Showdown Read Online Free Page B

He went down the same back-end fire escape he'd used to come up.
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    C assie Neville said, "It's very nice to meet you, Deputy."
    She gave a little curtsy that was cute as all hell. She was cute as all hell. Refined yet not formal at all. A girly girl who'd nonetheless probably been something of a tomboy when she'd been growing up. Today she wore a white blouse, a dark riding skirt, and a smile that could break a thousand hearts from half a mile away.
    The church basement where the poor and the unemployed came for food and medicine had been painted white to give it a clean, open feeling. The doors were left open to let sunshine beam down the steps. And the other women who helped Cassie were as resolutely cheerful as she was.
    Prine wanted her to remember him when she got herself kidnapped. After all, he was going to be her savior. Her hero. There would be a sizable reward offered for her return. And that sizable reward would be plenty for a man to head to California and find a place for himself in the sun and the ocean.
    Prine said, "This is sure a nice thing you do. This setup for poor people, I mean."
    She smiled. "They're poor in money, perhaps, Mr. Prine. But not poor in spirit. Some of the nicest, most decent people I've ever met I met right here in this church basement. Isn't that right, Effie?"
    Her assistant, another daughter of wealth, nodded enthusiastic agreement. "I just wish some of my rich friends had the spirit of these people. You never hear them complain about anything."
    The portrait she painted was sentimental and untrue, of course. Poor people complained all the time. As did everybody else, no matter where they stood on the social ladder. Though he was generally optimistic about things, his years as a lawman had taught Prine that when you came right down to it, life wasn't easy for anybody. There was always dire surprise, unexpected illness, family or friends in some kind of trouble, and fear that whatever you possessed—whether it was a lot or a little—would be snatched from you by the dark and comic gods who sometimes seemed in control of this vale of tears. Money solved many problems, but not all of them.
    Prine scanned the basement. Against one wall were racks of clothes. Against another, stacks and stacks of canned food. Against a third wall were things for the home, everything from washboards to butter churns. Everything but the canned goods were used, but some of it looked as if it had been used only slightly.
    There was a collection box. FOR THE POOR, it read. Prine took several greenbacks from his pocket and dropped them in the box.
    "That's very generous of you," she said. "We really appreciate it."
    "I'll try and give you a little something on a regular basis."
    She reached across the front counter and touched his arm. The gesture was as intimate as a kiss. Just something about it. Just something about her warm brown eyes as she did it. "Do you enjoy piano music, Mr. Prine?"
    "Very much."
    "I should say classical piano music."
    "The times I've heard it, I've enjoyed it very much. Not that I know much about it."
    "I don't know much about it myself. But there's this neighbor of ours—a Mrs. Drummond, her husband is one of the Denver Drummonds—and she was trained musically in the East at two very good schools. She's playing at our house tonight for invited guests. Would you enjoy something like that?"
    "I'd enjoy that very much."
    "Why don't you stop out around seven? Would that be all right?"
    Prine had been scrupulous about not fixing his gaze upon the hypnotic swell of her breasts or the beautifully proportioned curve of her hips. But just for a heady moment, his glance fell to them. And when he looked up, he found her smiling at him in that secret way of females who appreciate being admired if the admiration is discreet and courteous.
    A group of Mexican women and children clattered down the steps, ending the perfect moment of romance and proper lust Prine was