Beginner's Luck by Len Levinson Read Free Book Online Page A

track of. He pulled his head back swiftly as she spun around, eyes ablaze with fear. She pulled up her dress, whipped out a derringer, cocked the hammer, and said, “Who the hell's here?”
    She's caught me, Duane thought, as his lungs emptied of air. Oh my God, if you get me out of this one, I'll go back to the monastery and sing your praise for the rest of my stupid existence. He heard her footsteps approach, and knew he was finished. “I didn't mean any harm,” he said weakly.
    â€œShow me your hands, or I'll put a bullet into you—so help me, Jesus.”
    He thrust his arms into the air, and she blinked in disbelief, her jaw agape. But she kept the derringer aimed with both hands at the center of his chest.
    â€œCome out of there, and don't make any funny moves.”
    He gazed into the over-and-under barrels of the derringer. “I wasn't going to take anything valuable. I haven't eaten since morning, and I was getting hungry. It was just some chicken, a few apples, and all your corn muffins. As soon as I get a job, I'll pay you back.”
    All my corn muffins? Her forehead wrinkled with mystification. She glanced at the top of the dresser, where she kept her jewelry, and knew each piece intimately; they were her favorite possessions, but nothing was missing, not even a unicorn. She turned towardthe young man, and he was pale, cadaverous, raw-boned, with long black sideburns and velvet eyes almost as beautiful as a woman's. Her eyes roved down his filthy garments, and his filthy feet dwelled in crude leather sandals. She glanced back at his face, and it looked as though someone had beaten the hell out of him recently. How old are you?” she asked.
    â€œNearly eighteen.”
    â€œWhere are your folks?”
    Duane turned his eyes away. “Killed in a Commanche raid.”
    He looks like a lost little kid, she considered, and those clothes are pathetic. She lowered her derringer. “All right—I won't call the deputy this time.”
    Duane's hands fell to his side, and his face became contrite. “When I looked at your picture over there, I knew I shouldn't have come here. It was as if you were talking to me.”
    â€œI was robbed in another town once,” she replied dourly, “and that's why I had the painting done. If anybody wants to take what's mine, I want him to look me in the eye.”
    She still didn't know what to do with the burglar. He looked like a lost puppy dog. With a sigh of defeat, she raised the side of her dress, then dropped the derringer into its holster.
    â€œYou don't have any money at all?” she asked.
    â€œSome boys robbed me.”
    â€œWhere were you going to sleep tonight?”
    â€œThe Sagebrush Hotel.”
    He speaks well, she figured, and obviously has an education. “Where does your family live?”
    â€œEverybody's dead,” he admitted.

    â€œHow do you exist?”
    â€œI was raised in a monastery, and left a couple of weeks ago.”
    A monastery ? she wondered.
    â€œI'll be on my way,” he said. “I'll also pay you for the window that I broke. Do you know of any jobs?”
    â€œWhat can you do?”
    â€œI thought I'd become a cowboy, but I don't know how to ride a horse.”
    She smiled in spite of herself. No humbug could come up with a line like that, she figured. He appears innocent, untouched, special, and he was raised in a monastery? She couldn't help being curious about him. Dress him in decent clothes, he'd turn the heads of women old enough to know better, she concluded.
    â€œYou don't have to sleep outdoors,” she said. “I've got a guest room, and you can stay here.”
    â€œHere?” he asked, wondering if he'd heard correctly. “With you?”
    â€œDo you expect me to move out of my own home? But you'll have to take a bath first, because I can smell you all the way over here. Don't touch anything—I'll be right back.”
    She swooped