Christie And The Hellcat Part 39

Chapter 2.

The mournful sound of a train whistle came from just up ahead.

Zee quickened her pace.

She had pa.s.sed her spare time until the train was due playing cards in one of the saloons. There wasn't much else to do in this town if you excluded the red light district, and she had no hankering to visit that. It was seedier than its Benson equivalent, the wh.o.r.es as different from the girls at Angie's Palace as alley cats from Siamese.

But, preoccupied as she was with some good drinking whiskey and a winning hand, time had slipped away from her. She took a shortcut to the station, relying on her sense of direction to get her there, and was beginning to recognize her surroundings. Just a right, then a left, and the depot should be A lariat dropped round her shoulders.

"What the . . .?"

The whiskey had dulled Zee's edge, and before she could react, the rope was biting into her arms, pinning them to her sides and preventing her from drawing her guns.

A leg scythed her feet out from under her, and she fell, unable to cushion her fall. She rolled over, and saw there were three men, two tall and one short, all with bandannas masking the lower halves of their faces. They halted a yard from her, laughing at her attempts to free herself.

The tall man in the blue bandanna drew back his foot. The toe of his boot caught her in the ribs, and pain flared, causing bright spots before her eyes.

"That's it," said the short man, evidently the leader, his voice m.u.f.fled. "Give the b.i.t.c.h what she deserves."

The third attacker crouched next to her, studied her, and pulled 257.

back a meaty fist. She jerked back, and the punch meant for her eye glanced off her cheekbone instead. It stung.

Zee brought her knees up toward her chest and tucked her feet in, providing herself with a measure of protection and bringing the knife she kept in her boot within reach. Before she could reach for it though, the short man came over and kicked her in the side with enough force to bring tears to her eyes.

For a moment she wondered where she was. The sound of a train whistle tooting twice pulled her back. Leaving without me.

"Think she's had enough?" asked the man in the blue bandanna.

"Don't be stupid," said the short man. "We've only just started."

She blinked away the blurriness and stretched out her right hand.

Her gloved fingertips brushed against the handle of the knife. Almost.

Movement warned her, and just in time, she dodged the kick aimed at her head. While the foot drew back for another go, she reached for the razor-sharp knife once more.

Got it.

Zee pulled it free of its sheath, flipped it point upwards, and sawed at the lariat. Once, twice . . . With a tw.a.n.g, the last strand parted and her arms were free. She came to her feet in one smooth movement, knife in one hand, the other drawing a revolver.

"Look out!" yelled one of the men, as the bullet zoomed through the s.p.a.ce his head had occupied a second ago and plowed into a wall.

Zee cursed as the pins and needles of her returning circulation threw off her aim.

Her attackers didn't wait for her to recover. They turned and ran for it.

GIF.

Christie hung the skillet from its hook more vigorously than was necessary. "Where is she?"

She didn't know whether to be angry or concerned or both. She did know that banging breakfast utensils and crockery together as she washed them up and put them away wasn't helping.

She needed to make her feelings known, at full volume, to that good-for-nothing woman of hers. But that was just the problem. Zee wasn't here. She had promised to return last night, but the train from Contention had come and gone and there was still no sign of her.

258.

Christie checked the clock for the second time in as many minutes nearly eight-thirty.

It didn't help that she hadn't slept well. She had tossed and turned all night in a bed that felt far too large, cold, and empty without Zee in it, radiating body heat and providing other comforts.

"What in heaven's name are you up to? And why haven't you sent a telegram?"

She was stacking the crockery so noisily, she didn't hear the back door opening and closing. But it must have, because suddenly there was an unmistakable sense of presence behind her. She spun on her heel and gaped at the tall figure standing there, turning her hat in gloved hands.

"Zee!"

The cutting phrases Christie had rehea.r.s.ed evaporated, and she launched herself across the kitchen. Her bear hug brought a grunt of pained protest and she released Zee and stood back. Only then did she register the bruised face and torn clothes. "You're hurt!" She put a hand to her mouth.

Zee gave her a rueful smile. "Got bushwhacked in Contention.

Feel as if a herd of beeves ran me down." She flinched as Christie reached for the sore cheekbone and the puffy eyelid above it, but Christie kept her touch feather-light.

"Let me look at you."

Christie tugged an unresisting Zee over to a chair and sat her down. Zee placed her hat on the table and took off her gloves then allowed Christie to unb.u.t.ton her shirt and ease it off over her shoulders and down around her waist. A clean white bandage had been neatly wrapped round her ribs.

"You didn't put this on yourself. Who did?"

"Kathy Milligan." Zee ran a hand through cropped hair. "Missed the last train back. Spent the night on a cot at their place."

Christie undid the knots and eased the bandage off, wincing at the black and blue bruises revealed. She palpated Zee's skin to a.s.sess the damage. The worst of it seemed to be on her right side.

Zee grunted. "Careful, darlin'. Reckon a couple of ribs got cracked."

"Sorry." Christie sighed, rewrapped the bandage, and stood back.

Zee reb.u.t.toned her shirt and gestured, and Christie accepted the invitation to sit on her lap.

259.

"I wish you had let me know what was going on." She snuggled closer, careful to avoid the damaged ribs. "I was worried." Zee's hand curled itself around her waist.

"Knew I'd get home before any telegram." A bloodshot eye considered her. "Anyway, I thought you'd worry more if you knew about the beating."

"You're probably right." A horrible thought occurred to Christie. "Did Blue do this to you?" She'd never forgive herself if her brother "No. Three sons-of-b.i.t.c.hes got a lariat over me just outside the station depot. I'd had a couple of drinks, which slowed me down some. Took me a while to cut myself free."

"But then who"

"Don't know for sure. They were wearing masks, and once I could fight back, they skedaddled." She gestured ruefully at herself. "They got in a few punches and kicks before that happened though."

Christie backtracked. "For sure? Could you make a guess?"

Zee nodded. "The leader, the one who cracked my ribs, was wearing shoes."

Christie picked up on the significance of that at once. "Not boots?"

"No. Custom-made, shiny shoes with higher than usual heels. He was short, darlin'. Dapper, wearing checked trousers." Her gaze was keen. "Remind you of anyone?"

Surely not? "Fred isn't violent. He wouldn't do anything like that."

"He's not the man you knew, darlin'. He's turned feral, and he hates my guts."

Zee's long fingers began to unb.u.t.ton her bodice and tried to slip inside. Christie slapped them. "Stop that, Zee. You should be taking things easy."

"Are you prescribing bed rest, Doc Hayes?" The blue eyes had a knowing glint, and Christie's pulse rate picked up. It was tempting.

"What about your ribs?"

Zee pushed Christie off her lap, stood up, and held out a hand.

"Long as we're careful," she said. "C'mon. Bed's awaiting."

Christie held her bodice closed with one hand, and with the other took Zee's hand. "Deputy Brodie," she said. "You're incorrigible."

"And that's the way you like it."

Chapter 3.

"So, did you see Blue?"

Christie was feeling drowsy and relaxed, enjoying the feel of Zee's skin against her bare back, the arm draped around her waist.

The sore ribs had cramped their style a bit, but they had managed surprisingly well.

"Yeah," came Zee's drawl. "He meant to reply to your letter, but he's had other things on his mind."

Christie turned over. "Does that mean?" She tried not to get her hopes up, but her heart was hammering.

"Things are all right between you? Yeah, it does." Zee ran a fingertip down Christie's nose. "But he's still sore at me."

Christie bit the finger then released it, earning herself a grin.

"That's wonderful. About him and me, I mean." She had hated being estranged from her brother. Blue was all the family she had left in this world . . . besides Zee of course. It felt as though a great weight had rolled off her shoulders. She hummed a few bars of "Beautiful Dreamer."

"Guess that's what you wanted to hear, huh?" Zee was smirking at her but she didn't mind.

"Yes." She made herself comfortable against Zee again. "How is he?"

The long pause alerted her that something was up and she twisted round until she could see Zee's face. "What is it?" Zee grimaced, and apprehension washed over Christie.

"Well, you know I said he had other things on his mind?"

She nodded.

"He has problems, big problems. And most of them are down to Fred."

261.

Christie blinked. "What do you mean?"

So Zee told her, the whole sorry story, from the opening of the rival establishment opposite Blue's store to the ruin of his hopes for Jenny and the baby.

Indignation became shock then turned to anger. One fact in particular stuck in Christie's mind. "Jenny's pregnant?" That her strait-laced brother could have done the deed, and with that little chit of a girl . . . well!

Zee was laughing at her and she frowned. "What?"

"Guess he's as partial to bed sports as his sister. Must be a family trait."

She hit Zee a playful blow in the ribs, then spent the next five minutes apologizing and trying to rub it better. When Zee opined that kissing it better might be nicer, Christie knew Zee had recovered, and turned her roiling thoughts back to the subject at hand.

"The point is," continued Christie, "that Blue's in a bad way and needs our help. With the store and with Jenny."

"Well, he won't accept it from me, darlin'. I offered and got turned down flat. He thinks I'm to blame for all this." Zee's tone was neutral, but Christie could tell she was offended.

She stroked a muscled biceps. "Since when did the h.e.l.lcat take no for an answer?"

Zee blinked at her. "You want me to track down Jenny?"

"Do you think it might help?"

Zee's gaze turned inward, then she nodded. "Got a hunch it might."

"Well, then . . . As for Blue himself, and his store, well, I'm his sister. He'll have to accept help from me."

Zee grimaced. "Wouldn't bet on it. Besides, your presence there might make things worse."