Part 5 (2/2)

Her gaze went to Zee's left shoulder. The bloodstain had gone from the check s.h.i.+rt, and the bullet hole had been neatly mended. She wondered if Zee had darned it herself, or if someone else had. The thought sent an irrational stab of jealousy through her.

”You've already met my sister, Christie,” Blue was saying as he came further into the parlor, ”and this is her beau, Fred Younger.”

”Mr. Younger.” Zee's gaze flickered over the bearded man still sitting on the sofa. Belatedly he got to his feet.

”Deputy,” acknowledged Fred, moving closer to Christie.

Why did she have to arrive while Fred is here?

As Zee's gaze returned to Christie's face, her lips curved into a faint smile, and Christie felt her cheeks growing hot. Then Zee crossed the room toward her, threading her way between armchairs,

41.

sofas, tables, vases, and planters, her presence making the fas.h.i.+onable little front room seem suddenly cramped and overcrowded.

As though sensing a threat, Fred stiffened, but all Zee did, when she halted in front of Christie, was hold out a bulging brown sack.

Christie blinked at it, and Fred muttered something under his breath. A cool blue gaze flicked toward him, then dismissed him.

”It ain't much, Miss Hayes,” drawled Zee, ”but I'd be obliged if you'd take it. Reckon it's the least I can do, after what my horses did to your flowers.”

”Thank you.” Christie accepted the sack, wondering what in the world was in it, but resisting the urge to open it then and there. She could sense that Fred would rather she refused the gift, and wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended. His behavior since Zee had entered the parlor put her in mind of a dog and its bone.

”Please sit down,” she told Zee, indicating the upholstered armchair that had been their father's favorite.

”Er . . . erm.” Blue cleared his throat and gave Zee a glance that halted her movement to sit down. She frowned and glanced back at Christie.

An arm took Christie's, and she turned in some surprise. ”We mustn't keep the deputy any longer, dear,” said Fred. ”People are paying her good money for her time.” He turned to Zee. ”Isn't that right?”

The muscles in Zee's jaw clenched then relaxed. ”It's a point of view.”

”And I'm sure you've got a long ride ahead of you,” chimed in Blue.

Christie raised an indignant eyebrow at her brother, but he shrugged and gave Fred a look. His meaning was clear.

Her rebellious streak surfaced. Why should I say goodbye to this intriguing woman? But even as she resolved to defy both Fred and her brother, she became aware that Zee had caught the nonverbal exchange and was putting on the broad-brimmed black hat that she had been fiddling with since she entered the parlor.

”I've a ways to go today,” said Zee, her tone neutral. ”So thanks all the same, Miss Hayes, but I'd best be making tracks.” She tipped her hat, then headed for the door.

”Oh, but”

”Now, now, my dear.” Fred chuckled and patted her hand. ”You 42 can't keep a lawman from his duty.”

She threw him a furious look. ”Zee . . .” To her embarra.s.sment, her voice cracked.

Zee turned at the parlor door and looked at Christie. ”Yes, Miss Hayes?”

”At least tell me how your wound is.”

That earned Christie a warm smile, which was a distinct relief after the frozen formality Zee had adopted. ”It's mending fine, thanks for asking.” But the relief was momentary, for Zee went on. ”It's surely been a pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss Hayes.”

Christie stared at her. Don't go. ”You too, Deputy Brodie,” she managed.

”Mr. Hayes?” Zee turned a suddenly harsh gaze on Christie's brother, who blinked. ”Don't forget about the horse.”

He blushed. ”Oh . . . no, of course not.”

She looked at Fred. ”In my book, any man who treats his horse that bad deserves to be horsewhipped.” Then she shrugged and gave a thin smile. ”Of course, in your book,” the emphasis was slight but it was there, ”things may well be different.”

Then with a final tip of her hat at Christie, she was gone.

Chapter 8.

A scowling Zee headed toward Commercial Street, ignoring the apprehensive looks coming her way, her mind buzzing like a hornets'

nest.

Turning up on her doorstep like that and expecting her to fall into my arms. What was I thinking? Courting a gal who probably don't even like me that way.

She turned left onto Commercial Street, located the sign that said ”Atkins Horses” and strode toward it.

Just as well. What kind of life could I have given her? She's probably the type to want brats too.

She clamped down on her unruly thoughts and pushed open the stable door. After the heat and dust, the coolness and the familiar scent of hay and horses were soothing.

”Anyone here?” she called into the darkness.

An ap.r.o.ned boy, barely into his teens, appeared, clutching a pitch-fork. ”Ma'am?” He gaped up at her, then his gaze took in the tin star.

”Deputy?”

”Name's Brodie. You have two horses for me? A black mare and a brown gelding with a white blaze on his nose?”

He nodded. ”Sure do. Mr. Hayes said you'd be picking them up this week sometime. I'll get them for you right away.”

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