“Do you really think so?”
“Why, sure! Royalty are just people that either happened to be born to their high stations or married into it. Either way, it don’t give them the right to put on superior airs. I judge folks by what they do, not the title that goes before their names.”
“I dunno,” Arnold said, looking very skeptical. “I never seen a woman to equal Lady Caroline.”
“She’s beautiful and gracious and probably rich,” Longarm conceded, “but she’s still just a person like the rest of us and I’ll bet she has the same needs, fears, and even desires.”
“Then you don’t expect that it’s sort of … well, beneath the royal dignity of a woman like that to have a good romp in the sack?”
“Nope,” Longarm said with conviction. “I sure don’t. Arnold, I fully expect that Lady Caroline enjoys a man every bit as much as the next woman.”
“My, oh, my,” Arnold said, looking quite amazed. “In a way, that’s real comforting. But, if I was a young prince or king, I still wouldn’t know how to act around Lady Caroline. And I don’t see how you know either.”
“I don’t,” Longarm admitted. “I just try to be myself and let the chips fall where they may.”
“I doubt that they’ll fall anyplace,” Arnold said. “That Mrs. Addie is worsen a bulldog for watchin’ Lady Caroline. She’ll sniff out your worst intentions.”
“She already has,” Longarm said. “But I’m still going to do my best to get around her.”
“Good luck!”
“Thanks,” Longarm said, grabbing his traveling bags and saddlebags, “because I’ll need it.”
After he left the train station and headed into the booming rail and ranching town of Cheyenne, Longarm resisted the temptation to go to the Winston House and ask to see Caroline. He figured that acting too aggressively might scare her off, and it would certainly trigger the displeasure of Mrs. Addie. So Longarm rented a modest room at the new, two-story Teton Hotel. Later, he enjoyed a quiet supper and went out to find a little entertainment in the form of a low-stakes card game or just some friendly conversation.
Normally, Longarm would have visited the old and venerable Elkhorn Saloon, where he knew the bartenders and most of the regulars. Tonight, however, he reminded himself that he was supposed to be looking and acting like a businessman. So instead, Longarm decided to try a few new places, the kind that catered to a wealthier class of visitor. A place like the Rutherford Inn, where well-heeled travelers felt welcome and safe from the rowdier types that preyed on them at the railroad towns.
When Longarm went inside the Rutherford, he removed his hat because everyone else had done so, and there was a nicely dressed man who offered to take not only his new Stetson, but also his coat.
“I’ll wear the coat,” Longarm said. “Just point me in the direction of the bar.”
“The saloon is off to your right, restaurant to the left. Will you be dining alone?”
“I won’t be dining at all,” Longarm said. “I’m just looking to enjoy a few drinks and some congenial company.”
“Very good,” the man said formally. “I’m sure that you will find our saloon to your liking.”
“As long as they serve good whiskey for under four bits a shot, I’ll get along fine.”
The man’s expression changed. “I’m afraid that the drinks are a little bit steeper than that.”
“How steep?”
“One dollar, I believe, is the minimum.”
“Holy cow! I can buy a bottle and …” Longarm remembered himself and clamped his mouth shut before he walked on into the saloon. He guessed he could buy a round or two and then he’d call it a night.
The saloon was dim and only half full, with about twenty men, all wearing suits, starched white shirts, ties, and collars. Longarm was aware that heads turned when he sauntered across to the bar and ordered a whiskey. He was big and rugged enough that men as well as woman appraised him with admiration.
“Good evening, sir,” the bartender said with a slight but definite bow. “How can I serve you this evening?”
Longarm was impressed. No bartender he’d ever seen had been this solicitous. “Well,” he mused, as if he hadn’t already decided, “I believe I’ll have one of your best whiskeys.”
“What brand, sir?”
Longarm was stumped. He normally bought whatever the house brand was unless it was Old Wild Weasel, a particularly venomous brew. Now, Longarm scanned the back bar and said, “I’ll take some Mountain Nectar.” “Good choice, but it’s brandy, sir, not whiskey.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. How about that one,” Longarm said, pointing to a bottle of Kentucky Horse.
The bartender found the handsome bottle and uncorked it. “You’ve excellent taste.”
“Thank you,” Longarm said, leaning into the bar and thinking he might actually buy a good Cuban cigar.
The bartender poured him three full fingers and said, “Be three dollars, sir.”
“Three dollars!”
The bartender stiffened with surprise. “Sir? Is there something wrong?”
“Yeah, two dollars wrong. I’m not going to be skinned. Why, three dollars ought to buy the whole damned bottle.”
“Not at the price it costs us.”
“Well,” Longarm said indignantly, “three dollars for one drink is robbery. I’m getting out of here while I still have
