Author's Note: I want to start by stating that this is the only A/N I will post at the beginning of any chapters to come. Also, I want to apologize in advance for delving into yet another Fanfiction, especially when I'm still working to finish Sweet Sacrifices, Bitter Green, and The Torrid Affair. Allow me to explain though. I recently watched (For the hundredth time) Tombstone and as the majority rules, Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday was-is, marvelous. I was craving fanfiction involving Doc with a female OC and while there are beautiful one-shots out there, I needed a more elaborate story. Thus, this little tidbit popped into my head and I (without shame) ran with it.
I've been extremely nervous in posting this, namely for the fear of not doing the character in the movie justice. What can I say, I, really, fear flames. That being said, I worked to the best of my ability to make this read smooth. I don't have a beta reader and I can only bother my partner to proofread so many times before they tell me to bugger off. So please, do forgive me for my errors. I'm not perfect and will never claim to be. Hoping that my work here has paid off, it would be lovely to have some feedback (especially regarding my ability to keep dear, sweet, devilish Doc and others that follow in character.) I've also taken into consideration the customs and ways of the time.
Without further delay, I give you Foolish Games. A Doc Holliday/OC romance. Vote and review if it pleases you; it's always lovely to get feedback. Most importantly, I hope you enjoy it. This truly is a labour of love.
Chapter One
Early Summer 1881
The Arizona heat was stifling inside the small coach. They had been traveling all day, crammed together with all their luggage like sardines in a tin. Hot and sweaty, Clara Grady did all she could to ignore these irritations. Instead, she focused on a small opened book on her lap. Reveling in the occasional breeze that wafted through the carriage window.
"I'll never understand your fascination with reading the macabre." Mother fussed from the opposite of her. Clara knew exactly what she had meant by it, too. So she closed the old book. She rested her head against the sideboards of the jittering stagecoach.
"But, Mama," Clara spoke with tired eyes, betrayed by a rather brassy tone. "Tamerlane explores themes of pride and independence, as well as loss and exile..."
A cold stare cut straight through her. Even in the summer's heat, Clara shivered under her mother's gaze. It was clear the ice she tip-toed upon was thinning. She may have her own opinions on matters about her family's affairs, but Clara knew better than to voice them aloud. Flippantly, even. The rest of their ride to Tombstone remained silent. Clara desperately wished she could continue reading her book.
.
.
Mother was first to leave the coach with the helping hand of her son, Thomas. Who arrived a few months before them to get ready for the new family home. When he finished attending to Mama, Thomas offered to help Clara. She thanked her brother for the same courtesy. Accepting his hand, she stepped out to greet her new home. Desert heat made for misery. That is all she saw in it. For in Clara's mind, Tombstone would have no trouble proving to be backward in contrast to her tastes.
"Don't fuss none over the luggage, Mama." Thomas gestured towards the wagon. "I'll get someone to unload it for y'all."
As her mother and brother exchanged words, Clara found her attention pulled elsewhere. She took in the sight of this booming mining town, trying to piece together a formidable review of it. The many shops on the left-hand side of the street were enticing. The dressmakers and the bookstore especially. A bank sat next to the law office. More saloons and parlor houses than she dares to count lay between them all. She didn't see a church. Formidable review indeed.
"Where's Daddy?" The question rolled off Clara's tongue. There was little regard for interrupting Mama and Thomas' conversation. She had hoped her father would have been there to greet them after their long journey from Charlotte. Yet he was nowhere in sight.
When Thomas did not answer her, Clara spun herself round to face her brother's direction. She asked again.
"He's working most likely. You'd find him in the sheriff's office or the Oriental. He's going into business with the marshal and his brothers."
Clara sauntered back towards her family, eager to hear more. "What type of business?"
Thomas' hesitance was not lost on his sister. She shared a look with their mother. "A stake in a Faro game. Good money to make in it, if you know what you're doing."
Mama's face pulled into a painful grimace. She never was one for gambling in any of its forms. To know her husband was "dealing with the devil" as she would say was not exactly appreciated by Mrs. Grady. Clara noticed her mother's reaction. She shook her head at her brother. "And you? Your letters home left much to the imagination. What have you been up to all this time? Frequent any of the particular establishments in town?"
"Mining," Thomas replied, annoyed that he should have had to relay his goings-on to either of them. "We've been doing fine here. We're gonna make something for ourselves. Between the law work and the Faro table, our father has a good thing running here. And I've made a steady income for myself, saving my earrings from mining. Mama can rest now, knowing the house in Charlotte's sold. I'd daresay the only uncertainty lies with you, little sister. A touch of humility will soften up your rigidness. It's no wonder she isn't called on-Clara is sour."
"Thomas!" Mama wrapped her arm around her son's, giggling at her daughter's expense. Clara said nothing in her defense. Thomas wasn't wrong. She had an uncanny ability to be both cynical and challenging. Men were not fond of those particular attributes in a young lady. Especially if the goal was to come calling in offered courtship. It didn't bother her one bit though. Clara liked her independence. She enjoyed being free from all that nonsense.
They began to walk the length of the storefronts, leading west to the boarding house. Thomas had reassured them both that it was only to be a temporary stay. The reason being the furniture for their home had not yet arrived from Denver. Mama didn't seem to take that news very well, but Clara didn't rightly care where they would be staying at that point. To be able to rest in one spot without having a day's ride in a carriage was enough for her. Truly all she wanted now was to see her father finally. She had missed him.
For six years Douglas Grady had been a lieutenant in the United States Cavalry. He'd been stationed at Fort Worth as one of many charged with the hunting down and processing of Indians. Clara supposed he wasn't fond of it though. After the war, Mr. Grady became malcontent with senseless violence. He was by no means an abolitionist or Indian lover; he was not a cold-hearted monster either. She often reasoned that was the cause for his resignation from his post. Shortly after that, he'd move his family out west, permanently. Charlotte was too miserable for Mama, and Daddy hated everything there was to do with Texas. So Tombstone it was. Aptly named.
As if her prayer was answered, Clara heard the voice of her father. It boomed, passing the coaches and other loud noises of the street. He had called out to Mama, who blushed deeply. Thomas stepped aside so their parents might embrace. Though Mama's embarrassment was clear. What with such a forward action, displayed in public for all to see.
Daddy changed, Clara thought to herself. Seeing Mama age in person seemed so natural. Yet bearing witness to the hard years her father had been through was shocking. Mr. Grady was grayer now and browned by the harsh Texas sun. Fine lines creased over his brow, and his strong hands were more withered and wrinkled. Even his stomach had extended over his waistline. Either by the passing of time or from his new fondness for whiskey, Clara couldn't say. When he finally let Mama free of his arms, his shining eyes met Clara's. Now those...those hadn't changed.
"That can't be my little Clara-belle. Look at you, darlin'! Grown into a woman. You're every bit as pretty as your mama was at your age." His words were laced with a kind of nostalgia. Both happy and sorrowful. "How old are you now, sixteen?"
Clara gladly found her father's embrace, less ruffled by it than her mother had been. Against his jacket vest, she found an undying comfort. The beating of his heart assured her that he wasn't a figment of her imagination. He smelled of cigar smoke, mingled with whiskey. "Nineteen now, sir. I've missed you, daddy." Pulling apart, her father smiled down at her with love. For the first time in quite a long time, the Gradys were together. Their solitary reunion was short-lived.
"This must be the family then!" The owner of the new voice belonged to a tall gentleman. Clara eyed him in his entirety as he stepped out of the sheriff's office. She found his pair of baby blues kindly and gentle. They did more for his smile than his lips had. He was of a solid build and carried himself with an air of authority. His hands rested firmly but not intimidatingly, on his hips. A cigar nestled behind a straight pair of teeth. She decided that he was of the good sort.
Mr. Grady gestured at Mama and Clara. "It sure is!" He turned to Mama, seeing her nod in consent for an introduction. "Katrina, this is Mr. Earp. Wyatt, this is my wife, Katrina Grady."
"Ma'am," Wyatt tipped his hat to Mama, who nodded kindly at him. Clara knew her mother was judging his lack of decorum.
"The Wyatt Earp?" Clara found herself in a moment of weakness. She'd never guessed such a kind-looking soul could be the notorious lawman.
Mama scolded her for her rudeness and called for correction. Wyatt spoke up in Clara's defense, stating it was all right. He then admitted to being the one and only, Wyatt Earp. He went on to say that he'd come to Tombstone with his wife Mattie, shy of a year ago, having left Dodge City. "Yes Ma'am," he continued. "Was then I met your husband. I daresay we have a good deal going on here, and we're happy to have all of ya with us. I'm sure Mattie would do good for the company." It wasn't lost on Clara the change in Earp's demeanor when he mentioned his wife the second time. He almost appeared... pained?
A gunshot rang through the street, coming from inside a saloon. Mama covered her mouth with her gloved hand, her eyes closed in prayer. Clara jumped out of her skin, quick to spin on her heels to see the commotion. Thomas, Wyatt, and her father all looked on as if not much had happened at all. Maybe Tombstone wasn't going to be as dull as she expected it to be.
"Aw hell..." Earp sighed, watching as a grim man was thrown from the open door of the establishment. His assailant casually stepped out into the air from inside. A black jacket coat draped delicately over his shoulder, hooked by an index finger. Mr. Grady sighed, assuring Mama and Clara everything was all right. The beaten man gathered himself up from the dirt and walked off his embarrassment. The man with the coat tossed a cigarette.
Wyatt shook his head, taking a few puffs from his cigar. He called out, "What was it this time, Doc?"
This Doc, having taken notice of the small party off-center in the street, came strolling over. He walked towards them with all the grace and swagger of the Devil himself. It was clear he was ill, though to what extent Carla couldn't say for certain. He was sporting a hat, which shielded his eyes from the sun, green and unreadable. First impressions? Clara wasn't dazzled. Though Mama seemed to be.
"Now, Wyatt," said Doc, a smug smirk crawling across his pallor features. "I would love to regale to you the instance in which I had to award a lesson regarding manners upon that wretch of a man. Alas, I cannot. It is too garish, given the present company." He flashed Mama a smile and well, that had done it. That dapper southern way had Mama all aflutter. She couldn't have waited another minute without introducing herself to another Southerner. And when Clara hesitated to present herself, she was ever so slightly nudged by Mama. A painful smile pulled at the corners of her lips.
"Clara Grady, sir." Although Clara was not impressed by this sickly gentleman, Mama swooned when he removed his hat. He placed it upon his breast. Clara could see how much her mother was enjoying this. Mama was always one for proper decorum and etiquette. She had to admit though, this stranger had yet to place a toe out of turn. He even waited for the women to introduce themselves before doing so himself.
"John Henry Holliday, Madam-Though please, call me Doc. The pleasure of meeting your lovely acquaintances is all mine."
Clara had always been her mother's difficult child. Mama had been hard-pressed to regiment her daughter's civility. To Mrs. Grady's credit, she had instilled in Clara all the proper ways to conduct one's self. Given any situation, a young woman might find herself in. It was only that her daughter didn't seem to care much. She'd jump the gun before anyone could shout. So when Clara criticized Mr. Holliday for his day drinking and fighting, it was not well received. By anyone. She even had the nerve to insult him by deeming his actions, redeemable as they might be to him, 'uncouth'. Mama didn't even bother hiding her shame. She verbally ordered Clara to apologize.
Doc was still holding his hat to his breast, his coat still hooked on his finger slung over his shoulder. He stifled a cough, fighting not to smile at Clara. She had all but turned the shade of a ripe tomato. Her attempt at embarrassing him only flipped back to bite her. "Surely, a young woman with a spirited vocabulary can articulate a simple reparation?" Clara felt her ears begin to burn. He was enjoying this, she could tell. "Shall we make it verbatim? You may repeat after me-."
"My apologies to you, sir. I spoke out of turn and am not myself." Lord in heaven how she hated having to make amends. Everyone was staring at her. It was true, she didn't know how to keep her mouth shut. It was as if she got some thrill from being an errant child.
"Well there now, that wasn't so hard was it darlin'?" That smug face of his, oh how she disliked him. Especially the way his eyes seemed to laugh at her, staring straight into her very soul. Most uncannily, Clara felt stripped of her clothing, as if Doc saw all of her and none of her at the same time. She noticed his green gaze flutter to the book in her hand, before returning to lock with her gray orbs. The sound of Mama's voice seemed to be speaking from a far away distance, though she was right next to Clara. She apologized again for her daughter's behavior. "Think nothing of it, Mrs. Grady, youthfulness had us all brazen at some point in our lives." Doc's voice was clear as a bell in Clara's ears. He gave a short bow to Mama and placed his hat back atop his head. Holliday focused on Clara now. His expression might have been indecipherable to the rest of them. But she could see enthrallment in those green eyes of his. "I do believe Mr. Poe had said it best; For passion must, with youth, expire."
Her jaw nearly became unhinged. The devilish rogue had quoted Tamerlane and at her expense! She bit the inside of her cheek, praying her reaction did not goat him. Yet it did and before he excused himself back to the poker tables, he winked playfully at Clara. It was settled at that moment. She did not find John Henry Holliday agreeable. Not. At. All.