Doc Holliday by Matt Braun

Author:Matt Braun
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2012-04-16T16:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

CHAPTER 20

The curtains fluttered on a gentle April breeze. A noonday sun, streaming through the window, flooded the room with light. Outside, the curse of a muleskinner was followed by the sharp pop of a whip.

Holliday rolled to a sitting position at the edge of the bed. His lungs contracted and a spasm shook his thin frame. The rattling cough doubled him over, head between his knees, his sides heaving. He uncorked a bottle on the nightstand and gulped three long swallows. His labored breathing slowly eased off.

“Are you all right, sweetie?”

Kate scooted across the bed, one hand on his shoulder. Holliday took another slug of bourbon. “I’m fine,” he said hoarsely. “The picture of health.”

“You shouldn’t sleep with the window open. I keep telling you, but you won’t listen. The night air only makes it worse.”

“Spare me another of your misguided lectures. Fresh air never killed anyone yet.”

“C’mon, honey.” She rubbed his shoulder. “I was only trying to help.”

“Aside from bourbon, there is no help. You should know that by now.”

Holliday instantly regretted the rebuke. For the past six months she had shared his bed, offering only comfort. She was concerned for his welfare, evidencing no fear for herself, though consumption was known to be infectious. She had nursed him through a hard winter, warming him with her body when frigid winds whipped off the plains. Some days she was more attendant than lover.

Yet she never made demands. Unlike other girls, who expected lavish presents for their favors, she seemed content to be Doc Holliday’s woman. In January, when he’d turned twenty-six, she had reversed their roles by presenting him with a fine silk shirt. Embarrassed by the gift, he’d had to ask her age, which was twenty-three, and her birthday, which fell in June. She revealed little about herself unless prompted to talk.

Over time Holliday learned that she was originally from St. Louis. A spirited girl, orphaned at sixteen, she had become the mistress of a riverboat captain. From there, the details were sketchy; but she had somehow made her way west. With no trade, living by her wits, she had drifted into the one profession always open to women. Before Fort Griffin and the Flat, she had worked saloons at other military garrisons across Texas. She was a dance hall girl whose charms were for sale. She whored on the side.

Holliday moved to the washstand. The water in the pitcher was warm, and he gave himself a birdbath. Then, his hand steadied by bourbon, he shaved and trimmed his mustache. In the mirror, he caught Kate’s reflection as she selected a dress from the armoire. In the sunlight, her buxom figure was apparent beneath her gauzy nightgown, her shapely rump clearly defined. He smiled, watching her, thinking perhaps they might have a quick romp before breakfast. She was an eager lover, with no inhibitions whatever, and abandoned in her desires. But then, one thought intruding on another, his features darkened.

“Have fun last night?” he said caustically. “I saw you sneak off with that hide hunter.

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