Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change; Part 11 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson Sunday, March 10, 1872 "I will not do it," Arnie insisted. "I would not wear woman's clothes yesterday, and I will not do it today." Dolores folded her arms and scowled at her newly transformed cousin. "Si, Arnoldo, you will." They were alone in Teresa's room. Arnie had spent the night there, rather than sleep in her old room with her brother -- or with Dolores and her sisters. "Why should I?" Arnie frowned back. "Because, today we are going to visit your mother -- which you _also_ would not do yesterday. _Then_ we are going to Mass to pray for her. Do you not want to pray for your mother?" "Of course, I do." The anger flowed out of her, and she looked down at the floor. Then her defiance rallied. "But I can pray for her from right here." "Si," Dolores conceded reluctantly, "but she still wants to see you." She paused a beat. "Not only that, but I think that she wants to forgive her _idiota_ of a son for what he did." Arnie started. "Her son? Then she does not know what happened to me?" "No, that is something for _you_ to tell her." The younger girl sighed. "You are right, it is. But must I tell her so soon?" "Are you afraid?" "Yes," she whispered, then quickly added, "but not for me. She... how will... she... how can she take the terrible news so soon after being hurt?" "Your mama is a strong woman. And she will want to know." "Because she is so sick, and because what has happened, will be such a great shock, I must _not_ show myself to her in a dress. I must make myself look as much like the son she knew as possible, until she has had time to accept what has changed. After she has, I will do what I must to make her feel better." Then the girl's look became stern again. "What Mama most needs is not for you to say." Dolores frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps you are right. But I know without Teresa saying it, she would not want you to go to church looking so strange." "No," Arnie began. "But I will not go to church today. I am not ready to be seen like this in so public a place." "Arnie!" "Mother used to complain how little Papa went to Mass. Are you saying my father is not in Heaven because he could not go to church every Sunday?" "No, of course not." "Then after you and the children have returned from services, we shall go to see mother." Dolores shook her head. Considering Arnoldo's state of mind, it would be a mistake to provoke a family row at this time. Everyone was under too great a strain. For her unfortunate cousin's own good, she needed to be guided out of her state of shame and grief as quickly as possible, but Dolores knew that she could not drive the boy -- the girl -- into a calm acceptance of G-d's will with a harangue. * * * * * Jessie sat quietly in bed next to Paul, while he read Hanna's letter. "Can we go?" she asked as soon as he was finished. "Can we?" "You're talking about taking off almost two weeks. That's a lot of time. A lot of money, too. I don't think Shamus'll pay you for not being here to sing. I _know_ Dan won't pay me if I take that much time off." Jessie pouted. "Well, if you don't think I'm worth it..." She let the words trail off. "I never said that. We certainly enjoyed ourselves coming back here from the Tyler's -- that last night anyway." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "And I've got a feeling --" He stopped abruptly as her hand stroked his thigh. "A _very_ _good_ feeling -- that we'd enjoy ourselves even more on this trip." "I think I can _guarantee_ that we would." Her voice was a sultry purr. "Well, then... you ask Shamus about going, and I'll talk to Dan, and we'll see what they say. Okay?" "Fine by me. Let's just wait a while before we do." He raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think we should do while we wait?" "Oh, I got an idea or two." She giggled and ran a finger along the length of his cock. "Seems like you got a idea, too, a real _big_ idea." She giggled again. "I like it when you get _ideas_ like that." * * * * * Dolores peeked through the half-opened door to Doc Upshaw's small infirmary. "Teresa," she whispered, "are you awake?" "Dolores," came the answer, almost like a moan, "is that you?" The younger woman walked in, "Si, how are you feeling today?" Teresa's head was propped up on a pillow. Both the top and bottom ends of her bed were raised. Her right arm and right leg were in casts, elevated even higher by a system of weights and pulleys. "Not too bad... lonely. Are the children here with you?" "The doctor said that you were not ready for so many visitors all at once. I will bring the others by later, one at a time, but first..." She stopped, not certain what to say next. "First? Who -- what is first? What is wrong, Dolores?" Her voice, still weak, became strangled. Teresa recovered her breath and asked, "What are you not telling me?" Arnie closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath before stepping into the room. "She is not telling you about me... Mama." "Mama?" Teresa stared at the stranger for a moment. Then her eyes widened. "You!" "Yes, Mama." Teresa cringed, though her casts and suspension hardly allowed her to move at all. "Santa Maria!" the injured woman exclaimed. Dolores' expression changed, too, and she turned in surprise to take a good look at her cousin. Arnie didn't notice, but shook her head vigorously at her mother's reaction. "No, Mama. It is me, Arnie, your...son. It was the...potion." "Wha...?" Her eyes widened, as she realized who this stranger was. "Arnoldo?" The girl nodded. "No, it cannot be." Teresa tried to shake her head, but her sore neck made her wince with pain. "The Judge, he--he said that you would not be punished." Arnie looked away, not able to meet her mother's eyes. "He did not punish me. I-I did this to myself. By mistake," she quickly added. "Why? What would make you..." Her voice wavered. "...do _that_?" "I-I was... ashamed. I ran away. Se?ora Molly let me sleep in the bar. But I...I could not sleep. I-I took something that -- that I thought would help, would _make_ me sleep." She gave a wry chuckle. "It did not help. No, it... the potion changed me into... _this_." She gestured at herself with one hand, looking down, unable to meet her mother's eyes. Teresa reached out with her left arm. "Oh, Arnoldo!" Her eyes filled with tears. "Mama!" Arnie staggered to the bed and knelt down beside it. Now she, too, was crying. Teresa stroked her son's -- her new daughter's -- head. "You will see. It will... _we_ will be all right. The face you have been given. It must be a...very good sign." Arnie looked up, red-eyed and confused. "W-What about my face?" "Dulcito," said Dolores from behind her, "you have the face and form of Our Lady of Guadalupe from that medallion I gave you." Arnie made the sign of the cross. "Dios mio!" * * * * * Jessie and Paul walked down the steps to the saloon arm in arm. "I'll see you later," he told her. "You better," Jessie said, moving in closer to him. "And here's something t'make sure of it." She put her arms around him and kissed him deeply. Paul pulled her even closer, and she felt her body pressing against his. When they finally parted, he smiled and said, "Count on it -- if that's what I can expect." He kissed her again, on the forehead this time, and headed towards the exit. Jessie stood, watching him until he passed through the swinging doors. She sighed and walked over to take a seat at the bar. "A good morning to ye, Jessie," Shamus greeted her. "What's left of it. Jane should be bringing out the Free Lunch in a just wee bit." "Thanks, Shamus. I did sort of... uh, work up an appetite." Jessie felt her cheeks warm in a blush, as she spoke. "While I'm waiting, can I ask you something?" "I don't see why not -- unless ye're asking for a raise." "The opposite -- sort of. I was wondering about taking some time off." "And might I be asking why ye need it?" Jessie took Hanna's letter out of the small pocket in her gray skirt. "I told you about them folks I met when I-I... ran off." "When ye tried t'escape, ye mean. Aye, some farmers, the... the Tylers, ye said. Ye saved the mother's life, as I recall." "I did. And I got to know them pretty good. The daughter -- Hanna -- she's getting married in June. Here's her letter." She handed it to him. "She wants me t'come. In fact, she wants me _t'sing_ at the wedding." Shamus skimmed over the letter. "Ye and that 'handsome Mr. Grant', I see. How long do the two of ye figure t'be gone?" "Four days each way, and a couple more for the wedding, about a week and a half, I'd say, two weeks on the outside." Shamus' expression soured. "I don't like ye being away that long, and I'm thinking that Dan Talbot ain't gonna be happy about Paul going." He took a breath, watching her reaction. "But then, I'm also thinking of the grand time we'll be having here the night ye come back. Besides, me Molly'd probably read me the riot act if I was t'be saying no." He slammed the top of the bar. "All right, ye can go. In fact, I'll even be giving ye a bottle of whisky for toasting the happy couple." "Thanks, Shamus." She reached across the bar and hugged him. Shamus broke free. "We'll be having none of that or Molly'll _really_ be reading me the riot act." * * * * * Trisha studied the vase of flowers on the table. "I think these are ready to be thrown away." She pulled the flowers from the vase and started towards the garbage can near the sink. "What are you doing, Trisha?" Kaitlin asked. "Those flowers aren't wilted yet." Trisha's expression soured. "They didn't look so good to me." "They didn't look good to you the day Liam brought them, did they?" "No... no, they didn't. What right has he got to be giving flowers to my wife?" "He was just being polite, that's all." She sighed. "Besides, we really aren't man and wife any more, are we?" "I-I still like to think that we are." "Do you? Were you thinking of me when you let that man maul you at the dance last week?" "That was... I-I was drunk. I told you that." "And I believed you. I still do, but you can't be jealous of Liam's attentions towards me --" "Who says I can't?" "I do. Trisha, we aren't... what we used to be. Men are paying attention to you, too, even if you don't like it." Trisha looked down at the floor, unable to meet Kaitlin's eyes. Lord help her, she did like men's attentions, especially when those attentions turned physical. She could hardly tell Kaitlin that. She still had trouble believing it herself. "I know, but it seems so -- no, I don't like it." "Maybe you don't, but you've got to accept your new... _our_ new lives." "I'll try, but I-I just can't, not this fast, and, certainly I can't accept Liam bringing you flowers for no reason." * * * * * Monday, March 11, 1872 Yully ran over to where Emma was standing. She was leaning over, her hands braced on her legs, panting. "You okay?" he asked. "I'm... fine... thanks..." She straightened up. "Just a... little out of... breath." She took a gulp of air. "Bert's gotten... faster. I must've chased him... ha-halfway down the field and back before I-I knocked the ball away." Yully looked at her closely. She looked -- he wasn't sure -- different somehow, but it was a _nice_ difference. "I guess so," he told her, "but Jorge's got the ball now, so let's go." He took one last look at Emma before running towards Jorge Yba?ez, the captain of the team he and Emma were on this week. A _very_ nice difference. 'He _noticed_!' Emma thought. She smiled as she chased after Yully. 'That's worth not being able to breath -- and besides, I can always loosen my new corset for the game tomorrow.' * * * * * Arnie pulled the laundry cart through the grass to the back door of the Gomez house. She looked through the stack of bundled clothes and found the four for Lucinda Gomez. Balancing carefully with the bundles, she stepped onto the porch and knocked on the back door. "Si, who is there?" Lucinda stared through the window at the young woman on her porch. Arnie wore her old, boy's clothes, a brown shirt with rolled-up sleeves, so her hands were free, and jeans that had to be tied at the waist to keep from slipping far down on her now wider hips. "Your laundry, Se?ora Gomez... from Teresa Diaz." "Where is Teresa, and who are you?" Lucinda asked, standing in the open doorway. "Ma -- uh... she was hurt, a broken arm and leg. I am helping out until she is better." "Hurt, eh?" Lucinda frowned. "No doubt her no-good son, Arnoldo, had something to do with that. People do talk." Arnie wanted to argue, but -- she knew in her heart -- it _had_ been her fault. "In a way..." "Well, at least, she has you -- whoever you are -- to help. What do I owe her for my laundry?" Arnie looked at her order sheet. "Three dollars even, se?ora." The older woman counted out the money and handed it to Arnie, who handed her the bundles in exchange. "Gracias, se?ora." "And this is to be cleaned." She stepped back into the house for a moment before returning with a burlap sack stuffed with clothes. "Can you have these back on Friday?" Arnie put the sack in her cart. "Si, they will be done and back to you when you ask." She wrote "Lucinda Gomez" and "Friday" on a tag and pinned it to the sack. "Gracias, and please tell Teresa that I hope she is better very, very soon." Arnie nodded. "I will." She turned and started walking towards the next house on her list. "Oh, se?orita," Lucidna Gomez suddenly called. "Yes, se?ora?" "Why are you dressed that way?" She smiled. "Certimente, it cannot be because you have no clean clothes at home." "No, se?ora," Arnie replied with a forced grin, but didn't say anything more. The girl continued on her way. The Gomez house had been her fourth stop. Each customer had paid for their laundry, and _each_ had given her more clothes to be cleaned. 'And none of them guessed who I was,' she recalled with relief as she drew the cart along, down the street behind her. * * * * * "So, Stephan," Yully asked, taking a bite of his sandwich, "How'd your folks take t'you hiding out for a week?" Stephan looked at his friends sitting around the table and sighed. "Ma kept crying and hugging me. She went on and on 'bout how scared she was and how much she missed me and how glad she was that I came back." "And your pa, how'd he take it?" Stephan grimaced, as if in pain. "He wupped the tar out of me Saturday morning. I couldn't sit down without it hurting till supper last night." "How terrible." Ysabel was sitting next to Stephan. She gently put her hand on his arm. "He's more set than ever on me being a preacher." Stephan took a breath. "And he all but ordered me not to be friends with Yully any more. If he knew how you all helped me, he'd probably have pulled me outta school." Yully chuckled. "That'd be a reason _to_ tell him." "And be home with him all day? _No_, thank you." "What are you gonna do?" Emma asked. "You ain't gonna give in and _be_ a preacher, are you?" "Not if I can help it. I'll... I'll think of something." He tried to smile. "Or maybe one of you'll think of something for me." Ysabel sighed. "I hope so, but do not count on me -- not for now, anyway." "Si," Tomas said. "My Mama heard about your Mama getting hurt. She wanted me to ask if she could do anything to help out. I want to help, too, if I can." Yully nodded. "We all do." "Just ask," Stephan added. He patted her hand. The girl smiled, her eyes glistening. "Th-thank you. It -- so much has happened to me -- to my family." "Yeah, my Pa told us 'bout how those men tricked your brother into helping them try to rob his office. Arnoldo's lucky that he isn't in jail with them." Ysabel looked down at the table. "Maybe... maybe she is not so lucky." "She?" Emma echoed. Ysabel looked up, dismayed at her slip of the tongue. After a moment's hesitation, she opened her lips to make denial, but nothing came out of them. "You don't mean she drank that stuff - ?". "I should not talk about it. Arnoldo would not like it." "What happened?" asked Tomas. "It is a Diaz family matter," Ysabel answered. "It is not for me to say." "Ysabel," Emma began slowly, "do you _really_ mean that Arnie is a...she?" "I...." Ysabel began, then seemed to shrink into herself. "Si, she drank the same _stuff_ that you drank, Emma." "Why, for heaven's sake?" asked Yully. Ysabel grimaced and answered slowly. "The potion. He thought it was something else. It was dark. He was worried and sleepy, I think, and could not see the bottle clearly. He -- it... it is complicated, but, yes, he is now a girl." "What's he -- she -- gonna do?" Yully asked. "He--_She_ is going to run Mama's laundry business till Mama is well again. After that..." She shrugged. "I do not know." "I...I guess she's not going to be turning back again. We know that much." "Stephan!" exclaimed Emma. "Sorry." Ysabel's expression soured. "No... she will not turn back. Right now, she is just -- mira, I did not mean to tell you about her. Can you -- all of you -- promise not to tell anybody else about this? Please?" "'Course, you can," Yully replied. He raised his right hand. "We promise... Don't we..." He stared down the others, who all quickly raised their hands. "...We _all_ promise not to say anything about what happened to Arnie." The rest of the group all repeated Yully's words. "Till Ysabel says we can," he added. "Till Ysabel says we can." No one spoke after that. While they ate their lunch, they were all thinking, especially Stephan. * * * * * "This seat taken?" Cap asked. The players at the table all looked to Bridget. "Take a chair," she answered coldly. "We'll deal you in for the next hand." "Thanks." He sat down to watch the hand in play. Joe Kramer bet a quarter. Jerry Domingez matched that and added twenty-five cents more. Bridget folded. Stu Gallagher was already out. Joe and Jerry fought over the pot for another round before Jerry won it with three 7s. "Five card stud," Stu Gallagher announced, gathering up the cards. "Ante up, everybody. You, too, Cap." He shuffled the deck. Everyone, Cap included, put in a dime and Stu began to deal. A few rounds later, Cap won a hand with just a pair of 8s, successfully bluffing Bridget, who held two pair, 9s over 4s. "Typical," she muttered, pushing the pot to him. "Can I ask you to do something for me, Bridget?" Cap asked. Bridget frowned. "What?" "Call it, heads or tails." He suddenly flipped a quarter into the air. Taken by surprise, Bridget blurted out, "H-Heads." The coin landed, showing a full-figured, seated Liberty. "Heads it is," Cap announced. "You win. I have to buy you dinner tomorrow night." "What? We never had any such bet." "Then why'd you call out 'heads' like you did?" He grinned. "You aren't going to make a welcher out of me, are you?" "But --" "Oh, go ahead and say yes," Joe told her, "so we can get back to the game." The other players nodded in agreement. Bridget sighed. "All right, _Mr._ _Lewis_, but may I say that you are the most exasperating man I have ever known." "Thank you," Cap answered with a nod of his head. He grinned, adding a quick wink. "I try." * * * * * Nestor Stone unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over a chair. "Stephan Yingling was in school today." "What about it?" his older brother, Yully, asked, wriggling into his nightshirt. Their younger brother, Aggie, chimed in. "You ask him about that big secret of yours? You said you would." "I... uh, no," Yully stammered. "I... ah, I didn't get a chance to. I-I'll talk to him tomorrow." "You better," Nestor said firmly, "or we tell Ma and Pa you been using that tree t'sneak outta here at night." Yully frowned. "I said I will, and I will. But it's a _big_ secret, and he may wanna think about it for a day or two." He didn't like the idea of telling the others that they might have to give up the secret of their underground fort. "Thursday," Nestor answered. "You got till Thursday night." And Aggie completed the thought. "Or Friday morning, we tell." "Thursday," Yully agreed, hoping that the others would go along. * * * * * Tuesday, March 12, 1872 "Jessie?" Evan called from his studio as he heard someone on the stairs. Jessie reached the top step and looked over to where he was sitting, eating something. "The same, and ready to pose." "You must excuse me," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "My last session went a bit long, and I wanted to have some lunch before our session." Jessie saw the remnants of a chicken leg and an apple on his plate, as he stood up. Jessie shrugged and walked over to the chair she was sitting in for her portrait. "That's all right. I've had t'rush more'n one meal in my life." "May I at least offer you a glass of this Madeira by way of an apology? I was quite surprised to find such a fine vintage at Ortega's store. It is an excellent year." "A bit early in the day for drinking, ain't it?" Ethan looked closely at Jessie. It was almost too much to believe that this delicious little blonde had ever been the vicious _male_ criminal she was purported to have been. Still, after Trisha, he was convinced. And curious about what bedding this one would be like. "One doesn't _drink_ Madeira. One sips it, allows it to... linger on the tongue, to flow down to the stomach like a gentle caress, and to feel the exquisite warmth it conveys throughout the body." He spoke softly, trying to describe something more than the partaking of a fine liquor. "Ahh... thanks, but no thanks. I'm just here t'get my picture painted." She didn't think he was just talking about wine. "And it shall be painted, Jessie." He smiled oddly at her. "You shall receive my finest... attention." He gestured with his right hand towards a nearby chair. "Now, please sit down and pick up your guitar." Jessie smoothed her dress, the tight blue one that she often performed in. It was cut too low for a chemise and displayed the whiteness of her shoulders and the rounded tops of her breasts. She took her seat and picked up her guitar, as if to play. "No, no," Ethan said, shaking his head. "Your hands, you were holding them differently during the last session." She moved her hands. "Like this?" "No, more like... let me show you." He came around behind her. "You held the hand a bit lower, more... between your legs. That allowed for a better view of your enticing bosom. And your hands..." He reached around to move her hands. As he did, he moved forward. Jessie felt the warmth of his body pressed against hers. She shivered as his breath flowed across her bare skin. Just as Enoch Ryland's breath had done. "That's it!" She stood up abruptly. Ethan was truly surprised. "Jessie, what... whatever is the matter?" "What's the matter? Ethan, you been trying t'get into my drawers since the first time I came over here. Mostly it was little jokes, and I could let 'em pass. But today... today, you're going too far." He decided on a tactical -- a tactful -- retreat for the moment. "I fear that you have misunderstood me, Jessie. You are, indeed, a beautiful woman, but I was merely trying to compliment you with a bit of harmless flirtation." He gave her his most charming smile. The hunt was clearly ended this day, but it might yet be _properly_ concluded. These "potion girls" were a treat worth pursuing. "Maybe you think they're harmless, but I don't," Jessie continued. "I got a man, Paul Grant, the deputy sheriff -- yeah, the _deputy_ _sheriff_ -- and I get all the... compliments I need from him." He'd seen the deputy, a formidable-looking former cowhand. It was a threat worth considering. "Then he is a most fortunate gentleman." She smiled tightly. "He is, and I'm lucky t'have him." She waited a beat. "All I'm here for is so you can do a picture of me for Shamus. You try anything -- _anything_ -- and that's over. I'll tell Shamus he can forget about his picture, and I'll tell him why. That'll probably kill the picture you're doing of Laura and Jane, too." "No, I'll... I'll behave." No sex, no matter how good _or_ how unique, was worth the loss of a commission. And "The Fates" painting, he'd wanted to do it for years. "I promise." "You better. 'Cause I'd tell Paul, too. Then there won't be no more problems. He'll shoot your damned pecker off." Ethan used a yardstick as a prop -- and stood several feet away -- to show Jessie how to hold her hands. He managed to work on the portrait, but only on background. He found it hard to paint living detail when his hands were shaking so much. * * * * * "We got a problem," Yully announced. As usual, the five friends were eating lunch together at a picnic table on the school grounds. "My brothers wanna know where Stephan was hiding. If I don't tell them, they'll tell my folks about my sneaking out last week." Stephan looked alarmed. "And you'd have t'tell them why -- and where. Last thing we need is for grown-ups to find out about the Fort." He paused a beat. "Maybe we don't have to tell 'em the truth about where I was hiding. We could say I was hiding in -- I don't know -- in some abandoned cabin or something. " "That might work." Tomas said. "There are more than enough empty cabins around here." Yully shook his head. "I don't like the idea of lying to them. What if they want to see the cabin?" "Can't we just pick one and say that was it?" Emma asked. Yully Shrugged. "Problem with that is, those cabin's are out in the open. Wouldn't somebody have seen Stephan and asked what he was doing there?" "Maybe your brothers won't think of that." Emma said. "Can't be sure they won't," Yully answered sarcastically. "My brothers ain't as dumb as they look, and they'd be sure t'tell my folks if they thought I'd lied to 'em." Stephan looked like he'd just sucked a lemon. "You're right, I think we have to tell them the truth, just to be safe." "Says the minister's son," Emma replied. "But even if we do, can we trust your brothers not to tell?" "I think we can," Yully replied, "Nestor, at least. Aggie's kind of little yet." Emma thought for a moment. "How about we make it worth their while to keep quiet; how about, we let them join the club?" Yully chuckled. "Oh, sure. Is there anybody else you wanna tell?" "How about your sister?" Emma suggested. "I'd kind of like Penny to know, maybe even have her join up with us, too." "Si," Ysabel said. "It would be nice to have another girl in the club, especially if we are going to let in more boys." Stephan groaned. "Anybody else any of you want?" "Maybe your brother or sister, Stephan," Yully suggested. The other boy shook his head. "Matt's too young. He'd be sure to tell Pa. And Ruth'd be even worse. She can't keep a secret about anything." "If we're gonna bring in more girls," Emma said, "how about Ysabel's sister, Constanza?" The other lass sighed. "No, she... she is too young, I think." "She is _my_ age, Ysabel," Tomas objected. "Do you think _I_ am too young?" Ysabel held up her hands in surrender. "No, of course not. I-I am just not sure that she can keep a secret." She took a breath, then quickly added, "Like Ruth Yingling." "Let's just say nobody younger than Tomas or Constanza," Stephan suggested. Yully considered the idea. "That'd let in Nestor, he's Tomas' age -- and Penny -- but not Aggie. Lemme think about that." "How long till your brothers snitch on you?" Emma asked. Yully sighed. "I gotta tell 'em by Thursday night." "Okay," Emma declared. "We'll _all_ think about 'em, about everybody we said, and we'll vote at lunch on Thursday." "Done!" Stephan answered cheerfully, glad that things seemed resolved, and the others agreed. * * * * * "Must we do this?" Clyde Ritter asked, using a full-length wall mirror to tie his tie. Cecelia Ritter gave her husband an angry look. "Yes, you must. You're a pillar of this community, Clyde, successful merchant, civic leader, and soon-to-be member of the church board." The couple was in a side parlor off from Ethan Thomas' second floor studio. He'd cleared it out for use as a changing room for his subjects. Only two chairs, the mirror, and an armoire, used to store clothes worn while posing, remained. "Once we get Trisha O'Hanlan kicked off it, that is." He slipped on his suit jacket. She nodded. "Yes, and that happy day should come in May, just about the time this Thomas fellow finishes our portrait. We can have it hung as part of the celebration." She stood up and bushed the front of her dress. "How do I look?" "Uh... good, I suppose." He posed near the mirror. "How about me?" She studied him, looking for any flaws in his appearance. "Your tie isn't centered, and that cowlick in your hair is still there." "How about now?" He shifted the knot on the tie. That done, he licked his palm and used it to push down his hair in the back. "Okay?" "It'll have to do." She hustled out the door, with her husband close behind. Ethan was waiting, standing next to an easel a few feet from the window. "Please have a seat, Mrs. Ritter." He pointed to a heavy wooden chair nearby. "Cecilia... please." She walked over, smoothed he dress behind her, and sat in the chair. Ethan smiled. "Cecelia." He paused a beat. "And you, Mr. Ritter -- I know, you said to call you, Clyde -- Clyde, would you stand please behind her?" "Directly behind her or to the side?" Clyde asked. The painter shrugged. "Whichever way you think is best. This is _your_ portrait, after all." As he spoke, he casually ran his finger across the bridge of his nose. "The right then," the other man replied. He took his place behind and just to the right of the chair. "And should I put my hand on her shoulder?" He raised his hand and ran a finger across his own nose before setting it gently on his wife's shoulder. Cecelia smiled and touched his hand with her own. "Is this all right?" "It's quite lovely," Ethan answered, "but a rather awkward pose. It hides your figure and distracts somewhat from your face. Moreover, I believe that it would be uncomfortable for you to hold it there for as long as would be needed for the portrait. Might I suggest that you hold your hands together on your lap?" She lowered her hand. "I suppose that would do." She placed her hands as Ethan had directed. Her husband smiled. "The very picture -- as they say -- of a dutiful wife." His smile was more in response to the recognition that had passed between the two men than in posing with his wife. He hardly wanted Ethan to give any sign that they had met before. As patrons of _La_ _Parisienne_. * * * * * Dolores looked around. It was late afternoon, and the saloon was almost empty. Even Bridget was gone. She was upstairs, changing for the evening _and_ for dinner with Cap. "No one is thirsty just now," she told herself and sat down on a stool. "How's Arnie taking to being a girl?" R.J. asked from behind the bar. She sighed. "Not too well." R.J. nodded. "I've seen it all before. But I also saw Jessie giving Shamus a hug a couple days ago, just as sweet and natural as can be. And she used to be a man a lot rougher and tougher than poor Arnie ever was. She was teaching Arnie how to shoot, a while back. Maybe she can help her learn how to be a girl." "Arnie has moved into Teresa's bedroom. She says that she will not sleep with her sisters and me, and I will not let her sleep in the room with her brother." She sighed. "I do not know what she will do when Teresa is well enough to come home from the doctor's." R.J. considered the problem for a moment. "Why not let her stay where she is?" "Sleep with her mother?" "Teresa's gonna need help for a while, what with a busted arm and leg. You're over here -- part time, at least. Arnie's the natural one to do it." "What do you mean 'the natural one'?" "A mother gets laid up, who's the one that helps out? The oldest daughter, that's who." "But Arnie is not... oh, _yes_, she is the oldest daughter now, isn't she?" "She surely is -- now. And maybe, just maybe, taking care of Teresa'll get her used to the idea that she _is_ a girl. Like I said, I've seen it all before, and getting used to the idea is the best thing for her, believe me." "But would she do it?" "I'll bet she would, especially if you remind her that she's the reason Teresa needs her help in the first place." "Si, she admits that the accident was her fault. I will tell her that taking care of Teresa would be the best way for her to apologize." "She'll want to do that, I think, and helping Teresa may teach her something about what's expected of a girl." "A wonderful idea." She impulsively leaned across the bar and kissed R.J. on the cheek. "Thank you." His face reddened. "You're -- you're more than welcome." He looked around quickly. "And you're welcome to thank me like that anytime you like. Just don't let Bridget see you do it." * * * * * Cap walked over to Bridget's table. "You ready?" he asked her. "Don't I look ready?" she answered sourly. It was early. Her daytime game had broken up about a half-hour before, and none of her evening regulars had come in yet. Cap watched her slowly rise to her feet. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon, the roll of hair tied with two lacy, green ribbons. He smiled to see that she was wearing the earrings he had given her. Her dress was the same green as her hair ribbons, trimmed with lace at the bodice and cuffs. It was cut tight to accent her generous bosom and her narrow waist. "You look beautiful," he told her, "as always." He offered her his hand. She stood up but didn't take it. They walked through Shamus' office into the yard. Laura was waiting by the table. "Good evening, I'm your waitress tonight." She put the menus down on their plates. "I'll just give you a few minutes to decide," she told them and quickly left. Cap helped Bridget into her chair, then took his own across from her. "Okay, Cap," Bridget said, "you got me here. Now, what'd you want to talk about?" "Look, Bridget, you have every right in the world to be mad at my uncle -- truth to tell, I'm mad at him, too, for the way he's acted towards you. I've told him and told him how wrong he is, but he's as stubborn as --" "As I am? Don't you think I've got a right to be stubborn after the way he's acted?" "Yes, and I was going to say that he's as stubborn as _ever_." He sighed. "Can you _please_ give me a chance to say what I want?" "All right, what's so important that you had to trick me into having dinner with you tonight?" "This." He pulled a small booklet from his inside jacket pocket and tossed it onto her plate. She looked at it closely. "Your bankbook? I-I don't understand." "Do you still want to play in my uncle's game on Saturday?" "You know I do. Only, I don't have the -- wait a minute, Cap. We talked about this a long time ago. If I wouldn't take a loan from you to open my own game, I'm sure as hell not taking a _bigger_ loan to get into that game your uncle's running." Laura gave a warning "cough" as she walked towards them. "You two ready to order?" "Hide it," Cap whispered, gesturing towards the bankbook. Bridget nodded and slipped it onto her lap and out of sight. Cap ordered for them both, baked chicken in a spicy sauce and mixed vegetables. He also asked for the bottle of wine that he'd had Shamus put aside. Laura wrote it down, took their menus, and left for the kitchen. As soon as Laura was out of sight, Bridget handed the bankbook back to Cap. "So, thank you very much, sir, but no, thank you." "You took money from my uncle -- a grubstake -- to start your game. That's exactly what I'm offering you now, a grubstake." "What do you mean?" "A partnership; _I_ supply the cash to get you into the game, and _you_ supply the skill to win us a lot more cash -- especially my uncle's, I hope." He grinned when he mentioned his uncle. "And we'll split the winnings 50-50." "Right, 50-50, plus I have to pay back my stake to you." "No, I'll take that back as a part of my split." "Why? Why are you offering me a deal like this? How do I know that you and your uncle aren't up to something?" "My uncle be hanged," he countered, letting the anger seep into his voice for just a moment before he continued. "Bridget, I, Cap -- Matthew... Matthew Harriman Lewis -- I... trust you..." He reached over and took her hand in his. "...very _very_ much. I know how much this game means to you, and I want you to play. Please believe that." He grinned again, though he didn't let go of her hand. "_And_ I trust your skill enough to _know_ that, if you _could_ get into the game, you'd be a big winner." Bridget sighed. It seemed as if a great load had just fallen from her shoulders, even if she didn't know exactly why. "Let me think about your offer for a day or so. _Please_. This is such a generous offer, and I --" "Take a day. Take all the time you want, up till the game starts on Saturday, anyway." She smiled, almost in spite of herself. 'Either he's telling the truth,' she told herself, 'or he's gotten a lot better at bluffing.' Maybe she should accept the offer, going along but watching for any traps Abner Slocum might set in her path. In the meantime, Cap needed some sort of answer. "Thank you, Cap," she answered, "whichever way I decide. You're a good man -- and a good friend -- and I'm sorry to have been so out of sorts with you for so long." "You were angry, and rightly so." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, smiling when she didn't pull it away. "I'm just glad that you aren't angry any more, at least, not at me." He had a nice smile, and she hoped, wistfully, that what he was telling her _was_ true. * * * * * Wednesday, March 13, 1872 Ethan studied the play of light on the curves of Jane's body. 'Lovely,' he thought, applying a bit of darker red to shade one portion of her arm. "You told me about being transformed into a woman, Jane, but you never stated how you felt about _being_ a woman." Jane grimaced and blinked. "I-I didn't like it, not at first. After I served my time for kidnapping Laura, I went back up to my claim with Davy -- Davy Kitchner as my new partner. Him and me was dead sure that we was gonna find that color in the rock." "Davy Kitchner? Then, he was your first... friend?" "First? No, him 'n Toby 'n me was friends up in Colo..." her voice trailed off as she realized what Ethan meant. "Oh, oh, no. It-it wasn't like that. In fact, I made him my partner 'cause he _didn't_ make me feel all girly." "But something occurred up there -- at your claim, I mean." "Oh, yeah, Ozzie Pratt come up t'try 'n steal my claim. He was gonna shoot me 'n Davy unless I signed half over t'him. He wanted me as part of the deal, too. Davy grabbed his gun and told me t'run." Her expression soured. "Ozzie shot him in the leg and come after me." "Astounding. Might I assume that you somehow eluded this Mr. Pratt?" "Sorta. Milt Quinlan was worried about for me. He come up with some other folks, and they was waiting outside. When I run out, they pulled me away, and, when Ozzie come out, Milt..." She giggled. "...he decked Ozzie with one punch." Ethan tried to hide his surprise. "One punch?" "Uh huh. Then he tells me he don't want me t'stay up on that mountain, and, when I asked him why, he..." She gave him a dreamy smile. "...kissed me. He's a _good_ kisser." She sighed. "And _that's_ when I decided that I liked being a gal... if I could be Milt's gal." Ethan had noticed Quinlan talking with Jane at the Saloon, but he'd never given much thought to the type of relationship that they might have. The man obviously had feelings for Jane, and, more important, he was both capable and willing to commit violence in her behalf. "That's quite a story." Ethan wasn't afraid of a fight, but he wasn't about to go looking for one. 'There are other fish in the sea,' he told himself, 'and more than a few are easily landed. Scratch the lovely Jane from the list.' After Jane had left, he considered his other possibilities for sexual liaison. "Those 'potion girls' are a special treat," he thought aloud, "a local delicacy that cries out to be savored." He chuckled wryly to himself. "Too bad so many of them are already on someone else's plate. Jessie has that deputy she threatened me with, and Jane dotes on her lawyer." "Who were the others?" he reflected. "Oh, yes, Bridget -- like a luscious, strawberry meringue. Unhappily, that barman -- R.J. -- is always hovering about, trying for a taste. I don't believe he's partaken of the wench, as yet, but they both know that he's well ahead of me in line." The mention of food made him contemplate ... "Maggie. What was it Omar Khyam said about how similar are the delights of the feast table and the bed? No matter, the sweet tamale is one of those 'all business' types. And so is that sturdy young man she is engaged to -- engaged _with_, quite likely, and she would be unwilling to consider a brief assignation with another." "Now Trisha, she was hardly 'all business' and, despite her denials, a woman happily bedded once is likely to be willing to be bedded again." He chuckled again. "Except I don't even know her last name, let alone where I might find her. I can hardly go looking for her, but if I do encounter her, I shall most certainly endeavor to take advantage of the opportunity for another coupling." He sighed. "Which brings me back to Wilma -- wanton, willing Wilma. Ah, but she wants sex on _her_ terms, and that will hardly do. A little more curing time, like a sweet Easter ham, is needed, and she will be a feast well worth waiting for." "If only Laura weren't with child... _and_ husband," he considered as a final notion, "a threesome with identical twins like her and Jane might almost be worth all the risks." * * * * * "What's the damage?" Mike Schmidt asked. Trisha looked at the order slip she'd filled out. "Two fifty-pound bags of timothy and a bottle of the sorghum treatment." She hit the register for each item, as she spoke. "That'll be..." She hit the total key. "$11.35." The man handed her a $20 double eagle. When she gave him his change, she added, "Thanks for your business, and you have a good day." "You, too." He hefted one of the sacks over his shoulder and headed for the door. Milt Quinlan had been standing near the counter. "May I speak to you for a moment, Trisha?" "Sure, Milt. What can I do for you?" "I came in to remind you about Friday." "Friday? What's...?" Her eyes widened, and her expression changed from a storekeeper's friendliness to one of total dismay. "Oh... yeah, the -- the... divorce." She spoke softly, as if not wanting to hear herself say the word. "That's when the time's up, isn't it?" "I'm afraid that it is." He gently put his hand on her arm. "Can you and Kaitlin be at the Judge's chambers -- his office, that is -- at 4 PM?" "Could... could we make it... earlier? The store can get awful... awful..." She felt her eyes fill with tears. She shook her head, fighting down what she was feeling. The end of her marriage had always been _sometime_ off in the future. Now it was coming in just a few days. She tried to continue. "...awful b-busy late on Fridays, the-the weekend, you kn-know." She sighed. "Be-besides, I'd... I'd j-just as soon get it... get it d-done and..." She took a deep breath. "...done and over with." "I understand. Is 11 AM better?" When she nodded, he continued. "Fine. I'll meet you there." He paused a beat. "And Trisha..." "Yes?" "I'm very sorry." He handed her his handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes. "That makes three of us." * * * * * "Don't you go taking the last of that chicken." Jessie set her fork down next to the meat tray on the "Free Lunch" table and turned around. "Wilma, what're you doing here?" "I could say that I come in here t'see you, little sister, but, truth to tell, I just finished a session posing for Ethan, and I thought I'd stop by and have some of Maggie's cooking for lunch." She stabbed a couple of slices of the chicken with a fork and moved them onto her own plate. "I gotta admit, I worked up an appetite posing." "Mmm," Jessie said wryly, "I'll just bet you did." She giggled. "I'll bet you n'him both did." Wilma cocked an eyebrow. "What're you saying, Jess?" "He was trying real hard t'get into my pants -- at least till I threatened t'sic Paul on him. I just figured he done the same t'you, and we both know that you ain't one t'say, 'no' to doing such things." Wilma forced herself not to react. 'Jessie, too, that dirty, no- good...' She managed a happy smile. "Well, you figured right, Jess." She decided to bluff. "You want details?" "N-no, thanks." Jessie blushed. "How you been... otherwise?" "Happy." She _was_ happy -- if only because Jessie had changed the subject. * * * * * Red Tully walked into the Saloon and over to the table where Bridget and R.J. were finishing lunch. "Hey, Red," R.J. said. "What brings you in here this time of day?" Bridget took a quick sip of lemonade to clear her mouth. "If you're looking for a poker game, I'll be ready to play in about five minutes." "Not exactly," the wrangler replied. "I come into town to pick up some gear Mr. Slocum ordered from Styron's hardware. When he told me to come get it, he said I should check with you about that poker game on Saturday. You gonna be his dealer, like he asked?" Bridget took another, longer sip, stalling for time. "I, ah... I haven't decided yet. Tell him... tell him, I'm sorry, and I'll give him my answer, umm... tomorrow. I-I promise." "I'll tell him." Red said with a shrug, "but he ain't gonna be too happy about having t'wait." He glanced over to the bar. Shamus was on duty. He looked back at Red and raised an empty beer stein, as if asking a question. "Might as well take advantage," Red nodded back. "See you," he told the pair. He turned and started walking. Shamus was putting the now- full stein down on the bar by the time Red reached it. R.J. watched Red for a moment, then turned back to Bridget. "Why didn't you just tell him you were going to be the dealer instead of making him wait one more day?" "After all the grief Abner Slocum's given me, he can wait one more day," Bridget answered. "Besides, I haven't decided for sure that I will be his dealer." "Of course, you will. Why're you even thinking about it?" "Because I..." She had decided not to tell him about Cap's offer. "...I may want to do something else." R.J. shook his head. "Just like a woman. What else could you want to do? If you aren't the dealer, you aren't going to take the night off and go to bed early. You'll still be down here watching the game." "I'd like to be down here _playing_ in the game." "Too bad, but you can't. It's kind of a shame." "Well, thank you, at least, for that." "You're welcome. I'm really sorry you can't. It might've helped." "Helped? Helped what?" "Helped get the idea of being a professional poker player out of your system. You play in a game like that -- even if you don't win - and you've got nothing left to prove." He grinned. "You can settle down with a certain assistant barman of my acquaintance." "Or not," she said firmly, putting on her best poker face. "On the meantime, I think I'll set up my game now." She rose and walked slowly over to the southeast-corner table she used for poker. R.J. watched her leave. 'Still upset about not being able to play,' he thought. 'I don't blame her, but I do like the little extra... _something_ it puts into her walk when she's angry.' * * * * * Liam glanced over to the counter. Trisha sat behind it, gazing down at the floor, looking miserable, as she had since she'd talked to Milt Quinlan. 'Gotta do something about her,' he thought. He considered the situation for a moment, then spoke. "Trisha, we aren't too busy right now. Why don't you head over to Wells Fargo to check on that shipment of seed catalogs, we've been expecting?" "Wha... catalogs?" Slowly, she realized what he was asking. "Oh, ahhh... sure. I'll... I'll go check." She stood up and walked out the door and onto the wooden sidewalk. She'd gone perhaps fifty yards, head down, as if counting boards, when she heard a voice in front of her. "Why, a very good afternoon to you, Miss O'Hanlan." "Who?" She looked up to see the broad smile of Ethan Thomas. A small shiver ran through her, her body remembering what they had done the last time they were together. "G-Good afternoon, Eth... Mr. Thomas." "It certainly is now. I was just making my way to purchase some turpentine at Styron's hardware. Would you care to accompany me? After that errand, we could adjourn back to my studio to resume that delightful conversation we were having the other day." He smiled and offered her his arm. It wasn't _conversation_ he was offering. She felt a tremble of anticipation. Her nipples grew tight against the soft muslin of her camisole. 'Sex would be _so_ nice,' she thought. 'To feel good... happy for even just a little while; to not have to think about Kaitlin and the divorce, it's just what -- _he's_ just what I --' Then she remembered. "No! No, thank you, Mr. Thomas. I'm on an errand for my own business --" "Oh, and what business is that? Perhaps I could call on you there at the end of the day. We could have a bit of dinner, perhaps, then adjourn to my studio for a lengthier... _discussion_." The warmth, the tingling in her breasts was matched by a warmth -- and an emptiness -- between her legs. "Say, 'yes', her body urged. 'Kaitlin will never know.' She answered herself at once, even if she did hate the answer she had to give. 'Maybe Kaitlin won't, but _I_ will.' "I'm afraid not, Ethan. I promised... I promised many things." Including the promise she had made to Kaitlin that she would behave. For Emma's sake as much as her own. And there was the small matter of keeping her chair on the church board. He smiled. "Another time, perhaps." "Perhaps, but I think not." She hurried off, head-down again. As she walked, she tried not to think of his smile. Or his manly chest, covered with short brown curls, and how those curls had felt against her bare skin. Or the way his throbbing manhood had -- 'No, Trisha,' she scolded herself, 'don't you _dare_ think about that.' She walked so fast that she also missed seeing Cecelia Ritter, who had watched the exchange from inside the door of Ortega's grocery. "That seemed polite enough," Cecelia whispered softly, "but Mr. Thomas is such a handsome man. I wonder where he knows her from?" * * * * * Thursday, March 14, 1872 "Okay," Yully said, trying to sound official. "Now that we ate, it's time t'consider the new recruits for Fort Secret." Emma raised a confused eyebrow. "Recruits?" "Si," Ysabel answered. "It's Thursday, we're gonna decide who we tell about the Fort." The other girl nodded. "Oh, yeah. I'm sorry. I-I guess I got other things on my mind?" "Something wrong?" Yully asked. "Nothing you can help with." Emma sighed. "Nothing _I_ can help with. Let's... let's just decide about the Fort." Ysabel gently put her hand on Emma's arm. "Are you sure?" "It's... it's my folks -- I-I can't explain it more than that." "If you ever do want to talk about it," Ysabel told her," I am here." "We all are," Tomas added. Emma tried to smile. "Thanks. That does help." She took a breath. "But we'd better get going on those names before lunch break is over. Who's first?" "Let's do all of Yully's," Stephan said. "They're most of the names, anyway." Yully frowned. "If it bothers you, Stephan, that Nestor, Aggie, and Penny are all possibilities, we could put up Ruth and Matthew." "I wish," Stephan answered. "I wish. But I still think Matthew's too young, and I _know_ that Pa would worm the secret outta Ruth in no time flat." Tomas stiffened. "Just so you do not think that I am also 'too young'." "I... _We_ trust you, Tomas," Yully said, "and I think we can trust Nestor --" "And my sister, Constanza," Ysabel added. "Her, too," Yully continued. "But I go along with Stephan that we shouldn't let in anybody younger than you." "What about your brother, Aggie?" Emma asked. "You said he'd tell your folks if you didn't let him in." Yully shook his head. "I think I can handle Aggie, especially with Nestor helping." "And Penny," Ysabel declared. "She can help, too." Yully laughed. "And Penny." He considered what they'd been saying. "Sounds t'me like it's settled. We got three new members, Nestor, Penny, and Constanza. Everybody agree?" The others nodded. "Let's do it," Emma said. "I don't think we can get many more into the Fort at one time, anyway." "I think I'll tell Aggie that." Yully said. "It's as good a reason as any for having an age limit." "You tell them what you want," Ysabel replied. "I will tell that to Constanza, as well." Miss Osbourne chose that moment to step out onto the schoolhouse steps and ring the bell to signal the start of afternoon classes. "Just in time," Stephan said, packing away his lunch pail, "and Saturday morning, we'll bring the three of 'em to the Fort." * * * * * A lone horseman rode up to the hitching post in front of Abner Slocum's ranch house. Before he could dismount, two hounds raced towards him from the porch, barking as they ran. They stopped a few feet from the man's horse, but continued to bark. "Shhh," the man whispered to his horse, leaning down to pat its shoulder. "Blue... Smokey, stop that!" Cap Lewis yelled, hurrying down the steps. "This man's a friend." He walked over and shook the rider's hand. "Welcome to the Triple A Ranch, Colonel Hooker." The hounds backed off, and the man slowly dismounted. "Thanks, uhh, Cap, isn't it?" The younger man nodded, and the older man looked about. "Is Abner around anyplace?" "Right here, Colonel." Slocum walked out to greet his guest. "Glad you could make it." Hooker laughed. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Poker games with stakes like that don't come down the pike every day." He was a tall, muscular man with dark brown hair, graying around his ears; a square jaw; and high forehead. "No, they surely don't," Slocum replied. He turned to Cap. "Matthew, would you please put the Colonel's horse in a stall? Tell whoever's in the barn to brush it down and make sure it's got fresh fodder and plenty of water." Cap looked around, then pointed to man standing near the barn. "Couldn't Carl do it, Uncle? I was about to head into town for you." "That errand?" When Cap nodded, Slocum called out to his employee. "Carl, could you come over here?" The man hurried over. "What's up, Mr. Slocom?" "Carl, this is Colonel Henry C. Hooker, who you may have heard of. Colonel, this is Carl Osbourne, one of my best hands." The rancher waited while the two men shook hands before he continued. "Carl, would you please take the Colonel's horse over to the barn and see that he's taken care of, _well_ taken care of?" The cowboy took the reins from the Colonel's hand. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure that he gets brushed down; I'll see he gets some oats and fresh water, too." "That'll be fine. Thank you, Carl." Hooker unclipped his saddlebags and threw them over his shoulder. The ranch hand studied his boss' face. "When I'm done, I'd like t'come back and talk to Mr. Hooker... if I can." Glancing toward the visitor, he said, "I _have_ heard a lot about you, Colonel, and I'd like to hear more, if I get the chance." He touched his hat and started for the barn, the horse walking slowly after him. "Don't you have enough chores to keep you busy, Carl?" The cowhand grinned back over his shoulder. "Aw, now, Mr. Slocum, sir, you wouldn't want t'deny 'one of your best hands' the chance to talk to a man like Colonel Hooker, would you?" "No, I suppose I wouldn't," Slocum answered, chuckling. "I would like those chores done, though." Carl nodded. "And they will be. How 'bout I come over after dinner t'talk." "That's fine with me, if Abner here doesn't mind," Hooker answered. Slocum shrugged. "It's nice to be asked about something. You can come over then if you want. Right now, the first of those chores you're trying to avoid is caring to the colonel's horse. Why don't you get started with that?" "Right away." Carl took the reins and led the mount towards the barn. "Just like the 'best hand' you said I am." Cap's own horse was at the hitching post. He unhitched it and mounted quickly. "Now that you've settled things with Carl, I'm heading out, too. I'll see you both in a bit." "See you later, then," Slocum replied. Cap rode off, and his uncle turned to his guest. "Shall we head into the house?" "Beats standing out here in the sun," the Colonel answered. "Do I have time to clean up some before dinner?" "You do -- more than enough time for a nice long soak, if you want," Slocum answered. "I'll take you upstairs right now." The two men walked towards the house. The dogs, now quiet, trailed after them. Slocum picked up the thread of the conversation. "I knew you couldn't pass up my invitation, not after I sent the details of the game." "I always was a gambler, Abner." He chuckled. "Did I ever tell you the story of how I got the money to buy my Sierra Bonita Ranch?" "Can't say that you have. You win it in some poker game, maybe?" "Nothing that easy. I wrangled 500 turkeys -- a-yep, I said _turkeys_ -- across the Sierras from California to Carson City, me and a drover named Philo Webster." "Turkeys," Abner let out a horselaugh. "Now that's a story _I_ want to hear." "You will, but it'll cost you. A bath first, to get rid of this trail dust, then you can ply me with some of that Madeira you mentioned in your letter." * * * * * "Okay," Ysabel asked, "What is the next problem?" Emma read from her 8th grade math book, "Raymond is packing boxes for shipping. He can pack a large box in 10 minutes and a small box in 4 minutes. He needs to pack 10 large boxes and 20 small boxes. If 2.5 hours remain before closing time, will Raymond have time to finish the work before closing time if he works without stopping?" "So," Ysabel questioned her, "what do we need to know?" "We gotta figure out how long it'll take him to pack those boxes, right?" "Si, start with the large boxes." "Okay, for the 10 large boxes it's 10 times 10 minutes, 100 minutes." "And for the small boxes?" "Those small boxes'll take 20 times 4 minutes. That's 80 minutes. And 100 plus 80 is 180 minutes, 3 hours." Emma thought for a moment. "He can't do it in time. _Now_ I understand." Ysabel looked at the small clock ticking over on a corner of her dresser. "I think we have time to do one more problem before supper." Ysabel was invited to join Emma, Trisha, and Kaitlin for dinner, a reward for helping her friend catch up in mathematics. "But," she said slowly, "we can study after the meal. I would rather take the time now to see your new corset." "My corset? I didn't think you noticed I was wearing a corset." "I did." She giggled. "More important, I think Yully noticed, too." "Now why should I care -- do you really think he did?" "I think all the boys did, the older ones, at least. They've been gawking at you all week." Now Emma giggled. "Well, I do kinda have better posture in it." She began to unbutton her blouse. "It's not your _posture_ the boys are looking at." Both girls giggled now. "Just so Yully's one of them that're looking." Emma had finished with her buttons. She unbuttoned her blouse, pulled it out from her skirt, and set it carefully on her bed. Her corset was canary yellow, almost the same color as the ribbons she wore on the ends of her two hair braids. Ysabel considered for a moment, while Emma posed, trying to look grown up. "Very pretty. It looks good on you." "Thanks. It was you that got me wearing yellow so much. I got another one just like it in blue. Ma don't want me t'be wearing the same corset to school every day." "My Mama is the same way." Ysabel studied her friend's expression. "Do you mind wearing such garments?" "I-I wasn't too happy about it, but Ma said I needed one... for my..." She looked down at her breasts. "Then she reminded me about what the boys'd think and, well, it seemed like a good idea." "Si, I do not mind wearing mine so much, either; not when I see Stephan looking at me." She giggled, and Emma joined in. They were still giggling and talking about the boys when Kaitlin called them down for supper. * * * * * "You're going to have to teach me that Maverick solitaire game one of these days," Cap told Bridget. Bridget looked up from the cards spread across her table. "I can teach it to you now, if you like." She glanced around the room -- just to be sure. "There doesn't seem to be anybody here looking to play poker." "Later, maybe," he said. "Right now, I'm looking for an answer." "An answer? What's the question?" "Two questions, actually, but only one answer between them. Whose offer are you taking for the game on Saturday, mine or Uncle Abner's?" She put on her best poker face. "Whose... mmm... I think... maybe..." She had to smile, seeing the confused look on his face. "Yours." She offered him her hand. "Shall we shake on it?" "If you like." He shook her hand, then grinned, "but I'd rather seal our agreement with a kiss." He was still holding her hand. She smiled back. "Let's keep things on a business basis for right now." "I mean business." He leered at her for a moment, then raised her hand to his lips. Bridget felt a warm, happy tingle run through her as he kissed it. "I'm sure you do." "I'll prove that I do if you'll have dinner with me tomorrow night." Before she could answer, he added, "By the way, how much money do you need?" His abrupt change of subject startled her. "How... how much?" "Yes, can you afford to put in anything towards that $1,000, or would you like me to loan you..." He hurried to correct himself. "...to _grubstake_ you for the full amount?" "I-I can put in $250 -- more if I really need to." He shook his head. "No, whatever you're comfortable with." He took a quick look at his pocket watch. "Now that I have your answer, I have to get back to the ranch." "You'd best hurry then." She looked over to Shamus' wall clock. It was 3:27. "I can't go yet; not till you say if you'll have supper with me tomorrow." He winked. She couldn't help smiling. "Yes... now get going already!" She watched him leave and kept her smile until he was through the swinging doors of the Saloon. * * * * * Nestor Stone shifted his chair around, so he was facing his brother, Yully. "It's Thursday night." "It's still more like Thursday afternoon," Yully answered, putting down his pencil. "But I know what I promised." Agamemnon Stone, their younger brother "Aggie," turned his own chair around. "So... you gonna tell us where you went?" "I am," Yully said, "but I wanna tell Penny, too. Aggie, would you go get her?" "Why should I? She don't know nothing 'bout what happened." Yully leaned back in his chair. "She's _gonna_ know." "Go get her, Aggie," Nestor told the other boy. "And make sure Ma 'n' Pa don't