*
Trish pulled on the red wrapper that Zelda had left for her and hurried down the stairs the next morning.
"Mornin', feelin' better?" Pierre stood in the doorway at to the back of the saloon leading to the kitchen and his private rooms. The smell of warm pancakes dared to chase the odors from the saloon away. "Ya musta made quite an impression since you arrived. A couple of fellers were hoping to see ya. One even asked for ya by name. Ya wantun breakfast? I got the griddle on for hotcakes."
"Privy stop first," Trish explained, thrusting her finger in the air as she hurried past him and out the back door. How was she going to do this? Two or more cowboys already awaited her services. Would they be back today? Did it really matter? She couldn't think with the stench of the privy and quickly finished her business. The bright morning embraced her with welcoming warmth. Birds twittered and sang in the trees, the river rushed on with its constant and ever soothing giggles and watery undertones. Was it anxious to meet the new whore too? The descriptive jarred her. She must find a way out of this mess she'd so willingly embraced with her silence, but she couldn't tell these people the whole truth.
A wagon rolled by on the other side of the river, its occupants waving gentle morning greetings. She smiled at the complete strangers and waved back. Maybe they thought she was Zelda. She wore Zelda's clothes.
She had to fix this, but how? Pierre called to her from the door. "Hotcakes are on. Come an' get 'em."
If only she could go somewhere and think. Isn't that what had brought her here in the first place? A carefree ride so she could think? Maybe she wasn't cut out for adventure and all it offered like Grammy. Maybe she should just hurry home, to what? Her ultra-exciting life of romantic prospects and elegant lifestyle afforded her due to her awesome job? She choked on the truth. Bryan was even younger than her cousin, Vance. Bryan was the only guy that even showed an interest. He was young, stupid and although he loved horses, he didn't ride well and spent every moment with her telling "red-neck" jokes between spitting tobacco juice everywhere. He seemed to think the chew tucked under his lip made him devastatingly sexy. Not. He was about as desirable as her new job was legally demanding and right up her alley. Webster and Sons was large, but not a legal firm like Mikelson, Hoffman and Bauer. Webster's was more of a feed store. She needed to think.
Trish seated herself at the rough kitchen table just as Pierre set a plate of steaming hotcakes in front of her. She found the smell of melting fresh churned butter delicate and drizzled a generous amount of what she thought was syrup on top. The first bite surprised her the warm blend of flavors biting at her taste buds. She quickly swallowed. It bit at her throat. She coughed, covering her mouth.
Pierre chuckled, "Guess I used a bit too much whiskey to thin the molasses and honey syrup this mornin'."
"You put whiskey in the syrup?" Trish winced, scowling at him.
"Takes the bite off a mornin' hangover. Neighbors come for miles to buy a jar of my syrup. Now don't you go tellin' nobody 'bout my secret ingredient."
"I won't." Trish shook her head and cut a smaller bite with her fork. "Just warn a girl next time."
"Warnin', I put whiskey in just about everythin' I cook. Ain't never had a complaint before."
"I'm not complaining." Trish took another bite. The flavors blended in her mouth as she chewed slowly. "It's actually very good. Reminds me of Grammy's fruit preserves. She really hoarded the apricot preserves."
"Grammy, huh? That's somethin' you remember. See how that there syrup is good for somethin' else," he said pointing proudly at her plate. "Mornin' hangovers and memories."
Trish stared at her plate. Darn it! Why did she have to forget? She couldn't tell anyone anything else. If she slipped again and someone started to put the pieces together there was no telling what would happen. It was one thing to fake amnesia and remembering tidbits, it was quite another if she should reveal where she was really from. She'd only been here three, going onto four days and she'd already revealed too much. But she couldn't act all the time. She wasn't that good of an actress. She needed to think. She hurried and finished her breakfast.
"I can make more, there's plenty and it don't keep."
"No, thank you. It was very good. I think I better go get dressed." Did she dare add what she'd heard her grandfather say? "Daylight's burning."
She hurried up the stairs, slipping into her room without seeing Zelda.
Moments later while she dressed, a shoulder bumped against her door, followed by stumbling footsteps. She fumbled with her boots and hurried to the door. Opening it, she discovered a masculine form stumbling down the steps. The man wasn't hung over, he was drunk. She watched him leave, grateful to know he wouldn't be driving, but would he be able to stay in the saddle? She laughed while pitying the horse he rode.
"I thought Looney Louis would never leave. That man has more drive than five men. He plumb wore me out. Hope you're up to fillin' the gap today."
Trish's stomach lurched. Looney Louis? Filling in for Zelda? She needed to find a solution and fast. Could she do it without tipping her hand?
"Um --" Trish had to stall. "Looney Louis?"
"He's Old Curly's bastard son. Could never see what any woman saw in Old Curly. That wench musta been plumb blind."
"Old Curly? Starting to go gray, about yea tall." Trish indicated the height of the Old Curly she had met. "Talks to his mule."
"Sounds like the old coot. I swear the man talks to his Cleo 'cause he done Miss Cleo in. Wench finally came to her senses when she discovered she had them two on her hands. Lazy coots. Cleo had to work right up to her dyin' days to keep 'em fed. After that, Old Curly took to prospectin'. Looney Louis, well, that boy could get lost in a crowded saloon. He stays close and spends what his daddy finds on women and whiskey. Not that I don't mind the gold in my purse, but I earn it. Every tiny ounce."
"Louis looked drunk."
"He was. Only way I can get 'em to leave is after most of a second bottle goes down his gullet." Zelda's chuckle had a distinct raunchy edge. She focused on Trish, assessing the clothing from Penelope. "You ain't workin' are you?"
"No. I thought I'd go for a ride. I need to clear my head."
"Don't be too long. The boys'll be gathering as early as their foremen let 'em go." She chortled, "Some 'll come before they's supposed to."
Chapter 16
The Talisman - Crisscross Page 20
