Magic and the Texan (28 page)

 

“You sure you got all that down right?”

Hoot Todd had to know. Hunching over the shoulders of a lady writer from Baltimore, he watched her scribble into that journal of hers, recording the exploits of a very successful Robin Hood.

“Did you get the part where I give money to that orphanage in Mexico City?” he asked.

The crone—way too skinny for Hoot's taste, this one—drew up spare shoulders and tossed down her pen. “If you've told me once, you've told me twenty times.”

Hoot scooted around to the other side of his sister's dinner table and plunked down. “Just want you to get it right.”

Millicent Bagwell crossed arms over her paltry breasts. The old maid had a look in her blue eyes that could have melted the icicles that hung from eaves outside this house. “Mr. Todd—” her voice rose and fell on his name “—have you ever considered taking a bath?”

“Millie, you sound just like my sister, always tearing into me.” Which caused Hoot to smile. “She wants ever'thing up to snuff, but I'm too old to change all my ways.”

“You ought to listen to her.” Again, Millicent picked up her pen, then tapped it on the table. “I should imagine your aroma is what frightens people out of their purses, not the threat from you or your gang of blackguards. You smell like a can of ashes.”

“Better to stink than to be so clean you smell downright dead, like you do.” Hoot grinned and poured a big glass of milk. “Wanna gimme a bath, Millie? I'll even let you dust me with fou-fou powder.”

Her pinched face, looking every year of her thirty-five, pulled into disgust. “I'd rather bathe a skunk.”

His mouth twisted. An itch under his eye patch caused him to scratch it. “That ain't very nice, Millie.”

“I'm not here to be nice. I'm here to write a book. If I'd known your sister and her husband wouldn't be in residence, I would not have agreed to stay with you.”

“Well, you're here. So am I.” Hoot eased the chair to its two hind legs and dug a cigar out of his vest pocket. “Ain't this the life?”

“You light up, and I'm going to stuff that nasty thing in your mouth.”

“What nasty thing are you talking about, Millie?” Oh, how he loved to tease Millicent Bagwell. It was more fun than robbing stagecoaches and trains. Rolling the cigar to the other side of his mouth, he asked, “One of them little-bitty titties of yours?”

“You are incorrigible.” Shaking her head in exasperation, Millicent bent over her task once more. “Let's see now. You support the House of Our Lady of Guadalupe. What about your own child? What have you done to shelter Sabrina López?”

“Adopted her. Done give her my name. She's Sabrina Elizabeth Todd nowadays.” His sister had asked for Elizabeth to be tacked on, in memory of her special friend up in heaven. “Sent Sabrina off to a fancy school in Switzerland, I did. She'll be finishing up in a few years.”

“Isn't your sister active in raising money for the orphanage?”

“Yep, Bethany spends a lot of time, collecting money and clothes for them kids.”

Hoot eyed the dining room. Jon Marc had built a new house, back in 1873, after their successful cattle drive to Kansas. It wasn't a grand place. Bethany hadn't wanted grand. She had, though, insisted on several bedrooms so that she and her husband would have plenty of room to take needy children in.

Millicent said, “Your sister and her husband don't have any children, I understand.”

“Wrong. They've got three. Tykes what didn't have no parents of their own. Jon Marc and Bethany love those kids, just like they'd been born to them. They're up in Memphis, as we speak. The O'Briens have a get-together, ever' year, 'round this time.”

“Is that so? A close family, are they?”

“Couldn't be closer.” That was true. “The visit they made a year ago was the most special, I reckon. Celebrated Fitz O'Brien's hundredth birthday, they did.” Hoot tapped the unlit cigar against his chest. “Went with 'em, I did. Wanted to see how the other half lives,” he said with a chuckle.

“So, how does the other half live?”

“Purty doggone high on the hog. Even the dog eats outta a silver bowl.” Hoot clicked his tongue. “Boy howdy, I could sell that silver stuff for a fortune. Them orphans in Mexico could sure use some of that wealth.”

Back a long time ago, Hoot hadn't cared a fig about anybody but himself. It was a fine delight he now got from seeing smiles on little faces when he provided the necessities, as well as a toy here and there.

He'd done good for himself, these past few years. His exploits were legend, he had a fine bond with his daughter and sister, and a writer was taking down his memoirs. What more could an hombre ask for?

He ogled Millicent's flat chest. Why, her breasts had beaded up against her bodice. He wouldn't mind giving one of those raisins a try. “You know, someone once told me—anything over a mouthful is wasteful.”

Ink splattered on her bosom, so fast did she try to cover herself. “You deplorable, double-negative-speaking lout!”

“Now, now, Millie, my raisin.”

“One would think—at your age!—you'd been too grizzled for womanizing.”

“I ain't but forty-one. And the only gristle I got, well, it's the kind what gets nice and hard when it needs to.”

“Oh, please. Let's do get back to business. How did the celebration turn out?” she asked, yanking his attention to her mouth.

It wasn't bad-looking, now that he got to thinking about it.

“What? Oh, that. Well, it was okay. Got kinda sad, though. The same night Fitz O'Brien turned over his factor house to his heir, he croaked. Right there in his invalid chair, in front of the fire in his drawing room. Old rascal had a smile on his mug. Said he could die happy. All his wishes were answered. ‘Just lay me t' rest next t' me Edna' were his last words. ‘I'll be resting in peace.'”

Hoot took a lucifer from his pocket, struck it, then sucked smoke into his mouth, which caused Millicent to feign a cough and bat her hands in the style of old maids everywhere.

He ignored her, choosing to stare up at the ceiling instead. Yes, old Fitz had found peace, thanks to the bonhomie within his family. Someday, Hoot would have an even stronger connection to the O'Briens, when that young fellow in Memphis made good on his promises to Sabrina. Those two didn't need magic to get things going, no sirree.

While in Tennessee, Hoot had heard about that strange lamp, the one that brought both heaven and hell to the O'Brien clan. It was gone now, the lamp. Everyone had said, “Good riddance.”

But the magic lived on.

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Copyright @ 1998 by Martha Hix

ISBN: 978-0-8217-5822-9

 

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