by Tempe O'Kun
“No, Six.” His badge shines bright in the morning light.
“Fine, fine.” Holstering my guns, I stand. “Yeah, ah reckon you’re right.”
“Surprised you didn’t put up more of a fight.”
Patting him on shoulder, I shove a gold bar further into my pocket. “You must be a good influence on me. Let’s head back—I’ll buy ya breakfast.” Out of his sight, I touch the gold brick I managed to snag.
Chapter 8
“He’s a slight little thing, and sensitive. Got all kinds of poetical inclinations.”
Lawbat’s dear and all, but he leaves a bit to be desired when it comes to explaining his culture. I could hound the boy with questions, but I have this aversion to admitting I don’t know things. Besides, the fluttery fool’s possessed of a bran-like surplus of moral fiber.
To clear my head, I headed to Prescott. Nice enough place, when it’s not burning down, but not so nice that folk give you a side-eye for carrying a little iron. Town may have lost being the territory capital twice, but it has some ace-high shops: general stores, drug stores, and the like. On a lark, I wander into a dress shop.
It’s not the first time, though I don’t make a habit of bringing this up to Blake. I just want to figure out what ladies see in wearing the things. Often, some sales clerk will come bustling up and try to sell me on a dress for my “lady.” Though the notion of seeing the lawbat in a dress again tickles me, I fear he’d get a get a mite thorny if I ambushed him with one store-bought.
The door chimes open. In breezes a fruit bat in a dandelion dress, decked with puffery, lace, and poofy mustard sleeves. The sleeves are fake, just little drapes hanging down her shoulders. Anything more would get in the way of flight, I know from Blake. She drifts through the racks, graceful as a leaf, wings glowing in the light. Her golden eyes swoop over the wares.
An idea takes root in my mind: maybe this lady could give me the rundown on bat culture. Might help in my aim to have Blake make any kind of sense. Can’t just saunter over there and say “ah’m keen on this bat, ya see...” That’s a sure route to getting slapped when you’re dressed as a fella.
My gaze tracks over to a row of dresses. Well, if clothes are the only thing stopping me, that’s easy enough to remedy.
I grab a dress. Some simple affair, like a farmer would wear. I double-check it’s free of laces or impossible buttons, then sneak back to the dressing booth. I’m halfway out of my gunbelt before I realize what I’m doing would please my relations back East. I change anyhow. I try to clomp out of my boots in ladylike manner, so as not to draw the storekeeper over.
Once I hop into the dress, I stuff my belongings into my satchel and bounce out of the booth and look around. I don’t see her. For once, I wish I was taller, tall enough to see a short little bat between these rows of dresses and other finery. My ears rise to the challenge, sweeping the store—
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
I spring straight into the air, whack my head on the ceiling, and land with a thump. “Glad sakes!” I rub my battered skull. “Ya mind not sneakin’ up on a bun so?”
“Sorry! Are you alright?” The bat herself stands before me. Of course. “I was just going to ask if you were waiting for someone.”
My paws try to settle on a gunbelt that’s not there. I play it off as propping them on my slim hips. “Don’t trouble yerself over it. We hares’re a high-strung sort.” I clear my throat of its usual gruff and gravel. “Ah’m not waitin’ on anybody in particular, just life in general. Thought ah’d do a little shopping to fill the time.” That’s not a lie, if I’m honest.
“Ah.” She crosses her wings and looks up and down my present get up. “No special events coming up that would require a new outfit?”
“None, which is a touch unfortunate.” I blink, unsure if I meant that last. “Least, unless ya have a notion.”
“How’s that?”
“Ah’m actually courtin’— Er, bein’ courted.” Must admit I’m a little rusty at talking like a lady.
She tilts her foxy muzzle up into a laugh. “A modern lady can do some courting. I’ve seen it.”
“Yeah.” I push past the rust and rattle on. “Would be open to any notions, if you’ve got ‘em. He’s flying fox, and a sheriff besides.”
“Well! Aren’t you lucky.” Her muzzle alights with delight.
I blush furiously. If she’s getting at where his batty tongue’s been getting at, I may have to reconsider my stance on hitting women. “O-oh?”
“Why yes! Not many of us out this way.” Her wing lifts toward the window. “Not the ideal climate for fruit.”
“Yeah, he keeps the tinned fruit companies in business.” I roll my eyes. “Oughta see what the boy can do to a jar of peaches.” Gotta get my mind clear of this territory; last thing I need right now’s an image of the lawbat with a sticky muzzle.
Amusement sails across her muzzle. “Well, what’s he like?”
“He’s a slight little thing, and sensitive. Got all kinds of poetical inclinations.”
“Oooh, an artist and a lawman.” She crosses her wings, leaning in with interest.
“To the manner born. Causes me no end a’ grief.” I sigh, smiling in spite of myself. “But he’s loyal and fond of me. Does his sheriffing out in White Rock, though. “
“You ever consider taking him to the nectar bee?” She taps a wing finger on her arm. “Haven’t met a fruit bat yet who’d object.”
“The what now?”
“Nectar bee. You know.” She does a little sway, that patterned dress shimmers in the window light.
I lift an ear. “’Fraid I don’t.”
“They’re a fruit bat gathering. Started as a way of preparing fruits for winemaking, but machinery takes care of that part now.” Her laugh is sweet and high as a peach out of reach. “These days, it’s more of an excuse to sample excellent vintages and exotic fruits. Between the two of them, it becomes exceptionally easy to buy more than you mean to.”
A scoff escapes my muzzle. “A batty event if ever I’ve heard of one.”
She smiles sweetly. “I’m Clementine, by the way.”
I smile back, trying not to show my nerves. “S— So nice to meet you.” I shake her wing. My first name sticks in my throat after long years of not saying it aloud. “Miss Haus.”
“Well, Ms. Haus, I was going to get a coffee.” She tilts her head toward the door. “Would you care to join me?”
“Just let me pay off mah tab here.” I saunter up to the till, dig my wallet out of the overstuffed satchel, and plunk down the cash in front of a surprised feline shopkeeper. Legally in possession of my getup, I follow her across the street. Every step sends a little gust of wind up my legs, which is a trifle scandalizing. Now and again, sharp little rocks also poke at my bare paws, which is plain bothersome.
We get to a little cafe. Little across, but tall. Roasting coffee enriches the air. A selection of kettles rattle and puff behind the counter. In the back, a giraffe clatters cups onto high shelves.
A second giraffe stilts over. His apron hangs like a banner, emblazoned with bleached coffee stains. “Welcome.” His accent is deep and rich. “What can I get you ladies?”
Her wings steeple with refinement. “Just a coffee. I’ll add my own cream and sugar, if you please.”
Somewhere near the ceiling, he nodded. “And for you, madam?”
I wink up at him. “Black as a moonless night.”
He huffs. Whether it’s at my wit or his weariness, I can’t discern. How any woman has time to care what anybody thinks while managing all the frills and fittings of a typical dress I may never know. I’d take it as a success in life if I never find out.
She fans a wing over her steaming drink. “So, are you a local?”
“Ah’m not a local to anywhere.” I drop my satchel beside the chair. It lands with
a thump of boots. “Bounced between here and back East.” I endeavor to sit like something other than a saddle-sore cowboy. Feels unnatural to have my ankles crossed and knees together.
“You do seem to have...layers of culture.” A smile brightens her dark muzzle. “Characteristic of a woman who’s lived all over. Worldly, I suppose is the word.”
My heart gets a chill whenever she brings up my womanliness. I flip an ear to hide my discomfort. “Mah world has consisted of White Rock more and more.”
A glimmer of amusement shines in her eyes. “A charming suitor will do that.”
My polite laugh sounds only a little like gravel grinding. It’s been a long time since my mother and grandmother tried to straighten me into a proper lady and now I’m struggling to recall the lessons. Who’d have figured it’d be useful after all? At least they won’t find out.
Our coffees arrive, along with a mismatched sugar bowl and creamer. Clementine adds both until her drink’s one egg shy of a custard.
With admirable grit, I lift the cup in a delicate and grace manner. Pinky out and fingers back from the rim, so as to not to tempt tea into soaking in. Teacups aren’t that great an imposition; we bunnies are always thankful for handles, seeing as we have fur over our paw pads. More than one shot glass has fired out of my grasp, especially if it’s not the first of the evening.
“Have you given the nectar bee any thought? It’s nearly a month out.” She flashes a conspiratorial look. “One must give gentlemen time to prepare for such things, after all. They’re such creatures of routine.”
“Oh, ah’ll have to give the matter some contemplating.” I slap the table a little harder than is strictly ladylike.
She leans back a little in her chair, while still keeping perfect posture. “I’ll be in attendance too, if you want a tour.”
“That’d be mighty kind of yew.” I nod. “Though ah must confess ah wouldn’t know what to wear. Never had cause to get into flying fox fashion.”
“Oh, I’m sure we could find something suitable.” Her wing fingers spread, as if she’s already imagining me hustling into a bustle. “Just avoid the lace suspenders—they’re passé now, no matter what the boutique owners say.”
I smile, aware I’m now cornered into buying two dresses in a day. That’s two more than I’ve bought in the last twenty-odd years. This distresses me some, but it’s all part of the plan.
Chapter 9
“Tickles somethin’ fierce.”
I slip inside the hotel and tip my hat to the proprietor. Evening light bathes the rough wooden walls. As I climb the stairs, I’m followed by unfamiliar voices and the clatter of ponies outside. My shadow soars ahead, down the hall to where I find my small room.
Cigarette smoke wafts out. Some fool must have left the window open— anything could drift in. I step inside.
The shades are drawn on the room’s only window. Scraps of light stretch over the nightstand and along the narrow bed. A form lounges on it. Before I can even call out, I spot the ample ears of a desert hare and the ready Colts of a gunslinger.
“Six!”
“Lawbat.” She lifts her hat in greeting. The remains of a few cigarettes adorn the nightstand as their ghosts haunt the air.
I glance back through the door, then close it, whispering: “What’re you doing here?”
“Unquietin’ your life, is all.” She crosses her booted ankles atop my bed.
“You knew this was my hotel room?”
“Had mahself a little look-see at the ledger.” Her ears drop; my pulse rises. Her muzzle breaks into a pout. “You’re not keen on seein’ me?”
I brush a wing under her chin. “I wouldn’t say that...”
Smiles sneak up on the both of us as we put our muzzles to good use. I’m drawn to her, knees on the bed. It’s been weeks since I last saw her. Feels like years.
She pulls me forward into her strong arms, gentle paws stroking my wings. The feathery smoothness of her fur traces through the fuzz there, calling to mind soft winds and intimate encounters. Her blue eyes gaze down like stormy skies. Her beauty dawns like the Arizona sunrise. “Keep lookin’ at a bunny like that and she’s liable think yew missed her.”
“Nonsense.” I get back to kissing her hello; tobacco lingers on her mouth. Almost enough to make a bat enjoy that taste. Almost.
“Just sayin’.” Her paws venture under my vest, exploring the fur of my back as I do the same to her stomach.
Noise outside— hooting and hollering. Nothing close, but her fancy ears rise. She smirks as I watch and inclines her head toward the noise. “Reckon as sheriff you’re obliged to see about that disturbance.”
“It’s not in my jurisdiction, Six.” I nuzzle the dangling tip of one ear. “I’m only in town to testify.”
“Ya did that, and Hayes’ personal banditos are getting shipped off to jail.” Her paws caress my shoulder blades. Each claw trails through my fur to scritch along the skin beneath; my muzzle tilts upward of its own accord at this treatment. “Yer pretty at ease in a courtroom.”
“It is my old haunt.” I trace my wing fingers through her fluffy tail. “Perhaps I ought to take a brief hiatus to do some legal consulting.”
“Even a fruit bat needs a nest egg.” Her lightning eyes flash to the window, then to me. “Let’s see what the ruckus is about.” Another kiss, between my ears this time. “Maybe bend an elbow at the bar.”
“I don’t take to drinking.” I lean in. Her chest fur warms my cheek. My muzzle rests on her modest breasts.
“But ah take to you, and maybe a nip a’ something’d loosen ya up.”
My body aches for her from ears to toes. “I don’t need loosening up—”
“Hush now.” The hare puts a finger to my lips. “Matter’s settled. Hare’s discretion.”
I sigh against her, rueful.
She leans in, her lips against my ear. “Promise ah’ll make it worth the while.”
Tingles shiver down my body like rain. “That so?”
“Mmmmhmmm.” She drifts off me like a cloud, leaving me with a smile. Only after she’s gone do I realize half a dozen bullets vanished off my belt. Show-off. She snags a wrapped parcel off the table and turns to regard me, clutching it to her chest. “Close yer eyes.”
I comply. As usual, I am left to wonder what kind of plan she has.
Turns out, I don’t have to wonder long. Moments later, she calls out: “Okay, you can look now.”
My thief stands before me.
In a dress.
A dress. Violet fabric blooms around her, a shade before daybreak. Silver buttons glisten down her chest and stomach, almost as bright as the gun she still carries. The gunbelt’s slung around her waist, accenting her hips as the dress sweeps downward. Rough boots and trousers show at the hem, assuring me I don’t have the wrong bunny.
Feeling faint, I grip the doorframe.
Six steadies me by the waist. “Nobody catches wind a’ this. Ever.” Blue eyes smolder down from between demure ears. “Comprende?”
I squeak. My ears have no doubt turned seven different shades of pink by now.
“Good. Come on now.” Her paw closes on my wing thumbs. “We’ve got ourselves a fandango to see to.”
It’s a stag dance. We don’t have them in White Rock. Too few stags. But I’ve heard of them.
The ratio of menfolk to the fairer sex out west runs something like four to one, precluding typical dances. A stag dance is the Frontier remedy: men get together and dance with each other, often in dresses. I’ll spare you the cruder rumors as to why the deer host these; we’ll just say they happen most in the fall.
Still can’t look Six straight on. Just too surreal, even from the corner of my eye. She drags me onto the dance floor, twirling me to the yowl of the fiddle and clatter of hoofbeats. Sawdust kicks up from the
bar floor. I’m blushing to the fur whenever Six locks eyes. She just laughs, lost to the moment. I try to keep up with her and manage only to step on my bare hind paws a few times.
As songs wear on, other fellows trade off partners, but Six’s eyes makes it clear I’m taken, only letting me go during line dances. Not that I’d prefer to dance with some lonesome buck. Bawdy limericks and boisterous cheering pepper the evening. Six is the only woman, of course. No lady would be seen in a saloon, unless she wanted a reputation as a “public woman.” That said, they’d have to guess she was a woman first. Even in a dress, she makes a better man than most folks present.
The music slows. Nestled in the anonymity of the crowd, I rest my head against her chest a moment. She responds in kind, resting her head on my ears. In the midst of the music, in the mist of the moment, I am tempted into fantasy. Then I remember where we are and how indecent this must look, and that her paws lay a trifle low on my waist.
I straighten, whispering. “Six, restrain yourself.”
“Ah am.” A scoundrel’s wink. “Were I not, ah’d haul ya over the bar and take ya in a womanly fashion.”
Shock paints my face. What a thing to say! And in public!
“Oh, fix yer muzzle.” My thief scoffs, sounding almost male again. “Like you ain’t a party to the event.”
“I’ll thank you not to scandalize me further, ma’am.” I tip her into a slow spin on my wing. That violet dress twirls around her with elegance. We make a decent pair when she’s not stomping all over the place. Pity we couldn’t do this back in White Rock, even if we had the dances.
“Shame ah couldn’t get you a dress.” Her eyes catch mine, full of mischief. “Again.” She twirls back into my wings, squeezing my hip. “We both know ya got the figure.”
Heat races through my wings. “Don’t say that.”
A buck and wolf stagger past us. Tipsy flourishes reveal their fondness for waltzing past the bar. They plow through the crowd, antlers first.
