Read Online Hunt Angel! (A Frank Angel Western #5) by Frederick H. Christian - Free Book Online

soft slither of a foot on board,
the slow creak of a quietly opened door, the faint rustle of
clothing when an arm is raised. He started to react fast, to come
awake without the involuntary start with which most people awaken,
without the need for the long seconds of focusing the eyes, alert
and poised with one hand already on the six-gun beneath the
pillow.
    ‘ Anyone’s in your room while
you’re asleep sure as hell ain’t there to gaze on yore fair white
body,’ the instructor had told him. ‘By the time you find out why
he is there, likely as not he’ll have put a foot of steel in your
belly. So when you know someone’s there and where he’s at
– move! ’
    He came up off the bed in a very fast, rolling
movement, on his feet and crouched with the six-gun cocked and
ready, whirling to face the figure by the door. She grinned.
    ‘ Well,’ she said. ‘And good
morning to you!’
    She was tall for a women, Angel saw, five eight or
nine at least and strongly, if slenderly built. Her hair was a
deep, burnished copper color, and her eyes were as green as spring
grass. She wore a dark blue work shirt tucked into corduroy Levis,
embroidered Indian moccasins on her feet. Her body was good. In
fact, he realized, she was quite beautiful.
    ‘ Uh,’ he said, lowering the gun,
suddenly aware that he was bone naked.
    If it bothered the woman she didn’t
show it.
    ‘ I’ll get you some hot water to
shave with,’ she said tactfully and went out of the room before he
could reply. He threw the six-gun on the bed and snatched for his
pants, cursing softly under his breath. By the time she knocked on
the door he was dressed. She came in and put the earthenware jug
and bowl on the washstand. It had blue forget-me-nots on it. Steam
spiraled upward from the jug.
    ‘ I’m Sherry Hardin,’ she said. Her
voice was low-pitched, warm-toned. ‘I own the hotel.’
    ‘ Glad to know you,’ Angel said.’
Mind if I ask you a question? What—?’
    ‘— was I doing in your room?’ She
smiled. ‘Making sure you had a razor and stuff. Dan Sheridan said
he wasn’t sure whether you needed one and sent one of his
over.’
    ‘ You weren’t—’
    ‘ Here last night when Dan brought
you in? I know,’ she said. ‘I was with Janet Mahoney - her husband
owns the general store. One of her kids has whooping cough. I
didn’t get back until quite late. Is everything all right - the
room, I mean?’
    ‘ Fine,’ Angel said. ‘By the way,
where can I—’
    ‘ Get breakfast? Right downstairs.
We’ve cooked you up something special. Heard how you helped out Dan
Sheridan.’
    ‘ One other thing.’
    ‘ Yes?’
    ‘ You ever let anyone finish a
sentence?’
    She smiled. ‘Not if I can help it.
Dan’s always telling me about that.’
    ‘ You think he’s pretty special,
don’t you?’
    She blushed slightly at his direct
question but her eyes didn’t shift away from his. She pushed back a
straying lock of the copper hair from her forehead and smiled
almost challengingly.
    ‘ I’m very fond of Dan,’ she said.
‘He’s like a brother to me.’
    He didn’t answer that one. When a
woman tells a man that another man’s like a brother to her, she’s
also telling him lots of other things.
    ‘ I’m going to get me a shave,’ he
said, rubbing a hand over his bristled jaw ruefully. ‘Sure as hell
need one.’ She didn’t take the hint.
    ‘ I’ll watch,’ she said, unabashed.
‘I like to watch a man shaving. Gives me goose-bumps.’
    He thought he’d better not reply to
that one either. Sherry Hardin wasn’t only a very beautiful woman,
she also clearly didn’t give a hoot in hell for what was commonly
called convention. He unrolled the soft leather kit he always
carried with him, containing a razor, shaving brush and soap, steel
mirror, leather strop, stiff nail brush, soap, scissors, needles,
thread, spare buttons, small ball of twine, all neatly packed away
in pockets and loops on the flat leather square. For