Return to Massacre Mesa - Edge Series 5 by George G. Gilman Read Free Book Online Page B

come out from the back to see to you.’
    ‘Much obliged.’ He weaved between the score or so of scarred and stained tables, disarrayed chairs and tarnished spittoons. The bar top was littered with unwashed glasses and uncorked, empty or near empty bottles.
    ‘Damnit, Sam, I ain’t the only one that lives here!’ a woman snarled as Edge got to where the two lengths of bar counter met. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re – ‘
    ‘Sure you live here, Abby!’ The man was also angry but kept his temper in better control than she did. ‘Best if you didn’t. Maybe then I’d get me a woman who don’t like to live like a damn pig in a stinking pigsty!’
    ‘What you saying, Sam?’ Her voice was shriller. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean? What are you calling me, you big oaf? You saying that I’m a – ‘
    ‘Have you taken a gander at the saloon yet? Seen the state it’s in out there? Or 38
    ain’t you even managed to shift your lazy ass further than the kitchen to feed your face?’
    ‘No I aint! On account of I just got out of bed, damnit! Just had time to pour myself a cup of coffee. You mind if I drink it before I go clean up the mess you and your buddies made in there last night?’
    ‘Those buddies of mine are customers, Abby!’ the man contradicted sourly. ‘Men who pay hard-earned cash for my liquor and your girls: cash that buys you the clothes and the trinkets and the paints and powders you like so much!’
    Edge looked toward the woman who was chalking on the blackboard and she interrupted her work briefly to glance up with a scowl of disgust. Then he raised a bottle and was about to bang it down on the bar to attract attention from out back when Abby whined:
    ‘All right, all right, damnit! I’ll get down to the cleaning chores right now and you can – ‘ Her voice had gotten louder as she approached the doorway behind the angle of the bar. Then she broke off with a gasp of surprise when she saw Edge, his face impassive as he set the bottle down gently and raised the same hand to tip his hat.
    ‘Lucy! Why on earth didn’t you let us know there was a customer here in the saloon?’ She was on the wrong side of forty, a green eyed, pale faced blonde who, much like Lucy, obviously did not look at her best just now. Her hair was dishevelled, her face was smeared with last night’s make up, her eyes were puffy from not enough recent deep sleep and her overweight body was encased in a grubby silken red dressing robe that had maybe cost a lot of money a long time ago. She glared angrily toward the woman with the chalk who briefly eyed Edge with almost scornful appraisal as she rose from the table, carried the board to the end of the bar along the side wall and answered as tonelessly as before:
    ‘It seemed to me he was a man big and mean enough to make his presence known whenever he was ready to do that, Miss Cross.’
    Abby patted her disarrayed hair ineffectually, sent another glare toward Lucy then 39
    smiled wanly at Edge. ‘Don’t mind Lucy Russell, mister. It’s just her way. She only cooks for the hotel, so mostly she‘s not out in the saloon where the customers are. We got lots of much more friendly ladies working at the Wild Dog.’
    Edge looked at the uncongenial daughter of the rheumatic lawman who had called this full-grown woman my little girl . She was hanging the blackboard by a length of chain from a peg on the wall and he now saw that in a neat hand she had chalked a list of the food that would be available in the saloon from midday until two. The menu sounded good: and the way the curves of the woman’s slim body were outlined by the taut fabric of the black dress as she reached up to straighten the board appealed to another of his basic appetites. She moved with an easy natural grace as she walked behind the length of the side run of the bar and went out through the doorway where Abby had emerged.
    A man drew back to let her pass before he stepped on to the