often!”
Longarm liked to think he wasn’t a crude man by nature. So he tried to tell himself that he was only looking for information that might affect his job as he lifted an eyebrow, grinned wickedly at Hernandez, and asked, “How often does she invite you into her bed, Capitan?”
“Never!” exclaimed Hernandez. He sounded more offended that Longarm would ask such a thing, instead of disappointed over the answer he was forced to give. “I want only for her to allow me to do my job, but everywhere we go I am forced to waste time extricating the senorita from one embarrassing situation after another! And does her father ever deny her the right to accompany him on his travels whenever the mood strikes her? His pure little princess? No, of course not!”
Longarm held up a hand as Hernandez’s tone began to rise from its formerly conspiratorial tone. He didn’t want what the federate was saying to be overheard by the wrong person and cause any hard feelings that might only make Longarm’s job more difficult. “Don’t worry, Capitan,” he said. “You have my word that I’ll keep an eye on the senorita.”
“Is that all you will keep on her? I know how that witch can work her magic.”
“There won’t be any embarrassing situations on this trip,” Longarm declared. “I can promise you that.”
And he meant it. When and if he bedded Sonia Guiterrez, he would be discreet about it.
Hernandez relaxed a little. He had almost worked himself into a lather, Longarm thought, and his face was flushed. Hernandez inclined his head in a minuscule nod, then turned and stalked away down the hall. Longarm was a little surprised he hadn’t clicked his heels together before he left.
Longarm turned to start in the other direction, and saw Lazarus Coffin watching him from the end of the corridor. Coffin was leaning on the railing next to the staircase landing. As Longarm reached him, he asked, “What was you and that little greaser jawin’ about, Long?”
“Captain Hernandez had a few concerns,” replied Longarm. “I put ‘em to rest.”
Coffin’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to put that gal to rest. She’d be rode hard and put up wet when I was through with her, I can tell you that.”
“Just don’t tell anybody else,” Longarm said. “Don Alfredo seems to have a blind spot where his daughter is concerned.
“You mean he don’t notice when she looks at ever’ man she runs across like a she-dog in heat?”
Longarm sighed. “Evidently not.”
“Then I reckon he’s got more troubles than just wranglin’ with ol’ Franklin about how the border’s goin’ to run.”
Someone cleared his throat behind Coffin. Longarm hadn’t seen anyone approach due to the Ranger’s size, but he should have heard the footsteps. Franklin Barton circled around Coffin as the big man turned around sharply. Barton could walk like an Apache, and Longarm wondered how a Washington diplomat had acquired that skill.
“Excuse me,” Barton said dryly, “but if it’s not too much trouble, ol’ Franklin would like to ask you gentlemen a question. If I’m not interrupting your gossip, that is.” His voice practically dripped scorn.
Longarm felt a surge of anger. He reined in his temper and asked, “What is it, Mr. Barton?”
“Just where am I supposed to conduct these meetings with the Mexican delegation?”
Longarm frowned. “Why, I reckon in your room or Don Alfredo’s. The government reserved suites for both of you, so there should be plenty of room.”
“Well, there’s not. This is totally unacceptable. I need a room with a large table and plenty of chairs, so I and my associates and Don Alfredo and his associates won’t be crowded. Our discussions will require the study of many maps and land abstracts and other documents.”
Coffin pushed his sombrero back and scratched at his shaggy black hair. “Sounds like you’re talkin’ about the dinin’ room downstairs.”
Barton thought for a second, then nodded. “Yes, that might do,” he said. “I’d have to study it first, of course.”
“Wait just a minute,” said Longarm. “If you take over the dining room, where are the rest of the hotel guests going to eat? Not to mention any folks from here in town who take their meals there.”
“Well, that’s not my problem, now is it?” Barton said coldly. “It’s your job to provide whatever it takes to make these meetings a success, Marshal. A great deal is riding on the results.”
Longarm’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t say anything for a moment. Barton’s callous attitude rubbed him the wrong way, and there were things about this whole setup that had bothered Longarm from the first—such as why the meetings were even necessary in the first place. He could understand why the United States and Mexico might have to parley every now and then concerning the border in New Mexico and Arizona and California. After all, the dividing line between the two countries there was purely imaginary. Here in Texas there was a damn river, for God’s sake! The U.S. was on one side and Mexico was on the other, and if the river changed course, well, then, so did the border. It was that simple.
Longarm knew from experience, though, that nothing was ever that simple where the government was concerned, any government. Barton and Guiterrez would have to talk about it for a week, study this map and that map, this document and that document, advance first one proposal and then another, and maybe—if everyone on both sides was lucky—wind up coming to the same conclusion that anybody with a brain in his head could have seen right off.
With a sigh, Longarm said, “All right. I’ll talk to the hotel owner and see what we can work out. If you take over the dining room, though, it’s going to be harder than ever to keep it a secret why you’re here in Del Rio.”
“After the way both delegations arrived, I’d say our presence here is hardly a secret anyway,” Barton replied. The same thing had occurred to Longarm, but Barton didn’t seem worried about it. He started down the hall, saying over his shoulder, “Let me know when everything’s taken care of.”
Coffin glowered at the diplomat’s retreating back and muttered, “I’d like to put my boot right up where the sun don’t shine. It might do that fella some good.”
