Christie And The Hellcat Part 3

"A year ago. By Governor Crossley himself." Brodie indicated the scribbled signature at the bottom.

Christie folded the pardon and handed it back to Brodie who stowed it away. "Isn't that unusual?"

"Reward for services rendered."

"What kind of services?"

"I'm afraid that's between me and the governor, Miss Hayes."

Brodie shrugged, then winced and pressed a hand to her injured shoulder.

Christie shot her a concerned glance. The trembling seemed to have eased but Brodie was clearly in pain. "I've got some laudanum,"

she said. "Would you?"

Brodie shook her head. "Best stay alert. That whiskey you gave me will have to do."

"At least let me put your arm in a sling." Christie began to sort through the medicine chest for a suitable piece of cloth. Ah, that will do nicely. She eased Brodie's arm into the sling, making sure the limb was fully supported.

"Miss Hayes." Brodie's tone was humorous. "Don't you think that'll slow down my quick-draw some?"

"Wear it for now at least." She tied the last knot behind Brodie's neck and stood back.

While Brodie gingerly tested the sling, Christie studied her.

Brodie sensed her gaze and looked up, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm so sorry," said Christie at last. "I didn't know about the pardon." She glanced at the Wells Fargo agent. "He can't have known either."

"Well, ain't this sweet?" came a croak from under the table.

"Seems like another one's fallen under your spell, h.e.l.lcat. Coulda sworn this one was respectable, too."

27.

Brodie and Christie peered down at the groggy Prescott who was struggling to sit upnot easy with his hands bound together.

"Hope I didn't miss anything good." He winked, and Christie flushed, though she wasn't quite sure what he was implying.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, Prescott," said Brodie, "or I'll brain you again." She helped him to his feet.

"What's this? An injured wing? I'll have to scale down my offer accordingly." He pretended to think. "How does one hundred and fifty dollars sound?"

"The answer's the same."

Christie was trying to follow the conversation and failing. "What does he mean?"

"Don't pay him any mind, Miss Hayes," said Brodie.

Once Prescott was sat firmly in his chair again, Brodie crossed to the window and stared out. She reached for her pocket watch, flipped open the lid, and glanced at it.

"What time's your train?" asked Christie.

"Just after four."

"They'll find us before then," said Prescott.

Brodie looked at him. "They already have."

Chapter 5.

Zee glanced out of the window again. Ed Tolliver, second in command of Prescott's new gang, was standing just outside the back gate, smoking a cigarette.

Maybe Rogers had told someone, or maybe someone had seen him hurrying along the street with his rifle, or maybe it was just the sound of gunfire that had attracted attention. Whatever, there was no doubt about it. Tolliver knew where Prescott was and had probably already sent a wire to his cronies in Bisbee and Fairbank.

She chewed her lip and considered her options. The horses tethered in the yard, especially Prescott's horse with its distinctive white blaze, were a dead giveaway. No point in gagging her prisoner, or in trying to hide.

Tolliver removed the cigarette and bellowed, "Hey, Ches. You in there?"

"Sure am," shouted Prescott. He threw Zee a triumphant glance.

"Guess you won't be earning that one hundred and fifty dollars after all."

She shrugged, then wished she hadn't. This d.a.m.ned shoulder was going to cramp her style. Not that she was in form today, anyway, she reflected wryly. That Wells Fargo agent shouldn't have been able to wing her. But ever since she'd met the shapely Miss Hayes she'd been distracted, and her reactions were a fraction slower than they should have been.

Water under the bridge.

"Want me to smoke out the deputy?" yelled Tolliver. Zee's hand dropped to her gun b.u.t.t. If Tolliver were to threaten Miss Hayes "No need," called back Prescott. "She'll have to come out eventually. You can get her down at the station." He grinned at Christie.

29.

"Can't repay your kind hospitality by burning the place down, can I?"

She gave him an uncertain look then joined Zee by the window, bringing the pleasant fragrance of lavender with her.

"What are you going to do, Deputy?"

"Have that breakfast you promised me."

"That wasn't what I meant."

"I know. But you heard Tolliver. They won't try anything until we leave. Might as well make my last hours good ones." She grinned.

But Christie looked distressed at her joke. "There must be something we can do. What about the town marshal?"

"Milligan?" Zee shook her head. "Best not. Be just as much trouble getting word to him as getting Prescott to the train . . . I'm not out of the running yet, Miss Hayes. This shoulder wound may slow me down some, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. After we've eaten, you can fetch me some wire."

"Wire?"

"It will even the odds some."

Christie opened her mouth to say something, paused, then closed it again. She returned to her stove and eyed the congealed eggs and ham, then threw away the eggs and went to fetch fresh ones from the pantry.

Zee took her seat at the table and waited, saliva gathering in her mouth as once more appetizing smells began wafting round the kitchen. When Christie placed a fork and plate of food in front of her, she reached for it, only to be told to wait while Christie cut up her food.

"I can manage," she said, drawing an exasperated, hands-on-hips stance from Christie, which in turn drew an amused snort from Prescott.

Zee sighed. "Go ahead then, if you must."

As Christie sliced the fried ham, egg, and toast into manageable pieces, Zee studied her, noticing the pinking her gaze brought to her cheeks. She suppressed a chuckle. Yeah. A very sheltered life. It would sure be fun educating her . . . d.a.m.n! I'm getting distracted again.

"There." Christie stepped aside.

Zee reached for her fork. "Thanks." While she ate, almost bolting her food in her hunger, Christie sliced Prescott's food too. Only after her guests had both been dealt with did she sit down to her own food.

30.

Yeah. A treasure.

After they had finished eating and drunk their coffee, Zee reminded Christie of the wire, and she went in search of some. She came back holding out a spool.

Zee took it, pulled out the Colts one by one, and began carefully wiring back the triggers.

"Isn't that dangerous?" asked Christie.

"Yeah. But it means I can fan them." She didn't look upthe guns were loaded, and if she snagged a hammer on something . . .

Gingerly, she resettled them in her holsters.

When she finally looked up, it was to find Christie gazing out of her kitchen window once more.

"Any change?"

"There are two men there now. Talking and smoking."

Zee nodded. "There'll be more."

"How many more?"

Zee glanced at Prescott. "How many?"

"That would be telling." Then he grinned. "Too many for you, h.e.l.lcat."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

Another check of her watch showed she had a couple of hours to kill. She would have liked a bath, but she didn't trust Prescott to behave himself once he was out of her sight. Then there was Rogershe hadn't come round yet (she must have hit him harder than she meant to), and she didn't know how he was going to react.

An idea struck her. "Do you play cards, Miss Hayes?" Christie blinked at her in surprise. "Might as well occupy ourselves while we wait."

It was too much to expect Poker, but Zee antic.i.p.ated a game of Gin Rummy at the very least. What she got was a choice of Artists, Musical Composers, or Shakespeare, apparently the latest thing in "educational" games. Might have guessed. Since she knew little about any of those topics, she let Christie choose.

Resigned to being thrashed, which she was, Zee decided to amuse herself by finding out more about Christie. Her initial questions, though innocent enough (When had Christie and her brother first come out West and why?) were met with stiff and to the point answers. But as Christie relaxed and began to ask questions of her own,

31.

conversation between them became easier and, inevitably, more personal.

At first, Prescott kept up a running and very sarcastic commen-tary, but he soon tired of this sport and set himself to dozing, his snores punctuating the shuffle and slap of the cards and the murmur of voices.

They had been playing for an hour when the conversation took an interesting turn. "Why do you wear men's clothes?" asked Christie, reshuffling the cards for another game.

"Because I want to. They're comfortable, practicalI don't ride side-saddle."

"Aren't people shocked?"

"Only those with narrow minds. You ain't shocked, are you?"

"Of course not." But her blush belied her words and made Zee grin.