by Tempe O'Kun
I can hear the blush in her voice. “This bunny’s gotta know the lay a’ the land before she settles it, if you take my meanin’.”
“Six, I…” Fear climbs my throat. “I-I don’t want to tell you something I’m not sure of yet.”
“Hold me then. Say it soft in mah ear as I’m dreamin’.” She cuddles closer. “Then I can at least hear it there.”
I pull her close. “I want you in my wings, Six. I need you to linger a while if I’m to build my heart around you.”
“Not sure as ah can linger how you’d like...”
My heart drops.
“…but ah’ll leave as much a’ me as I can.” She raises her muzzle to my ear. “M-my name is Clarabelle.”
My heart soars. I brush my cheek along hers, clutching her tight. She responds in kind, wrapping her arms up over my shoulders. My words can’t total up to my gratitude, so I just lie with her, never wanting to let go.
Chapter 10
“Don’t be overly so; ya haven’t felt under this bustle yet.”
I haul Blake to the nectar bee. Truth be told, it wasn’t a heavy load, seeing as was less resisting and more just shocked. We get off the train and carry our luggage to the hotel. I’d be opposed to carrying his bags that far, but the lawbat packs almost as light as I do. Seems opposed to the notion of a suitcase he can’t fly with, which is a stance I share. Within an hour, we’re passing through the bannered gateway marking the entrance to the nectar bee proper.
The crowd mills and squeaks before us, awash with wild color. Fruit bats are nothing if not fanciful. I pause for a moment to look at a paint of a watermelon, only to be informed by the artist that it’s painted entirely from watermelon pigments.
The rest of the affair is more sensible, if no less strange. The stalls hold all manner of treats: lemon squares, pecan rounds, and apple turnovers. Aged wines and fresh lemonades flow freely. Bats of all ages chitter and chirp at each other. I spy the occasional outsider like myself, but a deer here or a hare there is buffeted along on currents of bats.
The bats themselves are dressed in a flurry of colors. The fellas strut about in vests, like Blake, but suspenders seem to be favored means of holding up your trousers. I suspect my lawbat wants to look the part of the heroic sheriff. Meanwhile, the ladies replace the pants with dresses and the suspenders with strips of cloth wide enough to keep them more or less modest. Every scrap of cloth is as bright as the fruit these bats are gnawing on.
At the far end of the festivities, a cluster of stalls sell canned fruit by the wagonload. More than one fruit bat family is squabbling about just what sorts will serve them best. Jars of cherries, peaches, and plums glimmer in a glass rainbow as they’re loaded to and from carts.
Blake excuses himself to go have a peek at the wares. I stand by a juice booth’s shaded lattice, which the customers dangle from, sipping drinks through those newfangled wax-paper straws. We’re hardly at the shindig half an hour before Clementine swoops in on us.
“That’s the sheriff? You modest thing. Fragile’s hardly a word I would apply to him.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Yer puttin’ me on.”
“I most certainly am not.” A flap swats my arm. “Any more sinew on that frame and he wouldn’t get off the ground.”
My glance casts about the crowd, catching on a fruit bat in being harried by a butterfly, shooing it away with scrawny wing fingers as he retreats with a coo of dismay. A gaggle of gangly bat youths pass, stuffing their muzzles with ripe bananas and chattering. “Reckon that’s true.” I nod. “Hadn’t stacked him up against many other bats.”
“Quite a stack, if I may say.” She takes another sip of wine. “The ladies of the bee may never forgive you.”
I mull that over a moment. My eyes track down the lawbat, who is chatting graciously with a cluster of bats, mostly young ladies. They’re busy fawning over his every word, admiring his badge like it’s the only star in the sky. My lower lip takes on a jealous slant.
A rather plump fruit bat bumps past me, smacking on a strawberry kebab with open enjoyment. He’s looking a little like a berry himself, puffed up inside that ruby waistcoat. His ears only come up to my chest.
My nose gives a sullen wiggle. “And to think ah troubled Blake over the little peaches done in needlepoint on his vests.”
“The world assumes we can’t embroider.” A quick wiggle of her wing thumbs, then she shakes her slim muzzle. “The trick is to get a good, comfortable chair so you can keep your feet free for it.”
That notion frees a laugh from my chest. “Ah have a sudden urge to get mah lawbat some yarn and knitting needles.”
Clementine sidles up beside me, a glass of red wine held delicately between her wing fingers. “How are you finding the nectar bee?”
“Reckon it’s about the fruitiest function I’ve attended.” I nod up at a flutter of flying fox kits bouncing through the crowd, each dressed more like a gumdrop than the last. A couple of weary parents flew after them, clad in vivid paisley. I squint. “Colors are a mite stunning.”
“Covers up the fruit stains.” The wine in her cup swirls, glinting in sunshine. “Your suitor seems to be enjoying himself.”
I blush to the ears at her comment. Nobody’s ever called him my suitor. “He’s awful easy in a crowd. Guess he breathes a little easier when he isn’t busy being the only force of law in a day’s ride.”
We watch as one of the fruit sellers wedges a peeled prickly pear into his muzzle. Sticky pink juice runs in rivulets down his dainty chin as he compliments the vendor.
My ears lift in amusement. “A creature a’ high society, that lawbat.”
Some little fruit bat stands off to the side, staring me down as he chomps at a cantaloupe. Could stand to slow down, judging by the swell of his cheeks. I lock eyes with the kit, who can’t be a day older than five and wearing an outfit with too many ribbons and buttons to ever have been chosen by a kid. Just as I’m starting to feel some sympathy for the kid, he finishes the melon slice and sticks his tongue out at me. Then he flutters off, dripping. His wings, or maybe even the melon rind, whack my left ear, leaving a sticky mess.
Hopping mad, I shake my fist after him. “Yew’d better fly, ya little fruit brat!” I grumble, wiping it up with my sleeve. “High society mah eye…”
Now it’s Clementine’s turn to laugh. “I will admit: it lacks the refinement of the opera, but nectar bees have a charm all their own.” She stretches her wings, which catch a soft glow in the afternoon light. “And they don’t require a lady to wear anything overly starched or layered, which I am fond of.”
“I didn’t find the opera excessive in its expectations of finery.” I stop my blabbing about how. I was dressed as a man at the time, after all. “Granted, now, we were up in a box.”
“And the good sheriff seems the modern sort.” Her wineglass lifts toward him and me in turn. “Courting a hare—and one who speaks her mind, no less.”
My chuckle comes out a touch nervous. “Yeah, the lawbat’s a patient one, alright.” Haven’t had much cause to consider it before, but Blake does treat me about the same in trousers or in a bustle. Makes me somewhat more inclined to wear a dress. Still about as inclined as desert flats, however.
“Our grandparents might have had a fit about such things, but this is the nineteenth century.” Her tone brightens with ambition. “How’s he feel about women’s suffrage, if I may ask?”
“Hm?” In spite of the occasional sticky bat fluttering overhead, my ears rise again. “He’s opposed to mah sufferin’ generally. Ah endeavor not to make the boy suffer too much either.”
“The vote, Ms. Haus.” She looks at me askance. “Would he begrudge you participating in democracy?”
Oh, right: we can’t do that. I add that time I voted for Blake to stay sheriff to the list of crimes I’ve committed. “Can’t say it’s ever come up.”
“Really? I’d have thought it would be a topic of conversation for a couple like you.” Her wings cross as she gets a trifle cross herself. “I’d assume a woman like you would be out protesting at every election.”
“I elect to have a drink.” I buy one from the same stand she did.
My suffragette companion straightens up and turns a little toward me, though her voice still drops a little whenever someone walks by. “If we don’t take a stand against the patriarchy, how can we expect men to listen to us?”
I ponder if dynamiting Hayes’ mine counts. Decide against mentioning that. “True. Never have seen the sense listenin’ to them, though. Known more than a few to get carried away by their emotions.” I take a sip. It’s smooth, if painfully sweet. “Come to think of it, not sure ah trust menfolk with the vote.”
She tosses her head back in a squawk of amusement. “I shall mention your stance on the matter the next time someone tells me I want too much. Makes my position seem like quite the compromise.”
I shrug. “We are the fairer sex.”
Lo and behold, Blake returns to us. His wings tote two bulging canvas bags. Setting them down with a clatter, he smiles at me.
“Ya got some kinda juice on yer cheek.” I touch my own to show him where I mean.
“I’m lucky that’s all the damage I sustained.” He dabs at his muzzle with a white handkerchief of surrender. “I scarcely escaped with my wallet.”
“Ya got fruit back in White Rock.” I bump an elbow at him. “Ah’ve seen yer pantry.”
“They have blueberries!” His foot snatches a jar of purple preserves from one bag. “I’ve been having raisins with my breakfast for months.”
My eyes roll. “Just how ya survive on the frontier, ah’ll never know.”
He twirls a wing to the other flying fox. “You going to introduce me to your lovely bat companion?”
“Sheriff Jordan Blake, this is Clementine Zephyr.”
“Lovely to meet you.” He bows and kisses her wing fingers.
She giggles as she curtsies. “Charmed.”
Lawbat rises with a look of pleasant surprise. “I didn’t know you had friends in town.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, but decide not to take offense. “Ah didn’t. Just happened to bump into each other downtown and got to talkin’. She put me on the trail of this nectar bee business.”
“Well, then I have you to thank for this excursion.” He flashes a winning smile. “Now if the town hasn’t fallen to pieces when I get back, this will have been a successful vacation.”
Again, I move to rest my palms on the handles of my guns. “Yer first, if memory serves.”
“Success being qualified, of course, as no one shooting at me.”
She titters. “Goodness, Mr. Blake. It’s a wonder a lovely lady such as Clarabelle has the mettle to let you go out on your own.”
“Her metal is half the problem.” He smirks at me. “Iron, most often.”
Clementine laughs. “Well, I’m afraid I must leave you two to each other’s mercies.” She snapped open a slim wooden case and handed me a calling card. “I hope you’ll stop to visit next time you’re in the city.”
The card gleams like a little square of civilization in my dusty paw. “It’d be mah pleasure. Ah’ll even try to drag the lawbat along with me again.”
She gives a polite little bow, then sweeps her wings wide and launches off with a graceful flutter.
With a glance at at the setting sun, I give a heavy sigh. “Suppose we should be gettin’ along too, if we’re gonna make it to the hotel by dark.”
“Too true, I’m afraid.” Blake bends to sort out his purchases. “Well, imagine: you spent several hours engaged in polite society. And, I daresay, not much of it was horrible. Umm!” He strains to lift the bulging sacks of fruit.
I grab one and sling it over my shoulder. It clatters as I straighten. “Not much.”
Blake wraps the remaining bag in both wings and manages to follow, only looking a trifle unbalanced. “I’m impressed you didn’t feel the need to carry firearms.”
“Don’t be overly so; ya haven’t felt under this bustle yet.” I give my tail a little shake his way.
His ears drop at the scandal. “One step at a time, I suppose.”
“Ah’m liable to gun down a chair at this rate. Don’t expect to see me in this getup all the time. A bun’s gotta return to her ways sooner or later.” I cast a look at him sidelong. “Was nice to see ya in yer natural habitat.”
His ears rise. “What’d you mean by that?”
“In a high-class crowd, yammering on about poetry, art, music, juice...” A smirk touches my muzzle. “Don’t see why ya left it all behind to play sheriff in a dustpan like White Rock.”
“Sometimes dreams pull one in opposing directions.” He sidles up next to me. “Though I do appreciate a certain bunny’s company.”
His tone sets a burn to my ears like a shot of strong drink. I watch him from the corner of my eye. “Ah’m not much for talkin’.”
He laughs. “On the contrary, I’ve found you always have something to say.”
“About how to fit a saddle, sure. Or maybe what whiskey pairs well with a saloon brawl. But philosophizing falls outside mah territory.”
He cocks an ear. “I shall endeavor to bring up some philosophical quandaries for you.”
“Ya bring up enough.” I laugh. “Like ‘how could he possibly need this many little fancy vests?’ But now ah know.”
A moment passes in quiet as we saunter past the thinning crowd. “I do appreciate this, Six.”
“What? The fruit?” I cast him a coy look. “Imagine mah surprise.”
His muzzle shakes, with a smile. “No, that you’re endeavoring to learn more about my culture.”
“Just keen to make sense a’ ya.” Both ears drop to my shoulders. When he watches them like I hoped, I smile.
A grin brightens his dark muzzle in return. “I have a little surprise too.” He shifts the bag to one wing, placing the other around my waist. Guess there are some other benefits to wearing dresses, aside from the refreshing draft to my nethers.
“Dare ah ask?”
The lawbat puffs up a bit. “The territorial governor is on tour, including a whistle-stop in White Rock. I have it on good authority he intends to thank us for retrieving that gold.”
My ears rise at the notion. “With cash?”
“With words.” He rolls those gold-flecked eyes. “And probably some manner of recognition ceremony.”
I narrow my gaze at him. “So in return for takin’ yew to this ace-high party, you’re gonna take me to a boring one?”
“Boring perhaps, but I think you may find the fashion sensibilities more to your usual standards.” He pats my lower back, clattering the revolvers hidden under my bustle.
We walk together, arm in arm.
Chapter 11
“You just soaked the territorial governor like a fruitcake.”
Evening light gilds the town. Weasels wind down the street like dust devils, two of them orbiting a third, who is waddling under the weight of a generous jar of pickled eggs. They chitter under a badger teetering on a ladder, who is attempting to string a “Welcome to White Rock” banner across the street. The squat decorator snaps at them, causing the trio to traipse all the faster. The fennec telegraph operator peers out from his office, apparently not getting news fast enough down the wire.
The lawbat paces around his office. “Governor Terrence has a reputation as a fickle creature.” He fidgets his wings. “I need this trip to go smoothly.”
Leaning back against the wall, I kick one boot to its toe. Most buns hop around bare-pawed, but I cotton to the poses boots lend me. Bats, of course, never see the point in shoes. “Something in particular ah should do?”
“Just keep anyt
hing untoward from happening.” His little wing fingers check his star’s on straight. “I could deputize you again, I suppose.”
“Ah’ll pass.” I cross my arms with a smirk as he ambles by. “The nights are pleasant enough, but ya always insist on leavin’ the office at some point in the day.”
His pretty ears fly straight up. Turning away, he straightens his smart red vest, embroidered with green leaves and yellow mangos. He glances at his reflection in the window, back to me. “I would take it as a kindness if you didn’t fluster me before the governor arrives.”
I lean in and nibble at the backs of his ears. “Lawbat, this is only the start of mah flusterin’...”
He squeaks and flitters away. “On second thought, just abstain from scoundrelism for one evening.” He pulls on his moon-white hat, brushed clean the night before. Before I flustered him, which was the only way to get him to stop carrying on about this visit. Pity we don’t have time for that presently.
“Don’t want me showin’ up the political on scoundrelism?”
“Not when he’s here to thank us.” With a deft flick of one hind paw, he checks his pocket watch. “I’d better get to the station. Wouldn’t do to be late.”
“Ah’ll go to ground.” I place my paw over my heart, then give him a little kiss. “Don’t worry yerself so, Jordan. If anybody’s square enough to please this straightedge, it’s you.”
A little smile sprouts on his foxy muzzle. “I shall take that as the compliment you meant it.” With that, he pads out the door. “I’ll come get you for our congratulatory photograph.” A sweep of his wing drags the door closed with just the pull of air.
For a long moment after, I stand in his quiet office. Watch out the window as he vanishes up the street. Let him deal with that stuffy old governor—I’m quite content with my own company. The clock on his wall ticks on, marking time. I check my mismatched pistols twice, clean some dirt from a claw, then surrender to the notion of going outside. Plenty of places a hare can wile away the hours without raising a fuss.
