Christie And The Hellcat Part 4

She had discovered she liked the way Christie's cheeks pinked and the gentle confusion that overcame her whenever she wasn't sure whether to be astonished, outraged, or delighted, which, in Zee's company, was pretty often. It was entertaining, and, Zee admitted, arousing.

"Do you have a beau?" The question was out before she could stop it. Ah well. No harm in asking, is there?

Christie studied her cards before answering. "My brother wants me to marry Fred Younger. The Mill owner's son. He's quite handsome . . . though rather short."

Zee slapped down a card of her own. "What do you want?"

"I don't know."

"Haven't you kissed him yet?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Zee c.o.c.ked her head. "A lot, I'd say. Don't you want to?"

Green eyes flashed. "I'm not a wh.o.r.e."

Zee blinked at her. "Wanting to kiss someone don't make you one." She pursed her lips. "So you've never kissed a man?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Which means you ain't." Zee decided to gamble. "Ever kissed a woman?"

"Really! I don't think this conversation is quite decent." The chair made a sc.r.a.ping noise as Christie stood up, waking Prescott in the process. "I will not be made the b.u.t.t of your jokes."

32.

"I ain't joking."

"Well, how would you feel if I asked you: 'Have you ever kissed a woman?'"

"Fine, thanks." Zee smirked. "The answer is: Yeah. Lots of times.

I like kissing women. Very much."

At that, Christie let out a half shocked, half intrigued "Oh!" then beat a hasty retreat to the sitting room next door. The kitchen seemed empty without her.

"Trouble in paradise?" asked Prescott.

Zee resisted the urge to punch him. "Shut up."

For the next quarter of an hour, she paced and brooded. Then she stood by the sitting room door and called, "I'm sorry I teased you, Miss Hayes. If you come back, I promise not to do it any more."

At last a subdued Christie returned and they resumed their card game. This time, they kept to more impersonal topics, though Zee was sorely tempted to stray back onto dangerous territory by the glances Christie kept giving her whenever she thought she wasn't looking. Such behavior could have been considered provocative, but Zee realized that Christie was an innocent, unaware of the mixed signals she was sending.

I'd like to help her find out what she really feels, she thought.

Then she chided herself for being a fool.

Rogers recovered consciousness, and Christie prepared dinner for four, serving chicken soup, salt pork and potatoes, rolls, and apple pie, which Zee enjoyed and said so, earning herself a smile. The hours pa.s.sed pleasantly, until it drew near to the time the train was due to leave.

"Let me help you, Zee," said Christieby this time the tension between them had eased and they were on first name terms.

Zee regarded her curiously. "It ain't your job."

"No, but I caused this." She indicated Zee's shoulder wound. "If I hadn't gone squealing for help to him" She gestured at the now conscious Wells Fargo agent, who was still boundpartly because Zee didn't take kindly to being shot in the shoulder and partly because Rogers refused to believe her pardon was genuine. "If I had trusted you"

"That's a lot of ifs," said Zee dryly.

"Please. Let me help," repeated Christie.

"How sweet," said Prescott. "And how loco."

33.

Zee thought about the offer. The bullet wound had stacked the odds further against her. The triggers she had rigged would help, but pain could throw off her concentration and her bandaged shoulder would upset her balance. She couldn't risk Christie being injured, though, oreven worsekilled. She'd never forgive herself for that.

She thought for a moment. Maybe there was a way.

"How are you at using a rifle?"

"Blue says I'm pretty good. On the trail here, I used to shoot game birds for the pot."

"All right, then," said Zee. "Here's what I want you to do."

Chapter 6.

The locomotive whistled, two short blasts, and let out a rush of steam that made Christie jump. She bit her lip. In a few minutes the train would be leaving, bound for Benson and eventually Yuma. And if Zee didn't hurry up, it would be leaving without her.

Christie had left the house by the front door and, just in case any of Prescott's men were still watching, set off toward McClellan's General Store. Once out of sight, she'd doubled back toward the station, found herself a protected spot behind a rain barrel with a clear view of the train, the westbound platform, and, more importantly, the eight scruffy-looking men lounging there: Tolliver and his cronies, waiting to free their boss.

She checked her rifle for the umpteenth time, then settled back.

Prescott's men had scared off law-abiding pa.s.sengers, and those already on board the train had their faces pressed to the soot-streaked windows, trying to ascertain what was going on. As for the train dis-patcher, he was hiding in his office.

The waiting men came alert, standing up then c.o.c.king their revolvers, rifles, and shotguns. Christie followed the direction of their intent gazes and saw Prescott and Zee heading toward the platform.

Zee had discarded her sling and was walking so close on her prisoner's heels he was her shield. "Atta girl," muttered Christie.

The waiting men melted back into the shadows. As Prescott neared the step up to the platform, he slowed and began to look about him. A jab of Zee's shotgun speeded him up again. She guided Prescott onto the platform, boots thudding on faded wooden boards, then halted as seven men, among them the one named Ed Tolliver, stepped out of the shadows.

35.

As they fanned out in front of Zee, Christie gripped her rifle.

Where was the eighth man?

She didn't have long to wait for an answer. A man in a ragged sombrero emerged behind Zee, his six-gun aimed straight at her back.

Aboard the train, pa.s.sengers pointed.

Oh, my Lord!

"Call off your dogs, Prescott," said Zee, "or you're dead meat."

He shook his head and raised his voice. "Pay her no mind, boys.

She's bluffing."

"No I ain't. Call 'em off. Last warning." Her murderous blue glare sent a chill down even Christie's spine.

Doubt flickered over Prescott's face. "All right," he said. "Ed, do as she"

Tolliver aimed his shotgun at Prescott's plump belly and tightened his finger on the trigger.

Prescott gaped. "For G.o.d's sake, Ed!"

"Hit the dirt, Ches."

Prescott hesitated for only a moment, then he dropped to his hands and knees, exposing Zee. Simultaneously, Tolliver and the man in the sombrero fired and Christie's heart stopped . . . and started again. For Zee was no longer there. She had dropped and was rolling sideways across the platform, shotgun clasped in both hands.

Sombrero clutched at his breast and crumpled in a heap. A dismayed Tolliver sank first to one knee, then to both, and toppled forward onto his face.

They shot each other!

But six of the gang were still standing, and Zee was coming back to her feet, shotgun firing. The train whistle blew, two long mournful blasts this time, then a rush of steam enveloped Zee and the others, hiding them from view. Christie hissed in frustration. The steam cleared and she saw another of Prescott's men was down, screaming and clutching his belly. Zee had discarded her shotgun and now held a revolver.

With a screech and a clatter, the train's wheels began to turn.

Slowly but surely, it began to pull out of the station.

"Hurry, Zee," muttered Christie.

Zee's instructions were clear in her memory. "Wait," she'd said, "until I'm out of bullets. Someone's bound to have the drop on me by thentake him out and give me a breathing s.p.a.ce." She had pinned 36 Christie with those striking blue eyes. "Think you can do that?"

Christie braced herself against the rain barrel and sighted along the rifle. She had told Zee she could, but now she wasn't so sure.

Shooting men was different from shooting birds. Her mouth was dry.

She swallowed.

Zee was aiming her gun with her right hand, and using her left to fan the hammer, in spite of her shoulder wound, the shots coming so fast there was barely s.p.a.ce between them. Christie gaped as Zee took out three of Prescott's men as easily as sh.e.l.ling peas.

Then it came, the moment Christie had been dreading. Zee's hammer clicked on an empty chamber. As she threw down the useless gun and struggled to draw her remaining revolver, another of Prescott's men, a bristle-chinned cutthroat in a red bandanna, pointed his shotgun straight at her.

There was no time to think. Christie got him in her sights and pulled the trigger. Red Bandanna swayed and Christie held her breath. Then he crumpled and dropped to the platform.

Slowly but surely the train was gathering speed. Christie took an involuntary step forward. She'll never make it.

But her intervention had bought Zee precious time to draw her other Colt, and even as Christie watched, she gunned down the last of Prescott's men, holstered her weapon, and grabbed the still crouching gang leader by his arm. As the caboose came alongside the platform, she gave Prescott a mighty shove toward the steps, then leaped toward them herself, hands reaching. The tumbling figures disappeared from view, and the train rumbled off along the track.

Unable to believe it was over, Christie stumbled forward, barely aware of the onlookers emerging now the gun battle had pa.s.sed. The man who had been gut shot was screaming, but she ignored him and let others go to his aid. She was too busy squinting at the disappearing train, hoping for a sign that Zee was all right.

A tall figure appeared on the caboose's rear platform, holding on to the rail. Christie shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight and saw a flash of even white teeth against tanned skin. Relief washed over her, and she waved her rifle in triumph. Zee removed her hat and waved it in reply.

As the distance between them widened, Christie's shoulders drooped. Then she remembered. She's got to come back for her horses.

And found she was grinning from ear to ear.

37.

"Miss Hayes," came a man's voice. She turned to find the station-master standing behind her. "Can you throw any light on all this?"

"In a minute, Mr. Carmichael. In a minute."

She watched the train shrink until it was only a smudge on the horizon, until it was nothing at all.