Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

“She can’t read?”

“No, but she can talk. Damn can she ever. She’s got magpie in her blood. Before I told her to put a sock in it, I heard her whole life story.”

“Why can’t she read?”

“No schooling. She had to stay at home and help her mother tend the brood. Her two ambitions in life are to learn to read and to see a moving picture show. Anything else you want to know?”

“Yes. Why aren’t you worried about her safety at the still the way you’re worried about mine?”

“Because she ain’t my kin, and because she’s had to live by her wits, and, considerin’ how young she is, she’s fared pretty good, survivin’ Wally and Gert and all. You can’t bake your pies in that old stove at the shack, and if you weren’t seen around town, everybody would wonder where you went off to. Especially that Hutton. I’d bet my left nut on him being first to ask where you was at. And you hate that shack.”

It was a speech that sounded suspiciously rehearsed. “You have given it some thought.”

“Wasn’t nothin’ else to do last night except to hurt and think. I don’t see another solution. Now, send the girl in here. I’ll lay it out for her, but I know she’ll jump at the chance. She’s scared you’re gonna cast her out for being a fallen woman.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” She went over to the dresser and picked up the tray. “I’ll be back shortly to change your bandage.”

“First,” Irv said, “you need to drive out to the still and tell Ernie what’s happened. He was expecting me out there last night after my visit to Lefty’s. He’ll be worried.”

“That’ll take me an hour.”

“My arm ain’t gonna rot off in that amount of time.” To make his point, he tried to raise it and winced. In a growl, he said, “Next time you see that Hutton fella, tell him I’m grateful. I don’t trust him, but I owe him my thanks.”

“I won’t be seeing him anymore.”

But when she walked into the kitchen with the tray, he was standing on the back door threshold in conversation with Corrine.





Thirty-Two



Thatcher wasn’t feeling too gracious toward Laurel this morning, and when she saw him, he could tell by her sour expression that the feeling was mutual.

The tray she was carrying was set on the drainboard with a dish-rattling thud. “Corrine, Irv wants to talk to you.” Her tone didn’t invite discussion or argument.

“Can’t wait to hear what he’s gripin’ about now.” Corrine shot Thatcher a parting smile, then scuttled around Laurel and out of the kitchen.

Laurel waited until Irv’s bedroom door was closed, then said in an angry whisper, “I told you to stay away from us.”

“Only reason I’m here is to get what I left behind last night.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “Corrine?”

He didn’t blame her for being mad about that. He’d been so miffed when he left, he’d forgotten all about the girl until he’d reached the boardinghouse. He sure as hell wasn’t going to come back for her then. “I didn’t mean to dump her on you.”

“What did you mean to do with her?”

“Well, I really didn’t have time to mull it over. What with keeping your father-in-law from bleeding and all.”

“Tell me, deputy, did you save him last night only so you could arrest him this morning?”

To hell with this. He had things to do that didn’t include swapping snide remarks on her doorstep. “I came for the pistol. I could’ve bought another hat, but the gun isn’t mine. I need to return it to its owner.”

“And who is that?”

“Can I have it back, please?”

She stood there seething, then said, “It’s been in safekeeping. Wait here.”

She went into the dining room. He heard her open one of the sideboard’s drawers then slam it shut. She reappeared with his hat in one hand and the Colt in the other. She thrust them at him.

He caught them both against his chest. “Thanks.” He placed his hat on his head and pushed the pistol into his waistband.

“You’re going to walk around town with it poking out like that?”

“No. I’m going to ride around town with it poking out like that.”

“Ride?”

He thumbed over his shoulder toward her backyard where he’d hitched a gelding to a post of her clothesline. She glanced past him, saw the horse, and remarked, again snidely, “He doesn’t look like a bucking bronco to me.”

“Far from it. He’s lazy. His owner hired me to pump some spirit into him. Riding him over was a lesson in obedience.”

“For him or for you?”

“I got him up to a canter. For me, it beat walking.”

The scornfulness in her expression was replaced by one of sudden realization. “When you left last night…?”

“Yeah, I was afoot. But I’m used to walking.” He didn’t see a need to belabor the point. “Corrine and I will ride double. Go get her, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

She hesitated, tugging at her lower lip with her teeth, and damn if he didn’t want to be doing that. Sore as he was at her in his head, other parts of him hadn’t gotten the message.