wonderful daddy. He died just as he was starting this business. The Watson Express Company is all the estate Luke and I had to fall back on.” She smiled again. “And really, Luke is no better at business than Daddy was. So it’s up to me to make a go of it, which I certainly shall.” The smile became a gentle laugh. “With Tom’s help, whether I want it or not.”
Longarm smiled too. And took a moment to enjoy the sight of this girl. Woman, he supposed she would prefer to be called. He guessed she would be twenty or a bit over that. Well past the first blush of marrying age anyway, but still short of whispered warnings about becoming a spinster.
Lucy Watson was right at five feet tall. She had honeycolored hair that was mostly hidden under a mob cap and a heart-shaped face. She had round apple cheeks and a perky, pointy nose with the tip turned slightly up. Her neck was unusually long and thin. He couldn’t tell much about her figure thanks to a duster that she wore over the top of her dress, but her hands were very nicely made, the fingers long and slender and her nails well kept and burnished.
And she had a smile that could outshine any lantern and most chandeliers. That much Longarm was sure of.
“I’m sorry to hear about your papa dying,” Longarm said.
“Thank you.”
“And if the lack of my passage is threatenin’ the future of this coach line …”
Lucy Watson threw her head back and laughed.
“Well, I reckon we settled that much,” Longarm said.
“Do you accept my apologies then?”
“For your driver an’ my luggage, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Longarm pursed his lips and thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, miss, I don’t reckon I do.”
The laughter died out of the girl’s eyes, and she looked worried. “But
…”
“What I was thinkin’,” Longarm said quickly, “was that you could make amends.”
“Yes?”
“I only expected to be in town a few hours, but now I find I gotta stay a spell. Till after supper anyhow. An’ that means eatin’ alone. I’m a man as craves company, miss. Why, it bothers me something terrible to be alone at mealtime. So what I was thinkin’ is that …”
The girl began to laugh. “Are you asking me to dine with you tonight, Marshal?”
“I am for a fact,” he admitted.
“You are very forward on such short acquaintance.”
“Yes’m. But like I said, I don’t expect to be in town all that long. Reckon I’d best speak up while I still can.”
“You are direct. I like that.” She dropped her chin a mite so that she was looking up at him past her eyelashes. And he knew right then what her answer was going to be. “There is a cafe two blocks down. The sign out front says Tyrone’s Fine Eats. Ask for the mayor’s room. I’m sure Elmer and his cronies won’t be using it at this hour; it’s where the councilmen and their pals have their coffee and crullers every morning and conduct all the town’s important business. But like I said, they won’t be using it now. There are a few things I need to do first. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” he agreed. He glanced down at his bag and saddle.
Lucy grinned. “Put them behind the counter. No one will bother them there.”
“And the claim ticket?”
Her laughter was bright as a brass bell’s note. She started toward the back of the station, then paused and turned to look at him. “Marshal?”
“Yes?”
“What was it you said your name was again?”
He told her.
That marvelous smile flashed once more. “I won’t forget again.”
Longarm felt pretty good as he ambled down the street in search of Tyrone’s Fine Eats.
Chapter 7
Longarm dropped his napkin onto his plate and, with a belch that was only half hidden behind his palm, pushed his chair back from the table.
“Go ahead and smoke,” Lucy offered without waiting to be asked. “I won’t mind.”
The lady had a hearty appetite, but was not one to be rushed through her meal. She continued to eat while Longarm crossed his legs and brought out a cheroot.
It wouldn’t have been polite to stare—although this girl was certainly worth staring at—so Longarm contented himself with looking around the small room where much of the town’s civic planning took place.
There wasn’t really all that much to see. The place obviously was valued for its function, not its ambiance. The room was small, just large enough to hold a table with six chairs plus a small sideboard where a coffeepot, creamer, and sugar bowl sat on a pewter tray. Ashtrays dotted the table surface, and spittoons were placed strategically along the perimeter of the floor. There was only one door, through which the waiter silently came and
