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The Only Rules That Matter: Legacy (Corsair and Madam Mim)

Alice giggles, just a little, at Anne Marie’s explanation. “Y’know?” She said, settling back against the rock wall, “that kinda does make me trust you. A little, anyway. Folk what tell you they can’t be trusted, at least you know where you stand wit’ ‘em.”

Yawning, she wrapped her blanket tighter around her. “Reckon Ah’ll take you up on that trip ta Paris,” she decided. “An’ imagine that. Me. In Pay-ree. Who’da thunk It?” Another yawn. “Reckon Ah outta learn me some French, though.” Yet another. “How y’all say ‘good night’ in French?”

She was sound asleep, snoring gently before she heard the answer.

-*-

God, but Jackie’s fingers melded withthe toy buried in her and the desperate hunger in her liver’s voice to make Sam shudder with mounting pleasure. “Ah... Ah’m close, Jackie,” she whimpered, pushing back in a frantic effort to feel skin on skin. “Ah’m... so... close...”

“Cum for me, Sammy,” Jackie gasped out, groaning into the words. “Scream my name.”

Sam bucked back into her, breath coming in hoarse explosions. “Jackie...” she moaned, “Ah... Ah... Jackie!” Her lover’s name tore from her throat in a wild, ecstatic cry as she climaxed, collapsing into the blanket and gripping Jackie’s hand to parse her fingers harder against her clit. “Jackie,” she moaned, moving two sets of fingers on her as she lost herself in the pleasure of her walls gripping the unyielding dildo and the soft fingers teasing her.

Knees left weak by the force of her orgasm collapsed, leaving her a contented puddle on the blanket. Jackie’s naked body was a pleasant warmth and weight on her back, drawing a satisfied purr as brown arms slid around her white body. “Gawd,” she gasped. “Ah... oh, fuck, Ah’m a-gonna day it.” She gripped Jackie’s wrists, tightening her embrace. “Ah love you, Tsidiiligai. An’ if’n it bothers you ya hear it, Ah won’t say it again. But not sayin’ it won’t change it no how.”
 
There was almost no sound in the world better than her name in Sam's mouth. Possibly the only better sound was just the wordless moaning that followed. They collapsed together onto the blanket, a sweaty, shaking, panting heap. Jackie pulled her against her body and pressed slow, warm kisses to her neck, her shoulder, her upper back. She quirked an eyebrow when Sam announced that she was just going to say it. She rested her chin on the top of Sam's head for a long few moments as she mulled the words around in her head, considering them, tasting them.

"I love you too Dhateste," she said at last, kissing the top of her head. It was true, after all. Sam was the only woman she had ever been with who she wouldn't have sent packing after the announcement that she might be pregnant. "And I mean it, if you are...y'know..." She could bring herself to say she loved her, but she couldn't quite bring herself to say that word. "Then we'll figure it out. And we'll have the most beautiful little baby you ever did see, and we'll have a good two years or so before it really needs to know who's the daddy." Jackie smiled a little and kissed Sam's neck softly. "But I'll be honest, I kinda want you all to myself a little while longer. I ain't exactly momma material."

~*~

"Yes well, for the most part avoid being a man and avoid French politics and you will remain safe. Mostly." Anne Marie smiled a little and shrugged. "Nothing is ever guaranteed." Alice agreed to go to Paris and she nodded. "Bon. My friend shall wait for us in New Orleans. He has some business there anyway, so he will be happy to give us passage."

"Reckon Ah outta learn me some French, though," Alice suggested with another jaw-cracking yawn. "How y'all say 'good night' in French?"

"Bonne nuit," Anne Marie replied promptly. "But mais oui, I must teach you proper French, none of this Louisiana cre..." She trailed off and smiled a little again when she saw Alice already asleep, then settled her back against the wall of the cave. Her watch wasn't up yet. "Americans," she complained fondly, shaking her head.
 
"I love you too Dhateste.”

Jackie had always managed to make her feel good, but at that moment - saying those words - she made Sam feel like she was floating. Despite being pinned between her liver and the mine floor. “Good,” she grinned, wrapping her arms around Jackie’s embrace.

"And I mean it, if you are...y'know..." Jackie stumbled over the word.

“Pregnant?” Sam supplied, managing not to let the word tremble as it escaped her lips.

Jackie nodded into her back. “Then we'll figure it out. And we'll have the most beautiful little baby you ever did see, and we'll have a good two years or so before it reallyneeds to know who's the daddy."

“Reckon Ah’m th’ daddy,” Sam giggled. “Ain’t no mistakin you get a fellah, after all.”

Jackie smiled a little and kissed Sam's neck softly. "But I'll be honest, I kinda want you all to myself a little while longer. I ain't exactly momma material."

“We’ll do fine,” Sam yawned. “Jes’ fine.” She started to snuggle down, the. Cranes her neck to look at her liver. “Might be a good thing if we put yer toy away, though.” She shifted her hips, feeling herself still full of the dildo. “This thing could go us an injury while we’re sleepin’.”

-*-

Yawning, Sam stumbled her way to the cave mouth. She hadn’t really had enough sleep, and she'd rather be wrapped up in Jackie’s arms still, but it was her turn to keep watch. Doc LaMonte needed some rest too, after all. “Anythin’ happen?” she asked, pouring herself a mug of coffee from the pit in the little charcoal stove.

Her gaze fell on the sleeping Alice as she sat down next to the French woman. “Shit. Guess we got a mite carried away.” Grimacing, she sipped hot, black coffee. “Better go turn in, Foc. Big day, tomorrow.” Another sip. “Sure y’got everythin’ y’need?”
 
"Anythin' happen?" Sam poured herself a mug of coffee and sat down near her.

"Mais non," Anne Marie answered tiredly, stifling a yawn. Sam looked at their black companion and grimaced.

"Shit. Guess we got a mite carried away." She sipped the coffee and Anne Marie fixed her with a dozy look, blinking slowly.

"Mais oui."

"Better go turn in, Doc. Big day, tomorrow." Another sip. "Sure y'got everythin' y'need?"

"Mais oui," she repeated. "Fortunately most of my wardrobe was left alone, and what I could not find was easy enough in a larger city. But the rouse will not work if I do not get my beauty rest." Anne Marie blinked heavily, feeling as though weights had been attached to her eyelids, and rose. "Bonsoir, Samantha."

~*~

It was a night of fitful rest, but morning did eventually come. Jackie sighed impatiently as she held up a silver platter they had taken from the doc's house which the doc herself was now using as a mirror. The undead cowboys had roughed up her house and smashed all the mirrors, but she usually kept most of her silver hidden and so they'd been able to polish up the dishware. Anne Marie used it now to apply her makeup and do her hair which, as she had pointed out many times over the past couple of weeks, she had missed terribly and was a key part of expressing one's femininity. Jackie rolled her eye as she dipped a brush in a pot of rouge and continued narrating her tutorial.

"So you see, Jacqueline," she said, pulling the brush along her lower lip, "rouge need not necessarily be this tawdry red one sees on many women these days. Call me old-fashioned, but it seems as though dressing oneself like a prostitute is coming closer and closer to being the fashion."

"Jackie," she corrected irritably.

Anne Marie glanced up. "Hm? Oh yes, Jackie, I'm terribly sorry," she said distractedly before turning her gaze back to the mirror. "Anyway, as I was saying one need not make oneself up like a prostitute to exude class."

"And why exactly're ya wasting all this on me, doc?" Jackie sniped as Anne Marie finished her rouge and turned to another little pot the contents of which were applied to her eyelids. "Am I gonna be your fashionable imjin friend or somethin'?"

"Of course not." Anne Marie skillfully applied eyeshadow to one lid while keeping the other one open. "I just thought should you ever wish to, you know...get dolled up as they say around here, you ought to know about things like this."

"Yeah well don't worry about it." It took a tremendous amount of effort not to just huck the platter out the cave and down the hill when Anne Marie gently pulled her wrists back up where they had been gradually falling and moving it out of place. "Ain't exactly a dolls-n-dresses kinda gal, never really was."

"Well just in case," Anne Marie repeated. She turned her face to one side then the other, then tilted her chin down to check her hair one last time. "Well, if we all know our parts I think we are ready," she announced with a smile.
 
“Yeah well don't worry about it,” Jackie grumbled as Doc LaMonte adjusted her posture. “Ain't exactly a dolls-n-dresses kinda gal, never really was."

“Don’t mean y’don’t doll up right purdy, though,” Sam commented with a grin, before examining herself critically in the polished platter. “Ah ain’t never been much get it mahself, but Ah reckon this stuff’s a whole lot nicer than th’ war paint Ah made.”

In truth, she wasn’t certain she fully recognized herself. Doc LaMonte had recommended a subtle approach, a few touches of makeup that smoothed out her sun-roughened skin and highlighted her cheekbones. A discrete touch of soft pink on her eyelids called out her blue eyes, and a similar soft pink - coral, Doc called it - made her lips look fuller.

“Anything’s gotta be better than ash and water,” Alice laughed, although the sound was a little forced. Nerves, Sam figures. Nerves, and discomfort with the fact that her ‘war paint’ was human remains. “But both of you look good. Really good.”

Anne Marie examined herself one last time. “Well, if we all know our parts I think we are ready," she announced with a smile.

“Reckon Ah do,” Sam said. “You an Alice meet up wit’ Bart at sundown, an’ he introduced y’ta Beckett. An’ then one o’ y’all used yer womanly charms ta find out where he’s a-keepin’ them coins.” She sipped at some coffee. “Me an’ Jackie, meanwhile, watch th’ ranch ta see if’n y’all need help.”

“How will you know?” Alice asked.

“Ah done seen th’ Doc in action,” Sam said, nodding at Anne Marie. “Reckon we’ll watch fer explosions an’ shootin’ an’ th’ like. General mayhem.” She shrugged. “Unless y’got a better suggestion, Anne.”
 
"I imagine you will know when I need help," Anne Marie agreed drily. "Though I imagine I will need it much sooner should anyone continue to insist upon calling me doc." She gave them all a pointed look. "Remember, I am just some silly society lady interested in the workings of a cattle ranch. A tourist. And also, I do not have my doctorate; I am not a doctor." She knew it was useless to point this out yet again, but she might as well try since the epithet would this time get them all killed.

As agreed, two of the women met up with Bart at sundown. The hand received them quietly before leading them along the trail to Beckett Ranch. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence Anne Marie glanced sideways at him.

"You seem nervous, Bartholomew."

"Bartleby."

"Hm?"

"Mah name," Bart clarified. "But you kin call me Bart."

"Well then, Bart," Anne Marie tried again, disliking the way the name sounded in her mouth. Americans were so undignified, even in naming their children. "You seem uncomfortable."

"Naw, ma'am," Bart shrugged. "Well, mayhap a li'l. He ain't just mah boss, see, an' he ain't just holdin mah immortal soul. He got hisself some sorta powers. Voodoo er magic er sum'in."

"Well, magic cannot hurt you if you do not believe in it," Anne Marie said loftily, "and I do not believe in it."

"I kinda found magic ain't care whether you b'lieve in it er not." Bart shrugged. "But y'all suit yerself, ma'am,"

When they arrived at the large, impressive ranch the door was answered by a manservant. He and Bart exchanged a few quiet words and the three waited awkwardly in the foyer when the servant disappeared back into a house. Finally, Bart was dismissed and the women were brought into the parlor. The windows were open to let in the balmy night air and Anne Marie settled herself comfortably on the couch.

"Well, at least the man has taste," she murmured, looking around. "You may wait over there, Alice." She gestured to a corner where she might ask a servant to wait. In the corner was a book case where Alice might start checking for secret levers disguised as books, as cliche as that may have been. Anne Marie found that villanous types like Beckett often weren't very original.
 
“You may wait over there, Alice,” Doc LaMonte declared, playing her part as she gestured towards the corner with the bookcase.

“Yes, ma’am,” Alice murmured, playing her part as well. Ordinarily she’d have been sullen about being ordered around, but knowing it was all part of this exciting - and frightening - adventure made it easier to take. That and knowing the Doc was just playing a part. The French woman hadn’t been anything but decent to her, after all.

Her eyes scanned the bookcase, wondering what the hell a lever for a secret door looked like. Should she just start pulling books off the shelf? That’d be completely out of character for the role she was playing. A rich lady’s maid - or whatever exactly her role was - surely wouldn’t do that. Weird, though. The owner had kind of an obsession with pirates, didn’t he? A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the most notorious Pyrates. Robinson Crusoe. A General History of Discoveries and Improvements. The Corsair. The Life, Adventures & Piracies of the Famous Captain Sparrow. Hey! Maybe that was Jackie’s great-great-whatever-grandpa? Red Jenny: The Romance of the Celestial Pyrates. Well. Didn’t that lady sound promising?

The door opened, and she tried not to give s guilty start as she turned. The man who entered was a square-jawed fellow with mild brown eyes and an expression she didn’t quite trust. He smiled with delight when he saw Doc LaMonte, then bowed like someone out of an old stage play.

“Welcome to my home, Madame,” he said. “My name is Cutler Beckett, and it is my pleasure to place myself and my staff entirely at your service.”
 
Anne Marie watched as Alice read the titles and cleared her throat to get her attention before indicating with a look that perhaps the titles weren't the only thing of interest about the shelf. The door opened and she turned her attention to their host. With a gracious smile she rose and curtsied when he bowed, smiling and offering her hand to him.

"Madame Antoinette Giry," she returned with another small curtsy, playing up her accent a little. "Very charmed to meet you." Perhaps she should not have worn heels. Anne Marie would have been taller than him in her stocking feet, and the high heels only made their height difference that much more pronounced. Well...a lesson for next time, she supposed. "I have been visiting with family in the United States for several months, but one always reads of these ranches and cowboys in Western novels, non? So while we were passing through this lovely part of the country I just had to see a real ranch for myself. I must admit it is not at all as I have pictured." She looked around and gestured. "The books make these places sound like a one-room cabin, but your home is tres magnifique." She stepped closer and noticed that her decolletage was very nearly at eye-level to him. Good. "Would it be terribly presumptuous of me to ask for a tour? I am quite certain your home must be a trove of hidden delights." Anne Marie smiled suggestively and took Beckett's arm.

As they walked to the hall she glanced sideways at him. "But you are English, non? How does an Englishman come to live in a place so very different from his home?"
 
“Some cabins are, I fear, very much one-Room affairs.” She was taller than him, he noted, which made it rather difficult not to notice her magnificent bosom as she stepped towards him. But Cutler Beckett prided himself on being a gentleman, and ony allowed himself to look discretely. “For the most part, though, they are homes constructed by poorer or newer settlers. One room is easier to construct with limited resources, after all.”

“Would it be terribly presumptuous of me to ask for a tour?” Madame Giry asked. She shifted a little, changing her posture in a way that made not staring difficult. “I am quite certain your home must be a trove of hidden delights."

He smiled at that, and offered her his arm. “It would be my pleasure, Madame Giry. Perhaps we should start with the house first, and then I’ll send for a buggy so that you may see the grounds as well?” He glanced at Alice. “And will your attendant be joining us?”

Alice caught Anne Marie’s expression, and politely shook her head once. “Ah do participate in my mistress’ affairs, from time to time,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “But only when she requests my presence.”

Beckett nodded. “Perhaps you would care for some refreshment, then? I will have my butler attend to you, until we return.” With that he took Anne Marie’s offered arm, and led her from the top.

As they walked to the hall she glanced sideways at him. "But you are English, non? How does an Englishman come to live in a place so very different from his home?"

“The dreams of youth, I suppose,” Beckett chuckled. “This continent seemed very much a wild new world of untapped promise when I was a child. A fabled land where a gentleman of intelligence and ambition could make a name and a fortune.” He smiled. “The reality was slightly less fabulous - more hard work and less fairy tale. But there is something about this austere land that stirs the soul.”

He led her into a magnificent sitting room, with walls of dark oak and a fireplace with a marble mantle. “But what if you, Madame Giry? Do you find the reality to match the romantic image presented in your novels?”

-*-

Alice watched the door close, then counted to fifty. “Man,” she chuckled, remembering their host’s attempts at discretely peeking at Doc’s tits, “the Limey’s got it hard for her.” She shrugged, turning back to the bookshelves. “Can’t blame him, though. Now, lemme see here...”

Secret doors still sounded like dime novel stuff, but then so did undead cowboys and cursed Aztec gold. So she studied the shelves, wondering what a lever for a secret door would look like. Idly she tugged at one book and then another, feeling the heavy bound volumes slide easily.

Nothing happened.

Growing bored, she pulled out the book titled Red Jenny and flipped it open. It was dog-eared and well read, and opened easily to a few different sections. All of them were imaginative and quite detailed accounts of ‘pagan orgies’ and the pirate queen’s ‘unnatural relations’ with other women. Glancing at the door, Alice closed the book with a snap and tucked it into her purse. Never know when studyin’ history’ll come in handy...

Still, other than that, the bookcase was a bust. “Now where,” she murmured to herself, looking around, “would Ah hide me some cursed Aztec gold?”
 
“It would be my pleasure, Madame Giry. Perhaps we should start with the house first, and then I’ll send for a buggy so that you may see the grounds as well?” Beckett offered her his arm and she took it with a smile.

"That would be delightful, Monsieur Beckett, thank you."

He glanced at Alice. “And will your attendant be joining us?” Behind his back Anne Marie gave the tiniest shake of her head. Fortunately the waitress seemed to be more adept at picking up on subtleties than the other two.

“Ah do participate in my mistress’ affairs, from time to time,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “But only when she requests my presence.”

"And I do not believe that will be necessary at this time," Madame LaMonte put in. Beckett offered Alice refreshments before leading his guest out into the hallway. She caught him sneaking sideways glances at her cleavage while they talked. Were it truly a social call she would have been irritated, but in this instance it was acceptable and preferred; at least he wasn't of Kieran's persuasion, and he at least found her breasts attractive. She could always serve as a distraction if he didn't seem keen on revealing his horde of Aztec treasure.

He led her into a magnificent sitting room, with walls of dark oak and a fireplace with a marble mantle. “But what if you, Madame Giry? Do you find the reality to match the romantic image presented in your novels?”

"Not at all," she admitted with a rueful smile, looking around the sitting room. "I have yet to see a single evil railroad baron tying a damsel in distress to the locomotive tracks, nor a hero on a white stallion coming to save her. But I must say you have exquisite taste, Monsieur." She gingerly traced the carved mantle with her fingers as though she didn't have one twice as large and five times as expensive at home. "I have always admired English and American style, wood and marble and the occasional brass. In France and Spain it is all diamonds and gold; garish and overstated. We detoured into Mexico last week and they seemed to mix their Spanish roots with their American neighbor's style; marble and gold. I always find it interesting, the way the New World insists upon mixing their own heritage with that of their Old World forebears. Don't you?" She watched his face carefully as she mentioned Mexican gold. If she could get her answer quickly, after all, then perhaps she would not have to waste time and effort seducing him to provide distraction.

~*~

"Refreshments, miss." The butler, an balding black man stooped with age, announced himself politely, though he'd seen her pocket the book from Beckett's shelf. He wheeled in a tea tray laden with finger sandwiches, coffee, and tea. "Will you be requiring anything else?"

"She'll be fine, Finley." Butch appeared at the doorway behind the butler, who looked over his shoulder in irritation. "Ah'll take care of 'er from here."

"Mister Beckett asked me to look after her," Finley answered, eyeing Butch reproachfully. "And so attend to her I will."

"Yeah, well Foreman Ackerly asked me ta take care of 'er," Butch rebutted, giving the old man a significant look. "Don't do much ta go 'gainst Ackerly, do it?"

Finley considered his options carefully before sighing. "No, I suppose it doesn't," he admitted. "Have her back around before they return, Mister Cavendish; I won't answer for you."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Butch gave him a winning smile and closed the door behind him. The smile dropped and he sighed. "Sometimes girls come wanderin' 'round up here," he informed Alice, "an' Ackerly has 'em uh..." He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Passed 'round. Ah ain't never took part m'self, Miss," he added hastily. "But iffin Ackerly wants a girl, he gets 'er. Ain't worth the trouble gettin' whupped past what'd kill a reg'lar man, an' Old Finley's just as trapped as the rest of us. Figgered that'd be th' best way ta getcha outta here without raisin' no suspicions. Where d'ya reckon we oughtta start?"
 
“Sadly, marble and fine woods are in short supply in this part of the world,” Beckett said with a laugh. He trailed his fingers over the mantle. “This is a uniquely American art form, pine painted by an artist to resemble the finer materials.”

“In France and Spain it is all diamonds and gold; garish and overstated,” Madame Giry remarked.

“Indeed,” Beckett remarked. “And in England, it is all dark woods and stone.”

“We detoured into Mexico last week and they seemed to mix their Spanish roots with their American neighbor's style; marble and gold. I always find it interesting, the way the New World insists upon mixing their own heritage with that of their Old World forebears. Don't you?"

“Oh, yes,” Beckett chuckled. “Even now they look to Europe for their traditions, as if this land had nothing to offer.” He shook his head. “So much of it is just like this mantlepiece, a thing ashamed of it’s nature and trying to pretend to be something else.” He sighed. “This continent had great - if barbaric - civilizations before the Europeans came, but the Americans try to pretend their cities and monuments were the work of Jews, or Romans.”

His eyes flicked towards a door. “I have a small collection of artifacts from those once-great civilizations. Would you care to see them?”

-*-

Alice swallowed hard at Butch’s words of warning, suddenly wishing she hadn’t had the urge for an adventure. She’d fantasized about multiple men (and women), and even made it happen once or twice. But gang rape was most certainly not a thing she wanted. “It, uhm, yeah. Good way to, to get rid of him.”

“Where d'ya reckon we oughtta start?" Butch asked.

“No idea,” Alice replied, looking around the room. “Not here, I reckon. I mean, it ain’t like he’d leave them coins lying around, right?” She thought hard, then grinned. “Where’s Me. Beckett’s? Bet that’d have something.”

Butch hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked at her. “Ah kin show you, but he keeps it locked.”

Alice grinned, then extracted a pin from her hair. “That don’t worry me now,” she said, displaying it proudly. “You jes’ show me that door.”
 
Anne Marie raised her eyebrows in mild surprise when Beckett admitted that the mantle was not marble but painted pine. She ran her hand over it again, able to feel now the very fine grain with just the tips of her fingers. The wood had been sanded and lacquered, then polished to a high gloss to imitate marble. She glanced at Beckett out of the corner of her eye, then sniffed. It would be good to give him something he felt he had to compensate for.

"Shame you could not have real marble imported," she commented lightly in that way which passed oceans of judgement without getting overtly nasty. "But this is an exquisite piece, nevertheless. In France and Spain it is all diamonds and gold; garish and overstated."

“Indeed,” Beckett remarked. “And in England, it is all dark woods and stone.”

“We detoured into Mexico last week and they seemed to mix their Spanish roots with their American neighbor's style; marble and gold. I always find it interesting, the way the New World insists upon mixing their own heritage with that of their Old World forebears. Don't you?"

“Oh, yes,” Beckett chuckled. “Even now they look to Europe for their traditions, as if this land had nothing to offer.”

Anne Marie raised that judgmental eyebrow again. "Well I daresay it does not," she remarked. "What can you find in America that you cannot find in other parts of the world? They do nothing but imitate their more successful forebears, like a child walking around in his father's clothes."

“So much of it is just like this mantlepiece, a thing ashamed of it’s nature and trying to pretend to be something else.” Beckett agreed with a sigh.

"Not without reason," Anne Marie commented sotto voce.

“This continent had great - if barbaric - civilizations before the Europeans came, but the Americans try to pretend their cities and monuments were the work of Jews, or Romans.” He seemed to genuinely admire these civilizations, which surprised her a little. Most Europeans she had met over the past few years had, like her, pined for home. She wasn't nearly as disgusted with the continent as she pretended, but neither did she exactly enjoy the so-called American civilization.

"Well if the red Indians are anything to judge by, I doubt they were capable of building cities as such." This was where she was glad she had taken Alice with her rather than either of the other two; she doubted Jackie would have been able to hold her tongue at such a slight. "What would they construct their buildings and monuments of? Dirt? Everyone knows the savages had no idea the value of precious metals and stones."

Beckett's eyes flicked towards a door and Anne Marie subtly followed his glance, making a mental note of its place in the house so she could mark it on a map later. "I have a small collection of artifacts from those once-great civilizations. Would you care to see them?" he offered.

"Oh, very much," she agreed eagerly. "If they really were great as you say, I am very curious to see what exactly they made with what they were given." She took his arm again and looked down at him expectantly. "Shall we?"

~*~

"Ain't the frog lady s'posedta keep 'im...distracted?" Butch whispered as he led Alice down the hallway. He was trying his best to be polite and not be uncouth by mentioning sex in front of a lady, but it was difficult when that seemed to be the doc's sole purpose in this venture. "Ah reckon iffin she was gonna do that, it'd be here." He motioned to the door with a jerk of his head, then blocked her from view as she knelt down to pick the lock. "We should oughtta make it quick like, just in case--" He looked down at the sound of a click and raised his eyebrows. "That was fast."

Butch had never been inside Beckett's room. Like much of the rest of the house it was paneled with pine and accented with faux marble. A large oil painting of a ship hung above the fireplace, a galleon bearing the name The Wicked Wench docked in some tropical harbor. The nautical theme continued throughout the suite, with a ship's wheel mounted on the wall and several ships in bottles bearing names like the Lindesfarne and the HMS Interceptor. As Butch pulled at several of the books on the shelves in search of a secret lever, he raised his eyebrow at the number of titles having to do with ships, sailing, pirates, and the island colonies of old. He'd always known Beckett was a weird sort, but this seemed a little...obsessive.

"Iffin he's so obsessed with ships Ah dunno why he's got hisself a ranch in inland Texas," Bart commented before stooping to look under the bed. "Where d'ya reckon you'd hide a big pile o' gold, iffin ya had one stashed up in yer room?"
 
"That was fast,” Butch commented as Alice picked the lock.

“You just gotta have the right touch,” she replied, replacing the pin in her hair. “And don’t worry none about Miss Giry. I reckon she’ll take a while letting him get her here, if it comes to that. Let’s go.”

The bedroom had a nautical theme, all wood panels and brass instruments and books and paintings and the like. While Butch examined the bookcases, Alice turned her attention to the sea chest at the foot of the bed. Sadly, it proved to contain nothing but clothes. “If he's so obsessed with ships Ah dunno why he's got hisself a ranch in inland Texas," Bart commented before stooping to look under the bed.

“Rich folk get eccentric,” she replied with a disinterested shrug, squaring her shoulders and shifting the sea chest experimentally. It didn’t weigh Ike it was full of hidden gold.

"Where d'ya reckon you'd hide a big pile o' gold,” Butch wondered aloud, scratching his head “iffn ya had one stashed up in yer room?"

“In my mattress?” Alice replied with a chuckle. “Might not be comfy, but it’d sure be fun to roll around in. How much gold we talkin’ about here, anyway?”

“There’s, uhm, right about a hundred hands in the ranch,” Butch said, thinking, “an’ all of ‘em got th’ same curse. So at least a hunnerd coins. Maybe more - it sure looked like a big heap to me.”

“Shit,” Alice sighed, then laughed at Butch’s expression. “Oh c’mon, I can’t be the first woman you done heard curse. I’ve met your sister, after all.”

“No, ma’am,” Butch agreed. “But, uhm...”

“Get all flustered later,” she admonished, examining the ship’s wheel.” A few experimental tugs proved it could turn. “Besides, you play your cards right and you might get to hear me praise Jesus.”

“That’s... what?” Butch blinked in surprise.

Alice was about to respond, when she felt something click as she turned the ship’s wheel. A few more turns, and the bookcase began to slide away from the wall. “Well,” she remarked. “Don’t this look promising?”

-*-

The room was small, and felt smaller thanks to the display cases it held. “They are mostly Aztec,” Beckett said, resting his hand on a bird carved from stone, “and many are sadly gruesome, thanks to the bloody nature of their religion. This artifact, for instance, once received the still-beating hearts of their sacrifices to their sun god.”

A moment later, he blinked and looked abashed. “Forgive me, Madame Giry. I find these artifacts so engrossing that I quite forget myself. It was not my intent to cause you distress. Perhaps you would appreciate this more?” He gestured at a double-headed jade serpent. “I fear I have no knowledge of the uses this was put to, if any, but I find it exquisite.”
 
Anne Marie put a hand to her mouth and took half a step back, as though sickened by the thought of even touching something that had once received still-beating hearts. In reality, while the idea was gruesome she had seen and experienced things in her life which had convinced her that such an end would be much kinder. Beckett looked properly abashed at forgetting himself and offered up a jade carving instead. She lowered her hand and shook her head.

"I really should have expected it from the ancient savages," she admitted, stepping forward to get a better look at the serpent. "May I...touch it?" She smiled in an imitation of embarrassed self-consciousness as she hesitantly reached out to touch the cool jade. "I heard once from an old Mexican woman that it can be dangerous to touch the ancient things," she murmured, slowly stroking the head of the serpent. "She said many of the Mayans and Aztecs laid curses on their sacred objects so that they could not be plundered by the Spanish without consequence. The old blood magic was their last line of defense." She brought a distant look to her eyes as though lost in thought or memory. This was actually true; one of the few memories she had of her parents was of a visit to distant family in Mexico, on her mother's side. An old woman on a street corner had caught her hand to keep her from touching a picture carved into an ancient cornerstone, warning her that she would be cursed if she touched anything the Aztecs had left behind.

She blinked and shook her head, taking her turn to look abashed and smiling apologetically. "But it is silly to believe in such things, mais non?"

~*~

Even as Alice was opening her mouth to explain, Butch shook his head. "Now ma'am, I don't take kindly to blas--" She turned the wheel and the bookcase began to slide away from the wall. "--phemy..." he finished lamely. Alice turned to him with a bright smile.

"Well," she remarked, "don't this look promising?"

"A might more promisin' 'n slittin' th' mattress open, in any case," he agreed numbly as the bookcase finished moving. He moved to see that it had revealed a long, dark corridor, but even as he stood there torches in sconces lit themselves pair by pair until they were out of sight. "Well uh...shall we?"

Butch gestured then stood aside to let Alice into the hallway, then pulled the bookcase to behind them. "He's gotta have a way o' gettin' out," he explained with a shrug, "an' s'prolly best ta have it pulled to in case he decides ta come take a nap er sommin'." He pulled a torch down from its bracket and shivered as he swore he could feel a breeze like Beckett breathing down his neck. "I'll--" He stopped and cleared his throat. "I'll go first." Being the gentleman he supposed he oughtta...but damn if he hated being a gentleman sometimes. He had a feeling that if anyone knew how to permanently kill him, Beckett did.
 
“Silly?” Beckett repeated, smiling faintly. “Hardly, Madame Giry. The Americas are ancient, wild lands with a dark, unknown history. And Donnelly has shown that the peoples here are as much descendants of sunken Atlantis as the Egyptians - perhaps even purer, since their blood is unmixed with that of Slavs and Semites.”

He rested his attention on the dagger. “Madame Blavatsky attests to the strange powers of Atlantis, and those powers passed through the priesthood’s of the Incas and Aztecs. I have seen many strange things, Madame. Mysteries that would...”

He broke off suddenly, looking abashed. “Forgive me. I am an enthusiast, and sometimes I forget myself. Would you care to ride? A working ranch on n Texas is a sight to behold.”

-*-

Alice shivered as the hidden door closed, unable to shake the feeling of being trapped. “Reckon he does have a way to get out,” she agreed, staring at the pool of light cast by the closest of the uncanny torch’s. “And if push comes to shove, we could always knock that wall down. Be hella loud, though.”

The hallway was narrow, narrow enough that the two of them had to walk single file. Butch went first, a fact that Alice appreciated- she wasn’t a timid woman, but the self-lighting torches and the narrow hall had her on edge. As they walked she hefted her purse, wishing the weight of the revolver it held made her feel more confident. Sam had insisted, but she knew she was a middling shot at best.

“Well, shit,” Butch breathed, adding a hurried “beg pardon, ma’am.”

“What... holy hell!” Alice gasped, peering around the lanky frame of the undead cowboy. Her heart clenched at the sight of the stone statue before them, dominating the small torchlit room that held it. A low wooden table rested before it, wood scarred and stained with red-brown streaks. A small stone chest squatted at one end.

“Some kinda Devil,” Butch murmured, staring at the statue.

“Th’ kind that likes blood,” Alice pointed out, gesturing at the leather straps attached to the table legs. “We’re you, uhm, brought here?”

“No.” Butch stepped carefully into the room. “Ain’t never seen this place before. But that chest looks familiar.”

Feeling horribly like the statue was watching, Alice took step aftercautious step towards the chest. “It ain’t locked,”she reported, crouching and resting her hand on the kid. After swallowing, she opened it. And then she gasped. “Lord in Heaven,” she breathed, letting her hand hover over the gleaming gold coins within. “Ah ain’t never seen so much money.”
 
"'Course it ain't locked," Butch agreed distractedly, watching the statue watching him. Its eyes seemed to follow him whichever direction he stepped. "Ain't nobody in their right mind'd want it." He looked down to Alice in time to see her hand hovering over the gold. "Don't!" He dropped to his knees and grabbed her wrist up in a firm, but not painful, grip. He pulled her to her feet and as an extra measure backed up a few paces. His gaze had shifted from the heathen god to the chest of gold on the floor, as though the chest might get up and move after him.

"That ain't normal gold," he warned, still staring at the chest. "It's cursed. Evr'y single one o' the hands on this here ranch was made ta take a coin when we done signed on. A hirin' bonus, he called it. Then 'e took it back from us and we bin dead men walkin' ever since. So don't you touch nothin', Miss, er you'll be cursed too. Just wish I knew a way ta break th' curse, mayhap I could do it m'own self." Butch sighed, removed his hat, ran a hand through his hair, then replaced the hat. "But this was just a whaddya call it...a recon mission." He looked down at Alice. "We got what we came fer; best getchu back ta th' libary 'fore Mister Beckett gets done showin' the doc around." He glanced mournfully back at the chest, hating it with all his missing soul and wishing more than anything he knew how to break the curse. But if he strayed from the plan, put any of them in danger, Sam would have his hide.

"C'mon."

~*~

Anne Marie allowed Beckett to ramble, unsure who he spoke of and what the Ancient Mexicans had to do with Atlantis. Algernon had never allowed her to waste her time on such silly things as mythological places that some believed had actually existed. Classical mythology had been a part of her education, of course, but it was always understood that they were stories, no more real than Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, or The Pit and the Pendulum. New World mythology was no different, and in addition to being evil Anne Marie was now able to file Beckett under the label of foolish. Still, letting him talk without interruption only told her more about him than he would willingly reveal under questioning.

But he remembered himself just as he was getting to something deeper. Anne Marie stifled a sigh of disappointment and instead smiled. "But of course," she agreed enthusiastically. "I have never seen a working ranch before. But Monsieur Beckett," she took his arm and looked down at him earnestly, "never apologize for being passionate. A man without passion is no man at all."
 
She stared at the chest, fingers tingling like they’d gotten a little too close to a fire as Butch explained what it really was. That was just her imagination, right? But she kept imagining what Sam had said about the curse, and shuddered as she pictured naked bone instead of her familiar hand. “God,” she whispered, clutching that hand against her chest.

“C’mon?” Butch murmured, tugging gently on her wrist. She nodded mutely, stealing a final glance back as they headed back up the corridor and rubbing her hand. Still flesh, the thought. Not naked bone.

-*-

Sam scooted on the hard ground, staring down at the main house with a pair of field glasses they’d picked up. “Ah cain’t see a blamed thing,” she complained. “Jes th’ front o’ th’ blasted house.” She chewed her lip. “We shoulda gone wit’ ‘em, Tsidiiligai,” she complained. “Any damn thing could be happenin’ down there, an’ while Ah reckon Doc kin kick up a fuss, but they’s a damn lotta dead men down there. Maybe we should...”

She hesitated, then adjusted the lenses. “Wait. Hang on. Doc’s comin’ our an’ gettin’ in a coach wit’ some fancy fellah.” She stared a moment. “Alice ain’t wit’ her, but she ain’t makin’ a fuss.”

-*-

“Is there anything in particular you would care to see, Madam Giry?” Beckett asked, snapping the reins to make the horses start into a walk. “Operations at a ranch in the colonies are significantly more spread out than in England or in the Continent - because there is room, and because fodder is not so rich here. Perhaps the horses?” He tugged the reins, angling the horses. “My men rounded up a dozen Mustangs, and are working to break them to the saddle.”
 
"Mais oui, horses!" Anne Marie agreed enthusiastically with a smile. Men liked it when you smiled for them; it made them feel validated in their suggestions, as though simple entertainment were some great feat of charm and social aplomb. "My grandfather keeps horses on a farm in Tuscany. I always enjoyed spending time there."

"My men rounded up a dozen Mustangs," Beckett said proudly, "and are working to break them to the saddle."

"My goodness! Truly wild horses, I cannot imagine..." Anne Marie pulled her fan from her purse both to cool herself in the gathering heat and to flutter it flirtatiously. "But is it not better for that which is wild to remain unbroken? To retain that which makes them beautiful and desirable in the first place?" She gestured out towards the distant pastures. "A broken Mustang is just that: broken."

~*~

"We shoulda gone wit' 'em, Tsidiiligai," Sam complained for what in Jackie's estimate was the thousandth time. While Sam continued to worry, Jackie sighed and rolled over onto her back then put her hat over her face. It was a nice day for a nap.

"Doc'll send up a signal iffin she needs us, Sammy," she repeated yet again. The pulps made stakeouts sound so much less boring than they really were. "Alice too. They ain't stupid, girl, and y'don't search a house that big in a hot minute. Give 'em some time."

"Wait. Hang on. Doc's comin' out an' gettin' in a coach wit' some fancy fellah," she narrated.

"Prolly Beckett." With a grunt she rolled back over onto her stomach and squinted. She could only just make out the coach, never mind the people getting into it. "What about Alice?"

"Alice ain't wit' her, but she ain't makin' a fuss."

"Good girl." Jackie nodded her approval. "Splittin' up, Doc takin' the ranch while Alice searches the house."

"Alice already got the house." Butch knelt down behind them, but not before dodging Jackie's boot as she lashed out at him in alarm.

"Jesus Mary'n Joseph!" She put a hand over her heart and halfheartedly kicked again, this time just at his boot. "Yer mama ever tell you sneakin' up on folks is rude? Don't do that!"

"Sorry," Butch grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down contritely. "But like I said, we already done searched the house. I took Alice 'round an' we found a secret passage in Beckett's bedroom, 'hind a wall. Th' chest is down a long passage, but it's there alright. Left Miss Alice in the libarry where the doc left her."

Jackie nodded. "Good work. Guess we just gotta wait fer Doc ta finish doin' her duty, then meet back up and think us up a plan. Kinda tricky, gittin' in his bedroom without his knowin'. Don't think havin' Doc play tourist'll work twice."
 
“Don’ reckon it will,” Sam agreed. “But then again, if’n anyone kin manage it, Ah reckon she kin.”

“Y’think she’s that clever?” Butch asked.

Sam grinned at her older brother. “Ah done seen th’ way y’was scopin’ her out,” she laughed. Woman like that could get a man ta do any damn thing she wants.”

Butch looked back down at the ranch. “Yeah, well,” he admitted, sounding uncomfortable. “Gotta admit, Ah’d have me a hard time turnin’ her down.”

“Betcha evenin’ wouldn’t be th’ only hard thing about it,” Sam said, biting her cheek to try and keep a straight face.

“Sammy!” Butch howled, outraged.

-*-

“There is a certain beauty to wild things, yes,” Beckett agreed. “And yet, all things were consecrated by the Creator for the use of man - a use that may only be achieved by the sweat if his brow. Raw materials must be shaped and wrought to be useful, and wild things tamed.” He smiled. “And a well-trained horse, properly cared for, is a far lovelier thing than a wild beast.”

It was clear that his eyes followed the motion of her fan towards her décolletage, although he was gentleman enough not to make it obvious. “The wild stock has a strength in it that the pedigreed breeds of Europe lack, though.” He smiled. “Something of a metaphor for this continent and its peoples, really. And one I took me some time to embrace. But tell me if Tuscany, please. It has been long years she nice I was able to visit the Continent.”
 
"Anyone'd have a hard time turnin' her down," Jackie agreed. "I was kinda thinkin' you were a little sweet on Alice though."

"Betcha evenin' wouldn't be th' only thing hard about it," Sam said, biting her cheek to try and keep a straight face.

"Sammy!" Butch howled, outraged.

"Oh hush up, you," Jackie said, gesturing impatiently. "Wanna have the whole ranch after us? And I may not have no brothers er sisters, but I was under the impression that talkin' bout that sorta thing with 'em was a bit weird." Sibling bonds were something Jackie had never understood, nor did she have much of a hope of ever understanding it. She couldn't fathom spending more time than she had to around someone she detested.

~*~

So he liked to tame wild things. It was always good to know what sort of a man she was dealing with, and clearly Beckett was the type who thought God had put him on the earth to control what no man could. Anne Marie hadn't liked him to begin with, but now her already low estimation of him had fallen sharply. He was the type of man to keep a woman painted and primped and set in a gilded cage then tell her it was for her own good. If they hadn't needed him for the next part of their plan, she would simply kill him here and now.

"But tell me of Tuscany, please," he said, trying not to make it obvious that he was trying to get a better look down her dress. "It has been long years since I was able to visit the Continent."

"Oh but it is beautiful, Monsieur," Anne Marie gushed with a smile as though oblivious to some of his inner workings which he had just revealed. "I was reminded much of it when we visited the countryside in northern California. My grandfather keeps Calabrese on a large farm, some acres apart from his vineyard."

She recalled for Beckett not the grandfather who had died when she was three, but the farm Algie had taken her to the year before while they were there on political business. He had promised her a sort of working vacation, likely in an effort to reconnect. Ever since her marriage--no, since her widowing--they had been drifting apart, though mostly it had been her pulling away. She knew he regretted sending her away to school, where with the time away from him she had raged and rebelled and violently hated how little she could disentangle herself from him because she ultimately didn't want to, just as much as she knew he hadn't wanted to become attached to her. They both were unwilling to seize the freedom they told themselves they desired. They had met to discuss Austria with a pair of young Serbian freedom fighters, but she hadn't paid the two dark, handsome men the least amount of attention. And that was the problem, wasn't it? The most unfilial thoughts she had found herself thinking then more than ever were entanglements of the worst sort, and it was unacceptable. That vacation--those long, warm days alone with him, drinking wine and riding horses, dining richly, discussing literature and politics, and even swimming a little--had cemented her decision to go away for a little while to clear her head. But it seemed that putting thousands of miles between herself and those thoughts had only made the dull ache in her heart worse.

"--beautiful rolling hills, and the sun never seemed to stop shining," she continued. "But then, that may just be the rosy lens of childhood." Anne Marie giggled self consciously and leaned fractionally closer to him while she fanned herself. "But I prattle on. Tell me of England, Monsieur. I've been all over the continent, but I confess I have never taken that short voyage across the Channel." An absolute untruth, but the more she kept him talking about himself the more likely he was to slip and reveal something.
 
“England?” There was a wistful note in Beckett’s voice as he said the name. “It has been long, far too long, since I visited my homeland. I fear it has grown dim and distant in my memories, Madam Giry. An impossible paradise, glimpsed in vision yet never clearly seen.”

He glanced at her. “I left home to seek my fortune as a youth, an apprentice aboard a man-o’war. I could tell you of the sea more eloquently, of rolling mountains of green and blue and iron, much like the hills of Tuscany as you describe them. Of exporting treasure ships or prizes taken, or the thrill of navigating the Straits of Magellan and the joy of mastering the trigonometry andsuccessfully determining latitude.”

He sighed, then scowled about his ranch. “But then I took to the land. Made a name and a fortune for myself. But I tell you, Madam Giry, I would yield it all up in a trice for the feel of a deck rolling beneath my heels once more, and the sting of salt in my nostrils.”

Suddenly, he dragged on the reins and brought the coach about. “Forgive me,” he coughed, clutching a handkerchief to his lips.. “I must... I am suddenly feeling unwell. A touch of the ague, I fear. We shall return, and my man will see to your comfort as long as you care to stay. If I am feelings stronger.”

Discretely, he tucked the handkerchief away. Spots of blood stained the fabric.
 
Anne Marie fluttered her fan a little more quickly at his descriptions of the sea. "Que c'est beau! You have lived a very exciting life, Monsieur!" she said breathlessly, though she could think of very few things less exciting than trigonometry and navigation. But Beckett's face grew dark and glared at the ranch, almost as though he blamed the land itself for his never having returned to his native home.

"But then I took to the land," he lamented, with such a tone and expression that she almost felt sorry for him. "Made a name and a fortune for myself. But I tell you, Madam Giry, I would yield it all up in a trice for the feel of a deck rolling beneath my heels once more, and the sting of salt in my nostrils." She opened her mouth to make a reply, but Beckett was taken by a sudden coughing fit and turned the coach around. She frowned and put a hand gently on his shoulder with as much of the performance of compassion as she could muster.

"I do hope I have not imposed while you are feeling ill," she said with a perfect reproduction of concern. Her quick eyes hadn't missed the handkerchief and she wondered whether he were dying and they had only to wait. Or, if this curse Jackie spoke of really did exist, whether it had bound him to the land and he couldn't stray too far without such consequences. "You ought to return to your England. You must return! We make port in Dover on the way back, really Monsieur Beckett you must accompany me and go ashore in your homeland, visit your friends and relatives. There is nothing so good for one's health as one's native air." She scooted closer, her hip scandalously touching his as they sat together on the bench seat of the coach, and put a hand on his arm. "For my sake if not for your own, Monsieur."
 
“You ought to return to your England. You must return!”

“I cannot, Madam Giry,” Beckett replied, his cough making the words sharp. He dabbed at his lips again, and tried to focus on the horses as she continued.

“We make port in Dover on the way back,” she said, and he could see the port city in his mind, see it as it had been in his youth, when he’d first gone to sea. The memory sent a stab if physical pain through him, as if his blood were rebelling against him.

“I cannot,” he whispered, morosely. Then he coughed again and wiped more blood from his lips.

“Really Monsieur Beckett you mustaccompany me and go ashore in your homeland,” she continued relentlessly, “visit your friends and relatives. There is nothing so good for one's health as one's native air." She scooted closer, her hip scandalously touching his as they sat together on the bench seat of the coach, and put a hand on his arm. "For my sake if not for your own, Monsieur."

Beckett gritted his teeth as he fought the pain that gripped him. “I... am flattered, Madam Giry,” he managed. “But I... I cannot... return...”

The main house loomed before them, and he nearly fell as he staggered from the carriage. “I... pray, excuse me Madam,” he gasped out, gripping the frame with numb fingers. His face was pale as he looked at Anne Marie. “My... my health... I must... lie down. Pray... make yourself... at home...”

It was rude, he knew, to abandon any guest. And painful to abandon one so lovely. But his extremities were growing numb, and it took all his willpower not to collapse as he stumbled through the door and towards his rooms. Damn Calypso, he fumed, but even his anger felt distant and packed in wool. Damn Her!

-*-

Alice watched Mr. Beckett stager past, ashen and sweating. Carefully, she made her way outside. “Well,” she said with a grin. “Ah’m impressed. I ain’t never managed to make a man walk like that.”
 
Anne Marie, for once, was caught flat-footed. "Monsieur are you quite alright?" Her free arm went to his back, an expression of concern carefully etched across her brow. "Please allow me to call for a doctor at the very least." If nothing else, she didn't want him to drop dead while she was out alone with him lest she be accused of killing him when she would be innocent for once.

"I...pray, excuse me Madam," Beckett gasped, tumbling from the carriage and pulling himself up and through the door. "My...my health...I must...lie down. Pray...make yourself...at home..." He staggered through the door and down the hall, leaving a stunned Madame LaMonte in his wake. By the time she had gathered herself, Alice had come out and was speaking to her in a most un-servantly way.

"Keep your voice down," she hissed sternly. "Servants do not speak in such ways to their employers. Come Alice," she said in a louder voice, taking her arm and leading her to their horses. She mounted easily and rode off with nothing more but a haughty nod to the various farmhands they passed. Once they were well clear of the ranch she explained to Alice. "Beckett took ill quite suddenly; something Monsieur Cavendish neglected to mention." It didn't sound as though she entirely gave him the benefit of the doubt in not having known about it. "He is a man in love with the sea, but if a curse holds Bartleby, then another one holds Cutler Beckett in its thrall. Something which I believe is most definitely worth discussing with our companions before going any further with this plan."
 
“A curse, hey?” Sam leaned back against a rock, thinking hard as she looked down at the ranch house. “Seems like we got us a damn sight too much foolishness goin’ on round here. How many curses we dealin’ with, anyway?”

Alice sipped at her coffee. “Uhm... two?”

“Which is two too many,” Sam grimaced. “Any idea what he’s up ta?”

Alice glanced at Anne Marie, then shook her head. “No, not really. But I reckon it can’t be no good. A man don’t turn folk into walkin’ dead men or have a secret room with pagan idols in it without bein’ up ta no good. Reckon we gotta go back, do a little more digging?”

The last question was directed to Anne Marie, but Sam answered it with a laugh. “You’d have ta go back anyhow.”

“What?” Alice looked sharply at Sam. “Why?”

Grinning, Sam gestured down at the house. “Y’all done left yer automobile down there an’ rode up here on borrowed horses.” A laugh. “Might look a bit suspicious, y’know?”
 
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