Legend Read online

  Legend

  A Claire Whitcomb Western, Book 3

  Copyright © 2021 by D.V. Berkom

  Published by

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Deranged Doctor Design

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  Website: dvberkom.com

  For all the legends in my life

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by D.V. Berkom

  Chapter 1

  March 1881- Tombstone, Arizona Territory

  * * *

  Claire Whitcomb glanced out the window of her room at Fly’s Boarding House as she prepared to leave. Day and night, seven days a week, Tombstone teemed with wagons and miners and townspeople. Business and commerce waited for no one, as evidenced by the ever-present thud of the stamp mills. Even the vacant lot next to the boarding house was abuzz with wagons pulling into and out of the nearby O.K. Corral.

  At the urging of Mollie Fly and Doc Holliday, Claire moved her belongings from the Grand Hotel to the less expensive Fly’s Boarding House on Fremont Street. Claire decided she didn’t need the deluxe accommodations, now that her contract as bodyguard to the actress Isabella King had expired. Fly’s suited her and kept her in close contact with her good friend and mentor, Doc.

  Claire checked the amount of ammunition she had before donning her gun belt and viewing herself in the full-length mirror. Her long brown hair, high cheekbones, and deep green eyes contrasted with the masculine attire. In addition to her oilcloth duster, she wore a favorite pair of dungarees with the leather gun belt, a long-sleeved shirt, and leather boots to ward against the chilly March morning. She and Doc had plans to ride into the desert to see if they could scare up some quail for dinner.

  Winter in the desert hadn’t been the picnic her friend Mart Duggan assured her it would be. Even so, the cold wind whistling through the dirt streets and light dusting of snow Tombstone had experienced in recent days wasn’t as bad as winters in the mountains of Colorado.

  Still, she would have liked a bit warmer temperatures while serving as shotgun messenger for the J. D. Kinnear and Company stage. Thankfully, she didn’t have to go on that evening’s trip to Benson. She let the newly-elected Pima County sheriff, Bob Paul, take her shift while his case for election fraud made its way through the courts.

  With one last look, Claire grabbed her wide-brimmed hat, slid her six-shooter into her holster, and opened the door.

  A fist came at her from out of nowhere and Claire ducked. Unable to connect, the woman outside her door muttered a curse and tried again. Claire dodged the second blow and slammed her fist into her assailant’s jaw. The woman staggered back, momentarily stunned. Claire rushed her, knocking them both to the floor with a resounding thud. The attacker flailed, attempting to strike Claire, but Claire managed to grab her wrists and hold her still.

  “What in blazes are you trying to do, kill me?” Claire gasped, working to keep her aggressor immobile.

  “Get off,” the other woman cried as she tried to squirm out from under her. The brunette’s accent was one Claire hadn’t heard before—like a cross between German and some other exotic locale.

  “I will if you stop trying to hit me.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes and tried to wrest her hands free. Claire tightened her grip, determined to hold her still. When she realized Claire had the upper hand she sighed and went limp. Wary, Claire eased up on the pressure. Like a fish wriggling off the hook the woman resumed her attack. Claire corralled her wrists again.

  “Get. Off. Me.” Tears of frustration coursed down her attacker’s cheeks as she struggled to break free.

  “Hush,” Claire said, in a vain attempt to quiet her. “I have no idea why you’re so all fired mad at me. I don’t even know you, for Pete’s sake. Recite the charges and I’ll set you straight.”

  That pissed off the would-be assailant even more and she renewed her struggle. “I can’t do it anymore,” she wailed. “Not only do I have to contend with Wyatt stealing his affections, but now you!”

  “What? Who?” Bewildered, Claire stared at her. The only Wyatt she knew in Tombstone was Wyatt Earp—but he was a married man, and she was talking about…

  The woman squeezed her eyes shut and started to sob.

  Claire determined her foe wouldn’t be much of a threat crying so hard, so she eased off and climbed to her feet, pulling her pistol free just in case. The woman struggled to a sitting position.

  “What are you going on about?” Claire asked. Tears coursed down the woman’s cheeks. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Claire reached in her pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to her.

  The woman accepted and blew her nose. Loudly. When she offered the kerchief back, Claire shook her head.

  “Keep it.” Claire helped her to her feet and quickly put distance between them in case she tried to hit her again. “Seems only fitting that I know the name of my attacker.”

  The woman sniffed and held her head high. “Mrs. John H. Holliday.”

  Claire widened her eyes in shock. “Holliday? Doc’s wife?” The woman nodded. Claire’s spirits plunged at her confirmation. “He never told me he was married.”

  Mrs. Holliday scoffed. “He wouldn’t.” She dabbed at her eyes.

  “Why accost me? Surprising someone at their door isn’t very sporting.”

  The sound of someone hurrying down the hallway toward them heralded the appearance of a red-faced Mollie Fly, huffing from the effort. “What in tarnation’s going on?” She paused to catch her breath before adding, “Sounded like a herd of buffalo dancing the tango.”

  Claire waved at the other woman. “This gal just tried to buffalo me so I can certainly see your point.”

  Mollie Fly looked from one to the other, giving Doc’s wife a disapproving scowl. “So you’ve met the so-called ‘Mrs. Holliday,’ have you?” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Can’t say I ever thought of Doc as the marrying kind.”

  “Mr. Holliday and I have been together for many years.” Mrs. Holliday sucked in a ragged breath. All the fight appeared to have left her. “I’m quite aware of his proclivities.”

  “I’ve known him since last fall,” Claire said, “and he’s never so much as mentioned you.”

  The wounded look on her face gave Claire pause. She glanced at Mollie, who shrugged.

  “I run a boarding house in the town of Globe,” Mrs. Holliday explained. “I have traveled to Tombstone several times.” She nodded at the door to Doc’s room. “I stay with him when I am here.” She gave Claire an appraising look. “You don’t seem his type.”

  “His—wait a minute. We’re not—” Claire scrambled to refute the implication. But in a sense, Doc’s wife was right—they were—or at
least they had been. Once. During the Christmas holidays, they’d both been quite drunk and Claire had thrown caution to the wind. For whatever reason the relationship became awkward, and they both agreed to remain friends instead of lovers. Claire’s cheeks grew warm with shame. You didn’t know he had a wife, Claire. A flicker of anger shoved away her embarrassment. Good thing Doc wasn’t there—especially since she was wearing a gun.

  Mrs. Holliday studied her. “It’s obvious he never told you of me. I am inclined to let bygones be bygones.” She squared her shoulders, all trace of tears gone. “Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me where he is?”

  “Have you tried the Alhambra?” Claire wasn’t about to let Doc’s wife get to him first. She preferred to talk to him before he could formulate some kind of story to cover his lies. “I’m Claire Whitcomb.” She held out her hand.

  Mrs. Holliday clasped hers with a firm grip. “Kate Holliday, neé Elder.”

  “You’re Big Nose Kate?” Claire exclaimed. Mollie chuckled. Wyatt had mentioned a Kate Elder by the derogatory nickname on a couple of occasions, citing Kate’s meddlesome ways. But he’d never so much as hinted that Doc was married to her. Neither had Doc.

  Kate grimaced. “I see you have spent time in the unpleasant company of Wyatt Earp.”

  “Hold on a minute there,” Mollie warned. “I’ll thank you to keep whatever problem you have with the Earps to yourself. Their family’s been nothing but helpful to my husband and me.”

  “Wyatt Earp is the devil.” Kate spat and glared at Mollie.

  Claire shook her head in bewilderment. “I can’t imagine why you’d have it in for Wyatt, but I’ve got errands to run.” She put on her hat and nodded to both women as she passed, glad she didn’t have to stay and explain herself further to Doc’s wife. “We’re fine here, right?” She looked pointedly at Kate.

  “Yes. We’re fine.” Doc’s wife nodded.

  “Good.” Claire continued down the steps, determined to find Doc and give him hell.

  Chapter 2

  Claire picked up the dead quail and stuffed it into the bag with the others. She and Doc had shot enough of the birds for a good-sized dinner that evening. She hadn’t brought up Kate’s appearance yet, waiting for the right time to broach the subject. Doc had an unpredictable temper and could fly into a rage at the smallest provocation. True, he had reason to be angry—suffering from consumption, especially at his age, would cause anyone to be ornery—but that didn’t make confronting him any easier. Claire took solace in the small mercy that he didn’t appear to be drunk and was low on ammunition. Besides, her anger had cooled and she was in a more charitable mood.

  Doc waited on his rented horse as she climbed back into her saddle. Her horse, Rose, didn’t appear to mind the arid terrain and had proved a champion when it came to packing through the desert. Even through the extremes in temperatures she’d been a calm and steadfast companion. Claire gave the chestnut mare a loving pat on the neck. They’d been through a lot together.

  “Miss Claire, I do believe something’s weighing on your mind,” Doc remarked as they rode back to town.

  Claire nodded. “There is. And I’m of a mind to tell you, but I am wary of getting into a row.”

  “Say your piece, madam. I’m happy as a lark out here with you in the vast, dry spaces. I don’t wish to argue—with you or anyone.”

  “All right.” Claire reined in Rose, and Doc did the same with his horse. “I met Big Nose Kate this morning.”

  Doc didn’t seem surprised. “She’s in town?”

  Claire could have sworn his eye twitched, although it could have been a trick of the light. “She ambushed me this morning at Fly’s.” She decided not to mention Kate’s attempts to strike her—it would just stir up trouble.

  Doc sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry not to have told you about her.”

  “You certainly should be. If I’d have known you were married I never would have…” Claire choked back a flash of anger. “What transpired between us would have never happened.”

  “She said we were married?” He scowled as he answered his own question. “Of course she did.” He looked at Claire, holding her gaze. “I profess to you most earnestly we are not now, nor have we ever been, formally joined in matrimony.”

  “But she said—”

  “I know what she said but I can promise you that we have never officially married, in the eyes of God or society at large.”

  “Then why tell me she had?”

  “My dear, what’s to stop her? Her establishing ownership is the move of a desperate woman.”

  “Desperate?”

  Doc nodded. “She’s been trying to lure me from Tombstone since I arrived. For obvious reasons I have resisted her efforts.”

  “If she’s so desperate, why not live here with you?”

  He gazed into the distance. “She hates Wyatt and refuses to live anywhere near him. Believes he’s a bad influence.” Doc’s laughter transformed into a coughing fit, wracking his failing body.

  “You have feelings for her.”

  Doc pulled his handkerchief free as he regained his composure. “She’s a familiar kind of devil. We’re not what I’d call two peas in a pod. I’d liken us to two scorpions in a coffee can—we will most likely end up stinging each other to death.” He wiped his mouth, then folded and put the handkerchief away. “Please believe me, Claire. I never meant to hurt you.”

  He appeared contrite. Claire studied him for a moment before she said, “I accept your apology. Now, what do you say we go back to town and deliver the birds to your friend, Nellie, before this blasted cold weather freezes them solid?”

  They continued toward town in silence, each with their own thoughts. Claire’s anger had cooled again. It was difficult to stay mad at Doc, and not only because of his frail health. He was a curious mixture of erudition and scoundrel; a man to whom guns and gambling were like air or water, yet he was possessed of a devastating southern charm and good manners. Yes, he had a bad temper—she’d seen it more than once, although never directed at her—but his sarcasm and anger hid a deeper, unfortunate reality; that of a man sentenced to a lingering, painful death through no fault of his own.

  They returned to Tombstone and Doc took the birds to Nellie Cashman’s restaurant, while Claire returned to her room. Doc’s door was partially open so she tiptoed past, not wanting to alert Big Nose Kate to her presence.

  Once inside her room she shucked off her boots, clothes, and gun belt, and rinsed the grit of the desert from her face and body at the wash basin in the corner. Finished, she sat on the bed and leaned against the headboard.

  She truly liked Doc, possibly even loved him in a friendly kind of way, and didn’t want to see him embroiled in an unhappy relationship. But he was his own man and capable of dealing with his own life. Kate Elder wasn’t Claire’s problem, she was Doc’s. Whatever happened, Claire vowed to stay out of things. Keeping Doc out of trouble would be a full-time job—and futile, if she was any judge. Riding shotgun on the stages a few times a week kept Claire busy enough.

  Claire sighed and closed her eyes, intending to take a short nap before dinner. The warmth of the room and the pounding of the stamp mills lulled her to sleep.

  She jolted awake at the sound of a woman screaming across the hall.

  “You are ruining your life, John.” Kate’s heavily accented voice reverberated through the walls of the boarding house. “This place is not good for you. You must come back with me to Globe.”

  “Be still, woman,” Doc roared. The sound of glass breaking punctuated his words.

  Pulling on her robe, Claire walked to the door and cracked it open. Mollie Fly stood motionless in the hallway listening to the row. Another loud crash emanated from behind Doc’s closed door and Mollie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Claire slipped out of her room and joined her. The fight continued its stormy intensity, both Doc and Kate hurling epithets at each other like bullets from a pistol. Claire winced at the sound
of something large hitting the floor.

  “Are they always like this?” she asked Mollie.

  Mollie pursed her lips in disapproval. “Some people thrive on contentiousness. I daresay Kate Elder is such a person.”

  “She and Doc are a combustible combination.”

  “They certainly are.” Mollie gave Claire a sideways glance. “How are you holding up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know how close you and he are.”

  The shame of someone knowing her private business warmed Claire’s cheeks. “We’re…not that close,” was all she could manage.

  “If you say so.”

  To her relief, Mollie changed the subject.

  “I swear, every time those two are together something gets broken.” Mollie paused as another loud crash reverberated from inside the room. “At least he always settles up. Although getting hold of replacements is bear.”

  Claire grew tired of listening to Doc and Kate scream at each other so she returned to her room where she changed into a blue serge dress. Her stomach growled, and she was looking forward to having dinner at Russ House, the restaurant of Doc’s friend, Nellie. She’d assumed that she and Doc would sup together, but that appeared not to be the case this evening.

  She concealed a small Smith & Wesson .38 double-action revolver in her specially made skirt pocket, picked up her reticule, and checked herself once more in the mirror before opening the door. The empty hallway told Claire that Mollie Fly had grown weary of the dramatics coming from Doc’s room as well. Claire stepped into the hall as the door to Doc’s room flew open and Kate Elder ran out. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and a smear of blood stained her lower lip.