Christie And The Hellcat Part 37

"Is it?" Amus.e.m.e.nt colored Zee's voice.

"Yes . . . Since when did you start smoking cigars?"

"Since I found some cigars in Joe Riker's hideout."

"Joe smoked?"

241.

"Yeah."

"Well I wish you wouldn't. I didn't say so before, but it's not half so pleasant kissing you."

Teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "Can't have that, now, can we?"

Zee crushed the cigar b.u.t.t under her heel, moved round behind Christie, and draped her arms around her.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure." Zee rested her chin on the crown of Christie's head. "So. What do you think she'll do?"

"Julie? I honestly don't know." Christie sighed. "I hope she chooses to go back to her family though. Is that mean of me? Wanting to keep our home just for us?"

"No, darlin'. That ain't mean, that's natural. You ain't got a mean bone in your body."

Christie winced at Zee's faith in her, especially considering how she had treated her earlier. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"I would." She felt a kiss pressed into her hair and relaxed back into Zee's embrace.

"Anyway, if she decides not to go," Zee's voice vibrated through her, "well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Chapter 16.

". . . Willc.o.x, Lordsburg, Deming, El Paso, Alpine, Sanderson, Del Rio . . ."

Zee barged her way through the huddle of pa.s.sengers waiting to board a car and headed for one further down the train. A glance satisfied her that Christie and Julie were following in her wake. Both looked wonderful in their new dresses, and it felt good to be seen in the company of two such pretty women.

It had been a fraught week, with Julie unable to decide about her future, swinging first this way then that, her tears never far beneath the surface. At least Zee could escape from the emotional storm by going to work each day. Christie had no such relief.

"Suppose my aunt and uncle mistreat me the way my guardian did?" Julie wailed one evening.

"Just get on the train and come straight back here," said Zee.

But the look Christie threw her told her that practical answers weren't what the girl needed at present, so she shrugged and left them to have yet another convoluted talk.

They had had an awful lot of those it seemed to her, involving much crying and "what if" ing on Julie's part, much hugging, "there, there" ing, and hair stroking on Christie's, and, inevitably, more tears. She was glad to be out of it. The first few evenings she had occupied herself making furniture for the parlor. Then the lumber for the barn arrived, and she had another perfect excuse.

She was admiring the posts she had just sunk for the new barn, when a tired-looking Christie came out into the back yard to join her.

"She's going," was all Christie said.

Zee arched an eyebrow. They had been here before, twice.

"Definite?"

243.

"Definite."

She draped an arm around Christie. "I'll wire the Fontenots tomorrow. Get them to meet her train."

And that had been that.

There were some empty seats in the next car, Zee saw. She dumped the luggage at the bottom of the steps and waited for Julie and Christie to catch up. "This should do," she told them, handing them up, then grabbing the bags and following them inside.

While Christie selected a bench and helped Julie get settled, Zee stowed the cases. She also had a word with the porter, asking him to make sure no one bothered Julie, slipping him three dollars for his trouble.

When she rejoined the others, Christie was asking the girl for the umpteenth time, "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I'm used to trains. Millain traveled a lot."

Zee ran a soothing hand down Christie's back. "She'll be fine. The porter's agreed to keep an eye on her," she said. "And her aunt and uncle are meeting her at the other end."

Christie sighed. "I'm acting like a mother hen, aren't I?"

Zee knew better than to agree or disagree. Just then, the train whistle sounded: two long blasts. "Darlin', we'd better go. Sounds like the train's about ready to leave."

Christie leaned over and gave the girl a hug, then turned, hand pressed to a trembling mouth, and hurried toward the exit.

"Good luck to you, Julie," said Zee, meaning it. "And if you should ever be back this way again . . ."

Julie's eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears and she wiped them away with a gloved hand. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome."

Then the car lurched and started into motion, and Zee tipped her hat and ran for it, almost falling off the bottom step and having to grab Christie's outstretched hand to steady herself.

"Thanks."

She turned to watch the train pulling out of Benson on the first stage of its long journey east. A forlorn, gold clad figure looked back at them through a grimy window.

Christie raised a hand in farewell. Zee took off her hat and waved it, and draped an arm round Christie's waist.

"She'll be fine, you know."

244.

Christie forced a smile. "I know."

Together they watched the train recede into the distance.

"C'mon," said Zee at last. "Nothing more for us here." She put her hat back on and they walked arm in arm to where the buckboard was.

Christie was uncharacteristically silent.

"You all right?"

"Just thinking."

"About Julie?" asked Zee.

"About how strange it's going to be to have the house to ourselves again."

"Good strange or bad strange?"

Christie gave her a wry look. "Good, of course. It's nice to have visitors, but it's also nice when they go home."

"Amen!"

Zee handed Christie up into the buckboard driving seat, then climbed up next to her. She took the reins before Christie could. "I'll drive. You look beat."

"I am," said Christie. "I could sleep for a week."

Zee flicked the gelding's reins and the buckboard lurched into motion. "Know what you mean," she said, when they'd traveled a few yards. "When it comes to weeping women or a gunfight, I'll take the gunfight any day . . . Hey!" She rubbed the rib that Christie's elbow had poked and gave her an unrepentant grin.

They were pa.s.sing Angie's Palace, and Zee slowed as Angie herself appeared, spotted them, and hurried over.

"Hey, you two," called Angie. "Some new player piano rolls have arrived. Why don't you come over tonight and we can have some fun."

Zee was about to accept but she caught herself and looked at Christie. They had their signals down pat these days. Her raised eyebrow was answered by a slight moue.

"Sorry, Angie. Not tonight. Been a tough week. Me and Christie are planning a quiet night in, just the two of us. You know?" A grin showed that Angie did indeed know. "Maybe tomorrow?" added Zee.

Angie smiled and stepped back. "We're not going anywhere, Brodie. Come over when you feel like it. We can have a game of strip poker."

Zee was careful not to look at Christie. The other night they had had a heated discussion about strip poker. Zee had a feeling Christie 245.

was only pretending to be angry about the cheating that ensured she always ended up clad only in her drawers, but she still wasn't completely sure. She nodded at Angie and flicked the reins again. The buckboard moved forward.

"Thank you," said Christie, when they had moved out of earshot.

"I really do want some quiet time alone with you."

"My pleasure." Zee reached over and took her hand. "Home?"

Christie smiled at her, a smile that didn't just light up her eyes but her entire being. "Home," she agreed.

PART FOUR.

In-laws for an Outlaw.

Chapter 1.

Zee shaded her eyes against the noonday sun and peered through the grimy windowpane.

It's a pigsty.

Stacks of dirty crockery marred the crumb-strewn kitchen table, and that dishcloth was a disgrace even to Zee's unfussy gaze. Christie would have a fit if she knew how her brother was living now that she wasn't here to keep house for him.

She scanned the interior again, its emptiness explaining why no one had answered her knock at the back door. Blue must be having his dinner at the store.

Cramming her Stetson back on, she stepped down off the back porch and made for the gate. What a pity her mare wasn't tethered outside instead of back in Benson. Still. The walk won't kill me.

Zee strolled into town, tipping her hat to pa.s.sers-by and ignoring the looks coming her way. The stares would be for the usual reasons: the Levi's, the guns. Civilized folks tended to think women shouldn't wear either.

"Hang on, Brodie," came a familiar voice from behind. "To what do we owe this honor?"

She stopped and turned, smiling as the town marshal hurried across the street to join her. "Howdy, Milligan."

Pat Milligan's clothes bore knife-sharp creases, and his boots and badge of office shone. His blue linen shirt and serge trousers were snugger across his belly than they used to be. Ain't nothing quite like the loving attentions of a new spouse. She looked down at her own gun belt, which she had had to let out another notch last week. Hm.

"How's Kathy?"

"Never better." He stroked his mustache. "Christie?"

250.

"She's well."