passed out almost immediately, the alcohol working its magic to deaden his sexual drive.
When Lorna woke up the next morning, Benteen was gone. Only the rumpled pillow next to hers told her that he had slept there last night. She rose and dressed hurriedly, not certain when he might come back.
