He had planned originally to go to his oldest flame in the town, the lady dressmaker. But she, of late, had begun to hint more and more at the idea of matrimony, a subject Longarm was not too interested in discussing. Besides, Miss Betty Shaw was intriguing in her newness. The one thing that Longarm could not stand was not knowing what lay beneath the contours and materials of a pretty frock. It was like the wrapping on a present. You didn’t really know how valuable the gift was until you got the decoration off.
Miss Shaw answered the door at his first knock, looking as demure and pretty as he had remembered her from the somewhat half-drunken previous night. Now, of course, he was clean-shaven and barbered and bathed and wearing better clothes. He swept off his hat at the sight of her and she smiled pleasantly. She said, “Why, Mr. Marshal Long—whatever—such a pleasure.”
She had a slight southern accent and he believed that she had said, or someone else had told him, that she was from Louisiana.
Longarm said, “Miss Shaw, I beg your forgiveness for the condition in which I met you last night, but I was just back from a long and troubling job of work. I would have certainly been delighted to have taken coffee with you. I wonder if tonight, however, I might have the pleasure of your company at supper. I suggest we not dine here at the boardinghouse, but that we go to one of the finer establishments around town, of which there are several. Perhaps we could then return here and have coffee or such as you care for in your rooms.”
Her bright little face lit up and her cherry red lips opened to reveal sparkling white teeth. She said, “Oh, Marshal Long, that would be ever so pleasant. I would thoroughly enjoy that.”
Longarm said, “Well, ma’am, it’s now not quite half past three. If I call for you at six, would that be convenient?”
She said, “Oh, my. Yes. Thank you ever so much. I am looking forward to a delightful evening.”
Longarm bowed slightly, backed away from her door, and then took the stairs to his second floor room. He didn’t know how he had managed, but he had set the tone of the meeting on a fairly high plane. He tried to avoid doing that with women since it tended to make it more difficult to get matters down to the level he preferred. But the amenities had been observed, and he supposed that he could carry them off for a while longer. He calculated if he could get a few drinks into her, they would begin acting like a man and a woman ought to, and then he would let matters take their course. There was a chance—he had realized it on many other occasions—that sometimes, what he was there for wasn’t what the female was there for, and he very often was left there when the lady wasn’t.
He let himself into his room with a nagging worry. He only had a couple of nights in Denver and he had better take full advantage of them so far as the fairer sex went. He had a pretty good idea that somehow his trip to Texas wasn’t going to be the kind that made pie very available. He had just gotten back from six weeks of doing without, and he was damned if he was going off someplace where the only pie to be had was apple or peach—the kind you baked in the oven.
If Miss Shaw did not show early signs of cooperation, he intended to cut her off as soon as possible and head off to his old standby, the dressmaker lady, matrimonial plans or not. He figured he could get around that and get what he was after—at least over the space of two nights. But he was not willing to walk away from such a sparkling, brand-new little heifer without at least giving her tail a little twist.
Miss Shaw had changed her blue frock for a silvery gown complete with a small hat featuring a feather and a veil. The material was light and clingy, and Longarm found occasion, on the walk to the hotel, to drop slightly behind her and admire the motion of her hips.
He took her to a downtown restaurant, one of Denver’s finest. It was but a short pleasant walk in the evening air and they arrived while it was still light. Normally, Longarm didn’t eat in such expensive places, but he thought that with time being as short as it was, he’d better put on the dog if he was to impress the young Miss Shaw. They got a table and while he ordered a steak, she went in for the mountain trout and a rash of vegetables.
Longarm did not know a great deal about her career with the tent evangelist, and during dinner, he tried to draw her out on the subject. All he met with was blushes and reluctance to discuss either the tent evangelist or his work. Longarm couldn’t even find out if the man represented any known denomination. The best he could gather was that he was supposed to have been some kind of faith healer who sold liniment after the show or the performance or the service, whatever it was called. Miss Shaw did admit to being one of his twelve so-called handmaidens. He didn’t know what that meant in evangelist talk, but he had a pretty good idea what it meant in men’s talk. It made his spirits rise. He determined that in spite of the extravagant bill at the restaurant, the evening might well prove worth it.
They ended up back in Miss Shaw’s rooms. By rooms, the boardinghouse meant a bedroom and a very small sitting area. Miss Shaw brewed some coffee in a big kettle on a small gas ring. Longarm would have preferred a quick shot of whiskey out of a bottle, but since Miss Shaw offered none, he didn’t ask.
While they waited for the coffee to brew, Longarm probed gently at Miss Shaw’s former occupation, hoping to find some clue as to her vulnerability. She had joined up with the evangelist or faith healer or liniment salesman—whatever he was—in Shreveport which was a big town near the Texas border in northern Louisiana. She admitted with a shy smile and a becoming blush to having been swept away by the gentleman’s persuasiveness and enthusiasm. His name, it turned out, was Mr. Stafford. She was impressed that he took up no collection during the service and only tried to make ends meet through the sale of his wonderous liniment he sold after the meeting. The liniment was guaranteed to cure all forms of rheumatism, sore joints, aches and pains, and was even said—if taken internally in small doses—to be good for female ailments. She had blushed even deeper at the last. To Longarm, it had sounded like another snake oil sales job and made him even more interested in the delectable Miss Shaw.
Finally, the coffee was made and they sat drinking it out of cups and saucers a little too delicate for Longarm’s big hands and hard fingers. Miss Shaw occupied the middle of a small settee and Longarm made himself as comfortable as he could in a straight-backed, velvet-covered sitting chair. There was a small table between them that served as a place for him to set the saucer rather than trying to juggle it along with the cup. He finished his coffee with some haste and waited patiently while Miss Shaw daintily sipped to the last of her cup. When she finally set her cup and saucer down, she looked up at him expectantly and said, “Would you care for more coffee, Marshal Long?”
Longarm shook his head, wondering what was to come next. He said, “No, ma’am. I don’t reckon.”
She suddenly stood up and took the step or two that lay between them. She said, her face going calm, “I’m ready now.”
Longarm looked up at her, slightly startled. He said, “What? Ready for what?”
She said, “Why, for you to have the use of me.”
Longarm swallowed, feeling his throat suddenly becoming swollen. He said, “Use of you?”