Copyright © 2001 by Barbara Davies.

This story may not be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of it may be made for private use only and must include all copyright notices, warnings and acknowledgements.

This story depicts a loving relationship between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do not read it. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read something other than this story.

Though I researched the period and place in which this story is set, I have taken extensive liberties with both.

This is the fifth novelette (the sequel to Stage to Phoenix) in my series of Westerns starring Zee Brodie and Christie Hayes.

by

Barbara Davies

(Email: bhdavies@cheltenham1.demon.co.uk )

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 threadbare duds 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 waitin' and I'm late."

Collecting the horse 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 - Zee had absolutely no idea if the colour would be to the blonde's taste or not.

A quick glance to check that the mare tethered to the back of the buckboard was keeping up - an indignant whinny greeted her, but the mare seemed fine - then she was facing front again and cracking the reins.

As she neared Benson's Wells Fargo office, where she had left Christie, she was relieved to see the little blonde in the green dress wasn't pacing impatiently up and down and cursing (not that the gentle Christie ever cursed) but was talking animatedly to a moustachioed 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 up at her. Zee never got tired of seeing her lover's eyes light up when she looked at her. "I've been telling Sheriff Hogan all about Phoenix."

Zee winked. "Not everything I hope?"

The blonde's cheeks pinked prettily, and Zee laughed and jumped down from the buckboard.

"Brodie," said her boss. "Glad to have you back."

"Thanks. But I ain't officially back 'til tomorrow." Zee 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 the Sheriff equably. "You and Miss Hayes have had your holiday, now I need one."

"Aw. You getting old?"

Hogan laughed. "It wasn't looking after the jailhouse all on my lonesome wore me out, Brodie, 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 grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "That's why it was dirt cheap." She turned to find Christie looking dubiously at the gelding and buckboard. "Will it do?"

The blonde nodded. "It's been some time since I drove one of these though."

Zee handed Christie up into the driver's seat, then hopped up beside her. She picked up the reins and handed them to Christie, who blinked and looked at her then sighed.

Hogan came to stand beside them. "Angie said there's enough water to tide you and the horses over for a couple of days," he said. "And she's fixed for the water wagon to call day after tomorrow."

Zee tipped her hat. "Tell her 'much obliged' for me, 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 enquire he had stepped back, tipped his hat to the two women, 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, a poke in the ribs, and a hasty "Shhh!" Still 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 something under her breath, then flicked the reins. The dozing gelding started into 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 though she had been doing so all her life and was even humming quietly to herself. Zee gave her an amused glance then 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 to her. 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, now they had a home to which Christie could invite more respectable guests, that would soon change.

The buckboard trundled past the schoolhouse on the left, then Curly Young's spread on the right. "Nearly there," said Zee as, up ahead, an odd looking house (its origins as a barn were all too obvious) came into view.

"Is that it?" Christie's voice was hoarse with excitement and she was on the edge of her seat as she stared at the little fenced front garden, and the rutted track leading round the side of the house.

"Yup." Zee gave her an affectionate glance. "Ain't much but it's all ours, Darlin'. Home sweet home."

At her direction, Christie turned the buckboard up the track, which brought them round to the yard at the back of the house. She jumped down, opened the gate, and closed it again once Christie had driven through. Then she helped the blonde down, and watched her gape at their surroundings.

"Needs work," she admitted, bashing her shabby hat against her thigh to get the worst of the dust off. "Fence needs fixing. And there's a hole in the barn 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 cropped hair then resettled her hat. "Not as grand as your place in Contention but...." She moved behind the blonde and hugged her.

"It's fine." Christie relaxed against her, and Zee gave in to the urge to press her lips against blonde hair. "Anyway, making this place spick-and-span will give me something to do while you're at work."

"Yep." Zee reluctantly relinquished her hold. "OK. First things first."

The water trough in the yard was dry, so she emptied her canteen into it, unharnessed the gelding, and led him to it. While he drank, her mare nickered. "I'm getting to you!" she protested. She loosed the mare's leading rein and led her to the trough too.

Christie meanwhile had climbed into the back of the buckboard and was investigating the supplies. "I hope you got everything I asked for," she called.

"Everything but the kitchen sink," muttered Zee.

"Pardon?"

She turned to find Christie regarding her suspiciously. "Yep," she said innocently. "Taylor assured me everything on your list is there."

"Oh. Good." Christie resumed her excavations among the sacks of coffee and flour. "Seems to be all present and correct.... Wait a minute. I didn't order this!" She was peering at the bolt of fabric.

Zee smiled complacently. "That's a little something extra. Thought you might have a use for it."

The blonde put her hands on her hips and gave her an exasperated look. "Anyone would think we had money to burn!" Then her expression relaxed into a smile. "But it will make some lovely curtains. Thank you, Zee."

It's curtain material? Zee held her smile, but only with an effort.

"Now help me down." Christie gestured imperiously.

"Sure." Zee grabbed her round the waist, but instead of helping her down, swept her up in her arms and headed for the back door.

"Hey!" The blonde squirmed and wriggled, her attempts to free herself sending pleasurable sensations straight to Zee's groin. "What are you doing? Put me down!"

"Putting first things first," said Zee. "Now keep still or I'll drop you." She stopped on the doorstep, shifted Christie into a more secure grip, and clouted the door hard with one booted foot. It resisted momentarily then swung open in a spray of splinters. "I'll mend it later," she told the gaping Christie, who had finally realised what she was up to and stopped struggling, indeed far from trying to escape, she was trying to burrow into her instead.

Careful not to bang Christie's head or ankles on the doorjamb, Zee carried her lover across the threshold of their new home. Once inside, she settled the blonde gently 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 finally allowed her back up for air. "You sure know how to kiss!"

"I had a good teacher." The blonde took her first look at her surroundings. "Oh! It's lovely."

The kitchen certainly looked different from the last time she 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 and scrubbed, the kitchen table scrubbed within an inch of its life, and the disreputable stove had been renovated and was ready for action.

Christie disappeared into the cool of the pantry. Zee put her hat on the table, turned one of the four wooden chairs round and straddled it.

"Look! How thoughtful." Christie had emerged from the pantry bearing a jug and now poured them both glasses of lemonade.

Zee drank hers down in one then licked her lips and considered. "Not as good as yours, Darlin'." Christie beamed at her and sipped hers more sedately.

She 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?" Christie eyed her curiously.

"Just glad Angie didn't think to do this place up like the Palace," she explained. "Wouldn't have put it past her." A thought struck her. "Damn. The bedroom...." They exchanged horrified looks.

"She wouldn't have!"

"She might have!"

Zee was out of her chair and out of the kitchen at the double, and took the stairs three at a time. Christie's long 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 pointed cough signalled Christie was standing behind her and she stepped aside to allow her to enter. The blonde blinked.

"My goodness!" Christie's cheeks flushed. "It's bigger than that bed at the Republic Hotel!" She fingered the pillowcases gingerly. "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 and grunted with satisfaction. "Must've oiled the springs." Another bounce. "Comfy too." She grinned and reached out a hand to Christie. "C'mere."

For a moment the blonde looked as though she was seriously considering joining her. Then Christie 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'!" Zee pouted but it was wasted on a Christie who was no longer there. She listened to the footsteps descending the stairs, flopped back against the pillows, and stared gloomily up at the ceiling. "Damn it!"

The horses in the yard outside nickered a greeting, then Zee heard a grunt that must be Christie trying to unload something heavy on her own. "Of all the stubborn-"

She was out of the bed, down the stairs, and out in the back yard in six seconds flat, just in time to relieve a rather flushed Christie of a sack of meal.

"Thank you." The blonde woman brushed back a sweatslicked lock of hair and smiled down at her.

Zee slung the sack over her shoulder. "OK, later," she said. It was a concession and a promise.

It took an hour and much toing and froing (Christie had very decided opinions about what should go where) before they got the supplies stowed and the two horses fed and watered and stabled in the barn with the buckboard. Then the little blonde cut them both some well-earned slices of bread and ham.

The late lunch had been reduced to crumbs on plates, and they were drinking lemonade and lazily 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.

"Are we expecting anyone?" asked Christie.

Zee made no move to answer the door. "Not that I'm aware of." Perhaps they would go away.

"Shall I see who's there?" She stood up.

Zee shrugged. "You're the mistress of the house." She took another gulp of her drink.

"'Mistress'?!" The indignant exclamation caught Zee just as she was swallowing, and she was still trying to catch her breath when Christie returned from the back door with a familiar figure in tow. The plump, middle-aged woman was proudly carrying a pie.

"It's Mrs. Young," said the blonde unnecessarily. "Our new neighbour."

"Howdy, Ann," said Zee, in between coughs.

Ann Young stared at her. "Are you all right, Zee?"

Christie gestured dismissively. "Her lemonade went down the wrong way. Please. Sit down, Mrs. Young." She pulled out one of the chairs and gestured.

"Call me Ann, please. And I'm not stopping. I know the two of you must be very busy - just back from Phoenix, your first day in a new house and so on. In fact, I thought you might not have time to cook. So I brought you this." She thrust the pie at Christie who accepted it graciously and placed it on the table.

"How very considerate. Please, call me Christie."

"It was no trouble, Christie.... I'm sure you’d have done the same had our positions been reversed."

Zee's coughing fit had passed and she opened her mouth to make a joke, but a glance from Christie made her think better of it.

"My. What a nice kitchen." Ann was looking eagerly around. "I didn't dare come in here when Cooper owned the place." She grimaced. "I was afraid I might catch something."

"It is nice, isn't it? Some... er, friends of ours organised it while we were away. Of course there's still a lot of work needs doing on the rest of the house. And I want some more shelves put up here and here...."

While Christie's attention was elsewhere, Zee pulled the pie dish towards her and sniffed at it. Mmmm. She poked her forefinger through the pastry crust then licked the juices off it. Yep. As she had thought. Peach. She helped herself to more.

The conversation has ceased she realised belatedly and she looked up. Two pairs of outraged eyes, one green, one grey, were looking at her.

She stopped sucking her fingers. "What?"

Christie opened her mouth then closed it again. Then humour replaced the outrage. "I see you've started without me," she said dryly.

"But, Darlin'... it's peach pie." Surely that was reason enough?

The blonde reached out and reordered a strand of Zee's hair. "Well, OK. As long as you don’t forget... half of it is mine."

At that, Ann Young began to laugh. In fact, when she left, five minutes later, to walk back to her own house, she was still chuckling.

"Alone at last," said Zee, pulling Christie onto her lap for a quick kiss and cuddle which rapidly escalated into something more intense. Was that a horse whinnying outside? she wondered hazily. And where were the voices and laughter coming from? Christie's renewed assault on her mouth banished every thought except taking her lover to bed. Still kissing passionately, she grasped the blonde firmly in her arms and stood up. She was half way up the stairs when -

Bang... bang... bang.

Zee blinked and broke the kiss. "Damn it!"

Christie sighed. "There's someone at the back door." Reluctantly she disentangled herself from Zee's embrace and made her put her down.

This time is was Zee who answered the door. (Must get that latch fixed, she reminded herself).

"Surprise!" A beaming Angie Tucker was standing on the doorstep. Behind the brothel Madame were Clubfoot Liz, Rowdy Molly and Lazy Alice, who had all helped to make Christie feel at home during her 'stay' at Angie's Palace.

At any other time Zee would have been glad to see her friends, but right now....

"Who is it?" yelled Christie from behind her.

She noticed the champagne bottles clutched in each hand and that the women were all wearing their Sunday Best. This wasn't just a flying visit by the looks of things.

"The Welcome wagon," she called.

Angie poked Zee in the ribs with her fan. "Are you going to invite us in, then?"

A hand grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her out of the way. "Yes she is." Christie beamed delightedly at Angie and her whores. "It's lovely to see you. Come on in."

The giggling women stepped past Zee into the interior and then a round of hugging and kissing and noisy chattering ensued. Zee sighed, enviously eyed the horses contentedly lapping water from the trough in the quiet of the yard, then closed the door and went to join her 'guests'.

Zee stretched. "I like this bed," she announced. "It's roomy. A person can spread out." She suited the action to the deed then curled herself back around Christie.

"Mmmm. It's certainly an improvement on that cramped bed at Madame Angie's." Christie yawned. "What a day!"

Zee smiled, thinking of Rowdy Molly's startled expression just before she passed out from too much champagne and had to be carried to the shabby wagon that had brought the women from the brothel and was waiting to take them back. "I thought they'd never leave."

"I could tell," came the response. "You had that glint in your eye all evening. The girls were ribbing me about it."

In the dark, Zee frowned. "What glint?"

"You know. That 'I can't wait to take you to bed' one."

"Oh." Zee smiled complacently and rubbed her thumb over the soft skin of Christie's belly, eliciting a hum of pleasure. "That glint."

She pressed her lips against the fragrant-smelling blonde hair, and thought about the woman in her arms, the house that was now theirs, the life together that lay ahead of them. Before, it had been a dream; now.... The reality of it was a little overwhelming.

"Bed's been well and truly christened," she said instead.

"Mmmm." A sleepy sigh. "Well and truly." Christie was fighting hard to stay awake and keep her company, but she was losing the battle.

"'S alright, Darlin'," she said tenderly, recognising that their recent travelling, plus the day's excitement, followed by lovemaking had all taken their toll on the blonde. "I'll be here when you wake up. Sleep now. Sweet dreams." Once more she pressed her lips to Christie's hair.

"Uh." Christie snuggled back against Zee and captured her hand, pressing it against her belly. "'Morrow, love," she slurred. Then there was only the sound of their breathing.

***

If Christie could have whistled while she worked, she would have. But since, even with Zee's expert tutelage, she had still not quite got the hang of it, she contented herself with humming instead.

As she stoked the stove then put her loaf in to bake, she hummed a few bars of 'Beautiful Dreamer'. And as she washed and dried the breakfast dishes and cutlery and put them in their appointed places, she hummed some more.

Her thoughts were only half on her work, however. She was preoccupied with a certain rangy deputy. After feeding Zee a large helping of ham and eggs and extracting a promise that she be home for dinner at noon, she had sent her off to work with a loving kiss that still made her lips tingle.

I'm happy, she realised. She laughed and resumed her humming.

It was odd keeping house again. Christie had kept house for her brother for years of course, but with Zee it was... 'different' was the best description she could manage. And after the cramped and embarrassingly noisy confines of the brothel, this kitchen, the bedroom, that bed... why, they were heavenly!

She stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, stretched out her arms, and spun in a circle until she was giddy, then stopped and took herself severely to task. There was work to be done - so much that she didn't know quite where to start. So she had better get on with it.

Christie smoothed down her apron, tied back her hair in a headscarf, and fetched a broom from the closet. Then she ventured into the front room Zee had ruefully shown her yesterday. It was to be the parlour eventually, but at present it was a cobweb-festooned health hazard.

Whatever the previous occupant had believed, it certainly wasn't that cleanliness is next to godliness. Clouds of dust billowed up all around her and set her coughing. She laid aside the broom, ran upstairs, and helped herself to one of Zee's red bandannas, then stared wryly at her reflection in the mirror. The mask over her nose and mouth made her look rather rakish, she decided. "I'm Hellcat Hayes," she drawled, trying to arch her eyebrow the way Zee did. "The terror of Benson." She shook her head at herself, then ran downstairs laughing and resumed her sweeping.

When the worst of the dust had been successfully brushed into the yard, she fetched a mop and a pail of their precious water (thank heavens the water wagon was coming tomorrow) and started washing down the walls. As she worked, she hummed and thought about the future.

It would be nice to have a proper parlour in which to receive guests. The kitchen was all very well for informal occasions, but.... She glanced assessingly at the windows, which needed a clean. That surprise bolt of sky blue calico Zee had bought would not only do for curtains but matching tablecloths too. Of course they'd need some tables first. The furniture in this room had been beyond saving, so they would have to start from scratch.

Maybe it would be cheaper for Zee to make the tables herself, she mused. The raven-haired woman was good at carpentry and they had spent an awful lot of Zee's savings on the house already. Though the deputy had said she'd have no difficulty providing Christie with the weekly allowance she'd asked for, they would still have to be careful. It was up to Christie to be frugal and make economies where she could.

She finished washing down the wall and stood back to admire the result, rubbing her itchy nose until she realised she was probably coating it with more dirt. What was one more blob, though, when she was covered from head to foot in the stuff already? She emptied the dirty water over the vegetables in the front garden - at least she assumed they were vegetables - then put away the pail and mop.

Sponging her face and hands clean and brushing her hair made her feel human again. She put on a fresh apron, poured herself a glass of lemonade, and sank gratefully into a kitchen chair.

She had been resting quietly for ten minutes when a knock at the back door dragged her from a very pleasant daydream involving Zee and the huge bed upstairs. The unexpected visitor turned out to be their neighbour, Curly Young. The big man, who owed his nickname to his riot of curly black hair, was bearing another of his wife's peach pies.

"Truth be told, I'm glad to get rid of it," he confessed, waving aside Christie's thanks. "I'm mighty sick of peaches, but don’t tell my wife I said so."

He crushed his hat against his expanding belly (the result of too many peach pies?) and glanced assessingly at his surroundings. The kitchen seemed to meet with his approval.

Then he took a breath and exhaled, his words coming out in a rush. "Main reason I'm here, Miss Hayes, er, I mean, Christie, is... Well, it's this way." His face reddened and Christie wondered what on earth was coming next. "Seeing as how there's no man about the place.... And seeing as how there's bound to be heavy work: chopping wood, fixing things that get broke and the like.... Well, it occurred to Ann and me that you might, er... well, might be in need of some male assistance now and then."

Christie blinked and considered this rather garbled speech. Her puzzlement eased. "Oh, you're offering to be our handyman if we need you?"

"That's it exactly." He gave her a relieved glance. "It was Ann's idea. She said, seeing as we're your closest neighbours and all...."

"Quite." Christie nodded. "And how very kind of you to offer. We really do appreciate it." She smiled. "But Zee is more than capable of taking care of all the things that need doing around the place. She's strong and she's very good with her hands."

A vivid memory of last night's bed-christening activities popped into her head and she looked down and tried not to blush. Fortunately, when she looked up again, Curly didn't seem to have noticed anything amiss.

He was nodding vigorously, clearly at ease once again. "Thought that's what you'd say. But I had to go through the motions. Once Ann's got an idea in that pretty little head of hers-" He gave her a conspiratorial grin. "She forgot that one of the two women in question is Zee, I reckon."

He crammed his hat on his head. "Well, I’ll be on my way then, Miss Hay... erm, Christie." He tipped the brim of his hat. "The offer still stands though, should you two ever need it."

"Thank you. That's very kind."

Christie was sitting on the parlour floor, surrounded by lengths of sky blue cloth marked with tailor's chalk, when an odd sound caught her attention. She stopped cutting, and cocked her head to one side.

It seemed to be coming from the front garden. She put down her dressmaking shears, got to her feet, and approached the now sparkling windows.

A boy of about ten, clad in clean but patched dungarees, was swinging on the front gate.

"Well!" She supposed he must belong to their other neighbours, the Rikers, since the Youngs' two children had grown up and left home long ago, according to Zee.

Zee had also told her not to expect any neighbourly treatment from the Rikers. "Hymn singing hypocrites the pair of 'em. Adah's one of them Temperance Union busybodies. I ain't exactly their flavour of the month since I stopped 'em smashing up the Last Chance Saloon." She grimaced. "Ernie's just as bad. He's President of the Bank."

"Banking's not necessarily a bad thing," said Christie cautiously

"It is if you call in the loans of folks who are desperate and steal their homes off 'em."

"That doesn’t sound very Christian!"

"It ain't." Zee hugged her warmly. "There's more charity in your little fingernail, Darlin', than in their whole sorry carcasses. My guess is they'll give us a wide berth, which suits me just fine."

Zee hadn't mentioned the Rikers had a son.

Christie tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, smoothed her apron, and went out to talk to him.

"Hello, young man. Would you please stop swinging on our gate? You'll have it off its hinges."

The stare he gave her was disconcerting. "No." Squeak

She blinked at him. "I beg your pardon."

"No." Creak

She frowned and considered what to do next. "Do your parents know you are not in school?"

"You're the Rikers' boy, aren't you?" She folded her arms and waited.

"I said you're the Rikers' boy, aren't you?"

"And you're the Hellcat's whore."

She sucked in her breath sharply. For a child to even know such a word! "Don’t speak to me like that."

Abruptly, the boy stopped swinging and stepped down from the gate. That unnerving gaze was fixed on her again. "Why not? You're the Hellcat's whore," he repeated. "Everyone knows it."

Her face felt hot. "I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, young man, or I'll put you across my knee!"

He smiled and she was suddenly reminded of those boys who pull the wings off flies. He was trying to goad her, she realised. Sticks and stones, she told herself grimly. Sticks and stones. She kept her breathing slow and steady.

"A killer and her whore, living as man and wife," continued the boy, watching her closely. "It’s disgusting."

Now Christie's dander was well and truly up. Where was the broom when you needed it? A good swift smack would have to do. She marched determinedly towards him, raising her hand, but he stepped back and darted off.

He had gone barely ten yards before he turned and yelled at her, "Why don't you go back to the brothel where you belong? You're both going to Hell anyway."

Still boiling with anger - an unfamiliar sensation and one she could well do without - she shaded her eyes and watched him hare off down the road.

"Well!"

Christie marched indoors and headed for the kitchen. There, she shucked her apron and grabbed her bonnet. She had barely tied the ribbons under her chin, before she was outside again and on her way to the Rikers' place.

It was smaller than the Youngs' rambling old spread, but larger than the Old Barn. Its inhabitants clearly had money - a nice porch ran across the front of the house, which was painted white with a green trim, and the roof was shingled. As she crunched up the stony path towards the front door, between the tubs that someone had planted up with bay trees, she could hear dogs barking.

She knocked at the ornate front door and waited. The parlour's lace curtain twitched. Moments later, a plump woman was standing in the doorway, staring down her prominent nose at her.

"Mrs. Riker?" Since the boy was about 10 years old, Christie supposed his mother couldn’t be more than 30, but the staid dress she wore, of black broadcloth, added 10 years to her appearance .

"Yes," said the woman.

"I'm Christie Hayes, your new neighbour. Pleased to meet you."

Adah Riker stepped back and began to close the door.

"Hey, wait a minute!" said an indignant Christie. "It's about your son."

The closing door paused, seemed to think about what it should do next, then opened again. "Joe?"

"Is that his name? Small boy, about ten years old, curly blonde hair, brown eyes, freckles, wearing dungarees."

"Joe." Adah's tone was stiff. "What about him?"

"He's been round at my house, damaging my front gate and insulting me."

"When was this?"

"Just now."

The woman shook her head. "Can't be our Joe. He's in school."

"He should be in school but he isn't. He insulted me and Deputy Brodie."

Mention of the Deputy made Adah Riker blink nervously. "What did Joe say?"

Christie's cheeks grew hot. "I... it's too upsetting to repeat."

"If he said you should be in a brothel and the Deputy should be in the jail not running it, then it was the simple truth."

Christie gaped at the woman. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. If that's all, I have better things to do than talk to the Hellcat's whore." Her neighbour stepped back and shut the door in her face.

Shock rooted Christie to the spot. She stared at the door, finding the wood's grain oddly fascinating, and noticing that a fly that been caught in the paint.

"Told you!" The hateful voice jolted Christie out of her paralysis. She twisted and saw Joe Riker peering round the corner of the porch at her. Then the parlour curtain twitched, and the boy ducked back out of sight again.

She didn't remember walking back to the Old Barn, but somehow she found herself back in her own kitchen. She tore off her bonnet, hung it up, then pulled out a chair and sat down. Leaning one elbow on the table, she rested her chin in her palm, and stared blankly at the wall. If everyone felt as the Rikers did, her dreams for a normal life with Zee were only so much smoke and mirrors....

The ticking of the clock seemed deafening in the silence, and she could hear the logs crackling and shifting inside the stove. She felt oddly detached. The numbness would wear off soon, she supposed, and then would come some other emotion - hurt, anger, sadness... maybe all three?

A little while later - ten minutes by the clock - Christie realised with a start that she had better begin preparing Zee's dinner or the Deputy would go hungry. Mechanically, she peeled some potatoes and put them on to boil, then she got out the salt pork from the pantry and began to slice....

***

Zee whistled as she strode along the boardwalk towards the Wells Fargo office. She had been in the jailhouse, leafing through the bundle of bulletins and wanted posters that had come in during her absence, when she heard the hoofbeats and rumble of wheels that meant the stagecoach was here. With a little luck the package she had ordered should be on it.

A crowd of passengers and passers-by had gathered next to the stage. She broke into a run as she realised that they were watching two men fight.

"Out of the way." She elbowed her way to the front, took in the situation at a glance, then grabbed Jim Marlin by the back of his collar and hauled him off the stage driver, Cal Unger, who was half his size.

"What in tarnation's going on, Jim?" She gave the big man a shake that clapped his jaws together before releasing her grip on his collar.

He glowered at her from beneath bushy eyebrows. "No call to treat me that way, Deputy. I'm within my rights." Disgustedly, he kicked a wooden crate that lay on the ground next to the stage, and she heard the tinkling of broken glass. "This ain't no earthly use to me."

Blood had spattered the front of Unger's shirt. Zee pulled off her bandanna and shoved it at the young man. He gaped at her then accepted the neckerchief and pressed it to his bleeding nose.

"Says I damaged his glassware." The cloth muffled the driver's voice. "But it was like that when I took possession."

Unger had always been honest in his dealings with her, so she was inclined to believe him. She turned to Marlin. "Reckon your beef's with the Stage line, Jim, not Cal here."

Unger nodded carefully, so as not to exacerbate his nosebleed. Marlin cursed under his breath, but his shoulders slumped and Zee knew the fight had gone out of him. Sensing the fun was over, the bystanders began to disperse.

She watched the big man pick up his crate and carry it inside the Wells Fargo Office. Moments later came the sound of raised voices. Zee sighed and hoped she wouldn't be called on to break up yet another fight.

The driver fingered his nose gingerly and decided it had stopped bleeding. "Thanks, Deputy." He offered Zee her now sodden bandanna.

She grimaced and declined it with a quick shake of the head. "Just doing my job. 'Course, I might have to whup you myself if I find you've given the same treatment to my package."

He blinked uncertainly at her. "No, no, your stuff is just fine and dandy." He hurried round to the stage's boot and pulled out a burlap sack. "Here it is, safe and sound." His hands, she was amused to see, were shaking.

She took the sack from him, hefted it to assess its weight, then loosened the drawstring around its neck and peeked inside. The contents looked unprepossessing, but then, she was expecting that. She tipped her hat at him and grinned. "Looks all present and correct, Cal. Thanks."

While he breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to his unloading, she swivelled on her heel and headed back to the jail, jiggled the little bag as she walked and whistling the chorus from 'Come into the Garden, Maud'. Hope Christie likes 'em.

"Hey, Brodie." The familiar voice made her stop whistling and glance round. Red Mary was across the street waving at her, her ample bosoms threatening to spill over the top of her low cut blouse. "You coming to the Palace for a bite to eat?"

Zee shook her head. "Thanks for the invite, Mary, but my lady's making me dinner," she called. "I'm on my way back home now." 'Home.' She tasted the word and found it good.

The whore wasn't quite quick enough to hide the scowl that mention of Christie provoked and Zee covered her grin with a cough. It did a person good, she decided, to have two women fighting over 'em. Not that there was any contest, of course. Christie had won her heart and the sooner Red Mary accepted that the better. She tipped her hat to the disgruntled whore and resumed her progress.

The mare was waiting patiently for her at the shady hitching post outside the jail. She tucked the burlap sack into a saddlebag and patted the horse's neck. "Won't be long, girl," she murmured in one twitching ear. "Just got to leave a note for people." Another pat, then she was taking the steps up to the jail two at a time, and flinging open the door to the little office.

The cells were empty today, fortunately - Granpappy Carpenter had sobered up and she'd given him a final cup of strong coffee and sent him home - so no prisoners needed feeding. It took her only moments to find some paper and scrawl a note to the effect that she'd '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 the 'One' and scribbled a 'Two' in its place. There. That should provide enough time for after-dinner plans involving a certain pretty blonde and a bed

Outside, she untied the mare's rein and mounted up, then she 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 overhead 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 a mouse while she was away. 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 Madame Angie's new girls (they'd been trying to knife one another, over a handsome young 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 shirt 'puke-coloured'. Then there had been the scuffle outside the Wells Fargo Office....

She waved at the blacksmith's boy, who was playing knucklebones on the boardwalk then turned the mare off Main Street.

She'd assess 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. Soon she was pounding up the track alongside the house, jumping the back gate (she hoped Christie wouldn't yell at her for risking the mare so foolishly), and pulling up in the back yard. The horse whinnied indignantly and tossed her head.

"Thanks, girl." She dismounted, gave the sweating horse a consoling pat, and led her to the trough. Seconds later, burlap sack in hand she was lifting the latch and pushing open the back door with an enthusiastic thump.

Christie was standing with her back to her, serving up an appetising smelling dinner. She admired the shapely rump for a brief moment then strode towards the other woman.

"Did you miss me, Darlin'?" She flung her hat unerringly at the hatstand, discarded the sack and her gloves on the table, and pulled the blonde into a bearhug. To her surprise, Christie let out a sob and turned in the circle of her arms, grabbing hold of her, and pressing herself into Zee.

"Hey!" Zee was in danger of toppling backward under the unexpected assault, and she hastily steered them both over to a chair and sat down. "What's wrong, Darlin'?" She pulled her onto her lap. Damn! "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 the other woman calmed down. Zee rocked her gently, pressed her lips to hair and cheek, stroked Christie's 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 blonde head lifted and puffy green eyes regarded her blearily.

"Darlin', what's wrong?" asked Zee quietly.

Christie's nose was congested and her lips were swollen, but Zee caught the mumbled words 'Rikers' and 'whore' and 'Hell'. Her lips tightened.

"Tell me again," she ordered. "Slowly." When the whole sorry mess had been laid out for her inspection, she carefully disentangled herself from the blonde 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 horsedung! How dare they treat her gentle lover like that! She flexed her hands, anticipating the satisfying feel of fists thudding into flesh.

Christie grabbed hold of one 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 Hellcat anymore, Zee. You're the Law and you can't go taking it into your own hands."

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 impassioned plea had reached her, and her anger was already ebbing. She could see from Christie's relieved look that the blonde knew it.

"Damn." She sat down with a thump, 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 plopped herself down 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 of her expression almost broke Zee's heart.

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

Green eyes regarded her wistfully. "Maybe I was foolish to think we could set up house like normal couples do, Zee. Maybe we should go back to Madame Angie's and-"

"Damn it!" Zee grabbed the blonde roughly by the shoulders, earning herself a startled glance. "Just because the Rikers think we should live a certain way don't mean we should. Hell, the way I see it, their disapproval is a point in our favour."

"But-"

"No buts. I ain't going to apologise 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 Young who matter. Kind folk, decent folk. Got me?" Christie winced, and Zee released her grip on the other woman's shoulders as though burned. "Damn, Christie! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt-"

"It's all right, Zee." The blonde smiled at her, then ran a knuckle tenderly over one cheek. "I understand." She snuggled into Zee again and sighed softly. "You're right, of course. I know it. It's just... I 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 firmly in place.

"Stay put." She stretched across the table and pulled one of the plates towards her. Sprinkling some salt on a cold potato, she held it to Christie's lips.

The blonde gave Zee a doubtful look, then shrugged. Small white teeth took a tentative bite. "Actually, it's not bad."

While the other woman 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 the blonde, carefully licking crystals of salt from Zee's palm and sending a pleasant jolt straight to the deputy's groin.

"Yup." Zee grabbed Christie's hand and returned the favour... and got a wide-eyed look in response.

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

She glanced at the kitchen clock. "Half an hour." She smiled slyly. "Got something in mind?"

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

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

"My thoughts exactly."

Zee looped the mare's reins over the rail outside The Golden Slipper and pushed her way through the swing doors. The chatter, laughter, and clink of glasses stopped abruptly.

She raised an eyebrow. Every eye in the gambling den was on 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 laughter to run around the crowded room - there were plenty of women in the Golden Slipper, but few of them were 'ladies'. The mutter of conversation and the slap of playing cards on baize resumed.

The beautiful young woman in the lemon-yellow dress, sitting on her own by the bar, was a class apart from the gambling den's hostesses whose job was to siphon the customers' remaining money into the gambling den's pockets by serving drinks at the tables and flirting outrageously. Her dress flattered her figure but kept it discreetly under wraps, her flawless complexion required no face paint, and her manner was demure.

Zee gave the woman a closer look, and decided she was in fact little more than a girl, aged around 16. Her dark chestnut hair was slightly wavy and Zee would have bet that her tanned complexion owed little to the sun.

She crossed to the bar, positioning herself so she could see the girl clearly in the mirror. The pretty octoroon 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 shirt, 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.

Kitty Lee, one of the Golden Slipper's hostesses, came over and fluttered her long eyelashes at Zee. When the deputy politely but firmly declined her invitation to buy some house champagne and go upstairs with her, Kitty shook her head sadly, making her ringlets dance, but left her in peace.

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

The barkeep caught it deftly. "Sure thing, Deputy." He reached below the counter for a bottle. When he'd finished pouring she took the bottle off him and examined the label. "This the best you've got?"

"Sorry. Been a run on the good stuff - that 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 further along the bar stiffened at the name

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

Winning streak, huh? Zee knocked back her shotglass of rotgut 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, depositing another coin on the counter, and shifting so she could see both the girl and Millain in the mirror.

"Tell me about this winning streak." She gulped down her drink. Either the liquor was improving on closer acquaintance or her taste buds had just died.

"Already cleaned out Luke Howells," said the barkeep, polishing 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.

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

The players looked at her in surprise.

"Howdy, Brodie," said Bob Lewis, mopping his forehead with a kerchief. "You thinking of sitting in for a spell? I should warn you, Millain here is on form."

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

Judy Silver - so-called because of her fondness for silver dollars - came over then to see if Zee wanted a drink. The smiling hostess leaned over, treating Zee to an eye-popping view of her cleavage. Zee blinked, cleared her suddenly dry throat, then declined the offer... of the drink and anything else the bosomy blonde might have in mind. Judy's smile disappeared instantly and she flounced off.

"Nope," continued Zee, gathering her wits. "Just came over to introduce myself." She held out a gloved hand to the gambler from New Orleans. "Deputy Zee Brodie."

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

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

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 sudden urge to travel."

She raised an eyebrow. "Uh huh?"

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

Bob nodded. "Count me in."

Silas grunted.

"Sure you won’t sit in, Deputy?"

She shook her head.

"OK, 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 intent stare and smiled slightly. She pursed her lips. Either he wasn't cheating or he was damned 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.

Bob was sitting to the left of the dealer, so it fell to him to open the betting. He tossed in a dollar.

"See your dollar and raise you five," said Silas.

Zee considered the old man's rapidly dwindling pile of coins. Risky play, Silas. What've you got, a Full House?

Millain hesitated then reached for some bills. "See your five," he said, tossing them into the centre of the table.

As the game unfolded, it became clear that the New Orleans gambler's winning streak had deserted him.

He placed his cards face down on the table. "Gentlemen, regretfully, I fold."

Bob grunted. "Me too." He laid down his cards. "Let's see what you got, Silas."

"No yer don't. Didn't pay to see 'em, did yer?" A cackling Silas mixed his cards back into the deck, then began to rake in the pot's contents. "You've brought me luck, Brodie," he said, giving her a gap-toothed smile.

"Reckon we're quits then," she said, "seeing as how I nearly ran you down yesterday."

The old man scratched his whiskers then gestured dismissively.

Millain, meanwhile, appeared to be taking his change in fortunes philosophically. "Lady Luck is renowned for her fickleness. She deserted me today," he shrugged, "but there's always tomorrow."

He stood up. "And now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen... Deputy. I have more pleasurable activities to pursue." He gave them a knowing wink and zigzagged his way through the tables and their occupants towards the attentive girl.

Zee watched him grab the pretty octoroon by the wrist, and guide her (though it verged on dragging) towards the exit. It was almost imperceptible, but she was sure the girl had flinched when the gambler reached for her. Zee frowned. If she was as terrified of Millain as she seemed, why did she stay with him? Something wasn't right about those two.

"Know anything about her?" she asked.

Bob snickered, noting the direction of her gaze. "Thought you’d already got your hands full with that little blonde of yours, Brodie." She glared at him and he held up his hands defensively. "Hey, only joking!"

"Her name's Julie," piped up Silas. "That's all I know, 'cepting that he's got her wrapped round his little finger. Millain says 'Jump,' and she says 'How high?'" He looked wistful. "Wish my missus was like that." He jingled his winnings and a smile split his craggy features. "At least I ain't gonna catch it in the neck this time."

Zee rolled her eyes. "You bet Martha's housekeeping money again?"

"Hey, I earned it," protested Silas.

Still shaking her head at the silver miner's antics, Zee made her way out of the crowded room. Outside the Golden Slipper, she paused beside her mare and glanced up the street.

Millain and his companion were walking briskly towards Mrs. Sandridge's boarding house. He still had hold of the girl's arm. The conversation between them seemed to be all one way - she was listening and nodding meekly. As though sensing Zee's gaze, he glanced back at her. She pretended to tighten her horse's girth, and by the time she looked up again, the couple had vanished inside the boarding house.

She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted up. As she rode towards the railroad station, Zee pondered Millain's treatment of the girl. Slavery had never taken off in Benson, and it was now illegal anyway, but she couldn't help wondering.... She sighed. All she had was hints and suspicions, nothing to grab hold of.

The stomping of her boots on the station telegraph office's floorboards brought old Frank, the clerk, to the window. He peered short-sightedly at her.

"What can I do for you, Deputy? Want to send a telegram?"

"Nope. Just wonderin' if there's been any reply to Hogan's telegram yet."

"The one to New Orleans?"

She nodded, and he beamed at her. "It came in five minutes ago. Now where did I put it?" He blinked vaguely at his surroundings then brightened. "Ah, I know."

Moments later, with the extremely interesting telegram folded neatly in one pocket, she stepped out of the office and headed for her horse.

***

Part 2

It was only after Zee had ridden off back into town that Christie noticed the burlap sack lying forgotten on the kitchen table.

She opened the drawstring and tipped out the wizened brown contents onto the scrubbed wood, then laughed out loud. Buying flower bulbs for her was getting to be a habit for the rangy deputy. Who'd have guessed the former Hellcat was such a romantic? She sorted through the bulbs and corms with a fingertip, then replaced them in the sack for later.

Humming softly to herself, and feeling much happier than she had before Zee came home, Christie finished making the parlour curtains and hung them, cocking her head first to one side then the other as she viewed them from all angles, and feeling quietly pleased with the results.

After that, she made some more lemonade, then found a scrap of paper and stub of pencil and sat down to make a list of all the things they would need in order to turn this house into a home.

Madame Angie's whores had ferried Zee and Christie's possessions over from their little room at the brothel, but they didn't amount to much. Christie glanced round the kitchen then bent her head and wrote busily.

Cutlery. Crockery. Tinware. Theirs was on loan from Mattie, Angie's not very competent cook, but they would need their own - just the essentials first, of course.

Bedlinen. She had discovered (with mixed feelings - they felt wonderful on the skin but were hard to launder) that the satin sheets were only on loan from the brothel too.

She pursed her lips then bent her head to write again. Material for shirts and some new Levis for Zee. The deputy was rough on her clothes... and on Christie's too. She had lost count of the number of buttons that needed replacing and seams that needed restitching due to Zee's impatience. She chuckled fondly and sucked the end of the pencil.

Whitewash. Matches. Kerosene oil for the lamps. Soap...

Time passed quickly, and almost before Christie knew it, Zee was riding into the back yard and tying up the horse. She put down her pencil and hurried to put the food on the table.

After Zee had devoured boiled beef and canned vegetables, and eaten more than her fair share of that peach pie Ann Young had sent over (Christie had been unable to resist gently ribbing her about it, but Zee merely grinned unrepentantly) Christie asked the other woman about her day. Zee's interest in the gambler from New Orleans and the girl in yellow intrigued her.

"Is she his mistress?"

Zee stretched like a cat then relaxed. "Hogan telegraphed New Orleans and I got a reply today. She's his ward. Name of Julie Fontenot."

Christie blinked. "His ward. But I thought you said...."

Zee patted her lap and Christie slid eagerly onto it. One large hand curled round her waist, the other settled on her knee. Contentedly, she snuggled up to the other woman.

"Yep, I did," continued Zee. "And I've a feeling he's a mite more 'friendly' with Miss Julie than a Guardian oughtta be."

Christie pulled a face.

"They ain't blood relatives, if that's what you're thinking."

She twisted and looked up at Zee. "Oh. So what exactly are they?"

"It's quite a story." The deputy smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Want to hear it?"

For reply, Christie poked her in the ribs.

Zee chuckled and squeezed the knee she was holding. "Few years back - bit before your time, Darlin' - steamboats were all the rage. Well, it seems Americus Millain used to do his gambling on the Delta Queen, one of the boats that sailed between New Orleans and St. Louis. Bit of a card sharp. Quick to defend himself against those accusing him of cheating. Too quick, if you get my drift."

"He killed people?"

"Twelve, all told."

The dark-haired woman's gaze was distant and Christie wondered if she was thinking about those she herself had killed.

Zee sighed and shook off her melancholy. "Anyway. The Delta Queen had a five-piece orchestra, the finest in wines and liqueurs, a restaurant filled with dee-lectable offerings, and," she glanced at Christie, "lots of beautiful women. Pretty much a floating Bordello."

She felt her eyes bulge, and Zee chuckled and chucked her on the chin.

"Not like Angie's Palace, though. The Delta Queen girls were high-class whores. Spanish, French, some even had Haitian blood. Filles de joie, they called themselves. And they didn't come cheap."

Christie chewed her lower lip. "How do you know all this?"

"Knew a woman who worked on the Delta Queen." She shrugged. "Her looks were going by the time I met her, but you could see she must once have been really something. She liked to talk about the good old days... you know, afterwards."

"Oh." Christie stifled the pang that mention of Zee's previous conquests always brought. She became aware the other woman was studying her and smiled brightly. "Go on."

"That's all in the past, Darlin'," said Zee softly.

She gave the deputy a reassuring pat on the belly. "I know," she said just as quietly. "Go on about the riverboats."

It was a moment before Zee continued. "Well," she said. "One of the filles de joie was a quadroon named Marian Fontenot."

"Fontenot. Isn't that the same-"

"Yup. She was very beautiful by all accounts... tall, long-legged, graceful and very popular. She could have had her pick of the beaux, but the poor woman fell in love with Americus Millain." Zee sighed. "She and him got intimate." She gave Christie a significant glance.

"She had a child?"

Zee nodded. "Died of it too."

"What a tragedy! So Julie's their daughter? But I thought you said-" A hand clamped itself over her mouth. "Mmmph!"

"Are you gonna let me tell this story or not?"

For answer, Christie licked Zee's palm, and the dark-haired deputy rolled her eyes but withdrew the offending hand.

"No, the child died. The little octoroon I met today is Marian's by a previous 'liaison' - she was six when her mother died."

"Oh!"

"Marian knew she was fading fast, so she made Millain promise to look after Julie. Had the guardianship papers drawn up, all above board and legal like."

"He signed?"

"Yup."

Christie didn't like the way this story was developing. "And you think...?"

"No matter how well intentioned he started out, somewhere along the way he changed. Maybe when he saw how pretty she turned out, he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth." Zee shrugged. "Who knows."

"So you think he's had..." Christie searched for the right word, "'relations' with his ward?"

Zee nodded. "Think he's been thumping her too."

"That poor girl! He's supposed to protect her."

"Sure is, 'til she's married or turns 21 anyway." Zee stroked Christie's hair. "But he's in my jurisdiction now, Darlin', and if I see him doing something he shouldn't...."

"You'll take him to task," finished Christie.

Zee's pale blue eyes darkened. "Damned right," she growled.

They had been sitting, cuddling quietly, in the kitchen for a hour when Zee looked at the clock, gave a start, and stood up, the suddenness of her movement tipping Christie off her lap and onto the floor. Outraged, Christie stared up at her.

Zee chuckled and held out a hand. "Stop dawdlin' and get your glad rags on."

"What are you talking about?" Christie allowed herself to be pulled up and crossly set about straightening and dusting off her skirt.

"We're going over to Angie's." Zee grabbed her shabby hat from the hook, reshaped the crown, and crammed it on her head. "Go on. Get changed. I'll get the buckboard ready."

Christie had been looking forward to spending time alone with Zee and she said so. Zee paused in the doorway and looked back at her.

"It'll do you good, Darlin'," she said seriously. "Besides, some of the girls are bound to have letters they need help with. We've been away awhile."

Christie threw up her hands and stomped up the stairs, grumbling all the way to the bedroom. There she hurriedly changed into her only good visiting dress - the one she had run away from Contention in - and eyed her reflection doubtfully in the mirror. She was still trying to fix her hair so it didn't look like a bird's nest when Zee's shout wafted up the stairs.

"Come on."

Giving her reflection a despairing last glance, she stomped loudly down stairs and through the kitchen, muttering about inconsiderate good-for-nothings who sprung unexpected and unwanted invitations on their spouses. Grabbing her reticule, bonnet and shawl, she slammed the back door behind her and grumpily allowed herself to be helped up into the buckboard.

The corner of Zee's mouth quirked and Christie silently dared her to make just one, just one, smart-aleck comment. But the tall woman merely flicked the reins and said, "Walk on." Then the gelding was pulling the buckboard forward, and they were rattling out of the yard and down the track.

Christie gazed sullenly at the night sky. It was a full moon, and the stars were clear and bright. She stared up at them trying to remember her constellations. She sucked in a lungful of air then exhaled slowly, feeling her bad mood evaporate.

A hand reached across and adjusted the shawl around her shoulders and she looked over at the silent, silhouetted figure sitting next to her.

She bit her lip. "Sorry for being so bad tempered."

The shoulders shrugged. "I deserved it," came Zee's voice. "Shoulda told you earlier. Truth is, we were sitting there so snug and cosy, I forgot all about Angie's invitation."

Her profile turned to face Christie. "Told her this afternoon we'd go. Thought, what with the Riker lad and everything, being with folks who appreciate you for who you are might cheer you up." A pause. "And I know you've been missing playing the pianola."

Christie reached over and patted Zee on the leg. "You're right," she said. "It will do me good. And I have missed playing the pianola." She sighed.

"One day I'll buy you one," said Zee.

"A pianola?" She snorted. "With what?"

White teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "I'll think of something."

Four hours later, Christie lay in the back of the buckboard, hands laced comfortably over her stomach, staring hazily up at the stars, and conceded that she'd thoroughly enjoyed her evening.

The inhabitants of Angie's Palace had welcomed them like long lost friends - even Red Mary's sour face had cracked into a smile (though it was probably more for Zee's benefit than Christie's.)

They spent the evening in the brothel's back room, with Madame Angie, who was wearing her trademark Turkish trousers and smoking her pipe. The whores popped in, in between clients, staying to tell them the latest gossip and laugh and tell funny stories about Zee that made her curse under her breath and on one occasion - Christie had unfortunately been too far away to overhear the exchange - spray a mouthful of whiskey all over her cards.

Zee had played poker and complained about the chattering women gathered eagerly around her, but Christie could see that, despite protestations to the contrary, the tall woman loved all the attention. As for Christie, she wrote some letters for Lazy Alice, played the pianola to her heart's content, laughed until her cheeks ached, sang until she was hoarse, and danced until her feet hurt. She also drank rather more champagne than she was used to.

"You all right back there?" came Zee's voice.

"Jush fine," said Christie. For some reason her tongue wouldn't work properly. "T'morrow," she said thickly, "I am going to see Miss Bartlett."

"The school teacher?"

"The very shame." Christie licked her lips and tried again. "Same... Aha!" She crowed in triumph.

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you going to see Miss Bartlett?"

"'Cause that'sh what Madame Angie suggested."

A longsuffering sigh drifted back to her on the cool night air. "And why did Angie suggest that?"

"'Cause if anyone can stop that little brute from playing hookey and teach him some mannersh, it'sh hish teacher." Why did so many words have to have the letter S in them?

"Ah. Good idea."

"My thoughtsh exackly."

"Doubt if she'll be able to help though."

The stars were spinning in a clockwise direction, Christie noticed. How fascinating! "Of course she will. Anyway... better'n doing nothing."

Zee grunted.

A thought struck Christie. "Zee?"

"Hmmm."

"What was it that Clubfoot Liz said that made you spit out your whiskey?"

"Nothing, Darlin'."

"Must've been something. Standsh to reason."

"Sure you really want to know?"

"Would I ask you otherwise, hmm?"

A moment's silence, then Zee said dryly, "According to Liz, things are a lot quieter since we got our own place."

"Ah, how sweet. You mean the girls miss ush...." She flexed her lips and tongue and tried again. "Us?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what exackly?"

"Seems whenever I bedded you, all the cats in the alley out back yowled fit to wake the dead."

Christie blinked and tried to make sense of that. Then her cheeks grew hot, and so did the tips of her ears.

"Hey," came Zee's voice. "You OK back there?"

"Oh, sure. Just dying of embarrashment," muttered Christie, so softly surely not even Zee could hear her.

"Well, you did ask," chuckled the deputy.

Not softly enough apparently.

"Why've we shtopped?" Christie peered fuzzily up at Zee. One minute the deputy had been carrying her up the stairs, making interesting threats involving a feather, the next she was standing frozen outside the bedroom door, an odd look on her face.

"Wait here." Zee deposited a disappointed Christie carefully back on her own two feet. Then she drew one of her Colts, cocked it in one smooth movement, and with her left hand relieved Christie of the lamp.

"Wha-?" Christie blinked at the empty space that had held the deputy only seconds before. Next time, I'll avoid the champagne.

Then Zee was back, and Christie was relieved to see that her gun was holstered. She didn't look happy though. "Window's broke," she said tersely.

Christie thought about that rather muzzily. "What broke it - a bird?"

"Must've been," said Zee, though for a moment Christie had the impression she was going to say something else.

She grimaced. "Blood and feathersh everywhere?"

Zee shook her head. "No. No sign of the bird now either. Must have flown away." She started down the stairs. "I'll get something to board up the window." She paused and looked back. "Stay clear of it, Darlin'. There's glass on the floor."

"OK." Christie pushed open the bedroom door and walked unsteadily through it. The cold struck her instantly - it must have been that which had alerted Zee. She frowned at the shattered windowpane and the shards of glass glittering on the floorboards beneath it. More money down the drain. Dratted pigeon!

She was still struggling to undress when she heard booted feet clattering up the stairs. Zee took one look at her dishevelled state, grinned, then put down the hammer, planks, and broom she was carrying and came to help.

"My fingers won't do what I tell them to," complained Christie.

"Mine will." In no time flat, Zee had stripped off the troublesome visiting dress, followed by the impossible petticoat and undergarments. "See."

"That's only because you've had lots of practice undressing me," grumbled Christie. The breeze from the window was raising goosepimples and she hugged herself to keep warm.

"Here." Zee had found Christie's nightdress and was holding it out to her. These days, Christie seldom wore one (Zee kept her warm at night), but tonight, she gratefully allowed the other woman to help her into it.

"Get into bed," ordered Zee. "I'll fix the window. Won’t take long."

Huddled beneath the satin sheets, Christie watched Zee sweep the shattered glass safely into one corner then nail some boards over the broken pane. Almost at once, the room felt warmer.

"There." The hammer joined the broom in the corner with a thud that made Christie wince, then the mattress was sagging as Zee sat next to her and put an arm round her shoulders. "You OK?"

"Tired." Christie leaned into Zee. A huge yawn overtook her and the other woman laughed.

"So I see. Still cold?"

"A little."

Zee pulled her shirt over her head then began unbuckling her belt. "Have to see what I can do about that," she said, grinning.

***

The sound of distant gunfire made Zee look up. Knew it was too good to last.

She threw aside the Police Gazette, grabbed her stetson from the hatstand, and left the jailhouse at a run. Seconds later, she was in the saddle, riding instinctively north.

Outside The Golden Slipper, Jack the barkeep flagged her down. "In here, Deputy," he called. "Millain's gone and killed Polly!"

Zee's lips thinned. She dismounted and handed him the reins. As she pushed open the swing doors, faces turned towards her, and a nervous silence greeted her. The crowd drew back as she elbowed her way through. Then she saw the body sprawled on the floor, blood pooling around its head. Apollinar Juarez's disreputable, striped trousers and shabby leather vest were instantly recognisable.

Damn you, Polly! What were you thinking?

She squatted on her heels, reached for his skinny wrist, and confirmed what she already knew - the amiable little Mexican was dead as a doornail. Uncurling his fingers from the Smith and Wesson Schofield, she sniffed the muzzle. It had been fired recently.

She looked up then, pushing back her hat and scanning the faces peering down at her, seeking one in particular. Americus Millain's expression was unapologetic.

"It was self-defence. He drew on me." The gambler from New Orleans gestured with his half-smoked cigar. "Ask anyone."

Zee straightened and looked him in the eye. "I will."

Bob Lewis was standing next to Millain. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Bob?"

He mopped his forehead with a kerchief. "Polly shot first. He called Millain a cheat and then he drew."

She caught sight of a familiar pair of whiskers. "You agree with that, Silas?"

"Reckon so, Deputy."

Millain smiled smugly. "See."

She chewed the inside of her cheek then nodded. She saw only too well. Polly had been no great shakes with a gun; he carried it mostly for show and wouldn't have drawn unless provoked. Millain probably feinted with his left hand, then drew with his right. But there was no way she could prove it. "I see all right.... Anyone sent for McGillivray?"

"He's on his way, Deputy," called Kitty Lee.

"Better pass the hat then. Man deserves a decent funeral." She gave Millain a significant glance. "You first." She took off her stetson, upturned it, and held it out.

The gambler's bearded jaw dropped. "Damned if I'm going to contribute! I killed him fair and square."

She regarded him coldly, pleased when something - uncertainty, fear? - flickered in the depths of his brown eyes. "You took Polly's money and his life. Least you can do is give him a decent burial."

A murmur of approval had greeted her words and he glanced uneasily at those standing nearby before meeting her gaze again. "Well," he said. "When you put it that way...."

"I do." She waited.

Reluctantly, he tossed a handful of silver dollars into the hat. Several of the onlookers gave money too. Zee reached a gloved hand in her pocket and pulled out a dollar; it jingled as it joined the others. Already there was a tidy sum - enough for McGillivray to give Polly one of his better quality coffins and a Christian burial.

She emptied the contents of the hat into Bob Lewis's hands and put the stetson back on. "Give that to McGillivray when he gets here." Bob nodded.

Satisfied she'd done the best she could, for now at least, she gave Millain a last considering look then spun on her heel and headed for the door.

As she passed the bar, a flash of jade green caught her eye. She turned, saw it was the pretty octoroon wearing yet another fashionable dress, then glanced back at Millain. The gambler was already settling down to another card game and seemed fully occupied. Zee headed for his ward.

"Julie Fontenot?"

The girl looked startled to be addressed directly. She glanced over to where her guardian was sitting, then ducked her head, her dark eyes shyly refusing to meet Zee's. "Yes." Her voice was barely audible above the rising hubbub.

"I'm Benson's Deputy Sheriff," said Zee. "You need any help, you come to me. Understand?" The girl fiddled with her gloves. "Understand?"

Julie smoothed her dress before replying. "Yes."

Zee sighed . If she was any judge of character, the girl was so scared she would have to be in mortal danger before she asked for help. Well. At least she'd tried.

Feeling in need of some fresh air, she pushed her way through the swing doors and out onto the street.

Zee had just looped her mare's reins over the jail's hitching post when a terrible clattering, clanging noise hurt her ears. She turned. Benson's fire wagon, its bell clanging, its mangy mule braying in protest, was heading along Main Street towards her. Straggling along behind the fire appliance ('Appliance?' Ha! It's just a rusty old water tank and pump.) came a motley group of townsfolk, some still doing up their shoelaces or pulling on their coats.

"Hey, Marvin," she called to the fire chief, as the wagon passed. "Where's the fire?"

Marvin's usual job was distributing the water he hauled up from the nearby San Pedro River each day. "Angie's Palace," he replied.

No wonder there are so many volunteers. Angie had a longstanding arrangement with the fire service - a week's worth of free passes for those who helped put out a fire at the brothel.

Now Zee knew where to look, she could see the dark plume of smoke curling up into the blue sky. Sure hope none of the girls are hurt. She ran back inside the jailhouse, grabbed a shovel, and set off after the fire wagon.

The whores were pacing up and down in front of the brothel in varying states of soot-stained undress. Some of the townsfolk had gathered to watch the fun, and were whistling and calling out comments - the men appreciative, the women disparaging - earning themselves obscene gestures and replies for their pains. When Zee arrived, the onlookers rapidly developed interests elsewhere.

The fire was out back by the kitchen, so Zee made her way round there in time to see the fire crew (Marvin and three men pumping the lever, two more pointing the hose nozzle, the rest getting in the way) enthusiastically damping down the flames. It hadn't been a big blaze, fortunately, just a very dirty one.

She used her shovel to beat out some still glowing embers then became aware that Angie had joined her. "Anyone hurt?" She wiped the back of her hand across her brow.

"Only their pride." The brothel owner surveyed the damage and sighed.

Zee frowned. A strange scent underlay the overpowering smell of soot and wet wood. It reminded her of something.

Marvin came over to join them. "It's out, Angie," he said triumphantly. "Looks like it started over there." He pointed to some singed timbers lying next to the kitchen.

"That's odd," said Angie. "I thought it must be a spark from Mattie's stove that started it." She shrugged. "Anyway, thanks, Marvin. Usual arrangement?"

He nodded happily and went to tell his men. Zee chuckled then became aware the Madame was studying her, a small smile on her face.

"You're entitled to a free pass too, Deputy."

Zee grinned. "Thanks, but no thanks, Angie. Christie's more'n enough for me."

The Madame laughed. "I thought you’d say that." She frowned at the singed timbers again. "Whatever can have caused that?"

"Or whoever," said Zee. She had placed the scent at last. "Someone used kerosene oil."

The older woman blinked. "You think it was arson?"

"It's a good bet."

"But who would do such a thing?"

"There's plenty as has a motive. The Temperance Union biddies, the Benson Society for Improvement of Public Morals, not to mention a member of the fire crew eager to receive a week's free pass to bliss.... Hey!" She sucked the knuckles that Angie had rapped smartly with her pipe, and regarded her reproachfully. "But I'd say," she continued, "the likeliest person is the one who set fire to the Last Chance Saloon while I was in Phoenix."

Angie frowned. "And just who would that be?"

"Don’t know yet." Zee grabbed her shovel and prepared to head back to the jailhouse. "But I will."

Zee smiled as she rode past the Old Barn's front door. Part of the neglected front garden had now been neatly dug and watered. It looked as though Christie had planted the flower bulbs.

Christie herself wasn't home, she discovered as she dismounted and gave her horse some water. The gelding and buckboard were missing from the barn, which meant the younger woman had either gone to visit the schoolteacher or gone shopping.

As she unstrapped the new pane of glass she had collected from the glasscutter's and carried it inside, Zee tried not to feel hard done by. It wasn't as if Christie was expecting her - she had packed Zee some sandwiches, which were in her saddlebags. But after such a frenetic morning - a killing and a fire was going some, even for Zee - things had quieted to such a degree she'd been twiddling her thumbs. And since there was work to be done around the house....

Grumbling softly to herself, she sat in the kitchen, eating the ham sandwiches Christie had made for her and listening to the loud ticking of the clock. For the first time in her life, she realised, she felt.... Lonely, damn it!

She carried what was left of her sandwiches out back, and leaned against the trough while she ate, glad of her horse's company. The mare whinnied and nosed her shoulder. Zee rubbed the animal's nose.

"Think yourself lucky you ain't romantically involved, girl," she counselled. "It ain't all sunshine."

The mare nickered and Zee could have sworn the animal was laughing at her.

"Pathetic, ain't I?" she said ruefully. "Let's just keep this our little secret, eh?"

When she'd finished her food, she headed back indoors, grabbing a hammer and some nails as she went. In the bedroom, she rolled up her shirtsleeves and set about removing the damaged pane of glass and fitting its replacement.

As she worked, she glanced out at the Rikers' house, which was only a stone's throw away. A blonde boy was playing with a ball in their yard, but when he saw her glaring at him, he quickly disappeared.

Stone's throw is right. She wondered whether she should have told Christie about the fist-sized rock she had found lying on the floorboards instead of just shoving it back out the way it had come.

Nope. It had been the right decision. The blonde had been tipsy and tired and would only have been upset. She didn't need to know it hadn't been a bird crashing into their window but a rock thrown by the Riker kid. One thing was for sure, if Zee caught the little hooligan sneaking around their house again, she'd tan his hide so he couldn't sit down for month.

She hammered in the last nail, then stood back and admired her handiwork. Then she swept up the glass and other debris and went downstairs.

The basket of wood beside the stove was running low, so while her mare tossed her head in annoyance at the noise, she split some logs in the yard, brought the pieces inside and added them to the basket. That job done, she set about putting up the extra hooks and shelves Christie had hinted she would like added to the kitchen as soon as possible.

When she had finished, a glance at the clock showed it was time to head back to the jailhouse. She stripped off her shirt and undershirt, dunked her head in a pail of cool water (more water had been delivered, she was glad to see), and sponged herself down, glad to be free of the accumulated grime and sweat at last.

Dressed in a clean shirt, wet hair slicked down, and the dust banged off her hat, she felt almost presentable as she mounted up and headed back into town. As she rode, she wondered whether things would be as quiet as they were when she left. Knowing her luck, she thought wryly, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse would be waiting for her....

***

Christie reined in the gelding outside Taylor's General Mercantile Store and put on the brake. She reached for her reticule, then jumped down from the buckboard and went inside.

Ned Taylor was standing behind his counter, serving a woman in a hideous dress with a huge bustle. As the apron-clad storekeeper smiled and waved at Christie, his customer turned to see who had come in. The gaze she gave the blonde would have frozen running water; she sniffed and turned away again.

Christie sighed. It would have to be Madame Clemence. Ever since the aborted appointment for a trousseau, she and the supposedly French seamstress had kept their distance, the other woman even crossing the street to avoid her on one occasion.

She couldn't blame Henrietta Clemence. When she'd eloped with Zee, her ex-fiancé had cancelled the trousseau. The seamstress had spent time and effort on the measurements, but Fred refused flat out to pay her for it.

Fred always was tight fisted, she thought ruefully, as she wandered round the store examining the goods while she waited for Taylor to finish serving his customer. She found it hard even to imagine she had ever considered marrying him.

She picked up a skillet, hefted it, decided it was too heavy for comfort, and put it back on the shelf. A murmur of voices and faint footsteps signalled the presence of other customers on the far side of the shelves. When she turned the corner, she came face to face with a woman in a black broadcloth dress and a fat man whose high collar looked as though it was cutting off his circulation.

Christie froze. Oh dear! "Good afternoon, Mrs. Riker," she said politely. "Mr. Riker."

When Adah remained mute. Her husband frowned and looked enquiringly at her. "What's wrong, my dear?"

"This is the Hellcat's whore," she growled, taking a step towards Christie, whose heart pounded but she held her ground. "How you have the nerve to show your face in here!" continued the other woman, her cheeks flushing with anger. "Decent people frequent this establishment not -"

"I'll handle this, my dear." The President of the Bank turned a stern gaze on Christie, who pressed her lips together in an attempt to contain her building anger. "I'll thank you to take your custom elsewhere from now on, Miss erm... whatever your name is."

"I beg your pardon!" The indignant voice Christie made her jump. She turned to find Ned Taylor standing behind her. The storekeeper had finished with Madame Clemence and come to see what was going on. "I'll be the one to say who I will serve in my own store."

Ernie Riker drew himself up to his full height. "I shouldn't have to remind you, Jack," he said pompously, "that only last year the bank gave you a substantial loan -"

"No, you shouldn't." Taylor's brows lowered. "And as far as I recall, it was the Bank loaned me the money, not you personally, Ernie Riker. I shouldn't have to remind you of that."

Riker blinked and his jaw worked. Christie got the impression he wasn't used to having people talk back to him. Serve him right.

The silence seemed to stretch, then the tinkling of the bell above the front door broke it, and to everyone's surprise it was Adah who spoke next.

"Well!" she said indignantly. "If that 'woman'," - her eyes shot daggers at Christie - "isn't going to take her custom elsewhere, then I certainly am."

"That's your prerogative, ma'am," said Taylor stoutly. "But you'll not find anywhere else selling such quality at these prices."

"We'll see about that." With a toss of her head, Adah Riker turned on her heel and stormed towards the exit. After an indecisive moment, her fat husband followed her.

"I'm so sorry," said Christie to Ned Taylor. "I had no intention of causing any trouble."

"Of course not." The storekeeper led her towards the counter. "Sour-faced old hypocrites don't need rhyme or reason."

Even so. "But surely, you can't afford to lose a good customer -"

"Truth be told, I'm glad to be rid of them. All I ever got was complaints about weevils in the flour, or snags in the muslin...." He smiled at her. "So, what have you got for me, Miss Hayes?"

She blinked, nonplussed, before remembering the shopping list in her reticule. Fumbling, she pulled it out and gave it to him. He perused it for a moment, then nodded and disappeared behind the counter. When he came back he was carrying kerosene oil and matches. He ticked off the items then headed off to a different shelf. Companionably, she followed him.

"Besides, there was no possibility of me asking you to take your custom elsewhere," he added. "Deputy Brodie's a good friend of mine." He picked up the skillet she had rejected earlier, cast an assessing glance at her wrists, then put it back and selected a lighter one.

"Two years ago," he continued, "our boy Frank got mixed up with a bad crowd. Drinking, gambling, women.... Hope I'm not shocking you by speaking about such things, Miss Hayes?"

She blinked. "Not at all."

He grinned. "Guess you must be pretty unshockable, being with the deputy and all." He looked at the list and moved further along the shelf. "Martha and me thought Frank was destined for the end of a rope." He picked up some knives, forks, and spoons and raised an eyebrow at Christie. She nodded.

"We were at our wits end," he continued. "Then one day, Brodie asked me what was up, and I told her. She said not to worry none, she'd straighten him out." He smiled at the memory. "Good as her word she was, too."

He carried the goods back to the counter and set them down. Christie followed him, eager to know more.

"What did she do?"

"Never did find out. Brodie wouldn't talk about it, neither would Frank."

Christie suppressed a growl of frustration while he grabbed a stub of pencil, jotted down the prices for the items now littering the countertop, and began to tot them up. When he'd finished adding up the column of figures he looked up and regarded her seriously.

"All I know is, one night Frank came home as white as a sheet. Said he was sorry for the grief he'd caused his mother and me, and that it wouldn't happen again."

He rechecked his sums, drew a line under the total, and showed it to Christie, who sighed then nodded.

"Well, the long and short of it is," he continued, "Frank mended his ways. Found hisself a nice girl and settled down. They're married with baby now: Frank junior." His proud smile became businesslike. "Will that be cash or credit, Miss Hayes?"

"Oh, cash," she said, reaching inside her reticule.

There was something odd about the front garden, decided Christie, slowing the buckboard and leaning over for a better look. When she had left the Old Barn, the little garden surrounded by the picket fence had looked neat, its soil - still dark from the watering - had been level, but now.... Clumps of soil lay everywhere.

Someone's dug up my bulbs! Jaw clamped against her anger, she turned the gelding up the track. That dratted Riker boy. It has to be.

Miss Bartlett had told her the boy wasn't in school that morning, and the silly young woman (she was Christie's age but you'd never have guessed) had seemed quite unconcerned about it.

"Oh, Joe is frequently ill, Miss Hayes," she said, as she distributed the textbooks for the next lesson while the school children played noisily outdoors. "He has quite a delicate constitution, you know. I had a letter from his parents about it."

Christie chewed her lip. 'Delicate'? That little ruffian? "Are you sure it was from his parents?"

That got her a wide-eyed stare. "Why ever should it not be?"

"You don’t think... maybe Joe himself...."

Jenny Bartlett considered the suggestion for all of two seconds before emitting a peal of merry laughter. "Oh, Miss Hayes. You are so amusing! Why would any child want to miss school? They love it here. We have such fun."

Having faith in the children she taught was wonderful, but being wilfully blind to their shortcomings was surely not to anyone's benefit. Resisting a strong urge to shake some sense into the dangerously naive woman, Christie had left.

As she drove into the back yard, she saw the depleted logpile and her pulse quickened.

"Zee," she called, leaping down from the buckboard and dashing into the kitchen. "Are you here?" There was no answer, though, and she recalled there had been no sign of Zee's mare either. She sighed, sad to have missed her lover.

It took her an arduous half an hour to unload the buckboard, stable the gelding, and stack everything where she wanted it. She hung up the last of the tinware - the new hooks and shelves Zee had put up were perfect - then went upstairs to freshen up.

The windowpane was fixed too, she saw as she entered the bedroom. She stared out of it, noticing how close the Rikers' house was to theirs and pursing her lips. Last night she had been too fuzzy headed to think clearly, but now....

As she sponged herself down, changed into her housedress, and brushed her hair, she wondered if Zee had misled her about the real source of the broken glass -

A knocking at the back door jarred her out of her musings. Who is it now? She smoothed down her dress, and headed downstairs.

Ann Young was standing on her doorstep. The smiling woman came in, duly admired the additions Zee had made to the kitchen, then got down to business.

"Curly and I are having a social tonight. And we were wondering if you and Zee would like to come."

Christie blinked - an invitation of this kind was the last thing she had expected. Socials had been a common in Contention, the women sitting and sewing or crocheting while they talked (gossip was the main purpose of such get-togethers), or playing whatever puzzle games or card games were all the rage. There was always a good supper....

"The Meekers and Nortons have said they're coming," Ann was blithely continuing, "and we're having hot cakes, eggs, side pork and coffee." She stopped and looked expectantly at Christie.

But was this the kind of evening that would appeal to Zee? "I don't think Zee-"

Ann Young waved a hand dismissively. "She'll love it. And what better way to introduce the two of you into more respectable circles? It can only do Zee's standing in Benson good."

"We-ell. If you think so."

"I do."

"All right, then. We'll come." After all, what harm could it do?

Ann beamed at her. "Splendid." She turned to go. "We'll see you at eight then."

***

Zee looked at her cards again. Not bad! But was it enough?

She glanced at Silas, who was absently rubbing his earlobe. That 'tell' of his was a sure sign he didn't have much of a hand. She flipped another dollar into the pot. "Raise you."

"Mind if I sit in?" Americus Millain was grinning down at the three players; behind him, looking cowed as always, stood Julie Fontenot.

Silas and Bob exchanged a wry look - this morning's killing of Polly had not endeared the New Orleans gambler to anyone - then they shrugged.

"It's a free country." Silas wiped the back of his hand on his moustache.

"So they say," grumbled Bob.

Zee shoved the empty chair towards Millain with her booted foot. "Have a seat." One of the reasons she had come back to the Golden Slipper was to keep a close eye on him - this was as close as she could get.

"Thanks." He sat down, then twisted round in his chair, irritated to see that the Slipper's hostesses were all currently occupied. "Get me a whiskey," he told the girl in the jade green dress.

No please, no thank you, noted Zee. Julie nodded mutely, her gaze once again refusing to meet Zee's, and headed towards the bar.

She watched the pretty octoroon go then turned back to her game. She tossed in a couple more dollars. "And see you, Silas."

"Dang it. I'm gonna have to fold," said Bob glumly.

Silas frowned, then laid out his cards - three of a kind. Zee bared her teeth at him and laid down hers - a straight.

"Goldarn it, Brodie!" Silas's voice was exasperated. "The missus is gonna skin me alive."

She raked in her winnings. "Why d'you bet it if you can't afford to lose it, you old coot?"

Bob chuckled. "You tell him, Brodie." He gathered the cards and began to shuffle, then looked enquiringly at Millain and the others. "Five card draw?"

"Fine with me," said Zee.

The gambler from New Orleans nodded assent then busied himself lighting up a cheroot. In the meantime, his ward had returned carrying a tray on which sat a full glass of whiskey and an unopened bottle (the rotgut kind, Zee was glad to see). Without so much as a thank you, he grabbed it, drained the glass dry, then opened the bottle and refilled it.

"Make yourself scarce," he told her, without even looking at her. "I'm busy."

The girl gave him a frightened glance, then scooted towards the bar again. Probably felt relatively safe, there, thought Zee. Jack the bartender would fend off the worst of the predators, and it was a lot less crowded away from the gaming tables.

While Bob dealt the cards, she pushed back her hat and leaned back in her chair. Surreptitiously, she gave Millain the once over. He sported two Colt revolvers low on his hips, but only the right holster was tied down, and the bulge in his coat pocket was probably a Derringer - deadly at close quarters but otherwise inaccurate.

She picked up her cards, saw at once they were useless and threw them down. "I fold."

The others grunted but decided to play on. Zee reached for her own glass, winced at the cheap whiskey's bite, then let her gaze wander round the room before returning to the game at hand.

The bidding was fast and furious, and as far as she could tell no one was cheating. Silas started rubbing his earlobe once more, and it was Bob who won the contents of the pot with a measly two pairs. Then it was Silas's turn to cut the cards and deal - which he did, muttering under his breath the while - and Zee was back in the game.

Over the next five hands, the winnings were spread fairly evenly - money ebbed and flowed first one way then another. As the level of whiskey in Millain's bottle dropped, his play became more aggressive. He bet early and high, forcing the other players out of their comfort zones and betting the limit more and more. Finally, his style of play began to pay off and the pile of winnings on the green baize in front of him grew.

Zee frowned and poked the meagre heap of coins in front of her with a forefinger. This was Christie's money as well as hers; did she have the right to risk it?

"Too rich for your blood, Deputy?" The New Orleans gambler was smiling smugly at her. She restrained herself to a grunt.

He laughed and signalled someone, and moments later Julie Fontenot was making her way gingerly through the raucous crowd of gamblers and coquettish hostesses, a fresh bottle of whiskey clasped in one gloved hand.

Zee frowned. The girl was obviously uncomfortable in these surroundings, but Millain didn't seem to notice or care. He snatched the bottle from his ward and topped up his glass.

Her next hand was a better one - a straight - and Zee bid up to her limit, only to be beaten at the last minute by Millain's straight flush. She regarded him thoughtfully. Straight flushes were rare, and the ex-riverboat gambler was getting entirely too many of them. She had suspected he was cheating, now she was sure of it.

Two can play at that game.

In her Hellcat days, she had ridden for a while with Poker Bill. The Mechanic's Grip, the Peek, Second and Bottom Dealing, False Shuffling, Palming, Shifting the Cut... her fellow outlaw had taught her all those skills and more. These days, she played fair and only used her skills for party tricks or games of strip poker with Christie. But someone needed to give Millain a taste of his own medicine, and it might as well be her.

Over the next half an hour, Millain's fortunes slowly but surely went into reverse, the tide sweeping his money in Zee's direction being stemmed only when it was his turn to deal. At first, his brown eyes held puzzlement, then disbelief, then a growing anger. She could see from his expression that he knew he was getting taken at his own game - he just couldn't work out how.

She suppressed a grin as she placed her cards on the baize - four of a kind. "Mine I think."

Silas snorted and Bob cursed, but Millain's face paled dramatically. He had bet his last buck on this hand... and lost.

She pulled the money towards her. "Guess that's you out of the game, Millain."

His eyes glittered, then his hand moved towards his inside coat pocket. She rested her fingers on the gun butt of her Colt then paused. Was he trying to make her draw first?

When his hand emerged, it was clutching a folded piece of paper rather than the Derringer she had been expecting. "Guess again, Deputy. This should keep me in the game."

He tossed the paper onto the table, and Bob reached for it and unfolded what looked to Zee like a legal document.

"What is it?" asked Silas eagerly. "Title deeds? To a silver mine? Your ranch?"

"No. To the ride of your life, boys." Millain leered at Zee. "Might interest the Deputy here too. Heard she likes fillies."

Zee frowned. "I ain't interested in your horse."

Bob had been reading the document slowly, mouthing each word. "Who's this Ju- Julie Font- Fonten-"

"Give me that." She snatched the paper off him.

"Hey, that hurt!" He sucked his fingers.

She read the document quickly then gaped at the gambler from New Orleans. "You'd bet your ward in a poker game?"

He laughed. "She's my property, isn't she?"

Zee resisted the sudden urge to shove the guardianship papers down his gullet. This was going too far, even for him. Then it dawned on her... he had no intention of losing his ward. It was his turn to deal next - the odds would be in his favour.

News of the unusual nature of Millain's proposed bet had spread around the Golden Slipper and a chattering crowd had gathered around their table. Any hope Zee might have had that Julie didn't know what was going on was dashed when she saw the girl among their number. The octoroon's face was a frozen mask, her dark eyes wide.

I wouldn't treat my dog like that.

Zee considered and discarded possibilities. It would be tough to pull off in a single hand, but if she played her cards right, this could solve the girl's problems at a stroke. She tossed a mental coin. OK, then.

"I do like a nice filly," she told Millain equably. "I've no objections if no one else has." Silas and Bob were gawping at her. "How about you, boys?"

"What if I win?" complained Silas. "My missus won’t let me take another woman home, 'specially a young and pretty one." A burst of laughter greeted his remark.

"Yeah," said Bob. "That goes for me too."

"Don’t worry, boys. If you win, I'll take her off your hands." Zee's sally provoked even louder laughter. She ran a hand through her hair and resettled her hat. God knows what Christie's going to say when she hears about this!

She glanced at Millain. "So. Who's dealer?"

He stroked his beard then gave her wet lipped smile. "I am."

She feigned a wince, earning herself a curious look from Silas. "Then deal, damn you." A mutter of consternation ran through the watchers and she suppressed a chuckle.

As the cards were dealt, you could have heard a pin drop. Breaths were bated, eyes eager, as the crowd of onlookers watched the progress of the game. Zee ignored them and concentrated on Millain's hands. That one came off the bottom. And that. She picked up her cards and glanced at Silas. He was rubbing his earlobe.

She discarded two cards and asked for replacements, which came once more from the bottom of the pack. She regarded her new hand interestedly. He'd tried to give her a single pair - nines. No doubt his own hand was much more powerful.

So. Pair of nines, a six, a ten, and a Jack. What the gambler from New Orleans didn't know was that she had two more tens up her sleeve from earlier. When his attention was elsewhere, she swapped them over. Keeping her actions hidden from the bystanders as well as the players was difficult, but she managed it.

Silas folded. Then Bob. Now only Zee and Millain were in the game. At last, with an air of triumph, he placed his cards, all hearts, face up on the green baize.

A sharp intake of breath was followed by murmurs, "It's a Flush. He's got a Flush."

"Mine, I think." Millain reached forward to gather in the pot.

"Not so fast," said Zee. His head jerked up and he stared at her. Carefully, she laid out her Full House.

He blinked at the cards in amazement then came to his feet in a rush. "You can't have...." She could see the realisation dawning on him. "You cheated, damn you!"

People backed hastily away, clearing a space around the table.

"Prove it." She reached for her winnings, her nerves on hair-trigger alert.

He feinted with his left hand; she let him. "Damn your yellow hide, Brodie," he hissed. "Go for your gun."

She shook her head and stood up, taking a third of the money for herself then pushing the rest towards a startled Silas and Bob. "Split that between you." She tucked the guardianship papers in her pocket.

"Anyone draws first, it'll have to be you." Zee gave Millain a cold glance. "And it'll be the last thing you do."

She waited, her right hand resting gently on her gun butt. Millain lowered his gaze, and she assumed he had seen sense and was going to accept the situation. She nodded in satisfaction and turned, scanning the room for Julie and finding her trembling in a far corner, her eyes wide. She took a step towards her.

"Brodie." Millain's voice halted her in her tracks. So. She sighed and turned to face him.

A vein in his temple was bulging and his face was red. "You're a cheating, lowdown, double-crossing, lily-livered bitch...." His hand hovered above his six-gun.

She nodded and waited. But he refused to draw. Impatient to get this matter over with, she feinted with her left hand and, as she'd known he would, he fell for it. In front of witnesses, he drew first - pulling the gun on his right hip.

Americus Millain was fast, but Zee was faster. A wisp of smoke was still curling up from the six-gun in her own right hand when the New Orleans gambler hit the floor with a crump. He looked startled by the bullethole in the middle of his chest, as well he might.

Her right biceps stung and she glanced down and registered blood-soaked fabric. Damn! My favourite shirt too.

Dismissing the wound, which was only a scratch, she crossed to the dying man and squatted next to him. She leaned closer. "That's for Polly," she said, her voice so low only he could hear. His eyes glazed over and he was gone.

Zee shrugged and straightened. It had been his choice, and he was no loss as far as she was concerned. Pulling the guardianship papers from her pocket, she went in search of her ward.

***

Christie heard the sound of hoofbeats in the yard and smiled. Supper was almost ready - as a treat, she had bought some fresh beef from the butcher and roasted it. And after she and Zee had eaten, they would head over to their neighbours' social and spend a pleasant, and for once civilised, evening.

Strange. Were those voices she could hear, and the rumble of a buckboard fading into the distance? She must be imagining it. She straightened her apron and turned just as the kitchen door was flung open and Zee filled the doorway.

"Hey, Darlin'. Something sure smells good." Two strides brought the deputy to Christie's side, then she was in the tall woman's arms. She was returning the kiss enthusiastically, when something caught the corner of her eye. Something jade green.

She gaped. A pretty young woman with wavy chestnut hair and dark eyes was standing in the kitchen doorway. Her faille dress could have walked straight off the pages of the latest Godey's Lady's Book.

Mmmph! She pushed Zee away and turned to face the intruder. "Who are you?"

Zee looped one arm around Christie's waist. "This is Julie."

"Ju- Julie?"

"Millain's ward. I told you 'bout her. Remember?" The deputy smiled at the newcomer. "Julie, this is my lady, Christie."

"Good evening," said the octoroon shyly.

"Good evening," managed Christie between gritted teeth. She shook Zee's arm off, earning herself a puzzled look.

"You all right, Darlin'?"

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. "Only you should have warned me you were bringing someone home for supper, Zee. I'm not sure I've cooked enough for three."

"We'll manage." The deputy pulled out a chair and straddled it, then beckoned to their guest to sit down. The girl did so rather gingerly, then peered at Christie through lowered lashes.

"And Julie's here for more'n supper, Darlin'," continued Zee. " I've asked Mrs. Sandridge to send her bags over from the boarding house. She'll be staying for a while."

Christie stared at the dark-haired woman in disbelief. "She's staying here? But won’t her guardian be wondering where she is?"

"Nope. He's dead." Zee reached for the plate of freshly baked biscuits and helped herself to one. "I shot him.... Besides," she continued blithely, crunching her biscuit, "we've got plenty of room. It'd make a change for you, having company about the place while I'm not here." She smiled at Christie. "Mmmm. Great biscuits!"

Christie backpedaled. "You shot him?"

"Drew on me," explained the dark-haired woman, her tone unconcerned. "Got lucky and nicked me too." She indicated the red bandanna wrapped around her biceps, which Christie had been wondering about.

"You were wounded?!"

"Now don’t get het up - it's only a scratch."

It took Christie all of two seconds to untie the bandanna from Zee's arm and examine the wound. When she saw it was indeed only a scratch, she felt unaccountably worse rather than better. "Why must you be so hard on your clothes?" she complained, knowing she was being unreasonable but unable to stop herself. "Now I'll have to mend it."

Zee winked at Julie, who was watching their interaction curiously. The wink made Christie furious. To relieve some of her tension she crossed to the stove and began banging pots and pans about. It didn't help. She turned and glared at Zee, who blinked then got up and came to join her.

"Look, I know I shoulda asked you first, Darlin'," she muttered, in a low voice so Julie couldn't hear, "but she ain't got no place else to go."

"She could have stayed at Mrs. Sandridge's."

"On her own? She's only 16. Besides," Zee looked sheepish. "I felt kinda obligated."

"Because you killed her guardian?"

The tall woman rubbed her jaw. "Nope. Because I won her in a poker game."

"You did what?" Christie stared at her. "How could you even consider using a person as a poker stake?"

"I didn't. Millain did."

"And you accepted his bet." Christie was so angry, she didn't know what to do with herself.

Zee looked nettled. "Only 'cause I thought it would be a way to get her away from him."

She put her hands on her hips. "So now she's your property? Doesn't that make you as bad as Millain?"

The blue eyes filled with hurt. "Is that what you think of me?" Zee looked down at her hands then back up, her expression puzzled. "You ain't usually like this, Darlin'. What's got into you?"

Since Christie didn't know herself, the question was unanswerable. A sudden need to be on her own overtook her. She untied her apron.

"I have to go out." She marched across the kitchen, grabbed her bonnet and put it on.

"But what about supper?"

She wrapped a shawl round her shoulders and pulled on her gloves. "The roast beef's nearly ready. Give it five more minutes then you can serve yourself and Julie. There should be plenty for two."

"Aren't you going to eat with us?"

"No. I'm going over to Ann and Curly's." She picked up her reticule. "They invited us both to a social, but since you'll be too busy entertaining our new 'houseguest'," her mouth twisted on the word, "I'll make your excuses."

"Darlin'." Zee reached for her, her gaze pleading.

Christie evaded the hand deftly and headed for the door. She was on the verge of tears and she didn't want anyone to see.

"I have to go. Don't wait up," she managed. Then she walked out into the night.

The short walk round to the Youngs' house did Christie some good. The cool air cleared her head a little and dried the angry tears that had welled up as soon as the door latch closed behind her.

Well, she should have asked me first. She opened the gate to the Youngs' spread, went through, and closed it behind her. A poker game, for heaven's sake! She trudged up the path to the front door. That girl is lovely, suppose....

Pushing away that distressing thought, she rapped her gloved knuckles on the door and waited.

Curly Young was still tying his tie when he answered the door. "Christie! You're early," he said, looking startled. Then he remembered his manners and stepped back. "Come in." He peered past her into the night. "Zee not with you?"

She stepped inside, easing herself past his ample stomach. "No. She's busy." A tear spilled over onto her cheek, and she wiped it angrily away. Curly's brows drew together as he looked at her. He seemed about to speak, but was forestalled by the appearance of his wife.

"Christie," said Ann Young warmly. "No Zee?"

"She's busy," put in Curly, saving Christie the trouble of answering.

"Oh. What a pity." The middle-aged woman looked disappointed for a moment then she brightened. "Still, it'll do you two good to get out of one another's pockets for an evening. And I'm sure we'll still have fun. I thought we could play Authors."

Ann ushered Christie through to the parlour, and gave her a stack of Harper's to keep her occupied while she finished getting ready. Christie turned the pages of the magazines glumly, not really taking in the articles or illustrations.

Probably laughing and chatting... haven't even noticed I've gone. I hope their roast beef chokes them.

A tear dampened the page, and she blotted it dry with her handkerchief. There was movement outside then, and when Ann and Curly bustled into the parlor, Christie had assumed a cheerful mask....

The evening passed pleasantly enough, though it lacked the zest of the socials she had attended in Contention. She pondered that for a while then came to a startling conclusion: the evening's ingredients were much the same, it was her taste which had changed.

Life at the brothel had always been lively, full of music and laughter and dancing. She had never known what was going to happen next. Cat fights (the name Zee gave to spats between the whores) were frequent, and involved much name calling, hair pulling, and dress ripping. Then there was that time a drunk client fired his six-guns into the ceiling, the bullets bringing down the chandelier then ricocheting round the salon, smashing mirrors and sending glass everywhere. Not to mention the games of strip poker in the back room, which, when Zee was dealing, always seemed to end with Christie stripped down to her drawers. Compared to all that, an evening of polite conversation, sewing, and a few hands of Authors seemed quite... well, dull.

"-shot a man in The Golden Slipper, but he deserved it."

The snippet of conversation jerked Christie out of her reverie. "I beg your pardon? Were you talking about Zee?"

"Of course we were, dear," said Ann Young, looking up from her crocheting. "Who else gets herself into constant trouble? Go on, John."

"Happy to," said John Meeker, obligingly, "but perhaps Miss Hayes would care to tell us Deputy Brodie's version of events?"

All heads turned to regard her and she blushed. "I didn't have time to ask her the details," she stammered. I didn't give her the chance.

"Indeed?" John seemed disappointed. "Well, then. By all accounts, the man she shot was that gambler who arrived last week from New Orleans, what was his name...."

"Americus Millain," supplied his wife.

He nodded. "Thanks, Ginny. That's him. Anyway, Millain killed Polly-"

"Polly?" asked a puzzled Christie.

"Apollinar Juarez," explained John. "The talk is all over town, how Millain cheated Polly out of his money, then lured him into shooting first. Folks weren't best pleased. They liked Polly." A grin spread over his bluff features. "But Deputy Brodie soon settled the score. Did to him what he did to Polly. Took his ward off him in the process too." He shook his head in admiration. "Got to hand it to her."

Christie sieved the nugget from John's narrative. "Zee cheated?"

"Get her to show you her card tricks, Miss Hayes," broke in Maggie Norton eagerly. "She cheats so well you simply can't tell."

Virginia Meeker looked up from her sewing and nodded agreement.

George Norton took up the tale. "The way I hear it, Brodie didn't keep her winnings but split 'em three ways with the other players, Bob and Silas." He stroked his bushy moustache and grinned. "They couldn't believe their luck."

"What about the ward?" asked Curly curiously.

"Oh, her," said George. "Zee tore up the guardianship papers and set the little octoroon free."

Christie blinked. "She tore them up?" The six other people in the room were all giving her odd looks, she realised. She stood up abruptly. "Please excuse me. I have to go."

Someone had turned down the lamp in the kitchen, and Christie blinked as she peered round the dimly lit room. The dirty pots and crockery had been washed and put away in all the wrong places, she noticed, and a cot now stood beside the stove.

She crossed towards the portable bed and looked down at the girl nestling there beneath the blankets. Julie Fontenot looked like an angel. Sleep had brought serenity to her anxious features, or perhaps it was feeling safe for the first time in years. Poor thing.

Christie turned, searching for Zee. The tall woman was sitting in the corner with her feet resting on the kitchen table and her chair propped against the wall. Her hat was pulled low over her face, but the tension in her body showed she wasn't asleep.

"Zee," called Christie, keep her voice low so as not to wake the sleeping girl.

A hand pushed the stetson back, then pale eyes leached of colour by the lamplight were looking at her. A pang shot through Christie at the wariness in Zee's gaze. I put that there.

"Oh, Zee!" She rushed towards the frozen figure, crawled onto her lap (almost tipping the chair over in the process), and hugged her.

For a heartstopping moment, she thought Zee wasn't going to respond. Then strong arms wrapped themselves tightly round her and pulled her close. She buried her head in Zee's shoulder and from sheer relief started to cry.

"Hey, hey! What's all this?" came Zee's voice. "The social can't have been that bad."

"No," she sniffed. "Though it was dull as ditchwater without you. Oh, Zee. I'm so sorry."

A hand brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Me too, Darlin'. I shoulda made it clear. I don't 'own' Julie-"

Christie pressed two fingers to Zee's lips, silencing her. "I know. You tore up the guardianship papers." A kiss was placed on her fingers and she removed them.

"Yeah." Zee glanced at the sleeping girl. "But I couldn't leave her on her lonesome, Darlin'. She's never had to fend for herself before. Not sure she even knows how."

"That's why you brought her home?"

Zee nodded. "Pretty girl like her would be easy prey for some goodfornothing sonofabitch. Probably end up in a whore house." She sighed. "It may still come to that."

Christie frowned. "There must be something more respectable she can do." Now she was safely in Zee's arms again, she felt compassionate towards the vulnerable young woman. (Is that what the problem was? Simple jealousy? It was an unflattering and salutary thing to learn about herself.)

She considered the problem of the girl's future. "Those fashionable dresses of hers. She made those herself, if I'm not mistaken. Which means she a pretty fair needlewoman. Maybe she could get a job with Madame Clemence?"

Zee gaze her a squeeze of approval. "Knew if I brought her home you'd think of something."

Christie pressed her face into a broad shoulder to hide her flush of shame. Zee had had faith in her; why had she not reciprocated?

"Hey now, none of that," ordered Zee, tucking a finger beneath her chin and raising it. Their gazes locked and held for a long solemn moment, then Zee broke into a grin. "It's time to kiss and make up."

The Deputy bent her head and kissed Christie, a kiss so long and deep it made the blonde's heart race and her toes curl and her head spin.... Except that the cause of the spinning turned out to be Zee standing up, with Christie clutched tightly in her arms.

"Bed," growled the tall woman, elbowing the door open and heading for the stairs.

Christie had to clear her throat twice before she could speak. "Mmmm. Bed," she agreed.

***

Part 3

Zee strode up to the telegraph office window, shook the handbell for service, and waited. The clerk appeared from the backroom, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Morning, Deputy. What can I do fer you?"

"Sorry to disturb your breakfast, Frank." She reached in her vest pocket and pulled out the slip of paper she had worked hard on, paring the words to a minimum. "Need you to send this to New Orleans for me."

He accepted the message, then peered at it short-sightedly and began to count the words. She pulled out the exact money and slapped it down. "That oughtta cover it."

He finished his mental arithmetic, looked at the coins, then nodded and scooped them up. "Pinkerton Detective Agency? You fixin' to track down some bad guys?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Nope. Some good guys."

He blinked at her, then, when no explanation was forthcoming, shrugged and wandered off to send the message. She leaned against the counter and waited, the uneven tapping of the Morse key punctuating her thoughts.

The idea had come to her this morning, when she was snuggling contentedly in bed with Christie, listening to the dawn chorus and the distant yapping of the Rikers' dogs as they fought over their breakfasts. Searching for Marion Fontenot's kin was a long shot - after all she had died a decade ago and assigned guardianship to her lover rather than a relative - but blood was thicker than water, and, if it paid off, it would be one more choice of futures to offer Julie.

More importantly, it would take the girl away from Benson and from Christie. The gentle blonde was trying hard to accommodate the octoroon, Zee knew. But she was struggling. Take this morning. On her way to feed and water the horses, Zee had tiptoed through the kitchen, expecting Julie to still be sleeping, only to find a delicious smell of frying ham wafting round the kitchen and the girl up and dressed and happily preparing breakfast for three.

"Least I can do," said Julie, giving her a shy smile.

Zee had paused, her mouth watering in anticipation, and wondered whether to warn the girl that Christie might want to cook breakfast herself. Then the door opened and the blonde came in.

In other circumstances it might have been funny, seeing the wide smile on Christie's face disappear so abruptly. She stared indignantly at the scene before her.

Julie glanced round from serving out the portions. "Oh, I hope you don’t mind, Miss Hayes." She ducked her head anxiously, the mannerism confirming Zee's suspicions that Millain used to hit the girl.

"No, no, of course not." Christie managed a weak smile that made Zee want to hug her. "How very kind of you to take the trouble, Julie."

What made thing even worse, of course, was that the ham and eggs were delicious, and Julie's freshly brewed coffee was even better than Christie's. Zee thoroughly enjoyed her breakfast, though Christie, she noticed, seemed to have lost her appetite.

When the octoroon rose to clear away the dirty dishes, Zee leaned towards the blonde and said in a low voice, "She can dressmake and cook. That should improve her prospects some."

"It should, shouldn't it?" Christie brightened noticeably at the thought.

When Zee was leaving for work, she grabbed Christie by the arm and gently urged her out into the yard. "Don't worry, Darlin'," she said loyally and not entirely truthfully, "Your cooking's more to my taste." Then she kissed the blonde until Christie was weak at the knees. "And anyway, that ain't the reason I keep you around." She winked, enjoying the flush her remark had brought to the blonde's face, then mounted up and rode off.

The telegraph key stopped tapping out its dots and dashes and she looked up.

"It's sent," called the clerk.

"Thanks, Frank." Zee ran a hand through her hair and resettled her hat, then stepped outside and headed back towards Main Street.

Hogan's horse was tethered next to her mare, she saw, as she neared the jailhouse. She took the steps up two at a time and pushed open the door with a bang that made the moustachioed man sitting in the office look up with a pained glance.

"Morning, Brodie."

"Mornin'." She lassoed the hatstand with her hat, then perched on the corner of the desk. "Nice break?"

"Fair to middling." He put down the logbook he had been perusing. "Sounds like you've had a high old time while I've been away." He gave her a sly glance. "So now you're living with two pretty women? Hound dog!"

"It ain't like that!" she protested.

He laughed and gave her a shrewd glance. "How's Christie taking it?"

"Not well." She sighed. "It never occurred to me she'd feel so... proprietorial."

He fingered his moustache. "About the house?"

Zee nodded. "Guess it's 'cause I've only ever felt possessive about horses... and Christie. It was different with Molly - her heart was mine, but her body...." She fiddled with a loose thread in her Levis. "It's kind of flattering Christie feels that way, actually." She looked up and caught his grin. "What?"

"By God, I do believe that little blonde's tamed the Hellcat! Never thought I’d see the day."

She felt herself blushing and changed the subject rapidly. "Yeah, well.... So have you taken care of Granpappy Carpenter? I left him sobering up overnight." She grimaced. "He spends more time in the cell than he does at home."

Hogan nodded. "Gave him some coffee and beans and sent him packing."

"Good." She stood up and paced towards the window, watching the customers coming and going at the barbershop across the street. "Wonder what delights today holds in store," she said sarcastically.

"Temperance Union meeting," said Hogan. "Outside the Last Chance Saloon at 10 this morning."

She turned and looked at him. "First I've heard of it."

He tapped his nose. "You just don’t have the right contacts, Brodie."

She gave him a knowing grin. "Ah, that pretty little widow over on Second Avenue?"

It was Hogan's turn to blush.

"Well," she turned to stare out the window again. "It's your turn to deal with those sour-faced old biddies."

"Hey, I'm the boss. I say who does what."

She turned, folded her arms, and simply looked at him.

He sighed. "All right. Toss you for it."

"Heads."

A silver dollar spun through the air and landed on the desk... tails up.

Zee shook her head. "Damn it, Hogan! It ain't fair."

He laughed, pocketed the dollar, then ostentatiously put his feet up on the desk and crossed his ankles. "You only just found that out?"

Zee could hear the women a block away. They were singing 'Rock of Ages' out of tune. She winced and strode on.

It was the usual culprits, she saw, as she drew nearer to the group of women huddled on the sidewalk outside the saloon - Adah Riker, Eliza Atkey and their Temperance Union cronies. One young woman was rushing around handing out placards she had clearly made at the last minute. Zee read the slogans: 'Down with the Demon Drink', 'Woe to Whisky', and her favourite 'Outlaw Licker'.

She suppressed a bawdy laugh and approached the ringleaders. The singing faltered as the women registered her presence (some undoubtedly remembering last time when she picked them up by the bustle and scruff of the neck and threw them into the street).

"You can't stand here, ladies," said Zee.

"It's a peaceful protest, Deputy," protested the dumpy Eliza Atkey.

"I sure hope it is, but you still can't stand here. You're blocking the way." She was aware of frightened male eyes watching her through the Last Chance Saloon's large front window. Wonder if their husbands are in there?

Grumbling and muttering, the women reluctantly moved until they were half on the sidewalk and half in the street.

"Much obliged," said Zee. She leaned back against a rail, folded her arms, and scrutinised the members of the Temperance Union one by one. They shifted nervously under her gaze.

"Well, really!" said one.

"Who does she think she is?" said another.

'Rock of Ages' came to an end, and after a short bout of vigorous chanting - "Say No to liquor!", "Save our Menfolk from Ruin!" - the women switched to 'There Is A Fountain'.

Zee winced at the caterwauling. I'll get you for this, Hogan.

The protestors began to march up and down, waving their placards. A few interested bystanders were now watching, hoping for a brawl.

Sorry, folks, but there ain't going to be a show tod- Wait a minute!

One of the women who'd caused trouble last time, Martha Curry, was having difficulty marching. Either her drawers had fallen round her ankles, or something hidden under her petticoats was hampering her stride.

Zee straightened and advanced on the woman, who froze and regarded her apprehensively. "Want to hand it over?"

Martha's abrupt halt caused disarray as the marching women behind her bumped into one another.

"What's going on?" asked someone. "What does she want with Martha?"

"Hand what over?" Martha was trying desperately to look down her nose at Zee, but since she was a foot shorter than the Deputy, it didn't work.

"I won’t ask you again." Zee assumed the menacing glare that had once cowed her fellow outlaws and Martha quailed visibly. "I'll just turn you upside down and search under your petticoats. Is that what you want?"

The women standing next to Martha gasped and went pale. "I can't believe it!"

"She's going to assault Martha!"

"Someone get the Sheriff!"

But Zee's attention was focussed on her quarry, who was now awkwardly wriggling, doing something with her bustle - God only knows what!

Something thudded onto bare earth.

"Step back," ordered Zee.

Sheepishly, Martha obeyed. On the ground where she had stood now lay a hatchet. A shocked gasp went up.

Zee picked up the hatchet, which was still warm from its unusual hiding place, and looked first at it then at the other woman. "Peaceful protest?"

"Martha!" hissed Adah Riker. "I thought we agreed...."

Zee tossed the hatchet from hand to hand. "Any more of these?" She raised an eyebrow. One by one, as she held their gazes, the women blushed a bright red then shook their heads.

"That's good," she growled. "That's very good. Because if there's even the remotest hint of trouble here today, you'll all - and I mean ALL - be spending the night in jail." She waited. "Is that clear?"

They nodded meekly.

"Fine." Satisfied that they would behave themselves this time, she turned and, hatchet in hand, headed back towards the jailhouse. She had gone only a few paces when she remembered something.

She turned and shouted, "Oh, and by the way. It's spelled L... I... Q... U... O... R."

One look at the women's mortified faces was enough to keep her guffawing all the way back.

***

"How long have you and Deputy Brodie lived together, Miss Hayes?"

The rolling pin halted, and Christie considered the question. "Well, I've known her longer of course, but we've actually lived together for about two months. And please, call me Christie."

She smiled at the octoroon's surprise. "It isn't very long, is it? Yet sometimes I feel as if I've known Zee all my life." She shrugged at the mystery of it, and resumed rolling out her pastry.

Julie half-heartedly turned the pages of her magazine. Christie had selected it carefully. Every Saturday was running an adventure serial about a heroine stranded on a desert island, and she hoped the exciting story would hold the girl's interest and encourage her to persist with her reading.

Christie had discovered that the octoroon's literacy skills were sadly lacking - Millain hadn't considered such things important in a ward - and she was taking steps to remedy that. Unfortunately, the girl seemed more interested in her hosts' personal lives than in fiction.

Julie peered at Christie from beneath lowered eyelashes. "Was it love at first sight?"

Christie snorted. "Hardly." She rested an empty pie dish upside down on top of her pastry, and cut around it." The first time I met Zee, I was so frightened of her, I got her shot."

The girl's eyes widened. "Indeed?"

"Indeed." She lined the dish with the pastry and began to pile in the beef in gravy she had cooked earlier.

"But then you fell in love?"

"No, then I decided she was the most insufferable and impudent woman I had ever met... and also the most fascinating," she said wryly, remembering her painful confusion. "I didn't know what was happening to me. That I could be in love with a woman like Zee was unthinkable."

"I see."

Christie had a feeling the pretty octoroon didn't see at all. She knew nothing of love. How could she, given her life with Millain?

"But then you realised you loved her?" persisted Julie.

The pie now ready for the oven, she cleared away her pastry making equipment and wiped down the table with a cloth. "No, then I became engaged to someone else."

By now the girl looked totally confused and Christie laughed. "You look the way I felt."

"But if you were engaged...." Julie fiddled with the corner of a page.

"I left my fiancé to follow Zee," explained Christie, still amazed in retrospect at her boldness.

"Just like that?"

She nodded. "Just like that." She took off her apron and took the seat next to Julie. "We were supposed to be practising your reading," she reminded gently. "Now." She pointed at the first paragraph on the page open in front of Julie. "Can you read that aloud for me?"

Julie sighed but obliged. Haltingly she began to read, stopping often to ask about a word. Christie gently offered suggestions and encouragement, pleased at the slow but steady progress the girl was making - she had obviously been taught the rudiments when she was young, probably by her mother.

"Oh, I meant to mention... I saw a boy in the back yard earlier," commented Julie, when they paused at the end of a chapter.

"Oh?" Christie gave her a sharp glance. "What was he doing?"

"Nothing... just staring in the window. When he saw me he ran away."

"It was probably the Riker boy, Joe. Horrid little brat!" She chewed her lip worriedly. What had he been doing in the yard? "Excuse me one moment."

She got up and went outside. But a cursory inspection revealed that the gelding was unharmed and nothing looked out of place. Must have scared him off before he did anything.

She went back indoors. Julie looked up expectantly. "Perhaps we should practice your writing for a while." The girl made a face. "Don’t you want to be able to sign your name instead of having to make your mark?"

"My name?" A slow smile transformed Julie's face.

Christie fetched a piece of paper and a pencil and sat next to Julie. "Now watch me." Carefully and clearly she wrote the words 'Julie Fontenot'. "Now you try it."

While Julie busied herself laboriously tracing out her name over and over, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration, Christie fetched some vegetables from the pantry and began to peel them. As she stared out of the kitchen window, she pondered again what Joe Riker had been doing in their back yard.

"Deputy Brodie is very strong, isn't she?" came Julie's voice.

Back to that topic, are we? Christie rolled her eyes, glad the girl couldn't see her expression. "Yes. She is."

"Does she hurt you when she beats you?"

"Pardon?" A shocked Christie spun on her heel and stared at the girl .

"When you won't do what she wants you to," clarified Julie, stopping writing and looking up at her.

"When I won't.... Zee has never raised her hand to me!"

"Oh.... Well, perhaps she will, when you've been together longer." She bowed her head and began to write once more.

"She would never hurt me. She loves me. People who truly love you don't hurt you or force you to do things you don’t want to. Surely you know that?" Silence met her remark, and Christie frowned thoughtfully. "Did he... did your guardian beat you, Julie?"

Wordlessly, the girl rolled up one of the long sleeves of her pink dress. Christie's hand flew to her mouth as she saw the bruises on the thin arm. "Oh!"

"He told me it was for my own good. And he was always careful to make sure they wouldn't show." Julie shrugged and rolled down her sleeve.

Christie blinked. Was the girl really as stoic as she seemed? She had her suspicions that - given the chance and a sympathetic ear - she might be able to release some of the pent up hurt and anguish of her long, lonely painful years with Americus Millain.

For the next hour, she told deliberately funny anecdotes about her recent adventures with Zee, trying to show Julie there was another way to live and to build up the girl's trust. Then, there came a moment when she sensed Julie was waiting for her, expecting her even, to ask the question that had been hanging over them unspoken. She crossed her fingers that her instincts were sound, took a deep breath, and obliged.

"Julie. Did Millain make you do things... intimate things with him," she asked as delicately as possible, "which you would rather have not done?"

A teardrop landed with a loud plunk on the table, startling them both. "Yes," said the girl, her voice a mere whisper.

"Oh, my dear!" Impulsively, she swept the octoroon into a hug, rocking the now openly crying girl, stroking her wavy hair and making soothing noises. It was probably the first time since her mother died, Christie reflected sadly, that anyone had held her this way.

Over the next hour, which was characterised by long tearful silences followed by confessional outbursts, Julie told her the pitiful story.

At first, Millain had been kind to her. She never went hungry, and he bought her pretty fabrics and pattern books so she could make herself fashionable dresses. (It reflected badly on him, he told her, if she looked old-fashioned and shabby.) But gradually, as the gambling fever and the drinking took hold of him, he changed....

Getting to this point had taken a lot out of the girl, and they both needed the brief respite that came when Christie got up to put the pie in the oven and the vegetables on to boil. Then she resumed her seat, invited the girl back onto her lap and into her arms, and the story continued.

The worst had come when Julie turned 12 and became a woman at last. One night soon after, her guardian came home the worse for drink, remarked how much like her mother she looked, and took her forcibly to his bed. She tried to fight him off, but he gave her a black eye and nearly broke her arm. She had quickly learned not to resist. And he had praised her then, and called her his 'good girl'. The comments her appearance caused the next morning also taught him a lesson - to make sure any bruises were hidden.

Bedding the girl had become a regular occurrence, and caused her much distress and, to Christie's surprise, guilt. "I'm going to go to Hell, aren't I?" she said, in between sniffles.

"No, Julie, you're not." But Americus Millain certainly is. She smoothed the girl's hair and thought privately how lucky Julie had been to escape having Millain's child. A faint smell of smoke made her glance across at the stove, but the meat pie and vegetables seemed to be cooking as normal so she shrugged and dismissed it as her imagination.

She found a clean handkerchief and handed it over. "Here."

Julie accepted it and blew her nose daintily. "I'm glad he's dead," she said, giving Christie a sideways glance from those striking dark eyes, as though she expected disagreement.

"So am I."

That got her a pleased grin. "You are?"

Christie nodded. "He hurt you. He tried to kill Zee." She rocked the girl some more. "Oh, yes," she said grimly. "I'm very glad he's dead."

***

Zee was sweeping out the cells when the faint sound of the fire bell made her set aside her broom and go outside to investigate.

The clanging was coming and going on the gusting breeze, and it was hard to judge either direction or distance. Quicker just to check for telltale signs of smoke. She found it almost instantly, a dark stain smudging the sky to the north-west. But surely that's -

Loud hoofbeats made her turn. A rider was coming towards her at the gallop and she knew him instantly.

Hogan reined his mount in in front of the jailhouse steps. "It's your place, Brodie. It's on fire."

He had barely finished speaking before Zee was leaping into her own horse's saddle. A heel to the mare's ribs brought an indignant snort, but it obliging broke into a gallop.

Zee headed north-west, driving her horse hard towards Schoolhouse Lane. If anything's happened to her.... Or Julie....

A few minutes hard riding, then she could see the Old Barn in the distance. To her relief, the oddlooking house appeared untouched. Wisps of smoke were still rising from the rear though. Must be the barn.

She rode full tilt up the track alongside the house, scanning half hopefully, half fearfully for signs of Christie. What colour dress had the blonde been wearing when she saw her last? Her mind was a blank and she cursed under her breath. She turned the blowing mare into the crowded yard, managing to avoid trampling the members of the fire crew underfoot only with difficulty, slid out of the saddle, and took in her surroundings in one appalled glance.

The barn was a smoking ruin, still dripping with the water that the soot-stained fire-fighters had pumped onto it. The buckboard was a pile of cinders, as was the water trough and log pile. No sign of the gelding. She turned anxiously towards the house. It looked like the fire hadn't spread that far, thank God!

"It's out," reported Marvin, who had spotted her instantly and come to report.

"Anyone hurt?" She had yet to spy either Christie or Julie.

The leader of the fire crew shook his head, and she felt almost dizzy with relief. "Sent the women over to the Youngs' place," he told her. "Your gelding's there too. He's fine. Miss Hayes managed to get him clear of the barn before the roof collapsed." He whistled softly. "Just as well your lady had the sense to send for our help as soon as she did, Brodie. Fire could've spread to the house."

Zee slapped him on the shoulder. "I'm obliged to you," she said feelingly. She assessed her surroundings again and shook her head. "Any idea what started it?"

"Thought I caught a whiff of kerosene oil."

She chewed her lip. "Arson?"

"No proof, but it could be." He tipped his hat then and went back to join his crew.

She took one last look around the ruined yard, then set off to the Youngs' house, taking the most direct route and easily vaulting the boundary fence. She was just raising one gloved hand to knock on the front door when it opened.

"She's fine, Zee," were Curly's first words. "Absolutely fine."

"I'll be the judge of that," growled Zee. "Where is she?"

"In the parlour. It's through-"

But Zee knew where the parlour was and had already pushed past him. Ann Young came out of the kitchen, took one look at her, and stood back.

"When there's a stampede," Zee heard Ann telling her husband, "it's best to get out of the way." Then her attention was abruptly fixed elsewhere. Before she had even touched it, the parlour door had swung open and an adorably soot-smudged whirlwind with blonde hair and green eyes was flying towards her.

"Zee!"

She braced herself just in time, as Christie flung herself into her arms, threatening to overbalance them both. She returned the squeeze that was crushing the breath out of her and tried to speak, but couldn’t for the huge lump in her throat. Instead, she simply gazed at Christie, grazing her thumb over soft cheeks, drinking in the wonderful sight of her, though she currently looked like a soot-stained, drowned rat and reeked of woodsmoke.

Zee had an overwhelming urge to kiss those soft lips and gave in to it. Time passed, she had no idea how much, then a soft clearing of the throat made her remember her surroundings. Breaking the kiss (to a murmur of protest from Christie), she looked up, blinking. She kept hold of the little blonde though, reluctant after her recent narrow escape to let her go.

Familiar dark eyes were regarding the two of them.

"You all right, Julie?" asked Zee.

The girl nodded. "Thanks to Miss Hayes. She made sure I got to safety."

"Good girl." Zee gave Christie an approving squeeze, and got one in return. Now she had her lover safely in her arms, she could relax and take in her surroundings.

Julie didn't look much better than Christie did, she decided. And both women would need the octoroon's dressmaking skills. Neither of their dresses looked salvageable.

Green eyes regarded her fearfully, clearly expecting the worst. "The fire crew made us leave. Is it bad?"

"Barn's gone. Yard's a mess." She shrugged. "We can fix 'em both."

Christie sighed with relief. She made Zee put her down then laced her fingers through Zee's and led her into the parlour. Still holding hands, they sat on the settee, pressed together along their length, though there was room and to spare. Julie chose a chair.

"Er...." They turned to see a wary looking Curly standing in the doorway. "Ann sent me to see if anyone would like some more lemonade."

Christie nodded. "I would love some. That smoke, you know." Julie nodded.

"Me too," said Zee. After he'd gone, she placed her hat in her lap, took off her gloves, and ran her free hand through her hair. "So," she said. "How did it start?"

"We think the boy did it," said Julie.

"Boy?" Zee sat forward. "The Riker boy?"

"It must have been him," agreed Christie. "Julie saw him earlier... in the yard. He ran away then, but he must have come back."

Zee let go of Christie's hand and surged to her feet. "Why, that little-"

"We don’t know it was him for certain, though," cautioned the blonde.

Zee crammed her hat back on. "I'd bet those odds," she said. "Anyway, whoever did it'll have left tracks."

Christie stood up then, her chin jutting with determination. "I'm coming with you."

"Not this time, Darlin'." She ignored the look of outrage her reply brought. "You'll only slow me down." She raised a hand to forestall Christie's protest. "And 'sides, if you don't mind me saying so, the two of you could both do with a wash and brush up and a change of clothes."

Christie glanced down at herself and frowned. "What does that matter when-"

Zee silenced her protest with a kiss that left the blonde's cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "It matters to me," she said, when she let Christie back up for air. "Tracking the culprit may take a while, and I want you to be comfortable." The blonde's gaze softened and she followed up her advantage. "Besides, it's my job and I'm damned good at it. Let me do this, Darlin'. I'll meet you back at the house later."

Christie sighed but acquiesced. "All right."

Zee pressed Christie's hand gratefully, gave her a last loving look, then strode towards the door and opened it. Curly was about to enter, and he almost dropped the tray he was carrying. He paused, uncertainly.

"Well, are you coming in or going out?"

"Coming in." She stepped aside and he suited the word to the deed.

Zee grabbed one of the glasses of lemonade, drained it dry, and replaced it on the tray. "Mmm, good. Thanks."

With a wink at Christie, and a tip of her hat at Julie, she headed for the front door.

The fire crew had packed up their water wagon and gone home by the time Zee returned to the charred wreckage of her back yard. Her mare whinnied a greeting then dropped its head pointedly to where the water trough used to be. Zee took the hint, poured some water from her canteen into a palm, and let the horse drink its fill. As she patted the broad neck with her free hand, and whispered encouraging words in a twitching ear, her eyes scanned her surroundings.

Marvin's crew, their fire appliance, the mule, the water, her own horse... all had contributed to the churned up muddy mess. All traces of any boy who might have been lurking about had been well and truly obliterated. Perhaps if she started looking outside the yard, where the ground was still dry....

The mare lipped up the final drops of water, and she gave the animal one last pat. Then she slung her canteen over one shoulder, the rope she kept coiled round her saddle horn over the other, and set off.

It took her five minutes' scrutiny of the track alongside the Old Barn before she found it - half of a footprint: a right shoe, its heel worn badly down on one side, and so small it must belong to a child. She crouched and rubbed her thumb in the dirt, comparing the colour and texture of the freshly disturbed patch against that of the print.

Recent, very recent.

Satisfied she would know the footprint again, she straightened and looked consideringly towards the Riker residence. The print was leading away from the large, white house with the green trim not towards it. Much as she would have liked to go over there and accuse the boy, as Christie had pointed out, she was the Law and couldn't take things into her own hands just because she felt like it. She needed proof first, and she was going to get it.

The hard packed earth didn't hold tracks well - but a fragment of footprint here, a broken grass stem there was enough. As always, the skills Indian Pete had taught her ten years ago (the outlaw had been half Apache on his mother's side) served her well.

She followed the tracks across Schoolhouse lane, along the boundary fence between two properties, then east towards the San Pedro River. Once away from Benson, they became easier to follow - the trail was obviously well used.

Determined not to spook her quarry, she kept a low profile, taking cover where it was offered, be it a lone saguaro standing guard over its surroundings, or, as the river drew nearer and the terrain changed correspondingly, a thicket at the base of a stand of cottonwoods.

She paused to catch her breath and gulp lukewarm water from the canteen. A coyote was yipping in the distance, she noted absently. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and considered what to do with the boy when she caught him. Was he a lost cause, or could he still be turned around? She sighed, slung the canteen over her shoulder, and picked up the trail once more.

Zee had been tracking for half an hour when the winding trail led her towards what had once been a coyote's den. Human hands had enlarged the entrance in the soft earth. She paused, checked her surroundings quickly, then tiptoed forward and peered in.

Her senses told her the hideout was empty, and she eased herself inside the cramped quarters. Someone had left a stub of candle just inside the entrance and she lit it and examined her surroundings. The occupant clearly didn't believe in tidiness.

Some of the items littering the den were typical of a boy's possessions: a stack of yellowing Dime Novels of the detective variety; a knife worn thin with honing, its bone handle snapped off; a pack of playing cards; a gunny sack containing some cheap cigars and matches; and several pieces of string.

Other things were more surprising: a grimy shot glass and empty bottle of whiskey; and a lady's spangled garter. She twanged the garter reflectively and grinned. The grin vanished when she spotted the delicate necklace of turquoise beads she had given to Christie for a one-month anniversary present. There were also a surprising number of containers of kerosene oil given there was no lamp in sight.

Carefully, she replaced each item as she had found it. Catching him surrounded by this stuff oughtta do it.

She checked to make sure the coast was clear then vacated the hideout and hunkered down in a nearby thicket to wait....

It was dark and the temperature had dropped considerably when something brought her back to alertness. Her subconscious had tuned out the yipping coyotes and the call of a nighthawk hunting insects, so it must be something else. She sat up and pushed back her hat, which had fallen forward while she dozed. Footsteps, she decided, hearing the faint rhythmic crunch and feeling the slight vibration accompanying them. Coming her way.

Movement caught her eye. A small figure, silhouetted by the rising moon, was heading directly towards the hideout. This was no innocent bystander; whoever it was knew exactly where he was going. She held her breath and waited. He should reach the entrance to the hideout about... now.

The silhouette disappeared from view.

Zee's lips curled into a savage grin and she waited a couple of minutes more then crept towards the den. The entrance was now illuminated by the faint, flickering glow of the candle. Quietly, she positioned herself just outside.

"Didn't your parents tell you it's wrong to steal?"

Joe Riker barely had time to look up from his dime novel and turn wide eyes in her direction before she was lunging into the hideout, grabbing him by his collar and belt, and hauling him bodily out into the open.

"Wha- ? Let me go, you bitch!"

His arms and legs flailed wildly, and a heel thunked painfully into her left shin, while a fist came too close to her eyes for comfort. Unceremoniously, she plonked the thrashing boy face down in the dirt, pressed her knee into his back to keep him pinned there, then grabbed the coil of rope and hog-tied him.

"Whatever it is, I didn’t do it."

She straightened and dusted herself off. "You're caught; might as well get used to it."

Since his struggles were only succeeding in bringing him mouthfuls of dirt, he subsided. "But Deputy Brodie," - she noted the belated polite appellation with a wry smile - "It wasn't me. Honest."

She shrugged. "Got you fair and square for theft and arson, Joe. No use protesting. You played with fire, and you just got burned."

Ignoring her prisoner's further squawks of protest, she ducked back inside the hideout, then emptied the cigars from the gunny sack (then reconsidered and stuffed a couple of them in her pocket, along with Christie's bead necklace) and refilled it with incriminating evidence. One last look. Should be enough. She blew out the candle.

On emerging from the hole, Zee stretched, and inhaled an appreciative breath of cool night air. Then she turned to her now silent, sullen prisoner.

"On your feet, son." She yanked Joe up by his collar, then with a grunt of effort heaved him over her shoulder.

"Now let's see what your parents have to say about this."

Bam. Bam. Bam.

Somewhere out back, dogs started barking, and inside the house a man's voice bellowed, "Adah, will you see to those dogs?"

Zee raised her fist again. Bam, bam.

"All right, all right. I'm coming."

The door swung open and Ernie Riker stood in the doorway, his high collar unbuttoned, his cravat askew. His look of annoyance intensified when he saw who had disturbed him. "Oh, it's you, Brodie. What do you want?"

Zee shifted the weight draped over her shoulder into a more comfortable position. "It's about your boy."

"Our Joe?" came Adah's voice from behind her husband. "Tell that awful woman to come back tomorrow. He's in bed and I won't have him disturbed."

"No he isn't." Zee heaved the hog-tied bundle off her shoulder, letting it drop the final foot deliberately. It emitted a faint "Oof!" as it thudded to earth.

Riker's eyes widened as the light spilling from the porch illuminated his son's features. "Joe?"

Zee straightened, glad to be free of the boy's weight at last. "Found him in his hideout near the river. Spends more time there than he does in school, I'd bet. But you wouldn't know about that, would you? You let your son run wild. No wonder he's gone to the bad."

"How dare you!" Adah elbowed her husband to one side and stepped outside. She crouched next to Joe. "Are you all right, son? Did she hurt you?"

"She attacked me, Mama. She tied me up and slung me over her shoulder."

Adah's lips thinned. "Disgraceful! I shall be complaining to Sheriff Hogan-"

Zee interrupted the diatribe. "Be thankful that's all I did, Mrs. Riker. By rights Joe should be in jail, since he's the one been setting all these fires. But him being so young and all, I decided to act lenient. Besides, I don't think he's the only one to blame."

"The fires? You must be mistaken." Adah looked at her son. "She is, isn't she, Joe?"

The blonde boy opened his mouth then closed it again. His mother gave him a puzzled look then began untying the rope, giving Zee a challenging glare as she did so.

Zee shrugged and let her get on with it. "Got the evidence right here," she said, reaching for the gunny sack that was hanging from her belt. "Found these in Joe's hideout." She began to pull out the items one by one.

First, the playing cards. "See these?" She flipped one over to display the design on the reverse - a yellow lady's slipper. "Only place you can get these is the Golden Slipper." She arched an eyebrow significantly. "There was a fire there the other day."

"Anyone could have given him those." The final knot came undone, and Adah helped Joe to his feet and hugged him. He grimaced but submitted to her embrace.

Zee pulled out the grimy shot glass. She tapped it with a fingernail, the sound ringing out clear as a bell in the night air. "This is from the Last Chance Saloon. They all have this lettering L C S on the base here - see?" She held out the glass for inspection but Adah pointedly ignored it. "They had a fire there too," she added.

Ernie came out to stand with his wife and son, putting a burly arm round their shoulders. "So what?"

Zee displayed the spangled garter. "And this is unmistakable. Only one person I know wears these - Diamond Dust Kate." She saw no recognition in the adult Rikers' eyes, but the boy flushed. "Kate works down at Angie's Palace," she clarified. "There was a fire there too. See a pattern yet?"

Joe's parents exchanged perturbed glances.

Carefully, Zee pulled the delicate necklace of turquoise beads from her pocket. "He had this too. Came from my place. There was a fire there today. You must have seen the smoke from your house, Mrs. Riker." Her lips twisted. "Strange how you were too busy to help. Fire caused a lot of damage. Christie and the 16-year-old girl we've got staying with us could have been killed."

Adah had the grace to look uncomfortable at that titbit, she saw with some satisfaction.

"So what does any of that prove?" challenged Ernie. "Our son has accumulated a few souvenirs. That doesn't prove he started the fires."

"When you take into account the stash of kerosene oil in his hideout, it does."

"Kerosene oil?" Adah blinked.

"Even if he did have such a 'stash', as you call it," persisted her husband. "Why would our son want to set those fires?"

Zee folded her arms. "That puzzled me too," she admitted. "But I think I've worked it out. The kind of places and people targeted - your son simply did what you told him to."

Adah blinked. "How dare you! I have never... NEVER told Joe to burn anywhere down."

"Not directly, perhaps. But every time you said the saloon and gambling den and whorehouse are a disgrace, every time you told him certain folks were headed straight for hell, that was the message he got." She eyed the boy. "Ain't that right, Joe?"

He scuffed the dirt with his toe, and for a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer. Maybe she'd chosen the wrong punishment. Maybe a spell in jail would have been better for him after all.

Then he looked up and stared her straight in the eye. "They deserved it," he said defiantly. "They'll all burn in hell anyway - whores and gamblers and heathens the lot of them."

Adah gasped and put a hand to her mouth. "Joe!"

Zee nodded. "See? This is where all that hate talk has got you. The way he's heading, he'll end up with a noose around his neck. But he's young, there's still time to turn him around...."

The glance Ernie shot her was full of hatred not gratitude, and she sighed. What chance did the boy have with parents like these?

"This would never have happened," said the Bank President bitterly, "if you and your kind hadn't come here where you're not wanted."

She ignored the jibe. "I wouldn't be so certain." She gave the sullen-faced boy a stern glance. "Now listen, Joe, and listen good. I'm letting you off, but things are going to change from now on."

Adah opened her mouth to speak but a glare from Zee silenced her.

"If I hear you've been skipping school again," she said pointedly, "I'm taking you into custody. Any more fires, you're the first suspect on my list. First sign of trouble at my place," she continued, "I'll come looking for you.... Do I make myself clear?"

Joe looked anxiously up at his parents. Adah avoided his gaze, and Ernie's face was so suffused with rage he couldn't speak.

Kid doesn't stand a chance. She tried one last time. "Just so we're clear as crystal. This doesn't happen again, or you'll all have me to answer to." She put on her fiercest glare and at last saw the fear she had been looking for appear in their eyes. "And believe me, I ain't called the Hellcat for nothing."

Then she turned and walked away.

***

Christie woke up to find herself in her favourite position - wrapped like an octopus round Zee. She sighed contentedly and snuggled even closer.

"Comfy?" came an amused voice.

She smiled sleepily. "Very."

Her reward was a gentle squeeze, then a hand began to draw lazy circles on her back. For a while she simply basked in a blissful haze, enjoying Zee's touch, then it slowly dawned on her... something was different.

The stroking stopped. "What?" asked Zee.

"I was just thinking how quiet it is. What's happened to the Rikers' dogs? Usually at this hour they're barking." Christie twisted in Zee's arms and stared up at her. "Did we oversleep?"

"Nope." Zee bent her head and pressed a gentle kiss on Christie's mouth. She pulled back and grinned. "Mornin'."

Christie returned the grin. "Good morning, my love." Then her mind returned to the puzzle. "So why aren't they barking?"

"'Cause they're gone," said Zee.

"Gone?"

"Not just the dogs, the whole damned lot of 'em." She brushed a lock of blonde hair out of Christie's eyes. "Left a few hours ago - while you were snoring. Don’t know how you managed to sleep through it, the din they were making loading up their wagon." The tall woman stretched languidly, the play of muscles under tanned skin distracting Christie pleasantly.

Zee's words registered belatedly. "I do not snore!" She poked the other woman in the ribs. "They left? Just like that? I don’t believe it!" Releasing her hold on Zee, she rolled over and got out of bed. She padded over to the window, drew the curtains and stared out at the Riker place.

Unusually, no smoke curled from the chimney, and the open porch door was banging in the morning breeze. There were no curtains at the windows, she noticed suddenly. She turned her head to look at Zee. The dark-haired woman was now sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, hands clasped loosely behind her neck showing off her breasts in all their naked glory. Christie licked her lips unconsciously.

"You're right," she said. "The place looks deserted."

"Just as well," drawled the deputy. "'Cause otherwise they'd see a mighty fine eyeful."

Christie frowned, looked down at herself, and abruptly realised what Zee meant. "Oh!" Hastily crossing her arms over her own naked breasts, she scuttled back to bed, pulling the sheets over herself.

"Nuh uh." Zee pulled the sheets off her. "I was enjoying the view."

A flushed Christie let herself be pulled into Zee's lap. Then strong fingers were stroking her belly and ribs, and a warmth whose source was not embarrassment began to spread over her....

She tried to focus on the topic under discussion. "But why did they go? You didn't run them out of town, did you? I thought you said were trying to turn the boy around."

Zee shrugged and shifted her attention higher. "Looks like Riker put his own needs first. Thought, maybe, just this once.... But no."

By now Christie was finding it hard to catch her breath let alone concentrate on the Rikers. "Uh?"

"Ernie knew his standing would plummet when news about Joe got out," clarified Zee. "Couldn't face it. Skedaddled. Plain and simple. Good riddance, I say."

The deputy eased her onto her back then, and straddled her, a predatory look on her face. "Less talk, more action," she ordered.

Christie laughed and obligingly suited the word to the deed.

A delicious smell of frying ham and eggs wafted up to Christie as she descended the stairs. She sighed. Julie must be cooking again. She couldn't begrudge the girl - this was Julie's way of recompensing them for putting her up, and she was an excellent cook - it was just that.... She chewed her lip and analysed her feelings. Just that the girl made her feel like a guest in her own home.

Resolutely pushing such meanspirited thoughts aside, she plastered a smile on her face and pushed open the kitchen door.

Julie was standing at the stove, spatula in hand. "Good morning, Christie."

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

The pretty octoroon nodded.

A clatter of boots on the stairs, the sound of whistling, followed by the crash of the door flying open and hitting the wall, made Christie roll her eyes at Julie (who covered her smile with one hand and turned quickly away) and swing round.

"Mmmm, smells good." Zee draped her gun belt over the back of a chair. "I'll just take care of the horses." She sauntered past Christie, giving her a slap on the rump as she did so, and escaping out into the yard before Christie could react.

"She's in a good mood," commented Julie, as Christie crossed to the window and gazed out at Zee, who was giving the mare and gelding water and hay, and as she always did talking to them as though they were people.

"Mmmm." She smiled and turned back. "Can I do anything to help?"

"No, thank you. It's nearly ready."

Christie sat down, and passed the time admiring Julie's dress, which was the height of fashion and made of scarlet velveteen if she wasn't mistaken. She fingered her own much more modest outfit, made of shabby grey calico, and suppressed a sigh.

The octoroon has just finished doling out breakfast when Zee returned. She washed her hands, wiped them on the front of her check shirt (Christie tried not to roll her eyes), then took a seat and began cheerfully tucking into her ham and eggs. Julie's indulgent glance at the tall woman was not lost on Christie.

"So," said Christie, taking a sip of the excellent coffee. "What are your plans for today, Zee?"

The deputy swallowed before speaking. "Need a new buckboard. Got to order some lumber too." She forked more ham into her mouth then registered Christie's puzzled look. "For the new barn," she added indistinctly.

"Ah."

"You?" Zee arched an eyebrow.

Christie mopped up her egg with some bread. "Laundry and mending." She sighed. "Though I think the dresses Julie and I were wearing yesterday are probably beyond saving."

Zee reached in her pocket and pulled out some dollars. "Get yourself some pretty fabric. Make yourselves some new ones." She slapped the coins down on the table then pushed them towards Christie. "That oughtta cover it."

Christie looked first at the money then at Zee. "Can we afford it?" she asked bluntly.

Zee nodded. "Won it off Millain," she said complacently. "Won’t be needing it where he's gone."

Julie has stiffened at the mention of her guardian, but now her face broke into a smile. It was that which decided Christie. She scooped up the dollars and put them in her reticule. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Zee gave both women a lopsided grin, then she drained her coffee cup dry and wiped her mouth on one of the napkins that Christie had lately been insisting they use.

"Better get going." She buckled on her gun belt, settled it more comfortably on her hips, then reached for her hat. Christie stood up and went to join her.

"Are you going to tell Hogan about the Rikers?" she asked, as Zee pulled her into a hug. She cast an apologetic glance Julie's way but fortunately the girl didn't seem to mind such public displays of affection... which was just as well, since Zee then decided to kiss her thoroughly.

"Yep," said Zee, when they came up for air. "I'll tell him. Now the Rikers are gone, you should have no more trouble here either."

Her cheeks burning, Christie straightened her dress self-consciously and refused to look at the octoroon. "Good."

She grabbed the still smirking Zee by the arm and urged her outside, where the dark-haired woman took the opportunity to kiss her thoroughly again.

"Zee!" she protested, half amused, half serious.

The deputy laughed and backed off. "Sorry, Darlin'. Can't seem to keep my hands to myself, where you're concerned." She pulled on her gloves and mounted up.

Christie smiled and shook her head but inside she felt deeply flattered by Zee's comment. Then a thought struck her and she rested a hand on Zee's thigh, which felt warm through her Levis, and looked up at her. "It's a long walk into town, and rolls of dress material are heavy," she hinted.

Zee grinned and patted her hand. "I'll get Bradley's boy to bring the new buckboard out to you. All right, Darlin'?"

Christie nodded and stood back. "All right."

The hoofbeats and Zee's whistling had faded into the distance when Christie took a last look round the bedraggled yard, sighed, and went back indoors. Julie had already started on the washing up and she went to help her. Nothing was said about the kiss, for which she was thankful.

After helping Julie to practice her reading for an hour, they started on the laundry. As she had feared, the torn and singed cloth came to pieces in her hands. She sighed, set the material aside for rags, and got on with the rest of the wash. She had just finished draping a petticoat over a bush to dry when the boy from the livery stable drove up in a buckboard.

"Miss Hayes," he called, reining in and tipping his hat to her. "Your buckboard, with Deputy Brodie's compliments." He climbed down and unhitched the horse that had pulled the wagon, then mounted up and rode off.

Christie watched him go for a moment, then inspected the buckboard and gave a pleased smile. She popped her head round the kitchen door. "Get yourself ready to go to town, Julie," she called. "The buckboard's arrived."

She fetched the gelding from its temporary home beneath the makeshift canvas awning Zee had erected, and hitched it, then went back inside for her bonnet, shawl and reticule. She was waiting impatiently in the driving seat when Julie hurried out to join her.

That velveteen red dress was simply magnificent, she decided.

Julie saw the direction of her gaze. "Do you like it?"

"It's very fine," said Christie wistfully. "But I suppose not very practical."

"We'll find you something practical and pretty," promised the girl, with a smile.

The promise was soon made good. With Julie to advise her on taste and the latest fashion, and Ned Taylor to caution the women about the cost and important laundering considerations, they were soon home again with two rolls of very serviceable fabric.

Christie had found a turquoise cotton faille that exactly matched the anniversary necklace Zee had returned to her last night (much to Christie's surprise, since she hadn't noticed it was gone from her jewellery case), and Julie had clapped her hands when she sighted a deep gold silk that would complement her skin tone nicely.

Hoofbeats in the yard made both women look up from the lengths of material strewn all around them, and they glanced at the kitchen clock then regarded one another curiously.

"Sound like Zee," said Christie. "Wonder why she's home early."

The door banged open and the rangy deputy filled the doorway. She was clutching a piece of paper in one gloved hand. It looked like a telegram.

"Hey, Julie," said Zee. "Good news." She strode across the kitchen and stopped in front of the girl, who stared up at her. "Found your kin. And they want you to go and live with them."

For a moment, the girl looked stunned, then her face crumpled and she burst into tears.

A disconcerted Zee gazed helplessly at Christie, who stood up and snatched the piece of paper from her hands. "Give me that!" She put her arms round the weeping Julie and gave Zee a furious look. Of all the hamfisted - "Haven't you got horses to water or something?"

Zee's expression reminded Christie of a kicked puppy, then her stoic mask clamped into place and she turned and stamped out into the yard, cursing under her breath. Christie sighed. She had handled Zee all wrong, but she would have to fix it later. Right now, Julie was her main concern.

"How could she play such a cruel joke on me?" sobbed the girl. "She knows I have no one in the world to care about me, except you two."

One-handed, Christie opened the piece of paper, which was from New Orleans, from the Pinkerton Detective Agency. She read its contents through quickly, then more slowly a second time.

"It's no joke," she told Julie. "It seems you have an Aunt Sarah and Uncle William, and they are very much alive." The sniffles stopped and Julie blinked at her from red-rimmed eyes. "Do you remember them?" she asked gently.

A long silence followed and Julie's gaze turned inwards. "There was a man, with a big, soft beard," she said at last, softly. "And a woman who smelled of lavender. I don’t know who they were. My mother took me to see them. I had ice cream."

Christie could see the child in Julie as she spoke. "You must have been very young," she said. She tapped the telegram with a fingernail. "According to this, they wanted to bring you up themselves, but Millain wouldn't relinquish custody - he said it was your mother's last wish, which it was. Later, he told them you were dead."

"Dead?" Julie's eyes widened. "But-"

"They also say you can have a home with them in New Orleans if you want it. They loved your mother very much and they have no children of their own."

"Oh!"

"You don't have to make up your mind now," she continued. "You can live with your real family, or you can stay here with Zee and me while we get something else sorted out. There's always that dressmaker's job with Madame Clemence we talked about... I'm sure Zee could convince her to take you on... or -"

But Julie still appeared overwhelmed by the news and Christie knew it would take her some time to digest this information, let alone decide about her future. So she stopped talking and simply rocked the still tearful girl in her arms for a while.

"Think about it. Take as long as you like."

When she was confident Julie was sufficiently recovered from her shock to be left, she left her alone and went in search of Zee. Dusk had fallen, and the stars were coming out. She followed the acrid smell of smoke to the far the corner of the yard and there found the tall woman leaning against the fence, smoking quietly and looking up at the night sky.

She eased herself under Zee's arm and was relieved when the other woman pulled her close.

"She all right?" asked Zee gruffly.

"She will be."

"You all right?" The cigar tip glowed red in the darkness.

"Yes." Christie turned to look up at the strong profile. "But what about you? Zee, I'm sorry about earlier-"

A finger to her lips brought her to a halt. "You did the right thing," said Zee. "I forgot she's still only sixteen. Direct isn't always best."

"It usually is," said Christie. "And it's one of the things I love about you," she admitted.

Teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "Is it now?" Amusement coloured Zee's voice and she stubbed out her cigar butt with her boot heel.

"Since when did you start smoking?"

Zee shrugged. "Since I found some cigars in Joe Riker's hideout."

"Joe smoked?"

"Yep." The tall woman moved behind Christie, draped both arms loosely around her, and rested her chin on the crown of her head. "So," she said. "What do you think she'll do?"

"Julie?"

Zee grunted agreement.

"I honestly don’t know." She sighed. "I hope she chooses to go back to her family though." She turned to looked up at the tall silhouette. "Is that mean of me, do you think? Wanting to keep our home just for us?"

"No, Darlin'," said Zee. "That ain't mean, that's natural. 'Sides, you ain't got a mean bone in your body."

Christie winced at Zee's faith in her, especially considering how she had treated her earlier. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

"I would." She felt a kiss pressed into her hair and relaxed back into Zee's embrace.

"Anyway, if she decides not to go..." Zee's voice vibrated through her, " well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, OK?"

"OK."

***

"... Willcox, Lordsburg, Deming, El Paso," yelled the train attendant. "Alpine, Sanderson, Del Rio...."

Zee barged her way through the huddle of passengers waiting to board a car and headed for one further down the train, a glance satisfying her that Christie and Julie were following in her wake. Both looked wonderful in their new dresses, and it felt good to be seen in the company of two such pretty women.

It had been a fraught week, with Julie unable to decide about her future, swinging first this way then that, her tears never far beneath the surface. At least Zee could escape from the emotional storm by going to work each day. Christie had no such relief.

"Suppose my Aunt and Uncle mistreat me the way my guardian did?" the girl wailed one evening.

"Then just get on the train and come straight back here," said Zee pragmatically.

But the exasperated look Christie gave her told her that practical answers weren't what the girl needed at present, so she shrugged and left them to have yet another convoluted talk.

They had had an awful lot of those it seemed to her. They involved a lot of crying and 'what if' ing on Julie's part, and a lot of hugging and 'there, there' ing and hair stroking on Christie's, and, inevitably, more tears. She was glad to be out of it. The first few evenings she had occupied herself making furniture for the parlour. Then the lumber for the barn arrived, and she had another perfect excuse.

She was standing admiring the posts she had just sunk for the new barn, when a tired looking Christie came out into the back yard to join her.

"She's going," was all she said.

Zee arched an eyebrow. They had been here before, twice. "Definite?"

Christie nodded. "Definite."

Zee had draped an arm around her tired lover. "I'll wire William and Sarah Fontenot tomorrow," she said. "Get them to meet her off the train."

And that had been that.

There were some empty seats in the next car, Zee saw. She dumped the luggage at the bottom of the steps and waited for Julie and Christie to catch up. "This should do," she told them, handing them up, then grabbing the bags and following them inside.

While Christie selected a bench and helped Julie get settled, Zee stowed the cases. She also had a word with the conductor, asking him to make sure no one bothered the pretty octoroon, slipping him twenty dollars for his trouble when he agreed.

When she rejoined the others, Christie was asking Julie for the umpteenth time, "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

The girl nodded. "I'm used to trains," she said. "Millain travelled a lot."

Zee ran a soothing hand down Christie's back. "She'll be fine. The conductor's agreed to keep an eye on her," she said. "And her Aunt and Uncle are meeting her at the other end."

Christie sighed. "I'm acting like a mother hen, aren't I?"

Zee laughed but knew better than to agree or disagree. She peered out of the window, and saw the guard preparing to wave his flag. "Darlin', we'd better go. Looks like the train's about ready to leave."

The blonde leaned over and gave the girl a wordless hug, then turned, hand pressed to a trembling mouth, and hurried towards the exit.

"Good luck to you, Julie," said Zee sincerely. "And if you should ever be back this way again...."

The dark eyes were brimming with tears and the octoroon wiped them away with a gloved hand. "Thank you for everything," she said softly.

"You're welcome."

The whistle blew loudly, and the car lurched, setting off a clang of couplings all along the train. Zee tipped her hat and ran for it. The train was already moving when she almost fell down the steps, accepted Christie's outstretched hand to steady herself, then turned to watch.

As the train left Benson on the first stage of its long journey east, she draped her arm round Christie's shoulder and waved her hat at the forlorn gold-clad figure gazing back at them through a dirty window.

"She'll be all right," she told Christie, giving her a squeeze.

"I know she will."

Zee put her hat back on. As they walked arm in arm back to where the buckboard was, Christie was uncharacteristically silent.

"You OK?" asked Zee.

"Just thinking."

"About Julie?"

"About how strange it's going to be to have the house to ourselves again."

"Good strange or bad strange?"

Christie gave her a wry look. "Good strange, of course. It's nice to have visitors, but it's also nice when they go home."

"Amen!"

Zee handed Christie up into the buckboard driving seat, then climbed up next to her. "Let me drive," she said, taking the reins before Christie could. "You look beat."

The blonde sighed. "I am," she said. "I feel as though I could sleep for a week."

"Walk on," Zee told the gelding, and flicked the reins. The buckboard lurched into motion. "I know what you mean," she said, when they'd travelled a few yards. "When it comes to weeping women or a gunfight, I'll take the gunfight any day.... Hey!" She rubbed the ankle that Christie had kicked then grinned unrepentantly at her.

They were passing Angie's Palace now, and Zee slowed as Angie herself spotted them and came hurrying over.

"Hey, you two," called the brothel madame. "We've just had some new pianola tunes arrive. Why don’t you come over tonight and we can have some fun."

Zee was about to accept but she caught herself and looked at Christie. They had their signals down pat these days. A raised eyebrow from her was answered by a slight moue from the blonde.

"Sorry, Angie," she said. "Not tonight. Been a tough week. Me and my lady were planning a quiet night in, just the two of us... you know?" A knowing grin from Angie showed that she did indeed know. "Maybe tomorrow?" added Zee.

Angie smiled and stepped back. "We're not going anywhere, Brodie," she called. "Come over when you feel like it. We can have a game of strip poker."

Zee didn't dare look at Christie. They had had a heated discussion on the subject of strip poker the other night in bed. She had a feeling the other woman was only pretending to be angry about the cheating that ensured Christie always ended up clad only in her drawers, but Zee still wasn't 100% sure. So instead she merely nodded at Angie, and flicked the reins again. The buckboard moved forward.

"Thank you," said Christie feelingly. "I really do just want some quiet time alone with you."

"My pleasure." Zee reached out and took a small hand in hers. "Home?"

The blonde smiled, a smile that lit up not just her eyes but her entire being. "Home," she agreed.

THE END

Acknowledgements

Thanks to fellow bard Advocate for her help during the final editing stages of this story.