"Connie Willis - One-Eyed Jack" - читать интересную книгу автора (Willis Connie)

could catch her breath, and even then she was still shaken by the best time
she'd had since . . . since . . . but there was no comparison in all her years of
experience.


Lily stroked his scarred face and made soothing sounds and let him fall asleep
atop her, then gently eased him off. She tried to lift the bedclothes just enough
to get a glimpse of what she'd been enjoying, but he gripped the satin comforter
and muttered, "No . . . no . . . please . . . ," so she let him be.
In the morning Jack accepted a hot bath, but refused assistance, even from
Slow Joe the bouncer, who carried the steaming buckets up from the kitchen.
Only when fully dressed did Jack re-enter her boudoir.


"Miss Lily," he said, sitting awkwardly on the slippery rose satin edge of the bed,
"there's one more thing I'd like to ask of you."


"No harm in asking," she said, feeling an urge to ask for a little something herself
but knowing that what lay ahead would require all his concentration. She hoped
he hadn't already lost the edge he was going to need.


"Well, it's just, if it should turn out . . . if you should feel you could handle it . . .
I'd appreciate if you'd look after that." He nodded toward the long gun-case
sitting on the marble-topped bureau.


"Don't you worry any about that," Miss Lily said. She decided it was time to fan
fires that might have got a little dampened last night. "You just fix your mind on
dealing with Rigby. Is it true what they say? He's the one who tied you to that
railroad track like a dime-novel virgin?"


Jack's smile would have been grim even without the scars. "Is it true what they
say, Miss Lily, that you near to killed Rigby with a bullwhip after he and his boys
cut up one of your girls, but you weren't tough enough to finish the job?"


"True enough," she said. "I stopped too soon."


"I won't." He stood and limped to the bureau. Lily heard him opening the gun
case.


"Jack," she said over her shoulder as she slipped on a lacy peignoir, "should I . . .
if there's a need . . . should I send your things on to that San Francisco
address?"
"No need," he said, closing the case and turning back. "If you don't mind keeping