The Coachman, C.B Cooper [best detective novels of all time txt] 📗

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
The little fair-haired spitfire turned on her heels, raking him with her gaze. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” he grunted. “I’m getting mighty tired of saving your hoity toity little ass.”
Even though Ben stood a good head and half taller than her, she marched right up to him, unafraid.
“I believe I was trying to conduct my business in private, when you came storming out of nowhere and drug me back here,” she said, pointing to the dusty stagecoach. “Now tell me, Mr. Finnegan, how is that saving my ass?” throwing her arms wide, she looked around, “Where’s the danger? What exactly are you saving me from now?”
Ben smiled down at her, he couldn’t help it. Hearing miss high and mighty cuss like a cowboy just tickled his funny bone.
Her clear blue eyes fairly sparkled with fury. “I’m glad you find this amusing, but I must remind you, I have business yet to finish, and I’m not setting one foot in that contraption until I do.”
Biting his cheek to keep from laughing, he grabbed her slim shoulders and learned down, so they stood nose to nose.
Stormy green eyes clashed with her startled blue. “Then I suggest, little darlin’,” he drawled, “that next time, you look before you squat. Cause I just saved your ass

, from a patch of poison ivy.”
Her eyes rounded, as her mouth made a little O , puffing her breath lightly across his lips, like a ghost of a kiss. Then he felt his own eyes round as his loins tightened involuntarily. Quickly releasing his hold, he turned and stalked off.
Miss Adaline Parker had been nothing but trouble since she’d boarded his coach, back in New Orleans. She hadn’t done anything except bitch, whine, and complain. God, that woman knew how to push his buttons.
Checking all the traces on the team, he cussed himself. How in the hell could that woman give him a tingling with nothing more than a warm puff of air?
He knew the answer to that- It had been way too long since he’d enjoyed the company of a woman.
Well, he could remedy that once they hit Silver Springs. They had a decent sized saloon with a nice assortment of women. Women who were more than, able, willing, and capable, of showing a man a good time.
He was mulling over the prospect when another passenger approached him.
“Mr. Finnegan, will we be departing soon?”
It was Max Logan, a dandy from Boston- or Philadelphia, or some place equally annoying. Ben had no patience for Easterners. Their fancy dud’s and lack of common sense, annoyed the hell out of him.
“Here shortly, Mr. Logan.”
“Very good. Have you seen Miss Parker?”
Ben’s hands stilled on the yoke. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, if you must know, I’ve appointed myself as Miss Parker’s personal protector. This land is so… vile, that a woman of her delicacies, needs protection.”
Vile?

Did he really just call this beautiful countryside, vile

. What a turd.
“Well, don’t you go getting yer tails in a twist, Mr. Logan. It’s my job to watch over the passengers, and that’s what I aim to do.”
Ben had started back to the coach, when a thought struck him, “Delicacy, huh? Interesting, I hadn’t realized that Miss Parker was with child. ”
Logan looked like someone had just squeezed off his windpipe. “Wh-wha- wh-?”
“What!” Adaline Parker shrieked. She had just walked up and caught the most interesting part of their conversation.
Ben grinned, “Mr. Logan here, was just informing me, that because of your ‘delicate condition’ that he is appointing himself as your personal guardian. Isn’t that right, Logan?”
Ben leaned smuggly against the coach, his thickly muscled arms folded over his massive chest, waiting to enjoy the show.
Miss Parker stormed over and slapped Logan across the face, hard.“Well, I never!” she exclaimed, before turning to flounce away.
Logan was still stuttering in shock when Ben walked over and clapped him on the shoulder, “I don’t know, Logan. You might of bitten off more than you can chew this time. It aint no easy task, keepin’ that little hellcat outa harm’s way.”
He ought to know. So far, in the week they’d been out, he’d had to save her from a pissed off rattler, pull her out of a nasty sink hole, slapped some poisonous berries out of her hand, and now, he could add poison ivy to the list. The woman attracted trouble like a whorehouse on nickle night.
Ben was walking away, chuckling, when Mr. Logan finally found his voice, “You… you did that on purpose!”
Seated up in the hurricane deck, Ben hollered to the passengers, “Climb aboard people, this trains a’leavin’ the station.”
He watched an older couple, the Hoover’s, climb up and disappear inside. Next up was Max Logan.
Ben released the brake and flicked the reins. The wood spoked wheels creaked to life as the six big Missouri mules strained against their traces. The coach had just reached peak traveling speed, when Ben heard a God-awful high pitched sound from behind him.
Turning in his seat, he cussed, “Goddamnit! Whoa, WHOA!” he yelled pulling the mules to a slow stop.
Jumping down he moved to the door of the coach and jerked it open.
Old man Hoover’s startled face met him. “What’s the matter? Is it them god-damn heathens?” Mr. Hoover, who had an unnatural fear of Indians, was already holding a loaded pistol in his wrinkled shaking hands, his rheumy eyes wide with fright.
“You can put that away, there aint no Indians.”
The old man continued asking questions, but Ben ignored him, he was to busy glaring at Logan. “Some great personal protector

you turned out to be.”
Logan ignored him.
Ben’s blood began to boil. “Get out of my coach.” he ground out between gritted teeth.
Mr. Logan turned and looked at him haughtily, “I most certainly will not.”
To bad for him that Ben was a firm believer in not saying something twice. In one lightening fast move he jumped onto the top step, reached in and grabbed the front of Logans suit, dragging the man screaming through the door.
Ben pinned him up against the side of the stagecoach, as Miss Parker rounded the back, her skirts bunched in her hands, sweat and tears streaking down her face.
“You left me!” she cried, out of breath, “You just… left me!”
Ben barely heard her as he yelled in Logans face, “What in the hell kind of game are you

playing?

You play games out here, people get killed! Why didn’t you tell me that Miss Parker wasn’t in the coach!”
Logans face was bone white as he stammered, “I- I… don’t have to answer to y…” his sentence was cut short as Ben clocked back and slapped him up side the head.
“You can find yourself another stagecoach when we hit Silver Springs tomorrow.”
Adaline was wiping the tears from her face and trying to collect herself when Ben turned to her, “I’m real sorry you got left, Miss Parker. You can thank your guardian here for not telling me you were missing.”
She looked absolutely miserable and scared to death. He hated to admit it, but something about the way she looked pulled at his heart strings.
He smiled and winked at her, “Good thing you got a scream on you that could break glass, otherwise I never would of heard you.” he teased.
Ben was pleased to see that his good-natured ribbing brought a small smile to her glum face.
“Alright, let's get going. We got a good four hours before we hit the next stage stop and we’re burning day light.”
“I believe, Mr. Finnegan, that I would like to ride up top with you.”
“What?” he asked, startled by her request. But she was already reaching inside the coach to get her shawl. Then, she did something that totally shocked, and impressed him. She paused in front of Logan just long enough to give him a hard knee to the berries. Ouch.

Logan dropped to the ground and rolled to his side, gasping for air.
Ben chuckled. “Looks like the lady packs quite a wollop. Maybe she would of gave them Indians a run for their money after all.”
By the time they hit the road station it was past dark, and Ben was almost past his breaking point. Somewhere around sundown, little miss Parker had fallen asleep, leaning heavily against his shoulder. Then, to make matters worse, she had slowly slid her head down his chest until it was nestled in his lap. That coupled with the heat and the slow sway of the carriage had sent his mind reeling with images and possibilities. Talk about making a man sweat.
Ben gently nudged her shoulder. Nothing. He shook her a little harder, getting a very unlady-like snore in return. On his third attempt, she groaned, snuggling her soft blonde head further into his crotch. Oh good Lord. “Come on lady, get up!” he cried.
Something in his voice must have finally gotten through to her, because she sat bolt right up on the seat.
The front door of the station opened and a short, rotund, graying gentleman appeared on the porch, lantern in hand.
Ben jumped down and greeted him. “Hey Chowder, how goes it?”
“Ben, that you? Your running behind there, son. I was startin’ to wonder if the injuns gotcha.”
“You know me better than that, Chowder. They aint made an Indian yet that can beat me.” Ben grinned.
Chowder met him beside the coach and tugged on his arm. “Can I get a minute with ya, Ben?”
It came as an odd request. Ben studied the shorter man. It was even more odd that Chowder looked worried. He was usually a pretty laid back, happy character.
“Sure.” he nodded, then followed him to the back of the coach.
Once they were alone, Chowder laid it out. “A few men showed up earlier and their still in there.”
Ben felt his jaw clench, “What kind of men?”
Chowder leaned in closer, “The kind of men, that might not want people gawking at them, incase someone were to recognize them from the wanted posters. I’d say their more than just a little familiar with the hoot owl trail.”
Ben nodded his head, “They been partaking in that mountain moonshine concoction of yours?”
Chowder scratched the grey whiskers on his cheek and chin, “Well, I think maybe they might have...” After a skeptical look from Ben, he came clean. “Oh, hell Ben, those boys are so drunk you’d have a hard time tellin’ their piss from pickle juice at this point.”
“Chowder! How