Christie And The Hellcat Part 26

Zee took the steps up to the jail two at a time and flung open the door to the office. It took her only moments to find some paper and scrawl: "Gone Home For Dinner. Back in One Hour." She was halfway out the office door, when a thought made her smile, and she went back and struck out "One" and scribbled "Two" in its place.

There. That should provide enough time for after-dinner plans involving Christie and a bed.

Outside, she mounted up and kneed the horse into a trot. As she headed up Main Street, she pulled down the broad brim of her hat against the sun's glare and pondered a puzzle. Why was it that, as soon as she returned to work, things always got interesting?

Hogan's logbook said things had been as quiet as the grave while she was away. Oh, there'd been a fistfight or two, and minor fires at the Golden Slipper and the Last Chance Saloon, oh and the arrival of that gambler from New Orleans which had provoked the sheriff into sending a telegram to check up on him, but that had been it. Her first morning back, and already she'd had to separate two of Angie's girls (they'd been trying to knife one another over a handsome client), and a pair of silver miners, lifelong friends, had taken it into their heads to brain one another with shovels, all because one had called the other's new s.h.i.+rt "puke-colored." Then there had been the scuffle outside the Wells Fargo Office . . .

She waved at the boy playing marbles on the boardwalk and turned the mare off Main Street.

She'd a.s.sess the gambler herself this afternoon, she decided, as she cantered past McGillivray's, where a loud hammering indicated the undertaker was hard at work. Americus Millain might be an honest cardplayer, he might also be the biggest cardsharp this side of the Mississippi. Hogan had noted that Millain had a pretty little octoroon in tow; Zee was curious to see her too.

Her stomach rumbled. Wonder what Christie's got for dinner.

Whatever it is, it'll sure be welcome.

The Old Barn came into sight, and impulsively she kicked the mare into a gallop. She pounded up the track alongside the house, jumped the back gate, and pulled up in the back yard. The horse 172 whinnied and tossed her head.

"Thanks, girl." She dismounted, gave the mare a pat, and led her to the trough. Seconds later, burlap sack in hand she was lifting the latch and pus.h.i.+ng open the back door with an enthusiastic thump.

Christie was standing with her back to her, serving up an appetizing smelling dinner. Zee admired the shapely rump for a brief moment then strode toward her.

"Miss me, darlin'?" She flung her hat at the hat stand, discarded the sack and her gloves on the table, and pulled Christie into a bear hug. To her surprise, the other woman let out a sob, turned in the circle of her arms, and grabbed hold of her, pressing herself into Zee.

"Hey!" Zee was in danger of toppling backward. She steered them both over to a chair and sat down. "What's wrong?" She pulled Christie onto her lap. d.a.m.n! "Is it something I did?"

But Christie was crying so hard, it was impossible to make out what she was saying in between the sniffles and sobs and hiccups.

First she had to get Christie calmed down. Zee rocked her, pressed her lips to hair and cheek, stroked her back, all the while whispering the soothing stream of nonsense that worked when her horse got skittish. After a while, the sobbing lessened and the death grip round her neck eased.

The fair head lifted and puffy eyes regarded her blearily.

"What's wrong?" repeated Zee.

Christie's nose was congested and her lips were swollen, but Zee caught the mumbled words "Rikers" and "wh.o.r.e" and "h.e.l.l." Her lips tightened.

"Tell me again," she ordered. "Slowly." When the whole sorry mess had been laid out for her inspection, she disentangled herself from Christie and stood up.

Christie looked at her in alarm. "Where are you going?"

She reached for her gloves. "To teach those Rikers a lesson." A cold rage was pulsing through her. Those sanctimonious lumps of horse dung! How dare they treat Christie like that! She flexed her hands, antic.i.p.ating the satisfying feel of fists thudding into flesh.

Christie grabbed hold of Zee's arm. "No."

"Darlin'." Zee tried to shake loose the hand restraining her.

"No." Christie's voice was urgent. "Listen to me. You're not the h.e.l.lcat anymore. You're the law and you can't go taking it into your own hands."

173.

She growled. "Just watch me."

"What the Rikers said was just words, Zee. Horrible, hurtful words, it's true, but I should have been thick-skinned enough to ignore them."

"Words can cause as much harm as bullets," she objected. But Christie's impa.s.sioned plea had reached her, and already her anger was ebbing, and from Christie's relieved look, she could sense it.

"d.a.m.n." Zee flopped down, feeling as though she had just wrestled a bear. One finger at a time, she pulled off her gloves. "Why can't I whup someone when I feel like it?" she complained, only half in jest.

"Because then you'd be little better than a savage." Christie sat on Zee's lap again, as though she belonged there by right, and, the way it felt to Zee, she did.

"The Rikers are the savages." She slipped an arm round Christie's waist. "They had no call to speak to you that way."

Christie sighed. "A lot of people seem to feel the way they do.

Blue does." The sadness in her voice almost broke Zee's heart.

"Your brother does not think you're a wh.o.r.e," she protested. "He thinks you keep bad company . . . and that bit's true." She gave Christie a rakish grin.

Wistful green eyes regarded her. "Maybe I was foolish to think we could set up house like a normal couple, Zee. Maybe we should go back to the Palace and"

"d.a.m.n it!" Zee grabbed Christie by the shoulders, earning herself a startled glance. "Just because the Rikers think we should live a certain way, it don't mean we should. h.e.l.l, the way I see it, their disapproval is a point in our favor."

"But"

"No buts. I ain't gonna apologize for who I am and neither are you."

"But respectable fo"

"Respectable folk ain't worth a plugged nickel. It's folk like Ann and Curly who matter. Kind folk, decent folk. Got me?" Christie winced, and Zee released her grip as though burned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt"

"It's all right." Christie smiled at her, then ran a knuckle tenderly over Zee's cheek. "I understand." She snuggled against Zee and sighed. "You're right, of course. I know it. It's just . . . I 174 don't feel it . . . here," she thumped her own chest, "yet."

Zee held her close. "You will, darlin'. Give it time."

Zee's grumbling stomach broke the companionable silence.

"Oh." Christie sat up, a hand to her mouth. "Your dinner. It must be stone cold by now. Maybe I can reheat" She tried to get up, but Zee held her in place.

"Stay put." Zee stretched across the table and pulled one of the plates toward her. She sprinkled salt on a cold potato and held it to Christie's lips. Small white teeth took a tentative bite. While Christie chewed contentedly, Zee popped a potato in her own mouth and reached for a slice of salt pork.

"There are knives and forks, you know," chided Christie, but she didn't seem to mind when Zee tore up the meat with her fingers and fed her. Soon both plates were empty.

"Somehow, eating food like this tastes better," said Christie, licking crystals of salt from Zee's palm, the sensation sending a pleasant jolt through her. Zee grabbed Christie's hand and returned the favor, and got a wide-eyed look in response.

"When do you have to go back?" Christie's voice was a mere husk.

Zee glanced at the kitchen clock. "Half an hour." She gave a sly smile. "Got something in mind?"

Christie slid off her lap and held out a hand. Zee took it and stood up.

"I think that bed needs rechristening, don't you, darlin'?"

"My thoughts exactly."

Chapter 4.

Zee looped the mare's reins over the rail outside the Golden Slipper and pushed her way through the swinging doors. The chatter, laughter, and clink of gla.s.ses lessened as every head in the place swung toward her, and that meant quite a few.

She tipped back her hat and grinned. "Afternoon, gents," she called. "And ladies," she added, causing a ripple of laughterthere were plenty of women in the crowded gambling den, but few of them were "ladies." The conversation and slap of playing cards on baize resumed.

A beautiful young woman in a lemon-yellow dress, sitting on her own by the bar, was a cla.s.s apart from the usual hostesses, whose job was to siphon the customers' surplus money into the gambling den's pockets by serving drinks at the tables and whoring. Unlike them, her dress flattered her figure but kept it discreetly under wraps, her flaw-less complexion required no face paint, and her manner was demure.

Zee gave her a closer look, and decided she was in fact little more than sixteen. Her dark chestnut hair was slightly wavy and Zee would have bet that her tanned complexion owed little to the sun.

Guess she's the octoroon Hogan mentioned.

Zee crossed to the bar, then positioned herself so she could see the girl clearly in the mirror.

She seemed to be on edge. When she wasn't fiddling with her gloves, her eyes, which were so dark as to be almost black, were fixed on a man in a small-brimmed hat, striped silk s.h.i.+rt, and embroidered vest, who was sitting at one of the poker tables. In that get-up, he certainly wasn't one of the Golden Slipper's regulars.

Must be Americus Millain.

The chief hostess, Kitty Lee, came over and fluttered long eyelashes 176 at Zee. When Zee politely but firmly declined her invitation to buy some house champagne and go upstairs with her, Kitty shook her head sadly, ringlets dancing, but left her in peace.

Zee rested a boot on the foot rail. "Whiskey, Jack." She felt in her vest pocket for a coin and flipped it toward the barkeep.

He caught it. "Sure thing, Deputy." He reached below the counter for a bottle. When he'd finished pouring she took it off him and examined the label.

"This the best you've got?"

"Yeah. Been a run on the good stuffthat new fellow mostly.

Won't be getting another delivery 'til next week."

"Guess it'll have to do then." She took a sip of the rough liquor and shuddered. "By new fellow d'you mean Millain?"

Her words carried, and the girl sitting further along the bar stiffened at the name.

"That's him. Got a winning streak going."

Winning streak, huh? Zee knocked back her shot gla.s.s in one, then turned and leaned back against the bar. Millain's pointed beard disguised a weak chin, she decided, just as he glanced up. His eyes widened as she caught and held his gaze, but he recovered his poise quickly, flashed her a charming smile that set her teeth on edge, and resumed his game of cards.

Zee turned her back on him. "'Nother whiskey, Jack," she called, slapping another coin on the counter and s.h.i.+fting so she could see both the girl and Millain in the mirror.

"Tell me about this winning streak." She took a gulp. Either the liquor was improving or her taste buds had died.

"Already cleaned out Luke Howells." The barkeep polished the bar with a cloth. "And it looks like he's just done the same to Horace Beecher."

Zee glanced in the mirror. Horace's gleaming bald head was cradled in his hands, and his friends were trying to comfort him. A smirking Millain, meanwhile, was raking in the contents of the pot.

"Remarkable luck," she said dryly.

Zee smiled her thanks at the barkeep, then turned and strode over to Millain's table. She eased past a white-faced Horace, who was now being helped from the room, and grabbed the chair he had vacated, swiveling it round and straddling it.

The players looked at her in surprise.

177.

"Howdy, Brodie." Bob Lewis mopped his balding head with a handkerchief. "You thinking of sitting in for a spell? I should warn you, Millain here is in form."

Silas Ward glowered at the depleted pile of coins in front of him and grunted agreement.

"No," said Zee. "Just came over to introduce myself." She held out a gloved hand to the gambler from New Orleans. "Deputy Zee Brodie."

He shook it. "Americus Millain. At your service, ma'am."

"Deputy or Brodie will do fine, thanks. So what brings you and your lady friend to Benson?" She glanced meaningfully at the girl in lemon-yellow who was watching them.

He shrugged, unwrapped a fresh deck of cards, and began to shuffle them. "Oh, you know how it is, Deputy. A man gets tired of staying in one place all the time." He smiled. "I had a hankering to travel."

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He knocked back the contents of the gla.s.s of whiskey sitting by his elbow. Almost as soon as he put it down, a hostess brought the bottle and refilled it. He smiled at her and tossed her a dollar, then looked at the other players. "Ready to win back some of your money, gentlemen?"

"Count me in," said Bob.

Silas nodded and tw.a.n.ged a suspender.

"Sure you won't sit in, Deputy?"

She shook her head.

"All right, gentlemen. Ante up." Millain tossed a dollar in the pot and waited for the others to add their token bets.

As he dealt, Zee rested her chin on the chair back and followed his every move with an eagle eye. He handled the cards like an expert.

He glanced up, saw the direction of her stare and smiled. She pursed her lips. Either he wasn't cheating or he was d.a.m.ned good at it.

When everyone had their cards (they were playing Five Card Stud), Millain placed the remainder of the deck in the middle of the table and reached for his own cards.

He was the type to wear out his welcome everywhere he went, she guessed, watching the players examining the hands they had been dealt. The sooner the reply to Hogan's telegram came, the better.