Christie And The Hellcat Part 6

"Take your time, son. I ain't going anywhere." She crossed to a hay bale, plucked a suitable wisp from it, perched on the bale, and began to chew.

Wouldn't have worked anyway. She'd have wanted everything steady and respectable, and I'd have gone loco. Zee sighed. Sure would have been nice to steal a kiss or two from those pretty lips though.

44.

Hooves clopped nearer, pulling her from her reverie, and she got to her feet and waited for the boy.

GIF.

"What did she give you?" asked Blue.

Christie looked up. "Pardon?"

She and her brother were alone in the parlor. Fred was in the back yard, watering his horse, and, from the sound of his cursing, making a mess of it. He hadn't taken Zee's parting shot wellin fact he would probably call her out, next time he saw her . . . if there ever was a next time. After all, Arizona was a huge territory, and since Zee hadn't mentioned where she was based . . .

The thought of not seeing Zee again brought an ache to Christie's chest.

"What was in the sack?" prompted Blue again.

"Oh." Christie had forgotten all about it. She rose and crossed to the table where the little burlap sack lay still unopened.

She untied the drawstring, then opened the neck and peered inside.

Its contents looked unpromising. She reached in and pulled out a palm full of ancient, dusty looking seeds, brown bulbs, and wizened roots.

"Oh," she repeated, sorting through them with one finger. Desert Lilies, Poppies, Marigolds, Verbena, and . . . what is that? Ah, yes, Penstemons, and . . .

Blue was frowning at her.

"Flowers," she explained, holding out the treasure trove for his inspection. "She must have gotten them in Yuma."

He gave her a dubious look. "I dunno, Sis. Seems a lot of effort and a lot of water just to make a few flowers grow"

"And worth every drop." Zee's thoughtfulness was threatening to bring a lump to Christie's throat, and she fought for control.

A sound in the doorway made her look up. A disheveled-looking Fredhe'd spilled water all over his new check trouserswas standing there. She poured Zee's gift back into the sack and put it down.

He wouldn't appreciate what it meant to her, so no point in mention-ing it.

He stopped beside Blue and whispered something. Her brother beamed, glanced at her, then nodded.

45.

"I need to go to the store," he said. "I'm expecting a delivery of cloth this afternoon. You'll be all right on your own?"

Christie knew immediately that something was up . . . and she had a sinking feeling she also knew what it was. Zee's visit had been the catalyst, she supposed dully. Fred had suddenly realized that someone might steal Christie away from him.

Steal? she chided herself. Don't exaggerate. But as she pondered the question, she was shocked, and a little excited, to realize that if Zee had asked her to go with her, she would have seriously considered it. There was something magnetic about the deputy. But that's all over now.

"Christie." Fred came toward her and took her unresisting hand in his. "You and I have known each other for several months now."

Unable to speak, she nodded.

"I have spoken to your brother. He tells me he has no objections to our getting married. So now I'm asking you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

If he had asked her that question an hour ago . . . But now . . . The room felt claustrophobic, lacking air. Giddiness overtook her.

"Are you all right?" Fred's voice came as though from a great distance.

"I don't feel" Then his arms were around her, supporting her, helping her to a chair.

"You see, this is exactly why you need someone to take care of you, Christie. Let me be the one, my dear. Say yes."

Her giddiness was receding. As she stared at him, at the ridiculous Vand.y.k.e beard that he thought made him look so dashing, she felt a twinge of affection. Perhaps in time she could learn to love him.

After all, what else was there?

"Yes, Fred," she murmured. "I will be your wife."

"My dear. My own." He pressed her hand to his lips.

GIF.

It was nightfall when Zee rode into Benson, tired, hungry for something other than beef jerky, and in need of a bath.

Main Street was already bustling with miners, cowboys, and railroad men, all spruced up the best they could manage, all looking for a good time. And since the rapidly growing town now boasted three 46 saloons, a brothel, a gambling den, and a dancehall, the odds were they would find it.

She pa.s.sed the Last Chance Saloon and headed toward the jail, where it was inevitable that some of the men would end up. As she came abreast of Angie's Palace, two of the scantily clad girls leaned over the balcony railing.

"Hey, Brodie," called the smaller one, Clubfoot Liz. "Glad to have you back."

"You ready for a little action?" called the other, known as Red Mary because (as Zee could testify) her hair was red all over.

She tipped her hat at the two wh.o.r.es and smiled. "Give me a chance to wash some of this trail dust off first, will you?"

"Sure thing, handsome," yelled Red Mary. "We'll tell Angie to get your room ready."

Zee nodded her thanks. Her arrangement with "Madam" Angie Tucker suited all concerned. Having a deputy on the premises quieted down some of the brothel's rowdier clients; and if it didn't, well, Zee was handy with her fists and guns. The tiny room that was hers came rent-free; anything else was meant to cost extra . . . but some of the girls were only too eager to supply their services to Zee gratis.

At the hitching post outside the jailthe only stone building in BensonZee pulled up and dismounted gratefully. A lamp was still burning in the office window. Hogan must be doing his paperwork.

She tethered her mare and looped the gelding's leading rein over the post. Then, pulling off her gloves as she went, she took the steps up two at a time and pushed open the door with a crash.

"Hogan," she called, as she strode inside then turned right into the office. "You in here, Hogan?"

The mustachioed man looked up from his perusal of The Police Gazette and smiled. "Brodie."

She perched on the corner of his battered old desk and grinned at him. "Did you miss me?"

"Only 'cause I wasn't aiming at you." Hogan's tone became serious. "So. Any trouble with Prescott?"

"No. He was enjoying all the comforts of prison last time I saw him."

"Good." He gestured at the darn in her shirt. "Who ventilated you?"

"Wells Fargo agent in Contention. Hadn't heard about the pardon."

47.

Hogan stroked his mustache. "Dang! Feared that might happen one day. I'll have to send out another bulletin."

Zee shrugged. "I can handle it."

"I'd rather you didn't have to. It's bad enough the bad guys shooting at us without the good guys joining in."

"And I'd rather be waited on hand and foot by a pretty little green-eyed gal," she retorted, "but we don't all get what we want."

Hogan studied her. "Anyone I know?"

"No. Anyway, turns out she has a beau."

"You'll find the one some day, Brodie," he consoled.

"Like you did?"

Brown eyes twinkled at her. "I'm still hopeful."

"Me too."

Hogan stood up, stretched so extravagantly she was afraid he'd pop the b.u.t.tons off his embroidered waistcoat, then reached across his desk to turn down the lamp. "I'm finished here." He glanced at her. "It's been quiet today. Granpappy Carpenter's in the cellshe got drunk and disorderly againbut that's it. I'll stable the horses.

Go get some rest. You look beat."

"Thanks." She flashed him a c.o.c.ky grin. "Got a bath and another little itch needs scratching first."

He raised an eyebrow. "Anyone ever told you you're a hound dog?"

She pretended to think. "Er . . . you just did."

"Danged right."

She followed him out of the office and waited while he closed and locked the door behind them.

"Enjoy yourself," he called, as he untethered the horses. "Think of me tonight, guarding a fierce desperado all on my lonesome."

"You'll be the last thing I'll be thinking of." With a wink, she set off toward Angie's Palace.

Hogan's voice carried to her on the cool night air. "Hound dog."

Chapter 9.

Christie paced up and down the westbound platform, trying not to think about the last time she was here with Zee, and wondering how much longer Fred was going to be.

He had decided to personally (and unnecessarily, as far as she could tell) supervise the loading of the silver shipment from his father's Ore Mill, and had made her promise to wait for him before boarding. But the locomotive was making sounds of imminent departure, and if Fred didn't appear soon, she would board without him.

She had an appointment of her own to keep, after all.

The sound of running footsteps made her turn. Her fiance was dashing along the platform toward her, his face flushed.

"I beg your pardon, my dear," he said, as he drew near. "Those idiots" He took her by the elbow and guided her up the steep steps and into the rail car. They had barely taken their places on the hard wooden benches when, with a deafening screech of brakes and whoosh of steam, the train lurched forward.

Through the grimy window, Christie watched Contention recede into the distance behind them. The San Pedro Valley gradient would be steep, but the view should be breathtakingif clouds of cinder-streaked smoke and steam didn't obscure it.

A rustle of pages from beside her made her turn to find that Fred had got a copy of the Tombstone Epitaph from somewhere and was intent on reading it. He glanced at her and smiled. "Everything all right?"

She nodded and turned back to her window, knowing that everything was very far from all right but feeling helpless to do anything about it. A week of sleepless nights had left her weary, and that was before she contemplated the tiresome day ahead of her.

49.