Longarm and the Deadwood Shoot-out (9781101619209) Read Free

said.
    “Yes, welcome,” Mrs. Carmichael echoed. Liberty just grinned and hugged Longarm’s arm.
    The phaeton crunched to a halt on the gravel and the coachman jumped down from his perch to open the door and assist the ladies to the ground. Liberty made a game of hopping down. And Longarm was left to get down without professional assistance while the doorman dashed out to fetch in the luggage.
    Inside, the entry was a hall large enough to hold dances. The furnishings were dark and heavy. The lighting wasfrom electrified chandeliers, suggesting that Blaise House had its own generating plant because Longarm was fairly sure the town had none. Even Denver had few such plants. A setup like that would surely cost a fortune. But then the Blaise family quite obviously had a fortune to cover it.
    “We will be in the parlor, Donald. Please inform us when dinner is ready.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” The doorman, who apparently performed double duty as the butler, too, actually bowed his way out.
    Longarm wondered if he should run into town and buy a formal outfit so he would be properly attired here.
    “This way please, Mr. Long,” the grand lady said, taking his arm and guiding him through the foyer to an equally large and impressive parlor. It was furnished with large, overstuffed pieces. The far wall was open to a glassed sunroom with a concert piano in the center.
    She led him to a sofa, Liberty clinging to his other arm, and settled him there with Liberty tucked in close beside him.
    “Coffee, Mr. Long?”
    “That would be nice, ma’am, thank you.” Actually a shot or two of rye whiskey would have been better after a night spent on the rails, but coffee would do for the moment.
    Mrs. Blaise nodded in the direction of the doorway and the butler instantly stepped into the room. “Coffee, Donald.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    It was only a matter of seconds before Donald came in wheeling a cart with silver service and china cups. The coffee was steaming hot, the cream thick and heavy. It occurred to Longarm that a fellow could get used toliving like this…from the master’s point of view, that is, less so from that of the servants.
    The coffee was predictably excellent, the dinner that followed equally fine, the meal rich and heavy. As they were nearing the conclusion of the feast—a feast for most folks but normal enough here, he guessed—Liberty left her chair at Longarm’s side and ran to the head of the table. She leaned close and whispered in her grandmother’s ear. Mrs. Blaise gestured to Donald and in turn whispered in his ear. Then she smiled and patted Liberty’s cheek. Liberty jumped up and down with joy and ran back to Longarm.
    “You can stay here with us, Mr. Marshal. Isn’t that fine?”
    “But I…”
    “It is all arranged, Mr. Long,” Mrs. Blaise said before he could finish. “My coachman has already been dispatched to bring your bag from the depot, and Donald is having a bedroom prepared for you.” She smiled. “Believe me, we have enough guest rooms that you will be no intrusion.”
    “Please, Mr. Marshal? Please?” Liberty clung to his arm and practically swooned with excitement.
    He looked down into those guileless blue eyes and melted. “All right,” he said. “But I can only stay the one night. I have work to do, you know.”
    The little girl kissed the back of his hand and shivered with delight while her mother pretty much ignored the whole thing.

Chapter 5
    Marcus Carmichael, Liberty’s father, put in an appearance about six o’clock, arriving in a light runabout drawn by a sleek, black trotter. Carmichael himself was plump and sleek, with oiled hair and a diamond stickpin. He accepted Longarm’s presence in his house as a commonplace occurrence. Both his welcome and his handshake were perfunctory, and he immediately retired to his study with the instruction that he be called when supper was served.
    Longarm visited with the ladies and spent most of his afternoon and evening playing