Free Love in Disguise by Carol Cox Page B

and turned to see an unshaven man in a battered bowler hat stumble inside. Tears streaked the dirt on his stubbly cheeks as he clasped his hands to his chest. “Somebody shot Fatima!”

8
    E llie gasped and pressed her hands against her throat. The only sound in the room was that of the unkempt man’s ragged breath as he sent puffs of alcohol-laden fumes into the air. Ellie waved one hand in front of her nose as discreetly as she could and sent a glance from Steven Pierce to the cowboy to the storekeeper, wondering who would move first.
    To her astonishment, everyone went back to what they’d been doing as though nothing had happened, save for the cowboy, who glanced up with a mild show of interest. “Where’d they hit her this time?”
    Ellie stared, aghast. Why didn’t someone move? She had heard lurid tales of the cheapness of life in the Wild West, but could anyone really be that callous? She straightened her shoulders and raised her voice. “Has a doctor been summoned?”
    “There’s no need for that.”
    Ellie looked up at Steven Pierce, feeling a stab of disappointment that took her by surprise.
    When he spoke next, it wasn’t to her but to the inebriated man. “Take it easy, Lester. It’s just one more hole. A little dab of paint, and she’ll be fine.”
    Ellie backed away. Reminding herself to stay in character, she put her hand to her lips when what she really wanted to do was grab his shirtfront with both hands and shake the stuffing out of Steven Pierce . . . and everyone else in the store. Not a soul was paying the least bit of attention to the tragedy. What is wrong with these people?
    The cowboy took a two-bit piece from his vest pocket and tossed it to the sobbing man. “Here. Why don’t you head on over to the Last Chance and drown your sorrows?”
    Ellie pushed her glasses up on her nose and gave the handsome miner beside her a severe look. “How can you possibly dismiss an injured woman with nothing more than a wave of the hand?”
    His beguiling smile dissolved. “I apologize. I realize how that must sound to a newcomer. It’s just that Fatima isn’t . . . well, she isn’t really . . .”
    Ellie drew herself up. “Please don’t tell me it’s because she’s a foreigner.”
    His eyes widened. Then, to her astonishment, he chuckled.
    Ellie narrowed her eyes. “I fail to find anything funny about this, Mr. Pierce.”
    The smile faded from his lips, and he glanced around the store. “I’ll try to explain it to you, but it might be best if we step outside. May I escort you to wherever you’re going next?”
    Ellie nodded, too stunned to say anything more. Her first afternoon in Arizona was starting to take on the character of a dream, and a bad one at that. Mr. Pierce set the keg of nails next to the counter and called to the store owner, “I’ll be back for these later, Walter.” He tucked Ellie’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her to the door.
    Once outside, he asked, “Where exactly are we heading?”
    Ellie pointed to the right. “The corner of Charles and Second. The old—”
    “Oh, the Cooper place.”
    Ellie fought the impulse to roll her eyes. “I believe you were going to explain everyone’s inexplicable reaction to the shooting of an unfortunate woman.”
    “She isn’t a woman. Not exactly, I mean . . .” Pierce’s voice trailed off, and his face colored.
    Ellie lifted her eyebrows and spoke in a crisp tone. “Mr. Pierce, she may or may not be a lady, but surely there can’t be any question about her status as a woman.”
    Her companion rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else. “Well, she is a woman, but she’s only a painting.”
    Ellie stopped dead in the middle of the boardwalk. “Are you trying to tell me that man was sobbing his heart out about damage to a painting?” As the words sunk in, she added, “And what connection does he have to this Fatima, anyway? He hardly