Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Winter, Part 2 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson Sunday, January 7, 1872 "More, anyone?" Carmen asked. Ramon reached for the serving plate. "I will have more of the eggs and sausage. They are delicious, Margarita." "I am so glad that you like them," Maggie said coldly. Ramon gave her an odd look. "What do you mean?" "I had thought that you preferred _Dolores'_ cooking to mine," Maggie told him. "That certainly was true yesterday." "Is that it?" Ramon said with a sigh. "Is that why you would not talk to me, even when we danced together last night, because I did not come to your party for the Dia de los Reyes Magos?" "I am not mad that you did not come to _my_ party," Maggie answered. "I-I am mad that you... you lied and went to _hers_." "And now he is at _ours_," Carmen interrupted. "This is supposed to be a nice family desayuno, a meal we can all enjoy together after church. I will not have such fighting in front of my children, and, Margarita, you should not behave this way in front of yours." Maggie glanced over at Ernesto. He quickly looked down at his plate and took another forkful of eggs. Lupe stared back at her mother, eyes wide and worried. Maggie blinked, and her cheeks flushed pink. "Excuse me." She rose without explanation and walked stiffly into Carmen's kitchen. "Margarita." Ramon stood up and started after her. Carmen took him by the wrist. "Ramon, stop." "Carmen!" He tried to step around her, but she dug in her heels and held him fast. She shook her head. "No, brother. Right now, you are the last one that Margarita needs to talk to." She pointed back at the table. "Go back and have those eggs that you liked -- that _she_ cooked for you. I will talk to her." Ramon was about to answer when he felt a hand, Whit's hand, on his shoulder. "I think she just may be right, Ramon. Let be for now." "I... very well," Ramon sighed. "Eating those eggs and sausage seems to be the only thing that I can do right this morning." * * * * * Yully reached into the pouch tied to his belt. Empty. "I need some more nails, somebody," he yelled to the others working with him on the fort. "You'll have to get them yourself," Emma answered. "We're all busy, too." She and Tomas were carrying a chest of drawers into the wooden framework of the fort. The drawers themselves were still in the wagon. They would go in next. "I can't help either," Stephan Yingling chimed in. He pulled a nail from his own pouch and began to hammer it in, attaching a long horizontal board to the framework. "Where are the nails?" a new voice asked. Everyone turned to see... "Ysabel," Tomas said in surprise. "What're you doing here?" Emma stared at her friend. "Yeah, how'd... how'd you know about what we was doing?" "I was there when you told those two..." Ysabel pointed at Stephen and Yully. "...about it, and showed them the pictures, remember?" "Oh, yeah, you were, weren't you," Yully said. "We just didn't think you was interested. Besides, if you were, where was you yesterday instead of helping us?" "I got stuck at home," she answered quickly. "We were having a party for the Dia de los Reyes Magos -- a holiday for us. I had to stay there and help with the cooking and the cleaning." "But I'm here now," she added, "and I want to help. Where are those nails Yully wanted?" Emma pointed as she and Tomas set the chest down inside the framework. "Over there by my wagon." "Say," Stephan asked, "do you know how to use a hammer'n nails?" Ysabel hesitated a moment. "Some. I haven't done it in a while, though." "Let's just see how well you remember." Stephan walked over towards the wagon. "Toss me your pouch, Yully." The other boy untied his pouch and threw it straight to him. When Stephan reached the wagon, he refilled Yully's pouch and his own from a large bag of nails resting against one wheel. "C'mon, Ysabel." He turned and walked back to where he'd been working. Ysabel hurried behind him. "Here." He handed her a nail and his hammer. Then he pointed to the board he'd been working on. Yully, Emma, and Tomas came over to watch. The board hung down, attached to the framework at one end by a single nail. Ysabel walked the length of the board, lifting it as she did. When she reached the other end, the board was horizontal, with its end flush against the framework. She propped the board with one arm and held the nail between her fingers. She tapped it a half dozen times before she took her hand away. The nail stayed in the board. It stuck straight out. She braced the board with one hand and swung the hammer. It took more strokes than it would have taken Yully or Stephan, but the head of the nail was soon flush with the surface of the board. And the board was firmly attached to the framework. Stephan inspected her work closely. "Looks like we got us another carpenter." He patted Ysabel on the back. She blushed and managed not to giggle. The others also took a moment to congratulate her. Then they all got back to work. * * * * * Carmen walked into the kitchen carrying a tray full of dirty dishes, cups, and silverware. "Are you feeling any better, Margarita?" "Not really," Maggie answered. She was standing at the sink, scraping a small bit of burnt sausage out of a frying pan. "Are the children -- " "Your children are playing outside with my Jose," Carmen told her. "Felipe is in his playpen, and Whit is... upstairs." "And Ramon?" Maggie asked, hesitation in her voice. "Also upstairs. He and Whit are playing chess in Ramon's rooms." Ramon lived in what had been the guesthouse when the property had belonged to his and Carmen's parents. Maggie looked towards the ceiling for a moment. "Why don't they play down here as they usually do? Was Ramon in that much of a hurry to get away from me?" "It was Whit's idea. He thought that you needed time to let your anger cool." "Do you think my anger is not justified? I asked him to come to a party, and he... he..." Her voice broke. Carmen finished the thought. "He goes to Dolores' party instead. Your anger is not unjustified, but it _is_ misplaced. Dolores did ask him first, and he could only take the time from work to go to one party." "Why are you defending him?" "Because, no matter how foolishly he may be acting, he is still my brother. And besides," Carmen took a breath, "the fault is partly yours." "Mine! How is it my fault?" "It is your fault that the poor man is so confused. Look what you said to him. I like you, Ramon. Help me with my problems, Ramon. Court me, Ramon." She raised a finger as if ticking off each item. "And then you say, do not court me, Ramon. I must put my children first, Ramon. Just be my friend, Ramon. No wonder he is confused." "But... Dolores." "'But Dolores', indeed. _She_ does not confuse him. They were children together. She went away, but now she is back. She is pretty. She flatters him and tells him that she wants to be with him. She does not push him away or say that others come first. Why should he not be attracted to her?" "Then you think she has won?" "If I did, Margarita, I would not be in here talking to you like this. You lost the 'Battle of the Three Kings' -- maybe, but, as my Whit says, you have not lost the war." "What do you mean?" "How do you think Ramon feels right now?" "Guilty -- I hope -- for what he did." "Si, and do you think Dolores wants him to feel guilty?" Maggie shook her head, and Carmen continued. "That is right; she wants him to feel happy. When you were a man, who was better, a woman who wanted you to feel guilty or one who wanted you to feel happy?" "The one that wanted me to be happy, of course." "Then be that woman. Apologize to --" Maggie stiffened. "I will _not_ apologize. Is it my fault that he went to Dolores' party?" "No, but it is your fault that you got mad at him." "I had every right to be mad." "Perhaps, but where did it get you? Try saying this, 'Oh, Ramon, I am so sorry. I did not mean to get mad at you, but I was _so_ disappointed." Carmen pouted and put on an exaggeratedly sad expression. Maggie rolled her eyes and laughed. "You think that something as silly as that will work on him?" "Margarita, when you were Miguel and your Lupe pouted like that while you were arguing, what happened?" Maggie smiled, remembering, then laughed again. "I forgave her, of course. Sometimes a man has no choice." "Si, and Ramon will have no more choice than Miguel ever did." * * * * * "You interested, Mae?" Joe Ortlieb asked, standing up. Mae stood quickly and took Joe's arm. "With you, Joe? Always." She gave him a peck on the cheek and giggled softly. "Then let's get to it." Joe grinned and led her towards the steps. Rosalyn and Wilma watched them go. Now the two women were alone in the parlor at _La_ _Parisienne_. Wilma leaned back and stretched like a cat, giving a silent yawn. Rosalyn reached under a chair and pulled out a copy of the latest issue of _Goodey's_ _Ladies_ _Book_. Lady Cerise encouraged her ladies to keep up on the affairs of the world, so long as they didn't read when men were about. Rosalyn turned pages until she found the article she'd been looking at. She settled back in her chair and began where she'd left off. "You mind putting that down for a minute, Rosalyn," Wilma asked. "I been wanting to talk with you." Rosalyn didn't look up. "You're welcome to talk, but I have no intention of listening to anything you might have to say." "You'll listen to this." A note of anger crept into Wilma's voice. "I want to talk to you about that liniment you --" "I'm sure that you had a real _hot_ time with it," Rosalyn interrupted, a nasty smile on her face. "You and whatever man was unfortunate enough to be with you." She went back to her reading. Wilma grabbed the magazine from her hands. As she did, the cover tore, so that Rosalyn was still holding it. "My journal," Rosalyn yelled, almost jumping to her feet. "How dare you?" "How dare _I_?" Wilma answered. She grabbed the torn cover from Rosalyn's hand and crumpled it into a small ball. "You try anything else with me, bitch, and this..." She shoved the wad of paper in Rosalyn's face. "And this'll be you." Rosalyn sneered. "You wouldn't dare, you peasant slut." The two women glared at each other. Their fingers arched like claws, as if each were ready to attack. "Hey, we gonna see us a cat fight?" a voice from the doorway asked. The two women turned quickly. "Why if it isn't Mr. Phineas Pike and Mr. Clay Falk." Rosalyn's voice turned low and seductive. "Is that what you two boys want?" "If I'm gonna wrestle with anybody..." Wilma's voice was just as sexually inviting, "...I'd rather it was with one of you two handsome fellahs." Clay walked over and put an arm around Wilma's waist. "Well, now, that's just what I had in mind when I came in." "Same here." Finny walked over and took Rosalyn in his arms. She moved in close and kissed him. As the two couples walked towards the stairs, Wilma shifted arms, so she was next to Rosalyn. She leaned in close and whispered, just loud enough for the other woman to hear. "You just remember what I said, bitch." * * * * * Martha Yingling heard someone at her kitchen door. "Who is -- good heavens, Stephan, you're filthy." All five, Emma, Yully, Stephan, Ysabel, and Tomas, had finished the fort late in the afternoon. In their haste to bury it, they had been sloppy, and all five had gone home _very_ dirty. Stephan grinned in satisfaction at his mother. "Yes'm, I guess I am." "Well, you're not coming into my clean kitchen like that." Martha blocked the doorway. She was a rather plump woman, although only an inch or two taller than her son. "Ruth," she called to her oldest daughter. Ruth Yingling was getting a serving bowl for the peas cooking on the stove. "Yes, Mama?" "Go get a spare blanket and a towel from the closet and hurry." "Yes, Mama," Ruth said, running off. Martha gave Stephen a closer look and clucked her tongue. "Just look at you. You're wearing a pound of topsoil at least. Get undressed." "Ma, out here on the porch?" The boy looked around. The porch was closed in on three sides, and it was after dark. Still, someone _might_ see him. "Start with you shirt and your shoes," his mother told him. "You can take off the pants when Ruth comes back with a blanket. In the meantime, you fill that wash basin from the pump." She pointed to a large metal basin hanging from a hook on one wall. "I'll bring some soap for you. Be sure to wash your hands and face and neck. Oh, yes, and do your hair, too. Stay out here till you're clean." "What about supper?" "What about it? You'll not be eating covered with all that dirt. Now get started." "Yes'm," Stephan said. He sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt. A few minutes later, he was sitting at the edge of the porch untying his left shoe. His shirt and undershirt were in a pile nearby. He stopped when he heard the kitchen door slam behind him. "Put the blanket and towel down anywhere, Ruth." He pulled off his shoe and sock. "Stand up, boy," a firm male voice ordered. "Now." Stephan sprang to his feet. "Pa, yes, sir." Reverend Thaddeus Yingling stared at his son. The boy's face and neck looked like a blackamoor's. His hands and arms were black opera gloves that stretched halfway to his elbows. "My boy," the Reverend finally said, "if cleanliness is next to godliness, then you are a world away from our Lord." He handed Stephan a bar of yellow lye soap then continued. "How did you manage to get so dirty?" "I-I was playing with some of my friends." "Playing what, dig to China?" He draped the blanket over Stephan's shoulders, covering him down to his ankles. "Get out of those pants while you're talking." Stephan unbuttoned his pants. They fell to the floor and he quickly stepped out of them. "We was just... playing. You know... playing around like guys'll do." "Judging from your clothes, I'm fairly certain that you and your friends were digging." He began to work the pump handle. A stream of water filled the basin. "I trust that you were not looking for gold, not on the Sabbath." The boy put his arms under the pump to wet them. He wet the soap in the basin and began to work up a lather on his hands and arms. He recognized his father's tone. It would be best for him to tell the truth, but, somehow, he knew that he shouldn't. "No, sir. We... Uhh, we cleared some land in the woods and, uhh, built us a fort. Today... Today, we played at attacking and defending it. That... that's how I got so dirty." "A fort." Yingling stroked his beard in thought. "And whose idea was it to build such a thing?" "Do I have to say, Pa?" He rinsed his arms in the basin, whose water was now quite black. "No, but if you don't want to have to stand while you eat supper, you will _tell_ me, and you will do so _immediately_." "Emma, Pa, Emma O'Hanlan. She's the one that used to be a boy, and she --" "I know who she is." By now, Stephan's limbs were clean. He dunked his head under the pump, then started rubbing the soap into his wet hair. "She gets that magazine, _Boys_ _of_ _America_, and it told how to do it." "And she talked you into helping her with this foolish notion." "It ain't foolish, Pa. It really ain't." "Isn't, Stephan. Saying 'ain't' paints a man as unworthy of Grace." "It _isn't_ foolish. Yully and me... and _I_ --" "So, the Stone boy was involved as well. Who else?" "Ah... umm, Tomas Rivera and... and Ysabel Diaz." "I see. Well, I'm sure that none of them will escape some punishment from their parents if they come home as filthy as you did." He stopped and looked at Stephan. "You're lathered enough, I think. Come here under the pump and let me rinse you off." When Stephan put his head under the pump, his father worked the handle again. The boy shivered as the cold water ran down from his hair. "Clean enough," Yingling told the boy. "Dry off and get in the house. You may leave those soiled clothes out here for now." "You may eat supper in the blanket," Yingling continued. "It would be cold by the time you got dressed." "Thank you, Pa," Stephan said. "Don't be so quick to thank me. You worked, you did hard manual labor on the Sabbath, our Lord's day of rest. You shall balance that out with some hard _mental_ labor. I'll expect a translation of another ten arguments from Cicero's 'Treatise on Friendship' by Wednesday evening." He pronounced the name as the Romans had, "Kick-ero." Stephan wrapped the blanket around himself and sighed. "Yes, Pa." He walked into the house, shoulders slumped. His younger brothers didn't say anything, but his mother had to stop his sisters from giggling at the way he looked. Yingling tossed the water from the washbasin out into his yard, rinsed it under the pump, and hung it back on its hook. "A fort," he muttered softly, so no one inside could hear. "More military nonsense. That boy is going to be a minister like his father, and no boy-turned-girl is going to stop that from happening even if her... even if Trisha O'Hanlan _is_ a member of the church board." * * * * * Monday, January 8, 1872 The early morning light filled the bedroom. Laura was half sleep. 'Damned pillow,' she thought as she shifted position. After a week, she still wasn't used to sleeping on her side with a pillow between her legs. "Mmmmf." Arsenio mumbled in his sleep. He was behind her, spooning her. His left arm was draped over her, just below her breasts. She could feel his breath on her shoulder. She shifted again, and it woke him. "You all right, Laura?" "Just trying to get comfortable," she answered. He moved closer. "You just lean back against me." He lifted his head to glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand. "It's early yet; you can go back to sleep for a bit." "If _I_ can." She sighed softly. "What's the matter?" "I... I'm scared. That -- what'd Molly call it? -- morning sickness was bad enough. Now it feels like there's a ball inside my belly, and it's getting bigger." Arsenio's hand slid down to her stomach and along the small bulge. "Feels nice." "St-stop that." Laura shivered, fearing the extreme arousal his touch sometimes caused in her. There was none of _that_, but she did feel her nipples grow tight. "Well, it does feel nice to me. There's nothing to worry about. It's natural for a woman to show that she's pregnant." "I know, but being pregnant is so... different from _anything_ I ever expected to be. Mrs. Lonnigan's been a lot of help -- so has Molly -- telling me what's happening and what's... what's going to happen, but last week, she -- Mrs. Lonnigan -- she... she said..." Her voice trailed off. Arsenio took her hand in his. "That the baby was going to start moving inside you. That's what you're still scared about, isn't it?" "She... Mrs. Lonnigan said I'd-I'd feel it." "Did she say that it would be a bad thing if you did?" "N-No, she acted like it was... normal." "Then it is. It must just be a sign that the baby's growing the way it's supposed to." "Yeah, but... moving, and inside me. What am I going to do? Does it... hurt?" Her body tensed, as if she were about to run. "Don't think about what _you're_ going to do." He gently kissed her shoulder. "Think about what _we're_ going to do." "What _we're_ going to do?" "Yep. 'Cause whatever happens when the baby starts moving, I'll be there with you. You remember what Molly said when we asked her about it?" Laura nodded nervously. "Uh huhn. She said it was natural; the baby's way of introducing itself to its mother." "To its _parents_ is what she said. I'll be able to feel it almost as soon as you will, especially if I'm holding you close." He kissed her again. "As if I needed another reason to hold you close." Laura put her hand over his. "You're a sweet man, Arsenio Caulder." "Yes, I am," he joked. Then he moved even closer. "In the meantime, if you'd like to feel something else moving inside you..." Laura felt something hard press against her buttocks. "Mmmm, I suppose that might be good practice." * * * * * The five of them met at lunch. "Now that the fort's finished," Yully asked, "what're we gonna do with it?" Emma shook her head. "It ain't finished, not quite. We gotta make sure that all that sod got put back right. It was dark by the time we had it all laid down, and we couldn't tell if we done it right." "We can check it out after school today," Tomas said. Stephan shook his head. "Not me, sorry." "What's the matter?" Yully asked. "My folks hit the roof when I came home yesterday," Stephan complained. "I had to all but take a bath before they'd let me in the house." "A bath," Ysabel giggled, "right out there on your porch for everyone to see." Stephan shook his head. "Not a bath, but I did have to strip down to my... uhh, union suit and wash off at the pump; even had to wash my hair." "You was the one that wanted us to put all that sod back in the dark," Yully reminded him. Emma completed the thought. "And tripped over a piece and rolled down the hill." "I know," Stephan sighed, "and I'm surely paying for it. My pa says I got to do three pages of Cicero for him by tomorrow night." "Who or what the dickens is Cicero?" Yully asked. "Some old Roman fellah," Stephan answered. "Pa's been teaching me Latin, so I can go away to some finishing school like Junior did." Thaddeus Yingling, Jr., Stephan's older brother, had been away at a Methodist school in Ohio since early September. "He wants to send you away," Ysabel gasped. "Oh, how dreadful." The others nodded in agreement. "He wants Junior and me to be preachers like him and Uncle Obediah and grampa. Probably wants the same for Matt and Sam. Junior may want to, but I ain't sure I do." "I hope you don't go anywhere," Ysabel said. "Unless you want to, of course," she added quickly. Stephan shrugged and kept talking. "Like I said, I ain't sure what I want to do, but there's other things that some extra learning can help with. Anyways, I'm far enough along that Pa gives me translations to do for practice. I started on this Cicero piece, 'On Friendship' just after New Year's. Usually, Pa lets me set my own pace, do two or three pages a week. For punishment, he said I gotta do the next three pages by tomorrow night. That's why I can't go with you; I gotta go home and work on that translation." "That sounds like a good reason to me." Yully put an arm around his friend's shoulder. "You can help out when you get that Cicero fellah done." "You just have to keep from getting so dirty that your papa gives you more to do," Tomas added. "One thing," Emma said, sounding very serious. "You gotta -- we _all_ gotta promise to keep the fort a secret." Tomas looked puzzled. "Why? Why can't we tell anybody or even show it off if we want to?" "We can... in time," Emma said, "but we gotta be careful for now. There's them that would want to wreck it or to take it away from us." "Who would do that?" Tomas asked. Yully made a face. "The Ritters, for one. Clyde'd love to have a place like that for himself." "Si," Ysabel said, looking over at to the table some distance away where Clyde and a few of his cronies were having lunch. "Clyde is very much the sort of thing that comes slinking out from a hole in the ground." Yully continued. "And 'Whiney Hermione' couldn't wait to tell Miss Osbourne or our folks if she knew about it. She'd probably make it sound like it was dangerous, too." "It ain't dangerous," Emma protested. "We built extra supports into the framework of the room and the tunnel, just like the magazine said to." "She wouldn't care," Stephan said. "It ain't -- isn't -- the sort of thing that she would do, so, to her, it _has_ to be bad. She'd try to make the all the adults think so, too. If she did, they'd close it up -- maybe even punish us all for building it." Emma looked at the others. "You know, I've been thinking that we need a name for the fort." "So?" Yully asked. "So," Emma answered. "How about we call it 'Fort Secret'? Secret by name and secret by nature." She put out her arm, palm down, a few inches above the table. One by one, the others, Yully, Stephen, Ysabel, and Tomas, put their hands on hers. When all five hands were stacked together, they all softly repeated, "Fort Secret, secret by name and secret by nature." * * * * * The jangle of the bell over the door brought Kirby Pinter back from the Jules Verne novel he was reading. "Looks like the Baltimore Gun Club will have to wait," he said, closing the book. "Can I help you ma'am?" "Yeah, I'm Jessie Hanks, and I --" "Oh, yes, Miss Hanks. I've heard you sing over at Mr. O'Toole's saloon. You're quite good." He stuck out a hand. "I'm Kirby Pinter, by the way, and I'm very pleased to meet you." Jessie shook his hand. "Thanks. You got any songbooks in here?" Pinter smiled, happy to show off his wares. "You've come to the right place. I've all manner of books, new and used, and I'm sure that I have a few songbooks." He stood up from the stool he'd been sitting on. He was a short man, only a few inches taller than Jessie, in his 30s with thinning brown hair. He had a round face partially hidden by a burnsides, a mustache that arched across his cheeks and merged into his sideburns. "Please follow me." "I need one with the words _and_ the music." "New material for your act, I expect. I believe that I've got a couple of books that might be what you're looking for." Pinter's store was small, with tall bookcases along all the walls. Papers tacked to each shelve told the sort of books it held. Four long tables, also piled high with books, took up most of the floor space. He led Jessie past the tables to a bookcase with one section labeled "Arts and Music." "Here we are," he said. He moved things around on a shelf, so that three books were standing upright at one end. "Any of these should do. I'll just leave you to them. Please let me know if you need any more help." He nodded and walked back to the counter. Jessie looked at the books. The first, _Anglican_ _Hymns_, was of little use. The second, a book of children's songs and games, did have a couple of songs she might use. The third one looked promising. "_Songs_ _of_ _the_ _Ozark_ _Hills_ _and_ _Other_ _Popular_ _American_ _Music_," she read aloud. She took the book from the shelf and opened it. "There's a whole section of Stephan Foster songs in here, and 'Yankee Doodle', and a bunch of other tunes I already know, but here's... I don't know that one or that one either." She read down the table of contents. "Hell, there's more'n enough in here." She turned to the first unknown song. "Nice," she said, considering the words. "Music sounds good." She hummed the first few notes. Reading music was a skill she'd picked up over the years. Jessie closed the book and walked over to Pinter with it under her arm. "How much?" "The price is written inside." He took the book and showed her where he'd penciled in the price. "This is two dollars." When he saw her frown, he corrected himself. "But, since I look forward to hearing you singing some of these tunes, is a dollar all right?" Jessie smiled, and opened her reticule for the money. "More'n all right, and the first one I sing'll be for you." * * * * * Tuesday, January 9, 1872 Ernesto looked up from his Reader. He'd been reviewing the spelling words from one of the stories, sitting behind the counter at Silverman's. "Zayde," he asked Aaron Silverman, who was standing at the nearby cash register, "is it quiet enough in the shop so I can ask Uncle Ramon a question?" "Look around," the shopkeeper told him, "does it seem busy to you?" Ernesto shook his head. "No, the only customer in the store is a lady, and Bubbie Rachel is helping her." "So, is that quiet enough for you?" Aaron asked. The boy shrugged, and Aaron added, "Go. Ask." "Thank you, Zayde." Ernesto jumped down from his stool. "I will be right back." Aaron chuckled, as he watched the boy walk over to Ramon, his back stiff as a soldier's. "Like an almond that boy is, so much in a hurry to blossom, as the sages say." "Uncle Ramon," Ernesto asked, "can I talk to you?" Ramon turned and smiled at the boy. "Certainly, Ernesto, what do you want to talk about?" "The Dia de los Reyes." "Oh, si. What did the three kings give you?" "A pair of fighting tops; you set them going and see which one knocks the other over." "I had a set like that years ago. Maybe, I will come over and try them out with you." Ernesto brightened. "Do you mean it? You do not come over as much as you used to." "I know... and I am sorry. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, that I did not come to your mama's party?" "Sort of. On Dia de la Reyes... when we cut the rosca... _I_ was the one who found the Baby Jesus." "You did? Well, good for you." "Thank you, but maybe it is not so good. I found the rosca, so I have to give the party for everyone on Candlemas Day." Ramon smiled at the boy's seriousness and tousled his hair. "Is that really a problem? I am certain that your mama does not expect you to do that." "But I _want_ to do it. I am the man of the house, and she _should_ expect me to do it." "I see." Ramon nodded, beginning to see the boy's problem. "And I _can_ do it." Ernesto took a deep breath. "If you will help me." "Me? Why do you not just ask your mama for help?" "Because that would be the same as saying that I cannot do it. Besides," he continued. "If I am the man, shouldn't I ask another man for help?" He looked up at Ramon, eyes wide with hope. "Please, Uncle Ramon. Please." Ramon smiled gently and tousled the boy's hair again. "All right, se?or. I will be honored to help you." * * * * * Abner Slocum settled back in his chair and took a long sup of after- dinner brandy. "Matthew, didn't you say something about going into town tomorrow?" "Yes, Uncle Abner," Cap answered. "I'm riding in about mid day. There's some supplies Tuck asked me to pick up. I'll have dinner with Bridget and ride back up afterwards with Arsenio Caulder." "Is it that time already? Seems like only a couple of weeks ago that he was up here shoeing horses." "No, sir, three months, just like you and he agreed. Besides the horses that need shoeing, there're some tools that need fixing: an ax that needs a new edge, a broken branding iron, and such." "I'm surprised he's willing to come up the night before, what with his wife expecting." "True, but with these short January days and what all we have for him to do, he'd probably wind up staying the night if he rode up first thing in the morning." "You're probably right." Slocum paused a moment. "Still, that's not the reason I asked in the first place." He paused again. "I'd be happier if you would cancel your dinner with Miss Kelly and head straight out here with Arsenio." "Uncle Abner, you've been saying things like that for days now. What turned you against Bridget? I've asked and asked, and you keep putting me off." "Until today, all I had were my suspicions." "What changed today?" "I got this." He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. He looked at it, then handed it to Cap. Cap read the address. "Texas Board of Military Affairs, Official Document -- you asked your friend, Issachar Bailey, for Bridget's war record, didn't you?" "I did." "What gave you the right to do that?" "The fact that I invested a goodly sum of money in her, as well as giving her the weight of my own good name by doing so." "You knew who she was when you grubstaked her. Why do this now?" "I knew that she'd been an outlaw, yes, but I had thought that her actions since she came to Eerie had redeemed her." "They have." He held up the letter. "Whatever's in here is ancient history." "The War Between the States is still very much with us, thank you. Ask Tuck about his lost leg if you think that it isn't. And cowardice under fire, fomenting mutiny, and the theft of military supplies during wartime are not so easily redeemable." "If any of those charges are true." "Those papers in your hand say that they are. Look at them." "Uncle Abner, I was in the navy for almost five years, and I know that the truth and what gets written up as the truth in military records can be poles apart." "Not in something like this." He shook his head. "You're thinking with your Johnson, Matthew." "_Especially_ in something like this. And even if I am, I won't believe any of it until I hear Bridget's side of things." * * * * * 'Now or never,' Trisha thought. She moved over a few inches in the bed and ran a finger along Kaitlin's hip. "You awake?" Kaitlin shifted. "I am now, Trisha. What do you want?" "I was just, uhh... wondering; it's the middle of the night, and Emma's a sound sleeper. I thought maybe we could, ummm, do... like we did the other night." Trisha's hand moved, and she began to gently rub Kaitlin's hip. The rubbing felt good, very good. It was a trick that Patrick had used more than once to initiate a session of lovemaking. She sighed softly, remembering some of those nights. "So, you woke me up because you want to do... it." "I did, and I do." Trisha leaned over and kissed the back of Kaitlin's neck. Kaitlin shivered from the kiss. "Mmm, you do seem to need it just now, don't you?" "I said I do." She kissed Kaitlin's neck again. "Didn't you say -- and more than once, I might add -- that women didn't need _it_ the way men do?" "Are you starting that again? I'm still a man, Kaitlin, even if I do have this damned woman's body." Kaitlin stiffened for just a moment. 'Damned? We'll just see about that.' She twisted around in the bed so that she was facing Trisha. "Shall we get to it, then?" Without another word, she took Trisha's head in her hands and pulled it to her own. Their lips met in a passionate kiss. Trisha's arms rose of their own accord and wrapped themselves around Kaitlin's neck. When they finally, reluctantly, broke the kiss, Trisha was smiling. "That was nice." "It was, indeed, and it'll get nicer, but first..." Kaitlin sat up and began to unbutton Trisha's nightgown. Trisha watched for a moment, then she sat up and did the same to Kaitlin. The nightgowns were identical, white cotton trimmed with lace, with buttons down the front. When Kaitlin had unbuttoned Trisha's down to her waist, she stopped and pushed Trisha's hands away from her own nightgown. "What?" Trisha asked, uncertain of what Kaitlin was doing. "Why do you want me to stop?" "So I can do this." Kaitlin slid the nightgown off Trisha's shoulders and down to her elbows. Kaitlin leaned forward and began to suckle at Trisha's right breast, lapping at it like a kitten. At the same time, she began to massage Trisha's left breast, rubbing her finger against the nipple. Trisha tried to reach for Kaitlin, but her nightgown effectively pinned her arms. "Let me get this... ohhh!" Trisha trembled as Kaitlin playfully nipped her breast. Kaitlin pushed with her right arm, and Trisha fell back onto the bed. Kaitlin smiled; she was using all of the tricks that Patrick had used on her, and she found that she enjoyed being in charge. Best of all, she was getting Trisha to behave like the woman that she felt Trisha had to become if she was ever going to have a normal life. And to Kaitlin, a normal life was the best foundation for Trisha to build a happy life on. She moved slowly downward, kissing and biting Trisha's breasts and on down to her belly. Her left hand never left Trisha's breast. When she reached the new woman's navel, her tongue swirled in. Kaitlin felt Trisha's trembling and heard her moan. Trisha felt the warmth spreading through her body, the need growing in her. She tried to move, but Kaitlin's weight pushed her down. Her arms were still tangled in the nightgown. 'Can't get out of... oooh! ...this d-damned n-night -- oohh! -- gown,' she thought. The delicious hunger Kaitlin was creating in her was a terrible -- a wonderful! -- distraction. Kaitlin's hand moved down. She ran a finger through the blonde curls at the entrance to Trisha's slit. She heard a moan and smelled the familiar scent of female arousal. "Want me to keep going?" "Y-yes," Trisha gasped, her breath shallow. "Then ask me for it -- ask nice." She moved her finger along the slit, this time using her nail to add to the sensation. "P-Please..." "Say... 'Pretty Please', Trisha." Trisha moved her hips, trying to keep the contact with Kaitlin's finger. "Pl... please, Kaitlin, pr-pretty please, g-give me s-s... give me s-sex." "That's my girl," Kaitlin said. She quickly stuck two fingers into Trisha, who moaned in delight. Kaitlin began an in-and-out motion that Trisha soon matched with her hips. Trisha moaned, her head back and her eyes half-closed. "Y-yes!" she gasped and arched her back. Kaitlin felt her own nipples grow taut. She felt the need in her own groin. Her free hand rose to fondle her breast, and she let out a small gasp. She wanted to satisfy her own needs, but she kept her fingers inside Trisha. Kaitlin's hand moved downward from her breast to her own nether opening. She slid a finger in; she was wet herself and more than ready. In a moment, both her hands were moving in tandem, each exciting a different woman's innermost self. Trisha's hands trembled, and she clawed at the sheet beneath her. A moment later, her eyes opened wide, and she cried out in delight as pleasure raced like a locomotive throughout her body. Kaitlin's own orgasm hit her at almost the same time. She screamed and collapsed on top of Trisha. "Ohh, my," Kaitlin said when she could speak again. "I certainly enjoyed that. Did you?" "Y-yes," Trisha answered, still a little breathless. Kaitlin helped Trisha free herself from the nightgown. The two lay back down on the bed. This time, Kaitlin maneuvered it so that Trisha's head was resting on _her_ shoulder. She reached down and caressed Trisha's breasts. "A woman needs a bit of attention... after," she explained. "Should I do it to you, too?" Trisha asked, feeling a sort of happy warmth spreading through her. "No, Trisha, just let me do you." After a while, the caresses stopped as Kaitlin drifted back off to sleep, a satisfied smile on her face. 'Damn, she got me again.' Trisha thought back on what had just happened. 'Got me acting just like some horny woman. Next time, I won't ask. I'll just start in on her, and by the time she knows what's going on, she'll be the one squealing and squirming.' That seemed like the perfect answer. Trisha giggled in satisfaction and let sleep take her. * * * * * Wednesday, January 10, 1872 Daisy knocked lightly on the doorframe of Lady Cerise's office. "They's a man here f'you, Miss Wilma." "There's a lot of men for me, Daisy," Wilma answered, looking up. She was sitting at Cerise's desk, studying the account books. "Who is it?" "Mr. H. James Kellogg, he says. He asked 'special' for you." Wilma smiled slyly. "He did, did he?" She stood up. "Well, pleasure before business I always say." She was already in her "work clothes", off-white silk camisole and drawers and a blue-violet corset. "Ain't he the one that broke your bed the last time he was hereabouts?" Daisy asked. Wilma nodded. "He just got a little... enthusiastic. You know how men can be." "I surely does." Daisy laughed. "'Course, you gots a lot more experience than I does in that quarter." "And I surely enjoyed getting all that experience," Wilma told her, as they reached the door. As they walked out of the room, Wilma almost bumped into Rosalyn. "Watch where you're walking, peasant," Rosalyn shouted. "You almost made me spill my tea." "You just enjoy that there tea," Wilma told the blonde. "Me, I got a gentleman caller to enjoy." She hurried past, a smug smile on her face. "I'm sure I will." Rosalyn stood in the hall watching Wilma and Daisy going into the parlor. Beatriz came out of the kitchen and joined Rosalyn. "You got something in mind, chica?" "I do, indeed." Rosalyn stepped into the office, closing the door behind her. "You stay there and keep lookout." Wilma had left the account books open on Cerise's desk. Rosalyn took a sip of tea and walked over. The most recent book was in the center. Rosalyn put the saucer for her tea down next to the book and carefully poured a little of the tea into it. She put the cup onto the saucer for a moment, then moved it onto the page. When she lifted the cup to put it back in the saucer, she saw that it left a wet circle on the page. She repeated this three more times, leaving the cup balanced on the page. "Perfect," she whispered. The tea was staining the paper and making the ink blur and run. "Poor Wilma," she said, clicking her tongue. "To be so careless with the Lady's financial records." She walked to the door. "Is the coast clear?" she whispered. "Clear as it is ever going to be," Beatriz answered opening the door. "You done in there?" Beatriz chuckled. "Yes, and so is Wilma." * * * * * Arnie walked over to the now-empty table and carefully set down the half-full tray. It was early in the afternoon, and the men at that table had lingered over the food they took from Shamus' Free Lunch. "They left some," he whispered as he carefully set three the three steins into the tray. "Left some money, too, seems like." He pocketed the two nickels and moved on to the next table. As he made his rounds, collecting glasses, plates, and silverware, he was careful not to put anything in or on the steins from the first table. Customers had left money at a couple of other tables, mainly to pay for their drinks. Arnie pocketed all of it. He stopped at the bar on his way to the kitchen. "Drink money," he told R.J. and reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of coins. R.J. tallied the money. "Yeah, that's pretty much what they owed." He rang the money up and put it into the cash register. "I think Maggie and Jane are having their lunch right now. Have you had anything yet?" "Some... a sandwich." "Well, have something else if you want it. Then best get started on those glasses." Arnie picked up the tray. "I will." Maggie and Jane were eating down at the far end of the kitchen worktable when Arnie came in. They nodded hello and went back to their meal. He put the tray down on the counter, standing so his back was to them. Most of the glasses went directly into the sink. He left the steins for last, pouring the beer from two of them into the third. When he'd finished, it was well over half full. He'd found a fourth one with some beer left in it at another table, and he added that as well. Arnie glanced quickly over at the two women, who didn't seem to notice. He turned back and quickly drank the beer. The now empty steins went into the sink. 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'R.J. did say I should have something else.' He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small pack of sen-sen. He opened it, and popped one into his mouth. He'd always liked the licorice-flavored candy, but never more than now. It was a fine breath freshener, easily covering the scent of alcohol. The pack went back into his pocket. He used a pot to transfer hot water from the reservoir built in the stove into the sink and used the pump to fill the second sink with rinse water. Rolling up his sleeves, he began to wash the glassware. * * * * * Wilma came down the stairs arm in arm with a tall, muscular looking man in a brown frock coat. "You sure you gotta go, Jimmy?" She ran her fingers across his chest. Jimmy, H. James Kellogg, took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. "I'm afraid so, Wilma. I have to catch the stage to El Paso, if I'm going to close that land deal. Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours, though. I'll be back this way in a few weeks, and we'll have more than enough time." He took a gold eagle from his pocket and handed it to her. "Consider this payment for today and a down payment for the next time." Wilma put her hands on either side of his face. She pulled him close and kissed him deeply and passionately. When they finally broke apart, she gave him a satisfied smile and said, "And you can consider _that_ a return on your investment." "And an incentive to return." Kellogg kissed her again. He bowed to Wilma and then to Lady Cerise, who was standing nearby. "Ladies," he said and headed out the door, a smile on his face. Lady Cerise waited until Kellogg had gone before she turned to Wilma. "Now zat you have had your fun, I wish to talk to you, Wilma." "Sure thing, Cerise." She handed Kellogg's gold eagle to Cerise. "What can I do for you?" "It is what you have already done. Come with me." She grabbed Wilma by the arm and began walking towards the office. "Now!" "Hey, what put the bee in your bonnet?" Wilma asked as she was dragged along. By now they were in the office. "'What put zhe bee?' -- look. See what you have done to my accounts." Cerise pointed at the pile of books that were still opened on the desk. "I don't see what the problem is?" Wilma asked, looking at the books. Cerise grabbed the teacup from the book it was on. "You don't? You do not see what your tea has done to zhis book? _Incroyable_. Read where it has ruined the page." "_My_ tea?" Wilma said. "But I... I wasn't drinking no tea, and I sure as hell know better than to leave something like hot tea there on your books." "I thought that you knew better. Now... now, I am not so sure." She sighed. "Perhaps, I was... presumptuous. It may be zhat you are not ready for to be my assistant." "Wait a minute here, Cerise. You say that's tea in there?" "Mai ouis." She raised the cup and took a whiff "Zhe chamomile tea." "When'd you ever see me drink that stuff, Cerise? I always been a coffee man -- coffee gal; just ask anybody." "Zhen who did zhis. And why?" Wilma knew the answer at once. "Rosalyn. When me'n Daisy was heading to see Jimmy Kellogg, she was coming outta the kitchen holding a cup of something -- of tea, she said it was tea." Cerise nodded. "Perhaps. She _is_ fond of chamomile tea." Wilma glared at Cerise. "Good thing, too. When I get finished with her, she ain't gonna be in no condition t'eat solid food for a while." "You will do nothing of the sort," Cerise said firmly. "Rosalyn can hardly be of use to this house if you break her jaw or destroy her smile that so many men pay so much for." "But she..." "You will do nothing to harm her -- or Beatriz who was no doubt her accomplice." "Then you know --" "I know zhat they have always been jealous of you. Making you my assistant has surely not improved their opinions." "Then why can't I just lay into them? When I was running a gang, they knew that the surest way of getting their asses beat was to cross me." "I am sure of zhat, but you are not 'running' zhis House, I am, and I do not want any of my ladies to look like they got -- as you say, 'their asses beat.' I make my money by selling those asses. And the rest of them -- and of you." "Then what can I do to make them stop, if I can't beat on 'em?" "Wilma, I made you my second because I thought zhat you knew zhe answer to such questions." She put a hand under Wilma's chin. "Please do not prove me wrong." * * * * * Bridget took a sip of wine to chase down the last piece of grilled Gila trout. 'No time like now', she thought and took a deep breath. Aloud, she asked, "Have you found out why your uncle's been so dead set against me lately?" "Ummnn." Cap hurriedly swallowed a mouthful of Maggie's beef stew with chili peppers. "Just... just a second." He took a quick swig of his own wine. "I-I'm afraid that I have. Uncle Abner has an old friend who works for the Texas Bureau of Military Affairs back in Austin." Bridget's expression grew dark. "Military... you got hold of my record, didn't you?" "No -- that is, _I_ didn't. Uncle Abner, he did it." "You had no right. Those are supposed to be private." "Not to somebody like Issachar -- Issachar Bailey, that's Uncle Abner's friend. He works there. Besides..." he gave a sheepish smile. "There isn't any Confederate government anymore. I don't think it's against the law or anything." Bridget ignored his attempt at humor. "If it isn't, then it should be. You and your uncle have no right to go sneaking around in my past." Cap held up his hand, palm out. "Hold on there. I didn't go 'sneaking around' anywhere. Uncle Abner did. And if he'd mentioned it to me beforehand, I'd have told him not to do it." "You'd have told him." She spat the words. "If you hadn't 'told him' about my being in the Army, dammit, he wouldn't have gone looking in the first place." Cap's face reddened. "Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I-I guess that was my fault. I'm sorry. I thought it would improve his opinion of you." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. "Now what happens?" she asked, sounding scared as well as mad. "You gonna blab it to the paper?" He shook his head. "Bridget, I'm not going to 'blab it' to anyone. And I don't think that Uncle Abner will either." "Yeah, sure." She looked straight at him. "Why?" "Uncle Abner won't because he doesn't want to queer your game -- at least not until you've paid back what you owe him." "So, bad as he thinks I am, it's not the principle of the thing, it's the money." "A little of both, I think. Uncle Abner prides himself on getting the most return he can from any investment. After that, well, he knows that you make your living on that game. Ruining it would be a nasty thing to do to a lady, even one he personally disp... disliked. Uncle Abner considers of himself as a gentleman, so he --" "A gentleman!" Bridget snorted. "I don't think that he even knows the meaning of the word." She glared at him. "And I'm not sure that you do either." "Wait a minute, Bridget. I... I didn't have anything to do with what Uncle Abner did. I don't like it any more than you do." "Then why are you defending him?" "I'm not. I said I would have stopped him. What more could I have done?" Bridget closed her eyes for a moment then stood up. As she turned to walk away from the table, she spoke in a small, quiet voice. "You could have said that you don't believe it." * * * * * "Looks like I'm late," Rupert Warrick said, stepping into the O'Hanlan house. "Sorry." Trisha shook her head. "You're not late, Rupe. Dwight and the Judge got here early." "We had dinner together at 'Maggie's Place'," the Judge said by way of explanation, "and walked over here afterwards." He and Dwight Albertson were sitting at the kitchen table. Kaitlin and Emma were standing at the sink, doing the dishes. Trisha walked over to the table with Rupe. "Have a seat. There's coffee if you'd like some." She pointed to a large, blue enameled coffeepot sitting on a trivet and surrounded by cups. "Maybe later," Rupe answered, as he sat down. "What's this all about, Trisha?" She sat down herself and looked at the three men. "A new church. I wanted to work up to it slowly, but after that vote I got last month, I figgered it was time to strike while the iron was hot." "While you can bask in that vote of confidence, eh," the Judge said with a sarcastic snort. "Sounds like a good idea." "Maybe," Rupe said, "but it's an awful big pig in a poke. Folks are gonna have a lotta question they'll want answered before they vote t'build a whole new church." Dwight frowned. "We'd have to draw up plans; that takes time. It costs money, too." "I thought you'd all be in favor," Trisha said, sounding a little hurt. "Especially you, Dwight. It'd be your bank the money was in while we built the church. You'd get to handle the mortgage we'd probably have to take out, too." "I'm not saying no," Dwight replied. "None of us are. It's -- well, a chicken and egg kind of thing; plans first or vote first." "There has to be some way to crack that egg," Trisha said. "Do we have _any_ money now we could use to hire somebody to draw up some sort of plans?" "A little," Dwight said with a shrug. "There's the 'Building and Maintenance' account. We use that to help pay the upkeep on the school." He paused a beat. "But I think it would take a vote to use it on something like plans for a new building." Trisha pouted. "So we're back where we started." "I don't think the Town Council would be very happy to think that we wanted out of our agreement to share the school," the Judge told the others. "Don't forget, Arsenio Caulder's on the council, and he's become a fairly active member of the church lately." Dwight thought a moment. "Maybe we could just make improvements in the school building. We could get what we want with less money, and the school would benefit, too." "Just what _do_ we want?" Rupe asked. Trisha ticked off the items. "An office for Rev. Yingling; a real altar, so we don't have to use the teacher's desk --" "Some more comfortable benches," Rupe interrupted. "Those school benches are small. Kinda hard, too." "They are that," the Judge replied, "even if we don't have to sit on them. At least, not while we're elders." Dwight nodded. "Get some real chairs for the board -- and the Reverend, too, then." "And a room we could use for a Sunday school," Trisha added. Kaitlin had been listening as the men talked. "A real kitchen would be nice, too. We had to set up fire pits for that fried chicken lunch we had." "Add that to the wish list, then," the Judge said. "Wish list?" Trisha asked. "You talk like it won't happen, Judge." The Judge shrugged. "Perhaps it will, but it'll take time. We can't really go off half-cocked on something like this." "We could make some kind of a start," Trisha asked, "couldn't we? We gotta, before that -- what'd you call it, Judge, that 'vote of confidence' is gone." Dwight scratched his chin. "We could start by setting up a more formal building fund, money set aside to pay for something after we decide what that something is." He looked at the others. "We could vote to do _that_ at next month's meeting." "It'd be a start," Rupe added. "Saying we was going to have the money would make people be more willing to do something with it." "It would help more if there _was_ some money in that fund," Dwight said. "There's not a lot in the 'building and maintenance' account, and it's pretty much all spoken for." "Why not vote to hold some sort of fund raiser t'get things off to a flying start?" Rupe asked. Everyone agreed. "That'd make people feel more committed to the idea," the Judge said, "but what sort of a fund raiser?" "A dance," Kaitlin suggested. "I think that's something most of the women in the church would enjoy. Clyde Ritter, for instance; he might not like the idea of the building fund, but I know for a fact that Cecelia Ritter loves to dance." Trisha smiled proudly at Kailtlin. "That would certainly blunt the opposition. All right, gents, at the February meeting we vote to establish the Building Fund and to start it off with a dance at the end of the month. That should give us time to plan the thing out and sell the tickets." "Especially with the ever-efficient Kaitlin O'Hanlan as chairwoman of the dance committee," the Judge added. "She can start planning it right now." Kaitlin looked surprised. "I wasn't saying that I'd volunteer for something like that." "If you don't -- if we don't have a candidate," the Judge continued, "Cecelia will wind up with the job. We surely don't want that." * * * * * Thursday, January 11, 1872 Milt Quinlan knocked on the half-opened back door to the Eerie Saloon's kitchen. "May I come in?" "Milt?" Jane called from inside. "Sure, c'mon in." He pulled the door wide and walked into the kitchen. "Thank you. Hello, Jane... Maggie." "Hola, Milt," Maggie greeted him. "What brings you here?" "I... ah, came to see Jane," he told her. "On business, of course. Dwight Albertson, asked me to have her sign some papers." He took a fat envelope out of his jacket. Jane had been dredging pieces of chicken in herbed flour. She put down the piece she was holding and wiped her hands on her apron. "What're they for?" "You're buying more stock, I think -- or maybe selling some. I'm not sure. All Dwight said was that it was a good deal and would make you a lot more money." He handed her the envelope. "Fine with me." Jane took the papers from the envelope and laid them on the worktable. She opened a drawer and pulled out a pen and a bottle of ink. She uncorked the ink and stuck in the pen. Then she carefully signed the papers. She put the pen and ink away and handed the papers back to Milt. "Here ya go, Milt." "Thank you, Jane." Milt took hold of the hand that she was holding the papers in. "I... ah... umm." He stared at her, trying to speak. Jane looked up at his face and smiled. Her hand, the one he was holding, felt warm. She felt her nipples tightening, and there was a warm, pleasant tingling down at her crotch. "Y-yes, Milt," she managed somehow to say. "I... ah... I'd... ummm... better get these papers back to Dwight." He felt relieved to have found words, no matter what they were. "Once be- begun, ha-half done, they say." He let go of Jane's hand and put the papers back in his jacket pocket. "See you later, Jane... you... ah, you, too, Maggie." With that, he turned and walked briskly out the door. Jane watched him go, and, as the door closed behind him, she finally spoke. "Damn!" * * * * * "Bye, Sam." Wilma waved as her latest "gentleman" left _La_ _Parisienne_. With a satisfied smile on her face, she walked into the parlor. No men were around, so Rosalyn and Beatriz were sitting on one of the couches in the room having a late afternoon snack. "Wilma," Rosalyn greeted her with feigned politeness, "Do have some of this lovely chamomile tea." She lifted her own cup. "It's so very good, and there's nothing in here you can ruin." Wilma's hands balled into fists. "_I_ can ruin? Listen, you little bitch, the Lady's on to you and your little tricks, same as me. And if you try anything, I'm gonna beat the living --" "No," Beatriz interrupted. "You are not going to beat anything out of anyone, Wilma, and you know it." Wilma turned her glare on the Mexican woman. "I don't know anything of the sort." "Si, you do," Beatriz answered smugly. "You know that the Lady won't let you hurt either of us." She tried to bluff. "Says who?" . "Says me," Beatriz told her. "Says the both of us," Rosalyn chimed in. "As far as the Lady is concerned, the only reason for Beatriz or myself to be in bed during the day is because we're with some handsome gentleman; not because you put us there." Wilma gritted her teeth. They knew. Frustrated, she turned to leave. As she walked out of the parlor and down the hall towards the kitchen, she heard Rosalyn's voice calling after her, "Are you sure you don't want any tea, Wilma?" * * * * * Bridget stared at her cards. "See your dime and raise another." She tossed two coins into the pot. "I _called_, Bridget," Carl Osbourne said softly. She shook her head as if trying to clear it. "Sorry." She put down her hand. "Umm... three eights." "Dang," Carl Osbourne said. "I thought I had you." He showed his own cards, two pair, jacks and threes. Joe Kramer laughed. "She don't even know what's going on and she still wins the hand." "Yeah, Bridget, are you okay?" Carl Osbourne asked. "You been playing like you was half asleep." She blinked, as if to hold back tears. "I-I'm sorry. It's just been one of those days." She sighed and regained some control. "One of those _lousy_ days..." R.J. was suddenly standing at the table next to her. "I think the lady needs a break, if you boys don't mind." He put a hand on her shoulder. "What?" She looked up. "R. J.?" He smiled down at her. "You're taking your dinner break. Come on." Bridget shook her head. "But the game..." "You go have supper," Joe Kramer told her. "We'll be here when you get back." The others at the table agreed. "There, you see? It's all right if you take a break." R.J. gently helped her to her feet and led her over to one of the tables that served as Maggie's restaurant. It was the far table, a bit removed from the others to give them some privacy. R.J. pulled out a chair. "Sit. Please." When she did, he pushed the chair in closer to the table and took his own place opposite her. Jane came over and handed them both menus. R.J. waited until she left before he spoke again. "Now, what is it that's got you so upset?" "Can... can we order first?" she asked. R.J. nodded, and they looked at their menus in silence until Jane came back for their orders. "Now don't go saying you want to wait until the food comes," R.J. told her. "I'll only keep asking you." He reached across and took her hand in his. "Please...tell me what's bothering you." "Nothing. Nothing's bothering me. I-I just got a little distracted during that last hand." "More than a little distracted, if you can't see the difference between a call and a raise. I heard what Carl Osbourne said. You've been going around all day like your head was a hundred miles away." "I-I'm sorry. I can't... it's not important; really it isn't." "I think it is, or you wouldn't be so upset." Before he could say more, he saw Jane coming from the kitchen. "But here comes our meal. You eat a little, and we'll talk some more." Jane set down the food and left. R.J. ate some of his baked chicken, while he watched Bridget do no more than pick at hers. "You're really not doing Maggie's cooking justice," he finally said. Then he decided to take a chance. "You did much better when you were having supper with Cap last night." She dropped her fork. "Cap! What did he tell you about last night?" "Not a thing. I haven't seen him since your dinner ended so abruptly. I understand that he and Arsenio Caulder rode back to his uncle's place right after that." R.J. took Bridget's hand again. "What is it that you don't want him to have told me?" "Nothing. Please... please don't ask any more questions, R.J." "Bridget, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I don't mind you and Cap having problems. But not if it's going to get you this upset. Please, is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help?" Bridget smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You already did." "I did? What did I do?" "You didn't ask what I did wrong. You just offered to help." * * * * * "Unger, ye lying paltroon, what're ye doing in me saloon?" Roscoe sighed and looked at Shamus. "We've gone over this before, Mr. O'Toole. The _Citizen_ sends me the paper on a copper sheet. I can't make changes." "Then ye don't have t'be printing it, printing them damned lies." Molly put her hand over her husband's. "He does, Love. 'Tis his job t'be telling folks what's going on in the world." She sighed. "No matter how ugly it is." "To tell you the truth, sir, I agree with you," Roscoe told him. "The _Citizen_ is using the story to whip up the crowd against the Apache, but I couldn't edit the story even if it wasn't on a boilerplate. The contract I have with them says no changes." "But it says them bastards killed a