Rattlesnake Wells, Wyoming by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

“You!” Upon answering the knock on her hotel room door, the woman in the blue dress took an abrupt step backwards, her expression alternating between surprise and concern.

The tall man, whose knock she had answered and who was subsequently causing the uncertain reaction from her, moved into the room, crowding her and forcing her to take more steps back. He heeled the door shut behind him and then smiled, his white teeth flashing under his walrus mustache. “Hello, Libby. Long time no see,” said Vernon Brock.

“A long time doesn’t necessarily make it long enough,” said the woman called Libby.

“That almost sounded unfriendly. Is that any way to be?”

“I wasn’t aware we were ever friends, so why should I be friendly?”

Brock shrugged elaborately. “The term friend can be stretched to cover a lot of things. We surely have a common interest, don’t we? Doesn’t that come close enough?”

Libby just looked at him, made no reply.

Brock’s gaze swept the room, coming to rest on the large carpetbag lying on the bed. One corner of his mouth lifted in another smile, at least a partial one. “I’d be surprised if you don’t have some spirits in there. Aren’t you going to at least offer a visitor . . . an old acquaintance, if not exactly a friend . . . a drink?”

Libby shook her head. “There’s nothing to drink in there.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve become a teetotaler?”

“I ran out on the train. The clerk is supposed to be sending something up. When you knocked, I thought that’s who it was.”

“Ah. That’s more like it.”

Libby’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here, Brock? And how did you know I was here? I just got in a short while ago.”

“It should be obvious that my reason for being here is the same as yours. As far as knowing of your presence, it was just my good fortune that I was in the hotel bar and happened to look into the lobby as you arrived to check in.”

“Your good fortune, my lousy luck,” Libby muttered.

Brock’s face went tight. “If you gave it half a chance and quit trying so hard to annoy me, it might be good fortune for both of us.”

Before Libby could reply, there was another knock on the door. An elderly gent bore a tray containing a bottle of tequila and a cup of sliced limes. Libby took the tray and set it on a small stand beside the bed. Brock dug a coin out of his pocket, flipped it to the old man for a tip, and the man returned downstairs.

After the door had closed, Libby promptly began working the cap off the bottle and said to Brock, “There are clean glasses over by the washbasin. Grab one for each of us.”

A minute later, Libby was thirstily tipping up her glass while Brock was taking a more modest sip from his. “I can tolerate this stuff,” he proclaimed as he lowered his arm, “but I’m damned if I can see how anybody makes it their drink of choice.

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