The very next day, the Hoodoos rode in.
It was early afternoon, and the five hard cases were caked with the dust of many miles. After putting up their horses at Floyd Havershaw’s establishment and paying to have their mounts fed and tended to, they repaired to the Lucky Star.
“Drinks all around,” Brock Alvord said as they lined up at the bar.
“Make mine a bottle,” Big Ben Brody commanded.
Tom Shadley had been taking inventory when they came in. He took inventory once a day just to have something to do. “Sure thing, Mr. Alvord.” Years ago Tom had learned the secret to keeping his customers happy was to always remember their favorite brands. It made them feel like they were important enough for him to go to the trouble. He selected two bottles and turned. “Here you go.”
The Hoodoos were as straight as rails and as stern-faced as temperance pushers. “Is something the matter?” Tom asked.
“How did you find out who I am?” Brock Alvord demanded. “I never told you.”
Kid Falon had his hands on his pearl-handled Colts. “I reckon if you know, everybody must know.”
“And here we thought they were as dumb as stumps and would never figure it out.” Curly Means laughed.
“Maybe we should clean out this two-bit town,” Jack Noonon suggested.
Brock Alvord took the bottles, passed one to Big Ben Brody, and opened the other. “How about it, barkeep? Should we be mad at you folks for tryin’ to trick us?”
“We only found out last night!” Shadley bleated. “And it doesn’t make any difference to us who you boys are. You’ve never mistreated anyone here. Fact is, I like you fellas.”
Curley Means grinned and nudged Noonan. “Did you hear that, Missouri? He likes us. Why don’t you hop over the bar and give him a big kiss?”
“Why don’t I cut off your carrot and shove it down your throat?”
Big Ben Brody roared, and the tension evaporated. The Hoodoos relaxed. Alvord poured drinks.
Tom Shadley mopped perspiration from his balding pate with his apron and thanked God for his deliverance.
Shoes clacked on the stairs. Down sashayed Abigail and Susie in their finest frillery. They had brushed their hair and splashed on so much perfume the entire saloon filled with the musky fragrance.
“Abby, darlin’!” Kid Falon hollered. Lifting her, he swung her completely around and planted a kiss on her full red lips. “Have you missed me? You’re all I’ve thought about since I left.”
“I’ll vouch for that,” Curly Means said.
Susie ambled over to Curly and contrived to rub her hip against his. “How about buying a girl a drink, handsome?”
Curly raised a finger to the brim of his hat. “Thanks for the offer, ma’am, but there are two things I never have any truck with. One is dogs. The other is anything and everything female.”
“How about you?” Susie said to Noonan.
“How about me?” Big Ben said. Bottle in hand, he looped a huge arm around her slender waist. “It’s about time the two of us were better acquainted.”
Kid Falon steered Abigail toward a table. “You and me need to talk, beautiful. I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinkin’, and there’s something important I want to say.” He held out a chair for her, then dragged his close enough that the two chairs touched.
Abigail gave a toss of her long red hair. A sad look crept into her blue eyes, and she said softly, “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Huh? You don’t even know what I’m about to say.” The Kid lifted his voice to bawl, “Fetch us a bottle of our own over here, Shadley, and be quick about it!”
As soon as Tom scurried off, Abigail leaned forward and placed a hand on the Kid’s arm. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Falon kissed her on the cheek. “You’re the prettiest filly this side of the Divide, and I have big plans for you and me.”
“Kid, listen to me.”
Falon took both her hands in his and squeezed. “I’ve never met a girl like you. That last time, when we spent all night in your room, was the best night of my life. I want more nights like that, Abby. I want them to never end. I’ve pondered it considerable, and I’ve decided I’d like to be your man permanent-like, if you’ll have me.”
“First off, I’m a woman, not a girl. Second, you don’t know a damn thing about me. Third, you should drink at a lot more troughs before you decide to hitch your horse to just one. Fourth, one night isn’t the same as true love. Fifth, and this is the most important, get it through your handsome head that I’m old enough to be your ma.”
“My ma ain’t that old,” the Kid responded. “Be sides, age don’t hardly matter. Curly says it’s the heart that counts, and my heart is fit to burst with how I feel about you.” Hope lit his young face like a flame flaring on a candle. “What do you say? We’ll rustle us up a parson and do this proper.”
“You’re loco.”
Kid Falon slid his hands off hers and frowned. “Don’t talk like that, Abby. I’ve never opened up to anyone like I’m openin’ up to you, and I don’t much like havin’ my face slapped.”
“Kid, Kid, Kid,” Abigail said tenderly and shook her head. “What am I to do with you? How can I make you understand? I’ve seen this sort of puppy love more times than I can count. I’m one of the first women you ever had, aren’t I? I made you feel good, real good, and you’re mistaking that good feeling for love. But it’s not. There’s a fancy word for it a drummer told me once. Infatuation. That’s what ails you. In-fat-u-a-tion.”
The Kid’s frown became a scowl. “I’ve had plenty of women. You hear me? Plenty! Don’t flatter yourself you’re the first. As for that infatted business, what the hell does a damn drummer know anyhow? All they do is jabber. Hell, if a drummer walked through that door right now, he’d be dead before he took two steps.”
“This one sold encyclopedias. He knew a lot about darned-near everything. Why, he could recite all the Presidents’ birthdays from memory.”
“Bid deal. So he could read. I can read too. I got as far as the sixth grade, and my teacher always said I was one of the smartest in her class. Smart enough to know when I care for someone, and when I don’t.” Now the Kid was glowering. “You’re lucky I don’t get up from this table and never talk to you again.”
Abigail reached for him, but he pulled away. “Please, Kid. Calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Well, you damn sure did. I haven’t been this mad since that time a cowboy stepped on my foot at a dance and then had the gall to say I stepped on his. It was his fault, him bouncin’ around with his gal like they was tryin’ to stomp snakes.”
“You’re getting yourself agitated,” Abigail said.
“So what? I can agitate myself if I damn well want to.” Kid Falon looked around the room and hitched at his gunbelt. “I have me half a notion to kill someone just for the killin’.”
“Please, no.” Abigail glanced at Brock Alvord, but he was absorbed in a discussion with Tom Shadley. “Everyone would blame me for settin’ you off.”
“There won’t be anyone left to blame you for nothin’,” the Kid declared.
In her anxiety, Abigail clutched his arm. “You would kill women and children? I know you like to throw lead, but that’s despicable. How can you expect me to go on caring for a man who would do such a thing?”
“Then you do care!” The Kid clasped her to him and kissed her in a heated display of passion.
Abigail tried to pry loose, but the Kid swooped her onto his lap and nuzzled her ear. “What’s that scent you always wear? I swear, I couldn’t get it out of my nose the whole time I was away. Even when I was downwind of Big Ben after a meal of beans, all I’d smell was you.”