Christie And The Hellcat Part 17

The stage, and its six horses, was waiting in front of Tucson's Wells Fargo office on Main Street, its pa.s.sengers' bags and cases piled high on the sidewalk. Two women, one an attractive blonde in a simple, green dress, the other a matron in a bustle, stood arguing beside its open door.

Zee closed the distance between them quickly, then halted next to Christie, whose cheeks were flushed.

"Here, darlin'. It was under the bed." She held out the reason for her tardiness. "Everything all right?" She took off her Stetson, ran a hand through her hair, and resettled the hat.

Christie took the necklace of turquoise beads that had been Zee's one-month anniversary gift to her and gave her a nod. "I was just explaining to Mrs. Grummond," she said, sounding annoyed, "that she cannot have your seat at the back of the stage."

"It's not your seat," objected the woman, whose ma.s.sive bosom needed all the corseting it could get. "First come, first served."

"I was first," snapped Christie, her eyes flashing.

"That's as may be, but your friend wasn't." Mrs. Grummond's gaze flicked over Zee, her expression showing what she thought of women wearing men's clothes. Or maybe it was the guns.

Zee shrugged. "Would've been here," she said, ignoring the four sets of interested eyes staring out at her from inside the stagecoach, "but I had to go back to our hotel."

"Would have been doesn't count," stated Mrs. Grummond. As though that ended the matter, she prepared to board.

Fair or not, Zee had no intention of sitting on the middle seat, hanging onto a ceiling strap, all the way to Phoenix. She shot out a hand, blocking the matron's progress.

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"Well, really!" said Mrs. Grummond. "Please let me pa.s.s."

During her h.e.l.lcat days, Zee had perfected a glare that would halt any man in his tracks. Well, it hadn't just been the icy look, she concededin the early days, her knuckles had been permanently skinned too. Now, she put that skill to good use. She narrowed her eyes, fingered the b.u.t.t of one Colt, and waited.

Mrs. Grummond's florid complexion paled. "We-ell," she stammered. "Since she saved you a seat and . . . and she did get here f-first." She stood back.

"Knew you'd see it my way." Zee turned to the goggling Christie and gestured.

With a start, Christie collected herself and stepped up into the coach. Zee followed hard on her heels, eased herself into the rear seat next to Christie, and stared down the other pa.s.sengers before a.s.sessing them.

The mountain of lard with the close-clipped whiskers sitting on the other side of Christie, mopping his sweating brow with a large handkerchief, must be a businessman, she decidedmake that a banker. The young woman in the pink dress in the far cornerpretty enough, if you liked your women feather-brained, which Zee didn't must be going to visit relatives. As for the man sitting next to her if his blue uniform and insignia (a silver eagle with spread wings) hadn't given away his Army Colonel status, his ramrod-straight posture would have. Finally, there was the gaunt old man in blackhis po-faced expression and long, narrow whiskers fairly screamed "preacher." Just her luck!

A thin-lipped Mrs. Grummond made herself as comfortable as was possible on the backless middle seat. Movement outside proved to be the driver emerging from inside the office with the green-painted iron shutters, and beginning to stow the luggage in the stage's trunk. Then a commotion announced the arrival of the last of the nine pa.s.sengers.

A tall woman with a commanding air and a clean-shaven little man, both wearing Eastern garb, scrambled on board and squeezed themselves next to Mrs. Grummond.

"Sorry we're late," panted the woman. Her accent was unmistakably English, and Zee exchanged an interested glance with Christie.

"We're not used to having to be up so early."

Six in the morning was hardly early, mused Zee. Not that she and Christie wouldn't have minded an hour or two more in bed 111.

themselves. Christie had revealed an apt.i.tude for bed sports that was keeping Zee pleasurably occupied.

The door slammed shut, jarring her from her lascivious thoughts, and the stage rocked as the driver climbed onto the box. A few seconds later, a m.u.f.fled "Hi!" was followed by the sound of a whip cracking, and the stage lurched forward.

The carriage bounced on its thoroughbraces, jolting Zee against Christie. At the thought of the torturous journey ahead, she almost groaned aloud. Not for the first time she wished the railroad link from Tucson to Phoenix had got beyond the planning stages.

A hand eased itself into hers, and she turned to regard an excited looking Christie. At once, all her disgruntlement vanished. No matter how h.e.l.lish this journey turned out to be, Christie was with her . . .

and that made all the difference.

GIF.

Christie had discarded any romantic ideas of stage travel she might once have entertained. They'd been traveling for a mere three hours and she felt as though she'd been in a rockslide. The jolting must be much worse for those on the middle seats though. She eyed Mrs. Grummond and tried not to smirk, then chided herself for being uncharitable.

Zee had drawn back the leather curtain and was staring out of the window. Christie rested her gaze on the strong profile silhouetted against the morning sunlight. Zee turned to smile at her. "Must be nearly time for a rest stop."

As if on cue, the stage began to slow. When it came to a halt, the groaning pa.s.sengers stumbled out into what looked to Christie like the middle of nowheredry earth populated only by cactiand set about restoring the circulation and feeling to their limbs. Matter-of-factly, the driver handed out several latrine spades and warned them all to be careful of scorpions and rattlers.

Zee was stretching methodically, and Christie copied her, feeling the stiffness ease somewhat. Zee circled behind her and with strong fingers began to ease the knots from her neck and shoulders. She almost groaned with relief, but became aware of the dubious looks coming their way. Why are people always so quick to judge us?

She wasn't aware she had sighed out loud until Zee murmured, 112 "Ignore them. Who cares what they think?"

"I was thinking of Blue," said Christie sadly.

That earned her a sympathetic look. "Give your brother time, darlin'. It's a lot to get used to. He'll come around."

Come around to her living in a brothel? She doubted it. Blue's letter had been crystal clear. As long as she lived with wh.o.r.es she was no sister of his. As for Zee, he blamed the deputy for shaming Fred so publicly and for seducing his sister . . . though as to the latter, Christie wasn't at all sure it hadn't been the other way around.

Zee gave her shoulder a last comforting pat, then strode off to have a word with the driver. The Englishwoman, whose name Christie had learned was Vesta Galvin, noticed that Christie was now alone and came to join her.

"Does your companion always wear men's clothing?" Vesta's gaze followed Zee who was pulling down the brim of her hat against the glare. "Because I must say," she continued, apparently unaware she might be giving offense, "it makes her look fine, very fine." The praise came as a pleasant surprise to Christie, who had braced herself for the worst.

The desert breeze carried Zee's conversation to them in hot gusts.

"The Gila Bandit . . . twice last month . . . any risk?"

"But she's still quite clearly a woman," continued Vesta, pursing her lips in consideration. "Pretending to be a man is not her intention, is it?"

Christie regarded her curiously. Maybe the unusual att.i.tude was because she was English.

With a visible start, Vesta recollected herself. "I beg your pardon, Miss Hayes. How rude of me to make such an impertinent remark about your traveling companion! You must understand, my interest is professional."

"Oh. Are you a dressmaker?"

"My husband and I are on the Stage, my dear." At Christie's confused glance, she clarified, "Not this stage." She pointed to the coach.

"The Stage." Realizing that Christie was still none the wiser, she continued, "We design and sew our own costumes."

Christie was about to ask whether the jovial little Englishman, whose name Vesta told her was Dan, could really sew, when Zee tipped her hat to the driver and turned. As it always did, the breath caught in Christie's throat when those remarkable blue eyes found 113.

her. With pleasure, she watched Zee stride toward her on long Levi-clad legs.

"Is everything all right?" She gazed up into Zee's tanned face and resisted the urge to reach up and smooth the creased brow.

"Not sure," said Zee. "But don't worry, darlin'. I'll handle it." Her frown eased, and she smiled.

Zee's open endearment made Christie glance anxiously at Vesta, but the Englishwoman merely smiled at her and asked, "Who's the Gila Bandit?"

"Stagecoach robber," said Zee.

"Is he likely to attack us?"

"Targets gold shipments mostly, and Dusty says we ain't carrying any."

"Dusty?"

"The driver."

"Oh."

The fat banker was taking a covert interest in their conversation, noticed Christie. So was Colonel Gregg, who happened to be pa.s.sing on his way back from answering Nature's call. The Colonel stopped beside the three women and puffed out his chest. "No need to worry about bandits, ladies. I'll protect you."

Zee's eyes narrowed and Christie could tell from the way her jaw clenched that she was about to say something rude. She reached for Zee's hand and squeezed it. Zee sucked in her breath and let it out again. Then she excused herself, grabbed the spade from the Colonel, and went off in search of a cactus and some privacy.

Christie turned back to the man in uniform. "Er, thank you, Colonel, but Zee's a deputy sheriff. She can more than take care of any bandit herself."

"Fascinating!" said Vesta.

Gregg's mouth dropped open. "But she's a wom . . ." He trailed off.

"Yes, she is," said Christie dryly. "You may have heard of her.

Deputy Zee Brodie? She and Sheriff Hogan brought in the Cody Gang last month."

"That murdering bunch of train robbers?" His eyes widened.

"Then why isn't she wearing a badge?"

"It's in her vest pocket. She only wears it in Cochise County."

He frowned. "Isn't she rather a long way from her jurisdiction?"

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But Zee was returning, spade in hand, and before Christie could answer, Colonel Gregg excused himself and walked away.

"Something I said?" asked Zee.

Christie chuckled. "I just told him about you capturing the Cody Gang."

"Ah." Zee held out the latrine spade. "Better hurry. It's another three hours before the dinner stop and we're due to leave in five minutes."

"Oh," said Christie. "Give me that, then, and be quick about it."

Chapter 2.

It was just after noon when the stage pulled into the adobe relay station where they were to have dinner. For the past hour and a half, Zee had been riding up on the box with the driver. The blistering heat hadn't bothered her any, she was used to it, but she'd had to pull her bandanna up over her mouth and nose against the dust. Now she knew where the driver's nickname came from.

Christie had pouted when Zee confessed that being cooped up with eight others in the muggy gloom of the stage was making her antsy, but reluctantly approved her solution. Zee smiled, recalling the pa.s.sengers' bulging eyes as, while they were still traveling at full speed, she eased herself out of the door's open window, pulled herself up onto the roof, and snaked her way forward to join the surprised driver.

For something to do, Zee had persuaded Dusty to let her take the reins for a spell, only to hand them back soon after with the rueful admission that handling a team of six was harder than it looked. After that, she confined herself to daydreaming about what she would do with Christie once they got to Phoenix, staring through the shimmering heat haze at the Catalina Mountains, or pretending to shoot the jackrabbits flushed from cover by the thump of hooves and rumble of wheels. She was whistlingAngie's wh.o.r.es had brainwashed her with their d.a.m.ned player piano tuneswhen the relay station came into view. As Dusty brought the stage to a halt directly outside the entrance, she jumped down, pulled down her bandanna, and went to open the stage door.

Her arms were suddenly full of mischievous blonde. A grinning Christie disentangled herself and stepped aside to let the other pa.s.sengers off.

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"Ooh." Christie stretched, emphasizing the curves beneath the green dress, and Zee eyed her appreciatively. "I swear every muscle in my body aches, Zee. Was it any better for you up on the box?"

"Some." She removed her hat and banged it against her thigh, sending up a cloud of red dust.

Christie tried not to cough. "Maybe we should call you Dusty too."

"Sorry." Zee took Christie's arm and guided her into the welcome cool of the dining room. "C'mon. We don't have long here."

"I missed you," said Christie as they chose seats at a creaky trestle table whose place settings consisted of bent cutlery and dented tin cups. "And that's not just because Mrs. Grummond took your seat."

Zee gave her an affectionate glance. "Did she? Sorry 'bout that."

A fat Mexican woman bustled in and began placing platters of food in front of each traveler. Zee inspected the tough piece of steak thrust between two soggy soda biscuits and sighed. Well, all right . . .

as long as there was coffee to help it down. She looked around and relaxed when the woman returned carrying a pot of steaming black sludge and poured some into Zee's tin cup.

Christie eyed her own food and took a dubious bite. "It's not too bad," she said, as though trying to convince herself.

"We'll make up for it in Phoenix," promised Zee, chewing hard then helping the gristly lump down with a gulp of bitter coffee.

When Hogan had asked Zee to go to Phoenix and help Sheriff Coogan identify a prisonerJohnny Cactus's description wasn't on record but Zee had ridden with the outlaw in her h.e.l.lcat daysshe had intended going alone, on horseback. Then Christie had asked her persuasively (so persuasively, in fact, that they had almost broken the bed) if she could come too. That was when the idea had come to Zee to treat this jaunt as a kind of honeymoon. So she had wired ahead, booking them a room in Tucson and another in Phoenix, at what Angie a.s.sured her was the best hotel.

Well, Christie deserved it for putting up with that tiny room at Angie's Palace and the suggestive sounds coming through the walls night after night. Angie and her girls had been good to Zee, and the brothel was the first place in a long while she had even come close to calling home. But now she had someone else's needs and feelings to consider, and it was time to move on.

117.

She pictured Christie's face when she told her the news.

"What are you smirking at?"