“That’s all right. Go on,” Ernestine urged.
“Well, his pards did not take kindly to me breaking his nose and a few of his teeth, so the next thing I knew, lead started to fly. Two of them were down when a slug caught me in the shoulder. It didn’t break the bone but it sure hurt, and to make my predicament worse, my arm went numb.”
“Oh my. What did you do?”
“The only thing I could. I border-shifted and cut loose with the Colt in my left hand. I’m not as good with my left as my right, but I ain’t no slouch, neither. Two more kissed the sawdust. By then Tuttle had grabbed the scattergun he kept under the bar and roared that the next hombre who threw lead would be blowed to kingdom come.”
“Blown,” Ernestine said.
“What? Oh. Sorry. But that stopped the fight. Lucky for me the Newton sawbones was there and patched me up on the spot. He patched up three of the four cowboys I shot, too. The fourth was beyond patching.”
“To think how close you came to meeting your maker,” Ernestine said softly.
“I’ve come close more times than you have fingers and toes,” Jeeter told her. “But I never thought much of it. It’s just how things are.”
“I am glad you have survived as long as you have,” Ernestine said. “Otherwise we would never have met, and I would rate that a severe loss.”
“Shucks, ma’am. No need to flatter me so. I know I am imposing on your goodwill and good graces.”
“Mr. Frost, I say in all sincerity that I have enjoyed our sessions more than I have ever enjoyed just about anything.”
Jeeter Frost did not know what to say to that. It sounded to him as if she was saying she liked him, liked him a lot, but that was ridiculous. He was a killer; she was a schoolmarm. He was the dregs of the earth; she was the salt. He was an outcast, shunned by decent folk everywhere; she was all that was pure and virtuous in the world. Finally, when he could not take the strained silence any longer, he forced out, “That was sweet of you to say, ma’am, but you don’t need to pretend on my account.”
“That is the first unkind thing you have said to me,” Ernestine quietly responded.
At that Jeeter felt his skin grow warm, as his skin was wont to do in her company. “I would never, ever be unkind to you, ma’am. You are the kindest gal I have ever met. There is no one I hold in higher regard.”
“I trust you will not consider it too bold of me if I say I hold you in high regard as well.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible, ma’am. I shoot people, remember?”
“Please call me Ernestine. Yes, you have been quick on the trigger, but in every instance you were provoked or acting in self-defense.”
Jeeter tried to wrap his mind around the incredible wonder of what she was implying. “Are you saying—surely not—that you condone the deeds I’ve done, ma’am?”
“My name is Ernestine. No, I do not entirely approve, but neither do I condemn you. The Good Book says to judge not, lest we be judged.”
“Well,” Jeeter said, at a loss as to what else to reply.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“I am a mite confused, ma’am,” Jeeter said. “Does this mean you think of me as a friend, sort of?”
Ernestine hesitated. Now that she had broached the subject of her feelings, she was deathly afraid of revealing more than she should. “I hold you in high regard, Mr. Frost. And again, call me Ernestine.”
“This beats all.” Jeeter smiled warmly. “A lady like you, saying all these nice things about me.”
“You are too hard on yourself, Mr. Frost.”
“No harder than everyone else is,” Jeeter observed. “Most folks treat me like I have some disease, like one of those, what do you call them, lepers?”
“Society does not always heed the Good Book,” Ernestine said. She realized her palms had grown sweaty and was so astounded, she lost her trail of thought.
“Ain’t that the truth?” Jeeter said. “When I was little I never could savvy why everyone couldn’t be nice and get along. Now I’m a lot older and I can’t say I savvy it any better.”
“You have a gentle soul, Mr. Frost,” Ernestine remarked.
“Me, ma’am? Gentle?” Jeeter started to laugh but stopped. It would be rude, he decided. “If you say so. But I doubt there’s another person anywhere in Kansas who would agree.”
“Perhaps that is because they do not know you as well as I do. You have not bared your soul to them as you have to me.”
Her mention of “bare” made Jeeter fidget. He suddenly felt awkward and foolish crammed into that desk, and shoving to his feet, he moved toward the window.
“Is something wrong?” Ernestine asked.
“No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Hell, ma’am, I am so confused, I am not sure whether I am awake or dreaming.” Jeeter pressed his forehead to the pane and closed his eyes. He felt queasy, as if he was going to be sick, and strangely light-headed. Under his breath he said, “What is happening to me?”
Ernestine came up behind him. She knew full well she should not do what she was about to do, but she did it anyway. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Would you care for a glass of water? I have a pitcher.”
