Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel (14 page)

CHAPTER 18

Tingling with excitement, Edson spurred Beauty on toward Waco. His release from the clutches of Cinda Sue Miner and the danger she’d posed was gratifying. He was
free
. Free to do as he pleased, free to do the job he had accepted and for which he had trained all his life.

Snooping for information was much like tracking. Keep your eyes and ears open, sooner or later the true path would appear. Mobley’s confidence in him felt good. Edson was powerful once again.

He reached the toll bridge on the north side of the Brazos River as the bridge master walked back to his quarters on the south. The blockish suspension bridge loomed before him, an amazing feat of engineering for a small frontier town. The bridge pole was down, but Edson was not about to allow such an impediment to stop him. “Come on,
Beauty
, show your stuff.” He reached the restraining pole at full gallop. Beauty cleared the barrier effortlessly and pounded past the shocked collector before he could react. Whooping and yelling, Edson roared past the startled man.
A good way to start a night on the town
.

Still feeling frisky, Edson allowed the horse her head for the short distance remaining to the center of the city. Waco had changed much since his last visit. The genteel, pleasant farming community he’d known before the war was now a rip-roaring boom town. False front stores hawking merchandise of all kinds, saloons and theaters, including the notorious
Star Variety Theater
that had been turned into a saloon, lured passersby. Cowboys rampaged up and down the streets, blind drunk, having the time of their lives with money in their pockets after months of choking on dust and cattle stink. Waco’s businesses were primed to remove the cash from these men, one nickel at a time if necessary.

Edson slowed Beauty to a halt and allowed her to high step in place, skittering from side to side as he took in the scenery. It was late afternoon, plenty of time to get organized before sniffing out the local taverns. He found a livery stable and noticed a small hotel close by. As he approached the stable, he saw a wizened old man about to close the large barn doors.

“Hold on old fella,” Edson called out. “You’ve got another customer. Keep them doors open for a few more minutes.”

Turning to check out this late customer, the man curled up his lip, feelings written clearly on his face.
Another danged wrangler
. “Why should I? My dinner’s on the table, and you ain’t likely to make me rich this day, aire ye?”

Edson stepped easily from his horse and extended his hand. “That’s a fact, sir. But I’ll be happy to pay you a fair price for the night, for my horse only, and I’ll do the rub down work. I don’t like anyone else foolin’ with my horse, anyway.”

“My price is a dollar a day, take it or leave it.”

Edson raised his eyebrows. “Does that include hay and oats?”

“No, that’ll be half again as much, a dollar four bits, if you can’t cipher.”

“I can cipher, mister. I don’t mind paying a fair price, but with me doing all the work, seems you ought to be a little more flexible in your pricing policy.”

“A dollar, two bits. That’s my bottom line.”

“Done.”

“Just shut up the doors when you’re finished, Mr.—?”

“Rabb,” Edson said. “The name’s Red Rabb, late of the Marsten Ranch up to Dallas. We’re honest folk, so don’t you worry yourself about getting’ paid. I’ll pay you in the morning before I pick up my horse.”

The man shook his head. “You’ll pay me now or be on your way, son. I know of Mitchell Marsten and you ain’t him. His credit is as good as gold, but yours ain’t; worked for him or not.”

Edson looked down his nose at the old man, irritation building within. “You’re a hard man, Mr.—. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t say, but it’s the same as that on the barn door right in front of your eyes.”

Pushing back his hat, Edson looked at the door and realized he’d missed the sign because it was too big to be obvious.
Stony Brooks Stable
.

“Well,
Mr. Stable.”
Edson smiled. “Here’s your money. Now, if you’ll point me to the rubbin’ tools, I’ll get on with my job and you can get on with your supper.”

Stony Brook’s hard lined face cracked into a grin and without further warning, his nose commenced to suck air and snort it back with each louder breath,
“heh-snock, heh-snock.”
It was probably the first time he’d laughed in several months. Edson was amazed at the man’s transformation.

Stony finally stopped his laughter by squeezing his nose as one might do after consuming too much horseradish. “All right, boy, so you can read. That’s a comfort these days. Most can hardly spell their name, let alone make a joke of someone else’s. You’ll do well, if’n you manage to stay out of them real bad saloons like the
Star Variety
. People get killed in there for less’n a fart on a high wind. Try the
Empire Buffalo
just down the street. Nice people run it, and they’ve most everythin’ you might want.”

“Thank you, Stony. I’ll try ‘em both. I’ve got the time and the money. In the meantime, you might see a doctor about that there laugh of yorn. It’s stick’n to the roof of your mouth when you kick it into a gallop.”

Stony Brooks followed Edson into the barn,
heh snockin
all the way in. “
Mr. Stable.” Heh snock
. “I’ve got to remember that one.”

Beauty snorted and bobbed her head as Edson removed her bridle, saddle and blanket. He picked up the curry comb and brush supplied by Stony and went to work. Fifteen minutes of washing, brushing, and combing left Beauty shiny and clean. Edson forked several bundles of fresh cut hay into her trough and slapped her on the rear. In response, she shook herself and broke wind in his face.

Edson waved his hat in the air, holding his nose. “Just for that, you’ll get your oats in the morning. I’ve no time to sit around and wait for you to stuff yourself.”

Edson removed his rifle from the saddle scabbard and slipped it under his arm. He would leave it at the hotel. The last thing he wanted was a heavy rifle slowing him down. He had things to do, and places to go.

Everything was in order as Edson walked out, carefully closed and latched the door, and set off toward the raucous noise emanating from saloons around the corner on Washington Street.

Half way down the block, he tipped his hat to two well dressed ladies who openly gawked at him and whispered as they passed. He stopped at a women’s apparel store, his attention attracted by the reflected image in the window.
What do they see in me?

The face looking back was no longer that of the big nosed adolescent he had seen the first time his father handed him a trade mirror. The face was squared off and firm in its angles. His cheeks were high, eyelids barely epicanthic and squinted, as befit a man of the prairie. The silver clasp holding the wind strings of his hat together was his only concession to heritage. A simple silver circle with a cross in the center. The sign of the Cherokee world divided into its four segments. He caressed the object once, thought briefly of the day his grandfather had presented it to him, adjusted the pistol stuffed in his belt and turned away to look across the street.

The small brick hotel he’d chosen advertised its business. A neatly printed sign on the second floor read:
Lone Star Hotel, Maggie Hoolihan, Prop
. A smaller sign in the first floor window offered,
Breakfast, all you can eat, five cents.
Edson walked across the sticky mud of the street, carefully wiped his boots on the boardwalk and entered the hotel. He ignored the stares of two richly dressed young ladies sitting at a circular sofa in the middle of the lobby. An old lady knitting beside them chastised the girls after he’d passed. He smiled to himself as he realized she was berating them for their stares. He found himself standing at the front desk.

“May I help you, sir?” A prim looking woman in her forties smiled at him from behind the front desk. Her blue eyes sparkled a welcome and softened as he held her gaze. She blinked, looked down, and then flushed about the cheeks.

“Yes, I need a room for the night. I hope your rates are not as high as that old coot’s down the street. He charged me a dollar, two bits just to board my horse. Lord, you’d think this town was something special.”

“Well it is, young man,” the lady said, recovering her composure. She placed her hands on full hips, her narrow waist startling in contrast. “This is the hottest town in the west. And it will be until the railroads get farther out. There’s no other place for cattle or people to cross the Brazos in a hundred miles. We’re the focal point of all central and eastern Texas. Can’t you tell by the crazies running up and down the street, shooting off their guns and stampeding everything in their way?”

“Now that you mention it, I did notice. It is a mite rambunctious. Does that mean I’ll have to sleep with my horse for want of the necessary funds?”

“No, I think we can work something out.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “The name’s Maggie. What’s yours?”

“
Red Rabb
,” he replied as he appraised the woman more closely. She was definitely not an average middle aged woman. Her bosom, hidden somewhat by the high collared bodice and long dress, was well defined. Her face was not exceptional, but attractive. Her complexion was clear and fair, lightly powdered to disguise the few freckles peeking through on her nose. The way she lowered her head, blue eyes looking up at him through a loose wisp of long auburn hair, was sensuous. It stirred him. She knew who she was and what she was doing. He liked that. No nonsense.

“Fine, Mr. Rabb. That’ll be one dollar, payable in the morning after breakfast. Is that acceptable?”

“Sounds good to me. Could you point me to my room and where I can find a bath?”

“I surely will. We can have a bath with hot water brought in immediately.” Turning, she yelled to someone in the back room. “Eliaza, bring the tub and hot water up to—let’s see, room six. Do it
now
, Eliaza, not tomorrow.

Here is your key, sir. The room is up the stairs to the left. You can’t miss it. Have a nice stay.” She brushed the hair out of her face, elegantly displaying her slender wrists and remarkably young looking hands.

CHAPTER 19

Maggie Hoolihan stared as Red Rabb walked up the stairs, his slim hips and powerful thighs clearly defined through threadbare cavalry pants.
A wrangler
. She turned to see the young girls gawking and whispering.

Rabb was handsome and very sexy. That nose, she thought, like Michelangelo’s,
David
. Eyes black as well water seemed to have read her thoughts. She felt a flush of excitement pulse through her body, tingle her most delicate parts. She smiled knowingly at the girls and their now flustered chaperone.

The old lady harrumphed. “
Hussies
. Can’t you girls act like ladies just once in your lives? Staring after that nice young man like he was piece of prized pork. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

Maggie nodded. “He is something, isn’t he?”

The lady turned to her and sneered, nose in the air. “I’m sure you’ll waste no time finding out.”

Maggie clenched her jaw and felt the heat spread across her face. There was no call for that. She’d been exceptionally nice to this family. Their stay had been a good one, but she had sensed disapproval from the old crone that she, a single woman, would have the audacity to be running a hotel. She slammed the register book closed.

“Not a bad idea. It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten what it is that makes a man different from a woman. Too bad you’re too old to do anything about it.”

“Oh, my!”
The woman whirled about and grabbed at the two young ladies. “I don’t have to sit here and take insults from a trollop. Let’s go, girls. We can wait for your father at the restaurant. I’ll not stay here one minute longer.” The woman shooed the two giggling girls out the hotel door and stomped off down the boardwalk.

Good riddance
. “Eliaza, have you got that tub ready yet?”

“Yes’m,” the maid answered from the kitchen. “The water’s heatin’ up now. I’ll be ready to take it up in just a few more minutes.”

“Just take it to the door. I’ll handle the rest. When you’ve finished, come on out here and watch the desk.” That old lady was nasty, but right. Maggie Hoolihan decided then and there, Red Rabb would not escape without a fight.

The maid stuck her head out of the kitchen, eyebrows raised as she looked around. “Yes’m.”

Maggie walked up the stairs to her room and examined herself in the mirror. The spinster outfit would not do. She rummaged through her dresser to find the low cut linen blouse she had purchased the year before in New Orleans. It was white, embroidered with red and pink roses about the bosom, and displayed her breasts in a most revealing manner. She held it up. “This ought to do it. If he’s got any blood in him at all, he’ll be pawing the ground, snortin’ to get in.”

* * *

Thoughts of Cinda Sue lingered in Edson’s mind. He’d been attracted to her, but not seriously. She was too young. Eager, yes. But inexperienced. She could have gotten him killed. The way she’d stroked him under the table had been incredible. If he hadn’t been so scared she probably would have finished him right there. The woman had nerve, but no more sense than God gave a soda cracker.

He understood women willing to risk everything for a few moments of pleasure. He’d been able to resist Cinda Sue, but knew it would happen again—with some other woman—and he would not seek a way out. Women were sacred to him. They deserved to be cared for. It was not sinful to help a lonely, starving female. It was his duty.

He was not surprised when Maggie Hoolihan knocked once and opened the door. She carried a large bucket of hot water, which she quickly set down. He stood with a towel wrapped about his narrow waist, hairless chest bare. He examined her for a few seconds before she spoke.

“Well, good lookin’, are you going to make me stand here all night?”

“No, ma’am, I surely ain’t.” He stood aside to allow her entrance to the room. “These are nice rooms. Did you decorate them yourself?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s hard to find good help these days.”

Maggie dragged a bathtub into the room and placed it strategically next to the large double bed. She retrieved the bucket and began pouring steaming water into the tub. Edson watched her closely as she bent over, cleavage turning to bare bosom. She smiled up at him as the last of the water dripped into the tub. “Would you like more?”

“Yes’m, and some soap, if you have any.” The blouse was an invitation hard to miss. He smiled. “You weren’t wearing that shirt a little bit ago, were you?”

“No,” she said, as she brushed away another unruly wisp of hair. “I spilled some water on my other blouse. Besides, I thought you might like this one better.”

“Indeed I do, ma’am. It does wonders for your … personality.”

She put the bucket down, straightened her dress and adjusted the blouse. Her eyes were aglow. “Call me Maggie, Red. I don’t much care for that ma’am business. Makes me feel old. Right now I don’t want to feel old.” She moved up close, dropped her eyes and lowered her head.

“Maggie.” He felt her fingers walking up his chest, circling, tickling. He breathed into her lightly scented hair. She looked up at him, lips full and wet. “Tell you what, Maggie. You go get the rest of the water, and then we’ll see if you can find the nice present I’ve brought for you.”

Looking down at the movement under his towel, she smiled. “I can see where you’ve got something hidden. It’s beginning to peek out. You won’t be much of a challenge.”

He laughed.

She moved toward the door. “It’ll be a few minutes. I have to heat some more water, but you go on ahead and start without me. When I get back, I’ll give you one of my famous back scrubs.”

“Sounds
real
good to me.”

Edson slipped off his towel and eased into the shallow, steaming water. His mind flashed from Cinda Sue to Maggie Hoolihan. Two women after him in one day. He thought of Mobley Meadows and his quick anger over the situation with Cinda
. What would the man think now? Was Mobley a prude? No, he was too intelligent for that. Inexperienced, more likely.

The surprising thing about the white man, he’d always thought, was the big fuss they made out of sex before marriage. In his clan, and as far as he knew in the entire Cherokee nation, children were neither discouraged nor reprimanded for engaging in sex play. No stigma attached. It was considered a thing of nature, like a dream. It brought one closer to the spirit world. He had never changed his views on the subject and was proud of his own experiences, with white women especially, who were so often repressed and restricted.

Head back, arms wide, he became one with the water. Muscles relaxed, his exhaustion dissipated with the rising vapor. He heard the door open. Maggie entered and closed the door, smiled and approached, bucket in hand.

Edson’s excitement was obvious in the shallow tub. He felt himself surge, splash in the steaming water. She came closer, eyes shining, neck flushed, voice husky.

“This is the last of it.” She poured the fresh water directly upon him, aiming carefully.

The involuntary splashing increased and he watched Maggie’s desire flare. The scent of her willing body reached out. Edson locked his gaze to hers, inviting. She set the bucket down, hesitated, and then began to remove her clothes.

Edson was transfixed as the blouse came up over her head to reveal the full, round breasts he had fantasized. She moved her hands under and over them, lingered as her fingers circled her nipples. Her hands slipped sensuously down. The full red skirt quickly lay in a heap on the floor. She stepped gingerly over the tub’s rim, bending to nuzzle his ear, and then sat right down on him.

“Oh, Lord,”
he breathed.

* * *

It was close to nine o’clock in the evening before Edson was able to extract himself from the clutches of Maggie Hoolihan. They’d made love for several hours. At times he’d thought she would pass out from passion. She’d screamed out loud, thrashed and banged around on the bed so hard the man in the adjoining room pounded on the wall with his boot. Maggie was something special, a woman truly in touch with the
Great Spirit
. She was a woman he would cherish and remember forever.

When finally worn out, Edson slept for an hour, and then dressed to go out on the town. He did not want to explain why he must go, and Maggie did not ask. She stayed in the bed, eyes half closed, a smile on her face.

As he walked out the door of the Lone Star Hotel, he heard rinkytink piano music emanating from the Star Variety Theater a block away. He decided to go there first. His job was to obtain information, focusing on those who might know of the terrorist attack or might have participated in some manner in the planning of it. The best place to find such information would most likely be where the worst of such people gathered.