Free Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona by Miralee Ferrell Page B

been years since he’d been surrounded by such luxury. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep on this kind of softness after the nights spent on the hard ground and narrow cots, but he sure aimed to try. He grinned. This was nice. Real nice.
    Then his smile faded, and he yanked his thoughts back from where they’d started to drift. No amount of comfort was worth returning to the life he’d led. No. He’d promised Mama years ago he’d not get into trouble. He hadn’t kept that promise in the past, but he meant to now, no matter how much his own ranch might tempt him to earn money in a way dishonorable to his family.

    Christy rushed into a room off the kitchen following the wails. Joshua had stopped at the door to the dingy bedroom and stared at their mother, who’d flung herself across the narrow bed shoved up against the wall. Christy urged him into the room with her eyes, but he drew away. She turned her back on him and walked to the bed, sinking down beside her prostrate mother. “Ma, it’s Christy. I got Joshua’s telegram asking me to come, and I just arrived. What’s wrong?”
    Her mother didn’t appear to take notice of her question but lay facedown, groaning and weeping. Dark red hair now peppered with gray had come loose from the knot at the back of her head. Christy could only see the side of her mother’s face, but she winced at the deeply etched lines on her cheeks and forehead. How could she have aged in such a short time?
    Suddenly the weeping changed to a deep cough. Christy stared at her ma, then over at Josh, who’d straightened from his stance against the doorframe. Fear and desperation chased across his countenance, and he backed away. “Joshua, come help me.” Christy lifted her hand and waved him forward, but he continued his slow exodus. “I said, come help me. I need to know what’s wrong.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t want to catch it.”
    “Catch what?”
    “Consumption. I won’t touch her.”
    Christy gasped and took a step back, then shame washed over her. Her mother’s cough racked her body, interspersed with her sobs. She lifted her hand to her mouth and the paper she’d been clutching drifted to the floor. Christy bent over and retrieved it, certain the telegram must have brought on her mother’s weeping. She smoothed out the creases and stepped closer to the tiny window set high in the wall. By its trickle of light she read:
    Logan gunned down in Albuquerque. Stop. Man named King done it. Stop. Send money for burial. Stop. Cousin Jake
    “What is it?” Joshua peered in through the open door. “What’s it say?”
    “It’s Logan.”
    “Pa? What about him?” The fear was evident in Joshua’s expression.
    “He’s been shot.”
    “How bad is he hurt?”
    She raised eyes swimming in tears to meet her brother’s. She herself felt no love or sorrow for the dead man, but she knew what the news would do to Joshua, and her mother’s grief was palpable. “I’m sorry. He’s dead.”
    The young man emitted a cry like a wounded animal and fled from the house. The flimsy front door slammed behind him, and Christy heard footsteps outside the window racing away. That was so like Joshua. Fight or flee, the two options he typically chose. She sighed, suddenly ashamed. She hadn’t cared for Logan Malone, but he’d been a part of Joshua’s life for several years, and her brother had grown attached to the man. Even if Joshua was nearly twenty years old, he had the right to grieve like anyone else.
    Christy turned to her mother, who still had her face buried in a pillow spotted with dirt. But the sobbing had lessened.
    “Ma?” Christy touched her gently. “Come on. Sit up, now. We need to talk.”
    Ivy Malone groaned and rolled over, her back toward Christy. “Go away. I want to be alone.”
    Christy hesitated, torn between insisting her mother get up and deal with what had happened and wanting to protect her from more pain. Ma had always been the strong one of