Part 4 (1/2)
She had discovered she liked the way Christie's cheeks pinked and the gentle confusion that overcame her whenever she wasn't sure whether to be astonished, outraged, or delighted, which, in Zee's company, was pretty often. It was entertaining, and, Zee admitted, arousing.
”Do you have a beau?” The question was out before she could stop it. Ah well. No harm in asking, is there?
Christie studied her cards before answering. ”My brother wants me to marry Fred Younger. The Mill owner's son. He's quite handsome . . . though rather short.”
Zee slapped down a card of her own. ”What do you want?”
”I don't know.”
”Haven't you kissed him yet?”
”What's that got to do with anything?”
Zee c.o.c.ked her head. ”A lot, I'd say. Don't you want to?”
Green eyes flashed. ”I'm not a wh.o.r.e.”
Zee blinked at her. ”Wanting to kiss someone don't make you one.” She pursed her lips. ”So you've never kissed a man?”
”That's none of your business!”
”Which means you ain't.” Zee decided to gamble. ”Ever kissed a woman?”
”Really! I don't think this conversation is quite decent.” The chair made a sc.r.a.ping noise as Christie stood up, waking Prescott in the process. ”I will not be made the b.u.t.t of your jokes.”
32.
”I ain't joking.”
”Well, how would you feel if I asked you: 'Have you ever kissed a woman?'”
”Fine, thanks.” Zee smirked. ”The answer is: Yeah. Lots of times.
I like kissing women. Very much.”
At that, Christie let out a half shocked, half intrigued ”Oh!” then beat a hasty retreat to the sitting room next door. The kitchen seemed empty without her.
”Trouble in paradise?” asked Prescott.
Zee resisted the urge to punch him. ”Shut up.”
For the next quarter of an hour, she paced and brooded. Then she stood by the sitting room door and called, ”I'm sorry I teased you, Miss Hayes. If you come back, I promise not to do it any more.”
At last a subdued Christie returned and they resumed their card game. This time, they kept to more impersonal topics, though Zee was sorely tempted to stray back onto dangerous territory by the glances Christie kept giving her whenever she thought she wasn't looking. Such behavior could have been considered provocative, but Zee realized that Christie was an innocent, unaware of the mixed signals she was sending.
I'd like to help her find out what she really feels, she thought.
Then she chided herself for being a fool.
Rogers recovered consciousness, and Christie prepared dinner for four, serving chicken soup, salt pork and potatoes, rolls, and apple pie, which Zee enjoyed and said so, earning herself a smile. The hours pa.s.sed pleasantly, until it drew near to the time the train was due to leave.
”Let me help you, Zee,” said Christieby this time the tension between them had eased and they were on first name terms.
Zee regarded her curiously. ”It ain't your job.”
”No, but I caused this.” She indicated Zee's shoulder wound. ”If I hadn't gone squealing for help to him” She gestured at the now conscious Wells Fargo agent, who was still boundpartly because Zee didn't take kindly to being shot in the shoulder and partly because Rogers refused to believe her pardon was genuine. ”If I had trusted you”
”That's a lot of ifs,” said Zee dryly.
”Please. Let me help,” repeated Christie.
”How sweet,” said Prescott. ”And how loco.”
33.
Zee thought about the offer. The bullet wound had stacked the odds further against her. The triggers she had rigged would help, but pain could throw off her concentration and her bandaged shoulder would upset her balance. She couldn't risk Christie being injured, though, oreven worsekilled. She'd never forgive herself for that.
She thought for a moment. Maybe there was a way.
”How are you at using a rifle?”
”Blue says I'm pretty good. On the trail here, I used to shoot game birds for the pot.”
”All right, then,” said Zee. ”Here's what I want you to do.”
Chapter 6.
The locomotive whistled, two short blasts, and let out a rush of steam that made Christie jump. She bit her lip. In a few minutes the train would be leaving, bound for Benson and eventually Yuma. And if Zee didn't hurry up, it would be leaving without her.
Christie had left the house by the front door and, just in case any of Prescott's men were still watching, set off toward McClellan's General Store. Once out of sight, she'd doubled back toward the station, found herself a protected spot behind a rain barrel with a clear view of the train, the westbound platform, and, more importantly, the eight scruffy-looking men lounging there: Tolliver and his cronies, waiting to free their boss.
She checked her rifle for the umpteenth time, then settled back.
Prescott's men had scared off law-abiding pa.s.sengers, and those already on board the train had their faces pressed to the soot-streaked windows, trying to ascertain what was going on. As for the train dis-patcher, he was hiding in his office.