lip—Prophet realized that no one had more reason to look at life through shit-colored glasses than his beautiful, young partner, who had endured more than her share of misery in her twenty short years.
A rose of tenderness blossomed just behind his forehead and between his eyes. He sidled Mean and Ugly up as close as he dared to the girl’s pinto, wrapped a big arm around her shoulders, drew her to him, tipped her head back, and closed his mouth over hers, kissing her tenderly.
“Lou, dangit!” she cried when the kiss had continued for nearly a minute, pulling away from him, gasping and clamping a hand over the crown of her tan felt hat before Prophet, in his overzealous affection, knocked it off her head. “Did you save me from the Rurales only to finish me off by sucking all the air out of my lungs, you ape?”
Prophet donned his hat. “I’m just damn glad to have you back, girl. And I’m pleased as the queen’s own punch you agreed to make a fresh start with this old saddle tramp.”
“You’re not a saddle tramp. You’re a bounty hunter.” She reached over to brush a dried seed from the three-day growth of sandy beard on his broad, hard-lined face—a face that some would say was far too big, weathered, and scarred to be called handsome. “As am I,” she added.
“Not anymore. You, Miss Bonnyventure, are about to join the ranks of the good, respectable citizens of Juniper, a town every bit as well-heeled as its name.”
“Juniper, huh?”
Louisa stepped down from her pinto, tossed Prophet her reins, and strode into the rocks and brush beside the trail, her brown wool riding skirt buffeting about her long, well-turned legs and the tops of her undershot leather boots adorned with silver spurs. She scrounged around behind the town sign and the boulder flanking it and held up a gray-weathered plank announcing HELLDORADO in badly faded letters that might have been green at one time.
Louisa smiled cockily. “It appears to me that the good town of Juniper was once known by another name entirely. One bespeaking nothing so much as a hotbed of frivolous behavior and corruption of the lowest kind. Painted women and murderous rogues. Just the kind of town you once favored, Lou. You and your friend the Devil, or Ole Scratch, as you call him.”
She grabbed the reins back from him and swung up into her saddle.
“You’re gonna like it here, damnit,” Prophet stubbornly assured the girl as they set off down the bench, each taking a track of the two-track wagon trail. “Helldorado was what the place was called—right appropriately—back before it was cleaned up by an old buddy of mine, the mossy-horned town tamer, Hiram Severin. Or ‘Hell-Bringin’ Hiram,’ as he’s been called in the illustrated newspapers.”
Prophet chuckled. “I picked Juniper for you an’ me special, ’cause Hell-Bringin’ Hiram assured me it’s as tame as any in the Rockies—tamer than most—and it ain’t likely we’ll be lured back to our crazy, sharp-horned ways here.”
“We’ve tried this before, Lou.”
“Tried what before?”
“Living lives with pianos in them, and picket fences, and a red stable behind a white frame house.”
“No,” Prophet said. “You tried it. Back in Seven Devils. And that was one bad piece of luck, Louisa. As bad a piece as I’ve seen—or had seen till I pulled you out of that Rurale perdition. But I haven’t tried it. You see—that’s the difference. Maybe if we both walk the straight and narrow road, we won’t so easily veer off into the tall and uncut.”
He glanced at the girl riding off his right stirrup. She held her head forward, saying nothing. She hadn’t said anything about what had happened to her back in Montoya’s private quarters, and Prophet hadn’t asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but if she ever needed to tell him, she would.
One thing he did know—it had been hell. Otherwise, Louisa wouldn’t have let him talk her into giving settling down
A rose of tenderness blossomed just behind his forehead and between his eyes. He sidled Mean and Ugly up as close as he dared to the girl’s pinto, wrapped a big arm around her shoulders, drew her to him, tipped her head back, and closed his mouth over hers, kissing her tenderly.
“Lou, dangit!” she cried when the kiss had continued for nearly a minute, pulling away from him, gasping and clamping a hand over the crown of her tan felt hat before Prophet, in his overzealous affection, knocked it off her head. “Did you save me from the Rurales only to finish me off by sucking all the air out of my lungs, you ape?”
Prophet donned his hat. “I’m just damn glad to have you back, girl. And I’m pleased as the queen’s own punch you agreed to make a fresh start with this old saddle tramp.”
“You’re not a saddle tramp. You’re a bounty hunter.” She reached over to brush a dried seed from the three-day growth of sandy beard on his broad, hard-lined face—a face that some would say was far too big, weathered, and scarred to be called handsome. “As am I,” she added.
“Not anymore. You, Miss Bonnyventure, are about to join the ranks of the good, respectable citizens of Juniper, a town every bit as well-heeled as its name.”
“Juniper, huh?”
Louisa stepped down from her pinto, tossed Prophet her reins, and strode into the rocks and brush beside the trail, her brown wool riding skirt buffeting about her long, well-turned legs and the tops of her undershot leather boots adorned with silver spurs. She scrounged around behind the town sign and the boulder flanking it and held up a gray-weathered plank announcing HELLDORADO in badly faded letters that might have been green at one time.
Louisa smiled cockily. “It appears to me that the good town of Juniper was once known by another name entirely. One bespeaking nothing so much as a hotbed of frivolous behavior and corruption of the lowest kind. Painted women and murderous rogues. Just the kind of town you once favored, Lou. You and your friend the Devil, or Ole Scratch, as you call him.”
She grabbed the reins back from him and swung up into her saddle.
“You’re gonna like it here, damnit,” Prophet stubbornly assured the girl as they set off down the bench, each taking a track of the two-track wagon trail. “Helldorado was what the place was called—right appropriately—back before it was cleaned up by an old buddy of mine, the mossy-horned town tamer, Hiram Severin. Or ‘Hell-Bringin’ Hiram,’ as he’s been called in the illustrated newspapers.”
Prophet chuckled. “I picked Juniper for you an’ me special, ’cause Hell-Bringin’ Hiram assured me it’s as tame as any in the Rockies—tamer than most—and it ain’t likely we’ll be lured back to our crazy, sharp-horned ways here.”
“We’ve tried this before, Lou.”
“Tried what before?”
“Living lives with pianos in them, and picket fences, and a red stable behind a white frame house.”
“No,” Prophet said. “You tried it. Back in Seven Devils. And that was one bad piece of luck, Louisa. As bad a piece as I’ve seen—or had seen till I pulled you out of that Rurale perdition. But I haven’t tried it. You see—that’s the difference. Maybe if we both walk the straight and narrow road, we won’t so easily veer off into the tall and uncut.”
He glanced at the girl riding off his right stirrup. She held her head forward, saying nothing. She hadn’t said anything about what had happened to her back in Montoya’s private quarters, and Prophet hadn’t asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but if she ever needed to tell him, she would.
One thing he did know—it had been hell. Otherwise, Louisa wouldn’t have let him talk her into giving settling down
Similar Books
