Saving the Gunslinger

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

Timothy paced his bedroom in the hotel. Hell, he was nervous. He had never taken a woman out with the intention of simply talking and getting to know her. And that was all Tim had intentions of doing—sure, he'd laid with Eleanor before, but he had been drunk, and while he was ashamed of himself, those times hadn't meant anything to him. He hadn't truly taken the time to think about the woman he was laying with, hadn't worried about giving her pleasure, hadn't been thinking of anything at all really.

Damn, he'd been an ass. He was lucky that Eleanor would even spare him a glance—let alone that kiss on the cheek and a dinner date.

Timothy smiled at the memory of that kiss. Sure, it had only been to the cheek but it had been like whiskey—burning him in a real good way.

Then he recalled the tears that had still be drying on her cheeks and her puffy blue eyes when he had gone to fetch Samantha from her room at the docs. Something was still wrong with Eleanor—something she didn't seem to want to talk about. Had she talked to Samantha? Timothy hoped so. Would she open up to him? Hell, he hoped for that too.

Letting out a long steadying breath against the nerves swirling in his stomach, Timothy glanced in the full-length mirror beside the wash basin. He had splurged a bit of his new found fortune on a brand new outfit. Crisp black trousers, a white buttoned shirt, and a red vest with paisley designs on the front and a black silk back. He had attempted to polish his boots but the worn leather had simply refused to shine so he'd bought new ones. He had even gone so far as to pomade his blond hair and slick it back for the first time in his life and had gotten a shave. He felt more than a little foolish as he stood there looking at himself. Tim had never in his life thought about what he was wearing or worried about what he looked like, but he wanted to impress Eleanor—and women liked a well-dressed man. Didn't they?

Damn.

Maybe he was trying too hard. Maybe the woman would laugh at him if she saw him all gussied up like this. Maybe he should just change into his regular work-stained, worn at the seams, and well broken in clothes. Maybe he should just breathe and stop worrying so much. Glancing at the clock, Timothy realized it was nearly time to go pick Eleanor up. He had everything all set up for their evening out—all that was missing was the woman herself.

Scowling as he took one last glance in that mirror, Timothy grabbed his duster coat off the chair, left his room and made his way down the stairs and out of the hotel. Glancing up and down Main Street revealed a nearly desolate town. The storms had passed but the rain was still falling steadily, and most folks had yet to leave their dry sanctuaries to brave the weather.

Slipping his coat on, he stayed under the protection of the boardwalk roof until he was across the street from the docs. Pulling his coat over his head, Tim jumped down onto the street and made a run for the protection of the doc's porch. Once there, he glanced down at himself and saw the mud coating his new boots and splattered nearly to the knees of his brand new black trousers. Well hell.

Should he go change? He would just get muddy again. Goddammit he wasn't a damn schoolboy. He was a twenty-five year old man and it was time he quit being so nervous and act like it! Squaring his shoulders, Timothy stepped into the doc's office and saw Lewis behind the counter.

"Hey there, Lewis."

"Oh..." Lewis frowned and averted his gaze. "Hello Timothy."

That was a less than friendly greeting. Sure, the doc's young nephew and Timothy had never been friends, but they'd always been friendly. "Is something wrong?"