Read Online Apache Caress by Georgina Gentry - Panorama of the Old West 08 - Apache Caress - Free Book Online Page A

way.”
    Sierra looked up at him, her heart beating hard. The man wore a pistol. She had reached a point of desperation and exhaustion. If I shout and leap from the wagon seat at the same time, what can my captor do? Let the policeman and the savage shoot it out. Sierra tensed and got ready to jump.
     
     
    Lieutenant Gillen leaned back against the sofa cushions and smiled as he accepted a smudged glass of beer from the painted brunette. His teeth were hurting again, but he was in a better than average humor. Trixie. Sounded like a name for a pet dog. At first he had been afraid she wouldn’t let him in, but at mention of Forester’s name, the door had swung wide.
    Now he’d been here fifteen minutes and already she was sitting down next to him, sipping out of that patent medicine bottle and leaning forward to catch every word. That gave him a good view of her big breasts.
    “Yes,” he said and wiped the foam from his lip, “I told Robert just a few days before he was killed fighting Apaches that if I was ever in East Saint Louis, I’d look you up and pay my respects.”
    “Ain’t that sweet of you, Lieutenant.”
    He smiled warmly at her and reached for the bag of hard candy in his jacket, remembering some of the bawdy tales Forester had told of his adventures in Trixie’s bed.
    Trixie wiped her eyes and held the medicine bottle close to her bosom before taking a big gulp. “Robert and I was old friends. ”We’re both Texans, you know.”
    Gill nodded with warm sympathy. “Robert told me about your . . . nervous condition. That’s the reason I brought the medicine with me.” He glanced at the label: Doctor Zorenoff’s Secret Tonic and Elixir. Good for Every Ailment of Man and Beast. Almost twenty-five percent alcohol, Gill noted and a big shot of that newest wonder drug, cocaine.
    A couple of bottles of this and the broad is yours. Robert had laughed. She’s a talented bitch, but not the way she thinks.
    “I’m a singer,” Trixie offered, “just waitin’ for a lucky break. That’s how I ended up here; a banker fella told me he had connections, but it hasn’t amounted to nothin’.” She stood up, began to crank the phonograph on the table next to the sofa. It creaked out a thin, reedy melody as she cleared her throat and began to sing: “ ‘I’ll take you home again, Kathleen. . .’ ”
    Gill winced. Robert was right; Trixie couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. He managed to keep a straight face while she wailed the words in a slightly off-key voice, rolling the peppermint around in his mouth, a smile frozen on his face. He hadn’t heard such screeching since Pa had rocked on an old cat’s tail.
    Finally, she finished. “Would you like to hear more? I do ‘Last Rose of Summer,’ and ‘Lorena,’ and–”
    “No, no, Miss La Femme.” He raised a hand in protest. “With such a wonderfully delicate voice, you must not waste it on me; save it for your next performance.”
    She beamed at him, flopped down, leaned against the sofa cushions, put the bottle on the lamp table, and reached for a pack of cigarettes. “Robert always said I looked just like the Cameo girl, do you think so?”
    What in the blasted hell was the Cameo girl? “Now that you mention it, I think so too, only you’re prettier and certainly more talented.”
    He watched as she took out a cigarette, lit it. Gill had never seen a woman smoke before. For the first time, he noticed the cigarette pack. Cameo Cigarettes, the label read. A picture of a beautiful, dark-haired girl in a big hat decorated the box.
    She blew a smoke ring. “I’ll reckon you couldn’t guess Trixie ain’t my real name. I’m really Thelma Blogdett.”
    “Really? Trixie La Femme just . . . just fits you somehow.”
    The girl beamed at him. “Did you know Robert long? Me and him was old friends from years ago when I worked at Miss Fancy’s in San Antone.”
    “No, not long, but he reminded me so much of my brother Harold.” His brother had