“I’ll take it.”
Longarm was famished and ate nearly an entire loaf of the delicious French bread even before the dinner arrived. Having slept through breakfast and made love with Dolly almost until noon without food, he had some catching up to do.
“You certainly seem to be enjoying your supper,” a cultured feminine voice said as he started in on his dessert.
With his fork loaded with pie, Longarm twisted around to see a stylish woman in her mid-thirties eyeing him with more than a passing interest. She was dressed to the nines, with what appeared to be real diamond earrings and a pearl necklace. Her hair was an auburn swirl and her complexion was as clear as African ivory. She was not as young or as beautiful as Dolly St. Claire, but this woman had her own unique appeal.
Longarm lowered his fork. “I guess my table manners aren’t the best this evening. Please excuse me for eating like a track layer.”
“Oh,” she said with a faint smile, “I’ve always enjoyed watching a hungry man enjoy his food. My father and brothers were farmers, and they ate like starving wolves. Mother was always cooking, and it seemed as if I was always serving food or cleaning in the kitchen.”
“You don’t look like a farm girl,” Longarm remarked, “and I don’t mean that to insult your family.”
“Then what do you mean?”
He forked the pie into his mouth. “Huh?”
“What does a ‘farm girl’ look like?”
Longarm knew that she was challenging him and he wasn’t about to back down. “Well,” he began, “for starters, no farm girl I ever saw wore clothes and jewelry like you’re wearing. And they didn’t have their hair done up so fine nor have painted fingernails and rouge on their cheeks.”
The woman had green eyes and they started to flash, but Longarm headed her off by saying, “And I’ve never seen one with such a beautiful complexion. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but your skin hasn’t seen much sun—it’s beautiful.”
His words swept away whatever protest or irritation she might have had and she relaxed. “My name is Miss Victoria Hathaway.”
“And mine is Custis Long. I’m a United States deputy marshal on my way to Arizona.”
“A federal lawman, how interesting! Now, that does surprise me.”
“Why?”
“You look like a successful cattle rancher. Or perhaps an important mining superintendent.”
“Nothing nearly that lofty, miss. But, if you doubt my word, I’d be happy to show you my badge.”
“That’s not necessary, Marshal Long. What takes you to Arizona?”
“I have a friend in trouble down near Wickenburg. I mean to help him out, if it isn’t too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“To save his life.”
Victoria’s eyes widened a little. “Is he in serious trouble?”
“Probably. He claims to know where to find a Spanish treasure in coin. Jimmy Cox never could keep a secret, and this time it just might have gotten him killed.”
“I hope not!”
“Me too.”
Longarm chose not to say anything about the outlaw Hank Bass because you never knew who might be one of his friends, relatives, or even his lovers. But this elegant and obviously upper-class lady seemed the most unlikely of candidates.
“I’m going to Prescott,” the woman announced. “So I guess that we’ll be traveling at least partway together.”
“That would please me right down to the soles of my flat feet,” he said with a disarming smile. “How are you getting from Ash Fork to Prescott?”
“There will be a buggy waiting.”
“Oh.”
“One that you’d be welcome to come along in, Marshal.”
“Thanks. I’m going to be a little short on funds until the government wires my expense money to Prescott. So your offer is appreciated.”
“I’m sure that my fiance will enjoy meeting you, Marshal Long.”
Custis tried hard to mask his disappointment. A fiance was fine, but he did cut out all the promise of a more interesting relationship. Oh, well, Miss Hathaway was out of his league anyway. And besides, there was that lovely lady in Prescott.
Chapter 4
Longarm had an enjoyable train ride to Ash Fork, Arizona, because Victoria Hathaway was fun and a very interesting lady. Over the hundreds of hours they spent together in conversation, Longarm came to know the woman quite well. Victoria really had been a Nebraska farmer’s daughter, but had so detested living there and working from morning to night that she had eloped with a traveling salesman when she was just fifteen. Together, they had traveled across the plains and wound up in the Colorado gold fields. Both she and her husband had contracted gold fever and then had made a good strike near Central City.
“And that was when the trouble began between us,” she confided. “Art went crazy over the money. Try to imagine that we were literally dressed in rags and down to the last of our food when we struck it rich. Suddenly, we had more money than we knew what to do with and Art couldn’t handle it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted to buy everything! He stayed drunk, spent his nights partying and whoring … oh, he just went to hell in a hand-basket. I never knew that money could corrupt a man so quickly and completely.”
“So,” Longarm said, “you divorced Art and took your share of the money?”
“I was going to do that, but he was stabbed to death by a whore and robbed. I wound up with the mine, but legal fees and thieves nearly broke me. Finally, I sold out and took what I had managed to save to Arizona.”
“Without a thought of returning to that Nebraska farm country?”
“That’s right. I moved to Prescott and bought a nice Victorian house. I opened a cafe—I suppose because of all my experience cooking and doing dishes. The business prospered and I hired someone to manage it, and then immersed myself in civic works which brings you up to my present.”
“And your fiance?”
“He’s a banker. Handles all my money and investments. He’s older than I am by fifteen years, but we are compatible. Bernard is very stable and practical. He would never be corrupted by sudden wealth.”
“It sounds like you’ve come a long way from Nebraska.”
“I have,” Victoria agreed. “I send money back to my mother. Father died and my oldest brother is running the farm. The rest of my family all moved away—some to California, one to Oregon, but none to Arizona.”
“Even so, you’re still a relatively young woman. What about children?”
“I don’t think that I can have them.” Victoria blushed a little. “I mean, it’s not as if Art didn’t try. Bernard … well, he doesn’t care for children.”
“Do you?”
A deep wistfulness crept into Victoria’s eyes. “I’d give anything for children. Especially a daughter that I could raise and love.”
“Maybe,” Longarm suggested, “you ought to think hard about that and consider breaking your engagement.”
Victoria gazed out their train window at the passing country. “Believe me,” she said, “I’ve given it some thought.”
“I’m sure that there are any number of men who would fall to their knees and beg you to marry them.”
“Oh, yes, but probably for my house and money.”
“Not so!” Longarm was shocked. Didn’t this woman realize how desirable she was in and of herself?
While he was trying to collect the right words to tell her this, Victoria leaned close and said, “What about you? I don’t know about such things, but I’m sure that federal marshals, like all other public officials, are underpaid. Lawmen risk their lives for very little monetary compensation.”
“That’s true enough,” Longarm admitted. “We’re definitely not in this line of work for the money. On the other hand, we do have a small pension coming—those of us who live to a retirement age.”
“Aren’t you concerned about being old and poor?”