Christie and the hellcat, p.15
Christie and the Hellcat, page 15
Christie suppressed a grin, gave her hair a final stroke, and placed the hairbrush on the hotel dresser. She stood up and crossed to the big bed.
“You can help speed things up.” She turned until her back was facing Zee. The creak of bedsprings signaled that Zee was sitting up.
Moments later, she felt her stays loosening and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thanks.” She pulled the uncomfortable undergarment off and folded it, then placed it with her dress. Just because Zee tended to throw her clothes all over the floor didn’t mean she was going to. She turned to find an appreciative gaze raking her from head to foot.
“Don’t know why you decided to wear a corset again.” Zee leaned back against the pillows, putting her hands behind her head and crossing her long legs at the ankles.
“You have to dress up for the Theater,” said Christie. She stripped down to her drawers, conscious that Zee was watching her every move and slowing her disrobing deliberately.
“Get over here, you little tease,” growled Zee at last.
Christie laughed, draped her stockings over a chair back and went to join her, giving Zee’s big toe a tweak.
“What on earth do you do to your socks? They need darning again.”
Zee dismissed the hole. “I’m a growing girl,” she said. “Come here.”
Christie was only too willing to be pulled into Zee’s embrace.
Playful wrestling escalated into heated kissing before the need to breathe made them pull back.
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“Mm.” Christie nestled into Zee’s arms. “This is the perfect end to a very strange couple of days.”
“Yeah. Who knew there were so many women pretending to be men out there?”
“And men pretending to be women,” added Christie. She was pensive for a while. “Why do you think they do it?”
Zee shrugged. “It’s a mighty fine disguise if you want to rob a stage.”
“But Vesta and Dan . . .” She trailed off as she considered the English couple’s act. Dan had made her laugh until she cried, but Vesta . . . well Vesta’s act had both confused and intrigued her, and, she wouldn’t mind betting, a lot of the audience felt the same. A nibble on her neck brought her out of her reverie.
“Does there have to be a reason?” asked Zee. “Maybe that’s just who they are.”
The nibble became a delicious suction, and Christie knew she would have to wear a scarf tomorrow. She pulled back her hair, revealing more of her neck for Zee’s attentions, and mulled over her reply. Inescapably, her thoughts turned to her brother. Will he ever accept that this is just who we are? She sighed.
Zee stopped what she was doing. “You all right?”
Christie looked at her and brushed one tanned cheekbone with her forefinger. “Do you think Blue will ever come around?”
“Yeah.” Zee took her hand and kissed its palm. “Wanna know why? I think he’s angry, mostly. A lot at me, a little at you. A woman, an ex-outlaw, no less, seduced his sister, his friend’s fiancée.” She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “If I didn’t know better I’d be shocked myself.”
“But it wasn’t like that,” objected Christie.
“But that’s how it seems to him, darlin’. And it’s a lot to swallow.”
Christie’s shoulders slumped. “So there’s no hope then?”
“Sure there is.” Zee hugged her. “Once his anger wears off, he’ll want to see his little sis. I guarantee it. You love each other, always have, always will. All those memories of your parents, all that shared history . . . that’s a lot to ditch. He’ll come to his senses, and sooner rather than later.”
“But he said,” Christie’s throat was suddenly clogged with grief,
“as long as I’m living in a brothel—” She stopped, taken aback by Zee’s grin. “What?”
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“I was saving this piece of news for when we get back, but now’s as good a time as any.” Zee released her, rolled over, grabbed her shirt from the hotel’s plush green carpet, and began delving in one pocket.
“What news?”
Zee pressed a much folded, legal-looking document into Christie’s hands. She opened it and stared at its contents.
THE OLD BARN, SCHOOLHOUSE LANE, BENSON
Transfer of Title Deed
In consideration of four hundred dollars, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged, Raymond Cooper, now resident at 4, Glenn Street, Tucson, hereby transfers to Miss Zerelda Brodie, Deputy Sheriff of Cochise County, now resident at Angie’s Palace, Benson, and Miss Christie Hayes, also now resident at Angie’s Palace, Benson, the above property. Details are as follows . . .
Christie’s vision blurred. “Oh, Zee. Is this . . . ?” She put a hand to her mouth. “Have you . . . ?” She took a deep breath and tried again. “Does this mean what I think it means?”
The self-satisfied grin on Zee’s face made Christie feel like both throttling and kissing her.
“Yeah.”
“But how could you afford it?”
“Been putting aside some of the reward monies I’ve earned over the last year.” Sudden doubt filled the blue eyes. “That’s what you wanted, right? Our own place? There’s even a garden for if you want to grow—”
Christie flung herself at Zee.
“Oof!”
She showered her with kisses and endearments.
“Darlin’,” panted Zee, when Christie allowed her up for air at last.
“You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“That could well be,” agreed Christie happily. “But what a way to go.”
PART THREE
Full House
Chapter 1
Zee careered round the corner into Main Street, gambling that the heavy sacks in the back of the buckboard would keep it from turning over.
A whiskery old gent in worn britches and suspenders leaped out of the way. “Goldarn it, Brodie! Where’re you off to in such a hurry?”
he yelled after her.
“Sorry, Silas. My lady’s waiting and I’m late.”
Collecting the horses and wagon had been no problem—Zee had telegraphed the livery stable before she and Christie left Phoenix, and when she arrived, Bradley had the gelding and buckboard ready and waiting for her, along with her own mare. It was loading Taylor’s supplies and selecting the surprise bolt of dress fabric that had taken the time, and Zee still had no idea if the color would be to Christie’s taste or not.
She glanced back, checking that the mare tethered to the rear of the buckboard was keeping up. An indignant whinny greeted her, but the mare seemed fine. She faced front again and cracked the reins.
As she neared Benson’s Wells Fargo office, she was relieved to see Christie wasn’t pacing up and down and cursing (though the gentle Christie rarely cursed) but was talking to a mustachioed man in an embroidered waistcoat.
Zee brought the buckboard to a halt beside them. “Hands off, Hogan. She’s spoken for.”
Christie stopped talking and turned to smile at her—Zee never got tired of seeing that smile. “I’ve been telling Sheriff Hogan all about Phoenix,” she said.
Zee winked. “Not everything I hope?”
Christie’s cheeks pinked, and Zee laughed and jumped down from the buckboard.
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“Brodie,” said her boss. “Glad to have you back.”
“Thanks. But I ain’t officially back ’til tomorrow.” She reached for the luggage Christie had been guarding and began stowing the bags in the back with the supplies.
“Can’t blame a man for trying,” said Hogan. “You and Miss Hayes have had your holiday, now I need one.”
“Aw. Getting old?”
“Well, I am, and that’s a fact.” He chuckled. “But it wasn’t looking after the jail all on my lonesome wore me out. It was listening to Angie going on and on about what it was taking to make your place even remotely habitable. Old Coop let that place go to rack and ruin.”
Zee slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s why it was dirt cheap.”
She turned to find Christie looking at the gelding and buckboard.
“Will it do?”
Christie nodded.
She handed Christie up into the seat, then hopped up beside her.
“You drive.” She picked up the reins and handed them over.
Christie looked at her. “It’s been some time since I drove one of these.”
Hogan came to stand beside them. “Angie said there’s enough water to tide you and the horses over for a couple of days. And she’s fixed for the water wagon to call day after tomorrow.”
Zee tipped her hat. “Tell her much obliged, will you?”
He grinned. “Oh, you’ll be able to thank her in person.” Zee wondered what he meant by that, but before she could inquire he stepped back, tipped his hat, and started to walk away.
The buckboard remained stationary, and she glanced at Christie who seemed to have been struck by paralysis. “We gonna sit here all day, darlin’? Got us a new home to go to and,” she lowered her voice,
“a new bed to christen.”
That got Zee a startled look and a hasty “Sh.” Chuckling, she made herself as comfortable as possible on the hard wooden seat, pulled down the brim of her Stetson against the noonday sun, and folded her gloved hands across her stomach. Then she waited.
Christie took a deep breath, exhaled, muttered what might have been a curse under her breath, then flicked the reins. The dozing gelding started to life and the buckboard jerked forward with a rumble.
By the time they reached Schoolhouse Lane, which was on the edge of town, Christie was handling the gelding and buckboard as Christie and the Hellcat
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though she had been doing so all her life and was even humming to herself. Zee gave her an amused glance and tipped her hat to a passer-by.
They had passed several of the townsfolk on the way. Zee knew them all, and most had called out a greeting or tipped their hats. One or two of the more upright citizens had pretended not to see her, but that was only to be expected given Zee’s Hellcat past and the disreputable circles she moved in. Christie’s acquaintances were as yet limited (unless you counted those who frequented Angie’s Palace), but Zee hoped that would change now they had a home to which Christie could invite more respectable guests.
The buckboard trundled past the schoolhouse on the left then Curly Shaw’s spread on the right. “Nearly there,” said Zee as, up ahead, an odd-looking house came into view.
“Is that it?” Christie’s voice was hoarse with excitement. She stared at the rundown vegetable garden and the rutted track leading round the side of the house, whose origins as a barn were all too obvious.
“Yeah.” Zee gave her an affectionate glance. “Ain’t much but it’s all ours. Home sweet home.”
At Zee’s direction, Christie turned the buckboard up the track, which brought them round to the yard at the back of the house. Zee jumped down, opened the gate, and closed it again once Christie had driven through. Then she helped Christie down and watched her take in their surroundings.
“Needs work,” she admitted, bashing her hat against her thigh to get the worst of the dust off. “Fence needs fixing. And there’s a hole in the roof.” She pointed at the ramshackle barn that the previous owner had built next to the house and where she intended to keep the horses and buckboard. “I asked Angie to focus on the kitchen and main bedroom. Anything else we can fix later.”
She ran a hand through her hair then resettled her hat. “Not as grand as your place in Contention but . . .” She moved behind Christie and hugged her.
“It’s fine.” Christie relaxed against her, and Zee gave in to the urge to press her lips against fair hair. “Anyway, making this place spick-and-span will give me something to do while you’re at work.”
“Yeah.” Reluctantly Zee relinquished her hold. “All right. First things first.”
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The water trough in the yard was dry, so she took off her hat and emptied her canteen into it. While the gelding drank, her mare nickered. “I’m getting to you . . . That’s enough, boy.” She pushed the gelding away and let the mare drink.
Christie meanwhile climbed into the back of the buckboard and investigated the supplies. “I hope you got everything I asked for,” she called.
“Everything but the kitchen sink,” muttered Zee, shaking the last water droplets out of her hat and putting it back on.
“Pardon?”
She turned to find Christie regarding her suspiciously. “Yeah,” she said. “Taylor assured me everything on your list is there.”
“Good.” Christie resumed her excavations among the sacks of coffee and flour. “Wait a minute. I didn’t order this.” She was peering at the bolt of fabric.
Zee smiled. “That’s a little something extra. Thought you might have a use for it.”
Christie put her hands on her hips. “Anyone would think we had money to burn.” She relaxed into a smile. “But it will make some lovely curtains. Thank you, Zee.”
It’s curtain material? Zee held her smile with an effort.
Christie gestured. “Help me down.”
Zee grabbed Christie round the waist, but instead of helping her down, swept her up in her arms and headed for the back door.
“Hey!” Christie squirmed, her attempts to free herself sending pleasurable sensations straight to Zee’s groin. “What are you doing?
Put me down.”
“Putting first things first, darlin’. Now keep still or I’ll drop you.”
Zee stopped on the doorstep, shifted Christie into a more secure grip, and clouted the door hard with a boot heel. It swung open in a spray of splinters.
“I’ll mend it later,” she told Christie, who had finally realized what she was up to and stopped struggling. Careful not to bang that precious head or those pretty ankles on the doorjamb, Zee carried Christie across the threshold.
Once inside, she set Christie on her feet again, and found herself on the receiving end of a kiss so intense her knees almost buckled.
“Phew,” she said, when Christie allowed her back up for air. “You sure know how to kiss.”
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“I had a good teacher.” Christie took her first look at her surroundings. “Oh! It’s lovely.”
Kitchen certainly looks different from the last time I was here, thought Zee, gazing round in amazement. Old Coop had lived like a pig in a pigsty, but Angie and the girls had transformed the place. The floorboards had been swept, the kitchen table scrubbed within an inch of its life, and the disreputable stove renovated and made ready for action.
Christie disappeared into the pantry. Zee put her hat on the table, then turned one of the four wooden chairs round and straddled it.
“Look. How thoughtful.” Christie emerged bearing a jug full of cool lemonade and poured them both glasses.
Zee drank hers down in one, licked her lips, and considered. “Not as good as yours, darlin’.” Christie beamed at her and sipped hers.
Zee let her gaze wander round the room, over the tinware hanging on the wall, and the zinc sink, which she was pleased to see, had a foot of water in it. She stopped at the lace-edged gingham curtains now framing the sparkling windowpanes and chuckled.
“Something amusing?”
“Just glad Angie didn’t think to do this place up like the Palace,”
explained Zee. “Wouldn’t have put it past her.” A thought struck her.
“Damn. The bedroom . . .” They exchanged horrified looks.
“She wouldn’t have.”
“She might.”
Zee was out of her chair and out of the kitchen at the double, and took the stairs three at a time. Christie’s dress hampered her but she wasn’t far behind.
Thank God! No red wallpaper, velvet drapes, or mirrors, was Zee’s first thought as she pushed open the door to the main bedroom.
Her second was: Now that’s what I call a bed.
A cough signaled that Christie was waiting and Zee stepped aside to allow her to enter.
“My goodness!” Christie blinked. “It’s bigger than that bed at the Republic Hotel.” She fingered the pillowcases. “Are these satin?
Whatever possessed her to buy something so impractical?”
Zee strode across to the bed and flung herself down on it. “Good old Angie.” She gave an exploratory bounce. “Must’ve oiled the springs.” Another bounce. “Comfy too.” She reached out a hand.
“C’mere.”
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For a moment Christie looked as though she was considering joining her. Then she sighed and shook her head. “Later, Zee. Those supplies are in the sun. They’ll spoil if we don’t get them inside.”
“Aw, darlin’.” But Christie was no longer there to see Zee’s pout.
She listened to the footsteps descending the stairs, flopped back against the pillows, and frowned at the ceiling.
The horses in the yard outside nickered a greeting, then came a grunt that must be Christie trying to unload something heavy on her own. “Of all the stubborn—”
Zee was out of the bed, down the stairs, and out in the back yard in time to relieve the flushed Christie of a sack of meal.
“Thank you.” Christie brushed hair out of her eyes and smiled down at her.
“All right, later,” said Zee, slinging the sack over her shoulder. It was a concession and a promise.
It took an hour and much toing and froing before they got all the supplies stowed to Christie’s satisfaction (she had very decided opinions about what should go where) and the two horses fed and watered and stabled in the barn with the buckboard. Then Christie cut them both some well-earned slices of bread and ham.
They reduced the late dinner to crumbs, and were drinking lemonade and bantering about whether “now” had become “later” (Zee was of the opinion that it had and was having some success in talking Christie round to her way of thinking), when there came a loud knock at the back door.
