Part 6 (2/2)
”Sure thing, handsome,” yelled Red Mary. ”We'll tell Angie to get your room ready.”
Zee nodded her thanks. Her arrangement with ”Madam” Angie Tucker suited all concerned. Having a deputy on the premises quieted down some of the brothel's rowdier clients; and if it didn't, well, Zee was handy with her fists and guns. The tiny room that was hers came rent-free; anything else was meant to cost extra . . . but some of the girls were only too eager to supply their services to Zee gratis.
At the hitching post outside the jailthe only stone building in BensonZee pulled up and dismounted gratefully. A lamp was still burning in the office window. Hogan must be doing his paperwork.
She tethered her mare and looped the gelding's leading rein over the post. Then, pulling off her gloves as she went, she took the steps up two at a time and pushed open the door with a crash.
”Hogan,” she called, as she strode inside then turned right into the office. ”You in here, Hogan?”
The mustachioed man looked up from his perusal of The Police Gazette and smiled. ”Brodie.”
She perched on the corner of his battered old desk and grinned at him. ”Did you miss me?”
”Only 'cause I wasn't aiming at you.” Hogan's tone became serious. ”So. Any trouble with Prescott?”
”No. He was enjoying all the comforts of prison last time I saw him.”
”Good.” He gestured at the darn in her s.h.i.+rt. ”Who ventilated you?”
”Wells Fargo agent in Contention. Hadn't heard about the pardon.”
47.
Hogan stroked his mustache. ”Dang! Feared that might happen one day. I'll have to send out another bulletin.”
Zee shrugged. ”I can handle it.”
”I'd rather you didn't have to. It's bad enough the bad guys shooting at us without the good guys joining in.”
”And I'd rather be waited on hand and foot by a pretty little green-eyed gal,” she retorted, ”but we don't all get what we want.”
Hogan studied her. ”Anyone I know?”
”No. Anyway, turns out she has a beau.”
”You'll find the one some day, Brodie,” he consoled.
”Like you did?”
Brown eyes twinkled at her. ”I'm still hopeful.”
”Me too.”
Hogan stood up, stretched so extravagantly she was afraid he'd pop the b.u.t.tons off his embroidered waistcoat, then reached across his desk to turn down the lamp. ”I'm finished here.” He glanced at her. ”It's been quiet today. Granpappy Carpenter's in the cellshe got drunk and disorderly againbut that's it. I'll stable the horses.
Go get some rest. You look beat.”
”Thanks.” She flashed him a c.o.c.ky grin. ”Got a bath and another little itch needs scratching first.”
He raised an eyebrow. ”Anyone ever told you you're a hound dog?”
She pretended to think. ”Er . . . you just did.”
”Danged right.”
She followed him out of the office and waited while he closed and locked the door behind them.
”Enjoy yourself,” he called, as he untethered the horses. ”Think of me tonight, guarding a fierce desperado all on my lonesome.”
”You'll be the last thing I'll be thinking of.” With a wink, she set off toward Angie's Palace.
Hogan's voice carried to her on the cool night air. ”Hound dog.”
Chapter 9.
Christie paced up and down the westbound platform, trying not to think about the last time she was here with Zee, and wondering how much longer Fred was going to be.
He had decided to personally (and unnecessarily, as far as she could tell) supervise the loading of the silver s.h.i.+pment from his father's Ore Mill, and had made her promise to wait for him before boarding. But the locomotive was making sounds of imminent departure, and if Fred didn't appear soon, she would board without him.
She had an appointment of her own to keep, after all.
The sound of running footsteps made her turn. Her fiance was das.h.i.+ng along the platform toward her, his face flushed.
”I beg your pardon, my dear,” he said, as he drew near. ”Those idiots” He took her by the elbow and guided her up the steep steps and into the rail car. They had barely taken their places on the hard wooden benches when, with a deafening screech of brakes and whoosh of steam, the train lurched forward.
Through the grimy window, Christie watched Contention recede into the distance behind them. The San Pedro Valley gradient would be steep, but the view should be breathtakingif clouds of cinder-streaked smoke and steam didn't obscure it.
A rustle of pages from beside her made her turn to find that Fred had got a copy of the Tombstone Epitaph from somewhere and was intent on reading it. He glanced at her and smiled. ”Everything all right?”
She nodded and turned back to her window, knowing that everything was very far from all right but feeling helpless to do anything about it. A week of sleepless nights had left her weary, and that was before she contemplated the tiresome day ahead of her.
49.
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