"Yeah, sure," she said, hugging him tightly. "If you were completely healthy I think you might have put me in my grave, but I'd be there with a smile on my face."
Longarm chuckled. "I don't know how to thank you for taking care of me this past week. I wish I didn't have to board that stagecoach this morning, but I've no choice."
"I know," she said. "But you'll be back through, won't you?"
Longarm's answer was hesitant. "I might, but I can't be certain. My original orders were to return a bunch of prisoners to Denver."
"Why won't they let you have a few weeks of vacation with me?" Willa asked. "You need rest."
"You're not giving me much."
"I did the first day. You were in bad shape when I came to visit you the first time."
"I suppose that I was. Dr. Hubbard kept looking at me like I had one foot in the grave. He was pretty relieved when I got that hundred dollars of expense money from Denver."
"Dr. Hubbard barely makes a living. People pay him with milk, eggs, butter, chickens, and about everything except cash. He needed your government money, Custis."
"What about you?" Longarm gazed into her blue eyes.
"Willa, you haven't asked me for a cent."
"No," she said with a smile, "not yet."
"I'm giving you fifty dollars," he decided out loud. "I know you've lost wages and tips because you've spent so much time with me this past week."
"Thanks. It was a pleasure."
"I've got to go," Longarm said, pushing off of her warm, soft body and pausing to admire it one last time. "No man ever had a better nurse."
"Any time," she said, enjoying the admiration she saw reflected in his eyes. "Any old time."
Longarm dressed quickly and strapped on his gunbelt. His lips raised in a slight smile and he said, "My belt is one notch farther out, thanks to your cooking."
"You're still too skinny," she told him. "You could use another twenty pounds, easy."
"I guess."
"And I could put them on you in about two weeks, if things change and you find you can stop over for a while on your way back from Yuma."
"Not likely, but I'll keep it in mind. Besides, for every two pounds I gain, I work one of 'em off in bed with you, Willa."
She giggled, but when he came over to kiss her goodbye, her eyes were shining with tears and she hugged his neck tightly, not wanting to let him go.
"Time for us both to get back to work, Willa," he said, feeling his own throat lump. "Time for me to climb on that early morning stage to Yuma."
She took a deep breath and said, "And I guess I ought to go back to the Sagebrush Cafe and serve breakfast."
Longarm slipped fifty dollars into her dress pocket and blew Willa a kiss good-bye. He had already paid Dr. Hubbard, which did not leave him much cash. But he had sold both his horse and Lucy's strawberry roan for a pretty good price, so he knew that he would be just fine.
"Back to Yuma, huh, Marshal?" the driver said fifteen minutes later as Longarm pitched his saddlebags and bedroll inside.
"That's right."
"Well, we've only got two other passengers to keep you company today. The Reverend Bertram B. Cheshire and his wife, Agnes. They'll keep you awake."
Longarm glanced inside the stage. It was still empty, meaning the reverend and his wife had not yet arrived. "What does that mean?"
"Are you a church-goin' man?"
"I go to weddings and funerals."
"Well," the driver said with a wink, "you'll sure hear the word of God. I expect that old Bertram will want to put the fire of redemption in your soul."
Longarm expelled a deep breath. "Thanks for the warning," he said, climbing into the coach and wanting nothing better than to rest quietly as this stagecoach carried him back to Yuma.
"They're real nice people," the driver said. "Agnes can get a little tedious, but she's probably got a picnic basket packed with food, and they're both generous people."
"Glad to hear that."
"But don't be carrying whiskey and takin' snorts in their presence," the driver warned. "Both Bert and Agnes are just death on drink."
"I haven't any whiskey," Custis said. "But it sounds as if maybe I should buy a bottle. Perhaps that way they'd write me off and leave me in peace to rest."
"Doubt it," the driver said, "but if you did that, you'd miss out on the picnic basket."
"Life is full of hard choices," Longarm said, climbing inside and taking his seat.
Five minutes later, the reverend and his wife appeared. He was a little man, bald with round spectacles and a slight hitch in his gait. Longarm judged the reverend to be in his mid-sixties, and despite his slight limp and diminutive size, he looked lively and cheerful. Agnes was quite his opposite. She was a very large woman. Agnes dwarfed her husband and wore a shapeless print dress, pink crocheted sweater, and her shoes were so tight the tops of her feet sort of puffed out. She looked crabby and critical to Longarm, and her brows were knitted in disapproval. Longarm could see right away that Agnes would take up the entire bench, while he and the reverend would be forced to share the opposite seat. It was, he thought, a good thing that there were only the three of them traveling down to Yuma.
"My dear, let me help you up," the reverend said, giving Longarm a glance.
"You can't help me," Agnes complained. "I need a strong man."
She looked into the coach, sizing Longarm up and then snapping, "What about you, young man?"
"I'm not in good health," Longarm said, not at all wanting to try to boost Agnes up and through the stagecoach door. "Why don't you ask the stationmaster if he's got a box or a ladder that you can climb onto?"
"Humph!" Agnes snorted, clearly displeased with a suggestion that Longarm thought entirely sensible.
"I think that would be a good idea," the reverend said cautiously.
"Very well! Find a ladder, Bertram!"
"I'll get you something," the driver promised. "We've got a big stepping box that comes in handy once in a while."
Agnes colored a little because the driver's implication was that she was among a very few passengers who were either too fat or too infirm to get into the coach without extraordinary measures being taken in their behalf.
In a few moments, two of the stage line employees were dragging a heavy wooden structure that was built so sturdily out of two-by-sixes that it would have supported a milk cow.
"There you go, Agnes," the reverend said. "Ladies first!"
Longarm felt the entire coach lurch on its leather straps when Agnes stepped on board. The big, sour-faced woman almost lost her balance, and might have tumbled back out the door and crushed her husband if Longarm hadn't grabbed her chubby wrist and hauled her the rest of the way inside.
"Easy now," he said as she collapsed on her side of the coach.
"Don't 'easy now' me! You sound as if you're talking to a horse instead of a lady."
"Sorry, ma'am."
"He meant no offense," the reverend said as he spryly hopped up the loading ramp and popped onto the seat beside Longarm. "Agnes, this is the legendary Deputy Marshal Custis Long."
"Yes," she snapped, "the one that killed all those men on the road to Prescott and that has been sleeping with that tramp Willa Handover! You're going to burn in hell, Marshal!"
"Agnes!"
Longarm bristled and looked to the reverend. "I remember a few passages from the Holy Bible and one of 'em says, 'Judge not lest ye be judged.' It seems that your wife has forgotten that bit of the gospel."
Even in the dim interior of the coach, Longarm could see the way that Agnes swelled up in anger like a scalded toad while her husband seemed to shrink into the seat cushions.
"He's right, Agnes. We should not judge the sinner lest we be judged by the Lord for our own sins."
"Shut up and save it for the pulpit, Mr. Cheshire. I don't appreciate having to travel with this... this wretched sinner."
Longarm had heard about enough. It was all that he could do to bite his tongue and exit the coach.