Ralph Compton: Bullet for a Bad Man

‘‘You are all alone?’’

‘‘Not all the time. But say. I can’t stand here doing nothing but talk or I will get in trouble with Condit.’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘Condit doesn’t like it when his doves don’t earn their keep.’’ Lucy grinned and clutched his arm. ‘‘Why don’t you buy us both drinks so I can spend more time with you?’’

His ears strangely warm, Boone said, ‘‘I would like that. But I am not much of a drinker.’’

‘‘You don’t say? Yet here you are in a saloon. When you are on a horse do you say you don’t ride?’’

‘‘Of course I can ride. And good too. I can also rope and throw a steer when I have to.’’

‘‘My, oh my,’’ Lucy said while leading him toward the bar. ‘‘A man of your abilities is apt to turn my pretty head.’’

Boone’s chest grew tight.

‘‘Are you about to be sick?’’

‘‘No. Why?’’

‘‘You were green there for a second.’’ Lucy laughed merrily. ‘‘I like you, Boone Scott. You are not like most men I meet. A good like, not a bad like.’’

Boone spoke before he could stop himself. ‘‘I am glad it is good. And I like you too.’’

Smiling sweetly, Lucy brought him to the end of the bar. She bawled for a bottle, and a bartender promptly brought one over, along with two glasses.

‘‘So, what do you say, Mr. Scott?’’

‘‘Call me Boone. And what do I say to what?’’

‘‘The glass or the bottle. I can stay with you longer if it is the bottle.’’

Boone nodded at the bartender. ‘‘Leave it.’’

‘‘I have not been this flattered since I can remember.’’ Lucy winked and rubbed her fingers across the back of his hand. ‘‘How would you like a nice quiet place where we can talk in peace?’’

‘‘I would like that very much.’’ Boone gazed around the crammed saloon. ‘‘But where? Outside?’’

‘‘Do it in the street?’’ Lucy said, and was convulsed with merriment. ‘‘Goodness. You are more bold than I imagined. But no, thank you, I have my limits and a public street is one of them.’’ She tugged on his wrist. ‘‘Come on. There are rooms at the back.’’

Boone let himself be led past the room his brother was in and on down a narrow hall flanked by door after door. She opened one without knocking and playfully pushed him in ahead of her. A small oak table and a bed were the only furniture. On the table was a lamp, already lit.

‘‘They have beds in a saloon?’’

Lucy shut the door and faced him, tilting her head as if she were trying to figure something out. ‘‘The floors are too hard. Not that this bed has much to recommend it. I would not use it but I can do without the chafing.’’

Boone was aghast. ‘‘This is where you live?’’

‘‘No, silly. I already told you. This is where I work.’’ Lucy pulled him with her and they bumped against the bed. ‘‘Have a seat. I will pour.’’

‘‘I would rather stand.’’

‘‘Don’t be silly. We can be comfortable, at least.’’ Lucy gave him a shove.

Boone tried to catch himself, but there was nothing to hold on to. He fell onto the bed and promptly sat up. ‘‘You are a bit bossy.’’

‘‘Some men like bossy.’’ Lucy opened the bottle and filled first one glass and then the other. ‘‘Here you go.’’ She held a glass out to him. ‘‘Drink up. You will need it. If you are what I think you are, I am about to give you the treat of your life.’’

‘‘Excuse me?’’

‘‘Must I spell it out for you? The festivities are about to commence.’’

Shades of Virgin

‘‘This is more festive than I have been in a coon’s age,’’ Boone Scott remarked.

‘‘You might as well get your money’s worth.’’

Boone gave a start. ‘‘That reminds me. We plumb forgot to pay the bartender.’’

‘‘You can pay me for all of it when we are done.’’ Lucy tipped her glass to her red lips and downed the contents in a gulp.

‘‘How do you do that?’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘Drink like that.’’

‘‘How else does a person drink? We can’t use our ears.’’

The notion made Boone chuckle. He took a sip and winced as the liquor seared a liquid path from his throat down into the pit of his stomach. Coughing, he said, ‘‘Now I know why Indians call it firewater.’’

‘‘You are comical,’’ Lucy said.

‘‘I told you I do not have much experience at this kind of thing. I have only had liquor a few times, and then only a little.’’

Lucy gave him another intent study. ‘‘This is not an act you are putting on? You are serious?’’

‘‘About what? If you want to laugh I could tickle you except it would not be proper.’’

‘‘My God.’’

‘‘What? I was only teasing about the tickling.’’

‘‘Have you ever been with a woman?’’

‘‘I am with you,’’ Boone said.

Lucy set her glass down and leaned against the table, her hip thrust provocatively. ‘‘No. I mean, have you ever slept with a girl?’’

‘‘With my cousin once. But we were eight and there were not enough beds or my ma would never have allowed it.’’

‘‘My God,’’ Lucy said again, and shook her head in bewilderment. ‘‘Can it be?’’ She came over and sat next to him and took his hand in hers. ‘‘I am sorry. I thought maybe you were funning me. Some men do that to get me to treat them extra nice.’’

‘‘You are plenty nice,’’ Boone said.

Lucy gazed deep into his eyes. ‘‘How can this be? Do your folks keep you down in the root cellar all day?’’

‘‘What kind of question is that? Of course not. I work the range with the punchers.’’

‘‘I just don’t get how you can be so innocent about this ,’’ Lucy said, and patted the bed.

Boone stared at the bed and then at her and then at the whiskey bottle on the table and then at the closed door and then at the bed again. ‘‘We are not here to talk, are we?’’

Lucy cupped his cheeks in her hands and pinched them. ‘‘Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are?’’

Boone gripped her wrists and removed her hands from his face. ‘‘That will be enough.’’

‘‘Don’t be upset. You are a virgin, aren’t you?’’ When Boone did not reply, Lucy merrily exclaimed, ‘‘I knew I was right! You have never lain with a female and you are afraid to lie with me.’’

‘‘Have you lain with a lot of men?’’

‘‘Land sakes, yes. Why else would I be here?’’ Lucy chortled. ‘‘It is how I earn my keep. I smile and talk nice and get men to spend money on booze. Then I bring them back here and let them think they are having their way with me.’’

‘‘How much?’’ Boone asked.

‘‘How much what? How much money do I earn? That is personal. But I will tell you that in a couple of years I will have enough of a nest egg to move to San Francisco and open my very own sporting house. That is where the big money is. Sporting houses.’’

‘‘How many?’’

‘‘I just told you. I do not talk about my earnings.’’

‘‘How many men?’’

Lucy tilted her head as was her habit. ‘‘Whatever would you want to know a thing like that for?’’

‘‘How many?’’

Something in his tone turned Lucy’s smile into a frown. ‘‘I don’t much like your tone. And I will be hanged if I would say even if I knew. Which I don’t, because I have never counted them.’’

Boone bowed his head and stared at the blanket covering the bed. It was a ratty, moth-eaten thing. He looked at Lucy and saw a mole on her neck he had not seen and lines in her face where he had not seen lines before. He noticed how pale her skin was, as if she had spent most of her life in a cave. He saw that her teeth were not as white as he had thought, and her perfume reminded him of sour grapes. ‘‘Well,’’ he said.