31

“WHAT’RE YOU DOING?” He was seated in a rocking chair in the corner with a lap robe draped over his knees and a thick shawl around his skinny shoulders. He probably looked a mess. So it was a good enough thing he couldn’t see himself, and Suzy didn’t seem to care. It had been . . . he had to think back . . . four days. That much he could call to mind. And the full day before that when he was unconscious. Those boys had done a better than average job on him.

Suzy looked up from her sewing. “Sewing,” she said.

“I can see that plain enough, woman. I meant what is it you’re making?”

“A shirtwaist for Abe Goodrun’s missus.” She held it up for him to see.

“Fancy,” he observed.

“Do you like it?”

“Yep. It’s pretty.”

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

“Sure I can.”

“I been making things, different things, for Simon Beck to sell in his store. Like this shirtwaist and some ladies’ hats. Fancy braided hatbands for the gents.”

“I’ve seen those in the display case over there. You made them?”

Suzy nodded, obviously proud of herself.

“They’re nice.”

“But you dasn’t tell anybody, Jug. That’s part of my deal with Simon. Nobody’s to know where they’re made or the gentleladies will have themselves a conniption fit and Simon wouldn’t be able to sell my stuff anymore.” She snorted. “You’d think a person like me was tainted or something. Lord knows I’m good enough for those women’s sons, yes, and husbands, too, to wallow all over and rut on, but let me walk down a public street and the decent ladies scatter like a covey of quail and drag their kiddies along so they won’t be contaminated by me walking past.”

“You sound bitter.”

“That’s reasonable. I am bitter. Kind of. Used to it, of course. But it still makes me mad whenever I think about it.” She laid the partially completed shirtwaist down and smoothed the material with gentle care. Then she turned her head to give Jug a smile and a wink. “The good thing, honey, is that I don’t bother to think about it very often.”

Jug rocked a little and contemplated his benefactor. Suzy was a more than commonly honest old bawd. Most her age and in her line of work would put henna on their hair or otherwise try to color it. Not Suzy. Her hair, once a gleaming and glossy black, was gray as the Old Gray Mare’s and she didn’t try to hide the fact.

She was tall and once upon a time she’d been slim, with handsome limbs and a shape like the proverbial hourglass. Lately it seemed some of the sand had slipped down into the bottom half of the glass and spread out there. And what remained at the top was flowing downhill, too. That which had been pert and perky was now loose and floppy, and Jug would’ve sworn that had gotten bigger over time, too.

She just didn’t have near the enticing figure she’d come here with those years past.

For all of that though she was . . . not pretty. Even at his most lenient of moods—and considering all she was doing for him Jug had to feel mighty forgiving of fault or foible when it came to Suzy—she wasn’t really that pretty anymore. Certainly not compared to how she had been. Now her cheeks sagged and there were dark circles under her eyes, and she had lines and wrinkles more than a woman her age should.

But her smile was genuine and her hands gentle, and Jug’s own mother couldn’t have taken any better care of him than Suzy was.

“Oh, damn!” he blurted.

“What’s the matter, hon?”

“Is that rain I hear?”

“Sure. It’s been raining most of the day.”

He cussed a little, not under his breath either but right out loud.

“What is it, Jug?”

“Reckon my miseries are complete now. My trunk an’ saddle an’ things are out in the brush getting soaked.”

Suzy pushed her sewing aside and stood, reaching for an oilcloth cape that hung on a peg beside the door to her one-room crib. “Tell me where it is. I’ll bring it in so we can dry it off.”

“You can’t be going out in the rain, Suze. Cowboys do that, but not ladies.”

“Good thing I ain’t a lady then, isn’t it? Now. Are you gonna tell me where I can find your stuff or do I have to kick through the brush along the whole of Hayden Crick until I find it?”

“I swear, Suzy, you are something else an’ then some.”

“The longer you natter, old man, the wetter your things will be. Now tell me quick so I can get back to my work.”

Jug had himself a quandary he realized and pondered upon it once Suzy was off on her errand to fetch in his gear. He owed Suze more than mere money could ever repay. If he handed over everything he had it wouldn’t be enough. And come to think of it she’d never so much as hinted at wanting pay for all she was doing for him even though he was surely eating her out of house and home . . . he squinted and looked around at the Spartan quarters . . . such as house and home happened to be, that is.

There’d be time enough to worry about that when he was up and about though. He could give Suzy what he had and make some more soon as he caught on with another outfit.

Probably it wouldn’t be too good an idea to go out to the Eleven brand looking for work. Considering.

But he was sure of being able to hook on with pretty much any outfit he chose. The big question now was which of the many choices in the basin would he most like to ride for.

He closed his eyes and tugged the shawl tighter around his neck and rocked a little as he considered the question of future work.